ズﾉﾚﾚひムの刀
͓̽F͓̽a͓͓̽̽n͓͓̽̽t͓̽a͓͓̽̽s͓͓̽̽y͓̽ ͓̽K͓͓̽̽i͓͓̽̽l͓͓̽̽l͓͓̽̽u͓͓̽̽G͓͓̽̽o͓͓̽̽n͓̽
Killua has died once already.
In every history book, there's a chapter of the infamous Killua Zoldyck: The face of the cover is blurry, as if the artist was unsure...
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9,800 words.
"...This is your home."
Killua's glare is impenetrable, so many emotions passing like forest wisps through irises of sapphire. He hangs his head down low. "So you've been having the dreams," he gulps, voice strained, "the visions of my past."
Guilt weighs like bricks in Gon's stomach. "Yeah."
There's a lengthy silence between both mages. He counts every second.
Gon swallows. "I'm sorry." His throat burns, and he releases small traces of liquified mana around his neck to heal, careful not to overdo it with a detectable amount.
Killua, still curled over, small as if hoping to protect himself from something, lifts his head in a confused, and somewhat hopeful, demeanor. "You sure say sorry a lot for the few times you don't do anything wrong."
Gon shakes his head, ignoring the jab in his familiar's words. "I'm sorry for everything that's happened to you. You didn't deserve it."
Eyes of blue, fogged by a dizzying mist, peer past the iron bars. He murmurs wistfully, a small smile curling delicate lips, "I'm not so sure about that."
Gon opens his mouth to argue, but it's interrupted by footsteps echoing in the halls. Clack, clack, clack. The same echo of taunting shoes against sturdy stone.
Both mages jump to their feet.
The silhouettes march, shrinking with decreasing distance. Gon imagines monsters, sharp claws and pointed teeth, fiery eyes and slithery tongues, disguised as humans, demons within.
From the shadows, a man with greased black hair comes into vision. A cloak with nightshade crows' feathers lines the shoulders, and on it is an upside down crucifix woven in shining silver threading– a cloak that screams 'curse user.' His face is human; he is an enemy. Enemies are monsters, and monsters are not human.
Gon clenches his fists, eyes burning amber.
The stranger's eyes gleefully lighten with a sparkle, focusing intently on the notorious sorcerer. "Killua Zoldyck," he says like he's welcoming a star on stage. "I never thought our paths would cross."
"I could say the same," the archmage remarks with a distasteful scoff. "Who the hell are you?"
The strange man shakes his head. "Someone who isn't nearly as important as you."
Fire, fire, fire boils Gon's blood. He walks up to the bars with a ground-shaking stomp, gripping them and his knuckles turning stark white. He stands nose to nose to the enemy before him. "Killua has done nothing wrong!"
The man, unconcerned, smiles. "You're correct."
What?
Both boys, taken aback, exchange confused glances.
