The Only One

The Tower

After Killua was finally able to relax he went to one of the empty rooms that he spotted while he was exploring the airship with Gon. It wasn't large and the lights were off. It appeared to be some kind of sitting room based on the comfortable-looking chairs and the coffee table he was able to see.

Killua sat in one of the armchairs, instinctively positioning himself so he could see the whole room. His thoughts involuntarily drifted back to the two bodies he left in the hall, bleeding such pretty shade of crimson on the expensive carpet. Killua did not feel bad about his actions. Regret wasn't something he felt often. Neither were a lot of things, actually. He'd always been a bit different from other people. Like how he got the feeling that, for most, it wasn't harder to try not to kill people. But really, it wasn't like he could help feeling as if certain people in the world didn't really deserve to live. If people couldn't be polite, useful, hard-working members of society, then wouldn't society just be better off without them?

Killua knew he was a monster. Most monsters he met are born with the capacity of becoming a monster, but it was their experiences that shaped them into what they are today. They learn not to care, but Killua never had; he had simply been born this way-- smarter and stronger than other people, the only real person in a world of paper cut-outs. Other humans were meaningless, useful only in what they could do for him; what he could make them do. The power he'd had over others-- the power to hurt them, to make them suffer, the power to force them to do his bidding, being the hand that pulled their puppet strings, and the power to kill them, to snuff out their worthless existence-- had always been something capable of breaking the monotony. The world is a dull, grey thing that had always bored him in its predictability. Even training only added color to his life for so long, eventually, it just became another part of the grayed-out world.
Even at home in the mansion, it was all grey walls and grey floors, and in the monochromatic space he was always surrounded in it was hard to see humans sometimes-- they just blended in. Grey, flat things that moved and made noise and danced along the periphery of his vision most of the time. Sometimes they got in the way. Sometimes animals and plants and rocks got in the way too. He did the same with the humans as he would a troublesome branch-- he moved it in the most efficient manner.

What felt like a lifetime ago, back when he was still practically an infant, he'd explained to a maid just once, before he knew better, that of course he could tell the difference between a human and a rock, he just didn't see what the difference was in kicking a human and kicking a rock. What fundamental difference was there in breaking a stick and breaking an arm? Neither the rock nor the human mattered to him. Neither the branch nor the arm was a thing he cared about. Why did it matter that the body parts mattered to others? What did that have to do with him?

For Killua, most humans had been little more than objects in his eyes. There were precious few who he had viewed as actual people. There were only a finite number of humans who were not just black and white objects taking up space, like so many of the other things in the world. Those humans had sharp focus and full-color and actually managed to be people to him. Those humans, those swirling collections of color, stood out from the things and other objects as alive. It did not mean that he was not able to turn around and snap their necks, however. He has only met two colorful people that he would actually hesitate before killing. Gon was one of them, with his brightness and happiness, and his disgusting capacity to love. His innocence was unfaltering and his light steady even in the face of death. In this deadly competition where more than half would not return alive, he still managed to shine as bright as the sun. But sweet, innocent Gon has not earned himself more than a moment of hesitation before the final blow. Yes, Gon is bright and amusing but Killua could live without him. It would be a pity to lose such a willing source of entertainment but he would not give it more than a moment of thought. The other person, however... Killua was not sure if he could kill him without a serious reason even if he tried. His brother, his dear Aniki, was always so protective and caring with him in his own way. Most people would call Illumi a control freak with brother issues but Killua just called him a caring and protective older brother. Illumi was probably the most breathtakingly bright and colorful person Killua has ever seen in his life. He brought with him bright splashes of crimson where there had been only grey. He was so animated, so complex, and just so alive that it took Killuas breath away. And Illumi was his. His Aniki never looked at anyone like he looked at him. And a possessive, selfish part of him was immensely satisfied. Thinking about his older brother and how Killua really needed to see him soon or he would die of boredom he barely noticed how he fell asleep.