Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V
Part VI
Part VII
Part VIII
Part IX
Part X
Part XI
Part XII
Part XIII
Part XIV
September 5th, YorkNew City, 12:01AM
Hisoka and Chrollo stood outside of the airship in the bright September moonlight, facing one another exactly six meters apart, with a gorgeous view of the Gordeau Desert surrounding them as a light breeze whistled gently through the stones around them. Puffy clouds holding intermittent showers built and imploded in slow motion around them, sprinkled with moonrays. Hisoka couldn't asked for a more perfect date, as he removed his shirt and posed a little, peeling off the fake Gennei Ryodan tattoo he'd crafted with Deceitful Texture.
“With this, it won't be considered an internal dispute, right? C'mon, let's go crazy!” Hisoka purred, stretching his long arms over his head and rolling his hips seductively.
“...I see,” said Chrollo, unmoved by the display. “You're not a member, so we can talk freely...I'll be blunt, then. I can't fight you. Or rather, I'm not worth fighting right now. The enemy used his Nen chains on me, and right now, I can't use any Nen at all.”
“Oh, don't be like that,” Hisoka pressed on, eyeing Chrollo's muscular build. “A little bluff isn't going to discourage me!” With his final syllable, Hisoka launched eight playing cards directly into Chrollo's vital spots, as the latter stood very still and eyed the attack with a level of detachment of which perhaps only Chrollo Lucilfer was capable. At the very last second, however, Hisoka activated his Bungee Gum, retracting the cards and allowing them to float away on the damp air. Chrollo gave him a look of mild pity. Hisoka's mouth twitched angrily as he realized Chrollo had, in fact, told him the truth for once.
“Damn it all,” Hisoka muttered, boarding the airship in only ten quick strides of his long legs. Inside, he found Nijiiro standing at the window, chewing her lip as she stared out at Chrollo. Her eyes were damp, but her cheeks were dry.
“You,” Hisoka snarled, looking at Nijiiro as if she'd slapped him. “This is all your fault, you conniving little-”
“You got exactly what you asked for, Hisoka. Nothing less, and nothing more,” Nijiiro said curtly, turning to face him.
“You promised me a fight!”
“I promised you a win, my ataraxian beauty,” she countered, with a bittersweet smile. Hisoka was technically very good at thinking things through, but fortunately for Nijiiro, he only thought through all the wrong things in such a thorough manner. “I said, and I quote, 'You will never have a better chance at defeating him.' I daresay that was exactly what you received.”
“You are a raging asshole, you know that, kid?” Hisoka grumbled, throwing himself into a bench seat in front of the airship's wide window. Two years of waiting gone right down the drain. He sent a text to Illumi, absolving the eldest Zoldyck son of any further impersonation duties. He'd actually sat and played the role of 'Hisoka' without springing his brother free of the Spiders' captivity instead. What a professional.
“You have no idea,” Nijiiro said, sitting directly beside him. She leaned against Hisoka's brawny bare shoulder, still at a loss to understand how the worst part of this evening was still to come. She was exhausted.
“How was he?” Hisoka inquired mildly. To say the man didn't hold grudges was to say a sieve didn't hold water. It was his primary function, as far as Nijiiro was concerned.
“Terrible. I think I'm in love,” Nijiiro replied, her expression as dark and bitter as her humor. Kurapika's acrid charms had thrown her off-kilter by a good bit more than she would like to admit. His aura, his eyes were...unbearably beautiful. Nijiiro had always despised the sight of Scarlet Eyes, and the horrid memories that came with them, but one glance at the real, live thing, and... She shook her head suddenly, like a dog shaking water from its ears.
“Your promises aren't usually this disappointing,” noted Hisoka as he looked out over the desert view. The airship was going very fast.
“If you'd really wanted a fight to the death, you've had the leverage to claim it since the morning of the first,” Nijiiro said gently. She reached into her pocket and withdrew a tiny bag of her favorite kind of snow, and an appropriately sized spoon with which to shovel it away. 'And miles to go before I sleep,' she thought, watching the fresh powder disappear like magic. Hisoka watched her, his brow knitted in concentration, in silence for nearly a minute before he finally realized what she'd meant. His head leaned back against the window glass with an audible thunk, and he made a pained expression at the ceiling. “See?” Nijiiro added, dabbing at her nose, “You've got no one to blame but yourself, and your horrendous short-term memory. It seems that in your endless quest for fighting, you've clearly taken one too many blows to the head.”
“Speaking of,” said Hisoka, glancing at the empty bag in Nijiiro's hand, “...shouldn't you be sleeping now?” He looked at her face, complete with deep bluish hollows beneath her dazzling eyes.
“Yes,” said Nijiiro wistfully, “but...”
“Tch. More scheming to be done, is there?”
“Always.”
“I'm not going to-”
“I don't want your help,” Nijiiro snapped. Hisoka blinked. For some one who had just done a dangerous amount of cocaine, she seemed very unsatisfied.
“Then stop bleeding so much, and I won't be forced to help you, brat,” Hisoka said tartly. Nijiiro realized he could sense the severe injuries her use of Passion had racked up. Now that she'd deadened the pain, it was time to slap a little first aid over the deeper lacerations. They were, as expected, quite grisly, but all in places she could reach. She stripped off the necessary articles of clothing, and patched herself up gradually with the medical kit in the airship's first aid station, smoking a cigarette and humming the airs from Saint-Saens' Danse Macabre. Hisoka watched patiently, following her slender hands through all seventy-eight stitches and over ten meters of gauze. It was almost as fascinating as watching her make her injuries disappear with Serenity, yet far easier to follow with the naked eye. Well, easier for Hisoka, perhaps, since watching some one whip together seventy-eight stitches and cover them in under three minutes would be a dizzying affair for anyone else. Nijiiro finished by slapping a small adhesive bandage over a scratch that had appeared just behind her ear and looking at Hisoka expectantly.
“Better?” she quizzed, her expression a tad lighter than before.
“You're asking me?” Hisoka returned, tilting his head. 'Touché' thought Nijiiro. “By the way,” he went on, looking Nijiiro up and down closely, “In the real prophecy that I received, I wasn't supposed to fight Chrollo until Tuesday, and half of the Spiders would be dead by the time I left. It seems that things...deviated quite a bit, didn't they, Nijii-chan?”
“How odd,” muttered Nijiiro. Deviated was an understatement. She threw her clothes back on hastily, and checked her phone. She had already bypassed the airship's speed-limiting safety protocol and put the cumbersome craft into overdrive, setting it on a custom trajectory to land on the top of Ringon airfield's parking garage. She almost felt sorry for whomever had rented the thing, since she was about to get them into a world of bureaucratic hullabaloo with the Air Transit Authority, but time was most definitely of the essence here. The airship touched down hard on its target just five minutes after it launched, and Nijiiro, now fully ecstatic with the chemical cocktail she'd applied to her brain, remembered her other phone, the important one, still buried in the seat cushions of Nostrade's white sedan. She located the car easily, but then thought, 'why stop there?' She had, after all, come here to steal a car. She supposed she might as well make a statement.
The archaic lock mechanisms on the swaggering classic car never stood a chance. She climbed into the driver's seat, still lightly scented with Leorio's cologne. He had surprisingly good taste in brands, for what he lacked in moderation. Nijiiro quickly disassembled the outside of the ignition lock cylinder and jammed a nail file deep into the part, turning it until the cable inside had sufficient tension, and then twisting hard a few times until the engine roared to life. What a throwback, this thing, so very like the ones she'd cut her teeth on in Meteor City. She drove through the barricade to the parking garage, the cocaine and her general sense of causality both agreeing that she wouldn't be facing any consequences for what she was about to do, and rammed the car over a curb into the easement field nearest the dock from which Kurapika's dirigibles had launched. She whipped the car to and fro across the field, the heavy sedan's wheels chewing deep ruts in the freshly moistened soil. By the time her message had been spelled out, she spotted the airship containing Kurapika and his associates closing in on a landing. She floored the accelerator, spinning out a considerable amount of dark mud before tearing across the field and hopping the curb again with such a celerity as to break some parts of the driver's side suspension clean off. The bruises on Nijiiro's ribs complained loudly.
“Hush,” she told them sternly, wincing as she worked her way into late-night traffic.
“I haven't said anything,” answered Hisoka, eyeing her with some concern from the passenger seat. Nijiiro realized with a start that she'd forgotten about him entirely.
“Why didn't you get out at the airfield? You got your free taxi,” Nijiiro asked, as the sedan groaned and squealed loudly at her abuse. All of a sudden, she wanted to be rid of him.
“Who could turn down a free hay ride like that?” he smiled. 'She's come quite unhinged, hasn't she?' he thought to himself. Fortunately for Hisoka, it wasn't his job to stop her from getting into trouble. He likely couldn't if he tried.
“Tell Illumi he's got custody of you for the rest of the weekend,” Nijiiro announced, “I have other things to attend.”
“Really? I'd like to attend them, too,” Hisoka said, smiling his wicked smile. And he did. If part of Nijiiro's schemes involved freeing Chrollo from Kurapika's Nen chains, he definitely wanted in. Nijiiro slammed on the brakes, nearly causing a pile-up in the middle of five lanes of YorkNew's main westbound street.
“Out,” she said, as horns around them blared and expletive-laden driving tips poured in from neighboring vehicles.
“What?”
“Out! Get out! Get the fuck out!”she shouted, at a bracing volume that shook the windows, as she gripped the steering wheel so hard it nearly cracked. She was glaring at him with a sudden, terrible rage that left Hisoka uncharacteristically speechless. Nijiiro was almost never angry. To see her like that, without any warning... Hisoka decided to make a tactical retreat. The last thing that he needed was a scarlet-eyed Nijiiro shredding her way through downtown YorkNew City like a rabid tiger, no matter how amusing such a bloodbath would be to witness. Even though he'd be the first one torn through. He sighed gallantly.
“Some taxi you are,” he said, deeply disappointed. She was usually so tactful about tossing him aside, that oftentimes he didn't even realize it was happening. This was an odd day indeed. He disappeared across the roofs of the river of commuters.
Nijiiro breathed in deeply, surprised at how close she'd come to completely losing her temper with Hisoka. He hadn't known what he was saying, or rather, Nijiiro should have known he'd say it, and she did, but she was having a hard time...compartmentalizing...the way she usually did. She laid a hand over her heart, willing it to calm, and closing her eyes until she regained her focus. She opened her eyes to find a burly man with a naked pin-up girl tattooed on his forearm tapping on the window, ordering her out of her 'vee-hickle.' Nijiiro used her newfound calm to dig a standard mafia issue nine-millimeter out of the glove compartment and turn his head into a canoe at close range, right through the driver side window, before pulling off into the traffic relief lane despite a double-row of orange safety cones. 'Calm Nijiiro is the best Nijiiro' she thought, looking into the rearview mirror at her reflection. She ditched the car as it rolled off of an unfinished overpass, and watched it sink into a deep YorkNew relief canal until only the fake mafia plates and dying tail-lights were visible above the murky water. She ran the rest of the way back to the Spiders' hideout, approaching as stealthily as she could, and found all ten remaining members sitting patiently - either reading or frowning - by candlelight. Nijiiro steeled herself to her purpose, activating her Zetsu and creeping lightly into the rear of the building. Her goal was not in the main hall, but in the small vestibules near the back of the building being used to store the now divvied-up piles of the mafia's stolen treasure hoard. It was at that moment, that Pakunoda felt a creeping suspicion, a faint tickle, raise the hairs on the back of her neck. The ninth Spider of the Gennei Ryodan stood up.
“What is it?” asked Shalnark, watching her carefully.
“I'll be right back,” Pakunoda smiled reassuringly. Shal exchanged a look with Kortopi, who shrugged as Paku walked away into the half-collapsed hallway leading into the center of the building. Nijiiro fell into step behind her, matching the clicking of her stilettos to the dull clunking of Paku's square-toed pumps.
Paku stopped in front of the cracked, sagging doors of the previously office-like rooms of the dilapidated passageway and glanced around, hearing and sensing nothing but the drizzling rain that still fell in light bursts over the sparse roof. One door in the hallway was ajar, and in the dull ambient light, Paku could see the outline of a large moldy desk sitting askance through the gap. Paku wheeled around, carefully studying the darkness of the hallway behind her, but the silent corridor offered no explanation for the unease that crept along her spine. As she turned forward, however, she drew a sharp breath. There, placed upon the desk, was a filigreed silver cigarette lighter, sitting open and lit. The lighter itself was not frightening, but Paku had gasped as she realized she recognized the object, and knew exactly to whom it belonged. Like a slow, cautious moth, Paku walked silently toward the lighter, careful to prop the door open behind herself.
“Nijiiro...” Paku whispered, looking down at the yellow flame. She reached for the lighter hesitantly
“Good evening,” Nijiiro said calmly from the doorway. Pakunoda made a startled sound and turned to see the founder of the Gennei Ryodan regarding her coolly, arms crossed loosely over her waist. Even in the insufficient light provided by the tiny flame of the lighter, Paku could see that Nijiiro looked atrocious. Deathly pale, with hollow, sunken eyes that were accentuated harshly by the melted lines of black mascara and eyeliner dripping down her cheeks, disheveled clothing that was smeared with filth, damp hair that was flecked with blood spatter and broken glass. “Ah, did I scare you, Paku?”
Pakunoda, familiar with Nijiiro's tendency to pull the odd prank, sighed with relief. She must have escaped, which meant...
“Is Chrollo far behind you?” Paku asked gently. Of course Nijiiro would smile and say no, right? Maybe she'd even throw in some of her peevish humor.
“Not far enough, Paku, not yet,” Nijiiro said, her eyes quixotic and a little mad, “but we're going to change that, here and now...”
“Saisho, I can't follow what you're saying...Where's the Boss? When is he coming back?” Paku quizzed, not really seeing the humor in the founder's words. Was there ever a more inappropriate time for pranks and jokes, Paku wondered.
“He won't be coming here,” Nijiiro returned, staring at the lighter on the desk for the space of a heartbeat before turning back to look deep into Paku's eyes.
“Nijiiro, please explain yourself,” Paku said through gritted teeth. There was something wrong here. Was Nijiiro...being manipulated? It would be easy enough to determine if Paku simply asked using her Nen ability, Memory Bomb, but would it be worth breaking the taboo against touching the founder? Nijiiro stepped in closer to the Paku, the latter taking a surprised step away and backing into the desk. The lighter's flame, burning low and orange, shook slightly when Paku's thigh bumped into the mildewed wood. Paku stood in stunned paralysis as Nijiiro closed the distance between them and slid one gloved hand around Paku's slender waist, pulling the taller woman into a delicate embrace that resembled a half-hearted ballroom dancing form. Paku gasped a little, and Nijiiro watched the air rush through Paku's pink, lightly-parted lips and down her throat from close range. Nijiiro grasped even tighter and pressed her head against Pakunoda's largely bare chest, breathing in Paku's delicate perfume, a soft scent that was like a bowl of fresh petals in water. Nijiiro had left her no choice.
“Nijiiro, what happened with you and Chrollo?” Paku asked, placing her hands on each on Nijiiro's shoulders. Nijiiro looked at Paku, her odd smile widening.
“Oh, Paku, my sweet, sweet Pakunoda,” Nijiiro breathed. She used her free hand to tilt Paku's long, oval face to look directly at hers and watched the download of information cause spasms in Paku's shocked expression. And in that instant Paku understood what Nijiiro had done. All of it, her memories, her sins, her schemes, her crimes, her punishments, her motives, her suffering and her triumph. It was all so...twisted...Nijiiro was a monster, her insanity far beyond anything Paku had ever imagined, but Chrollo was...even worse? Pakunoda had found it at last, the awful secrets she was never meant to see behind the curtain.
“Nijiiro...” Paku said, it a horrified whisper, “I didn't know, I didn't...what have you done?” Pakunoda shivered as the answer to her second question filled her head. She covered her mouth, eyes wide and moist with tears. It was too much to learn, far too much to reconcile all at once. She turned away from the Saisho's searing rainbow eyes and looked at the floor. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry for...everything, Nijiiro, I...Please...” Pakunoda trailed off. She didn't want to want to die yet.
“It was you, Paku. Every time, every time I left, it was you, wasn't it? Your powers that captured me again,” Nijiiro spoke gently, brushing Paku's blonde bangs away from her face. Pakunoda whimpered. “You were the one, who tried to make me forget what happened...”
“Please... Saisho...I didn't have a choice,” Paku begged, not sure it would change anything.
“There is always a choice, you know that very well, Paku,” Nijiiro said slowly. “a choice between selfishness and abnegation, between freedom and thralldom, and you knew well enough, what the choices were. You always knew. I don't resent you, not even a little, yet you have chosen... poorly.”
“Let me set things right, Nijiiro, please, I want to apologize properly, even if it takes me the rest of my life,” Paku offered desperately. What else did one do in the face of pure, unbridled madness like Nijiiro's? How would she ever face Chrollo again, having seen the psychosis behind the Boss' perfect mask? What could anyone do, caught between the rage of the sky and that of the sea? Paku didn't know anymore. She just wanted to live.
“It just might,” Nijiiro said. She lifted her gloved hand and looked into the palm, as if it held important answers. Nijiiro's watched the blood pulse through Paku's throat, noting the timing carefully. “I don't need you to apologize, Paku...” Nijiiro's free hand curled into a fist, the other resting lightly on Paku's back. “...I need you to die.” Nijiiro struck exactly as Paku's heart contracted, her expertly-timed blow seizing the other Spider's heart with minimal effort. Paku clutched at her chest and looked at Nijiiro in utter disbelief, her mouth a perfect o of shock and horror. Nijiiro held Pakunoda as the latter slowly collapsed to the floor. The lighter ran out of fuel, and the room returned to darkness.
It wasn't until Nijiiro laid in her penthouse, looking at the hundreds of objects and furnishings she'd spent hours destroying in a blind rage from a spot on the marble floor, that a single tear made its way from her burning eyes to the cold stone.