A HunterXHunter Fanfic (Part XIII)

Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V
Part VI
Part VII
Part VIII
Part IX
Part X
Part XI
Part XII

September 4th, YorkNew City, 10:48PM

Kurapika watched in slow-motion horror as the Nen chains he had cultivated specifically to keep the Spiders' mysterious powers in check crumbled away from the founder of the Gennei Ryodan, and her aura returned with a vengeance. Unlike the cold dread of Chrollo's aura, Nijiiro's Ren was a white-hot shower of sparks that hummed and shimmered erratically with powerful, high-frequency radiance. Being near her unleashed aura was like standing in front of high-power stadium lighting from mere centimeters away, and Kurapika reacted instinctively, reaching for his switchblade and swinging it in a graceful upward stroke that slashed at Nijiiro's eyes. Nijiiro ducked beneath the blade, activating Passion before Kurapika could follow up the first attack. Suddenly, as suddenly is it had come on, Nijiiro's Ren disappeared and was replaced with an vacuous absence of any presence whatsoever. Kurapika wheeled around, ready to parry the blow that must be coming as his captive-turned-combatant dissolved into a mirage before his very eyes. Nijiiro withdrew Senritsu's flute from its owner's pocket, settled into the nearest first-class airship lounge seat and began the show. Kurapika's eyes swept the entire cabin, unable to see her for the span of a heartbeat, before she appeared to saunter in from the airlock's exterior door, out of thin air and into the airlock.
“Temper, temper,” illusion-Nijiiro tutted, her eyes full of condescension.
“Leorio! Stay in the cabin!” Kurapika shouted. Leorio, of course, acted in instinct as well, loping into the airlock with his trademark awkward, long-legged gait, his eyes wide.
“Idiot!” Kurapika snapped, “Now I can't use you for reference!” 'Of course,' thought Nijiiro. 'He thinks it's only his eyes that are being influenced. Too bad, Kurta. All seven of your senses are mine, and those of your friends, too. You are a mere trio - I can play three people like marionettes, in this confined vehicle. This 'space' now belongs completely to me and my Passion. If I really wanted to, I could envelop this entire ship in my aura, and every sentient thing inside could experience a separate illusion of my choosing. But even this much is enough to control you and your goons completely. Perhaps you can appreciate being locked in an inescapable cage of a very different sort.'
“I-sorry, I just heard-” Leorio, looking at a leering illusion-Nijiiro with abject horror as he realized her bonds were missing, and their wild wolf was now loose inside the pasture.
“Stay vigilant! There's no telling where she really is!” Kurapika yelled, unaware that Nijiiro had absolute discretion over what either of them could see, feel or hear inside her illusion. There was simply no point in muting advice that wouldn't do either of them a scrap of good. Leorio stood with his back to Kurapika, keeping a keen lookout for any sign of Nijiiro in what was, ironically, a direct line of sight to where Nijiiro sat staring at the three of them through the open doorway. Kurapika and Senritsu activated Gyo, exerting themselves to see or hear anything that would give away Nijiiro's true location.
“I would save my energy, if I were you,” Nijiiro called, the words appearing to come from illusion-Nijiiro as she strolled through the airlock and toward the cabin. Senritsu's head snapped to where Nijiiro made her think that Nijiiro was really standing. 'So even the little gremlin's preternatural hearing can't trump the total sensory overtake of Passion, huh? That's good to know,' Nijiiro thought. Her strategy for any future encounters with Senritsu would benefit immensely from the information. Senritsu, for her part, felt as though cotton ear muffs the size of dinner plates had been applied to her head, and the distress as she strained for her usual level of auditory input was clearly evident on her mousy face.
“This- this is her power?!” Senritsu yelped hysterically. Gyo wasn't helping her at all, which meant... “This is a spacial phenomenon!” Kurapika and Leorio didn't seem to hear her. She groped for her flute, and found it missing. Had Nijiiro taken it...? She hadn't heard a thing. Illusion-Nijiiro wandered closer to them, and Kurapika tightened his grip on his switchblade.
“You won't be needing that,” Illusion-Nijiiro cooed, and the handle of Kurapika's knife was suddenly searing hot, causing Kurapika to drop it on reflex. The knife disappeared before it hit the floorboards. Kurapika glowered in frustration and lunged at Illusion-Nijiiro, who also vanished like smoke, reappearing instantly in the doorway to the cabin.
“You're at a serious disadvantage, Golden Boy,” Nijiiro said softly, sitting in her lounge chair. Kurapika felt the words as if they'd been spoken into his ear from millimeters away, her breath rolling down his neck, “Don't go flailing about, you might hit something fragile.” Kurapika threw a backhanded swing at the source of the noise, and found nothing but air.
“The only thing I'm going to hit is you, damn it!” Kurapika shouted back. He tried to calm himself, thinking, 'If I don't get agitated, I'll be able to spot the flaws in the illusion...No illusion is truly perfect, if I analyze it well...' He was very wrong about that. Nijiiro returned the sensation of Kurapika's heavy left hook to him then, and he reeled back even without the force of a punch to propel him.
“Kurapika!” Leorio shouted. Nijiiro chuckled.
“Sure, sure, but, where are you aiming?” Illusion-Nijiiro smirked, appearing just behind Kurapika where Leorio had been standing a moment before. Leorio appeared on the floor, unconscious. Kurapika launched a kick that hit the still-conscious Leorio squarely in the back of the head, causing the latter to see more than a few stars and howl in pain, before turning back to see Kurapika glaring at him intently.
“Kurapika! What the hell?!” Leorio yelled, and Kurapika seemed to surprised to see him clutching his head and grimacing in pain.
“Come now, your analytical skills are much better than that,” said a sing-song Illusion-Nijiiro, leaning casually on the wall of the airlock. “Or maybe you need to see it from a fresh angle?” She was toying with them, the way a cat would paw at some unfortunate creature it wasn't ready to eat yet. She could've killed all three of them with ease, but that was not the point of this exercise. She needed to prove just how easily she could turn their entire world upside down. Which she did, by turning their entire world upside down. Illusion-Nijiiro's eyes stared up at them, as they looked down at her from the ceiling, and all three of the Hunters experienced crashing back down to the floor cartoon-style in the ever-intensifying illusion. They had moved into the cabin of the aircraft, with the door to the airlock showing a red lock icon. Kurapika was the first to stagger to his feet, activating Zetsu in his desperation to regain his senses. Nijiiro smiled, her face full of pity. Zetsu was good for sensing one's surroundings without any Nen being thrown around, but inside of Nijiiro's radius, Kurapika had dived headfirst out of the frying pan and into her fire. Of course, in order to crush a fighting spirit, one needed to crush her opponent's sense of hope - and this was the perfect opportunity to hand him a little. “Why don't we have a bet?” Illusion-Nijiiro suggested smugly. “If any of you can land a single blow on me in the next thirty seconds, I'll tell you the names and weaknesses of every Spider involved in the Kurta massacre. If not... You'll have to answer my questions instead. Agreed?” The real Nijiiro strolled to the doorway, twirling Senritsu's flute like a baton.
“I'll be wiping that shit-eating grin off your face, you weirdo!” Leorio yelled, looking up at the Illusion-Nijiiro that sashayed along the ceiling.
“I'm going break this illusion and make you regret those words,” Kurapika said, though admittedly he was not sure how to that. 'If she offered that bet, it means, for one reason or another, that I can't win. The secret to her power lies in understanding why I can't win, right? It would be dangerous to accept any offer she makes without knowing what she did to escape not one, but both of my Nen abilities...' Kurapika rationalized carefully, before Leorio said:
“You're on, Spider! And I'm kicking your ass first!”
Illusion-Nijiiro melted into a plume of bluish smoke and dissipated, swirling into the air around them forebodingly. The real Nijiiro appeared in the doorway before them, clutching a certain, very important flute. Her violet eyes burned bright with wicked glee.
“Your time starts now,” Nijiiro grinned, slamming the flute into the floor hard enough to shatter it into a dozen pieces. Senritsu's eyes widened with fear.
“We're screwed,” she said, uncharacteristically blunt with her words.
“What do you mean?” Kurapika asked, not quite trusting that it was even Senritsu who spoke.
“Her ability is a field phenomenon, like mine...” Senritsu answered, trailing off as Kurapika realized the implication. They couldn't get out of the ship while it was in flight, which meant...the only way to counter her ability was to control the 'space' Nijiiro's ability had usurped was to take it over with another Nen ability. In other words...only another, more powerful field phenomenon could defeat a field phenomenon. In destroying Senritsu's flute...Nijiiro had intentionally demonstrated that they were out of options. But a technique this powerful had to have limitations, didn't it? Why had she only offered them thirty seconds? Kurapika knew he didn't have enough information. But what he needed to know might be offered up voluntarily by his enemy, since she had no intention of killing him yet. He looked at Leorio and Senritsu, and his mind slid to Gon and Killua, still captive of the Spiders at their hideout. He wondered whether Nijiiro had somehow told Chrollo how to slip his Judgement Chain in a similar fashion. In fact... Kurapika's horror grew as he realized he had no conclusive proof of how or when Nijiiro's illusion had actually begun.
Nijiiro marked the helplessness building in Kurapika's eyes, licking her lips. It was time for the finale.
“Even if you can play this moronic game of hide-and-seek with your ability, it's not much of a threat if you can't actually attack,” Kurapika said, knowing that she'd likely either correct him or reveal herself by attacking, both of which were beneficial to him in one way or another. As it turned out, Nijiiro knew that, too.
“For a smart boy, you say some very foolish things,” Nijiiro laughed, with a beatific smile that didn't suit her one bit. Freezing cold water burst into the windows, rushing in with such force that the three-meter cabin ceilings would be overtaken in less than a minute. 'I don't need to reveal my true form in order to kill you, moron,' Nijiiro mused, while also reminding herself that killing him would be a huge mistake, whether or not it offered a momentary satisfaction. The truth was, she could carve him up like a roast hen and make it feel like butterfly kisses, or tickle him with a feather and make it feel like near-lethal electrotorture - there were no arbitrary limits on the power of Passion. Nijiiro stood in the knee-deep deluge and calmly lit a cigarette. It would be fun to watch them struggle with the 'reality' of the illusion, as were, the way so many overconfident combatants had before them.
“Tch. You should have kept the ridiculousness to a minimum, Spider. An illusion that can't even suspend one's disbelief can't kill-” Kurapika stopped as the water reached his chest. It was so cold. He knew he could breathe it, since the 'water' didn't exist where he stood, but was instead filled with perfectly breathable air. So if he didn't doubt himself, he could... The thoughts ceased as the water closed over head and he attempted to keep breathing normally, only to discover that what began to fill his lungs felt very much like frigid seawater. He closed his mouth, instinctively holding on to what little air he had even as the salt burned his lungs. Kurapika realized that while his conscious mind might not believe the illusion, the rest of his nervous system did. Leorio was holding tightly to the handle of an overhead luggage compartment, while Senritsu swam over to the door to the airlock, attempting to open it repeatedly. The water filled the cabin, floor to ceiling, and through the mirage Kurapika watched Nijiiro sit on a lounge seat, one of four grouped around a tiny coffee table, and take a deep drag of her lit cigarette. The end burned a harsh orange against the refracted bluish light bouncing off of the cabin walls, and she exhaled a line of dense smoke that drifted straight through the water without a single bubble. Kurapika felt his head become light, his lungs already on fire. His scarlet eyes glared at Nijiiro's purple ones defiantly, as the latter crossed her legs and leaned back in her seat casually. Time was up.
“I believe that's checkmate, Golden Boy,” Nijiiro said softly. Kurapika's vision went dim, and he made a desperate effort to strike at Nijiiro through the heavy, momentum-sucking water as the remaining air in his lungs escaped to the ceiling of the airship's cabin. A moment later, he was on all fours, perfectly dry and coughing up imaginary water from his lungs. Nijiiro could feel the aftereffects of Passion building along her skin, and closed her eyes slowly, pushing the destructive Nen payment to the furthest ends of her limbs. This was really going to hurt, and seeing as she had just used Serenity to escape Kurapika's Judgement Chain, it was going to hurt for at least another twenty-four hours. Nijiiro took her cigarette into her right hand and put her left into her pocket. She looked down at Kurapika from where she reposed on the seat, her eyes still an eerie violet flame. “Have a seat,”she said, gesturing to the empty recliner across from her own.
“Go to hell,” said Kurapika, suddenly finding himself in the seat anyway. Nijiiro shook her head.
“That can wait. It's time for you to answer my questions,” Nijiiro said calmly.
“I'm not telling you a damned thing,” Kurapika said, “I never promised you answers.” Leorio flinched. Nijiiro raised a silver eyebrow at the technical approach.
“Ah, but you're going to entertain me nonetheless,” she said.
“Entertain you? You want me to fucking juggle now?” Kurapika snapped. Nijiiro snorted at the unexpectedly literal interpretation of her words, coughing and laughing at once at the suggestion. She cleared her throat.
“Be my guest,” she grinned, “but I meant it more in the conversational sense.” Passion was beginning to ache dangerously in Nijiiro's eyes. Despite being the power Nijiiro used most often, and of which she had the best control, Passion, like all of her other powers, increased in strength as time dragged on. The ratcheting effect, which increased both the power of the technique, and its drawbacks, was inescapable. She would need to release it soon.
“Why should we tell you anything?” Leorio grunted, and Nijiiro shot him a withering glance.
“Stewardess, fetch me two clean glasses,” she ordered indolently. Leorio moved a step toward the beverage station in the corner before turning indignantly back to Nijiiro.
“St-stewardess?!” he shouted.
“That's your purpose here, is it not?” Nijiiro said, sounding bored. “Because, honestly, I can't think of anything else. Your aura is underdeveloped, weak, without even a hint of Hatsu. You're unbearably naive, an incompetent Nen user, and a worse chauffeur. Make yourself useful for a change, and fetch us a glass or two, Stewardess. And an ashtray,” Nijiiro exhaled a plume of smoke in his general direction for emphasis.
“I refuse,” Leorio said stubbornly, knowing he should play along. She was, after all, correct on all counts. Nijiiro sighed.
“No rest for the wicked, I suppose,” she mumbled. An illusory Nijiiro in a tightly fitted flight attendant uniform strolled by, depositing an ashtray and two clean whiskey glasses in front of Kurapika, who stared at the empty tumblers as though they already contained some kind of poison. Nijiiro pulled out her hip flask, which, by all the graces, was still half full.
“What do you want?” hissed Kurapika.
“Money, power, champagne, comfort and fame, just like everyone else. A chance to exert my passions upon the lives of others,” she said absently. “But...it is with our passions as it is with fire and water; they are good servants, but bad masters.” Nijiiro poured the brandy into each tumbler carefully. Not that she had bothered paying for it, but ounce-for-ounce the hundred-year-old pale lilac-colored liquid was worth more than scorpion venom. She set the flask on the table and took the glass closest to her. It was made with the ten-year fruits of an extinct tree, for crying out loud.
“What is she talking about?” Leorio said in a low tone to Kurapika. Kurapika continued to stare at Nijiiro with intense focus, and didn't answer his friend. Kurapika knew a half-truth when he heard it.
“I am talking about things obstreperous buffoons like yourself needn't ponder,” Nijiiro said patronizingly, answering Leorio. “But if you need something to think about...” Leorio found Nijiiro's plunging neckline eclipsing his field of vision, despite not actually having seen her move at all. Her small, warm hands were wrapped around his own, and inside his own hands was a small, round, hard and very heavy object about the size of an orange. “Why don't you focus all of that extra energy on making sure that-” she pulled the pin out of the grenade by its ring, twirled it on her finger and then dropped it into the drink in her hand, “stays in one piece, eh?” She settled back into her seat and raised the glass in her hand to Kurapika. “Your good health, Sir,” she smiled, taking a deep draught of the brandy. Kurapika looked from the grenade to Nijiiro's utterly relaxed face in disbelief. Leorio sat for a moment, before suddenly realizing that there was indeed a live grenade in his lap. Senritsu decided to stay in the far corner of the cabin, next to the door to the airlock.
“I-is it, it's a r-real grenade isn't it?!” Leorio sputtered, not sure what to do and looking to Kurapika desperately.
“Only one way to find out,” Nijiiro leered, taking another drag of her cigarette.
“You're absolutely mad,” Kurapika breathed, not sure there was anything more befitting of such a moment.
“We're all mad here,” Nijiiro retorted, her Cheshire grin widening by a few molars behind a cloud of smoke, “even you.” She released Passion, and felt bruises shred her ribs, left shoulder, and both calves. She knew there would be some deep cuts, as well, but the pain from the bruises eclipsed all other sensation. Nijiiro didn't even flinch.
“Just hold the lever on the top down, gently, and don't shake it around,” Kurapika said, wishing they'd bothered to frisk her properly. He had noticed her eyes shift back their usual – in the loosest sense of the word – rainbow irises. He noticed her aura change, become the very tiniest bit smaller, less dense. “That is indeed a live grenade.” Leorio made a grinding sound in the back of his throat that sounded as if he'd swallowed a squeal only halfway, somewhat indicating that he understood. He affixed his stare to the object sitting between his palms as if it were the only thing on Earth that mattered. And for his own sake, it was an appropriate sentiment.
Kurapika turned to Nijiiro, not sure he'd ever loathed anyone so completely in less than an hour spent together. Nijiiro gave the slightest shake of her head at Kurapika's sober expression.
“There's no need to stare like that. Are you, perhaps, ready to behave yourself, Kurapika?” Nijiiro smirked. The scarlet eyes burned at her even more brightly. A fraction of a thought graced Nijiiro's mind lightly, presenting itself without many words; what if the Kurta was truly like her, his life at the mercy of the Nen in his eyes? It was the closest thing to a worry Nijiiro had felt in more than half a year, and she swatted the thought away. She tormented him for the pleasure of seeing his beautiful eyes, and if Kurapika valued his own life, he'd get a grip on his reaction to her cheap taunts. 'But do avengers like him really value their own lives, Nijiiro?' her inner monologue asked. No, but he valued lives in general, especially those of his friends. That was how...she would pry him wide open.
“Do you think that simply sitting here with three of us and displaying your power without attacking were wise moves?” Kurapika huffed, hoping Senritsu would understand the subtle request for help, and could aid him in coming up with a counter-strategy to Nijiiro's incredible powers. A cursory glance at Leorio's sweaty face showed him too preoccupied with the explosive in his lap to be of any assistance. Nijiiro drained her glass while staring at the ceiling in mock supplication, making sure to tuck the grenade's pin in her cheek.
“Yes,” she said succinctly.
“Do you honestly think I'll be answering your stupid questions?” Kurapika pressed through gritted teeth.
“Yes,” Nijiiro said, her eyes sparkling a bit.
“I have nothing to say to you,” Kurapika intoned, his voice as low and serious as Nijiiro had ever heard it. She licked the brandy from her lips.
“You have a great deal to tell me, I think. At least, you have a great deal that you will tell me,” Nijiiro said smoothly.
“It is pointless to talk to a mad dog like you,” Kurapika snapped.
“Great wits are sure to madness near allied, and thin partitions do their bounds divide,” Nijiiro said, with smile turned a wee bit crooked. 'And he called me a barbarian,' she thought.
“Not near enough, in your case,” Kurapika said acidly. He was not in the mood for self-gratulatory poetry.
“That's rich, considering the sudden...lack of advantages you find yourself with,” Nijiiro said softly, tilting her head as a few strands of her long silver hair fell against her pale face. “I wonder what manner of wit that implies?”
“I've seen through your techniques already-” Kurapika began, a bluff that would be sincere enough before any other pair of eyes on the planet.
“Bullshit,” Nijiiro smirked, “...And, even if it weren't, what makes you believe that the reverse isn't also true?” Kurapika's serious eyes flashed. He was beginning to understand.
“You don't know what you're talking about,” Kurapika said tersely.
“I'm talking about the fact that you will forfeit your life if you attack anyone but my Spiders with those chains of yours,” Nijiiro said casually, “and the harsh covenant-restriction system you've created to help you draw unnatural amounts of Nen for your Specialist techniques.” Kurapika was floored, but only Nijiiro and Senritsu could sense it. Leorio was floored, and nearly dropped the live grenade sitting in his sweaty hands because of it.
“H-how? No one could've told you about-” Leorio said, utterly flummoxed by the accurate information he himself had only learned a few hours before pouring forth from the mouth of their enemy.
“Leorio!” Kurapika snarled, eyes transfixed on Nijiiro's face. She laughed softly.
“Does it perturb you, Samson, to know that I could sell you to the Philistines at my leisure? Perhaps...you should focus your attention on the fact that I haven't... Yet.”
“Perhaps I should bring your fetid temple down on your disgraceful head without giving much thought to you and your schemes, Spider,” Kurapika said.
“You are more than welcome to try,” Nijiiro said, “But you must know two things beforehand; The first, is that you would not only fail, but also die in that pursuit, which I will not allow. The second, is that if the 'temple' I built could be brought down with mere force, chaos, or sabotage, it would have crumbled a long time ago. I know this, because I've tried.” She refilled her glass with the last of the brandy in her flask.
“You won't 'allow' me to die? You've tried to bring down the Ryodan yourself? What sort of cheap act is that supposed to be? You and I are like oil and water, Spider. Enemies,” Kurapika scowled at her.
“You can think of me as your enemy, if it suits you better. But believe it or not, Golden Boy, I'm on your side in all of this. Or rather, you are on my side...whether you like it or not,” Nijiiro said, with a look of pity.
“Nonsense. Why must I sit here and remind you that I'm not acceding to any Machiavellian schemes?”
“Why must I remind you why we're sitting here in the first place?” Nijiiro countered smoothly.
“What?” Kurapika said, somewhat taken aback.
“Tell me how you came to be in YorkNew City tonight, Kurapika,” Nijiiro said, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Kurapika weighed his options. Should he reveal Hisoka's cooperation? Would it matter, at this point? “..Or shall I tell you?” Kurapika remained silent for a moment.
“...I'm here for my own reasons,” he said eventually. Nijiiro shook her head.
“You're here at my invitation, Golden Boy,” she said, her smile more pronounced by the second.
“But Hisoka-” Leorio blurted.
“...Was acting under my orders, yes,” Nijiiro continued. She wished she had pitched the gremlin and the oaf off of the airship already, but as it stood they were more or less her hostages now. The all-important leverage that would keep Kurapika from doing anything...rash. Nijiiro pulled out Kurapika's cell phone and sent Hisoka a text message comprised of a single word: showtime.
“Why should I believe a word you've just said?” Kurapika demanded. “From where I'm sitting, you're just capitalizing on a lucky escape from my chains, stalling for time without a way to finish what you started.”
“Ah, so you're calling me a liar,” she said, a little too calmly.
“Nothing more and nothing less,” said Kurapika. The fluorescent light bulb above Nijiiro's head exploded as her bemused smile drained away.
“Careful, boy,” she warned, and her eyes flashed in the dimmed stretch of cabin where they sat.
“It can't be helped,” Kurapika pressed on, despite the apprehensive expressions of his two friends, “if you're going say things that don't make any sense-”
“I've said nothing of the sort,” Nijiiro said, coldly. “Tell me, genius, why would Hisoka invite you to YorkNew City? You think he gives a sideways shitstain about your precious revenge mission? Indeed, if he had no knowledge of anything the Spiders were up to before he joined two years ago, why would he know that you were targeting them? Do you honestly believe that the information he offered you, was his own? Which of us is saying nonsensical things, Kurapika?”
“Enough!” Kurapika said sternly, standing. “I'm done playing your games!”
“You've barely begun,” Nijiiro said darkly. “Now, have a seat. It's high time you answered a few of my questions.”
“Are you deaf?! I'm not going to follow your damned orders, Spider!” Kurapika shouted, his handsome face twisted with a mixture of rage, disgust, and utter disbelief. “Just who the hell do you think you're dealing with?!”
“I return your words to you, Golden Boy. Sit, have a drink, and let's us two play a little game while we wait for Gon and Killua to return,” Njiiro offered.
“And if I refuse?” Kurapika spat, eyeing Nijiiro as though she were a form of weaponized anthrax.
“Then, I paint the walls with these two,” Nijiiro answered malevolently, glancing from Senritsu to Leorio, the latter swallowing loudly, “and we continue this conversation somewhere a lot less...comfortable...” She frowned at her cigarette, which had gone out in the time that Kurapika had wasted waxing poetic his pointless obstinance.
“What are the rules?” Senritsu asked, looking up from the floor. Kurapika blinked. Senritsu gave him a defeated look that said everything he didn't want to believe: Nijiiro wasn't lying, didn't mind murder or torture, and likely had the means to carry out her threats, if Kurapika didn't participate. Kurapika settled into the offered lounge chair very slowly. The worst case scenario...was that the Spiders' leader had already slipped his chains somehow, Gon and Killua were both dead, and Kurapika was sitting helplessly in an illusion while Nijiiro murdered his only other friends, sparing him only for the sake of whatever cruel and unusual punishment the Spiders had in store for him. Senritsu's words were the only thing he could attach to any other reality - and she was saying, in one way or another, that she wasn't ready to die just yet. Nijiiro leaned back in her seat, cracked her neck, and dug out her lighter while the cogs turned in Kurapika's golden head. His aura was truly a treat to watch; like fire or falling water, it was never motionless, but a graceful churning that glided over his body, veins of light and darkness crashing into one another as he mulled over his thoughts. 'Kintsugi,' thought Nijiiro, '...something that becomes more beautiful specifically because it bears the marks of having been destroyed.' She hastily abandoned the train of thought. She already liked him a bit too much as it was.
“The rules are simple. I ask questions, and Golden Boy answers them. If he hasn't answered at least three by the time Gon and Killua show up, I kill you and the Stewardess here, and then whomever taught him to use those Nen chains is going to be flayed alive for good measure,” Nijiro explained, adding, “Don't worry about repeat questions, there won't be any...and it should go without saying, but attempting to lie is not allowed. You can't lie to me, strictly speaking, but that doesn't mean I'll let you insult me by trying.” Kurapika's mind had more or less skipped over Izunavi since he arrived in YorkNew City, but Nijiiro's threat brought him the realization that everyone he knew, however tangentially, was on the menu for a woman like this one. Was his Nen master prepared to face off against the A-ranked horror that founded the Gennei Ryodan? Could he simply sacrifice Leorio and Senritsu in the interest of protecting his own secrets, even though the most important ones were already forfeit? Had she planned such a scenario specifically for him, knowing that he couldn't choose anything but to follow her in her designs? Looking at her patient expression as she twirled her lighter, he had his answer. He'd been played harder than a violin in a Tartini sonata.
“It seems like you already have all of the answers, Spider. What could you possibly want to know that badly?” Kurapika asked, feeling the humiliation settle over him like a mantle of cold slime.
“Are you a homosexual?” Nijiiro asked brightly. Kurapika's mouth opened slightly with the indecorous question's verbalization. Senritsu buried her face in one small hand and shook her head slowly. Leorio blushed and grimaced at the same time.
“What?!” Kurapika snapped angrily.
“A homosexual is a person who-” Nijiiro began obligingly.
“I know what it means!”
“Then...are you, to any considerable degree, a homosexual, or not?” Nijiiro asked placidly. Kurapika glared at her silently. He had expected logical questions – what are your other powers, what are your friends' abilities, names, addresses, habits, weaknesses, secrets. He wasn't really prepared for...whatever Nijiiro was after instead.
“...No.”
“But you enjoy cross-dressing?” Nijiiro pressed on, as if commenting on the weather, her tone bereft of judgment in any direction.
“Do I...what? I'm not going to dignify that with an answer, you maniac. What purpose do these questions serve?” Kurapika asked.
“I'll take that as a 'maybe.' So how do you maintain it?” Nijiiro asked, bringing her lighter to her half-finished cigarette.
“Maintain...what?” Kurapika asked, not entirely sure what he'd missed.
“That stick up your ass,” Nijiiro answered smoothly, taking a fresh drag, “That's gotta hurt, right?” Leorio, in defiance of every other thing that had happened during the evening, caught himself just in time to keep a surprised grin off of his face at the churlish yet apt insult. It was a narrow save.
“I look forward to killing you,” Kurapika said, his face in pure disgust.
“And in the meantime, Golden Boy, you ought to loosen up, and learn how to live a little,” Nijiiro said. “..Do you like to dance?” Kurapika simply stared at her. “Or, do you know how? That's alright, you've plenty of time to learn. Do you have any pets? No? Well, I suppose it's hard, when you're always on the move. Do you like movies? What sort? That outfit of yours is handmade, isn't it? Did you sew it yourself? Do you like spicy food? Hot curry, or...? What about books? Ah, so you do like to read. That's wonderful. Do you follow a religion? I see...” Kurapika's face, as far as Leorio and Senritsu were concerned, gave nothing away, but Nijiiro prattled on like an overly passionate census taker, asking questions as she looked intently at Kurapika. She paused occasionally, glancing around his face, as if to read his aura itself for concise answers, or to take another delicate puff of her cigarette. The room soon became filled with the lingering, spicy scent of her smoke, half tobacco, half incense. Kurapika stared on, determined to know precisely how the first thing that popped into his head at each of her questions came to be in her possession the instant he thought it, even as he tried to suppress the answers from appearing in his mind. She was definitely up to something. What did her strange eyes see that his couldn't?
“Don't you have anything better to ask?” Kurapika intoned bitterly.
“I'm technically not the one who arranged this awkward double-date, Kurta. But...I suppose I needn't drag on with the more banal baseline questions. We can move on to the more open-ended ones...What are your thoughts on cannibalism?”
“What in the unholy hell is with these weird questions?!” Leorio shouted suddenly, unable to contain himself.
“Cannibalism refers to when one consumes the flesh of one's own spe-” Nijiiro began, assuming that Leorio was having trouble with her vocabulary. She wasn't exactly wrong.
“I know what you said. What exactly do you mean, my thoughts?” Kurapika asked suspiciously.
“Hmm, allow me to rephrase it, then; under what circumstances would you commit to consuming the flesh of another human being? What ethical limits exist in your mind regarding the practice of cannibalism? You needn't be shy in answering, and take your time to think about it, if you have to...I'm compelled to remind you, however that you must answer at least three questions in the next forty-two minutes and thirty-seven seconds, or...” Nijiiro winked at Senritsu as she trailed off, her threat hanging over the room heavier than her fragrant smoke. Leorio looked at his watch. Nijiiro knew that Gon and Killua would show up at exactly sixteen minutes to midnight..?
“And you? Are you in the habit of consuming human flesh, Spider?” Kurapika said softly. Nijiiro smiled very, very slowly. Beauty and brains; the boy wonder was catching on rapidly.
“You haven't touched your brandy, Kurapika,” she deflected, glancing at the table between them. “Not much of a drinker?”
“I don't drink with monsters,” Kurapika growled.
“He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. Is not life a hundred times too short for us to bore ourselves?” Nijiiro answered wistfully.
“Of course, you would be a nihilist,” Kurapika replied caustically. “Or whatever philosophy conveniently lets you commit murder for your own amusement, right? Spare me the literary lecture, I am well aware that obscene creatures like you have no conscience.”
“Obscenity, which is ever blasphemy against the divine beauty in life, is a monster for which the corruption of society forever brings forth new food, which it devours in secret,” Nijiiro said, clearly enjoying herself. “I'm not a nihilist, Golden Boy, quite the opposite. I could pick apart your high-minded, dogmatic philosophy six ways to Sunday, but that I find no profit in it. What makes you believe that I am a nihilist is, in fact, the same thing that makes it so difficult to answer, nay, contend with, simple questions about sexual, philosophical and ethical boundaries. Your idealism believes them to be objective, where my realism knows them to be utterly subjective. You honestly believe I'm some sort of unnatural, heinous aberration, don't you? I, personally, believe the rot and filth of this world to be every bit as organic and wholesome as the seemingly pure and sacred.”
“Belief is extraneous to the facts,” Kurapika said, his voice thin. She was too sharp, even after two glasses of strong alcohol. “The law is reason, free from passion.”
“The fact remains that some one paid good money for that liquor, Golden Boy,” Nijiiro countered flippantly, adding, “Not me, but some one.”
“Is this what it boils down to for you, Spider? Materialism? Luxury goods?” asked Kurapika, his voice raw with misery. “Is this what the eyes of my clan bought for you?” He backhanded the glass off of the table, staring into Nijiiro's eyes with his scarlet gaze as the glass shattered. Nijiiro frowned. The Amontillado.
“I'm the one asking the questions here, but if you're really that curious, then please understand that I became a multi-billionaire long before your clan was destroyed. I have no need of the mere millions fetched by a handful of human trophies,” Nijiiro said. She glanced at the half-million worth of brandy puddled on the airship's dingy floor and sighed. Kurapika's hand slid into his waistband and clasped the grips of his bokken swords. There was a look in his eyes that spoke of murder and fear in equal measure.
“Billionaire...?” Leorio muttered slowly, one careful eye on Kurapika and the other on the grenade in his lap. “How much money do you have, anyway...?”
“More than enough to make you dance, Stewardess, you can be sure of that,” Nijiiro answered wryly, with a wink. “Even within the best A-rank criminal syndicate in the world, my...particular task...pays exceedingly well.”
“What task is that?” Leorio asked, before he could help himself. His ears had always pricked up at the mention of huge sums of money, whether he liked it or not.
“In a word, payroll,” Nijiiro replied. Kurapika's aura was twisting erratically with a kind of emotional poison, a deep pain that Nijiiro recognized immediately. Despair was creeping its ugly way into the shimmering gold halo around his head.
“Payroll?” Leorio asked, nonplussed. In his mind's eye, he saw the Gennei Ryodan's members lining up to receive their checks with punch cards and hardhats, and the image was too much for him.
“Yes, Stewardess. Payroll. This should be fairly obvious, but how do you suppose the national treasures, priceless artifacts, and precious metals stolen by the Gennei Ryodan become liquidated back to the ones who stole them? Or did you imagine we sit around munching on gold ingots and living in shacks fashioned from original Rembrandts?” Nijiiro joked. “Without my facilitation, the Spiders would each have to make their own arrangements – which, as you may know, is a risky procedure and the reason most thieves aren't thieves for very long - but through my system, the process is a more or less a smooth transition from trash to cash. And no Hunter, Blacklist or otherwise, will ever be able to put a stop to it. That is the open secret of the organized crime world: good resource management is everything. In that sense, I'm simply a very well-qualified liaison for interested collectors of wealth.” Albeit one who could destroy half the world's governments, quasi-government organizations, and Mafias with the insidious degree of leverage she'd gained in the process, but that was a different conversation.
“That's what you consider murder, kidnapping, theft, and torture? Good resource management?” Kurapika said finally.
“That's a gross oversimplification of a convoluted modus operandi, of course,” Nijiiro replied, unfazed by Kurapika's threatening posture, “but I wouldn't go throwing stones at others for kidnapping and murder if I were you, Golden Boy.”
“Don't you dare lump my actions in with yours, you god-forsaken filth,” Kurapika said, his eyes wide. He was nearing the end of his rope with her. If he didn't kill her soon, he didn't know what he was going to do. “We are nothing alike.”
“Then you aren't trying hard enough,” Nijiiro shot back. It was a rather unexpected retort, and Kurapika's eyes lost their irate madness by several degrees.
“What?”
“Gazing into the abyss, you must have realized it at some point, Kurapika. You can't catch a predator and yet remain the prey animal. Ambition has a price. And friends are a luxury of the strong,” Nijiiro said softly, her face very serious. Leorio glanced from Nijiiro, to his friend, who stared back at her intently. He suddenly felt oddly as if he were intruding into something he shouldn't.
“Those are the words of a lawless animal,” Kurapika said. What he didn't say, what he couldn't say, in spite of himself, was that her words were incorrect.
“Here is my final question,” Nijiiro said, closing her eyes and opening them again as she stared raptly at Kurapika's pinched face. “Gon and Killua are each imprisoned in an inescapable cell. You must kill one, and rape the other. What do you do to each of them?”
“Tch. What an unbelievably sick question,” Leorio interjected. He turned to his friend, whose eyes were still locked unflinchingly on the Spider who sat across from him.“Kurapika, listen, she's just trying to get inside your head. Don't let her get to you now. This is just like the two-choice quiz during the exam, remember? You don't have to say anyt-”
“This is what you really wanted, isn't it?” Kurapika inquired gravely. “I don't know how, or why, but this is the question you really want to ask. Those rules, you think I didn't notice the caveat they hid? There was no fixed number of questions. Once you get two answers, you can use your 'final question' to force an answer. Only this question has no answer does it?”
“Then you know nothing of your friends,” Nijiiro retorted, her tone equally grave. “Because there are two, very different, very important answers. And don't pretend you don't know what they are. Shall I answer for you?” Kurapika was silent, and so was the rest of the cabin. The tension was so high that Leorio and Senritsu could barely breathe, and everything was eerily still and silent as Nijiiro, sitting motionless with her long cigarette nearly gone, opened her mouth to speak. “...Killua could take it. He's endured torture before, and his loyalties lie primarily with Gon, after all. In fact, even if you chose to let him survive, he'd likely make you a target for his own revenge. And with his talent, he might just be able to pull it off. If it were the other way around, however...I think Gon would suffer irrevocable damage. The death of Killua, the violent betrayal by you, being raped by a friend whom he admires greatly, all of these things would shatter him like so much fine-bone china. You might even get away with it,” Nijiiro used her hands to gesticulate something exploding apart at the word shatter. “The real question here, the one you don't want to think about, is whether you would take the punishment you deserve, and risk dying before you complete the mission to which you've pledged your entire life...or would you sink into depravity and moral turpitude, and choose to hurt your friends in a certain way specifically because you could get off scot free to continue your objective? How deep into the rabbit hole will you dive to make your goals a reality, how low can you sink for the sake of your people before you can't see the difference between existing for their sake, and insulting their memory? Who will you sacrifice, and what, exactly, is the strength of your resolve? Who are you really, Kurapika?” Nijiiro's eyes were glowing, shining like those of a nocturnal creature caught in the beam of a lantern, and her pleasant, smiling mask had slipped completely. “That is what I want to know,” she half-whispered across the deafening silence, watching Kurapika tremble slightly with a merciless sense of satisfaction. She tossed the pin from the grenade at Leorio's feet as she stood. She strode to the window to look out at the tarmac, as Leorio fumbled with the pin and Kurapika sat motionless and staring at her empty seat. Kurapika could feel the powerful migraine promised to him nearly an hour ago sink its claws into the front of his skull, and two dull gray holes appeared in his vision. He breathed as deeply and calmly as he was able, although it felt like his scarlet eyes were stuck in his sockets, unable to revert back to their usual fawn color. He almost wished he hadn't flung his drink on the floor. Almost. He looked over to where Nijiiro stood, looking down at the landing pad. For the first time since he'd dragged her away from the other Spiders, he saw the design that was hand-embroidered into her coat. Killua had described it as “moons” but Kurapika's mind, desperate to focus on something, anything but Nijiiro's question, began to pick out the elements of its complicated design. Seven moons, or more accurately, a silhouette of the moon from one of every four days of the Lunar Cycle, were laid out in a vertical line from the neck of the coat to just below the waist, with the full moon sitting in the very center. Surrounding the full moon was a vesica piscis* that very much, when viewed as a whole, gave the impression of a staring, lidless eye. In the center of the full moon, the iris of the staring eye, a circle of bright silver thread ringed a graceful ibis, stylized in the manner of ancient Egyptian artworks. A bird which symbolized...'Thoth, the god of wisdom and learning...the eye is the all-seeing eye of Ra, and another word for the goddess of love, Hathor, and reconstructed, the entire design is a clever visual puzzle created to convey a love or admiration for knowledge, but only to those who know enough to deconstruct its symbology, in other words, a similarly erudite person who appreciates 'knowledge' itself in a similar fashion...' Kurapika realized with a start that he'd gotten the joke. He looked over Nijiiro, standing with her arms crossed as she stood at the airship's windows, wondering how much more complicated his revenge mission could become. How he could answer her question before four of his friends died in a single night, all for the same reason of trying to aid him.
Nijiiro watched Kurapika's eyes trace the design on her back from the reflective glass of the airship window. He was unbelievably stubborn, but if funneled in the proper direction...
“About your question...” Kurapika said softly, unsure what the end of his sentence should've been.
“That won't be necessary,” Nijiiro said, her voice very level, “They've arrived.”
“But! I haven't answered the third question!” Kurapika said, his eyes widening with shock. Just another moment's time, he wanted to say. He was dangerously close to begging, but Nijiiro simply sighed.
“Oh sweet, summer child,” Nijiiro said, turning around to him with a queer expression that was a smile and a grimace, “but you have already answered them all.”