From the 287th Hunter Exam to a war between dominating species, the assassin struggles to become normal, the forest boy searches for his father, the narcissist dreams of becoming a doctor, and the survivor seeks vengeance. One joins four. The female martial artist. "Hunter" a person who has proven themselves through rigorous examination to be an elite member of humanity. A re-telling of Hunter x Hunter with OC.

I do not own the story or characters of Hunter x Hunter. My OC is all I own.

For a night in early April, the weather was unseasonably cold. Spring was late. The land had been stripped of its bright emerald colors, the trees, cold and bare, a warning, perhaps delivered by the cruel Mother Nature herself, of the tragic events to occur that very cold night. The warmth of the sun at dawn had yet to touch the skies of Zaban City. Despite the silence of the night, the city was alive with light and sound.

Red.

A young boy stood unmoving in a darkened room, the room where his unnatural and vicious mission was completed, one may have not been aware that a happy family had been contently eating a well-made meal there.

At his feet, several bodies lay slumped across the red carpet, dyed by a continuous river of their dark blood that followed his footsteps. Expressions of wide-eyed terror set into the victim's frozen faces, the end of their life glazed into their hazy eyes, the perfect canvas of a predator's kill.

He was the predator, the hunter. They were the weak prey, the hunted, whose spilt blood meant nothing to the unforgiving, cruel world. The killing he had always known, had no restrictions, this soundless night with no significance, an addition to the endless nights of killing before this one.

The smell of freshly made bread mingled with the strong stench of blood, along with the scent of salty tears and vomit.

Splattering the walls, a dark red substance, oozing, slipping, down, down, the purple floral wallpaper of the living room. Silently, he shifted in his spot, once frozen in his place,

For a second, he looked confused, why was it that others easily obtained the happiness he desired so badly? Why was he the one who had to take that happiness away? He had monitored this family for quite a few hours, to him, they were intriguing. They talked and they laughed with each other while watching pointless things on television, when they weren't even watching anything, they just seemed to be having fun with each other. Something, that he had never experienced before. It was there right in front of him, but the light was snuffed out.

Looking down at his hands, his face contorted into realization and horror. Suddenly, he tumbled over, an unexpected pain had erupted into his head, and he clamped a hand over his nose and mouth in surprise, a desperate attempt to mask the overwhelming smell to his nose. He fell to his knees, breathing heavily, planting his hands to the blood-soaked floor with an unceremonious splash. Blinking hard, he stared into the eyes of his reflection in the ocean of blood surrounding him.

No...

For once, he was scared of himself, the reflection of himself in the blood stared back at him, taunting him, his piercing blue eyes held blood-lust and fear, red streaks stained the sides of his face, like primal war paint, had he no sense of humanity? The mental strain of his own sanity haunted him, he had no idea how long he was going to hold on, how long he was going to run away, no matter what he did, the killing continued.

Disgusted, he turned away from his reflection, he needed to escape from the building fast, it felt like everything was closing in around him. A pit of despair rose in his stomach, everything was vivid, the sights, the smells, the slippery familiar feeling of cold blood on his hands. He didn't understand, his family told him to stay away from remorse and guilt, he trained most of his life to shut those ridiculous emotions out, yet, why was he feeling them now?

Suddenly, he froze, eyes widening in realization. He didn't feel guilty, he was jealous. Jealous of the fact that, someone else had a happier and loving family than he did. A normal, gentle family. Was that what he wanted? Was jealousy really the reason he slaughtered this family without hesitation? He didn't know. In fact, he didn't want to know.

He soon came to the assumption that he felt this way because he was around his targets for a longer amount of time than usual, it was only natural. Soon, he began to reevaluate his intentions, these people meant nothing to him anymore, they are dead, lifeless, there is nothing significant to their existence anymore. He knew these things but, for some odd reason he felt the slightest twinge of doubt and the remorse remained, eating him from the inside. Fearing the worst of himself, he shakily placed two arms around himself, what was he doing? An assassin's job is quick and silent, they were like emotionless ghosts, monsters trained to hunt in the night. He stayed rooted to his spot, shivering slightly, he had to move fast, someone would soon come and discover his horrible deed.

Yes, that's what these terrible things are called, better yet-missions, these missions in which his family assigned to him, killing, assassination, murder, taking of one's life, those were all the things he was destined for, his ridiculous excuse for a happy future.

Running a hand through his silver hair, he stood up slowly, stumbling in his steps, as the strong stench of blood instantly hit his nose and his head began to spin. Being extra cautious not to gag, he carefully examined his hands again, his hands were still transformed, monster-like sharpened nails and unnatural bulged veins, colored by filthy red blood. A breath hitched in his throat, he looked like a monster.

A monster, yes, that was what he was, from the moment he was born, his life had been planned out for him, his family believed there would be nothing else but killing for him, but he was going to change that, prove them wrong, from now on, he was going to go his own way.

He let out a slow, shaky sigh, filling the cold and silent room with noise. Everything was swirling, his head, spinning. Red. The disgusting color was everywhere. He clenched his eyes closed, furiously hitting his forehead with a fist and growled in frustration, digging his nails into the palm of his hand. He raked through his brain, many thoughts and theories developed in his mind, trying to get a mental grasp of his situation, but the stench of blood threw his senses into a disarray.

What was wrong with him? Usually he wasn't like this with his other missions. Maybe his sanity was slowly deteriorating. If by miracle that happened to him, would he feel nothing the next time he kills?

With a strangled cry, he forcefully tugged onto the damp locks of his disheveled hair. Was there no sane reason to his limitless guilt as much as the killings he had committed? Was there no answer? No meaning? His clothes, drenched by blood, clung uncomfortably to his body. He wanted to go home. In fact, he just wanted to go to sleep, for a long time, his body felt incredibly heavy and tired, it surprised him, yet it placed him into a false sense of relaxation, was his inner assassin finally awakening? Would he finally stop feeling the conflicting emotions that were restricting him? For a brief moment, he thought of subjecting himself into a comatose state, nothing would bother him, no annoying family members or confusing, conflicting emotions, he could just disappear...

He shook his head. Right now he had to direct his focus on the mission at hand.

Slowly, almost as if he were hypnotized, he reached his right hand into his pocket, producing a blue sleek phone from his baggy shorts. Automatically, he swiftly dialed a number, and the line began to ring several times, with a deep breath, he began to try to calm himself down, as the sound of his phone vibrated into his ear.

After several seconds of endless ringing, he tightened his hand around the phone impatiently, why wasn't his brother picking up? He was so annoying. Can that guy really be so busy? Scowling, he tapped his foot in annoyance, while shoving his hand into his pocket. He had masked his emotions and fooled his mind, but his body remembered, he had no control, for some reason he couldn't stop shaking, and his blue eyes were widened with fear. Fear. That was it! He wasn't feeling guilty about killing nor was he jealous of this family, he was just scared of disappointing his brother, yes...that was the reason...

"Illumi Zoldyck," Spoke a chilling voice from the other line, interrupting his thoughts.

A wave of fear washed over him, a different fear, way different than what he had felt earlier, with a slight jolt of his body, he cleared his throat while taking deep breaths.

"It's me." He cringed at the nervous wavering of his voice, "The mission has been completed." He continued, after clearing his throat once more. He tightly clenched his fist, why was he so scared? It was only his brother.

"That took you a long time," Came his brother's emotionless reply, "Why did it take you so long? Did something happen?"

He rolled his eyes in exasperation, and for a second, he remembered the feeling of warm flesh and blood burrowing under his nails and he froze, eyes wide. With a ragged sigh, he ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the locks, "There were...complications." The boy replied quietly, a slight nervousness in his voice.

"Killua."

He fearfully flinched at the mention of his own name, his hand trembled as he tried to hold the phone close to his face, seemingly forgetful of the cold bodies and the ocean of blood that surrounded him. He could smell the blood on his hand, as a dull, swirling feeling erupted in his stomach. Nausea. It's been a long time since he had felt this way.

Illumi sighed, "You were always the stubborn one." He said. "We assassins are not allowed to feel human emotions, especially you," He stated firmly. "The Zoldyck are born professionals. We are talented, superior assassins who cannot show any forms of weakness through any means. Remorse and guilt is absolutely unacceptable."

At that statement, Killua's shoulders sagged, and he clenched his fist. Did that mean that he couldn't be happy? He had assumed that happiness was an important human emotion. Hell, without emotions we wouldn't be human. Just machines. Emotionless, ruthless, killing machines, the perfect murderers.

And that was the life his parents chose for him?

No.

No way. Not in a million years. What kind of worthless life is that?

Swallowing his pride, Killua found his ability to speak, "I know." He growled through gritted teeth. Almost immediately as he said those words, he regretted it. He just wanted to be free, if only...if only he could just speak up.

"Hm. That's good," Illumi commented, seemingly satisfied with Killua's response, "Now, how was your job?"

He exhaled sharply, Illumi always asked him repetitive questions whenever he had completed a mission, his brother was always harping around him, telling him that assassins shouldn't feel feelings or have fun. It wasn't just his brother. Sometimes it seemed that his whole family was against him, although Killua wasn't surprised. He should be used to these annoying actions by now. With another roll of his blue eyes, he pressed the phone closer to his face, "You always ask this, big brother, I'm sure you know already, because you probably watched me the entire time."

Illumi huffed, "I only wanted to hear your opinion,"

Killua sighed, clearly unamused, "Stalking the stalker, huh?" He crossed his arms and paused for a moment, staring at the ground, lost in his thoughts. "Can I ask a question?" He asked suddenly. For the slightest moment, his eyes became glassy and glazed over, as if the light had left them.

"Sure."

Killua hesitated, "That family..." He began cautiously, "Who were they? Why did I have to kill them?" He questioned, gazing down at the cold, slippery redness that was staining his hands.

All at once, the memories began to rush back to him, the smiling faces of his victims twisting to terror and horror, the salty tears spilt over loved ones, emotions of sadness, grief and fear enveloping the room, trapping him inside, choking him-

"Oh?" Illumi interjected, interrupting his thoughts, "Well this is different."

Killua froze, fear beginning to circle in his stomach, had he said something wrong?"

Illumi sighed, "Hm. This simply won't do." And then the line ended.

Suddenly, a light breeze flowed into the dark room, enhancing the stench of the cold blood; the smell was becoming stronger, burning in his nose. Killua clicked his phone off and shoved his hands into his pockets as he turned around, a bored look set into his face. "Big brother," He stated. "I thought you were in Yorknew?"

Standing in the low light of the moon, Illumi truly had the striking image of a robot. His eyes, were dark and empty. Eyes that had seen and caused the deaths of many; the perfect expression of an emotionless killing-machine.

Illumi held out a hand, "I just wanted to see how my adorable little brother was doing with his job. Consider me as your 'guardian angel' of sorts."

Killua scoffed. Some guardian angel.

"You know it's not very fair to me that you are judging my skills on this one mission." He stated with a sigh. Killua only managed to talk to his brother by avoiding eye contact, he did not expect Illumi to approach him before he finished the mission, had he made a bad move?

Illumi scratched his face, looking deep in thought, "And why is that? The world isn't fair."

Killua rubbed his tired eyes with his hands, "The moment I returned from Heaven's Arena, and I already receive a mission, does father not have enough confidence in me?" a hint of sadness tinged his eyes, his father was his hero, his role model, he always looked up to and respected him, how could he have been such a disappointment to his father?

Illumi brushed away the question. Killua shivered slightly, he knew he had already screwed up his mission, his parents were most likely furious at him. He had forgotten the rules.

"Listen to me."

With a shudder, Killua forced his head to turn, forcing himself to stare into the emotionless eyes of his brother. Instantly, he thought of the term, 'Eyes are the windows to the soul.' He wasn't one to believe in ridiculous statements such as that, but when he looked into Illumi's eyes, there was nothing. Did that mean Illumi didn't have a soul? Killua wanted to laugh. He wouldn't be surprised.

Illumi stared down into Killua's eyes, "You are an Zoldyck assassin. We feel no emotion when we kill our targets, our reasons to kill goes to our employers." Killua wanted to look away, he wanted to run, hide, anything to get away from his brother. He averted his eyes to the floor and Illumi grabbed his face towards him, forcing Killua to look up.

"I don't see how you can have concern for the dead, especially when you don't even know who they are, unless you somehow became friends with them. Seeing as you took this long to kill them, you were apprehensive until the very end of their lives." Illumi stood, towering over him with a shrug of his shoulders. "Doesn't do much that you feel guilt after you've killed them, stretching out the last happy moment of their lives, only to take that away. Your guilt is only the regret of not killing them any sooner."

Killua was silent, he knew that arguing would have nothing on Illumi, or any member of his family, it had always been that way. There's no escape from the Zoldyck family. Even if he could, he would never leave Alluka with them. He had to deal with these contradicting thoughts until hell froze over.

His thoughts interrupted and he snapped back to reality when Illumi pulled on his bangs, "Do you understand?"

Killua nodded blankly, and Illumi released the grip on his hair.

"Well, I am terribly busy, I will be checking up on you, later tonight." Illumi hopped onto the balcony ledge, "You'll be receiving a greeting from Milluki when you return home, I've ordered Tsubone to track you down if you don't return by dawn."

"Well then," With that last statement, he left into the dark night,

Clenching his fists, Killua dug his nails into his hand, piercing deep into the flesh and drawing dark blood. How long was this going to continue? He could bite, scratch and fight against his family all he wanted, but they were always there, watching over him. Keeping him in check with Illumi and torturing him into the perfect little boy that they wanted.

He paused and looked up at the clouded, polluted sky. He needed to return home. Despite the unfortunate circumstances waiting for him there.

With a sigh, Killua bent down to the small corpse that was the nearest to him. He laughed bitterly, observing the glassy, lifeless gaze in the cold body. The dead had more freedom than he did, and even his family could never dare to grant him that death.

The corpse was of a small boy, eight, the same age as him. A heavy weight seemed to grip at his chest.

The cursed words that left his lips, that stung and haunted him from that moment. An unsure, yet sincere phrase of sorrow.

"I'm sorry."