Disclaimer: I do not own Hunter x Hunter, or any related characters or concepts. Hunter x Hunter is owned by author Yoshihiro Togashi, along with Shonen Jump, Madhouse Studios, and various other persons and companies involved with the creation and/or publishing of the series. This is simply a fan-work written for entertainment purposes only.

Ugh. I don't even know how long it's been since the last update. So much for posting this chapter sooner. Sorry about the huge delay for anyone waiting.

What happened was that I wrote up the whole thing, edited it twice through, and had it all ready to post. Then I lost the memory card that it was saved on. It sucked. I'm normally judicious about keeping backups, but since I mostly wrote this chapter on the go, on a device without internet, in coffee shops and buses, I hadn't bothered to save it to my main computer or the cloud, and just assumed it'd be fine. Big mistake, there, since it wasn't. So, I had to redo the whole thing.

Then I got a new job. Then I moved to a new city. Then I started a new college. I really wanted to get it done again earlier, but I'd kind of lost the window of opportunity, before life went crazy.

Anyway, sorry for the rant, and again for the wait. In any case, this is by far the longest chapter so far, almost twice the length of any others. So, enjoy~

(Also as an aside, today (September 24th) marks exactly one year since the last episode of HxH 2011 aired. Time goes fast, sometimes.)

CHAPTER FOUR
-haunted-

Killua awoke with an anonymous shiver. There was no moment of relief – sleep hadn't dulled the images of the day and night before. The air stank with dust and blood. He wasn't sure how much of the latter came from the stains on his suit, and how much of it was merely in his head.

He blinked, eyes scanning the still unfamiliar house. Usually, he could wake in an instant, and be ready and prepared, but this time, his senses were groggy, dragging behind his mind and his body. The room was muddy with the night, nothing but black beyond the curtained windows. He couldn't have slept for more than a couple of hours.

His heart thudded in his chest. Why? Something was wrong. What?

A shape came into focus as his vision sleepily adjusted. Alluka. She wasn't slumbering on the couch beside him, but standing in the center of the living room, back towards him. What did she think she was doing, staring at nothing in the middle of the night?

He pushed himself up straighter on his palms. "Alluka?"

She didn't move. "You are finally awake, Killua." There was no trace of slumber in her voice. "I did not understand how you could sleep on a night like this."

Huh...? Something was wrong, but...

A shudder jarred his senses awake. Realization widened his eyes and opened his mouth. "Nanika?!"

Alluka had never referred to him by name, not once.

"I've missed you." Nanika said, not turning around.

Words dried up in his throat. What...the hell? Nanika had disappeared, abruptly and completely, two years ago. And even before then, the second being in his sister's body had generally only shown itself under certain conditions. Why now? Why, in the middle of the night?

"What are you doing here?" He managed, stammering. "Where have you been for the last two years? Why did you come back?"

This time, the silent figure said nothing.

He waited, the minutes dragging on until the hush threatened to suffocate him.

"Nanika?" He pressed.

The silent figure said nothing.

This wasn't right either, was it? Was this really the same Nanika he'd known two years ago? Nanika had always acted and talked like a child, but this was different. Still, he definitely wasn't speaking to Alluka.

His fingers curled into fists. "Nanika..." No matter what was going on, there was one more question on the tip of his tongue. He had to ask. "Can you...bring him back? Gon?"

Another silence stretched on.

"I'm sorry," Nanika answered, "I can't. Not even for you." Their flat voice fell. "I am not a skilled healer," they reminded, "even if I were to try and restore life where there is none, it is unlikely that this body would withstand the effort."

Killua's eyes fell, as an unexpected pang hallowed him out. Right. What a stupid thing to ask.

"Still," Nanika hummed, "I want to help you."

He looked up.

"I may not be a skilled healer, but I am a master of death."

Nanika turned. Blood painted the lilac dress and their pale, blank face in scarlet. It was fresh, blending over yesterday's black stains. Carving lines on their cheeks. Dripping from their chin. Pooling on the floor. Their absent eyes met his.

Killua shivered, his insides twisting in knots.

This was wrong.

"I have a question for you, too." Nanika – was this really Nanika? – stepped forward. "Where has being a good person gotten you?"

Killua swallowed, his voice tied up, along with the rest of him.

"You changed for him." Nanika came closer, step by step. "You threw everything away. All that you'd worked for. All that you were."

"I changed for myself!" He shouted, voice breaking through barred teeth. "What my family wanted... That's not who I was!"

The figure tilted its head. "And this is? After how hard you've struggled, what do you have to show for it? Rejection. Persecution. Poverty. It is impossible to succeed at anything when you are fighting yourself every step of the way. It is not the natural order of things."

They stepped closer. The smell – the sickly, metal tang – smothered the air around him.

"You could have been a prodigy." Their vacant mouth formed a somber smile. "On top of the world."

His nails shed blood from his palms.

"You should embrace your inheritance. Become who you are. Become the way the world still sees you. The way it always will. You will always be branded a killer, so why not be one? Your identity was decided when you were born with the Zoldyck name."

"You're wrong!" He snarled. "There are others...! Gon...!"

"And look how that ended." Something shifted in Nanika's empty eyes. "In the end, even he rejected you, didn't he? He used you, didn't he? Now look where you are."

A lump crushed the words in his throat. That wasn't true! It wasn't... Something must've happened to Gon, those two years ago. There had to be a reason why...

"I want to help you," they insisted, "I want to help you claim the power you are capable of, with me at your side. Together, we can paint the world red. We can have revenge. We can be free. We can stand above others."

Killua straightened, pushing back. He had to get away from there. But somehow, his body wouldn't quite work.

Nanika was above him in an instant. Their hands – Alluka's hands – shoved into his chest and pinned him to the couch. How? When had they become so much stronger? They had him. He couldn't move.

His sister's shape leaned in closer. Blood spilled from its chin, hot on his cheek. His pounding pulse strangled his lungs. The world wavered.

"Tell me, then," the thing whispered in his ear, "after all, you tried so hard. Were all your efforts worth it?"

Killua awoke with a start, bolting up on his palms. The dark room spun. But then, as the seconds passed, everything slowly melted into focus. The stench of blood faded. The first traces of light peaked through the curtains. No one stood above him.

He inhaled as his racing heart slowly subsided.

A nightmare.

He was still in the abandoned house, Gon was still dead, and he was still the top suspect. But his nighttime encounter with what had passed for Nanika had never happened. Of course not, Nanika had disappeared two years ago, after all. And in Alluka's own words, was never coming back.

A pang of guilt drained the adrenaline out of him. What a horrible thing to dream. Nanika may have had monstrous abilities, and yet, Nanika hadn't been a monster. Nanika had been a child, only as dangerous as the wishes people made, and who'd only wanted to please others. Everything the false Nanika had said had come from inside his own mind. A wave of nausea bubbled up, but he brushed it away before it could catch him. Damn, yesterday had really messed with his head.

As his senses sluggishly caught up to reality, he felt the weight still holding him down. Alluka. She must have shuffled during the night. Her head leaned against his chest, the rest of her curled up on top of him. Her sleeping breaths wheezed with the shaky rise and fall of her ribs. Shades of white and red marbled her sweaty face. Alluka, not Nanika. He sighed and placed a hand to her forehead. She was burning up with fever, and all of her medicine was still at their old hotel.

He pushed himself up, and gently nudged her shoulder.

She stirred. A part of him was still relieved when her eyes opened to reveal sleepy blue irises. "Huh...?"

"Alluka, I'm going out for food and supplies." He hoped she wouldn't hear the unease in his voice, left behind by that stupid dream. There was no way he could go back to sleep after that. "Stay and rest. You should be safe here. I'll be back in a couple of hours, and I'll bring medicine."

"Hmm." She nodded groggily, her eyes heavy with sleep and fever.

He carefully got up from under her and set her down on the couch. His own legs dragged beneath him. What a grim reality to wake up to, but that was all the more reason he couldn't lay around, wasting time with nightmares and restless nights.

"But Brother," Alluka mumbled, readjusting herself beneath the blanket, "you will come back, won't you?"

He stopped, then put on the most confident smile he could manage. "Always."

Killua looked up at the Equinox Inn. The hotel, a symbol of wealth and opulence, seemed infinitely more ominous than it had the night before – a cold, black shape reaching up into the smoggy sky. It had to be about seven in the morning, and already, several rooms were alight, illuminating the tower with patches of glowing windows amidst the gloom. Brief motions flickered through the lobby, and passersby occasionally wandered across the parking lot. There was no sign of the police yet, though. He needed to hurry.

Creeping around the building, he counted the windows from outside, until he found the one that had to belong to room 116. After a last glance around to make sure that the courtyard was clear of curious eyes, he leapt, clambering up the gutter, and towards the suite's balcony. The stairway wasn't worth the risk of running into someone.

The backpack, bloated with stolen goods, dangled behind him with noisy thumps, and his loose shoes rattled on his feet, leaving him to rely on his arms to haul himself up.

On his way to the hotel, he'd stopped at a local department store, before its opening hours. He'd strode right in and taken what he'd needed - medicine, food, supplies, a bag to carry it all in, and, of course, new clothes. Security systems and cameras posed no threat, after all, and now that he was already the suspect in his best friend's murder, what did shoplifting matter?

Killua climbed over the railing and onto the balcony with a silent thud. He'd taken one outfit that was intentionally too big, along with gloves and a hooded coat. Maybe the large footprints would throw off the police, and the gloves would prevent accidental fingerprints. The last thing he wanted to do was leave anymore 'evidence' in that room.

He studied the balcony doors, their tinted glass surrendering nothing but silhouettes of the space inside.

It wasn't that he'd wanted to come back...it was that he'd had no choice but to. Someone had murdered his best friend. Someone had framed him for it. Someone was determined to destroy both of their lives.

He wasn't going to run, not this time. He was going to avenge Gon and clear his own name. Whoever did this was going to regret it. Oh, how they'd regret it. He wasn't going to kill them until they begged for it.

Killua grimaced at his reflection in the glass. No. He couldn't let anger get away with him. Not grief, either. He simply needed to do what had to be done. That was it.

He grabbed the door and twisted the knobs. It wouldn't budge. Locked. Not with an electric lock, either, but with an old-style key and bolt. Still, what kind of ex-assassin couldn't pick a lock? He elongated his nails and dug into the innards of the thing. The door clicked open with little resistance.

His hands returned to the handles, but this time, he stopped.

...Just what was he going to see, inside?

A familiar face. Blood. Death. Sixteen.

One night had passed since the crime, and it was difficult to predict what the cops might, or might not, have messed with. He didn't want to see that scene again.

No. He shoved the images from his head. It was just another body. Just another crime. He'd seen countless others in his seventeen years. Far too many, really.

He swallowed, and slid open the doors.

The room opened up in shapes and shadows. His heart pounded in his throat, his swimming senses trying to make sense of the dark. His eyes flew towards the kitchen.

Nothing.

Well, almost nothing. White lines, and what looked like scraps of paper on the ground, were the only remnants of the crime.

The tension dissolved with a slow breath. For a while, he simply stood there, staring.

The police had done fast work. Perhaps because of the high profile of the case, or perhaps pressured by the luxury hotel, they'd replaced the darkness of the crime with clinical marks and notes. It was hard to believe that, just the night before, the same kitchen had been painted red – his memories could have come from another world.

All that remained of his friend was white tape. It outlined a human silhouette on the tile and cupboard, as if Gon had simply disappeared into the floor. An anonymous shape, that could've belonged to anyone. Glaring down the blank scene, the horror in his head didn't seem real, as if these were the remnants of any other crime, and the memories, just the remnants of another bad dream.

The scream of an angry car horn snapped him out of the reverie, and he realized he was still standing between the balcony doors. He quickly stepped inside and closed them behind him.

Alone in the room, he sucked in a breath - the tang of blood replaced by the sting of chemicals and bleach - and dragged his feet towards the kitchen.

While the body and the stains were gone, notes and photos denoted the grotesqueries and the evidence that had once been there. He tried not to look too closely at the images - they were already burned into the back of his eyes - but scanned over the notes. One described the condition of the body - sixteen stab wounds, nothing he didn't already know - with a remark to see some police file for more details, while several marked the positions and patterns of blood splatter. One labeled the locations of suspect footprints. He snorted. Never mind that any real examination would show that he'd only entered through the door, walked to the kitchen, and stood in place. The cops would find some way to disregard any evidence inconvenient to their story.

Dissatisfied, Killua turned away from that domestic hellhole, and scanned the rest of the suite.

Some of the less morbid aftermath of the crime had seemingly been left untouched. There were a few broken dishes by the edge of the kitchen, and a toppled chair in the dining room. Signs of a struggle, perhaps? He narrowed his eyes. The haphazard damage seemed inconsistent, somehow. There were no fingernail marks or dents - any indications of real desperation - and he couldn't quite make himself believe that a life or death struggle with a professional Hunter would've left such minor and inconsistent damage. A flicker of instinct told him the damage was staged. Gon would've put up more of a fight than this.

Why, though? Was someone trying to fake a crime seen? Had the murder actually happened somewhere else? That seemed unlikely, what with the sheer amount of blood in that kitchen. Were they trying to conceal the nature of the attack? Had there been a struggle, at all? Perhaps they'd taken Gon by surprise, before he'd even had the chance to fight back. Perhaps they'd tried to make the whole thing seem more chaotic - more angry - than it had really been. Such overkill usually indicated rage, after all. Perhaps they'd tried to paint the picture of a bitter best friend, descending into wrath, with what had actually been little more than a cold, premeditated assassination.

Killua wondered again just how many of those sixteen strikes Gon had actually survived, but a bitter bile rose in the back of his throat, and he swallowed those thoughts down with it.

Instead, he ambled about the rest of the suite, searching for every potential entrance and exit with the eyes not of a Hunter, but an assassin, trained to watch for every opportunity and escape route.

The room didn't offer much. There were the balcony doors, a kitchen window, a bedroom window, and the exit to the hotel hallway. None showed any sign of forced entrance, and there weren't any vents or pipes large enough for anyone to sneak through. Either Gon had indeed let his own killer inside, or the culprit, like him, hadn't been fazed by locked windows or doors.

His eyes returned to the balcony. There was no way they could've gone out to the hallway, covered in as much blood as they'd surely been, so they must've fled to the streets. But with so many people around, how could no one have noticed them?

He found himself looking at the entrance to the bathroom, and the shower inside. If they had indeed managed a surprise attack...and if they'd managed to silence Gon before he screamed...it was possible that they could've cleaned themselves up before leaving. After all, with that text message, they'd had control over when the body would be discovered.

Killua gritted his teeth and approached the shower. There were no notes indicating that any evidence had been left behind there, so if the culprit had rinsed off, it had likely been clothes and all. They would've been sopping wet, then, but not bloodied. They wouldn't have had much trouble going unnoticed on the busy, late night streets.

He stepped inside the shower, but the whole thing seemed pristine. Almost too much so. If they had cleaned away evidence, they'd done a damn good job of cleaning up afterwards, too. He ran his fingers along the tiled wall. Still slightly damp. The tub must've been used at least somewhat recently, but that didn't necessarily mean that it had been the culprit that night, and not a simple, unsuspecting shower yesterday morning.

Killua swallowed, about to step back out, when a glimmer caught his eye. He blinked, kneeling down. The shimmer came from deep inside the drain. Huh.

Not wanting to knock whatever it was further down into the pipes, he held his hand above the drain and focused his aura into a magnetic pull. Sure enough, the thing was metal, and flew up into his palm. He closed his fingers around it - something flat and sharp - and brought it up to examine.

It was a badge - a metal pin in the shape of a moon with the face of a skull. A shiver tingled up his spine and into the back of his memories. An unease he didn't quite understand flooded through him. It seemed...familiar, somehow, but -

His heart stopped beating.

Blood splashed the room like red rain. Drops hit Killua's cheek and left behind a warm, sticky tingle. He didn't move, only watching from behind the bench, where he hid himself with Zetsu.

All that remained of the Hunter who'd stood in the doorway moments before was crimson splatter, bits of tissue and skin stuck to the wall, and splinters of bone on the floor. His gun clattered to the marble tile with a metallic clunk. The man – his subordinate – had been reduced to an anonymous mess in less than three seconds. And he wasn't the first.

Killua fought to keep his arms from shaking, crouching on all fours beneath the shadows of the furniture and the decor of the embassy. His heart clamored for oxygen, but instead of risking tense, noisy breaths, he chose to barely breathe at all, his body almost entirely still.

Moonlight filtered in through the stained glass windows, illuminating the room in jagged slashes of light. With the white glow reflecting off his silver hair and pale skin, shaded in the night, Killua looked like a ghost, but the stranger, the moon glistening red and black off the blood on their cloak, looked like a demon.

Killua's senses swirled as the enemy stepped through the remnants of his subordinate and into the next hallway. The room where the queen of Everstine slept wasn't far away, now. They would reach it soon.

He forced himself to creep along after them, silent, like a cat stalking a mouse. Except he definitely wasn't the predator, here.

His eyes watched with cold horror as another man in his band of bodyguards rushed down the stranger. He'd whispered into the radio several minutes ago, allowing his subordinates the choice to fight or flee, but nearly every Hunter stood their ground, still trying to protect the queen, as they'd promised Everstine they would.

The man raised a sword, blade shimmering with Nen. There was an instant - a blink - and then his body exploded like a macabre firework.

The enemy continued walking, right through the red rain, not skipping a beat in their slow march towards the foreign queen. They hadn't even allowed the bodyguards the chance to scream. It was unlikely that the royal even knew what was coming.

Panic gnawed at Killua's pulse. This couldn't be happening.

He pushed himself forward with all of his willpower, sneaking passed and ahead of the stranger in the shadows. He told himself that he would wait by the next door, and ambush them as they passed. They were so focused on the path ahead that they'd yet to notice him. Perhaps he could catch them by surprise. Perhaps he could kill them before they had the chance to fight back.

Don't do it! An instinct inside him wailed. You'll die! The resolution faded from his steps as the fear spread, pumped through his veins by his pounding heart. The stranger was once again nearing him, continuing their executioner's march. Don't do it! The moment he attacked, he'd become just another smear on the floor. Everything in him screamed at him to flee.

This couldn't be happening.

The lone assassin had appeared right through the front door. Then, they'd simply walked, erasing anyone who stood in their path. There was something almost otherworldly about it – the way they moved towards their target, seemingly oblivious to the rest of the world. He didn't understand it. Their aura blazed with dark intent, but its power wasn't particularly remarkable, and it never changed or surged. What was this killer doing? How were they doing it? Were they even using Nen, at all? Just a glance, it seemed, and any opposition, no matter how strong, was destroyed in an instant.

He thought of Nanika, and how anyone who failed three requests disintegrated into nothing more than bloodied mist. And somehow, that terrified him more than anything. The strangeness of it. The unknown.

Not so long ago, his brother had, quite literally, cursed him with fear. Never fight a battle you aren't certain you'll win. That was the command he'd grown up hearing, and ultimately, the one his brother had used to control him. Eventually, he'd managed to escape his brother's grip, and he'd learned to fight through fear. He wasn't a killing machine anymore, acting only on cold odds and analysis, but a human, driven also by instinct and determination.

But this time, it wasn't that he wasn't sure whether or not he would win. It was that he knew he wouldn't. How could he fight something he didn't understand? Something so instant?

Voices swam around inside his head.

Is your honor worth more than your life? They asked.

But, he'd sworn to fight for the queen, at any cost. He was the captain of the squad, responsible for the lives and successes of his subordinates. He'd begged for this responsibility.

Trying to protect her now would only be a formality. You can't save her, they said. Why should you die, too?

He swallowed, his throat tight and dry.

Never fight a battle you aren't certain you'll win, they said.

Killua, I had fun! Let's meet up again soon, when you're done with your next job! They said.

And, Brother, be careful, okay? I'm going to practice making cookies while you're gone. Come back before bedtime, so you can try them while they're warm!

The stranger strode further into the heart of the embassy, where more Hunters would surely die trying and failing to stop them, and where they would soon, with certainty, reach the queen. Moonlight glistened red and black off their rippling cloak. And as they passed him, the light caught the silver shimmer of a badge on their lapel - a moon with the face of a skull.

Instead of following, Killua did something he hadn't in a long time.

He ran.

Metal edges drew blood from Killua's tight, sweaty fingers.

It couldn't be, some irrational part of him screamed, but the rest of him knew better. He unclenched his fist and forced himself to look at the thing.

It was the same symbol he'd seen that night. That same moon with that same bony face.

He gritted his teeth, drenched with icy realization as the skeletal moon stared back up at him, like the ghost of a bad dream. Someone wearing this badge had been inside this room. There was only one conclusion that could lead to. His heart kicked back into action, beating faster with the remnants of two-year-old fears.

The same person - or people, more likely - who had ruined his career had returned, and this time, they'd taken much more from him than merely his reputation. His best friend was gone, and his already tarnished name had been ripped to tatters.

Damn it.

It made sense, after all. The person he'd once seen wearing the badge clearly hadn't been afraid of Hunters. But why? He could understand the queen of Everstine - a much maligned and controversial country - but why Gon? Why would someone like them come after someone like him?

Unless it's you they're haunting, that same irrational voice said.

He brushed the paranoia away. No. If that were the case, they would've come after him directly. Or worse, Alluka. Besides, it wasn't like they had any reason to target him, or any revenge to take. Not when he'd failed so spectacularly to stop them, the first time.

Rage stiffened his muscles as the shock slowly subsided.

Still, the culprit had framed him. The text, the calls to the police... Had he merely been the convenient culprit, or had they not yet ruined his reputation enough? Maybe whoever did this just had a sick sense of humor.

Damn it! Killua fought the urge to hurl the badge at the wall. Why? Why had they come back? He'd done everything he could to put the Everstine incident behind him, and yet... Why him? Why Gon? Why -

A door creaked open.

He whirled towards the bathroom exit. A sliver of light seeped into the hallway, from the direction of the door that connected the room to the rest of the hotel. Footsteps faded into focus.

Someone had just entered the room.

He cursed beneath his breath. Usually, he could hear someone coming from a long ways away, always aware of his surroundings, and always sure that he had enough time to escape, if needed. But this time, he'd been so absorbed by the badge - and everything that came with it - that he hadn't realized someone was there. It was too late. There was no way he could leave the bathroom unseen.

Instead, he scanned the small room for somewhere to hide. There wasn't much. His eyes settled on the cupboard under the sink. It would have to do.

He leapt out of the tub, with the silence of a cat, and vanished into the cupboard, careful not to knock over extra bottles of shampoo and hotel toiletries. He left the door open just a crack - just enough to see into the rest of the room. He steadied out his Zetsu, and his breathing, too.

The footsteps neared. Who was it? The police? If he was lucky, perhaps they wouldn't bother coming inside the bathroom. After all, the cops didn't seem to have noticed anything suspicious about it...and they certainly hadn't noticed the badge shimmering from inside the drain. His fingers tightened around the metal moon.

A silhouette stepped passed the door. It wasn't an officer. It was a stranger in a hoodie, their face and figure obscured by their baggy clothes, much like his own. Confusion perked up his senses. Who the hell...?

He heard the intruder rattling around, quietly, in the rest of the suite. The kitchen. The living room. The bedroom. Were they looking for something? The minutes ticked by.

Killua ground his jaw. Tch. This was pathetic. Once an assassin and a pro Hunter, now he was hiding in a cupboard, like a bumbling home burglar.

The footsteps once again grew louder, and the silhouette reappeared in the hallway. At first, he thought they were heading for the hotel door. But then they turned, towards the bathroom.

Damn. He sucked in his breath as the figure stepped inside.

Still, this might be an opportunity. He could get a better look at the intruder. If he could only see their face...

He couldn't. The hoodie obscured it with shadow, worn so far down that he wondered how the stranger saw anything, at all. They walked with purpose, straight towards the tub.

A jolt of fear shot through him.

He'd been right. They were looking for the badge. The killer had washed themselves off in the shower, and had lost the pin in the process. Now, someone had come back for it, retracing the killer's steps through the suite in pursuit of the accidental piece of evidence.

...Was he looking at the culprit?

His nails flexed, digging deeper into his palms.

Killua's senses swirled as the enemy stepped through the remnants of his subordinate and into the next hallway. The room where the queen of Everstine slept wasn't far away, now. They would reach it soon.

...Was this the same person who'd killed the queen of Everstine?

No. He narrowed his eyes through the crack in the door. The clothes obscured most of the stranger's shape, but even still, he could see that they were shorter than the ghost in his memories. Shorter, but perhaps better built. They didn't have that same wispy shape. A flicker of relief let him swallow some of the tension in his throat.

The stranger bent down, as he had just minutes before, and peered down the drain. The metal badge clenched in his fist suddenly felt colder.

What should he do? Should he confront them? If this was indeed the culprit, he could end this whole disaster in one swoop. He could beat the truth out of them. Torture them until they confessed. Take revenge.

He inhaled, fear and fury fighting for control over him. Bloodstained memories drifted by.

But...what if this person was as strong as the wraith in his memories? They must have been powerful, to have defeated Gon. Even if he took them by surprise, there was no guarantee that they wouldn't surprise him. There was no guarantee that it wouldn't end in an instant. After all, he didn't know anything about this stranger, or their abilities.

The man raised a sword, blade shimmering with Nen. There was an instant - a blink - and then his body exploded like a macabre firework.

He focused his Nen to his eyes and studied them. Nothing. Either this person wasn't a Nen-user, or they had hidden themselves - and their power - with Zetzu, just as he had. In fact, their lack of presence made that highly likely. He hadn't felt anyone nearby - only their footsteps had announced their presence.

The lone assassin had appeared right through the front door. Then, they'd simply walked, erasing anyone who stood in their path. There was something almost otherworldly about it – the way they moved towards their target, seemingly oblivious to the rest of the world.

An instinct - or was it fear? - held him in place. For now, he simply watched.

The stranger looked away from the drain, and stepped out of the tub. They hadn't found what they were looking for. After a last glance around, they left the bathroom.

You're losing your chance, a voice screamed at him, but Killua brushed it off. He would follow them, he decided. He'd observe - he'd see where they were going, and find out whatever he could about this person who was searching for the skeletal moon. This wasn't the place for a confrontation. Not when the police might show up at any moment. He'd wait for a better opportunity before he attacked. Coward.

Before much longer, he heard the suspect open the door to the hotel hallway. They left the suite, empty handed.

Realizing that he'd lose them if he left the same way he'd come, Killua carefully departed the creaky cupboard and risked entry to the inn's corridors. He emerged just in time to see the stranger vanish into the stairwell.

Killua clung to the shadows, stalking the stranger as they wound through the city streets. It was mid-morning now, Everstine aglow with the noises of daily life. The chattering crowds and humming cars helped mask him, and he relied on the bustle and on Zetzu to stay close to the suspect, unnoticed.

Soon, the stranger turned off the main streets, and down a nearby alley. Without the crowds to camouflage him, Killua dropped back a few feet, careful not to lose sight of his target amongst the twists and turns of the city's innards.

Just where was this stranger taking him, anyway? What was he going to see when they got there? Sweat beaded on his brow. How many of these bastards - the ones who wore the skeletal moon - were there? Was he going to be able to attack, at all?

If there were too many of them, he wouldn't be able to risk it. Perhaps he should attack now, after all, while the stranger was still alone. He could force them to confess their destination, along with the rest of the truth.

He faltered.

Yeah. He should attack now, but...

If they did that to Gon, doubt whispered, then what makes you think you can win?

A candy wrapper crunched beneath his feet.

The enemy whirled, their hooded gaze flying backwards.

Shit. Distracted by his thoughts, he'd neglected to pay attention to the dirty sidewalk beneath him, and now a piece of trash had announced his presence. He swung into the shade of a dumpster.

The stranger scanned the alley.

Killua stopped breathing. He'd screwed up. He had no where else to hide, and if he didn't act fast, they'd find him. He'd lose the element of surprise. And without it...

He needed to strike first, while he still had the advantage.

The suspect stepped closer.

Killua leapt, his nails ready to rip and tear, and his palms charged with electricity.

The enemy must have sensed something. They threw themselves to the side, just a second to spare.

Killua flew passed them, hitting nothing but the cement. He whirled, heart pounding.

Something washed through him as they looked at each other.

In the chaos, the stranger must have lost their own Zetzu. For an instant, an energy crackled through him. An energy that wasn't his own. He felt them.

...Familiarity? Recognition? Shock?

Whoever it was he was looking at, face and features still hidden beneath their coat, they recognized him. And they were more than a little surprised to see him.

And then the feeling was gone.

The enemy was already running.

Blue electricity rippled through Killua's muscles, his hair and his senses rising with the current. He surged after them at Godspeed. If whoever this was knew him, then they should know that they had no chance of escape.

The stranger - who perhaps wasn't a stranger, at all - hurtled around corners and turns, trying to lose him in Everstine's guts. They'd reactivated Zetzu - they didn't intend to attack, it seemed, but vanish.

Killua's confidence surged back as quickly as the current. The bastard could run all they wanted, but within the next sixty seconds, he'd catch them.

Cars honked and brakes squealed as the suspect barreled out across the street, and into the next alley. Killua followed without hesitation, barely registering the startled and angry shouts as he blazed by.

Why, though? He still didn't understand it. Why was the enemy running, and not fighting back? If they really were the culprit - and if they really were as strong as he'd feared, strong enough to defeat Gon - then why would they run, at all? Was this a trap? Were they leading him away from the city? ...Who was it?

He remembered that feeling again - those foreign feelings tangling with his own, that foreign sense of shocked recognition. This wasn't someone who'd merely recognized him from a headline on the daily news. This was someone who knew him. Out of everyone in his life, who would've gone to that hotel room, searching for that skeletal moon?

"Who are you?" He shouted, his tongue forming the question without his permission. He was gaining on them.

The suspect never faltered, swinging around another corner without so much as looking back.

Tch. As if he'd expected an answer. No matter. He'd have them soon. Then he'd find out.

Killua pushed his limbs until they burned, blue sparks flying behind him. When he turned, the enemy was only feet away. Just one big leap, and -

A second shape sprung from the alley. Another figure, this one cloaked in the same wispy black as the demon who'd come for the queen of Everstine.

Killua jerked back, horror sending sparks into the air, but the stranger didn't leap for him.

Instead, they reached out for the suspect. It wasn't an attack, but an embrace. The suspect fell into the arms of this second stranger, and the long cloak obscured them from view.

A light flashed.

Killua clamped his eyes shut, the glow stinging through his lids. His heart thudded, limbs slick with sweat. ...What the hell?

When the light faded enough to crack open his gaze, he saw nothing. He blinked. Nothing at all. The space in front of him was empty, as if the two enemies had never been there. They'd disappeared.

Damn. Killua practically leapt up the wall of a building. He stood on the roof and searched the alleys below.

Nothing. He saw nothing but a few drunks lingering near the streets. The suspect was gone. He grimaced, focusing his aura into his eyes, but they'd left no trace of their presence behind.

He finally sucked in a breath. The current faded, his hair and his muscles drooping as the adrenaline drained out of him. They'd escaped. He narrowed his eyes at the city below.

How? Had they simply used the light as cover...or had there been more to it than that? Either way, it was certain now that he wasn't dealing with just one person.

He reached into his pocket, fingers trembling with rage as they wrapped around the badge. With the adrenaline gone, all that remained was a cold, churning wrath. Who? Who'd done this to Gon? Who was doing this to him? When he glared down at the pin, the moon's bony face almost looked like it was laughing.

Whoever it was, they'd regret it.

Heheh, one hint I will give is that if Killua had caught the stranger before they escaped, the story would've gone in a completely different direction. So, numerous characters had their fates sealed by a matter of a few seconds.

Anyway, I would say that I'll try and update faster, but after what happened last time I said that, I'll just say see you soon!

-R.R.