Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V
Part VI
September 3rd, 7:52 PM
Nijiiro called a cab for the first time since returning to YorkNew City a mere six hundred meters from the Spiders' secret base. Her presence in YorkNew wasn't really a secret anymore, but she might still secretly hope the Kurta would be clever enough to search the cab companies' records and find the base without too much help from her, or better yet, arrive in the cab she'd summoned so that she could see him up close for a change. His aura was...well, it was really something else. What arrived was, of course, not the Kurta, but a wizened man with a heavy Takanyu accent and fewer teeth than fingers. Nijiiro sighed and climbed into the cab, directing the driver in Takansi to drive her to the Cemetery Building, much to his delight.
While the driver prattled away in his native tongue about his cousin's cattle farm back home, Nijiiro quietly activated the tap-and-tace tracking function she placed on the two boys' phones, hoping they wouldn't notice the additional battery drain. Beetle cellphones, even newer models, had a much heavier, sturdier battery, so the odds that the phones' charge would last at least another thirty hours, even with the extra heat and charge drain of the bugging equipment she installed, were excellent. The two boys didn't strike her as terribly tech-savvy, but there was always a risk that they'd discover the Slave Driver that was copying their phones' data back to Nijiiro's virtual phone application, plug it into a random data generator, and use it to track her instead. And while her phone's custom encryption software more or less made the flow of data packets a one-way street, her physical location would still be visible to anyone clever enough to see through her strategy long before she would notice anything was amiss with the Slave Drivers. Of course...she was probably overthinking the situation quite a bit. If things didn't take a decisive turn in the next eighteen hours, her larger plan would likely collapse, if it hadn't already. A trace on her location would quickly become immaterial. Gon and Killua suddenly popped up on her screen as the trace made its connection successfully, moving quickly toward a subway station on 250th Avenue by Stilton Street. 'So they've already escaped Nobunaga, huh? That was fast. I doubt either of them has given up on capturing the Ryodan, too. I wonder what they'll do next. Well, no, I imagine the next step would be to contact the Kurta. They clearly underestimated the strength of my Spiders, hmm...' Nijiiro mused to herself, chuckling quietly as she imagined what she and the Spiders must look like to couple kids who had just barely learned to use Nen. The driver took her smile as a sign of encouragement, and seemed to be about to invite her out for a drink when a tap on the window interrupted both of their imaginations, and a beefy-necked mafia cop asked them for their traffic pass. Nijiiro handed over Don Marscapone, Junior's master pass, and the cab proceeded smoothly through the anxious line of politicians, mobsters, and armed goons swarming the Cemetery Building ready to kill any Spiders with the audacity to approach the Mafia auction. Nijiiro yawned. The place could do with a few more explosions.
Nijiiro made her way to the comms room, eager to get a look at the team of top-dollar assassins she had ordered the night before last. If the Injiyuu disaster that night was any indication of the mafia's power deficit, the assassination strategy was going to be a similar sort of crap-shoot in the dark, with an even higher risk of failure. Of course, all the real risk would be borne by the mafia men and their hired guns, which was how they became the 'B' plan in Nijiiro's careful itinerary. She raised the hood of her floor-sweeping coat and slipped into the half-lit CCTV viewing room like a shadow in a fog. She checked her phone again, and the boys had vanished off her map's GPS. 'They must be underground still,' she reasoned, spinning slowly in an office chair and pouting. How long would it be until the Spiders showed up? Until the assassins arrived? More importantly, when would Chrollo show up? As much as she had missed him this morning, the thought of his disappointed face concocting an appropriate punishment for leaving Meteor City without permission sent shivers of dread down her spine. Her mouth was suddenly dry. Reaching for her hip flask, Nijiiro took a deep draught of Dutch courage, only to spit it back out when the camera on the ninth floor elevator doors showed none other than Chrollo himself, escorting Neon Nostrade into a small cafe. And wearing a very flattering suit while he did it. 'Plenty of time to think about that later, Niji-chan' she scolded herself. Of course, she had expected him to turn up at the Cemetery Building sooner than later, but to actually use Neon herself as a cover, and stroll right through the front door, the nerves on this man... Nijiiro was caught halfway between admiring Chrollo's perfect shining black hair and reminding herself that he'd once soaked her in kerosene and lit her on fire for doing the very thing she was now trying to do again. 'Here's to happily-ever-after,' she thought, and emptied her hip flask.
Nijiiro watched the headache-inducing monitors flicker away at a pitiful seventy frames per second until Neon Nostrade collapsed in the second floor hallway, brought down by Chrollo's deft and barely perceptible blow to her slender neck. “Believe me, Neon, you got off easy,” Nijiiro couldn't help but mutter under her breath, even as Chrollo's caricatural display of concern for Neon's well-being made her grin like a Cheshire cat beneath her cowl. Even murderous sociopaths could be guilty of overcompensation from time to time.
“Could you rewind this monitor?” inquired a middle-aged man in a beret just a meter to Nijiiro's right. 'One of the assassins, eh?' Nijiiro thought. He had an impressive aura for a hired gun. He was good, but certainly not good enough to notice her calmly sitting here among his employers. In fairness, this fellow was hardly expected to know that she was even affiliated with the Spiders in the first place.
“Of course,” replied the mafia camera jockey. Nijiiro realized with a start that while she'd been staring at Chrollo, she'd missed her chance to assess the professional hitman squad that had prompted her to enter the comms room in the first place. She tapped at the feeds from the entrances until she found the footage of their arrival. Biting her lip to stave off a long string of descriptive curses, she watched not only six regular mercenaries, of which the Beret was one, but also the Kurta kid, and not one, but two Zoldycks. The same Zoldycks that had offed her comrade three years ago, before her very eyes, and were now under her own orders to do the same to Nijiiro. Not only was the Kurta kid critically unprepared to handle Chrollo in a fight, the presence of the two Zoldyck assassins meant that she might not be able to slip under the radar this time. 'So much for abating personal risks...and yet, I'm not the same person I was three years ago...I won't have to hide behind Chrollo if they come charging my way... And it's not as if I'm the only target they have. If I keep my distance, the rest of the Spiders will finish these two off long before they can get to me. If bad comes to worse, I'll have to force the Ten Dons to call off the hit. I've never heard of a Zoldyck that would get out of bed for less than two billion. Just how much did this cock-up cost me, anyway?' Nijiiro watched the cock-up in question unfold in real time, as glimpses of Chrollo flitted on and off of various monitors, taking out the mediocre assassins, followed by the competent, and finally the true professionals, until only the Kurta, who wandered aimlessly about the ground floor, and the Zoldycks, who had taken an elevator to the roof, remained in action. Billions worth of hired muscle dispatched with a handful of free pens from the reception desk. She'd have been disappointed, but the pride swelling inside her chest left no room for it. 'Ah, such a man he is.' Nijiiro decided she would stretch her legs before the finale.
Rising gracefully to her feet, Nijiiro stalked toward the second-floor ballroom on noiseless cat feet, careful to hide her presence lest one of the Zoldyck assassins come flying out of the shadows to end her reign of terror prematurely. So gingerly, in fact, that when her phone began to vibrate, indicating that one of the phones she had bugged was dialing out to another number, Nijiiro hopped a full meter and a half off the ground and yelped like a wounded animal, before quietly thanking the gods that no one had witnessed her. She ascended the stairs and found a quiet corner, adding a set of earbuds and then picking up the call to listen in.
“Hello?” a voice came in over a slight bit of static. The staccato sound of machine gun fire drifted in from the background, and Nijiiro smiled.
“Hey, Kurapika?” Gon's insistent tone answered. 'Given name, Kurapika,' Nijiiro thought, 'It sounds awfully cute...for a stone-cold killer...'
“...Huh?” said Kurapika, not sure whether he had ever even given Gon his number.
“Thank goodness we finally got ahold of you!”
“Gon, is that you?!” Kurapika exclaimed. He actually hadn't given Gon his number.
“Yeah! Can you talk right now?” Gon asked.
“Uh, sorry, I'm in the middle of something right now,” Kurapika replied, inadvertently making what was, perhaps, the understatement of the century, “I'll call you back.”
“Just wait a sec! Can you give me at least a minute? I have to tell you something!” Gon insisted, in an insistent way that only he could insist. “Killua and I ran into the Gennei Ryodan!” 'Boy, did you ever, kiddos.' Nijiiro thought, grinning widely. “Actually, we got captured by them...”
“What the hell were you thinking?! Don't you know how dangerous they are?!” Kurapika yelled back, sounding more or less on the verge of a heart attack. 'They do now, don't they?' Nijiiro mused, still grinning, ' But he seems genuinely horrified to know these two were risking their lives. Interesting, that. I took him for more of a lonely, self-righteous type.' After a shuffling sound, a new voice came on the line.
“I thought I knew, but after we met them, it became painfully clear,” said Killua. 'Painful indeed, wasn't it, my miniature Zoldyck,” Nijiiro thought, glancing around warily for any sign of the two full-sized Zoldycks from whom she was hiding but smiling all the same. “They're very strong...Right now, we have no chance against them...That's why we need your help -”
“We want to help you, too!” Gon interjected.
“Don't be ridiculous. I'm not going to help the two of you get yourselves killed,” Kurapika said icily.
“Don't you want to know where their base is located?” Killua tried again.
“I have my own sources of information,” Kurapika answered disdainfully. 'And all of your sources are yours-truly, boy-o,' Nijiiro thought, with a humorless smirk. She contented herself with the thought of walking downstairs and smacking the condescension right out of his pretty mouth. Ah, the temptation was real.
“Do you know all of their powers?” Killua continued calmly.
“Enough! Just stay away from the Ryodan!” Kurapika finally snapped. 'He really cares for them, doesn't he?' Nijiiro thought. It had been a good idea to bug the kids' phones; and that good idea had just led Nijiiro to an even better one. A light now shone at the end of the proverbial tunnel.
“You're the 'chain-user' who killed one their members, aren't you? They're looking everywhere for you. Even if you won't treat us as friends or equals, we'll just do whatever we must to help! Hmph!” Killua barked, surrendering the phone back to Gon in frustration. And with that, Nijiiro's plan was set. These two would be helping her after all, whether they liked it or not.
“Kurapika...one of the Spiders, he cried in front of us. He said he couldn't forgive whoever had killed his friend. I...got really mad after I saw that. I can't just let that go. We can't let them go! So please...Kurapika...” Gon finished uncertainly, hoping his irresistible honesty would win Kurapika over.
“...I'll call you back.” Kurapika said slowly. He hung up. 'I have his name, his number, and two of his precious friends...that, Kurta, is what we call leverage. And very soon, I will turn that leverage into a force well beyond your control. Just you wait, Golden Boy.' Nijiiro looked around again. Damn, why did she leave the comms room? Avoiding the Zoldyck pair, who were using En or something very like it in a grid-search pattern, would have been much easier with the help of closed-circuit television. But if the Zoldycks held their pace, they'd meet Chrollo in front of the second floor ballroom in about twelve minutes. Without her telling them to, Nijiiro's legs had betrayed her, and carried her directly to that spot. Killing Chrollo was one thing, but forfeiting any chance of a good-bye kiss was unthinkable. She stepped into the ballroom.
Alone, she stood on the stage, memories of her days with the circus in Meteor City flooding over her. Days that were long dead tonight, lying among the first victims of the Spider. Nijiiro gazed out at the empty ballroom, and in a sweet, gently lilting soprano, began to sing.
September 3rd, 8:32 PM
Chrollo Lucilfer was all out of pens. That wouldn't prevent him from wiping the floor with every mafia bigshot downstairs in under ten seconds, but he preferred a weapon that would spare him from physically touching anyone, if he could help it. The magnetic forces of fate that drew his attackers to their deaths left him unscathed thus far, and he wanted to keep it that way. He wandered slowly toward the weapons check on the building's lobby, masking his presence with a perfect Zetsu. He had sensed a massive amount of aura, a master of En, feeling their way through the building earlier, and wasn't too keen on facing that aura barehanded. But as he neared the doors of the second-floor ballroom, a sound he hadn't heard in years rose and fell, seductively faint and far away, begging him to venture inside and listen closely. He stepped into to the brightly lit ballroom as quietly as he could, not to hide his movement, but to avoid disturbing the flow of the melody that enveloped the hollow space with its hauntingly beautiful echoes. Without accompaniment, without restraint, without fear, she was singing hymns. To him, and him alone. And he couldn't bear to interrupt.
The king of love my shepherd is,
Whose goodness faileth never;
I nothing lack if I am his
And he is mine for ever.
Perverse and foolish oft I strayed,
But yet in love he sought me,
And on his shoulder gently laid,
And home rejoicing brought me.
In death's dark vale I fear no ill
With thee, dear Lord, beside me;
Thy rod and staff my comfort still,
Thy cross before to guide me.
Chrollo waited for Nijiiro to fall silent, her lyrics, however borrowed, having answered at least three of the four questions he might have asked her. For that was her way, he'd learned. Though she would swear she didn't read minds, she had the most uncanny knack for anticipating them. He was irate, and yet, he could never doubt why he had chosen her. She pulled her cowl back and turned to him, a faint smile playing across her lips. She would wait politely for him to speak, as always.
“You sing as beautifully as ever, Zahrat-Alqamar.”
“ I aim only to please, Sama' Allayl...” Nijiiro answered, her prismatic eyes lowered.
“And yet, here you stand. Did you imagine I would find this untimely stunt of yours pleasant? I myself ordered you to stay in Meteor City, for your own safety. For the sake of the Spider.”
“Ah, but was it not you, my Sky, who called to remind me of my own desire to see you, and also your own desire for counsel?” Chrollo stared at her for a moment, contemplating her soft red lips, her shining silver hair, her subtle yet exotic scent of jasmine flowers and rare spices. She lifted her eyes to him and he stared into the rainbow irises that had struck fear and awe into the hearts of so many others. Since the first time he'd looked into those eyes, he had the most unshakeable feeling that something otherworldly lay behind them. Rationally, he knew that she was using her beguiling nature to wriggle out of the consequences that came with defiance. Irrationally, he could feel it working on him, and he hated it more than he could fathom. Closing the distance between them in the space of half a heartbeat, Chrollo seized Nijiiro by the soft white throat and brought her just off the ground with one hand. He breathed in the scent of her, his hand tightening as he spoke into her ear, a low and calm tone in his voice.
“What is it that you want to happen now, Zahrat-Alqamar? Why did you come here?” Chrollo's hand released her, and Nijiiro sunk to her knees. She took a few breaths to regain her bearing and looked up at him. It was a vague question. In all honesty, she wanted to kiss everything between the toes of his boots and his perfect charcoal-colored eyes and beg him for forgiveness, but she quickly shook the thought out of her head. There was a certain need to answer his questions quickly, before Chrollo decided to do something truly painful. Not that she would mind the punishment, but there was simply no time for it. She smiled up at him, undeterred.
“I suppose it was...a perverse desire to have my cake and eat it, too...”
“...How very like you.”
“There are thousands of dead mafioso down there. Bosses, contractors, two-bit thugs. Half of the crime syndicates in YorkNew have been wiped out, or nearly so.”
“Get to the point.”
“I understand the desire to eradicate the one who killed Uvogin, perhaps his entire organization. But killing too many of them, too quickly...will risk some long-term effects for the Spiders. You will soon create an irreparable power vacuum here. I believe a certain measure of ...restraint... is in order.”
'So she was concerned for the Spider, after all. I shouldn't have doubted her,' Chrollo thought, but continued to feel a sliver of suspicion at the timing of it all.
“What are you suggesting, my Flower?”
“Let them have their auction, and also let us have their treasure,” Nijiiro said, smiling a little wider as the strategy she imagined dawned on Chrollo and the tension in his brow began to slip away.
“....Yes...I see. In the end it is your delicate approach, Zahrat-Alqamar, that moves mountains...” Chrollo said slowly, mulling it over. Nijiiro's heart pounded as the corners of his mouth twitched upward, in what was almost a smile. It was at that instant that an overwhelming Nen presence slammed into them from the end of the hallway, and Nijiiro was reminded what it was that had scared her only slightly less than Chrollo's castigation this evening. She stood slowly. The color of this Nen was new to her, but she guessed that it belonged to the elder Zoldyck that had entered the building with the assassination team earlier. An Earth-shattering burst of energy that could only belong to a first-class emitter.
“Chrollo...”
“I know. Run away now, and stay hidden. That's an order.”
“Chrollo, I-”
Chrollo kissed her forehead then, a light and soft brush of his lips that nevertheless meant the world to Nijiiro. She knew he wouldn't ask for her help, and he wouldn't accept it - whether there were two Zoldycks out there, or twenty, no matter how strong she'd become. No matter how she felt for him. Truly, love and hatred were two sides of the same coin.
Nijiiro sprinted full speed toward the comms room, speed-dialing Hisoka's number without breaking stride. He picked up on the first ring.
“There's been a shift in plans,” she said, without waiting to hear his voice.
“Meaning?”
“Meet me in the comms room. Now.” Nijiiro hung up without waiting for a response. 'Tch. What a slave driver,' thought Hisoka, frowning. He leaped from his perch on top of the Commerce Centre building and darted toward the epicenter of the Spiders' rampage. He used his Bungee Gum to pull himself across the roofs, well above the rabble without attracting to much attention. Running was for plebeians. When he reached the Cemetery Building's front doors, he found all of the glass shattered by stray bullets and one of every three surfaces was decorated with either blood, shrapnel, or open flames. It really did set the mood.
Nijiiro was settled in to the biggest chair in the comms room nervously running her hand over the back of her head and frowning. 'This could be bad news, then,' Hisoka reckoned silently. He followed her gaze up to the monitor where her attention had been glued since she hung up on him. On it, Chrollo was in full-tilt combat with two extremely competent assailants. It made Hisoka's blood instantly begin to boil.
“What is this?” he hissed at Nijiiro, “A part of your plan to deny me the only thing I want in exchange for executing your stupid pla-”
“Shut up and watch.” Hisoka blinked. Such tension. She really wasn't sure of the outcome here.
“Who are they?”
“Zoldyck assassins.”
“Illumi's relatives?”
“Killua's, too.”
“Oo-oh. They're pretty damned good.”
“Of course. I paid for the very best,” Nijiiro said, frowning even harder at the screen. She sometimes envied Hisoka's one-track mind.
“Are you frightened?” Hisoka said, glancing down at her. Nijiiro's legs were tucked up into the chair, her brow was furrowed with tension. She thought back to the plan she'd conceived of mere minutes ago, the one where Chrollo was alive and well when she left him, and shut her eyes tight before Silva Zoldyck could deal a final blow. A massive explosion shook the building to its foundation, and a thick cloud of dust obscured the camera in the ballroom where Chrollo fought the Zoldycks for his very life. “By the way, flower-girl, I have an interesting tidbit for you. Do with it as you wish. It seems Chrollo hired an assassin himself just yesterday, the one-and-only Illumi Zoldyck. His target is – or should I say, was – the Ten Dons, leaders of the world mafias.”
As the dust cleared in the second-floor ballroom, on the now upside-down view from the cracked camera, Nijiiro could just make out the shapes of three people slowly climbing out of the rubble. The fight appeared to be over, and all three of them still alive. She sighed. The Ten Dons were scrapped, meaning all of the connections she'd made in order to influence their moves would have to be re-worked. It wouldn't be easy - in fact, the thought of it threatened an instant migraine, but it was possible. Perhaps, if her plan here was a success, she could even choose the new Dons for herself. That move would certainly come in handy one day, when the entire world turned its eyes to the East... Thinking of that day brought new conviction to Nijiiro's face and she hopped out of the chair, stretching like cat before sauntering off toward the door. Hisoka wondered why on earth the bad news had sat so well with her, but questions like those were just too far above his pay grade. He contented himself with following her to the lobby, where she beckoned all the other Spiders gathered there to follow her as well, and together they went to the destroyed second-floor ballroom. Chrollo outlined a new plan to steal what remained of the treasure, and Nijiiro watched him speak, a quixotic expression on her face. 'It's the strangest thing, but...I can't tell which of us is screwier anymore, Niji-chan,' Hisoka thought uncertainly, 'all I can do is hope that you know what you're doing this time. Because if you disappoint me again, I can't say what I'll do about it...'
As if sensing the dangerous thoughts beginning to rise in Hisoka's mind, Nijiiro glanced over at him, her eyes rolling up and down his form twice before turning back to Chrollo. 'Tomorrow night, Hisoka. Don't fuck it all up before then,' she thought, wishing she could beam the message directly through his thick skull. She'd have to settle for a text later. It was time for an auction.
September 3rd, 9:37 PM
Nijiiro smoked a cigarette and watched the other Spiders work enthusiastically, her demeanor slack with indolence. 'It must be nice,' she reasoned, 'to care about things like treasure and money. Especially when the thrill of possessing those things wears off so quickly.' Nijiiro supposed she had been like that, too, once upon a time. But the Peltier mansion, the mafia men, the human-trophy hunters, the host of petty kings and tyrants she had met, tempted, toppled occasionally, had provided her with a great deal of perspective regarding the value of mere material wealth. Watching powerful Nen users like the Spiders go to the effort of stealing treasure was like watching billionaires stoop low to pick up pennies. It was more of a hobby than a vocation, whether they knew it or not. Nijiiro sighed. Perhaps her lackadaisical attitude towards money, she reminded herself, stemmed from the fact that she had billions in her personal accounts and trillions at her disposal now. She shouldn't begrudge the others their silly golden swords and porcelain flour jars. She wandered out into the audience and found a well-cushioned velour seat on the periphery. 'Ah, it's almost over, isn't it? Thank god,' she thought. She watched Paku bring out the last item, the Scarlet Eyes, and fought the urge to look away. Nearly a year ago, she had concocted a plan to destroy the mafia bosses that had refused to stop selling human trophies at the yearly auction, and that plan was currently relieving the Community of every treasure it had, exactly as she had promised the Ten Dons would happen. But now that the Ten Dons were dead, and the mafia itself in considerable disarray, the punishment was a pointless one. 'At least the rest of the Spiders like it.' But Nijiiro would just as soon never see those damned Scarlet Eyes ever again.
As if on cue, Kurapika burst into the auction hall, panting and sweating. Nijiiro could make out his obvious distress from across the auction hall. He quickly made a phone call, and then began bidding on the Scarlet Eyes. A bidding war began between him and Zenji, a fat little toad from the Mondseer clan. Nijiiro had forgotten to kill him six months ago, and she couldn't even quite remember why anymore. He hadn't made much of an impression. She watched them go back and forth for a while, until Zenji finally had his face stepped on for what seemed to be a second time today. 'Good work, Golden Boy,' Nijiiro thought. He seemed so distraught. 'Worry not, you'll have your shot at the big, bad Spider tomorrow night, when I've a full night's sleep and fat rail of white lightning to start the day right.' She stood and wandered out of the auction hall, thinking that perhaps Kurapika's disapproving frown was beginning to grow on her. Ah, well. It wasn't like being her asset was a voluntary position. He could frown all he wanted.
September 3rd, 10:29 PM
Machi couldn't remember the last time she'd enjoyed a bottle of gin in its entirety, but downing the last swig was almost enough to make her forget that Nijiiro was sitting across the room at Chrollo's side, dutifully pouring him sips of his favorite plum saké. Almost. Machi had always suspected, and correctly, that the Boss was something of a lightweight, if he drank at all, which Machi had always found oddly charming. Nijiiro, the queen of drunks herself, hadn't imbibed a single drop, as was her habit whenever Chrollo was around. 'Fake bitch,' Machi thought, wishing she could say it aloud, but knowing it would ruin the atmosphere in a disastrous way. The others were in a delightful mood, however, driving the dark clouds away as she listened to them laugh and rib at one another. Eventually, one the men loudly suggested some music, and a drunken effort was made to find a stereo, or a record player, but to no avail. It was then that Chrollo stood and looked down at Nijiiro, whispered something and held out his hand to her. Nijiiro simply looked at the proffered hand as if she didn't know what to make of it.
“You seemed eager to use your powers,” Machi heard Chrollo say gently, “There is no time like the present, is there?” Nijiiro swallowed, understanding the situation after a moment's deliberation. “Will you...dance with me?” he pressed on. His black eyes were exhilarating in their sincerity, to the point where Nijiiro could scarcely discern whether it was punishment or reward, although it was almost certainly the former, and only her contorted view of Chrollo made her see it as the latter. She decided she didn't care. She slid her gloved hand into his, and he led her to the middle of the empty stone floor, where she activated Passion. If Chrollo asked it of her, punishment or not, she would give him a spectacle.
The other Spiders fell silent as Chrollo and Nijiiro strolled hand-in-hand to the center of the bare concrete slab, and a soft, tinkling melody rose up around them, seemingly out of nowhere. First a single violin sang out, before it was joined by other sounds: a xylophone, a flute, a cello, a french horn, and so on. Chrollo bowed, and Nijiiro offered a deep curtsy in return. Chrollo rested one hand high on Nijiiro's slender waist, the other holding her hand in the most maddeningly light and delicate of embraces. Nijiiro laid her free hand on Chrollo's shoulder before gazing into his dark eyes with her violet ones. Just close enough to feel the warmth of his body, but not close enough to enjoy it the way she longed to. The music swelled and they began to turn, a flawless Viennese Waltz. And as the seconds ticked by, the illusion created by Passion intensified. The first turn changed Nijiiro and Chrollo into new clothes; his black coat became a pressed white military dress uniform, complete with silver cords and medals of honor pinned to the lapels, hers a white ballgown, the material of which shimmered so brightly it appeared as a million tiny fireworks, exploding indefinitely in the candlelight. Each wore a bright crown of diamonds that glittered in the moonlight. The second turn changed their surroundings, as the walls and floor began to melt into a shining golden ballroom. Huge golden candelabras with dozens of lit candles each swam into being, as did massive chandeliers swarming with hundreds of lit candles and millions of crystal ornaments. The changing of the room seemed to melt in from one's peripheral vision, rather than pop suddenly into existence, and it gave the uncomfortable feeling that everything around oneself was perfectly genuine, and one was simply noticing it for the first time. Machi felt her heart begin to pound a mere four seconds in, but as Nijiiro and the Boss whirled around the shining ballroom, the details of the scene only intensified. The pale gold wallpaper and rich tapestries took on dizzying levels of intricacy. Live musicians appeared at the far end of the room, playing away at their instruments. The music swelled and subsided, as Chrollo lifted his partner effortlessly into the air to the tune. Nijiiro smiled the most genuine smile they'd ever seen, and Chrollo seemed unmistakably pleased as well. But it continued, and soon ghosts appeared, or at least appeared thus to the Spiders, who began to notice an increasing number of guests in the ballroom; graceful women in gowns of pashmina and tulle and silk in bright floral colors, elegant gentlemen in black and midnight blue, all dancing in time with the music or milling about with flutes of sparkling champagne in their hands. Machi suddenly couldn't get enough air. Her seat on what had been a broken stone slab was now a tasteful gold chaise lounge, and she looked down to find she, too, was dressed for the occasion, in a sparkling gown of periwinkle blue taffeta dotted here and there with blue crystal accents and embroidered with silver thread. 'This isn't real. This isn't real. This is an illusion,' she thought, trying to slow her breaths before she hyperventilated. 'Nijiiro can't be this powerful. I know it's not real, I'll see it, if I calm down, and...' Machi never finished the thought, as one of the ball room ghosts looked into her eyes and politely asked her to dance. Reeling backward, she shrieked and tried to run, only to trip over a heavy taffeta gown and heels she knew she wasn't wearing. Before she crashed into a very real stone floor, a powerful arm caught her and held her fast, setting her upright. Hisoka smiled down at her.
“Ballroom dancing isn't meant to be so frightening, Machi,” he said, his voice dripping with condescension. She wanted to hit him, as usual, but the world around her was fast becoming a fever dream in which she couldn't recognize a single piece of the real world. Even Hisoka, to her horror, was in a very fetching suit of form-fitting deep gold velvet and white linen, his red hair curling naturally around his face and adding to his already roguish charm. She looked around, and saw that the other Spiders were still present, only they were all wearing the luxurious clothes befitting a ball of such magnitude, and none of them were nearly as terrified as she, only varying shades of awestruck and uncertain. Hisoka was truly at home, however, even as the illusion deepened to maddening new levels, twirling about with the ballroom ghosts and even inviting Paku to take a turn with him. There was a smell of cigar smoke, and of warm apple tarts. Squealing children in dress clothes ran through the circles of guests as a nanny chased after them. Bursts of laughter and snippets of conversation drifted in from the corners of the room, and the music became even more complex, as drums and harps piled in on the main melody for a truly dynamic arrangement of sounds. The candles burned to the touch. The champagne tasted dry and expensive. Snow beat at the towering lead-glass windows as thunder rumbled in the distance... And then, all at once, the world around them began to dissolve again.
“Forgive me...” Nijiiro seemed to whisper painfully, from inches away from their faces, and Machi realized she was in fact speaking to Chrollo, at a barely audible volume, “I am... at my limit...” The Spiders turned in unison to where Nijiiro was sagging in a low dip, supported only by Chrollo's arms around her.
“As am I,” he whispered back, kissing her on the mouth passionately as the ballroom, and its imaginary occupants, seemed to dissolve into a light, feathery ash and then vanish altogether. Chrollo gathered her utterly exhausted form up into his arms and held her as deep lacerations and dark, angry bruises bloomed across her skin, mostly hidden by her long coat, but betrayed by the blood dripping from the sleeves and hems. He traced the curve of her full lips with his thumb,smudging her blood-red lipstick in the process. He licked the smudge of red on his thumb. It tasted like honey. She moaned a little, and he kissed her cheek. The other Spiders looked around at the damp, gray walls, one another, and Shalnark began to clap, which everyone but Machi and Bolonev joined him in. They were, to say the least, very impressed.
“Some punishment,” Nijiiro said weakly, knowing she'd really overdone it.
“I haven't the slightest idea what you mean,” Chrollo replied. 'Liar,' Nijiiro thought. They both knew exactly what he'd meant to happen, and so it had. Nijiiro was in so much pain she could hardly breathe. The blood began to soak though her coat in a hundred places, and she was dangerously light-headed as she stared into Chrollo's eyes.
“Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love,” he whispered, leaning in close to her ear. She smiled to hear the borrowed words spoken so perfectly, as if he were the first to utter them. 'But you know, my Blackened Sky...Hamlet was a true tragedy, wasn't it?' she thought hazily. Perhaps she'd die of blood loss, after all. He couldn't actually force her to use Serenity, even though she knew he'd given her permission just now. But Ophelia never lived to see her lover regret his selfish actions, and she'd be damned if she died before seeing Chrollo forced to admit he was wrong. She had already done her drowning. Her eyes blazed with sapphire flame, and Serenity dowsed the burning, mottled flesh of her limbs and torso with a cool wave of relief, her Nen closing the wounds it had made only moments before. She knew she was simply trading one drawback for another, but drunkenness wasn't exactly a terrible state to be in for an after-party. Unless she blacked out and tried to kill everyone, but then again, that might play out more like a party game than a party foul with this crowd.
As it turned out, the intoxicating influence of Serenity didn't strike nearly as hard as she had expected. And instead of taking advantage of her state, and interrogating her properly, Chrollo merely slung a protective arm around her, and held her close as she laid against his shoulder and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
Chrollo looked down at her, watching her breath rise and fall upon her generous decolletage. Somehow, she was the only one he could touch without causing him to recoil, the only one who felt like something other than the quintessence of dust.* When men died, they died, returned to dust, but yet, here she was, warm and breathing, alive, exempted entirely from the ultimate of fate. 'Why, Nijiiro? How do you slip beyond the bounds of possibility and return unscathed? How do yours powers cling to you in defiance of mine? How do you alone possess something I cannot? Tell me, Zahrat-Alqamar, how came it to be...that no matter how you betray me, betray the Spider, no matter how I hate you for it...I can never love you any less...'