𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐏𝐚𝐜𝐭 | 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐊𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐤𝐚 𝐊𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐚 𝐱 𝐊𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐚!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･
𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒐𝒓 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔: Hello everyone!! Bringing you my very first Yandere fic!! I chose Kurapika Kurta for my grand entrance into this new style of fic that I'll be posting from now on. Since my country is playing in the World Cup today, I won't be posting another one today (sorry lol) but maybe tomorrow or Sunday I'll post another yandere fic. Happy reading everyone!! :-)
𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: Dark/Yandere themes, Heavy angst, Canon-typical violence, Psychological trauma/PTSD, Forcedcontainment/Kidnapping, Non-consensual kissing, Nen restriction, Biological/Life-linked pacts, Obsessive behavior, Possessive Kurapika, Dead dove do not eat elements.
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The heavy air of Zevil Island carried the smell of wet earth and the stagnant tension of the fourth phase of the Hunter Exam. Until reaching that point, the journey had demanded physical endurance and absolute isolation. The crossing began on the stormy ship heading toward Zaban Port, followed by the endless eighty-kilometer run in the underground tunnel of the first phase under the leadership of Examiner Satotz, and cut through the smoke and hallucinations of the Numelle Wetlands. In the second phase, at Biska Forest Park, cooking tested analytical perception, while the third phase, at Trick Tower, demanded days of confinement, logical reasoning, and direct combat against highly dangerous prisoners to reach the base of the structure.
Survival from the massacre perpetrated by the Phantom Troupe four years ago occurred due to a purely geographical and utilitarian factor. On the day of the attack on the Kurta clan, you were in the deepest reaches of the Lukso forest, sent by the elders to collect samples of a rare root used in tissue preservation. The sound of screams and the echo of explosions arrived distorted by the density of the vegetation. Panic froze your reactions, forcing your body to camouflage itself inside the hollow of a centuries-old tree until absolute silence returned to the region. Upon returning to the village, only mutilated bodies devoid of their eye sockets remained.
Since that event, daily life transformed into a continuous concealment operation. The Scarlet Eyes, classified as one of the seven most beautiful colors in the world, attracted the greed of human trafficking networks and underground auctions controlled by the mafia and tycoons of immense fortunes. The discovery of your existence would result in a hunt, capture, and surgical extirpation of your corneas while you were still alive to ensure the purity of the color. To avoid tracking, the use of dark, opaque contact lenses became mandatory every second of the day, blocking the natural fluctuation of the iris. The objective upon entering the Hunter Exam was strictly instrumental: to obtain the official Hunter License. The document would grant unrestricted access to the association's exclusive website, allowing you to trace smuggling routes, locate the buyers of the eyes collected from your family, and plan the recovery of each confiscated pair.
The sun was beginning to decline on Zevil Island, casting long shadows through the treetops. The identification number badge pinned to your chest felt heavy. In that phase, each candidate needed to capture the badge of their specific target to score three points, while maintaining their own badge guaranteed another three. The search for your main target was interrupted by the harsh sound of foliage being crushed to the left.
As you backed up against the trunk of a tree, three candidates emerged from the brush, acting in a coordinated manner. They carried iron clubs and heavy containment nets, a typical tactic of badge collectors who operated in packs to corner isolated targets. The man in front advanced, delivering an oblique vertical strike.
Before your short blade could intercept the iron, a high-speed blur descended from the upper branches. The impact of two sheathed wooden swords blocked the aggressor's club with a dry crack. The young man with blond hair and blue robes with red details spun his body with mathematical precision, delivering a sweep that knocked down the first man, followed by a strike with the handle of his weapon directly into the second man's solar plexus. The two retreated, arching their bodies from the impact.
Kurapika kept his stance firm on the ground, his wooden swords crossed in front of his body, his brown eyes fixed on the three opponents without showing any fluctuation in his pulse.
— Tsk... Three individuals coordinating a siege against a single target at this stage demonstrates a latent inefficiency in your strategy, even more so with the target being a woman. You are very cowardly and weak to form a trio just to capture a single target — stated Kurapika, his tone of voice flat, devoid of unnecessary aggressiveness. — I suggest you gather your weapons and change quadrants. My interest is not in your badges.
The aggressors evaluated the young man's technical posture and the volume of subtle Nen that was beginning to concentrate around his hands. Realizing the disadvantage in close combat, the third man pulled his wounded companions by their clothes, retreating in quick steps until they vanished into the dense vegetation.
Kurapika waited ten seconds until the noises ceased completely. He stored his sheathed swords in the bindings on his back and turned in your direction, measuring your reactions with a clinical gaze.
— Listen, you retreated correctly to avoid the siege, but you yielded your left flank. You needed to be a few milliseconds faster to have avoided it — he observed, direct. — Did you sustain any structural damage?
— None. The terrain limited my dodging space, but I was about to counterattack the first man's stance — you replied, sheathing your short blade and adjusting the number badge on your chest. — I am (y/n). Thank you for the intervention. And you are...?
— Kurapika — he introduced himself, maintaining the formal distance required by the environment. — There are less than forty-eight hours left until the end of this phase. The scarcity of resources and the pressure of time will cause the remaining candidates to adopt purely predatory behaviors. I also do not know where my companions are, and staying alone is quite risky in terms of becoming a target for more groups like that. I propose a tactical alliance for mutual safety until the final extraction point.
— What is the guarantee that my number is not your target? — you questioned, suspicious and solemn, keeping your feet aligned for a possible escape.
— My target was already duly neutralized on the second day — Kurapika replied, his expression rigid and serious. — There is no logic in wasting energy in an unnecessary combat when the primary objective has already been achieved. We will divide the perimeter into four-hour watch shifts during the night. Do we have an agreement?
— Right. I'll take the first shift.
The cooperation worked with mechanical precision over the next twelve hours. Kurapika's movement was silent, guided by geographical analysis and trail concealment. However, on the morning of the following day, the stability was broken by an ambush set by a sniper hidden on the crest of an upper rock.
The shot from a compressed air rifle tore through the air. The cylindrical projectile filled with an irritating chemical substance struck the branch immediately next to your face. The secondary detonation launched shards of tree bark and a cloud of caustic soot directly against your eyes. The biological reaction was immediate: an intense burning sensation hit your eyelids, forcing a massive tear discharge. The accumulation of fluid displaced the dark contact lens from your left eye, causing it to slide down your cheek along with a thin stream of blood resulting from a superficial cut on your eyelid.
The impact of the pain and the acute stress triggered the sympathetic nervous system. The adrenaline rush accelerated your heartbeat, instantly altering the blood flow in your eye sockets. The iris of your left eye transitioned from the artificial brown to absolute red, brilliant and glowing like live embers.
Kurapika, who was leaping to neutralize the sniper's position on the rock, twisted his body in mid-air to check your defense perimeter. His movement froze mid-course. His feet hit the ground out of alignment, breaking his combat stance.
The wooden swords slid from his fingers, colliding against the dry leaves with a hollow sound. Kurapika's pupils dilated instantly. The brown of his eyes was suppressed by a violent crimson wave, reaching with exact precision the same vibrant and threatening shade that emanated from your exposed face. The psychological shock paralyzed the young man's muscles. His cognitive system processed the information in a millisecond: he was not the last survivor of the massacre.
Kurapika's pulse rose to a loud level, audible in the silence of the woods. Rigidity took over his features, eliminating any trace of civil politeness. He took two steps forward, his fingers rigidly curled, his breath coming oppressed and harsh through his clenched teeth.
You tried to raise your arm to cover your left eye with your sleeve, but Kurapika intercepted the movement. His hand closed around your wrist with crushing mechanical force, preventing any attempt to back away. His scarlet eyes pierced yours with an absolute, almost feverish fixation.
— Let go of my arm, Kurapika. The sniper might still be in the rear — you warn, nervous because your disguise has been ruined, trying to pull your wrist, the pain in your left eye still throbbing. — Wait, what...? — His eyes!! He is a Kurta too?! — You thought, surprised, your heart beating anxiously due to the mental shock.
Kurapika does not back down a single millimeter. His eyes are completely red, glowing with a sickly intensity that contrasts with the paleness of his face. His breath is short, heavy.
— Do not dare hide this — Kurapika ordered, his voice coming out in a low, sharp tone, trembling from the emotional discharge. — Look at me. Do not look away. This glow. The fluctuation of color under stress... It is not a fake. It is the blood of my people. Who are you? How did your blood escape the blades of the Phantom Troupe that night? SPEAK!! — he raised his voice, pleading for you to explain.
— K-Kurapika... Let go of my wrist. The sniper still has a line of sight — you urged, trying to pull your arm against his strict grip, still nervous by his manner of approach. — You are also drawing unnecessary attention. Someone might see.
— The sniper and everyone else do not matter. Let them see! — he shot back, his voice low but pressed against his teeth, vibrating with a suffocating weight. His face approaching, his jaw locked in an obsessive rigidity. — Answer the question. From which branch of the forest families do you descend? How did you leave Lukso? How did your blood escape the blades of that night?
You swallow hard, feeling the pressure of his fingers against your bones.
— I was on the outskirts of the forest collecting medicinal roots when the warning signal was cut. When I arrived... — you froze in the explanation, your jaw trembling and tears threatening to slide down your eyes, mixed with the pain in your eyelid. — When I arrived, nothing but ashes remained, and dead bodies on the ground with their eyes gouged out. Since then, I have been using contact lenses as a disguise to avoid the underground market of collectors.
Kurapika closed his eyes for a brief second, his forehead leaning slightly toward your shoulder in a sign of internal collapse, before focusing his scarlet gaze back onto your eyes. His expression stabilized into a gélid, territorial seriousness.
— Four years... — he murmurs, his voice now cold as the steel of a blade. — Four years believing that I carried the weight of our people's extinction alone. You do not comprehend the extent of the danger, (y/n). You are the only vestige of sanctity left in this rotten world. Every candidate, examiner, hunter, or human being on this continent is a potential predator seeking your blood. Your existence is the only real heritage left of this clan.
— I made it to the fourth phase alone, Kurapika. I know how to survive.
He releases your wrist slowly, but only to grip your shoulder firmly, his eyes locked onto yours with a silent promise of confinement.
— You survived by hiding like prey. That ends here. From now on, your survival will not depend on your tactical choices. I will be the executor of the safety of what remains of us. If anyone attempts to violate your integrity, I will guarantee the elimination of the target before they can land the first blow.
Later, after Kurapika's approach and the resumption of the march toward the river, the group found Gon and Leorio. The partnership with Kurapika had undergone a radical and somewhat... uncomfortable alteration. If you altered your route by two steps to avoid an obstacle, Kurapika readjusted his stride immediately, matching his shoulders to yours.
— Kurapika, you are reducing my field of vision by walking so close — you warned in a low tone, without taking your eyes off the trail.
— My reaction capacity and peripheral perception are superior to yours — Kurapika replied, his voice devoid of any flexibility, his brown eyes monitoring the woods around. — Gon and Leorio are trustworthy, but they are civilians. They do not comprehend the value of what you carry. They do not understand the size of the banquet you represent to the monsters out there.
— I managed my safety over the last four years without external help, Kurapika — you exclaimed, maintaining a serious posture. — I am not a helpless object for you to keep in a box.
Kurapika interrupted the walk abruptly, forcing you to stop to avoid colliding against his back. He spun his body around, staring down at you with a fixed, opaque gaze that made the blood at the back of your neck run cold.
— You survived by hiding like a helpless prey in hostile territory — he declared, his tone harsh and absolute. — Your attempt at a disguise ended the moment your lens fell out. If it becomes necessary to isolate you in a containment structure to guarantee that your blood keeps running, I will execute the project myself. Do not test the limits of my tolerance when the subject is the maintenance of your life. Now, keep walking.
Your face froze, surprised by the response. The rigidity in his words eliminated any possibility of debate, making it clear that the temporary alliance had transformed into a compulsory guardianship.
The conclusion of the Hunter Exam brought the delivery of the official Licenses and the immediate fragmentation of the group. Gon, Kurapika, and Leorio traced a direct route toward the Republic of Padokea with the objective of rescuing Killua from the dreaded Kukuroo Mountain. Although the invitation to accompany them had been extended to you, the refusal was immediate and strategic. The Zoldyck family, composed of elite assassins strictly focused on lucrative commercial contracts, had no historical or financial interest in the Kurta remnants, so there was no reason to waste time on that; infiltrating their property meant an unacceptable diversion of resources and time.
While Leorio headed to medical school and Hanzo and Pokkle began their respective journeys of exploration and hunting rare beasts, your objectives demanded isolation. Armed with your Hunter License, your destination was the metropolis of Yorknew, the financial epicenter where the largest legal and underground auctions on the continent took place. The plan required establishing a network of contacts in the mafia underworld, monitoring the advance catalogs of the September Auction, and tracking the intermediaries who bought and sold the "goods" of Lukso. Every day spent in the mansion of a family of assassins would be one day less in the preparation for the rescue of the clan's eyes.
However, physical separation did not mean freedom. Kurapika's presence remained tied to your daily life through radio frequencies and digital communication networks.
After the resolution of the Zoldyck crisis, Kurapika isolated himself in a mountainous and arid region under the tutelage of Izunavi, beginning his severe training of Nen. However, his monastic isolation was systematically broken by the fixation he had developed on your routine. The days passed in a rigid cycle: every twelve hours, without fail, the screen of your Hunter phone would light up with encrypted messages originating from anonymous servers.
The messages did not contain normal greetings like: "Hello! How have you been these days?" or casual questions. They were reports demanded with surgical precision.
"Confirm the geographical coordinates of your current lodging. Record the departure and entry times of the urban perimeter. If you notice any individual repeating the same route pattern for more than two days, change hotels immediately and send me the new network location."
If the reply was delayed by more than ten minutes, the device would begin to vibrate with voice calls from blocked channels. Kurapika's voice on the other side of the line always came through cold, tense, the sound of his breathing betraying his state of constant vigil.
The paranoia inside Kurapika's mind escalated in the same proportion as the power of his Nen took shape. During the process of materializing his chains, he spent entire days staring at real metal, biting the links, licking the loops to impregnate his senses with the essence of iron. In the suffocating silence of training, hatred against the Phantom Troupe fed his aura, but the panic of loss fed his madness.
On nights when physical exhaustion should have knocked him out, Kurapika remained awake, sitting on the stone floor of the cabin, staring at the ceiling. Visions of the Lukso massacre mixed with mental projections of Yorknew. In his mind, the image of you walking through the streets of the auction city transformed into a graphic nightmare: the fingers of a mobster or the blade of a psychopath tearing your skin, the scarlet eyes gouged out and placed in glass jars with chemical preservatives before he could intervene.
Cold sweat poured down the blond youth's neck as he squeezed his hands shut, burying his nails into his own flesh until they bled.
— What a catastrophic mistake... Why did I allow her to follow a separate path? — Kurapika sibilated in the darkness of the cabin, his voice coming out hoarse, squeezed by the tightening in his throat. — Her discernment is severely compromised by the false sense of security of the license. She is walking unprotected in the den of predators out there. Alone. Vulnerable to the slightest tactical error.
He would stand up, pacing back and forth in the restricted space, his Nen aura fluctuating violently around his body. His brown eyes would transition to scarlet without any enemy present, inflamed purely by the possessiveness that consumed him.
— She has to be under my line of sight. With me, by my side. Every second. I am the only one capable of calculating the risks and neutralizing the threats around that blood. I refuse to allow the world to touch what remains of my existence. I need her intact. If she does not comprehend the fragility of her own life, I will make confinement mandatory.
His fixation transformed the development of his chains. Kurapika's focus was no longer just creating a weapon to crush the Spiders; the biological need to create a mechanism of absolute control and indestructible confinement for you became the secret pillar of his Nen restrictions. Each link he materialized in his right hand carried the weight of this obsessive need for protection.
The suffocating heat and the deafening noise of Yorknew's traffic announced the approach of the September Auction. The gray skyscrapers rose like columns of a human anthill, but, beneath the opulence of the advertising billboards, the mafia underworld operated at full steam. The rumors in the alleys and on the encrypted data networks of the Hunter Association were unanimous: an unprecedented threat loomed over the city. Mentions of the Phantom Troupe — the Spider — emerged in intercepted informant reports.
The meeting point determined by Kurapika was a dimly lit underground café located a few blocks from the Nostrade community building. When his silhouette crossed the entrance, the physical alteration was evident. Wearing the formal suit of the mafia bodyguards, he carried the weight of weeks of sleep deprivation. Deep, purplish dark circles marked the contours of his eyes, and his posture, although perfectly erect, exuded a metallic rigidity.
Upon noticing your presence, his pace quickened. Kurapika sat at the table arranged in the most isolated corner and, without any preamble or civil greeting, extended his right hand, closing his fingers around your wrist. His touch was rough, firm. A subtle and almost imperceptible current of Nen flowed from his palm into your skin, testing your heartbeat. His brown eyes gleamed for a millisecond with a feverish brightness, a spark of the repressed scarlet that seemed to force its way to the surface every second.
— Did you follow the secondary route as I determined in the transmissions? — Kurapika asked, his voice low, his tone dry cutting through the ambient noise.
— I used the rail freight terminal and changed clothing in the southern quadrant, exactly as you required — you replied, pulling your arm slightly to relieve the pressure of the grip. — Your appearance is worn out, Kurapika. The work for the Nostrades is consuming your physical capacity.
— The management of my physical integrity is secondary at this moment — he countered, his eyes fixed on yours, analyzing the fixation of your current contact lens. — The Phantom Troupe is in the city. The confirmation of their movement invalidates any operational plan you have drawn up in isolation. Your incursions into the black market are suspended indefinitely.
— I obtained access to the catalogs of the parallel auctions for day two — you argued, leaning your body forward, keeping your tone of voice restricted. — There are mentions of three pairs of eyes that belonged to the families of northern Lukso. I need to move before the mafia siege locks down the perimeters.
Kurapika released your wrist, but only to lock both hands onto the table, his knuckles whitening from the force of the pressure.
— You will not go to any auction — he declared, the rigidity in his voice eliminating any margin of negotiation. — The information I gathered indicates that the Yorknew underground will become a killing field in the next forty-eight hours. If the Spiders detect the oscillation of your iris for a single second of hesitation, the massacre from four years ago will be re-enacted in this city. You will leave this café and go straight to my private room in the hotel controlled by Nostrade security.
The atmosphere around the table became dense, the air feeling thin under the weight of the compulsory authority he exercised.
— That hotel is a mafia base, monitored by dozens of skilled bodyguards — you retorted, feeling the sense of suffocation return. — If I lock myself in there, I will be under the scrutiny of third parties. I will be left without tactical mobility. It is an absurd restriction.
Kurapika leaned toward you, his face stopping a few centimeters from yours. The extreme exhaustion in his features gave way to an expression of cold territorial fixation, devoid of any flexibility.
— Those men are disposable pawns who serve as an initial barrier against invasions. The room is armored against common Nen signatures — he explained, his opaque brown eyes fixed on yours in a suffocating manner. — Each restriction I impose is strictly necessary for the maintenance of your life. I am not going to manage the possibility of tracking your corpse in a Yorknew alley. You will remain locked under my guardianship. My priority is to guarantee that your blood keeps running, and if for that I need to deprive you of your freedom of movement until the end of the auction, I will do it without hesitation.
His definitive tone allowed no further retorts for you to counter-argument him. For Kurapika, your will or your strategic plans held no value against the absolute imperative of keeping the last vestige of his clan confined and safe from the greed of the outside world.
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This scene takes place chronologically right after the capture of Uvogin by Kurapika's chains. While he keeps the giant under custody, the rest of the Phantom Troupe disguise themselves as members of the mafia itself to infiltrate the hotel perimeter and rescue him, acting in pairs and small groups conducting a ruthless sweep through the streets of Yorknew. It was during this tactical sweep that (y/n)'s path crossed with danger. I decided to base it on this episode because I had the single best idea to put (y/n) in danger and have Kurapika save her. He was with Hisoka where they had arranged a hidden meeting, but I decided to place Kurapika as if he were right there.
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The Phantom Troupe's attack on the underground auction in the Cemetery Building converted the financial heart of Yorknew into a slaughterhouse. Kurapika's confinement order was broken by your own operational necessity: a black market informant had scheduled the delivery of tracking files for a batch of Scarlet Eyes in a sorting warehouse a few blocks from the auction, right at the moment when the Spiders initiated the execution of the members of the Mafia Community.
Chaos expanded through the surrounding streets like a shockwave. The sound of automatic gunfire and explosions caused by the invaders' Nen echoed between the buildings. In an attempt to return to the Nostrade hotel, you were cornered in the crossfire by two members of the Phantom Troupe who were sweeping the external perimeter: Nobunaga and Shizuku.
A shrapnel piece from a grenade fired by the mafiosi hit the concrete beam above you, launching piercing debris. A piece of metal scraped the side of your temple, cutting the skin and flooding the left side of your face with warm blood. The biological impact and acute stress were immediate. The dark contact lens, bathed in blood flow and tears, displaced and fell onto the asphalt. Your left eye, now fully exposed, inflamed into the purest and most vibrant scarlet, gleaming in the dim light of the alley.
A few meters away, Shizuku stopped walking, her eyes fixed on the oscillation of color emanating from your face. She raised her left hand, about to summon her vacuum, Blinky.
— Nobunaga, look over there. That eye... it's just like the ones you guys mentioned once — Shizuku commented, her tone of voice calm and devoid of any empathy.
Nobunaga narrowed his eyes, his right hand already touching the hilt of his katana.
— A survivor... — the samurai sibilated, his Nen aura expanding instantly, freezing your muscles. — Well, well... it looks like one of them survived. We better capture her and take her to the hideout. Who knows, maybe the boss will be interested in her eyes?
Before Nobunaga's katana could leave its scabbard, the air around the alley became dense and suffocating. A gust of wind laden with hostile and crushing Nen tore through the darkness. Kurapika emerged from the top of the retaining wall. His eyes were not brown; they burned in the most violent and sickly scarlet ever seen, the aura materialized in his right hand vibrating with a destructive force generated by hatred and absolute panic.
— DON'T YOU DARE LAY A SINGLE FINGER ON HER, YOU SONS OF BITCHES!!!
He did not hesitate. With a straight and brutal movement, he launched his materialized chains against the support structure of the neighboring warehouse. The impact of his Nen collapsed the entire brick wall over the two members of the Troupe, forcing Nobunaga and Shizuku to leap backward to avoid being crushed.
Taking advantage of the seconds of dust and debris, Kurapika advanced in your direction. His face was pale, his jaw locked to the point of bleeding at the gums, and his pupils dilated to the extreme fixed onto your exposed red eye. He did not utter a single civilized word.
With a violent tug devoid of any gentleness, he locked his left arm around your waist, suspending your body against his chest. His right hand activated his Nen, firing a blast of energy against the exposed gas pipes of the alley while beating a retreat. The secondary explosion obliterated the scene behind you, transforming the alley into a curtain of fire and twisted debris, blocking any immediate pursuit.
The escape route was a blur of speed and violence. Kurapika dragged you by force through the underground maintenance tunnels that connected Yorknew's drainage systems, paths he had previously mapped for emergencies. His grip on your body possessed a metallic rigidity; his fingers buried into your skin with a possessive force that ignored your protests or attempts to plant your feet on the ground.
He broke through the iron door of an old, deactivated storage bunker in the deepest levels of the city's underground. Upon entering, he threw you against the rough concrete floor.
The dry click of the steel lock being closed echoed through the confined environment, illuminated only by a low-voltage, yellowish halogen bulb. Kurapika leaned his back against the door, his breath coming in short, loud, and uncontrolled gasps. Sweat poured down his face, mixing with the dust from the explosion. Whatever remained of his sanity, diplomacy, or politeness vanished completely. His eyes remained scarlet, gleaming in the penumbra with an insane and territorial intensity that did not recede back to brown. His mental collapse was absolute.
— (Y/n)!!! What the fuck do you think you were doing?!! You would have been killed at that exact moment by those bastards!!! — Kurapika's voice came out loud and aggressive, pressed against his teeth, vibrating in a tone that made your spine freeze. He took two steps in your direction, his fists clenched, the materialized chains on his right hand dragging along the floor with a screeching sound of metal against cement. — They saw. The Spider fixed its eyes on you. Five more seconds... five more seconds and your skull along with your eyes would be empty.
— I needed the data, Kurapika! The market is going to close after the attack — you justified, backing up until your shoulder blades hit the concrete wall.
— SHUT UP!! — he roared, delivering a violent punch to the wall immediately next to your head, cracking the plaster and covering your shoulders in dust. His face stopped inches from yours, his scarlet eyes bloodshot, fixed on your sockets with a possessive dementia. — The data holds no value!! The eyes of the clan hold no value if I have to collect yours from the mafia's inventory! Do not you comprehend your own condition?! You are the last sacred lineage left to me!! I am not going to manage your tactical stupidity while hunting our family's killers!!
He backed up a step, trembling, holding his own head with his hands, the links of the chains clashing against his blond hair strands. His Nen aura expanded erratically in the bunker, saturating the air in such a way that the pressure made it difficult to breathe.
— The outside world is under the control of monsters, (Y/n). And you proved that you are incapable of keeping yourself away from their claws autonomously. I tried to give you space through warnings and communications. It is over. The time of your walking freedom has been ended by your own incompetence. From here... you will no longer leave without my restraints.
The halogen bulb flickered on the ceiling of the underground bunker, casting Kurapika's shadow in a distorted way against the concrete walls. The sound of forced ventilation was weak, unable to relieve the oppression of the air saturated by the scarlet Nen emanating from him. Kurapika took two slow steps in your direction. The violent fury of seconds ago seemed to retract, giving way to a gélid and surgical calm, which made his countenance even more alarming.
He knelt in front of you on the rough cement floor. His left hand, rough and cold, rose slowly until it touched the side of your injured face. His fingers traced the line of your jaw with an almost reverent gentleness, wiping away the trail of blood streaming from the cut on your temple. His eyes remained alight with the deepest scarlet, but his gaze now carried a tender, sickly possessiveness.
— Look at the state the world puts you in when I look away for a single second — he murmured, his voice low, almost a lullaby, while his thumb lightly pressed against your cheek. — They hurt you. They dared to covet your gaze. The inability to notice that you are too fragile to walk without my guardianship is your greatest tactical flaw, (Y/n).
You tried to pull your head back, but the pressure of his fingers increased immediately, locking your face in place. The tenderness dissipated in a millisecond, replaced by an absolute rigidity.
— Stay still — he ordered, his tone of voice dropping to a cutting neutrality.
With a precise movement of his right hand, Kurapika's aura condensed with a screeching metallic noise. Five distinct chains materialized, extending from his fingers. He raised his arm, and the middle finger chain — the Chain Jail — serpentined through the air like a steel snake, wrapping your wrists and your torso in indestructible bonds. The tightening of the metal imposed the Restriction, instantly draining your ability to flow Nen, forcing your body into a state of absolute Zetsu. You were helpless.
Next, the ring finger chain — the Judgment Chain — rose. The metallic tip shaped like a sharp blade hovered a few centimeters from your sternum.
— Kurapika, what do you think you are doing? — your voice came out squeezed by the physical grip and the pressure of his aura. — That chain... you cannot use it against anyone who isn't from the Troupe. You will kill yourself.
— The Chain Jail is restricted to the Spiders. The Judgment Chain is not — he corrected, his scarlet eyes fixed on the center of your chest. — The price to extend my control over your life is a burden I accept to bear.
With a swift thrust, the blade of the Judgment Chain pierced through the fabric of your clothing, tore through your skin and ribcage, driving itself directly into your heart muscle. The physical shock made your body arch forward, but the bonds of the Chain Jail kept you pinned. The sensation of having cold metal pulsing around your vital organ made your blood freeze.
— A Nen blade is enveloping your myocardium at this very instant — Kurapika declared, his voice echoing with surgical precision. — If you violate any of the conditions I determine, the tip will pierce your heart, causing immediate death. Pay attention to the clauses of our pact:
He brought his face close to yours, his breath brushing against your skin, his crimson eyes locked onto your pupils.
— First clause: You are expressly forbidden from uttering any falsehood or concealing information from me. Your words and your thoughts must be completely transparent to my audit. Second clause: You will not attempt to escape, break your bonds, or subvert the defenses of the containment locations I select for your stay. Third clause: You will not distance yourself further than a linear distance of three meters from my perimeter without my explicit authorization. Fourth clause: You will not engage in combat, negotiations, or contact with any individual I classify as a latent threat.
— This is madness... — you sibilated, cold sweat trickling down your forehead as you felt the chain pulse against your heart with every beat. — You are turning me into a functional corpse!! Do you prefer to see me in a cage?! You are insane, Kurapika!!!
— I prefer to see you chained to me, weeping with frustration in this basement, than to see your cold, eyeless body laid out on a morgue table because of your negligence — he shot back, his voice destitute of any remorse, cold as steel. — I have already witnessed hell once, (Y/n). I saw the severed heads of our clan. I wiped their blood from the earth. The outside world will not have the right to tear from me the last sacred property remaining from my history. You are my responsibility. My possession. You are mine, (Y/n)...
His hand touched your face again, caressing the skin near the wound with a terrifying calmness, while his scarlet eyes gleamed with fanatic determination.
— And now, the closing clause of the pact — he continued, his tone of voice acquiring a dense and fatalistic softness. — Should the conditions be broken by you, the blade executes you. However... if my heart stops beating for any reason... if I fall in this hunt against the Phantom Troupe... your heart will stop simultaneously in the exact same millisecond.
Despair reached its peak in your chest. Your pupils dilated as you understood the full extent of his plan. Kurapika was on a declared suicidal path against the thirteen members of the Spider; linking your life to his meant you were summarily condemned to death the moment he failed.
— Y-YOU LUNATIC!! W-why did you include that?!! — you questioned, your voice failing from real panic. — If you die in your revenge... why do I have to die with you?!! This isn't protection, Kurapika. It's selfishness and madness!!!
Kurapika tilted his head, a subtle smile, devoid of humor and heavy with a possessive melancholy, emerging on his lips.
— Nen becomes infinitely more powerful when the restrictions involve one's own life. By tying your destiny to mine absolutely, the power of my chains over your confinement becomes unbreakable. No entity or Hunter in this world will be able to undo this bond — he explained, bringing his body closer until his chest pressed against the restraints holding you. — And there is the fundamental reason, (Y/n). I know the torture of being the sole survivor, though it seems you do not feel the same. I know the weight of carrying the Lukso morgue on one's back without an anchor. I love your existence so absolutely that I refuse to leave you alone in this rotten world should I fall. I will not allow you to suffer the agony I have suffered for the past four years.
He wrapped your chained body in a tight embrace, burying his face in the crook of your neck. The warmth of his body contrasted with the coldness of the chains crushing your skin.
— If I triumph, we will rebuild our history under my strict control, far from the filthy hands of collectors. If I fall... we will go together into the afterlife. Whole. With our scarlet eyes untouched by third parties. No one will be able to separate us in the grave I designed for the two of us. You are safe now, (Y/n). With me. Forever.
Kurapika's embrace remained tight, the weight of his body pressing the bonds of the Chain Jail against your chest. The pulsing of the Judgment Chain's blade driven into your heart was a physical reminder that any spasm of violent rejection could be interpreted by his Nen as an escape attempt, triggering the immediate death clause. You were cornered in your own physical matter, and this included your very soul, destined to exist in this world without free will.
He pulled his face away from your neck slowly. His scarlet eyes, still alight and devoid of any trace of civilized hesitation, fixed on your lips.
Kurapika held the back of your head with his left hand, his fingers burying into your hair with a firm force that completely locked your neck against the concrete wall. He advanced, pressing his mouth against yours in a brutal, dry, and impositive kiss.
The initial impact made your teeth clash against his, bringing the metallic taste of blood from your own cut on your temple that had trickled down to the corner of your mouth. The movement of his lips was urgent, heavy, as if he were trying to extract and retain the very essence of your breath to guarantee that you belonged to him. A demarcation of biological territory.
Your immediate reaction was the complete locking of your muscles. Dread paralyzed your respiratory tract. The instinct to bite, push, or turn your face away was suffocated by the echo of the Nen blade pulsing against your myocardium. Cold sweat trickled down your back while you kept your eyes wide open, watching the suffocating proximity of his features in the penumbra of the bunker. There was an overwhelming helplessness in seeing yourself forced to receive the affection of someone whose mind had collapsed under the weight of trauma. Your destiny now was the sacred spoil he had decided to lock away in his mental fortress.
When Kurapika finally drew back, his lips were stained with the same blood he had wiped from your face. His breath came short against your mouth, his scarlet eyes gleaming with a dark and possessive satisfaction upon noticing your total immobility.
— Your body understands the need for submission — he murmured, his tone of voice returning to that tender and terrifying calm, while his thumb wiped the corner of your mouth with a slow touch. — This is excellent. The outside world no longer has a right to any fraction of you. From now on, until the conclusion of my revenge, your air and your life belong strictly to me.
He stood up, keeping the end of the chains firm in his right hand, the links clinking in the silence of the bunker as he watched you try to catch your breath in the darkness
═══════ ⛓️ .🩸. ⛓️ ═══════
The dust of Yorknew finally settled. The final confrontation in the desert, the capture of Chrollo Lucilfer, and the subsequent Nen restriction imposed on the leader of the Spider by the Judgment Chain sealed the closing of that bloody chapter. Gon and Killua had departed in search of the game Greed Island; Leorio had returned to his studies. To the outside world, the mafia crisis was over. To you, the true seclusion had only just begun.
The new containment setting was a high-security apartment located in the private residential quadrant of the Nostrade family, on the outskirts of a coastal metropolis. The property, funded by Kurapika's resources as acting head of Neon's security, was a high-end cage. The windows featured armored glass and electronic locks that only responded to his biometric signature. There were no external communication networks or connected devices.
The late afternoon silence was broken only by the soft sound of the sea through the glass and the discrete clinking of the chains in Kurapika's right hand.
He was sitting at the dark wooden table in the living room, with several underground auction reports and smuggling route maps scattered in front of him. A few meters away, you remained sitting on the sofa, your wrists still enveloped by the cold links of the Chain Jail. The three-meter restriction determined by the pact limited your movement to the space between the upholstery and the kitchen counter. In your chest, the pulsing of the invisible blade against your heart was a constant reminder that your life was tied, by a biological thread, to that man's mental stability.
Kurapika organized the papers on the table into exact piles, closed a black leather folder, and stood up. His expression had returned to that stoic politeness of the canon, but his brown eyes held a dense opacity, the reflection of someone who had crossed a psychological line of no return.
He walked over to the counter and picked up a craft paper bag he had brought from the street hours earlier. From inside, he removed a thermal container containing portions of cooked rice with mountain vegetables and a small packet of Goro-Choco — the stuffed cylindrical chocolates that Gon and Killua used to consume in large quantities during their travels.
His approach toward the sofa made the links of the chain drag across the floor with a rhythmic sound. He knelt in front of you, reducing the distance between you to almost nothing. With a subtle mental command, he slightly loosened the tension of the Chain Jail around your wrists, allowing your hands to have enough mobility to hold the objects, even though the state of Zetsu continued to block your Nen.
— The commercial establishments in this region have a scarce supply of traditional Lukso provisions — Kurapika said, his tone of voice flat, handing the thermal container directly into your hands. — But I found these sweets at the distributor near the port. I remembered you mentioned the need for glucose after long periods of compulsory Zetsu. Eat.
You held the food container, feeling the warmth of the rice contrast with the coldness of the iron that still touched your skin. Looking at him closely, the dark circles under his eyes seemed a little less inflamed than in Yorknew, but the determination in his jawline remained intact.
— Kurapika, you told me that Chrollo Lucilfer can no longer use Nen or communicate with the members of the Spider — you uttered, your voice low, testing the limits of his silence. — Due to the punishment you applied to him. Why does the monitoring over me continue at this level of restriction, Kurapika? The Spiders are scattered.
Kurapika extended his hand, brushing away a strand of hair that fell over your eyes with a methodical calm. His touch was soft, but his fingers maintained the firmness of an experienced bodyguard.
— Their leader has been neutralized, but the twelve remaining links of the Spider are still crawling around — he replied, his brown eyes fixed on yours without any deviation. — Furthermore, the black market has not ceased its activities. I managed to track the whereabouts of two more boxes containing the eyes of our lineage through the Nostrade records. My hunt is only in its intermediate phase.
— And will I spend this entire phase locked in this quadrant? Like a piece of property you hide from the world? — you questioned, feeling the invisible grip of the Judgment Chain in your chest pulse with a slight discomfort due to your frustration.
Kurapika tilted his head slightly, his features softening into a deep melancholy, almost poetic were it not strictly fatalistic. He held your chained hands between his, pressing them lightly against the sweets he had bought.
— A piece of property can be sold or stolen, (Y/n). You are something infinitely superior. You are the only living evidence that my clan existed, the only reason I return to this apartment instead of launching myself into a definitive suicidal attack against the rest of the Troupe — he declared, his voice dropping to a dense and possessive whisper. — Being tied to me by this pact of mutual death guarantees that, no matter how deep the darkness I must descend into to retrieve what was taken from us, I will always have to return to where you are.
He brought his face close, lightly resting his forehead against yours, allowing you to hear the calm, yet unstable, rhythm of his heart.
— Eat what I bought for you. Rest. While I breathe on the outside to purge the murderers of our people, you will remain intact, nourished, and safe inside my cage. We were condemned to the same fate the moment we met in the mist, and I will ensure that no one changes the ending of our story.
