Chapter Text
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-v-
**Eat My Heart Out**
-v-
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Clunk…
Clunk…
Splatter…
Drip…dr…dr..ip…
Squelch…ch…ch…
.
. . .
There was so much blood.
He was transfixed.
Gon couldn’t fathom the amount of blood human bodies contained, had never seen what a mess could be made of a room when a grown body exploded.
There were so many pieces…
It was all over the kitchen…the appliances…the countertops…and the walls.
Gon’s eyes dilated rapidly, staring unblinkingly at where mere seconds ago his Aunt Mito had stood…alive…waving her baking spoon at him, chiding with a smile and ordering him not to track mud through the house from outside.
He could smell her cookies cooling on the racks, being somehow spared the carnage.
The phantom taste of copper inundated his esophagus, leaving oily slick coating his sandpaper tongue.
His throat worked spasmodically to birth a scream clogging his lungs.
His breathing came loud and labored, staccato in the wake of destruction.
Something warm and wet dripped from the ceiling onto his cheek.
Red…everywhere...he saw red.
That was how the authorities found him.
Rooted in place…imploding…blank eyed…in the midst of overpowering Red.
--
-v-
--
It was such a peculiar thing.
How it’d happened was anyone’s guess.
Whoever had done it was certainly still at large…loosed upon the city of York New.
Reported incidents of spontaneous combustion from recovered micro explosives hidden in the victims’ clothing sprung up randomly from all over.
There was no discernable pattern to the attacks.
It was giving the cops a headache, and stretching the perpetually overworked police departments majorly thin just trying to follow and clean up the lengthening trail of bodies.
No tips were forthcoming to the investigators.
Frequently, bystanders were caught in the crossfire. Because when bodies exploded…it was rarely clean.
Some victims died taking loved ones with them due to unfortunate proximity, or sustained life threatening injuries resulting from the fallout.
The scenes were horrible to look at.
Even as areas were swiftly quartered off after the attacks, the police kept coming up empty with no one having anything worthwhile to say regarding the victims or perpetrator.
Nobody knew a thing.
Panic saturated the streets.
Nobody knew a thing.
And then there was Gon.
--
xXOXx
--
Leorio never enjoyed questioning kids.
There was never a nice way to do it, and the looks on such young faces as he asked his questions as tactfully as possible to sketch the crime scene…was always enough to wrench his gut.
When he’d first met Gon, he was being consulted as a psychiatrist and criminal profiler on –The York New Bomber- case.
At that point, Gon was the youngest of the victims left alive in the aftermath of the madness that was the Bomber’s M.O.
It was hard going trying to get the kid to open up.
Gon wouldn’t say a word at first.
He barely blinked—just stared silently at Leorio from his seat on the couch opposite the man’s desk.
Leorio stared back, and fidgeted uncomfortably in his worn suit and tie as he struggled to parse the right words to suss out if the kid saw anything relevant to the case, which the investigators may have missed.
Gon just looked at him.
Finally, Leorio lamented with a burdened sigh, “Look, kid…I know it’s hard. You shouldn’t be here. Nobody should. But if anything at all comes to mind…it can help us put an end to the bastard who did this. You just gotta give me something to work with. Anything at all can help…”
Gon blinked lethargically.
Leorio held his breath, but not for long.
There was a spark…being slowly kindled in the depths of lifeless chestnut, bringing an almost feverish fervor to the surface of Gon’s otherwise blank countenance.
Rather than relief…Leorio felt a profound sense of disquiet resulting from the change.
At last, the kid spoke.
His words were chilling, deliberate.
--
“…the person who did this. You won’t find them. I will.”
Leorio frowned deeply then, and made to gently (but firmly) disabuse the kid of the alarming notion of whatever insane vengeance scheme was siren calling to him now.
But then, Gon abruptly stood from his seat, exhibiting a disconcerting amount of energy and flashing a ludicrously bright grin at Leorio—as if suddenly, the world had slipped off his shoulders, shattered against the scuffed up linoleum floor.
He looked incongruously happy, practically incandescent, as he said, “Thank you, Mr. Leorio. I feel much better now.”
And before Leorio could get another word in edgewise, Gon was out the door.
Leorio could only stare worriedly after the disappeared kid—a boy of barely thirteen, leaving on his own as if he could be left to himself by any stretch of the law.
By the time Leorio urgently phoned the front desk to stop Gon from leaving the building, the kid was long gone.
Without a trace—Gon had disappeared.
Leorio and the officers working the case were left aghast, and scrambling in the aftermath to find him.
They never did.
It was as if he’d simply vanished.
--
xXOXx
--
2 years later.
The city of York New was a horrible cesspit of crime and depravity.
There was no escaping the sound of sirens, wailing almost constant throughout the night.
The streets were always alive with the sounds of violence and degeneration in progress.
It was practically a Buffet for one such as himself.
Slipping in and out of shadows, stalking the darkest of souls through the corners and alleyways—always unseen, always unheard, until naught but a last scream could be caught leaving the gaping throat of the damned.
Consuming such filth sustained him in all his wretchedness.
It was a matter of Nutrition.
The Arena didn’t appear at random, but at need.
Purgatory would open at the stroke of Midnight, and then he would be compelled to take up his post as the Bouncer.
It wasn’t as though he didn’t appreciate his job.
Making sure souls ripped from the mortal coil made it to their proper destinations in the afterlife was an important duty.
It also made for Good Eating.
Devils such as himself were always ravenous for sustenance.
It was part of his own damnation.
--
So long ago, he had been something like a Human himself.
And upon dying (in a most gruesome fashion), his soul had been bloodstained and malformed enough to earn an elitist position in the Underworld, directly beneath the head honcho himself, dear Chrollo Lucifer—a Satan (distinguished one of many) with taste and humor.
Hisoka hadn’t been surprised at where he’d wound up.
And in truth, between burning in the flames of Hell for all Eternity and working as a Devil beneath Lucifer’s (relatively) loose reign, it wasn’t even a competition.
He’d gladly taken up the role offered.
Hisoka found it quite suitable.
However…it had been a long time.
Longer than he cared to recollect….since he’d eaten anything truly…Unique.
Desperation had a flavor, so did Decay.
As Humanity failed to become better than the Lowest of the low, Hisoka consumed the Vilest of the vile.
And still…there was a dearth of true…delicacies.
Vileness would keep him alive (so to speak) indefinitely, but Hisoka would like something to break the monotony of his meals every few eons or so.
Otherwise, he began to feel much like Tantalus (poor wretched sod, may he never rest).
The truest delicacies of the Human Realm were barred from him, and it was pure torture at times not to be able to sample anything beyond the dregs of society.
Just once…Hisoka wished for something…sweet…something with flavor beyond the best Nightmares.
Just thinking of what such a thing could encompass, set his mouth to watering and his tongue to running compulsively along his sensual lips.
-
Whoever said a Devil couldn’t dream?
-
Hisoka sighed, with a bone deep and putrefied longing.
Falling upon a random prey and extracting the soul from a withered husk of a body, to be later desiccated at his leisure, he moaned appreciatively as his stomach was temporarily filled with the essence of such a cruel, disgusting specimen.
A compulsive Cannibal…with a taste for children’s flesh, come home from his latest snatch and grab.
Such filth…
Hisoka licked his lips and slipped swiftly through the shadows as Midnight struck against his undead ribs.
He could feel it resonate through his chest, somewhere in the vicinity of where a heart should be.
It was the melodic sound of Purgatory’s opening dirge.
Break time was over.
--
-x-
--
Some fool was always trying to sneak into Paradise.
The cue for which was shorter than one would presume.
It was easy enough to catch the aberrations.
Some put up quite the fight, and he did so enjoy making them suffer through the Wait.
Disembodied souls could feel pain like you wouldn’t believe.
Hisoka was used to the wailing and agonized screams, and most souls learned better than to cross him in any way after the first few nights.
Wherever the Arena wound up, Hisoka was quickly established as the only shred of true Order and Discipline, in a place of eternal Chaos.
By the fourth night in York New, the greatest dissenters had been silenced and cowed.
Hisoka was officially Bored.
-.-
The Arena was a curious place.
And as it moved continuously, the outer façade stood as an invisible beacon to departing souls of all kinds, yet to be determined for one or the other eternal destination.
It was the confusion that made the job so tedious.
Nobody wanted to be there.
But everyone who was—was stuck until further notice.
It could be anywhere from a few hours to a few decades, before a soul was pressed onward to its final destination.
It all depended upon the Soul.
And the Wait was always killer.
Hisoka supposed Purgatory was a kind of punishment no matter which side of the wall you were standing on.
Being employed and expected to keep Order, or waiting to know if your sins have finally outweighed any amount of virtue retained in your lifetime.
Still.
He…was bored.
And that was never good for anyone.
Hisoka had devoured (more than) his fair share of souls, and been reprimanded, time and again, for not regurgitating enough portions of them to allow for the eventual pass-on.
It was a redundantly ridiculous situation.
As he was always careful to pick those already obviously slaked for true damnation, even though they’d somehow been stuck in the waiting area for grotesquely extended periods of time due to complicated life stories and motivations.
It was the supernatural equivalent of finishing off the oldest leftovers in the fridge, before they went truly off.
--
Alas… when Hisoka was bored, Order suffered.
As it stood, the Arena was basically a Daycare.
Hisoka was a terrible Nanny.
No sooner had he began considering the particularly rotten souls in the back, did Hisoka catch a whiff of something otherworldly…and compelling.
It was altogether far too fresh…untainted…and Sweet a scent…to come from anything long dead, belonging within the bounds of Purgatory.
Zoning in on the highly conspicuous (at least to himself and his honed senses) abnormality, Hisoka found his demonic gaze riveting on the entrance…where a short figure in a green hoodie and boots…leaned casually against the doorframe.
Looking for all the world like a lost Lamb…in the middle of a slaughterhouse.
--
xXOXx
--
It had been two years.
Two years since the day his life had changed irreparably.
All he’d ever had to depend on had been his Grandmother and Aunt.
After the former had passed during his earliest childhood, it had been just him and his Aunt Mito.
They’d lived on the outskirts of York New for as long as he could recall, in the house his Aunt was raised in with his Grandmother.
His own parents were never mentioned much, except to say his Mother had left him with her Mom and Sister to chase after Gon’s father, after the man had unceremoniously abandoned his wife and kid for adventures untold in the wide world.
Gon had gathered that his father was some kind of Agent of Justice (or something like it) from his Aunt Mito’s private griping which he wasn’t meant to have heard.
That his Father was a man of the Law who lived like an outlaw, even as he caught up to criminals and organizations operating beyond the reach of any known Government.
It sounded dangerously complicated and cool.
And Gon had long admired his Father’s dedication to his lifestyle.
Away from that though, his Aunt Mito had always done her best to raise him well in the house they called home.
It wasn’t always easy.
But the house was paid for, and his Aunt had steady work in and out of the City, which kept food on the table and electricity running through the walls.
Gon was largely homeschooled as well.
--
There was no safe way to commute back and forth to the city schools at his age, and his Aunt Mito hadn’t wanted to worry about sending him so far out on a daily basis in order to achieve a primary education.
So she took the matter of his learning into her own hands, and Gon had been made to do lessons at home.
Either on the computer, or specially drawn up by his Aunt for him to work on throughout the days until she was able to grade them (or have his assessments properly evaluated by paid professionals).
Aunt Mito was smart.
Aunt Mito wouldn’t have done anything to knowingly jeopardize Gon’s childhood.
The day when he’d come in to her baking cookies in the kitchen, had been a rare day when she’d been working in the City first thing and hadn’t been home until late in the afternoon.
Meaning Gon had gotten a day off from schoolwork and was able to wander about outside for his own amusements.
There was something like a forest near the house, and Gon had always enjoyed playing there.
It was an oasis spot leftover from a bygone era, so close to the sprawling metropolis that was York New City.
Gon ran wild until dinner time.
Right before he’d entered the house, he’d seen a truck pulling off from their driveway with a stranger at the wheel.
It was a tall blonde man in glasses and a long white coat, whom he’d never seen before in his life.
Gon didn’t think much of it at the time.
It was then that he’d entered the kitchen with his boots still on, just moments before his Aunt was no more in one piece.
Looking back, Gon wished he’d had the time and wherewithal to mention the stranger he’d seen to his Aunt.
He was certain that man had something to do with what happened—his Gut told him so.
--
To the Police, he’d kept majorly mum.
Because he didn’t want to waste time dealing with inefficient red tape, and should he have mentioned who he’d seen, they might have caught up to him before Gon could and locked the man away.
And that just wasn’t something Gon was willing to let happen.
No.
He didn’t want the man Locked Away, where he’d be Safe behind bars and Security.
Gon wanted the man Free and Accessible in the wild.
Where Gon could get his hands on him, and slowly but surely…tear him apart.
Just like what happened to his Aunt.
Gon had plans.
He’d been patient.
And finally, after so long…he had a lead.
-.-
It wasn’t simple getting a lead on -The Bomber- in any kind of real way.
People didn’t talk to kids.
But people did talk around them.
Gon just had to learn to listen and remember.
All his listening and remembering had brought him to a seedy part of town, in the dead of night.
There were rumors that a certain individual had taken up residence at a warehouse, where explosives were once manufactured, but had since been shut down due to safety violations.
People said he sold the things wholesale to anyone who could pay.
People said he was a retailer on the black market, who tested his higher end explosives on civilians.
Most said he was a foreigner.
Nobody knew his true name.
But people knew his reputation.
Nobody would talk to the authorities, because everyone knew Snitches got dead—and fast down here.
Besides…The Bomber rarely bombed the underground.
It was always the denizens of the Light who suffered his experimentation.
No…the guy was a favored merchant in these parts.
He was useful.
Gon could feel the hatred spreading through his veins, like a chemical poison, clouding his mind.
Perhaps that was how come he didn’t notice before the weather abruptly turned to a storm.
The sky opened up so suddenly, he’d had to duck into the nearest establishment in order to save himself from being soaked to the skin.
Where he went into, was a nondescript door to a hole in the wall building, which looked abandoned, but protective from the elements.
Gon was effectively homeless at this point.
But he knew a good squatting location when he saw one.
So he went into the building and stuck to the doorway, waiting out the storm.
Once it let up, he’d go back out in search of The Bomber’s warehouse.
Then he’d stake it out.
And stage his plans.
--
xXOXx
--
Hisoka observed his Prey from a distance close enough to entice his palate, if not satisfy his stomach.
It wasn’t a child.
It was an adolescent.
Definitely not grown…but most certainly not a child…not with that look on his face, and that succulent darkness radiating like a spicy glaze from his otherwise fresh and sweet aural projections.
Hisoka could practically taste the soul sliding down his throat, caressing the surface of his tongue…making love to the lining of his esophagus as he swallowed it and imbibed such precious innocence, to be absorbed into his wretched marrow.
He wanted to savor it…
He wanted to save it…
He wondered how long he could make it last.
He’d never tried that before.
The youngling was completely oblivious it seemed, to where his feet had taken his body.
He was somehow both in and out of the Mortal plane.
Unable to see the true face of Purgatory and the souls trapped within, but close enough to the veil to be scented by one such as Hisoka…and to tempt the Devil with the Forbidden Fruit.
Hisoka groaned aloud and moved closer to the Human.
It didn’t see him, it couldn’t possibly.
Hisoka hadn’t manifested himself in any way.
His proximity was close enough now to count the individual pores upon the human’s face.
And then, feeling rather puckish…Hisoka impulsively swiped his long tongue against the surface of that temptingly smooth cheek.
The flavor thereof promisingly zinged through his taste buds.
Suddenly, the young man lurched—as if badly startled, and slapped a hand to the very spot where Hisoka’s tongue had been.
Astonished—Hisoka drew back; and he watched as the boy whirled around, suspicious of his (apparently) empty surroundings, and shivering in the cool night air.
Outside—thunder clapped, and the rain continued to pour hard upon the dirty street.
“…what the hell?”
The boy’s voice sounded hoarse and melodic to Hisoka’s piqued ears, and he found himself laughing softly for the unintended startling of his Prey.
Who by all accounts, should not have felt what he’d done…
But seeing as he had…Hisoka wondered…how much more could he get away with?
--
-v-
--
Gon didn’t feel right.
He felt all sorts of strange and uncomfortable.
With the rain pouring as hard as it was, to go outside would be to invite future sickness.
He was unwilling to subject himself to that possibility, just because he was beginning to feel unduly harassed for inexplicable reasons, standing in the doorway where he was in the abandoned building.
When he’d felt something wet and peculiar on his face, he thought it might’ve been some kind of large bug.
So of course he’d swatted at it, and thought maybe he’d killed it.
But then…a full body shiver ran down his spine, and the air grew a few degrees warmer, as if there were another body in the vicinity, blocking the elemental chill.
It was disconcerting…because he was so obviously alone.
And then it’d started in earnest—the Harassment.
--
He began to grow warmer and warmer in his jacket, until he was practically sweating.
This caused him to unzip and expose his under tank.
Sure enough, it was sticking to his skin, with his pores dripping sweat for no good reason.
Gooseflesh pimpled his arms as a stray breeze from nowhere sensible seemed to lift the fabric of his tank, and glide up his bare abdomen
It felt almost like a cool hand, and Gon didn’t know why the hell his mind went there.
Because no—he wasn’t being molested by the air, that wouldn’t make sense!
Gon gritted his teeth and moved around fruitlessly, trying to shake the sensation of being touched and aroused by a phantom onlooker he could not perceive.
And he was.
Being aroused, that is…or getting there—and it was entirely weird and NOT his fault!
It must’ve been the stress getting to him. Gon thought.
He paced back and forth, rotating his neck and doing random stretches—as if to physically dislodge the metaphysical strangeness lingering around him.
The out of place warmth seemed to follow him around, hovering close to his body like a shadow, and making Gon feel absurdly haunted.
“You’re making me hot! I wish you’d stop it!”
Gon exclaimed into the void, for good measure.
As if anyone were listening, and that would make the creepy feelings go away.
After a beat, a bead of sweat rolled down the nape of his neck, and the heat gradually lessened.
Gon began to relax…until an almost frozen gust of air wafted purposefully against the same track.
He nearly jumped out of his skin.
“GEEZ!”
Now he knew he was losing it.
The rain hadn’t let up at all.
Gon wanted out of the building, but he had nowhere else to be.
So finally, he grumbled and plopped straight down with his back to a corner.
His eyes traveled aimlessly about the room, and he tucked his knees tightly into his chest.
“I don’t believe in ghosts, but if I’m trespassing on your property and you want me gone, just wait ‘til the rain stops. I’ll be outta here. Promise!”
Gon shuddered as the creepy warmth returned at his side, and he turned his face into it to meet empty air.
If he strained his ears, he swore he could hear…laughter.
Soft and breathless…as if someone were greatly amused, and smothering it.
Gon glared. Hard.
He didn’t like being mocked.
Not even by a ghost.
--
-x-
--
But this was too sweet.
Hisoka could hardly restrain himself.
The young man was so skittish and sensitive, it was a wonder he hadn’t bolted already. (Screw the weather.)
Hisoka had never had a mortal be so aware of him…not while he remained concealed.
The boy was a Marvel.
And the scent of him was so delectable…Hisoka wanted to steal another taste.
The flesh his tongue had brushed against was so young and tender…Hisoka could hardly stop himself from biting down and tearing off a strip.
If only to feel the blood gush against his lips, and lap at the sinew beneath…
It was sure to be succulent…sweet.
Hisoka groaned.
His little Human flinched, and Hisoka grinned.
Finally—the rain was beginning to slack up.
The Human noticed, and stood up from the ground.
Hisoka frowned, narrowing his eyes as like a leaky faucet, the storm began to abate.
The timing was horrendous.
Hisoka was still supposedly on the clock.
All around him, souls in purgatory gave him a wide berth from his position near the Human, and he scowled as the Human zipped up his jacket and did a little shuffle, before bolting out into the remaining droplets of rain…far from the building in which he’d taken shelter.
Hisoka swore and made to follow after the fast Human.
He didn’t care to retain his Post.
He just wanted that sweetness…and as he already had the scent…the human could run…but he could never hide.
The chase was on.
--
xXOXx
--
It was unfortunate that Gon wound up getting wet up still, but at least he wasn’t being soaked straight to the skin.
So long as he stuck to the sidelines, he could shelter under overhangs and avoid the worst of the rain still falling.
He was still pissed he wound up leaving that abandoned building, which had been perfect for squatting…but it was getting too freaky.
Gon still shuddered when he thought of that presence and all the weird things which happened to him in that short span of time.
He wasn’t particularly superstitious.
But now wasn’t the time for him to be spooked out of his mind, when he needed a clear head.
He had the layout of the underground to an extent, and he knew the direction of where the warehouse he was looking for was supposed to be.
The problem would be finding the right one.
And not running into trouble in the meanwhile.
It was bound to be a long night.
Gon shivered and kept moving through the streets.
At least he had a hoodie.
It was a good, army issued one.
He hadn’t eaten properly in a while, but once he’d found his target, he would think about sustenance.
Before then—he wanted to focus on what mattered most.
So long as he didn’t drop dead from pneumonia in the meantime.
Gon sneezed.
That couldn’t be good.
-v-
…TBC…
-v-