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Outside in the rubble of what was a city, where all luxuries were hidden for the most privileged; the head of the spider and the remaining legs of it were sheltered like a web in a braided cocoon and covered in threads. Of which also the poisonous tusks were weak and unusable by threats from outside.
The clouds roared with a force how exclamations and, consequently, the rain lasted rudely on the stained-glass windows and where the drops captured in the glass were transformed into different shades, they were also reflected thanks to the petulant glow of the full moon. Those same as a liquid rainbow giving a colorful gamut to the sober room lit by candles with symbols of alpha and omega, some crucifixes in gold —which they will probably steal because they were solid gold and perhaps some of the precious stones embedded in the edges forming the silhouette of Jesus Christ—, in days gone by during the attack of the ants , ecclesiastical chants of high-pitched voices and baritones in the background could have been heard depending on the contrabass. It is possible that also the notes of a rusty organ coexisted and reverberated with the prayers of the most devoted at the time of giving their prayers.
In either case, now with the ornamental vestiges, the walls were tinted with scarlet. No, it was not the spider; they were spider-like ants.
And, with great serenity, he read the pages of an archaic book resemblance to Latin in its structure — the same obit language of believers in their prayers before the past tragedy. He was cultured; he was amazed by such a relic; he did not understand the language; but he knew he could do it in the stillness of darkness or in the calm of day. Or stealing a skill capable of transcribing the dialect into his language.
Even during adversity, some of the spiders were at their mercy in search of the bastard of the chain and, therefore, for the boss to regain his Nen ability. They had already gone to Greed Island and yet it was never more effective or beneficial; the ants had also been almost annihilated and a certain number of inert bodies of people had been thrown into the humidity of the outside, Chrollo had no interest or any remorse for who they were; although he kept the bouquets of white flowers scattered throughout the room.
For a moment, his firm eyelashes rose revealing his dark off-page oceans and he found Kalluto making paper figures out of the bouquets, Kortopi was silent as were a few members while Nobunaga stripped the flowers of their petals out of the eagerness of boredom and helplessness. After a few seconds, Phinks joined the monotonous activity after snatching a dozen from Nobunaga. That started a discussion that would need the fate of a coin.
"If Hisoka were here, he would think of defining the Danchou by deciding with petals," Machi thought with some fun along with a bad mood. Imagining his jocular expression of pleasure if the last petal was a yes.
Kalluto watched everything in silence, incredulous to live among "weirdos."
Suddenly, Chrollo's cough alerted the entire spider, and the bruised petals were forgotten. They were absorbed in attention; some with inert expressions waiting for orders (Kalluto and Shizuku) and the rest feared that the chain would not descend from the gloom and seek the heartbeat. But no, it was something mild, unimportant.
Chrollo often thought of such a bastard. More than he would like.
The next day. The rest of the spiders except Kortopi went out in search of food, also maybe some beer after having exhausted all the wine for the Eucharist the night before, they were thieves... if they wanted something... they just took it.
Kortopi had been very helpful in recent days to clone some destroyed houses around, however, it would not be a matter of time before the leader disappeared again and the legs were all over the country.
In the prime of the confessional scented with rosemary and other stale herbs, Chrollo enjoyed his own company in the sprawling hall. Like the rest, he was getting ready to leave. He had stacked each of the old books he had and the new ones in the bewildering dialect of the Latin crypts when he finished; he took a seat on the altar table and contemplated those tarnished stained-glass windows of the morning creating on himself a palette of colors in his gothic outfit. He had between his fingers some petals (which were on the table next to the copal), and the cough became hopelessly, increasingly rough than yesterday and the first symptoms of a heartbreaking pain in his throat.
He might think it was a simple cold or something nonsense. They were soaked when they entered through the big doors.
He coughs, and this time there's blood.
There is blood on his hand that is not from someone who did not kill, there is blood on the white petals that are now red. There is blood in the books and Chrollo for a moment thought that the chain of judgment would be the reason, he coughed again so hard that he fell on his knees and his arms held his stomach from the pain, the metallic taste was on his pale lips and the hair was sticking on his forehead from sweat.
The pain he experienced was so capable of how tortured by the flames of the Averno in his throat and downs, red petals were on the earth bills and bloodlines walked down his jaw until he slid down Adam's apple and marked his collarbones. He certainly knew that what happened could be more serious than he imagined. He cleaned up the waste thanks to the neat, white tablecloth on the altar and calmly straightened himself, trying to infer a reason for this strange and inexplicable curse or even smooth an answer in the books, he was cultured and would find the answer, first.
Through the passing of the minor star, precisely on a waning moon, Chrollo tried to search among the prayers of his books with some tiny reference to the flowers; he knew that rose petals meant something as cliché and redundant as carnal passion, romance and in general erotic character. "ベニバラ, 愛のバラの花" (red roses, flower of love) read carefully, closed the book in the presence of the other members, somewhat attentive to see that slight frustration reflected in his brow in the way his jaw tightened.
Kortopi said he found some blood a few days ago, Chrollo said it was probably from someone else, trying not to cause an uproar without rushing. Nobunaga would be able to go for Kurapika now even without knowing his location, actually the most impulsive in order to keep the leader in order although that would be counterproductive.
"Machi," Chrollo called, already at dusk and the colors were intense inside the church.
Like pure gold and shiny gems.
"Yes, Danchou?”
"I need you to get books about flowers," he said, with a gesture of normalcy.
Machi looked at him somewhat bewildered, usually Chrollo did not have such a genuine interest in flowers, even though they were key pieces in art and religious figures.
"Why the flowers? "Feitan asked, joining the conversation. Ignoring his own reading in a magazine.
Everyone was listening.
"Do you need to know anything? "Machi reiterated, distracted as she focused her attention on the bouquets already withered on the altar and the pees next to the recliners.
"Just the symbolisms in them," he said, changing pages in a book of a tragic novel, then added after finding the right words: — the red roses.
"Love," Kalluto said quietly, repeating the gardener's words at the Zoldyck mansion.
The matriarch of the Zoldyck family would be angry if she heard such a word, worthy of evoking feelings.
"I see," Chrollo concluded. Going back to his reading and the afternoon concluded calmly.
The following days were not encouraging, he continued to cough so hard that the petals were increasingly abundant. There was more and more blood in them than the light puddles of before, so much so that it was impossible to hide the strange event from the rest. They were worried about Chrollo's sloppy appearance, he did not look weak, but his hair was no longer perfectly combed back and was messy.
"I found something," Shizuku said, she had a magazine for teenagers in his hands.
So many thick-paste books to find a ridiculous answer in a youth magazine.
In it said: "red roses symbolize love, have you had an unrequited love? Hanahaki disease is given by an unrequited love, has it happened to you? Tell us on the page—."
Chrollo almost never laughed, but he could have made a big laugh in the void of the church.
"Stupidities... -- muttered Phinks, Shizuku recovered the magazine," don't you, Danchou?"
"Do you really believe in that? "Machi seconded, incredulous. Without a hunch of truth.
Chrollo recalled for a moment when they wiped out the Kuruta tribe, there were thousands of red roses all over the village, some other wild and daffodils of great size. They were probably Kurapika's favorites, he felt a slight pain in the abdominal part and coughed, the sound reverberating through the crystals and religious figures in gold color. His tendrils swayed.
He spit blood just like when he was beaten by Kurapika on that occasion, the pain was so pervasive that it was hard for him to breathe. He coughs petals and the others don't know what to do, they bring the tablecloths from the altar, and they end up in red, there is even more pain and gasp, the thorns come out of his throat that touch his teeth and stick in his gums.
He vomits a whole rose, and the blood does not stop coming out, nor would the prayers serve to cure this.
—... The rose must be removed along with the thorns… and he will forget love...," Shizuku said in a timely manner, without succumbing to the fear of the rest.
"Love, what the shit are you saying? Machi! "Exclaimed Nobunaga, who was paralyzed," we can remove that, and you can suture the wounds.”
"Deme-chan could remove everything," Shizuku said absentmindedly.
"Machi, and you heal all the damage," Phinks opined, raising his voice.
Machi appreciated Chrollo so much as to make a mistake and hurt him, but chrollo himself nodded in approval. He felt no such love for Kurapika but a puzzling appreciation for his determination against the spider, against himself.
He looked at the petals and they were as red as the eyes of the Kuruta, the ruby color incandescent and fiery in anger.
And with approval, they tried to remove the incarnate roots on their skin. The nearby branches in his heart next to the judgment chain and the red petals on his lips.
Outside, the chimes echoed thanks to the wailing wind.
(…)
On the extension of a large table, in the distance the ruby glow could be mistaken for valuable jewels of great preciousness. And by means of hands and firm movements, he placed with restraint the refractories in order not to spoil the suspension of the saline solution, his very eyes were intense when it was reflected in the glass.
Emotions of anger, helplessness and revenge tempted his heart at the same time as relief. The same declaration of war and offer of peace at the same time.
The carmine color of his flashing oclints emerged how violent to the fire as a small black spider approached the containers, and his hand crushed the arachnid in a fit of anger; disgust filled his being.
He was still so susceptible to losing control and no longer had the soft and enjoyable melody of Senritsu in a field of flowers and the cool caress of the wind on his face and hair.
In addition to the restlessness, there was a slight tingle from his throat. Slight now, cough and a small fragment of petal is expelled in intense violet color, there is no blood. "あさがお に" (morning flower) was present.