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His ears were ringing continuously, a searing pain spreading through his head blurring his vision and interrupting his train of thought. He felt overwhelmed, a strong pressure kept him prisoner of inaction.
Senses sharpened as the constant noise became silent. The first thing he could perceive was that agony spread across his abdomen and back, as if he had been pierced by something gigantic and sharp.
Then his hearing cleared, allowing him to be aware of his rapid breathing. His chest burned, preventing him from inhaling and exhaling without feeling incessant pain pricking his lungs. The rest of his body was certainly numb, he wondered what kind of agony he would suffer the moment his joints regained blood flow.
His vision was the next to be restored. A starry sky greeted him then. He had no idea where he was or why. Confusion was what lingered in his mind until he quickly remembered such an event that had happened just a few seconds ago.
He'd gone to look for Gon, having been informed by Palm that he was kneeling next to Neferpitou, who was healing its arm, breaking the promise made. The scene he encountered could be described as traumatizing, worrying, alarming... but Killua found it disconcerting. He wasn't sure if that person in front of him was his best friend, the same one who saved him from his prescribed destiny as an assassin, who taught him to have determination and self-confidence.
He taught him how to live.
That is why when he saw that man in front of him constantly punching Pitou's butchered corpse, he temporarily doubted the individual he came across. But the look he gave him was enough to tell him who he was and why he was doing what he was doing.
Time seemed to stop, not after verifying his identity, not after Pitou ripped off Gon's arm, not after Gon stabbed it into the corpse's chest...
But it was when he saw him create that gigantic Nen ball. He knew if that hit him, he'd die, but he didn't care, he was ready for it. What tormented his mind was the constant thought of what would happen to his light if he continued to use that power. If he continued with that attack, not only could they both die, but if he survived, he would be giving up everything he had worked for in these last two years. Just as if Killua had never been there.
That's why he screamed. Hoping and praying to whatever god or being would listen so that this wouldn't end so tragically. He was willing to give up his position next to Gon if it meant he would survive.
The Jajanken was launched, his cry lost among the echo of the forest that was beginning to be submerged under that brilliant light.
And then.
Everything disappeared.
There was only pitch black.
And now he was there. Lying on the ground, his body beginning to flood with constant anguish as a result of the explosion. There, when he finally had a long memory, his brain formulated a question that seemed to stop time once again.
"What happened to Gon?"
Orbs wide open, pupils contracted with dread as he forced his trembling body to his feet. The panorama around him was disastrous; trees split in half, smoke and the occasional flame remaining in them. Neferpitou was not nearby, which meant that it must have been pushed by the shock wave. Taking into account that the target and center of the impact was that ant, it should continue in its respective place.
He tried to stand up, clicking his tongue as he forced his legs to resist. He was shaking furiously, his body completely weakened from everything that had happened these past few days. The battle was over and that eased his mind, but Gon's future was uncertain. He couldn't help but feel a growing anxiety, looking after the raven's health was the only thing he could do as he limped through the remains of that forest in search of his best friend.
Anxiety ran through his veins, veins that were slowly emptying at a rate that did not even worry him, the occasional drop of blood was left behind his weak steps. He was grateful for the years of Zoldyck training, since without them he would have never been able to even get up.
But there is no preparation in his mind, no tool to deal with the mounting anguish. He could see the ground reducing its altitude, adapting to the depth of a crater that rose in front of him.
Burned plants, the old green replaced by dark brown, dust still present in the air dancing between that dismembered body that rested under a large mountain of something black. Killua felt his heart skip a beat, entering the crater with the help of his already not so good balance at the ringing that seemed to linger in his ears. Every time he descended he smelled it better, the singe was replaced by blood and burnt flesh, if he wasn't used to the smell of death he would have suffered from great nausea.
His head was spinning, fear turning to panic. His body trembled sharply both from his poor state and from his growing feelings. Anger also wanted to make its way to the brain, insulting himself for allowing this to happen. He tripped then, falling on his butt and sliding down the rest of the slope, the crater was absurdly deep... ten times deeper than the one where he fought MenthuthuYoupi. There, once he was clearly in front, he could see him.
Gon; his best friend, his light, his reason for being, for living, the fire of his determination; lying on the ground, covered in meters and meters of hair. Neferpitou's torn body was hardly recognizable next to him, but he could not have cared in the least about the enemy. He knelt with difficulty, removing masses of hair that prevented him from accessing his friend's face.
He had returned to his natural form, looking relaxed and unconscious. He put a couple of fingers next to the nostrils and his parted lips.
Killua then wanted to scream.
Cry.
Because Gon wasn't breathing.
Panic was the only thing present on his face, incessant alarms triggering in his brain. He didn't even care about his own wounds and burns, he was just trying to put his friend in a decent position. No matter how much his arms trembled, he insisted on pumping the other's chest.
Years ago he dedicated himself to stealing other people's lives, being paid in exchange for eradicating anyone they asked him to. He was a full-fledged assassin, someone without emotions, without ties, with nothing to live for. Today, that same night, he was trying to bring back the life of someone he madly loved, that person to whom he never offered anything in exchange for saving him, was his best friend, his first friend.
"Gon!" he shouted, his hoarse voice trying to get through despite his burned vocal cords. "Wake up!" he begged in vain.
No matter how much he used his remaining strength, there was no progress in the signs of his life. The black-haired kid was not breathing, he had no pulse. No matter how many puffs and pectoral contractions the opponent gave, he did not respond.
"Don't even think about dying! Please! You swore that we would both die together in battle! Don't leave me hanging! Don't fucking break the promise! Shit! Please wake up! Gon!", no matter how much he screamed, how much he begged, nothing happened. He grew pale little by little, losing his life – losing him. "Don't do this to me! Gon please! Wake up! You still have to get back together with Mito-san! You still have to meet your father! So wake up! Stop pretending to be asleep, idiot! Get up and tell me you're kidding! That you're fine! Please!" His last cry before they were replaced by torn and desperate sobs.
There was no option.
He had to opt for his last resort, the most drastic and least appropriate for someone who had never specialized in something like this field.
Even so, he placed his palms on the other's chest, noticing how a tear fell on his pale hand. That crater was illuminated for a very short time, but it was long enough to recover it. His heart was beating, but there was no oxygen to breathe, so he continued pumping with hope. He wasn't smiling to move forward, he was crying even more than before, his vision was completely blurred and his body was burning despite how cold he was. It hurt, everything hurt. He couldn't think due to the physical pain and anxiety present in his mind, he acted on impulse. An autopilot and some adrenaline were the only components that kept him awake.
A sigh.
But it didn't belong to him.
He checked with two fingers under his nose that he was finally breathing, rasping and almost even snoring due to possible mucus and burning. Killua looked at his friend's arm, amputated in cold blood. There was nothing left where he wanted to look, it was not necessary to stop the bleeding either since the heat of the explosion had already welded it.
His body shook with one last involuntary sob. It was over for Gon and him.
He pushed the mace of resident hair away from his friend, but he couldn't, his grip was beginning to weaken from the previous effort. Even if he could withstand the pain of the shocks his skin was not in a state for it. He wanted to convince himself that he would never need that ability again, never ever in his life, but his companion's ragged breathing didn't help him hold out hope.
"Fuckin'..."
There was too much hair, it was curling all over the place. He used his claws, cut as much of the hair as he could get his hands on and angrily pushed it away. He watched the scene, but only for a fleeting moment, that was enough to contemplate the reality that was now his to confront.
Gon lay miserable on the ground, eyes closed and heart racing under external compulsion. He was no fool, Killua was aware that his friend was no longer fighting to live, he considered his mission over and felt like he could die in peace now that Kite had been avenged.
He had left him to live alone.
By what right should he take his own life now? There was no way to die with him, the battle was over. Gon was no longer there, and neither was their broken promise to die together in the fight.
A suicide between lovers.
But one of them failed to accompany his partner to the other side.
He checked his breathing once more, irregular but still present. He would give anything to get Gon to the shelter alive, but his survival was not something he would be able to ensure once they reached a hospital. He carried him on his back, head down as he searched for the nearest access point to Knov's shelter. Now he had no choice but to recover his friend's body, to count him on the association's boards as a casualty.
Gon was going to be part of a fucking statistic in the news. His name was going to be sullied by his end instead of his journey.
He took a deep breath, shuddering and sobbing, the strength his body was slowly regaining was being sucked out of him by his own thoughts.
He was frustrated.
He was desperate.
He was tired.
He was abandoned.
When did he last feel this way?
Giant, beautiful blue eyes that greeted him under black, curly lashes. Blushing cheeks, long black strands.
He frowned, he had stopped feeling Gon's breath against his shoulder. He set him down, checking once more to confirm that his breathing cycle had ended. He placed his hands on the other's left breastplate and began pumping with all the strength he had left. He had broken a rib, he had heard and felt it under his hands, but his friend was still not breathing.
He switched to mouth-to-mouth, never being so grateful that Leorio had taught him first aid. He pinched the other's nose and covered the other's lips with his own, injecting puffs of air into the other's respiratory system. His chest swelled with each exhalation.
But it wasn't enough to get him to breathe on his own again.
He grabbed the other's wrist, counting about six seconds he found no pulse at all. Not even the faintest pumping.
He placed one palm on the upper right pectoral area, the other on the lower left pectoral area as laterally as possible. He delivered another shock and waited another six seconds, counting his pulse. There was none, and he was running out of charge. He took the taser from his pocket and moved slightly away from Gon. As powerfully as possible he cramped up, grunting at the impact of both needles digging into his arm followed by the typical pain of a shock. His body was beginning to tire as well, he didn't know how much more he was going to endure himself. He repeated the same pattern as before, taking in the pulsations of his friend.
They were weak, but they were there.
He resumed CPR until he heard that satisfying sigh, his breathing sounding much more regular, the mouth-to-mouth proving much more effective this time for clearing his throat.
He put a hand to his pocket finding it littered with ashes and a scorched rough block, his phone was blown up. Any option of asking Knov for help was out of the question.
He carried his friend again, his own legs shaking to such an extent that he fell to his knees, he had to help himself with his own hand to keep from hitting himself flat on his face. He sobbed once more, feeling useless, feeling that this could have been avoided if he had been quicker. Feeling his insides on fire and begging for a rest that would never be granted. He got back to his feet, taking advantage of the very inertia of his fall to move forward with it.
Of everything in his life, he would say this was the hardest. It wasn't when he was being tortured by his own family for three weeks, it wasn't when that furisode with flowers slapped him, it wasn't when he remembered his abandoned sister, it wasn't when he saw Gon pounding that skull in rage....
It was having to carry his corpse, reanimating him with his own life energy to have the slightest hope that he was going to be saved.
He felt a heavy Nen on his back, which varied in intensity according to the other's breathing. The less he breathed, the stronger it was. It was the most repulsive aura he had ever felt, powerful and paralyzing. A hundred times worse than his brother's, especially because he knew whose emotions they were, whose were responsible for such a feeling that hindered his walk.
He felt he was carrying Pandora's box on his back.
Seconds, minutes, hours passed. Killua continued to carry his body, impregnating the other's body with his own Nen in order to avoid intensifying the hatred and rage that aura exuded.
One of the entry points was finally visible, hidden behind some bushes. He thought about how to face the fall into the shelter. He entered it, letting himself almost fall on his arms that rested hard against the ground. Knov looked at him, getting to his feet and approaching them both.
Killua left Gon at his side, he began to cough furiously. The dust and ash from the explosion accumulated on his body throughout the journey being expelled at last. His body was shaking with physical and mental exhaustion and agony.
"What... did... those... things... do to you?" he asked in terror.
Killua, at last more liberated raised his head, seeing Shoot and Morel on the ground completely bandaged and unconscious.
"Nothing they didn't suffer," he coughed dysphonically.
"What happened to Gon?"
He looked sideways at him, seeing his withered body stretched out on the floor.
"He needs help."