The morning sun crested the jagged mountain peaks, its light spilling over the continuous line of ancient palaces that crowned the summit.
Suddenly, the silence was shattered. Killua Zoldyck flew out of the main palace gates like a cannonball, his body a blur of motion. Trails of frost, scorching heat, and flickering static clung to his face, shoulders, and torso.
With a series of booming crashes, his small frame plowed through several massive trees in the courtyard. He finally came to a stop, dangling upside down from a splintered stump. Through the swaying leaves, he caught a glimpse of the horizon, where the morning glow painted the sky in a deep, bloody red.
A tiny old man, no larger than Killua himself, shuffled out of the palace gates. His skin was a map of deep wrinkles, his head completely bald, and his mouth sunken as if he had long since lost every tooth in his head.
That cloud looks like a whale, Killua thought dizzily, staring at the sky. Wait, did someone tell me about a Whale Island?
The old man, Maha Zoldyck, stood on the high steps in his simple sportswear, hands buried in his pockets. He looked down at his great-great-grandson with unreadable eyes.
"Great-great-grandfather," Killua managed, dropping from the wreckage of the trees.
For a moment, he'd been certain he was dead—or at least that his spine had been pulverized. To his surprise, he found he could still move. A few cracked ribs, some internal bruising, a mild concussion—nothing a Zoldyck couldn't sleep off. His great-great-grandfather must have pulled his punch at the absolute last microsecond to avoid dismantling him entirely.
With his father and eldest brother away on business, and Zeno's whereabouts unknown, the training duties had fallen to the family's eldest living member. Killua's second brother, Milluki, was useless in a fight, and his mother wasn't a combatant. That left Killua as the sole target for Maha's "lessons."
As he brushed the woodchips from his hair, a spark of rebellion lit up in his mind. If the heavy hitters of the family were gone, wasn't this the perfect time to leave?
"Great-great-grandfather, are Dad and Illumi coming back today?" Killua asked, trying to sound casual.
The old man didn't speak. He simply offered a single, slow nod.
Killua's heart leaped. He forced a serious expression onto his face, hiding his excitement. Let's get this over with then!
Maha merely waved a withered hand, dismissing him. The lesson was over. He signaled for the boy to go find his mother and get his injuries tended to.
Killua grinned, gave a two-finger salute to his brow, and shoved his hands into his pockets as he headed down the mountain path. The old man watched the boy's retreating back for a long moment before turning back into the shadows of the palace.
"Now that is what I'm talking about!"
Liam stood on the shoreline, hands on his hips, shouting at the rising sun. He felt incredible.
After a night of focused meditation, he checked his internal "Panel." The surge of death energy he'd digested hadn't just refreshed him—it had pushed his total aura capacity from 24,444 to 25,211.
An 800-unit increase in a single night.
In practical terms, that was an extra thirteen minutes of sustained Ken. For a long time, Liam's growth had plateaued. In the early days, he could gain hundreds of units just by existing, but lately, six hours of grueling daily practice barely moved the needle. This jump was like a shot of adrenaline to his soul.
One "meal" of death energy was worth nearly two weeks of traditional hard labor.
And the best part? He knew he hadn't even been efficient. He could feel that a portion of the energy had leaked away during the process. There was room to optimize, to squeeze even more power out of every death he witnessed.
The future is in the Dark Continent, Liam thought, his eyes gleaming. And the future is bright.
"What are you shouting at?" Kurapika's voice drifted up from the water.
Offshore, the conjured wooden boat and the handmade raft were ready. Kurapika and Kite were already seated in the boat, Kite scanning the horizon while Kurapika looked back at the shore, beckoning Liam to hurry up.
Liam jumped onto the raft, Shizuku landing lightly beside him. The logs groaned under the impact, rocking violently.
"Liam, you've gotten heavy," Shizuku noted.
When they had first met, Liam was a slender teenager, barely five-foot-three. Now, standing over six feet tall with a powerful, muscled frame, he easily weighed an extra hundred pounds.
"Let's make it a race!" Liam shouted, grinning at the boat. "First one to find land wins!"
Suddenly, a faint sensation tingled at the edge of his consciousness—a connection to the rock sparrow he'd left behind. It was following its instructions, pecking at its own star-mark to trigger its self-healing, a morning ritual Liam had ingrained in its tiny mind.
The raft suddenly surged forward, cutting through the water like an arrow.
Liam and Shizuku weren't even paddling. The raft galloped across the surface like a speedboat, leaving a churning white wake behind it.
Kite squinted at the water. he noticed two medium-sized sea beasts swimming just beneath the surface, one on each side of the raft, acting as living engines.
He's a Manipulator, alright, Kite mused, reaching for her oar. But when did he have the time to catch those?
"Racing? Seriously?" Kurapika muttered, feeling his blood pressure rise. Liam was being shamelessly lazy. He gripped his oar and dug into the water with everything he had.
Kite followed suit. The two of them began a rhythmic, synchronized stroke, applying Shu to the wooden oars to keep them from snapping under the pressure. Each pull sent waves crashing several meters high, doubling the speed of the boat. They were actually keeping pace with the beast-drawn raft.
Liam, seeing them catch up, simply lay back on the logs, enjoying the spray of the sea breeze. He noted the beasts were already tiring; they were fast, but they lacked endurance. They were living things, not machines.
I'll need to find something bigger soon, Liam thought. A whale, or maybe a Great White.
Back in his room, Killua was staring at a computer screen, though his mind was already halfway out the door. He didn't really care about the specifics—he just wanted to see the world.
He quickly memorized the locations of several islands with "Whale" or "Shark" in their names.
He didn't pack a bag. A Zoldyck traveled light. With his father and Illumi away, the mountain felt less like a fortress and more like a playground. He moved with ghostly silence, slipping through the blind spots of the surveillance cameras with practiced ease. He ran toward the family estate's outer limits, his mood soaring. His "backyard" was kilometers wide, stretching all the way to the massive gates that doubled as a tourist attraction.
High above, on a balcony halfway up the mountain, a woman watched his departure through high-tech electronic lenses. Kikyo Zoldyck, dressed in an elegant gown and sunhat, sipped her black tea. She looked sinister, but she made no move to stop him.
Killua reached the towering outer wall. Not far off was the Testing Gate—the massive, tiered stone doors that served as the family's threshold.
A giant, monstrous wolf-dog named Mike padded out from the shadows of the woods, its scent-driven instincts locking onto the intruder.
Killua didn't break stride. "Mike, sit."
The beast obeyed instantly, sitting with hollow, emotionless eyes as it watched the boy.
Killua looked up at the wall. He flexed his hand, his muscles swelling and his bones audibly shifting as his nails elongated into razor-sharp talons. He could easily climb the wall and be gone in seconds.
But he hesitated. No. That's a coward's exit.
Leaving without pushing the Testing Gate felt... uncool. If he was going to walk out, he was going to do it the right way.
He stepped up to the massive stone slabs. He took a deep breath, pressing his palms against the cold, force-sensing surface. His arm muscles bulged, nearly doubling in size as he poured his strength into the mechanism.
Slowly, the first two layers—four tons of solid stone—began to groan and slide open.
But as the gap widened, Killua's triumph turned to ice. His face went pale, and cold sweat broke out on his brow. He stared through the opening, his eyes wide with sudden panic.
"Oh, don't look so terrified. We aren't going to eat you."
Pariston spoke with a pleasant, breezy smile. On the ground before him lay three half-dead giant ants. They were missing limbs, and one had been beaten so badly that its torso was barely attached to its lower body, leaking green ichor and viscera across the rocks.
In the hierarchy of the Chimera Ants, these three—who had ambushed Pariston and Beyond from the sea—were clearly the equivalent of Royal Guards. One had the body of a tiger, one a lion, and one an elephant.
But an ant was still an ant. Pariston had tried to initiate a conversation, but it was like talking to a brick wall. These creatures possessed large brains, but they functioned on instinct and pack loyalty, not rational thought.
"Huh?" Pariston blinked, surprised.
The tenacity of these Dark Continent variants was staggering. Despite injuries that would have killed any other living thing, the "Guards" were still clinging to life. Suddenly, the tiger and lion variants flared with a violent, jagged aura.
It was a flash in the pan. The power burst like a bubble, draining their final reserves of life. They shivered and went still, dead.
The elephant-bodied ant, however, was still dragging itself through the blood. It was crawling toward its leader—the "King"—who lay nearby with its legs shattered.
"The moment the nodes open, it's either the birth of a Nen user or the ringing of a funeral bell," Beyond said, watching with a rough laugh.
The ants had been pummeled by aura-infused strikes, which had forcibly blasted their aura nodes open. Because they didn't know the technique of Ten, the life force leaked out of them like air from a punctured tire. They had literally bled out their souls.
Beyond's laughter died. He and Pariston turned simultaneously.
The Ant King, missing half its limbs, was standing up.
Its aura was jagged and unstable, but it was contained. It wasn't leaking.
"Animal instinct," Beyond praised, his eyes narrowing. "You learned Ten just to stay alive. Interesting. For an ant, you've got spirit. I can respect that. Haha!"
The Ant King's mandibles clicked, producing a series of strange, guttural chitters.
"Who can understand this garbage?" Beyond stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. "Looking at it half-dead like this is annoying. I'll just finish it off."
"I imagine it's saying it wants to live," Pariston said smoothly. He looked at Beyond. "Mr. Beyond, the restriction on you going to the Dark Continent... that should lift if the Chairman is no longer around, right?"
Beyond froze. A suffocating, terrifying pressure radiated from him as he turned to look at Pariston.
"Don't give me that look," Pariston smiled, unfazed. "Great men shouldn't be bothered by trivial things like 'rules,' right?"
Beyond rolled his eyes, his aura receding as he waved a dismissive hand. "I'm not going after the old man. If you've got the guts, go kill him yourself." He sneered. "I promise you won't survive his second move."
"President Netero's strength is legendary. I wouldn't dream of challenging him," Pariston said with practiced modesty. He paused. "But... why? Why won't you take action? Is your ambition really secondary to your feelings for your father?"
"Are you stupid?"
Beyond's voice boomed over the sound of the tide. "The old man won't challenge me. That means if we fight, I'm the one initiating it with intent to kill. But him? He'd never try to kill me. He'd just play around. What's the point of a duel where only one side is trying to win? It's a boring waste of time!"
Beyond poked a thick finger into Pariston's chest. "I don't do boring."
Pariston went quiet, absorbing the logic. "So... that's why you wait. Even if the seas run dry."
Since Beyond refused to fight his father under "unfair" conditions, his only option was to outlive him. The problem was that Netero was the most resilient human on the planet. The silver lining was that Beyond shared those same genes. It was a war of attrition.
"I may not be qualified to challenge the President," Pariston said, looking at the trembling, broken Ant King with a dark, strange smile. "But maybe... someone else is. Or perhaps, the President will be the one doing the challenging."