89th Game [Accidental Video]
[It's not real. They're just illusions. He knows it. It doesn't change anything when what he's seen has already happened.
He remembers it like it was yesterday. It's been at least a year. That almost unrecognizable form, hacking away at his enemy with his own severed arm. That impossible reassurance, telling Killua it was okay because he was happy. Happy to be closer to Kite, happy to be mutilated. The ensuing explosion as all of their enemy's lingering nen was wiped out.
Then...
When the feed begins, Killua is curled up on the ground, face hiding in his knees as he hugs his legs. The view reveals that there's a gravestone behind him. It's really nothing new at this point. Killua's reaction says otherwise. He doesn't acknowledge the now recording PCD, nor anything in his surroundings. He just keeps muttering under his breath, just keeps shaking his head, just keeps glaring at his knees.
Gon wanted to be closer to Kite. Kite was dead. Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead.
And now so was... No. He had too many things to do. He'd promised. He'd promised. He didn't break promises. He couldn't. Killua wouldn't let him. Killua would protect him. He'd promised.
He was that idiot's best friend. He wouldn't leave him behind. Never. But if he wasn't dead, where was he? He wasn't here. He hadn't been here for a long time. But he wasn't dead. He wasn't. He couldn't be. He wasn't here. He had to be. He wasn't gone. He couldn't be gone. He'd promised. Killua had promised. They were supposed to be together. Why weren't they together?
Give. Him. Back.
Killua swipes his hand forcefully across the ground, sending his backpack along with the PCD crashing right through the grave marker before skidding to a halt on top of the broken half.
It reads only "Gon Freecss."]
He remembers it like it was yesterday. It's been at least a year. That almost unrecognizable form, hacking away at his enemy with his own severed arm. That impossible reassurance, telling Killua it was okay because he was happy. Happy to be closer to Kite, happy to be mutilated. The ensuing explosion as all of their enemy's lingering nen was wiped out.
Then...
When the feed begins, Killua is curled up on the ground, face hiding in his knees as he hugs his legs. The view reveals that there's a gravestone behind him. It's really nothing new at this point. Killua's reaction says otherwise. He doesn't acknowledge the now recording PCD, nor anything in his surroundings. He just keeps muttering under his breath, just keeps shaking his head, just keeps glaring at his knees.
Gon wanted to be closer to Kite. Kite was dead. Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead.
And now so was... No. He had too many things to do. He'd promised. He'd promised. He didn't break promises. He couldn't. Killua wouldn't let him. Killua would protect him. He'd promised.
He was that idiot's best friend. He wouldn't leave him behind. Never. But if he wasn't dead, where was he? He wasn't here. He hadn't been here for a long time. But he wasn't dead. He wasn't. He couldn't be. He wasn't here. He had to be. He wasn't gone. He couldn't be gone. He'd promised. Killua had promised. They were supposed to be together. Why weren't they together?
Give. Him. Back.
Killua swipes his hand forcefully across the ground, sending his backpack along with the PCD crashing right through the grave marker before skidding to a halt on top of the broken half.
It reads only "Gon Freecss."]