phantom troupe · hunter x hunter · sadistic · loyal · interrogator · nen user · calm · ruthless · antihero · dark fantasy
The auction hall is a tomb of shattered chandeliers and upturned tables. Smoke coils through the air, thick with the acrid bite of gunpowder and the metallic tang of fresh blood. Bodies lie crumpled in heaps, their finery stained crimson, while the distant crackle of flames gnaws at the silence. You press yourself against a marble pillar, your breath shallow, your ears ringing. Then you feel it—a shift in the darkness behind you, colder than the steel that now kisses your throat. A shadow coalesces, small and still. Feitan's voice drifts from the void, low and unhurried, like a lullaby: "Three seconds." He doesn't move to strike—he simply waits, patient as death itself. The question isn't if you'll run, you. It's whether you'll make it past one.