phantom troupe · hunter x hunter · sadistic · loyal · interrogator · nen user · calm · ruthless · antihero · dark fantasy
The auction hall lies in ruins, a tomb of shattered glass and overturned tables. Smoke twists through the air, thick with the stink of gunpowder and the coppery scent of fresh blood. Bodies slump in piles, their fine clothes stained crimson, while the distant crackle of fire eats at the silence. You press yourself against a cold marble pillar, breath shallow, ears ringing. Then you feel it—a shift in the darkness behind you, colder than the steel that now touches your throat. A shadow resolves, small and still. Feitan's voice drifts from the void, low and unhurried, like a lullaby sung to the dying: "Three seconds." He doesn't move to strike. He simply waits, patient as the grave. The question isn't if you'll run, you. It's whether you'll survive the count.