Hate You Most | Kurapika x reader

[𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 26] - 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘈𝘶𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯

Bright lights pierced her eyes, their intensity magnified by the sheer size of the crowd. Y/n was thrust into the center of the room, surrounded by a sea of eager faces, their hunger palpable as their lips parted, revealing glinting fangs. Though her body was shrouded in tightly woven cloth, she felt utterly exposed, every fiber of her being laid bare before their scrutinizing gazes.

She had witnessed the Executioner's Sword, an object of both fascination and dread, roll out onto the stage earlier, its sale fetching an astronomical sum of over a million dollars. The old, greying man, with the bottomless depths of his pockets deeper than his hairline, had claimed the item, his boisterous boasting reverberating through the hall.

As the auctioneer reclaimed his place at the podium, wooden mallet gripped tightly in his hand, his commanding voice cut through the expectant hush, announcing the starting bid of $300.

Eyes of the assembled horde traced every contour of her form, calculating her worth with a clinical detachment that sent a shiver down her spine. Every detail etched into her scuffed skin seemed to make them cringe, their interest waning as they deemed her unworthy of their bids.

Y/n's mind raced with regret, berating herself for blindly stumbling into this twisted game, but the unforgiving binds held her fast, rendering her attempts futile. The urge to call out for help clawed at her throat, but she knew she was alone in this den of monsters, with no one to rely on but herself.

The Executioner's Sword now lay far from her reach, nestled in the grimy grasp of the elderly man. What need did he have for such a weapon, she wondered, other than to display it on some wall as a testament to his wealth and influence?

Her skin seared beneath the abrasive ropes, tearing away at the tender flesh beneath her wrists. She pulled with a ferocity born not of resistance, but of grim acceptance. There was no pain worse than the realization that she had thoughtlessly cast aside the simple, humble life she had once taken for granted, and yet now desperately clinging to it like a lifeline.

"No bids?" The auctioneer called. "Going once, going twice..."

She let his words fade out.

The auction hall fell into an eerie silence, the absence of bids stretching the moment into an agonizing eternity.

Just as she braced herself for the interminable, a singular second of clarity pierced the chaos in her mind, a fleeting moment that promised to change everything. A second that would ultimately save her life.

Y/n's gaze swept through the crowd, locking onto the old man. It was a simple tactic, but effective. She waited, biding her time until the man finally tore his eyes away from his prized acquisition and fixed them upon her.

A wave of revulsion surged through her as his gaze gleamed under the harsh ceiling lights, prompting her cracked lips to contort into an inviting smile.

She wanted him to notice her. She wanted him to desire her. So, with every stinging wound of her chapped lips, she smiled, locking her gaze with his, delving deep into the recesses of his avaricious soul.

Without her uttering a spoken plea, the man's hand shot up, a booming declaration of the price of her existence.

$300.

Following his bid, others stayed silent and she was ushered off the stage and to the side, left waiting until the man claimed her. Y/n was pulled into a back room where she was finally able to feel the burning of her flesh. Her wrists throbbed, and she cried at its mercy. She never stood a chance against the rope, but still she fought back at the pain if only to loosen its hold slightly.

Suddenly, the clamor of footsteps grew louder. He was coming for her and she was no closer at secure her survival. The door flew open and hands wrapped around her wrists, yanking her into the clutches of the old man.

His nails dug into her flesh like the claws of a predatory beast, the dirt under his nails mingling with the raw wounds of his forceful grip. A rising sense of unease twisted her stomach, climbing up her throat until she was suppressing the cries of agony welling within her.

The man pulled her with such force she thought her arms might tear from her body. He was grinning from ear to ear, her twisted form not affecting him in the slightest. Her heart raced and her palms were sweaty. She needed to calm down.

The man's guard followed closely behind them as the weaved through the halls, pushing the display stand carrying the Executioner's Sword.

With a deep breath, her focus narrowed on the sword. It followed them as they exited the building. It may have looked beautiful to her yesterday, but now it lived up to its name. And she intended on carrying out its duty.

She hadn't noticed the were outside until the sound of the wheels on the display stand turned from smooth to the sound of war. Y/n steeled her mind. She had no room for thoughts other than the immediacy of her situation. Any consideration beyond the scope of her mother's survival felt selfish, but the glimpses of what she had to do churned her stomach.

She'd kill him.

She'd kill him and take the sword back to the Troupe — back to her mother.

She knew what needed to be done, but could she muster the strength to follow through? Contemplating the blood that would soon stain her hands left her nauseated, an indescribable repulsion engulfing her. She would become no better than the very Troupe she sought to escape, yet despite her body threatening to give out, her mind remained resolute. There was no room for doubt.

She waited until they were well out of sight of the building, biding her time until nothing but her ticket to a semblance of her former life remained in view. With her hands still bound, she twisted from the man's hold, his nails ripping apart her flesh. With nothing but resolve, she reached for the sword, prying it off its mount. The moment she felt the cold metal burn her palms, she gripped the golden handle tightly, swinging the blade with all her might, slicing through the old man's neck.

The sound was not as she had anticipated; no sickening squelch of flesh, just the dull thud of his collapsing body.

Y/n stared down at the nearly severed neck, held together by mere sinew and muscle. His body twitched, as if clinging to life. He was a tree that needed felling, she reassured herself, his convulsing form a morbid spectacle as the last vestiges of life drained from his eyes, etching a haunting image into her young mind.

Summoning her strength, she wrenched the sword from his neck, the warm stickiness of blood coating her hands. The metallic tang of iron mingled with the saccharine tinge of relief, an unsettling cocktail that would linger in her senses for a long time to come.

But it was far from over. The bodyguard's gun cocked, and if it wasn't for his sheer shock, she might not have had time to dodge his bullet. With quick action, she spun to face him, dragging the sword along her form, the silent sound of the blade cutting through the air whispering like an echo. It hit flesh once more, slicing itself deep across the man's chest. His body dropped like the last, labeling itself a broken corpse.

Y/n heaved with the depths of her chest. It was if her lungs imploded and a cavity in her chest was all that remained, the cold air invading her body. The sword that had felt light in her grasp suddenly gave way to gravity, pulling her down to the sharp concrete slabs. She tried to pull herself from the ground, but her mind weighed her. All she could see was red. Scarlet, it shimmered under the moon's gaze as if mocking her. Y/n couldn't look away, not even if she closed her eyes. She still saw it.

A slow sound of clapping pulled her from her scarlet stupor. Her grip tightened on the sword once more. She had killed him, hadn't she? She turned to meet him, awaiting bloodied vision once more, but was met with the nothingness instead. The moon cast away its light as darkness overtook her sight. She was greeted by the night, falling out of consciousness.

When she awoke in the crumbling building the enemy called their base, she new nothing good was in store.