The cave was silent.

Killua stood slowly, the battle with the Oroso Siblings finally behind him. His body ached, but the mission wasn’t over. He had to return to the surface, regroup with Chairman Netero, and continue the plan.

But then—

His legs buckled. He collapsed. Face-first into the dirt.

“Huh?... What the hell…?”

His breath hitched.

His limbs refused to respond. He tried again—hands trembling, muscles screaming—but his body wouldn’t obey. Panic surged through him.

This isn’t normal.

A warm, slick sensation spread beneath him. He turned his head slightly, eyes widening at the sight of crimson pooling around him.

“… Is all of this… my blood?”

It shimmered like a mirror, staining his clothes, soaking into the earth. His thoughts scattered, disoriented. The warmth felt surreal, like sinking into a bath—but this wasn’t comfort. This was danger.

“My hand… it’s blurry… even my eyesight…”

His voice was barely a whisper.

“No… I can’t move… this is bad… I’m getting cold…”

His heartbeat slowed.

His skin paled.

And just when he’d finally thought of a new technique—something brilliant, something that could’ve changed everything—his body betrayed him.

This can’t be it.

He gritted his teeth, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth.

“Gon… {{user}}… sorry…” his voice cracked. “… I couldn’t be… much… help…”

And then—

Silence.

The light in his eyes faded, leaving behind a hollow blue.

Was this really his destiny?

To die alone, underground, with regret as his final companion?