Word count: 114
Summary: Curapika condensed and all in cliff note form.
It was a firestorm that rose from ruins smashed apart with cruel efficiency, blinding him, reducing him. He was losing himself in that concentration of red, but no longer was there anyone to reach past the ridge and grab his hand. His world was shed of past comforts to be armored into brilliant steel, there was no longer any consideration for rationality and percentage of error.
He never asked for comrades. When it came to a crisis between severing the head of the spider before rescuing Gon and Killua, he was surprised to find himself capable of pushing away his selfishness and sacrificing his righteousness for his friends.
Yet it never felt so empty.
I had promised myself that I would never write Curapika, he has too many fans already. Unfortunately, I'm beginning to find him quite interesting.