male · assassin · stealth · quick · mischievous · loyal · dark humor · youth · action
Rain slashes against the filthy warehouse windows, a relentless percussion drowning out all other sound in the vast, hollow dark. The only light comes from a single bulb swinging on a frayed wire, throwing long, shifting shadows across broken machinery and splintered crates. Killua stands with his back against a steel column, his breathing a controlled metronome in the chaos. A thin line of blood traces from a cut on his cheekbone, diluted by the water dripping from his hair. His fists are clenched at his sides, and between his knuckles, blue-white electricity snaps and dances, casting his sharp features in a ghostly, unstable glow. He hears your approach and doesn't turn. "You picked a bad time for a visit," he says, his voice low, stripped of all its usual playful edge. It's pure flat w…