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Chrollo Lucilfer - Blog Posts
a/n: i noticed there are very little fics of my goat chrollo, ive had this idea for a while and im proud for finally writing it!
cw: kidnapping, clan genocide, mayhaps a bit ooc? kurta!reader, arson, mentions of gore
credits for header: ME! i made the header this time! do you guys like it ...
credits for dividers: @neroticbf
Imagine you were part of the Kurta clan. The medic, treating people's wounds, helping the little kids get over falling on the ground. It was peaceful and quiet. But that was before Chrollo came.
You don't know what he was doing, but it appeared he had strained his leg when he fell in your clan. You of course took him in and started treating his wounds. You helped him get better. You made dishes he liked.
You had to go out to restock on medicine and food, you passed your test a few months ago, so now it was much easier to treat wounds. Your peace only lasted a few hours though.
Burning houses, dead bodies. You can swear they're eyeless, but you couldn't tell since you began running to your house. By some miracle (?) your house hadn't caught the flames, you opened the door to see Chrollo waiting, almost as if he didn't care.
You explain everything to him, as if he wasn't there to see it, pulling his arm so you two can find survivors. Chrollo mumbles an apology before he knocks you out with a simple swipe.
--
You wake up with cold sweat all over you in a room you don't recognize. It's filled with lavish velvet covers adorned with black accents. You have to take a moment to regain your breath and consciousness. Was that all a dream? No, if it was you'd be in your room.
You attempt to get up and get out of bed, before noticing your moves are stopped by a chain tied to your bed post. You give it a few tugs, before realizing it won't budge. You're immediately startled by the door opening.
"Ah, you're awake," Chrollo says, as if this is perfectly fine. He's holding up a tray that contains a neat breakfast of miso soup and eggs. "I was wondering if I was too harsh."
"C-Chrollo what's going on?! Why am I chained-"
"That was just in case," Chrollo casually explains, placing the tray next to you. "Now can you eat your breakfast?"
"Wha- Chrollo what happened to my clan?!"
"I killed them."
You froze. He said it so casually, almost as if he was saying the weather. You actually question yourself if it isn't important but snap back to reality.
"Why?"
"To sell the eyes on the black market," Chrollo responds. "Now could you hurry and eat?"
You're still shocked, you're not sure how to react. It feels like you're the one who's crazy for asking the questions. Reluctantly you start eating (after trying to look for any hints of drugs of course). It tastes..good? It feels like Chrollo went out of his way for this.
"....why did you spare me?" You ask after swallowing.
"You were nice to me," Chrollo says. "You allowed me to recover faster and to deal with your clan faster."
You grip the spoon harder, guilt beginning to fill you.
Is this a hell you created?
--
hope you enjoyed! smooches you
Capa para a fanfic “O ‘sonho’ de Lucilfer” escrito por abbachicx e postado pelo Aniverse Project, um projeto com foco em trazer mais fanfics diversificadas para as seções de animes do Social Spirit, no caso fanfic do anime Hunter x Hunter.
Se inspire! Não copie! Créditos aos fanartistas!
Link da fanfic em breve.
My sibling: He's traumatizing everyone, He's made a list and he's checking it twice
About hisoka 🌟💧
Accidentally stumbled upon quite an old fragments of a thing I started in november and never actually finished :)
New brush day, new chess boy 🤲
Don't you smoke at the gas station
Moreeee moreee Chrollo stuff before next year comes! Hell yeaaah I need to finish EVERYTHING I started this year, god, there are two more things I'm gonna post (I HOPE) today 💃💃💃
Spider-chrollo again!!! Goooosh I'm super in love with this au 💘💘💘
I WAS SCREAMING ON THE FLOOR then I came up with this idea. Have never seen anyone draw him as a spider man before, WHYYY???? This is so canon to me, if he's not suitable for the spider man role, then no one is. It would be so awesome to turn the WHOLE TROUPE into spider people lol
Mgmmm they're done ✅
Got bored of drawing men, gonna draw men in disguise 👍 also just a feminine urge to draw sexy dresses
Jeez this is so funny and could have probably happened lol. I guess they were just trying to take over a lesbian club XD
Hooray, I've finally found time to finish the thing I started in like September, jeez, I'm so satisfied honestly, this looks even better then I expected♦️
wanted to try somethin new with some hunters and not hunters
𝟏
They say the moon is a silent witness to all things—wars, betrayals, quiet deaths in the dark. If that's true, then Ayame Shingetsu was born beneath its cold, watchful eye, forged not by warmth but by stillness, silence... and blood.
She moved like moonlight—quiet, beautiful, impossible to grasp. Her presence never announced itself. It lingered. The last thing her targets ever saw was not her face, but her shadow stretching across the ground, slender as a blade.
Hunters whispered her name with respect. Assassins said it with fear.
Ayame wasn't known for kindness, nor cruelty. She was known for results. Precise. Unflinching.
Some called her a ghost. Others, a weapon.
But Ayame? She called herself nothing at all.
Because the moon doesn't speak.
It watches.
And waits.
Just like her.
The snowfall was light, but the blood in the air was heavy.
Ayame crouched on the edge of a tiled rooftop, her breath still, her heartbeat quieter than the wind. Below, the target laughed—loud, obnoxious, surrounded by guards who were too relaxed for men about to die.
"Minister Retsu of the Eastern Trade Council," she murmured, almost thoughtfully. "Ninety-seven bribes. Twelve assassinations. One child."
She flexed her fingers once, as though testing the air. That was all the ceremony she needed.
They never saw her drop.
She descended without a sound, her feet landing silently behind the nearest guard. Her Nen flared around her like a cold, invisible storm, focused and precise. In the blink of an eye, her fingers sliced the guard's throat. The man dropped before his mind could even process the danger.
The others fell in quick succession—each a flawless, deadly motion. Heads exploded with the force of her Nen-infused fingers, organs ruptured under her invisible strike. One tried to scream. But no sound came as his body crumpled to the ground, his jaw shattered by the force of Ayame's targeted touch.
The minister, frantic, scrambled back, slipping on the snow now stained with his men's blood. "W-who sent you?" he stammered, wide-eyed, hands trembling.
Ayame's eyes were still—unmoved, unaffected. Her gaze pierced through him like the cold moonlight, distant and remorseless.
"Your sins did."
And then she moved.
Flashback – 7 Years Ago
Ayame stood barefoot on the cold floor of the Shingetsu dojo, blood dripping from her chin, her wooden practice sword cracked in half.
Her grandfather towered over her—stern, unblinking.
"You hesitated," he said.
"I spared her eye," Ayame whispered, her voice low.
"You don't spare your enemy's vision. You steal it. You leave nothing they can use to fight you."
She lowered her gaze to her broken weapon. A tremble ran through her, but not from fear.
From shame.
"Again," her grandfather commanded. "Until you forget how to show mercy."
Back in the present, Ayame stood over the minister's lifeless body.
She looked up at the sky. The moon was full.
It always was when she killed.
Her inherited, 'Infinite,' hummed gently around her, a silent barrier that kept the world at bay. The minister's blood soaked the snow beneath her feet, but her expression remained unchanged. She felt nothing, not even the satisfaction of her work.
Turning away, she slipped into the shadows once more, her mind already on the next task at hand. Her purpose wasn't to feel, wasn't to question. She was a weapon, and the world was full of those who needed to be silenced.
Her eyes, like the cold moon above, were never anything but still. Always watching. Always waiting.
The city lights below were a haze of neon and motion, but Ayame's apartment sat high above it all—silent, sterile, still.
She unlocked the door with a flick of her hand, stepping into the cool dimness. No shoes to remove, no clutter. Her space reflected her perfectly: efficient, minimal, untouched by sentiment.
A single katana—ceremonial—hung on the wall, not for use but for legacy. The rest of the apartment was empty save for a low table, a kettle, and a window that framed the moon.
She shrugged off her coat, bloodstains still drying on the fabric, and let it fall to the floor.
Then, her phone buzzed.
Ayame stared at the screen. No name. Just a number. One she had memorized, not saved.
She picked it up.
Silence on the line for a beat. Then—
"Still breathing, girl?"
Ayame didn't smile, but the corner of her mouth twitched. "Barely. You interrupted my tea."
Isaac Netero chuckled on the other end, the sound low and worn but full of life.
"If you have time for tea, you're not moving fast enough."
"I already moved," she replied. "He's dead."
"I know," he said. "The Eastern Trade Council is already panicking. You've caused quite a stir, as usual."
Ayame poured hot water into a cup, watching the steam rise. "I didn't kill him for politics."
"No," Netero said thoughtfully. "You never do."
A pause.
"You sound... colder," he added.
"I am," she said. "Is that concern, old man?"
"Observation," he answered lightly. "You're becoming more like your grandfather every year."
Ayame didn't reply. Her eyes drifted to the city below, to the lights flickering like dying stars.
"He trained you well," Netero went on. "But he trained you to survive. Not to live."
"I don't need to live," she said. "I need to finish what I started."
A beat of silence.
Netero's voice softened. "One day, the killing won't be enough. And when that day comes, I hope you've left a little bit of yourself unbroken."
Ayame sipped her tea.
"I won't," she said simply.
And hung up.
The silence returned, but this time, it felt heavier.
The moonlight spilled across the room, casting long shadows behind her.
She didn't move. Didn't speak. She just sat there—alone in a world where even her enemies feared to follow.
Flashback — 5 Years Ago
Outskirts of Kukuroo Mountain
The wind cut through the highlands like a blade, whistling between the jagged rocks. Ayame stood alone on a cliff's edge, overlooking a cluster of destroyed caravans far below. Smoke curled from what remained—burnt cargo, shattered crates, and corpses.
She didn't kill them.
But she watched it happen.
Watched the raiders strike. Watched them take. Watched them leave.
She could have stopped it. But it didn't matter.
Ayame turned to go—silent, cold, already fading into the background of the world.
Then came the voice.
"You didn't intervene."
She paused.
"You saw everything. And did nothing."
Ayame didn't look back. "They weren't mine to save."
Footsteps approached slowly—measured, soft against the gravel, but every step carried weight.
"You're strong," the man said. "But strength without purpose... that's a tragedy."
She turned slightly, just enough to see him over her shoulder.
Isaac Netero.
She recognized him immediately—not from stories, but from instinct. No one else had that kind of presence. It wasn't even his Nen. It was his stillness. A stillness only people who had mastered destruction ever carried.
"I didn't ask for your wisdom," Ayame said.
"I'm not offering it," he replied. "I'm just curious."
Ayame raised an eyebrow.
"Curious about what?"
"What kind of world a person like you wants to build... or destroy."
Ayame looked away again, her expression unreadable. The wind pushed her hair across her face.
"I don't want to build anything," she said. "I'm just looking for something interesting."
Netero's eyes narrowed, not in judgment—but calculation. The kind of look you give a puzzle you don't quite understand.
"You're not finished yet," he said quietly. "You think you are, but you're not. There's something missing in you."
"Let me guess," she said, bored. "Compassion? Redemption?”
"No," he said. "A reason."
Ayame didn't reply.
She just stepped past him and began walking down the hill.
Netero didn't follow. He only spoke once more, almost to himself:
"You'll either find it in someone... or lose yourself to someone who makes you forget you needed it."
She kept walking, her silhouette disappearing into the fog.
At the time, she didn't know what he meant.
But one day, she would.
𝐀𝐲𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬𝐮
The world of Hunters was a place where power ruled, where only the strongest survived, and those who weren't ready to sacrifice everything were quickly forgotten. Among the many names whispered through the dark alleys of cities and the desolate landscapes of battlefields, one name stood above all others. A name that struck terror into the hearts of assassins, hunters, and criminals alike. That name was Ayame Shingetsu.
Born into a bloodline so old that its origins had been lost to time, Ayame's very existence was a testament to the dark legacy of her family. They were not the loudest or most numerous, but their power was undeniable—shrouded in mystery and fear. And at the center of it all was Ayame, the last living heir of a lineage whose strength lay not in their size or numbers but in their unparalleled mastery of perception and control.
Ayame's story began long before she ever stepped onto the battlefield, her fate already carved out by the eyes she inherited. The Shingetsu family was renowned not for their prowess in combat, but for a unique gift passed down through generations—the Eyes of Infinite Perception. These eyes allowed the user to see everything: not just the present, but the movements, intentions, and emotions of others as if they were written in the air, visible to only those who had the gift.
The ability to perceive the future, even in fleeting moments, gave her family members an unparalleled advantage in battle, negotiation, and survival. The world was theirs to control—nothing could remain hidden from their sight. But it was Ayame who took this gift to an unprecedented level, mastering it with such skill that even the most seasoned warriors found themselves helpless in her presence.
Her eyes, however, were not the only power she possessed. Her Nen abilities were as deadly and precise as the family legacy she carried.
At the heart of her arsenal lay "Hōrō" (the Blade of Fate)—a strike so swift and lethal that even the most powerful opponents had no time to react. The secret behind Hōrō was not in its physical force but in its absolute precision. Ayame could read the movements of her enemy before they even moved, anticipating their every action. She could calculate the angle of a blow, the timing of a strike, and the exact point of impact with a mere thought. In a single motion, she could end a life. The target would never know what hit them. No one could evade Hōrō—its speed was beyond human comprehension, and Ayame's ability to control it made it an unstoppable force.
Unlike most Nen abilities, Hōrō did not require excessive training or years of discipline to perfect. Instead, it was an instinct, a natural extension of Ayame's perception and understanding of the world around her. In battle, Ayame's enemies were always one step behind, struggling to keep up with the unrelenting flow of time and motion that she could control with a mere flick of her wrist.
But it was Shingan—the ability that struck fear into the hearts of those who heard its name—that truly set Ayame apart from anyone who had ever existed. Shingan (the Mind's Eye) was not a weapon forged from strength or brute force. Instead, it was an ability that demanded nothing more than a subtle gesture, a mere flick of the finger. With that tiny motion, Ayame could cause a person's head to explode in an instant.
The power of Shingan lay in its unpredictability and its simplicity. It did not require a large amount of concentration or energy; it only needed Ayame's mind to target her victim. She could strike from a distance, with no weapon, and with no need to move her body. The precision of Shingan was absolute—no one was safe, not even those with the fastest reflexes. The ability was so deadly that it made any direct confrontation with Ayame a suicide mission. Shingan was her trump card, one that she wielded with casual indifference.
But Ayame's Nen abilities were not the only thing that made her invincible. At the heart of her power was Infinite, a barrier so potent that it could repel anything and everything that came into contact with her. Infinite was a force field, a nearly impenetrable wall of energy that encased Ayame in a protective shell. It was an extension of her will, a reflection of her unyielding nature. No attack, no weapon, no Nen ability could breach Infinite unless she allowed it.
For Ayame, Infinite was not just a defense—it was a statement. It symbolized her absolute control over the battlefield. No one could touch her, no one could harm her, unless she deemed them worthy. Those who tried to strike her found their weapons bouncing off harmlessly, their blows rendered meaningless. And in moments when Ayame was feeling merciful, she would deactivate Infinite, allowing her enemies to approach. But that was only ever a rare mercy—because when she did allow someone close, they were already condemned. Her enemies never saw the attack coming.
The barrier also reflected Ayame's internal philosophy—a belief that she was untouchable, above the chaos of the world around her. While others relied on weapons, training, or brute strength, Ayame saw the world through the lens of her eyes and the calm control of her Nen. The battlefield was nothing more than a game to her—one that she had already won before it even began.
But Ayame's power was not without its cost. Her eyes, while giving her an advantage no one else could understand, also left her detached from the world around her. She could see everything—the movements, the thoughts, the emotions—but she felt little. It was as if she were watching a play, where everyone else was an actor, performing for her amusement, and she was the only one who knew the ending. The struggles of others were meaningless to her. She saw the patterns, the inevitable outcomes, and found little joy in the drama that unfolded.
Her interactions with others were cold, distant. She rarely laughed, rarely showed emotion. Her expression was often one of mild amusement, like a spectator watching a show they had seen a thousand times before. Ayame found conflict amusing—not because she enjoyed the violence, but because it was predictable. People fought for control, for power, but they never understood that it was all futile. She was the one who held all the cards.
Despite her indifference to the world around her, Ayame was not without enemies. The world of assassins, hunters, and power-hungry factions was full of those who sought to challenge her, to prove themselves superior. Some thought they could break her, defeat her, take away the power that had made her infamous. But they were wrong. They always were.
Ayame's power was not simply her Nen abilities or her inherited gift. It was her mind. She could see the world around her and understand it in a way no one else could. She knew their moves before they made them. She anticipated their plans before they even thought of them. And with that knowledge, she controlled them all.
Her reputation as a cold, calculating, and invincible force spread like wildfire. She became a figure of myth and legend, a name that echoed through the halls of the most dangerous organizations. Some sought to kill her. Others sought to manipulate her. But none succeeded.
There was no one who could stand against Ayame Shingetsu. She was the blade of fate, and no one could escape her vision, her power, or the inevitable end she brought. Those who crossed her would find themselves destroyed, and those who served her would find themselves in the presence of a woman who saw all, knew all, and could end it all with a single gesture.
In the world of Hunters, Ayame was more than a name. She was an unstoppable force. And her story was only beginning.
He was a void wrapped in scripture. She was an untouchable storm.
Chrollo Lucilfer. Leader of the Phantom Troupe, a man who speaks softly but bleeds chaos. A thief of abilities, a manipulator of fate. He moves like a shadow, unreadable, unstoppable, always ten steps ahead of the world he's trying to burn.
Then came Ayame Shingetsu.
An enigma with a barrier called Infinite, untouchable by blade, bullet, or man. Her smile is rare, her mercy rarer. She doesn't chase power. She is power. Feared by assassins, respected by Hunters, and bored by almost everything... until him.
Their meeting wasn't fate. It was a warning to the world.
Because when two forces of nature collide, something always breaks.
𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: Toxic relationships, Possessiveness, Overprotectiveness, Violence, Murder, Gore, Explicit sexual content, Manipulation, Psychological abuse, Dark character dynamics, Morally ambiguous or villainous behavior, Disturbing imagery and themes, Death and intense emotional distress
Parts:
Ayame Shingetsu
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good evening kurokura nation