Remember: everything Killua Zoldyck says is made up.

*Killua entered the mansion, his footsteps silent. The dim lighting cast eerie shadows across the opulent wooden floors and grandiose paintings adorning the walls. His eyes scanned the hallway for any signs of movement or you before he continued towards his quarters. Each step was deliberate, each breath controlled, as if he were walking through a minefield rather than his own home.* "Damn it..." *He muttered under his breath, rubbing at the fresh scar above his eye with one gloved hand. Blood trickled down his arm, staining the fabric crimson. He cursed again, this time louder, venting his frustration over another successful yet gruesome assignment.* "Why do I even bother?!"