Former Royal Palace of the Republic of East Gorteau — Underground Ruins
The operation was never meant to exist.
No public report.
No witnesses.
No survivors—if anything remained.
High above the ruins of the former royal palace, a single helicopter hovered briefly before descending. Its engines were muted, its lights disabled. This was not a rescue mission, nor an investigation.
It was a cleanup.
Cheadle Yorkshire stepped onto the fractured stone floor without hesitation. Her expression was calm, professional—yet her eyes betrayed a quiet unease. The scent of decay still clung to the air, mixed with something far worse: the invisible residue of the Miniature Rose.
— No prolonged exposure, she said into the communicator.
— Confirm Nen shielding and proceed immediately.
She moved alone.
This was intentional.
The battle that had taken place here was something the world could not be allowed to understand. A king born of monstrosity. A weapon surpassing nations. A chairman who had chosen extinction over defeat.
History would not record the truth.
Cheadle descended into the underground levels where the final confrontation had occurred. The walls were cracked, melted in places, warped by heat and force beyond conventional physics.
Her instruments reacted erratically.
— Nen readings… unstable, she muttered. Residual, but scattered.
She stopped.
For a brief moment, she felt something.
Not a presence.
A void.
As if something that should not exist… had chosen silence.
Her jaw tightened.
— Begin total eradication protocol.
Above ground, explosives were placed with precision. Deep within the palace, structural supports were compromised. The very foundations of the site were condemned.
Cheadle turned her back.
Minutes later, the earth collapsed inward.
Stone, steel, history—everything was swallowed.
The palace of East Gorteau ceased to exist.
Darkness.
Not the absence of light—but the absence of self.
— Komugi…
The voice echoed faintly, as if struggling to remember its own origin.
— Komugi…
Meruem believed he was dead.
Or rather, he had accepted that death was the logical conclusion.
There was no pain. No fear.
Only a lingering weight—a question left unanswered.
— My king…
The voice answered.
Gentle.
Certain.
Real.
— I am here.
His eyes opened.
Warmth surrounded him.
A soft, luminous glow enveloped his body—not radiant, not divine, but intimate. The light pulsed slowly, synchronized with a heartbeat that was not entirely his own.
Komugi was holding him.
Her small hands rested against his chest, trembling slightly. Around them, an unfamiliar Nen flowed—intertwined, inseparable. Two auras moving as one, indistinguishable in origin.
Meruem inhaled.
Air filled his lungs.
— I see… he said quietly.
— So we are still alive.
There was no shock in his voice. Only a subdued irony, as if survival itself were an inconvenience.
Komugi looked at him.
Her expression was strange—composed, yet distant.
— My king… she said calmly.
— Is something wrong?
He narrowed his eyes.
Something was different.
— Your eyes… Komugi.
She blinked.
Once.
Twice.
And then—
She saw.
The ruins.
The dim light.
His face.
Her breath caught.
Tears streamed down her cheeks as her hands trembled violently.
— I… I can see… she whispered.
— I can see you… my king…
Her voice broke.
The narrator's voice—solemn, detached—rose once more:
The bond between the Chimera Ant King and the human girl transcended all known classifications of Nen.
It was not born of ambition, nor of survival… but of devotion.
Komugi herself never understood the power she possessed.
Yet she was prepared to offer her life without hesitation.
Faced with the poison of the Miniature Rose, her Nen alone was insufficient.
Only through the fusion of their auras did healing become possible.
Meruem slowly pushed himself upright.
His body responded—though not as it once had.
His reflection appeared faintly on a fragment of polished stone.
He froze.
The face staring back at him was… unfamiliar.
Still beautiful—but no longer monstrous.
His features were sharper, refined. His skin smoother. His expression carried a tragic elegance, almost fragile. He appeared closer to a young human adolescent—serene, cold, unsettlingly beautiful.
There was something about him reminiscent of a sculpture carved too perfectly… like the idealized youth found in ancient tragedies.
He did not yet understand.Only one thing remained unchanged.His tail.A reminder.
Komugi wiped her tears, her breathing slowly steadying.
She looked at him—not as a subject before a king, but as a soul before another.
— I am… happy… she said softly.
— Happy to see.
Meruem looked away.
For the first time in his existence, those words carried weight.
He extended his Nen.
The aura expanded—controlled, precise.
And immediately… he noticed.
It was weaker.
Not broken.
Reduced.
— So this is the price… he thought.
— Power exchanged for survival.
The conclusion was logical.
The healing.
The fusion.
The compensation.
He withdrew his Nen.
— Komugi, he said.
— Let us play one more game of Gungi.
Her face lit up faintly.
— Yes.
They played.
Amidst ruins that no longer belonged to history.
When the game ended, Komugi hesitated.
— My king…
— Where will we go now?
Meruem paused.
For the first time… he realized something profound.
He had never known where he was going.
— We will leave, he answered calmly.
— We will see the world.
— And we will remain together.
Komugi smiled—tears threatening to return.
— Yes…
Meruem stood.
And gently… he took her hand.