Abel's (Somewhat Twisted) View on Life

30 Quills fan fiction - Theme #24

2006-06-04T21:23:24Z

Title: "It's Not Him..."
Author/Artist: armoredsoul
Theme(s): Theme #24 - "You are not the person I thought you were."
Pairing: Tsuzuki Asato and Kurosaki Hisoka
Fandom: Yami no Matsuei / Descendants of Darkness
Disclaimer: Yami no Matsuei and all of its cast do not belong to me in anyway... unfortunately.

This is based on the third episode of the Devil's Trill arc... Hisoka's revelation that Tsuzuki has been possessed... Yes, I suck at summaries. >_>;; Reviews and critiques are much appreciated. <3

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‘It’s not him... It’s not him...’

The chant echoed through the younger boy’s mind as he nervously chewed his lower lip, mismatched emerald eyes fixed on the plain white door. A thin strip of light shone through the crack at the bottom, the sound of running water just audible from the bathroom beyond. The man who should have been his partner was in there, claiming to have gone for a shower. The man who looked just like Tsuzuki, from the ever-messy chocolate brown hair to the exotic violet-hued eyes. But it was a lie - that ‘man’ was not him.

No, it couldn’t be him. Tsuzuki would have known that Chief Konoe’s favourite souvenir was some disgustingly sweet confection. He would not have dismissed him so casually, nor ignored him when he’d supposedly bought their boss the wrong item. Tsuzuki would have worried about him, have realized that something was amiss and asked if he was alright. But this imposter did not.

It had been at that moment that he had taken the initiative to get Hijiri out of there; the boy was so wrapped up in gratitude that he didn’t notice the subtle change in the man. But Hisoka did. And if this wasn’t his partner, then the oblivious boy was in danger again... Perhaps even moreso than before.

He still wasn’t sure just when he’d begun to realize there was something off - perhaps it was something about his eyes. The usually bright and happy look was gone, replaced with a colder look, frighteningly similar to that of his own killer. A look of evil. It had struck him even before he’d sensed the lack of emotions... It was just - wrong. It had weighed heavily on him since then, worry creeping into the corners of his mind, nagging at him, struggling to be heard. Who was this, if not Tsuzuki? Where was his real partner, and would he ever return to them? To him?

...It must have been the canine demon, Saagatanasu - the one that Tsuzuki and Byakko had supposedly defeated. It must have infected his body somehow, just as Watari-san had said... but how?!

The water stopped.

Hisoka tried to swallow the lump that formed in his throat, absently fiddling with the buttons of Hijiri’s pale pink shirt. Would the demon see right through him? Would he see through his amateurish attempt at an illusion spell on his eye, or the false brown hair of his wig? Better yet, what would happen when - if he did? He was after Hijiri - but a demon who managed to somehow ensnare Tsuzuki would have no problem dealing a novice shinigami like him...

He gripped the window sill tightly, trying to keep his nerves calmed and collect his mental shielding; he did not know the extent of this creature’s power. The last thing he needed was for his empathy to give him away. He would take down this bastard when he could, but right now, there was something else that needed to be done...

The squeak of a doorknob, the creak of hinges.

‘Just remember... It’s not actually him...’

As promised...

2006-04-03T21:42:24Z

Yes, boredom has gotten the better of me, so I shall post the other chapter of my older fiction... >_>;;

Title: "Painful Lessons" - Rated - NC-17

Genre: Drama/Angst

Fandom: Yami no Matsuei

Disclaimer: Yami no Matsuei and all of its characters are property of Yoko Matsushita, not me.

Warnings: Gore, violence, language, non-graphic rape, and an all round dark fic as well as some mild spoilers.

Details: A what-if from the Kyoto Arc... What if Tsuzuki hadn't made it in time, that night Hisoka met Muraki on the stairs?

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Chapter Four - Less than Pleasant Company

"Good morning, Tsuzuki-san. I trust you and the bouya slept well?"

“Muraki! You son of a-” Tsuzuki growled, his voice shaking with suppressed rage. His fingers tightened around the small phone, squeezing until the plastic surface creaked in protest. That bastard... Tsuzuki had forgotten that the man knew his number...

“Ah, ah… Language, Tsuzuki-san,” Muraki scolded, the sinister doctor’s mocking tone enough to make the shinigami’s blood boil.

Tsuzuki could tell the silvery haired man was wearing that infuriating smirk; he’d been around the twisted man often enough to tell. He was probably proud of himself for hurting Hisoka or for some similar, just as sickening, reason… Tsuzuki only wished the doctor were closer, so he could knock the expression from his face.

“I gather from your less than pleasant greeting, that you’re having trouble with your current case? That recent string of serial killings?” Muraki continued, “Or perhaps you’re upset about the bouya?”

Tsuzuki almost growled in response; he couldn’t find words harsh enough to respond. How could that man remain so damned calm! It was that calmness that upset him more than anything; Tsuzuki felt so much guilt about the lives he’d taken, the pain he’d caused. But with Muraki... He could talk about it as though it were nothing at all... As though people’s lives were some trivial thing that could be used and tossed away without a second thought.

“I see you aren’t very talkative this morning, Tsuzuki-san...” Muraki commented coolly. “I actually called to ask if you’d care to join me for breakfast? I know of an excellent place-”

“Cut the crap. What is it you really want, Muraki?” Tsuzuki interrupted rudely, red hot anger licking at his insides, trying to push its way to the surface. He was prepared to hang up on the doctor, simply so he wouldn’t have to hear his arrogant voice anymore. But what Tsuzuki desired above all was to make the man pay, to punish him for what he did to Hisoka... Which was something he could not do over a cell phone.

“You should learn to listen better, Tsuzuki-san,” Muraki replied haughtily, seemingly unaffected by the shinigami’s rage. “I just told you. I want you to meet me for breakfast.”

“And why the hell would I want to go to breakfast with you?”

“Well, I could always come to you instead? Perhaps while I’m there, I could offer my professional services to the bouya?” The doctor offered, knowing exactly how to manipulate the other man, “He looked a little pale last night…”

‘Damn him!’ The last thing Tsuzuki wanted to do was leave his partner’s side. Even if Watari was there to look after Hisoka, it wasn’t the same as watching over him himself. What if Hisoka woke up? Then Tsuzuki wouldn’t be there and Hisoka may think that he’d been abandoned once again. He wouldn’t know if Hisoka was alright, he wouldn’t be there to comfort him...

But then again, he knew all to well that Muraki would keep to his word. If Tsuzuki didn’t meet the man for breakfast, he would show up at their hotel. And somehow, the shinigami didn’t think that the doctor’s presence would be helpful to Hisoka’s healing process. What choice did he have?

“Bastard. Where will you be?” the amethyst eyed man snapped finally, irritated that the doctor was in control. Again.

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A soft click echoed in the quiet room as Muraki lay the phone back in the cradle, a satisfied smirk curling his lips. So far, his plan was running smoothly… And though he certainly hadn't intended on running into the bouya, it had certainly been to his advantage. Yet again, his little doll had worked as the perfect bait to lure his Tsuzuki-san…

"Should I be worried?" an amused voice sounded from the doorway behind him. "Whenever you smile like that, it usually means you're up to something…"

"Of course not, Oriya," Muraki replied, his silver eyes meeting those of the voice's owner.

Mibu Oriya, master of KoKakuRoh, now stood framed by the door, his intelligent brown eyes fixed on the doctor. The silken material of his long kimono shimmered in the early morning sunlight that filtered through the window, making the colours look even more vibrant. One corner of his lips was turned up in a lopsided smile; a sarcastic expression to say the least… He knew Kazutaka far too well to think he wasn't causing trouble of some kind. What were friends for, if not to notice these things?

"And I suppose you'll be needing another favour?" Oriya continued, ignoring Muraki's answer completely.

“You do know me far too well,” the silver haired man replied softly, mirroring his friend’s thoughts. Perhaps it was a sign that he asked far too much of the other man... However, now was not the time to be worrying about that. After all, if everything went according to plan, Oriya wouldn’t have to put up with him for much longer.

“I need you to get me reservations for a breakfast for two,” Muraki explained simply, as he tightened his dark tie. He gestured to a business card laying on the bedside table, before continuing, “Have them hold a table for about... 8:30am?”

“Care to tell me who your date is?” the brunette responded dryly, knowing full well that Muraki wouldn’t give him a straight answer. When did he ever? They played this game every time the silver haired man came to Kyoto; Muraki would take what he wanted, and wouldn’t offer Oriya anymore information than he had to. Why he put up with the doctor was a mystery... Even to himself.

Instead of even attempting to answer, Muraki simply turned his back on the brunette, under the pretense of inspecting his long coat. The material that had been blood soaked only hours earlier had somehow been cleaned back to its original pristine ivory. There was not a drop of red left; every sign of his gory deeds had somehow been erased. Seemingly satisfied, he slid his arm into the sleeve, swinging the heavy garment around his shoulders.

As he adjusted the high collar, Muraki turned his head to the side, glancing at Oriya out of the corner of his eye. Once he had finished with the coat, he faced his friend once more, as though tired of waiting for him to leave.

“It seems that my beloved has finally noticed my signal,” the doctor replied cryptically, the corner of his pale lips pulling up into a smirk.

“Now, Oriya. About those reservations...?”

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“Watari, look after Hisoka,” Tsuzuki instructed harshly, rising from his seat. He couldn’t believe he was actually doing this. Going to meet Muraki alone, while Hisoka was still unconscious? Not to mention badly injured... But, it wasn’t like he had a lot of options.

Watari, startled by the loud voice, quickly leapt to his feet. He’d heard Tsuzuki speaking to someone on the phone just a few minutes earlier, but he had simply dismissed it as Tatsumi. Though at the time, the blonde had been confused as to why the secretary would call, especially as he had just reported in... But from Tsuzuki’s present tone, the scientist had a pretty good guess as to the caller’s actual identity. ‘This isn’t good...’

“Tsuzuki...” But before Watari could even begin to protest, the amethyst eyed shinigami shot him an icy glare, silencing him instantly. Any arguments the scientist had died on his quivering lips; he was actually afraid to get in the other man’s way. Everyone knew Tsuzuki was the most powerful shinigami in JuuOhCho, but his idiocy and cheerfulness often made people forget that fact. But any trace of that silliness was now gone, leaving him only with that cold, hard fact; Tsuzuki was the most powerful... and the most dangerous.

“I’m going after him,” the brunette explained quietly, all too aware of Watari’s fear. It hurt that his long time friend would back away from him like that, as though he were some kind of monster or...or... demon. ‘But then again, I must seem like one...’

“Call me if anything changes... I’ll be back soon.”

And with that, the door closed and Tsuzuki was gone. Watari looked at the door for a moment, as though hoping that it was all a bad joke, and that the bubbly shinigami would barge back in at any moment. But, he knew that was just wishful thinking. There was no way any of this could end well, for Hisoka or Tsuzuki, or even Muraki.

Turning his attention to his unconscious charge, Watari began to wish he hadn’t been so careless with his thoughts... When this began, he’d wondered just what Tsuzuki would do if Hisoka had been hurt or attacked by Muraki. But now that it was a reality... he really didn’t want to know anymore.

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Why did there always have to be Sakura petals? The cherry blossoms haunted him, awake or asleep, or... whatever he was now. Was this real death? Was it finally over? It couldn’t be, not with those accursed blossoms lazily trailing through the air, just like they had that night...

But for some reason, it wasn’t only the flowers this time. The rich colour of autumn leaves flashed through the rain of pink petals, intermingling and blending... Much the way his memories were. But one thing remained constant: that white clad monster was always there... There to taunt him, abuse him, violate him... hurt him.

Brushing an annoying stray petal from the front of his kimono, Hisoka dared to take a nervous look around. A stone stairway lay before him, its steep steps showered in cherry blossoms and fallen leaves. ‘Wh-where... is this? Where... is Tsuzuki?’ He wanted to run, to find his partner, but something was calling him up those steps. It all felt so familiar... and so wrong.

“No... I don’t want to go up there. I want to go home...” he whispered softly, trying to stop himself from moving.

But he couldn’t stop... He was going up the steps, crushing the poor blossoms under his wooden sandals. Towards... something. Just what was up there? He knew that he knew, but his brain felt fuzzy, as though it were purposely hiding the knowledge from him. But he could feel it; something was wrong... terribly wrong...

With each step, the carpet of flowers and leaves seemed to get thicker, and for some reason... stickier. The paper thin leaves clung to the hem of his long kimono, held tight by some red liquid that looked disturbingly similar to blood...

“No...”

But his protests did little good; his feet seemed to be moving by their own volition, carrying him ever closer to the top.

As he climbed the final step, the sudden realization hit him like a ton of bricks; he did know what awaited him on the landing... And now, it was too late to escape. All he could do was scream as the white figure closed in on him, scream for a salvation that would not come.

“Tsuzuki!”

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“So pleased you could make it, Tsuzuki-san.”

The doctor’s voice made Tsuzuki’s teeth clench, biting back the harsh words that threatened to spill out of his mouth at any moment. Why did the man have to pretend that everything was fine? As though it were simply two friends meeting for breakfast, wanting to talk about old times and what else was new... Instead of a twisted murderer forcing his prey to meet him after hurting the one they cared for most.

“Muraki,” he acknowledged coldly, reluctantly settling down in the seat across from the sinister man. Somehow, he had the feeling that he’d regret this before it was over... But then again, when did he not regret meeting Muraki?

The silvery haired man’s lips curled into a small smile, an expression that one could possibly mistake for kindness or some harmless, friendly emotion. That was, unless they actually knew the personality of the one who owned the smile. Like Tsuzuki did. He knew full well that the look was far from innocent - Muraki was pleased with himself. He had gotten his way, and he knew it.

“You’re even early,” Muraki commented silkily, the sickening grin not leaving his face. “If only you could be on time for everything, ne?”

‘Like last night.’ He may as well have said it, as the shinigami knew that he meant it. If only he’d showed up in time to save his partner, instead of sitting around waiting for him to come back. If only he’d been there early when Muraki had attacked Hisoka, instead of condemning him to torture and...

‘You know this is exactly what he wants!’

He couldn’t let himself get worked up, not now. He’d have plenty of time to come to terms with what had happened later... But right now he needed to focus on the vile creature sitting across from him. If he let himself get distracted, Muraki could easily pull something.

“Why did you call me out here?” he asked stiffly, struggling to keep his rising temper under control. The urge to reach across the table and physically knock the smirk off the man’s face was almost overwhelming... Some small way of returning some of the pain he’d caused to Hisoka.

“Because I enjoy your company,” Muraki replied coolly, not bothering to hide his amusement. He truly enjoyed watching the shinigami suffer like that. The pain and rage burning in those lovely amethyst eyes... Not to mention the hatred. It was that cold, heartless emotion he liked the most.

“I took the liberty of ordering for the both of us,” he continued, running a slender finger around the smooth rim of his water glass. “I had originally intended for our meal to be prepared in time for your arrival, but since you are here ahead of time...”

As the doctor went on, Tsuzuki tried everything he could to not listen. If he didn’t hear Muraki’s words, then he wouldn’t have reason to react to them... He also wouldn’t have reason to summon all twelve of his shikigami right in the middle of the restaurant and completely erase the man from existence. Unfortunately, his attempts at deafness continued to fail, and Muraki continued to ramble. ‘Does he really like the sound of his own voice that much?’

“I actually would have preferred to have taken you to dinner, as it would have given me the opportunity to treat you to some of those sweet pastries you enjoy so much. However, my business ran unexpectedly late last night...”

“You consider killing innocent people ‘business’?” Tsuzuki retorted, quickly giving up on his original plan. If it had been hard to ignore Muraki before, it had become impossible after that. That he could continue to speak of his victims so casually... There was no possible way he could remain silent after that. Especially not when one of those victims had been Hisoka.

“So you’ve been working hard on your case? And you think I’m the one behind the killings?”

The doctor hadn’t even attempted to hide the amusement in his voice. One would have thought he’d be upset at being figured out so quickly, but he seemed quite the opposite. Though, it probably should have been expected, especially with the noticeable trail he’d left for the shinigami to find. Something as incriminating as hair left on one of the victims? Not unless the killer were a complete fool. Or... the evidence was left on purpose.

“This isn’t a game! I know you’re the one behind it!” the amethyst-eyed shinigami snarled, his voice raising with each word. While the outburst seemed to have no effect at all on Muraki, it did earn him a few bewildered stares from other nearby patrons.

“Now really, Tsuzuki-san... You need to learn to keep that temper of yours in check. You tend to lose control so easily,” the white clad villain chided, throwing the other a mocking look of disapproval. “Especially when it concerns the bouya.”

The brunette opened his mouth once again at the mention of Hisoka, his anger reaching a whole new level; he actually dared to bring up his partner at a time like this? But before he could put voice to his rage, he was cut off by the doctor once more.

“But you’re right; I am the one behind the recent string of murders.”

Why did it matter if Muraki admitted to it? It didn’t change what he’d done to those women... What he’d done to Hisoka. Nor did he feel guilty about it; Muraki probably wanted to take the credit for it. Just more pain caused by his already blood soaked hands...

But still, why confess now? Was he giving Tsuzuki the chance to learn more about his newest scheme? Or was he just taunting him again?

"Why cut the victims’ hair?" the shinigami demanded in a low voice, quickly deciding to avoid the subject of Hisoka. It was the best idea at the moment... He would make Muraki regret what he’d done, there was no question about that... But it was better that he first learned what he could about the murder case. After all, the silver haired man might not be so willing to talk after Tsuzuki had finished with him. That was, if he was still able to talk.

"I’m afraid I can’t answer that, Tsuzuki-san," the other replied calmly as he tilted his head, causing his unruly platinum locks to fall away from his wider, unnatural eye. "Though I’m surprised... You’d worry about a few pieces of lost hair... And yet, you won’t ask why I tortured the bouya? I would have thought he meant more to you than that."

Keeping calm? The idea was as incomprehensible as a foreign language...

All rational thoughts lost, Tsuzuki lunged across the small table, sending their water glasses tumbling to the floor. Without another moment’s hesitation, he drew back and hurled a sharp blow towards the doctor’s smirking face, no longer caring who was watching them. Forget the case, JuuOhCho, the victims... They hadn’t been able to help Hisoka anymore than he had! Well, that was going to change... Right now!

'So predictable...’ In a single, fluid motion, Muraki easily caught Tsuzuki’s wrist, causing the punch to sail harmlessly passed its target. However, instead of releasing him, the silver haired man’s grip tightened as he wrenched the shinigami’s hand closer with surprising strength. Muraki’s silver eyes glinted dangerously as they traveled down the smooth, flawless skin of Tsuzuki’s hand coming to rest on the thick leather watchstrap that covered his wrist. A strangely wicked smirk formed on his pale lips - not a good sign.

"How rude of you, Tsuzuki-san! Attacking me so violently..."

Fiercely struggling against his sadistic captor, Tsuzuki still wasn’t able to free his hand from the doctor’s vice-like grip. Muraki’s physical strength was far greater than the brunette had ever imagined; though now that he thought about it, it only made sense. How else could he claim his victims, if not by overpowering them?

"Let me go." Tsuzuki commanded, still writhing in the other’s grasp. He hadn’t taken any notice of the ominous grin Muraki wore, as he was too busy trying to pry his hand away.

"Now why would I do that?" Muraki questioned, not that he actually expected an answer; in fact, he didn’t leave room for one. Instead, he gently stroked the inside of Tsuzuki’s wrist, the tips of his finger running over the worn leather of the watchband.

Before the shinigami could protest, he quickly added with seemingly innocent curiosity, "I see you wear your watch on the right… Are you a lefty, Tsuzuki-san? Or perhaps... are you trying to cover the scars on your wrist?"

For a moment, the sounds of the bustling restaurant seemed to fade out, almost like a television station with bad reception. ‘Wh-what did he just say?’

Tsuzuki’s fighting ceased almost instantly at Muraki’s words; his arm fell limp in the doctor’s grasp as his violet eyes widened with shock and... something that appeared to be... fear?

‘How could Muraki have...’ He’d never told anyone about his life, nor about the circumstances of his death... not even Hisoka. ‘ My death… my… my cowardice… There’s no way he could have known that!’ But even as the words rang through his mind, he knew that wasn’t right. That hadn’t just been some lucky guess – Muraki knew.

Guarded memories, that Tsuzuki had long wished to forget, crept back into the dark corners of his mind, trying once again to make themselves known. Hard as Tsuzuki tried to ignore them, to push them away… They just continued to surface, threatening to overwhelm him.

Muraki could not have been more pleased with the shinigami’s reaction to his words; it was more than he could have hoped for. ‘My dear Tsuzuki-san… It hurts, doesn’t it? Remembering… But how can you expect to survive what I have in store for you, if even this is too much?’

He carelessly let the man’s hand drop back to the table, letting it land heavily on the wooden surface; Tsuzuki made no effort to stop it. His purple eyes looked vacant... empty. Much the way Hisoka’s had the previous night... An expression of defeat.

"Tsuzuki-san… Our meeting in Nagasaki was where it all began... And here, in Kyoto, we are coming to the climax of this drama... and it’s almost time for the finale."

Climbing to his feet, Muraki’s predatory gaze didn’t leave the shinigami for an instant. Not that it made any real difference; it was a lot like watching a blank wall… Tsuzuki was lost for the moment… He barely noticed the doctor’s presence anymore; or at least, he wasn’t acknowledging it. Instead, Tsuzuki continued to stare through his thick watchband, as though he could see the mess of crisscrossing scars that marred the soft flesh beneath. An eternal sign of his sins… The one wound that would not heal.

No longer interested in the meal he’d ordered, the doctor finally turned his back on the table, and Tsuzuki as well, his long coat flaring with the motion. He’d achieved his goal, so there was little point in hanging around. After all, it was doubtful that his lovely, chocolate-haired doll would be the best of company now…

Had he bother to notice this, Tsuzuki would have been quite happy that the ivory demon had left… But he was too preoccupied to care. He had to try and calm down! It… it wasn’t important that Muraki knew how he died. He couldn’t know anything else about his life… ‘Not true… He knows what a monster you are… He knows that your just like him – A creature of the darkness…A murderer.’

‘Stop it! You can’t think like that… Even if it’s true… What good will you be to Hisoka, if all you can think about is yourself? You need to-’

An all too familiar ringing cut off Tsuzuki’s thoughts, a noise he was beginning to despise. It had been because of that sound he’d ended up with Muraki in the first place!

His left hand reached into the depths of his coat pocket, snatching the small phone and pulling it out. He would have to invest in some better caller ID… Another unknown number.

Harshly pressing the receive button, he put the phone to his ear… This situation was far too reminiscent of before, only this time, he was ready…

“Muraki, I swear I will-!”

“Tsuzuki?”

The shinigami faltered, suddenly realizing that it was not the arrogant voice of Muraki on the other end. Which, had he not been so distracted, he would have realized made perfect sense... What would have been the point of calling Tsuzuki from just outside the front door?

“Watari? I’m sorry about that, it’s just…”

“It’s fine… But Tsuzuki, you need to get back here right away. It’s about Bon…”

Damn You, Muraki

2006-04-03T15:43:06Z

Aaaand, another chapter... I'll probably post the last written one today as well... 'Cause I'm like that.

Title: "Painful Lessons" - Rated - NC-17

Genre: Drama/Angst

Fandom: Yami no Matsuei

Disclaimer: Yami no Matsuei and all of its characters are property of Yoko Matsushita, not me.

Warnings: Gore, violence, language, non-graphic rape, and an all round dark fic as well as some mild spoilers.

Details: A what-if from the Kyoto Arc... What if Tsuzuki hadn't made it in time, that night Hisoka met Muraki on the stairs?

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Chapter Three - Where Are You?

Glancing at the clock anxiously, Tsuzuki continued his impatient pacing around the small hotel room. Only three minutes had passed since the last time he had checked, but it might as well have been three days. It had to have been hours since Hisoka had left to pick up some dinner... As if on cue, his stomach gave an annoyed grumble in an effort to remind the man it was empty. Frowning, Tsuzuki wandered towards the grubby looking window, hoping for some sign of his sandy haired partner.

Which grocery store had he gone to? There were a couple that were fairly close by, so why was he taking so long? Had he not known what Hisoka’s reaction would be, Tsuzuki would have gone to look for him earlier. Being called a ‘baka’ wasn’t anything new to the man, and he’d rather suffer the verbal abuse and know that the younger shinigami was alright. But, he also remembered the reason behind the irritation that his constant meddling caused Hisoka. Perhaps he could take care of himself...

The soft clicking of computer keys could be heard as Watari continued to work away at his laptop. Or at least, pretend to work. Hidden by the flat screen, the scientist watched the other man’s agitated wandering with an amused expression, his mischievous gold eyes twinkling behind the round lenses of his glasses. So it seemed Tsuzuki really did worry about the kid... As the corners of his lips turned up to form their quirky smile, he had to hold back a laugh; he actually found Tsuzuki’s motherly worrying to be quite cute.

Running his fingers through his long blonde locks, Watari once again returned his focus to the flickering computer screen in front of him. The serious face of Muraki Kazutaka glared back at him from the photograph, his cold eyes almost as disturbing in the picture as they were in person. As he glanced over the twisted doctor’s file, Watari had to admit, he too had begun to wonder... Just where had their youngest companion gotten to? Perhaps Tsuzuki was right to be worried, especially if Doctor Muraki was in fact behind the recent string of murders.

Rising to his feet, Watari slowly brought his hands up above his head and stretched his tired back, his aching bones creaking as he did. At the sound, Tsuzuki glanced over his shoulder, trying to offer the blonde a friendly smile. However, it was easy to tell that the expression was forced, and even easier to see the nervousness behind those violet eyes. It was painful for Watari just to watch.

Pulling on his long white lab coat, Watari bounded energetically across the room before sliding to a halt next to the other man. Slapping a hand on Tsuzuki’s shoulder reassuringly, he wore the same bright expression he always had when he’d come up with another ‘brilliant’ idea.

“How about we go find Bon? He probably couldn’t choose what to buy from that floor length list of food options you left him,” Watari proclaimed, trying to sound cheerful as he squeezed Tsuzuki’s shoulder gently. The scientist didn’t want to sound worried, as he knew it would only make the other even more tense. But Hisoka had been gone for quite a while... Then again, Watari also didn’t want to interfere too much, as the boy seemed to be easily offended by such ‘helpful’ intrusions. He could understand where the kid was coming from... Hisoka just wanted to prove he could take care of himself.

The amethyst eyed shinigami nodded slowly, feeling the worry subside slightly. It really wasn’t like Hisoka to take so long; it was usually he who was rushing Tsuzuki! Pulling his own dark coat around his shoulders, Tsuzuki headed for the door trying to feign his usual bouncy attitude. And failing miserably.

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‘Operation: Search for Hisoka’ was headed (and named) by Watari. The blonde led the way down the darkened streets, looking this way and that as his steps echoed in the late night silence. The moon was hiding behind a thick blanket of grey clouds; any light it offered being swallowed before it could reach the city below. Perhaps if the two men had seen its ominous red glow they would have hurried their search. But it was invisible to them, and the shinigami continued their hunt completely oblivious to the danger it foretold. Now, the only illumination came from the flickering street lamps, their dull glow casting strange twisted shadows on the aged buildings that lined the road.

Gloomily following Watari, Tsuzuki’s puppy-like ears drooped pathetically. They had been searching for what felt like forever... without any success. Such defeats always managed to bring the shinigami down, and this time, he didn’t even have Hisoka to snap at him and make him keep going. With an exhausted sigh, the brunette turned his head to look down yet another shadowed side street. Would Hisoka be there? Or maybe some sign of him...? But no... ‘Where are you, Hisoka?’

Watari could tell Tsuzuki was becoming disheartened just from his slow stride, but they had to keep looking. They had already passed through a couple small grocers, though they had yet to find even a hint of Hisoka’s presence. ‘Strange... Why did Bon walk so far away from the hotel just to get dinner?’ The scatterbrained scientist pondered for a moment, trying to recall his knowledge of the city. There weren’t that many stores in this area and they had already been by all but two of them. In a minute, they would pass the stairs that lead to the temple, and, if he remembered correctly, there was a small convenience store just a few minutes passed it. That would be the next stop on their search... Hopefully Bon would be there, continuing some frustrated search for dinner, unsure of what to buy and what was within Tatsumi’s strict meal budget...

Had it been any other day, Tsuzuki would have been more than content to take a nighttime walk along the beautiful fall leaves. His eyes moved along the diverse foliage, taking in the variety of colors and shapes. It was true the cherry blossoms that were ever blooming in Meifu were beautiful, but Kyoto’s multicolored leaves were a welcomed change of pace.

As he traced the path of one of the many falling leaves, Tsuzuki’s curious gaze fell upon a large gap in the rows of trees. Within the large space, a large stone staircase climbed up the side of the hill, its broad steps littered with more of the dry, fallen leaves. Just as he opened his mouth to question Watari on their whereabouts, he spotted something dark against the grey stone. He would have dismissed it as just more leaves, had it not been for the strangely smudged stone below it. It had the darkest of stains which to seemed to have poured down the top steps like water. But without the bright moonlight, it was hard to distinguish just what the liquid was. Frowning, Tsuzuki took another step forward, peering at the mysterious shadow curiously.

“Err... Watari?” Tsuzuki began, still squinting at the suspicious object. But before he finished his sentence, the heavy clouds shifted; their thick grey cover sliding smoothly out of the way to reveal the eerie scarlet moonlight. As the light washed over the world below, the shinigami looked up questioningly, curious as to the sudden, oddly hued light. It seemed awfully bright for the middle of the night... His amethyst eyes widened in a mixture of shock and horror at the sight that awaited him. ‘It couldn’t be...’ The red moon.

There was only one word Tsuzuki could think of, a name that unconsciously rolled off his tongue. “Muraki...” he spat, then snapped his attention back to the now illuminated steps. Another victim lay in the mysterious shadow’s place, her blood staining the stone like a gruesome dried up riverbed. Clenching his teeth in anger, he looked at her lifeless form for a moment. As he looked, he then noticed that there were two trails of blood. One was obviously from the body, but the second appeared to have dripped from the grey stone landing. ‘Muraki must’ve killed her up there... That bastard... What the hell is he up to this time?’

His expression serious, Tsuzuki looked away from the stairs to see Watari kneeling on the ground. From what he could see of his face, the other shinigami looked unnaturally pale, sick almost. The sight of blood and death didn’t usually bother the blonde, so why...? Watari then turned to face him and, as he got to his feet, he revealed his discovery. In one shaking hand, the scientist held a grocery bag full of food; it must have been discarded at the base of the steps... or dropped. It was probably the woman’s, lost when Muraki had attacked her. Why was Watari so worried by... Tsuzuki thought that his heart had dropped to the bottoms his feet. That bag hadn’t belonged to the victim. It was Hisoka’s. Hisoka had been here, which meant that he’d met up with...

Before Watari could protest, Tsuzuki swung around and rushed up the stairs, his dark coat flaring around him wildly. ‘No... no... no...’ Why hadn’t he noticed it before? The second trail of blood was still spilling down the stairs, the pool on the step steadily growing... If Muraki had killed the woman up there, then it would have dried before the other had. He truly was a fool!

He kept his eyes trained on the crimson trail that had been left for him, coming ever closer to the landing. Hisoka was there, he had to be... What had Muraki done to him? Tsuzuki carelessly ran through the spilled blood as he climbed the final step, splashing the red liquid onto the cuff of his pant leg. It wasn’t important. At this point, Hisoka was the only thing that mattered to him.

“Tsuzuki!” Watari cried after him, but the other man had already begun to ascend the blood splattered steps. Looking at the bag still held in his hand, the scientist knew he should go after the other shinigami. If anything had happened to Hisoka... Well, even he didn’t know just what Tsuzuki would do. Dropping the plastic bag on the cement where he’d found it, Watari bounded after the amethyst eyed man as fast as he could manage. His knees felt as though they were made of rubber, making pursuit difficult. He’d already lost sight of Tsuzuki; it seemed he’d already made it to the landing. ‘Hang in there, Bon...’ Hopefully they weren’t too late.

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From the roof of the temple, the silent white figure waited to watch the drama that would soon unfold below him. Had anyone seen him, they might have mistaken him for an angel, sent to watch over the holy place on which he stood. The very thought of that comparison made Muraki want to laugh. Upon closer inspection, nothing about him was angelic. Even the purity of his white clothes had been spoiled; the ivory cloth had been further stained with blood before he’d left his poor little doll. An Angel of Death perhaps... that seemed a more fitting metaphor.

After leaving the boy, Muraki had retreated to his high perch, waiting patiently for his love to arrive. It was only a matter of time until the beautiful man would appear to save his annoying partner. Only this time, Tsuzuki-san would be too late. The twisted doctor sneered at the thought; it seemed he would have pleasure of seeing his earlier imaginations take shape. The look of horror and anger on Tsuzuki’s face, the guilt burning in those lovely purple eyes. He had already played it over in his head several times.

As he kept watch, he thought maybe he would make an appearance when Tsuzuki arrived; perhaps suddenly slide out from the shadows as he did so well. The shinigami’s rage would be unimaginable and the feeling of power emanating from the man would become so deliciously overwhelming. But then again, such an act would be extremely risky as well. Were the man to summon any of his shikigami... The smarter plan would be to watch from afar. After all, his and Tsuzuki’s reunion would come soon enough.

“Soon, Tsuzuki-san...” Muraki said softly, “Soon, you too will be mine.”

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“... Hi- Hisoka...”

As he stood on the stony ledge of the landing, Tsuzuki felt what little color he had drain from his face. He felt like he was paralyzed, as though the dreadful sight before him had robbed him of his ability to move...

There was blood everywhere; it was covering a large portion of the stone, soaking into the soft earth, drenching the grass, painting everything a horrid shade of red. Along with the unnatural crimson glow of the moon, it suddenly seemed as though the world were only made up of reds and shadowy blacks. And there, in the center of that gruesome colorless world, lay Hisoka.

For a moment, all Tsuzuki managed to do was stand there dumbly, staring at his partner’s motionless form in disbelief. The boy’s thin body had been stripped of its clothes; small frayed pieces of what had once been Hisoka’s sweater appeared as dark spots in the sea of blood. More thick smears of the dark substance stood out against his fair skin, but from his current position, Tsuzuki could not tell if they were actual wounds or simply where the scarlet liquid had been splattered.

Slowly moving forward, his cautious steps making soft ripples in the thick blood, Tsuzuki began to see the marks on Hisoka’s abused body more clearly. The deep red marks he had thought were wounds revealed themselves to be thin scars; long intricate designs that wound their way up his arms and around his legs before finally working their way across the boy’s torso. Tracing the precise path of the strange symbols with feelings of horror and morbid curiosity twisting in his mind, Tsuzuki suddenly heard an echo of Muraki’s voice in his mind... A memory of something the doctor had told him in Nagasaki:

“A merciless way of killing wouldn’t be fitting for the beautiful boy... I dragged the running boy to the ground and stripped him of his clothes, and carved the accursed words onto him...”

At the time the doctor said it, Tsuzuki hadn’t given much thought about this statement; he had been too horrified by the other more intimate and heinous tortures Muraki had subjected the poor boy to. But now, he’d seen the damage for himself, and he could barely comprehend the pain that the boy had suffered through. That he now suffered again… all because of Tsuzuki. Had he only gone to find his partner sooner, Muraki wouldn’t have caught Hisoka and…

Kneeling beside his fallen partner, the older shinigami was completely oblivious to the blood that was now seeping through the dark fabric of his pants, soaking the skin of his knee. The only thing that registered in his frantic mind was Hisoka, the image of his broken form, the light rising and falling of his chest, the blank look in his once lively emerald eyes… Reaching out a tentative hand, Tsuzuki longed to stroke his hair and tell him that it was only a nightmare, and that he was awake now and that everything was fine. To be able to comfort him and tell him none of it had been real. Even if it was a complete and utter lie.

With extreme care, Tsuzuki slowly slid his hands beneath Hisoka’s slim form, gently lifting him from the hard, wet ground. Pulling the boy close to his own body, Tsuzuki looked at his partner’s pale face dismayed; Hisoka’s expression hadn’t changed at all. He showed no sign of life, nor did he notice of Tsuzuki’s presence. He looked completely empty; an expression Tsuzuki was far too familiar with.

Still clutching the boy to his chest protectively, the older man turned back towards the stone staircase and away from the gory mess that the doctor had left. He would take Hisoka back to their hotel; it was the best place for him at the moment, as it would be a quiet place for him to rest. At least there, Tsuzuki could look after him until he was better, without every shinigami in Meifu coming to visit and pester the poor boy. Tsuzuki could take care of his partner by himself. Shinigami healed quickly, right? Though even as the thought processed in his mind, Tsuzuki already knew better; this only held true for physical wounds. Even if the boy’s body did recover… Would he ever be the same? Sad amethyst eyes looked at the frail being in his arms, his lips fixed in a frown. ‘Will he ever be Hisoka again?’

Tsuzuki was so lost in his own troubled thoughts that he didn’t even notice Watari’s arrival; instead, he walked passed him in silence, carefully making his way back down the steps. The blonde didn’t pay any mind to it, but looked passed him to see what the brunette was walking away from. It only took the scientist one look at the blood stained landing to figure out what had occurred; it certainly explained the reasoning behind Tsuzuki’s strange behaviour. ‘We were too late...’

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Dead green eyes looked skyward, unseeing. Hisoka could feel that he was being moved, but it was all so far away, almost as though it were happening to someone else. Was it that man again? Was he coming to hurt him more? Why couldn’t he be left alone, left to die? And stay dead this time...

‘Please... just let me go...’ As hard as he tried to struggle against the arms that held him prisoner, he couldn’t manage even a twitch. He was defenseless... or more accurately, useless.

Hisoka was so far gone, so lost inside himself, that he couldn’t even tell that the person he was trying to escape was actually the person he wanted the most.

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This was all his fault. If he hadn’t asked for all that stupid food… or if he had gone to look for Hisoka sooner, this wouldn’t have happened. Hisoka wouldn’t have met up with Muraki, he wouldn’t be laying there in pain, completely oblivious to the rest of the world. ‘It’s all my fault…’ The words echoed in his mind, refusing to be ignored. ‘It’s all my fault…’

Since they had returned to the hotel, Tsuzuki had flat out refused to leave the boy’s side for any reason. He sat next to Hisoka’s bed watching over his partner, as though waiting for someone to come and snatch him away.

Watari didn’t need to be an empath to tell that guilt was threatening to swallow the amethyst eyed man whole, even if this wasn’t his fault. The blonde had tried everything to convince Tsuzuki to take a break, or that perhaps they could take turns looking after Hisoka. He’d even tried to entice the man with sweets, but it was a futile attempt; Tsuzuki would not budge.

Minutes crawled by at an agonizingly slow pace, then hours. Unnoticed by the shinigami, the sky outside had faded, red light slowly creeping over the horizon. But inside the room, there was no change at all. Watari worked away on his computer, occasionally checking on the two in the other room. He’d tried sitting with Tsuzuki, but he felt almost awkward, as though he were intruding on something. The silence had become deafening, only broken by the occasional bird chirping outside.

Hisoka’s condition hadn’t changed either. He was still breathing, but that was all he was doing. Tsuzuki had continued his silent vigil throughout the night, not even taking the time to shed his bulky trench coat. In truth, he hadn’t even noticed that he was still wearing the heavy garment... At least, not until he heard the muffled ring coming from his pocket. The tired shinigami let out a surprised yelp, the high pitched noise startling him back to reality. Without thinking, he shoved his hand in his pocket, his fingers groping blindly for the phone.

Finally, his hand reemerged with the annoying ringing device, its small screen lit up. ‘Unknown caller? Who...?’

For a moment, Tsuzuki considered just letting it ring; he really didn’t feel in the mood to talk to anyone at the moment. But what if it was Kacho or Tatsumi...? They’d probably wonder what had happened to them... He thought that he’d told Watari to report in!

With a low sigh, Tsuzuki pressed the pick up button. “Hello?”

“Good morning, Tsuzuki-san. I trust you and the bouya slept well?”

Continuation of the Oldies

2006-04-03T04:13:18Z

Okay, so here's more of my other fiction... I'm starting some new ones, so I thought I'd get more of this one posted...

Title: "Painful Lessons" - Rated - NC-17

Genre: Drama/Angst

Fandom: Yami no Matsuei

Disclaimer: Yami no Matsuei and all of its characters are property of Yoko Matsushita, not me.

Warnings: Gore, violence, language, non-graphic rape, and an all round dark fic as well as some mild spoilers.

Details: A what-if from the Kyoto Arc... What if Tsuzuki hadn't made it in time, that night Hisoka met Muraki on the stairs?

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Chapter Two - Hisoka's Lesson

All that Hisoka could see were his eyes. Those horrible, mismatched eyes completely filled his field of vision, blocking out everything else. One, silvery and cat like behind the lens of his glasses, and the other, wide and a strange electric blue color. The blue was usually hidden behind his long greyish strands of hair, but their faces were so close together that Hisoka could see both eyes. The shinigami wanted to look away but he couldn’t; there was no room for him to turn his head.

Muraki smirked coldly, contemplating what to do next with his little toy. The very sight of those large emerald eyes wide with fear was enough to excite him. Licking his lips with anticipation, the doctor pulled his away from his face, then released his hold on the shinigami’s wrists. He was not about to let the boy escape, but he could do very little if he had to hold on to Hisoka’s tied hands.

Hisoka couldn’t stand how close the doctor was to him... Muraki was near enough that he could feel the man’s hot breath on his face. Then, as suddenly as he had appeared in his face, he was gone, and the boy found his bound wrists free from the other’s grip. ‘What...?’ Hisoka was confused, but he couldn’t miss his opportunity to escape. But even before the thought to run away had even processed in his mind, Hisoka suddenly felt strong hands impact hard against his shoulders, sending him sprawling backwards. With a yelp, the shinigami was thrown against a tree, his back slamming hard against the rough trunk. Sliding to the base of the tree, his mind reeling, Hisoka coughed and spluttered as he tried to catch his breath. The force of the blow had knocked the wind out of him, making breathing and thinking difficult.

Gasping raggedly from his spot amid the tree roots, Hisoka blinked a few times as he struggled to see straight. His head was pounding as though he were still hitting the tree... Perhaps that was why he didn’t notice Muraki’s movements. Having shed his blood stained trench coat, the doctor now stood over the boy, a scalpel in hand, most likely from one of the many pockets in his jacket. The small blade mirrored the gory red of the moon, as though the silvery edge was already tainted with blood. Before Hisoka knew what was happening, the doctor was on top of him, pulling the shinigami’s arms above his head once more.

Tugging on Hisoka’s long sweater with his other hand, Muraki eyed the garment with disgust. “My my... Your kimono was much cuter, Hisoka-chan. To think, that my favorite doll would wear something like this...” Muraki shook his head dramatically, pushing his glasses higher on his nose. He then proceeded to cut the sweater down the front, then the sleeves, finally tearing the shapeless garment from his body. He tossed the frayed scraps of material aside before fiddling with the buttons of the white shirt Hisoka wore beneath.

“Muraki... stop...” Hisoka whimpered, his green eyes wet with unshed tears. It was happening again, just like it had that night. He avoided looking at his tormentor, but as he searched for something else to watch, he only found the red moon. It seemed to be taunting him, much as it did in his nightmares. He had seen that cold moon through the cherry blossoms; a moon that had watched carelessly as he was tortured and violated. He finally chose darkness, squeezing his eyelids tightly shut, trying to block everything out. But it wouldn’t stop... He felt his white shirt ripped from his thin form, tossed aside with his sweater. ‘No...’

From his position above him, Muraki couldn’t hold back the wicked smile as he beheld Hisoka. He ran a long finger softly over the boy’s skin, retracing the symbols he had carved so many years ago. They seemed to have faded from their original bright angry red... That would never do. Continuing to drag his finger across the boys skin, he traced the symbols on his chest, down his flat stomach and finally across his narrow hips until he reached the hem of the shinigami’s black pants.

“No!” Hisoka cried loudly, having found his voice again. He had stopped caring if Muraki saw his fear, he just wanted to get away. Tears began to slide down his face, soaking his cheeks. He tried to move, but the doctor was straddling his hips and holding his arms, so there was no place for him to go. “Please! Don’t do this... not again...” the shinigami pleaded, his green eyes still squeezed tightly shut.

Ignoring the boy’s cries completely, Muraki roughly pulled on the top of the boy’s pants. Sliding off of Hisoka for a moment, he quickly freed the shinigami of the rest of his clothing. Now, all of Hisoka’s creamy white skin was exposed, as well as the intricate art Muraki had created years ago. Like on his chest, these newly revealed scars didn’t look near as red as they once had... It seemed it was time for the ‘artist’ to touch them up.

With his eyes still closed, Hisoka didn’t have to watch as he lost the last of his clothing. He felt the sudden bite of the chilly night air on the naked flesh, but he didn’t see his pants being taken away. He didn’t want to. He already knew in his heart what was going to happen... And the very thought made his heart freeze. Hisoka also didn’t see the scalpel. He didn’t see Muraki’s hand or the blade hovering over his pale skin. Nor the twisted look of pleasure on the doctor’s face as the blade sank into the tender flesh of his chest.

Hisoka’s high pitched shriek of pain only made Muraki want the boy even more. Half of him wanted to take the young shinigami right then, break his spirit completely. But no, he would finish the task at hand. With precise and careful movements, Muraki calmly continued to reopen the cursed wounds as his victim moaned in pain. The small blade flashed as it slid across Hisoka’s chest, its smooth movements like some sadistic dance that left a crimson trail in its wake.

Hisoka tried to scream, to tell him to stop, but all he managed was another painful groan. He’d given up on struggling physically, as he knew it would only make it worse. Trying to move away from the blade only succeeded in digging it in deeper; Hisoka knew from experience. Pain washed over him in waves, making coherent thought all but impossible. Not that he wanted to think about what was happening... Or worse, what had yet to happen.

Out of the blur of mixed thoughts and feelings in the shinigami’s head, one thing did come through loud and clear. Where was Tsuzuki? Why didn’t he save him from this Hell? Had he been forgotten? Tears continued to stream from his closed eyelids as he whimpered again. ‘Please... save me...’ As the blade continued its agonizingly slow punishment, Hisoka silently wished for darkness to take him, to lose consciousness... But it seemed that there was no force that could save him from this torture.

Laughing cruelly, Muraki sat upright to admire his work. He no longer worried about his doll escaping... he had already given up struggling. Much to the doctor’s disappointment, some of the earlier wounds had already begun to heal, leaving only a thin red line ofblood where they had once been. ‘How amusing...’ Lowering his head, Muraki’s tongue snaked out to lick up the pooled liquid, his silvery eyes still watching Hisoka’s face. How he loved the horrified expressions of the shinigami; he found them very... entertaining. Continuing his progress, he cleaned the blood from the wounds with excruciating slowness, savoring the sweet metallic taste in his mouth.

Beneath the blood, the freshly healed incisions were an aggravated scarlet; much like the color they had been the night Muraki had first carved them. Despite his previous disappointment, the doctor couldn’t help but feel pleased with the results. Hisoka’s tormented wails were proof enough that the thin scalpel’s blade had done its job well.

Stroking the boy’s tear drenched cheek affectionately, Muraki’s lips twisted into a fiendish grin. The pesky boy had gotten in the way of his plans so many times... Harming him physically just didn’t seem to be enough. Physical wounds healed quickly. Psychological wounds however...

Caressing Hisoka’s burning chest with his cool fingers, he leaned forward to whisper in the quaking boy’s ear. “It seems Tsuzuki-san doesn’t care as much as you thought, bouya. He hasn’t come to save you yet...” the cruel man breathed into the shinigami’s ear before licking his earlobe tauntingly. “After all, why would he want to save you?”

He hadn’t wanted to listen, but Muraki’s words mirrored his own panicked thoughts. Was it true? Had Tsuzuki in fact forgotten him? It had to have been an eternity since he left his partner to get dinner... Why hadn’t he come looking for him? Shaking his head violently, Hisoka tried to move his ear away from the heartless man, away from his cruel words. “No more... no... mo-” he managed weakly, his slim frame shaking as he made a pitiful attempt to escape the other man.

“You know it’s true, bouya... You will always be my cherished doll,” Muraki continued, his words cutting deeper than any razor edge could, “But you will never be anything to your precious Tsuzuki-san.”

Nuzzling the sensitive skin of the boy’s neck, Muraki could sense the boy’s mind was breaking, giving up, just as his body had. Hisoka had finally opened his eyelids, though the emerald eyes beneath were empty and distant. Yet another salty tear had dripped down his cheek and was slowly working its way down his chin, but the shinigami seemed unfazed. His lips moved silently, though the doctor had good idea who he was soundlessly calling for. ‘How pathetic… Even now he calls for Tsuzuki…’

Though Muraki had to agree that the fact Tsuzuki hadn’t appeared was disappointing… He could only imagine the look on the beautiful man’s face when he saw his beloved partner broken, bleeding, and stripped of any dignity. He could almost see the anger and guilt in those magnificent violet eyes...

Muraki began to shed his white suit jacket, which, like his trench coat, was now decorated with scarlet stains from both from his earlier victim and the broken doll beneath him. As he proceeded to loosen his ebony tie, Hisoka’s mouth opened in silent protest, something flickering behind his blank eyes. So, perhaps there was still some fight in the boy… That little mental resistance would make the experience that much more enjoyable for the doctor, and the defeat even more total for Hisoka.

Using his fingers to possessively comb through the front strands of Hisoka’s hair, Muraki began to unbutton his own grey colored shirt. The boy had barely noticed the other’s actions or even that his wrists had been released; then again, he couldn’t do much with them bound together anyway. Beyond the tiny flash of emotion and his noiseless tears, Hisoka did very little to resist. He was a puppet and Muraki was pulling his strings, controlling him with fear and pain.

‘Tsuzuki...’ His name rang through his mind, clear despite the chaos of Hisoka’s thoughts. Why was he thinking of him at a time like this? The amethyst eyed man had abandoned him, left him to be tortured at the hands of his murderer. And yet, the name persistently remained in his mind, as though by calling out to him, the older shinigami would appear and it would all be over. Even with that name, that one precious word, he couldn’t fight back. He could only watch helplessly as Muraki discarded the rest of his ivory suit. But still, his mind whispered the name defiantly. ‘Tsuzuki...’

“You certainly aren’t a very attentive pupil,” Muraki said softly, kissing Hisoka’s delicate pink lips with a strange gentleness. The shinigami’s skin crawled as he felt his own bare chest brush against Muraki’s, a feeling that he remembered all to well. It was becoming harder for Hisoka to differentiate what was memory and what was reality... But no matter which it was, Hisoka could not tolerate much more. He wanted to die again, move on, get away from everyone. Even...

Ignoring the boy’s blank expression, Muraki continued to speak to him. “Tsk, tsk. That will never do. You didn’t learn anything at all from our last lesson, now did you?” A wicked smirk turned the corners of his lips as the doctor shifted his position slightly, placing his own knee between Hisoka’s thighs. “I think that I’ll let you remember our encounter this time. Perhaps it will teach you some respect, bouya,” he whispered venomously, his visible silver eye glimmering in the red moonlight.

The thought of forgetting everything hadn’t actually occurred to the boy. While it was true the doctor made him forget the details of their first meeting, some brief flashes of memory had still lingered in the back of his mind. Hisoka still knew that he’d been murdered, he just didn’t know how or why. In fact, it had been the pursuit of that knowledge that made him become shinigami in the first place. So, even if he were made to forget again, some tiny scrap of remembrance would remain and continue to haunt him... Wouldn’t it? He’d still know something happened. Not that it mattered now; the cruel man wouldn’t allow him even the small relief that came from forgetting. No, Muraki would make sure that Hisoka remembered all of it... especially in his dreams. Or more accurately, in his nightmares.

Using his knee, Muraki began to open the boy’s body to him, parting Hisoka’s slender legs with ease. Playing these twisted games may have been enjoyable, but it was time to strike the final blow; the blow that would finally crush the annoying little shinigami. As Hisoka felt the other man’s pale flesh brush against his sensitive inner thigh, another shiver coursed through his thin body. Even through the tangle of emotions and thoughts that invaded his mind, the shinigami could figure out what the sinister doctor intended to do next. Had he the choice, he would have preferred that Muraki had simply continued slicing open the cursed marks.

Chuckling at his despairing doll, Muraki roughly captured Hisoka in another kiss. Unlike the previous feather soft peck, the kiss was forceful and merciless; yet another act of domination. Harshly wrenching the boy’s lips apart, the silvery haired man entwined his tongue with the other’s, taking in the taste of Hisoka’s mouth greedily. Hisoka wanted to gag; the feeling of Muraki’s invading tongue made him sick to his stomach.

Nibbling his captive’s bottom lip, the doctor finally broke the kiss, but remained eye to eye with the shinigami. Muraki preferred being intrusively close to the boy’s face, as closeness evidently bothered the young empath. It also gave him an excellent view of those large frightened eyes. They were very similar to those of a rabbit trapped by a predator; one who is face to face with its own death, and knows there is no escape. And now he would snap this little rabbit’s neck once again.

The shinigami felt nauseous and the lingering taste of Muraki only worked to make matters worse. His eyes were swollen and red, but it seemed he had run out of tears. The pale skin of his face had become pink and blotchy, his now dry cheeks still stained by the salty droplets. But other than his shuddering breaths and occasional muffled moan, he seemed to show no other outward signs of distress. Funny, he thought he would never stop crying...

Hisoka’s limited awareness was abruptly returned to Muraki as he felt something push against his thigh again. With a whimper, Hisoka slowly began to figure out just what had occurred, each thought coming slowly, like a tiny piece of some large puzzle. As he had kept Hisoka’s attention on his mouth, Muraki had taken the opportunity to position himself between the boy’s legs. Unfortunately for Hisoka, by the time the boy had realized Muraki’s plan, it was too late.

“Ever since that first, beautiful night when I marked you as my own, I’ve wished I could feel you again. You’ll always be mine, bouya... My own doll,” Muraki stated calmly, though Hisoka wasn’t actually listening. Without any further hesitation and without any mercy, Muraki thrust his hips forward, savagely entering the poor boy.

Hisoka screamed. He’d never screamed like that in his life, never like this shrill, ear splitting shriek. He felt like he was being ripped apart from the inside... An inside that was now hollow but for Muraki’s vile intrusion. He felt dizzy; the pain was numbing his mind, pulling it ever closer to darkness. As his attacker began to move within him, Hisoka’s mind began to slip, finally succumbing to the cool nothingness of unconsciousness. ‘Tsuzuki...’

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Still laying on the cold ground, Hisoka’s dead looking green eyes gazed blankly at the red moon. ‘That moon...’ Blood had pooled around his naked form on the ground; his own blood. He’d lost more than enough to kill a normal person... Then again, he wasn’t normal.

The red liquid had begun to pour through the grass, trickling thickly down the stone step and gathering at the base. Just the way the woman’s had. That puddle of crimson red that had started it all...

How long had the other man been gone? Or was he still there? Hisoka could still hear that horrible laughter, still feel Muraki inside him. He felt so lost and hollow. So... weak. So weak that he couldn’t even manage to make a sound as a pair of strong arms closed around him, lifting him from the ground, taking him away...