I have not read the manga of Yami no matsuei. Set after Episode 13, this story is based solely on what I saw in the anime, which was far too short, IMO. I wish there was a sequel or that there will be one soon (sigh) . So, if there are any inaccuracies in my story, please forgive me. After having seen bits and pieces of this anime a few years ago, the character of Dr. Muraki never left me; I think he's just terrific, and so I finally obtained a DVD of this which turned out to be bootleg with awful English translation! Blame it on that if I have spelled any of the proper names incorrectly. I hope you will enjoy reading my fic, and feedback is most welcome!

Disclaimer: I do not own the title and characters of Yami no matsuei/Descendants of darkness.

Rating: M for language, violence and sexual situations.

Warnings: (1) YAOI, meaning 'boy-love'; in other words, love between males. (2) Possible spoilers.

(3) Appearance of a few original characters.

Fic title: Love and darkness

Author : TGO Dr Muraki

Summary: Mysterious incidents bring the Shinigami back on the trail of Muraki. Their mission: to prevent the mad doctor from causing further mayhem. Unexpected passions complicate matters…

Italics denote thoughts, as well as words of other languages (mostly Japanese words).

Part One

Oriya: The bonds of love

Standing at the crest of the steep pathway he has been climbing for the past hour, he pauses and sighs as the house comes into view. He squints ahead cautiously in the dying light of the ending day, eyes darting around the tranquil grounds surrounding the house, confirming that no trespassers lurk there.

He clicks his tongue, annoyed again at the continued refusal of his friend to have guards posted here, the most recent curt refusal occurring the previous weekend: "I will not have strangers disturbing my peace. You try my patience, Oriya. Do not mention this again." And so, he had reluctantly dropped the subject, more disturbed by the sudden anger that distorted the features on that smooth face than by the possible threat of unwanted visitors to this secluded place he has found for his friend.

Before he continues along the path, wider now and lined with rocks and flowering plants planted by his own hands for his friend's enjoyment, he turns to glance back down the way he has come, watching and listening, making sure that he has not been followed. At the same time he turns back and begins walking again, the timer activated garden lights turn on, suffusing the area in a warm soft glow. He walks past decorative ponds and hears the sound of running water from the splashing of miniature waterfalls. He pauses every now and then to watch the gleaming koi, the colors on their forms as they swim languidly, their scales glinting occasionally when they catch the illumination cast by the lanterns. He sighs again, wondering if they have been fed, and making a mental note to see to the task. He is relieved that none are floating dead on the water's surface and a small smile pulls at the corners of his mouth.

As always, the interior of the house itself is dark, and upon unlocking the main door and entering, he approaches candles set around the hallway and lights them.

Each time he comes here, his emotions conduct a war within him. Excitement and joy at seeing him again, renewed hope – that he might be able to detect some minute change in the occupant of this silent place; dread – that he will see none. Sadness and pain – that his heart still leaps at every first sighting of him, that this fine man who owns his soul has chosen to walk a path steeped in malevolence so profound; that he loves a being so horrifying and so beautiful in one breath. All the more painful and disturbing, as Oriya has seen and known a side of him no other has.

Is it hopeless? Does nothing of his true personality remain? Can he be saved from himself? I do not know the answers, but I cannot give up. I'll be here for him until his heart no longer beats.

Sometimes, he does not want to come at all, when he tries to psyche himself into forgetting that this person exists, turn his back on him once and for all!

Better that way; he does not need me after all!

But he always loses the fight with himself, for in his mind and soul, Oriya is wedded to Kazutaka Muraki, as surely as the latter is wedded to his twin mistresses – hatred and vengeance.

He picks up his bag of clothes and supplies and heads down the dark corridor toward the only rooms that his friend uses, a living room and the adjoining bedroom. Sparsely furnished, almost stark living quarters for someone who delighted in every extravagant comfort one could think of!

"Kazutaka, are you here?" Oriya calls out softly before he slides the door of the living room open. The gloom in there tells him that his friend is not in this room and sudden panic causes him to move swiftly to the bedroom, where the sight there offers no relief either.

Instantly, he drops to his knees beside the prone figure on the futon, deathly afraid that his friend might be dead. 'Kazu,' he whispers, moving his hand to touch the pale face. His shaking fingers make contact with warm skin, a little too warm, feverish in fact, but Oriya is greatly relieved, finally allowing himself to breath again.

He has long ceased to be affected by the pale blue orb that is never obscured by the closing of its lid. Even though the false eye seems to be glaring at him balefully while the left one remains closed, Oriya knows for certain that his friend is truly asleep. Moonlight streaming in through the open window compensates for the lack of artificial light in the room, and Oriya's heart turns as the love that has always quietly endured within it for this man surges full-blown once again. Taking advantage of Kazutaka's deep sleep, he allows his fingers to play with soft silver and white strands falling around the still face, combing them gently through the silk, indulging himself, unashamed, in this simple pleasurable act that would be denied him if his friend were awake.

"Ah, Kazu. Sometimes, I wish our paths had not crossed. Though I have loved you for so long, I've only tasted your returned love for such a short time." He pauses to emit a low, bitter laugh. "I've only myself to blame I guess, for choosing to remain in love with you. I… I just cannot see my way out, and away from you."

He stares at fever-reddened lips, sensuous in their contours even in sleep, and leans his head close to the one beneath his, a desire taking hold of him – to steal a quick light kiss from them. He stops himself at the very last moment, accepting with deep sadness that such an action will give him no solace at all.

Rising quickly but quietly to his feet, Oriya leaves the bedroom to head to the kitchen, setting his mind firmly to busy himself with preparing a palatable meal for his beloved, knowing fully well that Kazutaka would have neglected to perform the necessity of eating during his absence.

Pleased that the food placed on Kazu's table-tray is being consumed, albeit slowly, Oriya looks at the face across from him and smiles while spooning more of the special soup he has prepared into the recently drained bowl.

"You must have more of this soup since you are feverish, Kazu."

A quietly spoken word of thanks and a dip of the silver head please Oriya further. The gaunt visage, much thinner than what it used to be, upsets him. He silently prays that Kazu will continue to eat the way he is doing at this moment.

Kazutaka's convalescence has been slow, long and painful, and Oriya inwardly shudders at the memory of his beloved's appearance after the stabbing by Asato Tsuzuki's hand, barely escaping from the ensuing inferno wreaked by the Serpent, summoned by that guardian of death.

Drawing from all of his knowledge in the ancient healing arts, Oriya was the one who had cared for and watched over that wrecked being, broken in body and most certainly at death's door but, incredulously, still raging and raving about being robbed of his vengeance upon Saki! Procuring this secluded dwelling place, here Oriya had sat, spending sleepless days and nights tending to Kazutaka's injuries – the gaping slash wound in his abdomen and the numerous burns on his limbs.

Glancing at Kazu's face, he is thankful that it escaped from being singed by the flames. Any marring of that adored countenance would not have made a difference to Oriya but he is happy nonetheless that it remains pristine – its beauty still inexplicably moves him.

Oriya's eyes grow distant as he remembers those days and nights, listening to Kazu's delirious ravings, watching him toss and turn. He had to administer potions to calm him, as it was imperative for Kazu to remain still to ensure that his abdominal wound did not commence bleeding again. Only when his patient slept did Oriya leave his side, to tend to other tasks – keeping the house spotless, preparing nourishing and healing soups, and poultices for his burns.

During those days, Oriya tried not to dwell upon his hurt, brought on by Kazu's shrieking in his delirium, of two names… Saki… Tsuzuki…

Over and over, only those two names. Not once had Kazu called for him.

A heart, sealed by a crust of hate and lust for revenge, barricaded against me and my love…

When the worst was over and it seemed Kazutaka would recover, the faithful friend and caregiver began to see to the refurbishment of the old house and its gardens, adding aesthetic embellishments for his friend's enjoyment. He hung wind chimes, paintings and scrolls, and built decorative fountains and waterfalls in the ponds, hoping Kazu would take pleasure in them when he became well enough to walk around. While that hope was one reason for his constant toil, there was another: Oriya was afraid of being idle because he was deeply troubled by his friend's state of mind, more so than ever before; his labors kept him from worrying about the future, focusing his thoughts on the 'here and now'.

Kazutaka slept for most of the daylight hours. His fits of raving finally ceased and Oriya coaxed him into spending the evenings in the garden. There, his patient would sit, mute, staring into space and oblivious to his presence as he read to him from the classics, selecting tales that his friend had loved when they were both younger. He did not know if his words were heard, but Oriya persevered, hoping to reach him, to touch a part of him he fervently believed still lay buried deep within the man he cherished – his true self, obscured by all the hurt and madness.

Outside, the strident chirping of crickets intrudes upon the silence as the two men continue their meal. Kazutaka places lacquered wooden chopsticks across his rice bowl and addresses the man with long dark hair.

"I enjoyed that meal, Oriya. Thank you," he says, bowing his head slightly.

The sincerity inflected in Kazutaka's words touch Oriya's heart, quickening his breathing. He drains his cup of sake and flashes his friend a warm smile.

"I'm glad to hear that. Rest now while I clear these…"

"Leave them for now. I feel like a walk… will you join me?"

Oriya scrambles to his feet and rushes to Kazu's side to help him to his feet but is stopped by an uplifted hand. "Really Oriya, you fuss too much, I can manage on my own, thank you!"

Seeing his friend's embarrassment and flushed cheeks when he moves away, Kazutaka appears to soften and moves closer to him, close enough for Oriya's nostrils to detect the personal scent of his friend, a scent that has long bewitched Oriya and swayed him to do his bidding. Since Oriya's height matches his, or to be more precise, exceeds Kazutaka's by two inches, the two men stand eye to eye for a moment. Long pale fingers reach up to curl and cup Oriya's cheek, their tips caressing cream-colored skin while his other hand finds the small of Oriya's back and pulling him close against him, Kazutaka's lips press gently against his companion's cheek, murmuring against it. The warm breath released from Kazu's mouth causes Oriya to tremble, his eyes pinned and hypnotized by the half-lidded silver eye so close to him.

"I have not thanked you, Oriya, for all your care. And so, I say it now, thank you."

A hand reaches up to pull the end of the black silk ribbon that is holding Oriya's rich hair together in a tail. Kazutaka's hands tease the long tresses, his fingers combing through the thick dark brown locks, further increasing their volume. "There, yes, that's so much better. I've always preferred your hair left to fall free." He steps back to admire his handiwork, eyes roaming over Oriya, who is desperately fighting an urge to throw himself against Kazu. He turns around hastily, not wanting Kazu to see how affected he is by his sudden attentions. A sudden anger takes hold of him…

No! You have not changed! I will not be fooled again! It has always been like this, ever since you told me you could no longer be my lover. But how cruel and unfair you are! You touch me, tease me, whenever you please, and I am not supposed to react. I am nothing but another toy to you. You have related to me all your sexual exploits with others, most of whom have been your unwitting toys and puppets. How many of these have been murdered by your hand? You have told me how you used these individuals, as candidly and calmly as you have spoken to me about your work, research and plans for revenge. You have even described in excruciating detail your acts of seduction directed at Asato Tsuzuki, the one you needed to fulfill your revenge against Saki…

Ah! Saki, you bastard! You did this to him, you dragged him into this darkness… you were fortunate indeed to have died like that, so quickly… how unfair! And Kazu turned out like this…

He is filled with remorse now for becoming angry with the being who is standing behind him, the man who asks softly, "Oriya? What is the matter?"

I have been powerless to help you, Kazu. My love has not helped you, couldn't stop you from… Ah, I wish I could have helped you, my love.

Engulfed by despair, Oriya hangs his head. In his misery, he exhales; his deep sigh is like the mournful sound of the wind wafting through the trees before a rainstorm, becoming lost in his painful memories. He suppresses a roar, which threatens to rise from the depths of his insides and burst forth from his throat. He feels arms snake around to the front of his chest, warm lips at his ear, hears Kazu's whispered words.

"Come, let us enjoy the night air. After our walk, perhaps you might feel like entertaining me with your koto. I do so adore your playing…"

End of part one

To be continued in Part Two: Kazutaka Muraki: The bonds of darkness

Author's notes:

(1) Concerning Muraki's blue, prosthetic (?) eye:

I know that in the scene set on the Queen Camellia, with Muraki lying on the canopied bed in his cabin, supposedly dead, both of his eyes are closed. Forgive me for the inaccuracy, but for some strange reason, I prefer his blue eye to constantly remain open. Thanks for putting up with my foibles!

(2) I adore Oriya as much as I do Muraki and Tsuzuki. He did not strike me as being just any old friend of Muraki. He seemed so sad and affected when Muraki asked him for that last favor, so much so I'm convinced that there is or was much more going on between these two than what we were allowed to see.

(3) A koto is a Japanese harp or zither, about 2 meters in length, with 13 strings, played by plucking picks attached to the right thumb, index and middle fingers. The fingers of the left hand can used to modify pitch and tone. This instrument is used either as a solo instrument or in an ensemble.