Disclaimer: YuYu Hakusho belongs to Yoshihiro Togashi

Gift-fic for Katia-chan. Lucky girl, getting Karasu fic and well-timed anime convention with Karasu's dub voice actor stalking potential…

I've always until now neglected the aspect of Karasu where he is, "I get so depressed when I ponder the purpose of my existence." Too much enjoying of Kurama-stalking… but now Karasu is getting his long-awaited credit.

Last Chance

"What's all the fuss?"

He slid through the crowd with the ease of a shadow. In reality, he was more like a blazing beacon; no sane lower-class demon would purposefully get in the way of such a powerful opponent. The set of his face, especially around his eyes, spoke volumes of lazy, careless displeasure.

"The guest team is fighting now, sir," a demon offered, closer to the view screen. "This year it's composed humans and traitors. The trash calls itself Team Urameshi. And, of course, the fuss is the anticipation to see some death in this round."

"But it's only their first match, isn't it?" the stranger queried, his words dulled slightly behind a silver mask.

His companion bobbed his head agreeably, laughing, "Yes, well, the lower classes lack the patience and refined tastes of a gentleman of your caliber. They can't see the fun in drawing it out."

He watched the battle on the screen dispassionately. Humans were even worse than demon lowlifes, lacking all grace and artistry in their killing. Dashing forward recklessly, headstrong and headfirst, yelling and shouting in a most undignified manner, completely devoid of tact. Killing was a performance art, meant to be showy in subtler ways. How humane, to ruin the show with a quick and painless death, thoughtlessly robbing the other player of precious stage time.

And yet, he had heard from a most certain source that these same humans would manage to make it to the final round.

"If I may ask, sir," the other demon voiced, "what is someone such as yourself doing out here among the rabble? Surely you have a place waiting for you inside."

His eyes did not waver from the match. "I do have one, on a team even, as it happens. I simply arrived late. It was a last minute sort of thing." He frowned. "I'm annoyed with you for asking." His participation in the Dark Tournament had been an abrupt summons he did not particularly care to remember. Yet he had no other plans—Toguro saw to that—and he truly could not afford to let the opportunity escape him. Each time Karasu became strong, Toguro had become stronger, and that was without the crow losing any headway. The disadvantage would be irreversible.

The lesser demon hurried to distract him from his ire. "We-well, since you've missed the beginning, I can fill you in on the details. It's the very first pairing of the tournament, Team Rokuyoukai against Team Urameshi. The fighters are—"

Karasu disregarded him. Both contestants had been knocked out of the ring, so it was impossible to hear over the din of the crowd anyway. What crude cheering… he had never been fond of this tournament. It wasn't his style.

The roaring only increased when the battle ended in a victory for Team Rokuyoukai. Still, he sneered in distaste, it was a pitiful opening match. The demon victor hadn't even managed to kill his human opponent.

"Well," Karasu drawled, "I'm glad I didn't arrive early for this spectacle. I hope it livens up quickly. I would so hate to be bored in the final round with no fighter worth my time."

There was no pleasurable excitement in remaining a spectator here, but the option of entering the stadium to present himself to Toguro was equally unpleasant. He hated the demon with a passion, incensed further by the irony of his former human status. He had robbed Karasu of any dignity he had ever had many years ago on the day he took Karasu's life. Defeat was far more glorious when one was not alive to witness it.

He turned to go, then paused as a figure on the screen caught his attention. Fiery red hair and strange eyes… a small shiver traced its way down his spine. All his previous irritation had fled; the instant he saw the image, he was filled with a good feeling. This positive emotion, though he could not identify it, felt odd and exhilarating. He savored the fighter's name behind the security of his mask.

'Kurama.'

--

If Toguro thought highly of Urameshi, then Karasu found himself admiring Kurama. The redhead was a true master of showmanship, with precisely calculated recklessness and a coolly aggressive style. He had yet to lose that strangely optimistic feeling that Kurama had aroused in him.

He felt… alive.

Karasu chided himself for the ridiculous notion. Everyone in the demon world knew the fundamental truth that defeat and weakness equaled death. He had not been alive for many years, not since the day he challenged Toguro. It would have been a fitting way to end, at the hands of a worthy opponent.

But Toguro had broken the rules and disgraced him. Freedom was a privilege of living beings; Karasu was a captive, Toguro's puppet, sustained by a fake half-life, the desire for revenge. What was the purpose of his existence?

He clenched his fists, hissing in annoyance and depression. That man was surely the epitome of callous cruelness. At least the crow put his own victims out of their misery.

By now, he had begun to realize that his own victory over Toguro was impossible. At best, someone else worthy to kill him would end Karasu's pitiful existence. At worst, Toguro would fall to another and Karasu's purpose would become even less clear. He had begun to forget what life had been like before, and he had never made any plans for after.

But the good feeling Kurama had given him… he was certain that was an omen. He had studied every fight; the fox was a beautiful specimen, both in body and mind. And he only, of all of them, possessed the slightest chance of being able to win. Karasu's lips curled into a smile behind his mask. Kurama was more than worthy to kill him.

Perhaps that was the name of the feeling: last chance. "Hope" did not quite seem appropriate. "Life" was a lie. Kurama was his last chance; death would not be so bad, sleeping through it rather than living it.

But, Karasu reflected, he might win instead. Still, that feeling of being alive… he wanted to treasure it.

Surely it was not enough to merely physically exist. Surely it was not enough to merely desire the fox. He wanted to touch the skin, run his hands through that lovely hair, kiss the mouth and taste the thrill of passion. He wanted every nerve to scream in the rush of danger, the uncertainty of victory. He wanted to take the beautiful dead face with him, a memory of fleeting life to comfort him in his despair.

He had not looked forward to a fight in such a long time.

--

It had thrilled him to find Kurama watching his match. Pleased enough to make a visit, he had slipped away after the round, Bui with him.

Karasu had a tendency to fixate on things to the point of obsession, and the redhead as his last chance was no exception. The concept had gripped his mind so that he could think of nothing else: his demise, or his possession of the fox.

His coattails fluttered behind him as he walked, the other demons in the hall scurrying to get out of his way. No one relished the thought of standing too close to one whose touch was lethal. Bui followed behind, a silent, ominous menace.

The downfall of being on the same team as the reigning champions was that he did not need to bother with worrying or strategizing before the final matches. It left him with far too much time to brood, and his mind had stubbornly picked up an alternative to his satisfied plans. Suppose Kurama decided not to kill him?

Unlike Toguro, the redhead's unusual penchant for sparing lives sprang from misguided mercy rather than cruelty. Still, regardless of the source, experiencing it a second time would be far too humiliating to suffer.

They were getting close; he could hear a group of demons discussing Kurama ahead, around the corner. He smiled in anticipation. The finals could not begin soon enough. His fingers itched to explore that pretty face.

According to the general demon consensus, Kurama had gone irreversibly soft in the human world. Even despite the startling appearance of Youko Kurama, the thief of legend may as well have been dead.

No… they were wrong, of course. Karasu had seen Kurama for the first time in his battle against Roto. Although he had allowed himself to be pitifully manipulated for the sake of a human woman, he had not lost his demon aspect. The legend still lived in those beautiful eyes, the eyes of a cold-blooded killer.

Surely the fox felt the same as he. A demon captive in a human child's body, living a futile half-existence. Surely they empathized and understood each other.

Karasu paused, waiting for his prey to come to him. He straightened his jacket; it had gotten ruffled in the last battle, and he had been too distracted by anticipation to bother with it then. He had been planning this meeting for days.

There was only one fate worse than the disgrace of not being killed after a defeat. To be killed out of pity would be an unacceptable humiliation. If Kurama were to even consider that option, to interpret Karasu as a desperate cry for help…

He had other means to achieve his end. Karasu would throw him entirely off balance; he would toy with Kurama's mind, arouse his curiosity and incite his fury, drive the fox into a corner until death was inevitable. He would savor this feeling of being alive, of being the manipulator and tormentor. He wanted everything the redhead had to give.

He smiled behind his mask; his good luck charm and last chance had turned the corner.

'It's a shame circumstances couldn't have been different for us.'

…
Owari
…

-Windswift