Debris swirled in the encompassing unreality, giving it a false sense of time, of space as the two figures regarded each other from across the infinite nearness. Ruined buildings, specks of rusted metal, bones, the detritus of human society floated between them, around them as they took the measure of their opposite. It wasn't a physical weighing, but rather a weighing of intellect, of cunning, of purpose. Within the belly of Ura Otoko, they had all the time in the world to make their judgment.
Itsuki, yaminade, tall, fair, calm. Always calm. Observing the world around him, never truly part of it, a creature of limbo playing in the human world, watching purity marred by sin, paper colored by ink. Purity without corruption to prove it cannot be, absolute corruption the only true proof of absolute purity.
Kurama, kitsune, a youkai caught in a human body, first by circumstance, then by choice. Cunning, perhaps wise, playing morality in on itself to justify the ends. A creature of needs, of wants, of plans to fulfill those desires. If others benefit, then it is marginal to his completion. Purity is relative, a sliding scale depending on who and how you judge.
Time passes, measured by a human heart and a demon core, the only clocks that matter in the encompassing darkness. Eyes meet across infinity, separated and joined in intellect and determination. Tension and calm as the moment of action slips away. A breath of thought, you cannot win, you cannot loose, floats by, carried on the ruined mast of a forgotten ship, teasing the tattered sails that valiantly hold their post.
Argument brought up and dismissed without words, fluttering along on the scraps, as easily lost to the bowels of eternity. What words can there be between the two that would join them?
"You are wise," the statement floats on the currents between them. But, what do those simple words mean. Wise to what, in what way? A thinly veiled compliment or a knife in the back? The words echo and reecho in the boundless chamber until they, too, become detritus. Nothing stays unless it is not questioned.
How, then, do these two continue? How do they survive the constant judgment they subject themselves to? They do not question themselves, only their actions. Actions do not linger, no tangible evidence of a breath can be found. Existence is a given, something that is regardless of ideals.
"Why do you keep us here?" The accusation breaks the failing beams of a once proud building, aiding its slow descent into tragedy. Motivation questioned vanishes, becoming naught but excuse to fill the void. The void, however, can never be filled by that which can be denied. It hungers for substance, for that which cannot be questioned and voided.
Destruction, corruption, damnation is all that truly exists, all that can truly exist. "Ink drips on a sheet of white paper. The paper absorbs the ink, and it turns black before your eyes."
Words stolen, arguments lost before they're formed. No questions rise, none can. Facts exist and therefore cannot be questioned. They exist. The void cannot claim them. But, they are not all the words that flow. There are more, each undeniable, unquestionable.
"That's what it was like, watching Sensui's reactions as he continued to see the ugly parts of humanity. It was most ideal." The corruption of pure, of love, most ideal.
Horror breaks through practicality. But words do not come, cannot come. Humanity is ugly, its history proves that. Again, facts exist. Existence cannot be questioned. Those are the rules of engagement.
"Because of his purity, he couldn't rationalize it away, nor could he close his eyes." The accusation hangs heavy between them, the burden of conscious begging to be questioned away, but the questions do not come. The burden gains weight, gains truth, reality, binding, power. But the relentless assault does not stop. It continues, it flows with ease, with familiarity of preparation, of contentment. There is peace behind the words, a peace only known in certainty.
"It wounded him and he became more despondent." It wounded. I wounded. I allowed him to be wounded. There was no guilt. It was only a fact, only a statement made in explanation of how the words are known, how the facts came to light.
Words tried to form, to accuse, but cannot challenge such acceptance. Acceptance so complete it takes on an existence of its own, becoming real. The void becoming filled with things it cannot consume, things that cannot fill it. The space between worlds becomes filled with more detritus, swirling thickly between the two. Words that cannot be spoken are consumed, destroyed by the void, but they are not missed, not lost in the crowded space.
"And every time it happened, he became stronger." In the way the broken and rebuilt are stronger, the bonds of repair holding together the fragile remains of the original beauty. Never the same beauty, a fractured surface marring the previous perfection, but stronger, more sturdy than perfection. Perfection is a fleeting dream, an unreality questioned and voided. The only reality then becomes the marred, the flawed.
"You did this to him," the words finally manage to fill the silence, though not from the kitsune. He knows words will do no good, not at this point. There are no words to void the truth, no fancy phrases that will destroy existence enough to make it unreal. Anger fills the youkai, choking him. He narrows his eyes, challenging the other to make an error.
"I was only his shadow. I watched over him as he changed and only lent him a hand to do what he wanted." Calm acceptance, quite, peace.
What could be said in the face of such? What words can there be?
"And I will likely continue to do so." There, the error, supposition. But, no room for argument, no way to void it. Belief makes it real, conviction gives it substance.
"If it were possible, I'd like to kill you right here!" Words from the taunted one finally. Threats and desires rolled into one simple statement. He has no argument, no questions, no way of denying anything said to him. He had no recourse in the argument, no other way out than to destroy the one before him. Though, there is a catch.
"As wise as you are, you know you cannot do that, right?" The double edged blade of compliment and insult again make their way across the void, surgically striking through desire, questioning it, nulling it. Threats without follow through are empty and void, becoming just that much more debris filling the void of the ura otoko.
Frustration, entrapment, anger rise to choke calm quite planning, scattering them in the midst of the encompassing emptiness. No words left. Nothing left to argue, to threaten. Anything else will only become part of the void swirling around them, becoming simply naught. Fists clenched, teeth ground, tension coursed through the body, but nothing more could be said.
Again, another speaks what the challenged one feels, "I've never been so aggravated." I've never been so robbed of a way out. Never been forced to face my fate, to surrender to that which I cannot escape. Even death had been cheated. But this, this entrapment, cannot be cheated, cannot be avoided, circumvented, destroyed.
"All we will do is watch their battle."
A/N: I obviously don't own them. just so you know. Itsuki totally pwns Kurama. You should know that already, though. Totally pwns him to hell and back. Don't believe me? Have you seen the "Spirit Detective Showdown"? It's creepier in the sub than the dub...though the dub does have Itsuki stalking Sensui and the sub doesn't... All quotes are from the funimation sub. I know it's short, but the scene is short and it covers what I wanted to cover and I'm not justifying anything. This was written as a request for a Kurama/Itsuki pairing...this is what it came out as. The requestor deems this my best piece...evah.