Author's Note: Merry Christmas, Kuailong, and a happy new year!
Chapter One
Sonechka
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The afterimages of Hiei's Jagan threaded behind him in a muted neon streak, dimmer than the lit-up characters of innumerable Makaian languages strung out and blinking over the city's billboards. The advertisements were everywhere: gaudy splashes of luminescence and color that Hiei shied away from, hiding in shadows and darkness with the natural sensibilities of predator or prey. He would be stealthy as long as possible, aware that the whoreson hadn't yet alerted his guard to Hiei's approach.
The ominous black buildings hemming him in escaped his notice, beyond automatic considerations like where to place his feet, what roof to rebound from. He needed to drive himself farther, faster, the rage that propelled him overcoming all other concerns.
Hiei passed above the opening of an alley, Girls, Girls, Girls flickering in Makaian Common above the head of an elderly water kappa, who flicked open a lighter under the glow of the street lamps, cupping around it with webbed fingers and dipping in his cigarette. The scene passed through Hiei like a freeze-frame on a film, a quick snapshot of licentious decay.
Contrasted against an interminably black sky, he leapt over the lights screaming XXX at passerby and landed on a glass skylight, skidding and gone before the inhabitants could look up. His footfalls pattered sharp as hail over steel and concrete roofs, rat-a-tat-tat, drumming loud enough that he knew Yomi was well aware of his presence, likely had been for days. Lightning bolts illuminated his way, snaking through the sky and charring the air, filling it with the crackling aftermaths of energy that made the hairs stand up on his arms and on the back of his neck, magnetized.
He was over the barricading wall and the B-class warriors who guarded it in one smooth, freefalling leap. He didn't pause for even a moment, but weaved between defenders and concrete checkpoints to the base of the building, his sword glinting, a few bodies falling silently in a wash of blood in his wake. There were no accusing voices yet, though, no uproar.
Scaling the heights of the skyscraper was facile for Hiei, though the glass and metal was smooth and flawless as an eggshell, and his cloak and re-sheathed katana weighed him down. He carved handholds with his ki, ripping out chunks of metal and glass, bloodying his hands, his third eye darting, even rolling, as it mapped out the route.
This was the tallest building in Gandara's capital city, an edifice standing directly in the center of Yomi's territory. Hiei was too fast to be caught, though he heard the bewildered shouts start to swell from below, and had to dodge a flung ball of energy, scarcely aware of his own exposed vulnerability in the consuming mindset his mission required. Soon enough he'd shattered a window to an empty room, an office of some minor official, replete with a simple desk and littered with still-smoking shards from the broken window. Hiei's nose twitched, relaying scent signals to him. He advanced over the crunching glass to the door, with caution, for once. He was inside the fortress.
Despite the hubbub outside, no alarms sounded in the still hallway, and no guards came to meet him. Yomi himself had not stirred; the Jagan showed his sightless eyes closed and directed toward nothing. The bastard smiled still, his hands caressing a bruised back, petting the long scarlet curls Hiei knew were soft kittenish fluff when entwined in your fingers.
Aware of their watcher, Yomi ran a finger over a delicate neck, and his lips curled in delight as it caught against the iron collar, which moved in a clink of chains to reveal a chafed ring of red and bruising, the next touch rubbing the wound and inducing a shudder from his captive.
His prisoner.
Kurama.