Born out of a very strange place – a bizarre Role-Play that I had been engaged in a few weeks ago – this particular story decided to take shape. Basically an AU, it is based on the idea that the existence of alternate Universes, with different cannons than the established one, is entirely possible. Built inside such a particular Universe, it is a 'what if...?' scenario, deviating from the original GX plot at a crucial moment, with the question: "What if Judai's parents didn't seal away his memories of the time spent with the Duel Spirit Yubel? What if his harrowing nightmares only augmented over the years? What if he started remembering his past life and the prophecy of Gentle Darkness that had been placed upon him?"

And, as crazy as it sounds, I took up this idea – since I'm a sucker for AU plots and I just couldn't give up the occasion of doing a re-write of GX with a very Haou-ish Judai Yuki at the center, exploring all the changes that would ensue. As for the general plot line, know this – it will roughly follow the original narrative up until the second half of Season One, from which point all Hell is set to break loose!

Oh, let's not forget the titles. Katabasis is a Greek word that stands for a downward spiral – it means, in general, a "descent", a journey downwards, moving downhill, a sinking of winds, a military retreat, or a trip to the underworld.

Genre:Dark Drama/Spiritual, with a side of Romance now and then.

Rating: For now, a T at the upper side of the spectrum. Will eventually rise to an M due to violence and some sexuality.

Pairings:Soulshipping (Judai/Yubel) Fianceshipping (Judai/Asuka)

Warnings: A rather high degree of violence – especially in the 'Hikari no Kessha' arc and some presences of sexual intercourse later on. Be warned that I do not generally write in a light-hearted, very easy to digest manner.

Summary: Tormented by the past he never suspected and by a guardian that he had unwittingly condemned to a fiery disintegration, Judai Yuki is being pulled deeper and deeper under the thrall of the Supreme King prophecy. When the time comes, a very different Yuki will step through the Duel Academia's doors.

Katabasis

Prologue – Unsealing of Memories

'Let me be your shield' she had whispered, dual-colored eyes darkening with the haze of unspoken emotions and searing desire, taloned fingers reaching out to softly stroke his left cheek. Frowning slightly, his own hand rose, swiftly catching her forearm in a tightening hold. With a brief inner pang of guilt, her saw her flinch in pain, refusing to retreat, to end the contact – rough scales against smooth skin - a well-known stubbornness writing itself across her mismatched features.

'What I need' he murmured, voice barely discernible above the muffled roaring of foamy waves pummeling the coastline below, 'is for you to stop jumping in for every little thing! Honestly, Yubel, sometimes you make me feel like a coddled child!'

'That... was not my intention' she answered, in a chastised whisper, her dual-colored eyes burning dimly in the gloom of the fading evening. 'Still, I made an oath, Haou. I have no intention of breaking it just because you want to be irresponsible with your own life!'

'Call it whatever you wish' he answered sternly, a long history of similar arguments having taught him not to fall into her carefully-laid traps. 'The fact remains that I am not free to act in any manner, Yubel. I can understand protection, but I do not see any need to live out the rest of my life inside a cage!'

Releasing a sigh between clenched teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger – an old habit, which was always meant to convey equal amounts of frustration and weariness – Haou sat himself down on the windowsill, already starting to regret his brief outburst. He was no longer a child or teenager, so such slips of behavior were most certainly no longer permissible – not in the august persona of the Prince-Heir, at least.

'Do not think I'm unsympathetic' Yubel chuckled lightly, one hand cautiously winding itself around the other's shoulders. When she felt Haou's clenched back muscles begin to relax beneath the familiar touch, she dared to gently ruffle his unkempt mane of orange-brown hair.

'I know just how frustrating it can be' Yubel continued, a spark of old mischief brightening her tone and alighting a faint smile on Haou's world-weary features.'Being locked up in the palace almost all day long, with nothing but tutors and paperwork.'

'You forgot the boot-lickers and and the ladies of court' Haou muttered, his grimace clearly expressing just what he thought of each mentioned category. 'The Spirits help me, if one of those women tries to stuff her daughter down my throat again, I won't be responsible for my actions...!'

'As much as I would love to see that' Yubel smiled, a mirthful laugh rising on her lips, as she reclined her head against the Prince's, allowing Haou to smother his face in her messy, parted hair, 'I am afraid it wouldn't do anything to improve your reputation.'

'Know what, Yuu-chan?' he murmured, using, for the first time in long, bitter years, the childhood nickname that he had once fashioned for her and that she had used to hate with a passion. 'I don't care. Will the opinions of some high-minded aristocrats have any bearing on my mission? I don't think so.'

Hearing the sudden change in his tone, as the jovial atmosphere was instantly replaced by a more somber, one, the weight of a prophecy once again hanging above both of them, Yubel merely scooted closer on the narrow ledge of the windowsill, pulling Haou to her, encircling him with her arms. The whispered nickname – once a source of merciless teasing, now a warm, gentle memory, made her nearly choke on thin air, closing her eyes, in order to hide the tears that she had promised to never shed in Haou's presence.

Sighing once again – this time from the soothing familiarity of the contact, Haou's own arms entwined themselves around Yubel's neck, careful not to damage the fine, soft membrane of her large wings. No more words needed to be spoken, because they had moved on past that stage a long time ago. Both of them knew the oaths that they had made – one of steadfast protection, the other on undying love – and the memory of those promises gave them the strength to go onwards, even when it seemed that every step was weighed down by ash and bitter regret.

Still, it had been far too long since they had been able to hold each other in such a manner – just the two of them, with no prying eyes, free to express every emotion without the fear of impropriety. Scaled hands roamed softly through Haou's hair, the tender, almost cautious touch of a creature that knew its frightening strength all too well. Cold, reptilian lips pressed against his forehead, in an open-mouthed kiss, causing a shiver to race instantly down his spine, tightening muscles and sending nerve impulses haywire wherever it reached. His own hands tightening their grip on Yubel's shoulders, Haou tilted his head upwards, reading brief surprise in orange-and-green eyes, before his own lips covered the Spirit's.

She had once fought him – when they had been merely youthful teenagers, in the wild throes of dizzying hormones. Boldly, he had stripped out of every item of clothing and flopped down on the soft grass by the lake shore, eager for an impromptu sunbath, urging her to do just the same. But Yubel had, at first, adamantly refused him, blushing madly and avoiding to look at any portion of his nude body directly, telling him that he was an idiot and that such things were not done. More than a little annoyed by her strange new attitude, Haou had tried to coax her, arguing that they had gone swimming before, stark naked and not ashamed in any way.

In the end, his typical stubbornness had won over and Yubel had discarded the plain blue toga that she had been wearing over a simple pair of white undergarments, which had followed suit, along with one last, futile argument:

'We've grown, Haou. We're no longer little children.'

And she had been right, hadn't she? At that time, all that he had been capable of doing had been to sit there on the grass and stare at her, the same reddish embarrassment inflaming his own cheeks, while another dormant sensation had stirred farther below. His own rising inner heat almost dwarfing the warmth of the sunny day, Haou had looked away, taking his eyes from the tomboyish girl that he had come to see as a blood-sister, whose tanned, athletic body had started to subtly acquire the more rounded curves on approaching womanhood. His redness has increased even more when he had felt her lying down on the ground next to him, one hand reaching out to take hold of his own in a hesitant, shaky grip of reassurance.

Things had changed back then – or perhaps they had always been in such a manner, but the two had merely been ignorant up to that point. All Haou could clearly remember had been that Yubel – small, once scrawny, completely unfeminine Yubel – had looked truly astonishing back then, splayed out on the grass like a lazy cat, darkened skin complementing the greenish tones of the earth, blue hair, vivid green eyes and a gaze both full of shyness and eager for new experiences completing the breathtaking image. Perhaps it had been that gaze, saying 'What's done is done, we had to open our eyes sometime, no?' that had made him take that essential step forward, as, guided only by emotion and instinct, he had crawled on his haunches toward her, one hand shyly touching a lock of hair, while the other supported his weight, as he leaned down, inching his face closer to hers.

There had been no hesitation then, as green eyes locked with his own in a stubborn staring contest – the kind that they'd used to have over the stupidest of things, mulishly gazing at each other until their eyes hurt – daring him to either back down or go onward. He had chosen the second option, pressing lips against lips in a clumsy, unexperienced fashion, bumping his nose against hers, almost falling sideways as the supporting arm had threatened to give way underneath him.

But, despite the lack of coordination, it had been new and it had been a revelation for the two of them – Yubel had discovered that Haou would allow her to take the lead with little protest and the youthful prince had found out that kissing a girl wasn't exactly the horrifying experience that the other boys near his own age made it out to be – especially if that girl was Yubel, whose touch had made him tremble with completely unnamed emotions and whose mouth had tasted like the fragrant wild mint that she would absentmindedly chew all day long.

But the more things changed, the more they stayed the same as well – something that Haou could agree with. Despite the years of barely-caught glimpses of each other, despite the transformation that had separated their destinies, the Prince could still fell, on Yubel's lips and in her mouth, the tangy aroma of wild mint that had become distinctively her own. Gritting his teeth and barely suppressing a moan, he leaned his head back, clever, smiling lips trailing a warm line of kisses down the plane of his jaw and throat, teeth playing with his skin, making his breath come out in labored gasps.

'Stop' Haou croaked, voice hoarse from an unholy mix of desire and frustration, as his hands detached her from his form, startled eyes blinking at him, their expression that of surprise and hurt. 'No more, Yubel' he ordered, getting off the ledge on unsteady legs and leaning against the nearest wall. 'It's... not possible for us. Not after your transformation. You know that.'

In silence, Yubel had moved from the windowsill as well, stepping into the room and stopping just a few arm-spans shy of him. Her entire draconian defeat radiated a combined reek of equal frustration, sadness, regret, quiet acceptance of the truth and – coating everything, soothing the pain – love. They both knew it – physical intimacy was more or less impossible to achieve due to Yubel's transformation into something beyond the human condition. And although he had possessed some idea of what would come, Haou had still made that fateful oath – effectively condemning himself to a life of loneliness and celibacy. It was for that reason that Yubel's eyes had glistened with tears, which she had hastily tried to wipe off, all too aware of Haou's increasing harshness towards most manifestations of emotional weakness.

'Let me' he whispered, fingers reaching through the invisible barrier separating them, touching still-soft cheeks, wiping away salty droplets. His expression had been set in grim lines, a determination that she had come to see more and more in him, replacing the cheerful, light-hearted demeanor of old. But his eyes – dark as ever – still held the particular warmth and fondness that he reserved only for her, under which lay the searing love that he had sworn an oath upon, long ago.

Perhaps she had wanted to thank him for the caring that he still showed her, for the fact that he revealed his human frailty under her eyes only, becoming almost and untouchable god in the presence of his soldiers. Perhaps words of love would have spilled forth from her lips again – but he would never know, for the white seared his eyes, throwing him aside like a pathetic rag doll, burning his tunic, causing him to howl in agony. White-hot fire bloomed all around him, tightening its fingers over his body, cracking skin, splitting muscles, cauterizing bones. The pain – indescribable in its fierceness – assailed him on all sides and a scream finally burst from his blackened lips.

Beyond the veil of white fire, he could barely discern Yubel's horrified face, her features twisted and distorted by the raging heat. She was screaming, crying, beating her wings, roaring in impotent fury, but there was no manner in which she could hope to reach him, even with her draconian powers. And Haou raised his fire-ravaged face at her - cheeks cracking open, lips disintegrating – opening his mouth in a silent plea – 'Go! Leave me! It is finished! Go and live!' - beginning to every conceivable deity that she could understand his dying wish.

Then there was no more sight, no more hearing, no more thought. Just the pain, cursed companion, pulling him apart with fingers of molten light, boiling the blood in his veins, searing every last patch of skin into charred blackness. And he begged death to come, an end to his writhing suffering. The pain, the pain, oh gods, the pain, it was his entire world now, eating away at him until absolutely nothing would remain – only ashes, only pain on the wind.

The last feeling was burning revenge, not sworn love.

Grumbling under her breath, the Head-Nurse threw the covers off and swiftly jumped off her bed, not even bothering to put on a pair of slippers as she raced across the emty corridors, towards the children's ward, from where the inhuman scream has resonated. She didn't need to look for the source, because the same thing happened almost every night – one young patient would wake up the entire hospital with his blood-curdling wailing.

Reaching the ward, the nurse passed several doors, turning left in a sharp manner and entering hall number seven, jogging over to the bed by the far wall, where a boy lay upright among the twisted mess of sheets, pillows and blankets, face as pale as a cadaver's in the obscurity of moonlight.

Silently, the woman sat herself on the bed, reaching out her arms and pulling him close, into a fierce embrace, the small, scrawny body affixing itself to her own, as she felt the wild beating of a fluttering heart.

"Quiet down, now" she whispered, stroking the orange and brown hair of a head that had buried itself in her shoulder, fingers reaching for still-trembling shoulders. "It'll be all right, little fellow. Someone's here now."

But the trembling never fully subsided – it never did. Sighing, the Head-Nurse adjusted herself into a more comfortable position, pulling the nine year-old boy – very small for his age – onto her lap, stroking and murmuring words of assurance, of whose effect she was never certain.

"Who was it this time?" she asked, on a hushed tone, when the boy had finally relaxed somewhat in her arms. "Tell me."

"No one" he choked out, on a hoarse, tight voice, his grip tightening onto the woman, as if she were his only life-line. "I... don't remember."

The nurse nodded, no longer asking any questions, though she was sure that her peculiar little charge was not being entirely truthful. After the whole children's ward had constantly poked fun at his for his outlandish nightmares, the boy had adamantly refused to speak even a single word about them – and she found it understandable, to an extent.

After all, what kind of child was horrified by the light, manifesting only hatred and revulsion towards it? What kind of child spoke of old oaths? What kind of child stared long and hard at his hands – a gaze that should never have existed in one so young – whispering quietly, when he believed that no one was listening: "I am the Supreme King", as if trying to piece together something long forgotten?