Disclaimer: I do not own Yami no Matsuei

Notes: This is an overhaul and re-imagining of the series, based on a series of sporks that I've done on my LJ over the past two or so years. Characterization, most notably Hisoka's (since it's long been my contention that Hisoka acts more like a spoiled brat than a victim of abuse, especially in the manga), and plot elements are going to be changed.

Prologue

"And here we have…Kurosaki Hisoka?"

Nakiru looked up from the sheaf of papers listing the recently departed. One would think an angel would have no problem memorizing ten sheets' worth of names, but taking on a humanoid body required a certain amount of sacrifice, and the unlimited memory guaranteed to angels was one of them. At least he could still "feel" the invisible soul floating before him, as plain-as-day to him on an intangible plane as a body might be on a tangible one. Most human bodies were specifically designed to not allow such a phenomena to happen.

"My name's Nakiru, and I'll be determining the ultimate fate of your soul today." He grinned, and felt a failed attempt at a smile in the soul before him. He frowned, but after all it was rare for the young ones to reciprocate his humor. Mostly it was the old ones who were happy. They'd had their fill of Uchuu and were looking forward to their new life among their passed loved ones; the young rarely had anything to specifically look forward to. "Okay…let's have a look at those memories then."

He could feel the soul assenting. Nakiru smiled and then turned inward, taking his field of vision away from his physical eyes and into his soul. Steeling himself, he dove into the soul he was judging, a faint silver cord keeping Nakiru's own soul attached to his body. Souls were porous; they had to be or else they'd never be able to interact with a body, and that fact made the life review process so much easier.

The first few years were pleasant enough, save for an instant when the boy was still a baby, but all Nakiru could garner was a lot of screaming. But then, you couldn't expect a baby to record details. After that the years slid by languidly, with nothing much to shout about. Plenty of adults around, a playmate here or there.

"I want you to hurt them."

Nakiru started, almost jumping out of Hisoka's soul. It was no surprise to hear others' voices; one couldn't have a life review without gauging how the soul in question had affected the people around them. But this voice felt different somehow. Nakiru pursed his lips and continued.

"They killed my mother and you should hurt them."

Almost impulsively Nakiru thrust himself towards the voice and the scenery changed; there was a woman in the forest screaming as she guided an infant out from her womb, alone. She continued to cry as the newborn wailed. Nakiru blew by the infant and toddler years, scanning the memories as if flipping through a book. It was hard to keep hold of this girl's life; every once in awhile he would slip back into the boy's. Learning to write by drawing in the dirt suddenly changed into banging on a cellar door screaming for someone to let him out.

But even then the girl's voice persisted.

"They hate you, so why don't you help me?"

"No! I won't! Mama! Mama, let me out, please! I don't ever listen to her, ever! Mama!"

Nakiru felt a spike of compassion and anger and sorrow coming at Hisoka from the other side of the door; there was no voice or presence, just raw emotion trying to claw its way through the barrier between Hisoka and whoever his friend was. That sort of phenomena was common in the life reviews of Empaths, which Nakiru was beginning to ascertain Hisoka was, but that didn't explain the presence of two sets of memories from obviously different time periods.

"Nakiru-dono?"

Nakiru fell backwards; his silver cord retracted and suddenly he was back in his body.

"Count?" He blinked, trying to steady himself.

"Come look at this, Nakiru-dono. It's about Kurosaki-kun."

"Stay here." Nakiru felt that Hisoka understood, and then turned, walking briskly towards the room adjacent to his.

"Look at that," the Count said, gesturing.

"That's what's being created for that soul you're judging."

Halfway completed stood two stiff, soulless bodies: one a blonde, green-eyed boy, and the other a black-haired, brown-eyed girl.

"Did you see her?"

"Yes." Nakiru pursed his lips. "Zuma's gonna have to pull them apart."

"I'll send Watson to call her down," the Count said, his usual authoritative nonchalance tainted slightly by worry. "It's been awhile since we've seen an exorcism of this sort. I'm assuming she's violent?"

"Very. Ask Zuma if she can stay awhile, just in case."

"What about Kurosaki-kun? Is he also dangerous?"

"Not that I've seen so far, but he's an Empath, so I don't know how much she's influenced him."

"An Empath?" The Count clicked his tongue sympathetically. "He'll probably be doubly glad to have her leave him, then."

Nakiru thought that perhaps, if the memory he'd last seen meant anything, it was too late for Hisoka to care if she did.