Please read first! There is some violent and adult themed content in this story, beginning with this first chapter, so please be aware. Also note that I do not own Saiyuki or the Crow, which inspired this chapter. Enjoy :)

I've also changed their names to keep with the modern world idea. For now this is how the list goes.

Sam Genet - Genjo Sanzo

Cody Sonnagh - Son Goku

Hank Chogan - Cho Hakkai

Joe Shayne - Sha Gojyo

Hannah - Kannan

Chapter 1: In Dying Memory

The rain came down in droves, cold and blinding, whipping against the windowpanes like so many bullets. Cop cars had been speeding by for the better part of the past hour and in the distance flames and smoke licked the dark night as though the fires of hell had sprung up to engulf the city. Up on the sixth floor of a commercial building turned apartments, a young woman sat at the window watching the chaos unfold bellow.

Hank Chogan lit the last candle on the small table in the center of the room then just stood and watched Hannah sitting in the window seat, mesmerized at her beauty. The candles he had lit around the loft cast her in an orange glow, the shadows playing across her angelic features as she lifted a hand to the cold glass beside her and traced the streaks of raindrops. When he found he couldn't wait any longer he quietly walked up behind her and slipped his arms around her waist, lowering his mouth to her sweet neck. He caught her smile in the reflection before she slipped her arms up and backwards to rest around his shoulders.

"There are at least four fires out there started in the past half hour. They're monsters," she told him although he already knew.

Just as he knew that there would be more fires to come in the few hours remaining till morning and hundreds would inevitably be injured or deceased because that was the way the Dark Crows worked. The street gang itself wasn't much of a threat, although they terrorized the neighbourhood constantly. No, what made them threatening was their connection with the Centipede, one of the cities leading drug dealers. He infected people with his poison just like the creature he was named after. He was the real monster behind these arsons.

These thoughts added to the dark feelings of foreboding Hank had been feeling all evening. Even with the usual midnight calm disrupted by the chaos of unleashed hell, he still held the sense that something greater would happen. He tightened his grip around Hannah, clutching the fabric of her sweater until it bunched around her slim waist.

"Come on Hannah, come away from the window," he whispered against her neck.

"Um huh," she mumbled back, raising from the seat and turning in his arms.

He captured her mouth in a searing kiss and backed her toward the bed. Her slender hands slipped down around his waist to pull his shirttails from his pants then worked their way along the row of buttons, undoing then slowly and pulling the sides apart. He broke the kiss off with a gasp and rested his forehead against hers. He could feel her warm breath caress his face as her nails lightly grazed over his chest.

Capturing her hands in both of his he mumbled, "You know you drive me crazy when you do that."

"You're too beautiful to not drive crazy," she replied and pressed her lips to his chest as her hands were still captured under his and unable to continue their sweet torture.

With a rough growl he took the last step to the bed and tumbled down with her. Capturing her mouth in another kiss, he slipped his hands under her sweater to do some wandering of his own. She slipped her hands up to cup his face, fingering the three earrings in his left ear before slipping her fingers through his hair.

Hannah moaned softly before whispering, "You have such wonderful hands."

The series of events that followed happened so quickly that neither could fully process it. The door smashed open with such force that the chain lock nearly pulled itself free from the wall, where it was secured. Hannah screamed and gripped Hank so tightly it hurt, as the shoulders behind the first blow continue ramming against the door. Hank pulled himself away from Hannah in order to run across the loft for the phone just when the intruders cut the chain and gained access into their home. A gunshot was fired, grazing along Hank's arm, stopping him directly in the path of the members of the Dark Crow gang.

"Well, well look at what we've got here boys," one of them goaded as he took notice of all the candles. "Seems we've interrupted some loving." The next comment he directed at Hank before his leering eyes and greasy smile turned to Hannah, "But no worries. There'll still be some action tonight."

On a purely basic level Hank reacted, grabbing the man by his shirt to turn him around before punching him across the face. His minions reacted as well. Two of them tackled him to the ground and pinned him down as the third reigned solid blows to his stomach and ribs with steal toe boots. The man, who was clearly the leader, got up before wiping the small streak of blood from the corner of his mouth. He commanded his crew to deal with Hank as he walked away in the vicinity of the bed.

Hannah's cries rang out through the loft, making Hank see red. Out of the corner of his vision he could see the bastard pinning her to the bed, tearing away at her sweater till it lay disregarded in a heap on the floor. Hank fought his way up, but had only made it to his knees when a foot made contact with the side of his face and knocked him back down. The scrape on his arm from the gunshot burned with a white-hot pain and breathing had become difficult. He suspected he had broken a rib, possibly several, but that hardly mattered now. The bastard had Hannah's arms pinned above her head in one hand and was slapping her across the face with the other.

He couldn't do anything. Two of them were holding down his arms while the third sat across his legs, taunting him with a blade. Dragging it along his chest just hard enough to break through the skin and leave small red streaks in its wake. To his left he heard Hannah choke out a cry through her tears. The bastard was on her. On her! Bruising the delicate flesh of her breasts with his hands, raping her neck with his tongue…

Hank fought with everything in him to get to her only to feel the knife, which had been dangling above him seconds before, now get buried in his gut and dragged across. They hadn't expected him to keep fighting after that and it was this hesitation that allowed him to finally break lose. One of the two men who had been holding down his arms panicked and let off a crazed gunshot, which caught Hank squarely in the arm this time. But he now had a weak link he could exploit. With blinding speed he tackled the guy to the ground and quickly gained possession of the gun, firing a shot off in the chest. Before he had even registered the sound of footsteps behind him he whirled around and let off another two bullets, watching with morbid fascination as the bodies instantly crumbled to the ground. He fell to his knees after them, gasping for breath and clutching a hand to his profusely bleeding middle.

He could feel his strength slipping, but wouldn't allow himself to be absorbed by the peaceful darkness that beckoned him. He had to save Hannah. He turned just in time to see a look of terror pass over her swollen features as a knife was dragged across her throat, stealing the life from her limp form. With a cry he charged in her direction, forgetting his pain as he threw the last of the intruders to the ground with another punch to the face, but his efforts were all in vain. Crying with wild abandonment he pressed her to his chest, feeling her warm blood soak his skin. Her once creamy complexion was now ghostly white, stained with crimson and half formed bruises and it was entirely his fault.

He was pulled from his sorrow by a harsh sadistic laugh. His crying forgotten, Hank's hands fisted around Hannah, holding her body tighter and pressing her closer as his eyes darkened and his wrath surfaced with a vengeful force. He softly lay her body back down on the bed before he turned on his last victim with a guttural growl. The man wisely stopped his laughing and, with traces of fear entering his previously self-assured look, he began searching the floor for his knife. It had been tossed into the corner of the room upon his falling and he had no chance of reaching it before Hank struck. Not that it would have been able to save him even if he had managed to gain hold of it.

Hank let lose an uncontrolled punch, which caught the gangster in the stomach and sent him sprawling back over the dresser. As the candles were knocked over one rolled down to rest on its side under the drapes, which quickly caught fire before the flame was snuffed out by its own wax. It hit the stakes of books he kept on the floor because he had run out of space in the book shelf and moved on to the sofa, spreading like wild fire and ravaging the loft with its thick smoke and scalding orange flames. The other man panicked as they were quickly getting closed in but Hank, who couldn't care less, continued to approach him with slow deliberateness. He attacked with everything he had in him, keeping himself up purely on adrenaline and a need for retribution.

They'll pay. Every last one of them will pay.

With his hand firmly around the gangsters' throat he pinned him to the wall. The smoke was thick and they both couldn't help choking and coughing.

"Why us? Who the fucking hell sent you to come after us?" Hank demanded tightening his grip around the other man till he began to wheeze.

Through bouts of coughing he managed to reply, "The…the Centipede. He told…us…to off the two of you."

"Why?" Hank shouted shoving his captive against the wall as the heat closed in around them and the smoke grew ever thicker.

"The…the…article. Her name…picture…in the article."

Hank shut his eyes at these words. Hannah had been so proud at her first real article concerning the inner city schools' after-school projects. She had been fighting to get a bigger budget for the projects to keep the kids off the streets and away from gangs like this one. Her picture, one with her surrounded by a dozen of his students, had followed the article.

While he lost himself in the memory and pain the gangster took the opportunity to push out of his hold and charge his way out the window, amid broken glass and debris. There was a fire exit, but with the force and speed of the man's jump he couldn't stop himself from being flung over the railing and falling six stories to his death. Hank watched from the busted window as blood stained the sidewalk bellow, the bastard's body now nothing more then a crumpled heap. The toxic air became too much, though, and Hank fell to his knees choking for oxygen. Looking back he saw for the first time that the whole loft was consumed by the fire and if he wanted to get out he would need to take the fire escape quickly.

You're not finished. You need to get him for Hannah.

Fighting his way back to his feet through a coughing fit that hurt his ribs so bad he thought he might pass out from the pain, he struggled down the fire escape and into the back alley. It had been rumoured that the Centipede kept base atop a nightclub three blocks over and for his own sake Hank prayed it was true. Loss of blood, smoke inhalation - he wasn't sure he could even make it the three blocks. With some difficulty he pulled off his shirt and pressed it to the open wound across his middle in an attempt to stem the flow of blood, before he began making his way to the club. The gun he had previously used was tucked into his belt waiting for the moment when it would once again become useful.


The music from the club could be heard half a block over, the florescent glow and orb lights streaming through the windows of the warehouse painted the street. Hank stumbled past the open doors and amid the ocean of bare limbs and black leather he took stock of the layout, searching for his victims hideout. Across the room he noticed a man dressed in black from head to toe look back over his shoulder before discretely slipping through a doorway behind the edge of the bar. That's where he wanted to be. Slowly making his way along the edge of the crowd, avoiding the orgy like scene that paid him no notice anyways, he reached the bar. He didn't have to wait long for the bar tender to head down to the other side to serve drinks, giving him the opportunity to slip past the door into the hallway beyond. The place was empty – nothing more than a metallic hall with bare light bulbs dangling in a single row along the ceiling.

As he made his way down the passage Hank suddenly became aware of a sound other then the echo of his own footsteps. Just up ahead he could hear muffled voices, one was distinctly female and at least another two males. That was when he came across a heavy looking metal slab of a door. He reached out a hand to test if it would open and felt it give easily and soundlessly. Apparently someone forgot to lock up. He pulled the gun from his belt and cocked it before shoving the door open with his shoulder, still pressing the blood soaked shirt to his middle with the other hand.

"'Bout time you got here. What the hell took…" the female's voice drifted off when she turned and saw Hank standing in place of whoever she had been expecting.

"When picking a victim, you damn well better make sure they aren't going to fight back," Hank growled, raising the gun and firing at the woman first.

With a cry she dropped from her seat followed by the man closest to her who was attempting to see if she was all right while the other reached for his own gun. The next shot hit the latter of the men in the head, staining the wall behind him with brain matter, which Hank sadistically found himself mesmerized with. At the cock of another gun behind him Hank whirled and shot the other man in the head as well.

Where the hell is he?

The Centipede hadn't been among the three, but luckily he didn't have to go in search of him. Footsteps came down the corridor, stopping in the doorway to survey the demise of the last of the Dark Crows. In the shadows against the wall Hank took in the mans' professional attire. He inwardly sneered at the man's unstained hands which he could very well offered to have with all these men to do his bidding. The crew was nothing, easily replaceable - whom he wanted to suffer was the man standing before him now. Taking a step from the darkness Hank caught the man's attention. The Centipede reached for his own gun and took a few shots, none of which met their desired mark in Hank's flesh. So he continued to slowly advance.

"Who the hell are you?" the Centipede demanded, raising his gun again.

Without answering Hank charged taking the man off guard and knocking him backwards into the wall. Hank grabbed a hold of his victim's wrist and smashed it against the cement with as much force as he could manage until the gun was finally dropped and he could kick it away across the room. He then tossed the man to the floor, pinning him there with a foot to his throat. He would have liked to inflict more damage, beat him to death with his own bare hands, but he simply didn't have the strength. As it was, the only thing that kept him standing was adrenaline and a bitter stubbornness that demanded retribution.

"You should have picked someone else," he informed in a harsh whisper, raising the gun and taking a single shot at his last victim's head.

He could feel the spray of hot blood hit him in the chest. It was over - every last one of them was dead. With nothing motivating him now Hank felt as though the black abyss that had been pulling at him for some time now would finally win over. Still he stumbled back out the room and through the club. The rain was still coming down outside and as he splashed through the puddles along the sidewalk it occurred to him, somewhere deep in the back of his mind, that he didn't care about the rain and he didn't care that he didn't know where he was going. Finally he couldn't take another step and fell to the cold unforgiving cement, unable to move, struggling to even breath until blackness did take him.

Dying doesn't seem so bad.