Enigma

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Chapter I: Startling Accusations

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A terrorized shriek cut through the air, shattering the surreal quiet that had settled over the land like a bullet, bringing to light the utter chaos that had befallen the seemingly God forsaken place. And as the lingering echo of the shriek that broke the illusion of normalcy faded into the horizon, it was followed by another, and then another, until the air was filled with the melancholic chorus of crescendoing voices and palpable terror. Then, for just a fraction of a second there was peace — the proverbial eye of the storm — before the sky exploded in a massive ball of red-hot, angry flames that raced across the bared land as fluidly as though the earth was slicked with oil. Black rain; a flurry of heavy ash smoldering as it fell and clung tenaciously to all that it touched, covered everything, blanketing the ground, congesting the air — a thick, noxious miasma that seared the lungs, collapsed the sinuses, suffocated.

The sky was like mass of molten lava, a sea of angry red that seemed to decimate all that touched the skyline. Wooden structures toppled in the heat, and laid on the ground only moments, before being swallowed by a hungry, gaping mouth of flame. Houses, homes, dwellings, all lay in shambles. Solid structures toppled like matchsticks in a windstorm. The air was thick with the scent of burning pine and Elder trees — the scent of family life and tradition lost to a hellish blaze. But amid the scent of burnt, burning, or smoldering wood, was something far more acrid. Putrid was the word. It clung to everything, raised bile in the back of the villagers' throats, and told of a much greater loss than just wooden dwellings and old-won traditions. Amid the wood and ash and smoke, evident to even the most desensitized nose, hung the scent of burning flesh.

Villagers scattered like leaves in a hurricane, moving in directions far flung to the winds to escape the blaze and death around them. The lucky ones who had managed to salvage even a few of their homely possessions, or had managed to salvage even their lives, ran to save themselves as they abandoned the elderly and wounded in selfish hopes of seeing a new dawn. Anyone who fell in the rush to escape risked being trampled by the heavy footfalls of frantic humans. As their homes and surroundings collapsed around them one by one, the frenzy deepened, the rush grew more desperate. Stumble and die. Fail to keep up with the crush of bodies and die. The message was clear in their panic. Spare no one and nothing.

And in the middle of it all stood a little girl wearing a stained, threadbare, and soot streaked night gown and bare feet, clutching a raggedy doll to her narrow chest. Lost in the ebb and flow of scattering villagers, no one paid mind, spared one glance, and hurried by. And as she looked on, her wide, startled eyes reflecting the dancing flames in their crimson depths, a startling contrast to her porcelain-white and delicate face, she crumbled. The doll, a misshapen lump of crudely sewn cotton fiber fell at her feet, forgotten. Her knees hit the dirt and her hands, covered in ash and bearing the scars of second-degree burns, went to her face, hiding her eyes from the destruction around her. And as the world continued to spin around her, forever oblivious to just one more innocent soul tainted, time forever flowing, she let out one piteous scream: a wail of tangible agony and anger; rage and so much unfathomable hatred.

And the world went dark…

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A jarring knock echoed through the silence. And though the harsh noise coaxed him into begrudging consciousness, he firmly refused to open his eyes to what he knew would be the cruel, almost fluorescent glow of the white walls of his apartment. So, instead of opening his eyes, which screamed for the release of what would be another sleepless lapse — what with the nightmare being a common occurrence anymore — he counted the droning knocks; they beat in a perfect rhythm.

One, two, three… One, two, three… One, two—

Just as he was about to finish off the last of the sequence, a loud crash, muffled from behind his closed bedroom door, disrupted the consistent pattern.

Startled at the sudden noise, he sprang from the bed, almost falling as he flailed wildly for a moment to disentangle himself from his bed sheets. Cursing his own human lack of dexterity, he hurried through the bedroom door. He was careless in leaving the bed unmade, but he could come back to it later, he told himself, moving with the greater ease and grace that newfound consciousness had bestowed upon him.

Standing in the living room, in a slight huff from being moved so quickly in such a short space of time, he faced the triad before him. A slightly bemused smile tugged at his lips as he pondered the state of his appearance, and how awkward it must seem for his unannounced company to see him in such a state. He was wearing a pair of black boxers, which from the slight sheen of the material could be taken to be made of either high quality, and well made cotton, or silk. One of the legs was rumpled; a telltale sign of his fitful sleeping habits, and came up to his mid-thigh, in a crumpled knot. That aside, he stood half-naked before them, his chest and abdomen exposed, and the lighting of the room splaying delicate shadows over the finely toned muscles rippling in his chest as he drew in breath, and his abdomen. A mess of knotted crimson hair splayed over his shoulders, wild and in need of a decent brushing, and the bangs veiled his eyes, both the deepest shade of jade and clouded with false hopes of sleep to come.

He shook his head slightly, perhaps dismissing the thoughts prior and gazed at them as confidently as one could, looking as he did. Then he offered up a tight smile and folded his arms before his chest, his pectoral muscles bunching in protest, and his arms swelling as they folded. He hadn't really been stretching properly lately, and his muscles weren't as smooth for it. He made a mental note to start in on his daily maintenance routine again.

"Well, Gentlemen," he addressed the three men before him, being careful to keep the annoyance from his tone. The door of his apartment lay in toothpick-sized splinters behind them and they hadn't even expressed one shred of remorse over it, or made a motion to offer to replace the forlorn and well-past repair fixture. "What can I do for you this morning?"

The three men, all of whom were robed in the way of only the most informed Reikai officials, glared at him in return. The spite in all of their tiny, black, watery eyes was palatable. For a moment there was nothing but utter silence. Then, the man in the center, a tall and sinewy-looking figure, spoke, his voice deep and gravely:

"Minamino, Shuichi," he nodded at the tousle-haired man before them all, "also known by your aliases: Kurama, or Youko Kurama, the legendary thief of Makai."

He stopped for a moment to extend one hand from within a fold of his robe to withdraw a tightly furled piece of heavy parchment, bearing the trademark wax seal of the high ruler and lord of the Reikai, Lord Enma. Kurama watched the movement curiously, his gaze coming to linger on the parchment curiously.

"That is who you are addressing," he conceded smoothly, his voice suspicious, eyes never once leaving the scroll.

"You are being taken into custody by the Reikai High Court, under orders of King Enma, Lord of Reikai, and Lord Koenma, Junior under lord to his majesty." The man continued, slowly unrolling the scroll and letting it curl as it fell along the length of him, left to dangle in the air.

"Explain," Kurama intoned thinly, his eyes turning downward into a glare.

"On the orders of said Reikai officials, you are being made a warden of the Reikai Defense Force on the grounds that you have been deemed a danger to Ningen society and the realm on a whole."

At this, the gravel-voiced man fell silent and his companion on the left, a small, balding man took up the thread. "You are to be taken into custody by force, as charges against you suggest a threat of violence should you be asked to come willingly. A trail by the Reikai High Court, headed under Lord Enma, has been set for a week from this day, where all charges pending will be examined. Until then, you are to come with us, Sir Minamino."

This whole situation was becoming entirely too bizarre. He was being taken into custody? He had pending charges against him? He was a danger to mortal society? Nothing these curious men in Reikai robes said make any sense and amounted to nothing more than a mess of white noise buzzing in his skull, sending empty thoughts skittering along the inside of his mind in a little jig.

"Excuse me," he asked, hands firmly on his temples suddenly, slender fingers massaging circles around them to ease the unsettling migraine brought on by the utter foolishness of the moment. "But, on what grounds is any of this — this utter nonsense — founded?"

The last of the three, a massive boulder-like man with arms the size of tree trunks spoke at this, and before taking in the man's words Kurama wondered just how it was that he became a top Reikai official, judging that he looked like a mountain troll.

"You are charged," the voice was deep and guttural, barely distinguishable, "with the recent slaughtering of six mortals living in the Prefectural area of your residence. One Takaharu, Moriko, one Nobuhiko, Arikito, one—"

"What?" He was bewildered. Who on earth were these people, and why was he being charged with their supposed slaughter? But before he could be graced with an answer, before he so much as had time to blink, much less react, the distinctive whoosh of an air stream overtook his hearing.

A blink of stars before his stunned emerald eyes later, and to the accompaniment of an overwhelming throb in his left temple, a wave of nausea at the attack overcame him and darkness fell over his eyes, sending him spiraling into an abyss of nothingness…

…And the undisturbed flow of unconsciousness he had so longed for earlier…


Author's Ramblings:

First And Foremost: Yu Yu Hakusho And All Associated Characters Are Sole Property Of Togashi Yoshihiro, FUNimation, Shonen Jump Magazine, And All Other Thrid Parties That Are NOT Me. (No matter how much I want it to be.

Now... I know it's been QUITE a while since any of you have heard anything of me. But, I do live. And this is the fruit of my labor. Honestly, this was supposed to have taken a backseat in creation to Acceptance, my other fic that I was supposed to start. But, it already has a Doujinshi following its story in the works, so that's enough for now. That's why Enigma came into being. Also, because it's what my muse decided she wanted me to focus on. Therefore, I am. Live with it. If you want any information on Acceptance, or would like to see the beginnings of the doujinshi that I intend to model the actual story off of, please send me an e-mail or PM via this website.

Also, if you've looked over to my profile, you may have noticed I say this is a collaborative effort between Dillutional Inu, and I. It is. She gave me the prod I needed to get the start of this chapter going and the rest of it just sort of flowed out. Later chapters should have more of her involvement than this one did. If you're reading this, sorry Dillio-chan!! Aishiteru-ni??

On to some advertising: She and I also wrote Le Crackfic of DOOOOOM, which hasn't gotten a whole lot of love. It's sort of a spoof, comparted to our other writing individually, but that's done on purpose. Believe me. It's the first, last, and only of its kind from us. That's a promise. So, give it some love, if you like.

As for this story: Yes, it's going to be multi-chaptered. There is a good possibility that there will some mature content later on. Some violence, probably nothing too graphic, and eventual apparent shonen-ai into possible yaoi. Possibly as graphic as the M rating will allow. It all depends on the following this fic gets, and what kind of following (that is, what kind of fans) this fic gets. Warnings will be posted on chapter headers to warn against anything controversial. For now, the rating will be teen. It may go up.

As always, please feel more than welcome to leave your name at the door with an honest opinion intact. I won't be offended by anything, but I do ask that you leave me some concrit that consists of more than just, "it sux." Please?

Blackrose