"Miyuki. You have to get up."
My first instinct was to flail my arm in the general direction of the gruff voice—he should know not to wake me—but the moment I tensed to do so, a jolt of pain coursed through my body.
I groaned, cracking my eyes open to see the hairy oaf hovering above me. He had little dried trails of blood on him, and looking down at myself now, I noticed some of my own. Perhaps it was the blood and various bruises purpling on my skin that jogged my memory, and what I felt even more clearly than the pain was the rage and shame.
"Bastard," I hissed, forcing my sore muscles to bring me upright. I didn't want to think it, to admit it, but if anything was clear, it was that I had lost.
We had lost.
I could hardly believe it. How could those boys have defeated us? We were demons. Fighters. Killers. They were mere adolescent humans.
Then, suddenly, it struck me that "we" currently consisted of myself and Gokumonki.
"Where's Inmaki?" I blurted, looking up at the gargantuan ogre.
He couldn't seem to look me directly in the eyes. "He told me to find you."
"What…" I trailed off, and I was on my feet in a moment, barreling down the hall as quickly as my aching legs could carry me.
I found him leaning against a wall littered with a thousand pock-marks, his body oozing blood from various wounds of its own. When I sank to my knees next to him, I could hear his breath coming in shallow gasps.
"No," was the only word out of my mouth, and I reached to tug away the cloth that covered his face. He was still having trouble breathing. "Hold on," I said, more of a demand, and gathered the meager bit of energy I had in my body to form a healing orb in my hands.
I held out my hands to him, to offer up the only thing that I could, but his arm shot up, blocking the path to his chest. My gaze met his, exasperated, but all he did was smile back at me with blood-stained teeth.
I knew what he was saying. It wouldn't be enough.
"No," I whimpered again, shoving his arm away before my orb could fizzle out and pressing it to his wounds. "Don't you stop me. You're going to be okay. You're going to be fine, you fuck."
He coughed in reply, flecks of blood splattering my face.
"Stop that," I ordered, barely aware of the tears I let fall on his shirt. "I didn't go this far with you just to let you … You—"
"Don't worry. He won't die just yet."
My head snapped up at the voice, and there were the Toguro brothers, watching us with nothing but their typical apathy.
"I still have some use for you three," the Younger continued with a smirk.
"I won this tournament fifty years ago. I wished I'd never have to compete again." The old hag sipped her tea, her back still turned to us. "It seems to me that it's clear. Tell that to Toguro."
"Urameshi is invited to participate in the tournament," I drawled, my voice smooth and sweet as honey only to counter-balance the hatred I felt at uttering the name. "You still refuse?"
He had told us that she would not be easily convinced without mention of the boy, and at the resulting silence, it was clear he was right.
"Kurama and Hiei are also invited. Lord Toguro has always been waiting for opponents at their height." I was only stirring up her anger, and we both knew it. I didn't care. "He said that he's waited fifty years for opponents who are worthy of him. He is delighted."
She said nothing more, and I knew already that we had won.
"But, of course, the choice is yours," I said at last, then the three of us vanished into the night.
He would be pleased to hear the news.