Hello everyone! After almost a year's hiatus, I have returned! I have no excuse for this but my own laziness. On which note…

Disclaimer: Yami no Matsuei (Descendants of Darkness) is the property of Yoko Matsushita and VIZ Media. No copyright infringement intended.

Anyways, since I've been gone I've been watching quite a bit of anime. Here is the first in what will probably be a long line of fan fictions on the subject.

Also during this hiatus, I've gained a very valuable new weapon in the battle against grammatical incompetence. Though not an official beta, she's graciously agreed to look over and edit my sleep-deprived work. This one's for you, Kappa-chan.

Enjoy.

Guardian

Before he'd met Tsuzuki, Hisoka had wished, in the darkest hours of his sleepless existence, for something worth protecting. He'd never wished for the ability to protect it --the young Shinigami held far too much confidence in the raw, animalistic power that he felt lurking in the depths of his mind. Hisoka only needed something worth projecting this aching, bloodthirsty fury upon.

Finding the man who'd killed him was completely impossible. It was no longer worth the recurring agony of failure - his failure to bring justice to his tormented unlife, to give himself peace of mind, to protect himself.

Now, the only thing he could do was protect something that held the same value of his past life. Hell, it wouldn't be hard to equalize. Hisoka had never considered his life worth much even before…

What? This mental block over his own dying moments was both infuriating and terrifying. He remembered shock, terror, howling his agony to distant sakura - it was these shards he remembered.

Nothing. His buried cowardice was singing with gratitude. Ignoring this spineless twinge of remorse, he turned to the furious self-hatred for failing to save himself-his one emotion that went beyond desperation.

At this point, he would even pick up some lost dog and protect that. Anything to ease this knot of frustration that refused to leave the base of his stomach.

He'd protect anything, anything. He couldn't hide this unnamed need to save. He could not continue living like this, a pathetic excuse for a Guardian of Death.

So, needless to say, it had come as quite a surprise when Hisoka had become the protected one. The fragile one. The guardian's ward.

When that ridiculous, idiotic, beautiful god of a man had come into his life, Hisoka threw away his quest. Threw it away, because it had suddenly become irrelevant. He threw it away because as long as the violet god existed nothing could ever be able to touch him.

Even strung up with the unearthed revelation of his death screeching in his ears, he couldn't truly be hurt. It didn't matter that he was bleeding to death, or the he was at the mercy of the demonic angel of death. None of it mattered because none of it really existed to him. As long as the guardian soul was coming. If he was coming, which he was, had to be, because the man was a god and would never, ever abandon him, even if it meant succumbing to the angel of bloody nightmares.

When the spirit had called his name, sounded so desperate, so thankful, and so real that Hisoka had begged him to leave. Begged him because his yearning need to protect had resurfaced and if the angel had this kind of an interest in his god…

There was no way that this man could deserve that.

His panic was rising now, his protector needed to leave, leave, leave, LEAVE. Oh God, leave! Get out, go! Go, run, hide, abandon me, go, get out, run, I'm begging you, LEAVE!

Please. The angel's here, can't you feel him? He's here and I CAN'T SAVE YOU. My God, help me. I can't save you. I'll do anything, I'll die, I'll give myself to your vengeful subordinate, I'd do it a hundred times over, but God, don't die. You don't deserve this. Please. You need to get out of this.

Don't you care? Don't you know what he's capable of? Don't you know that he's going to send you screaming into the abyss? Don't you know that I can't help you?

Don't you know that you're a god?

Even crouching behind his fallen god, wondering why Tsuzuki had stopped dancing the soaring, spinning rites of destruction, Hisoka could only feel safe.

It's sick. He's twisted, and he's going to burn for this, but even this all-but-lifeless form brings him more comfort than he ever received in life.

They were both going to die here, and Hisoka found it strangely reassuring to know he would die being protected by his god.

This was where he was supposed to be.

Fin

So, I'm back. Are you glad? One click and you can tell me… Maybe I'll even review you in return. It's an act of professional courtesy and shameless bribery.