A/N: Well, it's been a while since I've looked back at Yu Yu Hakusho, so I hope there are still people out there that like to read fanfictions about it. Anyway, this was one of the first ideas for a fanfiction I've ever had, but I abandoned it after I became engrossed in Hellsing. I've decided to go back to it and have rewritten this story for about the fourth time . . . so I'm hoping it's pretty good.
I apologize if this chapter is a bit vague in any way, and it's probably going to be one of my shorter chapters . . . but I'll try to update this story soon. Regardless, I hope you enjoy it.
Disclaimer: I, Speciosus Nihilum, do not own Yu Yu Hakusho . . . even if I sometimes wish for it to be that way.
"Salutations, King Yama and company."
The screen made a slow transition from pitch black to dimly lit, with a handsome man's face protruding from the darkness. His skin was sickly pale, as if he hadn't seen the light of day for a great deal of years. Still, his pallid complexion failed to take away from his shimmering gold hair, with bangs swept across his forehead and almost covering one eye. His pupils were small slits held inside molten crimson irises, and his smile was faint but mocking.
"I'd like to take this opportunity to say I am both delighted and disappointed to see you've let me live so long." The man's voice was suave but glacial, like the echo of a snake's hiss.
"Surely, I thought for many years, King Yama will send his trusty Spirit Detective after me, to slay me and free the imprisoned," he continued. "I thought that it was all just a matter of time.
"However, you seem to have forgotten me—or never noticed me at all. You've let the neko population dwindle, allowing some feline demons to go nearly extinct. While I'm sure that my methods have helped kill of a few harmful cats, I've mostly strayed away from villains. My main victims are innocent feline maidens, all of which are beautiful and of a rare subspecies of neko. Yes, my ladies cry black pearls.
"Their tears have made me quite wealthy, as I've reached into the human world and sold my products there. Oh, but these precious gems are not these ladies' only value—their eyes are spectacular. The cornea has a special shimmer to it, making the eye glisten like glass. Every maiden's iris is a wondrous shade of light cerulean, and the whites of their eyes aren't white at all—instead, they're deep blue."
The man sighed. "Perhaps these beauties aren't rare enough for you. Maybe you need to know their thoughts to be convinced. . . ."
The soft voice of a maiden was heard narrating a passage from a tattered diary made of yellowed pages of parchment, written in ink from a quill pen. . . .
Some time in early spring
A few hours after midday
I've been pondering many things lately, such as paradise. The newer ladies that arrive here often talk of it, describing beautiful landscapes in far off lands. I've imagined bountiful orchards and vineyards ripe with the sweetest grapes; I've even pictured an enormous wave crashing into the white, sandy shore of a beach shrouded in a sunset's breath. Still, I do not know for sure if I would want to visit those places, were I free.
I envision paradise not as a physical place, but as a state of mind. Many religions focus on journeying the path to enlightenment to eventually reach nirvana. Or, perhaps, death is seen as a spiritual release into a far better world—one without penury, without pain, without anything but the finest things for all whom inhabit this Heaven. Either way, the focus is aimed at reaching true happiness—and happiness is an emotion, is it not?
Emotions can be felt, not touched, and while it is true that feelings can be expressed, transferred, and recalculated by every person, if someone was not in the correct mind set, he or she would not be able to feel.
In other words, I do not believe it matters where a person is standing, sitting, traveling, or simply residing. Paradise exists in a person's heart---therefore, it may exist anywhere. Even here, in the midst of these cemented cells and swampy marshes. . . .
The man guided the camera down a dimly lit corridor, and despite the lack of lighting, the fine ocher-colored paneling of the walls and smooth, waxed floor were visible. There were candles suspended in golden candlesticks lining the hallway, and the man's footsteps clanked hollowly as he continued down the corridor until he finally reached his destination. He opened a colossal door consisting of traditional long hinges and two layers of plank nailed together.
The hallway behind the medieval door was expansive but hardly interesting. The floor, ceiling and walls were all smoothed cement with a bit of mildew growing here and there. One could see the lights hanging from the ceiling were cheaply constructed of sheet metal, welded with mediocre skill, and the bulbs were harshly bright. The soft pattering of raindrops could be heard if one listened closely.
A few moments later, when the man was about halfway down the hall, he turned back to the camera.
"This is where I keep the lovelies I've so fondly described to you, King Yama," he grinned smugly. "As you can see, they become quite lethargic around midday and tend to stare off into space without a care in the world. Some even have an emotional breakdown every few days, which I encourage; my sales are crucial."
Almost immediately, the man's face disappeared and a frenzy of close-up shots of ladies whirled past on the screen. Each maiden was kept behind thick metal bars lined with enchanted sheets of paper written in fine Japanese penmanship; upon closer inspection (and knowledge of the language), one could see these papers were only harmful to a certain subspecies of neko. There were scenes decreased into slow-motion showing some girls reaching out to the bars. The skin on their hands would slowly melt from pale, to brown, to black as the flesh deteriorated and muscle was exposed. Sometimes, if one looked at the screen closely enough, one could see the bone was uncovered in fingers if the girl left her hand there too long.
"I'm well aware my method of profit is far from original; there were cases of ice maidens held captive for their own beautiful tears." The man's lips curved into a sly smirk. "However, ice maidens are known for their abilities. These ladies you see before you have been forgotten for centuries by our world and yours. Consequently, their tears are set at a higher value than any ice maiden's, bringing me more wealth than I could accomplish had I opted for other ladies."
He gave a toothy grin. "In a way, I believe myself to be more intelligent than past vendors of similar tears. That is more important than the banal quality of my profiteering, don't you agree?"
Snapshots of crying ladies whipped passed by the screen again. Every maiden was beautiful in her own way, whether it be her silky blonde hair or delicately sculpted facial features. Some looked indignant, others scared . . . but all were miserable. Each had penetrating cerulean eyes with the hauntingly rare blue surrounding their irises, and each cried tears that were first clear but hardened into opalescent black pearls as they tumbled to the floor.
"In my own defense, I would also like to point out my plan isn't completely unimaginative. I not only bleed these ladies dry of their tears, but I have taught them exquisite speech skills and penmanship. I would not dream of capturing an uneducated lady, you see; it would be an insult to my company if I allowed their minds to decay.
"I permit them to write down their thoughts to further improve their mastery of our language, though I do have my personnel screen all entries in their diaries for threats toward me or crafty schemes against this company—whereupon the writer is appropriately punished. Fortunately, most of their minds are quite beautiful and creative, two qualities I hold with pride. They don't enjoy their stay here, but that is to be expected and upheld. After all, money cannot be made on delight."
The same gentle maiden's voice was heard as the diary's passage continued. . . .
I will not lie and say it is easy to stay hopeful in this such place. I've lived here for the majority of my life, and I've seen plenty of ladies, both my seniors and juniors, pass away in their cells after giving up any faith they had in the worlds. However, I do not intend to wither away until I have found my own personal paradise. That is the goal for all beings, I believe.
After all, someone has to save my people one day. I'm not searching for a knight in shining armor, just an individual who is strong enough to overcome the master unlike we have in the past. If King Yama truly cares about the lives of humans and demons alike, he will send someone for us. I will not doubt the ruler of Reikai; such is blasphemy.
However, even I am growing impatient. Soon enough now, I will have lived for nearly four centuries. Such an age is the prime of a demon's life, and he or she should bask in its glory as long as manageable. I can't very well bask in anything lighthearted here. . . .
"If you had perhaps kept your eyes trained on the lovelies for, perhaps, a few hundred years, you would have noticed how even my own dear ladies are dying." The man pretended to be heartbroken, but such an act was easy to look past. "My sales are suffering terribly, which is why I've decided to contact you in this final effort to save a maiden's life."
The girl's voice sounded tired and forlorn as she read the last remaining page in the diary. . . .
Some time in late autumn
A few hours after sunrise
It seems I am the only one left now. The days grow longer and nights darker, alone in this abandoned hallway. Occasionally, the master sends one of his guards to keep me company for a few moments, but only to monitor my actions. The master is frightened I may take my life like so many other ladies have in the past. It is ironic for such a powerful man to worry about such a small lady as myself. Perhaps, he is not worried about me at all, but rather, suspects King Yama has finally caught on to his deeds.
At the latest business meeting, the master had me meet his customer personally for the first time. He was an ugly , rotund, greasy, old man, his eyebrows unruly and hair just as unkempt. He looked to me with such a lecherous gaze. I felt my skin begging to crawl from my bones. However, the master clearly explained that I was property of his company and was not for sale. I wonder why the master is so desperate to keep me now. How much more money could a sole neko produce?
I suppose I am not to understand the ways of a profiteer. It is probably best that way, for the mind of the master seems to be a dreary, lonely place. His paradise is yet to be reached, which is a shame for such a wealthy man who has accomplished so much out of sadism. I wonder if his smiles are a mask he wears in front of me to further wound me, and it is only until he is locked away in, what I imagine to be luxurious, room that he cries.
Even I, who has endured so much here at this forsaken castle surrounded by such a repugnant, putrid swamp, feel lucky when thinking of the master's misery. At least I am unhappy without achieving much. It is quite the contrary for the master. His paradise must be a very far off place. Maybe the newer ladies were correct in their views of paradise. Could I be the one at fault?
Anything is possible.
Thus, I will continue to search for my paradise and await a savior. King Yama's men must be coming soon. The master could not be concerned for anything less crucial. . . .
"With only one maiden left to provide her services to my company, I feel an attempt to continue making a fortune would be futile. It isn't so much that I already have the wealth readily at my hands, but this girl refuses to break for me. I suppose that is why she's lasted so long."
The man's back was to the camera as he led the viewer down the hallway, ignoring the hundreds of empty cells flittering by to the left and right of the screen with lavish ease. He kept his hands in the pockets of his suit's black pants, paired with a matching jacket that made his shoulders seem rather broad for such a slight man. His shoes could be heard making their muted clicks against the cement floor as he became closer to the end of the hallway.
The camera panned to keep the man's face in focus as he stared into a cell, its inhabitant unable to be seen from the camera's angle. The man's profile was a striking contrast against the dull walls behind him as he spoke authoritatively. "Darling, King Yama has heard your fetching voice, but he has yet to see your pretty face. Be a dear and come say hello to the king."
There seemed to be no response, yet the man remained calm. He looked over to the camera and motioned to capture the girl on film. Slowly, the scene distorted until a petite girl was revealed.
She sat by a wretched piano, its paint peeling and keys dull, with a blue-feathered quill pen in her bandaged hand and hardback journal on her lap. Long, sleek, black hair cascaded over her shoulders and hid her brow, and her unnaturally pale complexion proved she had been without sunlight for a very long time. Her face was angled away from the camera and toward the tattered parchment as her wrists flicked as loops with high arcs formed words. She was eerily silent but outwardly appeared to be serenely engulfed in her own thoughts.
"Darling, it is quite rude to treat King Yama in this way." The man's tone was derisive and condescending. Although he was no long in the camera's line of sight, one could easily picture the self-satisfied grin on his slender lips.
The girl's wrist stopped moving, but her face stayed hidden. She placed the quill pen down on the small ledge above the piano's keys and clutched her journal close to her chest.
"That will not do, my dear. Look up."
Still, she would not budge.
"Have it your way."
Suddenly, the girl stiffened and her skin gave off a yellow spark of light with a sickening crack. She dropped the book weakly and collapsed to the floor, writhing and convulsing as her own body seemed to give off an electric charge. The bandages on her hands and feet began to char and disintegrate as she continued to squirm about on the floor. Eventually, her skin began to tear open in various spots on her arms and legs. Blood speckled the cement floor and spackled the camera's lens as she violently tossed and turned. The gentle rain falling outside turned into a dangerous storm.
This continued for a few more minutes until she lie limply on the floor, her strangled gasps for air filling the silence. The storm trailed off, and the screen began fading to black. However, if one took a minute to glance at the book she held, one could see hand prints burnt into the cover and chalky smoke rising from its spine.
Now, the man was back in his original setting, with his face nearly completely shadowed but red eyes forever gleaming. He sat with his chin resting softly on his knuckles, an elegantly evil look in his bright red eyes and his strangely calm demeanor forever present.
"In conclusion, my dear King Yama, I would like to warn you of my last maiden's safety. In only a few days short of a week will I be permanently putting an end to my retail of priceless, invaluable black pearls. Over the centuries, I have accumulated enough money to live comfortably for the next few thousand years, so I see no need to keep this single remnant of an entire subspecies of neko. She has been a doll and granted me with more wealth than one could ever imagine, but she's been worthless lately."
He sneered. "Ever since her fellow neko maidens have been executed or simply subject to death of their own accord, she has been emotionless and seemingly unfeeling. Why, you've just witnessed one of my disciplinary techniques, and not one pearl was created in the process. I'm confident you agree: a girl without emotion is of no use to me.
"That being said, I have the means and mind to kill this girl. In fact, I very well plan to if you do not decide to take her off my hands. I will be long gone by the time your men arrive at my estate, so the rescue will be rudimentary. All you need do is call up that pesky Spirit Detective of yours, and this maiden will be as good as free. It's an appealing proposition, yes?"
He chuckled. "Well, regardless, it has been nice doing business with you. Have a pleasant rest of the day, King Yama. Ciao."
Sitting there, dumbfounded, Koenma's eyes stared blankly at the white screen at the tape's end. This tape was intended to be viewed by his father, but it seemed the king was out on one of his endless vacations yet again. Consequently, the film had fallen into Koenma's hands, though he wished for once he did not have to deal with something so grave. He also was beginning to regret that large breakfast of which he had only so graciously partook. Some scenes in the tape hadn't exactly agreed with his stomach.
He snapped off the screen with a quick flick of his thumb and cradled his head in his hands.
"Yusuke is not going to like this one," he muttered under his breath. As the Spirit Detective, Yusuke had every obligation to follow up on this case, yet the boy did seem a bit overworked lately. He was only a kid. . . .
"But there are plenty of humans around," Koenma reminded himself. Yes, sacrificing Yusuke's life was risky—the chance of finding another human to replace him were slim—but wasn't every case somewhat life-threatening?
Also, humans were rather abundant—they had their own world, for goodness' sake—and this girl was the last of a neko subspecies. It wasn't professional or logical to let this girl die because Koenma felt compassion for Yusuke. The boy would catch up on sleep later; teenagers almost always seemed to have a way of doing so.
Besides, how would I explain that to Father? Koenma pictured exactly how angry the king would be when he found out something was completely extinct . . . all because of his son. Koenma nearly failed to stifle a cry of agony as he then imagined how ruthless the beating would be.
"One of Yusuke's naps is not worth that," he said uneasily to himself with a nod.
Koenma reached for a black-and-white photograph recently taken of the neko maiden. Her eyes, however without colour, seemed to speak out with a deep sadness that would have her die with a soul unable to rest peacefully. Unsettled souls were horrible; they were prone to haunt everything and everyone if given enough motive behind it. Indeed, this girl would be more trouble dead than alive.
He gazed at the picture for another moment before sighing. "After seeing her, Yusuke will probably reconsider his plans for shuteye. After all, she's a very attractive girl . . . and she seemed quiet and harmless enough. . . ."
He looked to the blue ogre. "George, get Botan. Tell her this is urgent."