AN: Alrighty so first story on this site and first time actually posting fanfiction online so lets see how this goes. First off thank you for just reading it if you do, hell even reading this! Reviews and favorites I'm sure will push me to update if you guys like it, same with follows and whatnot. If you have any questions feel free to drop them by, I'll do my best to update as fast as possible and reply to everyone

Thank you again!

Summary: There's a strain that's rumored to be able to bring back the dead. A necromancer, if you would. Yata finds him and makes a deal to bring Mikoto back at a price: Yata's life shortened with the title of "King" thrusted upon him. Between trying to find a way out of the deal keeping his old king alive and the new faction calling themselves "Aces" running around, he's at his end. Enter Saruhiko who has to play the role of vassal to Yata to capture the strain. The Aces however have a different plan, tearing clans apart from the inside ending with their king. The clock's ticking, there's only 6 months to get this done and Homura is the next target. Pairings: Sarumi (up to change), side is Mikotsuka -M for language and eventual adult themes.

Disclaimer: I dont own K sadly


"D'you remember when you said you'd do anything as my vassal? " Yata asked. The wind had stopped some time ago, leaving the two completely alone outside of Scepter 4. Inside would be the Blue King. Inside would be the utter deceit they'd put each other through. Separate goals would clash, he knew that. But those separate goals could kill them in one way or another. Either due to carelessness or the fact that this wasn't supposed to happen.

"What?" Saruhiko's voice was quiet. He was thinking too much about this, surprisingly enough. Yata would have expected some sarcastic remark about that just being a 'joke not supposed to be taken so seriously'. Then again this wasn't a joking matter anymore.

"If anything goes wrong I need you to stop me."

"Misaki, we'll be fine. We'll go in, stop this, and then everything will be back to normal."

"No, you know exactly what I mean." the vanguard's grip on the gate tightened, shaking the metal. His Aura flickered strongly as a reminder that they were close. He was close.

"Misaki." the blue's voice came out sharper. Yata ignored it.

"I don't want this to repeat itself. I don't want responsibility of so many innocent people dying - of you dying. You've seen me yourself. I'm at my breaking point, Saru, and in order for everyone to be safe you need to listen to me." He took a deep breath and forced his eyes away from the ground. Hazel met those cold blue that he'd grown used to over the last months. The only difference now was the swirl of emotions visible for a change. Worry, anger, desperation, fear...

Yata steadied himself with another glance at the marble building before them.

"Promise me... that if I lose control over my powers in there – over myself- you'll kill me."


He was so close, yet so far.

The street light above him flickered and gave off a low buzz, casting a yellow light down into the fog. December was upon the city; they'd already gotten snow earlier in the week. Yet this fog was different. It wasn't a result of a freak weather change – no, it was because of something else. Something that caused the smoke-like air to pull at your very soul and guide you through twists and turns until you were at the source.

Which is exactly what he was doing.

Yata pushed himself along the sidewalk, after the near invisible lines in the sky where the tendrils would overlap each other. Each strand of fog was separate, but all connected to the same shadow. That shadow was a strain, and that strain would be hiding in the open – Yata knew that from previous Homura endeavors – but he didn't know if he'd find it in time. Necromancers never ran by the same time schedule. They'd appear then disappear whenever they pleased and, rare enough as they were, you only got one chance. A necromancer will only show itself to you once in a lifetime if you're lucky enough to notice it's presence. If not then you can't change anything. Your life goes on in the same dull circle it did before. The fog shifted and the strands became more concentrated. He was getting closer. .

The sidewalk melded into a street. The industry buildings blended with apartment buildings until the latter took over as the obstructions on the side of the road. He'd been down here a few times on Homura trips but not enough that he'd be able to find his way home easily after this. He frowned. He should've had a better plan than running headfirst into this. But what would he have done? Consulted what was left of Homura about this?

No, Yata shook his head and forced his leg to move him faster, this was his idea. He was going to be the one to set things straight. He was always loyal to Mikoto. It was about time to prove that to his clan.

The apartment buildings became rundown complexes with the only light being a faint glow from the ethereal wisps of fog that disappeared into the mouth of an alley. A cold wind blew from it, urging him to run away. He held himself there and with a deep breath took the first step into the dark.

He reached behind him, grabbing the bat from the bag slung over his shoulder. It wouldn't do anything against a Necromancer, they were practically indestructible. The bat provided a sense of comfort though, taking the place of his aura.

Mikoto had taken that to his grave.

Yata picked up his skateboard when he came to a four-way intersection. The fog from the other three paths, including his own, disappeared into the ground in the center. A figure leaned against the street light that was burnt out, smoking a cigarette. Even the smoke that curled from the lips of the form sunk around and into the ground. He forced himself to take a deep breath. It was now or never.

He didn't even have to move. The cigarette fell to the ground and a boot stomped it into the asphalt. The Necromancer's eyes opened, visible red through the lack of light. It froze the vanguard and he realized just how stupid coming here alone had been. This was a suicide mission, he realized when what was left of the floating fog blocked the path behind him.

"I didn't know Homura was still around. You guys must be pretty weak, huh?" the voice was low and gravely. Yata's grip on the bat tightened.

"Shut the hell up. You're lucky I don't just kill you now, bastard."

The Strain's head tilted to the side. "No, you wouldn't. Not while I have something you want, correct? That's the reason you traveled this far."

The vanguard's free hand clenched and unclenched. His muscles were tense and pleading to run away, but that voice held a taunting tone to it, urging him to ask and move forward until Yata was standing right in front of the Necromancer. The red eyes were trained on him.

"I need you to do something for me."

A scoff. The Necromancer shook his head, letting a small chuckle leave his body. Instead of answering he pulled out another cigarette.

"I need you to bring back Mikoto Suoh." Yata pressed on. "I need you to bring him back."

"I don't work with clan members, especially those with ties to Scepter 4."

Yata snapped. He lifted the bat and shoved it against the Strain's throat, pressing into it threateningly. He got a snarl as a response, and a choke when the cigarette fell out of its mouth.

"You think I'm joking?"

"You're mistaken if you think I am, Homura." The voice dropped cold. What fog had seeped into the ground was beginning to swirl around them, blocking any means of escape. Yata growled and pushed harder.

"What do I have to do then."

"You're offering a deal?"

"If that's what it takes then yes."

He realized he'd made a mistake as soon as the air around them started to glow. Pale grey turned to blinding white by the time the Necromancer shoved Yata away.

"You want everything to return to the way it was that bad don't you; you want Mikoto in charge again and Homura running around thinking they're the fucking rulers of the city? Fine. You'll get it on one condition. I'll bring Mikoto back -hell I'll even throw in something extra - but you'll have to deal with my twist on the situation."

"Fine." Yata shoved his hand out towards the other. He didn't have time to pull it back. The Necromancer laughed and tugged him forward, shoving the other hand against his forehead, right between his eyes. A searing pain followed, slamming through his head and down to his toes. Yata's legs buckled at the unexpected wave. He sunk to his knees, gripping the others hand weakly, trying to tug it away from his head.

As soon as it was there, it was gone.

"Six months. You have six months and only that with them before I come to claim the rest of your life."

"Bastard you never said-"

"You never asked what my terms were. A life is half of yours, two lives equals all of yours. Six months is generous, you should be thankful. Usually it's just a week. Think of this as, ah, pity for your loss."

"You son of a-"

Another wave gripped his head when the Necromancer pulled his hair to look at him.

"I'll see you then," A smile stretched across its face. It made Yata's stomach drop. "Our new Red King."