Disclaimer: I do NOT own Yu Yu Hakusho, nor do I own its characters.

The dank air was thick and suffocating, his surroundings drowned by a sea of white. The whole experience was like meandering within a glass filled with diluted milk.

Kazuma gagged, entirely disgusted with that concept. He abhorred milk. Yeah, sure, he drank plenty of that stuff whilst enduring an insufferable youth, but that was before he realized how nasty milk genuinely was.

Now, I bet you're wondering: How did this come about? Well, a long story short… Whilst he was in medical school, Kazuma had taken it upon himself to learn nutrition and, as an upshot, gave his diet a total revolution. He had developed a completely different perspective on sustenance, you see, and became more particular as to what he was shoving down his throat. And quite frankly, he could not believe some of the foodstuff he used to consume, like the illiterate boob that he once was.

So, definitely, he was beginning to really despise the fog. What with the cold mist which seemed to rain in on him from all angles, and the dampening cold that penetrated into him as the moisture itself had begun to soak well into his attire. Still, the sky was becoming abysmal, a dark and a thundering portent of doom.

He cursed under his breath at the unremitting climate conditions, sensing it in his bones that it would rain soon. The man could literally feel it in his battle scars, his chest particularly.

Kazuma winced. "My heart is throbbing like a son-ova-bitch."

Unfortunately, the only good news about the rain was that it would clear away all the haze. And the bad news, of course, was that he would be caught in the midst of that, like he needed to be washed away with all the rest of the stench and filth.

Already a sickening ache was settling within him.

He needed to find shelter, and how?

Good question.

Somewhere, wherever it may be, that presented a payphone… Such an arbitrary thought, for since when were there any kinds of phones accessible to the general public?

Without warning, the image of his childhood crayoning, the one he had reacquainted himself with prior to now, had flashed before him.

The psychic hardly cringed when his shoulder grazed against a chainwire fence, the tiny barbs rending shallow gouges in his flesh. Somehow, the metal had managed to break the surface of his skin…without damaging a single thread of his clothing.

This fog had made him susceptible to just about anything.

He craved to somehow sever through this insufferable brume.

Wanting out of this fog, and as soon as possible, Kazuma picked up the pace.

The soles of his boots bashed against all in his path, breaking the dead stillness with the thwacking sounds that reverberated off the surroundings. Though the beat was originally faint, it was magnified ten times by the obscured structures.

He continued to hoof his way down the pavement, shadowing the chain-link fence until he had reached its end. Upon reaching the edge of the sidewalk, he traversed through the empty thoroughfare, never minding the pedestrian laws as he ran. He suddenly bolted midway in the intersection, shortly afterward, when he beheld with his eyes—

"…Blood?"

—Smeared on the asphalt beneath him.

With catholic eyes, he faltered and took several steps back. "What the hell happened here?"

He scanned the road, noting the bits and chunks of flesh were spread across the surface like marmalade on toast. The expression upon his features contorted, supposing that a terrible accident had occurred sometime recently… But that did not explain the peculiar characteristics of the streaks, which come across as though someone drenched in blood had wallowed on one lane and then tottered off down another.

Kazuma studied the stains, observing how fresh they actually were, as his eyes followed the trail to the left of him. That was when he had caught sight of a silhouette, one that lurched away and disappeared into the fog.

Wait. There was someone here after all?

He palmed his face, deadpanned at how slow he had proved himself to be just then. "Duh. Where the fuck else could the blood have possibly came from?"

…Blood?

Ascertaining by how incredibly awkward the person's gait was, or at least by what he had seen, there was no doubt in his mind that the individual was terribly injured.

"SHIT." He hissed at himself.

However, there was something mightily strange about this. He had not sense any source of life or energy in the entire area, not even from the figure. And yet, as unnerving as these contexts were, the philanthropist within himself had kicked in, and so he pushed his own needs aside and proceeded after the character.

"HEY. COME BACK!" Kazuma called out as he ran blindly through the mist. "HOLD ON! I'M A DOCTOR! I CAN HELP YOU!"

No shit, Watson. That's what doctors generally do.

The clouds above him revolved like a wheel as the light around him had begun to wane.

Darkness draped over the entire town, perturbingly suffocating the remaining light like an opaque coverlet drawn over a sleeping newborn. The unforeseen blackness almost blinded him, having swiftly encroached upon his reality.

Well, this was not what he had expected.

He balked, nearly crashing into a large, hollow pole. But as a result of having knocked against the sluice anyway, a dull clanging vibrated in his ears.

"Shit. Shit. Shit."

Fortuitously, he could see the energy that made up the structures with his inner "third eye". Nevertheless, until his eyes attuned, he pulled out his cellphone and employed the built in flashlight.

In frustration Kuwabara sullenly ushered a breath out between his pressed lips, and he did so as he roamed tenaciously about in the dark for a moment or two, searching with that wee fluorescent light until he rediscovered the bloodstain imprints he had been following thus far.

Almost immediately then, his ears singled out a strange whirring.

His gaze followed that rustling hum skyward, hearing grating and crackling sounds, as well as metallic tings. He anticipated the overhead streetlamps to flicker on, but none of that came to pass.

The psychic cursed, all the more thwarted.

Actually, he broke out into a sweat and, as hot and cold chills washed over him, his body was virtually consumed by tremors.

He, likewise, became goose pimply.

Why?

Kazuma detested this kind of dark, for this swathing obscurity reminded him of the dark entities whom he had often dealt with in his childhood. Quite frankly, he was as anxious as a cat in a bag in a watery hell.

An ominous light flashed above him in a tree-like pattern, rippling through the black space. As this occurred, the billows themselves greatly resembled a monstrous body of dark, violent water, as though a tumultuous sea had somehow suspended itself there where the sky should be.

Regardless of the astounding phenomenon, be that as it may, he picked up his feet and bolted.

"Look at you. You're weak." He suddenly heard a voice come at him and from out of nowhere. "You've always been weak."

Kazuma recognized the voice, and it belonged to none other than Hiei. But frankly, he had no idea as to why he would be thinking of that bastard, let alone be hearing his voice inside his head and at a time like this.

"Fuck off, dickhead!" The psychic swore as he pressed on, having reinstated his attention toward the blood trail. He was determined to find the person before it was too late, not wanting to leave whoever it was behind in this terror.

"You're a useless fool." He heard the voice continue as he resumed tracking. "You don't deserve to exist, much less breathe."

"Spare me your bullshit!" The psychic heard own voice resound in that retort and yet he had not spoken another word. "You don't know what the fuck you're saying!"

"Hn. Says you." The demon defied, his voice dripping with his usual smugness. "The way I see it, the universe should have omitted you from creation."

"Is that so?" He heard himself sneer. "Funny hearing that from you, since you are the universe literally taking a load on itself! In fact, you are the steaming pile that it squeezed right out of its asshole! GO FUCK YOURSELF, YOU LITTLE PIECE OF SHIT!"

A loud, guttural roar thundered around him as ruby droplets crashed down onto his dashing form.

Ever obstinate, Kazuma kept his gaze at the road, mindful of any obstacles that may arise in his path. Aside, he noticed something else that was inexplicable… The asphalt was now grotesque and littered with deep cracks, marred far more than he remembered, while the sidewalks were covered in a sordid grunge.

Meanwhile, his eardrums were hammered with a sudden bombardment of explosions, whereas their sonic waves aggressively shook him near off his feet.

As an air raid siren howled into his reality, he felt as though something was clawing at him from behind…

…Something...not so friendly…

…And as perplexing as it may sound, he felt the skin of his face begin to sizzle and burn.

But as the lurid nightmare came, and though it had not lifted just as swiftly, the blackness finally dispelled and all faded back to the way it had been before.

Panting, the sensitive slowed down to a halt.

"The fuck? What the fuck was that about?" His gaze roved as he regained his composure. "Am I tripping balls or did that shit seriously happen?"

He even checked himself everywhere for a sign but there was none and, though his coat and other attire were damp, he was clean.

"The fuck?" He wheezed.

After realizing that he had ran a whole few blocks, his train of thought was suddenly disrupted by a loud fizzing roar. He whirled himself on his heels to face the source and beheld a dull, four sided light shimmering like a ghost in the fog. As he drew closer to this light, it became clear to him that the hideous sound was "white noise" and it emitted from a black box with a flickering screen. And though there was no picture, he detected the clear pang of a heart monitor.

Amongst the interminable electronic rain and vital beeping, rang through another sound…wailing.

Screams resounded from out of the speakers, as though the voices themselves emanated from deep within a precipice. He conceived an impression that there were many of them, as though they were writhing in torment, terrorized by something he could not see.

"Kuwabara!" he discerned a distorted shriek from amidst the racket.

Kazuma had glowered almost immediately when having distinguished whom the voice belonged to. "…Urameshi?"

At first, he thought he was merely hearing things, but that clearly was not the case when the screaming continued.

"I'M…, KUWAB…!" Though ambiguous, a message managed through. "I'M…RRY! I…SO…ORRY! I…ailed…! …GOD…YOU F…BASTARD! OH SH…! NO!"

Without warning, the light from the screen withered out with a flash while the frequencies were succumbed by silence.

He tensed up.

Was this some sort of joke? It better NOT be for whoever's sake, for if this was a hoax he was going to give whoever was responsible a fat, repulsively bloody lip.

Well, actually that was putting it lightly.

"I'm going to fuck them up..." He hissed beneath his breath, forcing the words through bared teeth. "...Bury them alive, then dance and piss on their grave!"

As he balled his hands into tight fists, Kazuma noticed that the glass in the window was glazed over in a repulsive substance. He grimaced to himself, having recognized the film to be ectoplasm. Though the window was protected by black iron bars, areas of the glass were fractured with holes. The clammy iron was corroded, eaten away by attrition.

Upon further examination of the windowpane, he spotted a peculiar notice posted on the outside of the window.

Kazuma narrowed his eyes as he studied the paper closely.

"SON OF SAMEK…" He read the bold letters printed in standardized font. "…THE ELOHIM OF DEATH."

Skepticism was his initial reaction, but that dwindled when he noticed that the figure's face had been scratched out.

He grunted. Someone obviously despised the guy, and to which he could relate with. People often proved themselves to be ridiculous. Even more, he figured that when having seen the hate speech handwritten all over the poster.

"THE…BOGEYMAN…" Kazuma read one out loud, ignoring the more vulgar scratches. "All beware…the son of Sam. Not all reap what they sow."

Well, whoever this guy was, Kazuma could see that he was overtly masculine, muscular, and robust with broad shoulders.

After taking several steps back, he surveyed the structure before him for a sign.

Slowly but surely his surroundings became more distinctive, though the dense haze still remained.

He observed the peculiar symbolisms painted upon the structure's walls. One of the symbols was that of an upside-down pentagram, with an eye as its midpoint, and to which was encased by three circles. There were crosses, too, and others reminded him of geometrical shapes on acid. Though he had seen these symbols somewhere before, they were not traditionally of his culture. Then again, he was not exactly sure where he had seen these symbols. He just had a gut feeling that they meant something to him…perhaps something important?

"HIROKO'S HOARD…" Kazuma stared at the sign that hung over the walkway. "…Hiroko's Hoard? What the hell? Where have I heard that— Wait. The old man use to come here."

He backed up more, only to rear-end into something. Still on pins and needles, he spun around only to realize that he had bumped into a street post, with him now standing on the corner of the sidewalk. And that was when he peered up with those dark, beady little orbs of his from those deep sunken eyes.

"No… No way…" He shook his head in disbelief, having read the street signs. "Is this a coincidence or am I…losing my shit?" His eyes were wide and unreeling, though only after having bulged in their sockets. "This..."

Kazuma took off in whichever direction.

Chop-chop!

He ran down the street and meandered around, determined to blow this situation out of the water. However, the proof of the pudding was in the eating and he quickly realized the truth. Of course, he did not run about throughout the entire city, he was smarter than that, though he did waste a good ten minutes or so before he located a public map about seven blocks down.

Mind you, he could not see past eleven feet, thirteen feet maximum, in this fog.

Upon examining the map at the metro stop, color drained itself away from his complexion.

"This can't be… I left that—this fucking hell hole years ago!" Kazuma yelled at the map in an accusing tone. "How did I get here? I was miles away from here moments ago! WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?"

Pressure had built well up inside of him; he was a walking, breathing glass case of emotion.

He slammed the bottom of his boot against the metro chart and deliberately smashed it against the concrete. The metal bars had snapped on impact, amazingly, while the safety glass had been crushed.

Now, that was just pointless.

Slowly backing away from the spot, he raked his fingertips up past his temples and back across his scalp. After gripping his hair by the roots, his hands dropped back to his sides afore his shoulders slumped.

Jumping into traffic seemed like an awfully good idea right about then, but as far as he could tell the entire town was empty.

Everything was empty and decrepit. The buildings appeared abandoned and were smothered in years old mold, filth and dust, while the smudged windows and doors were boarded up. Trash and litter was scattered everywhere.

What happened to this place? It was nothing like this when he left. And there was no way in hell that he was reason as to why this place fell apart.

"This can't be…" His voice cracked as his tone weakened. "…This can't be…"

By then his skin was crawling, while his nerves tingled and prickled as if stung by tiny ants. As his muscles shuddered, he knew that he was suffering from "nervous tics".

Though he had often referred to it as "The Tickle", he had been diagnosed with a Neurological Syndrome as a child. This explained the recurring anxiety and the twitching nerves, of course, but not the actual horrors that came with them…

Time and time again, nervous disorder or not, his demons have been proven to be real and "the tingles" served him as an effective warning method.

Something was undoubtedly near.

That was when he remembered the silhouette.

You know, the "obviously injured" person whom he had been following since the last chapter?

The poor soul had lumbered off…but to where exactly? He assumed by now that, after having taken into consideration the massive amount of blood loss, either the person had somehow managed to get to the hospital or…

…Had died alone in a gutter somewhere.

"Fuck!"

A loud panging resounded in his head.

...TO BE CONTINUED...