Hey guys,
I am sorry I couldn't update sooner. I did this chapter in a hurry, so I guessing it's not very good. I have this hazy idea in my head. I think I finally know where am gonna be taking this story. And hopefully y'all will enjoy it.
Have fun. And thank you for all the reviews...!
The resurrection
The night was black, like a curtain of shadow draped across the moon-less sky. The stars quivered in their struggle to stay alight as darkness threatened to consume them. There was something sinister in the air, like the stench of evil brewing in a distance. The shadows seemed to whisper, the trees seemed to tremble in fear and the night seemed to come alive, like an ancient evil spirit. The wind howled in warning. Something unnatural was approaching.
A tall lanky man with long black hair stumbled his way across the hill, desperate to get to the cave. Clutched firmly between his long, slender fingers, was a pear shaped glass container, filled with a red liquid that strangely resembled blood and yet it was so unlike it. As it splattered against the glass walls of the container the fluid inside seemed to glow like liquid ruby. He held on to it like his life was trapped inside of it and letting it go would mean instant death. The man hurried. It was long past mid-night and he was late. The old man would not be pleased.
He made his way along bushes and wild shrubs till he came to stand in front of the opening of a cave. The entrance was wide, like the mouth of a huge animal, a carnivore, opening wide to swallow a hapless prey, not very welcoming. Hesitantly he went in, his grip around the container tightening. Inside there was a faint dim glow, emanating from a dying candle.
"Kiba, you are back," a deep guttural voice stated. The voice resounded within the cave. The man named Kiba walked in, silent.
An old man sat at the very middle of the cave, his legs crossed and hands folded like a yogi. His beard was long and gray and his head was bald. He sat rooted to his spot, like an ancient rock, unmoving.
Besides him, lay a huge sepulcher, the size of a coffin, made of white stone. From the looks of it, it must have been a thousand years old.
The tomb was covered in strange curious carving. The carvings were those of people with their hands cupping their face which was contorted in fear. Their eyes were huge and bulging, terror-struck. Their cheeks were hollow and gaunt; their mouth was open wide, screaming in agony. What was stranger still? They seemed so life-like. As if they would pop out of the tomb any moment now, only something was holding them back. They were trapped, souls damned in hell.
"Fang is not with you." the old man commented. It wasn't a question, but an observation.
The man named Kiba did not reply straight away. He began hesitantly.
"He was killed."
The old man was stoic. His face did not reveal an ounce of emotion. He, like the faces sculptured on the tomb, remained inanimate.
"And by who?" he managed to ask, his voice apathetic.
Kiba was not sure how to phrase it. He wasn't sure if he had seen right. How could it be? It has been thousands of years now. Surely he had seen wrong. But what if his fears proved right? What then? A threat of such magnitude must not be hidden from the old man. He remained thoughtful for a while.
Not meeting the gaze of the old man, he began uncertainly.
"We were attacked by a demon."
The one man waited. He knew the younger man had something important he was hesitant to say. It was etched all over his face. He almost belched. It was disgusting to have emotion splattered all over one's countenance like that. Surely it was a sign of weakness, lack of control. And there was nothing he hated more than deficiency of control. It made one seem more human, more pathetic.
"What is bothering you, Kiba"
The man asked, indifferently. But Kiba noticed the slight, impossible to tell, raise in his voice. He was getting impatient. Anyone else might have missed it, but not him. He had lived too long with the old man.
"Fang was killed by a Kurosaki"
The old man's eyes jerked to corner of their sockets. His stare fixed at the back of the younger man.
"Impossible"
His voice was dangerously low, like an inaudible growl. His eyes stared dead ahead. They narrowed into a fine line, gleaming with malice.
"They were wiped out, long ago." He stated, through clenched teeth. His palm balled into a fist.
Kiba was beyond surprised. The old man was radiating hatred like the beams of light emanating from the sun. The malevolence was so thick, so tangible that it was almost visible like an aura of darkness, enveloped around him. He slowly continued.
"Not just any Kurosaki, but a resurrection."
He slowly stood up, his tall, muscular form filling the cave, like a huge shadow rising from the depths of darkness. The old man stayed muted at the news. But Kiba knew that inside the old man's blood was boiling like hot magma.
"So it begins once again." he whispered through clenched teeth.
The old man did not believe in fate. But this could not have been a mere coincidence. Collecting himself again, he asked.
"You succeeded?"
He asked as his eyes travelled to the container clutched between Kiba's hands.
"yes,"
Kiba stretched his hand, offering the container to the older man. If he was pleased, he did not show it. He was like a rock, formidable, unstoppable and indifferent. Sometimes Kiba doubted if he was demon at all.
The old man inspected the blood. The liquid inside, somehow, seemed alive. It seemed to sense the presence of the men around as it whooshed around with life. He was convinced.
"Open it Kiba" he instructed, jerking his head towards the tomb.
Kiba pushed his long hair behind his ears, pulled the sleeve of his sherwani above his elbows and scrunched his face in concentration as he tried to push open the lid of the sepulcher. It was heavy and stubborn and would not budge easily.
The wind ominously began to howl again. As he pushed with all his might, the closure dislodged and fell to the floor of the cave with an enormous thud. The wind began to swirl in frenzy and the night fell eerily silent. At a distance, a lone wolf howled.
The stench of death filled the cave like a mist. Kiba winced as if cut and retreated into a corner, hands covering his nose. But the old man was smiling. His eyes glowed with wickedness. He approached the sepulchral and gazed inside almost longingly.
Inside the tomb was a mummy. The sight was disturbing. The body was bony and emaciated. The skin was brown like solidified dust, like a mud carving. The head was decapitated from the body. The sight of the face was beyond horrifying. The mummy's countenance was that of pure agony. The eye sockets were hollow and the mouth was open wide, in a scream. She had died, very painfully. The face was piteous. Not only was the body well preserved so was the torture painted across the face, like the pain had remained conserved within her corpse, still torturing her in after life.
The old man, his eyes shining with pure, unadulterated malice, approached the tomb. He put his hands together in prayer and began chanting. There were whispers in the wind, like spirits being awakened. The wind blew full force. The wolves began to howl again as the trees rattled in the wind, jerking in motion as if trying to uproot themselves to escape the evil that was approaching.
Kiba watched in silence. The old man had his eyes closed. His chanting grew louder and louder, till suddenly his eye lids flew open. They were filled with a vile ecstasy. He held the pear shaped container over the mummy and gripped it tight. The glass began to crack till it shattered within his palm. Blood dripped from his hands into the mummy's mouth.
The blood fell on the open jaws of the mummy, welcoming the blood.
The old man gazed on expectantly.
Nothing happened.
Kiba watched the blood dribble from the mummy's mouth, trickling down her jowl. She remained inanimate as always.
But suddenly a faint creaking noise filled the cave accompanied by a sizzling sound like oil in a frying pan. Kiba looked around baffled. Perplexed, he turned his attention back to the mummy to find her mouth moving licking the blood dripping down her lips. But something was wrong.
The blood was corroding. It was like acid, burning its way through the dry flesh of the mummy, dissolving it.
The old man's face broke into a wide neurotic smile. The insane look of joy scared Kiba.
The mummy made its way out of the tomb, like a zombie crawling out of the grave. She stood, with her knees and hips bent and hand sticking out in odd directions. The mummy made gagging noises like it was trying to breathe. It broke into sporadic tremors like an epileptic. As the blood travelled down her body, the sordid skin began to dissolve. The blood continued to corrode her skin. She was melting away, like tiny, invisible insects eating their way through her ancient flesh.
But upon closer inspection, Kiba realized he was wrong. The mummy, like a snake was shedding. The outer skin was breaking up to reveal fair flesh underneath. The molting continued till all that was left took his breath away.
In the place of the mummy, stood a tall and slender person in her mid twenties. She was beautiful beyond a man's wildest imagination. Her skin was like snow, soft and glistening. Her long lustrous hair was swishing behind her like a curtain. Her red as wine lips were fuller than the juicy flesh of a fruit. Her eyes were a bottomless pool of black. And yet Kiba was more scared than enamored by her beauty. She was a snake, soft slender and mystifying. But he could sense that if she so desired, in a whim, without consideration, she could strike him down like a cobra. She was a force to be reckoned with.
Kiba stared. The old man made a wheezing sound like a controlled laugh.
Ayame Yagami was now fully resurrected.
She stood in the middle of the cave, in all her former glory. Her body was full of curves, with her curtain of long shiny hair swishing behind her like a cape. Her eyes deep dark and unfathomable glowed like candles in the dark. Her lips were red and swollen. No woman human or demon could compare to her beauty. She was like the moon that glowed in a sea of black.
For the first time in two thousand years, she could see, hear and perceive. She wasn't just a conscious any more. She was a being. Though the cave was dim, lit only by the light of a lone candle, she was blinded by the sudden display of colors. She had dwelled in the darkness for so long, the concept of color seemed foreign. The voices of the men around seemed to echo inside her head, disorienting her. She felt vertigo from merely standing. And the wind and the chill tickled her skin, filling her with sensations she had long forgotten.
The two men bent down in reverence at the sight of her.
"Ayame Sama welcome back."
The old man said, his voice filled with respect. The demented look of excitement was once again replaced with his stoic expression. Ayame looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers. She touched her cheeks and felt her skin. She moved her hands to her neck and caressed them, as if incredulous that they were once again attached to her head.
"I am alive" she whispered inaudibly.
She extended her arms without a word. The old man grabbed a cloak and draped it around her naked body. She pulled the material close.
She looked dazed, like she had woken from a deep slumber. Everything around her appeared so unreal, like a vivid dream. As she moved, she stumbled on her legs. She was still getting used to the idea of moving around in her body. It had been so long since she actually had one. The feel of muscle contracting under her skin, the feel of solid ground underneath her feet, the sensation of the wind brushing against her skin, the luxury of a body willing to obey her every whim. Oh how glad she was to be back. She felt drugged; every sight around her seemed like a psychedelic vision.
She swirled around, her hands stretched wide, almost falling down. But the old man caught her. Her face broke into a smile. She bit her swollen lips in profound joy. Her eyes seemed to glow like a beacon of light.
"I am alive, I am live,"
She whispered repeated like a mantra.
And suddenly she erupted into fits of laughter, like a mad woman. The sound of her own laughter filled her ears, making her head hurt from the sudden explosion of sound. But she didn't stop.
The sound filled the cave, resounding, sending shivers down the demon named Kiba.
"I am alive," she screamed.
"After thousands of years of rotting in the dark, I am alive again."
Outside, the night was dying and dawn was approaching. The darkness gave way to light. The sun began to peek from behind the mountains.
Curious to see the world, Ayame stepped outside the cave. She smiled at the vast stretch of land spread beneath her. She would rule over everything once again. Her reign will continue. She smirked cockily when suddenly a beam of light fell on her naked shoulder. She watched curiously as warmth touched her.
But without warning her skin began to scorch and blacken.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
Ayame screamed as pain shot though the entire length of her body, like being struck down by lighting. Her insides were on fire. She was boiling in liquid heat.
She ran to take cover inside the cave and cowered in a corner, safe within the darkness again.
"Yan Lou!"
She sent a spine chilling scream. Her voice was shaken and scared. It sounded hysterical.
The old man went to her side.
"What is the meaning of this? I cannot approach the light."
She demanded. Even in fear, her voice was commanding.
"It seems your resurrection is not complete your majesty."
Ayame's face was painted with hysteria. She bit her nails maniacally. Her bulging, terror-struck eyes darted back and forth, scanning the floor of the cave, while her mind worked fanatically trying to comprehend what had happened. She had spent the last two thousand years cowering in the dark. She was dying to see the light of day. What was stopping her? And suddenly her eyes fixed their stare on a single spot on the ground. Her mind stopped probing.
"My scythe,"
She whispered.
"Yan Lou, where is Emma-o,"
The old man's face turned grave.
"Lost your majesty,"
Ayame ripped herself from the ground with alarming force and stood erect. She stared hard into the face of the old man, her gaze burning into him.
"What do you mean lost?"
Her voice was hollow. It was sharp and caustic like the edge of a sword. There was no trace of emotion behind it. Kiba shook in his boots.
"With Genji's death, it disappeared."
Her face turned pale.
"Genji is dead?" she asked, her voice low and thoughtful.
She seemed saddened by the news.
So it was true, Kiba thought. She loved Kurosaki Genji. For a moment he felt pity for her. But Kiba would soon regret it.
"I missed my chance to kill him myself?" she yelled. Her voice thundered. It resounded within the walls of the cave, magnifying its effect.
Her anger seemed to increase ten folds. Her body trembled in suppressed fury.
"Where is Emma-O, Yan Lou? My resurrection will never be complete without her."
Kiba was frightened of her. She was beautiful and yet it was a wild beauty with a dangerous edge to it. If she were a flower she would undoubtedly be a sundew with an allure that entices only to trap and to devour, a predator among flowers.
Without warning the old man Yan Lau turned to face Kiba.
"There is a way to find the Scythe." He stated bluntly, his stare fixed at Kiba. Kiba trembled in fear.
Ayame found Yan Lau staring at Kiba. She followed his example and fixed her gaze upon his countenance, noticing him for the first time. She regarded him like a predator would regard a prey. He stared back at her, transfixed. Though he wanted to look away, he couldn't. He was hypnotized by her stare. Terrified, he wondered why they were looking at him. And then, like the falling together of a puzzle, it hit him, realization dawned.
"Kurosaki Ichigo," he murmured.
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To be continued.
The next chapter will explain everything, like why Yagami cannot expose herself to light, about Orihime's blood and also about Ichigo's situation.
Thank you so much for reading. I hope you didn't think you wasted your time. Please Review. ^_^
Any ideas on how to develop the plot or how to improve the story are gladly welcome...