Chapter 10: Pinned, Unpinned

Player: Kuwabara Kazuma

0 Kills

76 Alive

Kuwabara woke to rain.

It came down in sheets, splattering through the broken window and misting across his cheek. A droplet gathered in his eyelashes, wet and heavy, and he rubbed it away, sitting up with a groggy yawn. Had he left the window open? Or was this some stupid prank from Urameshi? There hadn't even been rain on the forecast, had there—

That thought died before it picked up steam. Right. The forecast didn't matter. He wasn't home in Sarayashiki anyway.

The chemical odor of ozone broke through the damp scent of a rainstorm as lightning forked beyond the window, way too close for comfort. Almost jumping out of skin, Kuwabara swung him legs out of bed. The dark thunderheads obscuring the sky made it impossible to tell how long he'd been out, but it couldn't have been more than a few hours.

Groaning, he braced his head in his hands, his fingers curving over his temples, his palms pressed to his eyes. If he went out in that storm, even the sturdy jacket he'd scrounged up wouldn't keep rain that torrential from soaking him to the bone—and if the stupid blister under his toe was anything to go by, he probably wouldn't handle the ensuing discomfort of wet clothes very well.

Weak.

That was really freaking weak.

Hiei would rake him over the coals for it. He'd never let Kuwabara live it down if he knew. But then, Hiei wasn't here, was he? So it wasn't like he'd know. If Kuwabara hunkered here for hours, Hiei would never be any the wiser.

Besides, Kuwabara wasn't ready to move on yet. He needed to find some red cloth first. Maybe scarf down another MRE. Give this building—and the ones around it—a thorough search for supplies.

He'd have to be ready, of course. No one in their right mind would want to stay out in a storm like this. If other competitors were near, they might try to hide out here, and he'd need to weigh his chances against them at a moment's notice. If there more than two, trying to take them on would be a death sentence. After all, it was pretty fucking obvious his fellow fighters weren't as cruelty adverse as he was.

The 76 glowing in the corner of his vision was proof of that.

Scrounging another MRE out of his bag, he poured water into the heating pouch, slipped the meal bag within it, then downed the rest of his canteen. He'd need more drinking water soon. If the taps worked in this house, that'd solve it, but if not, he'd have to bank on the local water being clean enough to drink—and that wasn't a prospect Kuwabara wanted to rely on.

A dehydration headache already drumming behind his eyes, he scooped up his canteen and plodded into the hall. The bathroom was less than appealing with mold growing around a leaking faucet in the shower, but leaks meant running water, and the pipes had to have a better shot of not poisoning him than anything he'd find in a stream or pond, so he cranked the sink's handle and stuck his mouth straight under the flow that burst forth. A dozen gulps of metallic nastiness later, he'd drunk his fill. Quickly, he filled his canteen, too, then popped across the landing to the next bedroom.

Red cloth had to be somewhere. He'd found it once. He could find it again.

But his search of the house's bedrooms turned up nothing, not even when he doubled back for a second pass. Empty handed—and more than a little frustrated—Kuwabara returned to his pack only to discover there was a reason MREs said to only cook them for five minutes.

The pasta inside the pouch had turned to lukewarm mush, and he chewed through the lot with his fingers pinched over his nose, glaring at the streamers of rain pouring past the window. This place was worse than anywhere he'd ever been—worse than Hanging Neck Island, worse than the Plateau of the Beheaded, worse than the deepest dredges of Demon World he'd ever explored.

And maybe that wasn't really saying anything. Hiei had probably seen worse. Kurama and Yusuke, too. But really, did that matter? This still sucked balls.

Once he'd choked down the last of his food, Kuwabara tossed the pouches beside the first, shoved the rest of his gear into his bag, and grabbed his knife. No red cloth here meant he had to search elsewhere. The other buildings clustered around his hideout were a good place to start, and if he was quick, he wouldn't end up too soaked in the process.

After one last scan around the room, he trucked for the landing and the barricade he'd heaped at the top of the stairs. Here was the flaw in his grand defensive strategy. Yeah, no one would've gotten through, but now he couldn't exactly get out, either.

Outside, thunder boomed, another fork of lightning coming down, and water leaked through a soaked patch in the ceiling, droplets plopping into Kuwabara's hair as he yanked apart the blockade he'd build. The desk, the nightstands, the disgusting mattress—all shunted behind him into the bathroom.

Then he was down the steps and back in the rundown kitchen. The cabinets turned up little worth taking. Just more of the same supplies he'd already seen. Beef jerky. Dried fruit. A few cans of beans or stew or something—some manner of slop identified in illegible Russian. It was bizarre—how the same food was everywhere, as if someone had stocked this whole island with copies of identical junk. It definitely was normal. Or natural.

Not that it mattered. Kuwabara still took the jerky and fruit, shoving the foil pouches into the front pocket of his bag. The rest he left behind. Cans were too heavy to bother with.

Stocked with everything he could get his hands on, he freed his red cloth from the kitchen window, then broke for the bathroom. As long as he had one at his disposable, he was using a toilet. With the storm as cover, he'd even risk flushing it.

He wasn't an animal.

Not yet.

In a flash, he washed his hands, scrubbing the dirt from them with cold water, then retrieved the second of his remaining fabric strips. Ignoring his pale reflection in the grimy mirror, he turned for the front door and the window where he'd hung his final red strip.

It was just as his fingers worked the knot free that another thunderclap rolled off the hill to the east, back where he'd come from. In its wake, the rain quieted, just a notch, just for a second—and that's when he heard them.

Unmistakably.

Voices.

Player: Youko Kurama

2 Kills

76 Alive

Under the deluge pouring from the sky, Kuwabara's trail went cold.

Kurama had tracked it north along a dirt road. Repeatedly, he'd thought he'd gone awry, only to spot scrap of red each time he contemplated turning back. But now, with lightning fizzing across the horizon and rain falling like staccato war drums, he'd well and truly given up the ghost.

In the dark of twilight, finding the red cloth would've been hard regardless, but it was impossible now. Even if he were still on the right course, the strips' color would've been marred by the rain, those bright pops of red turned nearly black with moisture.

All of which left Kurama rather stranded.

And more than a little vexed.

Rain like this wasn't natural. Not in Human World. Not in Demon World. Not anywhere. Except here. In this place that was little more than a facsimile of reality.

The clouds had not swept in on a steady wind, nor crept over the horizon, nor gathered into daunting thunderheads. One second, they hadn't existed at all, and the next, the world had gone gray as a monsoon opened overhead. The spectacle had sent hooks of disquiet deep beneath Kurama's skin, his instincts warring against the impossibility of rain so uncannily summoned.

There was only one explanation.

External interference. Someone—whoever had locked him in here, no doubt—had flipped a switch, perhaps literally, and this storm had answered.

Which raised the question of why.

Why now? Because of Kurama? Because he was close to finding Kuwabara? Or because other contestants had ensnared themselves in some skirmish he wasn't aware of?

Or maybe for none of those reasons. Maybe this rain had arisen out of nothing more than boredom. Over the last three hours, while Kurama hiked down from the hill where he'd found Kuwabara's first signal, dusk had gathered like a cloak of swirling darkness, and with it had come quiet—a lull in the dropping of the Alive counter.

Perhaps the operator of this battle had desired a change of pace. Or perhaps Kurama was assigning agency where there was none, looking for patterns in chaos that could not be rationalized. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

Too many unknowns. Too few answers.

Worse still—now, Kurama lacked even a trail to follow.

Within minutes, the rain had soaked through him, and he paused a moment in a thicket of white elms, lashing back his hair with the latest of clue he'd gathered from Kuwabara. Up ahead, barely visible through the gloom, he spotted four buildings, clustered close together. A possible hideout to escape the rain—but only if it were already deserted.

And that it was not.

Four figures were closing on it, moving in a tight pack. Working together, clearly. At this distance, Kurama couldn't make out particulars, other than that one was hulking brute, the other three slighter and quicker.

If forced, he'd take on two opponents at once. But four? For something as meager as shelter to ride out a storm? There wasn't even the remotest change he'd dally in such folly.

Let them have the houses. He'd find a place that better fit his needs. Then, once the rain stopped, he'd circle back and resume his search for Kuwabara's signals.

But as Kurama turned to meld into the leaves, he saw it from the corner of his eye. Just for a moment.

Movement in an upstairs window.

Prey caught in its predator's teeth.

Player: Urameshi Yusuke

Squad: Urameshi, Hibana

1 Kill

76 Alive

"Dang," Yusuke whispered as Hibana breached the side door of the house she'd chosen for the night's hideout. "We're upgrading, huh?"

"Oh, yes. It's absolutely palatial," she muttered back, every last syllable dripping with sarcasm. "Now, shut up."

Nah. Shutting up was not on his agenda.

Zipping his trap meant thinking, and thinking meant remembering the look in that kid's eyes right before Hibana turned his skull to pulp, and remembering meant bending over in the doorway of their new home and yakking up everything he'd eaten since entering this fucking hellpit.

So yeah, no shutting up.

"I'm not even kidding, this place makes mine look like a homeless shelter."

Hibana didn't so much as glance at Yusuke, instead slinking deeper into the house's shadows, water dripping from her jacket and muddy footprints smearing across the kitchen tiles as she went. Or well, not really smearing, since every one of her steps was so damn exact. Someone could've molded the bottom of her boot from the perfection of the prints she left behind.

When she didn't answer immediately, Yusuke plowed ahead with more nonsense. "I mean, don't go telling Kuwabara since my abode is basically just his couch at the moment, but at least there're multiple rooms here. Kinda knocks his ugly three-room apartment into the stratosphere."

At last, Hibana whipped around to face him. An X-KAIROS burned red and raging in her right hand, but her left clamped around his collar as she snapped, "You really don't know how to shut up, do you?"

Yusuke only shrugged. "What's the point of company if we're just going to sulk around like loners?" Grinning, he leaned in until their noses nearly grazed. "You know, you'd probably get along grand with Hiei. He's got his thong wedged as far up his ass crack as you do."

Honestly, he expected a slap. Hell, he even braced for it. A good ol' palm direct to the cheek.

But it didn't come.

Which, admittedly, he probably should've anticipated. Hibana wasn't anything like Keiko in any other respect. Why start now?

"Yokai isn't here. Save the gibbering about your team until it shows up." Hibana's command came in a flat monotone, sullen enough to make Hiei at his most depressing proud, but no sooner had she said them than did one of her huffing laughs shiver through her shoulders. "I'll sweep upstairs. You check down here. Gather any good supplies and block up the doors and windows best you can. The more fortified we are, the better chance we stand if someone finds us tonight."

Yusuke snapped a salute. "Aye, aye, boss."

Rolling her eyes, Hibana released him and headed for the stairs, her X-KAIROS still cocked and ready. He stared after her—longer than he probably should have. It was a shame her clothes were battle appropriate, instead of the form-fitting leather get-ups from action movies.

Grimacing, Yusuke shook his head and turned away. That was a dimwit thought through and through. A bunch of stupid hormonal junk he most definitely didn't have time for—not if he wanted to find an adrenaline shot, locate his team, and get the heck out of here.

Generally speaking, he suspected Hibana would advise against getting too comfortable, but Yusuke didn't really give a rat's ass what her military training might dictate, and he shrugged out of his sopping wet jacket without a second thought. It squelched as he tossed it on the kitchen counter.

Gross.

He heaved a sigh, dragged his fingers through his damp hair, and surveyed the dreary first floor. Graying, peeling wallpaper. Rotting floorboards by the front door. A cracked window in the living room—which he could only see because something had blown a hole through the wall separating the kitchen from the sitting area.

Palatial, Hibana had said. What a crock of shit.

He should've laughed harder.

Still, even palaces needed fortifications, and Yusuke set about dragging furniture toward the doors, pushing a couch against the front door, thoroughly surprised when it didn't crash straight through the weakened flooring, then dragging twin bookcases in front of the living room's windows. Whenever his efforts turned up something valuable—be it a weapon or a roll of bandages or a pill bottle—he tossed the goods into the center of the living room, accumulating a pile they could pack up before they rolled out in the morning.

All the while, he let electricity spark and dance over his hands, trying to adjust to the strangeness of this power. He'd rather take his Spirit Gun any day, but at least it generated good short-range damage.

It was better than his other tag and its shields.

When Yusuke drew on that second power, a faint shimmer glowed over his skin, coating him, probably from the tips of toes to the crown of his head if he had to guess, and if someone hit him with an energy attack, the shield would probably deflect it well enough—just like it had his lightning—but playing defense wasn't exactly his style, and there wasn't a power in the three worlds that could be a more disappointing nab.

Turns out, Lipovka didn't have good loot after all.

Though… considering Yusuke had already cost them two first aid patches singlehandedly, Hibana would probably argue a barrier was exactly what he needed.

To which he'd rebut: fat lot of good it had done its original owner. He'd rather have an X-KAIROS in his hand than a shield on his arm.

In ten minutes, he'd clogged up the entrances with every available blockage he could get his hands on and worked out the best escape route—shoving aside the bookcase in front of the living room window would be quickest. After twenty, he'd sorted his jumble of supplies three different ways, debating which system Hibana would most approve of. By the time a half hour passed, he'd shoved the whole lot back into a heap and begun to pace.

Was the second floor actually a palace? Or had she peaced out on him? Because there was no way in hell clearing out one story should've taken this long.

Checking one final time to confirm he'd blockaded everything that needed it, Yusuke crept for the stairs, then climbed them slowly, easing his weight onto each one as gently as he could, hoping to avoid giving his approach away. It was probably dumb, especially if Hibana had just up and disappeared, but if there was the off chance she'd been captured or something—though not killed, since the Alive ticker hadn't changed—then he shouldn't give himself away.

Two rooms broke off from the landing, and the one to his right was empty other than some beat up bedroom furniture, but in the room to his left, he discovered Hibana.

She sat almost seiza-style facing the far wall, calves folded beneath her thighs, butt resting atop her heels, but she'd bent forward at the waist rather than sitting prim and proper and her forehead bowed all the way to her knees, her back slightly curved. Like Yusuke, she'd discarded her jacket, abandoning it in a soggy heap. Hidden only beneath her damp, gray t-shirt, the knobs of her spine stuck out, and a stark white scar formed a ridge down the back of her right arm. She'd pulled up her hair, tying it at the crown of her head, only small wisps still falling along the column of her neck.

Exposed like this, she looked vulnerable for the first time since they'd met, and Yusuke couldn't tell if she was praying or meditating or just taking the weirdest nap he'd ever seen, but he got the distinct sense that interrupting her now was a sin he shouldn't commit.

Yet as he turned to go, his attention caught on the wall ahead of her—specifically on numbers engraved in the plaster.

017

051

068

He spotted the knife laid out beside her, its blade dirtied with flecks of dust.

Oh.

Well, fuck.

He swallowed roughly, her posture taking on new meaning as those numbers clicked home. This wasn't prayer or meditation.

It was mourning. Grief.

Pain.

And it wasn't for Yusuke to intrude on. For once in his life, he could be patient. He could respect boundaries.

Yet even still, he lingered, just for a moment longer, imagining what Hibana might do if he joined her there, if he knelt at her side and pressed his forehead to his knees, if he laced his hand through hers—if they coped as one. Then he blinked that image away and turned his back, slipping down the stairs as quietly as he'd climbed up.

Time to take watch. For as long as she needed.

Player: Kuwabara Kazuma

0 Kills

76 Alive

Beneath a fresh detonation of thunder, the voices faded into oblivion, but Kuwabara was already retreating, racing up the stairs, his bag thudding against his shoulder blades.

There'd been a lot of voices. Too many. One deep and clearly male. The other three higher. Maybe all women? He couldn't be sure, not with the rain so loud and the thunder so relentless. Either way, it didn't matter. Even a single woman meant that group wasn't comprised of his friends. Its members weren't Yusuke and Hiei and Kurama—and that made them enemies.

He had to get out of here. Fast. Before they trapped him up here forever.

Downstairs, hinges whined, the front door banging open. The impact of it rattled through the whole building, reverberating in the floorboards beneath Kuwabara's feet.

Of all the houses, why the fuck did they have to pick his first?

Praying they couldn't hear his heavy footsteps, he broke for the window in the room where he'd slept. Bits of broken glass remained stuck in the frame, and he knocked them out with thrusts of his elbow, then checked his bag was secure, the straps almost strangling in their tightness, and clambered out onto the windowsill.

For a second, his butt hung over the void, his feet still inside, his hands grappling at the top of the frame, but then he got his feet beneath him and reached upward, straining to hoist himself on top of the roof. If he escaped on the ground, they'd probably spot him, but from up above, he could wait until they moved on—and just pray he didn't get hit by lightning in the meantime.

Or that was the plan, anyway.

Right up until the rotting shingles gave out under his grip.

He'd dug his fingers into the grooves between the slats, but just as he hoisted his weight upwards, the tiles ripped free of the nails holding them in place—and before he could so much as scream, Kuwabara pitched backward into emptiness.

Player: Youko Kurama

2 Kills

76 Alive

The movement took shape.

An elbow smashing through a window. A broad-shouldered back emerging. Long arms extending up, up, up until grasping fingers took hold.

Then shingles broke. Betrayal sent that familiar body sailing out of the window.

Kurama broke into a sprint, racing out of the trees, eyes locked on Kuwabara as he hit the ground in a spurt of mud and water runoff. In a matter of seconds, the other figures were at the first-floor windows, peering out at the man huddled in the dirt.

And Kurama knew what they were thinking—knew what he would've been thinking. This was an easy target. Simple pickings. A kill they could notch so fast it was almost comical. But their calculations were wrong. They hadn't accounted for Kurama.

Then again, Kurama's computations were off, too.

Because it was instinct that reached for the demon energy no longer nestled within him—but it wasn't instinct that answered back. It wasn't the grass beneath his feet or the white elms at his back. It wasn't a thousand years as Youko Kurama or twenty-five as Shuichi Minamino.

It was something unfamiliar, something in his bones and muscles and flesh, in his sinew and blood and nerves—in his haunches and his feathers and his talons.

And as the very makings of his body transformed, so too did his strategy.

Player: Kuwabara Kazuma

0 Kills

76 Alive

The fall knocked the breath from Kuwabara's lungs.

His back hit with crushing force, his spine slamming off a slab of broken concrete as the world went momentarily dark. For an excruciating second, he feared he'd snapped his spinal column clear in two, that he'd never stand from this spot, that is was over—all of it. His life ended. Here. Right now.

But in his next breath, he was rolling onto his side, years of hitting the dirt taking over. He'd been knocked down, but he'd get back up. He was Kuwabara Kazuma. Getting the shit beat out of him and taking it like a man was sort of his whole deal, damn it.

The rain slid icy fingers beneath the collar of his shirt, but the chill only served to remind Kuwabara he could still feel, and he scrambled through the mud, boots churning up gouts of gunk as he turned for the distant trees and started to run. Time to get away. Whatever element of surprise he might've had definitely went out the window when he did, and he wasn't interested in finding out how bloodthirsty his visitors were.

Too bad he was so dang slow.

Two women appeared first, rounding the corner of the building ahead with a speed that wasn't natural. In unison, they sank into eager fighting stances. Energy glowed around the fists of one, and he thought immediately of the killer he'd seen on the first day—a woman laying claim to a car, but not before murdering the two men who'd sought to stop her.

Was this the same girl?

Maybe. Probably.

Either way, she was armed with energy, and he wasn't. Didn't take a Kurama-level genius to work out he couldn't win this fight.

Arms windmilling, Kuwabara broke to the right. His legs almost went out from under him, pitching him into the mud, but he planted a hand and pushed off, maintaining momentum as he hurtled north. He'd wanted to head west, to the trees and the cover they provided, but with that path cut off, he had to improvise. Whatever it took to get out of here, he'd do it—

A broad shoulder slammed into his ribs, leveling Kuwabara in an instant.

He went down in another eruption of sludge and muck and icy water, the world spinning, a shadowy shape looming above him. Somewhere to the north, lightning forked, and the flash illuminated the side of the man's scarred face. Misshapen nose. Heavy brow. Laughter roaring in eyes dark as midnight.

Then a fist came down, catching Kuwabara across the jaw.

He saw stars, his world narrowing down to what had to be a shattered bone in his jaw, but he shoved backward, sliding out from beneath his attacker and clambering to his feet. That punch was strong, but it hadn't been energy infused. It was just a regular old punch—and it sure as hell wasn't anything like Yusuke used to dole out, not even as a kid.

"Easier if you just give up," the man said. His words rumbled like fresh thunder, his giant barrel of a chest heaving as he chuckled. "You're a dead man already."

Off to Kuwabara's right, the woman with the glowing fists scoffed. "End him, Gaku. Or I will."

The man stepped forward, but not before tossing a sneer at his ally. "Shut up, Hikari. Ain't nothing wrong with a little mercy for an idiot."

While Gaku's attention was split, Kuwabara tensed, waiting for the moment he wanted, the sliver of weakness, the one chance he might have to get away—and when it came, a blur in his peripheral vision that might've been an energy-coated middle finger drawing Gaku's gaze fully to the side, Kuwabara swooped. Palm cupped, he threw up a wave of mud that splattered across Gaku's face, and as the man sputtered, pawing uselessly at his obscured eyes, Kuwabara bolted.

Hikari tossed a stream of vile curses at her hindered teammate, but judging by the pounding footsteps behind him, her anger didn't keep her rooted in place. Gritting his teeth, Kuwabara tried to push his legs harder, straining to speed up, but it didn't work. His pace stayed steady—controlled as if by someone else—and in the end, it wasn't Hikari who caught him, but the third woman. The one he'd forgotten about.

She'd hidden behind a boulder along the side of the dirt road leading toward the coast, and as he passed the rock, she sprung. He wasn't defenseless, though, and he deflected the first thrust of her knife, then retaliated with his own. The serrated edge caught and tore through her gray coveralls, but he couldn't tell if its teeth found flesh.

Behind him, the footsteps were closing. Three sets. Too many enemies. Hitting him all at once.

There was nothing he could do, no way to swing the tide. Four was too many. Way, way, way too freaking many. Fucking hell, how had he got caught like this? He'd failed. He'd screwed up. And now, not only was he going to die, but he was going to abandon his team, too, and that was more dishonorable than—

A screech rent the air.

It cut past the drumming rain. It silenced the distant boom of thunder. It drowned out even the panic of Kuwabara's spiraling mind.

A noise like that wasn't the cry of a human or the barbarian bellow of a demon out for blood. It was too animalistic, too brutal and wild and fierce. Even as the woman's knife sliced Kuwabara's bicep, he looked west, gaze drawn as another shriek echoed—and that's when he saw it.

A griffin, flying across the field on feathers red as blood, massive talons skimming the grasses. Its wings sprawled ten feet from tip to tip, their edges fletched in black, and its beak opened on another caw that pierced past all Kuwabara's fear, ringing bright and true in the hollow around his heart. Because even at this distance, even in a shape as unrecognizable as this one, Kuwabara knew the eyes staring back at him. Green as glittering emeralds. Intelligent and cunning and without a single shred of mercy.

Kurama.

Somehow, impossibly, that was Kurama.

And as the griffin reached them, clawed forepaws seizing Hikari's chest and curved beak tearing open her throat, the Alive counting dropping instantly to 75, Kuwabara knew something else, too.

He wasn't dying. Not here. Not now.

Because his red threads had worked—his friend had found him.

Fate had seen him through.

AN: This chapter's title is a play on the term 'pinned down' and the name of one of my favorite YouTubers/streamers, PauseUnpause. Y'all, I have way too much fun with these chapter titles. (Because also, pinion feathers, ya? *nudge, nudge* *wink, wink* Pardon my poor griffin puns.)

Big heaps of thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter. I love all you folks: Shell1331, Laina Inverse, WistfulSin, roseeyes, MissIdeophobia, and R. Firefly!

This fic has basically been on hiatus since February, but that is ending! New chapters to come very, very shortly!