I am not one to post warnings, however, seeing as how this chapter is the last and there is a lot of disturbing content, it is unavoidable.
WARNING: This chapter contains blood play, graphic self-mutilation, rape implications (nearly), GORE, and YAOI
This chapter was very hard for me to write at some parts, for it comes close to a prodding open a festering wound.
Tatsumi watched as Tsuzuki and Hisoka filed into the conference room silently. There had been eight recent killings, which the partners were to be briefed on, and then sent out to find out the reason for so many premature deaths.
It was not the deaths that had beat them into stark awareness, but the location of the murders. The case was centered in Tokyo, yet Konoe had specifically requested Sector Two be in charge. And for good reason.
All of the corpses were scattered in the general area that Muraki occupied.
He had to be involved.
And though the chief only thought of Hisoka confronting his own killer and rapist, Tatsumi found the plan worked very well for him, as well.
The Ministry of Hades pondered Watari's death for quite some time, but the investigation was bordering on one year of incompletion. They would have loved to put the case to rest, and would have if Enmacho controlled Tokyo as usual.
It all worked in his favor; Tatsumi even requested to join Tsuzuki and Hisoka in their investigation; Konoe happily granted this, believing Hisoka may not be able to control Tsuzuki this time.
The pair had been, or at least Tsuzuki, wondering aloud about how Watari could die in the after death. It was time both of them knew the truth.
And with this thought in mind, he transferred their energy into the human world, followed by the respected bodies- as how teleportation was operated.
… …
Watari moaned into the heated kiss, seeking a soft place to harbor his body while succumbing to this great pleasure. Heedlessly, he fell backwards, onto the welcoming bed they used of late. Used implies "utilized until satisfaction", yet that was never the case.
Perhaps this time would be different, the scientist hoped, bringing his right hand to cup Muraki's aroused member with need. Licking his lips testily, Watari melted into another kiss, settling comfortably against the bed, a familiar weight pressing on him.
Muraki groaned and slightly pushed the hand holding his member away, yearning to dissipate this build up inside of his lover. Brushing Watari's flamboyant hair from both their faces, he attempted to give a sweet kiss before delving into sweet desire.
However, Watari could already see this ending in disaster and forced his way from beneath the doctor. This did not startle Muraki, only caused a brief sigh and shake of the head.
The scientist peered over his bare shoulder from his side of the bed, "You're not telling me something…"
Muraki ran a hand shakily through hoary tresses, choosing silence for a response.
"You've lost all interest in me."
The doctor turned to Watari in disbelief, "No. How could you say that? I love you."
"Then why can't you hold me?"
"For the same reasons you have been avoiding me." He responded with remarkable clarity.
"I hardly believe that."
"Then tell me why, so we can deal with this. I truly want to touch and make love to you… But with these barriers…"
Watari sat idle during the two-minute lecture handed to him on such an occasion. And to his horror, these lectures were beginning to take up most of their time together, if not all.
Both men had their own reasons for seeking privacy for a few hours of the day, though being a doctor did not allow many free hours in the first place. Thus, the time that Muraki had devoted to Watari, he now spent outside- acting out his obsession and addiction. Reacquainting himself with something so pleasing yet so sinful.
Muraki swung his legs around his scientist's contours, letting his feet dangle off the bed while his mouth greeted the other's flesh. "I love you, Watari. So-"
The walls of his office bedroom suddenly wavered, rippling like a drop of water in a lake. Something felt odd for a moment, and then disappeared as quickly as it came. Muraki sensed another's presence in the room and spun around with the vivacity bestowed upon a prey in danger.
Standing in front of the bed was three shinigami. The doctor's surprise and abhorrence cleared from the thought that he told this beast, Tatsumi, that visitation was allowed. Though disturbing his time with his lover could not be condoned.
"What do you think you're doing here?" Muraki snapped, sheltering Watari's naked, confused form with a blanket, which was retrieved in haste.
Tsuzuki and Hisoka only stared perplexed. Not by the sight of two naked males on a disheveled bed, but the fact that one of these males had been declared "damned" and no longer existed. Obviously, someone was lying.
"You told me I could visit." Tatsumi replied calmly, attempting to keep his eyes from wandering.
Muraki lifted his hands, gesturing to the situation, "Have you no shame? We're busy, leave."
Watari grimaced and stood up, blanket covering every inch of his bare skin, picked up a pair of pants and shirt on the floor and fled into an adjoining bathroom. The four men in the room only stared at each other. The doctor, finding no shame in the situation, lifted his pants from the corner of the bed and slip into them accordingly.
Hisoka blanched, while Tsuzuki addressed Tatsumi, "He's alive! You knew! W-Wh-"
"He wished to stay; I have no control over him." The treasurer responded nonchalantly.
"And I thanked you for arranging his stay with me, but I do have to comment on your timing." Muraki finished buttoning his pants and picked up a shirt on the floor, "Next time, contact us before visiting unannounced."
Watari emerged from the bathroom and pouted, "Like we were doing anything."
Muraki seemed troubled from the comment, only to rebuke Tatsumi more, "What is your reason for interrupting us?"
Watari sighed loudly in protest. Muraki ignored.
"We hoped you could help us with a case…" Tatsumi stared intently at Muraki, gauging and waiting for any abnormal reactions, "Eight humans have been killed around this area, and we though who else to aid us, except … Muraki…"
Watari looked crushed and implored the doctor, "Y-you didn't… did you?"
He knew his lover was hiding something, but could he have been killing people? Watari understood now why Muraki could not tell him where he was going at night, or why they never made love anymore. Bloodlust. It was a curse and addiction he could relate too.
Muraki's exterior did not enlighten the others of any discomfort or guilt. If he were truly the killer, then he had no remorse whatsoever. A natural cold-blooded murderer.
"How did you think I could help? Did you wish for me to capture this fiend?" He sneered.
"Perhaps. We believe… you know the killer directly."
By this point, the tension in the room drowned any reunited greetings. However, Tsuzuki found this to be intolerable, and his need to pester Watari grew more imminent than Tatsumi and Muraki quarreling with each other.
So acting on instinct alone, Tsuzuki attacked Watari in a numbing hug long missed. He spoke in his animated puppy-dog way, "How've you been! I've- I mean we've- missed you!"
Watari laughed and patted his friend on the head, "I'm fine and how are you Tsuzuki?"
"Oh, I'm good. On the last case we did, we got to stay at a four star hotel! Just don't tell him." Tsuzuki said pointing directly at Tatsumi.
The treasurer, upon hearing this, turned his head sharply in the offending shinigami's direction. Tsuzuki could only imagine his punishment.
"I-I think he heard…" he muttered in a hushed tone, immediately returning to his Watari voice, "We really thought you were dead, this is a big shock."
Watari stared at him confusedly, and then beseeched his lover, "I died?"
"It was necessary in order for you to stay here." Muraki replied, dragging Watari to his side and away from the predatory hug of Tsuzuki. He spoke to Tatsumi, "I do not know anything. You may continue your visit, but I must leave now."
But before leaving, the doctor glared at Tatsumi, "If you touch him, you will be 'damned'."
Muraki exited the room coolly, and when he was completely away from their eyes, clenched his fists tightly and snarled in rage. He did not mean to target people near the hospital. Did not mean to have the shinigami become suspicious. There isn't any evidence, he assured himself, for this he knew for sure.
… …
The group of shinigami found a quiet restaurant and, Tatsumi acting rather strange by Tsuzuki's standards, allowed everyone their own meal- no matter the price. They talked while eating; Watari could barely stomach anything, and so found himself playing with his food- faking few bites.
When the subject of their investigation arose, Watari sincerely denied the accusations, "He's changed. Muraki has not hurt me or anyone else for over a year now. I doubt he would resort to killing innocent people."
"He has before." Hisoka reminded him, being the prime example. Watari sighed and stared at his plate.
"I … am truly sorry, Hisoka-kun…"
"You didn't kill me; you don't have to be sorry." The boy's voice cracked. Tsuzuki, sitting next to him, wrapped an arm around him for comfort, but Hisoka ignored it.
… …
Muraki sat in his office debating what to do. Just from seeing Tatsumi his mind fogged with hatred. Whenever he killed, it was not an innocent person. It was Tatsumi in his mind, begging for retribution in the form of a knife and blood.
He craved someone's life in his hands, blood pouring, staining his afterlife with a pure infection. He needed the control, the evocation of sweet submission. Yet he found himself wanting, not acting. This need would have to be addressed some time later, when detection no longer proved a threat.
… …
"We'll be in the Asakusa Hotel, if you need to reach us." Tatsumi signaled the two other shinigami to go ahead of him. When they were completely out of sight, he turned back to Watari, "Are you absolutely certain he isn't dong this?"
The scientist stared at Tatsumi for a moment, wondering if this really was just a professional discussion- private life unassociated. Having this grand reunion with his friends after so long made him realize something. His hatred for Tatsumi had died down from lack of the catalyst for over a year.
It was awkward, but not insufferable.
"He's changed. Muraki would not resort to that again." The scientist replied confidently.
The treasurer let his eyes trail up and down his body for a moment, eliciting shuffled, uncomfortable movement from the receiver, and decided to confront the situation, "Just like how you haven't done that for a year?"
Watari's eyes bulged at the accusation.
"You can't hide it from me, Watari. You were staring at the knife beside your plate the whole time. You didn't even bother pretending to eat."
This time the blonde man flushed with guilt and gave the cement below their feet his undivided attention.
"If this is true happiness, by all means, continue." Tatsumi took a quick step forward, nearly a foot away from his lost friend, "Otherwise, I can reinstate you into the Ministry. I can make you happy, Watari."
Watari brought his gaze up to Tatsumi, his mouth distorted in a feigned smile, "I am happy. And I definitely do not want you to ruin that."
Solemn, pleading eyes probed Watari's and then gave up. There was no point in continuing. Shrugging off his worry for his former beloved, as he termed Watari- though everyone knew otherwise, he walked away.
… …
Watari sat on the edge of the bathtub deliberating.
The scalpel was right there.
He only needed to lift a finger and holy salvation would be his.
Tatsumi had been right in his allegation; he had been inflicting pain upon himself for some time now. He started after noticing how Muraki refused to hold, and nearly to the point of ignore, him. He needed some form of stimulation, the chemicals released from one cut were yearned for, so another and another would appear, though Muraki never noticed.
He grabbed the scalpel eagerly, his face lit with desire. Slowly lowering it to his thigh, Watari's eyes shut from anticipation, a fine line sliced through bare skin. He moaned softly, allowing the blade to pierce deeper.
The feelings swarming inside his mind and body were unlike anything. Compassionate metal sealed his insecurities, struggling against oppressive thoughts to deliver this one birthright, as warm crimson dripped from the ceremonious blade.
It was all too much, euphoria gripped his mind and the scalpel fell from his numb clutch after safely furnishing his thigh with inchoate pleasure.
The deed having been done, Watari peeked at the wound, eyes flickering with passion, and smiled at his handiwork. His ears were ringing and every sound echoed and throbbed, morphing together; eyes stared at everything and nothing, reliving the vivid experience.
Suddenly a sharp voice severed his connection with this purity. Confused, Watari raised his blurry vision to a figure standing before him. This form, most likely a person, was shouting something. He could not understand, but whatever it was, it had to be important.
Only when strong hands grabbed his shoulders, shaking him to awareness, did he fully comprehend. Muraki had caught him.
The doctor picked up the bleeding scalpel and brought it within Watari's view, "What the hell is this?"
Watari gaped and gasped for breath. How could he explain? "You're killing people, why can't I indulge in my obsession?"
His case did not hold any evidence, and although it was borderline childish, Muraki glared at him, a familiar glint emerging. "Did you tell your lover? Or perhaps you want me to kill him as well, while you slice your body open to store the corpse!"
Watari was taken aback by this outburst. He quickly stood up, swayed a bit and pushed Muraki away as he stepped out of the bathroom and into their bedroom. Attempting to clear his mind, Watari was thrown onto the bed.
Without a second to waste, Muraki pinned him down; bloodlust shone in his eyes as clear as the embers of hell. The doctor let his control waver and now he faced the consequences. The stimulation of sacrificial blood coursed through his body.
Watari was frightened, without a doubt. However, when his pants were tugged down and a sharp blade skimmed a fresh mark, ecstasy clouded his mind. Throwing his head back with a lewd scream, Watari felt his own blood trickle onto scar tissue; creating an even greater sensation.
"Is this what you want?" Muraki's voice, distant and withheld, resonated within the scientist's head. Another slash bit through raw flesh- another fervent scream decorated the air.
Blood splashed onto white sheets- any innocence in the room had been scourged and left filthy. Just the way Muraki liked it.
He led the blade to his lover's hip, slicing open immaculate skin. Watari's hand shot out to grapple the doctor's hair, roughly tugging and wrenching. Muraki understood, and slowly bent forward, kissing him brusquely, allowing his teeth the pleasure of digging into the other's tongue.
A salty flavor instantly flooded both their senses. Muraki's hold on the dagger tightened, adrenaline acting on its own to create another incision, this one barely below Watari's nipple- tearing the shinigami's shirt effectively.
"Answer me!" Muraki snarled, dragging the scalpel down his lover's chest, blood seeping through every crevice, staining the doctor's lab coat a sinister scarlet.
Watari choked down the saline taste, his voice cracking from pain, "I-I- Yes. I want… this…"
Submission. Untainted, genuine submission. Exactly what the doctor ordered.
"Then you wouldn't mind…" Muraki began, sliding the blade, tracing every curve, until Watari's entrance hindered progress, "Being cut from the inside out."
The shinigami's eyes opened wide, discovering that Muraki was prepared to support his words. "N-no! Not there!" He screamed, though in vain, as a sharp pain sidled inside and up his spine.
Disbelief made the throbbing worsen; he could feel blood escaping from his passage, though Muraki only smirked and began lapping up the thick fluid from his chest. Chuckling to himself, the doctor pulled the scalpel out of his lover, licking the gleaming red coat from the weapon.
Tears soaked Watari's face as blood drenched his body and surroundings. Despite the pain and terror, desire filled his veins and swelled his heart. The stench of blood or the excruciating pain controlling his movements mattered little now. Watari's whole essence was overpowered by a cruel dictatorship, although one he had come to love and cherish as his own.
The faint sound of a zipper processed in his mind as a wisp of wind; hands wrestling tethered clothes from his mangled body seemed gentle and soothing; a rigid shaft forced into his sanguinary insides contained violence and brutality though felt less threatening than two children exchanging heated words.
Muraki clenched the scalpel with one hand, the other cleaving onto his lover's thigh; finely honed nails digging bloody trenches in putrid flesh. Watari's cries imitated the vicious thrusts and volatile dagger exploring under his skin. And with each slutty scream, he was rewarded with even greater spiteful force until his throat, raw and sore, gave pathetic whimpers.
The doctor grunted and drove himself further within the haggard man, eliciting a crude moan. He placed the weapon between two swollen nipples and carved into dried blood and severed skin, etching soon-to-be-scars of a glorious night.
With one last pleasurable decant of crimson, last whip of the tongue, cry of passion and slaughterous glare, white heat scorched their bodies as minds were torn asunder.
The two worn, splint bodies eased into a fresh pool of blood, breathing heavily and dazed beyond anything worldly.
After several moments of wandering in bliss, Watari risked a peek at his lover's face- wondering if their previous tryst granted him amnesty.
Muraki returned Watari's gaze, and the glint that had become an ill-omen and instigated the whole predicament had been replaced with an eerie glimmer of stark love. The prolix sacrifice had been paid. Though he had wished Tatsumi's blood stained his fingertips, his own lover's worked just as well, if not better. This consecrated shinigami defied all odds of demise, and his blood would wash away all sins and depravity without tarnishing.
For Watari was more than a sacrifice.
Watari was the salvation his soul sought.
The salvation of inexhaustible love.
Thank you for sticking with the story for so long. I began this nearly two years ago (if not more) and my writing style has changed quite a bit from the first chapter. Revisting and revising the earlier chapters is my next goal for this story, even though it is complete.
THANK YOU! EVERYONE!
And once again, this story is dedicated to my best friend and master, Ashwee-sama... Who didn't even bother reading the damn story ..