Pain sang in a thousand places, a concerto of agony strung out upon nerves, played by demented violinists, a choir of crimson singing all off key and yet still creating complete harmony. The light hurt even more, a cold scalpel swipe across her eyes, widening to reveal a now dismantled room. The face intruded upon her vision so suddenly that Chizuru started.

"Go ahead, yell! Here, I'll scream for you; AAAARGH! SOMEBODY HELP! Don't you get it? No one can hear you. Anyone in my path will die…Where the fuck is Kyo!" Chizuru met his gaze, "What are you going to do?" Iori shrugged slightly, "Hit him 'till he stops moving…And then…" His eyes grew wide and wild, burning with blow torch insanity, the smile a machete swipe to a jack-o-lantern. "Do you have any idea what that'll do?" Iori raised an eyebrow, "Does this look like the face of concern?" He reached into his pocket, the hand stayed there, "Tell me where to find Kusanagi, NOW!" Chizuru shook her head, a defiant scowl forming on her bruised features, "NO!" The hand retreated from the pocket gripping a pair of pliers. "Very well, fingers or toes?" He smiled as the scowl disappeared, replaced by fear. Chizuru watched him descend upon her, "You'll upset the balance! You'll-" The crack resounded like thunder, crushed bone and nerves sang with Chizuru's scream as the pliers' pit-bull bite clamped down hard upon Chizuru's index finger.

"Where is Kyo?" She shook her head, her silence infuriated him further, "People like you just fuel my fire…" CRACK! Pain exploded in Chizuru's middle finger, her right hand rapidly loosing it's effectiveness. "You know, most people give out at the third or fourth finger. But of course, that's most people…" CRACK! "…mere mortals with nought but material concerns." Iori withdrew the pliers from around Chizuru's little finger, "I think we both need a break."

A cigarette replaced the pliers at Iori's right hand as he idly picked his way through the debris, stopping occasionally to inspect a piece of the shard and splinter puzzle. "I don't suppose you remember who broke the mirror?" Iori approached the bound Chizuru once more, holding a silver shard a little too close. "I don't suppose you remember where Kyo lives?" The question hung in the air, pressure building almost physically, as though the room was deep in the sunless depths of an ocean. Thunder boomed as the shard hit the floor, lightening flashed as the cigarette hissed into Chizuru's eye, a needle of agony driving through the soft ball and along the optic nerve deep into her brain. "My eye! I can't see out of my eye!" Panic rose in her, causing her to feel suddenly sick. "Don't panic, you'll get used to it." Half smiling, Iori reached for the shard of mirror once more, holding her left hand in a death grip.

The shard slid easily under the nail, slicing vein and nerve alike, as it burrowed hungrily towards the root. A small upward flick separated the finger from the nail.

When Iori reached the first broken finger of the right hand, now quite skilled with the shard, Chizuru half screamed, half sobbed the address. But he did not stop at that, after all how often does an experience like this present itself? This is fun!

Broken, bloody, sightless, and now nail less, Chizuru was on the verge of unconscious delirium, agonies driving her brain to shut down. "You have…no idea…what you'll cause…This is the…end of everything…You pathetic…egotistic…idiot…you'll…" The Yami Barai (Darkness Sweep) was released as quick as a sprung trap, she found herself falling into purple flames. And then she wasn't falling. And she could only marvel – for a few seconds, before the world turned black – at how much it all had truly hurt.

He smiled as he remembered her last words; he always found the ramblings of the dying to be amusing. He walked out into the desolate landscape of snow, slowly making his way to the back of the house.

He looked up at the rock supported by ribbon; the bells that hung from it, silent even in the winds that blasted the side of his face. He ripped the sacred Yasa mirror from the wall beyond the rock, gazing at his reflection, wiping the smears of blood from his cheek. He put the mirror securely in his pocket.