DISCLAIMER: As before, all characters and words etc relating to the characters used are owned and credited to CLAMP. The Sakura Barrow dialogue is an extract from Tokyo Babylon – also credited to and owned by CLAMP. The interpretation of events and the story that follows is written by sakurazukamori. Enjoi, R/R.
.:Chapter 2 - The Hanged Man:.
"God only hurts those he loves"
Midnight. The neon phosphorescence of the towering, buzzing street lamps gave the nearby high rise buildings and cracked streets an eerie ambience which suitably accompanied the already overpowering sense of unfathomable foreboding. The howl of mongrel dogs was met with the screech of streetwise cats that prowled the night time streets of Tokyo. Tokyo – a city of corruption, a city of sin, inexplicably plagued with increased surges in paranormal activity. These increased surges were explained away by the average denizens of Tokyo, but to the young onmyouji, the 13th head of the Sumeragi Clan, they could only be explained by one thing: 1999 – the year of the Apocalypse. The year that the Dragon of Earth and the Seven Harbingers would do battle against the Dragon of Heaven and the Seven Seals in order to decide the Earth's fate once and for all. However, for once, he did not care for the fate of the Earth, he had already lost what he had held most dear and with that loss had been betrayed by one he loved equally as much. He sighed allowing his once piercing, soulful emerald eyes to dull further as the surge of unsettling, spectral memories flooded back deep within his heart.
"Hokuto-chan," he whispered softly to the night air that lay dormant about him.
Motionless he stood, unable to think about anything except the past that so frequently haunted him. Shaking his head, the onmyouji continued walking swiftly down a deserted side street closing his eyes, inhibiting their mirroring transparency, hindering their tendency to betray his inner heartache. His finely attuned senses began to guide him back to his rented one room apartment, the place he was to call 'home'.
A brisk wind picked up hurling autumn leaves and discarded drink cans against the walls of the dilapidated apartment blocks. The wind stung the Sumeragi's colourless cheeks and blew his white overcoat out behind him exposing his lithe frame. He had become painfully thin; his shoulder joints becoming more prominent, his cheekbones almost piercing through his translucent skin. The white onmyouji had been inundated with various exorcisms and ceremonial duties associated with his clan, so much so that he had worked himself into the ground. However, this was his duty, his birthright; it was the only thing he had left to call his own. He was a mere shadow of his former self – a shadow that concealed a forlorn emptiness embedded beneath an equally forlorn exterior. Subconsciously, the youth fought the wind for control of his washed-out over coat and pulled it about his body, seemingly hiding it from the outside world. However, it was not only his exterior that he was concealing, but also his very soul, or what was left of it. His very essence was locked away in an impenetrable cage that only he had the key to, but unlocking that cage was becoming harder; it was almost as if he had become a shell, a mere vessel, incapable of feeling. Every day that passed shattered his soul further; the world seemed to hold no meaning for him anymore – all he could do was await his wish. However, the white onmyouji did not know how long he would have to wait until his wish was granted – the complete uncertainty of the event was the only real certainty he had left.
The sound of heavy-duty boots slamming on to cold concrete steps pierced the stagnant midnight air as the young Sumeragi travelled up endless flights of graffiti and gum-smeared stairs to reach his somewhat 'humble' abode. His flat was on the fifth floor of one of the many high-rise apartment blocks that appeared to rise like a Phoenix from the sordid atmosphere that Tokyo seemed to exuded; however, there was no denying it – even after 8 years of misery, there was still a part of the onmyouji that, in some way, loved Tokyo. He glanced over the side of the hand railing to gaze at the city that lay awake beneath him. The way the city lit up was as if tiny stars had fallen from the over-arching sky itself, randomly placing themselves amongst an elaborate arrangement of cut out shapes silhouetted against a midnight shadow. Every time he saw the lights of Tokyo, something long forgotten in his heart danced releasing a warmth that the onmyouji could only describe as love. His eyes strained to pick out every spark of light, but there were too many to comprehend. Sighing, he paced up the final flight of fractured concrete stairs, his eyes greeted by the sight of the metal door to his dreary apartment. He fumbled in his inside coat pocket for his door key whilst reaching with his other hand for the packet of cigarettes he had placed, for convenience, in his outside pocket. Momentarily he stopped venturing in his pocket for his key to slowly remove a 'Mild Seven' from the nearly full packet. Seishiro-san… He brought the cigarette to his mouth and lit it in one graceful movement. The Sumeragi leant against the door of his apartment enveloped by an overwhelming sense of nostalgia – he was smoking the same brand as him in what could only be considered as a vain attempt to experience what he had experienced. For what reason? The young Sumeragi had no reason, except that he longed to feel what his betrayer had felt every time he routinely carried out this long-standing pastime – a pastime that had now been conferred on to the white onmyouji. Wisps of velvety smoke dispersed into the thick night air yet their bitter fragrance still lingered on, long enough for him to remember the nicotine-tinged scent of his betrayer. He flicked the ash from the end of his cigarette in one subliminal motion.
"Did you know that there is a corpse under every Sakura tree?" questioned the youthful sakurazukamori. "Normally, the petals are white as snow. Do you know what makes them pink?"
The white onmyouji stood in front of the Sakurazuka assassin shaking his head, fearful of saying a word. There was something mysterious and dangerous about this youth's aura that was unfathomable to him.
"It's the blood of the corpse feeding the tree," whispered the dark haired youth into the young Sumeragi's ear.
Tears sprang from his, then, piercing emerald eyes. He was a mere child at eight years old.
"Those people… buried under there," he stuttered between sobs, "are they in pain?"
A sinister grin flashed across the youth's angular face as he observed the innocence that shone from the Sumeragi's tear-streaked countenance. Kneeling down, he took the child onmyouji's warm, petite hands into his own cold gasp, pulling him close.
"I'll make a bet with you," whispered the assassin into the Sumeragi's naïve ear.
The sakurazukamori thenceforth brought the Sumeragi's trembling hands to his lips and gently kissed each one. Where his lips had touched the child's hands, the mark of the sakurazukamori appeared – the inverted pentagram signifying that the prey of the sakurazukamori had been chosen.
The onmyouji winced as the glowing end of his cigarette burnt into the tips of his fingers, arousing him from the spectres of his past. The emerald-eyed youth dropped the smouldering amber butt onto the cold ground beneath him. That day, under the Sakura tree, the bet - it haunted him still. Every night he was plagued by the same nightmare, every night he witnessed not only his sister's murder, but also the bet that had triggered everything. He fell to his knees clenching his fists; his eyes burned with defiance yet still there remained, embedded in those emerald orbs, misery.
"Seishiro-san," he whispered.
After grinding the redundant cigarette butt into the floor with a twist of his black boot, he speedily removed the door key from his coat pocket and inserted it into the rusted lock, causing a cloud of orange dust to escape. The scratching of the key and the clicking and knocking of the lock broke the unnatural silence that had descended about him. Forcefully, the youth pushed open the door to his apartment and watched as the light dissipated from sight. The room was a reflection of him – dark, cold and empty. Shaking his coat off, the young onmyouji turned to lock his door when he was greeted by a rather capricious black cat who lingered in the middle of his door way, licking its paws, unable to enter the Sumeragi's apartment. Emblazoned around the cat's neck was a bright red collar – the cat was obviously not a stray. Crouching on the floor, the Sumeragi began to stroke the cat closing his eyes intently listening to the noisy purr that it contently emitted. He opened his green eyes to look into the cat's – they were an intense amber colour flecked with yellow tinges that appeared to dance around the slit pupil. The youth found himself hypnotized by the way the amber eyes seem to grow brighter, warmer, seemingly piercing through the darkness. He knew that this was no ordinary cat and that it was, in fact, a spiritual projection, a shikigami of one who needed his help.
"I know. I know you are in pain," the onmyouji murmured softly. "I will come to you."
With that the cat replied with a weak meow and dissipated into the night leaving behind the written spell that its owner had summoned it with. After picking up the spell, the youth rose to his feet and closed the heavy door. A shikigami had sought him out; he knew that his grandmother, the 12th Head of the Clan would have left a message for him about an awaiting request regarding the sender of the shikigami. The answer machine, as well as many of his other belongings, was strewn across the tiled floor. The lack of household necessities such as a table did not concern the young onmyouji in the slightest. The apartment was just a room, a room like any other - it held no importance to him. Perching on the edge of his bed, Subaru Sumeragi lit yet another cigarette. The phone began to ring monotonously; ring after ring after ring. The young man stared at the answer machine. Hokuto's greeting broke the continuous ringing; her jubilant salutation still remained on his answer machine – a distant memory that he could not bring himself to erase. The tone sounded.
"Subaru-san, about the message that we have discussed over the phone last week. They have informed me and would like you to officially perform the task for them. I will send you the address," Lady Sumeragi uttered through the answer machine.
Once business had been dealt with an unsettling silence followed as if the 12th Head was unsure of how to proceed.
"Are you… still searching for Sakurazuka?" came the hoarse, tearful voice. "Subaru, leader of the Sumeragi estate, you have decided and I will not interfere. I won't interfere, but please... stay well. I am worried Subaru-san, please stay well."
The caller hung up plunging the room back into silence once more. Subaru stood up and headed towards the window. He knew his grandmother meant well, just as she meant well when she told him to stay away from Seishiro-san. However, he was past caring now. He would find the sakurazukamori and, with that, make his wish this world's reality.
Rain began to fall, striking the window, criss-crossing the pane. Subaru looked at his contemplative reflection in the window; it pained him to even look at himself because all he could see was her. Turning from the window, he turned to reach for another cigarette, yet something drew him back to the window. Cautiously, he looked at his reflection once more… he was not alone. The Sumeragi rubbed his eyes, trying to ignore the overwhelming sense of exhaustion that had all of a sudden crept over him. His pupils dilated as he strained to see whether his mind was playing tricks on him; however three sets of eyes still frantically stared back at him. The apartment room seemed to spin in front of him, various commodities blurring into one another, dark merging into light merging into dark. The weariness that had descended upon him began to take its toll on his leg muscles causing them to buckle underneath him, bringing him crashing to the floor. His muscles seemed to be undergoing instantaneous atrophy soon enough he would be completely unable to move; he had not even the strength left to summon his onmyoujitsu spells – it was as if someone was draining him of all his energy. His lucent eyelids began to cloak the emerald spheres that lay beneath them as this unnatural fatigue took hold of him. With one last glance, he looked down at his hands that were sprawled out in front of him. They were no longer white but streaked with a deep red. The helpless onmyouji could do nothing, but watch as drops of liquid vermilion trickled from the mark of the sakurazukamori and cascaded on to the black tiles beneath him. His eyes eventually betrayed him plunging him into an unnatural darkness.
Chapter 2 all re-edited and done! I really liked this chapter when I first wrote, but I cant believe how many typos there were. Right, on with Chapter 3! If you haven't read then please, tell me if you enjoyed it.