Please, don't hit me in the head. I know it took me too long to update this. To all who'd been following this story I want to apologize for keeping this chapter hostage for so long. The truth is, I was done writing it ages ago, but the correction and proofreading clashed with my end of term projects, and it got stashed away until break time rolled in. I'll make sure the next chapter doesn't meet the same fate (although school will start in less than a week)

Ok, since it's been a while, here is a summary of what happened so far for those of you who can't remember:

What happened so far :~*~Almost a week after the start of Tsuzuki's ordeal, Hisoka goes to see Tatsumi – who's been standing in front of the Earl's castle all that time to gain his attention – and talks to him about what he'd seen in Tsuzuki's dream, and Ayaka in particular. Later he's attacked by Isorou in the cafeteria and gets to see the thoughts and memories of the evil prosecutor, which reveal to him that Isorou himself had been a shinigami who was put to the trial. Meanwhile, Tsuzuki senses someone coming to visit him only to find out it's a familiar figure clad in white.~*~

Ok, I think I don't have to tell you who the white-clad figure is. But since he's here this chapter deserves an extra warning: The part with Muraki visiting Tsuzuki is NOT PG-13. You can say it's more PG-15, nothing big and nasty. But c'mon, it's Muraki. And anyone who knows me knows I'm a big fan of non-con MurakixTsuzuki. No, I don't think there is any love lost between them. Muraki's only there to hurt our poor Tsuzuki. So be warned, as there will be some explicitness.

Now, on to the story.

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The Trial – Chapter Ten

"Shinigami???"

The accented voice turned a bit squeaky at the end, the owner obviously trying not to raise it too high despite his surprise.

Hisoka nodded. That was his only reaction while deep in thought and looking at the floor instead of the speaker.

They were in the library, in a back room somewhat hidden behind the bookshelves and half-walls. It was a place Hisoka used to hide from Saya and Yuma when they were over for a visit, or when he desperately needed a read without Tsuzuki distracting him every five seconds. It was the only place he could hope Isorou wouldn't be able to find them.

"So the bastard had a taste of his own medicine." Watari commented contemptuously.

"Ahum!" Hisoka confirmed, "Question is, why?" He turned to his companion all wide-eyed.

Watari's features softened as he put a hand on Hisoka's shoulder. "Bon, you sure you're all right?"

Covering his friend's hand with his own and gently removing it from his shoulder, Hisoka gave a firm nod, feeling slightly awkward under the older shinigami's gaze and even blushing slightly. "I'm fine, Watari-san. I just want to make sense of what I saw."

The concern in Watari's eyes didn't go away. "Why? What do you care?"

"Because it might mean a way to help Tsuzuki."

"All right. If that's what you think--"

"I want to know why he was sentenced to the trial like that. What was his crime? That man has nothing in common with Tsuzuki as far as I know. So why the same punishment?" Hisoka said.

"Maybe he wasn't a cold-hearted bastard before he went through the trial? Couldn't it be that when he was a shinigami, he was more like Tsuzuki and then his punishment turned him into the jerk that he is?"

Hisoka reflected on that for a while, then said, "No. I didn't sense anything like that from him. But I guess I won't find out unless I go back and dig deeper."

Watari looked incredulous. "You want to go back and have a second waltz with that awful man? Are you out of your mind, Bon?"

"I didn't say I wanted to go back to the man himself, just his memories that are locked in my head." Hisoka said.

"You can do that?" Watari asked in a surprised voice.

"Sometimes," Hisoka answered, "If the memory is fresh enough or intense enough I might be able to go back and look for more detail. I guess it's because it is all saved in my subconscious, or wherever it is that these things go."

"But, … wouldn't that be painful in some way?"

"No." Hisoka closed his eyes and started his focus. "It might be, I don't know. I need to see. Besides, I won't stay too long." With that, he started concentrating, going deeper and deeper into his own mind looking for the pieces of information he was after.

Although Watari couldn't see what was going on inside Hisoka's head he could pinpoint the exact moments when the empath hit something important by the subtle winces in his body. After a while it was all tense expression and occasional frowns that passed over the empath's face as he continues digging deeper and deeper and turning the memory over to try and find answers. When the intensity of the experience appeared to be too much for the boy and droplets of perspiration started appearing on his forehead, Watari reached over with his arm to grab and shake him out of it. Hisoka opened his eyes just then and took a couple of deep breaths before turning to him.

"I think--I know now." He said.

"What? What did you see, Bon?" Watari asked.

"He was a shinigami, but not like Tsuzuki, not even close."

"What do you mean?"

Hisoka turned his face looking straight ahead, seeing something only visible to him. "He was-- like an extreme form of Terazuma. Bitter. Resentful. Hating everyone. Kind of like what he is right now but much more reserved. And he had no friends."

"But Terazuma has Wakaba, and we're all his friend one way or another. Didn't he have a partner or something?" Watari asked.

Hisoka shook his head. "I don't know. The information wasn't there. And there wasn't anything about why he was sentenced to the trial either."

"So… you mean that's it?"

"I guess. Except…there is something I can't quite put my finger on. A kind of feeling shadowing everything whenever I go back to the memory. You know, like the static you hear when you're talking on your cellphone and there's bad reception. I think it has to do with how Isorou felt after he was put to the trial. All he could think of was how his friends had abandoned him."

Watari wondered, "Oh really? I thought you said he had no friends."

"In truth, yes. But I'm suspecting that in his mind, he still considered them - the others -his friends. And it shattered him to see that no one cared for him once he was in trouble."

"How foolish." commented Watari, but in his mind he was back in the teahouse, to the time he had witnessed Isorou's sudden, quiet nuances that had subtly suggested at something deeper and more wounded underneath the cruel exterior. He knew that his hunches had been at least partially correct. And the way the man acted around Watari… ridiculous was the only word to describe it. It looked like Isorou simply had no comprehension of what friendship really meant.

"The thing that administered his ordeal was a real monster, a scary one. And it took much pleasure in hurting him." Hisoka's voice brought him out of his thoughts.

"Oh, is that so?" Watari snorted, "The same way he takes pleasure in hurting Tsuzuki?"

The boy's eyes darkened at the mention of Tsuzuki's name. "Not exactly," he noted, "He hurts Tsuzuki way more than he is supposed to because of us. He is jealous that we care so much for him and won't leave him alone."

"Why, that bastard, I'll show him--" Watari said, almost out of his chair.

"There is more."

"Huh?" Watari turned, confused at Hisoka's thoughtful expression who wasn't even looking at him.

"The prosecutor in his trial…call me a conspiracy theorist but I think he was no representative from Enma. I mean Enma doesn't hire demons to do his jobs, does he? A thing like that can only come from one place, and it's not Meifu or ChiJou."

"Makai?"

The boy nodded slightly.

"My God. You must be kidding. Are you sure?" Watari breathed as he straightened in his chair, his hands all of a sudden getting cold and clammy.

"There is one way to find out." Hisoka started to rise, "We're gonna have to do some research on the computer."

They walked to one of the close by stations. Since Watari was the master there, he sat behind the computer and started typing at a speed that made Hisoka dizzy. "Ok, Bon. Tell me what I should look for." He asked as the reflection of the data currently on the screen crawled over his bifocals.

"Check for Isorou Masaki." Hisoka said.

"All right." Watari started typing and soon enough, he had a file pulled out.

"What do you know? Bon, I think you were right. It says here that Isorou Masaki had been a shinigami about…uh, 25 years ago. His term was finished after only a couple of cases and he moved on."

"Nothing about the trial."

"No, it's just a bunch of dates and numbers."

"Search for a record of his cases."

The typing resumed. Watari was efficient and fast and he even managed to hack into some password protected databases. But they didn't seem to have anything more. It was like Isorou had disappeared into a black hole after his term as a shinigami had ended. Of course that was not too surprising for someone who had officially moved on. The problem was that Isorou was currently in JoOhCho with them and neither in Heaven nor in Hell like an ordinary, passed-on spirit should be.

Finally Watari sat back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. "Well, at least we know he doesn't work for EnmaDiao. Not officially anyway."

Hisoka stared at the screen. "You didn't find anything else on him?"

"Nope. Nothing, nada, zero, zilch. He's a drop in the ocean."

A dead end then, but Hisoka had somehow expected it. He took a moment to reflect, then said, "Let's do another search. For Yano Ayaka."

Watari raised his head, questioning eyes staring at Hisoka from behind glasses. "She a shinigami too?" he asked.

"I don't know," Hisoka replied, "We'd have to do a broader search for her."

So they did. Watari again typing his way through lists and databases, until he finally hit a mark.

"That her?"

Hisoka looked at the screen displaying the one page profile with a thumbnail picture on the side. His eyes went straight to the photo.

"That's her."

"Well, that's very interesting. Because according to this information, she is an angel?" said Watari.

Hisoka was surprised. He looked at the profile more closely. Lo and behold, it was a database record from Heaven.

"It's true." He whispered.

"Let's have a correction here," Watari announced, coughing to clear his voice. "What's true is that she was an angel."

"What do you mean?" Hisoka asked.

Watari pointed at the date on the record. "It's dated 17 years ago. And the file hasn't been updated since."

A frown appeared on Hisoka's forehead. "Is this all you can find on her? Can't you search more?"

"Sure," the scientist replied, "If you'd tell me what exactly we are searching for, and why?"

Hisoka felt distracted. He was surprised at the revelation, and the fact that Ayaka actually did exist instead of being a product of Tsuzuki's pain muddled brain like he had thought at first.

Finally he explained, "It may sound bizarre, but I think she is the other prosecutor on Tsuzuki's case."

"Really?" Watari exclaimed, "So how come we've never seen her?"

"I don't know. I guess that's another thing we'd have to find out."

"But Bon, how do you know about all this?"

"I saw her, in Tsuzuki's dream."

"Ahhh."

Watari didn't ask anything more. Hisoka's multifaceted empathetic powers seemed to be explanation enough.

After another fifteen minutes of search the chemist-turned-researcher gave up once again and folded his hands behind his head.

"It's pointless, Bon. There's absolutely nothing else on this lady. She must have disappeared into the same hole that Isorou did."

Hisoka was about to smirk at the idea when the possibility of what Watari just said hit him square in the forehead.

'They've both disappeared.' Two souls belonging once to organizations that now seemed to know nothing about them. There was only one way someone could get so utterly lost. One place that would swallow you up so wholly you wouldn't be recognized as yourself even if you returned.

"Watari-san, would you please do another search for me?"

"Of course, Bon. What name?"

"Nourian."

Watari got to it immediately. It looked like he was getting more skillful at it. Or maybe because there was more news on this newest search there than any of the previous ones. Either way, after only a few taps on the keyboard he came up with an answer.

"She's a demoness. Is that whom you were looking for?" Watari asked.

Hisoka wasn't paying attention. He was transfixed on the image that was slowly downloading onto the screen, already knowing what it was without having to wait for it to fully show up.

"Holy Enma," Watari exclaimed, his attention drawn back to the screen, "Isn't that the same Ayaka lady we'd just searched for? Why is she here again?"

"She's here… because she is the demon.  Her name is Nourian." Hisoka murmured.

"But, but…" Watari said, eyes shifting between Hisoka and the screen.

"I know, Watari-san. It is as confusing to me as it is to you. But I'm thinking… maybe we've stumbled upon a secret here."

"What kind of a secret? That this Ayaka is an angel who cosplays as a demon?"

"No," Hisoka said, reading fast through her profile. "It's more complicated than that."

He leaned forward and started typing on the computer, searching for both names at the same time. Only one page came up, but it was what he was looking for.

"What is it, Bon?"

"Guessed as much. Read this." Watari leaned forward and peered at the article on the screen: 'Yano Ayaka, a white angel from the middle ranks who suffered from a rare condition, harbored the spirit of a demon inside of her. At the beginning of the 8th era the demon started appearing in her more often, sometimes gaining complete control over her body and mind. At about the end of the first decade, Yano Ayaka was renounced of her angel status and sent to Makai for reassignment. From then on she was known as Nourian and her demon side started exhibiting its true powers. It is believed that Yano Akaya is still a part of the demon although, officially declared a fallen angel, no one from Heaven associates with her or speaks her name. Presently of the two, Nourian is the only one who still functions within an organization.'

"Wow," Watari breathed, "multiple personality disorder up here in heaven? Never thought I would see one with such a big rift."

Hisoka shook his head. "I can't believe Makai is involved in this so much that they would send a demon for the trial, even if it's a half-baked one. I'd bet my soul Isorou is working for them too. I knew from the beginning that there was something not quite right about him."

"I don't like the sound of this, Bon." Watari said, scratching his head and looking at the computer. "Why would Makai want to hurt Tsuzuki? What do they have against him that they would create such an elaborate scheme? What about those weird silent spirits Isorou was talking about? Where they demons from Hell too?"

Hisoka put his chin on his hand. "That's what we have to find out, I guess. I wouldn't be surprised if the whole spirit thing was a big sham too. This Nourian I've heard is supposedly very skillful in illusions and manipulations."

Watari patted Hisoka on the shoulder. "Good job, Bon. Now don't you worry your little head too much about it, ok? We'll find out pretty soon what this is all about. It's good that we've discovered this much already. It might even be good enough to save Tsuzuki…"

He broke off as he felt the shoulder beneath his hand shudder. He looked at Hisoka worriedly, watching as the boy almost doubled over and hugged his slender body, breathing hard. "Bon, what is it?" He knew it was useless to ask as Hisoka seemed to be choking on his inhales. At last, after several agonizing moments of deep, harsh breaths, Hisoka calmed down and finally managed to speak. Despite being clipped and muffled between spastic pants, the single name he spoke was plain and unmistakable to Watari's ears.

"Muraki."

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Kyoto was his tower of fright. The place he went back to over and over in his dreams. His chronic nightmares. There had been a lot of those in the first couple of weeks after his rescue. Almost every night he found himself trapped in Muraki's metallic-gray lab, strapped to the cold operating table while colder steel cut through his flesh. Firm, possessive hands wandering all over his naked body. Touching places he didn't know anyone would be willing– or able - to touch. Doing things that made his heart sink one moment and beat faster the other. A warm body touching his chilled skin, insistent weight settling on top of him, surrounding him, confining his body in a steel embrace that threatened to choke. And through it all, he could hear Muraki's echoing laughter, feeling shame, revulsion and the unwavering, insistent pain.

There had been panic. A leap to get away, brought down short by the numbness of his body, its refusal to respond to what his brain was screaming at him. Only his eyes would move, but they too were glued to the face of his tormentor. To the ever-present smirk on those fine, white lips and the piercing gleam in the mismatched eyes as pain cut through him again and again with surgical accuracy. The smirk widening, the eyes dancing and the hands returning to touch his body, soothing the white-hot burn and replacing it with the bitter coldness of revulsion.

For months he had dreamed about it. Still did on occasions even if he didn't tell anyone. In all those nights his only consolation had been the relief of waking up and knowing that it had only been a nightmare. Safe in the knowledge of it being over and that only in a few hours, daylight would come and he would be going to work. To JuOhCho where Hisoka was who would yell at him, Tatsumi who would scold him, Watari who would try one of his potions on him and all those others who would believe him when he said he was happy and all right and had no care in the world other than more money for a dessert.

It had been all right. They were just dreams, they weren't true, and getting out of them was as easy as waking up.

This was NOT.

Tsuzuki tried to stay calm and focus his eyes so he could see – even through a fraction of luck – that his presumptions were not true and that this wasn't whom he thought it was even with the scent and the feel of the man seeping into him like tendrils of poisonous smoke.

"My, my my. Would you look at this? Someone left my Tsuzuki bound and beaten outside. Aren't they scared wolves would come and take him?" a downy voice sang.

There was no way he could delude himself anymore. With difficulty, Tsuzuki forced his eyes to see the figure standing in front of him and finally made out the features he knew so well. Nothing in the terrifyingly impeccable doctor had changed. He was just as he remembered him from Kyoto so many lifetimes ago. Perfect outfit, looking like it was just taken off the rack and worn for the first time. Perfect hair, shining like strands of platinum falling gracefully over one eye where moonlight bounced off of it. Pale, porcelain skin, competing in whiteness with the pristine clothes. Even the red bead was there, attached to one earlobe like a drop of crimson blood, leftover from past victims – past tortures, perhaps his own – with a hint of it reflecting in the eyes.

Amethyst met silver.

"Muraki!"

The name was a curse on his lips.

For a few seconds the doctor didn't show any reaction. With a hand under the shinigami's chin holding it up, face lifted to the silvery gaze, he stared into the clear purple eyes as if feeding off of the loathing and the fear displayed there, and the naked disbelief widening the pupils until the irises were nothing more than a thin, purple strip around the black.

Then he smiled.

If Tsuzuki were to make a list of all the things that scared him the most in the world, Muraki's smile would most definitely be on that list, along with Muraki's voice, Muraki's touch, Muraki's evil laughter, and his hidden, artificial eye. There were other things about Muraki - other things done to him by Muraki - that would make that list. But those were pushed so deep to the back of his mind that he most likely wouldn't remember them.

"You are still so very beautiful, Tsuzuki-san. Still my beautiful doll of perfection."

Gods, Muraki's lecherous flirting would be the top of the list.

He closed his eyes as he saw Muraki kneel in front of him, bringing his face closer to his own. He didn't bother turning his head away. Past experiences had proven how ineffective that was. The doctor would simply use the opening to go for his neck. It didn't make a difference anyway. There was nowhere he could escape this time, no wall to back up to. So he let it happen, feeling the touch of ivory lips on his face and the caress of hot, panting breath against his cold flesh.

It made him shiver even more, felt something inside him curl around itself and whimper in helpless desperation.

Muraki licked and nipped at his face for another while before pulling back and staring at him. Still holding his chin in a tight grip he commanded, "Open your eyes."

A moan finally escaped the bound shinigami's lips. Barely able to suppress the tremors that went through his body he shook his head in denial, like a child believing the scary thing would go away if he refused to look at it.

His lips were claimed in a brutal kiss before the surprised gasp could make it past them. Any other sound was drowned in the other's greedy plunder of his mouth. Muraki tasted of spice, of stinging mint leaves that burned your lips if you chewed on them for too long. Tsuzuki remembered that from the first time they had touched him. Muraki's lips always burned his skin.

After Muraki broke the kiss he turned his eyes to Tsuzuki once again. "Now, open your eyes." He said in his baritone, commanding voice.

Thick, dark lashes slowly lifted to reveal twin purple orbs full of fear. Still – despite the expression – Muraki's breath hitched at seeing Tsuzuki's face so close. "Perfect," he whispered, reaching over to brush the strands of dark hair out of the shinigami's face. "That's the only word that could describe you, Tsuzuki-san. Just perfect."

"What do you want, Muraki?"

Tsuzuki's voice was rough and shaky, but it was there nonetheless. He had finally managed to regain some control over his senses and talk to the doctor before breaking into a thousand pieces.

The white-clad man looked both surprised and delighted by his outburst. He seemed to have gotten tired of the one sided conversation and the deer-in-the-headlight looks. "You mean you don't know?" he asked, a smirk on his lips.

Tsuzuki lowered his head as the trembles continued to shake his body. He had to clench his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering before he spoke again.

"I know you want me. Want to break me, hurt me, ravish me…pile corpses at my feet. That's not what I meant. I'm asking what you're doing here in Meifu. How did you get here?"

"Is that important?" Muraki asked, playing with the chocolate colored locks, stroking them lovingly, curling a few strands around his finger. "It's not the first time I'm here, is it, Tsuzuki-san? I came the same way I did last time. Do you remember? When I held you in my arms like a helpless child, took you from the darkness you were trapped in into the light. To end your pain."

"You took me to hell." Tsuzuki choked out.

"Is that so? Was that how you saw it? I never knew I scared you so much when indeed all I wanted to do was to free you from this awful existence that you hated so much." His hand stroked the side of Tsuzuki's face.

Tsuzuki slowly raised his head, tears streaming down his face and wetting pale cheeks. "Free me? You strapped me to your damned operating table, raped me, cut me with those terrible knives over and over again. You hurt me so bad I wished for death. You call that freedom?"

Muraki reached forward and cradled Tsuzuki's head in his arms, pressing it to his chest. He said, "Don't cry Tsuzuki-san, please. I might have hurt you. But it was necessary. You must know the only way to fix a broken doll is to take it apart and reassemble it again the right way. I needed to do that before I could make you all right, to make you mine."

Tsuzuki didn't reply. He was too far gone, too tired, cold and in pain. He couldn't fight Muraki, couldn't keep his shields up anymore. He was aware of his head resting against the doctor's chest, of Muraki's hand threading through his hair. He knew that he was burrowing himself deeper into that broad chest while tears spilled from his closed eyes. His conscience told him to fight, to pull away and put some distance between himself and the man who had raped and tortured both him and Hisoka. But conscience was a small voice in a place like this when fear and pain ruled the world and endurance reached its breaking point. When all you wanted was to close yourself off against the outside and nestle into a big, warm hug, never minding whom the arms that provided it belonged to.

In the totality of his misery, Tsuzuki's fragile hold over his emotions finally snapped and he let go of the sobs that had been welling up in his throat since Muraki had appeared.

The doctor held him while he cried.

"Shh, Tsuzuki-san. It's all right. I'm here now." He whispered.

The hand that was stroking his hair gradually moved to his back, roaming and massaging tense muscles while pressing over the wires. Tsuzuki was powerless against the manipulation, gone as he was in his despair. He reacted however when he felt the doctor change position and shift to his back, chest to shoulder blades, almost draping himself over the shinigami's trembling body.

"Ugh…" Tsuzuki breathed. A protest that couldn't come out quite fully. His thorny restraints were being jolted by Muraki's movement and it didn't help that the doctor was putting a significant amount of his weight on the shinigami's back.

Just like Muraki, he thought. Just as Tsuzuki always remembered him. Promising him comfort one moment and adding to his pain instead. What else would you expect from a man whose job was to cure people, yet all he did was to torment and end their lives?

'If only he would let me suffer in peace…' Tsuzuki thought as he felt Muraki's arms circle his torso, holding him in place and taking the pressure off of his restraints.

"Sorry love," the mad doctor whispered against his ear, "Didn't intend to hurt you. It is just that you look so delicious here, all trussed up like this. Would you deny me a taste?"

It had been inevitable. Tsuzuki let his head drop and closed his eyes, tears falling like dew from under his lashes. What could he do? His prosecutors had sent him his worst terror and he was helpless to avoid it. How had they known? Who had told them? Or did Ayaka pick it up from his dream, just like she had done with his memories? What did they want him to do to spare him from this most terrifying of nightmares?

/ Nightmares are illusions. They can touch you and surround you, hurt you in ways you couldn't imagine./

Muraki's hands were moving over his chest now, occasionally dipping under his shirt to touch bare skin or tweak a nipple. His mouth was busy all on its own, searching and nibbling along his jaw, the side of his face, and the back of his neck. Tsuzuki could feel the hot breath against his skin and the trail of wetness those lips left behind. He felt the lips reach around and capture his own, sucking the tender swells of flesh into his mouth as Muraki's tongue slipped into his.

Everything came back to him in a rush of sudden recollection. That night in Muraki's bed, before he had dressed him in the white yukata and taken him to the lab. His body naked and shivering under Muraki's weight, powerless to do anything to avoid the unwanted touch. Muraki had kissed him the same way, from behind, while he was on his stomach and the doctor's hands wound around his torso. He remembered the utter desperation he had felt, alone and trapped, unable to move a limb or speak a word. The only thing he had been able to show were his tears, which the pillows underneath him had been soaked with.

/ Nightmares can show you your most horrible dreams, your most painful memories or most desired wishes./

Muraki's hands had wandered lower, toward his abdomen. He was so distracted by the kisses that he hadn't noticed how they were now playing with the button of his pants, pulling down the zipper and reaching inside.

"No!"

His voice was weak and sounded broken to his ears. But it was all he had and all he could do in an attempt to stop this.

"Shh…" Muraki whispered, smothering his struggles with powerful arms, "It won't hurt. I promise."

Tears kept running down Tsuzuki's face as he saw himself, once again, a victim in Muraki's arms. It was as if he was experiencing one of his nightmares for real.

/ But illusions know nothing about feelings, they don't cry, and they don't bleed./

Muraki had managed to undo the shinigami's pants and was now pulling them down over his hips. The coldness of the air chilled him to the bone. Why? Why? He kept asking in his mind. Why wouldn't Muraki let him be?

"You are so exquisite Tsuzuki-san, so precious. The best among all I've laid my eyes on. I never forgot that night when I finally got my first taste of you in Kyoto. And since then, my thirst has only become stronger. I want you, Tsuzuki-san. I want you to be mine."

Slowly the doctor ran his hand over the bulge in front of Tsuzuki's briefs and purred seductively. Tsuzuki sobbed, trying to get away from the offending hands but having nowhere to go. He raised his head, hoping to be able to head-butt Muraki in the face. The doctor easily avoided him. Tsuzuki could picture the smile on the other man's face as he continued to whisper endearments into his ear.

"Still so full of spirit, aren't we? You are a dangerous creature, Tsuzuki-san. Dangerous and beautiful. Like a rose with thorns." Muraki's voice became muzzy as he leaned over Tsuzuki's throat and deeply inhaled, " I tried so hard to forget you, to suppress my lust for you after seeing how dangerous you could be in Kyoto. I had been abstaining – from you, from thinking of you, dreaming of your supple flesh, your beautiful hair – but look what destiny has turned out. All my efforts has come to naught when all of a sudden, I find myself on Meifu's ground with you bound and present like an offering to the gods. Do you sincerely blame me for being unable to resist?"

Muraki's hands where on his hips now and moving lower, with an experienced sweep they removed Tsuzuki's briefs down and left his body exposed to the wind. Tsuzuki's sob sounded more like a cry this time and he renewed his struggles. Muraki chuckled, his hand taking a strong grip on Tsuzuki's sex and squeezing, hard, effectively stopping the shinigami's efforts and freezing him in place.

A nightmare. That was what it was. Tsuzuki kept repeating to himself as he cried silently. It was all a terrible nightmare he would wake from soon…

/ Illusions know nothing about feelings.../

What did Ayaka mean? Why did she come to warn him about Muraki in the first place?

/… they don't cry, and they don't bleed./

He felt the first symptoms of his body's reaction to Muraki's ministration and tried not thinking about it, about what was happening to his body. He remembered the last time, how he had survived through the agony by thinking about other things, happier things.

Feelings.

If it was truly an illusion, perhaps that was the answer. Bringing feelings – other than pain, shame and hatred – back to his numbed senses. Maybe of things that he enjoyed, and would appreciate again if given now. Like apple pie and cinnamon bun.

And how did he feel about those delicious things right now? Tsuzuki squeezed his eyes tighter and tried to recreate the image of the buns and the pie in his mind. His mouth started watering.

Muraki's weight sank on his back. He tried to ignore it. But then he realized the doctor had removed part of his own clothing and that the front of his pants were open now, pressing his erection onto his back. He panicked, his focus drifting back to the here and now for a moment before Ayaka's image appeared in his mind and he was reminded of her words. He fought to go back to his meditation, turning the image around to regain his sweet fantasy of deserts. Her dress became a cake, her hair sugar, the half moons on the back of her head turned into croissants and her eyes turned into candy. Now she was a baked cookie, and he wanted to take a bite of her.

He bit into Muraki's fingers that had just snaked into his mouth. The body above him winced and the hand pulled back. But he had the presence of mind to notice that there was no coppery taste on his lips. The hand – even though his teeth had sunk deep into its flesh – had not bled at all.

He knew he shouldn't be thinking of blood. So he thought of something else. Of flowers this time, and the joys of gardening. Oh what happiness his little back-garden in Meifu brought him when all the tiny flowers bloomed in the spring. They were so beautiful. And those that didn't bloom he would nurture and cherish until they did. And then people who came to his home would look at his garden and admire it.

It was faint but he felt it nonetheless. The hand holding his waist faltered for a fraction of a second before tightening its grip more urgently. Muraki was quiet now, no more taunts and jibes coming from him, as if he was intent on what he was doing and perhaps even a little worried about giving something away. It was useless nonetheless because Tsuzuki had felt it.

So he kept up his own illusion, the one he had built on top of the existing one and came up with new images, of working in the office with Hisoka and Tatsumi, of bumping into Watari on his way to the lab, of Saya and Yuma and their giggles when they were around, of company picnics and tea parties at the Earl's palace.

But now, instead of just seeing the images, he began to feel them. Remembering Tatsumi's stern but melodic voice, Hisoka's soft cheeks and hands, Watari's variety of chemical smells, the taste of Wakaba's chocolate cake in his mouth…. It was as if he was reaching into a hidden reservoir of emotions and pulling out whatever met his hand. He piled them on top of each other like a Jenga tower, adding more and more to it as he surfed the thoughts: hunger, thirst, joy, anger, sleep, excitement, boredom, thrill, pleasure, achievement, shame, mischief, love…

That last one did the trick. For a split second he felt the hands go away. Not move away but simply dissolve. It didn't matter that they came back an instant later with a newly acquired vengeance, that they gripped him in all the most painful ways and started squeezing and hurting. He had found his way out. He just had to work on it.

Love. That was the one key emotion he needed for this. To chase away the fear and the pain. And now that he thought about it, it made even more sense in his mind. How could he have missed it? It was an illusion all right. But he had failed to notice that Ayaka herself wasn't there to feed it. In reality, she was the one who had conjured it, but not the one who held it together or kept it going. That was all him. His emotions of fear and revulsion and his memories of that night were the ones keeping Muraki around. It was an easy mathematical equation. The more real the illusion became, the more frightened he became, feeding the illusion with his fear and repeating the cycle.

It was so easy now, so simple when he saw it for what it was. All he had to do was to break the cycle.

He took a deep breath and with a rush of renewed determination brought up all the memories, all the feelings he had stashed away in the core of his heart and surrounded himself with them. Like a mental shield they covered him, protecting him from the devil and his touch.

He heard Muraki's angry gasp and his wavering effort to hold on. The doctors mouth came to growl in his ear, "What do you think you are doing? Do you seriously think you can escape me with such pathetic attempts?"

For the first time since their encounter Tsuzuki smiled. He didn't even need to look at his tormentor to know he was fading. "No," he said, " Maybe I can't escape the real you. But you are not the real Muraki. Just a copycat of how I remember him. And I don't want to remember him anymore, so you have to go."

From the corner of his eye he saw Muraki's apparition open his mouth, but no sound came out. He took the opening and went for him with another rush of feelings, bringing everything he got to the surface. His constant joy, his gentleness and care for everyone, his guilt over his past. He remembered his friends. He remembered how much he loved Hisoka, how much he respected and cared for Tatsumi, how much he enjoyed being with Watari and Wakaba and hell…even Terazuma. He brought those forth full force, images of their archery tournament, of the sense of pride he had felt when he'd shot the winning arrow. And how happy he was to see Hisoka and the chief looking at him with approval in their eyes. And the great time the he and Hisoka had shared after Tatsumi told him he had no paid vacation and Hisoka scolded him yet stayed in Meifu nonetheless to keep him company. They'd had a fun time playing games and cooking for each other, and that one night when Hisoka had come to sleep in his bed because of a nightmare and he had held him and listened to his soft breathing as he clamed down and slept …

"STOP THIS!" he heard Muraki's image say.

It was meant to be a yell, but even the voice was fading and sounding more like a cry. He knew then that he had won. He opened his eyes to see the thin film that was left of Muraki's specter disappear with the wind, like ashes scattering in the air. And, at the same time, he could feel himself becoming whole again, his clothes all in place, his hair and his body untouched. It was as if nothing had happened, and come to think of it, it really never had. For the first time in days Tsuzuki felt a sense of victory. No matter how small and insignificant it was, he had beaten the demons at their own game and came out the winner. That was something to go bragging about. All of a sudden he knew he could get through this. He had come face to face with all their devious tricks, the worst they could dish out to him, and had survived unscathed. It meant he could last this trial if he continued to hold on, and the key to it was as simple as his love for his friends and something he was already best at.

Feelings.

--------------------------

The castle hadn't changed. Same earth-colored walls, same summer-green roof, same reflective windows. His view of it, however, had changed. Warped in some way. He knew it was most likely the exhaustion, from staring at it – and at nothing else - for such a long time. The windows seemed longer, the walls skewed, and the roof caved-in. It was just an illusion, Tatsumi told himself as he fought, for the um-teenth time that day to keep his eyes open.

He thought it was another trick of his mind when he saw the darkly clad figure appear on the perimeter of his vision. As such, he paid it no attention. But when the figure moved forward it caused him to turn and look. Tatsumi worked to focus his eyes. It was one of those phantom guards that had come with Isorou. The cloaked and hooded minions that he called Enma's aids but were at the prosecutor's beck and call at all time like trained puppies. What was it doing here?

The creature stood a few feet away from him, facing him without speaking. Tatsumi stared at it for a while before feeling bored and deciding to dismiss it by shifting his eyes back to the castle. He didn't have any business minding it, he told himself. If it had something to do here, it better get on with it and leave. And if it was there simply to annoy the living daylight out of him, like Tatsumi himself was doing to the occupants of the castle, then it was simply pathetic for trying to pull the same trick he was using on him.

That was of course before he saw the other two, standing a short distance away from the first one. And he noticed the way they stood formed a barricade, effectively preventing him from moving ahead while his retreat was blocked by the gargoyle statue. It looked like they were trying to trap him. It made him smile at their naiveté to believe such a thing was possible.

He was contemplating these thoughts when the creature standing closest to him started to speak in a baritone voice that didn't quite go with its somewhat flimsy appearance.

"Tatsumi Seiichiro, we are here to remove you from this location."

"I see. And this was ordered by whom?" Tatsumi said.

"EnmaDiao."

"Then please go and tell his Greatness that, sadly, I cannot comply with his wish."

"Your view on the matter is impertinent and not of Enma-sama's interest."

"Then his isn't of mine either."

That seemed to go a little far as it evoked a flinch from the shrouded beings. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Tatsumi realized that his statement had probably been a borderline insult to Lord Enma, but it was just a tiny part of his conscience while the rest of him was simply too numb to care.

The front figure seemed to recover from the shock first, or maybe it was the only one allowed to speak since it addressed Tatsumi again.

"I suggest you come with us without any trouble, Tatsumi Seiichiro-san. You wouldn't want to add more to your list of transgressions."

"My list of--? Are you saying you are arresting me?"

"We are only following EnmaDiao's orders. If you have any objections, you should wait until you meet him and bring your dispute to His Greatness himself. For now, the order is to escort you away from the Castle of Candles and that is what we are going to do."

Tatsumi's eyes were shards of blue glass as he stood more solidly on the ground to show that no matter the threat, he was not going to move willingly from that spot.

Apparently the creature understood the implication since, a moment later, and with a slight movement of its hand, it beckoned to its followers to moved closer to Tatsumi forming a circle around him.

A thin dark line pulled taught in front of them preventing their approach like a wire on a fence. Tatsumi eyed them warningly, holding onto the sliver of shadow he had pulled from the branches of a nearby tree. It was neither a threat nor a challenge, just an act of self-defense. But his eyes showed he wasn't afraid to unleash offence if they didn't stop forcing the issue.

The two subordinate creatures heeded the warning and stopped a few feet away from the shadow. They looked at their leader for instruction while Tatsumi slowly dissolved his magic. The speaker was quiet; unseen eyes fixed on the secretary from under its hood. It looked like it wasn't pleased with what had just happened.

"If you don't come with us peacefully we will be obligated to use force," it said.

"Won't do you any good but you are welcome to try." Tatsumi replied as he pulled another shadow from somewhere and suspended it over the group's head.

It happened too fast. Like old-fashioned Western movies when everything is calm and frozen between two opponents one second for all hell to break loose in the next. The trio moved at once, closing in on him with fluid speed. It was enough for him to release the shadow upon them. It crashed down like a deluge of tar, gluing them in place. Tatsumi looked on in satisfaction. He doubted they knew that a master Kagetsukai could change the shadow's texture as well as its shape. 

But as it appeared, his powers weren't the only ones underestimated. Still covered with the blotch of shadow, the leader of the group shimmered faintly and spoke a tiny spell. It was all it took for Tatsumi's magic to disappear, and because he hadn't expected it to happen so fast he was caught off guard when all three of them jumped him an eye blink later and started casting their own spells on him. Tatsumi returned to battle mode soon after, pulling shadows from everywhere and using them as weapons to strike them down. It helped to knock two of them off their feet and away from him. But the third had had ample time to finish its spell and by the time Tatsumi turned to it, it was already too late. He found his magic lost and the shadows retreating. Next he became paralyzed, unable to move a limb. And before long all members of the trio were back on their feet and surrounding him. He looked at them with livid eyes, determined not to give in even though the odds were drastically against him.

He saw the leader reach for him and grab him by the lapel of his coat. He forced his body to stay strong and in place. It didn't matter that he was paralyzed. Exhaustion and lack of food had done that too him days ago, long before these pitiable servants had showed up. All that mattered was to remain where he was, where he could be seen by the Earl. His plan however didn't quite work when the creature gave a tug and he found himself falling. He saw the ground moving fast toward his face without being able to move his arms and break the fall. He was fully expecting to feel the impact on his face when the other two creatures caught him by the arms mid fall and began dragging him to an unknown destination following their leader. He opened his mouth to shout. He would die first before he'd let them take him away.

The voice that was heard next wasn't his though.

"Leave him alone. Hakushaku-sama wants to see him."

They all turned at the sound. The sight that greeted them was almost comical in its contrast to the authoritative voice they'd just heard. Facing them stood Watson, the Earls disfigured butler. Tatsumi always thought of him as negligible. But Watson was standing tall and serious now. And the creatures seemed to be wary of him.

"Did the Earl himself ask for him?" One of them asked.

Watson nodded. "I wouldn't have been here if he hadn't, would I?"

Tatsumi's mind was whirling. He was too tired and confused to believe what he was seeing. But it seemed to mean that his wish was granted. The phantoms let go of his arms.

For the second time that day, Tatsumi expected to fall flat on his face only to be saved from it by a surprising force. This time it was his own as feeling returned to his body in a snap and his reflexes kicked in. He caught himself with his arms and landed on hands and knees in front of the butler. It was an awkward and embarrassing position in front of four creatures that were all more or less half his size. But since they all kept their professional air he took his time to catch his breath before slowly standing up and looking at them, who for the most part completely ignored him.

"Our orders are from EnmaDiao…"

"EnmaDiao has agreed. The Earl will handle it from here."

It infuriated him, the way they talked as if he wasn't there. But he was smart enough not to react to it and when his hostile escorts finally gave an approving nod and left, he found himself extremely grateful of the tiny hunchbacked servant.

The butler raised his head after watching the figures depart and said, "Please follow me," in the same commanding voice he had used the entire time. He then turned toward the castle and started walking.

"Has the Earl finally agreed to hear me out?" Tatsumi asked without moving.

Watson didn't turn. "He has agreed to see you." He stopped and looked at him over his shoulder, "You better not keep him waiting," was all he said before starting to walk again.

There was no point in arguing anymore, so as quickly as his shaky legs would allow him, Tatsumi followed the creature into the castle. It was time to get some answers from the higher ups, as well as making some serious demands. After that, maybe he'd be able to put an end to all this madness, have some much-needed rest, and find the courage to look Tsuzuki in the eyes once again.

tbc

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So what do you think? Sorry, no Isorou in this one, I know you all miss him ;) I'm starting to wrap things up from here on and explain the behind-the-scenes stuff. This will continue on to the next chapter, which will be the one before the big finale (oh, yes, there is one. And rest assured, Isorou will be there.)

Now that you've come this far, I would really appreciate it if you left me a review. Especially since it's getting harder and harder to keep up with the updates. If I know enough people are reading this, I'll be more inclined to continue it. Doesn't that sound good?

Oh, and here is a question in case you'd like to tackle one: What do you think the Earl would say to Tatsumi?