Hi all! Macx here, on behalf of Lara, too.

Reading the latest reviews I just want to step in and do my two bits of explanations, though I hate to bore you all with the never-ending Author Notes et all.

1.) Pawn isn't really moving very fast. It's an illusion smirk No, seriously. We've been building up to this for months, ever since we started writing, beginning with Darkness Unleashed. This had to happen some time and shit is now really and almost literally hitting the fan for everyone. If you read the last few stories in a row and continue with this one, you might discover Enma's sneaky little manipulations.

2.) Enma. No, he's not stupid. No, he's not completely oblivious. Yes, he's old. Yes, he has a very good reason for his decisions, for taking such almost incalculable risks, and for doing it now. Yes, he's feeling a tad urgent. Yes, he made mistakes, beginning with trying to set up Tsuzuki to become something he needs. Just what that is... you probably suspect it already... Right now Enma's juggling a lot of explosive situations and he's miscalculated. Not just with Touda's effect on Tsuzuki but with a lot more.

3.) Rhea Logan's 'Against the Wind'. I've chatted with Rhea, we talked at lengths about her Watari and ours. She was writing AtW while Pawn was already a done deal and going through a beta, which was before I went on my fateful trip to the US to catch influenza. Some souvenirs you really don't need. But anyway, neither of the author(s) is stealing from the other. Our Wataris are very, very different. You might think they're the same, but they are not. I confess to not being up to date with AtW while I write this AN, but even our Enmas are not the same. And neither are the Mothers. There's no stealing, copying, whatever involved.

I hope that helps clear up a few things. I also ask that you all bear with us as we progress with this story. This will not just end. You know our stories, right? You know the way we write, hm? Yes? Okay! So you know our style, our deviusness, and our twisted plots :P

The apartment was a battle field. Nothing was where it had been, nothing seemed to be whole, and the walls looked scorched. Shinigami power, magic, had struck everything in its reach, had burned and shattered and destroyed. Tsuzuki could still feel the echoes of it.

Hisoka's power.

He knew what it felt like. It was something he had quickly grown accustomed to. It wasn't just the magic Hisoka had been given when he had become a shinigami, but also his empathic abilities that could strike out at a target and stun it if he used it for that. It was tiring for the young shinigami and he had rarely used it before, but once or twice Tsuzuki had been witness to it.

"Hisoka?" he called, fear in his voice.

What had been able to come into Meifu, invade their private apartment, and do this? What had triggered such a massive defense? And why had no one noticed?

Like so many things had gone unnoticed, a little voice reminded him. Like so many unexplained phenomena had struck them in the past.

"Hisoka!"

The bed was slashed, feathers everywhere, the filling spread all over the floor. The hardwood floor as such had seen better days, burned and scorched and full of cracks and deep grooves. A large crack went all the way up the wall to the ceiling where it had brought down the lamp.

"Hisoka! Where are you?"

He couldn't sense his partner anywhere. There wasn't even the faintest whiff of a presence, only remnants. Hisoka had been here, and he had disappeared.

And then Tsuzuki saw the blood.

Pools, droplets, smears.

"Hisoka..."

He approached the bed, careful not to step into the blood, and his stomach froze into a cold knot as he discovered something underneath the torn bed sheet and feathers.

A rose.

Deep red, exquisite. A single rose with a long, perfect stem, and sharp thorns.

There was a small envelope next to it, covered in down. Tsuzuki picked it up, hands shaking. His name was on it, written in perfect handwriting.

I have your little partner, Asato. You can have him back if you meet with me. We have so much catching up to do.

There was an address and a signature.

Tsuzuki felt suddenly very, very cold.

Muraki.

Muraki had... he had come here... to Meifu... and he had taken Hisoka... and he wanted to meet him... Muraki...

The old nightmare from years ago broke free and the shinigami sank to his knees in the chaos that surrounded him. He felt nauseous, sick, like he would throw up any minute. Muraki... The man who had changed him forever, who had turned his life upside down, who had left such deep scars, and who knew about his past.

Whose grandfather had treated Tsuzuki until the day the young man had ended his miserable existence.

Whose deeds so far had only brought terror and pain.

Who had taken Tsuzuki and killed him over and over again, had wanted his body, his shinigami abilities, to experiment with.

Whose hands had been on his skin and who had... who had taken Hisoka.

Hisoka, who had died because of Muraki. Who was carrying the curse his human self had been forced to suffer under, that had killed him, and even as a shinigami he couldn't be free.

"Hisoka," Tsuzuki whispered, lips numb.

And Muraki had come to Meifu to take his 'puppet', his victim.

"Not again. Not AGAIN!"

His habitual black coat fluttered behind him like bat wings as Tsuzuki left the trashed apartment. Within the blink of an eye he was gone, crossing from Meifu into the world of the living.

An avenging angel. An angel of death.

° ° °

The first thing that registered was the coppery taste in his mouth. He needed a few seconds before his muddled brain recognized the taste as for what it was – blood. His own, he realized, if the pain of barely healed wounds was a indicator. Hisoka sucked a lungful of air into his lungs when the attempt to move resulted in another flash of pain and rolled around as far as his bounds would allow to cough up a splash of blood that had blocked his airways. Damn, the empath mused groggily, wondering for a second if anybody had noted the license plate number of the truck that had hit him when his brain provided him with the true reason fir his current condition. A blurry image ... silvery hair ... cold eyes ... Muraki.

And he hadn't even sensed him.

Why the hell hadn't he sensed him?

There had been a simple knock on his door and when Hisoka had answered the impact of a magical blast had send him flying into the next best wall. A second later the doctor had been all over him and he had fought back with everything he had – which wasn't little. He had ended in a bloody heap on the bed anyhow, the hated form of Muraki holding him down and sneering into his face, as his hand had slid over his body.

"Awake again, my doll?" the satiny voice of his tormentor cut into hid thoughts. Hisoka stared into the cold silver eye and fought down his involuntary fear response.

"What the fuck do you want, Muraki?" he snarled, letting anger replace the rising panic. He wasn't thirteen anymore, he was a shinigami and he had enough of running, goddamnit.

Muraki tsked. "My, my, what a language, my own. Does that suit you? I don't think so."

A ray of light reflected on the silvery blade of the scalpel as Muraki raised a hand.

"Let's do something about that, why don't we, as we wait for your lover, hm? I always wanted to know if in a shinigami the vocal cords replace themselves – or the heart ... "

Hisoka looked into his nemesis's eyes and his heart sank with the horrific realization – there wasn't any cold calculation in Muraki's face anymore. He looked into the eyes of a man who was far gone, who hadn't anything to lose anymore. Hisoka didn't get the chance to scream when the blade sank into his throat and cut off his voice before it sank into his chest.

° ° °

Ryu knew he had a problem. First, there was a gigantic, black snake lying in his palace. Touda was barely conscious, twitching now and then, and he was radiating cold. The cold of Limbo.

Terazuma was out like a light, just as cold to the touch, and Watson had carried in hot bottles and blankets to warm the man up. There were no open wounds, but the shock to the shinigami's system had probably been immense. He had been torn apart from his shikigami and flung into the blackness that was Limbo, protected by a thin layer of ever-dissolving energy.

Ryu studied the suddenly so different features of the man he had known for three decades now. Terazuma had always been the possessed shinigami, the man with the red eyes, the black stripes under his eyes, and the pointed ears. As well as a growly attitude and a temper to match it. He had been very self-controlled when it came to archery and his job, but whenever he had collided with Tsuzuki, sparks had erupted. It had been a violent firework of clashing personalities.

That had changed. Like to many thanks.

And Tsuzuki had been the one who had been the central point of it all.

Ryu smiled a little. He knew how much he owed this man already, and he would never be able to repay it.

"Warm up a few more bottles, Watson," he said softly. "Just to be ready. We have to stabilize his body temperature."

The servant nodded and hurried off.

Ryu sighed softly and smoothed the woolen blanket. When Watson returned he left him to watch their patient and walked back down outside to where Touda was. The Palace was hesitantly repairing itself, mostly because the shikigami was still half laying in two rooms at once, the wall shattered and a pile of rubble left and right of the snake form.

"What to do with you?" he murmured.

There was no answer.

And the next question came immediately: where was Tsuzuki? He had expected him to come running the moment his bonded shikigami had crashed into the Palace of Candles. As it was, no one had come. And it wasn't as if the arrival of the hell serpent hadn't set off a dozen alarms.

No one was here.

No one at all.

What is going on here? he thought again.

Well, whatever it was, he had someone to take care of. Terazuma was already being treated and now Touda was the next in line. He had to warm him up and though there weren't enough blankets in this realm to cover the massive body, he and Watson would try their best to raise the serpent's body temperature somehow.

° ° °

Muraki had chosen a remote place for the final showdown. He knew what he would soon face, what would be triggered, and there was no use luring Tsuzuki into the middle of a lively city. The young man would be too worried about killing the living to truly unleash his potential. So he had come here, into this remote place where no trace of human life had remained.

OmniFair was an abandoned compound that consisted of several large fair halls, some smaller side buildings, and a lot of open space between them. Fifteen years ago, this ground had been the center point of every large fair, from technology to exhibits to simple fun fairs. The endless, empty concrete parking lots were proof of that, as were the abandoned Ferris wheels and supply stores farther outside the immediate center. Five years ago, a new fairground had been built, better equipped, very modern, easier to reach by bus and rail, in the immediate vicinity of an airport. OmniFair had closed completely after a valiant struggle to attract customers with a year-round fun fair.

Now rats scurried through the empty, yawning halls. Rubble and decaying material piled in some corners, the perfect hiding place for the vermin.

In one of the buildings Hisoka hung bound in his chains, unable to free himself from the special construction that could hold even an angel of death. Muraki studied his doll, smiled as he saw the curse flare on the creamy skin.

"Did he enjoy touching you?" he whispered.

There was no answer.

Hisoka had still not regained consciousness, though his heart had started beating again. Blood was drying at the foot of the cross-like construction, the boy still spread-eagled for Muraki to touch him however he wanted.

"He's coming for you. Soon your partner will be here and it will be over."

Placing two fingers under the bloody chin, Muraki pushed up the boy's head.

"Are you already trembling with excitement?" He smiled. "I am. Oh yes, I am..."

And then he felt the power of an angel of death draw near.

"Right on the hour," Muraki murmured. "Punctual. Very, very punctual. Too bad you can't watch, Hisoka. It would be so perfect."

He let the head drop back onto the equally bloody chest and turned to leave. He was ready to take the last step in this life-long game.

° ° °

Tsuzuki stood in what must have served as storage or personnel rooms when the fairgrounds had still been in use. There were shower rooms, now dry and defunct, the tiles already dropping off the walls; empty rooms, rooms where a lot of equipment had been shoved into, all of them covered in dust; and the locker room, which connected two buildings. The locker room was a long rectangle, endless rows of metal lockers standing in neat lines, and the small overhead windows bathing everything in a weird light. Dust and grime had blinded the windows over the last decade.

He carefully picked his way along one row. Most of the lockers were closed, but some stood open and he peeked inside. Nothing. Smiley faces laughed at him from other locker doors, and one open door had a halfway ripped off pin-up girl from an old calendar glued to it.

There was no sound except his own, light steps as he finished the row without any interruption.

Tsuzuki could feel Muraki's presence. He could feel the tell-tale aura of magic.

The door to the next building was unlocked and he pushed it open. He was outside once more, opposite Hall 14. The huge numbers were painted on the former fairground hall, the paint now flaking.

Tsuzuki crossed the open ground, following the traces of Muraki, aware that this was most likely a trap. He didn't really care. Muraki had his partner and he would pay for it.

The hall as such was huge and it had large windows on the ground floor. They were all grimy, so he was unable to sneak a look inside.

He entered.

The hall must have been some kind of food pavilion once. There were several small booths at one end, tables and chairs lined up in a wide area around them. Colorful ribbons had been woven around the wood and steel constructions, some of them badly bleached through time. The other half of the hall was a giant playground for kids. Or had been. There was a large indoor sandbox, several wooden animals fixed on large, sturdy steel springs for kids to ride on, and assorted other, old playground stuff. Signs telling the visitors where the restrooms where and which door led to what building outside hung precariously on their rusty nails.

Tsuzuki remained next to the door, very, very careful of walking into a trap. Nothing moved; everything was dead silent. He walked almost soundlessly ever deeper inside and made his way over to the children's playground, feet sinking into the soft sand. There was barely any litter around, just the dust covering the grainy ground. Suddenly he stopped, eyes narrowing. The playground was mostly a sandbox with upturned timbers, some old roots, and the wooden animals on springs. It had been created in a gently sloping pattern, small mounts of sand here or there... and the mounts were what disturbed him.

Before Tsuzuki had any chance to think any further, sand exploded left of him and something jumped straight at the shinigami.

tbc...