Disclaimer: I do not own X-men Evolution, Yu Yu Hakusho, or anything of Edgar Allen Poe's.

The kitsune information in this story (aside from direct references to Kurama or his past) is from http : w w w . comnet . ca / foxtrot / kitsune / kitsune 1 . htm . I used snippets of info from there to flesh out my kitsune explanation, but some of it is tweaked slightly.

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A/N: I cannot believe that I did that! I cannot believe that I wrote that Logan had broken bones! Kami-sama on a pogo-stick, I mean, honestly! Someone, shoot me, please!I've been watching the series since I was, what, three? Personally, I blame the slip-up on lack of sleep... and sheer stupidity, but mostly lack of sleep. I've gone back and corrected the chapter; it's actually canon now. New chapters are currently halfway down the literary birth canal, so please be patient.

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I've had to alter my markings for various languages due to some new quirks of ff . net.

Now it's "Japanese" and "Makai dialect."

- : - : - Chapter Twenty-Two: More Pieces of the Puzzle - : - : -

The chamber was dark and empty, large enough that every sound, be it even the slightest whisper, bounced against the hard stone walls and echoed throughout the room. The walls were built of marble, gray and cold, free of any ornament. The floor was equally austere, covered in glossy onyx tiles that reflected any movement above with the accuracy of polished mirrors.

Her pale face empty of any emotion, the small girl stood with unnatural stillness before the plush couch which held the lounging form of the Master. The girl's hands dangled limply at her sides, and her brown hair hung lank and unwashed around her face.

Her eyes were locked firmly upon the form of the Master, who was stretched catlike along the length of the couch.

Sensing her gaze, the Master shifted positions slightly, rolling up on one elbow so that piercing violet eyes could peer more closely at the young, silent human. "What is it that you find so interesting about me, pet?" The voice was soft and dark, like velvet, echoing through the room like the purr of a large cat. "Can I not even sleep in peace now?"

Silence.

The Master made a small noise of amusement, laying back against the cushions once more. "You and your staring. Humansare odd creatures."

The girl's head tilted ever-so-slightly, and she blinked once, slowly, like an owl considering whether or not a small creature below was suitable prey.

"Hmph." A low chuckle echoed through the room. "You have your uses for now, my pet, but it's damnably annoying to wake up to your face at all hours of the day. Go stare at one someone else."

Several long minutes passed, and the soft breathing of the Master started to even out in the beginnings of sleep, despite the pale-skinned watcher standing over the couch.

A low knock sounded upon the door, setting the walls to echoing.

The Master growled in annoyance. "Enter, whoever you are, and you had best have a good reason for intruding!"

The door opened a small crack, sending a shaft of white light skittering across the floor, and one of the black-clad guards that the Master depended upon for security slid inside before shutting the door behind himself. Immediately, the guard dropped to his knees, bowing his head respectfully.

"Master?"

"Speak quickly. I'm not in the best of moods at the moment."

"Selena has sent a message, Master. The four underlings you assigned to her have been overcome."

The Master's form abruptly tensed, and the velvety voice became as hard, as cold, and as dangerous as a steel blade. "And the target?"

The guard shivered visibly. "E-escaped, Master."

Silence. The guard's shuddering breath echoed in the vast emptiness of the room, setting the walls to whispering.

"I . . . see." Violet eyes were narrowed in irritation.

"M-Master?"

The Master ignored the guard's stammering, turning instead to smile lazily at the small girl still standing silently beside the couch. "Pet, have you been allowed to play lately?"

The girl's blank eyes showed no change, but the Master chuckled softly anyway. "I didn't think so. Go play, pet. Make some music for me."

The girl blinked slowly, before turning toward the trembling guard who still knelt just within the door. Her eyes slowly focused upon the black-clad figure.

His eyes locked fearfully upon the small girl, the guard tensed. His entire body twitched, then stiffened convulsively. His eyes widened, white showing all around his irises, before rolling back in the skull, and his breath rasped loudly in his throat.

And he screamed.

It wasn't the scream of a man in pain. It was the scream of a being stricken with terror beyond imagining, like the agonized squeal of a rabbit in a snare or the fearful bugle of a stag before it was overcome by wolves.

The scream stretched on and on, setting the walls to echoing like the wailing of thousands of damned souls. Seconds, minutes, perhaps hours passed . . . occasionally the man paused to strain for breath, or the scream would dwindle to a choked whimper, but always the sound returned to the high, tormented shriek of utter terror.

At last, however, the cry faded to wet, gurgling rasp, and the man collapsed forward onto his face. The body jerked spasmodically for a few moments, and then . . .

Stillness.

The girl's eyes slowly regained their former, blank gaze, and the Master made a small sound of satisfaction.

"We'll see how long it takes for someone to come take that away, pet. You may yet have another playmate."

The Master settled back into the cushions of the couch, easily ignoring the corpse lying upon the floor, a thin line of blood trickling from the corner of its mouth to drip upon the polished floor.

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Seated upon the edge of one of the many infirmary beds, Logan slapped Hank McCoy's probing hands away with an expression of fury upon his rough features. "Get off me, Hank. I'll live."

The doctor merely frowned and continued with his ministrations, still hampered by the smaller mutant's attempts to fend him off. "Listen to me, Logan," he growled in exasperation. "You will sit still and you will be patient while I have a look at those injuries, or I'll get Charles to knock you out so I can work in peace.Your internal organs are bruised, and I wouldn't be surprised if you have internal bleeding, and I refuse to allow you to walk around the Institute in such a state; what ifsomething more when wrong, hmm? Where would you be then?"

Logan's eyes narrowed. "I'd be outside, hunting down the bastard"

:That's quite enough, Logan. You're acting like a child.:

Logan blinked, put off by the terse nature of the professor's mind voice. :Chuck:

The professor's tone softened. :Listen to Hank, Logan. The sooner he cares for your injuries, the sooner we can have you back to your normal health. You'll be no help to us if you injure yourself further.:

:What about the strangers, Chuck? Are you tracking them:

The Professor hesitated for a short moment. :…We're doing what we can. Come see me as soon as Hank is finished with you. You, Ororo, and I all have many things to talk about.:

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Ororo frowned downward into the shadowy recesses of the plain ceramic mug held tentatively in her trembling hands. The liquid held within was dark brown and steaming hot. From the smell, she assumed that it was hot chocolate. She had yet to drink any; the warmth against her hands was comforting, and she feared that she might spill it if she attempted to raise it to her lips.

Seated across from her, behind the wooden monstrosity that he called a desk, Charles Xavier opened his eyes and let the smallest of sighs escape. "That man…" he muttered, looking somewhere between worried and mildly exasperated.

Ororo felt her lips twitch into a small, uncertain smile. There was only one person whom the professor referred to as 'that man'… especially while wearing that particular facial expression.

"Logan is awake, I take it?" she queried.

The professor rubbed absently at his temple. "Awake, and furious that he isn't allowed to leave the infirmary right now to hunt down the intruders. He's unbelievable."

"He's Logan." Ororo glanced down at the mug once more, and her mood fell again as she saw the telltale shivers dancing across the liquid's surface, betraying the trembling in her hands. "Is he… all right?"

"Bruised and possibly injured internally, as I understand it," Xavier stated. "But, as you say, he is Logan. He'll be hail and whole by noon tomorrow."

Ororo shook her head, not in denial but in disbelief of what she had seen.

"I simply can't wrap my mind around it, Charles. They were on Institute grounds, and if Rahne hadn't been outside, we wouldn't have even known it! The Institute's security rivals that of most major government facilities of this country! And the way they... the way he fought. I never saw him move."

Charles nodded, his eyes somehow intense and understanding all at once. "Can you tell me what they looked like? You say there were two."

Ororo closed her eyes, attempting to visualize any details that might be of importance.

"Well, the first was very… dark. He wore strange, baggy clothes, dark blue or black, and his hair was so long, nearly to his calves, and very wild. His face…" Her eyes opened abruptly. "Tattoos, all over his face, and maybe on his arms, I'm not sure. His eyes… they were almost like a cat's, the pupils reflected light, and they looked red. His voice was very deep, but I don't know what he said. He was… frightening."

"And the other?"

"The first had thrown Logan from the perimeter wall, and I knew I wasn't quick enough to catch him. But then, there was a flash of light, and another man… appeared. He had caught Logan. Saved him. Taller than the first, and broader in the shoulders. He wore robes of some sort, all white. His eyes were gold, and his hair was silvery, and long as well, but only about to his waist, I think. He" Ororo hesitated. "he had… furry ears, like a cat or wolf, and he had a tail… He spoke to the first, and I think he convinced the dark one to leave Logan alone. He set Logan down and spoke to me."

Charles made no comment about her claims as to the second stranger's strange appendages. He merely encouraged her gently with a softly spoken, "What did he say?"

A warm blush crept across the weather-worker's cheeks. "He said that I shouldn't worry... that he wouldn't bite."

Charles blinked, but that was the only sign he gave of surprise. "I see."

"He told me that Logan needed medical attention… that his 'lord's' strength was not something to take lightly. He told me that Rahne needed help. And" She drew in a quick, surprised breath, her eyes widening with realization.

Xavier's brows drew together in a concerned frown. "Ororo?"

She forced herself to meet his eyes, forced herself to speak. "He… he called himself Youko."

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Somewhere far to the north of the Institute, a middle-aged man one Daniel Tabor by namewas driving down a road he had never seen before and wondering how the hell he had wound up in the middle of nowhere with no memory of his journey there.

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Hiei watched the van trundle off into the darkness with a satisfied smirk upon his face.

"You're certain the driver won't remember?" queried the imposing figure of Toushin Yuusuke.

"Certain," he replied. "He doesn't have a clue how he ended up out here, much less that he was used as a taxi-service for demons."

"Fine. Now where's this fabled 'hotspot' of yours?"

A low yip sounded off to one side, from within the foliage lining the side of the country road. Moonlight glinted fleetingly upon silver fur and golden eyes, and the two black-haired demons moved toward the sound… or rather, Yuusuke walked into the underbrush while Hiei flitted into the treetops, as was his wont.

As the ground fell away beneath him, his feet propelling him easily over the walkway of flimsy branches, Hiei let his youki levels rise slightly, preparing his body for what lay ahead. Below him, he could catch short glimpses of Kurama's fox form, darting in and out of the underbrush with the ease borne of millennia of practice. Yuusuke was somewhere further back but keeping up well despite the hampering nature of the forest.

The electric tingle of foreign youki danced across his senses as he ran forward, and Hiei increased his speed without conscious thought, eager to reach a place where the customs of Makai held sway… customs that he knew, customs that he understood, customs that afforded the strong the respect they so deserved.

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Yuusuke sneered as he caught sight of his destination through the thin screen of trees that still lay before him. An ancient warehouse, far past its prime, sat hunched dejectedly in the center of a clearing overgrown with weeds of every variety. He pushed his way out of the trees and ran a hand through his hair, dislodging the few stray leaves that had taken up residence there.

"This is a demon gathering ground?" he asked archly. "I've seen classier junkyards."

"Use your senses, baka," came Hiei's growled reply from somewhere overhead. "The gathering ground is inside. There's a shield up to mask it, but you can still feel some youki, and you can smell the scent of Makai."

Yuusuke absently pondered that, while he couldn't remember the meaning of any Japanese terms at the moment, 'baka' hardly sounded complimentary. He was brought back to the present by the appearance of Youko Kurama at his right.

"After you," commented the fox-demon.

Yuusuke snorted, striding forward, making for the small, lopsided door in the warehouse's side he could just see highlighted by the moonlight. The waist-high weeds bent out of his way (Youko's doing, no doubt.), leaving a wide path he could traverse without difficulty.

They crossed the field in silence save for the near-imperceptible rustling of their footsteps, and even that was masked by the occasional breezes meandering through the clearing.

They were a mere ten feet from the doorway when a dark shape rose up before them as though from nowhere. A low, bass voice rumbled through the darkness.

"Where do you think you're going, low-class?"

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Someone was groaning.

Her entire body was throbbing, her skin tingling uncomfortably like an all-over 'pins-and-needles' episode. Her hands clenched of their own volition, closing around fistfuls of cloth.

Well, she was alive at least. Being dead wouldn't hurt this much.

She cracked her eyes open experimentally fighting against the headache throbbing through her skullbefore quickly slamming them closed against the fierce, fluorescent light that stabbed viciously at her eyes.

The groaning intensified, and she noticed in a distant, unconcerned waythat it was herself she was hearing.

Oh, lordy, what had she been drinking? She hadn't felt this bad since that time Kuwabara had come across a bottle of sake and challenged her to a drinking game . . .

Rogue's eyes snapped open, regardless of the pain that the bright lights of the infirmary caused her.

Who the HELL was 'Kuwabara' . . . ?

: - : - To Be Continued… - : - : -

A/N: After a very extended hiatus, I'm back, for whatever that's worth. Meh, go me.

For those who didn't read my bio announcement, I've been suffering from one of the most debilitating computer crashes I've ever faced, and believe me, there've been a few doozies. This crash, however, not only wiped out my stored Mission X files, it ANNIHILATED THREE completed chapters. (I had been planning a Christmas present for ya'll.)

I was reasonably upset.

But now I'm back, and hopefully I won't be flamed as much as I fear I will. Flames HURT.

Gomen for the long wait, and wish me lots of luck on the next chappie, ne?