Well, hello. Chapter one is done, at last. It was... a little hard to write. Heh. Do feel free to see the final outcome yourself, though. This picks up where 'Desperado' left Watari's point of view (after he and Tatsumi part), but I tried to write it in such way that it works as a standalone. If any case, the worst you might have to do, if you don't want to read the abovementioned story, is guess what occurred between Watari and Tatsumi to warrant those thoughts at the beginning.

The music for this chapter is Vas - The Reaper and the Flowers. Really, get it if you can – it sets the mood so well it's scary. Heh. E-mail me if you want it.

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Against the Wind
Chapter One

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People, Watari had learned early, had turned masochism into a fine art. They cried in many ways, he had noticed, but what was constant in that was the reason they did. It brought release; it allowed them to slip into that numb state of oblivion as their pain took its time to subside, giving way to bittersweet reflection mingled with regret. But it hurt them all over, the act of crying itself a sign of defeat.

And Watari Yutaka was not one to cry.

Or so he told himself, the stern voice of logic in his mind at variance with the hot, salty tears that rolled down his face. He had not so much as thought to turn on the lights when he arrived in his apartment and sunk weakly to the floor, his long arms wrapping around his slender form to suppress the shuddering sobs. Most people's demons crawled out in the dark. His own, it seemed, had grown immune to the vanquishing power of light. And darkness, right then, felt somehow safer anyway.

'Why? Why did you want to know?'

'I wanted to see the real you. The one behind the mask.'

It was not so much about Tatsumi's words as it was about the meaning they carried. Everyone was curious, one way or another, even if nobody asked. For Tatsumi, Watari knew, it must have taken a turning point of real magnitude to step out of line past his careful defenses, to reach out for him like he did. It was only for he must have thought that, in the end, he had found a crack in Watari's shell. And he had. If only he had not misjudged what he would find inside.

The breach of his fences had called for a retreat, and he had done no less. Most people's shells harbored their most human self; the one that, with nowhere to hide, was too quick to break. His own had been altered to be made of steel. It had been sold. It was no more his own than was the rest of him.

Watari rose to his feet, eyes shut, fingers curled into fists. Fighting others was easy; he had only to go so far to slide ahead of them, unnoticed, and take control in his hands. Try as he might, he could not take that step past himself, and so fighting the demon within was an arduous trial.

It was only himself, the dark counterpart to contradict each smile, yet both as tangible and real as his now-trembling hands, as his pounding heart. That demon within was no less than himself, each time quick to strike where it hurt the most. Wide awake and on a quest against his sanity, the darkness within him invaded his mind. One bit at a time, it took over whatever was left of his human self.

Human, he thought, had to be a figure of speech in regards to him.

He cursed under his breath as he felt that faint, tingling sensation at the back of his head. It had grown familiar in the past few weeks, each time eager to come and harder to chase away. No... he stopped, halfway across the room before he realized he had been moving at all. It had always been there, as long as he'd been dead. Ever since he had handed his body, his mind, and his very self to Enma DaiOh on a silver platter thirty years before.

He felt himself move, his feet taking him to the desk in a few quick, automatic steps. He felt heat rush up to his face as an impulse stronger than his will forced him to sit down. He saw his hand reach out for the power switch on his computer, then hover over the keyboard, entering the passwords as it loaded up. He held his breath, squeezed his eyes shut, then gave his head a firm shake and almost by the sheer force of will, he tore his hands away from the keyboard.

He brought them to his temples and forced his fingers to press hard as he drew long, deep breaths. It left him lightheaded, but he didn't care. That feeling of being violated from the inside had never been this strong, never this hard to control. Shuddering violently as he gasped, Watari grabbed the keyboard and slammed it onto the floor.

The computer produced a single beep that indicated the loss of its peripherals. In a flurry of tangled hair Watari rose, spun around and stormed out of the room.

He didn't stop until he reached the kitchen, the farthest place in his apartment. He leaned heavily over the sink, still gasping for breath. He heard something crack where the sink connected to the wall, but it held his weight. The sound of his own pounding heart was loud in his ears, deafening beyond reason, yet not quite loud enough to silence the voice in thoughts.

You're a monster!

"Stop it!" he hissed through his gritted teeth, in that moment feeling a wave of nausea come over him and he heaved violently, grasping the cupboard above the sink just in time not to fall. He sucked in a sharp breath, tore away from his place and turned. Muscles tense to the point of pain, he let go of the handle too late as he staggered back. Pulled with an almost inhuman strength, the small door shot open and the cupboard disconnected from one of the hooks it hung on. A fair supply of dishes and glasses fell all around him, shattering as it hit the floor.

Slow and menacing, a familiar voice replayed the same words over and over again.

In the end, you sold your head and body to JuuOhCho. Go to hell! You make me sick!

Sold.

What is your price, Watari-san

Unwittingly kicking the broken glass on the floor, he walked out, supporting himself against the wall. You're not even human. What is this? Don't pretend to care!

"Stop it..." he moaned, one hand clutching at his head, the other desperate in search of something to grasp that would keep him steady. His fingers found something hard and cool; an edge of a wooden frame. He looked up.

Staring back at him, his reflection in the mirror was dark; merely contours of shadow, yet his eyes were aflame. That fire bore regret and disgust all in one, mingled with tears that fought their way out yet never quite made it to the point of release.

You're a monster!

That's right, his own inner voice chimed on, no more and no less than that. Its sound grew louder, obnoxious, tearing his mind to shreds as the voice gave way to pain; a pain he could not ignore.

Go to hell! You make me sick!

He only half-registered the furious pounding of his heart against his ribs; the sound resonating through his entire being could not have gone unnoticed. His damp palms slid a few inches down the wall, fingers curled into fists, heeding the call of the sick feeling in his stomach and the shattering pain in his head. Was it worth it? No, it wasn't. He should never have come here in the first place, then none of this would have happened. He would have died human, he would not have been marked with change that could not be reversed. Nothing could be undone, not anymore.

Ice-cold fire of fury burned in his veins; he remembered it all, each day from the first to the last, and his own obliviousness to everything but his goal.

Breathing hard, he squeezed his eyes shut, restraining a cry only by a thread. It came out as a sudden gasp, the strain taking hold of him with strength anew. The once familiar voices screamed; You killed us, and you killed yourself, but a monster like you wouldn't die. His face twisted in pain, he bit down on his lips until he tasted blood, but it brought no change. His shoulders slumped, he hanged his head, pushing hard into the wall to stay on his feet, but even that didn't seem to be enough leverage to keep his body steady.

With a low groan resonating in his throat, Watari slammed his fist into the mirror before him. The glass shattered, the sharp shards cutting into his hand. He almost didn't notice, didn't care. It didn't matter; not the pain that was nothing compared to the one that was killing him inside, nor the blood that trickled down the glass. One bit at a time, the searing fire of hell consumed his long-awaited soul. He wished he were dying; forever, this time. It would be so easy, but he had gone far past that. The dead had nowhere to flee.

Crimson red stained the snow-white of his knuckles, but the pain was nothing. In the silence around him, his nearly spasmodic breathing sounded like a far-off storm, inevitable in its approach. The burning behind his eyes increased and Watari clenched his teeth, not against the pain, but against his own futile anger.

Still pressing his injured hand into the broken glass, he looked up once more, meeting his ghost-like reflection face to face, eye to eye. What started back at him made him freeze. He held his breath. In the faint light of the outside lamps spilling in ribbons from the room behind his back, a pair of narrow, slit pupils – his own? he could have easily argued otherwise – watched him with an inhuman, indifferent look.

Watari blinked, shook his head, blinked again. It had to be an illusion; it had to be, he told himself as a shuddering sigh escaped his lungs, threatening to push him over the edge. A single tear rolled down from that strange-looking eye, but it didn't change.

Sold.

He couldn't help but stare at that reflection that could not have been his own. Enthralled, at once he found himself drawn in by a strange, sudden spectacle of shadow dancing behind him as the air began to stir. In the broken glass, in between the drops of his own blood trickling down, he saw a faint reflection of a shadowed form, and heard a soft whisper of cloth.

"Get a grip. This is disgusting to watch."

A sharp turn took him face to face with the intruder, and Watari measured the tall, dark figure from head to toe.

"Enma."

"Come again?" The god raised a dark, elegant eyebrow, folding his arms over his broad chest.

Amidst the battle with the overpowering nausea and pain, Watari winced at the expression painted over Enma's face. He stood there, proud and tall, but his posture screamed mockery of that grace he was said to possess. In his eyes, a contemptuous cold look held Watari's own blurred gaze in an iron grasp.

His stomach twisted into a painful knot, but even Watari knew better than to challenge the god. He swallowed down his pride and inclined his head.

"Enma DaiOh-sama."

The floor whirled beneath his feet, but he maintained his composure in the face of the Lord of Meifu. He dared not think of the reasons Enma had come; his mind had barely managed to clear enough to notice and feel there was still blood trickling down his hand. He looked down; the sleeve of his white shirt was stained dark red. The discomfort was there, even though he knew his body was already healing.

"What is this?" The god's voice was demanding and cold. He cast a critical look around the hall and Watari, who still found it hard to keep his body from trembling in a blend of anger and shame, felt that piercing gaze stop and cut right through him.

"How... human of you, Watari Yutaka-kun," Enma continued. Deliberate, aiming straight for the core. "You almost had me convinced."

His hands clenched into fists so tight that the only just healed skin broke again, but Watari not so much as twitched as he lifted his head, ever so slowly, focusing to meet Enma's gaze. A flood of words swept around his still shaky thoughts, his inner voice crying and something in him cringed. The god's words found their mark in his consciousness, but he held his tongue.

Almost without a sound, Enma closed the distance between them in a few graceful, unhurried steps. His long black hair shimmered as he moved, the unearthly blend of shadow and light playing at his features carved in fine stone. Just as Watari remembered. The dark robes disguised a lithe body, far taller and broader than Watari's own slender form. He reached out, as soon as he came to a halt mere inches from the man, and lifted Watari's chin with a long, slim finger.

"It has been a while," he spoke in a cool voice, plain and devoid of emotion.

Watari looked up. Staring down at him, Enma held him captive with his will alone. Suddenly he knew how much he loathed his state; a dog on a leash could do so much as bark.

"Not nearly long enough."

Enma let out a short laugh, as emotionless as his voice had been. "Truly. What are mere thirty years compared to eternity. Do you still measure time in the human ways, Yutaka-kun? Or is that too painful."

Watari endured that stare, but as he did he felt his body shiver. He couldn't help it.

His head was spinning. Enma's hand felt cold on his face; like the touch of someone who was truly dead. The god had felt him shiver; it brought a little smirk to that handsome face. It still lingered there a moment later as Watari looked away.

"Was this your doing?" he asked, surprised at how weak he sounded.

Enma's hand brushed across his face. "Come now; what kind of a question is that?" His fingers ran slowly up his cheek, over his eyes. So cold; a caress of death.

Watari gave his head a light shake. He had questions indeed, but something in Enma's face told him it wasn't worth to ask. He tried to ignore that ice-cold touch on his skin even now that the offending hand was already gone, but the memory was strong and refused to go away.

"Your problem, my young friend, is that you think too much. You think you know. You think you understand. You believe the upper hand in yours." Enma's face reverted back to its initial distant cold. "Do you not?"

Against his will, Watari swallowed audibly. He had been used, yes; yet his logic told him he was equally to blame. He had let his ambition loose, and the Mother was a playground from hell.

"How disappointing." Enma gave him the look of pure contempt. "I was warned you might plot against me, but I gave you a chance. Such a betrayal of trust."

His eyes snapped wide open and Watari felt a surge of anger boil the blood in his veins. "Trust? We had a deal. It was--"

"So we did, and what became of it?"

"Nothing," he snapped, careless of just how much anger had seeped through that one word.

"On the contrary." Enma stepped away, far enough to stop threatening his personal space, but it was a small difference. "Look around you. Is this not brilliant?"

Recognizing a rhetorical question when he heard one, Watari cast a brief glance around the hall anyway. Fear tasted bitter in his dry mouth as he thought Enma found real pleasure in what he saw.

"You seem quiet." The god's tone was matter-of-fact, with a causal note that spoke of mockery. "Surely you haven't been tamed so much?" A step forth, and a hand wandered to run through Watari's tangled hair.

His face hardened; the scientist's gaze was fixed at something straight ahead, looking not at Enma, but past him.

"Is there a problem?"

Watari stood straight, his muscles tense, purposefully avoiding Enma's enquiring stare. When he spoke, his voice was cold and steady. "Apart from your intrusion? None whatsoever."

The god let out something that bore an uncanny resemblance to a snort. "Truly. You damage your house as a pastime."

His breathing was even, but Watari felt as though he fought under water, his body crying for air. It had been a game, from the first day on. He could only guess the reasons Enma had chosen than night for his move, but the god was there. His words, his entire demeanor, told him the game must have picked up its pace once again.

"What do you want?" he dared. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Enma's eyebrow climbing into his hairline. He expected actions, but got only words.

"Is that a way to speak to your Lord?"

"Is that a way to enter someone's house?" Watari snapped back, pointedly yet now without anger. "You haven't taken your shoes off."

Enma laughed; a dark, humorless sound. "Still sharp-tongued, I'll give you that. As for your question..." he paused and fixed his piercing jet-black eyes on Watari's, forcing him to meet them. "I find it hard to believe you haven't figured it out yet."

Under the pressure, Watari returned the stare but said nothing.

Of course he knew. It was only a matter of time. He had sealed his fate thirty years before; too young and too blinded to have seen the double bottom. One way or another, he had walked away. It was beyond naivety to hope Enma had really allowed him to leave.

"Allow me to enlighten you, then." With a dangerous spark in his eyes, Enma took Watari by one stiff arm and, with unexpected gentleness, led him through the hallway to the living room.

Watari spared the damaged computer a brief glance, all the while weighing his options against one another. He found there were not many options at all; for now, he resolved to just playing along.

"As you were so gracious to point out before, Watari-kun, we have made a deal. You were granted all your initial requests, as well as all of those you made afterwards, in exchange for your full cooperation."

In a flash of memory in his mind, Watari saw the events from thirty years ago as though it had happened just the day before. He remembered confusion being replaced with hope, then excitement as the offer was put forth. His genuine delight as the deal was made.

He shuddered.

It flooded his mind again, the sheer force of anger and disgust that filled him unchangeably every single time those memories returned. "You forgot to mention you would cheat me out of it."

"Cheat?" Enma stopped and forced Watari to halt as well with a sharp pull to his arm. "It was you who left before the deal was fulfilled. You broke the rules."

Watari's thoughts whirled. The rules. "What did you expect? It wasn't supposed to be like that. What you did was… inhumane!" Rage seeped through him at the sight of the utter obliviousness in Enma's countenance. Watari pulled his arm free from the god's grasp and stared at him expectantly, a cold fire burning in his amber eyes.

Enma's lips twitched in a quasi-smile. "You're not exactly in a position to judge what is human and what is not, are you now?"

Watari fought the urge to throw himself at the black-haired man and strangle him with his bare hands, but thought better of it. Those words burned with searing fire in his mind; he almost felt it on his skin.

You're not even human anymore!

"Perhaps I'm not. If that is the case, then neither are you."

The movement was instant. Watari's eyes snapped open instinctively as a hand caught him by the throat, the hold just tight enough to prevent him from writhing, enough to make him unable to take easy breaths. In the faint light he noticed how Enma's eyes had changed; a strange, unearthly glow had set them aflame, a second before Watari's own vision blurred.

"Next time, try harder."

He didn't have the mind to ponder those strange words; only their malicious tone still rang in his ears. As the air escaped his lungs and Watari found himself unable to draw another breath, his hand caught Enma's arm in a desperate gesture of hope beyond reason that he could break free.

He was sure he heard laughter, but his head was spinning and it no longer mattered whether any of that was real at all.

Enma pushed him hard, and Watari felt himself sail through the air as though he were a doll. He yelped in pain as he crashed into the wall and fell, hitting the floor below. He squeezed his eyes shut against the pulsating sensation in his arm, caught behind his back at an odd angle. He heard footsteps, but something told him not to move, despite his body's protests against such an uncomfortable position.

A pair of hands grabbed him under the arms and pulled him up, then pressed his back against the wall. He winced at the sudden discovery of the new sources of pain, but he restrained the cry that begged to be released.

"Perhaps you wish to know what mistake you've made." Enma's voice sounded – no, felt – as though it originated in Watari's mind rather than the god's mouth, just inches away from his face. Watari's only response was a sharp intake of breath as those hands squeezed and pushed him harder into the wall.

"You thought you could outsmart me." Enma sneered. "Oh, it was amusing to watch your little escapades inside Mother, but you should have used the front door."

Somewhere at the back of his mind, Watari remembered the various backdoors he had created there, a long time ago, before he knew he would need them. A far-off realization that they were not safe doorways at all sent a cold shiver down his spine. He should have guessed, damn it, he should have known.

"Oh yes, they have been found. Your little sneaky ways in. You're not as smart as you think you are."

A sharp pull tore him away from the wall and sent him down to the floor again. A moan of pain escaped his lips. At this rate, Enma could have enjoyed himself like that all night, giving his body a moment to heal, just to hurt him again.

Breathing burned his lungs, but the need of air surpassed discomfort. He waited; silence stretched long between the surges of pain that coursed through his limbs. Watari forced his eyes open; it proved to be quite a task. He looked up.

Enma stood above him, watching him with a face he couldn't read at all. For all he knew, the god could knock him out then and there, and force his connection to Mother open again. It must have been all about that, he thought. He had gotten away the first time, by the sheer force of will. He had been getting away for the past thirty years, never certain when the tables would turn.

Was it now? Watari wasn't sure at all he even wanted to know.

His eyes met Enma's; cold and unforgiving. The look in them was that of someone who would stop at nothing to achieve his goals.

The brittle silence shattered.

At once, an invisible force lifted him off the ground. Watari gasped; for a few unbearably long seconds he hung in the air, as though he were flying, but he had lost control of his limbs. His head fell forward, his arms stretched out against his will. He had only caught a minute glimpse of the vicious light in Enma's eye before the god sent him flying up and away with nothing but the force of his will. For a second there he felt nothing; all sensation escaped him but his thoughts were crystal clear.

Before he knew, he crashed into the wall again; nearly senseless, his arms still outstretched. His head felt so heavy; then his senses returned. He wished they hadn't. He could do so much as cringe while he wanted nothing but to fall into dark oblivion, but his mind was screaming and Watari forced himself to focus, if only just a bit.

Out of nowhere, countess thin wires sprung and leaped at his body stretched against the cold wall, binding him, cutting into his skin. Something punctured his arms, his chest; like a thousand needless, quick and precise, merciless and cold against his burning flesh.

A groan escaped his lips, muscles flexing instinctively against the cruel assault. Then he felt a cold hand on his face, and everything grew still.

"I could force you." Enma's tone was nothing short of cheeky. "But I know you enjoy a good challenge. I would dare not belittle you like that; you, an old player in this long-term game."

"Let go," Watari whispered hoarsely, fighting for air. He felt his stomach turn; Enma's breath on his lips was making him sick.

"I could. But I won't. You, my golden bird, are too valuable. You are mine. You gave yourself to me. Your body, your head, your fate is in my hands. Have you forgotten?"

The bonds tightened as the god spoke, squeezing a low groan of pain out of the exhausted scientist. His body trembled; his skin began to go numb yet the pain had grown no less. Enma caught a handful of his hair and pulled up his head.

"Does it hurt? You should remember this pain."

He did remember. Oh, hell, he did.

"I will enjoy watching you come to me. You will finish what you started, Watari Yutaka-kun."

"Never," he hissed through gritted teeth.

"No?" Enma laughed. "We shall see about that."

The god stepped away. The wires released him and Watari's limp body collapsed on the floor.

He lay still, lips parted, a fall of tangled hair clutching at his face. The floor was soothingly cool against his cheek, but his body burned with a living fire. He focused on breathing, ignoring Enma completely. Silently he prayed, for the first time in years, that this hell would be over soon.

Long black hair brushed against his skin. Enma crouched at his side, watching him with a faint amusement in his now-black eyes.

"It's ironic," he said, swiping strands of gold from Watari's face, "how human you appear, even though you're not. Tell me; how does it feel to live a constant lie among those who, every single day, put their trust in you?"

Watari's body shuddered in an involuntary sob. Enough.

Enma shook his head. "It must be hard. They have grown to like you, the freak that you are."

Those words stung, and suddenly that pain in his heart suppressed its physical counterpart. How true, Watari thought to himself. Much as he loathed that thought, there was no denying that Enma was right.

"How far will you go to save them from harm?" The tone of that voice rang with a note of genuine curiosity. Enma tipped his head, falling into silence that demanded an answer.

Watari let his eyes slide shut. He was tired; too tired to dwell on his anger with the god anymore. "As far... as it takes," he whispered, lost between two kinds of pain of nearly equal strength.

Enma nodded. "So I thought." He rose and turned around. "By the way. Tatsumi Seiichirou is a curious type, is he not?"

The Shadow Master's name forced Watari's mind back into full focus. Somehow, he knew it had not been said for nothing. His chest grew tight with a sudden fear.

"Do you think he would wonder if he saw you like this? Poor old secretary, he worries so much," Enma said casually as he walked away.

"Well, you'll find out soon enough."