Disclaimer: Yami No Matsuei is the property of Matsushita Yoko. I own nothing but Tojo, of whom I will take immense care.

Quote is from Moby Dick; or The Whale by Herman Melville. I know. It looks big and scary but once you get into it, it's a great book. Trust me; although I am one of the biggest nerds I know so maybe not.

Spoilers: None. Full Summary at the beginning. Anime only. Post Kyoto.

Now that business is over--thank you all for the your reviews::tosses out gift baskets: full of fruit, candy, and popcorn. Again, thank you for your considerate reviews. I've put detailed responses at the end of the story.Now this chapter is a long one--possibly why it opens up with a quote from Melville. It's also sorta sad and depressing and terrifying. There are hints at non-consensual sex (it is Muraki, people), but nothing really graphic. Also, minor swearing.

I also had this chapter read by someone not me, so hopefully, I caught all the spelling errors.
Now onto the story! And, again, thank you for reading.

"Now then, thought I, unconsciously rolling up the sleeves of my frock, here goes for a cool, collected dive at death and destruction, and the devil fetch the hindmost."--Melville

The silence in the courtyard was so overbearing Hisoka thought that his ears had been stuffed with cotton. There was nothing, not a whisper, not a stir in the air. The night had become sticky—or perhaps he was sweating more than he imagined. Suddenly, Muraki chuckled and ran an adoring finger down the side of Tojo's face, tracing his cheek.

Oriya wanted to feel his heart skip a beat to let him know that some part of him was still deeply attached to something in the world. But he only stopped breathing for a moment. Again, like every time Muraki taunted him, he felt as if he were falling into a bright blue space where the thin air and foggy silence rendered the world untouchable, ungraspable and unreal, and where everything was frozen except for that sudden burst of flame inside that reminded him that he still breathed, that he still existed in this world and not the next.

At that moment—the moment when the tip of Muraki's finger curved around Tojo's chin—Oriya knew what he was: never the first cup of sake, which the parched throat receives eagerly and gratefully; not the second which affirms the pleasure of the first; not the third which makes the world a beautiful and blurred place; but the fourth, the one drunk because it doesn't make a difference so why the hell not?

"Tell me Hisoka—why do you still chase me?"Muraki murmured into the heavy night. Hisoka glared at the older man.

"Tell me, Muraki, why won't you leave me alone?" he countered, his tone unaffected. But the growl underneath was there: Push me and I'll push right back.

"Perhaps I can not resist such a prize."

"Perhaps you need to find other ways to get off." The tart reply, which Hisoka almost regretted, amused Muraki who merely raised an eyebrow and chuckled again. Hisoka shivered; how could he make his laugh feel like a velvet rub against the spine?

"I think I have several alternative options. At this moment, however, you are here and I am here, so why should I turn my attention elsewhere?"

"You know," Hisoka said impatiently, "I'm not going to be a willing participant in this yaoi drama. Say something relevant or get the hell out. If you won't leave, I'll escort you out."

"Yes, but you never were a willing participant, were you?" Muraki's silver eye glinted in the lamplight. Hisoka ground his teeth but said nothing else. He refused to rise to Muraki's challenge, to start yelling, or to rush impatiently at the man.

But doing nothing infuriated the teenager. He noticed Oriya was doing nothing either but twirling the sword between his fingers, a lost look out of place on his strong face.

"I'm tired of this game. What do you want?" Hisoka finally said, keeping his voice even.

"What is mine."

"Which is..." Muraki gave no reply but a hungry look in Oriya's direction who did not seem to notice. Raising an eyebrow, Hisoka looked closely at Muraki but, rather than figuring out what was going on with the doctor, he became distracted by Tojo.

There was something off about the boy who normally glowed with light, with that slight scent of musk, of contentment—he was never silent. Tonight, Tojo's mouth seemed fused shut and he seemed to never leave Muraki's side. He also appeared to be glowing but unearthly and coldly with a strange light that Hisoka could only identify with the copper taste of blood.

"Tojo—why so quiet?" he asked softly. The taller boy glanced at him and Hisoka saw something that he never saw before in Tojo's eyes—fear. Hisoka opened his mind and reached out for the boy. Stomach churning fear, mixed with pain, with a desire to flee, with that sick smell of sakura blossoms made present as his face was shoved in the ground, the cool sliminess of the spring earth, darkness, fear, screaming—all tumbling in Hisoka's mind.

With a startled cry, he jerked backwards—and into Muraki's arms which tightened around him.

"It seems you've discovered my little Tojo's secret. Do you want to know, doll,"--here his voice became a rough whisper, thickened by excitement, "what it feels like to be stuffed with life? And with love? Do you want to know?" Hisoka struggled against Muraki's iron grip, raising up a foot and jamming it down on Muraki's, whose grip tightened but whose yelp rang in Hisoka's head.

Again, he jammed his foot down before jerking forward. Startled by the sudden movements, Muaki's arms loosened. Squirming, Hisoka dropped down to his knees and leaned to his side, using his arms to support him and blindly threw out a kick which connected solidly with Muraki's thigh. Grunting, Muraki took an unsteady step back and Hisoka used that moment to stand up and throw out a fist at Muraki who was trying to grab the boy again. His tiny but furious fist met Muraki's jaw with a crack, which stung his knuckles but caused Muraki to take another step back.

Hisoka advanced, swinging his fists. A sick sort of pleasure filled him as he watched another fist land on Muraki's mouth, causing blood to spill out. But, so focused on his victory, he did not see Muraki's arm shoot out and grab his arm. Twisting it around suddenly, Muraki dodged Hisoka's response—another fist—before twirling the boy around and twisting the arm harder. Hisoka gasped. Hisoka was jerked upwards and a hand shoved itself into his lower back, forcing him to stand on his toes, completely unbalanced, or risk breaking his arm.

Hisoka tried not to yell out but the biting fiery pain in his arm ran up to his shoulder. He merely grunted; he'd be damned to give Muraki any satisfaction.

Oriya, he thought, wondering where the dark haired man was. He quickly scanned the courtyard. Oriya was nowhere to be found. What the?

Then--

"If you move, I will slit your throat. And don't think I can't live with the nightmares." Oriya's steady tenor cut through Hisoka's pain. He turned his head as much as he could. Oriya stood by Muraki, a katana on his pulse point, digging in, a thin trickle of blood making the doctor's bare chest sticky.

"Now, let the boy go." Hisoka yelped as Muraki tightened his grip in response. His mocking laugh slid down Oriya's blade and struck Oriya like a slap—a stinging backhand slap to remind him who was in charge here—who could actually live with the nightmares.

Oriya replied by digging the katana in deeper. Muraki groaned and let go of Hisoka, who fell to the ground on his knees. The hardness of the walkway caused his knees to groan and pulse throbbingly as he rose up, wrapped his arm around his body to cradle it, and staggered to a tree. He leaned against the trunk and tried to catch his breath. He kept one eye on Muraki and Oriya and one on Tojo, who seemed frozen in time, a paused still in a movie.

Hisoka could feel Muraki's glee and his almost rush of almost desire and Oriya's desperateness, like a man drawing in a few gasps of air before sinking to the bottom of a raging sea. Hisoka drew in his breath quickly and wished Tsuzuki was here. What was he going to do next? Muraki seemed to enjoy being at Oriya's mercy too much for comfort.

"Oriya—did you want to be stuffed with life?"

"Why do you think I won't harm you?"

"And why do you think I won't retaliate?" Muraki closed his eyes and muttered a few words. Oriya's sword seemed to glow a molten gray. Hisoka felt fear coursing underneath the desparateness. He knew Muraki would retaliate—and he counted on it. Hisoka stood up straight, letting go of his arm. He watched in horror as the sword turned red before becoming a pure white hot. Flames began to lick at the carved wooden handle. The wound at Muraki's neck cauterized and the doctor moved away, tracing his new scar delicately, like a man would his lover. With a yelp, Oriya dropped the sword.

The night seemed to become heavier; Hisoka felt as if he were being smothered by a heavy silk kimono. He couldn't breathe. He turned to look at Tojo and heard Oriya grunt. Hisoka whipped his head around; Muraki was drawing a knife out of Oriya's body.

"What makes you think, my darling, that I don't live with my nightmares everyday?" Blood spattered the walkway. Hisoka felt bile rising up in his throat. I gotta get out of here, I've gotta get Oriya out of here and I've got to do something about Tojo. Taking a deep breath—struggling against the heavy air—Hisoka pulled a fuda out of his pocket. Muraki looked over at the boy and raised a hand casually, as if waving at a friend.

Out of nowhere, a white dragon appeared. Hisoka groaned in frustration but flung the fuda at the dragon as he ran toward Tojo. He hoped Oriya could take care of himself while he grabbed the boy. The fuda, however, did nothing to the dragon, who shook off the explosion like a lion ignores the bite of an ant. As he ran across the courtyard, Hisoka was struck by the dragon; he went flying into Tojo; he heard his shoulder snap as he slammed into the boy and they tumbled to the ground. The dragon circled overhead and shot flames at the boy who quickly threw up a protective barrier. Muraki's laugh threaded through his fear. The dragon circled once more and vanished.

Ignoring his pain, Hisoka stood up and gazed across the burning courtyard. The sakura tree was on fire, dropping embers onto the roof of KoKakuRou. He watched Muraki grab Oriya by the collar. "What makes you think you aren't my nightmare?"Oriya said. The doctor replied by flinging Oriya across the courtyard. The samurai hit the wall with a thud and a crack as his head flung back. He slumped to the ground, a shapeless lump.

Hisoka knew he was alone. He pulled out another fuda and tried performing a spell but he could feel the pressing weight of Muraki's lion gaze. He couldn't seem to pronounce the words; his tongue thickened in his mouth; he knew the taste of blood.

Turning, he looked at Tojo who was now naked. His blanket was crumpled on the floor. Hisoka stopped the spell and his mouth dropped open. Blood trickled out and onto his chin before dribbling to his shirt.

Tojo was covered in red glowing scars, so much like his own. They were different from Hisoka's, which read for death. Tojo's read for life.

"You are the vessel for the missing souls," Hisoka stated. No wonder Muraki kept muttering about life. Unaware that Muraki was striding toward him, Hisoka held out his hand. Tojo gently touched the blonde's fingertips with his own.

Hisoka became burdened with lives; the souls of each woman screamed at him. Muraki, clever Muraki, had taken Tojo's life—put it in that vial he had paraded before Tsuzuki (too careless! Hisoka's mind screamed)--and had made Tojo the container for the lives of murdered women. Tojo, a boy radiant with life, became embittered and broken from carrying the agony of each woman's death. He relived the moment a hundred times a day. His adoration of Muraki, his belief in the sensei's skilled hands, turned into a dissembling horror. He knew how skilled those hands were in many ways.

Every third night, Muraki appeared. He would strip an increasingly frantic Tojo of clothes and shove the boy on to the bed. Then he would stuff him with a new soul, cutting caresses, and fill him with what he knew as love. Leaving Tojo broken, bruised and lost.

Hisoka was unaware of the tears coursing down his face until the salt stung his broken lips. He was unaware of his world until cold fingers grasped his chin and tilted his face upwards.

"Do you know now, doll, what it means to be full of life?" Muraki's curving lips filled his view. He shuddered and tried vainly to escape, only to discover the overwhelming tiredness, the pain in his arm becoming heavy as it succumbed to the pain in his heart, the sudden shooting stickiness in his abdomen.

"How many times must you do this?"Hisoka spat out, flecking blood on Muraki's chest, as he watched the knife slid out of his side.

"As many times as I want. You forget Kurosaki—we succumb to desire with finesse, even with calm." Hisoka felt Muraki's studied gaze on him. "Tell me, how many times as Tsuzuki asked and you said no? Tell me, will he come this time for the boy he thinks no better than a whore?"

Hisoka growled and struggled, slapping the doctor's face as he tried to pull away. But the pain dragged into down to the ground and into darkness. The last thing he saw was the curse covered body of a dead boy pretending to be alive.

I'm awful, aren't I? And before you ask, I love Oriya. I think he is amazing. I'm terrible.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter. It is the first time I've ever written an action sequence so any tips are gratefully welcomed. The succumb to desire is an acknowledgment to J.L. Austin's essay "A Plea for Excuses." Again, thank you for reading.

Rogue Kyne: Thank you for being my most consistent reviewer. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and this Hisoka is a bit more kick-ass. I totally agree with you about Hisoka; people pat him on the head and tell him how cute he is but he's tough.

Mistic Fox, JungleBunny, Lunarkitty14: I hope this chapter lives up to your standards and that you enjoyed it. Thank you for your reviews. :)

Jenny: My friend just happened to be here this weekend and read over the chapter for me, but she was confused (she doesn't really know Yami) so don't be surprised if you get something in your inbox from me. Thank you so much for your generous offer.

MoonlitKenshin: You're welcome. I hope you like the gift basket.

A totally hooked reader: Wow. :blushes: Thanks for you review. The advice about VPs was totally helpful, esp. in this chapter, which was almost better served, I think, by staying in Hisoka's head. He is the one around whom this story revolves and he is conversing with his tormentor. I'm working on the next chapter and I keep switching from VPs, but I hear your voice in the back of my mind which means I am thinking earnestly about your advice. I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

You guys all rock! And for my silent readers, don't forget your gift baskets!