A/N: Yay, I'm back with the next chapter to keep all my loyal fans happy. Sometimes I can't believe that I actually wrote this and the previous chapter but what can I say, I'm evil.

This chapter, like the previous, is in Hisoka's POV (I suck at writing in third person). Unfortunately, this chapter is another recant of Hisoka's fateful meeting with Muraki (I didn't want to be unoriginal but it fit this line of the prayer so well) so please forgive me.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed; it made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Please keep reviewing or else I'll feel unloved and I won't update.

Now, for the warnings. If you have any problems with rape, torture, bad things happening to Hisoka, or the use of a prayer to write about those things, why the hell are you reading the second chapter and how did you make it through the first? Sure, this chapter is less incestuous but it's still inappropriate, demented and evil so turn back now to keep your soul a little less tainted by me.

Don't own, don't sue. I have no money so all you will get is a crappy laptop and my tears.

I Pray My Lord My Soul to Keep

Freedom. That's the first word that runs through my head as I sneak out of the house to wonder around the land encompassing my home. One of the servants was careless enough to not lock my cell door again after coming down to bring me dinner earlier. I would have almost passed up this opportunity, completely ignoring the door to my prison but the wind that blew through my tiny, barred window had gently pushed at the door, eliciting a creaking sound from the rarely oiled iron. Once I figured that everyone in the household was asleep and that my father wasn't planning on making a late night visit, I slipped out of my cold, lonely prison and hastily left the house, not even bothering to locate a pair of shoes to cover my tiny feet.

And now, I'm running through the dew-kissed blades of grass enjoying my first time out of the house in months. It seems like my parents want to hide me away from the world so no one will know that they bore a monster. Instead, most of my days are spent in either my cell or in some other room of my large house studying diligently to be a proud, honorable bearer of the Kurosaki name.

There is a gentle breeze blowing, caressing my face and hair with a soft, calming touch; Mother Nature giving me the attention and loving affection that I could never expect from my own mother. There are few clouds drifting up above me in the sky, allowing the light from the moon to keep the earth below her in a soft glow so that I may make my way through the area without too much trouble. Even the color of the moon's rays are different tonight; instead of the normal silver it's a shade of red closely resembling the color of a rose. It's as if the moon wanted to do something special for me on this night when I can clearly see her in all her glory.

I have never felt so at ease and relaxed. I am far enough away from my home that I can no longer feel the emotions of everyone who dwells there and this area is completely deserted so I don't have to worry about feeling the emotions of unfamiliar persons. This is sheer bliss and I wish that time would stop right now to give me the peace that I have long desired for since I can remember. No hateful glares, no whispers behind my back, no nagging empathy and no resentful parents.

I stop when I reach a small group of sakura trees that look as if they're weeping pink tears. I have always loved sakuras for their fleeting yet graceful beauty that cannot be rivaled. I reach out my hand to touch a flower that's on a low hanging branch, feeling the texture of the soft, smooth petal between my fingers and I slowly begin to understand why so many poets decided to dedicate most of their time to writing about these flowers.

I step further into the cluster of trees, admiring the beauty when I feel something tickle my empathy. Despite not leaving my house often, I know for a fact that no one else lives around here and this is private property so I can't be feeling the presence of a neighbor or passerby. My curiosity gets the best of me and I move towards the emotions, once again placing up mental shields so that their feelings do not overwhelm my own.

It's a matter of seconds before I can see a man standing beneath one of the many tall trees with a lady friend. I smile to myself knowing that I caught them at a private moment and I debate on whether I should leave them in peace, ask them what they are doing on my family's land or just sit here and watch them, knowing that I won't get another chance to see a loving couple express themselves to one another.

However, something seems completely wrong. Her emotions are not ones a lover would express; instead, there is fear and surprise and it isn't long before I see the man standing with her raise up his hand, the silvery glint of a metallic object in his hand, and then he plunges it in her chest. There is a soft, gurgled yell and I can only assume that he has stabbed her in her chest, preventing her from even screaming into the night that she is being murdered.

I am frozen where I am standing, wanting nothing more than to run away before I am noticed but my body is unwilling to respond to my brain. I let out a choked, strangled sound as I feel more of the woman's emotions filling me, threatening to make me scream out with the pain she was unable to vocalize. I am filled with a sense of dread and fear when the man – no murderer – turns around to look at me, a smirk tugging at the sides of his lips. He lets the still dying, still bleeding frame of the woman fall to the ground with a slight thud, her existence already an afterthought, as he makes his way towards me.

Nigerou.

My brain is screaming at me to run away from this madman. He's taunting me, walking slowly towards me, knowing that I am frozen where I stand like one of the many sakura trees that surround us. The evil, sadistic smirk is still on his face, as well as some of the woman's blood but he chooses to ignore the thick, red liquid that's slowing sliding down his cheek like a crimson tear.

Nigerou.

I look dead into his eyes – his almost clear, silver cat-like eyes – that are slightly veiled by his silver hair. Despite the color of his hair, he doesn't look like he could be older than my father. His alabaster skin rivals my own in its pale complexion, and seems almost ghostly against his white suit. Well, at least it used to be white but is now stained by the red blood of an innocent girl and soon my own.

NIGEROU!

The man is a few feet away from me, almost within arms reach of me when my body finally decides to attempt fleeing but its too late now. My legs feel like lead and by the time I actually turn around and begin to run, I feel a hand tug at my yukata. I still try to run away from this murderer, letting the pale fabric slide from my shoulders in order for me to escape. I don't care about the stupid yukata and I don't mind running home naked, as long as I make it there unharmed.

I wish I was so lucky. Instead of slipping my small frame from the harsh fabric in order to make my escape, the obi tied around my waist prevents me from disrobing myself. This gives the murderer the opportunity to catch me, harshly tugging at my yukata and forcefully pulling me to the ground. I shocked by the sudden pain across my back from where I fall against the root of one of the trees, my eyes temporarily closing. When I do open my eyes, I am greeted by my new greatest fears – staring into the eyes of a cold-blooded killer.

He's kneeling down on the ground, his knees straddling my hips as he looks down on me like a cat eyeing its kill. That same evil, predatory smirk is still plastered on his face and my entire being is filled with fear and dread; I'm about to die. I escaped my prison in order to be murdered out among the sakuras like some cheesy romance novel.

"Onegai, please don't kill me," I say softly, hot tears falling from my eyes. His emotions are full of blood-lust and sadism. He wants nothing more than to torment me and make me bleed, scream, cry and beg for my life beneath him. Despite his all white features and clothing, this man is no angel, unless he is an angel of death and destruction.

After a few seconds of neither of us moving or speaking, he finally responds to me, his voice deep and low as if he doesn't want anyone else to hear him. "You are very unfortunate, boya. It's way past your bedtime and it would have been better for you if you had stayed at home." He raises his right hand, making the knife he's holding – that same bloodied knife used to kill that poor woman – very evident. But instead of plunging the blade deep into my small frame to eliminate the sole witness of his sin, he moves it down to my waist in order to cut the obi and allow my yukata to fully fall open.

My eyes bulge as his hands help to move the fabric from my small, trembling body. It's as if I'm frozen again while my brain tries to comprehend everything that is happening and threatening to happen to me. But before I can squirm or try to fight back, he abandons the knife at my side and I feel him hand run across my chest, his emotions flooding my mind with an endless abyss of darkness that threatens to consume me. I scream out in pain as his mind violates me, pushing me to the brink of insanity along with him. I have never before in my life experienced such evil and derangement. His thirst for blood and his lust are intertwined making him want to fully violate me before ending my short life.

He pulls away from me, curious about my outburst as he stares down at me. He can't understand why I am screaming out with such fervency when he hasn't done anything to me…yet. As soon as his hand leaves my flesh, the intensity of his emotions dies down dramatically and I stop screaming. His eyes are trained on mine as he attempts to lower his hand once again but he's stopped by the sound of my voice, yelling at him to not touch me.

He lets his brain contemplate all the possibilities before his smile widens, a theory in his mind. "So, my simple touch is causing you pain. Could it be that you can read my thoughts or sense my emotions?" I don't know why I do this, but I nod to him, affirming my curse which he may use as a weapon against me. But he doesn't. Instead, I feel him build a wall against his mind, making the evil in his heart less readable. He touches his hand to my chest gently and this time I don't scream out. I am completely and utterly confused about why he did this, my disorientation evident in my emerald orbs.

"Is that better?" he asks, his voice mocking concern. I nod and hope that he will let me go or at least kill me quickly so that I won't die in extreme, mind-numbing pain. "Good," he continues, "it won't be as much fun if you can't feel everything else." With that said, he moves his hands to my wrists and raises them up above my head, pinning them there with his left hand. I feel so small beneath him, knowing that it is taking him little effort to restrain me.

I foolishly test his strength by trying to move my arms, but there's no way for me to move beneath him; he's much stronger than me. He chuckles at my futile attempts before running his right hand over my chest again, this time caressing my nipples with such care and delicacy that it seems almost loving. Almost.

This action makes me squirm even more, not wanting to be violated like this. It's bad enough that I'm most likely going to die, but if I have to leave this earth, then I at least want what's left of my purity intact.

This murderer turned soon-to-be rapist doesn't even seem to notice or mind my movement, and his hand continues to travel down lower. He lets his fingertips study my small frame while I whimper below him. His hand is too close to where I don't want to be touched. I don't want anyone to ever grope me like this, caressing my most intimate places as if I will enjoy it.

I begin to cry as I feel him take my penis in his hand. "Onegai, yamete kudasai," I say, my voice just above a whisper. But my pleas fall on deaf ears as he begins to pump the soft flesh in a slow, steady rhythm. I close my eyes and cry harder as my body begins to react, betraying me through its arousal. Mentally, I frightened, disgusted and feel violated but physically, my body only wants more of this gentle, blissful touch.

My eyes snap back open when I feel him take me into his mouth; the warm, wet cavern giving my body the attention that I don't want. I sob even louder and try to move away from his touch; not even my father has touched me like this (he's more interested in his own gratification than my own) and I want nothing more than for all of this to end. But again, my resistance is ignored and the madman grabs my hips with his free hand to keep me still as he continues giving me a blowjob.

It isn't long before my body is finally satisfied and I cum inside of his mouth, my mind temporarily clouded in blissful contentment. But these emotions within me are quickly replaced by disgust and shame at myself for enjoying being molested by a murderer. He releases my wrists and I take this opportunity to turn to my side and curl up into a ball, crying out my pain and anguish. He allows me to cry, all the time relishing in my pain; he wanted nothing more than to humiliate and degrade me.

And now, he wants to defile me. He turns me back around so that I am once again on my back and he pushes my legs apart. I look up at him and notice that the reason why he let me cry for as long as I did was because he took the opportunity to disrobe himself. He's now kneeling between my legs, naked from the waist down and his shirt open revealing his toned, yet pale chest to me. I try to move from underneath him, finally using an opening to my advantage since he's no longer restraining me. He lets me claw at the ground in order to move away from him for a few seconds, enjoying my useless attempts at fleeing before once again placing his hand forcefully on my chest, holding me still underneath him. I'm too weak to push him away or to really move underneath the weight of his hand. Unfortunately, it isn't there for long before he moves the hand on my chest to assist his other in forcing my legs further apart and pushing my knees forward towards my chest, this position and pressure on my back making it difficult for me to move away from him.

I panic as I know what's coming next. I scream, plea and beg for him not to go through with this; I promise him that I'll remain quiet in exchange for him releasing me here and now. But, once again, my pleas fall on deaf ears and soon the sound of my voice begging for mercy is replaced by the sound of my voice screaming my pain out to the heavens.

There was no preparation, no warning, just mind-numbing pain as I feel as if I am being split in half. He makes no effort to silence me, enjoying the pain I'm feeling and letting it further drive his lust. He is a sadistic pervert whose pleasure is derived from my agony. He's grunting above me, his thrusts are forceful and rough, but not too quick; he wants to enjoy this for as long as possible. He's trying to remain in control and prolong this as much as he can, knowing that he may never get this chance again for a while.

All I can do is cry, scream and pray that I pass out soon. I don't remember ever being in this much pain, not even during one of my father's nightly visits. At least with him, he was a little more gentle and used some sort of lube; he didn't want to leave me too bloody lest the servants find out. But no, this man is taking me hard, raw and slowly. He loves the feeling of having so much power over me; he relishes my pain and wants me to scream louder. And I comply.

Soon – but not soon enough – his resolve begins to fade and he begins to thrust into me quicker and more erratically. I still continue to scream, feeling myself rip and tear inside and now that he's so close to cumming, his mental shields are down and I can feel that same dark abyss from earlier threatening to overtake me. Mental pain as well as physical pain consumes me, but luckily it will be ending soon.

With a few more harsh thrust the man above me lets out a groan, low and deep in his throat, as he cums inside of me, defiling me further by filling me with his vile seed. My own screams have ceased and have been replaced with more tears and whimpers. Although his member is now soft, it still stretches me uncomfortably and I want him out. At least this is one of my wishes that he grants.

After a few seconds of collecting his breath, be pulls his now flaccid member out of me, allowing the blood and semen to better flow from my abused anus. My legs fall on either side of his body, and I want nothing more than to curl up into a tight ball once again and pretend that what just happened was nothing more than a nightmare caused by my father's actions and emotions. Silent tears fall from my eyes as I look up at the moon through the branches of the sakura tree. From with new perspective, it's like the moon is bleeding along with me and the sakura is crying with me, sharing my pain and my fear. I don't bother to look away from the scene before me, not even to acknowledge the fact that my rapist is running his hand over my chest again. I do whimper, but I make no effort to face him; I'm too busy trying to deal with the pain I already feel to worry about what else he plans on doing with me.

"It seems like such a waste to have you life ended to brutally," the faux angel says, his hand never stopping its slow ministrations. I then decide to look at him; he's still kneeling between my legs as he holds up his murder weapon from earlier and examines it, trying to figure out a fitting way to kill me. How sweet. But right now, death doesn't seem that bad of an option; anything is better than this pain and the prospect of him continuing into the night.

There's a new smirk on his lip and I know he's finally come to a decision about what to do to me. I shudder and he leans forward, hovering above me with the knife still in hand. Tears are still traveling down the side of my face but I don't bother to beg for my life anymore. I don't even bother to fight back or attempt to flee since he's not restraining me. He's now a few centimeters from my face and I can feel his hot breath on my cheek before he closes the gap between us and licks the tears from the side of my face. I turn my head to the side in a weak attempt at moving away from him, just doing so to show my disgust although I'm not trying to get away.

"Utsukushii," he whispers in my ear before pulling back some and I shudder once again, fearing that he will rape me for a second time. Whether it's good luck or not, he decides to not rape me again but instead works on murdering me. He grabs my wrists and moves my arms out so that my upper body is in the shape of a 't' or a cross. He's still pinning them down as I hear him say some sort of chant which I don't understand. Within a few seconds I feel an immense pressure on my wrist and I turn to look at my limbs to find a strange light at the base of my hands, holding me down to the ground. I pull at my restraints as I panic and I look up at my soon-to-be murderer as he picks up the knife once again to presses the tip against the skin of my chest.

"Scream for me, boya," he says before resuming his chanting and dragging the tip of the blade against my skin. The pain that I felt earlier was nothing compared to what I am feeling now. It's a hot, blinding, searing pain that seems to reach to the depths of my soul to cause me unimaginable pain. I scream louder than I had when I was being raped and I wish that he would just plunge the knife deep in my heart in order to end this torture.

I want nothing more than to pass out, escape this torment through slumber but I can't. It's as if those same restraints or his current chanting is preventing me from seeking the solitude to unconsciousness. The pain increases as he continues and it feels as if my whole body and soul is aflame. It won't stop and I can't stop screaming despite the fact that my throat is sore and raw. I know no one will come for me but that can't stop me from screaming to the heavens above, hoping and praying that someone, anyone will come to my rescue. Or at least that this man is merciful enough to end my life soon so that I can at least find refuge in death.

But I should not call this sadist a man; he's a demon. The magic that he's chanting and the sheer joy that he derives from my pain and agony cannot place him on the same level as a man. He's nothing more than a monster; a devil in human form and angel's clothing. He's using my body as a toy and this pain is threatening to eat away at my soul. Why won't he just let me die?

Finally, after what fells like an eternity, but in all actuality, was probably less than an hour, he's done with me. He used the knife to carve some sort of pattern into my skin and it's blazing red against my pale form. There's blood all over me, the demon's still hovering above me and the earth beneath us. I just look up above me, not really looking at anything as I mentally remove myself from this situation as much as possible. However, that's impossible for I can't elude the emotions of this monster as it keeps me in the grips of reality.

I hear him talking above me but I don't bother to process the words. All I can hear is my own heartbeat in my ears but I still acknowledge him and look in his direction. He's licking my blood off of the knife as he looks down at me, smirking. Will this… thing ever stop smirking? He seems so pleased with what he's done to me. He's taken so much away from me and left my entire body in pain and feeling like it's on fire.

I wonder what he's done to me. What could this pattern – this curse – that he's carved into my body mean? Why does this pain go beyond any earthly suffering but instead seems to eat at my whole being, like it will devour my heart, mind, spirit and soul along with my body? Maybe he is a devil that will just devour me and drag me to a hell full of endless suffering that makes me wish for home.

He says something again and moves his hand down to cover my eyes and I feel the world around me getting dark and blurry. Now, I'm slipping into a world of quiet and peace and I wonder if he's now going to escort me with him to the world of the dead in order to great his lord and master Satan. I do wish for death – anything to end this pain – but I don't want to spend all of eternity in Hell. So, with my last ounce of consciousness – if there is a God up in heaven – I pray my lord my soul to keep.

A/N: Again, can't believe I wrote all of this. Something must be seriously wrong with me. Oh well. So, what do you think? Should I keep going or should I hang my head in shame for having written this? Should I edit this chapter in some way, shape or form, or is it okay the way it is? Please review so I'll know that people are reading this and that I'm not posting this for nothing. I'll even accept flames (though they will be laughed at) but at least I'll know that people are reading this story.

I hope everyone is enjoying this fic and doesn't think I'm too crazy. The next chapter is "If I Should Die Before I Wake" so keep an eye open for it.

– KuroiShinigami07