2. Hollow Men

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A couple of hours later, Karasu entered the room again. This time, he turned on the lamp next to the bed. Kurama, who had been dozing uneasily, jerked awake. His face felt strange when he grimaced at the intrusion; he realized it was because of the stiff tracks of dried tears on his cheeks. Apparently he hadn't been completely able to stave off his anguish.

"Have a drink," Karasu said, pushing a cup of sake into Kurama's hands and sitting at his bedside. "I want to talk with you."

Kurama shuddered at Karasu's close proximity, and the sake slopped over the sides of the cup as his hands trembled.

He hated and feared Karasu, but above all, he hated that he feared Karasu. What was it about the crow youkai?

Kurama had tried looking rationally at the situation. Certainly, Karasu was a powerful demon who had focused his twisted affections on Kurama, but Kurama was no stranger to either daunting opponents or unwelcome sexual advances.

It would not be inaccurate, however, to guess that Karasu's understated elegance had fascinated Kurama at first sight—even almost as much as his pleasure in others' pain had.

Sadism wasn't an uncommon trait in youkai, but it was rare to see a demon practicing it with such grace and flair. Karasu's poise and appearance had struck a deep chord within Kurama's sixteen year-old, easily flustered human body. And then, he had been drawn to Karasu's sadism, as he recognized much of his former self in it.

The blood rose to his cheeks now out of fury and hatred, but Karasu would have been delighted to know that he had caused those roses to bloom before, for very different reasons.

But Kurama would never have admitted any of this.

"Relax," Karasu said calmly, observing his flushed countenance. "I just want to talk . . . for now." His eyes gleamed momentarily. "Don't you want to know what I have in mind for you?"

"Not particularly," Kurama shot back.

Ignoring this, Karasu continued, "Tomorrow we will be leaving the island. Bui and I are no longer bound to Toguro, and we will be traveling together. I expect you to cooperate, or I shall be forced to take disciplinary measures. Which," he added after a thoughtful pause, "I'd enjoy greatly, but would probably not be conducive to your health."

"Didn't you want to kill me to preserve me as I am now?" Kurama asked, his voice shaking.

Karasu regarded him coolly. "I respect your victory over me. That was . . . unexpected. And now that the tournament is over, do you know—my bloodlust has lessened considerably."

The corners of his eyes crinkled in a manner that told Kurama he must be smiling. "At any rate, your human body is young yet. I believe I can safely keep you for a number of years."

"You'll slip," Kurama promised him, his voice now low with suppressed rage. "You can't expect my 'cooperation' to last successfully for years."

"Oh dear," said Karasu, his eyes sparkling with mirth. "In several weeks, your willingness will no longer be an integral factor in your cooperation. You needn't worry about that."

Of course, at these words, Kurama's stomach churned with apprehension. What did Karasu mean? He decided that perhaps alcohol would do him some good after all, and he knocked the sake back.

"And now," said Karasu, reaching out his hand to Kurama, "we're done talking."

Momentarily paralyzed, Kurama watched Karasu's hand wrap around his with a sort of detached horror. He was painfully reminded of another dark youkai who had held his hand today, but the hand now around his was long-fingered, with fine bones like a bird's. It looked girlish and delicate, and Kurama was struck with a powerful urge to seize and crush it, but he knew that it was not as fragile as it appeared.

He should know—he'd stabbed a thorny rose through that palm, and there wasn't even a scar on the back of the hand now.

All of this passed over Kurama in a flash; Karasu had only reached forward to take his empty cup and set it down on the dresser next to the bed. But his next action was a valid cause of distress to Kurama—he removed his mask.

Kurama's eyes widened in alarm. His consternation was compounded when Karasu leaned over and kissed him deeply, his hands moving to Kurama's shirtfront. When Kurama brought up his arms to fight back feebly, Karasu bit his lower lip hard and pulled away.

"Kissing and biting are two of the most important things I take my mask off for," he breathed, now laving his way up Kurama's tensed neck.

When he reached Kurama's chin, he raised his head to kiss Kurama again, moving to straddle him at the same time. As he probed Kurama's mouth, he ground his hips against him pointedly. Kurama nearly screamed into Karasu's mouth.

When Karasu drew back for breath, Kurama glared at him and spat, "What now, rape?"

Karasu smiled. Kurama could actually see his lips curve upwards, now that he was unmasked. "Like I said, I value cooperation. I think I'll wait until your cooperation no longer depends on your will before . . . going all the way. But it is hard for me to restrain myself with you."

This display of self-control was unnatural for a sadist of Karasu's caliber, but Kurama hadn't the presence of mind to think about it.

Karasu kissed him deeply again, and then, laughing, rolled off of his waist to lie beside him on the bed. He reached out an arm to turn off the light, and then wrapped it possessively around Kurama's waist, murmuring, "This is just my way of saying goodnight to you for now. Get some sleep."

Kurama wasn't sure whether Karasu honestly expected him to get any; he was quivering in rage. His muscles were painfully tightened and would not relax, and he could not conceive of relaxing in Karasu's embrace. But he was relieved when Karasu's breathing slowly deepened into the rhythm of sleep. The wheels of his mind immediately began to turn.

Karasu's probably a light sleeper, he thought, and I still can't use my youki yet, but I won't be able to forgive myself if I don't even try to escape.

He waited a few more minutes, and the pattern of Karasu's breathing did not pause or quicken. So he held his breath as he closed a hand around Karasu's arm and began lifting it from around his waist. Karasu shifted uneasily but did not wake. A second bout of relief flooded Kurama, and he got out of bed carefully.

He crept out of the room and successfully groped his way in the dark over to the front door, aided by faint moonlight that streamed from the windows. Once he had undone the lock on the door, he opened it with infinite care. The door was very heavy, however, and it creaked loudly in the same slow way that he was opening it.

Losing his head for a minute, Kurama swung the door open in one quick motion, which did stop the creaking, but also resulted in a loud banging sound, which was followed by snorting. It sounded as though he had hit someone sleeping in front of the door . . . someone wearing armor.

The noise must have been loud enough to wake Karasu, Kurama thought hopelessly. He swore inwardly, as Bui rose to his feet and silently escorted Kurama back inside, where Karasu was waiting for them. He was leaning against the doorframe of the bedroom and smirking.

"I didn't expect less of you, Kurama." He smiled before stifling a yawn. "But now, come to bed. If you try to escape again, I need not say I will be very displeased."

Kurama pushed past him roughly into the room, trying to hide the dismay written plainly on his face.

"Thank you, Bui," Karasu said.

Bui muttered an indistinct response that Kurama did not catch.

Karasu laughed, saying, "Yes, I know. I will write Nekura in the morning."

Bui grunted and turned around. Karasu joined Kurama in bed, and tucked a proprietary arm around his waist again. Kurama, suffocating under Karasu's feather-light embrace, wondered what Bui had said, and who Nekura was.

But his musings ended vaguely. The excitement of this failed attempt had weakened him further and he drifted into an uncomfortable sleep plagued with nightmares of his comrades' deaths.

The next morning, Kurama didn't wake feeling wholly rested, but he had certainly regained a great deal of his strength. He toyed with the notion of attempting escape again, but decided reluctantly that he wasn't capable of taking on both Karasu and Bui.

He contented himself with the thought that a better opportunity might present itself when they left the hotel to board the ship that would take them back.

Kurama exited the bedroom to find Karasu standing at the open front door and giving an envelope to a messenger.

"I want you to deliver this as quickly as you can," he was saying, "to Nekura of Mokuzai. Are you familiar with this name?"

The messenger, a blue-scaled youkai with gray-veined wings, nodded once. His eyebrows had jumped slightly at the mention of Nekrura's name, and Kurama thought he now looked rather suspicious of Karasu. But Karasu knew how to remedy such misgivings.

He held out a pouch of gold so heavy that the bottom looked as if it were about to drop out. "I have given Nekura instructions to give you another purse like this if you deliver my letter within a week."

The messenger's eyebrows shot up again, this time with delight, as he seized the money with a clawed hand and pocketed it.

"Sir, you are too generous," he muttered in an oily voice, making several low bows.

Karasu placed his fingers under the other's chin and tipped his face up gently, going so far that in order to follow Karasu's lead, the messenger was forced to straighten out of the bow. The gesture was fluid and elegant, which made it all the more menacing.

A certain economy of movement contributed greatly to Karasu's grace; he did not waste his energy in pointless arm-flailing or nodding, so his every motion was like a bold stroke of black ink across white paper. Each gesture served to punctuate and underline his words and ideas, giving him something of a dancer's carriage.

It was this, Kurama reflected, that made him so intimidating and repulsive. He personally would have found it harder to hate Karasu if he had been a blundering drunk like Chuu.

When the messenger was finally standing erect, Karasu (who was still taller) removed his fingers and looked down at him, saying quietly, "Don't fail me in this. I will have the entire Shikaku on you if you decide to run off with the money."

This new name meant nothing to Kurama, but the messenger was visibly unnerved.

"Of course not, sir!" he exclaimed, dropping into another hasty bow.

Karasu made a quiet sound of disgust and waved him away. Wisely, the blue youkai darted off, clutching Karasu's message tightly to his chest like a mother with her newborn.

Karasu turned around and saw Kurama standing there. Smiling, he said, "I suppose you are wondering who Nekura is, and who the Shikaku are."

Whoever they were, they probably didn't mean anything good for him, Kurama decided. He glared at Karasu.

"Not really."

"You'll find out in due time," Karasu replied, apparently amused by some private joke. "Now, you must eat quickly. Bui is already down at the docks securing our passage home."

He motioned Kurama towards the dining table, where breakfast was laid out. Then he disappeared into the bedroom, smiling as he said, "I have some other last minute things to attend to."

Kurama sat stiffly at the table. As he lowered his fork to the food, a sudden flash of understanding burst upon him. Karasu hadn't wanted to—well, fuck him until he was made into a willing participant. After his abortive effort to get away, which had obviously marked him as unwilling, Bui had mentioned Nekura. If a flying messenger would only be able to reach Nekura in a week under the best conditions, then their party of three would probably take several weeks to reach him. And what was it that Karasu had said?

In several weeks, your willingness will no longer be an integral factor in your cooperation.

His fork fell to the table with a clatter. A leaden weight dropped into his stomach, and by the feel of it, had ruptured several vital organs on the way.

Shit.

He still didn't know who Nekura was, but he did know that Karasu fully expected him to deprive Kurama of his free will. And that meant that Nekura was nothing but bad news.

By the time Karasu re-emerged from the bedroom, Kurama had worked out several possibilities. Nekura was either in possession of a special artifact like the Sword of Vengeance Hiei had stolen, or a Jagan with psychic powers (again, like Hiei), or he had some very rare drugs. All of those items could be used to deprive a person of their consciousness and free will.

Judging by the fact that Karasu wanted Nekura to be informed long before they reached him, Nekura needed time to prepare what Karasu wanted. This made the drugs the most likely answer. Kurama knew there were very dangerous and potent substances, and that they were most often used in slave trafficking. He closed his eyes as his stomach threatened to reject what little content it held at the moment.

Of course. Karasu wanted him as a sex slave, didn't he? Kurama had had some experience with those kinds of drugs when he'd been a thief; he remembered that they were notoriously difficult to make, and they did not keep for very long. That explained Karasu's need for the speedy delivery of his message. He wanted the drugs to be ready as soon as they arrived.

"All right," Kurama muttered aloud, trying to calm himself. I can think my way out of this. I wasn't the most infamous thief in Makai for nothing.

"All right?" repeated another voice. Karasu had come into the dining room. "Are you done eating?"

"Yes," Kurama lied. He didn't feel like he would be able to stomach anything at the moment.

"Excellent," Karasu said. "We should leave, then; Bui is waiting for us with all of our things. I sent him to collect your personal effects."

Opening his mouth, Kurama boiled with shame when he had to try twice before managing to say, "What about my teammates' things?"

Karasu frowned. "I expect they've been disposed of."

His eyes slanted upwards in a smile at the expression on Kurama's face. "Did you want keepsakes? To remember them by?"

His mocking tone made Kurama want to reach out and pop his head like a melon.

"Shut up," he hissed.

"We certainly can't keep Bui waiting," Karasu agreed. "Come." He led the way out of the suite.

As they descended in the elevator, Karasu said, "I realize that despite my warning to you last night, you're probably looking for more avenues of escape."

Kurama shot him a dirty look.

"I considered putting you on a leash," he smirked, extending his hand to caress Kurama's neck. "You'd look good in a collar."

Kurama hissed as he sprang from Karasu's touch.

"But I decided that I'll simply blow your leg away if you run. I will be keeping a very close eye on you."

They passed the rest of the way in silence, though many youkai laughed and pointed when they saw them walking together. If shame was a poison that built up in the body, like gallstones or cholesterol, Kurama was certain that he'd have been on his knees throwing up for all he was worth the minute he'd set foot outside.

Once they reached the harbor, they did find Bui waiting for them in front of a ship with three suitcases which were so dwarfed by his girth that next to him, they looked like lunchboxes.

"Bui," Karasu greeted him. "When do we set sail?"

"In half an hour," Bui answered.

"Good. Since we have that time," he said, turning to Kurama, "why don't you go and say goodbye to your women? Or rather, your comrades' women, as I don't believe you brought any girlfriends or sisters along. Or mothers," he added pensively.

Which was obviously the right choice, Kurama thought, dreading how Shiori would react when he never came back. He turned heavily in the direction Karasu had pointed, seeing the women who had accompanied them gathering around another ship.

Fleetingly, he wondered why Karasu had even pointed them out to him. It could almost be considered kind. Or, he thought savagely, he wants to savor my misery when I have to face them.

At any rate, he hurried towards them, still feeling sick with humiliation Yukina caught sight of him first and cried, "Kurama-san!"

The others all turned towards him with surprise that soon turned to joy, as they took turns embracing him tightly. They had all been crying, Kurama noted painfully. Atsuko's breath smelled strongly of alcohol, Shizuru's face was red and puffy, Keiko's eyes were wet that very moment, and Yukina's eyelashes glittered strangely. All of them had lost a relative or a lover. But . . . someone was missing.

"Where's Botan?"

"She disappeared yesterday," Shizuru said sadly. "Maybe she ferried them over to Reikai."

Keiko and Atsuko both burst into fresh tears at "them."

"Kurama . . . you're the only one . . . still . . ." Keiko choked, squeezing his hand.

Heat rose to his face. Survivor's guilt.

"There's no honor in living as I am," he said in a hard voice. "I would rather—"

"Don't say that," Yukina interrupted softly. "They would have wanted you to live. You still have hope."

"Yukina," Kurama said uncertainly. He withdrew his hand from Keiko's grasp and clasped Yukina's hand in both of his own. "Kuwabara wanted me to tell you . . . he was thinking of you. Until the end."

She averted her gaze as if in pain. It hurt him as well, but he had more to say to her.

"And," he went on, knowing that Hiei had not told him to say anything, but going with his gut instinct, "Hiei—"

"Don't, please," she said, her voice cracking. Something told Kurama she already knew. She put a tiny silk bag on a string into his hand. When he looked at her curiously, she elaborated.

"My tear gems. There are three. I shed one each for you, Kuwabara, and Yusuke. I am keeping the one—Hiei's," she said thickly. "But please take the others. I don't want to waste them."

As Kurama started to protest, she said, "Please take them. You might need them where you're going."

This silenced his objections. She was right.

"Thank you," he muttered, placing the string around his neck and tucking the bag into his clothes.

Suddenly, Shizuru quipped, "I don't suppose Kazu said anything about giving his regards to me?"

"No," began Kurama awkwardly, but Shizuru started laughing and crying at the same time.

"That's my brother," she hiccupped. "Stupid . . . idiot . . ."

Keiko gave her a hug. Atsuko was still sobbing in the background. Kurama shifted uneasily. At a distance, he could see Karasu raise a hand languidly to beckon him.

"I have to go now," he said with great difficulty.

"Kurama!" Keiko let go of Shizuru to crush him in a hug, and the other girls followed suit.

"Take care of yourself," Shizuru said earnestly.

"You, too," he returned.

"Goodbye, Kurama," Yukina said softly.

Waving wordlessly at them, Kurama left and walked back towards Karasu and Bui.

"All aboard, then," said Karasu, his violet eyes sparkling in the sun.

Kurama turned his head for one final look at the girls before following Karasu and Bui up the gangplank.

"We'll never see him again, will we?" sniffed Keiko.

"We might still," whispered Yukina, taking her arm. "We might."

Somewhere on the other side of the island, a fire demon picked himself up, blinked, grimaced, and uttered a single word.

"Fuck."

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A/N: A vaguely depressing, transitional chapter. I promise the story picks up later.