Warnings: Physical violence
Lucky Child
Chapter 101:
"The Dark Tournament Finals (Round 1)"
On the day of the Dark Tournament finals, dawn shone bright in a clear and cloudless sky. The sea crashed upon the shore with waves the color of my mother's favorite turquoise necklace, and overhead birds circled, skimming the surf for leaping fish. I, meanwhile, skimmed the breakfast menu at the restaurant downstairs—the one with the seaside overlook, view worthy of being put in a travel magazine. But given the drawn and shuttered looks on just about all of my friends' faces, I suspected that I might be the only one.
"Ooh, look at that. Crepes." I glanced at the table's occupants, but none of them met my smiling eyes. "What are you guys getting? Because I love the look of these crepes." Scanning the menu once more, I clucked my tongue and said with forced cheer, "But then again, that French toast with champagne strawberries… fancy. Anyone wanna split something?"
No response, my idle chatter falling on deaf—or willfully oblivious—ears. Hiei was his usual taciturn self, staring moodily out over the water. Kurama pretended to look over the menu, but the faraway look in his eye gave him away. Kuwabara slouched in his chair and picked idly at his bacon and waffles. Botan leaned her chin on her hand and sighed. Yukina, manners delicate and pretty, gently peeled a soft-boiled egg while Shizuru appeared to nap, arms crossed and chin lowered, eyes closed and face serene. Only Atsuko acted like her usual self; she flirted unashamedly with the waiter, downing more than a few mimosas along with a bloody Mary. It was no use talking to any of them, so when Yusuke finally appeared, relief washed across me in a warm wave.
Except that feeling didn't last. Yusuke slouched across the restaurant in his windbreaker and tennis shoes, glaring at the fancily dressed waiters and restaurant patrons whenever any ventured too close or stared too long. He didn't say hello to any of us when we murmured various greetings, and when I leaned toward him to catch his eye, one of his eyebrows shot right up. And I hadn't even said anything yet.
"Hey, sleepyhead," I said, not yet put off my mission of lightening the mood. "Bout time you showed up. Was worried you'd snooze through breakfast."
"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled. A waiter appeared at his elbow; Yusuke muttered, "Coffee."
"Say please," I said in a sing-song voice as the waiter scurried away.
Yusuke's slouch deepened. "Make me."
"That can be arranged," I said with a grin—but he didn't grin back, and he nursed his soon-to-appear coffee cup in disgruntled silence.
I threw out a little more bait as we ate (or drank, in Yusuke and Atsuko's cases), but I didn't get any bites. Even the normally cheery Botan couldn't bring herself to staying upbeat or joining in on my attempts at conversation. She and the rest of my friends all remained quiet as we got up to leave, and when it came time for me to follow them, I found that I couldn't. I watched them walk single-file toward the exit from my spot at the table, heart in my mouth, wondering if there was anything at all that I could do or say to—
An arm slung around my shoulder. "Hey, kiddo. Stop tryin' so hard, all right?"
It was Atsuko, of all people. Her breath sent the scents of tomato juice and champagne wafting across my face when I looked her way, grabbing onto her hand on reflex. She just grinned at my confusion, however, and curled her arm tighter.
"Don't think I don't see you wringing your hands under the table," she said. "My baby boy's got this in the bag, ya hear me?" She gave a bleary wink. "Trust. It'll be fine."
Her tipsy surety felt bracing, somehow. "Thanks, Atsuko," I said.
"Don't mention it." Her other hand swung up, dangling a backpack. "Now take this."
I did so and immediately regretted it. "But this is heavy!"
"Good beer always is!"
She skipped off, cackling, and I had no choice but to shoulder the pack and trudge after her—even though I already carried a backpack, I might add. Not that Atsuko cared, so long as she had her beer. Grumbling under my breath, I followed her as she followed the rest of our group out of the restaurant and into the lobby, where we headed for the door near the front desk. To my surprise, Otoha stood behind the desk wearing a crisp linen suit, typical maid uniform conspicuously absent. I guess she'd earned her original job back, the one she'd had prior to her demotion as maid. Had the business in the casino played in her favor somehow? I wasn't sure, but I sensed I was right when Otoha spotted me, grinned, and mouthed 'good luck' behind her hand. I shot her a grateful smile in return, along with a wave of my own. It was good to see a friendly face, even if I wouldn't be seeing it for long.
We caught up to Yusuke and the others just outside the hotel, our party a loose knot that had come to a stop just beyond the hotel's glass front doors. I wasn't sure why we hadn't gotten started on our trip to the stadium. Fighting my way to the front to stand at Yusuke's side, I found him staring ahead at a small fleet of… well, glorified gold carts, really. There were three of these little vehicles with no doors and a plastic roof suspended atop metal rods, all lined up in a row along the gravel path that led to the island's various stadiums, and judging by the look on Yusuke's face, he wasn't entirely sure why the hell they were there.
The driver of the first car quickly made it clear when he tipped his blue chauffer's cap at Yusuke. "G'day, Team Urameshi!" he said in a bright, chipper voice—and when a dexterous and furry brown tail lashed around his shiny black shoes, which bobbed high above the cart's pedals, I started to grin.
"Long time, no see," I said to the young monkey demon.
"Yeah," said Shizuru as she, too, fought her way to the front to stand beside me. "How's it hangin'?"
"And who're you supposed to be?" Yusuke demanded, ignoring us both.
Kuwabara, meanwhile, actually paid attention. "Sis, you know him?" he called from the back of our group.
"Yeah, actually." She puffed her cigarette and grinned while I had flashbacks to the scary-as-hell ride the monkey kid had taken us on when we first arrived on this island. "Long story."
The kid tipped his hat again. "I'm Tobi, and I'll be Team Urameshi's driver this morning," he declared. "If you would please board—"
Kuwabara sputtered. "You're gonna drive us to the tournament?" he said, elbowing his way forward. His eyes had narrowed, and he looked Tobi over with undisguised suspicion. "Gonna make a pit stop and chuck us off a cliff on the way there?"
"That wouldn't be very sporting, I'm afraid," Tobi chided, childish face unnervingly mature—like a nanny taking care of a kid, almost. "Not to mention in breach of my contract."
Hiei harrumphed. "He's right. It's the final round," he said, sneer crossing his sharp features. "Those greedy tournament drones wouldn't want to spoil their fun."
Kurama hummed. "That is only logical."
"No way!" Kuwabara sputtered again, gesturing at the line of cars with an indignant hand. "You're really gonna let them take you there, Hiei?"
Hiei's stare could've melted glass. "Who do you think you're talking to?" he spat. "I'm a demon. I'll run."
He wasted no time in doing exactly that, flitting from sight with a crack of flapping cloak. Kuwabara threw up his hands, but in spite of his grumblings, Yusuke climbed into the cart without a word and slumped into the seat beside Tobi. Kurama and the rest of our party joined him, crowding into the carts one by one. I sat on the very back bench seat, my back to the cart's driver, and as we began to trundle over the dirt path that led to the second stadium, I kicked my heels out over the trail and tried not to feel nauseated at the sensation of flying backward down the road.
It helped that we weren't the only ones already heading to the site of the tournament finals. A good number of demons walked toward the stadium as the sun climbed over the treetops. They chattered excitedly to one another, fragments of conversation drifting to my ears on the damp morning air. Most conversation stopped when we rode by, the distraction of seeing the tournament competitors up close too tempting to ignore in favor of idle gossip. When I twisted to look, I saw Kuwabara waving at a few of them, pretending to be some sort of celebrity despite the looks of aggression shot his way by most of the demons on the road.
Although not all of the demons looked at us with ill intentions. We passed a group of demons wearing pale pink t-shirts emblazoned with a picture of Koto's face; her fanboys, who waved at us as we drove by, grins on all of their mismatched and technicolor demon faces. They liked Yusuke for sticking up for Koto during the match against the Shinobi, if I had to take a wild guess. And we even passed the dog-faced demon who had helped me out in attracting Jin, who saw me and did a double-take before grinning and waving, too. But something told me they might be the only ones who favored us over the competition…
Eventually our transportation slowed, coming around a bend just as the bulk of the stadium rose over the forest. That horrible black dome, with all its jutting spires and insectoid angles, filled me with as much dread then as it had when I first laid eyes on it. I shivered in spite of myself, arms wrapped tight around the two backpacks sitting on my swaying lap, dreading the moment we'd near the stadium entrance and disembark into its open maw. As we neared it, we came upon a throng of demons at least fifty deep, the lot of them clamoring for the doors to open and let them inside. I found myself wondering if we'd have to fight our way through them just to get inside, but instead of driving us into the hoard, our driver made an unexpected and sharp turn. We circled the stadium on the concrete path that ringed it, heading toward the opposite side and an unobtrusive door flanked by two towering demons in rent-a-cop uniforms, well away from the crowd of demons thirsty for the sight of spilled blood. Hiei was there, lurking in the shadows of some nearby trees. The guard demons looked us over with undisguised contempt, but after a sharp look from Tobi (who I guessed had to be much older than his face suggested), they opened the doors and let us through.
Good, I thought. Wasting energy before the finals fighting nobodies was not a good idea.
As we disembarked and headed inside, Tobi gave me a nod and a smile as I passed. "Good to see all of you again, miss. We'll be here if you need us," he whispered, tipping his cap—but rather than reassure me, his words put a pit in the bottom of my stomach.
If we lost, we wouldn't need him, because we'd all be stone cold dead.
I tried not to think about that as we entered the stadium. The back door admitted us into a long hallway lined with doors, walls and ceiling and floor tiled with sterile grey slate. One of the guard demons led us down the hall and to a shockingly mundane locker room complete with showers, benches and lockers. Like this was some sort of high school sporting event and not the most vicious tournament in the world. The contrast sent another shiver through me, and as we set down our things and milled about, I tucked myself into a corner and tried not to look as sick as I felt.
Judging by the looks on everyone else's pinched and sallow faces, they might've felt the same way.
Kuwabara was the first to break the tense silence. "Where the heck is Genkai, anyway?" he said, deep voice ringing like a bell in the reverberant chamber. "I asked on the way down to breakfast, but nobody seemed to know."
Yusuke, sitting on a nearby bench with elbows on his knees, head bowed, grunted a curt, "Not feeling well."
"But it's the final match!" Kuwabara protested.
"Last night you said you felt bad for outnumbering them," Kurama said in his soft, musical voice. "Perhaps the universe heard you."
Kuwabara shot him a glare. "That's not funny, Kurama," he said. "You know I didn't mean—"
Kurama cut him off with a chuckle, turning on his heel and heading toward the door, leaving a gaping Kuwabara standing there in confused silence. The laugh hadn't sounded like a normal Kurama laugh. It was… hard, somehow. Like a laugh made of thorns. As Kuwabara continued to stare, I dogged Kurama's steps, following him out of the locker room and into the hall.
"Hey," I said, catching his sleeve so he'd stop. "You feeling all right?"
He looked at me askance, barely turning his head. "As well as can be expected. And you?"
"Same." I forced a smile. "But I'm not even fighting and I'm nervous."
Finally he turned my way completely, eyes softening the smallest bit. "There's nothing to be nervous about."
I stared at him.
"… so there are a few things," Kurama relented. "But you still shouldn't worry. We can take care of ourselves."
"Cold comfort considering I'm an albatross. I like to take care of others; it's sort of my thing."
His eyes narrowed as he smiled. "I remember."
Neither of us said anything for a moment. I crossed my arms over my chest and breathed deeply of the air. It smelled of cleaning solution; of bleach, and perhaps the faintest tang of old blood.
"You'll go first?" I muttered, not daring to look at him.
Still, I saw him nod. "I was thinking of breaking the ice, yes."
"Well." Shifting from foot to foot, unease rising high in my chest, I told him, "I'd tell you to break a leg as well as the ice, but under the circumstances…"
He laughed again. It sounded different from before. Still hard, but… not as biting, somehow. The laughter died when Kuwabara's voice rose loud enough that we both could hear them through the locker room door, however.
"Seriously though, where is Genkai?" he demanded. "I wanted to ask her about something, but—"
"She's not coming, all right?" came Yusuke's barked reply. "Give it a rest."
"Not even to cheer us on?" Kuwabara said, sounding perfectly aghast. "You can't be—"
"So no one's told him, then," I muttered while his voice droned on. "Thought so."
Kurama's eyes were hooded and dark, green a mere flicker beside his pupil. "You know what happened to her, then?" he asked, although it was barely a question.
I stared at him again.
His mouth thinned. "Of course you knew." Kurama took a sharp step toward me, head bowing in a fit of secrecy. "Tell me, Kei. Are we meant to keep this a secret?"
Swallowing down the guilt in my throat, I nodded. "Yeah. But no worries." I smiled at his look of confusion. "It won't stay secret for very long."
The notion didn't appear to bring Kurama any comfort. He glanced at the locker room door without speaking, eyes narrowed above his pursed lips. He wiped the look away, however, and replaced it with a carefully neutral mask just as the locker room door swung open. Botan stalked out of it, expression drawn and withered—but when she saw us looking, she pasted on a smile almost as fake as Kurama's cultivated detachment.
Fakers, all of us.
"Well, girls," Botan said, both to me and to the women trailing in her wake. "Let's get moving before all the best seats are taken, hmm?"
She didn't wait for an answer. Botan just marched off down the hall while the other women bid the guys goodbye. I stuck my head inside the door long enough to smile and wave at each of them, deciding against any tearful well-wishes or maudlin declarations. Lord knew I'd made enough of them lately, and Yusuke didn't seem in any mood to tolerate any of my mushy crap. I just gave him a thumbs-up, which he eventually returned, and made sure to shout a chipper, "Give 'em hell, boys!" before leaving the locker room behind.
The tunnels beneath the stadium were like a rabbit's warren, pathways an inscrutable labyrinth we navigated with the help of some handy signage pointing the way to the stadium's public areas. The door to the public areas was well-hidden behind a kiosk selling roasted meat on a stick, air smoky and thick, and not a single demon stood around apart from the kiosk's employees. They didn't pay us any mind as we headed to the seats on the stadium's lowest level, picking our way down to only a few rows away from the very front. Although it was clear that the main doors hadn't been opened yet, a few demons had managed to sneak their way inside, taking up the first three or so rows all around the first level. The spot we snagged sat just behind a weird booth-type-thing jutting out onto the arena floor, cordoned off by tall Plexiglas walls to keep the general public at bay. Koto's announcing booth, if the microphone on a table within the booth was any clue.
A minute after we were seated, a chime sounded over the stadium PA system, and a dull roar split the air. Soon demons streamed into the stadium from all directions like something out of a zombie invasion film, figures running just out of sight above the rows of seats, the sound of feet slapping like thunder against the walls and high ceiling. I fidgeted, watching the hoard run and push and shove each other for the best seats, feeling glad that the few demons who came near us immediately spotted Shizuru and turned tail to flee in the opposite direction.
"Are y'all nervous?" I said, almost yelling thanks to the new noise. "Because I'm nervous!"
Shizuru only shrugged. "Not really."
But Yukina understood. "I am nervous, too," she said, hands twisting inside her kimono's sleeves.
"As am I," said Botan. When our eyes met, she leaned toward me in alarm. "But Keiko, you look pale!" She patted my knee and gave a sharp nod. "Our boys will be fine; you have to have faith!"
Easier said than done. "It's just, I haven't actually seen but one or two fights from the stands, y'know?" I said, knee beginning to bounce up and down in agitation. "I've been stuck outside the stadium, or running through the stadium, or… so I don't know what to expect. Not really, anyway." I shifted in my seat, eyeing just how close the edge of the fighting ring came to the edge of our section of seats. "And besides. These seats are basically in the splash zone, and I didn't bring a raincoat."
Atsuko, a seat away from me on Botan's other side, threw back her head and laughed. "Splash zone! Ha! Good thing I wore red!"
"Seriously, though," I grumbled, not sharing her cheer at all. "Only way we could be closer is to be down there in the dugout or whatever it's called. Ringside. Whatever."
On my other side, Yukina frowned, looking from me to Shizuru. "Oh, that reminds me," she said. "Shouldn't you be with the team, Shizuru? In the event they need your help?"
Shizuru just shrugged again, blowing out a puff of grey-blue smoke. "I can jump in there if the going gets tough," she said, tapping ash carelessly into the (as of yet unoccupied) seat in front of us. "Don't wanna leave you without backup." She paused for a second. "And besides." Dark brown eyes drifted lazily in my direction. "Keiko might need help in a minute or two."
I blinked. "Help with what?"
"'Ello, love!"
Strong arms slipped around my waist, stomach lurching in a sickening drop as something yanked me upward and into the air. I would've shrieked aloud, but when a bright laugh sounded in my ear, the impulse died as quickly as it had been born. Jin was comforting like that, and as he planted a kiss on my cheek, we drifted like dandelion down on the wind until his feet came to rest on the back of one of the stadium chairs. My own feet dangled ineffectually in the air, kicking at his knees—because Jin was still hella freakin' tall, and Keiko was something of a shorty. And although the refreshing wind around us blew cool, my cheeks felt like they'd caught fire as my friends stared at us, each one of them (aside from Shizuru, of course) agape.
"Jin!" I wriggled, worming my hands between us so I could push him back, leaning backward over the brace of his encircling arm. "What are you do—well, obviously you're here to watch the fights, but—"
"Wouldn't miss 'em for the world, sweet girl!" he chirped, grin wide and ears wiggling. "And here you are with your dear friends, all together in a merry band to cheer on the Urameshi boys. They'd be lost without you lot, if ya don't mind my sayin' so, which means it's a good thing you're—"
"Jin!"
The voice that spoke his name didn't come from my friends, but from farther up, toward the back of the stadium. Craning my head over Jin's broad shoulder revealed Touya standing not far off upon the stadium stairs—and although I hadn't seen Touya outside of his hood yet, he was hard to mistake for anyone else. His bright blue and green hair had been shellacked into a slicked-back wash of aquamarine, bangs hanging over his forehead bringing out the wintry chill in his skin and eyes alike. They were oddly fiery, his eyes—fiery and empty, lacking any recognizable pupil whatsoever. He didn't look particularly amused, mouth thin and arms crossed over his black-clad chest, strange eyes narrowed almost too much to discern their color.
When he spotted me, however, his lips twitched. But he smoothed the smile away fast, indeed.
Not that Jin was at all perturbed by his friend's dour expression. "Oi, Touya!" he said, clearly delighted. "Come down for a chat, eh?"
One blue-green brow shot up. "Did you forget we have business to attend to?" he murmured in a soft, cool voice.
Jin tittered. "If I say yes, will you let me stay?"
"No."
"Well, you're no fun." Jin rolled his eyes, and with a flex of his muscular legs we shot skyward—but only so we could once more drift, almost weightlessly, down onto the nearby stadium steps. He didn't put me down right away, though, arms curled around me still. "Gotta run, Keiko. Duty calls." He winked, ears twitching again, face comically serious. "Save me a dance?"
I couldn't keep a smile off my face. "If I hear music, I'll give you a call."
And then he was grinning again. "That's the spirit!" he said, and he pressed an enthusiastic kiss to my cheek before putting me gently down and zooming away with a burst of bracing air. He blew another kiss over his shoulder as he and Touya walked away, and when Touya muttered something to him, Jin threw back his head and laughed. I found myself smiling on reflex.
But then I felt the eyes on me, and elation turned to instant anxiety.
Walking back to my seat felt like walking a runway, only instead of flashing cameras, my friends stared with expressions ranging from confused to scandalized to gratified. Atsuko leaned over Shizuru to offer me a fist-bump once I sat down, which I only returned so she'd wipe the smug-as-fuck grin off her face. But she wasn't done, eyebrows wiggling over her forehead like caterpillars doing the Macarena.
"So-o-oh," she said, dragging out the word. "Collecting redheads, are we?"
"Shut up!"
She sat back with a cackle. But before anyone else could start up and make me implode in embarrassment, another voice cut the stadium din.
"Well, well, well," she drawled. "Looks like you've been making yourself right at home, huh?"
It was Koto, of course, who stood upon the nearby stairs in her heeled shoes and trench coat, a silk scarf wrapped tightly around her hair. Despite the sunglasses covering 90% of her face, it was easy to tell exactly who she was—even for the normally not-so-observant Atsuko, who let out a bark of laughter as Koto sauntered down the stairs and opened the door to her announcer's box.
"Koto!" Atsuko said. She reached beneath her chair and grabbed a beer from her backpack, cracking it open so she could toast to Koto. "Good to see you!"
"Same to all of you," Koto said. She opened the door to her Plexiglas box, but she didn't step inside. "So here we are. The final match." Green eyes flashed with emerald fire over the edges of her sunglasses. "Your team up for the challenge, or are my commentating days going to be short-lived?"
Atsuko scoffed. "Trust me, honey. They'll put on quite a show."
"They'd better." Stripping the scarf off of her head, she patted her hair and swiped the glasses off her face. "They don't exactly have home court advantage. Hiei and Kurama are demon traitors, and the rest… well, the humans are even worse. Especially that Genkai." Eyes rolling, Koto tossed her accessories onto the table inside the announcer's box, beside the microphone and headphones resting upon it. "Why you thought to put a demon boogeyman of all people on—"
She chattered on for a bit, seemingly enjoying the chance to talk about tournament optics. But while Atsuko, Yukina and Shizuru were all quick to engage, Botan shrank down in her seat, staring out at the ring with her hands wrapped tightly around one another upon her lap. She looked ghastly, if we're being honest. The roses that normally bloomed in her cheeks had disappeared, replaced by an unhealthy porcelain sheen that made me suspect she'd broken out in a cold sweat.
She flinched when I touched her arm, magenta eyes burning beneath her blue bangs. "Are you all right?" she said, but she only sighed and patted my hand.
"Yes. Yes, I'm fine, Keiko. I just—I had a hard day yesterday, is all," she finished with unconvincing forced cheer. "Nothing to worry about."
I hesitated. Should I admit that I knew the truth about Genkai and try to offer her some specific comfort? Or would that be too revelatory, and too much salt in the wound on top of it?
Because I couldn't be certain, I settled for squeezing her arm. "If you want to talk about it, I'm here for you," I offered, with as much sincerity as I could muster.
"I appreciate that, Keiko." Botan's eye clouded, head hanging on the end of her bent neck. "But I'm afraid there's no feeling better for me. Not today."
I wanted to comfort her. To give her a hug and tell her it would be OK. That the boys would win, and that they'd wish to bring Genkai back, and that their wish would be granted.
But I did not know if those canonical events were meant to be in this universe, this lifetime—so I only squeezed her hand again and said, "OK."
I caught Shizuru eyeing us sidelong when Botan pulled away. Eventually Koto said goodbye and sequestered herself with her booth. More demons trickled in, filling the stadium to the bursting with their raucous cries for blood and gore. Atsuko drank, and Yukina asked her questions about the human constitution. Koto talked with a demon with a clipboard about sound quality and some other tech specs, voice muffled behind a plate of Plexiglas. I scanned the crowd for Jin's fiery red mane, but I did not see him. I found myself wondering what business he and Touya had to attend to, but just as I began to voice the question aloud, Botan muttered that she needed to use the restroom. Politely she excused herself, trudging on slow feet out of our row and up the stairs. I started to tell her there was a reason that girls usually went to the bathroom in packs, but Shizuru beat me to the punch. She followed Botan without a word, the pair of them soon lost within the eddying crowd of demons.
It didn't take them long to return. When they reappeared, Botan's eyes were red-rimmed and glassy—but her smile seemed genuine as she sat down at my side, voice sweeter and more solid than before.
"Think the fights will start soon?" she asked, expression unexpectedly serene.
And as if in answer, Koto leaned over her microphone to declare, "Ladies and gentlemen! You might wanna get to your seats, because this match is about to begin!"
"Oooh, I'm excited!" Atsuko said as Koto's booming, PA-amplified cry faded into echoes. She chugged down the remains of her beer and chucked the bottle over her head, grinning when a demon cried out in pain. "How about the rest of you, huh?"
As the others spoke their agreement, I muttered under my breath, "Just thrilled."
If anyone caught the sarcasm, they did not mention it aloud.
Watching Kurama's match against Karasu soon revealed itself as an exercise in self-flagellation—in self-inflicted pain so extreme, it bordered on outright masochism.
In my first life, I became a fan of horror movies at a questionably early age. My dad had rented Alien on VHS (from Blockbuster, that movie mecca lost to time and capitalism) and watched it late one night on the couch. My seven-year-old self woke up sometime during the first few minutes, and I successfully snuck to the end of the couch— specifically in my father's blind spot—to view it with him. Through cracked fingers I watched the crew of the Nostromo fall to the eponymous and bloodthirsty alien, picked off one by one until only the intrepid Ripley (and her fluffy companion Jonesy) remained. I was enthralled, and in the exact moment she flushed the alien out of the airlock, I fell in love with Ripley, the Xenomorph, sci-fi and horror all in one fell swoop. More horror followed after that, a love affair nurtured by my father's taste in Stephen King adaptations, Hitchcockian nightmares and late-night, B-movie schlock.
But that doesn't mean I loved all horror movies with the same passion I had for Alien, The Shining and Rear Window. I hate the Saw franchise, for instance—mostly because while gore can enliven a scene and make it truly horrific, gore for gore's sake had never appealed to me at all, rendering that entire franchise unappealing. I always watched gory scenes from between my fingers or over the top of a pillow, ready to look away the second it got too intense. My aversion to gore only deepened after my accident in my old life; once you've seen your own bones, it's not easy to want to look at them again, and this aversion deepened to outright disgust after my death and rebirth. I loved the tension of thrillers and horror films, the way that horror viewed the human condition through clever use of allegory, but I felt that gore was meant to be like seasoning in a horror film—not the main course. And while it was thrilling to watch the Final Girl flee a serial killer, find her inner warrior and kill him before he could kill her, I tended to look away as she swung the knife home and got her comeuppance at last.
I had never liked gore, and I hid my eyes when it appeared in movies.
But watching Kurama fight Karasu, gore flying left and right, I couldn't bear to tear my eyes away—not even for a second.
He must've drunk the potion before entering the ring, because I didn't see him take a sip when he stepped into it, hair flying behind him in a blood-dark flag. Kurama stayed far away from the demon Karasu, hugging the outer portion of the ring, and as the new referee—Juri, canon character appearing at long last—called the match to order, he lifted his hand and blew on it as if scattering seeds to the wind. And perhaps he did just that. A maelstrom of pink petals erupted from Kurama's hand, filling the ring to overflowing with deceptively sharp shards of organic matter. Soon one of them sliced Karasu's cheek above the edge of his metal mask, image broadcast in larger-than-life clarity on the jumbotron above the ring, flesh split and gaping over bone.
I winced at the sight, but I did not look away.
Karasu shrugged off the attack with naught but a toss of his long black hair, wound closing on his cheek like the video had played in reverse—and then the petals across the ring caught fire, exploding into minute points of conflagration in the air. Shock showed on Kurama's face, but Karasu was already streaking across the ring, and Kurama had no choice by to flee. Karasu wasted no time in his pursuit. His lapels trailed behind him like the wings of the crow for which he'd been named, an omen of death in name and vision, both. Yet Kurama maintained his distance, and for one split second, a look of grim satisfaction played across his features at this victory. But Karasu did not need to touch Kurama to maim him. He was a dog herding a sheep, and soon he herded Kurama exactly where he wanted him to go.
He herded him, of course, into an explosive trap—an invisible bomb that exploded on contact with Kurama's arm, bursting into green-tinted fire that seared flesh and sent blood spattering across the ring floor. Kurama staggered with a cry of pain, arm hanging limp and useless at his side, feet still beneath him, blood blooming crimson upon the shredded remains of his snow white sleeve.
I gasped at the sight, but I did not look away.
Smoke from the explosion billowed thick around him, soon obscuring the sight of torn flesh and flowing blood from view. Another something exploded in the smoke, that green fire flickering again—but when the smoke cleared after that onslaught, the red was gone, and in its place stood silver and white.
Youko emerged from the smoke in all his transcendent glory, red blood pouring from a wound on his temple, slick matting silver hair against his cheek in a sticky stream. But although the crowd gasped and Koto shrieked her approval at this transformation, he did not pause to revel in their reaction. Youko Kurama lifted his hands, and around him the ring crunched and crumbled, enormous carnivorous plants with thorny teeth emerging from the cracked concrete in a lurching lunge. The jumobtron displayed a single frame of Karasu's panic-widened eyes before Koto began to scream a play-by-play, narrating as Karasu ran, her voice a bloody shriek echoing the way the plants whipped at Karasu with feral cries of hunger and rage.
And beyond it all, Youko Kurama stood in silence—smiling, hair flying like spidersilk on the screaming breeze.
Karasu put up a good fight. His bombs, invisible to my mundane eyes, struck many of Kurama's plants, exploding their snapping maws with bursts of green fire and black smoke. But they were too many and Karasu's bombs were too few, and soon a plant erupted from the concrete at his feet and swallowed him whole.
Koto crowed.
The demons watching howled.
Kurama grinned.
But his grin faded when the plant's body buckled and distended, flying outward in shreds of flesh that bled sap like a severed limb. They hit the ground with wet smacks, and as the last of the flesh peeled away, what remained was no plant at all.
All that remained—hair now blond, mask missing, suit as black as death—was Karasu.
He had powered up, I knew from canon. The mask was a limiter, not a shield, and its removal had spelled the doom of countless strong demons in the untold time he'd been alive. Recognition of this fact shone bright in Kurama's wide golden eyes, and as Karasu lifted a hand to aim a deadly strike, it was all Youko Kurama could do to raise his hands to protect himself. The strike hit Youko Kurama dead on, and behind him, an entire wall of the stadium blew away in a riot of green fire I felt the acrid, acidic heat of it even on the stadium's other side. I leapt to my feet in spite of myself, crying his name in panic and in fear—but as the rubble fell and the smoke cleared, Kurama appeared again.
Only his hair was red again, the form of Youko Kurama vanished as completely as the obliterated section of smoking stadium.
Karasu took his time after that. I could not see the bombs, but I saw the devastation they wrought on my Kurama's body. They ignited with green fire and splatters of scarlet blood, colliding first with his arms, and then his legs, and then all of them over again a second time. Blood fell in great gouts to the stone of the ring, sluicing down his torn flesh and broken body like a dam reduced to rubble by a well-placed stick of dynamite. The jumbotron took great delight in broadcasted the details to the audience, which roared its approval as they saw exposed muscle and shredded skin.
A scream ripped from me at the sight, but still I did not look away.
It was almost a relief when Kurama fell to his knees upon the ring—because while I did not want him to lose, I wanted this to all be over. Arms wrapped around myself as if I might fly into a million pieces, I could only watch in horrified, sickened, terrified silence as the demons roared and screamed and gibbered, Juri beginning a ten-count that would surely see Kurama declared the loser of the match—only Karasu had no intention of letting Kurama go that easily. He lifted a hand above his head to ready a final, killing blow, face a contorted mask of frenzied bloodlust.
But when Karasu lowered his hand to send his final bomb flying, Kurama erupted with green light: light the color of dark forests, new leaves—his eyes. Plants the deep purple of blood in a vein burst from his kneeling form in a furious flurry of razor leaves, slicing through the air toward Karasu like swords thrown by an expert hand.
The jumbotron captured Karasu's agonized face for only a handful of moments before he fell beneath the voracious vampire plants, utterly consumed—and behind him, Kurama staggered to his feet just as Juri finished her count.
The plants made short work of Karasu, draining his body of its fluids before ripping desiccated flesh from bone with eager teeth and sucking stamens. Kurama looked stunned to still be standing, bloodied legs buckling, watching Karasu's drained-to-nothing body fade underneath the vines of the hungry vampire plant. The silence in the ring said that the rest of the demons were stunned, too. But all I could pay attention to just then was Kurama's face, broadcasted so perfectly and proudly upon the screen, his eyes wide with shock that he had performed his final, last-second gambit successfully and had not died in the process—which, I knew from canon, he had fully expected when he loosed his final blow.
A smile spit my features, a gaping wound of raw delight.
I did not look away.
And then Juri's voice rang out, and she declared Karasu the winner.
The demonic crowd hadn't even had time to process or react to Juri's call by the time my friends and I started running, vaulting out of our seats toward the top of the section, where the hidden door to the locker room lay waiting.
Koto's voice declared that they'd be taking a short intermission to patch the broken ring back up. Despite the PA boosting her voice to unnatural volume, I barely heard her over the screams of approval ringing up from the demons below us. Down in the ring, Yusuke's face had displayed shock at the announcement, and Hiei's and Kuwabara's had been arranged similarly as they dragged Kurama from the ring. The girls' faces, too, told me they hadn't seen this coming. Not like I had. This was exactly how the manga had played out, after all: Karasu would die, and Kurama would live, but because Kurama's 10-count had elapsed by the time Karasu died, he was technically still the loser. It was the first time in history that a victor died while the loser lived, as Koto was saying over the loudspeaker. It was the first time in history, and therefore unprecedented.
She was only wrong about one thing: It was not unprecedented to me. But my friends were another story.
"I can't believe this!" Botan shouted above the jeering demons, fury evident in her strained voice. "The nerve of that committee, declaring him the loser! Why, I ought to—"
"Say no more!" Atsuko bellowed back. "We'll beat their asses together!"
"Yukina." Somehow Shizuru didn't sound at all labored, running and talking at the same time. "Think you'll be able to heal Kurama up? He looked like he was in bad shape."
Yukina had to expend more effort to speak, legs constrained by her tight kimono. "I… can try," she panted, pretty face flushed, and she fell quiet to concentrate on running.
I didn't join in on the conversation. I was too busy grinning, and on leading the way so they wouldn't be able to spot it. Despite how damn happy I felt inside, I had no idea quite what I'd do or say when we met up with the boys. This was how canon had been fated to run, pretty much down to the last detail—and while it had been horrible to watch Kurama be so viciously maimed, elation still bubbled in my chest. Canon went to plan! Things are looking up! Kurama would still need cheering up, of course, as would the rest of the team, but canon had gone to fucking plan, and Kurama had lived, and that's what really mattered. But the bit about cheering people up remained. What joke could I tell to lighten the mood? Something about explosive action? That Kurama looked drained, since he used a vampire plant? Or—?
I developed big plans, as we ran to meet the team.
But then we reached the locker room—and I saw him.
He sat on one of the benches, sleeves and pants in shreds. What was left of the fabric had been stained dark brown, sodden and heavy with blood. It pooled beneath him on the floor, slicking through the tips of his hair, streaked across his cheeks and forehead in dark swaths. Yusuke and Kuwabara held him upright, carefully minding the crumbling lacerations gouged into his skin. By the time the locker room door fell shut behind us, Yukina was already halfway across the room, running toward him with outstretched hands already aglow.
I froze solid at the sight of him.
I did not look away.
The others reacted similarly, or at least better than I did. Botan gasped, but she quickly tried to compose herself. Atsuko winced and made a sound of revulsion and sympathy. Shizuru didn't even falter, though. She walked across the room and looked him over in a quick sweep, features more composed than I thought she had any right to be.
"Hey," she said, voice soft. "You feeling all right?"
"You look terrible," Atsuko chimed in.
A smile ghosted across his face, in spite of everything. "Always to the point, Atsuko," he rasped, and the words gave way to a coughing fit.
Yukina pulled back until he finished, then resumed running her hands over his arms and legs. Lines marred her otherwise perfect brow, and she paid no mind at all to the blood staining her long sleeves. All she said was, "These wounds are deep, and pulsating with that demon's energy. I will need to extract that energy before I can begin any true healing."
Kurama took a deep breath, and again he started to cough. "I will attempt to expel the energy on my own. You needn't—" A cry cut the air, and his face swung toward me, eyes wide. "Kei?"
For a second, I wasn't sure why he'd looked my way. I just continued to stare at him, and at the droplets of blood still pattering rain-like into the growing puddle below Kurama's bench. I just continued to stare at his torn and bloodied clothes, clinging to his broken skin like the hands of some demented lover. I just continued to stare at the blood open his face, scarlet almost as dark as his hair.
Again, a cry cut the silence.
Kurama said my name again.
And I realized that that horrified, terrified cry of pain had belonged… to me.
I turned around and walked away.
They shouted for me, but I paid them no heed. I ran stiffly from the locker room and down the hall, and by the time the door slammed shut somewhere in the distance, I had already turned a corner and leaned my heavy, leaden body against the wall. My knees gave out only a moment later, sending me in a painful slide down the wall, cracking my tailbone against hard tile—but I barely felt it, because how could I feel anything with the sight of Kurama's blood still etched so firmly on my mind's eye? Elbows on knees, head in my hands, I carded my fingers through my hair and tried to breathe. In through my nose, out through my mouth. In through my nose, out through my mouth. In through my nose, out through my—
I smelled something salty. Salty and thick, reeking of iron.
My eyes cracked open.
Blood stained the tips of my shoes. Kurama's blood, tracked in gory footprints down the hall.
I slammed my head back into my hands, fingers pulling so hard on my hair that I saw stars. Bile rose in my thickened throat, a hollow numbness spreading cold inside my limbs and chest. In through the nose, out through the mouth wasn't working, because it made me smell blood. Instead I pulled harder on my hair, concentrating on that pain, trying to block out the memory and the smell because even though watching from the seats had almost given me an ulcer, the high of winning had made me forget that, if only for a moment. But seeing the ragged skin and exposed muscle up close, on my goddamn Kurama, was too much to even—
"Kei?"
I lifted my head.
And there he was.
He stood a few feet away, hand on the wall, clutching the wound that had opened a hole against his ribcage, hair as red as the blood staining his ruined clothes. I stared in shocked horror, unable to move or think or even breathe as he took a single step in my direction—and then he staggered. But I was beside him quicker than a breath, trying to keep him upright.
"Kurama?!" I cried, not sure where to hold, because there was so much blood and surely I would only hurt him. "What the hell are you doing?!"
He gasped, staggering again. "Yukina stopped the bleeding. I—"
"No, don't talk!" I said as his words deteriorated into a hacking cough. "You're in no condition to—"
But unlike Youko, this Kurama was not pretending to feel weakness, and his legs gave out completely. He collapsed, pitching forward onto me with such force I could hardly keep him standing, forced to go down into a heap underneath him to at least cushion the blow of the fall. He felt like lead on top of me, and it took every ounce of my strength to push him up and settle him against the wall. I told him that I needed to go get help, that he should just sit tight and wait, and—
Kurama's hand lashed out, and with surprising force he grasped my wrist.
"Kei," he said, words rasping in his throat. "Wait."
"Nope. No way, sir. Not happening," I babbled. "I'm gonna go get—"
"Wait. Kei, wait," he said, pulling harder on my wrist. "Look at me. I'm fine."
"Considering that you are actively bleeding onto my shoes at the moment, I very much doubt that!" I said, voice rising to pitch hysterical. "Let me just go get Yukin—"
"Kei. You aren't listening."
"I hear you just fine, now let me—"
"But you aren't listening!"
Every time I pulled away, he grabbed onto me again, jostling himself with every touch. Afraid he would hurt himself even more if I didn't comply, I reluctantly settled down, looking anywhere but at him as he finally let go of my arm.
But he only put his hand to my cheek, instead, and then I couldn't help but look anywhere but at him.
Kurama's eyes burned like liquid jealousy, their color all the more intense beside the crimson blood splattered across his cheek. "I am hurt," he said in a voice to match. "I am hurt, and I lost my fight. But I will live, and I am stronger than I was before." His fingers spasmed on my skin, face echoing their motion, eyes narrow and mouth thin. "It is not the victory I wanted. But it is a victory nevertheless." And then a solidity I could not name turned his eyes to firm malachite, sincerity and stoicism as hard as chips of jade.
I didn't speak.
"I am fine, Kei," Kurama said, voice low and warm and soothing. His thumb traced my cheekbone, soft as a breath. "You needn't worry anymore."
I didn't speak. I just stared—and then I sighed. My eyes drifted shut, and my head drifted forward, and soon my forehead pressed against his. I didn't care that blood had turned his skin to a sticky, tacky mess, nor that the iron tang of blood masked his usual scent of evergreen. I just cared that his skin was warm.
"I'm never not going to worry about you," I told him. I opened my eyes a crack, only so I could glare. "Not when you make a point of getting maimed every damn time you fight."
Kurama smiled. "What can I say? Old habits."
"Get a hobby, then."
"Why, when I could spend my time worrying you?"
"Don't be cute. You're too bloody to act cute." I swallowed, staring at him from a hair's breadth away. Every word proved a battle monumental, but somehow I managed to grind out, "You've gotta—you've gotta promise me you'll start being careful, all right? You do what you have to, I know, but if you go and get yourself k—"
I couldn't say it. But he knew what I meant. His hand slid back, winding into the hair on my nape, thumb tracing the skin beside my eye.
"Promise me," I said.
"I promise." But then he hesitated, damn him. "As much as I can promise such a thing."
I harrumphed. "And you called me the infuriating one," I said. "I am going to worry until this tournament ends, and I am going to keep worrying until I give myself an ulcer." A shaky smile curled my lips. "But you won. I can comfort myself with that." I pressed my forehead to his a little harder. "You won."
"No, I—"
"I know you lost," I said, shushing him. "But you still won."
We sat like that, holding the moment, in silence. His hand on my face and neck burned, affirmation that blood still filled his veins as well as the cracks in the stadium floor. It was nice, to sit like that with him, his fingers in my hair, thumb tracing that tattoo of comfort into my skin—but soon Kurama grunted, pain flashing across his face, and I had to pull away.
"Fine or not," I said, "you need healing."
He grimaced. "I could live with that."
"You mean you couldn't live without that, Mister Actively-Bleeding-on-My-Shoes."
He laughed, but the laugh made him cough, and the moment had to end. I helped him up and half carried him back to the locker room, not caring about the blood seeping into the side of my jeans and shirt. Because I hadn't been lying when I said that he'd won. He might've lost his match, but this fight was still a victory.
Canon, after all, had happened just as it should.
Kurama might not have understood that victory, but I did—and the knowledge lit a flare of hope to smolder inside my chest.
That fire warmed me, for a while.
I had no way of knowing that soon—sooner than I could have possibly expected—that light would be snuffed out.
NOTES
So, a few things.
This chapter is shorter than normal, but that's because I'm going to update NEXT WEEKEND, on Sunday, March 29, with another chapter! Figure I should probably release more content faster while many people are in lockdown due to COVID 19. It's the least I can do, basically.
I'm also updating next weekend because… I'm extending the Chapter 100 giveaway!
Why am I extending it? It's because I received a really nice offer! Moongeist is adding a $25 Amazon card to the prize pool, which is just wild to me? EVERYBODY THANK MOONGEIST! But since that prize wasn't announced in chapter 100, I figured I'd let people know about the extra prize here, and I further thought that extending the entry deadline a tad might be in order.
So! New "Chapter 100 Giveaway" details here:
Comments on chapter 100 must be submitted by the end of Saturday, March 28 (US Central Standard Timezone), because that's when the entry deadline will come to an end. All entries must be made on chapter 100 (AKA, comments on chapter 101 won't enter you into the drawing).
Sunday, March 29: Chapter 102 goes up, where winners will be announced.
MANY THANKS to everybody who chimed in on chapter 100 (so far)! I will list out all your names in chapter 102, just in case a few more of you decide to enter the drawing between now and then. But for now, please know that each and every one of you has ALL OF MY LOVE AND ADORATION. You made celebrating chapter 100 a very special occasion, and for that, I simply can't thank you enough.
See you all next week on Sunday, March 29, 2020! AND REMEMBER TO WASH YOUR HANDS! AND STAY INSIDE (unless you're crucial to the function of society and are needed elsewhere)! I couldn't bear it if anything bad happened to ANY OF YOU, so please be safe! All my love!
