Denizens of Hell
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The Death Note consumes all of his attention. It is milliseconds before he realizes the creature is talking again.
"I've never met a new one. Didn't know they all smelled so fresh and juicy." It doesn't look interested in eating him so much as picking up its Death Note. "You should probably go see Justyn; he'll know what to do with you."
"Where can I find him?" L gets to his feet anyway so he can run faster if this thing decides to try anything. The arch of his foot smarts; it seems pain here is more substantial than it was in the other place.
"Eh, he's with everyone else, probably. Go that way." It gestures with one bone-plated arm in the direction of a larger hillock that he hasn't noticed yet. "Anyone you ask could probably point him out."
"Thank you." It's not like him to be polite, but this is the first living thing he's seen in all these hours, days, however long he's been walking here. It feels good to have purpose.
"You won't thank me later." The thing cackles, and the noise makes the hairs on his neck prickle. "But you don't have any other options."
It turns and kneels in front of the hole again, peering into the darkness with its hand poised above the Death Note. He waits for a moment to see if it will say more than its dire prediction before leaving, but it stays silent except for mutterings to itself.
The Shinigami Realm? He turns toward the mound that the creature pointed out and starts walking, his steps uneven as he winces in pain every other step.
So there is a separate plain of existence for these creatures. As he looks around, he can see why they would want to come to earth. There is nothing here, no civilization or anything seemingly to entertain oneself. If what that shinigami is doing is work, then what do they do with the rest of their time?
The creature certainly fits his idea of a shinigami after he was forced to acknowledge them as real. Rem had looked similar to that thing he just spoke to, with her bony plates, androgynous features, and dry, hoarse voice. He wonders if the whole race is just as rotten and withered-looking. If everyone else is in that direction, just how many are there?
The ground changes again as he walks. Now there are small pebbles and sand under his feet, and if he hadn't walked barefoot almost every day of his life, they might have cut him. All they do now is make him uncomfortable.
He glances around and sees that the other mounds in the distance look similar to the one he approaches, but they are slightly smaller. They are the landscape's only features other than the dead trees.
Maybe this Justyn will know how he can get away from here.
As he walks, he passes a copse of withered trees and shrubbery behind a miniature mound of rocks. He gives it a passing glance, but there is too much shadow to see it clearly. As he turns his head, he hears a pop following by a crunching noise. Another shinigami?
He looks at the hill he has been walking toward before veering slightly toward the trees. Stopping a healthy distance away, he peers into the dimness and is able to make out another figure this time.
"Is Justyn this way?" He doesn't bother with formalities; it's not his way. The shadowy form stops moving. It lifts its head to stare at him, and he notices that this one has hair and skin rather than bony armor.
This shinigami's voice is soft and hissing but its words make the blood slam through his veins. "L Lawliet?"
No one has uttered that name since his childhood. Only Mr. Wammy ever used it, and this thing can't be…? He would never come here, not to this hellish place.
L opens his mouth, but he has no words. His mouth is as dry as the sand he walks through.
"That's an unusual name for a shinigami." It speaks again, and the words puzzle him now. "You must be on your way to be converted." It looks at him with blank eyes. "To be looking for Justyn when you still have your human name, at least."
"You know my name?"
"All shinigami have the Eyes, human. I can see it." Its tone is matter-of-fact.
"What did you mean by converted?" What use is it to hide information in this world? He's dead, he's died twice now, and he's tired of caring about trying to keep his life and his secrets.
The shinigami reaches up and grasps a tree branch in answer. The branch crackles in protest of the weight as the creature pulls itself up.
"Converted, as in turned completely to a shinigami." It coughs, its laughter dulled to a moist death rattle in its bloody chest.
The dry wind carries a charnel-house stench toward him, and he nearly retches at the dark, sickly sweet smell of rot. This shinigami has flesh but it is patches of different colors stitched neatly together, as if harvested from multiple sources. It wears black leathery pants, and one leg is rolled to expose naked shreds of muscle wrapped around bone. One hand clutches another patchwork piece of skin which it was apparently sewing before L asked it anything. A Death Note lies near its bare feet, the cover closed and the pen resting atop it.
The rest is nightmare. The chest is a hole, the blackened and broken ribs exposed in the middle atop a cavity where the sternum and heart should be. It looks as if it was burned and cauterized after the heart was torn out.
Perhaps it was as the heart was ripped out.
He shivers as his eyes travel to the face. It is mostly hidden by lank black hair, but he can see the lines of neat stitches connecting the patches of dull blue, white, and beige skin across its neck and jawline. One line of stitches runs out the side of its mouth, making it look as if it's grinning. A slow drip of black blood runs from where both eyes should be, but they are in shadow. The trails are so dark they seem to carve lines into its cheeks and neck.
Tears.
"You have much to look forward to." The thing hisses in its soft voice before chuckling as it releases the branch and falls to a heap on the ground with a symphony of popping and grinding noises. "Find me again when you're one of us. I want to see what you look like."
It laughs again and L turns away.
It seems the Shinigami Realm breeds madness, though if that is what will happen to his body, he can empathize with it.
It is only after he walks again, the mound in the distance slowly growing closer, that he realizes he is walking to his doom. He is willingly headed toward this Justyn, this shinigami who will make him look like one of those. He doesn't want that. He doesn't want to be reduced to little more than a collection of dead flesh, and he does not want a Death Note.
He can't turn away. He knows what will happen and yet his feet now move without his consent. Something now draws him toward this Justyn, to his disgusting fate as one of these mindless creatures.
He can't escape.
When L nears the small mountain of stones he was directed to so long ago, he realizes that it is not a hill but a rounded shell of rock. It is broken in places to let light into the cavernous area seated 20 or 30 feet below ground. Makeshift steps lead down into the dimness, and his feet take him toward them unerringly.
A burst of raucous laughter rising up from below meets his ears and he jumps, for the silence has become second nature. Other voices join in, either cackling or talking in that rasping croak than he has to strain to understand.
"Death's Head again, Gukku. This time I want my walking stick back."
"I've only had it for two games." The petulant whine makes his ears hurt with its abrasiveness. "At least let me keep it a little longer."
"A win is a win," another voice says with a jingle of metal chains brushing against each other. "Pay up, Gukku."
"You're not supposed to help him, Justyn." Justyn! "He kept my headdress for days last time."
He walks unflinchingly down the stairs to the bottom of the depression, which is rife with broken rock and shadowy caves. There are three shinigami sleeping on piles of rock and in rough shelves in the walls. In the dimness, their features are unclear, but they seem to be mostly covered in bones or made of bones if the dull white glow is any indication. Two of them snore loudly.
A torch gives flickering light to a group of four that are tossing small objects and holding hands of cards. The strange picture gives him the urge to laugh. Playing cards in the land of the dead strikes him as inane.
"Who's back? Is that you, Ryuk?" The whining voice asks as its owner looks in his direction. "Did you bring apples?"
Justyn's voice laughs, a deep booming in the hollow chamber. "Ryuk doesn't walk, fool." He too peers at L, who cannot force himself to stop walking no matter what he does.
"I think someone is coming to see me. It can't fly, at least." Justyn gets lazily to his feet, and a jangling that sounds like a torrent of rain falling accompanies him. L reaches the edge of the firelight and sees that this shinigami is entirely draped in gold chain and jewelry, thus the racket. There is only part of his jawbone exposed by the trinkets crusting him, which are blinding in the shifting torchlight.
"A newbie?" Gukku asks. "He smells too sweet to be one of us."
Justyn cocks his head slightly at L. L can't say anything in response. His jaw is locked shut.
"No, you're not here for me. You're not a shinigami."
L feels the pressure on him to be silent lift, and his feet are his own again as he studies each one for cuts. The force driving him didn't let him rest at all, mercilessly goading him onward. He doesn't seem to be injured, at least. He looks back up at Justyn.
"I'm not a shinigami?" His voice is hoarse from disuse, not whistling like a wind through dead branches as theirs are.
"No. You're human, but I don't know what you're doing here. I'll go ask the King."
Justyn wanders off into the darkness on the other side of the pit, and Gukku and the others resume their game as if L isn't even standing there. After a few minutes, however, one of them pipes up, "Go sit somewhere else. That smell is distracting me." When L doesn't move, the creature turns toward him. "Go sit over there. You smell like apples, so unless you want us to pull you apart and bet on your limbs, move away."
"Ah, there's no fun in that. He'll just put himself back together like the others."
"I know but it's so fun to see them looking so upset."
L backs away as the three share a loud laugh that sounds like a pack of hyenas barking. His neck and arms prickle fiercely until he moves to the other side of the room in the direction that Justyn went. There is another set of steps here and a yawning pit to one side. He walks to a rocky shelf and sits on it, feeling suddenly weary, as if he has walked for days without a rest. The stone promises to be uncomfortable, but he pulls his knees up before him anyway and rests his forehead on his hands.
Only now does he realize that he has not eaten or drank for days, but strangely he doesn't want anything. Just sleep. He's so tired…
"Hey, you there, L." His name makes him start awake in time to see a gold encrusted hand reaching for him. He scrambles away, his legs half-asleep from poor circulation, until he hits the back of his rock shelf.
"Calm down!" the voice laughs. "I just got back from talking to the King. He wants to see you."
L edges off his rocky bed and brushes dust off his clothes.
"What for?"
"He didn't tell me. He just hasn't heard of a case like yours in a long time and wants to see you. Come with me."
Justyn gestures with a waterfall of sound and sparkling lights, and L follows.
If nothing else, seeing the King will give him something to do. He can well imagine dying of boredom in a place such as this. No computers, no television, no crimes to solve. How would anyone survive this?
He follows Justyn up the stairs and, hearing chatter behind him, looks back for a moment. The three shinigami are sitting there, in the same gloom with the torch burning at the same level, still playing cards and betting.
What a meaningless existence.
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A/N - I'm using the "No Plot, No Problem" approach to get this out fairly quickly. No editing and not much plotting beforehand makes this quick to post. Enjoy? YWMNBN, is this divergent enough from your own take?