DISCLAIMER: I do not own the characters of X/1999.

A/N: As I was writing this, I already have the next part ready in mind which was supposed to be part of this chapter. But I didn't want to keep you waiting so please enjoy.

"Onī-chan!"

His eyes stirred open. A ribbon of light sliced through between the curtains and splashed across his face in golden hues. Particles of fine dust danced in that perfect shot of sun ray as he blinked his eyes, adjusting to the morning light. He sat up in his bed and felt his head beat away the last echoes of a distant voice that still clung to the edge of his foggy mind. What replaced it soon was a dull throbbing on his temple and a lingering question.

How long has it been this time?

He brushed his hair back though his fingers. It had grown slightly longer and felt waxy to the touch. Feeling a shower calling, he flipped his comforter aside—back cracking as he did so—and touched the cold floor with his toes. He looked up—his head feeling gravely heavy—and seemingly pondered upon the emptiness that had eaten much of his room. Except for his bed with a boring looking lamp on his bedside table, another bigger table with an armchair pulled in, and a cupboard filled with clothes which he would soon find hanging from his body with lots of extra room in-between, the room was void of anything… lively. And this led him to become slightly aware of a strange sensation that was growing in his belly. It was a little like fear that came with the absurd idea that if he were to place his whole foot fully on the floor, the emptiness would crash down and shatter into a million wondrously splintering echoes. A wan smile threatened to tear through the corners of his lips.

I was

(created)

born out of emptiness and I have existed even between the emptiness. I was there when everything was nothing. I have lived through it, thrived with it and I'm a part of it. Why am I afraid of it now? Why does it feel like a distant thing now?

This dread towards isolation caused the sensation in his belly to turn hot and he knew it to be anger that begins like water at the bottom of a boiling surface that would soon rise up. He clenched his jaw. He balled his fists against his thighs. He tensed his body. He did all the things a human does when he's angry and that realization threw him further into the pit of fiery rage.

I was pure! This body and this world have defiled me!

In his anger, he stood up but before he headed towards the bathroom with water the only thing on his mind that he could think of as a cleansing agent, he turned around—as if some unheard voice had whispered his name—and instantly all the fear, the anger and the hate disappeared.

He stared at the space where the curtains almost touched. Beyond that space there was a white haze and in that white haze there were cascading streams of pureness. It's... but before he allowed his thoughts to finish, his hand was already grabbing the thick fold of one curtain and he pulled—ignoring the sharp pain caused by the sudden flooding brightness—revealing a flurry of

Snow... the hypnotized voice said in his head.

It rarely snowed in Tokyo and he found himself breathing again, entranced by the twisting streams that took him along for a slow mind dance.

He jumped at the sudden soft rapping on his door. It opened and Seishirou's smiling face peeped in. In that Fuuma found solace and a thought: I'm not alone struck him with amazement as he realized how much he had grown to love this man standing before him whom he saw was looking back at him with the same kind of eyes. Eyes that reveal a different story other than one who lives for his kills. Eyes that hold on a secret that was not ready for its magical birth.

"I had a feeling you're up," he said. "Amazing isn't it?" He gestured towards the window where the greatest confetti of white laced the sky. Fuuma simply gazed back at it and Seishirou thought he looked almost enigmatic with the misty backdrop almost flooding his still silhouette from all sides.

"Quickly get ready and let's go for a walk," Seishirou said before disappearing back outside. "You must be hungry." Then he paused, his eyebrows jumped slightly as his ears picked up the question that did not surprise him entirely.

If I were gone that long, I'd wanna know too.

Fuuma repeated his question, "…How long...?"

Seishirou told him before clicking the bedroom door shut, leaving the other alone again.

A month... Fuuma thought. The longest it has ever been...

A great beastly sound escaped from his insides. Fumma chuckled lightly.

Seishirou's right...

An alarming wave of weakness shot through his legs and jolted him towards the bathroom in awkward steps like a babe just learning how to walk. Leaning against the bathtub, he ran the tap over it. Before long, steam was slowly weaving above the ceramic rim, forming colorless clouds that looked like distorted faces screaming silently before dissipating in that same second. Water chuckled as it surged and he liked the sound of it. He let his clothes fall off and he stood before the mirror as the mist continued to knit the air, slowly marring his reflection which now stared back, his shocked face looking almost comical. His ribs were starting to protrude and his cheeks—heavily peppered by facial hair that had spread all the way down to his neck—were sunken in. His skin had turned pallid over his almost toneless body, making the thick veins around his arms and neck look like worms.

The human body is so frail, he thought, dipping himself into the now-filled tub, feeling the water slosh gently around his body as he eased into comfort. Water, so pure and so invigorating. And to think that the human race thought it'd be wise to fuck up its natural goodness.

How much time does Fuuma have left? How long more before It decides to take over?

He sank his head deeper—water gurgling as he did so—and closed his eyes. He doesn't want to think. He wants to shut off all thoughts.

"Onī-chan!"

Still lying beneath the water, his eyes flew open. That was one thing he can never shut off. His heartbeat hammered against his eardrums as he remained motionless. Yes, this time he would listen. After so long, he decided that he was finally tired of fighting off the memory which has grown too heavy. It was just... weighing him down under the water.

Come... just come...

The voice grew louder. An image began to materialize before his eyes, anamorphic at first as swirls of hair—the colour of chestnut and golden brown—frolicking before his vision in a whirl of light. His eyes trailed from the tips of the hair, finally leading to a small fair face that gazed back at him with soft brown eyes and a smile that shone like the first rays of sunlight in spring. Her rosy lips were parted in a wide childlike grin. She was laughing and calling for him.

"Onī-chan!"

He wanted to call back. But he knew that what he was looking at was only a shard of memory he kept within himself. A piece of her existence which he had kept locked away in his mind. And every time he released that memory, the roles switched and he becomes the trapped one.

"Onī-chan!"

The rest of her was now within his frame of vision and her hands were closing onto his face. His skin tingled at the point where her fingers almost touched and he sank further into the depths of a past long gone and buried beneath the countless choruses of seasons and time. Soon, he felt quicker than quicksand and heavier than metal as he spun back into the past.

The body of Fuuma Monou was lying face down on the forest floor. A shapeless being formed by swirls of black mist loomed over it, shifting simultaneously from an ominous mass to distorted beast-like shapes. As it began to form what resembled more of a man, two holes stared out from what looked like a face, cast by a light as dark and crimson as a red moon.

"What are you waiting for, Dark Lord?" the Sakurazukamori asked. His hand was covered in streaks of dark red which dripped from his fingertips like bloated pearls as he stood there. The rest of him was enshrouded within a black cloak, revealing only his face framed by long dark hair. A smile was etched on his face as he waited for an answer from the dark thing he calls his master.

"Are you afraid of what you might see through his dead eyes?"

The dark mist warped out of its manshape. It was as if it was just a weightless cloud and the Sakurazukamori's words had been the wind carelessly blown in its direction. Indeed, every time it absorbs a new body, it also consumes its thoughts and memories. And after all this time, it has learned one thing: being human isn't pleasant. That's why there's so much hesitance. It wasn't much later—centuries later—that it would learn how to absorb the outer without the inner. But for now, it was just afraid, a sensation that could only spin trouble.

But there was something else more important than its fears. An oath it took. The only reason why it became a scavenger on earth with a soulless human as its counterpart who would unwittingly become its friend, partner, buddy, or whatever they call him in centuries to come. For now it's just minion and the minion had moved closer towards the fallen body and shoved it around with the tip of his boot. Half-lidded glazed eyes stared towards the sky that filtered through the umbrella of unnumbered leaves. Color was already fading from the dead man's lips where blood had trickled and dried quickly. There was a bloody mess in the centre of his chest where the whole of the Sakurazukamori's arm had driven through, tearing and leaving more bloody mess onto the patch of grass behind. Fuuma Monou's young life had ended so quickly, the only thing—or rather sound—left behind in his wake was a simple 'ah!' before his life blacked out on him. Was it a surprise 'ah'? Or was it an 'ah' of realization that a life filled with a million possibilities and hopes and dreams

(and love?)

was now gone? Poof! Except the end didn't sound much of a poof. Rather, it was like the sound of snapping bones and ripping flesh with a bloody mess to top it up. In the end, those lifeless eyes stared out, never being able to fully grasp the ending, like the bad copy of a movie that played halfway till it fuzzed off into a roaring static.

But that final 'ah!' could also mean one thing: The regret of having to leave on a sudden note without a last goodbye kiss. And they—lord and minion—knew exactly what was forsaken.

"He's not bad looking," Seishirou commented through curled lips, a look that says he only takes pride in his kills if they look above average.

The dark mist rolled over dead Fuuma's body in heaps of deformed clouds. Like a horror movie which Seishirou would centuries later watch and be led to recall this very moment, the dead body began to shrivel and darken as its essence coiled upwards like a long white snake before dispersing itself within the bowels of the devourer. The unworldly union evoked a new transformation which began in the centre of an obsidian orb. As it pulsated and grew things that looked like human parts began to solidify and for a moment settle in mid-air. Seishirou stared in awe at his master's transfiguration which would have mortified the life out of any unsuspecting passerby. Later he would say that it was like witnessing god's creation at first hand; bright crimson fluid flowed through transparent tubes that circulate in elegant loops from top to bottom. A heart as big as a man's fist beat, sending the blood to the brain, lungs and all the other organs. Bones as white and smooth as marble snapped into existence until finally a pair of ribs clamped shut like a macabre bird cage around the heart and lungs. The muscles materialize and wound tightly around the organs and bones, keeping them bound and in shape. Finally, the skin—smooth and fair as a newborn's at first—wrapped around the muscles, finalizing the last stages of an elaborate gift-wrapping.

Seishirou's eyes finally dropped to the ground where the old Fuuma laid, a dark shrunken unrecognizable mass while the new Fuuma stood before him looking ready for a fresh start. Realizing he was unclad, Seishirou took off his own cloak and draped it around the other, finding himself secretly thrilled over the fact that they could now see eye to eye again. Still preferring his master to have a face which he can relate to, he had surely waited for this moment for a very long time.

The one whose name is now Fuuma opened his eyes and they are the rich color of earth, though if one looked hard enough, one might also think they are dark crimson, almost like old blood. They stared out at nothing, hazy with memories that formed like fresh bubbles escalating towards air. And when they popped, what escaped poured through into and all around him and soon he finds himself in the jungle of Fuuma Monou's mind.

I'm Fuuma Monou... his mind tells him and he remembered things he never knew, events he never attended, faces he never saw and one of them took the longest to fade away from his mind's eye. He stared at his hands and observed the slenderness of his new fingers, closing and releasing them feeling their good grip. He let his new eyes roam around the green forestry, getting used to the sunlight as it winked through the treetops. He inhaled deeply and felt the rush of oxygen in his lungs. He felt the beat of his heart and the light warm prickly feeling beneath his skin where the blood flowed. He parted his lips and his vocal chords opened for the very first time.

"Thank you, Sakurazuka." His voice was deep and resonated with the earth that he stood on.

"Naw, don't thank me!" Seishirou replied with his biggest smile. "I'm just doing my job!"

A small smile ghosted at the corners of Fuuma's lips and he looked at whatever was left of the old him that was now partly hidden by grass. His lips moved and words of an old ancient tongue flowed out silently, plunging the surrounding earth with its magic. A deep vibration coursed through the earth until it caved in and swallowed before the lush green carpet peeked back into sight, leaving no sign of a dead man ever being there.

Rest well...

Fuuma said to Seishirou, "let's go."

Seishirou smiled, "yes, Fuuma."

And they walked with Fuuma Monou ahead and covered by a long black cloak. He knew where he was going and in silence they tread away from the deep forest and an unmarked grave towards the place he calls his home where his only beloved sister would be waiting for him and ask him why is he wrapped in a cloak? And he would reply by saying that he had been robbed and this kind man standing next to him had done a Samaritan's deed and he wants to repay him so could she prepare a room for him? 'Yes, Onī-chan!' She would say and turning to Seishirou 'Thank you so much for your great help!' and 'would you like some tea?' and Fuuma's heart would flutter at the presence of true innocence.

Back at home, Fuuma gazed lovingly at his sister, her hair flowing in golden-chestnut waves. But behind his loving gaze, a cloud of sadness drifted as he said those words to her. After he said it, she looked back at him and a moment's silence passed by. With a gentle smile, she said, "I wish the same for you too, Onī-chan."

Later at night, lying on his bed with his hands clamped behind his head, he drifted off to sleep and dreamed of being Fuuma

(but I am Fuuma)

walking into the deep forest, guided by cherry blossoms that floated away like in a dreamscape. He had never seen such cherry blossoms before, so eerie and yet so beautiful and he was thinking of bringing some home to his sister. He was sure she would be delighted and he lived day by day only wanting that smile to never fade away.

He walked and the cherry blossoms were doing something strange and suddenly he was aware of an unspeakable danger lurking nearby. But before he could do anything, a sharp pain exploded through his chest.

"Ah!" he cried before collapsing and while he fell, he thought he saw a dark cloud drifting nearby, looking back at him with eyes that glowed like the red moon.

Please, he begged. He doesn't know what he was begging but he did as he stopped breathing.

Please what? a voice asked and he thought it was what you do, imagining another voice while you die. He answered it anyway.

Please tell her that I only wish for her happiness… her happiness…

Fuuma got up from the bathtub. He could hear Seishirou asking through the door, "are you alright in there?"

Water dripped from the tips of his hair and he was suddenly aware of how cold the water had become. I could have drowned, he thought amusingly and stood up from the well of murky water. That's how long I've not taken a bath, was his second thought and he contemplated another one. But the voice on the other side of the door had grown concerned.

"Fuuma?"

"I'm alright," Fuuma answered. "I just fell asleep."

And had a dream… Or rather I was in the middle of a memory crusade.

"You don't think a month was too much?" The grin was back in Seishirou's voice. "You'd better come out now or I-whoa!"

Seishirou stared at Fuuma's bony form, a towel draped below his midriff as a small puddle began to form around him.

"You look like if Frankenstein went on a diet!"

"Fuck you."

Seishirou grinned. His grin saying things are finally back to normal.

"As you wish, my lord," and he struck out an upright forefinger. "Only after you get back in shape. I don't do skinnys." He laughed and Fuuma found himself in a twitching fit as he released bouts of ragged laughter.

"C'mon, get dressed and let's get you some food," Seishirou said as he swung the cupboard door open and threw a couple of turtlenecks and corduroys and a deep red cashmere onto the bed. Before he left Fuuma again to his privacy, he was yet again thrown with a surprising question.

"Why are you doing all this?"

Seishirou looked back at him and smiled and in the smile Fuuma noticed a humanly warmth.

"I only wish for your happiness, Fuuma."

Seishirou's words echoed in his head even as the door clicked shut, even as Seishirou's footsteps became a faint sound behind the door, even as a flick of a lighter struck faraway in that silence followed by the stinging scent of fresh cigarettes.

God he missed that smell. It makes him quite happy.

A/N: Please review!