A/N: It was very split. Some of you liked the Murata/Wolfram and some of you wanted to gut me like a fish. Very well. You will have your explanation.

To my anons:

Sunaa- ha angsty, certainly. I am glad you found my work entertaining and ecstatic that you stopped by and left a review. Now I shall let my characters do the talking

chapter 17

.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.

A small breeze blew past and ruffled the papers in Murata's arms as he walked through the temple courtyard. Everything was alive and full. The sun shone brightly in the sky and the grass and tree leaves had turned a vibrant green. This was without a doubt Big Shimaron's most beautiful season.

Several human children came running past, giggling uncontrollably. They bowed respectfully to Murata and continued to chase each other back into the temple. They were orphans. Just like all the children that inhabited this temple.

"Have you decided to join us?"

Murata turned his head and shielded his eyes from the sun as he looked for the source. Wolfram walked up to him holding a drowsy toddler. His smile was radiant as he placed a wreath of flowers on Murata's head. A few small children hid shyly behind Wolfram's robes as they stared at Murata.

"Ok!" said Wolfram, setting down the sleepy child. "Let's play a game. The first one to the apple tree gets extra dessert! Ready…" His green eyes turned to Murata once again.

"You're playing too, aren't you?" Something wasn't right with those eyes. The great sage wasn't listening. He saw Wolfram's lips move but all he could concentrate on was the little black curse mark on Wolfram's exposed neck.

"Set…" there was a pause. "Hey, I see you cheating over there, Capricorn," the prince laughed.

A curse that brought back horrible memories. A curse that had destroyed countless loved ones.

"Go!" They all took off running. Even Wolfram, with his blonde hair whipping in the wind.

The Great Sage sighed as he set down his papers. He of all people knew…that a perfect day like this…could not last forever.

.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.

Fifteen years later, that same courtyard stood barren. The breeze was lonely and cold. The trees were without leaves. In the sky, the clouds formed a thick blanket over the sun and in the distance, thunder rumbled. The yellow grass was dying and overgrown with weeds. Murata stood there for a moment, remembering days past, before turning and heading back into the temple.

For a Mazoku, fifteen years is nothing, but for a human it is a huge block of time. As for the orphans that once inhabited the temple, well, they had grown up. Some of them left, some of them stayed and became servants to the temple, and some of them became…something else.

"Have you decided to join us?" Wolfram was leaning against the door. The familiar words echoed eerily in Murata's mind. Wolfram reached up to brush the golden hair out of his face. Still there. Behind those green irises, something ominous lurked. Murata's eyes followed that hand…taken over by the curse…and his arm, stained with the black marks as well.

"Well?"

"Yes, I'm coming."

Reaching the end of a long, narrow corridor, they descended the stairs. With each step, the temperature dropped ten degrees. They followed the light of the torches, the only comfort to the dungeon walls hidden beneath the temple. Murata's eyes were accustomed to the darkness. Fifteen years had been spent mostly in this gloomy place.

Farther in, the stone walls morphed into iron bars. The bars held back the souless, broken bodies that, over the course of fifteen years, the Great Sage sought to imprison. Among them were political prisoners, hostages, men and women being held for ransoms. Many of the cells were taken up by White Crow members from whom information still needed to be…extracted. Many of the cells were taken up by test subjects. For what, even the sage himself wasn't sure.

They entered a wooden door at the dead end. In it was a table with four people seated at it. Upon Murata and Wolfram's entrance, they all stood up.

"Your Holinesses," they greeted. Murata scrutinized them. All of them were in their twenties but they always wore clothes that hid their faces. They were clothes that reminded Murata of the ninja back home except instead of black, the garments were colorful. Aires wore the red. Libra the yellow. Capricorn the green. Cancer the blue. It was all part of their training, Murata supposed. He had no business in what Wolfram did with "his children", as he was fond of calling them. All Murata cared about was if they could complete their assignments without flaw.

Wolfram spread his arms, a proud smile forming on his beautiful face. "Tell the Great Sage what you have found, my darlings."

Aries, always the first to speak up, stepped forward. "You're holiness, we have reason to believe from the gathered information, that we have found their "nest". The White Crow's hideout can be pinpointed to this location." He held out a map for Murata to see.

The sage took the map and examined it himself. He couldn't get excited. Not yet. Many times they thought they had found the place where those damn birds where hiding and always, they were one step ahead. But here, on this map, and according to the testimonies of several tortured prisoners, everything fit together. Years and years of searching had finally yielded some results. Now he needed a plan. Oh, there was so much that needed to be done! He was nearly speechless with shock.

"Good work," was all Murata was able to say, "You are dismissed for now." They filed neatly out of the room, perky after the unexpected praise from the Great Sage.

Wolfram and Murata were the only ones who remained in the room. Immediately, the Great Sage was uncomfortable. He had seen that look in Wolfram's eyes more and more lately and he did not like it.

Wolfram chuckled, low and seductive, sensing Murata's unease. Slowly, he removed all his clothes, unashamed. Murata should have noticed his perfect, creamy skin. Perfect figure. And in the past it would have given him an erection, but now, all he could see was the deadly, invasive curse that had taken over the entire left half of Wolfram's body. And it angered him deeply that he was helpless to stop it.

Wolfram walked over smoothly and sidled up to the dark haired man. Slowly he pushed Murata back against the wall, pressing their bodies together. Wolfram's palms ran over his chest and up around his neck. He leaned in close as he spoke.

"I need you tonight," he whispered.

"You do not need my tonight," the Great Sage said, rejecting him, "You needed me last night and I obliged. I am drawing the line. No more will I give up my maryoku to you."

"These human lands make me sick," Wolfram whined. He buried his face in the crook of Murata's neck and breathed deeply. "Only the embrace of a strong mazoku can make me feel better."

"You are addicted. Nothing more. Your excuses will do you no good," Murata said, pushing Wolfram off of him. "I have work to do now." Wolfram pouted.

"Fifteen years we have been unofficial mates. Would you deny me something I need so badly?"

"You are not my mate. You are Yuuri's. Let us get that straight. I have been helping you and that is all. Leave me alone now."

Angry, red maryoku flared up around Wolfram. He growled and caught Murata around the neck, throwing him back up against the wall.

"I can't survive without this! Give me your maryoku, Sage!"

"Look at yourself!" Murata choked, "You've become a power hungry beast, just as the curse has done to Shibuya."

Wolfram continued to breath hard for a moment. Then the wild look in his eyes began to lessen. He released Murata and stepped back, pulling at his blonde hair fretfully.

"What has become of me, Murata? I don't know myself anymore." He turned around so that his back was facing Murata. "Yuuri! Oh, Yuuri, I wish you were here now!" lamented Wolfram, his emotions immediately overwhelming him.

"Well I don't," the Great Sage said with a shiver, "If the curse has nearly driven you to madness, I shudder to think of what it has done to Shibuya."

.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.

"The reinforcements have arrived!" called a falsely cheery voice. Then there was a harsh laugh. A man with long, platinum hair took off his glasses and gazed upon the dead battlefield with his amber eyes. He smiled. "Oops."

A man with dark hair pulled his horse up next to his king's. "We are too late," he said, his voice devoid of emotion, "This mine has become a graveyard. Saralegui-heika, I will order the troops to search for any remaining hoseki that can be scavenged."

"Very well, Berias." The boy-king dismounted his horse, his feet stirring up dust. What lay before him was not a pretty scene. He carried onward on foot, carefully avoiding the corpses on the ground. Both armies had been decimated. The air was stagnant and noiseless, presenting Sara with a nasty smell all around and only the dead for company. He continued to walk, scanning the battlefield for a hand, a voice, anything to indicate that hope was not lost.

Its was strange. Both the soldiers wearing Big Shimaron's crest and Shin Makoku's crest were human, and yet there were signs all over that a large amount of maryoku had been used in the battle. Sara knew that hiding somewhere in the pile of bodies, was one very powerful Mazoku.

In his mind, he recreated the battle. An army of Shin Makoku's stormed the quarry from the front. Their numbers were large, but the defenses around the base were just too great for the battle to have an easy end. More of Big Shimaron's troops arrived, successfully ambushing the enemy. Then...someone must have gotten desperate. Both sides retreated. A torrent of fire and rock had ripped the place apart, killing nearly everyone in the vicinity. Nearly everyone...

At the center of the vortex. Sara stooped down. Before him lay a black suit of armor, tarnished by the grime of war. In it was a body...a beating heart. Sara removed the heavy plates, careful to avoid the deep cuts and arrow wounds.

He had black hair, black eyes under closed lids, black armor and most importantly, the demon sword grasped in his hand. He was the Mazoku king. The Maoh.

Sara smiled and gently wiped the dirt from the comatose king's face. He cringed when he saw that the skin was completely covered in an ugly curse. He still smiled.

"Come here for a moment, Berias! I think I've found something useful."

.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.

Wolfram, crouched in the branches of a tree, listened to the wind as it ruffled the leaves. He stared at the fortress they had come to visit. It was well-hidden; built into the hills of Small Shimaron and no doubt ran for miles and miles underground.

A bird sang. Wolfram knew it wasn't a bird. It was the all-clear signal from Cancer. Wolfram answered with his own call, telling the rest of them to stay put. He dropped from the tree, slightly disappointed. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, itching to draw it and spill human blood.

He began walking slowly toward the fortress, hidden beneath the guise of an innocent beggar. If there was a trap, Wolfram decided, he would be the one to set it off. Surely, surely this was a trap.

A few bold steps were all it took before something dropped down behind him and a knife was at his throat.

"Your disguises won't fool me. I have always known that behind your beauty lies a true monster. More than a decade has passed and I have never forgotten your face."

When the knife was gone Wolfram spun around. Before him stood an aging human with grey streaks in his dark hair. Though wrinkles had formed around his eyes, there was still a deadly spark to them. He was dressed in the signature cloak adorned with the White Crow's emblem.

Wolfram drew his sword slowly. His mind worked furiously. This human said he knew him and yet Wolfram could not think of when they had ever met.

"Unfortunately, I don't seem to remember your face...could you tell me your name?" Both of them were now crouched into their battle stances. The old human brought out a bow and took a few steps back.

"Perhaps, after you've felt the pain of my arrows once again, you will remember."

.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.

"Continue," Ralph ordered as he sat in the offered seat, "I want to know everything he's done."

The head of the Academy, a stout man by the name of Sir Walenburg, sweated nervously behind his desk. Ralph had never met him before, even though he went to this school himself some years ago.

"His marks are dismal, I'm afraid," Walenburg responded, "He hasn't taken to any language or science. He has no prowess with a sword and he absolutely refuses to use his maryoku. He has been the source of many incidents at this school and he has very little respect for his professors." He sighed. "Although there is one class that he does well in. History seems to be his favorite subject. It is the only class where he has received high marks."

Ralph frowned, highly disappointed. He had an inkling this would happen...that Shinou just wouldn't fit in. He refused to admit it, but Ralph was sure that the boy had no maryoku. Shinou had to compete with full-blooded Mazoku while his own blood was tainted. Tainted by some nameless human that his cousin had slept with. Now Ralph was dealing with the consequences of that union.

Ralph stood up. "I will set him straight. It is time he learned to act like a proper heir to a nation. Tell me what class he is attending."

"He hasn't attended his classes for the past two days."

Ralph smiled, remembering his own days of skipping his lectures. "That's alright. I'm sure I know where he is."

.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.

The sun felt warm upon closed eyelids. Eyes opened lazily into the glaring light and immediately, a hand came up to shield them. They were a brilliant blue color, clear and intelligent, with a thirst for knowledge that, sometimes, could not be sated. A breeze blew past and a few blonde strands of hair fell into those blue eyes, casting the world into shimmery yellow. Tall grass rose and fell languidly with the wind, obscuring the lithe body of a teenage boy.

Nature was the only witness to the lounging prince's deeds. All was peaceful.

Shinou sat up and took a book from his bag. It was old and torn but he set it in his lap anyway and began to carefully flip through its pages.

The text was ancient. It spoke of powers and magics that the fledgling prince could only dream of. However, there was an issue with reading this book and Shinou knew it. It was why he had chosen to read it in seclusion, miles away from his prestigious Mazoku school. The book was entitled: The secrets of human spell casting. Shinou was a Mazoku.

Or so he once thought…

There was the sound of footsteps upon healthy grass. Shinou raised his eyes, at the same time throwing the forbidden book back into his schoolbag.

"Relax," called a familiar voice, "It's only me."

"Father!" Shinou greeted, stumbling to his feet and turning to face the Prince Consort. He was guilty. He was about to be in a very large amount of trouble. He had skipped class again. He was failing everything. "Where are your guards, father? You shouldn't put yourself in danger out here."

"The same goes for you...out here all alone...I would never forgive myself if something happened to you. My guards have been ordered to remain hidden to give us some privacy. Shinou, there are some things I would like to talk to you about."

Shinou looked at the ground. "It's about school isn't it? I've been trying, I swear!"

"It's not about that-"

"Then its about my poor swordsmanship...or my lack of maryoku!"

"Shinou-"

"I'm sorry, father. I just can't be the son you want me to be!"

Ralph sighed. He never wanted Shinou to feel this way. He opened his mouth to respond, but immediately, a strange, sickening tingle went through his body. Shinou, noticing his father's sudden fright, stiffened.

"Father-"

"Shhh" Ralph knew that Shinou couldn't feel it, but he knew...he knew there was a powerful horyoku user nearby. But where had all his guards gone?

"Father...where did you say your guards were?" whispered Shinou.

There was a disturbance in the brush ahead. Ralph pushed Shinou behind him.

"Alex...Karl...Felix..." called out Ralph, praying that one of his soldiers would answer him. There was no reply. "Who's there? Show your face, you coward!"

A figure came into view. As he stepped from the shade of the trees into the sunlight, Ralph noticed the White Crow insignia on his cloak. "Who are you?" Ralph demanded.

The man's features were finally visible. He was a fair skinned human with long, black hair. His eyes were dark as well. He looked...oddly familiar.

"I didn't think it was possible..." the man spoke in barely more than a whisper, "To think that you would return...And yet here you are, right before my very eyes."

"Who are you?" Ralph asked again, noticing that the stranger couldn't seem to take his eyes off of Shinou. "If you don't answer me, I will be forced to draw my sword."

"Jenus," whispered Shinou, "Your name...is Jenus." His eyes had misted over as if he were in some kind of trance.

"That's it, my king," the stranger replied softly. He extended his hand. "Come. I will tell you all the answers you have been seeking."

"What is going on here?!" demanded Ralph. Shinou started to walked out from behind him. Ralph held him back. "What have you done to my son, you human bastard!"

An amazingly strong blast of horyoku sent Ralph flying. He regained his feet and drew his sword. "I don't know who the hell you think you are, but my son is not going anywhere with you!" The stranger began to laugh.

"Oh but he is not your son. And you are not Wolfram Von Bielefeld."

Ralph's eyes widened. He suddenly felt someone come up behind him, but before he was even able to turn around...

there was darkness.

.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.