I would like to extend special greetings to Sueona, Jollyolly, Princess Sin and Chazmy. I'm VERY grateful, and always will be, to each of you for your lovely feedback and kind comments. Knowing how busy everyone is, I'm truly touched and appreciative of the fact that all you beautiful people take the time to post your feedback, which is the main driving force for me to keep going with this project.
The desire to write this YnM fic, my very first fic posted on took hold of me and wouldn't let me go – whether it's a blessing or a curse, well, at this point, I'm not certain…
But seriously, I love writing. The nail biting and angsting over whether what I write will be liked or hated can be killers; stealing time to write when one has to work hard for a living is no fun either, not to mention the exhaustion and burnout… but at the same time, writing is incredibly therapeutic, and if my writing makes people happy, touches them in some good way, then that's a bonus. I've read fanfics that have thrilled me, made me laugh, made me cry. They fill our needs, ease an empty feeling we get when a great series we love comes to an end… yes, whatever will we do without fanfic? Yay to all fanfic writers and readers! Thanks for listening, and without further ado, please enjoy chapter 13 of LOVE AND DARKNESS. I know it must be an excruciating wait for all you MurakiXTsuzuki fans out there, but hold on, k?
Disclaimers: Yoko Matsushita owns Yami no Matsuei and the characters therein, all of them as wonderful as she is. This is a work of fiction with no monetary profits gained.
Rating reminder: This story is rated M
Warning for this chapter: STRONG LEMON CONTENT! The characters depicted in sexual situations are over 18.
Love and darkness
Part Thirteen
Chapter one: the Shinigami and the Samurai
Faculties spinning, Yutaka Watari the Shinigami, novitiate in the art of sexual proficiency, entered
a world where Oriya Mibu, an enigmatic, living relic of an era past, seduced him, lavishing sensual delights on him without reserve…
Oriya's hand released him long enough for him to remove his boots. Leaving them beside the samurai's sandals, he looked up into the stare of half-lidded eyes charged with desire. Once he stepped through the doorway, he was allowed enough time to sweep his eyes over the spacious room.
Though bemused by the unexpected turn of events – his beloved's return of affection – the veteran Shinigami's highly competent skills of observation served him well, confirming that it was Oriya's living room, where his beloved spent his leisure hours. It certainly had a lived in' appearance – all sorts of items were strewn across the floor around the low table: books, periodicals, pens, pencils, balled up paper, sheets of paper covered with scribbling and sketches. On the table lay a few wooden blocks of various sizes, several small knives and wood chippings. A nearly completed carving of a fine-looking equine caught his attention. His realization of the fact that the wooden horse had been wrought by Oriya's hands filled him with reverence; he moved to the table, intending to pick it up and run his fingers over the exquisite carving, but the man shadowing him had other intentions.
Arms caught him; he was spun round and kissed, Oriya's mouth commencing a renewed onslaught. His scarf was whipped off, baring his neck for the attentions of questing lips. His head tilted back for the taller man's nibbling, upper body bent backwards, Watari felt the pressure, of the arms locked around him, and, of a hard column against his belly. His beloved's mouth moved to his ear, whispering his name… "I've dreamed of this, holding you… making love to you…" The blond moaned…
A noise, of doors sliding open, and a cheery salutation, gave the Shinigami a considerable fright. Oriya calmly separated his mouth from his neck and lifted his head at the interruption.
"Good evening, master. Forgive my intrusion; I thought you were still in the garden. Good evening, sir."
The Shinigami's wide eyes blinked at the sight of Yoshida's grinning face. Oriya's valet stood at the entrance to an inner corridor, dusting brush and wastebasket in hand. All the blond managed to accomplish was a nod of his head at the servant's greeting while trying to disengage himself out of the compromising position he was caught in. Totally unabashed, Oriya slackened his hold but kept his arm coiled around his waist.
Unaffected and pokerfaced at his master's deshabille and bare chest – the top of his yukata had slipped off his shoulders – the servant enquired if he needed anything. Watari felt fingers caressing along his spine as he heard Oriya request for supper for two to be laid out in the dining room, and, for the bath to be made ready, in an hour. His voice was thickened and breathless when he dismissed Yoshida with an instruction that he was not to be disturbed for the rest of the night. The Shinigami's face burned from embarrassment when the valet's gaze flitted to him and then back to his master, a knowing smirk quirking his mouth as he stepped aside for them, Oriya ushering him into the corridor.
After the chilled autumn air of the garden, the pleasant warmth of the bedroom of the proprietor of Kokakuro was conducive to fleshly pursuits. Watari's eyes were immediately drawn to the bed, blood rushing to his groin. Again, reverence washed though him, mixing with desire while he stared at the place where his beloved lay his head and body down to sleep. Shyly, he met Oriya's eyes.
Fixed to where he stood by lust-darkened eyes, he was set upon, wrenched into the powerful crush of the multi-faceted man's arms, his lips captured by bruising kisses. Dogged hands made quick work of stripping him of his clothes and steering him to the bed. There, reclining on satin sheets, aromatic with scents of clove and aniseed, Watari committed to memory the Samurai Extraordinaire, robe falling away, standing in all his singular, naked beauty before him. He noticed for the first time, a thin braid of multi-colored string around an ankle, and found this adornment incredibly arousing. Transfixed, he ogled at the expanse of pale skin on body and limbs, contours of abs, the smooth chest, heaving with breathing accelerated by his beloved's urges. A portion of his inhibitions lurking in his psyche was obliterated when his eyes absorbed the magnificent proof of his manhood, sprouting from the shadow of luxuriant, dark fleece.
As soon as Oriya placed his knee on the bed, the Shinigami's hands seized him by his hips; his lips latched on to it, taking possession of it as best he could with his warm, drooling mouth. The modern-day samurai sighed deeply; holding the blond's head, he shifted slowly to lie sprawled on his back and caress golden strands, charmed by Watari's rapt face, soft whimpers, by his ministrations – sweetly timid, but so touchingly eager…
Following this tasty entrée, the blond was invited, bluntly and in no uncertain terms, to partake of the main course, which lay secreted in the swordsman's body between firm globes of flesh. His willingness was blunted by his inexperience, and he dithered nervously when the doorway to this place was flaunted, raised hips sashaying provocatively, fingers stroking and delving seductively to entice him, cooing and coaxing.
Rather than rousing repulsion, Oriya's shameless conduct and salacious whispers dazzled and flattered him, conquering all the vestiges of his inhibitions, annihilating ingrained and trained patterns of thought and behavior… inciting an irrepressible need to oblige and satisfy the man he loved…
"I've never… I don't know how… to…" he declared, softly, eyes lowered.
His words were cut off by the samurai's kiss.
Oriya took hold of the Shinigami's erect horn, purring as he slathered it with lube. Cooing softly, he drew the blond close against him and inserted it for him. Watari's initial, awkward movements were endured patiently with encouragements, until he heard a drawn-out hiss, ensued by a moan originating deep in his lover's throat, sure indications that he was performing correctly. From then on, he needed no further instruction – Oriya's cries of enjoyment, and the erotic spectacle of him stroking and yanking on his luscious shaft egged him on while he lost himself in pleasure…
Spent of their passion, they lay entwined in blissful lethargy. Then came the words of love, husky whispers expressed with sighs and more kisses…
At last, I've found love… with him, he's mine! He loves me…
If I was asked to describe my feelings, I wouldn't be able to…
Words would fail to convey them…
The pleasure of his body…
Nothing I've ever done to myself for release comes close to what he's given to me…
These were the Shinigami's thoughts as his eyelids drooped, before he surrendered to sleep, nestled against his newfound lover…
Sometime before dawn, he awoke. It took him some seconds to become aware of where he was, of whose chest his head was pillowed against, whose heart pulsed beneath his ear. Recalling the heady session of lovemaking with the man whose arms held him, he sighed with deep contentment. Gently, he extricated himself from that possessive embrace to turn and lie on his back.
Roused from his doze by the Shinigami's movements, Oriya shifted and sat up abruptly, alarmed. He too had to take some moments to come to awareness.
"Come here… did you have a bad dream?"
Arms reached for him to pull him close. Soothed by Watari's voice, he collapsed limply against naked warmth, quivering from the Shinigami's shower of kisses. He shook his head, his fingers caressing the fine golden down on the arms around his chest. "No," he murmured, "I was afraid… I thought for a moment that all that took place… you, here with me… had been a dream." He turned his head to seek out the eyes of the luminous, golden god on his bed, saw them twinkling in the soft glow of candlelight, heavy with adoration, a trace of lingering shyness that enchanted him. His lover nuzzled at his neck, bit him playfully but forcefully enough to draw a yelp from him.
"That was to prove you're wide awake, that this is no dream, that I'm really here."
"Stay with me till morning," whispered Oriya, against soft lips that parted for his tongue.
The ecstasy of their languorous kisses kindled fresh arousal.
Unexpectedly, Watari found himself pinned beneath the strapping strength of the body that earlier had been so submissive, yielding to his thrusts, undulating like a supple sylph. His neck was nipped and licked while fingers tweaked his nipples. Growling lustily, Oriya pressed his lengthened member against his. In a dance of desire, they worked their hips, rubbing their cocks together. The master swordsman settled between svelte thighs. Squirming, the Shinigami reached for sheaves of dark tresses arrayed across his thighs to caress them while his lover's tongue teased and pleasured him. He gazed, enthralled by the view – lips, the ones that had driven him crazy with their kisses, ringed around his cock; being drawn inside that grasping mouth, pulled out, in a continuous hypnotic rhythm. Drunk on his first experience of being suckled, his entire length sheathed as the entrance of Oriya's throat yielded for him, he felt the tingling vibrations of his lover's muffled groans against the skin of his shaft. He couldn't hold back any longer and yelled, his come pumping down the samurai's throat.
While that incredible orifice gently released him, he evoked a mental image of hours ago – of the samurai in heat. Recalling the dizzying pleasure of plunging his cock into the sultry sweetness between Oriya's lengthy, voluptuous thighs, he went mad with desire, craving to grip that beautiful shank of flesh as it thrust into him, return the pleasure he had received, wring the spurt of cream from it. But, he swallowed his request, struck with bashfulness again.
Oriya, licking up all traces of his gush from his penis like a greedy feline, knew precisely what he desired, having received the fantasized scenes from his lover's thoughts; lurid visions slammed into his mind – images of himself, driving into the preserved innocence of his flesh, making Oriya's cock leak and twitch. His hand fell to stroke and sooth it temporarily. Breath rasping, he restrained his lust, holding himself back from grabbing his angel's exquisite legs and pushing his cock into that virgin cleft. Instead, he licked his lips and slid his hand between the curves of Watari's ass while the blond was still occupied with his fantasies and recovering from his explosive orgasm.
When he touched the little pucker, the blond, though wincing and reddening from a fresh attack of embarrassment, parted his thighs wider in stages until his opening was fully displayed. Oriya smiled with delight and applied his tongue generously to the tender lips until his lover lay limp, ready to take the next step, allowing his lubricated finger to ease through the tight ring of flesh. Murmuring endearments, he teased the sweltering passage tenderly, slowly sliding in another digit when he felt his lover finally relax, intent on thoroughly preparing him. Wanting pleasure to assuage pain and discomfort, he initiated him to the indescribable ecstasy of male coitus by targeting the place within him, giving him a tantalizing foretaste of things to come, drawing sobs of pleasure.
His angel was pleading for more at this juncture; the fine features on that adorable face were set in a grimace of sexual rapture, lost in sensations elicited by Oriya's languidly massaging fingers, totally stripped of self-consciousness and all decorum. Legs thrashing, pert bottom bucking, Watari presented a mouth-watering picture to his spectator, a sight that stoked his lust to further intensity. He withdrew his fingers carefully, his groin aching in anticipation of fucking this splendid Shinigami, splayed and panting for him while he lubricated his length. He lay down on top of him, kissed those delectable crimson lips, maneuvering the lissome body into position. With trembling thighs clamped around his waist, he gradually eased himself into his lover's vestal aperture, touched and grateful for the honor granted him, allowing him to be the first to perform this intimate act with him. Their lips still joined, Oriya drove his tongue forcefully into the Shinigami's mouth to distract him, deliriously aroused by his simultaneous possession of both of his lover's orifices, while inching, sliding his cock all the way inside him, groaning from the pleasurable pressure of his tight grip.
The blond beauty beneath him cried out and shuddered when he felt that long thick cock fill and stretch him and Oriya remained motionless, soughed adoring words into his ear, relieved that his lover resisted the instinctive urge to jerk and twist away from his assault, thus avoiding being torn. He resumed his kissing of the succulent mouth, waiting for the Shinigami's body to relax, for his breathing to slow down, giving him all the time he needed to accept the invasion of his ample cock – the last thing he wanted was to draw blood, and he peeked mentally into his lover's head to see if there was any evidence of second thoughts. Finding none, only a sense of euphoria instead, he separated his lips from Watari's, so he could capture and preserve his expression to memory: flushed skin, pink tongue lolling between parted lips… tears squeezed out of the corners of eyes clamped shut…
This last detail greatly upset him.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered, "you're in pain…" His tongue lapped at the tears.
Warm candied breath wafted from his angel's mouth as his eyes opened. Within amber jewels, love blazed. "Only a little… but it's such a sweet pain… make it even sweeter, Oriya."
With that breathy command, Watari began leisurely rocking his hips. It was Oriya's turn to shudder and shout…
Chapter two: reflections and vicissitudes
Enma stood at the large, paneled window, regarding the three figures on the grounds of the main judiciary building of Hades, situated in the center of the huge complex comprising Meifu's Justice Hall and its annexes.
Three floors down, the Shinigami who walked between Konoe and the Shadow Master still seemed wound up, gesticulating animatedly as he conversed with his companions. When he stopped walking, shaking his head before lowering it, Konoe's hand rose to rest on his shoulder. As the overwrought guardian of death stood there, listening to whatever it was his section head was saying to him, Enma felt a presence beside him.
He cast a sidelong glance at the deity by his side. Except for his greater height and black hair, the profile in his sight was identical to Tsuzuki's. If the long wavy hair was cropped, Masato could easily pass as Asato's older brother. It was only when Enma looked at Masato squarely in the face could he discern differences. Whereas Masato's features were sharper, more robust and masculine, his son's had been softened by his mother's looks. The mortal woman who had given birth to Asato had been an outstanding beauty and her son had inherited the best of his parents' fine looks.
Enma, who made a hobby of noting how children resembled their parents, sighed inwardly at the remembrance of the rare color of Tsuzuki's eyes, his most arresting feature – mother's dark brown and father's lavender had produced that exquisite hue of the finest amethysts.
While Masato observed his son from afar, Enma glanced over his left shoulder at Isao, who had folded his tall frame into an armchair, hair falling around him like a cloak. The king of Hades felt twinges of residual amazement.
Kazutaka Muraki! Who would have thought…!
Although Enma had not revealed his astonishment when Masato had introduced his nephew to him, and at the revelations in O-Ran's communiqué, he was still reeling somewhat from the discovery of Doctor Kazutaka Muraki's lineage. He watched Isao's face turn to Nagi, standing rigidly by the chair, in response to the latter's hushed words, giving him a full view of the visage of the First Prince, whom he had never encountered before that morning…
Upon Enma's first visit to the heavens, after his ascension to the throne of Hades, becoming Enma XV, O-Ran's eldest son had not been present at the ceremony of his acceptance of the celestial emperor's scepter, a customary rite for all new rulers of Meifu. Nor had he seen him during subsequent visits. Although he had certainly heard of the comely 'snow prince' – a handle he had acquired because of his coloring – Isao had been noticeably and mysteriously absent from the palace, whereas O-Ran's six other sons and only daughter had always graced the formal events and banquets held in Enma's honor. The previous king of Meifu had disclosed to Enma that the first prince possessed a remarkable singing voice and almost always performed a song or two at formal functions, sometimes accompanied by his mother, the queen playing the lute, harp, flute or other instruments, while a beaming O-Ran looked on approvingly. The newly crowned king of the netherworld, a keen music enthusiast, had been greatly disappointed by not having had the pleasure of meeting the patron god of music and hearing him sing.
He took up his hobby keenly once more, discreetly studying the prince out of the corners of his eyes, not wishing to appear discourteous by staring at him openly. He was nothing short of fascinated, for the reason that in his study of family resemblance, here was another story altogether, something he had not previously encountered while pursuing his pastime…
Enma was not unfamiliar with Kazutaka Muraki's appearance, having seen photographs of him on his computer files, ever since the man had begun his audacious, wicked exploits, more times than he would have liked to, in truth.
And now, here in this very room… not so far away from him was… Kazutaka Muraki's face! The resemblance was chillingly frightening, in a fascinating way to Lord Enma. Absolutely nothing of his mother could be perceived in that icily handsome face he'd seen on his monitor screen.
His mother… He remembered her, standing before him with the translucence of the newly dead, still and silent, with empty eyes… the cause of her death had been listed as illness… he was told by her keeper, or Sentinel, that she never spoke but sometimes sang disjointed words in the tune of a popular lullaby… checking up on her background, he discovered that before she married, she had been a concert pianist, but had never performed again after her marriage… he had drawn a complete blank when he searched her mind for memories… she hadn't been aware of his presence or heard him when he spoke to her… a wilted, fragile flower, an aura of melancholy surrounding her… her frailty had been made all the more pronounced by the translucence of her form… he remembered thinking that if he directed his breath at her, she might have disintegrated into nothingness.
Enma's evaluation of her had been: soul fragmentation, a common condition of those who had died young, or those who had left something, or someone, of significant importance, behind – more than often it turned out to be someone. Something, with some exceptions such as death by violence and unnatural causes, invariably meant the incompletion, of an important project close to one's heart before death, of one's lifework – unfinished business. She had been placed in the care of the Counselors, and slated for reincarnation to strengthen the constitution of her soul if she responded to treatment and eventually recovered…
She had recovered, and as she had, it was learned that the someone she had left behind, the sole reason for her existence, however tragically short it had been, had been her son… the child whose father was sitting right there…
The differences between parent and child were to be found in other aspects. Again, as in Tsuzuki's case, Isao's height exceeded his son's. O-Ran's hair was of a pure silver color, Isao's, pure white. Both these hues had determined the shade of Kazutaka's hair – a combination of the two shades. As for the eyes… Isao's, fascinating in themselves, had the appearance of colorless quartz crystals. When these startling eyes captured light, as they did at that moment, they looked like tiny stars rather than eyes, and far outshone the jewels set in the rings Isao wore. His child's remaining, natural eye – some mishap or other, the details of which were undisclosed, had caused the loss of one of Kazutaka's eyes, Enma recalled – was silvery gray. Because of the agelessness of the gods upon attaining maturity, it was interesting to Enma that Isao's unlined face seemed more youthful, smooth as polished marble, than that of his son, who, being half-mortal, appeared as a mortal man in his prime. Tsuzuki, he considered, by reason of his early death, had retained his boyish looks. His somber clothes did nothing to influence or lessen his almost-adolescent appearance.
A soft sigh from Masato brought his scrutiny of Isao to a close and he turned his eyes back to the trio near the pavilion. Tatsumi and Tsuzuki appeared to be engaged in a heated argument. Tsuzuki's fists were bunched; Tatsumi's finger stabbed the air, the quarreling pair paying no mind to Konoe's earnest attempts at refereeing. Enma resisted the temptation to listen in, deciding to spare his sanity and conserve his mental energy, since he had a lot to think about after the day's events. He almost laughed aloud at Tsuzuki's antics – hands flailing, face glowering… at that point, he was stopping up his ears with his hands to block out the Shadow Master's words.
Enma's eyes met Masato's and both shook their heads in unison. The sovereign of Meifu raised an indicative hand at the window.
"Behold, your son, Lord Masato… never mind the fact that he looks like he's about to burst a blood vessel. After his eloquent performance today, you must be very proud of him, and well you should be."
Masato responded with a small smile, pride indeed swelling his heart.
Enma let his hand drop and strode to where Isao sat and seated himself on the couch opposite the prince, who seemed much calmer than he had been upon his arrival in Meifu earlier that day. He returned the prince's austere smile with a warm one. While loosening his tie and crossing his trousered legs, he glanced over at Masato, who was still gazing out the window. In contrast to the ancient, traditional style of dress of the celestial deities, Enma preferred the contemporary clothes of modern mortal men. He adopted immortal fashions only when he was visiting their realm.
"What's happening down there, Masato?"
The god turned away from the window. "My son has just stormed off in a fit of pique," he replied, an expression of dismay stamped on his face. Patting the couch at a place beside him in an invitation to Isao's uncle to sit, Enma spoke soothingly. "He'll be fine once he's cooled off. Seiichiro, although overly stern, always means well, and acts in Asato's best interests. He would never admit it, but he cares a great deal about him. I approve of his protectiveness; he's there for him when I can't be…"
Here, Enma stopped, kicking himself mentally for opening Masato's old wound. Quickly, he sought to lessen the deity's pain. His hand came to rest on Masato's knee briefly. "This is where Asato has chosen to stay, as a Shinigami, for now. While he's here, you can be sure that he's well cared for, by me, Konoe and Seiichiro, who is a necessary tether to your son's volatile temperament." An affectionate chuckle rumbled in Enma's throat while he fingered the short black bristles at his jawline.
"Unruly, annoyingly unpredictable at times, laid back yet focused when he needs to be… clumsy and yet laden with grace, charisma and compassion, as you saw for yourself today."
Masato's eyes stared off into the distance, nodding his head slowly, remembering the day his ruined heart had been restored to wholeness…
He had been taking some moments of soul rest – true immortals never truly sleep. After gathering stalks of newly bloomed blue iris blossoms from his garden, a place where he found solace, bringing forth flowering plants from the soil, he had placed the blooms in a vase, intending to present them to Sanae the following day, which was her birthday, these blue flowers being her favorites.
He had just picked up his flute when he heard his name being yelled repeatedly.
"Eijisho…?"
He stepped out from his parlor on to his balcony. Looking over the railing, he spotted the Prince Royal, bright yellow hair and garments fluttering as he loped towards Masato's lodgings. Gawping with incredulity at the deity scaling the wall of his house, like a great, long-limbed gibbon by way of the vines that grew along it, he shook his head with exasperation, wondering why Eiji couldn't have just sprung to his balcony, or enter his house normally, through his front door, even if he hadn't felt like flying or spiriting, the normal modes of immortal transportation. 'Trust Eijisho to always make a dramatic entrance!' When the king's brother reached the side of the balcony, he swung himself onto it, his landing incredibly graceful for someone with such an imposing physique. Eiji's face was colored with excitement as he closed the distance between them and pinned Masato in an enthusiastic embrace, lifting him bodily off his feet and proceeding to hop around, shouting, "I, Eijisho, bring wonderful tidings to thee, Harvest God!"
"Put me down at once, and tell me what all this is about in a composed manner, Eiji!"
He was set down but was not released from Eiji's bear hug. Only at Masato's insistence was he finally freed. The god of scholars did not sit on the chair indicated but chose instead to seat himself on the floor by Masato's feet. Eiji then launched into his account, which had proved too lengthy and detailed for Masato's liking. Disinclined to hurt his erudite kinsman's feelings, he had exercised his patience and had quelled his urge to yell, "Get to the point!"
That morning, Eiji began, he had gone to Meifu's library to return some books. He was often there, because unlike their's, Eiji pointed out, Meifu's had a wide selection of books from the mortal world. Intending to borrow more, he had been browsing through a book when someone entered the aisle in which he stood. He heard a greeting, cheerful but respectful, and pulled his eyes from the book in his hands to the bowing figure. When this being, who had obviously recognized him as a deity, hence his deferential behavior, straightened, revealing his face, Eiji had dropped his book, eyes popping. Suddenly realizing his lack of manners, he'd stammered his greetings and slowly backed away from the smiling man with glittering eyes. Spotting the fallen book, Eiji hurriedly lunged forward to retrieve it and placed it back on the shelf with fumbling hands, backed away again wordlessly from the now baffled man, whose hand rose to scratch the back of his head. The deity, inching his way backwards, detected the anxiety rising in the man's thoughts, wondering if he had done or said something to offend the god; he'd then become self-conscious, checking his face for possible remnants of the breakfast he's consumed that morning…
"I feel really bad about it now," Eiji had said. "Anyway, it couldn't be helped, it was imperative for me to make my exit, which I did, um, rather rambunctiously, causing an uproar among the librarians…" He'd bounded off to Enma's chambers, where, at his request, the lord of Meifu had brought up the relevant file on his computer. Enma, well acquainted with Eiji's eccentricities, had not asked any questions, merely engaging him in polite conversation while he fiddled with that wondrous, magical machine. Finally, there, on the monitor, was all the information Eiji sought…
Grabbing his hands, Eiji had exclaimed, "He was your son, Asato! I have absolutely no doubts about it! Enma told me that he's a Shinigami…"
Masato, holding fast to the large hands, light headed, thoughts reeling, had asked tremulously, scarcely daring to believe, "Can this be true…?"
Eijisho had pulled him to his feet. "Come with me to Meifu. See him with your own eyes…"
Hidden behind a decorative screen in Enma's office, the pair of them had stolen peeks at the Shinigami, who had been summoned there by a pretense of Meifu's king. Enma, pretending to study a file, had made the poor man stew and squirm as he stood in front of Enma's desk. Eiji had truly sympathized when a nervous Tsuzuki, believing he was in hot soup for some gaffe on his part, had fidgeted, and fussing with his shirt collar, meekly remarked that it was unusually hot in there…
The proof – of whom his mother had been, and the man himself – overwhelmed and brought Masato to his knees, weeping, and he and Eiji had clung ecstatically to each other, unashamedly shedding tears of happiness under the gaze of Enma's calm, black eyes.
The whole truth of Tsuzuki's parentage was then revealed to Enma…
After that joyful day, Masato had regularly visited Meifu, to observe his son from afar and to obtain updates of his life. During one of his sojourns there, Enma had seemed distracted and morose when he had called on him. Sitting at his desk, the king's face was darkened with anger.
"I fear I am imposing upon you, Enma. Forgive me if I am. You seem displeased. What vexes you?"
"Forgive me, Lord Masato. You are always welcome to call on me at any time. I fear this day has been most upsetting. One of my Shinigami was abducted by a mortal, and we have just learned that this was done in order to lure your son into the clutches of this kidnapper, who is, of all things, a doctor!"
Masato had leapt to his feet. "What?! Where is Asato now?!"
Lord Enma had managed to calm his guest, coaxing him into sitting down again. "I would have alerted you, but I wanted to spare you the worry. My men are watching the situation closely. As we speak, Asato is on his way to rescue this Shinigami, who is his partner, in fact…"
His visitor recoiled. "Will he be…?"
"I assure you he is more than capable of handling the situation. I have no doubts that in a contest between one of my Shinigami and a mere mortal, my man will emerge the winner. Honestly, to think that a mortal would dare to touch one of my people! Well, he's not going to get away with it, I can tell you…"
"Who is this mortal, and why on earth would he want Asato?!"
Emitting a snarl, Enma reached for the monitor on his desk and turned it around so that Masato could see the screen. He saw Masato's body start, color draining from his face as he stared at the screen.
Enma had let Masato's reaction slide, thinking he was merely concerned for his son's safety, and replied, "This… this… person! His name is Kazutaka Muraki. His motive for wanting to nab Asato is unknown at this time. We have discovered that it was this man, through his own smug confession to Asato, who murdered his partner, by sadistic and despicable means, employing a spell… for a mortal, it is surprising that he's capable of such a feat…"
'This is no mere mortal, Enma,' thought Masato at the time, feeling physically ill. In his turn, he had the unenviable and unpleasant task of going to Isao with a heavy, pounding heart, miserable at being the bearer of such grim and disturbing news. It was fortunate he had seen fit to bring Eijisho with him. Because of the prince's adulation of his paternal uncle, Eiji had been the only one who had managed to restrain his nephew when he went berserk…
With fresh reports of his son's deeds, confirming that he was a serial murderer, the prince, all but disowned by his father, had succumbed to severe depression…
The news of Lord Enma's death warrant for Isao's child stirred Masato, Eijisho and Sanae into enlisting Empress Hatate's help in breaking down O-Ran's obstinate refusal to pardon his son, acknowledge the existence of his grandson and to appeal to Enma to revoke the order of execution imposed on him. Nagi's expressionless face hid his own distress. Having harbored a secret passion for Isao for a long time, the enforcer general had embarked on his own mission to re-unite father and son…
Enma's low voice brought Masato back to the present.
"… a charming conundrum. He plays the part of a laughing fool to hide his razor-sharp mind. He dons a clown's mask to eclipse all the pain and guilt he still carries in his heart. I fear it may take a while yet for him to lay these to rest."
"Yes, I know," whispered Masato.
"Don't be troubled. I have kept my promise to you, Masato, since that day you told me he was your son, and now, I renew that promise. As long as he's here, I will continue to be a surrogate father to him."
Masato dipped his head graciously. "I thank you, Lord Enma."
During this discourse between the god of the harvest and Enma, the latter had been aware of the First Prince's eyes on him, twin arrows of white-hot flame. The heat of that unwavering gaze held no threat, Enma knew, but lingering worry and a desperate hope. It communicated a deep ache to see his child, touch him, and, grown man though his son was, cradle him in his arms, kiss away all his hurt, sing him to sleep, pour forth the flood of his paternal love upon him, do all the things he had been denied…
After Tsuzuki, Konoe and Tatsumi left the Great Hall earlier that morning, he would have fallen to his knees to beg for his son's life had an aghast Enma not stopped him in time. Filled with pity for him, he met those colorless eyes with his kindly gaze.
"Your highness, I repeat my promise to you. Your son's life will be spared. Our highest priority now will be to search out and destroy the nameless demon, thereby extricating Kazutaka from his control, and most importantly, to save his soul."
The deity he addressed rose at once and glided to where Enma sat, prompting the king to stand. His hands were clasped and squeezed. Relief and gratitude marked the prince's face as he made a great effort to speak.
"I, and my father both, thank you for your compassion…"
"Please, no thanks are necessary. I understand the magnitude of the love for your child. If I have to destroy this demon myself, I will, for seducing your son by means of deceit, as well as for all the souls he filched."
The prince nodded. "We will take our leave now, Lord Enma. Please… keep me posted of Kazutaka…"
"Certainly. Please convey my salutations to your father and mother."
"I will, thank you."
Nagi swiftly came to stand at the prince's side, and Enma, with amused interest, noted the smile on the general's face, almost imperceptible, but there nonetheless. It was a first for Enma and, in all probability, for Nagi as well; it was widely known that O-Ran's chief enforcer never ever smiled.
Enma was left, alone with his thoughts, after the three vanished, spiriting themselves back to their realm.
Whether it had been Isao's heartbroken plea or his Shinigami's championing that led him to change his mind over the fate of Kazutaka Muraki, Enma was uncertain. Perhaps, it had been both of these factors. Whichever, it did not matter, Enma decided, because he wasn't troubled but at ease, convinced he had made the right decision.
The closing part of Tsuzuki's oratory that morning rang out in his head as he made his way to his office…
"I will destroy that demon that binds him, and set him free. Give him a chance to turn his life around, great Sovereign. When his life is over, let him be judged when he stands before you. If you should still deem his sins to be his own when he stands in your honorable court, then weigh them against his deeds of atonement. I will stake my life upon it – that he will atone, and that his deeds of repentance will far outweigh his sins."
What he said after those words was not voiced aloud, but spoken in his mind, picked up by Lord Enma, the two deities and their enforcer…
'I beg you, grant him this chance, with the same compassion you bestowed upon me, when I finally stood before you… when I was sane enough to do so… Not a day has gone by without me feeling gratitude to you… I will never forget your kindnesses… I have been honored to be your servant. Forgive my breach of protocol and thank you for hearing me out, my Lord.'
His personal aide greeted him on his arrival at his office.
"Good evening, Jujiro."
While his aide divested him of his jacket, he enquired, "Will you return to your residence tonight, Sire?"
"No, I must read the files of the souls who will appear in my court tomorrow. Are they on my desk?"
"Yes, milord. I will bring your meal to you…"
"Tea will suffice. Oh, and summon Noriko and Asahi. Tell them to be prepared to work with me till the morning."
Jujiro promptly scurried off to attend to his tasks.
Awaiting the arrival of his assistants, Lord Enma relaxed, stealing a few moments of peace after settling himself at his desk. Reaching for the remote control, he turned on his sound system. He closed his eyes, listening to the music of Dvorak resonating in the room…
From their opening, delicate notes, the trills of the violins gradually accelerated, became frenzied… and then slowed, softened…
When he heard the clash of cymbals, followed by the booming of bass drums, his third eye saw him, his Shinigami, as he had appeared while uttering his final words that morning… there was his face, in calm repose; but his eyes… within them, smoldering flames… testimony to his resolve.
"It's become personal for you, hasn't it?" whispered Enma, as the rippling notes of the piano solo frolicked, gained vigor, progressing into a crescendo…
The lord of the netherworld's chest rose and fell with his even breathing.
"What an unexpected turn of events," he murmured. "Grandson of the emperor… this man was your arch nemesis… yet you, Tsuzuki, nephew of the empress, have now chosen the role of a chivalrous knight, bent on destroying a demon to rescue your prince…"
The blaring of trumpets sounded in a rousing fanfare…
Asato Tsuzuki, in a dark funk brought on by Tatsumi's reprimand, stalked sulkily back to Shinigami headquarters in search of his partner. He found him, slouched at his desk, munching on a sandwich. Hisoka Kurosaki glanced up at his entry, noting the scowl on his face as he approached.
"Heard from Daisuke?" called out the Shinigami before the boy managed to form his question.
"Nope. That means Muraki's still holed up in his apartment. He said he'd call us soon as he made a move…"
Coming to a halt at Hisoka's desk, the older of the two considered his partner, eyebrows twitching. "You're sure he can handle surveillance on Muraki?"
"Pretty much… besides, we don't have much of a choice, since you don't want anyone from our unit handling the watch on him. He can be trusted to keep a secret too, so you don't have to worry about him blabbing off about Muraki's location. The other two sweepers he called in to cover the back entrance of the building and the car park exit are apparently thick with him, so they won't go mouthing off either. Don't worry, I don't think he's gonna screw up on this job; he's hoping to score some points with you so you can put in a good word for his transfer…"
Tsuzuki quirked an eyebrow, "He told you that?"
"Sure as hell did."
"Well now… quite the opportunist, isn't he? I guess I don't mind, as long as he does what I need him to."
The boy offered a sandwich to his partner before reaching for his mug of tea.
"No, thanks. Too wound up to eat."
"I noticed," remarked Hisoka, picking up an orange and commencing to strip the fruit of its rind, releasing sprays of a tangy citrus scent into the air.
The older Shinigami seated himself on Hisoka's desk, watching the boy at his peeling work, separating the segments, popping one into his mouth. Juice dribbled out of the corner of the boy's mouth, tempting Tsuzuki, so that he reached over and plucked a wedge of the succulent fruit from his partner's hands. The taste of the cool fruit was soothing as it was refreshing to the man whose nerves and emotions were interwoven tighter than the fibers of a scouring pad. He was remembering the revolting sound of his fist bashing against Muraki's head. He winced, as much as from that recollection as from the twinge in a corner of his jaw, a reaction to the slight sourness of the last of the orange pulp sliding down his throat.
"So he went straight back to his apartment after leaving the hotel? Hard to believe, after that injury I gave him… thought he would've gone to a hospital…"
"I was thinking the same thing… from what I saw, that was some whack you landed on him, enough to kill… it's a wonder he could even stand after that… don't forget though, this is Muraki we're talking about, so who knows, he probably stitched himself up," Hisoka finished with a half-hearted laugh and a shrug of his shoulders.
The man seated on his desk snapped his eyes shut, body twitching involuntarily from unwanted memories, his hand rising to clamp over his mouth, another reflexive action to quell his sudden queasiness. Not wanting his partner to notice his discomfort, the Shinigami pulled himself together, but the youth at his side was not paying attention to him. Stealing a quick glance at him, Tsuzuki saw the still hands and vacant eyes of the youth as he turned his sight inwards.
"He radiated… such intense power… when I first… saw him… that night…"
Tsuzuki clamped his eyes shut again, and turned away. He did not want to be drawn into those green orbs, by the pained whispers, as the adolescent guardian of death re-lived those terror-filled moments… the prelude to the last three, agony-filled years of his life…
"I thought I was seeing a super-natural being, a specter… under that tree… after he let her lifeless body slide to the ground, he bent over her and blew her a kiss… he cooed, with outstretched arms, 'I bid you goodnight as you drift into eternal sleep, my lovely doll.' Even though he'd already seen me, watching them, he paid no mind to me, at that point. He seemed to be weeping over her; his shoulders shook as he stood there with his head bowed. I tried to move, to run, I knew I had to get away at once, but I was paralyzed… he turned his head slowly to focus on me, he had this leering grin on his face and I saw that strange glass eye of his, red, reflecting light… it was horrifying and yet fascinating… he moved, agonizingly slowly, towards me, and I still could not move to save myself… he stopped, tilted his head to regard me, I couldn't see his face then, it was hidden in shadow. He lifted his hand, dripping with blood, the blood of that woman that lay on the ground behind him… I felt tears of fright slide down my cheeks, wanting to scream but nothing came out of my throat… I saw him lap at the blood with his tongue… I shut my eyes, in the hope that this waking nightmare would end when I opened them… But he was still there; I felt great waves of hatred and anger surge towards me, to envelop me… He let his head drop backwards, and laughed, a wicked, taunting sound… 'run, little rabbit,' he said, 'let's see how fast and far you can run before the big bad fox catches you.' Still I stood there, shaking… and then it seemed that whatever it was that stopped me from moving fell away from me, and I began to run, really fast, to my home, where I would be safe from this white clad demon… I saw the outline of the roof of my house, ahead of me… I was sobbing as I stepped onto the path that led to it, trying to call out for help… when I ran right smack into him… he had appeared, from nowhere… I felt his hands, strong as iron, take hold of my arms… I smelled the blood on his clothes… I became woozy, and felt myself lifted… he whispered in my ear, 'What a fortunate night for me.' I nearly threw up when he touched my cheek with those cool lips, sticky with blood…"
Tsuzuki waited with bated breath for the youth to continue. He heard the deep intake of breath, and only then did he turn to look at his partner, reluctantly.
"Come to think of it, I wonder if… that demon was inside of him…"
The slender shoulders beneath blue woolen fabric shrugged. Hisoka gave himself a shake, his eyes become focused once more as he reached for the remainder of the fruit and stuffed a piece of it into his mouth.
The unsteady fingers of the older Shinigami picked up the clear, glass star-shaped paperweight that lay on top of a stack of papers. "You… like stars, don't you? Even when you doodle, you always draw stars…"
"Yeah… I wanted to be an astronomer… when I grew up… Huh, it's funny isn't it? A star's actual appearance is nothing like that pretty, stylized shape," Hisoka eyes flitted to the paperweight resting in his partner's joined hands, "up close, stars are just shapeless masses, almost ugly to behold… To me, a star has always been an accurate analogy for someone who is outwardly beautiful but hideous on the inside…"
Their eyes met and locked. A pang of shame lanced the older Shinigami's heart.
Is he… referring to Muraki…? He must be. He was only just now remembering their first meeting… is he trying to tell me something…? Does he know…?
Tsuzuki's eyes were laden with misery while they searched the younger's eyes, and saw the fleeting emotion behind them, that spoke of loss, of something he could never ever get back. Inwardly cringing, he averted his eyes, toying restlessly with the paperweight, beating back the shame and guilt swelling within his consciousness. Behind his eyes he saw the face of the man he was in love with. A montage of images from their past encounters paraded before his inner vision.
I… I'm in love with him… the one who killed Hisoka, robbed him of his life and ambitions, his chance to grow up and realize his dreams… I'm in love with him… when did that happen? Just when did I…? When I told you I wanted to help him, you seemed okay with it, Hisoka… but should you discover the true nature of my feelings for him – your murderer – would you be okay with that? Even though you gained some insight on what drove him to his murdering ways, would you despise me, think me a traitor…? What would the others think if they knew…?
Finished with eating, Hisoka asked, expression deadpan, "Didn't it go well… this morning, with Lord Enma?"
Pulled out of his guilt-laden ruminations by Hisoka's voice, he turned his gaze to the youth's expectant face.
"Hmm…? Oh, it went well, surprisingly well, considering I just barged in there and pissed the hell out of Lord Enma… he has… retracted… the death warrant on Muraki," he replied, doing his best to sound nonchalant.
Hisoka's face returned to being unreadable, further unsettling his partner. "That's good news. I'm glad you pulled it off… but, why do you look so glum?"
Huffing, Tsuzuki's hand rose to sweep the bangs of hair back from his forehead and felt an unaccountable urge to throw something, lash out at someone. Harnessing these dangerous sentiments, he replied, "Ah… it's nothing… just that… the shadow man gave me one of his lectures…"
The teen smiled and shook his head. "You can't say you didn't see that coming. He's just doing his job, trying to keep you in line, you know…"
"Hey, you on his side now? Oh, right, of course, he hardly ever chews you out… wish he's just get off my case…"
"Aw, come on, you had it coming, Tsuzuki! Tatsumi's probably pissed because you hadn't alerted him, or Chief Konoe, and that you tackled Muraki all by yourself, that you could've gotten seriously hurt, or worse… I get where he's coming from…"
Hisoka paused at the sight of his partner's dejected expression and lightened his tone. "But I understand… you had your reasons…"
"No, you're absolutely right. I should've trusted them… and now I've just gone and made it worse… said some unkind things." He clicked his tongue and huffed. "I may have seriously hurt his feelings… oh, hell! I've got to look for him," Tsuzuki balked like a child and levered himself to his feet. Running towards the exit, he yelled over his shoulder, "Later, Hisoka! Let me know if Daisuke calls!"
To be continued