In the ruins of his eye, the sky faded between blue and gray. Hisoka walked the penitent's walk, the voice of his shikigami fading like so much bravado, falling into memory.
High in the sky, clouds drifted at different speeds, and he thought for a second that he could see the paper-white wings of a fuda bird, a messenger spying. But if it was there, it was caught up in the wind and gone by the time his eyes focused.
He kicked a stone. It bounced over the ridge and fell, cracking.
If this had been anywhere other than Meifu, he wondered if these empty hills would have been dotted with houses. It was pretty enough, long green grasses swirling in the wind like smoke, overlooking an iron-gray bay. A window to the ocean. Islands beyond, tall rocks jutting out from the sea.
He wasn't sure where he was anymore. All he remembered was running. For a long time. Until he woke up here, walking along the crest of a hill.
It seemed so far away.
He was tired. He sat down in the grass and picked up a stone. It was rusted red, the color of dried blood.
----
"Quiet, quiet!" Tatsumi snapped, voice verging on a shout amid the hysteria. "All we know is that he's still in Meifu, but that he's gone past our jurisdiction."
"What's that mean?" Wakaba gasped. Her fingers were tangled in ends of her skirt, twisting the dark fabric nervously.
"It means that bringing Kurosaki-kun back is beyond our immediate control. The best we can do is request his return. But if he doesn't come back within three days…"
"Three days?"
"Then it moves up to Enma's office, and he can move to officially request assistance from wherever Kurosaki-kun's run off to, or…" Tatsumi grimaced. "Well, we haven't gotten that far yet. The important thing is to keep sending ofuda messengers to try to pin him down. All he has to do is respond once, and we'll get more time."
"But Tatsumi, everyone's been sending them. Everyone!" Wakaba sighed. "Even the Hokkaido branch! But no one can get through."
"Didn't know the kid could generate a shield that powerful." Terazuma mused.
"It's not completely him. It's his shikigami." Tsuzuki stumbled in, leaning against the doorway. He looked haggard, as if he hadn't slept for days, pale and wan. The room fell quiet.
"Good for you to join the living. Dead." Terazuma twisted in his seat, craning his neck to get a look at Tsuzuki.
Tsuzuki ignored him. "It's…his shikigami. In Gensoukai, he'd go into battle without armor. Here…it translates to perfect shielding, which I think Hisoka wouldn't know was there. He'd have to think hard to take it down, because it's just a natural state of being for Kurikara…"
"Do we know what kind of shikigami this…uh, what was the name again?" Watari scratched his head, dislodging the little owl nesting in it. He flipped open his laptop and began typing.
"Kurikara. And I don't think he's parasitic, but I don't think he's a summon either." Tsuzuki shrugged. "Maybe something else?"
"I don't see how that's possible."
"I don't either." Tsuzuki sighed, melting into a chair as Tatsumi shepherded him into it. "I really don't. I mean…I don't think anyone's ever had Kurikara as a shikigami before, ever."
Watari looked up from his laptop. "Well, records don't go that far back. We've lost a lot of stuff over the years to fires, earthquakes…well, you and Terazuma…"
"Hey-" But Wakaba shushed Terazuma before he could say anything more.
Watari suddenly sat back, pleased with himself. "According to the Mother database, if a shikigami's never been a shikigami for a Shinigami before, there's a chance that they haven't settled into a summon or a parasitic type yet. Most tend to be inclined one way or the other, but the more powerful a shikigami is, the harder it is to determine. So until they do, they kind of have characteristics of both. Or neither. It's not very clear…"
Tatsumi cleared his throat, before anyone could say much more. "All right. I think at this point, we'll just have to wait and see. There's not much else we can do, until we have more information from Kurosaki-kun." But he caught Tsuzuki's eye.
Tsuzuki nodded minutely as the meeting broke up.
----
After an eternity of watching people slowly filter out, Tatsumi locked the door and sat down beside Tsuzuki.
"Should we check Sato-san's house?" Tsuzuki draped himself desolately over the edge of the conference room table.
"I don't know if it's come to that yet, but I don't think it's a bad idea." Tatsumi sighed, sagging a little into his chair. "It's been so long…since someone. Well…" He shrugged.
"I don't want to think that Enma's sent him." Tsuzuki hugged himself, cheek pressed against the worn, polished wood. "I don't. I remember the last one…"
"Kurosaki-kun will be fine." Tatsumi said it as if he believed in it strongly, which only made things worse.
"I hope so." But Tsuzuki didn't seem sure. "Will you go check for me?"
"Of course."
----
His eyes closed, half-dozing, he could feel the shadows of grass as the wind rustled through them, swaying. The sunlit porch smooth under his back, hard and unyielding, smelling faintly like polish.
The shadows changed, and without looking up, he knew who it was. What it was.
He opened his hand, and something soft was pressed into his palm. He opened his eyes and exchanged a quick glance with Enma's messenger, seeing the familiar gaping black void that threatened to swallow all light around it, wrapped in ceremonial robes like an empty puppet.
It was gone in a moment, and Sato sat up.
In his hand was a length of black ribbon, stitched with a cold, silver-white thread.
He wrapped it around his left wrist, tucking the ends in, and went inside to change. A few days, maybe a week. He would have to lock the doors.
----
Once, a great many years ago, a young page had asked him why he did not hunt like his peers, the other great Shinigami of his day, men and women who sharpened their skills with horseback riding and archery, hunting at game that kept them fed through the bleak days of winter when even tea ran short and had to be rationed. And thoughtlessly, he replied that he did hunt, only infrequently.
"And why is that, Sato-san?"
"Because it's been ten years or more since a Shinigami ran away."
The boy had grown pale and scurried away. And for many years, no one spoke to him readily. So he grew secretive and over time, as people moved on and were replaced, it was forgotten.
He didn't though. He could feel the weight of the black ribbon, heavy and cold against his wrist like a band of metal. Even when it wasn't there.
Sato had been on many hunts before. No one in Meifu could even remember that there was another before him, who had moved on after Sato had barely opened his eyes in shade of the sakura. It was a job for which there was no training, no warning. And he didn't even know it was his, until the blood was already on his hands.
Start by finding a trace. He found his way into Hisoka's little apartment, tidy beyond reason, striped sheets and cheerful sunflowers lining the window.
He stood for a moment, tall and gangly in his old uniform, pleats still as neat as the day he received them, empty black space circled in white where a family crest would be. Shinigami. That part never changed, though he hadn't brought a demon to justice or a soul to trial in nearly a century.
There, a sliver of shadow under the collar of a neatly folded pajama top. He touched the flannel for a moment, before picking off the shadow, rubbing it between his fingers.
He clamped his hands around it, and flattened it, grinding it like dust between his palms. It disappeared, and he brought it up to his nose.
It was like a scent. He could feel that shadow moving now, some distance away. Stopping to rest. He closed his eyes and could feel other shadows moving around it, an impression of the dark movement of the sea.
No matter what kind of shielding a man had, it couldn't protect him against a kagetsukai.
Sato left out of the apartment the same way he came in.
----
Hisoka felt a strange shiver, and he stood. As if prying eyes were looking for him. But he was alone. Nervously, he glanced and as the world tracked slower in one eye around him, he realized for a moment that he was seeing double.
And then himself, through his lost eye.
Startled, he stumbled back, falling hard onto the soft loamy earth.
"Why are you so scared? It's like you've never seen me before." Kurikara looked like an illusion, a glimmering fetch that wavered in the air before him. Hisoka could see the flickering of the distant ocean through him. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get up. We have to go."
"W-why?" Hisoka sounded hoarse to his own ears. He felt hoarse. As if he could sleep for a decade and wake up and still be tired.
"Can't you tell? Someone's looking for you. Someone powerful." But Kurikara looked more annoyed than nervous. "And I don't recognize this place. Where are we?"
"I don't know." And Hisoka finally started to realize that even the plants here were different. The flowers were tiny and yellow.
"Well, we had better keep moving. Come on." Kurikara reached out and took his hand, and Hisoka gasped feeling the strength of his grip. And then he felt a long pull, as if the inside of his guts were attached to a string and tugged sharply.
He found himself somewhere else.
It was barely a cabin, but it had a well. Hisoka found the winch and drew water, drinking thirstily. Cold, with the barest metallic bite. He wiped his chin with his hand.
"Better back up a bit there, son." The voice was firm, but gentle. It took Hisoka a moment to realize that though he didn't understand the words, he understood the intent. He turned slowly, and backed up, hands held out to show that he was unarmed.
Frayed straw hat, a stubbly blond chin, and piercing blue-gray eyes. And strangely dressed, like a haphazard cowboy. "Last month, I clipped a demon with this six-shooter. Sent it packing. Don't know what it'd do to you, but I figure you probably don't want to find out."
Hisoka stared at him blankly, not understanding the strange jumble of words. "I-I'm sorry…I didn't mean to trespass." He said it slowly, hoping the man could hear the contrition in his voice.
"Foreigner. But you don't look so foreign…" The man frowned, and holstered his pistol. "Come here." He waved Hisoka over.
Hisoka took a few steps forward hesitantly.
The man caught Hisoka's hand, and in a quick movement, sliced open the tip of his index finger with a pocketknife, taking a few drops of blood and bringing it up to his lips, tasting it with his tongue. He spoke a phrase, dark and guttural, before smearing the blood over his mouth. It glowed for a moment before soaking in and disappearing. "There. Now we can speak."
Hisoka stumbled back, tripping over a coil of rough rope, before catching himself on the stone edge of the well. "Black magic…" He rubbed his fingers together as the cut closed up on itself, healing instantly.
"What of it?" The man stood back, folding his switchblade neatly and tucking into his shirt pocket. "It's an old spell. A little blood magic, nothing dangerous."
"But…but it's forbidden. I thought-"
"Are you new here? I mean…you know. To the Deadlands. Uh, Purgatory. The Afterlife. Whatever people're calling it these days."
"Huh?"
"When'd you die?"
"Oh." Hisoka flushed, startled by the man's directness. "Um, a few years ago…"
"You're far from home then, aren't you?" The man frowned. "You from another country?"
"I'm Kurosaki Hisoka, second division. Based out of Kyushu. Uh...of the Summons Division? In…Japan?" Hisoka found himself at a loss for words, trying to figure out how much this man would know.
"Well…you've come pretty far." The man looked impressed. "You're in California now." He laughed. "My name's James." He offered Hisoka his hand to shake. "I'm a ranger, second class. Which means I keep this area safe. About a thousand square acres, plus or minus, mostly back hills. There're a couple towns, though they ain't much to look at in the Deadlands. If we went to the real world now, there'd be something to see. But mainly rangers like me, we just do buffer work out in these back hills."
"What's that?"
"We take care of the stuff that's run out of the big cities. Lots of trade goes on, and sometimes demons get in. And sometimes a demon can give the grim reapers the slip, and off it goes, out for the wilderness. So rangers like me track it down and make sure it doesn't go further. Network stretches all over the country. We got jurisdiction over all this country, from sea to shining sea." James smiled brightly. "Come on in, I'll make you some supper and you can tell me how you got here."
Dazed, Hisoka followed the stranger into his cabin.
It was surprisingly tidy and amazingly modern, though he couldn't tell how any of it was powered. James even had a laptop computer, set up on a rough-hewn split-log table. He opened the little refrigerator and tossed Hisoka a chilly bottle. "Have a drink, I gotta do some paperwork real quick. Let the bosses know what's going on." Taking off his hat and hanging it up revealed a head of unruly blond hair.
"But I don't drink beer…"
"It's just cream soda." James sat down on a woven-bottomed chair, and started typing away. "Not much of a drinker myself. Had plenty of that before I died."
"Oh." Hisoka looked out the streaky glass-paneled windows. "When did you die?"
"'Bout a hundred-sixty some years now, I think. I started off up in Frisco, chasing big bad uglies. Guess this is something like a retirement job." He grinned, sharing the joke, as he didn't look much older than Hisoka himself. "It's pretty good. They bring me taters and beefsteaks, and whatever else I want to eat, and all I gotta do is a little hunting and paperwork. I'm pretty much done with cities. Lost too many damn partners."
"I'm sorry. Doesn't it get lonely out here?"
"No, not at all." James propped his feet up on his table while he typed on his laptop. "I get visitors a lot around here. There're some Indians, been here ages and ages, that come by once in a while to use the telephone." He winked. "So what brings you to this neck of the woods?"
"I…I don't know. Just traveling, I guess." Hisoka stared at the cold bottle in his hands. "I'm not sure…what I'm going to do."
"How come? You're a grim reaper yourself, aren't you? I mean, you got that look. The hunting look." James nodded.
"I don't know what you mean." Hisoka felt himself go red, that squirming sickening shame welling up in his stomach. The hunting look.
Broken glass prickled at the edge of his vision, and when he looked at his hand, it was shaking.
"Haven't you ever hunted a demon? Shot it so it's bleedin' its guts out all black and viscous? Mind you, I'm no expert, but I've done my duty to my country…" James babbled on, and for a moment, Hisoka saw nothing but blackness.
He found himself sitting on a rough bench, shoulders against the log wall while James rattled on about a hunt long lost to history.
He could feel Kurikara inside him, like a good meal gone bad, taking his guilt, taking his shame, and turning it into something else.
Something colder and less caring.
He gasped, sitting up straight. No…he couldn't let that happen. He couldn't….
James tossed him a bottle opener, which he barely managed to catch, the sharp edge nicking against his palm. "There, sorry I forgot about that. Now you can have that drink." He peered closely at Hisoka. "You all right? You're looking kind of pale."
"Yes…yes. I'm fine. I'll be fine. I just need a moment to rest..." Hisoka opened the bottle mindlessly, handing the opener back to James. "Do you mind if I sit outside in the sun for a while?" He felt so cold that his bones hurt. Whatever Kurikara was doing…
"Sure thing. I gotta do some work here anyway. Check the bulletins and such." James nodded, and turned to the computer while Hisoka made a hasty escape out the front door.
Sunlight streamed down, pouring like rain and he felt blind for a moment. His left hand was cold, so cold, and it took him a long moment to realize that he was still gripping the soda.
Hisoka took a long drag and sat down on a flat rock downhill from the cabin.
He sat there a long time, until in the distance, the slowly setting sun seemed almost…almost to dye the ocean a deep purple.
"Tsuzuki. I'm sorry. I didn't…didn't mean to-"
----
Tsuzuki stared at the bento that Wakaba had made for him. Tiny pink hotdog octopi swam in a sea of rice sprinkled with sesame seeds and wakame. There was even a palm tree made of tuna and spinach, and a carrot carved with the rays of the sun. It was adorable, and smelled delicious and…
He pushed it aside, wondering when Tatsumi would be back.
"Tsuzuki-san."
"Oh, thank goodness." Tsuzuki stood up, pushing the chair back. Tatsumi glanced briefly at the uneaten bento, but didn't comment.
"He's not there. I think Enma DaiOh must have…" Tatsumi's jaw grew tight.
Tsuzuki visibly slumped. "How do you follow Sato-san? He's a kagetsukai…"
"You don't. It's not really something that a normal Shinigami can do."
Tsuzuki sighed. "So…it's hopeless, isn't it?" Tears threatened the corners of his eyes.
"I said normal. I didn't say you." Tatsumi shook his head. "Don't be so quick to give up hope. I know you can find him."
"Maybe." Tsuzuki scowled, trying to puzzle it out.
"Well," Tatsumi pondered, arms folded. "I think it stands to reason that if you can't track Kurosaki-kun by the normal methods…"
"Then I should try something abnormal?"
"I wasn't going to say that. More like, unconventional." Tatsumi adjusted his glasses. "Tell me, what are the usual methods of tracking?"
Tsuzuki sighed, and began counting them out on his fingers. "Messenger ofuda birds, tracking shiki…wait. Tracking shikigami. That's it!" He perked up brightly. "How do you track a shikigami that doesn't want to be found? With another shikigami!" He laughed. "I'm brilliant!"
Tatsumi arched an eyebrow. "What's this mad scheme of yours?"
"Come by the field behind my house later, and I'll show you. Give me about…oh, four hours." Tsuzuki winked. "No, three and a half. I'll see you then!" Tsuzuki grabbed his coat, and sprinted for the door.
"Don't forget your bento." Tatsumi held it up.
"Oh, almost forgot!" Tsuzuki ran back in and grabbed it, gobbling it as he ran out the door, leaving Tatsumi with a smile on his lips.
----
Sato stood on the rocky beach, the sound of the waves rolling against the stones like a rushing thunder.
He sat down on a patch of sand to rest. He had never flown so far before, not in a long, long time.
Tall grasses rustled by the wind, and gulls wheeled above him.
He took a long shaky breath. Everything ached. He drank from a hollow water-filled gourd, and looked out at the sea, wondering if these waters too teemed with dragons.
He felt old. It had been more than a generation since he had to do this last. Drawing up his sleeve, he fingered the black ribbon. The weight of it made his wrist ache. He unwound it and looked at it for a moment, spinning in the breeze, a delicate thing, really. Forcing away the urge to toss it to the sea, he wound it back around his wrist, tucking the ends in neatly.
He sat for a while, watching the fog roll in, a bank of heavy gray that threatened to swallow up the sky.
It reminded him of the days before he had come to this. When everything seemed so new and wonderful, when the people he loved were still… Still alive.
Finally, Sato got up as the tide began to rise. He could feel the shadow he was seeking. It had stopped, somewhere nearby. A day's journey, maybe. He'd walk the rest of the way.
----
Bundled up in musty sleeping bag, Hisoka listened to the sound of the strange foreign shinigami's soft snoring. Coals burned in the stove, scattering a low, warm light in the room.
He laid back, head on a lumpy pillow. It had been a strange night. Half-way through a dinner of stew meat and beans, a band of elderly Indians (at least, that's what James called them) accompanied by a scattering of freckle-faced farm children and a few hippies showed up to use the telephone, just as James had predicted. Mainly to order pizza. Which they ate at the foot of James' hill in the flickering light of a campfire, before heading off to whatever a 'drum circle' was.
He hugged the covers close as somewhere nearby, something howled long and low.
"You aren't scared, are you?"
Hisoka startled, just as Kurikara pressed a nearly transparent finger to his lips. Hisoka could just barely feel it, could barely sense its reality.
"Shhh…" Kurikara crouched by Hisoka, bone-pale swords sheathed like two tusks on his back. "I just thought you could use the company. You can't sleep, can you?"
Hisoka shook his head. Kurikara dropped to his knees, looking at Hisoka with mismatched eyes. His eye…
Hisoka shivered a little.
Kurikara smiled faintly. "Don't you think the sacrifice was worth it? A high-class shikigami…the highest class shikigami."
"No…" But they both knew it was a lie.
"You can't stay here. Someone's looking for you. Someone powerful."
"Who is it?" A panicky jolt of energy went through him, curling up in his stomach. Was it Tsuzuki…?
"It's not Tsuzuki." Kurikara gave him a bored look. "I don't know who this one is. I've never seen him before. But his eyes are cold and pale, and he feels like death. Like…a shadow under a storm cloud."
"How do you know that?" Hisoka's eyes widened, and he wondered who it could be.
"Because my powers are your powers. And your powers…are mine too. I just have a greater range than you." Kurikara smirked at him. "Duh."
"What does that mean?" Hisoka could feel a bubbling of anger deep inside of him.
"You'll see…" Kurikara smirked, sitting back on his heels.
"You have to explain--" Hisoka began, and then suddenly shut his mouth as Kurikara disappeared and James sat up, his flannel pajamas wrinkled, rubbing his eyes as his cell phone beeped and beeped.
"Aw, hell." He looked at it with a yawn. "We got critters. A real bad one, just killed a maintenance guy at a local airport." He scratched himself somewhere impolite, and Hisoka looked away with a blush. "My jurisdiction this time; didn't even come out of the big city. Dang, and I was having the best dream."
"Do you have to hunt it then?" Hisoka fiddled with the zip on the bedroll.
"Sure do. Hey, you want to come along? Can always use an extra pair of eyes on a hunt." James got up, turning the light on. He dressed quick and efficient, back turned to Hisoka to give him a little privacy.
"Okay." Hisoka crawled out of bed, a glint of determination in his eye. If Kurikara wouldn't explain it, then he would at least try to find out what the shikigami meant.
"You know how to fire a gun?" James loaded his weapons, one at a time, a pair of pistols, a shotgun, and strapped a hunting knife to his belt.
"Yeah. I had lessons."
"Then here, take this." He pressed a well-oiled pistol into Hisoka's hand. It was heavy and cold, and the weight and smell of the dark magic was nearly enough to daze Hisoka. "Try that out. And just remember, don't nip nothing that ain't a demon, or there'll be hell to pay."
Hisoka turned the gun in his hands, and he could see the tiny etching of magic over the black metal, curving and sinuous, like a parasitic vine strangling a tree. He shivered, remembering the last time he had held a gun. Tsubaki-hime's eyes had been bright with pain. The ship had swayed under his feet, groaning as it-
"Uh…Do you have a holster I could use?"
"Here, take the spare. It's new, got it as a gift a couple years back, but I like my old ones."
And when Hisoka put it on, he was surprised that it wasn't that big. And only now did he realize that James was a small man, not much taller or heavier than he was.
"Come on." James tugged on a heavy canvas coat, and shouldered his shotgun. "If we wait too long, it'll cross county lines, and we'll miss our chance."
----
Cold moonlight lit the dirt paths over the hills, but there were many little valleys and hollows shaded with oak trees and bramble, so dark that it seemed that even shadows were swallowed away. They had flown part of the way to make up time, but they were close. Hisoka could smell the blood, and splatters of it sprinkled the dust here and there as they searched.
"Usually trackin's easier by daylight, but you know, no demon's much for daylight…" James chatted amiably. "Hey, mind if I ask a question?"
"No, I don't mind…" Hisoka closed his eyes, wishing the man could stay quiet for more than a minute so he could concentrate. He stretched out his senses, feeling for that black ravenous…
"Just wondering, why do you got them marks on you? Ain't never seen an unholy circle that big on a living thing."
"Wh-what?" Jolted out of his thoughts, Hisoka could just about feel his senses snap back like a broken rubber band.
"Well, see here, look." James rolled up his sleeve, and closed his eyes for a moment. A circle of spiraling red and strange characters about the size of a large coin appeared on his left forearm for a moment before disappearing. "Put this on myself, about two years into the hunting. Makes me invisible to stuff that can sense things. Demons, mostly, or sensitives. They can't see me coming. But yours is all over you."
"It was…it was from before I died." Hisoka shrugged. "I don't really…talk about it much." Quickly, he glanced up again at the moon, and felt a little tingling calmness go over him realizing that it was just as it should be, cool and white.
"Then I guess it don't mean that it's making you impervious to bullets then." James frowned, leaning against his shotgun. "But you should get it off. I'm no expert, but it could be leeching energy from you. If that's the way you died, that is. Don't mean to pry."
"It's not like I haven't tried." He could hear the bitterness in his voice, and he sighed. "So how do you…uh…'get it off?'" Hisoka glanced over.
"Kill the caster's one." James began ticking them off on his fingers. "That takes care of a lotta troubles, unless your life's tied to the caster's. Or die yourself. But I ain't never seen a circle pass on from life to here. Guess it must be unusual strong."
"Guess so." Hisoka scowled, kicking a rock until it clattered over the edge of a ravine. He could feel the anger prickling up inside of him, and he just wanted to slap this stupid, chattering monkey of a Shinigami…
"Well, maybe you could get a black goat kid with 'em twisty horns and- oh fuck it!" James suddenly dived into some thorny scrub as a black shadow winged up, and up…and…
Hisoka's jaw dropped as the demon blackened the night sky, blotting out the stars, the moon…
Its fangs dripped black, and he could feel the lives it had consumed, writhing inside it, souls damned to an eternity of torment.
The sound of a shotgun blasting close by, but the demon seemed only to reform around the wound, as though it meant nothing.
He could hear James calling him, telling him to run, to duck, cursing him…but the sound seemed to fade away as the demon loomed over him, drawing closer and closer, until he could feel cold dead blood spattering against his upturned face.
He could feel his hands move. The forms came to him as if breathing, and his lips…the invocation…
Kurikara coiled a brilliant red against the darkness, bone-white fangs tearing and gnashing at the demon. He could feel the blackness tattering, ripping; he could taste the acid blood…
"Envelop!" His voice seemed to come from so far away. And Kurikara coiled around the demon, crushing it…and then slowly began to eat it, swallowing it whole, the black poison of evil magic churning and churning, until it alchemized into something else, a pure white energy that flowed through the shikigami. It burned inside Hisoka, and he could feel himself screaming with the raw power of it.
And his fangs were Kurikara's, and his eyes flamed with an intense light and…
Hisoka blacked out.
-----
"Mphgh." Something cold and wet was brushing against his face, and he pushed at it. "Nnrgh, stop it, Tsuzuki…stupid…" Hisoka blinked his eyes open, realizing he was back in the cabin, and on James' simple cot, propped up on pillows.
"Holy shit. You uh, okay?" James patted his cheek with a wet handkerchief, wiping off the last traces of blood.
"Yeah…yeah." Hisoka sat up blearily. "What happened?" He rubbed his head. He felt strangely full, as if he had consumed a big dinner. A big crab dinner, shell and all. "Ugh…" He pressed his hand against his stomach.
"Uh, that dragon. That was your doing, wasn't it?" James looked worried, fingering his gun. "Because I don't think I could fight something like that if it wanted a piece of me…"
"Oh, that? Yeah. Kurikara. My shikigami." Hisoka yawned, and rubbed his jaw. It felt sore. "He's not dangerous." But just then he remembered the electric thrill of the power flowing through him, the way he had loomed over the demon and felt how insignificant it was compared to Kurikara's awesome power...
And the way his heart pounded when he realized that it was beyond his control, that once he had summoned Kurikara, once he had given him the command, Kurikara's will had subsumed his for a brief instant, writhing out of his grasp like angry cat.
An instant long enough to devour a demon whole.
Hisoka could feel his hands trembling.
"Well, he sure ripped the ever-loving shit out of that demon. I wouldn't say that's not dangerous." James looked awed, humbled. He tucked Hisoka in nervously. "Um…I sorta picked you up and took you back. Sorry. I mean, if it wasn't what you wanted…" He backed away minutely.
"No, no. It's all right. I'm okay. Thanks…" Hisoka smiled weakly. "I appreciate it."
"Uh…er…well… I had best fill my report, before I get cited for uh…dereliction or something…" James scuttled over to his computer, focusing his attention on it.
The cabin grew quiet but for the slow sound of the keyboard as James laboriously typed up his report.
It took a while for Hisoka to realize how empty it was without the other Shinigami's chatter.
Notes: Thanks to RubyD and Jekka for help, beta-reading, fact-checking…everything, really. Sato can also be seen in The First Death. But he's a little different here.