Disclaimer: PoT is not mine.

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Without further ado, onward!

Twenty – three

Tezuka stared in frozen horror as Mori's body hit the snow-covered ground with a dull thud. Sprinkles of blood, almost invisible in the dim light, covered the rock she had been sitting on – now it hid her from view. His brain frantically tried to collect his scattered thoughts, to find something to hold onto among this chaos, but he couldn't even think straight.

Couldn't make sense of what he was seeing.

"Humans can die," Nakayama was saying, his voice grave and unforgiving, "And as she is mostly human right now, this demon, too, can die."

What should he…

Nakayama sounded satisfied – and Tezuka did not know what to feel.

Snow crunched underneath his boots as he stepped closer to Tezuka. The heavy footsteps barely penetrated the haze enveloping Tezuka's mind. He didn't turn around, even when Nakayama had almost reached him.

She had offered him a way to save Fuji.

Or had that been a trap? He was certain any deal she offered had to be faulty, yet had she – as her words had implied – known a way to bring Fuji back? Could he bring Fuji back without her help?

A foreign burning tingled in his fingers – this wasn't a question of capacity any longer. Should blunt force be needed, he had ample to provide, but without anybody to guide his actions he had no idea what to do. Even the faint instinct that firmly reminded him that yes, in spite of everything modern medicine taught him, Fuji wasn't beyond saving, remained silent.

And a part of him felt distinctly upset at Nakayama's actions.

"Are you alright, Kunimitsu?" Nakayama inquired, "Did she do anything to you?"

Numbly, Tezuka shook his head.

"Looks as if I arrived just in time then," he sighed, and Tezuka saw his shoulders relax from the corner of his eye. The gun remained in plain sight, loosely held at his side. "You probably know, but that creature was rather dangerous. Even without her powers, she could have caused no little damage, and…"

"What is going on here?" Fuji Yumiko's eyes were wide, betraying the calm tone of her voice. Her glance strayed from Tezuka, to the blood-sprinkled snow behind him. The large rock hid Mori-san's body from view, but as Yumiko caught sight of the gun in Nakayama's hand, she could put the pieces together.

Tezuka had never heard her arrive – the characteristic clacking of her high-heeled boots must have been completely swallowed by the snow.

"Fuji-san," Nakayama raised his voice, cool and collected, "It has been quite a while. Forgive me if I forgo the formalities, but I believe this affair is rather pressing."

Tezuka could only watch in tense silence as Yumiko firmly pressed her lips together. "Nakayama-san," she replied, sounding almost hostile, "Though it has indeed been some time, I rather agree with your suggestion."

She turned to Tezuka so fast, that the light layer of snow that had collected on her coat flew off. "Tezuka-kun, did something happen?"

Abruptly Tezuka felt very uncomfortable under the intense stares of both, Yumiko and Nakayama. A part in him resented the sensation – they should cower before him! – but he swallowed and forced himself to concentrate on the matter at hand.

"The demon, she approached me and offered a way to… return him," Tezuka haltingly said. The words wouldn't come to him. The gun in Nakayama's hand was making him more nervous with each passing minute.

The relaxed way the man held the weapon, his uncaring attitude toward the demon; it left an odd taste in his mouth. He wanted to at least look at its body, just to make sure he wasn't going to be attacked from behind. But Nakayama appeared entirely unconcerned.

Unconsciously Tezuka made to flex his fingers in his pockets, and found them stiff. Yumiko nodded at him, obviously waiting for him to continue.

"The offer… sounded convincing, though I was suspicious. Then…" he glanced to Nakayama.

The elderly man offered a slight smile – the first Tezuka saw on his face this day, and it made him appear a lot more sympathetic, all of a sudden. When he was younger, he had looked up to this man, for his knowledge and wisdom.

Nakayama still understood more of this affair than he did, Tezuka realized, regardless of the man's late arrival on the scene. However he wasn't quite sure how far he could trust him anymore.

Something, a small voice in the back of his head told him, had fundamentally changed.

"The creature probably had quite a tempting offer, and as outright refusal in face of those is often difficult, I took care of the situation," Nakayama explained without batting an eyelash.

Yumiko appeared utterly unimpressed. "You shot it," she stated, not minding the snow that began to collect on her coat and hair. The small ice crystals glittered in the sparse light – and indeed, the pale light of the few lanterns was reflected on the snow-covered ground as well – making everything even more surreal than it was.

Running along palm trees and tall bushes in that pocket dimension had felt more real. Tezuka shook his head. He was tired, confused, exhausted, and desperate – but he couldn't allow his emotions to addle his brain.

Not when this was his very last chance to save Fuji.

"Yes. From what I could discern, the gun was likely to be effective. As you, Fuji-san, are quite aware, that that what is human is best taken care of with human methods," Nakayama's benign smile had a rather cool edge to it.

Tezuka shuddered, and glanced toward the dark ice of the small pond.

They were wasting time, he realized.

And hadn't the last time he had just stood by and watched things play out cost Fuji his life in the end? Hadn't he sworn not to let this happen again?

"Indeed," Yumiko returned, but Tezuka never heard the rest of her answer, as he stepped around the stone.

Mori's body lay in an odd position, the upper part turned slightly sideways. Her features had morphed, no longer resembling the little old lady, but rather the tall, tanned woman Tezuka had encountered in that pocket dimension.

Blood covered the front of her coat, and drenched the snow around her. Her eyes were shut, her expression peaceful – and she looked as harmless, as the real Mori had been when alive. For a split second Tezuka wondered how she had turned out like this –

Then he detected small clouds rising from her lips.

"She's alive," he called, interrupting the strained conversation between Nakayama and Yumiko. Both hurried over, studying the motionless body with equally unfeeling eyes.

"It won't last long," Nakayama finally said, "We might just as well finish it right now."

Yumiko pressed her lips together. "I'm well aware of your reasoning, Nakayama-san, and I'm not inclined to protest. Though I must request you to allow me a private conversation with Tezuka-kun first."

"Normally I wouldn't even dream of refusing such a request," Nakayama immediately replied, "Though knowing what I do, and in light of your brother's unfortunate involvement, I'm quite afraid allowing a private conversation might implicate serious consequences for Kunimitsu. As a friend of the family, I'm afraid I cannot allow that to happen."

Yumiko's glare turned icy. "But as you should be well aware, the procedure to save my brother's life doesn't necessarily pose a risk to Tezuka-kun. Furthermore, I do believe that Tezuka-kun is quite capable of making his own decision."

Tezuka wanted to agree, but Nakayama was faster. "Fuji-san, forgive me for being blunt, but your brother is dead. It is a tragedy indeed, but no earthly method is capable of bringing him back. Please consider this, before risking another life."

For a moment Tezuka's heart stopped.

Why was Nakayama saying those unforgiving words? Didn't he know that … condemning Fuji to death right now would also kill Tezuka? Maybe not directly, maybe not at once, but Tezuka did not know how he could ever continue living his life should Fuji die tonight.

"I'm afraid we won't reach an agreement concerning this matter, Nakayama-san," Yumiko replied evenly, "While it is true that no earthly method can restore my brother's life, he most certainly isn't dead yet. And I don't see why we shouldn't at least try to save him – as the situation stands, Tezuka-kun's life is hardly at risk."

"Your argumentation would sound logical if I didn't know better. Please try to consider the long-term effects of your suggestion, Fuji-san. Using those methods is what produces things like this," he nodded at Mori's still body, "You know, this thing was once a human girl. One with some unusual abilities, just a bit above average,"

He made a pause there, and Tezuka swallowed in chilly anticipation. Yumiko's face, he noticed, was utterly, totally blank.

It seemed they weren't having this conversation for the first time.

"Turned into a demon by using those methods you're suggesting to use right now. She used to be a human girl," he tilted his head, "Not unlike you, Fuji-san."

Oppressive silence froze them all to their places – Tezuka barely dared to breathe. Was Nakayama implying that…? The demon was human, or that Fuji Yumiko was a demon? He couldn't feel his fingers, and the icy air burned in his lungs.

A gust of wind blew a few snowflakes into his face, and he heard Yumiko take a deep breath. Her voice, when she spoke again, was darkly amused – it sent shudders down Tezuka's spine, and dragged dreary memories out of their abyss.

"Oh, that is such a low blow, Nakayama-san. I'm quite disappointed – I had hoped for a more logical argument from you," she shook her head, sending several snowflakes flying.

Tezuka swallowed. Bit his lips. His eyes strayed to the motionless figure on the ground near him. The spread of blood had slowed significantly, but her chest kept rising and falling.

He turned back to Yumiko.

"I'm well aware that you belong to that fraction that believes that the use of all that is considered 'unearthly' is the evil at the core, and over long or short must blacken the user's heart and turn them into something no longer human," she said, almost chuckling, and the hairs on Tezuka's arms were standing, "That might have well been the case with her. However, you should know as well as I do, that there is no proof for this theory."

She took a step into his direction. "And to be frank, you only know the theory. Or did you ever actually experience how it is to be gifted, or to make use of such 'unearthly' powers?"

Tezuka took a deep breath. This conversation was headed into a territory he was unaware of, one he couldn't deal with – one that extended to a scope far beyond the actual situation.

Though trying to figure out the greater background wasn't helping Fuji.

He was nervous, uncertain, anxious. The situation was beyond his understanding, didn't resemble anything he ever had to deal with before, and no textbook, no wise words, no ancient teachings had ever prepared him to face this.

But looking at the red blood spreading around the demon's still body, he knew time was running out.

A part of him longed to take action.

Somewhere hidden deep in his subconscious were the methods to make use of the powers he had been given. The knowledge was there, even if he couldn't rationally access it – but if he just stretched out a hand, moved a finger, he would know what to do.

It was a strange, frightening sensation.

So unlike everything he had experienced before. Control over every movement; from his eyebrows to his toes, had accompanied him through all his life. If he just concentrated, he knew exactly what muscle to move if he wanted to – say – curl one of his toes, and none of the others.

This wasn't like that.

He couldn't logically contemplate the possibilities and boundaries of his new capacities. He might lift his hand to see nothing change; he might lift his hand to see the tree in front of his burst into fire.

Neither Nakayama, nor Yumiko could do that.

And yet they were arguing what he was capable of.

Or were they?

Tezuka blinked. He didn't like the situation a bit – he didn't understand the powers he was using, nor did he have anybody to ask about them. But for once his logical mind agreed with what those foreign instincts suggested.

Take action.

Knowledge would come to him in due time.

Turning away from the conversation, Tezuka stepped toward the pond. The ice glittered menacingly in the darkness; black, and thin – promising to crack immediately under his feet.

It would be more than embarrassing should this backfire.

Tezuka shook his head. Concentrated on blue skies, foreign building, olive trees and Fuji's smile. He closed his eyes, envisioning the scenery of a place as distant as it was unreal.

"Tezuka-kun!" somebody yelled; and, "Stop, Kunimitsu!"

Stepped on the ice, and the world shifted.

The sky was blue, yet the sun lacked the warmth Tezuka remembered. He hadn't fallen into the pool, but appeared right next to it. The water looked dull, uninviting, and something in the atmosphere seemed to have shifted.

When he glanced around, he found that the plants had begun to wilt.

Probably because the creator of this dimension was dying, a part of his mind whispered, and if she died, the place would crumble.

Tezuka did not question that knowledge. A quick look across the tall hedges revealed that the scenery beyond – those desert-like mountains – had been swallowed by a thick fog.

The dimension was already falling apart.

With a frown Tezuka turned, and began to follow a familiar path, through tall hedges and past slowly dying flowers. Some of those spotless marble tiles now sported cracks; their surfaces dusty and old. He couldn't help but shudder, and start moving faster.

The flowers would make a good reference; that foreign part of his mind suggested, their state of decay was a good indicator of the remaining time. They'd wilt first – the roses would turn grey, then black. Only then they would start losing their petals, and slowly turn to dust.

And once they were gone, the dimension would have disappeared.

With everything and everybody within lost forever.

Tezuka could only pray time would suffice.

He spotted the building; a dull glow still retained by the golden ornaments. The crumbled remains of the wall cluttered his way, yet allowed him to easily access the inside. He took care when he made his way in – a sprained ankle wasn't something he could afford right now, and his eyes needed to get used to the dim light.

Dust covered virtually every surface within. Strewn furniture, books, little knick-knacks he had never noticed – but he didn't allow himself to linger, no matter how tempting the assorted items appeared to his newly gained senses.

Finally he spotted Fuji – an unmoving heap toward the back of the chamber. A sense of unease befell him, and it was with baited breath that Tezuka approached the still figure.

There wasn't much difference between the Fuji he had seen lying lifelessly on a hospital bed, and the one in this dimension. The face was pale, almost white, and even the bright red of the blood surrounding him had faded underneath layers of dust.

Tezuka tilted his head. It wasn't just dust; the blood had clotted – and if he wasn't mistaken, it had done the same on the wound on Fuji's body.

An important detail, the little voice whispered, though the logical part of Tezuka's mind couldn't quite figure out how. Even if the wound would have been completely healed, Fuji was still dead. His friend's chest wasn't moving, and Tezuka knew that he wouldn't find a pulse.

Where to go from here on?

He sank to his knees, reached out and carefully brushed a strand of hair from Fuji's face. The skin under his fingers was soft, but cool, and no muscle moved. This wasn't going to work like it did in the fairy tales; the princess wasn't going to magically wake up at her prince's arrival.

And didn't the prince have to kiss her awake, anyway?

For a split second Tezuka's eyes strayed to Fuji's lips – circumstances made the action no longer appear as strange to him as it might have usually, but a part of him was convinced this method wasn't going to work.

There hadn't been a dragon in this fairy tale, after all.

Desperately, Tezuka let his hand linger on Fuji's cheek, wrecking his brain to find a method. What were those foreign instincts telling him to do, what suggested that voice whispering at the corners of his mind?

The blood on the ground might have clotted, but parts of it were still wet.

What…

Tezuka blinked.

Liquid. Signified portals.

He had arrived in this dimension through water.

Could he…

Was this…

The tingling in his fingers grew stronger. He had seen her do it, once. Hasegawa's blood had covered large parts of the floor of the student council office. There had been the contents of a water bottle added to it, but…

Blood was liquid.

Was this another door?

There was nothing else he could think of; no other desperate measure his exhausted mind could come up with. So Tezuka steeled his nerves, swallowed down the nausea.

And brought his hand down.

When Tezuka opened his eyes, he found himself on a shore.

The sea was a dull grey, bordering on stormy, mirroring the overcast sky. Even the sand appeared grey, and the scenery stretched as far as he could see. There were no animals, buildings, or even trees.

Just the sea.

What was this place? What weird dimension had he transported himself to? Did this mean he had committed the ultimate screw-up? Had now all been for naught, and he hadn't just lost Fuji's, but his own life as well?

Had he…

"Tezuka!" a familiar voice called out from behind him, "What on earth are you doing here?"

And Tezuka turned around to see Fuji's approaching him.

tbc

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