Chapter 7

Kurama laid on the floor of his cell covered sweat and other fluids. His red hair was matted against his face, and clung to his back almost like a second skin. Bright red marks marred the porcelain skin, old bruises and wounds laid below the marks.

Slowly, almost invisible to the naked eye, his back rose and fell steadily. His breathing was shallow, but it wasn't irregular. Yomi stood in the doorway, looking down on his old friend quietly. Given the events of the last few hours, the demon's face was devoid of emotion.

Kurama's eyes opened slowly. He winced slightly against the pain of his sore muscles having laid against the cold stone for the last hour. He moved himself slowly, careful not to bring himself more pain than he had already endured. When he finally looked up at his old friend standing in the doorway a hint of emotion flashed on the old demon's face.

A slight twitch of agitation that most people wouldn't pick up on.

Inwardly, Kurama smiled. Outwardly, he stood before his old friend with a stoic expression on his face. They stood there, for long silent moments. Much was said, much was expressed, in the end, Kurama bowed deeply.

"I can not pretend to be something I am not," he stated quietly.

"No, my old friend… you cannot," Yomi acquiesced. The elder demon turned away from his old friend and left the cell.

The wide open door kept silent watch over Kurama as he clothed himself. Rags, really, at this point, but enough for him to make his way out of the cell. Clothes were waiting for him beside a warm bath in a room where no one would bother him - not even Yomi.

The point had been made, and now the board was laid out differently. Kurama would not follow, nor would he lead. The path he walked would be his own, and every step he took would be his. No one, not Yomi, Yusuke, Hiei, or anyone else would ever be a position to force him to do that which he did not want to do.

Holding no ill-will toward Yomi and having no intentions of changing his own plans, Kurama stepped from the bathroom refreshed, and well-dressed.

He would do what he felt he had to. And accept the consequences of his actions regardless of the outcome.

Maybe, just maybe, this would allow him to atone as he wished.

~ Fin