Disclaimer: I do NOT own Yu Yu Hakusho, nor do I own its characters.

Author's Note: Sorry for the wait. Here's another chapter. If nothing makes sense, it will eventually… Well, kind of. You'll see.

WIDE AWAKE

A loud panging resounded in his head, a sensation that felt like a power drill boring through his skull. Instinctively, the man clutched at his head and shielded his ears, as if that would block out the sudden, loud and piercing ring. He cringed from a searing pain when those waves had crashed into his tympanums.

"I'm sorry…" He managed to make sense of words, which echoed in his awareness. "…But ever since she had left, he's never been the same… And that incident did not make matters any better than what they were."

Other, more familiar voices scratched at his mind.

"Why did she leave him?" This question pierced his mind.

"Hn… She became afraid of him...after what he did, after realizing what he was. But that's just half of it; she can't stand the sight of him. She can't bring herself to gaze upon him, not even a glance. She won't come here, not even near here."

He then heard a spurt of laughter. "He took a nosedive from 'ugly' to 'ugliest'!"

"How could you say that? What they did to him is unforgiveable! He wallowed there in his own damn blood for fuck sakes, bleeding from head to toe, stripped of his own dignity! And I don't care what any of you say; those nut jobs got what they deserved!"

When having heard this next statement, it became known that the prior assertion had been clearly pushed aside; "Seriously, who could blame her? Then again, I wouldn't be caught dead with the likes of him. Why couldn't he see that she merely took pity on him? I mean, how selfish can that useless bastard be? How could he expect her to love him? That's asking for far too much, especially when she's way beyond his league!"

"Love is a two way street, bitch."

"What's love got to do with mating? Hello? Love doesn't exist; it's just a chemical reaction in the brain! He's a doctor, he should know this by now… Obviously, he was bent on forcing her into that wretched bonding ritual, and all because of her looks. What a perverted prick! He should have left her alone and stayed in his class. Why would a goddess pair off with…that? She has rights and he violated them! Moreover, he still has it in his head that demons are fiends, while overlooking what he is and what he's done! So, NO, he got what he deserved! Served him right to be sacrificed! He's a monster!"

"Now, I hear what you're saying, even though it's clear that you're off your fucking rocker… So I must ask you this: does the punishment fit the crime? ...True, he was always so unlike her, or the others for that matter. This matter only proves the obvious, that she needs to be with her own kind. She DID try to leave him before the incident, remember?"

A cold breeze washed through him suddenly, only he felt as though he was on fire.

"You should have stayed out of this war." Another familiar voice entered into his reality. "You have no business being here."

"He can't hear you. He's in a coma brought on by his own delirium."

"No. You're wrong. He's finding himself, is all. You're wrong."

"...That idiot. He should have stayed away."

"We're losing him!"

"I'm afraid that I must beg to differ…" said yet another. "Kazuma Kuwabara is dead..."

"…He's been dead."

"Yet another victim in this so-called war. Ugh."

"…That's not what killed him, though it could have attributed toward his demise. Nevertheless, the man you once knew is dead and has been for some time, and for another reason…and what lies before you now was not even remotely human."

"Life killed him."

A moment had passed before he found himself staring upward, his dizzy eyes scanning every detail in the white above. He mentally traced a number of the great white's threads before he had recognized it for what it was.

He remained still for another moment's time until it dawned upon him that he was no longer standing but lying in a horizontal position. A beat passed as he shifted his fingers with intent, his first attempt to recognize the surface beneath him. As he managed to coil one finger, ever so slightly, he realized a profound stiffness in his joints. His body was throbbing yet numb and unable to feel the coolness of the material, or any feature in the cradle. And it was not until confusion had settled in that he understood how stiff the skin and muscles were, particularly the meat on his facial bones, so much so that he was unable to shift an eyebrow or bat a single eyelid.

Actually, his eyes felt irritated and bare. What was more, he felt as though a bus had literally rolled over him, soaked him in petroleum and then set him aflame…and yet he felt cold, so deaden.

That was when something clicked in his brain. No, he literally felt a profound snap behind his eyes.

Then and only then did he comprehend completely that he was no longer standing in a street, nor was he in the stance he was in last, or so he recalled. But there was that familiar stench. Still circulating within eddies of air...was that reeking scent of decay.

As his nails scratched at the surface below, he summoned every ounce of his energy and pushed himself into an upright position. And as he rose into a hunch, the white veil fell away from his eyes; that part of the fabric having settled over his lap.

A husky sigh escaped him, one of which tapered out into a burbling growl.

Gathered around him were machines with faces, though they stood mostly to his left while they and he were enveloped in white… It was a room of white, though the paint on the walls was marred with taint and crackled with age. There was a sound beyond the door, a loud wailing and echoing chatter. It was such a peculiar looking door, one of steel rather than wood. There was also a window in this door, and this window was covered with a thick screen. And after having gazed around, he realized that there were no synthetic lights, there were no fixtures above him, and that the only source of light there to be found peered in through the small, barred window to his upper right.

As he tried to narrow his gaze, he was reminded of the stiffness in his face while his eyes ached and those muscles tingled with pain. Mechanically, he reached up with his right hand and touched the surface of his cheek. And he experienced, what he could, a waxy film and a thin meshed material overlapping the features of his face.

His fingertips pricked at the gauze. He felt for an edge as his nails clawed at the material.

Whines whirled and bubbled up from within his throat. He became more anxious by every passing second as he tore away the dressings, making use of both his hands. As his eyes shifted frantically, he began to panic, having noticed the thick straps linked to his bedstead. And as he peeled away the remainder of the cloth, his fingers traced and brushed against rough features, feeling the parts of his mouth and nose only to make a horrifying discovery.

A wail thundered as he emptied his lungs, his voice seared with torment, while his vision shuddered along with the room.

Seconds later, a clatter of footsteps came fast and nearer. Consumed by his misery, he had lost all sense of time and failed to see the shadows that loomed in and invaded his space. And he writhed and thrashed against those menacing figures as they latched themselves upon him, exerting themselves as they fought to hold him down and to keep him in place.

All around him, they were screaming. Their screams were perhaps directed at him, or perhaps directed at one another, or maybe all the above?

Suddenly enraged by their efforts, and their lack of empathy, he slammed a hand into one creature's face. At that very moment, he felt their bones crack under the force of his blow, and then shortly marveled at his fingertips coated in a fresh red. Such a feeling brought him such pleasure, and it continued to do so as he witness that being stumbled back and crash onto the floor. And this was more than a simple reaction, that feeling of triumph he received when defeating a rival, instead it was a sense of elation akin to sexual gratification…

…Or perhaps better?

More of them came and circled around him, while others gathered around their fallen one. And he continued to resist as they struggled with him, determined to overpower him.

Having lost his patience, he summoned his best sword and, with great intent, slashed through them…all of them.

…TO BE CONTINUED…

Inside Note: All insanity is thus, and is the reason by the previous six chapters lack sense and why this one seems so random. Quite often our dreams make little to no sense to the logical mind, and oftentimes it's our subconscious talking to us. For Kazuma, his mind was combing through his memories and pointing out what it believed to be significant.

The story is an attempt to write from the perspective of a broken mind. It's not parody of Silent Hill. (Gotchya! But seriously, did you think I would want to give away the plot?)

"Demons" by Brian McFadden is to blame.

Also, I edited this chapter because I had found errors.