Dark Adaptation

by Hickok

NEW CONTENT ADDED! Bound to the eternal contract, can a life of sin be so easily shed? Muraki has all that he desires, yet so much remains unanswered. What manner of darkness unfurled between the walls of Muraki manor? Muraki x Tsuzuki and Oriya x Watari

20. Tsuzuki: Be all my Sins Remember'd Pt: 3

Dark Adaptation

Disclaimer: It is not mine. Descendants of Darkness, that is. Dark Adaptation is mine. Even the psychological term is mine. I also own one dog, a Queen sized bed, one noisy rumbling laptop, a rather twitchy eyebrow and one glass of caffeine.

Tsuzuki

"Mitkiel!" Watari hissed and I heard the hatred in that word. "You murdering bastard! You're supposed to be dead!"

"Gentle, sweet Yutaka." The boy soothed, waving a hand placidly. "Raise your voice and you never know what you might wake up in here." His face was slightly insidious in the awning of the shadows. "Some nightmares don't sleep so well if you know what I mean…"

Watari drew back from him, face ashen and mouth drawn down into an aggressive little drawl. Something Mitkiel had said, didn't sit with him too well. But this wasn't my concern at the moment. I was convinced that the person before me was Pandora. And the name Mitkiel hadn't gone unnoticed by me, either.

A week or so ago in the cinema, when Muraki and I had been attacked by the demon Balban, he had issued us the opening line; "Mitkiel sends his best." And Pandora had more than once referred to this demon as his 'master'. I was so concerned over the fate of this boy, practically unknown to me but who had been so sweet and innocent, I couldn't help this feeling of attachment.

"Mitkiel," I called stepping forward and lowering my hands to show that I meant no harm. The boyish features didn't even shift at my approach. "You sent the daemon Balban to intercept myself and Muraki, didn't you?"

Mitkiel inclined his head, only the smallest semblance of a nod.

"Indeed, I did. I told him to bring you to me, so that I might make you my mate." His lips curled up into that callous little smile again. "It was wicked, I know, to lie to my own servants about my true intentions. But a great many minor demons do not appreciate my taste for the more subtle approach to admonishing my prey."

"You've had dealings with this guy?!" Watari snapped, his expression positively livid. I wasn't sure if he was angry with me or Mitkiel, or both.

"Yeah, ever since Pandora turned up, his name is becoming disturbingly frequent." I said, looking back towards my blond haired friend. "You seem to know him too. What's going on, Watari?"

Watari snorted contemptuously out of his nose. He sounded like an ill-mannered horse. "The first time I was zapped into that figurative basement, Pandora mentioned that name. So I looked into it but nothing much has come of it. I can only rationalize from his presence here, that Mitkiel is the one accountable for the murders in Kokakuro!"

"How do you make that connection?" I mumbled, trying to keep our conversation discretely veiled from the small demon. Watari pointed with a not quite steady finger to the sigil scrawled on the huge veil above the altar. It meant nothing to me. I couldn't read demonic scripture.

"That," he began, "-is the marking drawn on the floor beneath the dead girls bodies. You don't have to be a fucking genius to thread the connection there."

Mitkiel mused thoughtfully, chin resting on his crooked index finger. "Ah… very good. You recognized the Sigil of Judgment. You realize of course that it pertains to my chosen servants? My Apostles… the Exactors of righteousness. Four parts each, one representation of those most loyal to me in the one symbol."

"What I wanna know," I said, butting in before Watari could continue this thread of conversation. It was probably arrogant but I felt what I had to say was more important then him clearing up his case study. At least… that's what I took it to be at that time. "Is why you've chosen to appear to us in that body. Your servant Balban killed Pandora right before my eyes! Do you mean to mock me with this cruel act?"

Mitkiel seemed confused, albeit momentarily. His clear, blue eyes lost their usual clarity and his eyebrows furrowed as he attempted to make heads and tails of what I had suggested. It was the most genuine show of expression I had seen thus far.

"Balban killed Pandora…?" He seemed to consider this and then suddenly burst out into a rather disturbing peal of laughter. It possessed none of the lighthearted exuberance that Pandora had expressed in such abundance. "My dear, stupid little Guardian! The dead know no second death! Balban merely mauled Pandora for dramatic value. He wanted to scare you that is all. And Pandora… why, he healed up in a mere matter of days. He is used to far worse. But as you can see-" He spread his arms again and spun in a slow circle, leaving no angle of his body open to discussion. "- there is no lasting damage."

It took a while for this to sink in. On the one hand, I was overcome with the realization that Pandora was alive! That he hadn't been killed by that infernal dust cloud. That he lived and his smile still existed. However, this alternative aspect of his existence forced me to confront the notion that perhaps death may have been ultimately preferable and I wasn't exactly sure I wanted to consider such a terrible thing. I didn't want to understand the reality of what I was facing. But Watari, upfront as ever, saved me the trouble of procrastinating over this for too long.

"You're using that boys' body?" He asked, clearly disturbed by the unspoken affirmation. Mitkiel offered a cold smile.

"My true form… is currently unsuited for outside conditions." He stated, lowering Pandora's body to the floor and seating it with one leg bent beneath the body. "There is only one place in which it possesses the strength to carry my soul without further deterioration and that place is not here. Nor is it in the true world or Hades, for that matter. When I desire to enter any of these places, I simply transfer my consciousness into Pandora or my second Host and effectively subdue their will beneath my own. Those that are connected to me, I can enter into at any time. It is a sort of intimacy that you creatures of the flesh could not possibly come to fathom, limited as your physical pleasures are."

"Demonic possession." Watari hissed through gritted teeth. "Is there no limit to your depravity?"

Mitkiel looked up at him very slowly. The expression the demon constantly wore was of tireless patience but I had the distinct feeling that he was perhaps feeling just a little aggravated by Watari's attitude. Some tiny, indistinct change that slid across its face, was evidence to this. The barest alteration of emotion.

"Dear Guardian," He said, his voice revealing nothing. "Since we are in such a civilized setting, with time on our side and air in our lungs, I request that you might be so kind as to indulge me in a small story. I assure you, it will not take long. And think of it this way; I cannot end your insolent lives if I hope for you hear my words and understand just why this has all come to be."

His voice had become more and more cheerful as he spoke, ironic, considering that the words issued from his lips only continued further into darkness.

"To punish mankind, Zeus bade that Hephaestus the forger, create a virgin of captivating beauty equal to or greater than that of the Olympian goddesses. He requested that all the gods bring this creature their especial gifts so that it would be loved by all and the betrayal would hence be greater. The virgin was named Pandora; the all-gifted.

That is the legend. And legend as we know, is word of mouth, plus time. And the story is not always true, but then again, that is the reasonable sentimentality of it all, correct? So long as we are entertained by these words of whimsy, we can perhaps be remiss to the reality of such stories and legends. It becomes of lesser to little importance and that there is the sin perhaps of a great many nations, too countless, too many in number to sufficiently punish.

Of course, we demons are not exempt from the rule. The story of Pandora is true; do not doubt that, dear Guardians. I cannot attest to the reality of the Greek gods but it was from that ancient fable that the instigator of our species was inspired to replicate such innocence, so that we might bathe in it, when we are otherwise surrounded by nothing but sin and the darkness, that is as much a part of we are, as it is of us. When you are locked in darkness, it is only natural to seek out light. And thus, the task of creating innocence began. It was Lucifer himself and all the highest-ranking demons who undertook this immense and seemingly impossible task. The original legend became gospel to us and we abided to it as disciples unto a God that had long before been lost to us.

Pandora – is the name that expresses the victim. Someone who is innocent but becomes the hand that punishes the masses. The original Pandora, all-gifted and beautiful, innocent and unassuming, released the heresies into the world and made it possible for mankind to sin. It is no chance occurrence that the face you see before you is so familiar and worn by so many others. The first few 'lives' we created, our failed homunculus' you might say, were crafted a face, the face and body of that which appeals the most to us. Because of its' beauty, its' innocence and its vulnerability most importantly. It is a face that we demons find utterly irresistible. A being of utter perfection. By our standards at least. You must surely understand that as such powerful creatures, we find vulnerability and innocence to be very attractive.

Our first few attempts to replicate this unrivalled innocence spoken of in the Greek fable ended in failure. It soon became clear to us that to obtain what we sought, we must look to the intermediate land of the living in order to find it. Life cannot be made artificially… even with all our magic and all our power, we were unable to forge a true 'soul'. However, we were able to salvage the genes from our previous attempts and released them into the world of the living. At first, we saw nothing. Nothing to suggest that our hopes for the creation of this perfect innocence could ever be achieved. Hope seemed lost. With nothing left to consider, the practice of acquiring 'Pets' was approved. When a human being died and their soul was on their way to the next world, we demons had the ability to interfere with their transmission, as it were. We could provide them with a choice. If they desired an extension of their lifespan, we would grant it. We would grant them eternal life but in return, their bodies and souls were eternally ours. To do with as we wished. It became an art, an accessory. The higher the beauty and status of the pet, the more higher revered the demon. It's a wonderful commodity and more beautiful and obedient pets could not be found.

At least, that's what I thought. Until that day, 16 years ago when I saw the boy for the very first time.

The gene that had been lost over centuries beforehand had resurfaced in this unspectacular boy! There was no mistaking it. He bore the face, the face of the victim. The face that invites the marauder! I could scarcely believe my luck. Once I had seen the Victim, I knew without question that I must acquire him, before others of my race came to learn of his existence. But Pet acquisition is not a simple process. You cannot simply 'take' a human from the world of the living. They must be struck from life, so that their souls are confused and conflicted in passing. It is the only sure way to invade the transmission process. Puzzled souls are always the easiest to corrupt.

Pets must also be the perfect age. Technically, we demons prefer younger pets. Youth represents morality and innocence, vulnerability and immaturity. The age in which sexuality is starting to be explored but most definitely not past the loss of virginity. It is simply ridiculous to make a pet out of a human who has already sacrificed their ripeness to another. Virginity is something that a demon alone claims and that entitles ownership, a bond that cannot be broken. As such, I had no choice but to wait until the boy was a suitable age. However, the process of disabling his mental state began much earlier than this. First, I arranged for the death of his mother as the result of a tragic accident to which he was witness. He suffered a minor head wound but his mentality was far more damaged by being witness to her slow and agonizing depletion in the hospital bed, where she lay rigid, unable to move, dying a slow, painful death. I hadn't counted on the stepfather to enter into the picture however. That was troublesome. But I soon got him out of the way. His mind was embarrassingly easy to mess with. It was already fairly messed up to begin with. The boy was then left with nowhere to go. The poor boy was all alone… until he was adopted, for lack of a better term. He was nearing the age for 'plucking' as we put it. Yes… he was becoming ever so ripe on the vine. And so, I entered into his troubled mind and moved into the house with him. I slowly poisoned that family, already so rotten to begin with. The boy tried many selfless acts to save those around him but it was all for naught. One by one, they all fell from grace. Such was my grand fortune at this time that I managed to secure myself an additional host. A vessel, if you will, one that I can use at any given time it strikes my fancy. The boy was still my main priority and I was growing increasingly impatient. Eventually, I saw no other alternative than to poison the mind of the remaining family. The Victim was destroyed. He passed through the darkness and that was when my voice fell upon him. I told him that I would spare his life, in exchange for his soul. The poor boy was all alone and frightened… so very frightened. He didn't want to die. And so he gave himself to me… and I re-animated his body, permanently suspended it in time and wiped his name from existence. From that day on, he was Pandora; the all-gifted. I bound a chain about his neck- a chain that I can pass along to enter him at any time, a chain to draw him to me and keep him my own. Innocence belongs to me."

Mitkiel's voice gradually slowed to a mere whisper and his far distant eyes shifted back to accommodate reality. I couldn't resist the urge to shudder when he smiled at me again.

"So now you understand, you dear simple creatures. Now you know why it is my right to inhabit this body whenever it suits me." He said, with that same impassive disinterest I found more disturbing then his rare, abrupt displays of emotion. "The boy was scared and he acted purely out of selfishness. He wanted to live, at whatever the cost. Well… this is the price one pays for indulgence. By existing in your world, Pandora's innocence was very nearly corrupted. It has taken me certifiable years to break him in… to wean those destructive impulses from his mind. But he surrendered in the end. A humans mind is delicate. It can only take so much depravity and suffering before it collapses. Now… Pandora is perfect. Simple, naïve and innocent. Regardless-" Mitkiel drew back the boys upper lip, exposing his teeth in something of a predatory smile. "- of the countless times I have fucked him. And beaten him. And tortured him."

The demon stared directly into our eyes, daring us to react to these blatantly arousing words. I could see Watari's lips pressed together tightly, a sure sign that he was as incited by Mitkiel's uncaring manner as I was.

I decided to speak, not at all caring whether or not it was the right time to voice my opinion. "If this kid means so much to you… how could you treat him that way?"

Mitkiel laughed broadly, making it very clear to me that I was being mocked for my apparent stupidity.

"Ah… dear Guardian… how adorably dim-witted you are!! My entire existence revolves around the punishment of the sinners and as such, I cannot allow myself to act in a remotely sinful fashion, regardless of how great or small the action may be! I am more in need of a pet than any other demon I know. No other demon needs an outlet to supplement his outrageous urges such as I do. At no other time might I act in a way that contradicts my nature. But since Pandora is mere property to me, these actions are fine, so long as they are directed at him and no other. This boy-" He slapped the flat of his hand against Pandora's chest significantly. "- is my revenue for frustration."

Mitkiel climbed back to his feet, wobbling uncertainly on Pandora's long legs. He was clearly a little unfamiliar with the specifics of movement in the boys' body; as though the entirety of the demons consciousness had been precariously perched on stilts. He did not move with a great deal of confidence and appeared to be off balance, even just standing still. I tried to catch Watari's eye, to see if he had noticed this. He continued to face forward, never for a second diverting his eyes from Mitkiel's. A sharp movement from below the line of Watari's hip caught my attention and I slowly trailed my eyes down to focus on it. One of the scientists' fingers was flicking insistently to a vague direction on Mitkiel's right. I dragged my eyes over to follow this invisible line and saw at the end if it an unremarkable wooden door, situated in an alcove just beyond the altar. Trying to make it appear unrelated, I reached out and gently squeezed Watari's fingers, hoping to convey to him that I had seen the door. And knew what we had to do.

"But you needn't concern yourself over Pandora." Mitkiel was saying, shifting his hips from side to side. He definitely didn't seem comfortable, like his upper torso was going to tilt forward over his waist at any moment. "Soon, your minds shall be so entrenched in shame that you will be unable to draw breathe without hating yourself."

"You don't have the power to do that." I sneered, doubting the words even as I spoke them. Mitkiel didn't laugh but his eyes found mine and he glared without contempt but with an expression that was somehow more frightening than blind derision and mockery. He looked at me with utter verification, as though there were no doubt that I was deserving of whatever was in store for me.

"I am more than one hundred times the demon that Saagatanusu was, Tsuzuki." He said, his voice a low, threatening susurration. I visibly twitched at that name. "Ah… I see the scars from that encounter do not fade easily, do they, Guardian? Yes… Saagatanusu was a powerful devil but I am a God of the Underdwellers. Demons like Saagatanusu serve my sub-lieutenants. And if he was able to entrap you in an alternate world where you were endlessly tormented by the images of your past sins, then do not doubt what it is that I am capable of, in the full extremeties of my wrath."

Mitkiel raised his arms towards the ceiling, palms facing skyward. As he did this a strange sound from behind us caused me to turn around against my better judgment. The forest of corpses were convulsing in their chains, as though someone had plugged a stun gun into the gaping wounds of their chests. I could see the one closest to me, opening and closing its mouth, eyes rolling in its head. A garish gray tongue thrashed across its rotten lips, saliva that should no longer have been produced, splattering down the upper portion of its face. I don't know whether I imagined it or not, but I could swear those eviscerated dead were screaming out to us.

"Spare us… spare us… spare our souls… spare our souls to Hell..."

"I suffer the sinners." The sweet voice of Pandora's boomed out at the mercy of Mitkiel's indecipherable will. I forced my eyes away from the grizzly serenade of the corpses and turned back to the grotesquely calm face of the conductor. The corner of his lip hiked up slightly, exposing immaculately white teeth. "So that sinners pray for the mercy of Hell. For centuries now I have taken it upon myself to punish the greatest sinners in this world. But now… now I have been called upon, to use my powers to touch those that for centuries have remained untouched. I have been entrusted this great honor. I may freely exercise my right to punish those who have been exempted from justice."

"No one escapes judgment." Watari said, shrugging my jacket from his shoulders. It slid down his arms and rested in the crook of his elbows, just hanging there. I assumed he was attempting to lighten his body and make it more aerodynamically sound, in the event that we would be making a mad dash for the door. "All human souls are judged in the Ministry of Hades."

"And now it is time that Judgment returned in full to me." Mitkiel said, an expression of almost hysterical glee ripping across his face. "Humans have no right to judge the folly of fellow humans. I believe there is something of a conflicted interest in this clause. It is my task to punish all those that have sinned. None escape judgment. You have sinned. Sins that you can only hope to atone for once you have been cleansed by the hand of justice. I, Mitkiel, the demon-god of punishment, have been chosen by the highest orders of both Heaven and Hell to judge those that have until now hidden from judgment in the Ministry of Hades. Now is the time for the Guardian's to be judged!"

"We have been judged" Watari said loudly, trying to distract Mitkiel. He was now holding the jacket over one arm, as though he had suddenly gotten too hot and needed to cool himself off. "By Enma-Daioh."

Mitkiel hissed and reeled back as though he had been burnt. His face twisted into an ugly countenance of its' once former cuteness.

"Enma!" He spoke the word as though it were the most offensive sound imaginable. "Lord of Hades… he who is ignorant to the point of devastation!"

"How so?!" I snapped defensively. Enma had often gone out of his way to come through for me in the most disastrous of circumstances. The Boss told me that it was Enma who had ultimately driven Saagatanusu from my body, when he had possessed me the prior year. He had taken me in and offered me a chance to redeem myself, even after everything I had done. Enma never pointed the finger of blame at anyone. He was a fair and just superior, such as I was undeserving of.

Mitkiel gave me a condescending look. "Enma lies to you. Comforts you by offering hope that he has no intention of giving. You Guardians of Death are the worst sinners of all. You sin and are given a second chance to escape punishment and this existence is focused on the judgment and condemnation of others. Does that seem fair to you?"

"Well of course it doesn't when you put it like that." Watari said, sounding kind of sulky.

Mitkiel offered both hands toward us imploringly. "All victims ask for is justice." He beseeched us. "But because of their innocence, they cannot fully appreciate the course of judgment. And that is where Pandora has become most useful." He smiled and swept one hand down his body. "He is innocence personified. I have removed the innocence from those victims that seek justice through my hand and place it within this vessel. Pandora is nothing but the goodness of every victim that it has been my privilege to serve. Once that useless morality has been removed, the victim can now acquire justice by punishing those that wronged them. It is my gift to them. I have created this playground for them. A tableau of what the guilty fear. A place where they are able to be punished accordingly for what they have done."

Mitkiel stepped forward and lashed his finger out in Watari's direction, almost as though he were attempting to spear the Guardian through the heart with his nail.

"Yutaka Watari, your day of judgment draws closer. You already wear the mark of the condemned. The Shukusatsu. Soon, you too will be lost to nothing but the desire to punish those that have wronged you. You will stay here in my playground, enacting those desires for eternity. For that is the fate of all victims. To punish those that wronged you, sin is inevitable of course. Revenge is a spiral; it is never ending and it drags you downwards into darkness."

Watari didn't even seem to hear the demons words. His mind, it seemed, was someplace else. His eyes narrowed considerably, his voice slicing outward from his lips like a saber aimed for the abominations heart.

"But what did those girls do?" He hissed, the voice issuing forth from him with a savagery that was completely unexpected of Watari. "Perhaps I can understand why you feel that I am deserving of punishment – but why the hell did those girls deserve to die?!"

He started to scream his words, the emotion roaring from him in unbridled passion. I stared at him, shocked to see tears streaming out from his eyes, rolling down across his rosy cheeks. "What gave you the right to take their lives? To force yourself on them and then kill them after so much suffering? What the fuck gives you the right to judge?!"

Mitkiel raised his eyebrow, apparently not the least bit intimidated by Watari's outburst.

"You are directing your accusations at the wrong punisher, Guardian." The demon raked sharp fingernails back through Pandora's messy head of hair. I doubted he particularly cared about maintaining the standard of the boys' immaculate beauty, each gesture conducive to preserving a vision that required no further enhancement. "It's true, that I turned the finger of directive towards these women but it was certainly not by my hand that their lives were struck from this life. They deserved punishment, because they committed the sin that is most abhorrent to me. By their foolish actions, each girl, at some stage during their service at Kokakuro, became pregnant and with no thought to that small life growing within them, they annulled their pregnancies. A life is still a life, regardless if it grows for a day or a year. Does it still not possess a soul and therefore, a life to each its own possession? Was it not Jeremiah who said, 'Before I formed thee in the belly, I knew thee'?"

"You're punishment is too extreme!" Watari cried in that same overtly emotional voice that I couldn't even begin to understand. I hadn't been able to thread that connection until only later, when Watari was incumbent upon me to share the messy details surrounding this devastating and incremental case. "Thousands of girls have had abortions. Do you intend to punish them all?"

"So long as their unborn children cry for justice, I most certainly do." The demon said softly, the countenance he wore smoothed free of the emotion lines usually expressed in the extremeties of the face. There was nothing to that face but a thin resemblance of humanity, beneath which lurked a searing coldness, devoid of even the slightest fraction of compassion. "I keep those victims closest to me. The unborn. The annulled. The still-borns. Children born mutated because their ignorant and selfish mothers imbibed drugs or alcohol, foolishly conceived at the age in which pregnancy is unwise, born through the act of incest, to name few. They are my joy, these precious bundles that no mother wished to love but whom I can now love as my own." He looked towards us with the most sincere joy in his expression. Those very rare moments in which 'anything' appeared in his face were very telling. The way he spoke expressed that Mitkiel only cared for a very small number of elements and these 'Victims' were clearly one of those. "You'll understand that soon enough. Just like them, you will remain here forever. Then, when I have completely drained all the goodness from you by the power of the Shukusatsu, you will beg me to come unto you."

And then he reached out to us, palm up, pointing with the index finger, the others curled back towards himself. Something chattered and yelped from across the room as though responding to Mitkiel's command and I spun around, eyes darting towards the source of the sound. Some unseen thing, moving too fast for me to track, come tearing out from the darkness beneath the wall and shot towards myself and Watari. Even as I felt my muscles tense and react to this imminent threat, the indiscernible blob, distinguishable only in its milky white and pink color, smashed hard against my right leg. A scream erupted from the depths of my throat as something unbearably sharp entered into my calf, thrusting directly through and erupting from the opposite side. I attempted to yank free when another fast moving blur tackled my undamaged leg, knocking me backwards onto the floor. My head cracked the cement hard enough to bring tears to my eyes but it dimmed in comparison to the driving pain from my ankle. I heard Watari cry out in shock and then a similar corresponding thud as our clandestine attackers also brought him down. I pushed back the blinding pain and lifted my head, trying to focus on what was crouching between my legs. I had to blink through the black dots racing before my eyes and even then I wondered whether I was imagining it or not.

A baby… no, not even that. This… thing whatever it was came long before infancy. It was small, small enough to sit comfortably in a dinner plate and still have room to stretch out. It possessed an abnormal sort of scrunched appearance, as though someone had clasped the creature between both hands and given it a good squeeze. The small, swollen head had one eye alone and its mouth was only half formed, the upper gums exploding outward through the flapping pink flesh. There was only one arm; the other was a mere pink nub of flesh. Its' gender was indiscernible. In its' one good hand the deformed fetus was clutching a kitchen knife, dripping with blood.

My blood.

A high-pitched squealing cry pierced throughout the room. It now made sense, the sound Watari and I had heard coming down towards this room. These malformed fetuses had been crouching beneath the walls, waiting for us… waiting for Mitkiel's word. And now they flocked out in their droves, exploded from beneath the walls, reaching for us with tortured keening expressions of longing. I tried to get up but they were on me in seconds, clasping at my clothing, fishing their small partly formed hands into my mouth, scratching my face. The fetus holding the knife struck the blade down through my trouser material, pinning my leg to the floor. It couldn't possibly have possessed the strength to do this but try as I might, I couldn't yank myself free. I felt panic getting the better of me. This was like a scene from a nightmare. I looked over at Watari, only to see that he was equally swarmed by the squalling, shrieking abominations. There were five alone holding him down by his hair. As I watched, one tore out a small fistful by the roots and then Watari was crying out in pain. My screams soon joined his, as those tiny rotting fists thrust down into my mouth, gagging me, choking me, no…

Mitkiel's screeching childlike laughter pierced through the attack cries of the infants. "What's wrong, Guardians? Do the spirits of the aborted frighten you?" He cackled happily.

An infant with a face that appeared to have melted together clambered onto my chest and thrust its thumbs towards my eyes with a high-pitched gurgle. The words from the poem burst through my mind and I twisted my face out of the way just in time. The fetuses barely formed nails scraped down along my cheek, tearing away the top layer of skin. It stung but the pain seemed to give me new strength. With a resolved cry, I threw my upper body forward, shaking free the few malformed creatures still clinging to my chest. One gripped my hair and hung on grimly as I pulled myself to my feet. I grabbed for it with my hand and managed to snag it by the swelling protrusion growing from the side of its head. I squeezed and a pained cry erupted from the things barely formed mouth. I ignored that humanistic side of me that wanted to pity this tortured creature and threw the infant down into the squirming mass of flesh writhing about my feet. Not wanting to lean down and expose my face again, I pulled on my leg until the knife holding my pants popped free. Then, I risked the proximity in order to fish it out from amongst the fetus' grasping hands. Clutching it tightly in my right hand, I stepped painfully through the throngs to where Watari lay, curled up in a tight cocoon, hands clasped behind his head in order to protect himself. One of the fetus' had its bent little fingers plunged into his ear, twisting madly as though attempting to pop his eardrum. I brought the knife down hard and fast, not giving myself time to think about what I was doing. I knew if I did, I would never have allowed myself to act. The blade impaled the infant through its small chest, blood spurting violently from the exit wound onto the side of Watari's face. The fetus squealed loudly and grasped the lobe of Watari's ear, tearing it free before I could react. I could hear Watari's muffled scream of pain lilting out from beneath his crossed arms but he didn't react, didn't attempt to pull himself free or clot the blood flowing from his torn ear. I pulled the vindictive fetus away and hurled it from the knife, sending it spinning into the mass of swirling pink bodies that continued to shuffle toward us. Mitkiel continued to laugh, as though he were watching the most hilarious comedy routine ever.

"Ironic, isn't it, my idiot friends?" He chuckled, seating himself back atop the altar, feet swaying languidly above the bobbing heads of 'the aborted', as he had called them. He picked up the novel and looked over the marked page, pointing down to some random section. "Saint Augustine: Punishment is justice for the unjust. Surprisingly wise words from a human."

The door was just beyond the altar on the right hand side. Watari and I were going through it. Whether a more grisly nightmare waited beyond remained to be seen. But we surely could not remain here, entrapped within this sea of writhing, incomprehensible bodies. The madness more than anything would be enough to effectively finish us.

I reached down through the soggy throngs of premature flesh and managed to wrap my hand around Watari's slim arm. He thrashed against me for a moment, until he realized who it was who had a hold of him and went decidedly limp in my grasp. Using his momentary weakness to my advantage, I tugged at him with all my strength, pulling Watari unsteadily to his feet and slinging his arm about my shoulder.

"Come on!" I urged, using my injured leg to kick out at one of the aborted as it ventured too close. "I need you to help me, Watari! My leg is in a bad way."

Watari gave a brief jerk of his head to show that he had heard me and then proceeded to pull me in the direction of the door, occasionally toeing some of the more insistent tots out of the way. I limped along in painful leaps and bounds, trying not to rest too much weight on my damaged limb. It had been so long since I had actually endured a wound that hadn't immediately healed and as such, I was a little out of touch with how to effectively cope with it. My leg felt like it was on fire and I kept hissing through my teeth, as though this may have somehow alleviated the tremendous pain.

Mitkiel's sharp laughter speared after us as we kicked and hopped and limped toward what we could only hope was our point of escape. The demons voice dropped and became suddenly deep, with an eerie echo like quality.

"Ah, how adorable you are, Guardians! You think that by running from me, I won't be able to see where you are? This is my labyrinth! I can step into these walls as easily as I stepped into this boys' body! I can always see you, Guardians. So by all means, run, run, run. Run from me. It only heightens the pleasure I'll take in eventually catching you."

Watari wrenched open the door and we fell through in a tangled mess, my leg screaming in objection. I clenched my eyes shut, fighting back the phenomenal pain and slammed by good foot against the door, smashing it shut with violent finality, silencing the last of Mitkiel's menacing shrieks.

The reprieve lasted a bare insatiable second and then Watari was screeching again, near destroying what was left of my patience. I looked over, fully intending to tell him to shut his mouth, when I saw what it was that had promoted his panicked reaction. One of the malformed fetuses had hitched a ride in with us and was determinedly pulling itself up Watari's back, using his hair as a sort of pulley system. Watari's breaths came hard and fast. He was hyperventilating, his usually calm and laid-back nature, collapsing from the dread horror of our situation. I saw him reach back and rip the little monstrosity out of his bloodied locks, dropping it down onto the tiled floor. It squirmed around for a moment, like a turtle flipped on its back, unable to right itself. I went towards it, fully intending to dispose of it with the knife but Watari; gentle, predominately non-violent Watari, beat me to it. He brought his bare foot down in an uncharacteristic show of brutality, the first strike sloughing the doughy skin clear off of the shrieking infants bloated face. This caused Watari to lose his balance and he stumbled as the flesh slipped free from the soft skull. The second strike split the head wide open, the rotted brain matter exploding outwards like candy from a Piñata, coating Watari's lower leg in gore. The third and forth hysterically executed blows collapsed the chest and thoracic cavities, the soft, barely formed milk bones collapsing with barely a sound. When the scientist lifted his foot the fifth time, I felt I had to act and I flew to my feet, pushing him backwards by the shoulders to prevent him from taking the undesirable deed any further.

"Watari, Watari stop!" I pleaded, appalled by the sheer panic in my voice. It was difficult to believe that I could have ever been frightened by my usually docile and carefree friend but here was that unpredicted moment. The look of blind rage in his eyes was sickening. "It's dead! It's dead. It's okay now. You're okay now."

I brought my hand sharply across his face, just in case my words weren't enough to bring him out of this hysterically vicious fit that had seized him. His eyes rolled for a second and then gradually came back into focus. He looked at me, his breaths coming in short, sharp bursts from his lungs and then glanced down to take into account the devastation he had unleashed upon the aborted.

"A baby…" He whispered and then hurriedly pulled free from my hold, darting over to the far side of the room. As my eyes followed him, I was able to take into account just what kind of space we had come to occupy. It was a bathroom. Big, roomy and sophisticated in appearance. The door we had just entered from was situated in the small alcove a toilet might normally occupy. There was another door, just opposite this and situated on the right hand wall just in front of it was a well-maintained porcelain sink, of which Watari was currently puking into. My own stomach was turning at the mess currently leaking across the floor near my feet but I was able to control my gag reflexes as I stepped out from the alcove, putting the infantile corpse to my back. I supposed I might have possessed the same reaction as Watari if it had been me responsible for killing it.

Watari knelt down on his knees, apparently no longer able to support his weight. I wasn't exactly hankering for a look but I happened to notice the strange hissing noise emitting from the basin and glanced into it as I made my way over. The vomitus matter emptied from Watari's 'stomach' clogged up the plughole but it wasn't the usual purged matter one might expect to see divulged. It was some sort of thick, black gunk that swirled at the base of the sink and dribbled down from Watari's chin. The color of tar with the same glutinous density.

"What the Hell…?" I murmured, tucking the bloodied knife blade into the band of my trousers, where the blade rested cool against the heated skin of my hip. "Watari… you okay?"

Watari's body started to shake, his arms slipping free from the immaculately polished porcelain and sanctioning themselves tightly around his waist, as though to protect the soul sheathed within. There were feeble noises leaking out from between his lips and he couldn't seem to comprehend a word I was saying.

"Utburds…" That one word he continually repeated over and over again between his other more hysterical ramblings. "Utburds… to think he could govern such spirits!"

I had learned about these apparitions whilst conducting some research for a previous assignment, a number of years ago. Russian superstition told that if a baby was born into a family with too many mouths to feed, the parents would traditionally dig a shallow grave and put the newborn in the base of it, leaving it exposed to the freezing winter elements for the entire night. The very next morning, the husband would come out and dispassionately fill in the grave, throwing the dirt in over the face of his flesh and blood. It was considered fairly standard practice over a century ago, if the family couldn't afford to feed another child. Rather than let the infant suffer, they would offer it a sedate and relatively painless death. But the spirits resulting from these infants were perhaps one of the most dangerous and vindictive types you were likely to come across. For years after their death, they would accumulate power and store it, all for the task of returning to the house in which their parents residing and visiting upon the bedside of their mother. The spirit would enter the house as mist through the keyhole and take on a vague, milky countenance of the infant they had been in life. After it had assumed this temporary guise, the utburd proceeded to the foot of the bed. It climbed up over the mothers body, crushing her chest beneath its icy weight and her husband, if he should have attempted to halt its' ascent, would have felt nothing but the cold air that had taken the newborns life, now making up the entirety of its essence. Once it had made its' way up to confront the mother face to face, the infantile spirit would thrust its' little fists into the mothers eye cavities and blind her as retribution for giving life and then just as carelessly taking it away. I had never actually come across an utburd before then, thank goodness. They were governed by the laws of retribution and would stop at nothing to carry out their revenge. They absorb far too much power following their death to be halted once they put that energy into effect. I suppose it was fitting that such creatures should be at Mitkiel's command. Both he and the utburds appeared to have tunnel vision when it came to justice and punishment.

I knelt down beside Watari, gently running my hand across the crown of his head. There was a sticky lump of congealed blood from where his hair had been ripped out by the roots. I tried not to aggravate this wound as I sought desperately to calm him.

"The aborted…" Watari whispered, his eyes protruding from behind his glasses. I could see the red veins stretching out towards his pupil, expressing the strain the vessels behind his eyeballs were under. "Any one of those could have been… that one whose head I just crushed… could have been… could have been mine…"

I'll admit; I was stumped. "Watari… none of those could have been yours. You're a boy, remember? Boys don't have babies!"

Watari pulled himself onto his knees and dry retched a few times. The third time, he vomited again and once more what came from his body resembled viscous black goo that actually steamed as it hit the floor, missing the sink completely. It sat there for a moment, bubbling offensively like an egg in a frying pan, before evaporating completely into steam.

"Tsuzuki… I think I'm purging darkness…" He murmured, as though I might easily make heads or tails of this. "There's something… poisonous… that's been seeping into us while we've been here… in this place…" He pinned his arms around his shaking body, lips stained black from whatever had just surged from his stomach… or whatever constituted a stomach in these representations of our true forms. "Tsuzuki… help me. I'm sorry but I'm scared! I'm scared shitless! I can't take any more of this… I'm suffocating…" His honeyed eyes dropped down towards the floor, pushing the following whispered words along his line of sight. "…need drug…"

I literally fell away from him, landing hard on my butt and jarring my hands as I attempted to catch myself from tipping over completely. I could feel the blood pounding in between my ears, as the panic heightened to near uncontainable levels.

The words from the journal! The needy, despairing cries for help… help that never came.

"What did you say…?" I asked very slowly, giving him the option of correcting me in case I had heard wrong. I prayed to all that was Holy that I had and would do well perhaps to go and have my ears syringed out at the soonest available time.

Watari climbed unsteadily to his feet and backed himself up against the far door, the one I had not yet seen beyond. His expression was that of a man pushed to the edge of his limits, with no hope of further maintaining a strong composure. Any strength he'd had to begin with had been eradicated completely by the horrors we had been presented with.

"I need to get out!" Watari cried, confirming my suspicion that I had simply misheard him. "You don't understand what it's like for me! I need air – I HAVE TO GET OUT!!" With that, he wrenched open the door and ran from the room, pulling it shut so hard that it bounced back open from the impact.

"Wait!" I screamed, racing over and pushing the door open completely in order to step through. "Don't go running off on your own, Wata-" I stopped when I felt something twitch in my shirt pocket and before I could react in any way, the calico journal physically leapt free and fell with a soft thud to the floor. As I watched, the pages blurred open and flipped with haste to somewhere near the beginning of the book. I stepped close to it and knelt down, feeling my heart start to race in my chest at what I was witnessing. Black writing was starting to appear on the pages, as though someone were recording their entries as I looked over their shoulder.

October, 31st

I've been sad since Mom died but everything's turned out okay after all, just like she said! I've been staying with my Papa and my sister. I miss Mommy but I'm happy that I'm able to spend more time with Papa and Nii-san. I wish we could all be together. Why couldn't Mommy and Daddy forgive each other? Is it my fault? Because I was born maybe that's why they couldn't love each other anymore. Papa says it's not my fault. But he's so nice; he wouldn't ever say anything mean. Even if it was the truth.

I miss my Mommy. I won't ever see her again…

I had just finished reading the last line when I distinctively felt a small, cold hand gently clench my shoulder. I grabbed a hold of the journal and whipped around, bringing it in front of my body defensively.

A teenage boy stood behind me, clutching what appeared to be a porcelain bisque doll beneath one arm. The doll had generous golden corkscrew curls for hair and those famously cold icy blue eyes that were so popular for whatever the reason. The boy himself was quite tall but rather slender. He had gray, lackluster eyes and silver hair like Muraki, but unlike the cold doctor the boy possessed a sort of gentle, surprised expression. He was wearing what appeared to be a black high school uniform, ironed to perfection.

"Look Veronica," He said, talking, I assumed, to the doll. "A visitor. Do you think he's from the outside?"

I tried to smile encouragingly, though I wasn't certain whether I could trust this kid or not. After working for the Judgment Bureau for a number of years, you sadly grow accustomed to maintaining such suspicions around those you might even normally trust. Sometimes it makes life seem like one big paranoid game.

"Friend or foe, kid?" I asked sharply. I watched his expression carefully for anything that might have suggested this congenial façade was an act, designed to lull me into adopting a false sense of security. I couldn't detect any insincerity but then again, I didn't pick Muraki to be the psycho-weirdo he was, the first time we met.

The boy cocked his head to the side, not smiling but not appearing insensitive in choosing not to do so. There was simply light-heartedness to his persona that reverberated throughout his being.

"You're the one from the picture…!" He declared at last and that's when the first big smile appeared. He stepped in close, looking up into my face with innocent excitement. "To think that I prayed to meet you every night before I went to sleep and now here you stand before me! This is wonderful! Have you come to save me, Sweet Victim?"

"Save you?" I asked, taking a step back as he continued to breach the borders of my personal space. "I… I'm not sure… are you being kept here?"

The boy made some sort of noncommittal sound and circled around me, examining my body from all angles. It made me feel a little uncomfortable to say the least. Sort of similar to the way Muraki was accustomed to looking at me. It invoked that same slightly unpleasant sense that something unusual was going on behind that composed and self-possessed expression.

"I've been here for sixteen years." The boy said pleasantly, running one hand along my back and trailing his nails around to rest on my upper arm. "I used to be in the other place. Where you're from. That was until the marks appeared."

I had a feeling this was quickly accelerating from bad to worst. "The marks?"

"The Shukusatsu." The boy moved in close and pressed his body against mine. He smiled up at me with an expression I could only describe as adoring. "When it first appeared, I was there. Then, as the marks spread, I found myself being pulled here with alarming frequency. At first, only once or twice a week and it gradually progressed to the stage where hour by the hour… whether I was near a mirror or not… I'd be drawn back here. Eventually… I couldn't leave at all."

He reached up with his spare arm and brought it in tightly around my neck, leaning up on the tips of his toes in order to bring his face close to mine. The boy smiled and there was an intimacy there that I had only ever seen one other person show me. It made me wonder… This place appeared to present primarily those images of the past. And if I were to look back sixteen years in the past, as the boy had said…

"Kid…?" I reached up grasped his wrist gently, bringing it down from around my neck. "Who are you…?"

The boy smiled sweetly, his gray eyes lidded to only half-mast, lips parted enticingly.

"Back in that other place, the name that woman gave me was Kazutaka."

My heart stopped. "Kazutaka?" I cinched closer against all common sense. "Muraki Kazutaka?"

"You know my family name?" The boy cocked his head to the side. "Have you met me on the other side?"

Now I was more than a little confused. As far as I could tell there was only 'one' reality and the Muraki that existed in that should have been in entirety, Muraki. Right?

"The other side?" I questioned him, trying to keep that smooth, pale hand from sliding down my chest, as it seemed to want to do. "What do you mean the other side? Shouldn't there only be one of you?"

Kazutaka's face drooped considerably and his eyes darted over towards the door I had entered from only minutes prior to our conversations birth. "Mitkiel's mark," He began and then paused as though to build on a dramatic tension that was somewhat unnecessary in this already nail-biting atmosphere. "It… drains the innocence from those he has chosen. The light of the soul is brought here and kept in darkness, whilst the darkest aspects of the soul remain 'there'… in the light. The true body eventually shuts down and goes into a tortured sleep, lasting months, years… until you eventually have no alternative but to succumb to death."

Just like Hisoka, I found myself thinking. I wondered if Muraki had not been responsible for the 'casting' of this spell, as he had so originally claimed but rather, had alternatively 'infected' my young partner with this 'curse'? But if that was the case, then why had Hisoka suffered for three long years and then passed away, whilst Muraki still appeared strong and healthy?

I leaned down a little, intensifying the intimacy of our conversation. This seemed to delight the child representation of Muraki to no end. "You mean to tell me that… the Kazutaka I know… is going to die?" I wondered why I heard my voice infraction as it did when I sought out the answer to this question.

The boy appeared to consider this. "I'm not sure…" He finally admitted. "Some souls can withstand the Shukusatsu better than others. Perhaps my darkness -the Kazutaka you know, that is- has found a way to hold back the curse. If my magical properties are as strong, or stronger than Mitkiel's, then I guess it isn't so unreasonable that I could last for so long without the good half of my soul…"

"So the Kazutaka that I know… is actually just half of the person he used to be?" It was all very perplexing but then again, I hadn't ever come across a simple mystery during my time as a Guardian of Death. Take the case of the Tarot Curse, for example. The very notion of hypnotism creating a perverse split personality used to instigate murders in order to conceal the evidence of illegal organ transplants on a luxury liner, is not something you ordinarily stumble across in your every day drama. "And that half is – the bad half?"

"Yeah…I guess you could put it that way…" He smiled at me, in an embarrassed kind of way, as though ashamed he couldn't provide me with a more satisfactory answer. "I'm sorry. I wish I could still be whole for you. I can't believe I finally have the chance to meet you! You're as perfect as you were in that picture… but now you look so strong and healthy… I'm glad. I'm glad to see you this way." He leaned close to me, putting his face very near mine. "It's Asato… right?"

I found myself blushing against my will. He really had been a beautiful child. And he sounded so sweet. So innocent. I was starting to see why these elements were considered so attractive to demons. "Uh… right." I found myself smiling, a little touched by his knowledge of me. "You knew that much about me, even when you were…? How old were you?"

"15." Kazutaka said. He reached up to cup the side of my face and I couldn't help but think back to the poem written on the door upstairs. Maybe the idea that he had been responsible for the authoring of that elegy was not so implausible after all. "Asato… I hope you're not here because your soul is about to be separated too." His eyes crinkled sympathetically at the corners. "I hope that your coming here means that maybe… you can help me be whole again. If you can save me… then I know I can love you with all of my heart. With all of my soul."

I looked down at this boy, reminding myself again that this wasn't the part of Muraki that I had gotten to know in the past year. This boy, this sweet natured creature was not the man I was only now starting to care for. But… this was Muraki. And to actually find myself face to face with the proof of his enduring feelings for me… to see for myself the sincerity of that… It made me feel fuller somehow. More alive. Like the world had suddenly expanded and the guilt for everything that had passed between Muraki and I had been worth it. It was all right, I realized. Here I was faced with the entirety of Muraki's innocence, honesty and purity. If I were to believe that this boy was the embodiment of all that mans goodness, then it would only make sense that the expressions and the words of adoration he directed at me, were true.

My heart felt as though it were blossoming open in my chest. To finally know and be released from that uncertainty was utterly liberating, to say the least.

Muraki cared for me and had loved me since he had been a child.

"Kazutaka…" I whispered and I reached out to him with a genuine affection I never could have revealed before the Muraki that I knew. I pressed my fingers around his beautifully shaped chin, stroking the slight indent beneath his lips with my thumb. Kazutaka brought his fingers up and ran them down the back of my hand. His eyes were locked on mine, with that very same intensity I knew so well.

"Asato…" He said softly and before I knew better than to stop myself, I pulled the slender figure against my body and brought his soft lips against mine. I heard him moan and figured that it was probably because this part of Muraki had never been touched in this manner before. He had been here, locked out of the real world, where the dark part of himself had been rooted to run amuck. Just as you snap a rose from the stem, you can keep the beautiful part and take it away from where it has grown. But the root remains in the very same place it had been planted. So went this separation process, I imagined. The best part of Muraki, the most beautiful and presentable part was here, locked in darkness. The root, the core, remained in the real world.

The boy broke the kiss with much reluctance and stepped back from me, his smile more sweet and sincere than I had ever thought Muraki capable of. But that expression of contentment melted away, when he caught sight of what lay behind me in the alcove.

"The blond guy made quite a mess…"

I glanced over towards the fetid, misshapen remains of the utburd, almost disappointed that the boys' attentions had been distracted from me. "Mmm. Yeah… but those things were attacking us kid. He didn't have much of a choice."

Kazutaka shook his head at me, the doll clutched tightly to his chest. Its' dress alone shielded his entire upper torso.

"No. Made a mess long before that. I don't think he realized what was going to happen because of what he did."

"What do you mean by that?" I asked, wondering why Watari's name was being frequently dragged through the dirt here. Kazutaka started to reply, when a foreign tapping sound distracted him. We both looked over towards the mirror positioned above the sink and Kazutaka emitted a small chuckle, drawing the doll in tight against his body.

"Ahh… looks like Mitkiel's trying to mess with you again."

I stared hard into the reflective surface of the mirror. It was only now I noticed that Kazutaka's reflections and mine did not appear. The exterior was as thick and congealed as molten silver.

"Is there something in there…?" I wondered.

Kazutaka made a supportive gesture with his head. "Why not go take a look yourself? I'm sure it's nothing that you can't handle."

The tone of his voice proved conducive towards my decision to approach that mirror. It made me feel bigger and powerful, in a place where power had been effectively struck from me. To think that Muraki could have brought that out in me!

I made my way towards the mirror, my heart racing in the bounds of my chest, unsure of what I was going to be confronting. What manner of nightmare would emerge through that glass this time? I tried not to let my imagination get the better of me as I leant over to look into the tumultuous surface of the mirror. I could see nothing, nothing appeared to me. Nothing burst through, nothing held my gaze. I edged closer and closer and yet there was nothing. Just that tapping. That tapping from within. That sound that had shattered the mirror within my bathroom drilled through my mind and reached into the primitive factors of my consciousness. A fear started to rise in me, a trembling coursed along the length of my body, reverberating the flesh of my bones down to the very tips of my fingers.

"Kazutaka…" I called, wanting the affirmation that he was there and that presence was of some comfort to me.

But before he could answer that nothing became something, all in the space of one turbulent breath. Something emerged from that indescribable surface and grasped me by both shoulders. I looked up, hoping desperately in my heart to see, that which had been snatched from me, both an hour ago and then a near century before that. And it was her face that confronted me. But the sweet visage of my sister was not that face I remembered in life. What stared back at me now was a memory. A memory of her body beneath the dirt, decomposing, the hair hanging limp from around her once beautiful face, flesh now falling away from the yellowing bone, one eye socket gaping threateningly.

"R-Ru-KA!?" I questioned, my eyes welling from the insult of what had become of the perfection that had been my sister. Her cracked fingernails dug into the arms of my shirt, piercing the skin beneath. She hauled me closer and I could smell the stench of death permeating out from between her peeling lips.

"How… could you…?" She hissed, chest heaving breathlessly. Her fingers tightened around my arms and then, I was pulled forwards, sucked through that silver surface as effortlessly as a fish through water. I heard Kazutaka scream my name, just before I was yanked completely into darkness. There was a severe pain, as though I were being drawn along a contorted drainpipe, rapidly sweeping my essence towards some far distant ocean. I could still hear Kazutaka's scream in my ear and I longed for his presence just as soon as it was speeded away from me.

The nauseating motion of being pulled eventually stopped and I threw my eyes open, hoping to see the ceiling of my bathroom glaring down at me. I was confronted instead by a sudden pressure thrusting down upon my neck. I looked up from the bed I had come to find myself occupying. Sheets were twisted around my bare flailing legs. My nightgown was twisting. And someone was sitting on top of me, their hands clasped unmercifully around my slender throat.

I was gasping and speaking but I had no control of the body that should have been mine. It was as though I had been reduced to something of an impartial observer. My hands came up of their own accord and grasped the wrists of the one who was holding me. "Stop… please …" The voice that was mine but wasn't mine, pleaded.

"How dare you!" A strangely familiar tone screamed from the darkness above me. A face loomed down; entering the light that was somehow there and I felt my heart plummet down into the pits of my stomach. I screamed in gagged silence, staring up into the face I would ordinarily see when looking into my own mirror.

"How can you get sick and leave me all alone?!!" The me – that wasn't me – bawled into the face of whomever I was seeing through the eyes of. The mystery was soon answered when Ruka's gentle, feminine voice lilted out from between the lips I could feel but had no control over.

"Tsuzuki… you're hurting me…"

Oh God… was this the past? Was I seeing the past through the eyes of my sister?

Me – Tsuzuki – wore an expression of terror and anger. It was beyond strange seeing myself through the eyes of another, especially wearing an expression like that.

"I want you to hurt the way I hurt!!" The me that wasn't me screamed. I wanted to shake free from that blazing glare I never would have thought myself capable of. That expression my face held… it frightened me even more than the most fearsome of manifestations I had ever beheld on Muraki's face. "It isn't fair! I hate you! I hate you, I HATE YOU!!

The eyes I shared with Ruka flashed to and fro. She watched despairingly, holding me hostage to this nightmare scenario I had no memory of as Tsuzuki reached down, drawing something out from the band of his pants. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I – he – held the knife that I had taken from the infant! But that was impossible! Wasn't this supposed to be a scene from the past? Or had present and past somehow become entwined? I couldn't get a handle on any of this. The circumstances of this unexplainable situation further escalated to the extreme, when I saw that blood swathed blade pitch upward in a wide awning.

"No!" My mind screamed silently as Ruka begged me out loud not to hurt her. That she was my sister, that she loved me, that we could get through this- But it seemed I hadn't listened. I was forced to watch and endure, bound and helpless as the other me brought the blade down over and over again, stabbing my sister first in her beautifully curved chest, then serrating the pulse line in the neck, concluding the hysterical attack with continual frenzied slices that tore the flesh from Ruka's face. My mind threw itself desperately back into the dark consciousness I had sought out during my time in the hospital. Amidst all the poking and prodding, the application of needles and constant surgery to repair the damage I bestowed upon myself, I protected my soul by adopting a periodic numbness to the actual procedure of existence. For so long I had lain in that bed, staring through the glass of the nearby window, watching the world without truly comprehending it. A glassy blankness stole over my senses and though I felt the wounds inflicted upon Ruka's body as though they were my own; I was able to protect myself in a sense. I felt I had no choice. How do you deal with something like that? To be stabbed in itself is a terrifying, not to mention painful experience. But to be in my position; to be placed behind the eyes of my sister and witness first hand what it seems I had been responsible for all this time… it was… mortifying. As though the threads of my common sense had been severed, I felt my mind start to unravel and curl back upon itself, shrinking into darkness. But no matter how far back I attempted to put myself from what was happening, the reality was still so very close. I was being killed and I was the one doing the killing. As had been the scenario when I had chosen suicide. When I surrendered my life to that one decision: Not to be.

Here again, I was faced with that. Faced with a new truth perhaps. And I was scared. I was scared of who and what I was capable of being.

"NO!!" My silent protest continued, drowned out by Ruka's dying screams. Her arm flailed, striking the vase of white roses I must have set next to the bed, so that my sister could be in the company of the living nature she had loved so much. The vase fell and shattered upon the floor, the fully bloomed bulbs scattering everywhere. The blood spurting from Ruka's gaping wounds soaking them. Above the shrieking pleads of my sister, I became distressingly aware of the string of sobbing bursting from the mouth of the other me as I continued my mutilation of my sister.

Someone was standing beside us. I caught sight of who it was, through the one good eye that I had not stabbed. It was a third representation of myself. Myself as the child I had seen in my mind. At first it had been in the hospital when I had been alive and the second time, when Muraki had pushed me back into that glassy state of passive repression.

The boy – Asato I chose to refer to him as – looked down at the scene with a small, but contented smile on his round, childish face. He clutched a pair of flower trimmers in one hand, the blades stained red.

"I suppose it's your fate to continuously trim the needless buds, Tsuzuki." He said to the me that was trapped inside my sisters dying body. "For the flower that is yourself, you'd let families die. Even your own."

"No!" I cried out wordlessly, not sure whether my thoughts reached the child. "I… I didn't want to kill her!!"

Asato just laughed at me. He laughed and he laughed, bringing the clippers up towards his mouth and separating the blades.

"Tell tale tit, tell tale tit, your tongue shall be split. All the little doggies will come and have a bit."

"NO!" I pleaded, my mind screaming as Asato slid his tongue down across his lower lip and cut it through vertically with the trimmers. Blood gushed down the child's chin but he just continued to laugh and laugh-

Suddenly and gratifyingly, my eyes slammed shut of my own accord. When they opened, I felt my will stretch out to encompass every corner, every nerve and muscle of my body. I sat up, the words ripping out from my chest. "NOOOOOOOO!!"

Panting, my chest heaving with horror, it was a while before I was able to take into account that I had returned to the bathroom where this whole sorry nightmare had begun. I was sitting in the shards of glass, pain seizing through my body from the various cuts littering my back and neck. But none of that mattered. How could any of that matter?

"Oh my god…" I sobbed clutching at my upper arm in some lame attempt to comfort myself. "Ruka… Ruka, oh my god… I'm so sorry!" My chin dropped against my chest and I sobbed relentlessly, the tears I had managed to hold back throughout the last hour of terror, ripping through my eyes and pouring down across my face. The agony of my soul was so great, I wasn't sure I had the strength to surpass it. "I'm so sorry!"

I calculated that I had been trapped in that other world for a little over an hour. But it seemed that no time had passed here at all. I could still hear Muraki calling my name on the other side of the door and whilst I sat there, crying and mourning for my soul, the heavy built man put his strength to good use and physically rammed the cruddy wooden door, snapping the lock off at the seam. He burst into the bathroom, having changed back into his shirt, though forsaking the tie for comforts sake I suppose. He glanced around, taking the damage in momentarily and then lashing his fierce eyes around to focus directly on my crumpled, devastated form.

"What's going on? What on earth has happened here?" He demanded of me. His expression subtly changed and I could tell that he was wondering whether I had perpetuated the damage myself, out of self-hatred for what we had done before I had stepped in here. "Were you angry at yourself?"

I was more than angry with myself. And more than angry with him. But whether I despised him and condemned myself for all the sins we had collectively committed, both individually and together, didn't change the reality that he was the one I needed. He had desired me for countless days, minutes and seconds and the many years that formed from these passing times. And I couldn't condemn him now. Not now, when he was here and ready and willing to be for me.

And that was enough. For now. For this moment.

"Muraki!!" I sobbed, stretching out with both my arms and reaching for him. I didn't even care that I was naked and so vulnerable to him right then. That didn't even factor into it. And Muraki took no exception to it. He swept forward without hesitation and brought his hands around my body, pulling me in close and tight and coveting me. We stayed that way for a while, just long enough for me to leech away that undeniable urge to simply sob and scream my grief. When words were permissible again, I lifted my face from the crook of his shoulder, his shirt now sporting a rather fetching damp patch and forced my swollen eyes to connect with his disturbingly mismatched ones. "Something terrible is happening…"

"What is it…?" Muraki asked, his fingers working gently against the cut skin of my bare back. These tender movements seized up momentarily as he registered the severe state I was in. "Mr. Tsuzuki… you're trembling." He pressed me away just enough so that we could meet face to face. "Tell me what happened."

I parted my lips to allow the entire sad story to spill from between them but was rudely interrupted by the sound of the telephone bleating from the living area. At first I considered ignoring it, until I took Watari into account. What if he had made it out of that 'other place' also and was trying to get in contact with me? It was imperative that I had peace of mind about his well-being!

"I have to get that!" I said, jumping to my feet and snatching a towel from the rack to wrap around myself. Muraki grasped my inside elbow attentively as I made my careful way across the glass strewn floor. No way was I going to avoid getting cut but I wanted to avoid the worst of it.

"You should let the machine get it." He said, stretching out his spare hand and brushing his immaculate fingernails across my cheek. I instinctively ducked away from the touch. I still wasn't entirely comfortable with him, even now. "It's more important that you take a moment to recover from whatever it is that has frightened you so."

I shook my head brazenly; water still trapped on my hair spiraling out from the hurried movements. "No, I have to get it! It might be Watari! I have to know that he is safe! What if he's still trapped in that awful place, with no way out?"

Muraki twisted the shower levers to halt the flow but then looked back to me with a considerable expression. "What awful place?" He asked carefully, looking over at the now completely shattered mirror. I could almost see the light bulb dimly flickering above his head. "Mr. Tsuzuki… did something come out of there…?"

At that time I hadn't any prior knowledge of Muraki's experience in the toilet at the cinema and as such had no interest in threading a connection with him. All I knew then was that the phone was ringing and if I didn't get my ass out there in time, I might miss one very important call

"I don't have time to explain!" I snapped, hurriedly wiping at my dripping nose with my arm, not even pausing to consider how disgusting this was. "I have to get that phone!"

I snatched open the door and liberally raced out of the bathroom, towel flapping behind me. The wounds I had sustained in the 'other place' held no sway over me in the real world, which proved a major blessing as I dodged around the various bits and pieces I was so prone to leaving just lying about in the open. I vaulted into the lounge area where the phone was trilling urgently from the charger on the kitchen counter. I plucked it out of the cradle and jammed it so hard against his ear that I actually bruised the shell.

"Watari!" I shrieked, sounding ridiculously blubbery even to my own ears. I cleared my throat, trying to wean the sound of tears from my voice. "Watari, is that you? Are you okay?!"

The voice that answered was familiar but not Watari. "Watari…? No, it's me Tsuzuki. Tatsumi." His voice became predictably suspicious. "Don't tell me Watari has gotten himself in trouble already?"

I felt cold heat steal through my body. "Tatsumi…?" I blushed guiltily, running my hand back through my hair. To speak with Tatsumi when our greatest known enemy was lounging around my apartment with me… can you blame a guy for feeling just a tad ashamed of himself? "No… nothing like that! It's just… y'know I can't help but worry about him! Hanging out with Muraki's friend and all!" I gave a big and totally fake sounding chuckle that sounded phony even to me. I quickly changed the subject. "Anyway, what's up Tatsumi? Where you calling from; home?"

"No, I'm actually still at the office." He said, sounding as alert and composed as ever. I looked up at the wall clock and raised my eyebrow when I saw what time it was. Seriously. The guy needs to learn how to sleep. Might improve his mood some, if anything. "Sorry to call you so late but Terazuma and Wakaba filed their status report today and I've just finished going over it. They conducted a clean up into a demonic attack at a Tokyo cinema around a week ago and have recently rounded off the investigation. They made a little discovery. It's big news, Tsuzuki. Good news."

I took myself back a week ago. The cinema… that was where Mitkiel's demon had came after us! You could hardly call it a coincidence. Not that I had seen Terazuma and Wakaba there myself but then again, I hadn't exactly been in my right state of mind at the time.

"Really?" I said, keeping my voice carefully neutral. I wanted to avoid saying too much in case I impeded my already delicate situation. "Can't it wait until tomorrow mornings meeting, Tatsumi? It's kind of late… and I'm really tired!" I stressed a loud yawn to provide suitable evidence as to my weary state. Tatsumi ignored me as was his custom.

"I would normally delegate such information until then, Tsuzuki but I figured this was something you would want to hear as soon as it hit the desk." His voice was building up in tenor, indicating that we were approaching his dramatic announcement at high speed. "Tsuzuki… we've found him."

I felt a flush go through my body. To say my blood ran cold would be an understatement. It wouldn't take three guesses to figure out who him was. "Found him?"

Tatsumi made a noise of confirmation. "Kurosaki was right. He is still alive, Tsuzuki. Terazuma recognized him at the theater. He turned up just after this demon had attacked. He's back, Tsuzuki. Kazutaka Muraki's back. And I would bet my bones that he was in someway responsible for the summoning of this particular demon. No doubt an attempt to lure you out is my guess."

Oh, if only he knew. My body stiffened as I heard the him in question step up behind me and gently clutch my shoulders between both hands. He held me tenderly, just giving me the presence of his body.

"You're… kidding me?" I asked Tatsumi, trying my hardest to make my ignorance sound convincing. I'd had a lot of experience playing the giddy goat and it certainly paid off in rare occasions such as this. Tatsumi's voice was flat out excited. In a proud, fierce sort of way.

"I knew you'd be thrilled. Terazuma conducted some research regarding the good doctor and found where he has been living this whole time. We've got the address waiting for you. The chief will explain the details to both you and Kurosaki tomorrow."

"Details…?" I asked, having a good idea what this meant and sure as Hell not liking it. "Tatsumi, what are you saying?"

His voice took on a dismissive, final air. "I'll explain everything to you first thing in the morning. Make sure to get here early; don't go dallying at the Cinnapon, you understand? This is very important. We've finally got Muraki where we want him."

I nodded pointlessly, my voice a stuttering susurration. I hoped he didn't realize that I sounded a little less than happy about what he considered to be a mega breakthrough. "I… I understand Tatsumi. I'll see you tomorrow, kay?" As Tatsumi was about to hang up, my previous reason for my panicked dash to the phone came to mind again and I brought his attention back to me. "Oh and if Watari happens to report in… just… tell him to give me a call okay? Just for a catch up." I tried to make it sound light-hearted. Nothing of real importance. Inside, my heart was racing with worry that I might never get that phone call.

Tatsumi chuckled patiently. "I'll make a note of that Tsuzuki. You be sure to get some sleep now, you hear? It's going to be a big day tomorrow!"

He was very happy. Once upon a time, I could have joined in with his enthusiasm and settled down to sleep with thoughts of the mornings mission serenading my dreams peacefully. Now, I was nothing if not terribly confused.

"I gotcha. You get some rest too, k?" Tatsumi was my boss but he was additionally my very dear friend. I would much rather have spoken sincerely to him in this manner and meant every word during our conversation. It sucks having to lie for someone you have done nothing but be honest with for the years you have known one another. "G'night."

Tatsumi thanked me in kind and I hung up the phone, looking down at it for quite some time without really seeing it. Muraki continued his gentle ministrations on my shoulders, but when I glanced over my shoulder at him, his eyes were somewhere else too.

"They've found me… haven't they?" He said. And there was a blank impartiality in his voice that made me want to scream at him. Why couldn't he suffer for this the way that I was? Why did he have to not care all the time? Was it because of this 'half' that was missing? I didn't know. There was still so much that was a mystery to me and to reconcile for my naivety was the silence of my voice and mind that could offer no suitable explanation for how we were to pass through this oncoming sequence of events and emerge from the far side, still complete and still safe in this secluded world we had built around ourselves.

"Yes." I whispered, wondering even as I said this, why my heart was so sickened by it. Muraki said nothing further but his body spoke complex feelings that a voice couldn't possible aspire to. He pressed my body in alignment to his and requested nothing further from me for the time being. Together we stood, savoring the silence of this place and the mystery of one another and that was enough for us.

For now.

To die, to sleep – to sleep perchance to dream. Hamlet is confronted by these two inexplicable choices. To eliminate the reality by denying his existence within the cursed circumstances that have been thrust upon him – or to confront this difficult agenda and stand for that which he now considers most sacred to him.

The truth was, that I had come to care for Muraki. That was the indomitable genuineness of the matter. Here we stood, me, the complete and complex combination of light and darkness, untouched by whatever it was that had ripped Muraki in half. Had made a victim of him.

Victim. Hadn't Mitkiel himself said that it was the fate of all victims to eventually become sinners? If I could believe anything that this demon had said inside of that nightmare, could I trust my heart to the possibility that this abominable creature I had come to genuinely care for, was as much a victim of any number of those vices of which I myself were capable of? To see Muraki's goodness… to know that he wasn't entirely corrupted after all and that there was still a chance he could be saved. Made whole.

A victim. Muraki was a victim. He had been torn in two by Mitkiel, when he had been only a child. And no child is guilty of any sin that we Guardians of Death could possibly judge them for.

This argument may have been enough… just enough, to convince my colleagues to stay their hand. Muraki was not our great enemy after all. He too was a victim.

And it was our job to save the victims.

To exist and fight your circumstances, no matter how impossible they may seem. Or to surrender and disappear from this world entirely, leaving behind both joy and pain for the sliver of a chance that better dreams may come.

To be or not to be. I guess that's always the question, isn't it?

-EC-

NaPap: Whooo! That was a long chapter! Not to mention really hard to write! Especially after such a long hiatus!

Watari: (Back from having his acid bath, still looks completely normal) Nooo! I was so lame in that chapter! All I did was whine and run around screaming like a girl!

Muraki: Appropriate, considering that you were dressed like one.

Watari: Oh, shut up you! You're gonna be dead in the next chapter! Tatsumi's gonna smack yo butt with his shadow minions of death! So enjoy living while you still got the chance!

Oriya: Why on earth are the two of you bickering? At least you were in the chapter. Me? I'm still in the alleyway with that horrible little teenybopper demon.

Tsuzuki: (Snuffles) Oww… I had to sit in broken glass! I think I got some of it in my butt! (Pouts)

Muraki: (Whips out medical kit and snaps on rubber gloves) I wouldn't mind taking a look for you, Mr. Tsuzuki.

Count: (Replacing his default white gloves for surgical gloves) Oh, I say you fine fellow. Allow me to assist!

Muraki: (Beaming) Absolutely, Nurse Hakushaku.

Tsuzuki: … (Hides behind Oriya) Kind of makes me wish Tatsumi and his shadow minions of death were here to protect me now…

Tatsumi: (Still bashing his way through NaPap's various financial crap, with the aforementioned authoress draped all over him) Can't help now, Tsuzuki-san. Too busy trying to figure out a way for NaPap to save money and still go shopping for savy clothing.

NaPap: You must find a loophole, Tatsumi! I believe in you!

Watari: (Sighs) God forbid that you actually used any one of your twelve gods of indispensable power to try and refute Muraki's unwanted advances, Tsuzuki.

Tsuzuki: (Light bulb) Hey… I never thought of that before!

NaPap: (Sweatdrop) Sure you didn't pumpkin. (Points to readers) Thanks for reading, everyone! I'm so glad to finally get that chapter out of the way! Huge pain to write! HUGE! Speaking of huge things, Oriya and Muraki's split chapter is up next!

Oriya: (Maintains a proud silence)

Muraki: (Tests the point of his scalpel for sharpness)

NaPap: Aww… he's so cute when he gets that homicidal look on his liddle puddin! (Pinches Muraki's 'liddle puddin') But moving right along! (Adopts big, deep narrator voice) Next time on Dark Adaptation – an unexpected guest drops in on our favorite star-crossed lovers! But more importantly, Muraki spends the night! How will this affect Tsuzuki? How will they share the single futon without some form of bodily contact? Will Tsuzuki's apartment ever be the same again? And how are they going to get around this slightly incremental issue of Tsuzuki and Hisoka being sent in to kill Muraki the very next day? How will Oriya beat the mini-skirt wearing missy from Hell with only stunning good looks, one good leg and a gender-confused djinni on his side? Who the hell knows? That's right; only me! So you'll only hear the answer in Chapter 18 of Dark Adaptation: Cutthroat Eurynomous Part 4.

Tsuzuki: (Dramatically) Those that live in darkness-

Watari: (Cuts in) – need to change their light bulb!

Oriya: It's no wonder it never gets done at the Ministry of Hades. You guys aren't moving your backs from the wall, even if it means standing in the dark.

Tsuzuki: (Nods wisely) That is especially applicable if the Count happens to be around. (Wags tail cutely) Yay everyone! Dark Adaptation is back and I missed you all! Please review, because it makes me happy and inspires NaPap to keep writing!

Muraki: That is such a bribe, but I'm all for it because the more NaPap writes, the ever closer we come to that elusive lemon scene! (Makes stupid arm pumping gesture) Yes!

Tsuzuki: (Tail stops wagging) That's… not so good.

Watari: Oooh! That means that mine and Ori's lemon scene ain't too far off! Goodie! (Hugs Oriya's arm) Not too long until erotic naked bliss! (Sighs happily) I can't wait…

Oriya: (Sighs) I need to review my contract…

Saki: Well, this is my first time appearing officially as a muse, though I have been working with NaPap since the fics conception.

Tsuzuki: What kind of muse are you again? I forget. I'm the Feel-Good/Normality/Angsty Muse, Muraki's the Contrived Plotline Muse, Watari's the Humor Muse, Oriya's the Old Fashioned Romance Muse, the Count is the Smut Muse… where do you fit in again?

Saki: I'm the Horror Muse! I'm responsible for overseeing all the scary scenes! All the gore, the blood, the guts… y'know. Just good eats.

Watari: Explains why the last chapter was so gory then…

Muraki: (Gestures sweetly to Saki) Big brother? Come here. I want to tell you a secret…

Saki: Is it that you're hiding a scalpel behind your back? Because I can see it from here, idiot.

Muraki: … I will get you. I WILL MURDER YOU WITH MY OWN HANDS!!! Twitch-twitch

Tsuzuki: Uh… I think your eyebrow is trying to dance, Muraki…

NaPap: (Points in vague direction of 'audience.') And you! Yes you, Jess Hughes, don't think I haven't forgotten your bribe missy! Send some OriTari my way, baby!

Watari: Yeah! I need some OriTari pronto! NaPap is just way too slow for my liking!

NaPap: So shoot me, why don't ya? (As Muraki hefts up a deer rifle) It's just a figure of speech! Well, N E way, it's good to be back everyone! Reviewer reviews continuing with the next update! Until then, thanks again for everyone's support and sorry to leave you for so long! More MuTsu next time I promise! I know this chapter sucked but really, who cares?! It's the plot filler and the lemons are edging ever closer! Yippee! I love you all! Now I'm off to celebrate and catch a kip. Oh, and wash my hair. You know how it gets when you're caught up in a project. Hygiene comes last! (Runs for the shower screaming hysterically)

Watari: EWWW! That's so gross! NaPap!

Tsuzuki: (Pouts) I love the readers more than NaPap does! (Hugs readers in an overly ass kissing way) Thanks for all the support you guys! It makes me feel all warm and cuddly inside!

Muraki: I have other means to make you feel all warm and cuddly inside, Mr. Tsuzuki. (Wiggles eyebrows suggestively)

Tsuzuki: … (Hides behind Oriya again) Go away…

Count: Now, now Tsuzuki, don't hide. Come… come and accept our pure love…

Oriya: (Groans) To think this is what keeps the public reading. Well, I must admit it is sort of nice to be back. My sincerest appreciation to everyone who wrote in and or reviewed in NaPap's long lazy absence. It most certainly did not go unnoticed.

Watari: It really didn't! I'm happy to be here again! I wanna find out how the story ends!

Tsuzuki: No… you just wanna find out when you and Oriya get to shag.

Watari: Well, that too…

Muraki: It's terribly uncouth when men remain entirely focused on physical pleasure. (Shakes head judgmentally) Well, thankyou everyone for tuning in once more. Hope you somewhat enjoyed this chapter, though the next one should certainly be better. Sign the guest book if you like but if not, we shall hopefully see you soon.

(Cast members all wave. NaPap (the recently fully employed) is passed out unconscious on her cloud, a bottle of Château Marguex clutched in one hand)