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

27. Tsuzuki: Death Precedes Us Pt: 2

Dark Adaptation

Death Precedes us with a Knowing Smile: Part 2 of 1

A Once-Human.

Similar to a Guardian of Death in that the entire soul and renewed shell of a body had been brought back to life. Only the Guardians of Death served Hades and who in Gods name knew who Saki Shidou was bound to serve? What terrible contract had he made, simply to spare himself from dying?

I gazed idolently from the chest of drawers to the wall beside it. Six short samurai swords were on display here and one empty stand revealed that the longest of the piece was currently MIA. The bookshelf contained many tomes regarding the martial arts, in particular kendo and Aikido, as well as complex novels regarding Japanese folklore, philosophy and science related texts. This Saki may have been an audacious lad but he was clearly not stupid, judging by the material he had been studying. A book had been left open on his bedside table and it made my heart ache to think that he would never be returning to finish it. The jacket cover was dusty and I couldn't read the title through the grime that obscured it.

On the writing desk near the window, a thick textbook had been left open. I wandered over and sat down on the dusty wooden chair, picking the textbook up to uncover several handwritten pages beneath it. Saki Shidou had obviously been doing some research.

Dissociation and its' relation to the mark of the Sufferage

Dissociation is a mental process, which produces a lack of connection in a person's thoughts, memories, feelings, actions, or sense of identity.

During a traumatic experience, a person may dissociate the memory of the place and circumstances of the trauma from his/her ongoing memory, resulting in a temporary mental escape from the fear and pain of the trauma and, in some cases, a memory gap surrounds the experience.

Therefore, the person separates themselves from the experience with a sort of mental caul. This perhaps explains what happened to that patient of Grandfather's whose soul was 'spirited away'.

There have been many cases of lost patients and spiritualists have theorized that such patients who have experienced great psychological trauma find it easier to cope by separating their minds from reality or by adversely creating a barrier or caul, that ultimately protects them from the memory of that trauma.

Regular sexual abuse dissociating: Have very disrupted personal experience. So many hours of so many days are lost.

At one end are mild dissociative experiences common to most people, such as daydreaming, highway hypnosis or getting 'lost' in a book or movie, all of which involve 'losing touch' with conscious awareness. I.e: Fading out.

Dissociative Disorders: Multiple Personality Disorder.

Dissociative amnesia

Dissociative fugue

Depersonalisation disorder

Of particular interest to case: Dissociative Identity Disorder.

When faced with overwhelmingly traumatic situations from which there is no physical escape, a child may resort to 'going away' in his or her head. Children typically use this ability as an extremely effective defense against acute physical and emotional pain, or anxious anticipation of that pain.

Over time however, for a child who has been repeatedly physically and or sexually assaulted, defensive dissociation becomes reinforced and conditioned. Repeated dissociation may result in a series of separate entities, or mental states, which may eventually come to dominate the central identity.

Most frequent precursor is extreme physical, emotional and sexual abuse in childhood. Incidence rates are even higher among sexual-abuse survivors and individuals with chemical dependencies.

Depressive symptoms: Lose sense of self, analgesia (being unable to feel pain). Provide approximate inaccurate answers. People suffering through dissociative disorders may also display such behaviors as sexaul dysfunctions, self-mutilation, aggressive impulses, suicidal impulses and acts of impairement in personal relationships. (Perhaps indicative of that patient? Adversely, it is of some concern to me when considering how Kazutaka's mother treats him.)

But of particular interest is dissociative identity disorder. When a person intermittently experiences two or more identities, he/she may have DID.

While experiencing the new identity, a separate personality takes control and the person is unable to remember important and personal information about him or herself.

Alters/egos. Each personality has its' own personal history and identity and takes on a totally separate name.

At least two of these identities or personality states recurrently take control of the persons behavior.

Inability to recall important personal info that is too extensive to be explained by ordinary forgetfullness.

History of severe physical/sexual abuse usually the main precursor.

Self-mutilation usually occurs; individual bears scars from self-inflicted injuries or physical abuse.

Grandfather's patient? Was he talking about me?

I couldn't pretend to understand a lot of what was written there but if it had anything to do with me I couldn't just neglect it. I wanted to hold onto it but I wasn't sure whether I'd be allowed to take anything out of the room. I held onto it, trying to decide whether I should try and take it with me when a dust covered object beside the book on the bedside table caught my eye. I slipped the research notes in my pocket and moved over to perch upon the bed, giving the credenza my apt attentions. A picture frame had been placed face down and when I lifted it, it left a clean rectangle carved into the thick dust. I brushed the sides of the frame absentmindedly before holding it up for inspection.

A mousy haired boy, whom I immediately recognized as Saki, held the hand of an equally small and rosy cheeked girl, whose blonde hair flecked every which way in rigorous curls. They couldn't have been more than six or seven respectively in this shot.

Each one of them was tucked under the respective arm of a man who sat between them; a man who wore the same rougish grin as the older Saki had displayed, one eye slyly winking at whomever was taking the picture.

I gathered that the girl was Saki's half-sister, this Seki he had mentioned in his journal but I had no name for the man who sat between them and I didn't recognize him at all. It had to have been 'Papa' but he certainly didn't look like any Papa I had ever met. In fact, he looked rather like a muso.

His short blond hair was spiky and serrated by dark red foils. He had several piercings running up the shell of each ear and chunky rings adorning both thumbs as well as fingers. There was a simple gold band on the ring finger to signify that he had indeed been married (though, from what I had learnt in the diary this was no longer the case) but it looked compartively understated compared to the clunky, silver jewellwry. The man wore bands of chain around each wrist and a t-shirt with a shockingly loud English logo for a band I had never heard of. He also wore jeans and black lace up boots.

However, though this all sounded rather intimidating, there was nothing fierce about this man at all. His brown eyes were gentle and he had a very friendly smile. I could tell by the way his arms were slung around the kids that he loved them. But the inconsistencies in the diary reminded me that he had struck out at Saki once and spent a day in his room for some unknown reason, so I felt a little predisposed not to trust the outward appearance of this man. I trailed my eyes along his body, noting what appeared to be reading glasses tucked haphazardly into the pocket of his jeans and a faint trace of what appeared to be puncture marks on his inside elbow. It was indistinct and may even have been a mark made on the photo but I just couldn't be sure.

I took the photo out of the frame and turned it over to see if anything was written on the back, when I was again distracted by something sitting on the headboard of the bed.

A small and extremely worn plush tiger, that reminded me all too uncannily of the owl Pandora- no Saki had given me at the Tokyo cinema two weeks past. My mind ticked impatiently and whipped out the journal, skipping over a couple of pages in my excitement. I finally found what I was looking for;

November 24

Dear Diary,

Papas better now! He sayd he waz sorry and took us out for an extra big lunch to make up for yestaday. It rayned but we were all so happey we bearly noticed. Nee-san is sad becawz she hasn't seen any owls in Kyoto since we got here. Papa took us to a toy stor and bowt me a little toy tiger and got Nee-san a little plush owl. Theyre both so cute! Papa said that we can tell all our frends back home that we saw tigers and owls and Kyoto, but its not really the same tho, is it?

Here was the definite proof I was looking for. Not the proof I wanted… I wanted to hear that Pandora was somehow… I mean, the song he had been singing in the cinema.

"Someone's been a naughty boy."

I'd never jumped so high in my life. I actually went airbone and floated up so high I hit my head on the ceiling. Once I'd come back down, rubbing the egg shape lump forming on my forehead, I looked around to see where the voice had come from and saw Pandora perched on the windowsill, smiling cheekily back at me. He was wearing cut off jeans and a white polo necked t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He looked like he was going off to play basketball. And his body… his entire body on the Fourth Plane, was covered in the same curse markings that had once been etched into Hisoka's flesh. Every inch of visable skin. Even the skin around his eyes was marked. This was almost ten, no twenty times worse than I had ever seen Hisoka.

"You." I whispered, wincing gingerly as the lump on my head shrank slowly back down to normal.

"Breaking into someone elses room and looking through their things?" He shook his lined finger condescendingly at me. "Just like a Nancy Drew novel, isn't it? And this mansion is the perfect scene setting. Find what you were looking for, Mr. Tsuzuki?"

I blinked incredulously at the boy, seeing him in a whole new light now I knew something about him. His mousy brown hair flicked with streaks of blond, his eyes rancoriously intelligent. And suddenly the notes in my pocket seemed to make that much more sense to me.

"You," I repeated, stepping over towards the window seat. "You're Saki Shidou."

He nodded deep and slow.

"And…" My eyelashes fluttered dramatically. "You're Pandora too…"

He laughed gaily, clutching both hands around his ankle as he rocked back on the window seat. "Finally catching on, aren't you? As a pet it can be quite… difficult to say the least, to protect oneself. It requires some degree of…" He took a moment to consider. "Imagination."

"Who am I speaking with now?" I asked.

"What is left of Saki Shidou." The boy said, climbing elegantly onto his long, tremendously toned legs. "All that can be left once one becomes a Once Human. Sacrifices are not permitted to retain vestiges of their former existence; it conflicts with their purpose in this life. By my contract with my master, I was granted a new existence… but the price I was forced to pay was high. I can remember the life of Saki Shidou but it is as though I am recalling the memory of a story somebody told me. Or a movie I watched, perhaps. The only truly clear memories I have, are those I shared with the people that I love… the best memories, as it were." He concluded with a sweet smile.

I tilted my head sidelong, appraising him. "Sacrifice?" I asked. "I thought you were a pet?"

He seemed bemused and his eyes awned extraordinarily wide. "Yeeees." He drawled, with an amused smile. "In my case, they are one in the same. I am both a pet that is intended to provide my master with sexual gratification and an outlet for his frustrations be they violent or carnal in nature and I am also a Sacrifice, intended to honor the agreement I made years ago. To correct an egregious error and fulfill my part of the contract. I am the property of my master but I have a great responsibility that surpasses even his authority."

"And that is?"

His gentle features didn't change as he lowered his face to survey me from beneath shrouded lashes. "If I could tell you… I would hardly be a Pet now, would I?"

Frustrated, I gestured to the curse scripture painted against his body. "Can you at least tell me what they are? And why they appeared on Hisoka and Muraki too?"

Saki held out his arm as though examining the marks himself. "No." He stated simply. "All I can say is that it is part of a special duty that only I can perform. And it is the reason why I now have dissociative identity disorder. It is the best means of surviving it. Short of what my brother chose to do, at least." He gave a congenial sort of shrug, lowering his arm back down to his side. "Hisoka… that poor kid, wasn't as lucky. He had no means of protecting himself… and this Withering stole over him and vanished his life."

I examined his visage, with one eye squinted tightly together as though this may have helped aid my assessment of him. "I'm not sure it's just a coincidence that you look so much like Hisoka Kurosaki." He angled his head to the side, as though encouraging my gradually oncoming epiphany. "Are you… related to his family in some way? I know that you're not Muraki's full brother, that you had different Moms. Was your Mother related to the Kurosaki clan?"

Saki seemed delighted. He hopped up off of the window seat and wound around me with a sudden vigorous excitement.

"Yes, she was! My mother, who incidentally was a Shidou, was the sister of the Kurosaki heads first wife. Which would make Hisoka Kurosaki my cousin… if he were not already someone far closer to me."

"What do you mean?" I asked, with some trepidation.

Saki perched himself upon the bed. "I'm sorry… but I cannot say." And then his voice became lighter, more cheerful and somehow more childish. "Master would be terribly angry with us, Mr. Tsuusuukey!"

I felt my face twinge up into an involuntary smile. "Hello Pandora. How are you?"

He giggled, hands pressed underneath his knees and feet jigging nervously across the carpet. "Pandora is all right. A little troubled lately… things are happening so quickly! Many things are happening…"

"You don't have to tell me," I agreed, one hand mopping my already rumpled hair casually. I saw Pandora/Saki's face relax back into a more composed façade.

"We can't tell you anything about what's going on, Mr. Tsuzuki," The voice of Saki Shidou explained. "But if you're hungry for knowledge, might I suggest you read a book?" He waved a hand and I turned around to see a number of books in the bookshelf slide out just far enough for them to distinguish themselves from the rest of the tightly wedged tomes. "This may seem heavy going but I would certainly recommend them. Feel free to keep those notes you picked up too but I'm afraid our conversation has come to it's due completion. We really must be getting along." He said, sliding down off of the bed. I turned back to him, holding one hand up to halt his exit.

"Wait! Just one moment."

He stared at me impatiently.

"How… um, I mean… are there any other personalities you have? Besides you and Pandora that is?"

Saki seemed rather amused. His brow twitched slightly.

"Why should that be of any interest to you?"

"Could you please just tell me?"

Saki crossed his arms as he turned his body about to grant me his full attention. "The more serious persona you saw outside of the restaurant in Tokyo and here today are the central idenity who is I; what Remains of Saki Shidou. Then, there is Pandora; whom you saw in the elevator of your apartment and Tokyo Cinema, when we were unduly punished by the Apostle Balban. Or so he tells me. Of course, he is not I, so I have no true memory of those events. Pandora and I are able to communciate but there is a third identity, whom is able to communciate with Pandora but unable, or unwilling to communciate with me. I know nothing about this personality because it has forbidden Pandora to speak with me of it. For whatever the reason. I imagine it provides me with some manner of protection, by subduing memories or something to that effect and should I uncover its' identity, that protection would lapse and the horror of what I must endure daily would result in the collapse of my mind." He gave a brash laugh. "I mean, I created Pandora to protect me from the carnal attentions of my Master. I'm not sure what else this third identity could be doing… But why do you want to know, Mr. Tsuzuki?"

I swallowed deeply, feeling my mouth becoming dry and clammy. "Because… the night in Tokyo cinema… you- I mean, Pandora was humming this tune… this tune that only one person knows. And he gave me a handkerchief… a handkerchief that belonged to her."

"I had that handkerchief as long as I can remember…" Saki mused, finger pressed thoughtfully into the curve of his chin. "But as for what Pandora was singing… I can hardly imagine…"

"Do you know Ruka Tsuzuki?!" I blurted out suddenly, desperate to figure out, to understand and to rationalize a raging hope trapped within my heart, unable to escape and blinding me to everything else.

But Saki didn't cotton onto this name like I had hoped he would. He chewed his bottom lip, eyes shifting to a certain angle to show that he wasn't on the same level as me.

"Ruka…?" He drawled softly. "No… I'm sorry, no. Is she… a relative of yours? Your mother or sister?"

"My sister." I said, feeling my shoulders slump down. I felt as though all the air had been let out of me. "She died when I was only seventeen… and Pandora was singing the song that she wrote. The song she used to dance to." I met his eyes again. "Can I talk to Pandora? Can I ask him how he knew the song?"

Saki seemed annoyed. "My identities are not something I can just switch over to and from like a CD track." He said, puffing up a bit like an aggravated bird. He seemed ready to say something else but then his eyes widened suddenly and his fingers raised up to clutch his aggreived features.

"Ah… Ahhh!" The scream ripped out of him, roar and primal and he keeled over at the waist, allowing me to witness the sight of what appeared to be burnmarks appearing on the back of his neck. New curse scripture was flashing on and off like a torch beneath his skin. "Ukyou!" His eyes bulged white from beneath his mussed bangs as he straightened up halfway. "No… not Ukyou, please!" His eyes rolled back towards the ceiling until only the whites showed, red veins branching up towards the pupil as though the curse scripture was trying to encompass every remaining patch of his body. "He's here…"

"Pandora has to get out of here!" The ice blue eyes widened with palpable terror. He hopped off of the bed as deep resonating thuds tolled from the hallway. The Blank-Faced Specters glanced over their shoulders to take into account whatever was approaching them. "Mr. Tsuzuki, you have to run! He's coming!"

"Wait… what? Who's coming? What's going on with Ukyou? … Hey, wait a minute!" I exclaimed, reaching out to try and stop him as the marked boy sprinted around me and liberally thrust himself face first out the window, like a professional swimmer vaulting off of the diving board.

"You have to go! Go now!"

I ran over and leant out through the open frame but he had already disappeared. A white feather floated back up past my face and disappeared into the overcast sky above. "Dammit!" I cursed, hitting the wall with the flat of my hand. Remembering the books he had pointed out to me I made my way over to the bookshelf, when a harsh gutteral drawl from behind the wall of Blank-Faced Specters blocking the doorway distracted me thoroughly.

"Tsuzuu-uuki…"

I spun around to face the threat, resulting in slamming my back against the wall in the process. The Blank-Faced Specters didn't bother to remove themselves from the doorway and I only had a brief moment to wonder whether or not they were in fact trying to protect from whatever was coming, when a long thick blade swung sideways between them and opened up the necks of the pair on the left. Only a thin strip of flesh kept their heads attached to their necks, before gravity got the better of them and with a fresh spurt of blood, the strip tore and their heads collapsed and landed on the floor. The remaining two Specters tried to move into the path of whatever was coming, when the blade turned on them and viciously started to hack their chests, legs, arms and stomachs, as though cutting through a shrubbery that blocked a path. Wounds gushing, voices shrieking, the specters collapsed against the doorway and back out into the hall, allowing their attacker to gain entrance into the room.

"Tsuzuu-uukiii."

He was a tall man; around the same height as Muraki but wider across the chest and decidedly thicker in the arms and legs. He looked like a weight lifter that had gone someswhat to seed, which may not have been too far off because he was an older man; around later fifties to early sixties I wagered. His face was shielded by a black wide brimmed hat and a long dark blue jacket slumped down towards the floor. When he spoke, his voice rumbled out in a deep baritone. Clutched in his left hand and dripping with the coagulated blood of Muraki's illusions, was a brutally large and sharp meat cleaver.

"There you are…" He growled, slouching into the room towards me, upper body bent low in a typical hunting posture. I could see his blue eyes glaring at me and they rolled about with the telltale signs of the insane. "I've been waiting for you…"

This was a different kind of fear compared to facing a demonic adversary. There had only been so many humans who had tried to kill me but there had been particular circumstances behind these cases. Never before had I come face to face with someone who looked like a one-hundred percent slasher villain. Here was that moment. This filled me with the same sort of fear that a bad guy in a scary movie did. It was like being face to face with the killer from Psycho. The stalker from Dead Calm. And even though I knew I wasn't helpless, I felt it anway. My knees went weak. My eyes kept flitting back to the dripping blade; the blade that couldn't kill me but could easily dismember me, possibly bleed me out before anyone could find me.

I pulled myself together and dug my hand into my pocket, pulling out a fuda imbued with aggessive engravings. I held it up between my first and middle fingers.

"And you are?" I asked, sounding decidedly cooler than I actually felt.

The Cleaver-Maniac smirked as he edged closer. I had nowhere to go, other than straight out through the window, so without trying to seem too obvious about it, I started to slide sideways towards it.

"Shukusatsu…" He sounded kind of hypnotized, the way he said it and his eyes blurred out of focus. I stole this oppurtunity to make a dash towards the window but the Maniac wasn't as out of it as I had hoped. The cleaver thunked into the window frame an inch from my nose, causing me to squeal like a little girl. The dark man rushed forward and ripped the cleaver free, pressing the blade against my throat. "My little Tsuzuki… I've been waiting so long for this…"

"Get away from me!" I yelled, raising the fuda and uttering the Pressure release spell, which knocked my assailant back several feet. I ducked away and moved towards the door but he got in front of me with a mocking grin and took a slice at my chest. I stumbled sideways and hit the bed, bracing my arms against it to keep myself standing.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked, poised between fear and irritation. "What do you want from me?"

His smile twitched unpleasantly. "Your Shukusatsu…Don't get my crack at you until we've milked that out a' ya."

"What Shukusatsu?!" I hissed, angry and frustrated. "I don't even know what that is!"

"Shukusatsu…" He repeated, almost dreamily. "The mark of your sins and sorrows… the mark of all that turns its back… on God."

The words of Saagatanasu! This couldn't be a coincidence! I felt my bladder weaken considerably, my body quake at those memories of losing complete control as my assailant raised the blade of the cleaver to his mouth and slid his tongue along the sharp edge. My mind immediately flashed back to the Other Place, where the image of my younger self had peformed a similar act of splitting his own tongue with the clipping shears. Tell tale tit, your tongue shall be split. The poem children taunted one another with; the code of silence and the threat of what would be exacted upon you, should you speak of the nefarious acts of a particular person to another.

Blood gushed down the chin of the Cleaver-Man and he started to laugh. A high, terrifying, deranged laugh that was more a giggle than the deep baritone he had been until now exhibiting. My whole body trembled without precetence and though I wasn't a cowardly man, I was terrified by this person, for a reason I could not explain at the time. All I knew was that I had to get away from him. For more reasons than one. A harsh vibration had just stolen across the skin of my chest. I snatched the pager out of my jacket pocket and held it up to see the words, "Tatsumi: SOS" flash across the tiny pale gray screen. Good grief, everything seemed to be happening all at once!

I didn't waste a second. Shoving the photograph and the pager back into my pocket, along with the tiger doll (don't ask me why, it was a spur of the moment thing really), I grabbed for the first object I thought could possibly solve my present conundrum. I raised the dusty, wooden desk chair and holding it high like a lion tamer, ploughed into the Cleaver-Man with all my preternatural strength, forcing him backwards into the wall. He hit the plaster with a loud 'oof', his head making contact with a sickening and ultimately satisfying crack. I pulled the chair back and lifting it above my head, smacking it violently down over his face as hard as I could. The old wood virtually exploded on impact and the Cleaver Man slumped, stunned, which was less than I had hoped for but afforded me the oppurtunity I needed to sprint towards the door. I leapt over the remains of the poor Blank Faced Specters (which were fading away even as I looked) and rounded the corner into the hallway like a bat out of hell. I heard the tell-tale thunk of the cleaver smashing into the opposing wall, as the coated man hurled it at my retreating butt. I doubt I had ever run so fast in my life or death. Fuck I was flying.

"Tsuuzuu-uukii."

I shot down the stairs like a lubricated bullet, snagging the curled lip of the banister in order to spin myself around to face the rear doorway as I landed. The pager continued to vibrate persuasively in my pocket, Tatsumi's desperate plea for assistance urgent and unanswered. I slammed through the doorway and bolted headfirst into the hallway beyond, letting my highly trained body do the thinking for me. Should anything get in my way, I could only rely on my substantial reflexes to step in and take charge; I had far too great a momentum to halt myself now. Distracted though I was, something caught my attention as I ran. The purple haze was falling away, gradually blending into a rich warm glow that creased through the awning windows. Daylight and pastel colors were seeping back to the forefront of my perception. I knew what was happening. Aki's means of entering us into the Third Layer of Reality was starting to crumble. Either to everyone or only myself. Saki hadn't been lying; he was here, whomever he was. Something powerful was affecting the spiritual continuim, rending magical measures apart at the seams. Unscrewing the bolts, shaking the foundations of mana apart until the roots shucked free of the earth.

'By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes', The words uttered by the witches of Macbeth held a special significance in that moment. Though it was towards the impending horror that I ran, rather than awaiting its' despised arrival upon the foot of my door. But who is to deign that which is most wicked? Was I not as ghastly as the creature upon whom I gained with each hurried step? That is perhaps irony, is it not? The wicked one rushes to face the wicked one. How delightfully altruistic! I'm sure Muraki would have found this most amusing, had he been witness to the horrors slowly unfurling between the walls of his own home.

The double doors leading out towards the gardens loomed beastly and bullish before me and just before I barged on through, a picture framed in the wood of the left hand door caught my eye. It was a painting; depicting a red donned Jesus Christ reaching out his hand to lay upon the head of a demure light haired boy, whose eyes were rendered respectfully downward, hands pressed together in reverence. The son of god was surrouned by three older bearded men, the foremost figure shrouded in robes of magnificent gold. Framing the shoulders of the blessed child was his family, or so they appeared to be. There was a second, angelic looking fair haired boy, who gazed out towareds the observer with eyes that truly appeared to see, despite being rendered in paint. An equally cherubic girl in red, clutched the shoulders of the boy who had been touched by the hand of Christ. The exceptionally pale mother, robed in blue, looked on with palpable respite, nursing a rather portly baby in her arms, whilst her bearded husband indicated with one finger towards the beat of his heart beneath his breast; the fingers of his second hand resting lightly against the bared shoulder of the watchful girl, whose eyes seemed to sear more urgently into mine as I took this final factor into consideration.

There was writing carved into wood beneath the picture frame and I had to lean close in order to make it out.

"Suffer the little children to come unto me."Mark 10:14

And then under that, in letters as dark as rich black ink but dripping as though it were written in blood, the increasingly chilling words; "Then Death and Hades were thrown into the lake of fire. This is the second death, the lake of fire; and if any one's name was not found written in the book of life, he was thrown into the lake of fire."

I wasn't sure what this meant and the continuing buzz from my pocket reminded me that I didn't have the luxury of musing on it for any great length of time. Tatsumi was just beyond; possibly in grave danger and disturbing though this situation was, I hadn't the time to waste on it. Rejecting the increased complication, I yanked open the right hand door and barreled through, only noticing the translucent cords of the giant spiderweb when it was too late to do anything about it. Fortunately they didn't snag a hold of me, like I would have expected a giant cobweb to do and I passed straight through them without the slightest bit of hassle. I let premature relief wash over me, a heightened self-assured brashness steal authority of my senses and I was just expelling a grateful sigh, when my head popped free of my neck and fell into my extended hands.

Yes. You heard right. And stop laughing Watari, it's not the least bit funny! How would you like something like that to happen to you?

Needless to say, I was more than just a little alarmed by this development. I was able to catch my head just in the nick of time but now that I was actually staring back up at my newly decapitated body, I hadn't the faintest idea how to proceed. And I didn't have a very firm hold of my head either. For a few (no doubt hileriously comic inducing, to everyone but yours truly) moments, I juggled my head back and forth up and down, shrieking in mortified shock and unable to calm down long enough to get a firm hold on myself. Quite literally. Was this another one of Muraki's cheap-ass 'protective-spells'? Whatever it was, it frightened the undead bjeebus out of me, to say the least.

"Oh my god! Oh my god, Jesus! Shit! Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!" I chanted as I juggled my head haphazardly about the garden entance, nearly upending myself quite literally face first into a rose thicket on my immediate left. My body wasn't having an easy time navigating itself without my head attached to it either. More than once my hands clasped the base of my neck, which for all intensive purposes should have been a seared bloody stump, as are most necks reduced to when they have been separated from the owner. But my skin almost seemed to have melted together like wax and the base of the neck was smooth. I didn't know how I could feel this, when the neurons of my brain could not possibly reach the nerves of my fingers but somehow, my body still continued to operate under my command. What little glances I could get, as my head flipped up down and around, was that the top of my neck was also cleanly rounded off.

You would think that after the Room of Corollary I would be prepared for something like this but no. I can honestly say by far, that it was the strangest most alarming thing to have ever occurred to me. I mean, just imagine! Your head falling off! How do you handle something like that? (Apart from juggling it, of course.) The simple answer is, you don't. I was freaking out. I was freaking out big time.

I heard a sharp bang echo from behind me and managed to spin my body around and angle my head up high enough to see what was going on. Wakaba came stumbling down the hallway, her luxuriously curly brown hair tangled and falling crooked from the trademark ribbons she wrapped around sections of it and clothing singed. Her face looked sooty, as though she had taken a sudden profound interest in the work of a chimney sweep and was coming off the worst for wear for it.

"Something… came out of the… adjourning toilet." She panted as she came towards me, not yet noticing that I was a few good inches shorter than I had been the last time she'd seen me. "These white stalk type things… like they had little mouths… belched fire at me! Only just managed to get away when Seiichirou… is he alright?!" Her face appeared stricken and she'd still failed to notice my delicate predicament.

"Wakaba, stop!" I screamed, as she came dangerously close to stepping through the white nexus of threads spread across the exit. "Don't come any closer! I ran through that web type thing there and my head-! Look!" I shook my head pointedly in her direction, immediately wishing I had found other means to express my disbelief. The violent jerking sensation gave me a headache, ironically enough. "My head fell off!"

Wakaba's eyes stared large and white, unblinking through the smudges of black smeared across her pretty features. She set her hands on her hips, considering my situation from all angles it would seem.

"So you have," She stated serenely, as though my complete and utter decapitation were something of a mildly interesting nature, rather than something supremely revolting. "How on earth did you manage to do that, Tsuzuki?"

I bit back a snarky rebuttal, knowing full well that it was hardly Wakaba's fault that I was in this situation. If I had only exercised more caution when I'd stepped through the door, then none of this would have happened. There was no point in taking my carelessness out on Wakaba. Though I really rather wanted to.

"Just like I said! I ran through that web and my head… it just fell off!" I bit at the tip of my finger as it slid jarringly into my upper lip, forcing it over my upper row of teeth momentarily. I felt the sharp pain go through me, bizarre though it may seem and reflexively jerked the finger back into place. "Wakaba! What am I going to do?! I can't stay like this!"

She had been thinking whilst I'd been moaning and seemed to have wrapped her finger about my current conundrum, because her features lit up just as soon as I'd finished speaking.

"Of course! I learnt about this back in training! It was in my specific field, you know."

"Magical decapitation falls under Restrainment Mana?" I wondered, not being altogether familiar with Wakaba's particular area myself. I'd seen her use her powers to nulify the transformation of Terazuma into his monstrous black Shikigami self and return him to his human form but I had little idea of what else exactly she was capable of.

Wakaba laughed and waved her hand to and fro. "No, no, no. It's a Serration Blight. A magical means of nullifying the senses and creating a very life-like illusion through the spiritual instigation of mana hypnotism. There is an effective counter-spell. Just give me a moment…"

I watched as she fished a fuda similar to the kind that I employed in my spellcasting, out of her pocket and twirled her finger across the surface. Writing appeared upon the yellowed parchment, the same cranberry color as her nail polish but it was in a language I couldn't understand, let alone read. When she was done, she stepped forward and slapped the fuda edge directly through the mana nexus and into my forehead.

"Est autem fides credere quod nondum vides; cuius fidei merces est videre quod credis." (1) She recited quickly and before I was even able to offer a perfunctory 'ow', a bright light seared around the shape of the fuda and pulsed so harshly, I was forced to shield my eyes against it. When I opened them again, my head was mercifully back atop my neck and I spent a few moments running my fingers across my taut skin, savoring the comforting elasticity of my flesh.

"Phew… that was a close one! Sankyuu, Wakaba." I beamed, as the younger Guardian waved away the now useless threads of the spell and stepped into my grateful embrace.

"Hey, no biggie."

She gave my back a gentle pat and then pulled herself free as the reason for our presence in the atrium returned to the forefront of our senses. Her mismatched eyes were wide and her bottom lip trembled slightly.

"Seiichirou!" She reminded me, darting beneath my arms and racing out through the glass dome towards the framing arch of the kissing gate. "Hurry Tsuzuki! He's in trouble! I know it – Oh Seiichirou! Hang in there!"

"Wakaba! Don't just go barreling in there! There could be more traps! Wakaba!" But she couldn't or wouldn't hear me. Her concern for Tatsumi's immediate well-being was paramount and she would not be deterred from it. And I'll admit that I was entirely puzzled by it, equally by the personal use of Tatsumi's given name. Wakaba had never expressed much of a personal interest in the Hades Treasurer and as far as I knew, the pair weren't close in any way. They barely exchanged a passing nod in the hallways at work. So why this sudden rampant concern?

Pushing these thoughts backward, I drove after Wakaba with all the energy my body possessed, pushing myself past my usual limitations in order to vault the kissing gate and clear the surrounding hedgerows with barely a passing thought. If Tatsumi wasn't able to handle whatever manner of aberration had confronted him, then I surely doubted Wakaba's was capable to cope with it. Should anything happen to her… she was pure and sweet… and innocent. A kind and genuine person. I knew full well that it would not be only Hajime that I would answer to, should I have allowed any ill will to afford her. Speaking of Hajime, where was he? Where were the others? Why hadn't they responded to Tatsumi's SOS? I prayed that a similar, terrible act had not delayed them but persuaded myself that a message would have been sent via the pager if this were the case. I could only hope I was right and push on. The one person I knew for sure was in danger was somewhere up ahead and even though Tatsumi and I had had our differences, we had always been there for one another. Well… it was usually him doing the rescuing, if I'm to be perfectly frank. So all the better to return the favor!

I vaulted rose bush after rose bush; they dominated the grounds and burst into flagrant bloom as I passed overhead. Were they reacting to me or simply to the magic surmounting the surrounding area? I couldn't begin to explain the logic and it soon slipped from my mind, deemed unnecessary when I finally had Wakaba in my sights. I settled onto neatly maintained lawn in a wide-open space, most likely reserved for some manner of recreational pursuits. Here I could sense the final foundations of the Other Place slipping away, our spiritual means of protection gliding free like shadows from the suns waking eye. Wakaba was standing in the very center of the cleared ground and I could hear her quietly sobbing to herself as her mind finally accepted the truth of what dominated the scene. Staring up at the dubious monstrosity, I felt my own sanity threatening to turn over, just as it had threatened to do within the Room of Corollary.

The decomposed remains of a woman stood before a curved row of blood red rose bushes, her face veiled from inspection by a white funeral shroud that had been tied about her head with elastic. like a child's play mask. The remains of a slate gray dress barely clung to her waif like figure, the material almost the exact same shade as her sunken, ghastly skin. By some ungodly act of taboo, the rose bush upon which the body appeared to have been impaled had been spiritually integrated into her form. She and the roses were one… the thorny stems of the bush had penetrated directly through the scoop of her lower back and had erupted out through her abdominal cavity and… as best I can explain it, wrapped about her intestines, pushing them up and out into the air like great tentacles composed of the green of life and the red congealed rust of death. These writhing, fecal encrusted, thorn wreathed tentacles rose out of the woman's body to their rumored full-length capacity. You know that old fable where it's said you can wrap the large intestine three times around a tennis court? I don't pretend to know if that is true or not but in this extraordinary example, it certainly appeared to be so. The bowel vines stretched fifteen feet up into the air, holding captive at the highest point a struggling, writhing Tatsumi, whose helpless body was being brutally seared from all directions. One of their vines was wrapped around his mouth and eyes, so that his cries were muffled. Blood was dripping steadily down onto the green-carpeted floor of the recreational area.

A name came into my mind for this abomination, though I'm not sure if it is a name of my own creation or that I had somehow determined its' true calling. But the name nonetheless was this; Bowel-Thorn. Dead flesh wreathed to the least sentient life on the planet, which certainly now appeared to possess a mind of its' own. But this was still not the worst sight our eyes were forced to contend with, if you can believe that.

Down at our level, beneath the squirming, struggling specter of Tatsumi, the figure in the blue jacket and wide brimmed black hat, (who had somehow managed to overtake me) was stooped towards the dead girls body, his fingers hidden beneath the torn shroud of the girls dress but clearly working with demented excitement at the space between her legs. Wakaba's hands were pressed over her face and I barely got there in time before her legs buckled beneath her.

"S-Stop it!" She screamed it in a raw primal fury I had never witnessed from this serene natured girl. Her whole body quaked as I tried to get my hand over her eyes, trying in vain to prevent her from being witness to what was already far too late to prevent. "Leave her alone! Leave her the Hell alone, YOU BASTARD!!"

The man turned to stare at her and I could see that deranged smile even in the dark shadow the hat cast across his face. He was drooling and giggling, apparently delighted in this egregious act he was committing. This level of excitement appeared to rather escalate when he caught sight of Wakaba and then increased twofold when his crazed golden eyes took me into account.

"You're still only a child…" He hissed lustfully, stepping away from the dead girls body. His fingers slid out of her, bringing a thin layer of bloodied, deteriorated flesh with them. My stomach lurched as I realized that this was the poor dead girls hymen, which meant she had been a virgin. His remaining hand clasped firmly about the handle of a hatchet style meat-cleaver. "And you… the Reserved. The divinely beautiful untouched. Two sweet virgins… ah, how I ache… Yet fate is cruel to me. How long has it been… there has been none as sweet as those blonds… those beautiful blonds…"

There was a disturbance in the air and something appeared as though stepping up and out from a ripple in a pond. A man… a man almost twice the height of Muraki and nearly twice as wide dropped down to stand beside the demented creature in the hat. The new arrival had hair the same color as Muraki; though it and a greater portion of his upper torso appeared to have been permanently stained by blood. Even one of his eyes was permanently blotted by a line of red gore he seemed unable to blink away.

"Popo Bawa? Okiko Haruhi?" It addressed both names to the man in the hat who nodded twice separately to acknowledge each. "It is done now. We have drained sufficient energy from the girl. By his Majesty's authority you may return and enact the next countermeasure."

The man swept the hat from his head, revealing a crown of wavy blond hair and a not unattractive face.

"Another root to be plucked from the earth." The voice that sprang from inside of the blue cloaked man but came not from him reminded me all too much of the guttural baritone of Saagatanusu. "So shall it be done. In return for what he promised us, we will secure the boy more to the chains that erstwhile bind him."

"Certainly learnt his lesson in trying to evade his contract, eh?" Agreed the villain in the hat, chuckling his dark laugh from the veil of darkness shrouding his face. "You just make sure his Majesty remembers what he promised us in return, Mara!"

"Bring it full circle and you will receive that which you have been promised." The blood stained arrival murmured sourly, though his tone did nothing to deter the pleasure leaping in the face of the deranged specter. I got the impression that the silver haired man found his accomplice as distasteful as we did. "You had best hurry. He is approaching fast. I'm sure he will not appreciate what manner of foulness you have exacted against his former mate."

And it hit me, so suddenly, so profoundly that I actually felt tears spring to my eyes.

Okiko Haruhi… the name the blood-splattered arrival had addressed this man by… I had seen it once before. In that newspaper article in the Other Place. This man… this evil man who had already demonstrated his desire to possess virgins… was Watari's godfather! His childhood tormentor… the man who had kidnapped both him and his sister and held them captive in the basement of his house whilst he performed god knows what atrocities against them!

He was here! Right in front of me! And a burgeoning rage that I had not felt in so long reared inside of me like a snake about to strike, contorting my features into a primal howl of fury.

"YOU!!" I screamed, thrusting one finger out towards him with such drama it could only have been natural rage that had led me to such a ridiculous dictation. "You evil, disgusting, loathsome excuse for a pustule! I know what you did! You hurt- you hurt someone I care about you sick child raping cunt!" I had never used such language before but then again, I had never been face to face with someone I truly detested with such violence as I did Okiko Haruhi. I hated that man! I blindingly, agonizingly hated him with a pure loathing verity.

"We don't have time for this." Issued the tart, unfamiliar voice that seemed to erupt from the vicinity of Okiko Haruhi's chest. He waved its' protests away with an emperor like swish of his hand and beamed down at me as though he were a patient parent tolerating the adorable whimsies of a child.

"You're wrong, boy." Said the voice of Haruhi to me and he smiled, even as he started to dissolve away into the familiar sunken sphere of teleportation. "I have hurt three…"

I let Wakaba down gently and dashed towards him, for all intensive purposes fully intending to tear him apart with my bare hands, such was my utter loathing of him. But the moment was lost to the speculative mind. I had gone no more than two steps when Haruhi disapparated and the blood splattered figure jumped down to bar my already pointless path.

"Well, well, well. Asato Tsuzuki… and Kanuuki Wakaba; if I'm not mistaken." He gave a deep, almost respectful nod in Wakaba's direction before turning his oddly deteriorated eyes back towards me. "I heard Mr. Tsuzuki that you caused Balban a great deal of grief only a fortnight past. You Guardians of Death certainly don't hold back do you? Imagine… summoning up the Guardian Suzaku to deal with one little girl?"

"Little… girl…?" I enquired, utterly perplexed. "What do you mean, 'girl'? Are you actually trying to suggest that… great whopping dust cloud was a child?"

"Of course." Said the arrival, who appeared thoroughly surprised that this factor had not been obvious to me. He emitted a slight chuckle. "You won't have to worry about holding back with me. Allow me to introduce myself; I am the third apostle; Devaputra-Mara-Maya. Better renowned these days as Mara The Bloodbath." He held out a strand of blood stained hair. "Once a great angel of Heaven, I found myself thrown down by Saint Michael when drenched in the blood of demons during the End of Days. Blood that never fades." I saw him bite his lip with obvious contempt. "I was too contaminated for Heaven… but the Prince of the Infernal Regions, his majesty Eurynomous, welcomed me into Hell with open arms. Now, I serve those I once condemned."

"I don't care to listen to your introductions, beast. Are you responsible for this?!" I stepped forward, anger dominating my fear. "Did you create this… thing out of the body of this poor girl?! Put my friend down now or I will suffer you! Do you hear me, angel?!"

"SEIICHIROU!!" Wakaba called desperately, half sobbing as she climbed back to her feet, scuttling over to stand at my side. Her head was craned back, eyes never once leaving the continually squirming form of our fellow employee. "SEIICHIROU HOLD ON!!"

The angel scratched the back of his head, looking altogether too much like an embarrassed high school boy."… Well this is awkward. I can see I'm not going to be able to answer this without incuring some damage…"

" … You did do this…" I hissed, knowing the answer full well before he even confirmed it.

"I have no choice." The demonic angel snapped, a pair of equally blood stained wings snapping out from his shoulder blades and slashing up through the air as sharply as scissor blades. "You and yours are interferring. Nosy bunch of busy bodies, that's what you are. You'd best leave well enough alone, Asato Tsuzuki and let happen what means to happen. The boy must be punished for breaking the contract and he still must fulfill his duty. That was the bargain. The mark must return full circle."

"Mark?" I asked softly, my mind immediately darting back to the memory of Saki in the bedroom upstairs, writhing in pain and of Hisoka and Muraki's bodies respectively; each wearing the similar red brandings I had come to familiarize with both death and homocidal rage.

"The Shukusatsu." Mara stated impatiently, as though I were particularly dull witted."The souls branding that marks the suffering of the eternal spirit. The mark that quells the eternal quagmire; the lake of fire. By his Majesty's decree all souls that possess the mark of the chain must be culled when the suitable energy has been reached. It wouldn't be necessary, should the boy have fulfilled his duty forthwit." He paced slowly, fingers caressing the stray intestinal vines of the Bowel-Thorn as they dithered about him like adoring snakes to the pipe of a charmer. "You must understand… the master requires a great deal of mana, energy that can only be acquired by the connection established between those that are connected; joined by bonds of love, by blood, by friendship… even by bonds of hatred. If the appropriate sacrifice is not made, then a Punishment is dealt and all souls of earth shall wander aimlessly in the darkness. And should that happen, even he would be unable to bind it again."

It was all so banal and predictable. Couldn't these Otherworldly sons of bitches speak in anything other than verse?! "He? Who do you mean?! Start making sense!" My fragile temper, already balanced tentatively on teeterhooks flared up, releaved by the oppurtunity to direct my frustrations towards someone. And once more the angel responded as though I were possibly mentally ill, which only irritated me further.

"Michael of course. Saint Michael, the knighted right hand of God. The only being capable of versing the Spiritual Beings of the Higher Planes and truimphing over them." His voice dropped further and delved into a dark serration of internal bitterness. "It was he who was responsible for decimating the master in the first instance. He who wrought the 31 seals to bind him in place."

"Please, explain this to me!" I begged, taking a step closer against all common sense. I heard Wakaba chirp fearfully at my back. "Only last night, I spoke with the one who was responsible for all this. It's Mitkiel, right? Your master!"

The angels cocked his head to one side, lips pursed tight in a sort of quiet frustration. "Yes. … Sort of…"

"Sort of?!"I shrieked."Well then, you explain it to me! Explain why all this is happening! I don't understand anything and I need to know our part in this."

I was suddenly thrust back by mana of pure kinetic force. It was pressure and there was no pain but I was deeply affronted by the reaction I had received. Wakaba stumbled and landed jarringly on her rump but wasn't greiviously injured as far as I could tell. She just looked extremely put out. When my vision had cleared, I could see the angel, Mara, staring down upon me with outright contempt.

"You may have inherited the title of the Leader of the Spirit Wanderers from your hapless confrontation with that backwater underling Saagatanusu and I can't pretend to know what his Lord Ashitorote has planned for you in that regard but I'll be damned a second time should I permit you to take such liberties of me!" Spit flew from his stained lips and hissed upon contact with the ground. "The bloody cheek of you, human! A drop of demon's blood and a meager sub-title inherited through the devil's luck and you feel you possess the audacity to address me with such impertinence?! You don't need to know anything, Flesh Walker." Flesh-Walker; a derogative title for Guardians of Death, usually enforced by angels. It made reference to a sort of spirit, masquarading in long dead skin it had no right to inhabit. "I don't have to tell you a darned thing!" Even as a damned angel, he couldn't bring himself to swear it would seem. "I am Devuputra-Maya-Mara! The Fourth Apostle: The Bloodbath! I heed no word from the mouths of those which Hades itself regurgitates! The bile of Tartarus!"

He was getting really worked up and I could see I was hardly going to get a word in edge-wise, so I figured it best to cut to the quick.

"Well if that's how you feel," I said insipidly, my hand closing around the fuda charm in my left hand pocket. "Why beat around the bush any further?"

A small crafty smile flitted across Mara's blemished features, his one good eye darting covertly to the side where the girls' body resided atop the topiary.

"Couldn't have put it any further myself, boy." He gave a hardly discernable flick of his finger and I barely had a seconds glance of the funeral caul lifting up off of the girls face, exposing ammassed scar tissue which seemed to suddenly obliterate into a screaming white light, as though her face had been concealing the loaded barrel of a rocket launcher.

Fffsssshhh-SCHOOOOOM!

A huge displacement of energy, more movement than sound, shook the entire area as a flare of brilliantly burning white light jetted past my cheek, striking so close that it scraped the upper half of my ear away. Hot blood cascaded down the side of my face, shockingly wet but I only had a mere second to consider it before I turned my attention to more pressing matters. Whatever had blasted clear from what had once been the girls face (Little more than bone schrapnel now) had blown a deep hole in the ground behind us. And I was just thinking that I'd been incredibly lucky that my ear was the only damage I had encurred from such a stupendous force of power, when the hole lit up like the sun and literally exploded like a deeply entrenched landmine. God dammit, why hadn't I thought of moving away from the possible blast radius? Bloody half-witted hairlip I could be sometimes! All I know is that one second I was standing there, nursing the flapping remnants of my ear when a great pressure dramatically kicked up and out beneath and behind me, lifting me up by my butt and throwing me through the air like a fucking straw dolly that a little girl had gotten tired of. I was airborne, catching furtive glimpses of sky, the sun at the midway point of its journey and then the ground rushing up to meet my face, because naturally this was the part of me that landed first. The heaviest part, I suppose you could say.

I remember wondering, as I lay there for a moment, waiting for my bones to knit back together and my nose to distend (it had been liberally mashed into alignment with my cheeks and the delicate marrow was splashed across my face from the heat as well as the impact) just what had been concealed beneath the girls funeral shroud. A mother-fucking rocket launcher? Seemed more like a grenade gun, considering that the bastard hadn't exploded until after making contact with the ground. My head was ringing and time and outside noise was blotted out, as angry light dashed the corners of my senses and everything ground to a halt. I could have been there five seconds or five days, my senses were that out of context.

By the time I came around, I could plainly hear the undead girls keening wail and blinked through weeping eyes (my cornea's had been severely burnt on account of the blast) to see that the angel had set her loose from the roses. He appeared to be negotiating a certain degree of her movement with a marrionette on strings, that he had withdrawn from the white tunic he was wearing. As he manipulated the strings of the puppet, the girl followed suit. I was no expert in such matters but I thought this Bloodbath was some sort of Necromancer Puppeteer and I wagered that it was he responsible for the Hopping Corpse Terazuma had been confronted with. I struggled to get up, reaching over to grab a hold of Wakaba's arm, who fortunately had been standing further forward when the energy had ignited and as such had escaped the full brunt of the attack, suffering a few second degree burns and a couple of scrapes. My head spun and I was severely disoriented, possibly concussed but I had to keep her from getting closer, keep her from a reckless reaction that may or may not cost her her life –

-and the dead girl was up out of the rose bush and moving, almost flailing forward, fingers and arms tearing at her gray features in a futile attempt to rid herself of the unnatural intrusion. She was screaming actually screaming, though the sound wasn't emerging from her mouth but rather from somewhere deep inside of her chest. Unable to save herself and already beyond help, she thrashed blindly through the surrounding topiaries, carrying Tatsumi higher and higher into the air, constricting him until blood rained down on our heads in a saturating cloud.

I pulled Wakaba up behind me and we both raced after the suffering Bowel-Thorn as it burst through the steel and mesh arch of a decorative gate leading into the surrounding area. Before I could get out of the way, one of the detached bars came away, still smouldering, and smacked into my left side. I heard and felt a rib give way and stumbled over my own feet, trying desperately to right myself and keep the pain in check. Taking advantage of my momentary lapse, Wakaba surged past me and vaulted the distance between herself and the Bowel-Thorn, stealing a slip of paper out of her trouser pocket in mid-flight.

"Wakaba, NO!" I screamed, my voice lost in the wails of the undead woman. The pain in my side was intense; it flickered like fire, making it incredibly difficult to breathe but I forced myself to Jump, trying with insane premise to bridge the gap between Wakaba and the Bowel-Thorn before it all went pear-shaped.

Wakaba shot the fuda through the air as though throwing a knife. "Junction!" She screamed, initiating a spell I was not familiar with but was apparently powerful, because she appeared thoroughly nonplussed when the fuda rebounded uselessly off of the Bowel-Thorn's aura.

"What?" She whispered as I zoomed up to her side, hissing between my teeth and clutching my side as though attempting to force aside a pervasive stich. "That spell should have forced the physical and spiritual properites apart! It would have given that girl a chance to calm herself… what kind of magic is this? Tsuzuki…" Her mismatched eyes glanced betrayingly to Tatsumi, still writhing high in the air above us. "What are we going to do…? Seiichirou…"

Footsteps came thundering towards us and Aki soon joined us, his eyes widening as he took the monstrous abberation into account.

"What the fuck is that…?" He murmured, appearing slightly slow on account of his bottom lip hanging wide open. There was a loud thud as Hisoka landed beside us, looking accountably less concerned by the creature than Aki. Until he noticed Tatsumi struggling in mid-air fifteen feet about us.

"Mr. Tatsumi!"

"I know, I know…" I groaned, squeezing my bottom lip between my teeth as the frayed bone of my rib slowly ground back into place, forming into a hair-line fracture. "Aki… what do you reckon? This is your field after all?"

Aki seemed predictably unenthusiastic about this. "Well that may be true but I sure as heck never came across nothing like this before. I think our best bet is to… take out the tentacles and try and get Tatsumi out of there. Then we can think about ways to… resolve the poor girls soul."

"Right." I said, twisting my line of sight across my shoulder in order to lock my eyes on Wakaba's tremulous expression. "First thing's first; think you can throw up a suitable Containment sector, Wakaba? We've got to keep this here thing contained at all costs!"

Wakaba's expression was one of deep concern. "But… that will keep the others locked out also, Tsuzuki… Terazuma… where are you guys?!" She whipped the pager out of her pocket and pressed the button down urgently and then again, unnecessarily as once was sufficient. "Hurry up! Please!"

"Miss Wakaba! Please, there is really no time!" Aki implored, stretching his hands out in front of himself, the tips of his index fingers and two thumbs pressed together in order to form a vague triangular shape. "I'll have to act now or else that damn thing will go blundering out into the street. Habitum is tergum, habitum is angustus. Postulo, contineo!" (2)

A blaring white pentagram contained within a circular field boomed out from the arch of his fingers and expanded until it could frame our entire bodies. A second circular field with a mirror image pentagram spun forwards and twisted about to slot against the first image with a deep echo as though a great cathedral door were slamming shut.

"Postulo, contineo!" Aki repeated and flung his arm upwards, throwing the double branded pentagram into the air above our heads, where it expanded furthermore and hovered in place, sending a containment field down around the garden area. Just before the red light touched the ground, three figures all symetaneously leapt through the upper windows of the mansion and ducked through the weakest points of the Containment sector in order to join us.

"Hey, no fair Tsuzuki!" Saya complained, her small fists clenched benath her chin.

"Yeah, that's so like you! Keeping all the fun to yourself!" Yuma accused, shaking her finger accusingly at me. I shrugged as much as I could, wincing from my various injuries still not altogether resolved. My ear felt and resembled a badly wilted cauliflower.

"That's quite a containment field…" Terazuma remarked, gazing up towards the spinning pentagram, his hand shielding his eyes from the harsh glow. "It's nice to have someone around who actually knows what they're doing."

"Hey! That's just rude!" I had not failing to notice how his eyes lingered on me as he said this. Terazuma made to retort when he was interrupted by the arrival of a white will o' whisp that soared casual as you please into the containment field (Aki looked thoroughly insulted) and dropped down almost dramatically to hover beside Mara's bloodstained ear.

"It is done." Said the doleful voice of the messenger orb. Mara nodded thoughtfully, his fingers not such much as relaxing a hair on the marrionette strings.

"Very good. Make sure to report to the master."

The will o'whisp hovered in place, as though it wished to say more but was having difficulty articulating itself. Mara continued to stare at it, growing increasingly frustrated by its' lack of response.

"My rose bud is here…" The orb said, when at last Mara had seemed on the verge of questioning its' extended visit. The angel exhaled deeply, puffing his cheeks out wide in a purely childlike expression of pure exasperation.

"You know our rule about speaking in code Popo Bawa. No one gets it except you."

The will o'whisp darted sideways and knocked the angel upside the head.

"Kazutaka Muraki… he's here." It explained, as the angel took a lazy retalitory swipe that he clearly didn't have his heart in. "As beautiful as ever…"

Hisoka cottoned onto that small part of the conversation he could relate to and his face seized up as though it had rusted between severe emotions, unable to dictate a turn in any particular direction.

"Muraki?! Where is he? Where is he, dammit!!"

The Bloodbath gazed down upon him with the unmistakable expression upper class people reserve for plebians. I was used to that look myself; Muraki had a bad habit of directing it at me when he wasn't entirely in control of his emotions.

"Your boyfriend went out to see his fiancée. Now I believe he is seeing more of her than he has ever seen before. Things a person ought not normally see…" The angel said conversationally, as though this were not a potentially painful subject. I suddenly recalled Saki's pained exclamation before his rapid depature from the room upstairs… What could have happened to Ukyou, I wondered? My guts went cold with the obvious premonition that Mara's words did not bode positive for my paramour's former lover.

"What should I do?" The will o' whisp asked in Okiko Haruhi's voice.

Mara's face was pure utter disinterest. "Do you want to force him again, is that it?"

A distasteful snort errupted from the orb of light. "Don't be ridiculous. He's far too old for me now. Such a shame… he used to look so much like his brother… There's only one person I would ever rescind on my tastes for…"

"Quit reminiscing. He's one of the marked isn't he? And he has outlived his usefullness. Kill him."

"No! You can't!"

Everyone turned around to stare at me and I gasped dramatically, not intending to have spoken out loud. The will o'whisp paid no attention to what I wanted and with a haughty little chuckle, swung itself in a circle around Mara's head.

"The master said it isn't time for him yet. He still has his uses. And the circle is not near complete yet… there are still others."

"Then go and deal with them." Mara said, swatting at the orb as though it were a particularly irksome bug. "I have business to finish up here. At least some of these meddlesome fools should be removed before they become too great a hindrance."

"Suit yourself." The orb muttered and then burst backwards out through the containment field. We all acted instantaneously, as though this were the starting signal for an attack formation.

I displaced energy beneath my feet and jolted high into the air, using a fuda to instruct a Breaking force towards the marrionette in Mara's hands. I was certain that if I could shatter that infernal doll, then I could break the connection between him and the girl. But the Break force moulded around the area where Mara was standing, as though liquid had hit an air buble and shot off the other side, smashing through several topiaries and one fountain with a nude cherub squirting water from a rather distasteful area. I'm certain Muraki wouldn't have missed it.

I heard a roar behind me and sure enough Terazuma had reformed into his Shikigami guise and the large black lion propelled itself violently forwards, saliva frothing at the corners of its' lips. At the same moment, Wakaba lifted herself up into the air as I had, using the resulting friction to fashion aerial binds that she directed towards Mara, the like of which became snakes that's fangs dripped venom, every which one hissing like those that errupted from the Guardian Ghoul upstairs. They struck the shield around Mara, one after the other, Terazuma using his Vocal Blast to assist in breaking through the defensive nexus. Hisoka meanwhile had cast the Soul Catcher around the girl possessed by the living threads of the roses and was working desperately to separate her from the intruding presence. For the moment he held her stationary, which gave Yuma and Saya the time they needed to work at cutting Tatsumi free. Yuma was jibbering a complex blight beneath her breath that was slowly but effectively shredding the influence of the rose thorn tentacles, weakening their essence enough to allow Saya to make more forceful hexes against them, which for the time being were unsuccessful. All of Aki's concentration was going into maintaining the containment barrier but he was occasionally throwing Base Spells into the lower portion of Mara's defensive sphere, weakening the foundations where he was able to. I could see sweat beginning to bead on the angel's forehead.

"It won't work, Guardians." He hissed, as I positioned my fingers together, intending to call up the assistance of Byakko. Mara's eyes narrowed on me, then widened with cold fury as he saw my middle digits loop around my index fingers. "NO!" He roared suddenly and a second displacement of energy threw us all back collectively, causing the containment field around us to shrink momentarily before Aki regained his concentration. "You will not call those infernal Shikigami, Flesh Bearer! I do not intend to deal with the slaves of common Hades sewer-rats!"

I released a second Breaking Force but again the energy rebounded. Seven to one and we couldn't even touch this guy!

Mara didn't appear the least bit elated by the fact that he had us all hopping mad by this stage. If possible, he seemed twice as pissed off as we were.

"Ignorant whelps!" He roared and I had to wonder where that cherubic image of the angelics had come from, because this guy was certainly a far cry from it. "You have no power against me! I am coated in the blood of my kin and the powers of Hades are immune to the radiation of the pure! You cannot bear the touch of the blood of angels, because you yourselves were properly denied it! To you it is poison and your powers have no effect! Your efforts are pointless! You are impure, you are filthy! And you have worn my patience far too thin!" Light glared violently around the frame of his face. "Begone with you, dogs of Hades!"

His fingers clenched violently about the wooden frame that held the mannequin suspended and with a sudden violently sqeaulching sound, I distinctly heard something slither up behind me. I turned just in time to see that whilst Mara had been quite liberally hurling mud at us, the remaining tentacles of the Bowel-Thorn had been sneaking up behind us. One of them actually reached up to tap me on the shoulder and by the time I had raised my fuda bearing hand, the abominable thing was spearing around my wrist, pinning it up and out of the way, forcing my wrist back so far that I dropped the fuda. A scream fleshed out out of my throat as my wrist snapped and then the dreadful vine was letting go, snapping around like a whip before spearing relentlessly down through the upper part of my back, around my spin and just below the largest knub in my neck. It worked inside of me like a finger with no bones, actually manueuvering around my spine before bursting free through my chest, out of my upper left pectoral. Blood splattered out of my mouth and bubbling down my chin as an extraordinary pain flooded through my system, as though someone had just punched me in the back of the neck whilst holding a stonefish. Excruciating torture-like pain; the kind of pain that would make you tell people, quite happily what your favorite position in bed is and what toys you like to employ whilst getting on the job. The kind of pain I'm sure the Nazi's would have loved to have known about during the Second World War. That kind of pain.

I could hear the others screaming and knew they were enduring the self-same treatement but I had no means of getting to them. The dreaded tentacle, dripping with my blood and spinal juices, bore me down towards the ground chest first and I made contact with such force that all the air in my working lung (the other one had been punctured when the writhing thorn had entered) was knocked out of me. The tentacle speared into the ground and then came out of the dirt beside me, wrapping around and around my midsection, tying me against the grass, occasionally reinforcing the bind by spearing through my leg, then my arm and then finally up and out through my shoulder. The pain was so blindingly intense that I phased in and out of consciousness; the sensation increased moreso by the simple fact that my body was instantaneously trying to heal around the intrusions and it was fighting to come together. I was biting through my lip, trying to be brave and push through it, fighting to break free. I ripped my leg up and away from the grass and the tentacle pulled it immediately back down into place, spearing through the base of my foot this time as though to teach me a lesson for my impertinence.

From the corner of my eye, I could see Mara swinging the mannequin languidly from side to side and the girl tightened the veins that had speared through each of us. From right beside me, I could hear the deep rumbling whimper of Terazuma's lion form. Even in his advanced state he'd been unable to shake himself free. And I realized why. Mara's words were true. We'd been poisoned by the Angels blood, the terrible radiation it emmitted. He was the perfect enemy to set against us because as souls that had been unable to ferment properly, we were unable to touch or even associate with the pure essence of the Angelics.

"No more of your meddling." Mara whispered, the harsh anger that had been present in his voice giving way now to a more concentrated drawl. "With the exception of the one still required, you shall all pass on your way to your determined justice. Goodbye brave Guardians. It is regrettable..." My eyes bulged and I struggled with renewed vigour as Mara raised the mannequin again. It was too much to hope for a slap across the wrist and a severe scolding. Whatever was coming next was going to finish us and I couldn't do anything but lie there and take it.

"Muraki…" I whispered, eyes fluttering shut, too afraid to see whatever was coming next. My stomach gurgled, bile rising in my throat as the angels poison drenched my system. But there was pain on a different level; a pain I'd never experienced before. A pain I was completely unfamiliar with but understood none the less because it was a feeling every living person was born with. An engrained longing; a hope that every person in love felt. "Please be safe…"

I heard the whistle of the Bowel-Thorn's tentacles slicing through the air and waited for my life to end.

SHANK!

A loud crack resounded through the area, like the snap of a whip and the pain I'd be preparing for never came. I cranked my eyes open a bare sliver and peered beyond the pain, trying to see what was going on. The Bowel-Thorn's tentacles had fallen to the ground an inch from our collective faces and simply lay there, jerking with gradually dissipating spasms.

That same snapping sound came again and something suddenly cut through the strings of the marrionette, sending the disjointed wooden doll down to clatter against the ground, limbs splayed and useless.

"What's this?" Mara gasped as a cut opened up on his cheek and he pressed his fingers against it, registering the pain and wetness at the same time it seemed. "But who could-"

"Sorry ta ruin yer fun. Devaputra-Mara-Maya." I managed to force my head around just far enough to catch sight of who was speaking. There was a man standing on top of the kissing gate; a man with dark purple hair, who was smiling contentedly down towards the startled angel holding a bladed flail in one gloved hand, which he now cast aside having accomplished the job for which it had been necessary.

It was Ichibana. Although I almost didn't recognize him. He was dressed in some exotic attire, that for the most part resembled the skin tight ribbons of a Kunoichi (3), his feet swathed in the toe-dividing tabi, used to scale ropes and walls. I supposed it had looked better on him when he had been younger and fitter but after fourteen years in Watari's glasses, he wasn't quite as slender and mascular as he used to be. He was bulging a little in places.

Ichibana slid a unlit cigarette between his still smiling lips and when he withdrew it, the tip was alight. I could sense his dark red eyes upon me.

"Ye all right, doll?"

"Seen better days…" I managed through bursts of pain. "Can't say I'm sorry to see you here though."

"Inconceivable …" Mara murmured, his fingers still lightly carressing the oozing cut on his cheek. "So it's true that the Dark Scourge had resurfaced… how were you able to enter the Containment, your Highness?"

Ichibana just smiled and tapped ash free from the burning cylinder between his fingers, eye shut against the baleful glare of the corrupted angel.

"What's happened to you?" Mara hissed, clearly more than a little disturbed by this interruption. "Why did you betray us? Why would you help these flesh saplings after everything their kind has done to you?

Ichibana finally raised his lashes from the curve of his cheek, releasing the glow of those dark red eyes and a wave of smoke from deep inside his body all in the same instance.

"I'm terribly sorry ta have caused ye such inconvenience, Mara, my friend. But I realized a lot of things whilst I was a one of ye, whilst I watched the suffering of that boy. I learnt that to err is a vice only humans have a place in committin' and that we as Paranormals should know better. And I think… yes, I believe I love humans very much, though not nearly as much as I hate every one a you, whom would judge them when ye have no place ta do so." He smiled pleasantly, fingertips of his unoccupied hand pressed against the wall of his chest. "I follow the example made by Kanshisha Seimei-Kyouyo Kyandoru Sakura-Niwa-Kami before me."

"Kanshisha Seimei-Kyouyo Kandoru Sakura-Niwa-Kami, huh?" Mara repeated skeptically and I was amazed that he was able to recall such a vividly complex name. "The apple certainly doesn't fall far from the tree, does it, your Highness? I must say, I'm a little disappointed in you, Hephaestus. Having raised you in part."

Ichibana, didn't so much as drop a millimeter from his smile.

"There's no need ta be so formal, Mara. I ain't no one's 'ighness anymore and I'm certainly no longer the Forger. That ship has sailed. I desire no further part in trainin' the innocent ta give their lives for a cause they have little ta no knowledge of." Sakura blossoms suddenly burst through the air around him with a sound like a cannon going off, Ichibana's entire structure seemed to change and adopt an almost demonic visage, the canine teeth of his upper maw distended over his lower lip and something white broiling in the cup of his free hand, held aloft over his head. The cherry blossoms were spirraling into his palm, as though lurred down a drain by a current intended entirely for the pink flowers of Japan's most beautiful and mysterious tree.

"My name," He said, though there was greater significance to his words now. "Is Ichibana. Son of the Infinitus."

Judging from the dramatic countenance of Mara's features, I took this admittance to indicate that this name was intended to mean something. Something frightening, if not awe inspiring at the very least.

"An Infinitus?!" The angel gasped and I could feel his hold on me weakening, as though he suddenly realized he'd just made a huge error in accosting us and wanted to rectify his mistake as quickly as possible. The Bowel-Thorn's weeping tendrils eased out through the holes in my leg, chest, arm, foot and shoulder, causing brief but relieving pain, allowing the bones and muscle to rapidly begin knitting back into place. "That's… impossible! Only demon-gods are ranked Infinitus! So you…"

"And what is it exactly that you think you are looking at?" Ichibana said, rather conversationally, the petals of the sakura forming what appeared to be a winding sash of pink and white silk that stretched up high into the air and then curved down to swirl about his body artistically. "My rank is Fillius-Deus of Undecim-Undecim Ago. A worth that far exceeds yours, I dare say. Ye and those ya stand beside have brought great shame upon a great many people that I love, Devaputra-Mara-Maya. Yah, I knew what we were capable of. Back then, when we answered to the reinin' Ruler of the Netherworld. I know a great many things about yer cause, for it was once my cause also. But I have no desire for that sort of vorld any longer. This is ze world of ze 'umans and God has given it ta them to do with as they wish. And there are some vonderful 'umans that do their very best, ta make the best of this chance they are given. Neither you, nor I, nor ze Master has ze right ta deny them of vhat God has granted them!" He extended his hand and the great sakura sheathe lashed out and downward like a snake striking. As it cut through the air, it suddenly split open at the center and broke apart, forming into two wings that framed either wide of burning funnel of white flame that in turn shattered into a thousand pieces of glass. Each shard speared directly towards Mara but the angel reacted efficiently and snapped both sets of fingers on each hand bringing them down towards the ground in a sweeping gesture. The friction this caused in the air seemed to create a kind of menial shield composed of a crackling pink kinetic energy. The first shards of glass shattered against the barrier but then Mara had to bring his hands back up in a reverse pattern to reknew the thread. This left an opening wide enough to allow several winged plumes to spear though and the angels neck opened up on one side, as well as his upper left arm. He cried out but pushed though the pain, reinforcing the shield three more times, until the capacity of Ichibana's own spell depleted.

"Hmm. None too shabby for a sapling." Mara murmured, managing a somewhat exhausted smile. "How very amusing you are, Hephaestus. And so very adorable also. If a little huskier than the last time we met." Ichibana simply huffed and tossed his wavy hair back over his shoulder.

"Sure, laugh it up, mate. Ye spend fourteen years bound to an een-animate object and see 'ow trim ya look at the end of it."

"As though you haven't always been beautiful, Your Highness." The angel murmured, with a hint of a taunting smile. By refusing to use Ichibana's favored name, he was ensuring that their playing fields would remain level. "I can easily see why you were Ashitarote's favorite."

I saw Ichibana visibly blanch. This comment, above all others, had gotten to him. He actually blushed, which was as far from Ichibana's behavior as it was Muraki's. "You… knew of his Majesties feelings?"

"Who didn't know?" Mara laughed. "Did he not destroy a quarter of the world for you, by releasing Hell's Great Plagues in the 1500's? A demons expression of love… bloated bodies of boils and sores piled up atop one another. A bed of putrefying flesh that I heard you were more than happy to lay upon and spread your legs, your Highness. I don't doubt that is how you achieved the rank of Apostle at such a rate, whilst others had to work their way up by more honest means."

"Fourteen years and yer still the same old cunt I remember." Ichibana's primal fury rendered him as ugly as I had ever seen him. Teeth clenched together tightly, he held high the cigarette, pinched between index and middle finger. It seemed to me that the ember glowed more brightly. "Let's see how ye fair against this, shall we? Try not ta bore me, handsome."

Again the cherry blossoms dominated the scene and they cascaded out from behind Ichibana and from the bright orange ember of the cigarette shot a plume of pure red energy not once but at least six separate bursts exploded out of it, like a magically accelerated cannon. We all watched, utterly perplexed by the skill this creature demonstrated over the fundamental mana nexus. A vocal command was nearly always necessary in order to relay authority over the physicality of the underlying energy accessible to the Paranormal beings of the world. And to manipulate manner of this power, with only one element to his preference (and not even a standard element such as fire, water, wind, air, metal or earth but cherry blossoms of all things!) was unheard of! Especially when he was conducting his efforts entirely through mental commands! It was astonishing, to say the least! Where had a mere djinni of a Jann tribe (the most humble of all djinn) managed to acquire such power?

Mara gasped and came to the split second conclusion that perhaps it would be best to sacrifice his hostage, in exchange for momentary self-preservation. The Bowel-Thorn tendrils snapped free from their excruciating hold about Tatsumi so suddenly that he dropped directly downwards like a stone from a childs hand; a child that had lost abject interest in whatever this object had initially had to offer. Biting back the still formidable pain, I made to run to him, to get him effectively out of harms way once and for all but again to my surprise, Wakaba took immediate action. Paying no mind to her own injuries, she ploughed headfirst through the lashing tendrils of the Bowel-Thorn, grappled Tatsumi's near-conscious body around the waist and vaulted away, just in time to avoid being crushed by the gore covered tentacles as they all crashed together, forming an inpermeable wall in front of Mara. The flesh of the intestines burned sickeningly as the bursts of accelerated energy made contact with it but for the most part, held strong against the onslaught. Wakaba landed hard on the other side of the garden and immediately pulled herself on top of Tatsumi, wincing and shaking as she protected him with her own body, tears spilling down her cheeks as she held him tight against her. I could see her silently mouthing his name, begging him for some intelligable response, just enough to indicate that he was alright.

"Kanuuki!" Terazuma screamed and made as though to follow her but Aki fortunately got a hold of him just in time. Kyandoru's cherry blossoms had provided a secondary onslaught to the continuing purges of power that shot from the barely burning embers of his cigarette. The blossoms speared themselves directly at the barrier, every second one becoming a white rabbit with eyes of blood red. The rabbits hurled themselves, kamikaze like, against the gore riddled shield, exploding with invasive mana on direct impact, leaving gaping chasms in the defensive barrier. The sakura that did not transform, pulled a yellow friction through the air as it tunneled downward and forced itself against the remains of the Bowel-Thorns tendrils like water attempting to escape from a burst dam. I could see Mara desperately trying to reinforce his defenses but the strain on his face revealed that this endeavour was far too difficult, when confronted by this enormous scale of power.

"It's useless." Ichibana stated and there was no egoism to his voice, no sense that he was bragging. He still appeared cheerful for the most part but somehow, there was nothing to his tone that indicated that he felt himself superior to the creature floundering beneath his onslaught. "Yer nothin' compared ta me."

I knew his eyes glanced to me, even if only for a second.

His eyes came back to Mara. "This is dull." He said and with a slight jerk of his hand, the sakura petals burst through what remained of the Bowel-Thorn's tentacles. Mara cried out in alarm and his fingers spasmed desperately in what I'm sure was a secondary attempt at erecting another defense but it was already too late. The cherry-blossoms became white threads and they entangled the angels limbs securely, pressing his arms in against his chest, binding his useless wings and covering his eyes and mouth so that he could not see and could not scream for help. He struggled like a bird in a net, but was unable to take flight and could do naught to free himself. It was a pitiful and at the same time satisfying sight.

"Enough games," Ichibana insisted, his smile having dropped for a moment but now reappearing again as vivaciously bright as before. "Ye may think I'm a pushover because I'm short, size ten, cheerful as all get out and centuries younger than ye, don't ye? Ye would be wrong to think so. Oh sure, I'm a nice enough guy now but that's only because I was a tutelary, who failed to protect someone that I loved. Before now… back before he taught me 'ow ta love people again, I was ze same as that man zese young people here came ta seek." He dropped the cigarette down into the garden and crouched on the kissing gate, gloved hands draped casually over his bent knees, both eyes shut as he happily surveyed the tortured visage of the denied angel. "Oh yes, I murdered a great many people and held life itself in very frail regard. But being in love changes all zat. And I was fortunate to have been loved by more an incredibly selfless person… I won't ever forget 'is sacrifice. Now, would you be so kind as to deliver a message fer me?" Ichibana made a little yanking motion with his hand, as though pulling on a fishing line and the cords binding Mara tightened considerably, causing portions of his flesh to tear and thin trails of blood to ooze free. The angel moaned but could articulate no further response and apparently it was uneeded anyway. "Explain ta yer master that he has blighted me in a great many vays and that I will no longer tolerate 'is egoism. Explain ta 'im that I do not take kindly ta those that spurn my children. Make sure he knows that the awakening is almost upon us. I want him to know that whilst I may be a 'uman lovin' saplin' djinni of no real importance, he does not want ta fuck with me. Tell 'im, I'm comin' for the boy again and I'm comin' with my full wrath, this time. He will not continue ta suffer the children. 'Is name will not be remembered. And should he ever touch those under my protection," the ground around Ichibana burst into flame and his visage dissolved and became entirely demonic, exposing the nightmare creature within for just a mere second. As though a sash had been pulled away and then thrown back on, allowing only a fleeting glimpse of a skeletal corpse, wreathed in tendrils of burning flesh and a sunken skull with eyes of green fire. "He will suffer the wrath of the The Dark Scourge!" The flames died down and Ichibana's handsome smiling visage snapped back into place. "On those conditions, I'll let ye go. Do ya understand?"

The angel gave a kind of jerking spasm, to either indicate that he had gotten all that or to tell Ichibana to get stuffed. Although this was impossible to interpret, Ichibana looked increasingly pleased as he leapt down off of the kissing gate and strolled forward to see into Mara's bound features.

"That's wonderful. Ye be on yer way now, little birdie." The cords unraveled, leaving the angel a slumped panting mess on the ground. He was just about to climb to his feet, when Ichibana put his hand decidedly against his head. "Which reminds me; I don't think I can have ye flaunting those wonderfully morbid powers about anymore, young man. I think I shall 'ave ta bind ye, at least fer the time bein'." There was a flash of white light and where the angel was sitting now resided a white dove, equally patched by red stains as the angel had been. Ichibana picked it up, smiling down into its suitably pissed off expression. "Now, now, don't look at me like that. Ye'll still be able to deliver a message in that form. And now ye'll know better than to drag innocent young girls into Undead Politics, isn't that right? Go on with you now. Fly away home. I'll take that spell off of you when I feel the message has really sunk in. Or maybe one of yer superiors might do it for ye; if they're in a good mood. I wouldn't count on it."

Ichibana threw the little dove into the air and with an offended squark, the bird winged its' way back up into the sky, blending into the clouds until I could no longer discern its' form. Aki managed to sort his senses through and with a muttered nuance, decreased the surrounding barrier until it had dissolved completely. Ichibana watched it with polite interest, gloved hands set upon his dramatically curved hips.

"I must say I'm a little disappointed with yer efforts, Guardians. Particularly ye, Tsuzuki." He gazed at me with fond eyes. "But still… the Apostles are forces that are not to be lightly trifled with. Fortunately, I'm a dab hand at trifling."

"Ichibana, what are you doing here?" I asked, wondering if we would have to face off with every Paranormal asshole in Japan before the day was out.

Ichibana looked surprised. " I'm bound to always act in the Blondie's best interests and I had an inklin' feelin' that somethin' not too pleasant was goin' ta be goin' down here today. So, after I got yer call I just up and shakey-shaked my big butt down here ta see if I could lend a hand and whattya know; turns out I was right Which is how I like it." He concluded, running his hand back through his hair in that very familiar arrogant fashion I'd grown accustomed to seeing him use.

A great number of questions sat poised on the tip of my tongue, the first of which was what had the name Hephaestus meant? I could swear I'd heard it used somewhere before but couldn't put my finger on where exactly this might have been.

"It was the name I was given by me old gaffer," Ichibana said, causing me to jump as he flashed a jaunty wink in my direction. I forgot that he had underdeveloped telepathic abilities. "I preferred to go by the name me first 'uman master gave me, 'cause me and me Dad get along like lemonaide and ice-cream."

"Lemonaide and ice-cream?" This was Aki.

"Nice on our own but mix us ta-gether and ya get a very bad stomach ache, if ye know what I mean." The djinni stated with an exaggerated and cocky laugh. "Now, what else were you thinkin' of askin' me, sugar? What did I mean when I said I was a tutelary?"

"It's bad enough with Hisoka doing that, without you adding to it!" I grumbled, trying to keep the boy himself from hearing my complaint.

Ichibana chuckled lightly, waving one hand distractedly down over his body so now he was wearing a black crop top, knee length leather shorts and blue lace up boots with a see-through jacket thrown over top. I felt better now all that skin was covered up; it was kind of distracting when you're trying to have a conversation with someone and you suddenly realize you can see that they have a tattoo on their right ass cheek.

"I was the guardian of someone who was bein' held captive by Mara's Master, formally my master." He curled his lip disgustedly, brushing his fingers back through his hair again, which suddenly turned platinum white and whipped down his back into a waist length braid. Being a shape-shifter must have been fun, I thought perhaps a little sourly. Never mind a hairdresser, beautician and the works; get bored with your look and with a wave of your hand, all was refreshed. Always guaranteed to look good. Which made me wonder why Ichibana didn't bother to do something about the weight he had stacked on but he was so confident I don't think it really affected him negatively in any way whatsoever. "I 'elped zis person escape fifteen years ago and had spent twelve months protectin' 'im from ze forces that had been pursuin' them. Which ain't easy none, let me tell ya. I may pack a punch 'gainst Mara but that's only 'cause we be contrary essence. 'Gainst the whole frickin' lo' of them, I was fuckin' 'ardly be'er 'n useless." He admitted with a bashful sort of smile.

Tutelary… it was an old fashioned word that meant Guardian. But there was another meaning to it within the Ministry of Hades proper. A Tutelary was a Guardian established by a trusted bond between individuals and such a being was bestowed with a great and terrible responsibility; they were driven and compelled to protect a particular person until the end of days. But they were increasingly rare; perhaps the rarest race on earth with only one in one-hundred million people having made this daring choice to become a Tutelary. To become fully instigated, a forbidden spell had to be cast but to do so was considered the highest taboo; you formed an unbreakable link with the person you chose to become a tutelary for and this implied a great number of complications. Shared suffering, madness and possible insanity should one half die whilst the other lives. Suffering should the other suffer and so forth. An unbreakable bond… which meant you were tied forever to that person… no matter how many lives they lived. Eternally bound. Soulmates.

A Tutelary was treated as something of a leper in the Paranormal world. No… not even this… they were treated the same way one might treat a man if they knew he was involved in an incestuous relationship with his mother, sister, brother, father. They were thought of as being rather sick and demented, because to become a Tutelary was a pervasion of the highest spiritual order. It meant to transfer a little part of yourself into another person, and to take half of them back into yourself, to replace the missing part of your soul. Which technically meant that yes, you were then considered to be related to your 'soulmate' and any sexual relations that took place between you was borderline incest. It was how demons mated with one another for life; it was their marriage ritual, a connection of the highest order and the arousing taboo that coincided with it, seemed to simply add to the allure, rather than dim it.

A Tutelary that had lost its' other half was considered to be one of the saddest things in the world. Most Tutelaries went insane with grief and eventually killed themselves. But Ichibana seemed quite contrary to the norm. Unless of course he was insane and this cheerful façade was just that.

The djinni, unconcerned by my reaction to his confession, checked his watch, which I noticed was an incredibly guady thing with a picture of Micky Mouse in the center that's hands pointed to the time. "I really must be getting' back. Ye know Blondie can't be gettin' along wi'out me fer too long. But ano'er reason I decided ta help ye all out today was because I sensed somethin' in my spiritual disturbance that I just couldn't ignore and it made me so anxious that I had to get here and verify it as soon as possible." He came towards me and stood on tiptoes to see into my face. He had a nice smile but for some strange reason, he made me nervous, as though I were predisposed to not want him anywhere near me. "Tsuzuki… by any chance, have you been in contact with my better half?"

I blinked cluelessly at him. "Your… better half? I dare say I have, considering how many people you've had ah, liasons with." I said, using Tatsumi's word. I got a smack around the face for my efforts.

Ichibana glared at me reproachfully as I carressed my throbbing cheek. "I should have phrased myself a little better. Please try and take this seriously, maat. This is very important. I haven't seen 'im in many years now and I'm terrified of what might have become of 'im."

I nodded. "After what you just did for us, I'd be glad to help. What's yer better halves name?"

Ichibana looked deeply troubled. "And therin lies the dillema. He barely knows who and what he is anymore… the curse has become so strong…. It's the same way as in my kind. Do you have any idea what I meant when I told Mara that my rank was Fillius-Deus of Undecim-Undecim Ago?"

"I did not," I said, raising one brow curtly. "In so many ways I did not."

"It means God-Son-of-The-Eleven-Eleven-lives." Ichibana explained, picking up the flail like weapon he had dropped beneath the gate when he'd rushed to use his magic to counter Mara.. "Demons often have a secondary name relating to their status and a demon or demi-demon as it is in my case, is estimated by their value in comparison to the lives of humans. I am apparently worth one-thousand-one-hundred and eleven lives. Eleven-eleven. My father's title is Infinitus, which only the highest ranking demonic gods are afforded." He smirked, almost as though embarrassed. "The name my father gave me at birth was Hephaestus the forger… but… I prefer to go by the name my very first human master gave me, the first human being I ever loved and trusted…" He turned back to me hopefully. "Ichibana. The composition of elemental factors between Heaven, man and earth. It symbolizes everything that opposes the values of those benighted creatures I once served, who wish nothing more than ta make the human realm into a place that would best serve their own ignorant desires." He stuck his nose into the air like a haughty cat. "If a one of them had witnessed the best of human nature, perhaps they would have a more sympathetic view on my opinions but demons and angels are very out of touch with what's going on in this 'ere plane of reality."

Some of it finally made a little bit of sense; why Ichibana could exorcise such vigorous mental commandments over the immaterial nexus! If his father was a demon god, then Ichibana himself wasn't entirely djinni but a halfie, much like me. Though, this shouldn't have implied he deserved any of the esteem his father obviously credited. Demonic-halfies were treated pretty much the same in their realm as I was treated as a little boy, which was horrendously. No wonder Ichibana had never said anything about possessing demons blood. But it made me feel a little closer to him somehow…

"And of your better half?" I asked, trying tentatively to steer the subject back on track. The djinni grinned, far too cheekily and raised one finger into the air to sashay about with as much sass as his own confident personality.

"Ne'er found out 'is true name an' all but he went by Pandora."

- End Part 2 of 1 -