Disclaimer: It should be obvious I didn't create Yu Yu Hakusho; these things are stupid.
Note: Most of this chapter was actually written within a few days of chapter 3's release, I just never bothered to finish it until now. It's short and perhaps a little jarring, but a segway onto better writing.
Chapter IV: The Hands of My Love
"You really ought to pay more attention," the one known as Zeru scoffed.
"I'm sorry! It looked like a team of fighters," Rinku said as he rubbed the back of his head.
"All these snobby humans filling the lobby, I've better things to do than waste my time waiting." He spit to the ground, exiting the building.
Within moments, tightly dressed humans occupied the surrounding spaces. How vulgar of their pompous stained egos to protrude into my breathing space. Drinking their pitifully aged wine, each eventually managed to glance to us. Disgusting roaches, gambling on our fates as a secondary recreation. The twitch of my index finger would provide enough power to explode the hearts of each and every one of them. Yes, that would be a most gracious scene, the climax of their lives; blood splattering from their throats—whilom people, they would amount to no more.
Unable to drone on in their insecticidal shadows, we parted away to the second floor balcony. The overcast was comforting, drowning the land in slightly darker luminosities and hues, saturating the air with a crisp cleansing feeling, breathing life into my murderous lungs.
Seriyu had vanished—which to my notice was of no consequence—leaving Murugu and I to admire the gloom.
"I can say I rather enjoyed the city streets and its people, but these humans are repugnant at best," she broke the quiet betwixt us, not bothering to make eye contact.
"I'd suppose many demons to be comparable to the juxtaposition," I coughed, resting my arms on the railing cap.
"Low-class demons may as well be low-class humans?" she asked.
"Precisely."
"Still, I cannot oblige to being content with the looks of desire they sent towards me." She turned to me with a frown.
"Normally they would already be dead, but risking disqualification is not a position that should be so quickly consumed. Don't get the wrong idea, if anything resembling an advance to you is made, their spines will be severed," I rubbed the back of her shoulder.
The more and more I dwelled on the subject, the more and more I came to realize just what they were, overgrown roaches. If by some chance I had decided to end even so much as one of their lives, the rest would scatter, fearing for their lives. Aggressive when need be, but too afraid to tackle an opponent whose intent is ending their verily worthless crusades of narcissism. To those whom it may concern, those enveloped by their own beauty are not completely unwarranted; but those whose beauty is either superficial or nonexistent live in a paradise acquainted by philistines of perpetual delusions and ignorance; ignorance concerning their own behavior—and by extension—decisions.
No matter how many thoughts—rather full or partial—anent of genocide, her luscious body drove my mind amain. Urges would frequently pound at my chest, whereout I never acted. My hesitation was far from rational, yet there was no avoiding it. Something inside of me was ceasing up, ordering a complete halt to my ambitions. How dare I feel restrained within my own physical body, how dare such inconveniences give me strife, I was above such fodder! Nowhere could the blame be placed but on my own person. It wasn't fear holding me back, it was the unknown; the transition from one step to the next. Playing it safe, making sure to take the necessary precautions against uncertainty. Acting under the ruse of intelligence or pure cowardice in the name of ignorance, simpletons would blur the line indefinitely. What was a game to those aforementioned poltroons was merely a model for acting in reality without repercussions. It was just that... time slipped away, and I never seemed to grasp the amount of missed opportunities.
"Murugu," I turned to her, my head rested atop lethargic arms.
"Yes." She reciprocated.
"Our relationship, do you know its bounds?" I questioned her.
"Bounds?" she quirked an eyebrow.
"Something of where it begins or where it ends."
"It begins with acknowledgment and never ends," she said, mimicking my pose.
"Then where is it we are to stay during this eternal bound?" I asked.
"I think you know the answer to that," she said, kissing my cheek.
While the notions of love, gratitude and revenge permeated in my mind, I could not help but become bewildered due to the odd tissue forming around Seriyu's neck. A possible side effect of the necromancy, yet Murugu remained void of any such impediment. If Seriyu were to fall prey to a defect in my sorcery that would be fine, but if she were to, well... well what? Had not the thought crossed me afore? Losing her to demons or humans seemed implausible under my watchful eye, but if I were to be the catalyst? How could I live with myself?
Surveillance of not just Seriyu and Murugu would be pertinent, but of the other two pieces of fodder as well. Necromancy was a dark art I hadn't cast in 100s of years, but I was sure the recipe was flawless. Either I failed myself or misinterpreted it so long ago. Then again, there always was the possibility the lesions were of another cause, that is to say that my worrying was nothing more than another byproduct of compassion for my dearest.
Predators could strike my backside, as whence I submerge myself in reverie I am blind. A petty price to pay for the new found emotions I've tapped into. So long as coincidences do not overtake my rationalities in a scornful oversaturation, no one particular individual—or thenceforth groupings of individuals—would come to blindside me.
Darkness swiveled in as the Sun dived beneath the clouds. Always so fixated on the clouds, the intangible oceans of sometimes tenderness, and othertimes violence. The far ends of the emotional spectrum, found to be present at least one place on this world the humans call home. Were the violent storms a reflection of our own carelessness and foolishness to act upon impulse? Wherein did the mediator of our volitions lie? I could feel the coldness of my nightfall.
"Are you okay?" She placed a hand on my shoulder.
"No."
"Why not?" she inquired once more.
"Do not the winds rise and fall akin to the bravado of humans?"
"Bravado? The hubris thereof?" She sat down, crossing one leg over the other.
"Yes."
"I think a lot of times the winds bring rain to us all." She sipped from her cup of tea.
"And even then I think it can feel good," I said, quirking upwards. A shiver resonated down my spinal cord.
My statement was one of a poltergeist's, as it was one I could not recognize. But a pleasure in being brought down, pride shattered, to die internally and rebirth externally; did not seem so foreign. Had I not undergone the same transformation? Or was I playing a game with myself, deluded from the battle, scarred and battered, looking for a solution to an impossible problem. If what I had believed for so many years to be false, then what would prove my new philosophies? Nothing. They were held on a thin thread of emotion. Looking to her, I could feel the thread being tugged, and in that instance, I knew I loved her so. It was a thread of devotion, and that would always prove to outlast the strongest of steels and metals.
"It seems the Spirit Detective and his camaraderie have entered the building," Seriyu stated, my eyes widening. I had not seen nor sensed his entrance. Either lounging in reverie was becoming dangerous or allowing my guard down in such times was appropriate.
"So they have. Now is a time to rest, as the preliminary bouts are scheduled for early in the morning," I said, sighing.
"I do not need rest to crush the opposition," he said, leaving the room.
"Feh." I turned back to the window.