Yo! I'm back! Okay, I have various things to say: first of all, thank you all for reviewing. Your reviews give me the fuel I need to keep writing! Please keep telling me your opinions – even if there are things you don't like!

That being said, I HONESTLY try to make my chapters shorter (since super-long chapters can be a little intimidating), but it's not working!! Argh! I promise that the length of this chapter will be the maximum I ever reach! I'll try not to surpass it.

Okay, so this chapter is completely disturbing, as people may have already guessed. I didn't know I had it in me to write so disturbing stuff. Let me just change the genre from "supernatural" to "horror", just to make sure. We really don't want ffnet to shut us down without warning for exposing violence to underage kids.

Warning: I strongly discourage people under at least sixteen years of age to read this stuff. Too much violence, blood and gore, kids. I've probably said this before, but, again, just to make sure.

Okay, on with the chapter. I hope you enjoy it. It may see, tedious and repetitive at times, but, as you'll soon understand for yourself, this is part of the point.

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Hell Grotesque

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"Death Note users shouldn't worry about going to Heaven or Hell. You'll enjoy it after you die"

"I won't go to Heaven or Hell, you say…that's enough for me to understand, Ryuuku."

"Hn? About what?"

"There is no Heaven or Hell, is there?"

"Ha! You really surprised me. I thought every human believed in Heaven and Hell…Ah, just as you said. Heaven and Hell don't exist. In the afterlife, no matter what you've done in your life, you'll still go to the same place. Death is equal."

"UWAAAAA!!! I DON'T! I DON'T WANNA DIE! I DON'T WANNA DIE! RYUUKU DO SOMETHING! DO SOMETHING WITH YOUR HANDS!!! I- -" (1)

-

Death is equal. For you and all those you killed.

You're all equal, in our eyes.

-

"- - DON'T WANNA DIIIIE!!"

ican'tbreatheican'tbreatheican't-

panic.panic.panic.panic.hate.panic.hate.fear.fear.panic.

I'mmakingitworseihavetostoppanickingihavetostopihavetostopi'mgonnadie!

Ican'tbreatheican'tbreathehelpmehelpmehelpmeryuuku

He was fighting it. Fighting it with all his strength. He'd had a nightmare like this once, where he was trying to inhale and was unable to, but now he couldn't remember anything. His mind was crippled with paranoia. He was going to die, he knew. Going to die for sure this time, there was no escaping it. He was done for. Done for, done for!

But by the time he realized he was thinking slowly, he also realized he could breathe again. He took a long time. God knows how much time he took. But, then again, there is no God, Ryuuku said. There is no Heaven or Hell. Therefore he couldn't really be dead… Since he was still breathing, there must have been some way to escape it. He must have been stranded in a hospital somewhere. White dressed nurses were probably hovering over him this whole time, as he was struggling to breathe.

…pathetic. He, Kira. How could he have let this happen?

Each moment that passed felt like an eternity; as though he was a newborn, learning to breathe all over again. His chest was in pain and every small inhalation hurt like hell.

Slowly, gingerly, he tried to open his eyes, the most natural movement. But the eyelids didn't budge. He could hear more than feel his heartbeat start to pound painfully in his chest. He started to panic all over again. Why weren't his eyes opening? What was- why couldn't he- ? He channeled all his strength in that area and kept trying. With each moment, days and days passed, where he was trying and failing to open his eyes. In the meantime, he was still labouring to breathe and move any part of his body that he could still feel.

His mind was racing frantically, his heart pounding. But on the outside, he was unable to express anything. Was this the immobility of death? A kind of desperation, where you feel there is fire burning inside you – you still want to live, you still have things to do – but you can't. You can't move. Some kind of force is preventing you from doing the most natural things, keeping your eyes closed and your mouth shut.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, he heard a piercing sound, like a horrible, high-pitched cry. Startled as he was, his reflexes jerked and he couldn't stop the involuntary nervous reaction of his fingers. As they clutched the ground on their own volition, he realized that what he had grabbed was a handful of earth, even though he couldn't see it.

Thus, e knew he wasn't dead. If his kinesthetic senses were still alert, then he couldn't be. He had moved his fingers, despite himself. Therefore, with enough willpower, he could move the rest of his body. With enough willpower.

He lay there, fighting. Days and nights must have passed. He was still trying to open his eyelids. It wasn't working and it was horrible. It felt like he was never going to make it. But … He still had things to do – a life to live. A World to create!

He didn't know where he was located – he was probably still in the old, abandoned warehouse. Ryuuku must have been bluffing when he said he'd kill him. The Shinigami had probably killed everybody else –Near, Mogi, the whole lot. Just as Raito had instructed. Raito wondered, idly, if Ryuuku had also died for killing other people in order to help Raito live.

If he truly had died, then Raito would honour his sacrifice. He would perfect the New World and make sure Ryuuku's effort hadn't gone to waste. He had to give it to him though. Ryuuku had almost fooled him there, making him think he was being killed. Very funny, Shinigami. You always were a trickster.

Raito felt a twitch on his face, and realized it was trying to smile. He didn't have time to work on animating his facial muscles though, since after that it all happened within seconds:

He'd still been trying to stabilize his breathing, when, unexpectedly; a gust of cold air flew by and seemed to enter his lungs automatically. His reactions from that moment onwards were completely reflexive, and not at all controlled. He sat up wildly, as though thunderstruck, mouth rasping and trying to simultaneously exhale and inhale. It was an eye-opening experience to say the least: his eyes, that he'd been trying to open for the past few…days?…popped open immediately, as a nervous reaction. He kept blinking spastically, trying to stop and hating the fact that he had relinquished control of every muscle in his body.

He didn't process what he was seeing at first, since a pattern of black, white and fluorescent spots was dancing in front of his abused eyes. Besides, he was too preoccupied with trying not to choke on air. It took what felt like entire torturous hours for him to reconsolidate his breathing. The cyclone of air that was now ventilating through his system was overwhelming, compared to the meager efforts of before.

It felt as though he had been submerged underwater for more than he could possibly withstand and now been newly thrust to the atmosphere: on the one hand his lungs were struggling to convulse and breathe, but on the other this process was extremely painful in itself.

After a long time, when he finally felt he could somewhat control his reactions, both in terms of breathing and blinking, he tried to uncurl his fingers, which were still stuck with an iron grip on the ground. In the meantime, his eyes were finally processing what they were looking at. He recognized shapes, rather vague shadows. He thought he could see trees in the distance.

Since his mind had relatively stopped racing, and his heart was coming in relatively regular beats, he had some time to think about his situation more clearly. There was no way he was dead, he was rather sure about that. It was entirely probable, as he had briefly thought before, that Ryuuku had found some way to let him live, after all.

'Thanks, Ryuuku. I owe you one. What kind of trick did you use? You could have warned me beforehand, you know…In any case, thank you. You will be the first one that Kira, the God of the New World, will remember' he thought with an air of generosity.

He was waiting for his vision to clear, expecting to see either the crumpling roof of the abandoned warehouse or the white walls of a health clinic with a painting full of trees on the side. When his eyesight focused completely, however, he was in for a surprise. At the sight that greeted him, he involuntarily gasped, and immediately entered a coughing fit because of the unused vocal cords. It felt as though there was dust mingling in his lungs. But the state of his bronchial tubes was obviously the least of his problems right now.

He looked around.

Or rather, tried to look around, without falling, seeing as he was standing on a circular platform with diameter not more than five feet. Protruding all around him he could see a sea of skyscrapers and not even one tree.

Toukyo. His mind supplied automatically within milliseconds. He'd recognize the Tower anywhere. He seemed to be standing on a…on a…television aerial? Not likely…how had he gotten there, anyway?

He noticed what he was wearing. It was a dark blue suit…that blue suit, the one he'd been wearing the accursed day. He took a better look at it now that he was more sober than before, and saw blood splayed all over his legs. That's right, he'd been shot at the calf; he could remember that…but-…but he felt no pain in his leg now. Had he been healed in a clinic already and then brought…?

Wait! Had he lost his memory, or something? But he could still remember he was Kira…then what was happening? His body felt extremely uncooperative – as heavy and immobile as a tank. And it was entirely disconcerting to see the blood and dirt all over his clothes, without feeling any pain anywhere. What the…?

What the hell?

Immediately he turned to check his left wrist, where the rigged watch would be waiting. But when he saw his wrist bare, he remembered that the watch had been destroyed that fatal day as well. Why hadn't he used another trick to store pieces of the Death Note on his person? Now he found himself in a very unfavourable situation, stranded in a dangerous place without any way to defend himself.

Damn it! How could I let myself be brought to this? The God of the New World, Kira, is more powerful! I should be more wary from now on.

He was determined to reason out what had occurred. All right, first thing's first: had he really been standing up all this time? He'd felt like he'd initially been lying on the ground and, later, sitting up. He'd grabbed a fistful of dirt, hadn't he? Therefore, he must have been lying on soil. He looked down at his hand, fingers still curled and frozen in a gripping position. But when he managed to take a better look at what he was holding, he realized that it was, in fact, not the soil it had felt like. It was a fistful …a fistful of…

hair

"U-Urghh…"

Disgusted just by looking at it, he tried, fruitlessly, to reanimate his hands and let go of the slimy wad. But his fingers wouldn't unfurl, and his other hand was stuck to his side. No matter what he did, he couldn't move any of his limbs. And now, as he tried to move his head away and stop looking at the awful thing, he found he couldn't even move his neck, or blink his eyes. He was stuck, looking at it, as though someone was trying to tell him something.

The urge to throw up became overwhelming. He felt his stomach convulsing, but couldn't move to do anything about it. It got to the point where he thought he'd be emptying the contents of his intestines on his own, unresponsive hand. But at the last moment, as soon as the urge had become inexorable, it stopped.

He must have been going crazy… Was this Near's doing? Was this some elaborate scheme, using cyber technology and 3-D environments, to drive him insane? Now that they knew that he was Kira, what were they going to do…? But…but hadn't they died? If he was alive then they must have died, right?

But the multiple distracting factors of the situation weren't helping him analyze the situation with his usual mathematical precision. He may have been a master at controlling his emotions and thoughts, but every man, even Kira, has his limits!

The more he tried to move his face away, the more he felt his face leaning towards his hand, instead. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, realizing he had absolutely no control over his own body and fearing the worst. How the hell had they managed to go this far?

He saw the thing he was holding come closer and closer to his nose and his mouth; the black batch of disgusting, muddied, wet hair, with blood dripping from the edges, He wanted to flinch, and he wanted to run. He wanted-

Wait! Was that a-…fire? He could've sworn he just saw something light up at the edge of his vision. It's not as though he could exactly turn his head around to look at it, now is it? But there seemed to be something like fire in the Tokyo streets beneath him. It must have been a robbery or something – maybe even a murder case – and now the culprits were escaping. If only he had his Death Note with him…

No sooner had he let the thought run through his head than he felt the slimy, weedy hair be shoved in his mouth. His own hand, out of his control, was pushing that disgusting thing in his throat, his own curled fingers hitting the back of his neck. And he wanted to choke on it. God, he wanted to spit it out.

He could feel his oesophagus jerk convulsively, as each separate hair became tangled in his trachea. But he couldn't. It was unexplainable. He could feel himself choking on it and retching, but at the same time he didn't feel the satisfaction that accompanies such excretion. And as he kept trying, he realized that he was unable to stop trying. He was trapped in a loop. His hand wouldn't stop shoving and his throat wouldn't stop convulsing. In any case, he couldn't be relieved. And now he couldn't breathe, either. He started panicking in silence all over again, not knowing how to stop and afraid he was going to die again.

Suddenly, despite his profound fear, he felt something move underneath his feet, as though the very ground he was standing on had started to shake.

'Another earthquake', his mind supplied immediately, seeing as he was still preoccupied with retching. It took a few moments for him to realize that it couldn't be an earthquake, since he was standing on a metal platform. The only logical explanation would be if-

Paranoia overcame him as he felt the fragile floor dangle precariously to the left, and he realized his life was literally dangling on a thread. And worst of all, he could do nothing to prevent it – not even pull his hand from his mouth! He felt his innards flip in somersaults within his torso, this time not only because of disgust, but because gravity was playing tricks on his distinctly slim body. The suit wasn't helping either, making him feel itchy all over, since sweat, blood and dirt had gathered on it.

He risked a brief look over the edge of the platform, still unable to move his body. His eyes promptly verified what his advanced brain hadn't wanted to admit. He was miles above the surface of the earth. And what's worse, there was fire. There definitely was fire down there, waiting to swallow him up. He couldn't see it, but he could somehow feel it. He could swear he'd caught a glimpse of it earlier.

I'm going to fall! I'm going to die! No! No! Noooo! It was the nightmare and fear all over again. But he was stuck in place, this time. He couldn't move, not his head, not his fingers, not his legs, not his brain. Kira was about fall more than sixty miles, with his own hand shoved down his throat, and he couldn't do anything to prevent it.

The platform jerked suddenly again, and he fought to close his eyelids in frigid fear, but wasn't even given that prerogative, preoccupied as he was with retching still. His brain was freezking in arctic chill: he couldn't even remember his own name now, let alone his grandiose plans for the New World. Who was he kidding? What 'New World'? All he wanted right now was to open his eyes and escape death. He couldn't care less about the welfare of the Worlds, and, for once, he was afraid enough probably to admit it. The only thing he could think about was that he was going to fall. Fall and break his neck!

He'd stop existing! This was it! The platform was giving in. It was rhythmically swaying like a little girl's swing, waiting for the gust of wind that would dislodge it from its hinges. That was Kira's life – a swing. Kira's life was dangling on an aerial. He was going to fall and die like any other, useless idiot. His heart was pounding in horror.

No! Help me! I don't want to die! I don't want to die!!

No!

«Yagami-kun.» he suddenly heard, a calm, deep, expressionless voice.

He'd heard it before. The product of his nightmares – the voice of a monster, he could have sworn. He knew, somehow, that that voice would hunt him down, if he wasn't careful. Like a jackal in the night, it would catch him unawares and eat his brain with sharp teeth. The scratchy vocal chords that produced it probably functioned like nails against a chalkboard. He knew he'd heard it somewhere before, and yet he didn't know where. He couldn't- he didn't- he fought to turn around and see who it was, unable to place the voice on a person.

But he couldn't- all he ever managed to see was the platform as it jerked. And his innards came in his mouth, and he wanted to turn around and see who it was, and he wanted to cry and call to God for help but he didn't believe in God and he didn't know who was calling him but he knew he had to turn around and he-

«ARGHH!» he choked and screamed at once, as he realized it was happening: he was falling. He was spiralling out of orbit. And even now, his limbs would not be cooperative and his hand wouldn't allow him the privilege of screaming – the wad of hair was still shoved down his throat. The only thing he could see was the ground, waiting to swallow him whole, to bayonet him.

Like a cruel irony, he saw flames light up in front of him, just as he was falling towards the ground, and realized he was right: there had been a fire. He had never felt sorrier that he was so observant. The only thing he could think of was that it couldn't be happening. It couldn't be happening to him. It wasn't rational. It wasn't true.

It's not real...it's a dream. A bad dream!

He was thirty miles from the ground now. He was screaming in his head, but in actuality was choking on the accursed hair. He could see the ground. He could see the cement of the pavement, where his brains and luscious chestnut hair would soon be splattered. Somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, where he was detached from the entire ordeal, he thought it strange that he could see no cars or people in the streets of Tokyo.

But, truly, he could only see the ground: huge and vast. To his terrorized astonishment, he saw himself in it, as though the ground was a giant, wide mirror. He could see himself drawing closer. And far inside the mirror, standing on top of the building he'd just fallen off of, he managed to see, in a paranoid flash, a dark shadow of a person. He could see-

The man who'd spoken-!

But before he could recognize anything, the ground and desperate fear became solid once more. He was going to die before he hit the ground, the logical perspective side of his brain tried to reassure him. He'd never feel the impact. He wouldn't-

And then hands broke through the ground.

Oceans of hands, stretching towards him. Hands dripping with blood. Two hundred thousand hands –they were reaching out of their graves for him.

They're going to kill! They're going to kill-

Noooo!

Then terror gripped him, and he couldn't see anything else.

And he felt so much pain that he might have preferred dying.

-

He's fighting it with all his strength. He's had a nightmare like this before, but now he can't remember anything. His mind is filled with paranoia. He's going to die, he knows. He's done for, done for!

Wait a moment! He remembers. As he's choking on the air that fills his lungs, he can think again. He's felt this before...but not just in a nightmare. This horrible feeling...

…his heart is sinking.

He can't blink. He's trying. He's been trying to blink for…days? Wait, hasn't this happened before? He can still sense that black hair tangled in his teeth. It's over now, he tries to reassure himself. It's over now. I'm not dead. Bad dream, he tells himself. Bad dream. I can't be dead. I might have fallen, but I'm not dead now.

It takes time for his eyes to focus - the whole scene is still playing behind his eyelids. The ground coming towards him, the fires, the mirror, the voice... and…and..

The hands.

The tremor that overcomes him this time does not belong to this world. It's bending his spine and breaking his thoughts. It's killing him all over. He's in pain, all over again.

But it's over now, he reassures. He must have survived it. He doesn't know how, and he doesn't want to think. It was just a bad dream, a nightmare. He must have survived it, though. Ryuuku must have had something to do with it. Must have…always a clown…he feels much better now, and decides to wake up for good.

He opens his eyes and he can see again. He looks around him…

Toukyo.

The thought is automatic.

He's had this kind of thought before. He's standing on a circular platform with diameter not more than…

…wait a moment…

Terror takes over completely. It makes his entire nervous system shake and crack. It makes his innards boil with molten lava.

…no…please…no… …It can't be real…no

He's lived this before. He's been here before. He can feel - but not see- a wad of 'earth' curled in his fingers and wants to scream. He knows, now! He knows! And it's worse when he knows. He'd thought he escaped this! No! No!

their hands

"No! NOOOOOOO!!!!"

will grab me

He tries not to register it. His skin feels clammy and itchy. The hairs on his slim forearms are standing on end and his skin is dripping with sweat. He doesn't want to look down. He can feel as though his hand is clutching earth. H's afraid to look! By now, he's remembered God exists and starts calling for salvation. He keeps wishing the scenario won't repeat itself…that they won't get their hands on him…that somehow, things will go differently. The times he's called for God in this short expanse of time are more than those of all his life put together. He wants to believe that there is a God, and that he'll be spared.

But on the other hand, knowing what he's done to merit God's anger, part of him is still hoping that there is no God and that there is no Heaven and Hell. Ryuuku practically said so, didn't he?

"Urgh.."

It catches him unaware, distracted as he is, but it's still just as disgusting. It's filling his lungs; he can't breathe around it. He's seen it before somewhere, this retched black colour of the hair, but he can't remember where.

The Hands. The memory strikes like lightning, and from that moment he can't really think or remember anything except that. He's still wishing for it not to be true, but knows within his gut that the punishment shall not be alleviated, like a guilty child that is caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Death is equal

Should have known Reapers would lie. He'd always suspected the words of everyone except Ryuuku, after all. It was classic irony that Ryuuku would be the one.

When the platform shakes, he still tries to move his limbs, despite the desperation, but can't. Now that he knows the full horror, he tries to escape even harder. The slow vibrations – the wait for the inevitable – are the worst part of it. He widens his eyes as much as he is allowed, like a madman. In his head, he screams like a woman, now without shame.

( ( ( …Kira-sama…) ) )

Then, just like clockwork, the voice rings, like the harbinger of his doom. And when he hears it, the only thing he can think of is that he's going to fall. And what comes after that…what comes next…

Help me!!! God!!

"Yagami- kun"

The product of a nightmare – it's the Japanese sort of strictly polite, sugar-coated voice of a monster. He can swear he's heard it before. He spirals. The monster has signalled. He's falling down miles and miles. The ground burns and spits fire. Then he can see his own face –choking on the hair, shameless and not like a God at all. He believes in the all the gods, now, he swears he does. He swears he does. In his mind he begs a thousand times – but he still has ninety-nine thousand to go, he knows that. In the mirrors, the shadow is still standing there, black and minuscule in the distance. Then...

then...

…hands break through, and Raito is thrown to them like a steak to the dogs. Two hundred thousand hands

–they grip him. Their fingers are sure, their nails precise. They tear his clothes. It's worse than hitting the ground. It's worse than falling and dying.

His mind had erased it, last time. He hadn't had time, in his terror, to realize it: this is indeed how he dies. Not by falling. He's murdered, by the sharp nails of a hundred thousand men. They're killing him all right. They're ripping him apart right now.

Murderers. He knew they were murderers. Kira did well to kill them.

The world was better without them.

Ryuuku lied. The bastard! He lied! Or maybe he hadn't really cared what he'd been telling Raito all along. There might not be a heaven, but hell is right here. Right here. What would a slimy Reaper know about it? Does he know what it's like, choking on black hair, feeling your flesh being torn?

«Ahhhhhh!!» he's screaming, in his head. But on the outside, all is silent. The only thing that can be heard are the squelching, wet sounds of flesh being ripped from the bone and blood oozing. Screaming from pain in his brain until the hands tear open his throat and vocal chords, and then he can't scream any more, not even in his thoughts.

It takes a really long time for him to die. He suffers very much. He bleeds all over and is in pain. He doesn't have eyes to see or ears to hear, but he's still alive – they've left his heart beating. It must be irony, since the only thing his Death Note ever hurt was their heart.

He's in pain, unworldly pain. He should have died by now, but this hellish place won't let him die, just as it won't let him pull out the god-damn hair. After they've killed him, when he should have died, he actually still lives. Lives and watches, with his mind's eye, as his own body, his angular broken fingers and ripped smooth thighs, rot.

He suffers.

He suffers.

-

ican't breatheican't breathe

panic.panic.fear.panic.panic.

But this time he knows. Each time he wakes up, it's as though he's already been dead for centuries. Who knows how much time passes between each time he dies?

Toukyo

The platform shakes. Now he remembers what kind of pain is in store for him. He's trying to stall. Trying to avoid the inevitable – it's just as bad as waiting for the Death Note to take effect, he realizes.

What seemed horrible before now appears like paradise, since he now knows the ultimate punishment. He's learnt to savour it – the taste of the disgusting hair in his mouth. Trying to learn how to breathe. It's heaven. Heaven compared to the pain he's going to face, he knows. The sense of inevitability he feels cannot be described in words. The feeling he has when the platform starts shaking, and he knows the pain is coming, is indescribable.

«Yagami-kun»

The monster, precise and polite. He swears he's heard it before. Their alarm. This is it. Now is the time that his role is to accept he's going to die-but-not-die again. Their evil bell has rung.

Can you hear the bells...is it a wedding...or a funeral...? Is it Ryuuku? Maybe.

There is no doubt in Raito's mind now: he is dead for sure. He was dead all along, anyway. He just didn't want to accept it. Is this God's revenge? Probably. Ryuuku wouldn't care about him enough to do all this. Raito realized it when Ryuuku described it to him: no one bothers to punish the souls of sinners – no one cares about them enough. So why...what was the purpose of this elaborate torture scheme? What was the goal?

Sure, he was screaming in pain and humiliation. So what? There must have been some higher purpose.

He should have been more careful, but Ryuuku had said there is no heaven or hell. .And Raito had been only too content to believe it, since it suited him at the time. Well of course. What the hell would a Shinigami know of where souls go after they die? Ryuuku probably had been honest, in his own Shinigami way. Raito had taken that truth and 'adapted' it to his own way of thinking. He'd taken Ryuuku's words to mean that there didn't exist what humans understand as heaven or hell, and Ryuuku had verified it. But had Ryuuku been talking about the same thing...or what?

How could this have happened to someone like him? He should have paid more attention. He should have asked more questions. He'd become overconfident. He had-

The hair tastes like ash. The next time he falls to the hands, frozen and unable to move any limb, he focuses on tasting that disgusting, wet hair. Ironically, even though he thinks the pain will kill him, in the end, the blood loss probably does.

«No!!! No!! Get your hands off me!!! NOOOO!!!»

But the screaming is all in his head. On the outside, he's humiliated completely by being unable even to scream.

The first thing they like to dislodge is his fingers. They always start with the fingers. If he could, he'd tell them he doesn't have any part of the Death Note with him, so their efforts are fruitless. But he knows that even if he spoke, they would not listen. They're murderers. Each and every one of them. He should know.

As they juggle him around, each tearing a piece of clothing and flesh, he still can't move. Since they have just started, the pain hasn't yet reached excruciating levels. Therefore, he can still focus when he sees a flash of blond. Is that-

«Coil?» he thinks, but no words come out. It's definitely Coil, Raito could have sworn. But his eyes seem darker than Raito remembered. The prominent characteristics of his face have become his nose and mouth. He appears without a personality. And then...

«Ta-takada?» that's right, she would surely help! She had supposedly 'loved him' after all, hadn't she? But she can't hear his mental calls...she's too absorbed in what she's doing. Ironically, he thinks, she appears more passionate about hurting him than any guilty murderer he ever 'punished'. If he weren't in such horrible pain from her violent red nails, he'd grin at what batch of skin she decided to tear off. Takada...she was innocent, right? Then why does she seem the most bloodthirsty? Raito can't focus or see anything by now, though.

The pain has become too much.

«A-arggh!»

All the people he'd killed. Haha. Very funny Ryuuku. Very funny.

Only the people he'd killed...

Then that means that he'd never meet-

That's good then.

-

Fighting it! But he's done for! He can't inhale.

He has learned that the most peaceful time of all is the days that pass while he's learning to breathe again. Ironically, he has attempted more than once to prolong that period. But, as though his lungs move without his own volition, they eventually begin to breathe again. And then it starts all over.

What are they trying to gain from this? Harming me is a waste of time and energy...they must know this...The detached, ingenious part of his brain ponders, always trying to analyse situations. My repentance is hardly worth the trouble.

He has no choice, it seems. He is obviously physically unable to prevent the process. He can realize for himself that he is psychologically and mentally degenerating: his mental functions have been reduced to screams and pleas for help, even during the times he's not in actual pain. He knows how the scenario plays, and that makes the pain all the more unbearable. But there must be a reason, a purpose. It would be senseless to continue the torture if he wasn't expected to learn something out of it. That's how it works in books, right? First he atones, and then he is pardoned.

But in time, and with repetition, his trail of thoughts begins to deviate once again. Perhaps this torture is intended just to put him through unbearable pain, and that's all. That is what hell is all about, right? In that case, as he himself discovers, it's not that hard to make him repent. Raito has always been a bit of a dreamer, and he doesn't know about murder and the real world half as much as he likes to think he does.

It takes less than ten repetitions, less than ten times of ripping his skin open and watching them eat his own liver, until he starts screaming his pleas for forgiveness, screaming he is sorry for killing people, sorry for thinking he is God, sorry he is Kira.

It doesn't stop, though, no matter what he says. Perhaps they know that he says these things not because he believes them, but because they will help him stop suffering. And as he realizes that apologies and sugar coated pleas won't get him anywhere; he lets his true personality free and explodes in bouts of hatred and murderous rage, proving that his apologies had never been heartfelt.

Bu no matter what he says or does, the fact that he knows he'll see himself be devoured at the end of the day will not be alleviated. And in his restlessness, the more primal aspect of his personality, the one he'd always kept well hidden, begins to surface: the kind of thing he'd never indulged to when he'd been alive. He curses and spits, always in his head, as they rip him open. He proclaims that he is God in front of all of them, for the world to hear. He curses all their mothers to the devil - including his own. He curses crudely, like any petulant child of the junkyard. Ryuuku and Near are the usual pivots of his raging tirades.

Must he be sorry? They can go fuck themselves. By now, the pain has been repeated so many times that he can't find it in himself to feel at all sorry. For what would he be sorry? For having had the altruism to use his superior brain to improve the world? Someone had to do it, right? And since God had chosen him for this purpose alone, then killing was deemed a necessary sin – a just crime. Murder with the Death Note isn't murder when in Raito's hands – it's punishment for the sinners. He had been chosen and given that great power, because of this grand character in his life. He was a man who lived to serve justice, above all.

And he has killed many in the name of justice. And now he shall fight once again, to bring justice and punish the ones who are committing vile crimes and doing this to him. He is superior. He shall find and eliminate either Reaper or man, because he is now once again reassured that the perpetrator can only be one of these two. There is no Heaven or Hell. If there was truly a God of Mercy, he would not let His children suffer so, despite their numerous crimes. This…this…elaborate torture hallucination is too simplistic in its notion. It must be the product of a human, twisted mind. Not a God. If he'd been the one to devise a torture scheme, he'd have made it much more intelligent.

But this was getting just plain repetitive.

"AARGH!!!!"

Any kind of pain is bearable, as long as you know you'll wake up once again after it's over. Raito's greatest fear is not physical strain. It is non-existence.

"Ahhhhhhhh!!!!"

"A-AHHH!"

He will find out the name and face of the one who is behind this scheme, and he will kill. In order to prevent other people from persevering the kind of torture his is now going through, he will kill the owner of that voice. In the name of justice, once more.

He's lost count of how many times it has been. He tries not to think much. Every time he falls, now, he devotes himself to searching faces, trying to recall names and crimes. He always fails, and can't remember any of them, but he's sure they're all murderers, or else he wouldn't have killed them. People like Takada and Coil may not have actually killed anyone, but Raito had deemed them capable of it. Same goes for scumbags like Namikawa. Have they been lurking in this place ever since he killed them, waiting for him to show up? Murderers. Sad excuses for existence. People who the world is better off without.

They were pathetic. And he was they one who'd sent them here, which made him even more pathetic now. But he'd kill them again if he had the chance, especially now.

"Yagami-kun"

fuck you! He wants to shout, but his lips are frozen as they choke on black hair. Truth be told, it doesn't sound like a menacing call. It sounds rather wistful, skeptical. It's as though that person is not condemning him, just genuinely calling him, as though making a greeting. Raito hates that voice more than anything else in the world – more than the hands. It is the voice, the signal of the inevitable, not the inevitable itself. Just as he hated the fact that Ryuuku actually showed him the name on the Death Note.

But then terror grips him, and he can't think any more.

-

The next time he finds himself trying to breathe, he thinks carefully what the purpose of this may be. By the time he gets thrown to the pain, he hasn't thought of anything new.

He senses that a long time has passed, and he finds it strange that he feels nor hunger nor tiredness, just pain and constant fear.

Then, one time, while he's recovering and trying to inhale, waiting for the inevitable, he finally senses a familiar emotion. And emotion he was quite accustomed to feeling the last few years he'd been alive. He tries to move his hands earlier than usual, this time – he wants to search for something. He tries to make his fingers work. He fails.

«Yagami-kun»

fuck you

He falls.

The hands eat him.

He suffers.

Next time he's lying down with his eyes closed, he tries again. The feeling is gnawing at his stomach. He needs to do it. He really needs to. It's a stupid habit, he knows, but it's been following him for some time. It's a bit of a secret fetish, but he prefers to think of it as constructive. Just once is enough to last him a long time. That's what he's thinking.

At some point, unexpectedly, he manages a small jerk. His left hand, the one which isn't gripping the wad of black hair, can move a little. Gingerly, as he's lying there trying to breathe, he tries to shuffle his hand a little more.

Yes!

Indeed he can reach it. He can reach the inside breast pocket of his blood-covered blue suit. All he needs to do now is move a little more, and the wallet will land in his hands. Then he'll have to find a way to open it, real quick. He tries to move gingerly, almost afraid that someone is watching him and that they will fast-forward the whole torture process if they realize he's trying to deviate from schedule.

The relief he feels once his hand is in the pocket is great, but doomed to be short-lived. It doesn't take long for his perceptive, though still not properly oxygenated, mind to detect the problem. The pocket is suspiciously flat. The cool swell of his brown leather wallet isn't there. It's not there.

It's not...?

What?!

His mind eloquently supplies, and, as though his troubles already weren't enough, he starts panicking with newfound plight. All his former thoughts of superiority and courage are wiped out in this single moment. He's lost it! Lost his 'moral support'!

Where the hell... Damn it! I had scraps from the Death Note sewn in it, not to mention...

No!

I must have dropped it, since I keep falling from a building…

Stupid habit. Honestly, he didn't really know why he kept doing it. It bothered him a bit, in the back of his mind, but he was usually too busy – and too unwilling – to sit and analyze it. Since he'd gotten used to it, he just kept doing it. It wasn't anything special, really.

It's just...He'd found this photo, back when he was still without his memories and still tied to...that man. The picture had been in the drawer of the nightstand next to the bed, and he'd picked it up absently, thinking someone had probably left it there by accident. He was planning on returning it, but since no one had mentioned its absence, he'd completely forgotten about it and left it in his pocket.

A very long time after that, he'd sunk his hand in that pocket and touched the photo once again. But by then, he... couldn't return it to the owners anymore... so he'd just kept it. As a ...uh...souvenir, more like. And sometimes he took it out and looked at it. It made him feel better. He'd think comforting thoughts. When he was in trouble and Near was closing in, he'd take out the picture and think..

Ryuuzaki...I won...and now all that's left of you is this crumbling thing...

Now you're buried six feet under... and I, Kira, the God, have become utterly unstoppable...

Look at you. How pathetic you looked like, ever since you were a child. Ugly creature. Quasimodo. Your mother must have flinched when she saw you.

He didn't want to lose it.

It gave him mental and psychological support to remind himself that he was the winner. This had never been about Ryuuzaki. Ryuuzaki had gone to hell, where he belonged. Ryuuzaki had-

He should calm down. Kira didn't have quirky habits, except for writing names in notebooks, of course. Fine, so he'd lost the damn photo, the only photo he had of…big deal. More importantly, he'd lost the cropped pieces from the Death Note, which was why he was so bothered about this. Now he wouldn't be able to kill the one who was torturing him.

Damn it! I never lose-

He sat up, opened his eyes and the panic started. Again, it took some time to focus, but the atmosphere around him felt chillier than usual. Maybe it had something to do with his own renewed anxiety.

The memory was too fresh in his mind, though. He was distracted by images. This time, when he saw the black hair being shoved into his face, he retched more violently than any other time, since his mind kept involuntarily noticing the similarity between what he was choking on and...

How couldn't I notice it before? It's so much like-

The constant renewal of the memory in his mind was not helping any.

Damn you!

Damn you to hell!

«Yagami-kun»

Extremely focused as he was, on envisioning black hair and a glowing smoothness of twin collarbones, he had forgotten to stay alert and await the voice. But, exactly because he'd been seeing that man in his mind's eye, when he heard the voice, something clicked. Something...clic-

Wait a...

He tried to turn around, tried harder, more suddenly and more forcefully than any other time.

«Ryuuzaki!»

His mental shouts and cries were so frantic that they almost made it to his lips this time. He had to turn around! He had to see it with his own eyes! That toneless, dead voice. It had to be!

But he was too late. Too late.

No! No! Wait!! Not yet!!! NOOO!

New pain, breaking all over him, drowning him in his blood. He was going to taste it soon. He was going to feel it.

As he spirals to the ground this time, he narrows his eyes hoping to see in the mirror, even in the last moment, the shaded face of the man perched on the building. He thinks he can see the diamond glow that the white shirt would have in the pale sunlight, but he knows it's just his imagination. The only thing that is really visible is a small shadow. Nevertheless, even as the hands grab him, he tries to look upward, to turn his head and see.

And this time, as they tear off his clothes and break and bite his fingers, letting him rot on the ground until he can feel what's left of his skin fester, he feels more humiliated than any other time.

-

So this is the meaning.

That's what it's all about.

Ryuuzaki...

This is your revenge.

It's not about the pain, is it? It's about the humiliation. To show me you won. I was right, then. It is the product of a human mind.

He had given up on trying to inhale. Now he only spent his calm time trying to grit his teeth. The weight of the black hair in his hands felt heavier when he was forced to grip it. He wanted to toss it away, but his fingers were locked in a death grip around it. He wanted to tear it, destroy it. How he hated it! He understood now. He understood perfectly. The irony. Your irony...Ryuuzaki.

You are much more cruel than you accused me of being. Now I get it. You make me eat your hair and choke on it, and then you kill me. And you make me swallow it the whole time, just to make sure I remember.

Humiliation.

And you stay up there and watch, do you? Hope I put up a good show for you.

I'll enjoy killing you all over again.

He grew restless. The need was now consuming his mind. He had to turn around and see, just to make sure! He kept searching his pocket, but he still couldn't find it. It was eating him up from the inside.

But this time I'll do it with my own hands.

Each time the hands grabbed him and tore manically, through his screaming, his unblinking wide eyes kept looking at faces, searching, even though he knew he'd never meet Ryuuzaki there. Searching until his eyes were plucked out of their sockets and devoured by the cannibals. When they all grabbed his throat and scratched, he fantasized that his own ink-stained fingers were clasped around the familiar neck.

Months, endless hours in front of the computers, chained to Ryuuzaki like a dog. He'd memorized everything, even though he'd never wanted to. He'd learnt by heart each of Ryuuzaki's aggravating habits. He'd looked at Ryuuzaki's ugly figure so many times that, involuntarily, he'd learnt the mannerisms better than he knew those of his own sister.

Now he could see the white face becoming purple, insect eyes popping, throat being making sounds of pulverisation under his own fingers. Ryuuzaki would toss his hands around and writhe in pain, flailing his dessert spoon. His toes would convulse spastically and his legs would curl to bare the sharpness of knees, just as they did every time Ryuuzaki prepared for a fight.

Raito never knew he was a man able to experience such overpowering anger. He wanted to kill. Not with the Death Note, but kill with his own hands. His previous abstinence on physical issues had been vaporized in the face of his daily death. Now he just wanted to return the favour.

An eye for an eye, right Ryuuzaki? But you've gone too far this time.

«Yagami-kun»

How could I...

How didn't I realize it sooner?

It's so obvious!

Of course he knew the voice well: better than he knew his own, in fact. He'd been subjected to it for hours on end, at a time he'd been most impressionable. He had rushed to assimilate many of its toneless qualities in his efforts to impersonate.

Perhaps this had been the riddle he'd have to solve, then. And Ryuuzaki's torture had just begun. Because now that Raito knew that Ryuuzaki knew, he was tortured all the more. Now that Raito had solved the riddle and found the purpose, he'd done nothing but to severe his own position. He may have now known why he was been tortured, but the humiliation of defeat had become almost too much to bear.

Ryuuzaki...

The kind of physical pain you've put me through. I never thought you'd have it in you. I thought you only cared about winning, not about hating the loser.

«Yagami-kun»

I swear I shall destroy you. No one dares to play God with me.

But even so, as he heard the hated voice, and knew that it was sending him to his death, he tried to turn around beforehand so he would see where Ryuuzaki was standing. He'd tried to estimate when the voice would call so he would turn around soon enough. Even though he'd still have what he suspected was Ryuuzaki's corpse's hair in his mouth, he'd turn and see.

You may have beaten me in death, Ryuuzaki...but I won in the battle that mattered most to you.

Once would be enough. One moment of looking at Ryuuzaki's hunched back and the void of his black eyes, and he'd get the satisfaction of defying the situation, in some way. Because this was part of Ryuuzaki's torture, obviously: they both knew well that it was Ryuuzaki, but it was never meant to be openly revealed. Raito would be forced to hate in silence, as his muted screams exemplified.

It was obviously Ryuuzaki's voice, Ryuuzaki's hair...even the building Raito was always standing on. He'd had realized it once he'd started searching for signs…it was the Kira Investigation HQ of all those years ago, from when he'd stayed there with Ryuuzaki. He hadn't realized this earlier because of the bizarre location of the television aerial, and his own panic. But now he could remember clearly. The platform he was standing on was part of the accursed building.

«Yagami-kun»

damn you!!

It was part of Ryuuzaki's rules, it seemed: Raito was never allowed to see him. That would make the torture all the more humiliating.

The ground spits fires for a few milliseconds.

Don't look-

But Raito would break the rules. He'd win this. He'd turn around and see Ryuuzaki. Somehow, Raito knew, if he managed to see Ryuuzaki, he'd win this duel. It was the only rule he had to break -

just once-

-let me see you

«Yagami-kun»

just once more

that's the way to win - I know it, now!

He's falling towards his doom once more, but- he thinks he can see it in the mirror- yes!

He can! He can see. Minuscule but he can still see it, the thing that he's died so many times to discern: the blue glow of ebony hair in the light.

It's real. For once, he can't be conjuring it up. For a brief moment, the fear of pain escapes him, and all he can think of is the overpowering need to see better – it becomes his only purpose.

and the hands don't break through the ground.

-

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(1) this entire italicized first part has been taken directly from the manga. Why did I use an extract from the manga? To make my plot more believable and in-character. Please keep reading, and you'll understand. (I hope ;)

a/n: so there you have it. Still trying to stifle my need for long descriptions and still trying to keep Raito in character while putting him in a completely OOC situation. Please try to tell me, in your reviews, if you liked the way I portrayed the dynamics of Raito's relationship with Ryuuzaki. Always keep in mind that, since I've put the character in an extreme situation, some of his characteristics would surface more than others. Therefore, Raito may seem to you more of an uncontrolled wuss or more aggressive than he normally is. I tried to make this clear in the story.

Also, I hope everyone enjoys the way I try to evoke Ryuuzaki – his aura is there but, at the same time, not exactly there.

Tell me if you liked the whole horror thing going on. Did it work? Honestly, guys, I'm counting on your reviews! If you think this approach totally sucks, then I'm prepared to rewrite and retry! It all depends on your feedback!

Thanks, everyone!

Till the next time I update (probably this Thursday)!