Second Try

Disclaimer: I don’t own Yuu Yuu Hakusho, or any of its characters. Those belong to Yoshihiro Togashi-sama, who made a lot more out of them than I ever could have. ^^;; I just do fanfiction for fun, and earn no monetary rewards for writing it. Reviews are, of course, worth as much as silver.

Title: Second Try
Chapter Six: Journey
Word Count: 5,955
Anime: Yuu Yuu Hakusho
Pairing: HieixKurama, ?xKurama
Warning: Shounen ai, violence, language
Author: Kita Kitsune
Date: Tuesday(fire-day!), August 25, 2009
Miscellaneous Notes: Oya, oya. I suppose I’ll stop asking for reviews, now? Since no one reviewed the last chapter, I guess I’ll just keep going on in my fight against futility, and I would hope if anyone’s severely OOC or something turns a bit stupid in this fic I’ll get a good, hearty flame that will just kill my urge to continue this story(or fix it, depends on my mood). D:

Seriously? This story has over 450 hits and less than 10 reviews. So, people are reading, but not reviewing. That rankles, somewhere. You might even get me in a bad enough mood where I’ll write and write and write, and just not post any new chapters. Because, you know, I’m apparently just writing this fic for myself, since no one takes the time to review, anymore(yes, that was my bratty rant for the night. I’m under a lot of school-money-stress and forced myself to sit down and finish this chapter—for nobody—while I’m going insane about school-stuff and so am in RAWRmode, so, stfu). Grawr. You don’t want to see me on a bad day(I draw blood).

[Yes, I’ll feel bad about that rant in a day or two—but it needed to be ranted. You people frustrate me, sometimes. And I know it’s just me craving confirmation that my stories and ideas don’t suck, but damn I hate the insecurity of the whole read-if-you-like-and-so-review thing versus the if-you-read-but-don’t-review-it-must-mean-the-story-sucks thing. D: I hate people. I really, really, really do.]

Ah. Also. I added a new part. It’s been bouncing around inside my head for a while, and the nine-hour drive to the first jump before the six-hour drive to college helped me hammer it out. Had to add it into this chapter, because if I wait too long it’ll be too late to incorporate it into the general storyline. Can’t say too much, or I know I’ll give it away(I’m bad with things like that). See if you can tell where it’s going, though(I’d be impressed if you could!).

: : : : : : :

~A Few Years Later~

“Son!” He heard what was fast-becoming a customary call, heavily-lidded eyes tipping lazily to watch as his lord father burst into his room, stomping inelegantly over to him. Every line of the elder youkai’s countenance was trembling in rage, and the dusky-haired demon blinked slowly, offering a slow smile up to his bulky sire—not affected at all by the bloodstained, scorched, barely-recognizable-as-once-being-an-apron bit of cloth clutched furiously in a calloused hand as he reclined languidly atop the fanciful, ostentatiously-carved wooden, cushioned divan gilded with gold.

“What is the meaning of this!” His father shouted again, shaking the rag once more, his face pulsing almost purple with rage. The tone that echoed out from his son was cool, collected.

“She must have had an accident in the kitchen. How unfortunate. I always rather liked her…” His father frowned, leaning down to eye the teen. The dark-haired youth merely offered another slow smile, violet glittering coolly in light of some well-hidden amusement at his sire’s suspicion. “…come now, Father. What reason would I have to harm her? Surely you recall how nice she has always been to me…” That voice was saccharine, smooth and soothing all at once. He told no lies—for he hadn’t ‘harmed’ her. He had saved her. Saved her from withering away into death, as all sought so fruitlessly to do… It was, indeed, a careful choice of words—but one must learn to be careful when concealing murder.

Granted, he had liked her—but he was quick to realize that using his explosives to always bring forth death was both rather impersonal and achingly personal. After all, they were made of his own ki… a “Quest Class” talent that his father had boasted of after his ki-determining ceremony had ended years ago(and thus he procured only the best trainer-tutor his vast fortune could buy)—but rending someone with one’s bare hands, knives or other instruments could be so much more satisfying. To feel one’s lifeblood coat your fingers in its sticky, sacred, coppery waves…

His beloved creature-bombs also carried the unfortunate after-effect of being a rather obvious giveaway that the death had been of his doing. They were anything but subtle…

This particular maid had joined only last month—there was a continuous surge of on-the-job accidents occurring at the manor, as of late, and it was beginning to become a bit difficult to find replacements—and he had taken a reticent pleasure in sampling her physically, first, before plunging the butcher’s knife deep into her heart. After licking his fingers clean of the blood from her mangled form—just minutes later—and once having carved up the dead body, a bit, he’d brushed nonexistent stains from the dark silken clothing he wore, and strolled contently away—although he was careful enough not to leave carmine footprints in his wake.

He was becoming better and better as time went on. It was a high he did not wish to grow tired of—it simply made him feel a surge of delight, now, every time he saw a beautiful young maid or handsome young servant enter into the manor’s service. To contemplate ripping their nervously smiling mouths apart, ravaging them and hearing them scream in both pleasure and agony as he tore them in twain… and usually all it took to ensnare them was an unruffled, lustful gaze from beneath shady lashes, and a well-worded, sultry utterance. He was drop-dead gorgeous, and he was well aware—just out of the blossom of youth with a forbidding dark quality to him, and it drew potential lovers like moths to their doom.

The once-short sable strands now dusted their tips along the center of his back, and he had taken to fingering them as a habit, liking the feel of silk sliding over and through his digits like poisoned water. It certainly fit his image, now—

Although none topped the high he’d felt, after his mother’s death(he doubted his father truly suspected it was him who had caused her to leave this world)… but that elation, that utter spike of gratification he’d been ridden with, just moments after her body had been burned away by the fires of his bombs.

It had lasted for hours.

He had yet to find a way to top that.

—So he began playing with his victims.

~A Few Years Later~

For the most part, he had succeeded—although it was hard to be in control of himself to the point where he would actually grow attached to any one lover before allowing himself to kill them…

As a result, the number of murders taking place at the manor had diminished, now that he’d found something of better value to occupy his time—instead of merely killing something beautiful the moment he laid eyes on it, he would wait. He would coax it to a slow destruction, and just when it had reached the fever-pitch of being practically irreplaceable—he would save it. Invested ‘saving’s were so much more exquisite(not that he didn’t still ‘save’ the occasional pretty new maid or servant), but only the ones he really came to like—only the ones that deserved to be saved, to be preserved forever in their current image of youth and beauty—were dealt with in the harrowing embrace of his deadly creations…

Killing was, of course, different. He hadn’t outgrown that particular trait—he could kill without a second glance, but it was still so enjoyable to confuse an enemy by playing with their mind, assuming dramatically understated poses, shooting coy glances and suggestive comments their way, only to laugh offhandedly and wave the actions off as ‘jokes’, effectively denying what he had just so cunningly evoked.

It had the lovely effect of putting his victims yet further on-edge.

: : :

~Four Months Earlier~

Soft, fragile-looking hands clasped each other. The bearer of them seemed to be having a hard time finding her voice. The one sitting across from her appeared to have no such trouble, and was indeed quite relaxed, sipping some tea.

Quite a few minutes later, a stuttering request trembled cautiously to the air.

“Genkai-shihan… I am not ungrateful for the training you have given me, as well as pairing me with Touya-san in helping me control my ice powers, b-but I… I… I followed everyone to the Ningenkai in the hopes of finding my older brother, because I sensed he was near me, in the Ankoku Buujutsukai, but now…” She took a deep breath, here, wishing to word the next sentence as politely as possible, digits twisting minutely into the fabric of her kimono where it covered her thighs.

“I do not sense him in this city, any longer.”

“Then he’s not here.” Wide red looked too startled for a moment, but the old woman continued sipping at her tea, only resuming her comment after she had quietly set the cup down, dark brown meeting the ruby oculars across from her.

“Yukina. If he were here, you would have sensed him. Since you do not sense him, he must not be here.” She at least attempted to make her gruff voice less-so, with this. The koorime was not fragile, as so many thought her to be, nor was she stupid or naïve of the ways of the world. However, the girl was still looking a bit too shell-shocked in her opinion, and her natural impatience caught up with her.

“You sensed him at the Dark Tournament, did you not? That was what drew you there, yes?” A nod. Good, she was responding. The sakura-haired old fighter offered a mirrored nod, at that.

“Then it is fine if you wish to go search for him. You do not need to ask my permission.” Another surprised blink, here. She had to fight the urge to snort. What, did Yukina expect her to treat her as a child? The ice maiden was certainly not a child—no more of one than Hiei was.

“But—Genkai-shihan—Touya-san and the others—“

“They will do fine without you. They enjoy training with one another enough, and Touya is easily the most level-headed of them all. He would not mind changing from a teacher to a sparring partner, once again.”

“But I… Genkai-shihan—“ Irritated brown slid open behind the wrinkles lining her lids, and she frowned at the girl, sizing her up for a moment before speaking in a tone that rang of finality.

“Yukina. You have traveled alone, before. Your ice powers have increased considerably since you started training with Touya and the others three months ago, after the end of the Ankoku Buujutsukai. You came to Ningenkai, and stayed in this city because you sensed your brother in this vicinity.” A thought occurred to her, then, and those chocolate oculars narrowed in sudden realization. The sea-green-haired demoness abruptly looked to the side, averting her eyes.

“…you have not sensed him in this area for quite a while, is that it.” It was not a question. The koorime offered a hesitant nod, red depths still aimed off to the side, slender digits gently twisting the fabric of her kimono in her lap.

“N-not for two months, at least, Genkai-shihan…” The pink-haired woman couldn’t help her next outburst, tone gravelly and loudly annoyed.

“What’s the idea in waiting so long to tell me about it, then! If it’s so important, you should have been on your way months ago!”

“Hey, don’t ya be yellin’ at Yuki-chan!” A loud gale of wind brought down the door, and the youkai perched atop it looked mildly pissed—which was, for Jin, an oft-passing moodswing. His dramatic entrance revealed the crouched forms of Chuu, Rinku perched atop his massive shoulders, and Touya just barely discernible in the shadows of the room just beside.

“I knew I smelled something foul. You lot, go take a bath! This is a private conversation!” No one paid the shouting, snapping reiki-master much mind, as Jin floated over to the ice maiden, upside-down so that the masses of bright cherry-red windswept spikes concealed the small horn in the middle of his scalp. He grinned at her.

“Na, na, Yuki-chan! You should go find him, if he’s that important! We’ll even come with you if—“

“Baka! Reikai doesn’t even know we’re here! If we go outside this temple’s boundaries they’ll send us back to Makai!” The ever-incorrigible Rinku had bounded in, whacking Jin on the head with one of his yo-yos and complaining loudly against the suggestion.

“Naw, but Jin’s right, ‘s no goo’ idea fer yuh to be wanderin’ about Nin’nkai without an escurt…” Chuu ambled in along after the rambunctious boy, leaning on the young demon’s head, deaf to his shouts, and grinning down at the demure koorime.

“While your sentiments are admirable, Chuu, this is something Yukina-san must do by herself.” The calming voice within the entire storm, Touya had strode in silently and now kneeled down beside her, offering a barely-perceptible smile. “Ne, Yukina-san?” She found a smile amidst her surprise, at that, and offered a warmer, assenting expression towards the entire gathering of demons—more friends, she’d realized, than she’d ever had in her entire lifetime, locked away atop the Koorime Island, Hyouga, shunned by the ‘normal’ girl-children, ostrasized for having shared the womb and actually touched and grown with the abomination that was her older brother—only Rui, after her mother had committed suicide so early on, had taken her in… due to her gender, ki-type and appearance she was not jettisoned off the isle as her brother had been, but it was made clear that if she ever were to leave… she would not be permitted to return.

Perhaps they had worried she would find her brother, and bring him back with her, show him the way to Hyouga so that he could burn all of them alive… She was not naturally inclined towards such thoughts, but when greeted with such open hostility for one who had, in her opinion, done no wrong other than being born—it sowed seeds of darkness in her heart. Ones she tried to ignore, for the most part, but… she did find herself hoping, not admirably, that her brother would return, and burn away every one of those cold, cold maidens living aloof and so, so, safe on their floating island of cruel traditions and unflinching ‘morals’...

: : :

It was a warm morning when she left, her kimono tucked safely away in a knapsack lent to her by Genkai-shihan for the journey, in favor of more ‘current’ clothes—a brown turtleneck, a long red skirt and a flowing, dark blue, mid-length cape, buttoned-up to ‘keep out the cold’. She could not determine the precise location of her brother… but if she closed her eyes, a warmth in her heart would leap out, flickering off towards the northern regions of Japan. With a smile and slight bounce in her step—old brown boots of Genkai-shihan’s, that the elderly fighter hadn’t worn for years and years—she raised a hand, clasping it tightly around the nearly-glowing blue hiruiseki hung from a cord around her neck, and went on her way, the bright, pale-green braid neatly done down her back gently swaying with each step.

She would find him—this time, for certain!

: : :

~Two Months Earlier~

“Hiei!”

It was the worst possible situation. He could feel his heart constrict with every ragged breath the Jaganshi took, eyes dilated in horror as the scene played out before him. How Hiei had managed to usurp his fight with the crow demon, he would never understand, but to see this…

There was no elegance to it. The taller youkai almost seemed in a foul mood, for he kept shooting irritated glances towards the horror-stricken fox on the sidelines, barred by tournament rules(as well as Yuusuke’s firm hand on his shoulder) from running into the ring, voiding the match and going after the crow’s blood for himself, for revenge, for making Hiei…

Kurama. Then he was jarred back to reality and jade oculars moved to meet the bloodied, bruised, beaten face of his once-lover, that he still so—that he still… He could feel tears collect with the strong emotion welling to the surface, feel his throat constrict as he tried to take a step forward, but the teenager’s hand on his shoulder stilled his movements like a vice, his feet were rooted to the grass surrounding the ring, verdant hues no doubt shimmering with the stagnant moisture in their depths—

Hiei smiled, it appearing crooked from the angle. Impossibility itself, the ever-grumpy demon was smiling, looking over his shoulder at the redhead, the arm sporting the torn dragon tattoo hanging limply at an odd angle even as the onyx-haired youkai held him by the collar of his shirt, violet eyes sneering at not the Jaganshi in his grasp, but Kurama, from over their mask—perhaps a flicker of unidentified emotion, here, anger, jealousy, wanting to take, wanting to make the fox hurt before he was killed—but that flash was all gone in an instant, and the arena became awash in light…

: : :

“Hiei!” He gasped that last resounding scream he could hear his own voice echo in the nightmare as he was dragged startlingly from it, breaths erratic and terrified as he forced himself to calm down, forced himself to recognize the ceiling overhead as his own—as Minamino Suuichi, as Shiori’s son, as someone who should not have such terrifying dreams—not allowing himself to close his gaze off from the world, for he knew what would greet him if he did. Instead, he concentrated on the sweat-soaked scarlet bangs half-obscuring his vision from where they’d sprawled, during his nightly tossings and turnings, raised a hand to half-heartedly brush them away as he at last felt well enough to let his gaze slip shut, willing his breath to even out.

A dream. A dream.

Hiei had never fought that twisted demon, and he never would.

That… the only surviving member of Team Toguro was Bui, and perhaps not even Koenma knew where he’d disappeared to, once he was freed from the Toguro siblings’ service.

Although—he hadn’t had these sorts of Tournament-related nightmares in months, not since the end of the Ankoku Buujutsukai, thankfully, but in the past fortnight they’d suddenly risen again, as though mocking him, or warning him, of…

No, no.

The mere notion was utterly impossible.

After all, he’d seen, himself, how that vampire plant had finished the demon off…

As for Hiei—

He should not be dreaming such dreams about the Jaganshi, anymore, should he?

Dimly, he realized with a small twinge of disgust that he was covered in a cold sweat. Shaking his head momentarily free of the conflicting, distressingly circular thoughts, he sat up, running a hand back through the tangled mess of red curls that flounced over his shoulders and back. He’d contemplated sleeping with it tied back, but with the notion came unbidden thoughts of Kuronue, and his infamous ponytail, and…

Needless to say, he never quite remembered to tie it back before he went to sleep, after all.

Sighing, that slender thief’s hand moved to rub its palm gently over his own face, as he stood. Arching his back, only half-aware of what the scene might look like to someone outside his window—mussed long, bright tresses twinkling merrily in the sun and sticking up everywhere, his stretch revealing the smooth, pale expanse of his stomach above the pajama’s waistline—he at last relaxed, shoulders slumping forward before straightening themselves, properly. Running a hand over the hair at the back of his head, he wandered, somewhat bleary-eyed, towards the bathroom—loathing the idea of taking another shower, when he’d just had one last night, but overrun with the metaphorical need to wash himself free of that dream and its implications—closing the door behind him and starting the water.

Oh, but he was glad this old house had been remodeled to more Western standards… each bedroom having a personal bathroom was most definitely an improvement on the older accommodations.

: : :

“Suu-kun! Are you ready? It’s about time to—“ She stopped upon seeing that he now descended the stairs, not a strand out of place, and looking quite dashing in the black slacks and inky button-up he wore. It made the color of his hair all the more vibrant, and the brunette smiled at him before blinking softly, and tuttutting as she went behind him, reaching up to pull his hair back with a small, discreet tie.

“Now, I know you like to wear your hair down, Suu-kun… but, just for today, ne? After all…” Her tone faded off as she slipped into sadder memories—but his hand on hers brought her out of it, as well as concerned-but-understanding green cooling softly into her own darker eyes. For the past twelve years, those same eyes had gazed quietly at her, on this very day… But at some point it had changed, from her taking care of him, to him taking care of her.

On this day of days…

She mustered a well-managed smile, patting the low ponytail that captured all but those two stubborn forelocks that wouldn’t be coerced from their places framing her son’s face. They proceeded to the door without much trouble, and only after she’d locked it did she link an arm through his, adjusting the hat with its accompanying half-veil atop her head and smoothing out the bottom of her knee-length ebony skirt.

With a soft breath, and a small squeeze onto her redheaded boy’s strong arm, they were off.

: : :

The walk was uneventful. It was a cool morning, the breeze brushing this way and that, ruffling their hair but not quite strong enough to lift the lady’s hat from her head. They strode along at an unhurried pace—on this day, they were always sure to clear enough time to serve their needs. The world could wait. For just a few hours, the world could wait…

Mildly allowing herself to get lost in the scenery, as they wandered—it was only at the soft, tenderly-hushed words, same as always, did she startle back to reality—

“’kaasan. We’re here.” She offered a nod, slipping her arm from her son’s and placing her palms together in prayer, bowing her head before the grave—the family grave, now embedded with yet another name, which would one day hold her own, as well as her Suu-kun’s…

Dear. I do hope you’re doing well, wherever you are. Suuichi-kun has not changed so much, since we last visited—he’s so much older, now, and I know you’re watching over us both. He does seem to have gained a few friends…

She smiled at her own thoughts, despite herself.

They’re a bit rough around the edges, but they’re good boys. I’ve seen them together, sometimes—Suuichi laughs and smiles so much, around them! Ah, but… is it all right, dear?

She pinkened, slightly—how foolish of her! Acting like a schoolgirl admitting a crush…

I’ve… I’ve met someone. With Suuichi old enough, now, and… well—it just sort of happened. He’s a co-worker of mine, someone at the business… now, don’t be like that!

She could just imagine her late husband pulling a face at the thought of her falling for a ‘boring, old salaryman’…

He’s… different. He cares about Suuichi, as well, and has a son of his own… I don’t wish to seem disloyal, but he’s—

Suddenly, she felt a wash of comfort spread over her. Closing her eyes, she felt the spirit swarm around her, as though embracing her—she did not feel an ounce of anger or the hint of betrayal… and she knew he was all right with it.

You’ve waited so long, I was beginning to wonder if Suuichi’d always have you all to himself!

She held back a laugh—how odd it would look, laughing in a cemetery!—, even though it was quite possible she’d only imagined the response… but oh, how it sounded like him. Her heart ached, a moment, and her eyes slowly opened, settling on the gravestone before her.

Thank you. I will always love you, my dear, but I am glad you will allow me to move on…

Footsteps brought her back, and she raised her head, just now noticing that her son was walking back towards her, his expression soft and warm, a few rebellious carmine strands frolicking along his cheeks in the wind. Had he given her privacy? How thoughtful… The brunette woman smiled in return, turning back to the headstone and clapping her hands twice, before releasing a breath. Time to let him do the same. She turned, walking towards him—pausing only to set a palm on his shoulder, an appreciative glance up to this boy, her only son, before releasing it and continuing on her way, down the short path he’d just taken, giving him some time alone with the grave, and his thoughts…

: : :

Once his mother was safely out of earshot, the redhead shifted to quietly meet eyes with the spirit hovering just above the grave.

She’s doing well. The ghost’s expression was almost wistful, a smile tugging at his lips as he watched the woman walk away. The kitsune remained silent as that gaze settled on him, serious and quiet.

You’ve taken good care of her, Suuichi. A subtle smile tugged at the redhead’s lips, even as he lifted his head, to better see the one above him, optics glittering with a sad irony at the name.

“You would yet call me that? Even though you’ve known, ever since that day…” The spirit snorted, narrowing its eyes his way from behind its glasses, adjusting its floating seat just above the headstone.

Youko or not, you’re still my son. You’re still Shiori’s son. You have looked out for her, at great risk to your own life--Don’t think I wasn’t watching that Dark Tournament! The ghost grinned, pointing at his ‘son’ while seeing, satisfactorily, the mildly-surprised gaze upon the green-eyed youth’s face as he interrupted what the redhead was about to say.

That’s right! You did our family name proud, even if most of the demons there saw you as ‘Kurama’… He waved a hand, brushing off the minor detail, before growing serious once more, and leaning back in his invisible ‘seat’ above the grave.

You be careful, though, you hear? Something’s going-on around you, although I can’t put my finger on it… A mild smile tugged at the fox’s lips, here, and he couldn’t resist a small return of his ‘father’s’ teasing.

“You haven’t had the ability to touch, for years, ‘tousan.”

Hey! Just because I’m dead doesn’t mean you can— Huffing, he cut himself off, beginning to float upwards towards Reikai while waving a fist at the slowly-shrinking youth below him.

Suuichi! Don’t forget to come back next year! And bring this ‘Hatanaka’ and his son who I’ve heard so much about!

Soft chuckles floated up to him, as well as the barely-audible response(from how high up he was, and the fact the redhead was whispering) from the son he’d come to know so much more about, in death, than he ever could have, in life—

“Of course, ‘tousan.”

: : :

Years passed. Centuries passed.

Of course, his father had eventually found out the cause of his mother’s so-sudden death—it still remained a mystery as to how, and forever would, with the lord gone—and had disowned him and fully intended to throw him out of the manor. Luckily, he had killed the demon before this had happened, adding yet another satisfactory death to his list of murders. And murder it was, for he held no lasting affection towards the demon who had sired him—it was merely a business transaction. His father may have disowned him as heir, but the ebony-haired youkai had effectively silenced the lord before the words ever hit the ears of anyone else. He had idly dismissed what remained of the help, at that point—seeing as no more of them were worth saving, in his eyes—and closed-off the mansion before taking up wandering.

His entire life, he had been secluded in that manor. He was well into adult age, now, and he felt it to be high time he ventured out. His potential had not yet been reached—it had taken him centuries to slowly climb in the stifled training sessions with his tutor from low E-class in his childhood to a high D-class, now. His since-childhood tutor was not particularly stunning, and so he had uninterestedly dismissed him along with the rest of the surviving staff.

He traveled here and there, taking up challenges, losing some and winning some—and then winning most, as he grew stronger—taking lovers, ‘saving’ the ones that were really special, dismissing the ones that weren’t(or merely killing them out of boredom)…

Time continued to pass, and soon he grew tired with this way of life. He joined an assassin’s guild on a lark, determining that using his skills at murder to earn greater monetary profit—not that he needed it, what with that manor of his father’s still packed with gold and treasure(although he’d heard a rumor along the way that it had been ransacked by a group of thieves, in recent years), and it was always more fun to live on one’s own earnings as opposed to growing lazy and boring with the monotony and lack of day-to-day struggle those riches gave him—was preferable.

Perhaps that was the other reason he had taken up wandering from that secluded mansion…

As it was, this move was what caused him to meet Bui—then-weak, a low C-class that mostly outmatched him in brute strength—as the guild assigned them to work with one another, as partners. Perhaps here he had found his first true friend—the more muscular, well-built man might have sparked some level of appreciative lust in most(although he didn’t speak much, he had a lovely low baritone), but for his own standards the obsidian-haired demon found him to be a bit too similar to his father. Despite the fact their personalities were wildly different, Bui never seemed the sort to look down on him for his… ‘quirks’, as he came to refer to them.

The slightly younger youkai did not bat an eyelid if he were to walk into their shared living quarters, only to find the crow elegantly tracing lurid symbols or poetry onto a recently-deceased patch of ivory skin, his mattress blood-soaked and in shreds—the maimed corpse of a ‘lover’ he’d taken to bed that night barely recognizable as once being a living entity. Plum-hued optics were heavy, watchful, under their half-lids, waiting for the judgment or horror that came all too easily into the eyes of the few that discovered him. In fact, he was beginning to relish that look of horror, as he was so rarely caught indulging in his more… violent… fantasies—

However… that judgment never came. Bui would merely spare a single, unaffected glance towards the ruined form, grunt, and turn to head to his own bunk with the lowest mutter of—

“They will stop replacing your beds if you keep doing that.” The comment, oddly enough, would bring a dark chuckle from the slender, pale creature reclined quite comfortably on a plush chair in the middle of the room, head canting as slivers of fine wine pierced the night, carrying through the obscurity to the demon’s back between stray strands of fine shadow. In showing him his back, Bui had no fear of him. It was a strange sensation, one that was as unfamiliar as having a companion…

It was in this way that he slowly began to realize, as the decades dragged by, that he had no desire to ‘save’ Bui, as he had so many others. The demon was not intimate with him, in any way—neither physically or verbally, they never exchanged words concerning anything but the barest level of communication—, was not precious to him in the way his mother had been, was not breathtakingly beautiful or stunning or, really, anything out of the ordinary for a former mercenary-turned-assassin…

In fact, he began to bask in the newfound interest of his life—instead of merely killing to save, he was killing simply to kill. For greed, jealousy, hatred—any amount of emotions that his employers had given sway to in order to lead them to hiring one or both of them. Contrary to his most-beloved method of killing—his bombs, it was a personal fetish, what could he say?—the crow could be the deadliest at night, like a snake, leaving a knife in the back, through the head, the chest, or the mouth to ensure his target’s demise. If he was feeling particularly humbled by their beauty, he would carve them up a bit, make their death do them justice—but tried to refrain from this urge, as—if indulged in too often—it would make him easier to track down. His partner was too often the lookout, keeping himself concealed in the hall outside the room where the deed was being done, and they had developed their own secret signals of movements, sounds or ki-alerts… in the worst of cases, Bui would silently dispatch anyone who came too close, and the two would flee well before daylight, leaving the castle inhabitants to discover their lord’s demise—or some such similar result.

They continued on like this for years upon years—the bond between them never quite grew, but it never really deteriorated, and so they were content to keep that affably unspoken, distant understanding between them. They grew to be feared, their joint names(although in the underworld, only) when spoken together instilled fear in the lowliest of bandits and terror in the highest-ranking of rulers. With the help of the guild, they kept themselves hidden—until the day of that certain request.

The Ankoku Buujutsukai had caused some stirrings, when a human team claimed the championship prize. The crow did not consider it of his concern to keep up with the inane rabble of demons clamoring for news and gossip(and Bui had never been one for the outside world, either)—they had been planning a particularly tricky murder around that time, as well—and he was quite content to remain outside of the spotlight, so he never went to view(or enroll in) the infamous Tournament that would live on in legends… that of the very first Toguro Team, consisting of a few nameless human martial artists, a young woman of some renown among the inhabitants of Makai(or would-be usurpers of Ningenkai) as Genkai, and a tall, strapping young man who was the team’s namesake.

Thus, ten years later, when he received orders from a client that both he and Bui had been commissioned to assassinate some high-profile human correspondent who had backed out of a deal, and his gaze scanned over the name ‘Toguro’ not once, but twice, on the list of bodyguards… he did not bother to give it a second thought.

That botched job heralded the end of their freedom—the enslavement would last for the next forty years.

: : :

He’d done it! He’d really done it!

Excited, the little halfling-kit scrambled over the brambles and bushes, ki clumsily fanning out around him and parting the thickest of the vines, voice echoing out in a strange, garbled combination of a voice and a bark.

“Mama! Papa! Did it!” He paused, only a moment to admire his furless hands, then running both palms back through the silky shoulder-length crop of silver hair and he giggled, taking off again, tail wagging happily behind him, sharp triangular ears twitching merrily.

“Mama! Papa! Mama! Pa—“

He stopped short.

Little golden eyes widened to an impossible size, taking in the gore and blood that’d seeped into the ground outside their den. There were scorch marks everywhere—like something had burned away… had burned away…

He tensed, sensing something come up behind him, and glanced, glaring in fear over his shoulder—no, no. Only Papa. The full-grown black kitsune came up beside him, red oculars glancing at the young kit from the side of his vision. Even with his son in a more humanoid guise, his papa could tell. There was no disguising one’s scent, no matter the form they wore. However, the older kitsune moved on, going about bidding farewell to the carcass as best he could.

There were no words. His papa couldn’t speak, and the young silver kit had been rendered speechless at the scene… words would do them no good, anyway. When the ebony kitsune at last glanced behind him, the two foxes shared a long, unbroken stare, each unwilling to back down—each unwilling to accept what that vixen’s death, and the loss of the kit’s brothers and sisters, now meant for them.

Unexpectedly, the silver kit was the one who moved, first. Face set into a furious, angry glare as he turned, saffron orbs practically piercing the woodland he stepped into, his ki thrashing out and offering him a path through the greenery—he simply strode stonily away from the scene.

Although his black papa never once took his eyes from his special, silver son, until he was out of sight…

The kit never looked back.

: : :

So began, the story of one of Makai’s greatest legends…

~*~To Be Continued~*~