Ragnarok

The End is Only the Beginning

 

 

            Hisoka tugged at the collar of his new school uniform irritably.  Out of all the roles he could have been given, it had to be a schoolboy.  Two children passing by flinched at the sight of his scowl, their good-natured argument winding down to whimpers as they avoided the Shinigami.  He strode past them, unmindful of their sighs of relief.

 

            It was times like these that reminded him of his eternally adolescent body the most – and he hated it.  Tsuzuki was, once again, posing as a history teacher.  And, the empath was sure, loving every moment of it.

 

            A chill traveled down his spine as he felt eyes on his back.  Emerald eyes narrowed, searching for the antagonist, but found only a bunch of gaggling school girls behind – and all of those girls were looking everywhere but him.  Giggles and conspiratorial whispers sprung up behind him as he resumed walking.  It took all of Hisoka’s effort to control his blush reflex.  Today was not going to be a good day.

 

            A lupine figure watched the Shinigami for a long moment before melting back into the shadows of the alley.

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            003 hooted sleepily, shifting her grip on her master’s shoulder.  It was late – very late in Meifu.  The contented purr of machinery and the clicks of fingers flying over keys were the only sounds to disturb the quiet stillness blanketing the offices of the Shokan division of EnmaCho.  The single light in the room came from a computer screen, flickering as it cast eerie shadows on the walls.

 

            This scene by itself was not rare, and thus would not warrant comment. After all, Watari was often seen working in his lab until odd hours in the morning.  However, while the scene itself was common – the object for the blonde scientist’s search would raise quite a few eyebrows, among other things.

 

            He had been disturbed by the order to send Bon and Tsuzuki to Chijou – the other Shinigami were also working on the case, after all, so why were those two specifically needed? He could almost pass off Tsuzuki for being able to summon twelve Shikigami, but He had asked for ‘Tsuzuki and Hisoka’, not just ‘Tsuzuki’.  Why was Bon so necessary on this assignment that Enma felt justified in putting the youngster’s health at risk?

 

            Thus, the blonde found himself face to face with a computerized image, his questions unanswered.  From the outside appearances Bon and Tsuzuki were…’normal’, for the better lack of a term.  He frowned, his mind twisting itself into complicated knots.  It was almost as if –

 

            Ah hah!  Watari paused, reading a likely section.  He absently pushed back a lock of golden hair, his chocolate eyes trained on the screen.

 

            ‘Upon Kurosaki’s arrival in Meifu, the possibility of death by murder instead of death by illness was detected.  Once discovered, it was immediately turned over to the – ’

 

            He skimmed the next few paragraphs, not feeling the need to read the long investigation that usually came with such discoveries.  It was the paragraph toward the bottom that finally caught his attention.

 

            ‘The first offer of the status of Shinigami was met with flat refusal.  However, before announcing judgment Enma-daioh surprisingly offered a second time, something that has never been done before.  That time, Kurosaki accepted.’

 

            Watari blinked owlishly at the screen, lost in thought.  Bon had refused?  The first time?  But likely candidates were never asked more than once!  Somehow, He had known about the boy’s change of heart…but why had He asked?  The blonde hadn’t heard of anything this unusual happening since –

 

            He paused.

 

            Since Tsuzuki had become a Shinigami.  The deity had nearly forced the amethyst-eyed man into taking the job.  Somehow…somehow Watari felt that He had a hand in Bon’s change of heart, too…

 

            Mysteries piled on more mysteries.  His investigation was bringing up more questions than answers.  Maybe…maybe there was something in the –

 

            003 hooted once before toppling off her master’s shoulder. 

 

“Ah, 003!”  He picked up the miniature owl, cradling her in his hands.  She hooted again, feebly, before closing her eyes.  Watari grinned.  “Sleepy, eh.  I wonder what ti – 5 AM!!”

 

He glanced back at the computer screen once before shutting the machinery off.  His sunny smile crept back on his face as he hopped to his feet.  “I’ll just look later! Time for bed!”

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            “Hey, Hisoka, you okay?  You look really tired.” 

 

            The empath scowled at his partner, debating on what to answer.  To be truthful, he was sleeping more than normal, yet he was still exhausted whenever he woke up.  Those weird dreams weren’t helping either – they felt familiar, and very real.  Almost like they were memories instead of dreams, in fact.

 

            But, he countered, they couldn’t be memories.  Not when he couldn’t see that one guy’s face…

 

            “Hisoka?”

 

            “Baka,” he snapped, increasing his pace.  “Worry about the mission.”  He stalked away, trying to ignore his partner’s concerned gaze.  Preoccupied, he never felt the gaze of an extra set of eyes.

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            Smoke hovered thickly in the air, waiting.  The cloy, sickly scent of blood permeated through the ash and smoke, covering the charred smell of wood. 

 

            It was dark, a nightmare, accentuating the unnatural brightness of the flames leaping around, entwining themselves around the village.  They seduced those around them, the wood heating up and burning to ash at their sensual words and movements.

 

            A low, keening sound rose up, drowning the fire’s roar.  It was the sound of horses screaming – in both fear and anger.  It was the sound of children crying.  It was the sound of people dying.  It was the sound of pain, loss, and the need to understand.  Why?  Why us?  Why now?

 

            Here and there the ethereal siren’s haunting melody was overrun by harsh, barking laughter.  Bulky men sat astride horses, slashing at anything that moved.  Their weapons gleamed like claws, all the more wicked in the glow of the fire.

 

            It was a scene from Hell.  The flames cast long shadows on the attackers, partially hiding them from view.  The men seemed to meld with their wild-eyed mounts, shedding their pretense of humanity as they became figures born from tales of nightmares.

 

            But none of it mattered to Hiketsu – the heat fanning his skin was paid no more mind than the hellish slaughter around him.  His emerald green eyes, dark with emotion, were fixated by the trickling crimson stream before him.  The drops fell painstakingly slow, each thicker and more heated than rain.  Yet, from appearances it looked like rain – rain that simply reflected pain and fire, like a multi-faceted jewel. 

 

            Perhaps…perhaps, if he tried, he could convince himself that it was rain; just simply rain.  Perhaps, if he could convince himself, his chest wouldn’t hurt so much.

 

            “Mama.”

 

            The child watched in fascinated terror as lashed closed over beloved lime green eyes for the last time – eyes already glazing over with pain and death.  The body fell beside him with an ungraceful thud – the ground shaking with a small tremor.  Yet even to the last that attempt to make a difference was denied – the small tremor was lost, unnoticed within the pounding of hooves and the falling of other bodies.

 

            To Hiketsu, however, it was an Earthquake.  An Earthquake, which drowned out everything else, only deadened by the anguished wails of one voice – a voice something dimly recognized as his own.

 

            “Who is this brat?”  A rough, masculine voice.  A pair of hooves dominated his vision, the hard appendages stopping mere inches away from his numb body.  The boy was aware of someone shouting, his instincts screaming ‘Danger!  Run away!’ but the voices were faint, muffled – they went unheeded.

 

            “Just some whelp, my lord,” a second voice replied.  “Nobody important.”

 

            “Nobody important, eh?” The first voice leered.  “Pretty enough to be a girl, though.”

 

            “My lord?”  Uncertainty.  Confusion.  Fear.

 

            “I have need of another servant.  Bring him!”

 

            Rough, calloused hands grabbed delicate flesh.  Hiketsu wavered to his feet, the hands his only support.  He was dimly aware of a voice screaming.  An older voice, yet one he almost recognized as his own.

 

            ‘No!  Not again!  Not again!!’

 

            “Not again!”  He lunged forward with a cry.  Cold sweat glistened on damp skin.  He could feel every cool breeze, every movement of the wind.  He shivered.

 

            “Hisoka?”  An odd voice, beloved yet unfamiliar.  Hisoka?  Who was Hisoka?

 

            He wrapped his blanket around himself, the black cloth draped over his thin frame.  Thin fingers clutched the edges, an eerie contrast that gave the young empath a skeletal appearance.

 

            “Hisoka?  Hisoka, you okay?”

 

            Ignore the voice.  Ignore the voice and the strange name.  Ignore the feeling of familiarity and warmth.  Ignore everything.  Just him and the blanket, no more no less.  There was just him and just the blanket – no happiness, no pain, no joy, no sadness.  Just him.  Just the blanket.

 

            “Hisoka?”

 

            The voice was louder now, and panicked.  It tugged at his mind, trying to pull him from the oblivion he was desperately trying to sink into.  Already pale hands turned white at the knuckles as he whimpered.  No more pain!  No more fear!

 

            “What’s wrong?  Hisoka?”

 

            Contact, warm skin on cooling flesh.  He gasped, yanked back into reality, flooded by concern, love, and panic.  Hisoka?  His name?  Yes, Hisoka was his name – the strange voice was calling for him.

 

            Once wishing for oblivion, he now reached out, desperately clutching at memories that sieved through his grasp like water.  Memories of brown hair and purple eyes.  Memories of fake guns and vampires.  Memories of blood and pain.  Memories of fire and fear.  Memories of smiles and apple pie.  Memories of a face.  Memories of a voice.

 

            Memories of a name.

 

            “Tsuzuki?”

 

            He could feel relief now, a feeling so strong it nearly washed out all other emotion.  “You’re okay!”  The older man wrapped his partner in a tight hug from behind.  Hisoka moved to pull away – he hated contact – but the flow of warmth, both physical and emotional, pushed his body back.  He leaned into the contact as strong arms settled themselves around his stomach, the light breathing of his partner tickling his ear.  But, most importantly of all, with the warmth came the memories, the sense of self.

 

            The pair sat there, long into the night – one recalling his memories, the other reassuring himself that his partner was, indeed, okay.  All good things, however, must eventually end, and this moment, too, was shattered when Hisoka glanced at the alarm clock resting on the wooden nightstand.  Yawning, he started to untangle himself from his partner’s grasp.  However, Tsuzuki merely tightened his grip on the younger man, pulling him back into position.

 

            The blonde nearly growled in annoyance.  “Tsuzuki!  It’s nearly 3 AM – we have to both get up early in the morning!”

 

            Tsuzuki yawned and let himself fall backwards on the bed.  Wrapping one arm tightly against his partner’s waist, he freed the other to pull the slightly warm blankets around them.  The feeling of determination tingled the empath’s skin – what was his partner thinking?

 

            “Tsuzuki…” A soft warning.

 

            “No.”  Fear tinted the determination – was it his or the brunette’s?  “No.  I’m not quite sure what happened to you, but I’m not going to let it happen again.”

 

            “And you think doing this will help?”  There was a sarcastic bite in Hisoka’s tone.  A part of him protested – it liked this warmth.  Just indulging once wouldn’t hurt, would it?

 

            “It’s better than doing nothing,” came the soft reply.  The fear and determination were laced together, now.

 

            Indulging in this once – just once! – wouldn’t hurt.  With a defeated sigh the blonde relaxed, shifting into a much more comfortable position of laying curled on his side, head resting on his partner’s chest.  “Fine,” he grumped – heaven forbid Tsuzuki realized he was enjoying himself!  He would probably never have the bed to himself ever again.  “But just this once, “ he mumbled.

 

            “Sankyuu, Hisoka,” Tsuzuki murmured, his grip loosening once he was convinced his partner wouldn’t try to escape.  But there was no answering reply to his statement – not even a disgruntled grunt.  The younger man was already asleep.

 

            Neither of them noticed the strange black shadow taking wing from their hotel window.

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            “Wow, that was close!” A male voice breathed.  “He almost lost himself!”  A low growl from the wolf beside him was the only reply.  “You’re right,” he continued, “this can’t be just a coincidence.  Something big is gonna happen soon…”

 

            The wolf snorted as it turned, melting into the shadows.  The man made an indignant noise in the back of his throat.  “Hey! I am not being melodramatic!”  Grumbling about rudeness and wolves in general, the young man walked away, sulking slightly.

 

             “But still,” he commented softly as he emerged from the darkened alleyway, “he does look similar to ‘ketsu-niichan.  I wonder…”

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            The sun struck Tsuzuki in the left eye, prodding him incessantly into consciousness.  Groaning he shifted to escape the early morning light, a small part of him slightly confused.  This couldn’t be his bedroom – it had a west-facing window.  However, a large part of him argued, he was warm and unharmed, so what was the point in worrying?

 

            The birds, seeing the failure of the sun, joined the wake-up call, their soprano trills acting like a siren, dooming those who listened into waking up before their time.  Sighing, Tsuzuki tightened his grip on the warm body next to him.  The next five minutes were spent in a futile effort to regain the blissful darkness of sleep before he finally admitted defeat.

 

            Cheerful cream walls absorbed the sunlight filtering into the room.  The hotel assigned to them was not in the usual state of disrepair.  Rumor said Tatsumi nearly had heart failure when word came from Enma that the Lord of Death himself was paying the differences to give all those on the new case – which was everyone – decent rooms.

 

            A yawn signaled Hisoka’s return to consciousness.  Tsuzuki watched as he stretched, the younger man’s slender body tightening under his hand as the boy yawned again, his mouth slightly open to display a curling, pink tongue.

 

            His partner, Tsuzuki mused, could be very cat-like at times – cute and trying to be independent all at once.  “Morning, Hisoka.”

 

            Green eyes snapped open, widening as they took in Tsuzuki’s proximity.  The brunette tried to suppress his mirth so his partner couldn’t feel it – he’d forgotten how incoherent the teenager could be first thing in the morning.

 

            Hisoka relaxed, allowing his body to sink back against the mattress.  He was warm – incredibly warm.  The heat brought back memories as he basked in it, not bothering to extract himself from his partner’s grasp.  This lasted only a few moments, however, until the youth realized his position and set about skillfully removing himself from it.

 

            A small part of him whined over the loss of heat, but the larger portion squashed it, his self-control and aversion to touch firmly reasserting themselves.  He eyed the bed and his partner for a moment before turning smartly on his heel in the direction of the washroom.  Damn blush reflex.

 

            Tsuzuki, for his part, blinked sleepily at the place his partner once occupied, a small spark of triumph flickering in his eyes.  It had been fleeting, but for one moment the brunette had seen his partner completely unmasked and content.  It was much preferable, he decided, to see the real Hisoka in a setting not filled with anger, fear, and the impending sense of danger.

 

            Yawning, he flopped backwards into the mattress, wrapping the comforter tighter round his body.  He could probably catch about ten more minutes of sleep before Hisoka came to scold him about making them late.

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            Watari sighed, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms as he collapsed backwards into a nearby chair.  His usually genki attitude drained by a fruitless search, the scientist ran a hand through blonde hair as he tried to tackle the current problem – if there was a current problem, his pessimistic side whispered.

 

            The files on both Tsuzuki and Bon were strange and normal at the same time.  While there were normally oddities and inconsistencies in the files on the Shinigami, to have irregularities in many, area-specific files was disturbing,  Even more disturbing was the presence of the exact same oddities in the exact same files for both Bon and Tsuzuki – something which should have been impossible.

 

            However, the scientist ruefully admitted, whoever had entered the oddities had hidden them very well.  In fact, if he hadn’t been looking for irregularities, Watari would have missed them completely. 

 

But, even though he had noticed, they still didn’t add up.  All he had discovered was a connection between Bon and Tsuzuki.  A connection he had already suspected.      

 

The problem was – what was the connection?

 

 

 

Author’s Notes ~ *Bows repeatedly*  Gomen nasai ~!  *Sniffles*  If it hadn’t been a combination of things (college applications, losing of copies, etc) this chapter would have been out a month ago!

 

This is the last time Shinnite is forgetting to save on the hard drive!  *Frowns*  I had saved the first two – three pages of this on a floppy..and then lost it. ~_~  And Shinnite doesn’t do re-writes very well *Sweatdrop*.

 

So, when you find that the first portion (up until the italicized portion) is very bad, you can see for yourself that Shinnite doesn’t do re-writes very well *Sigh*

 

Well, enough excuses! Enjoy the reading! (=P)

 

*Enter standard disclaimer here*