Yami No Matsuei Fan Fiction ❯ Painful Lessons ❯ Beneath the Red Moon ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: I do not own Yami no Matsuei, though I wish I did... Then I woulda thrown Tsubaki-hime overboard at the beginning, Hisoka and Tsuzuki would be partners for more than just work, and there would have been more than 13 episodes! However, I do not own it. >.>;

 

Note: This is my first fan fic ever! Soka-chan (my friend!) asked about a `what if' story from Yami no Matsuei, so I told her that I'd write one! In the first episode of the Kyoto arc, what would have happened had Tsuzuki not shown up to save Hisoka from Muraki? This is gonna be a dark fic, but I hope you all like it! Please review! Please?! Constructive criticism only though... for flames shall be used to toast marshmallows!

 

Warnings: Well, being YnM, obviously shounen-ai and yaoi... O.o If you don't like it, why are you looking at Yami no Matsuei? Um, nothing really terrible yet, other than Muraki's usual twisted antics, but expect mature themes later!

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This couldn't be happening. Not again... The plastic bag he'd been carrying slipped from his fingers, landing heavily on the hard ground at his feet. Hisoka blinked his large emerald eyes, hoping that perhaps he just wasn't seeing properly, that he was just paranoid, that it was all an illusion. But, even as he did so, he realized that he wouldn't be so lucky... There, hovering in the sky above, was a blood moon. The same crimson moon that appeared whenever he was near...

 

The young shinigami's mind raced with the possibilities of what the moon could possibly mean, that he had killed again, that he too was in Kyoto, that he was...

 

Clack!

 

The boys heart nearly stopped as he heard a noise, causing him to finally tear his gaze away from the horrible crimson orb above him. There at his feet lay the culprit: a lone wooden sandal. Gazing wide eyed at the sandal, Hisoka's curiosity battled with his fear. It seemed strange for someone's shoe to suddenly land at the bottom of the stairs, but for some reason, just looking at it made him want to run back to the hotel, run back to Tsuzuki and Watari-san.

 

Clenching his fists determinedly, Hisoka turned his gaze to where the shoe had fallen from, slowly climbing each step with his eyes. Nothing seemed out of place, well, except for that small puddle forming at the base of one of the stone steps. Wait- a puddle? Hisoka turned all the way around to face the staircase, his breath catching in his throat. Just above the pool of dark liquid lay the owner of the sandal; she lay sprawled across the stone, like some pathetic, discarded doll. Her body was unmoving and broken, however, it was not the woman's lifeless form that frightened the boy. No, it was the white clad figure that stood over her that sent shivers down Hisoka's spine. The man's long white jacket dripped with blood, the dark stains standing out sharply against the pale fabric. His glasses seemed to flash, his silvery hair shimmering eerily in the red moonlight.

 

“Oya, oya. It's you again?”

 

The voice made the hairs on the back of Hisoka's neck stand on end, but all the boy could do was stare at him. His expression was somewhere between hatred and pure fear, though exactly which he felt more was unclear. All he could manage to do was to say the man's name, uttering it as though it were some horrible curse:

 

“Muraki!”

 

Even as he faced Kazutaka Muraki, his own murderer who now stood over yet another victim, Hisoka could not seem to make his feet work. It was as though they were made of lead, making it impossible for him to run away or even move.

 

“You really have the worst of timings, boy,” Muraki stated calmly, stepping carefully around the bloody mess he had created. Despite the crimson stains already covering the front of his pale suit, the doctor seemed to want to avoid bloodying his ivory shoes. Taking one step down, then another, Muraki slowly advanced upon the seemingly frozen boy, his strange blue eye glittering dangerously behind its veil of silver hair.

 

Hisoka watched in horror as the white clad predator neared him, trapped in place as though he had lost all control of his body. Struggling with himself, the shinigami finally forced himself to move. Taking a shaky step backwards, he tried to put some distance between himself and Muraki. As he tried to take another step, he found half of his foot was resting on air; there was no where to back up to. With a sharp intake of breath, Hisoka swayed as he began to lose his balance. Quickly placing his foot on the solid ground once more, he looked up to see the doctor, who was only a mere few feet away.

 

“Be careful you don't trip and fall,” Muraki taunted as he continued his descent, “There's a legend here in Kyoto that if you fall on the stone steps, you will die within three years.” Another step. “Then again, I have already killed you.”

 

`I have already killed you.' Hisoka cringed at the thought, images of cherry blossoms and the crimson moon suddenly invading his thoughts. While he tried to banish them to the back of his mind, there was something all too familiar about this situation that kept calling the images to the surface. The shinigami had tried to ignore just how similar his current situation was to that night, but his mind would not seem to allow it.

 

The blood drenched man now stood on the second last step, his piercing gaze never leaving the boy in front of him. Hisoka could almost feel the doctor's eyes on him, as though they were working to hold him in place. Words could not describe the terror he felt as he stood in front of Muraki all alone, but Hisoka absolutely refused to show his fear. That was exactly what the doctor enjoyed. Instead, he would cover up his weakness the way he always did: with anger.

 

“Muraki, what are you up to this time?” he snapped annoyed, standing directly in front of the murderer, blocking his path.

 

“You're in my way. Move at once,” Muraki responded coldly, not moving from the step.

 

“Answer me Muraki!” Hisoka growled, still standing in the doctor's path. He glared at the man defiantly, as though the simple action would work to intimidate. Though, Hisoka very much doubted the devil before him feared anything... Especially not him.

 

“I have no duty to answer you.” Muraki seemed to have quickly become bored with the situation, his usually calm voice now showing traces of annoyance.

 

“What?!” the young shinigami spat angrily. Hisoka, while scared to death, was easily irritated by the man's refusal to answer. Despite his overwhelming urge to run, he took a step forward, still glaring at the twisted doctor.

 

“My, my... Are you still angry about Tsubaki-hime? Thinking about `like' and `love' in her mind and dying like an idiot, she is just a worthless doll.”

 

Hisoka's temper boiled up within him at the mention of Tsubaki-hime, his mind wandering back to the Queen Camellia. Standing with Tsuzuki in the hidden operating room... Tsubaki-hime... falling forwards into his arms, a bullet wound in her back... Muraki standing in the door way with his gun. The very thought of what had happened in that room made his blood run cold. Tsubaki had loved the doctor and he tossed her aside like a used toy. Just like he did with everyone else.

 

“Bastard!” Hisoka bellowed, rushing at Muraki with his fist raised. He didn't even think of the consequences of such a rash, foolish action. He just wanted to hit the man, wipe that smirk off his face, cause him even a small amount of pain.

 

Muraki smirked, remaining almost perfectly still as he watch the boy's pathetic attempt to charge him. It was almost enough to make him laugh. Without any warning, the silvery haired many sprang to life as he easily grabbed the shinigami's flying fist and roughly twisting his arm back. Within seconds, the doctor had the boy's arms twisted around behind his back, effectively pinning him. With a gasp, Hisoka struggled against the other man, trying to loosen the doctor's hold and hopefully get away from him. However, the grip on his wrists was like a vice and there was little the sixteen year old could do to escape it. Muraki simply smirked, pulling the boy's body against his own so that his lips were hovering just next to Hisoka's ear.

 

Hisoka stifled a yell as the doctor grabbed him, clenching his teeth tightly so as not to allow any sound to escape. Physical contact usually overwhelmed the young empath, filling him with not only his own emotions, but all the emotions of the other as well. However, Hisoka never seemed to feel any actual emotions from Muraki, but a deep darkness and sense of... evil. And right now, he felt like he was going to drown in that darkness. Any hope he had seemed to have been taken from him in that moment, leaving only his own fear and the twisted, sick feeling he got from Muraki.

 

Muraki placed his other hand on the back of Hisoka's head, running his long, pale fingers through the sandy blonde hair. Grasping at the silky locks, the doctor then yanked Hisoka's had back roughly, causing the boy to wince. “You are too naive and anger too easily. That's why I say you're still a kid,” Muraki said calmly, leaning closer to Hisoka's ear.

 

“Let me go.” Hisoka demanded, a hint of fear creeping into his voice. There was no way he could escape Muraki's grip, which only made his situation even more frightening. He was at the doctor's mercy...

 

“It seems like you need another lesson,” Muraki whispered into Hisoka's ear, his lips only a centimeter away. “On that day, the moon was as beautiful as tonight's moon...”

 

“St-stop...” the trapped shinigami whispered shakily. Muraki's warm breath against his ear made Hisoka shiver uncontrollably. This had to be another nightmare, just like the ones he often had about his death. He'd wake up soon, find himself in bed, his sheets damp with sweat. Tsuzuki would be in the bed next to him, sleeping soundly... He would be safe.

 

Another cruel yank on his arms awoke Hisoka to the truth. This was happening. And there was no one here to help him. `Tsuzuki... where are you?' Hisoka thought desperately, his green eyes searching the landing below. Any minute, the dark figure of his partner would appear from the shadows and demand that Muraki release him. He would. He had to come and rescue him...

 

“Yes, I think that another lesson is exactly what you need...” Muraki breathed into Hisoka's ear, enjoying every moment of discomfort he was causing the kid. His lips curled into a sadistic grin as he released his hold on Hisoka's hair and pulled his wrists up, then proceeded to drag the boy up the stone staircase, back the way he had come.

 

Hisoka dragged his feet, trying to make his sneakers dig in to the hard stone, to grip something... Anything to slow down Muraki. Though the efforts seemed to be in vain, as the doctor simply continued to drag the boy as though he weighed nothing at all. As he was pulled up the stairs, Hisoka's shins cracked painfully against the rocky edge of the step, then again on the next stair. After the third time, the shinigami began to actually move his feet, stumbling along as he was led by his wrists.

 

As Muraki pull Hisoka up the last stair brutally, the shinigami was at the point of panic. He tried once again to pull his wrists free, twisting and squirming. Unfortunately for Hisoka, his struggles only earned him a sharp slap across the face. His cheek stung and turned as red as the moon above them as Hisoka looked wide eyed at his merciless captor. Even though his cheek quickly healed back to its original state, the smack had brought the boy back to reality, making him realize for the first time: He was not going to be saved. Muraki had him... just like before.

 

“Unfortunately, there are no cherry blossoms at this time of year... I suppose the fall leaves will have to do,” Muraki commented, as though the two were having some pointless conversation over tea. Still grasping the boy's wrists tightly with his right hand, he began to search his stained jacket for something. From his pocket, he produced a long silvery wire that looked a lot like fishing line. Hisoka stared at the wire hopelessly, realizing just what it was. It appeared to be the very same wire that the doctor had used on him in Nagasaki... A string of cursed hair that could bind beings as powerful as shinigami.

“Let me go... Tsuzuki will...” Hisoka started as Muraki began to tie his hands together with the silvery thread. At first, Muraki appeared to be ignoring him as he continued to bind the boy's wrists tightly. The bonds were tied so tight that the thin wire had started to bite into Hisoka's soft flesh, a miniature stream of blood working its way down his arm. A small smirk took the doctor's lips once more as he slowly licked the blood from the shinigami's wrist, trying to draw out the boy's torture. Finally, Muraki seemed to have acknowledged the earlier statement as he leaned into Hisoka's face, so close that their noses almost touched.

 

“Tsuzuki-san is not going to save you, my precious little doll,” Muraki hissed, “Not this time.”