Yami No Matsuei Fan Fiction ❯ The First Death ❯ Chapter 1: The First Death ( Chapter 1 )

The First Death

Ne, would you like to hear a secret?

There now, I've your attention. I suppose you never really thought to wonder how it is that I came to know about you, the Shinigami. Or that time after time, I see them when most people can't. Or shouldn't.

Well, it's not a terrible secret, nor did it involve dark arcane rites or technology beyond current comprehension embedded in this right eye of mine. Surprised, I see. I suppose you assumed the usual.

It's a much rather uninteresting explanation, rather mundane, if you will. The answer is within here.

You don't understand why I tap my head. No, it's not intellect. No amount of mental acrobatics would have made me see beings that for all rights should be invisible to a mortal - not even a passing fancy in the arcane arts could have netted me such information.

So what then? Enough with the obtuse descriptors and evasion? I suppose I'm wasting your time. You did want to continue on with your mission, did you not?

Well, you see...I'm dying.

Don't be surprised that I can say that with a smile. I've known this for a long time. You see, it's inoperable, the tumor. It's been growing since I was a young man. Millimeter by millimeter, second by second, my life slips away. Eventually, it will kill me. It almost did once already. We're old friends, the cancer and I...

But you look surprised. Don't be. Look closely at the records. Not in this country, no. Check with the Americans. They have a record of me. About ten years ago, I almost died in New York.

You see, I was sick. Terribly, grotesquely ill. The chemotherapy didn't work - the tumor's growth had become unmanageable. The flight alone almost killed me, but I made it. I can be stubborn like that.

Why New York? Why not? I had always wanted to see it, and certainly I was going to do so before I died. Or went blind.

By then, you see, the tumor had destroyed one of my eyes. Nothing particularly dramatic - it had slowly pinched off the main blood artery until the organ died. Let me tell you how much of an oddity it is to have one eye slowly, slowly black out over the course of a few hours. Frightening. Like that, it was gone.

Ultimately, it came down to surgery and the fitting of a prosthetic. Of course, the mechanical eye came later, but that in of itself is another story.

But I digress.

I had stopped taking the drugs. They did nothing for me. Even the painkillers. At least the pain was something that was tangible, that reminded me that I was still tethered to this earth. Something strange about being terminally ill was that though there was no chance for survival, particularly since I had quit the chemotherapy, I still managed to cling onto the hope of survival. Details, details. I'm sure this is all very dull.

I wasn't alone. That was necessary, of course, because I was ill. Oriya came too. I would never have wanted anyone else. Have you ever seen him in a suit? I suppose not. He dresses as he pleases in Kyoto. But when he does leave town, he'll wear a suit. He does cut a striking figure.

In case...in case I were to die, he said, with that particular seriousness that let me know he meant every word, he was going to be there. Of course, he would never tell me why.

An odd memory. At the time, I remembered how much I had missed my hair, and how happy I was that it was growing back, even though it was no more than a silvery fuzz. All I wanted at the time was it to grow long enough so that I didn't have to show that odd eye of mine. Pure vanity. They don't make prosthetics in this strange gray of my real eyes. The best that could be done was a light blue. Still true to this day. Funny, isn't it?

New York was brilliant. It was winter. Snowflakes drifted along the night sky, shimmered along the city lights, and disappeared before they touched ground. Lovely. The city was incredible, truly a rival worthy of Tokyo.

I remember Oriya surprising me, once or twice. Still, the blindness of my right side had not registered properly. Later, he always approached on my left. It was certainly a kindness only he would have the care to note. And the discipline to remember.

I could not have remembered a better time in the last three years since the tumor's growth began to accelerate. We went to the best restaurants, had the best wine, saw the best shows...it was like a dying man's last wish come to pass.

Well, yes. That's true. It was a dying man's wish.

Yes, yes. I'll get to the point.

I was ill, of course. Too tired to do much. But that particular day, it felt as though I just couldn't continue. So we stayed in the hotel. Oriya was in the next room over. Even though he may be the only one I allowed to see me in such a state, I still preferred it that he was to have his own room. He shouldn't suffer for me, that one. It's too heavy a burden. Even for him.

I had told him to go to the show without me. Of course, he wouldn't. His character refuses the notion of abandonment.

Night fell. Strange, I had felt. My body felt particularly lethargic, the pain seemed as though it were a faint buzzing, a far-away sensation that perhaps belonged to someone else. It crossed my mind that perhaps now would have been a good time to pick up the phone and call Oriya, to tell him...tell him what? It didn't seem to matter much.

My heart felt sluggish, as though it didn't feel as if it were up to the task at hand. Terrible feeling, really. It's hard to explain the sensation of your organs slowly failing.

Though I suppose you might know it personally.

He came in without knocking. In fact, I don't even think the door opened. Certainly, I don't remember hearing the door. One minute, I was alone, the next, I had company. In Japan, our Shinigami are far more polite, as a rule. In America, they're rather boorish and persistent. I suppose it's a cultural difference.

He was fairly young. Not that it meant anything, really, as gauging his existence's length would have been impossible. But I was lucky that he was still fairly new at this. Otherwise, it would probably never have worked out the way it did. Funny thing, fate. Had he had a snippet more experience, a touch more knowledge, I would have slipped into the afterlife with nary a whimper, and left poor Oriya with the unpleasant task of disposal.

Of course, that would have meant that you never would have died.

No, I'm not saying that to be cruel. It's just an observation.

Ne, do you know what he did? He just looked at me curiously as if gauging my situation, and explained who he was, and why he was there. Polite, really. Almost clinical. I suppose I had expected something more. Perhaps some speeches on my past as a doctor, on the irony of a condition that no amount of medical science could cure. Perhaps a little hellfire and brimstone, to highlight the times when I failed not only a patient, but myself. The times I failed my family.

Like I said, he was young. And I suppose it would have worked better if he had given me something other than a little description into the workings of the afterlife's bureaucracy. The banality of it infuriated me.

After all, this was my life. Damned if I was going to easily give it up as though it were a keepsake that I had meant to hang onto but wouldn't mind handing over to the nicest stranger.

I suppose something to do with the anger and the frustration that had built up over the past several years finally snapped at that point.

Now, do you know the difference between physical and spiritual strength? You see, as long as the soul is born with particular spiritual abilities, no matter how weakened the physical strength is, as long as there's the right amount of this, and a particular amount of that, spiritual power can easily be massively strong, even when the physical shell is damaged or weakened.

I can see that you don't quite believe me. It's a particular ability. Manifestation is rather uncommon.

I hadn't meant for it. In fact, at the time, I could barely move. But something inside of me snapped, and opened the gates of hell on this poor young man. But at the last minute, someone stepped in and pushed him out of the way. They caught the full brunt of it, however. It wasn't a pretty sight.

It's a lucky thing that Shinigami can't be seen or heard by mortals.

I suppose it had never occurred to the New York division that I would have had spiritual powers. Of course, at the time, it had never occurred to me that I had spiritual powers. Strange, how things work out.

I left this poor young man's partner an ugly smear on the carpet. I really didn't mean for it to happen. I was incredibly surprised myself. I suppose my urge to survive was particularly strong - I had never really expected to kill an agent of death myself.

Don't look so worried. I've never been able to replicate that since. It was purely an aberration. Not that I haven't tried.

Poor Shinigami. I don't remember his name, but I do remember how clear his eyes were, a perfect cobalt blue. Like I had said, he was fairly new to the game. And I had somehow managed to erase his sempai's existence, sentencing him to the true death.

After that, I felt better. Oddly. I sat up from my prone position on the bed, and watched him as while he had a rather messy and emotional breakdown. The trouble with Shinigami, you know, is that when they're young in their immortal existence, they're extremely vulnerable. Powerful, regenerative, and with abilities beyond mortal comprehension. Yet like a porcelain doll that's been repaired, they endure with an eternal, ageless beauty, but carry with them fatal cracks that will never heal properly. The first death never leaves them unscathed. The final death only closes the circle.

The older ones aren't much stronger. They're just better at hiding.

My poor young man. He cried first out of grief, and then out of fear. I suppose being pinioned will do that. Not that I was strong enough to really restrain him. His fear of me and what I had just done overrode any common sense. Had he wanted to, he could have tossed me off without the slightest hesitation or thought.

I suppose that may seem familiar to you. The lack of struggle, that is. I'm not that powerful, you know.

Tell me everything, I told him. Lest you wish to seek the true death.

And he did.

You know, in Japan, they forbid their Shinigami the dark arts. America, on the other hand, is a free country.

It was nearly dawn before it was done. By then, I had learnt enough to last me a lifetime. In fact, you could say that I had learnt enough to give me a lifetime. And perhaps more.

If nothing, I am a quick study.

It was from him, that I first tasted another's lifeforce. Of course, nothing could kill him. The most it did was make him a bit groggy. But it was like a full night's rest and then some, tapping at his life's flame.

I had never felt better in my life.

So I let him go. I don't know what happened to him after that. I suppose he was sent along anyway, into the true death. Failure is seldom tolerated, particularly that which brings about mortals closer to the truth, closer to the seat of power at the center of the world.

By the time Oriya came around to wake me for breakfast, it was as though I had been given my life back. Oh, I had the most wonderful dream, I told him. I would be getting better soon. A little mad laugh escaped my lips, and I think at that moment he was seriously afraid for me, thinking that perhaps the tumor had pressed into some center of cognition, shorted out that important bit of wiring that keeps people sane. Perhaps it did. I can't say for certain. It's regressed now to the point that it's barely a cluster of cells the size of the tip of my little finger.

Obviously, I got better. Of course, now Oriya knows why. Clipping the buds to keep the roses in bloom. I can't say it's right, but it is what I am. You see, I don't want to die.

As for you...

I know you've wanted this all your life, more than anything. Afterlife, I should say. All your afterlife. The gun in your hand speaks more to me than any pretty speeches or declarations ever could. After all, I'm merely mortal.

But you shouldn't. The two of us, we're too close. My mind would drag yours with me into death. It would be an ugly thing. You would never recover from it.

Once, I saw it happen. I'm not an empath, but I can recognize a shattered mind when I see it. It was as if his mind had burned out, leaving just a husk of body behind. Chaff in the wind.

Ne, Hisoka. Empaths shouldn't kill, you know.

Disclaimer: Yami no Matsuei belongs to Matsushita Yoko.

Author's notes: Many thanks to my prereaders: Cyrus, Fraser, Geoduck, and DWE. This fic is pretty much an exercise in seeing if I could write Muraki in character. Based on the manga idea (volume 1) that only people who are about to die should be able to see the Shinigami.

C&C may be sent to cori_ohki@hotmail.com. Thanks for reading. ^_^

Extras may be found on http://eag.squidkitty.org/