Yu Yu Hakusho Fan Fiction / Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction ❯ Summoned ❯ Chapter 3
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Arigatomina 
Anime/Manga: Yu Yu Hakusho Fan Fiction / Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Supernatural / Samurai / Romance / Police / Occult / Hentai / Action | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 10.22.2002 | Pages: 1 | Words: 4.8K | Visits: 633 | Status: Work In Progress
Anime/Manga: Yu Yu Hakusho Fan Fiction / Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Supernatural / Samurai / Romance / Police / Occult / Hentai / Action | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 10.22.2002 | Pages: 1 | Words: 4.8K | Visits: 633 | Status: Work In Progress
Category: Anime, Rurouni Kenshin/Yu Yu Hakusho crossover, AU, Yaoi
Warnings: not much
Pairings: will be SanosukexKenshin, KuramaxHiei
Author: Arigatomina
Email: arigatoumina@hotmail.com
Complete Archive: www.geocities.com/arigatomina
Summoned
Part 3
Copper mixed with faint acrid smoke, and Sanosuke's eyes dampened, his vision fogging as he stared down at the figure. The guy had pulled his hair. The thought was so unexpected it consumed him for a moment and he didn't immediately take note of his surroundings. No one had pulled his hair since he was a kid, wrestling on a playground as screaming youths cheered him on. The memory faded as quickly as it had come, and he blinked, eyes snapping up as he remembered. The fire was gone, bits of stirred ash still settling in the air. The remaining scent of extinguished flame proved the fire hadn't been out long, but he was beyond thinking of that, his vision crowded by bodies. They lay in haphazard positions, two sprawled near the far door of the barn, dark robes ajar to show brown dress shoes on one, a pair of sneakers on the other. They lay half in the shadows, but he recognized the absolute stillness of those visible legs. The copper scent made itself known again and his eyes widened as he looked at a familiar shock of black hair peeking around the edge of the circled cinder blocks. Masayuki's black-robed body lay more than four feet away, and Sano flinched at the red gaping wound visible in the opening of the man's robes. Only then did he return his gaze to the figure at his feet.
Dark red hair framed a pale face, and Sano stared at the faded scar on the man's left cheek before looking over the slender form, his gaze stopping on the dark sheath slid into the man's white cloth belt. A sword. An image of Masayuki's hair thrust itself in front of him, a macabre vision of the smooth, wet wound, and he couldn't deny it. A sword would certainly make an appropriate weapon, but the man looked small. It was as he leaned forward that Sano remembered his bound state, tightly cinched ropes making themselves known as they threatened to cut into his wrists and arms. And the momentary discomfort reminded him of the blood still covering his chest. How could he have forgotten? He wasn't *that* absentminded. Bt he felt no pain from the cuts. Arching his neck, he stared at his right shoulder, and his heart skipped a beat when he realized there was no line beneath the blood. The flow remained, slicked trails that had fallen to mix with the ones on his chest, but the skin beneath that dark red was smooth, impossibly smooth. That wasn't right. He didn't hallucinate any more than he believed in black magic. Something shifted near him, a whisper of cloth over wood, and he snapped out of his daze, his mind seeming to clear abruptly.
As far as he knew, the men in the room were all dead, the culprit lying at his feet, murder weapon strapped to his hip. Now wasn't the time to be staring dumbly at his own unwounded body. He hadn't had much time to test his bonds earlier, too aware of Masayuki's ceremonial knife, but he did so now, twisting his wrists and arms. They were cords, he realized, feeling the smoothness against his skin, and they were wrapped around each arm before they bound his wrists to the post. If they'd gone to that much trouble, they must have realized his strength. None of the other victims had been bound by more than simple rope. But then, none of the other victims had been over five feet. If his guess was right, he'd have more luck breaking through the wooden beam at his back, than he would tearing those cords.
The red-haired man shifted again, pale fingers twitching a bit against the floor, and Sano stilled. The man's clothing was odd, old fashioned, but clearly coated in the blood of the men he'd recently slain. While he didn't' know if he were next on the guy's list, Sano wasn't about to wake him. He was thinking this when he saw the man's slender eyebrows lower, that pale face turning a bit so the bloodstained robe shifted over his chest. Sano's eyes widened, and he leaned forward again, forgetting that he hadn't wanted to wake the man. Cuts were visible on the unconscious man's chest, the pattern unmistakable, and he could see that most of the blood had probably come from them. Confusion roared in his mind, and he struggled to push it aside. It didn't matter that *he* was the one who'd been cut. For whatever reason, he was uninjured, and the man in front of him was obviously bleeding to death.
Turning his eyes upward, Sanosuke gave the beam a critical look. If the roof depended on its support, he could cause a cave in. He'd never had the opportunity to explore the barn, the place where the cult had held its meetings during the past week, but the outside hadn't looked *too* dilapidated. Time seemed to be pressing down on him, the copper scent in the air stifling. There was suddenly no doubt in his mind that he had to move, now, or the man would die. And he was convinced that help was not even on its way. He hadn't had any suspicion of a ceremony so soon, so there was no way he could expect squad coming to the rescue. His fingers curled, and he pulled his wrists forward until the cords were taught. They *had* to be bound to the post. His wrists were held near each other, but not pressing. With an image of the roof caving in on him, he tensed his muscles, closing his eyes as he lunged forward. The basin he knelt in gave a scrape against the wood as his feet pressed the edge, and he clenched his teeth when it felt as if his arms had wrenched from their sockets. But the splintering crack came not from breaking bones, bits of wood stabbing his arms as his eyes snapped open suddenly and he found himself without the least bit of resistance. He nearly fell onto the unconscious man, barely managing to twist onto his side as he tumbled out of the basin.
It was so simple he had to remind himself to rush. He simply couldn't seem to think properly. His feet had caught on the edge of the silver platter he'd knelt on, and he lifted them, using his elbow to push himself up. Although his wrists were not bound tightly, he found he could only separate them a few inches. Crawling closer to the red-haired man, he thought that would be enough, his eyes on the black hilt of that sword. Using his legs more than anything, he turned so his back nearly touched the man's side, watching over his shoulder as he reached for the sword. He could practically hear the recriminations he'd get when the captain learned that he'd touched the murder weapon, but he was fairly certain a live witness would be much more valuable. He reached for the hilt without glancing up, and he gave a muffled cry of surprise when something cool circled his wrist in a startlingly strong grip. Dark lashes shifted to reveal sparking eyes, and he froze instinctively. Those eyes widened until he could make out a sharp violet gaze that held him for a moment before turning to his bound hands. It wasn't until the man gave a tiny smile that he was able to let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding.
Staring into the sacrifice's wide brown eyes, the Battousai sighed and sank deeper, his hand tightening on the man's wrist. His thoughts were adrift, but he knew he could *not* allow those hands to touch his sword. He should have unbound him first. It was true that he'd lacked the strength to hold onto consciousness before, but he had an idea his seemingly imminent death had been an illusion. Death wasn't for him, not when he had a task to perform. The man's eyes narrowed and he moved his right arm, glaring at the limb when it gave a tremble before stilling. Without lifting his head, he gripped the hilt of his sword, pulling inches of the bright blade free. The man's free hand twitched and he lifted his gaze to those brown eyes. "Don't touch the blade," he whispered, the danger riding his tone despite the faint sound.
Sanosuke stared for a second before nodding sharply. After a long minute, those bright eyes flicked away from him, the iron grip relaxing slowly before leaving him. He was still turned with his back to the man, but he could see that pale hand lower to join the first one, two holds, one on the edge of the black sheath, the other on that hilt. And he looked at the blade in confusion. The metal was unblemished, not a hint of blood to mar the sheen on its sharp blade. Despite his surprise at having the man regain consciousness, he knew better than to waste time, and he pressed the cord separating his hands to that glinting edge. The rope split like a hair, and had it not been for the wire he could see within the outer plastic, he might have doubted his own eyes. Another whisper-soft sigh reached him and he jerked the gag out of his mouth, tearing the cloth that had been tied about his head. He didn't bother to unwrap the loose cord from his lower arms, turning to crouch over the bleeding man. He'd sheathed his sword again, those violet eyes closed.
Questions collided in his mind, awakened by his freedom, but Sano didn't ask. The man would be questioned soon enough, provided he lived. With this in mind, he pushed back the wet edges of the dark purplish robe, his eyes narrowing at the deep and *very* familiar cuts. Hadn't *he* been the sacrifice? Shoving the thought aside, Sano moved, being careful not to look at the bodies littering the floor as he retrieved his jacket. He'd taken it off himself earlier, thinking they wanted him to don one of the hooded cloaks. It only took a moment to retrieve, and he crouched again, eyes flying over the man's face. He looked paler. "I have to move you," he warned quickly, not expecting a response. And he got none, not so much as a flicker as he lifted the man's back so he could wrap the jacket lengthwise around the man's torso. There wasn't time to worry about hurting the slender man, and he pulled the cloth tight, tying the sleeves so it formed a strange but functioning bandage. It wasn't until he lifted the man that he met with opposition, and he nearly dropped him, only frozen by the fact that a sharp blade was a breath away from his neck. For a second he could swear the glare sent to him was an amber fire, but the man blinked and Sano sighed when violet eyes widened. The sword disappeared back into its sheath, the speed leaving him as stunned as the threatening gesture had.
"Gomen!" The dark-haired man seemed dazed, but he was far too horrified to care. It had been instinctive, and he'd nearly killed the innocent himself. The man had warned him that he had to be moved, but he hadn't expected to be picked up. Brown eyes glinted at him suddenly, and he stared at the man's smile, not sure what to make of it.
"If you kill me, you'll end up bleeding to death," Sano commented, a shaky laugh the only evidence of his former fear. "Just be still and I'll get you to a hospital, okay?" Those violet eyes widened a bit more before closing sharply. The man was light to begin with, but he seemed to grow lighter when he relaxed suddenly, and Sano shook his head at his thoughts. If he'd doubted he had an imagination before, this night was definitely proving him wrong. What happened? What was he supposed to tell his superiors? Had he just imagined the pain? The blood on his chest was now mixed with the dampness of the injured man's clothing, but it had been very real. It was real, as real as the person in his arms. Time stretched until he could have sworn it took an hour to get to the van he'd arrived in, and he had a moment of disgusted panic when he realized he didn't have the key. But his faith in luck was proven. The key was in the ignition. The only question was whether the man would live long enough for him to get to a hospital. The nearest one was nearly two hours away, and he knew no ambulance would be able to decrease that time. Settling the man on the floor behind the seats, he paused for a second, thinking furiously. He'd had a bit of training in first aid, but nothing came to mind. With a disgusted breath, he placed one of the robes over the man and left him there. He was in the driver's seat a moment later, and he ignored the nagging voice that told him he was going to be in trouble when he finally called in, a lot of trouble. For the time being, he couldn't have cared less.
* * *
Pain entered his mind long before rational thought, and Kurama remembered his earlier anger. Youki seemed to blaze around him, feeding his anger at the enforced helplessness, and he became aware of his position with sharp clarity. The ability to move came much slower, and he pushed against the person holding him, shifting weakly as his body tried to flinch away from the brand burning his chest. He drew from the youki filling him, a hand closing over damp cloth as he finally managed to lift his head. Seventeen years had passed since he'd felt such anger, but it consumed him a mindless, almost desperate craze, his glare stabbing into wide red eyes, pinning the source of that blazing pain. And he ended the burn, jerking his shoulders back as he leaned away from the damp figure. His chest throbbed, but he didn't glance down, clarity rising to his mind when he felt a sudden change. That surge of youki was cut off, the hateful fury along with it, and he blinked, a chill shooting through him. His eyes had locked onto a dark, glaring blue eye set into the black-haired male's forehead, and it wasn't until that bright orb closed that he realized what it was. A slender shoulder shook beneath his clenched hand, red eyes narrowing to glare at him, and Kurama loosened his hold, his gaze dropping to the red seeping from that black cloth to coat his fingers. Another tremble passed beneath his hand, and he caught the Jaganshi without thinking, staring at those closed eyes in simple shock.
What was a Jaganshi doing in the Ningenkai? A hand had caught in his hair, and he leaned back on his heels, catching the youkai's bandaged right wrist and puling the entangled fingers free. The movement shifted his shoulders, and he winced, dropping his gaze to the source of the pain. The cuts were gone. In their place were smears of blood, and a burn pressed high on his chest, near his right shoulder. A handprint had lightened the blood, but the pale burn was clearly visible. It was, he realized suddenly, his only wound. The thought came at the same time as he noticed the sliced ropes hanging from his wrist. And the gag was still in his mouth. Jerking that free, Kurama turned his eyes to look around, passing over bloody corpses with lessening surprise. It was too simple for him to be confused. The humans had used a kekkai, and they'd obviously been performing some sort of ritual. The question, was whether it had been interrupted by the youkai, or if he was the point of the ceremony. Somehow, Kurama doubted they'd planned on their deaths. But he'd never heard of humans having the ability to summon a youkai.
Not just any youkai, he thought, his eyes growing unfocused for a second before dropping to the closed jagan. He'd never seen one, not a single one in all of his years in the Makai, but there was no doubting that third eye he'd seen. There *were* youkai with multiple eyes, but the color of that orb proved it was separate. The youkai had red eyes, not blue. No, he was sure of it. Somehow the men had summoned a demon, and somewhere in their ceremony they must have messed up. But he'd never have thought the youkai would be so small. According to legend, he took the form of a black dragon. Kurama had never heard reference to a humanoid demon, and he'd heard plenty of stories. To think, *the* Jaganshi was nothing more than a small, fragile looking youkai. The robed men must have been reassured by that, Kurama smirked, glancing around the room. They couldn't have heard the legend, wouldn't have known that a single youkai had once destroyed numerous armies in the midst of the last Makai war. He'd heard, but he'd never thought much about it. No one had ever known how the demon was called, or which side he'd fought on since he was reported to have killed everyone on the battlefield, no survivors. And since there weren't supposed to have been any survivors, Kurama had passed the story off as a lie. After all, if no one survived, then no one *knew* what had happened. But looking at the room, he thought there must have been some truth to that legend. And the demon was completely vulnerable, shoulders braced by his arm.
Kurama shifted the demon, looking over his features with interest. He hadn't paid much attention before, but he remembered the youkai's glare. It hadn't seemed very intimidating, too forced. But it had definitely radiated anger. The burn on his chest made him think it was an attack, but he doubted any of the ningens had released him. Had the youkai cut him loose with the intention of killing him as well? No, that made no sense. His wounds had been healed, there would be no point doing that if he were going to be killed afterward. The Jaganshi had to have healed him. Had he recognized his youkai spirit? That was a distinct possibility, and Kurama focused that spirit, reading as much as he could from the youkai. He hadn't done anything with his youki since adopting his human form, but he manipulated it with growing ease. A moment passed before he touched a flicker of power, and his eyes widened. The demon's youki was so small. Someone with an inherent power so low could never have healed him. Maybe the blood wasn't that of the slain humans.
The male's back was dry, and he lowered him, green eyes looking over the demon's black clothing. The cloak covered him completely, reaching down to the edges of the youkai's hands, only a hint of pants visible below. Touching the cloth proved it to be saturated with blood, but Kurama couldn't find any tears, no signs of wounds. And who in the room could have injured him? There was no way the ningens could have done it, and he'd barely regained consciousness before the demon passed out. Deep breathing nearly convinced him there was no injury at all, and he didn't know if the male was always so pale, or not. But there was far too much blood to take chances. White cloth was wrapped around the demon's neck, he gave it a light tug, not sure if it were a part of the cloak or not. It gave easily, and he paused to stare at the bits of red lining the edge of the scarf. That had to have come from the demon. Parting the cloak, he lost his slow motions, shoving the black cloth aside as he caught sight of the cuts. The demon hadn't healed him of the wounds, he'd taken them. "How?"
Slender black eyebrows jerked at his surprised word, and Kurama waited a moment, watching that closed jagan. The demon didn't move, but pale lips had curved down in a slight frown. It made him look as if he were concentrating on something. He could probably heal himself. Kurama's fingers brushed over the downward slash lining the middle of the demon's chest, and he gasped, frozen. A groan reached him through a sudden rush of youki and he ripped his hand away, fingers numb. A pale mark had appeared on the right side of the demon's bloody chest and Kurama leaned farther away, his hand brushing the spot on his own chest. He didn't have to look to know the burn was gone. And red eyes had opened to slits, glaring up at him from a pale face.
"Kisama..." Pain blurred his eyes, but he could see the red-haired male above him and his fingers curled. He'd never felt so weak, as if every bit of his youki had been stolen away. And it nearly had. He could tell without opening the jagan; the ningen was killing him as surely as he'd killed those humans. The only difference was that he'd done it much more quickly. But how could a ningen steal his youki? The question repeated in his mind as his eyes tried to close on him again, his fingers curling tighter as he drew on what little energy he had left. A ningen *couldn't* steal his youki. A ningen couldn't summon him. His youki hadn't just been taken, he could sense it now, changed, mixed, but too similar to his own for him to have any doubt. No matter what he appeared to be, the red-haired male was a youkai. Pale, vague shapes neared his unfocused vision and he clenched his teeth, forcing his right arm to lift, barring those hands. "Don't *touch* me."
"I..." For a second, Kurama stared, awash with guilt at his mistake, but it didn't last. Frowning suddenly, he leaned close to the demon's raised arm, not quite touching it, but close enough that those red eyes focused on him. "I don't think you're in any condition to make orders," he said sharply, not bothered when the demon's glare intensified. "How do you do that? Do you always do that when someone touches you?" The youkai blinked at him, his expression blank for a second before settling back into a pained scowl.
It took most of his concentration to just keep his arm up, but talking took little at all. If he hadn't been very aware that the redhead was right about his condition, he would have given in to his urge to express his anger. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said tightly, clamping down on a scurry of panicked anger at having the male so close when he couldn't move, "but if you touch me again I'll kill you." Bright green eyes blinked at him and he flinched when the male smirked suddenly.
"You want me to leave you here, then?" Kurama asked, his tone light. He had no intention of doing that, but he was curious despite the severity of the youkai's wounds. If the demon was confident enough to threaten him, then he probably wasn't in too much danger. With deliberate slowness, he dropped a hand to that raised arm, fingers curling over the faded gray bandages. Muscles clenched beneath his light grip and he blinked in surprise, looking from his own hand to those wide red eyes. The demon was staring at his fingers as if he expected them to tear right through his arm. Any thought he'd had of taunting the youkai was tossed aside and his expression grew serious. "What did you expect?" he asked quietly, not blinking when the demon's glare returned at a fraction of its previous intensity.
For some reason, that quiet tone bothered him even more than the mocking one had, but he didn't have the energy to put much anger into his glare. He felt as if he'd just hovered over a deep drop and been jerked back, his heart pounding far too fast, but not bringing nearly enough oxygen in. He'd been convinced that all the red-haired male had to do to take his youki was touch him, but maybe he was wrong. Or was it just the bandage that separated them? His arm shook suddenly and he gave up on it, barely wincing when it landed heavily on the cuts. His question was answered the moment the male's thumb touched his skin and he closed his eyes as another fraction of youki left him. The transfer lasted mere seconds before it stopped, the fingers still brushing his skin. "So you *do* have a limit," he growled scathingly, forcing his eyes open so he could look at the male. That last bit wasn't enough to kill him, and he turned his head, staring at the cut lining his left shoulder. He wouldn't die from the lack of youki. No, he was going to bleed to death. "Ch'."
Kurama didn't have to ask what the youkai was talking about. His nerves were alight, as if he'd had far too much caffeine, and he was suddenly aware that his youki was higher than he'd even thought possible, at least for his human form. But the demon was so weak. Blinking as he strove to throw off the heady rush, he frowned at the pale male, moving his hand away from that cool skin. "Why are you giving me your youki?" Wide red eyes snapped to him.
"Giving?" He had to close his eyes in order to calm his rush of disbelief, but the emotion left him feeling dead already. The redhead still looked confused when he glared up at him a moment later. "You think I would kill *myself*?"
"But..." Red eyes held him for a second and Kurama jerked suddenly, shaking his head. "I didn't do it. I would never stoop to stealing youki from someone who healed me." The demon didn't blink, though his eyes did narrow, and Kurama's frown deepened. "You don't have enough left to heal yourself," he said softly, eyes dropping to those red cuts, "do you." They weren't bleeding any more, he'd noticed that right away, but that didn't necessarily mean anything good. "I didn't think the Jaganshi *could* die." That got a reaction, but not the one he'd expected. The demon smirked at him before closing his eyes.
"It *was* you, then." A youkai smart enough to have tricked him, one with the power to injure him so badly, the ability to lie so well without showing it; the red haired male wasn't weak after all. He'd been summoned by worse. He still didn't know *how* the youkai had managed to summon him, considering the male had appeared completely innocent, but he obviously had. And he was beyond caring.
He didn't know what the demon meant by that comment, but Kurama was distracted from asking. It sounded far from them, but he recognized a familiar sound, the whirling wail of a siren. The humans must not have died very quietly. And the Jaganshi wasn't going to die quietly, either. "All right. We're leaving now." Black eyebrows twitched, but the demon didn't move as he pulled the black cloak closed, shifting to pick him up. He didn't know where his shirt was, he was covered in blood, and the black-haired demon was going to look odd in his arms once he got outside, but Kurama wasn't too worried about it. His eyes flew around the wide space, spotting a door. If luck was on his side, this was a warehouse with a back exit. If not, then he'd just have to hope no one recognized him before he had a chance to duck into an alley somewhere. The male in his arms was completely limp, and he shifted him higher as he stepped over the bodies blocking his way. He never saw one of the robed corpses twitch as he passed, the door opening to a dark alley.
* * *
TBC
--notes--
Though I'm not *positive*, you can probably expect another decrease in description and increase in dialogue for the next part. And as far as I can tell, the parts get longer each time (that's a *good* thing).
Warnings: not much
Pairings: will be SanosukexKenshin, KuramaxHiei
Author: Arigatomina
Email: arigatoumina@hotmail.com
Complete Archive: www.geocities.com/arigatomina
Summoned
Part 3
Copper mixed with faint acrid smoke, and Sanosuke's eyes dampened, his vision fogging as he stared down at the figure. The guy had pulled his hair. The thought was so unexpected it consumed him for a moment and he didn't immediately take note of his surroundings. No one had pulled his hair since he was a kid, wrestling on a playground as screaming youths cheered him on. The memory faded as quickly as it had come, and he blinked, eyes snapping up as he remembered. The fire was gone, bits of stirred ash still settling in the air. The remaining scent of extinguished flame proved the fire hadn't been out long, but he was beyond thinking of that, his vision crowded by bodies. They lay in haphazard positions, two sprawled near the far door of the barn, dark robes ajar to show brown dress shoes on one, a pair of sneakers on the other. They lay half in the shadows, but he recognized the absolute stillness of those visible legs. The copper scent made itself known again and his eyes widened as he looked at a familiar shock of black hair peeking around the edge of the circled cinder blocks. Masayuki's black-robed body lay more than four feet away, and Sano flinched at the red gaping wound visible in the opening of the man's robes. Only then did he return his gaze to the figure at his feet.
Dark red hair framed a pale face, and Sano stared at the faded scar on the man's left cheek before looking over the slender form, his gaze stopping on the dark sheath slid into the man's white cloth belt. A sword. An image of Masayuki's hair thrust itself in front of him, a macabre vision of the smooth, wet wound, and he couldn't deny it. A sword would certainly make an appropriate weapon, but the man looked small. It was as he leaned forward that Sano remembered his bound state, tightly cinched ropes making themselves known as they threatened to cut into his wrists and arms. And the momentary discomfort reminded him of the blood still covering his chest. How could he have forgotten? He wasn't *that* absentminded. Bt he felt no pain from the cuts. Arching his neck, he stared at his right shoulder, and his heart skipped a beat when he realized there was no line beneath the blood. The flow remained, slicked trails that had fallen to mix with the ones on his chest, but the skin beneath that dark red was smooth, impossibly smooth. That wasn't right. He didn't hallucinate any more than he believed in black magic. Something shifted near him, a whisper of cloth over wood, and he snapped out of his daze, his mind seeming to clear abruptly.
As far as he knew, the men in the room were all dead, the culprit lying at his feet, murder weapon strapped to his hip. Now wasn't the time to be staring dumbly at his own unwounded body. He hadn't had much time to test his bonds earlier, too aware of Masayuki's ceremonial knife, but he did so now, twisting his wrists and arms. They were cords, he realized, feeling the smoothness against his skin, and they were wrapped around each arm before they bound his wrists to the post. If they'd gone to that much trouble, they must have realized his strength. None of the other victims had been bound by more than simple rope. But then, none of the other victims had been over five feet. If his guess was right, he'd have more luck breaking through the wooden beam at his back, than he would tearing those cords.
The red-haired man shifted again, pale fingers twitching a bit against the floor, and Sano stilled. The man's clothing was odd, old fashioned, but clearly coated in the blood of the men he'd recently slain. While he didn't' know if he were next on the guy's list, Sano wasn't about to wake him. He was thinking this when he saw the man's slender eyebrows lower, that pale face turning a bit so the bloodstained robe shifted over his chest. Sano's eyes widened, and he leaned forward again, forgetting that he hadn't wanted to wake the man. Cuts were visible on the unconscious man's chest, the pattern unmistakable, and he could see that most of the blood had probably come from them. Confusion roared in his mind, and he struggled to push it aside. It didn't matter that *he* was the one who'd been cut. For whatever reason, he was uninjured, and the man in front of him was obviously bleeding to death.
Turning his eyes upward, Sanosuke gave the beam a critical look. If the roof depended on its support, he could cause a cave in. He'd never had the opportunity to explore the barn, the place where the cult had held its meetings during the past week, but the outside hadn't looked *too* dilapidated. Time seemed to be pressing down on him, the copper scent in the air stifling. There was suddenly no doubt in his mind that he had to move, now, or the man would die. And he was convinced that help was not even on its way. He hadn't had any suspicion of a ceremony so soon, so there was no way he could expect squad coming to the rescue. His fingers curled, and he pulled his wrists forward until the cords were taught. They *had* to be bound to the post. His wrists were held near each other, but not pressing. With an image of the roof caving in on him, he tensed his muscles, closing his eyes as he lunged forward. The basin he knelt in gave a scrape against the wood as his feet pressed the edge, and he clenched his teeth when it felt as if his arms had wrenched from their sockets. But the splintering crack came not from breaking bones, bits of wood stabbing his arms as his eyes snapped open suddenly and he found himself without the least bit of resistance. He nearly fell onto the unconscious man, barely managing to twist onto his side as he tumbled out of the basin.
It was so simple he had to remind himself to rush. He simply couldn't seem to think properly. His feet had caught on the edge of the silver platter he'd knelt on, and he lifted them, using his elbow to push himself up. Although his wrists were not bound tightly, he found he could only separate them a few inches. Crawling closer to the red-haired man, he thought that would be enough, his eyes on the black hilt of that sword. Using his legs more than anything, he turned so his back nearly touched the man's side, watching over his shoulder as he reached for the sword. He could practically hear the recriminations he'd get when the captain learned that he'd touched the murder weapon, but he was fairly certain a live witness would be much more valuable. He reached for the hilt without glancing up, and he gave a muffled cry of surprise when something cool circled his wrist in a startlingly strong grip. Dark lashes shifted to reveal sparking eyes, and he froze instinctively. Those eyes widened until he could make out a sharp violet gaze that held him for a moment before turning to his bound hands. It wasn't until the man gave a tiny smile that he was able to let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding.
Staring into the sacrifice's wide brown eyes, the Battousai sighed and sank deeper, his hand tightening on the man's wrist. His thoughts were adrift, but he knew he could *not* allow those hands to touch his sword. He should have unbound him first. It was true that he'd lacked the strength to hold onto consciousness before, but he had an idea his seemingly imminent death had been an illusion. Death wasn't for him, not when he had a task to perform. The man's eyes narrowed and he moved his right arm, glaring at the limb when it gave a tremble before stilling. Without lifting his head, he gripped the hilt of his sword, pulling inches of the bright blade free. The man's free hand twitched and he lifted his gaze to those brown eyes. "Don't touch the blade," he whispered, the danger riding his tone despite the faint sound.
Sanosuke stared for a second before nodding sharply. After a long minute, those bright eyes flicked away from him, the iron grip relaxing slowly before leaving him. He was still turned with his back to the man, but he could see that pale hand lower to join the first one, two holds, one on the edge of the black sheath, the other on that hilt. And he looked at the blade in confusion. The metal was unblemished, not a hint of blood to mar the sheen on its sharp blade. Despite his surprise at having the man regain consciousness, he knew better than to waste time, and he pressed the cord separating his hands to that glinting edge. The rope split like a hair, and had it not been for the wire he could see within the outer plastic, he might have doubted his own eyes. Another whisper-soft sigh reached him and he jerked the gag out of his mouth, tearing the cloth that had been tied about his head. He didn't bother to unwrap the loose cord from his lower arms, turning to crouch over the bleeding man. He'd sheathed his sword again, those violet eyes closed.
Questions collided in his mind, awakened by his freedom, but Sano didn't ask. The man would be questioned soon enough, provided he lived. With this in mind, he pushed back the wet edges of the dark purplish robe, his eyes narrowing at the deep and *very* familiar cuts. Hadn't *he* been the sacrifice? Shoving the thought aside, Sano moved, being careful not to look at the bodies littering the floor as he retrieved his jacket. He'd taken it off himself earlier, thinking they wanted him to don one of the hooded cloaks. It only took a moment to retrieve, and he crouched again, eyes flying over the man's face. He looked paler. "I have to move you," he warned quickly, not expecting a response. And he got none, not so much as a flicker as he lifted the man's back so he could wrap the jacket lengthwise around the man's torso. There wasn't time to worry about hurting the slender man, and he pulled the cloth tight, tying the sleeves so it formed a strange but functioning bandage. It wasn't until he lifted the man that he met with opposition, and he nearly dropped him, only frozen by the fact that a sharp blade was a breath away from his neck. For a second he could swear the glare sent to him was an amber fire, but the man blinked and Sano sighed when violet eyes widened. The sword disappeared back into its sheath, the speed leaving him as stunned as the threatening gesture had.
"Gomen!" The dark-haired man seemed dazed, but he was far too horrified to care. It had been instinctive, and he'd nearly killed the innocent himself. The man had warned him that he had to be moved, but he hadn't expected to be picked up. Brown eyes glinted at him suddenly, and he stared at the man's smile, not sure what to make of it.
"If you kill me, you'll end up bleeding to death," Sano commented, a shaky laugh the only evidence of his former fear. "Just be still and I'll get you to a hospital, okay?" Those violet eyes widened a bit more before closing sharply. The man was light to begin with, but he seemed to grow lighter when he relaxed suddenly, and Sano shook his head at his thoughts. If he'd doubted he had an imagination before, this night was definitely proving him wrong. What happened? What was he supposed to tell his superiors? Had he just imagined the pain? The blood on his chest was now mixed with the dampness of the injured man's clothing, but it had been very real. It was real, as real as the person in his arms. Time stretched until he could have sworn it took an hour to get to the van he'd arrived in, and he had a moment of disgusted panic when he realized he didn't have the key. But his faith in luck was proven. The key was in the ignition. The only question was whether the man would live long enough for him to get to a hospital. The nearest one was nearly two hours away, and he knew no ambulance would be able to decrease that time. Settling the man on the floor behind the seats, he paused for a second, thinking furiously. He'd had a bit of training in first aid, but nothing came to mind. With a disgusted breath, he placed one of the robes over the man and left him there. He was in the driver's seat a moment later, and he ignored the nagging voice that told him he was going to be in trouble when he finally called in, a lot of trouble. For the time being, he couldn't have cared less.
* * *
Pain entered his mind long before rational thought, and Kurama remembered his earlier anger. Youki seemed to blaze around him, feeding his anger at the enforced helplessness, and he became aware of his position with sharp clarity. The ability to move came much slower, and he pushed against the person holding him, shifting weakly as his body tried to flinch away from the brand burning his chest. He drew from the youki filling him, a hand closing over damp cloth as he finally managed to lift his head. Seventeen years had passed since he'd felt such anger, but it consumed him a mindless, almost desperate craze, his glare stabbing into wide red eyes, pinning the source of that blazing pain. And he ended the burn, jerking his shoulders back as he leaned away from the damp figure. His chest throbbed, but he didn't glance down, clarity rising to his mind when he felt a sudden change. That surge of youki was cut off, the hateful fury along with it, and he blinked, a chill shooting through him. His eyes had locked onto a dark, glaring blue eye set into the black-haired male's forehead, and it wasn't until that bright orb closed that he realized what it was. A slender shoulder shook beneath his clenched hand, red eyes narrowing to glare at him, and Kurama loosened his hold, his gaze dropping to the red seeping from that black cloth to coat his fingers. Another tremble passed beneath his hand, and he caught the Jaganshi without thinking, staring at those closed eyes in simple shock.
What was a Jaganshi doing in the Ningenkai? A hand had caught in his hair, and he leaned back on his heels, catching the youkai's bandaged right wrist and puling the entangled fingers free. The movement shifted his shoulders, and he winced, dropping his gaze to the source of the pain. The cuts were gone. In their place were smears of blood, and a burn pressed high on his chest, near his right shoulder. A handprint had lightened the blood, but the pale burn was clearly visible. It was, he realized suddenly, his only wound. The thought came at the same time as he noticed the sliced ropes hanging from his wrist. And the gag was still in his mouth. Jerking that free, Kurama turned his eyes to look around, passing over bloody corpses with lessening surprise. It was too simple for him to be confused. The humans had used a kekkai, and they'd obviously been performing some sort of ritual. The question, was whether it had been interrupted by the youkai, or if he was the point of the ceremony. Somehow, Kurama doubted they'd planned on their deaths. But he'd never heard of humans having the ability to summon a youkai.
Not just any youkai, he thought, his eyes growing unfocused for a second before dropping to the closed jagan. He'd never seen one, not a single one in all of his years in the Makai, but there was no doubting that third eye he'd seen. There *were* youkai with multiple eyes, but the color of that orb proved it was separate. The youkai had red eyes, not blue. No, he was sure of it. Somehow the men had summoned a demon, and somewhere in their ceremony they must have messed up. But he'd never have thought the youkai would be so small. According to legend, he took the form of a black dragon. Kurama had never heard reference to a humanoid demon, and he'd heard plenty of stories. To think, *the* Jaganshi was nothing more than a small, fragile looking youkai. The robed men must have been reassured by that, Kurama smirked, glancing around the room. They couldn't have heard the legend, wouldn't have known that a single youkai had once destroyed numerous armies in the midst of the last Makai war. He'd heard, but he'd never thought much about it. No one had ever known how the demon was called, or which side he'd fought on since he was reported to have killed everyone on the battlefield, no survivors. And since there weren't supposed to have been any survivors, Kurama had passed the story off as a lie. After all, if no one survived, then no one *knew* what had happened. But looking at the room, he thought there must have been some truth to that legend. And the demon was completely vulnerable, shoulders braced by his arm.
Kurama shifted the demon, looking over his features with interest. He hadn't paid much attention before, but he remembered the youkai's glare. It hadn't seemed very intimidating, too forced. But it had definitely radiated anger. The burn on his chest made him think it was an attack, but he doubted any of the ningens had released him. Had the youkai cut him loose with the intention of killing him as well? No, that made no sense. His wounds had been healed, there would be no point doing that if he were going to be killed afterward. The Jaganshi had to have healed him. Had he recognized his youkai spirit? That was a distinct possibility, and Kurama focused that spirit, reading as much as he could from the youkai. He hadn't done anything with his youki since adopting his human form, but he manipulated it with growing ease. A moment passed before he touched a flicker of power, and his eyes widened. The demon's youki was so small. Someone with an inherent power so low could never have healed him. Maybe the blood wasn't that of the slain humans.
The male's back was dry, and he lowered him, green eyes looking over the demon's black clothing. The cloak covered him completely, reaching down to the edges of the youkai's hands, only a hint of pants visible below. Touching the cloth proved it to be saturated with blood, but Kurama couldn't find any tears, no signs of wounds. And who in the room could have injured him? There was no way the ningens could have done it, and he'd barely regained consciousness before the demon passed out. Deep breathing nearly convinced him there was no injury at all, and he didn't know if the male was always so pale, or not. But there was far too much blood to take chances. White cloth was wrapped around the demon's neck, he gave it a light tug, not sure if it were a part of the cloak or not. It gave easily, and he paused to stare at the bits of red lining the edge of the scarf. That had to have come from the demon. Parting the cloak, he lost his slow motions, shoving the black cloth aside as he caught sight of the cuts. The demon hadn't healed him of the wounds, he'd taken them. "How?"
Slender black eyebrows jerked at his surprised word, and Kurama waited a moment, watching that closed jagan. The demon didn't move, but pale lips had curved down in a slight frown. It made him look as if he were concentrating on something. He could probably heal himself. Kurama's fingers brushed over the downward slash lining the middle of the demon's chest, and he gasped, frozen. A groan reached him through a sudden rush of youki and he ripped his hand away, fingers numb. A pale mark had appeared on the right side of the demon's bloody chest and Kurama leaned farther away, his hand brushing the spot on his own chest. He didn't have to look to know the burn was gone. And red eyes had opened to slits, glaring up at him from a pale face.
"Kisama..." Pain blurred his eyes, but he could see the red-haired male above him and his fingers curled. He'd never felt so weak, as if every bit of his youki had been stolen away. And it nearly had. He could tell without opening the jagan; the ningen was killing him as surely as he'd killed those humans. The only difference was that he'd done it much more quickly. But how could a ningen steal his youki? The question repeated in his mind as his eyes tried to close on him again, his fingers curling tighter as he drew on what little energy he had left. A ningen *couldn't* steal his youki. A ningen couldn't summon him. His youki hadn't just been taken, he could sense it now, changed, mixed, but too similar to his own for him to have any doubt. No matter what he appeared to be, the red-haired male was a youkai. Pale, vague shapes neared his unfocused vision and he clenched his teeth, forcing his right arm to lift, barring those hands. "Don't *touch* me."
"I..." For a second, Kurama stared, awash with guilt at his mistake, but it didn't last. Frowning suddenly, he leaned close to the demon's raised arm, not quite touching it, but close enough that those red eyes focused on him. "I don't think you're in any condition to make orders," he said sharply, not bothered when the demon's glare intensified. "How do you do that? Do you always do that when someone touches you?" The youkai blinked at him, his expression blank for a second before settling back into a pained scowl.
It took most of his concentration to just keep his arm up, but talking took little at all. If he hadn't been very aware that the redhead was right about his condition, he would have given in to his urge to express his anger. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said tightly, clamping down on a scurry of panicked anger at having the male so close when he couldn't move, "but if you touch me again I'll kill you." Bright green eyes blinked at him and he flinched when the male smirked suddenly.
"You want me to leave you here, then?" Kurama asked, his tone light. He had no intention of doing that, but he was curious despite the severity of the youkai's wounds. If the demon was confident enough to threaten him, then he probably wasn't in too much danger. With deliberate slowness, he dropped a hand to that raised arm, fingers curling over the faded gray bandages. Muscles clenched beneath his light grip and he blinked in surprise, looking from his own hand to those wide red eyes. The demon was staring at his fingers as if he expected them to tear right through his arm. Any thought he'd had of taunting the youkai was tossed aside and his expression grew serious. "What did you expect?" he asked quietly, not blinking when the demon's glare returned at a fraction of its previous intensity.
For some reason, that quiet tone bothered him even more than the mocking one had, but he didn't have the energy to put much anger into his glare. He felt as if he'd just hovered over a deep drop and been jerked back, his heart pounding far too fast, but not bringing nearly enough oxygen in. He'd been convinced that all the red-haired male had to do to take his youki was touch him, but maybe he was wrong. Or was it just the bandage that separated them? His arm shook suddenly and he gave up on it, barely wincing when it landed heavily on the cuts. His question was answered the moment the male's thumb touched his skin and he closed his eyes as another fraction of youki left him. The transfer lasted mere seconds before it stopped, the fingers still brushing his skin. "So you *do* have a limit," he growled scathingly, forcing his eyes open so he could look at the male. That last bit wasn't enough to kill him, and he turned his head, staring at the cut lining his left shoulder. He wouldn't die from the lack of youki. No, he was going to bleed to death. "Ch'."
Kurama didn't have to ask what the youkai was talking about. His nerves were alight, as if he'd had far too much caffeine, and he was suddenly aware that his youki was higher than he'd even thought possible, at least for his human form. But the demon was so weak. Blinking as he strove to throw off the heady rush, he frowned at the pale male, moving his hand away from that cool skin. "Why are you giving me your youki?" Wide red eyes snapped to him.
"Giving?" He had to close his eyes in order to calm his rush of disbelief, but the emotion left him feeling dead already. The redhead still looked confused when he glared up at him a moment later. "You think I would kill *myself*?"
"But..." Red eyes held him for a second and Kurama jerked suddenly, shaking his head. "I didn't do it. I would never stoop to stealing youki from someone who healed me." The demon didn't blink, though his eyes did narrow, and Kurama's frown deepened. "You don't have enough left to heal yourself," he said softly, eyes dropping to those red cuts, "do you." They weren't bleeding any more, he'd noticed that right away, but that didn't necessarily mean anything good. "I didn't think the Jaganshi *could* die." That got a reaction, but not the one he'd expected. The demon smirked at him before closing his eyes.
"It *was* you, then." A youkai smart enough to have tricked him, one with the power to injure him so badly, the ability to lie so well without showing it; the red haired male wasn't weak after all. He'd been summoned by worse. He still didn't know *how* the youkai had managed to summon him, considering the male had appeared completely innocent, but he obviously had. And he was beyond caring.
He didn't know what the demon meant by that comment, but Kurama was distracted from asking. It sounded far from them, but he recognized a familiar sound, the whirling wail of a siren. The humans must not have died very quietly. And the Jaganshi wasn't going to die quietly, either. "All right. We're leaving now." Black eyebrows twitched, but the demon didn't move as he pulled the black cloak closed, shifting to pick him up. He didn't know where his shirt was, he was covered in blood, and the black-haired demon was going to look odd in his arms once he got outside, but Kurama wasn't too worried about it. His eyes flew around the wide space, spotting a door. If luck was on his side, this was a warehouse with a back exit. If not, then he'd just have to hope no one recognized him before he had a chance to duck into an alley somewhere. The male in his arms was completely limp, and he shifted him higher as he stepped over the bodies blocking his way. He never saw one of the robed corpses twitch as he passed, the door opening to a dark alley.
* * *
TBC
--notes--
Though I'm not *positive*, you can probably expect another decrease in description and increase in dialogue for the next part. And as far as I can tell, the parts get longer each time (that's a *good* thing).