Story_lotteryFIC: "Yami no Matsuei" - No Exit But The Final Exit
Title: No Exit But The Final Exit
Author: matrixrefugee
Fandom: “Yami no Matsuei” (aka Descendants of Darkness)
Disclaimer: I do not own Yami no Matsuei, aka Descendants of Darkness, it’s characters, concepts and other indicia, which are the intellectual property of Yoko Matsushita, Hiroko Tokita, Manga Entertainment, Viz Media, Hakusensha, Central Park Media, et al.
Pairing/Characters: Kazutaka Muraki
Prompt: 3.25 - a cell
Words: 1,393
Rating: M for mature content (dubious consent, general weirdness)
Summary: Post Kyoto arc -- Muraki finds out who was behind the blinding white light which snatched him from the burning ruins of his laboratory…
Author’s Note: Written in part for carpe_ho_ras and partly because it’s my take on what happens to Muraki after Vol. 8 of the manga/the last episode of the anime
"Kazutaka..." a soft voice spoke from nowhere and everywhere.
He could barely lift his eyelids, but Muraki managed to rouse himself out of his comatose state. He realized he couldn't sense his glass eye in his right socket, and the pain in the burned skin over his shoulders and the stab wound in the small of his back had returned.
"Wake up..." the same voice called, this time from overhead.
He forced his good eye to open, blinking against the white light which shone down on him from somewhere overhead. White walls surrounded him and the thin mattress on which he lay on his side was covered in a white sheet barely a few shades lighter than his own pale skin. He started to sit up, and discovered the long, light metal chain shackled to his left ankle, the other end attached to one leg of the bed. A plain white cotton kimono wrapped his form, and when he ran a hand over his left side, he felt a pad of gauze covering the stab wound there. A glance at his arm revealed the track of an IV cannula in the hollow of his elbow, already healed over: he’d been lying here for several days now. Whoever had brought him to this place had clearly seen that his injuries were properly treated.
"Ah, you are awake," that calm voice from overhead said. "You're coming out of the coma."
"Who are you?" he demanded.
The voice chuckled lightly, a rich, throaty sound. "A direct question? You're usually so much more circumspect, Kazutaka."
"It would help me to feel more at ease if I knew who my host was," he said.
"It might not be so easy to know your host, but you already know of us," the voice replied. "Your research concerning certain genetic experiments, forbidden by the Lord of Creation were a very good start."
"Grigori..." he murmured, thinking of the earth-bound angels written of in the apocryphal Book of Enoch. "You are Grigori?"
The white light seemed to gather itself and coalesce into a clear form standing at the foot of the bed. Then it took on the appearance of a tall, pale figure, its face a more androgynous version of his own, its catlike crimson eyes gazing down into his grey one, its arms folded under its feminine breasts.
"You thought that you were seeking us out, when in fact, we were also seeking you out," the Grigori replied. "And we found you just in time.”
"I appreciate the rescue and the treatment for my wounds, but you have a strange sense of hospitality," he said, his eye on the shackles.
"We have our reasons for detaining you, but I cannot elaborate on them," the Grigori replied. With a bow, the being added, "I am the Grigori Sariel. You might even call me your kin."
"You are an ancestor of mine?" he said, considering the Grigori's appearance.
The being smiled on him. "You are highly observant. Yes, you are my genetic descendant. Your mother was my scion. My... clone, if you will."
"If she was a Grigori, how then was she injured by a mere human being?" he asked.
"That is a good question. The woman you knew as Yukiko Muraki was a flawed clone. We had slated her for deletion, yet she escaped from our world, where Yukitaka and Naritaka Muraki, your grandfather and your father, discovered her. She should never have existed, nor should you," the Grigori said.
"You haven't answered my question."
The Grigori shrugged one shoulder gracefully. "She was damaged: she could not feed as we do and as you do, from the lifeforce of others. You carry the genes that cause this flaw, you are a failed experiment. Thus, we are keeping you until we decide what we are to do with you." With that, the figure faded from his view and he sensed the Grigori retreating. He was about to demand what that meant, but the Grigori had withdrawn before he could get the words out.
He lay there pondering what the Grigori had meant and the possibilities, hinted at in Sariel's words and air of clinical detachment frightened him. Part of him accepted this as the mere sentiment of a scientist disposing of the results of a failed experiment, but he could not accept it. He could not accept lying there weakened, at the mercy of his own kin. Granted, they had not destroyed him yet, but this clemency could not last for much longer.
In that case, he could not stay here for much longer. He heard a key grating in a lock and a door opened in the wall as a short, clearly human male, an orderly of some kind, entered, setting a tray on the floor at the foot of the bed. Muraki lay still, pretending to be asleep; the orderly approached his bedside, looking down at him.
"Pretty thing... too bad those birds won't let him last much longer," the orderly murmured, with a hint of compassion, but Muraki could feel the man's gaze playing over him. With that, the orderly stepped away, leaving the cell.
Muraki rose and fetched the tray, finding a bowl of miso soup and a bowl of rice. At least they were aware of his dietary preferences. They must have been watching him for some time, befitting angels who were known as "the Watchers". Hunger got the better of him, but as he ate, he kept his ears open for any movement outside. The guard would probably return for the tray after some time.
Once he had eaten, he scattered the bowls and laid himself down on the floor, sprawled out, pretending to have collapsed. He heard the key grating again, then the door opened. The same orderly entered knelt over him. "Oh God... hey, pretty-guy, can you hear me?" the orderly turned him over, feeling his breast before leaning down to listen.
Muraki flipped the orderly over onto his back, looking down into his eyes. "I saw you eying me that way," he said, one hand pressed to the orderly's throat, choking him, his knee pinning the man's thighs to the floor. "You know you only had to ask, I would have given in: I'm always on the make, as they put it."
The orderly stared up at him, terrified yet tantalized. Muraki could taste that mingling of fear and arousal. All the incentive he needed and all that he needed to start tapping into the man's lifeforce. With that, he reached down with his free hand and started undoing the lacings of the prone man's trousers...
The guard lay slack beneath him, panting and spent. Dead men might tell the how of their death, but not always the why, depending on what lengths the killer had taken, and the guard still had a trace of core energy left. "You served your purpose," Muraki murmured in the man's ear, then taking the guard's head in his hands, he twisted it hard. Hard enough to feel the man's neck snap. A short, ugly death for a short, ugly man. He felt the last of the orderly's life flow from the corpse into his own being.
Taking the keys from a loop on the man's scrubs, he unlocked the shackles. He would have to wait several moments while his inner self processed the man's energy, and he hated the sensation of that metal band on his flesh. He kept his ears open for anyone approaching, looking for the orderly.
So where can you run to now? he asked himself. Law enforcement is likely to be asking questions about the things they've no doubt found beneath the ruins of Shion University. The Ministry of Hades probably has set a price on your head for kidnapping and torturing one of their agents. He couldn't say for certain which he dreaded more: interrogation and having his life turned upside down by the police, or trial before the King of Hades, even before his own death.
Well, he was about to find that out and escaping this place was a risk he was going to have to take. Hearing voices outside the cell, he reached out and seized hold of the fabric of reality. The door opened behind him as he shredded a opening of his own and rose to step through it...
Author: matrixrefugee
Fandom: “Yami no Matsuei” (aka Descendants of Darkness)
Disclaimer: I do not own Yami no Matsuei, aka Descendants of Darkness, it’s characters, concepts and other indicia, which are the intellectual property of Yoko Matsushita, Hiroko Tokita, Manga Entertainment, Viz Media, Hakusensha, Central Park Media, et al.
Pairing/Characters: Kazutaka Muraki
Prompt: 3.25 - a cell
Words: 1,393
Rating: M for mature content (dubious consent, general weirdness)
Summary: Post Kyoto arc -- Muraki finds out who was behind the blinding white light which snatched him from the burning ruins of his laboratory…
Author’s Note: Written in part for carpe_ho_ras and partly because it’s my take on what happens to Muraki after Vol. 8 of the manga/the last episode of the anime
"Kazutaka..." a soft voice spoke from nowhere and everywhere.
He could barely lift his eyelids, but Muraki managed to rouse himself out of his comatose state. He realized he couldn't sense his glass eye in his right socket, and the pain in the burned skin over his shoulders and the stab wound in the small of his back had returned.
"Wake up..." the same voice called, this time from overhead.
He forced his good eye to open, blinking against the white light which shone down on him from somewhere overhead. White walls surrounded him and the thin mattress on which he lay on his side was covered in a white sheet barely a few shades lighter than his own pale skin. He started to sit up, and discovered the long, light metal chain shackled to his left ankle, the other end attached to one leg of the bed. A plain white cotton kimono wrapped his form, and when he ran a hand over his left side, he felt a pad of gauze covering the stab wound there. A glance at his arm revealed the track of an IV cannula in the hollow of his elbow, already healed over: he’d been lying here for several days now. Whoever had brought him to this place had clearly seen that his injuries were properly treated.
"Ah, you are awake," that calm voice from overhead said. "You're coming out of the coma."
"Who are you?" he demanded.
The voice chuckled lightly, a rich, throaty sound. "A direct question? You're usually so much more circumspect, Kazutaka."
"It would help me to feel more at ease if I knew who my host was," he said.
"It might not be so easy to know your host, but you already know of us," the voice replied. "Your research concerning certain genetic experiments, forbidden by the Lord of Creation were a very good start."
"Grigori..." he murmured, thinking of the earth-bound angels written of in the apocryphal Book of Enoch. "You are Grigori?"
The white light seemed to gather itself and coalesce into a clear form standing at the foot of the bed. Then it took on the appearance of a tall, pale figure, its face a more androgynous version of his own, its catlike crimson eyes gazing down into his grey one, its arms folded under its feminine breasts.
"You thought that you were seeking us out, when in fact, we were also seeking you out," the Grigori replied. "And we found you just in time.”
"I appreciate the rescue and the treatment for my wounds, but you have a strange sense of hospitality," he said, his eye on the shackles.
"We have our reasons for detaining you, but I cannot elaborate on them," the Grigori replied. With a bow, the being added, "I am the Grigori Sariel. You might even call me your kin."
"You are an ancestor of mine?" he said, considering the Grigori's appearance.
The being smiled on him. "You are highly observant. Yes, you are my genetic descendant. Your mother was my scion. My... clone, if you will."
"If she was a Grigori, how then was she injured by a mere human being?" he asked.
"That is a good question. The woman you knew as Yukiko Muraki was a flawed clone. We had slated her for deletion, yet she escaped from our world, where Yukitaka and Naritaka Muraki, your grandfather and your father, discovered her. She should never have existed, nor should you," the Grigori said.
"You haven't answered my question."
The Grigori shrugged one shoulder gracefully. "She was damaged: she could not feed as we do and as you do, from the lifeforce of others. You carry the genes that cause this flaw, you are a failed experiment. Thus, we are keeping you until we decide what we are to do with you." With that, the figure faded from his view and he sensed the Grigori retreating. He was about to demand what that meant, but the Grigori had withdrawn before he could get the words out.
He lay there pondering what the Grigori had meant and the possibilities, hinted at in Sariel's words and air of clinical detachment frightened him. Part of him accepted this as the mere sentiment of a scientist disposing of the results of a failed experiment, but he could not accept it. He could not accept lying there weakened, at the mercy of his own kin. Granted, they had not destroyed him yet, but this clemency could not last for much longer.
In that case, he could not stay here for much longer. He heard a key grating in a lock and a door opened in the wall as a short, clearly human male, an orderly of some kind, entered, setting a tray on the floor at the foot of the bed. Muraki lay still, pretending to be asleep; the orderly approached his bedside, looking down at him.
"Pretty thing... too bad those birds won't let him last much longer," the orderly murmured, with a hint of compassion, but Muraki could feel the man's gaze playing over him. With that, the orderly stepped away, leaving the cell.
Muraki rose and fetched the tray, finding a bowl of miso soup and a bowl of rice. At least they were aware of his dietary preferences. They must have been watching him for some time, befitting angels who were known as "the Watchers". Hunger got the better of him, but as he ate, he kept his ears open for any movement outside. The guard would probably return for the tray after some time.
Once he had eaten, he scattered the bowls and laid himself down on the floor, sprawled out, pretending to have collapsed. He heard the key grating again, then the door opened. The same orderly entered knelt over him. "Oh God... hey, pretty-guy, can you hear me?" the orderly turned him over, feeling his breast before leaning down to listen.
Muraki flipped the orderly over onto his back, looking down into his eyes. "I saw you eying me that way," he said, one hand pressed to the orderly's throat, choking him, his knee pinning the man's thighs to the floor. "You know you only had to ask, I would have given in: I'm always on the make, as they put it."
The orderly stared up at him, terrified yet tantalized. Muraki could taste that mingling of fear and arousal. All the incentive he needed and all that he needed to start tapping into the man's lifeforce. With that, he reached down with his free hand and started undoing the lacings of the prone man's trousers...
The guard lay slack beneath him, panting and spent. Dead men might tell the how of their death, but not always the why, depending on what lengths the killer had taken, and the guard still had a trace of core energy left. "You served your purpose," Muraki murmured in the man's ear, then taking the guard's head in his hands, he twisted it hard. Hard enough to feel the man's neck snap. A short, ugly death for a short, ugly man. He felt the last of the orderly's life flow from the corpse into his own being.
Taking the keys from a loop on the man's scrubs, he unlocked the shackles. He would have to wait several moments while his inner self processed the man's energy, and he hated the sensation of that metal band on his flesh. He kept his ears open for anyone approaching, looking for the orderly.
So where can you run to now? he asked himself. Law enforcement is likely to be asking questions about the things they've no doubt found beneath the ruins of Shion University. The Ministry of Hades probably has set a price on your head for kidnapping and torturing one of their agents. He couldn't say for certain which he dreaded more: interrogation and having his life turned upside down by the police, or trial before the King of Hades, even before his own death.
Well, he was about to find that out and escaping this place was a risk he was going to have to take. Hearing voices outside the cell, he reached out and seized hold of the fabric of reality. The door opened behind him as he shredded a opening of his own and rose to step through it...