Revitalization--

Light radiated from no real discernable direction, alighting on various details of a grassy hill like the loving hand of an artist reluctant to finish his or her work. The thick grass rippled in the faint breeze reminiscent of a chartreuse sea with small rustles as the stems brushed against each other.

It was really hard to believe, mused a bat demon sunning itself on a flat rock, that it wasn’t real.

Everything from the grass to the breeze existed at the will of King Enma, the King of Spirit World, the land of the dead, where every living thing eventually migrated. The demon himself had died more than a decade before, the victim of a lethal sense of altruism. It had been a very traumatizing experience at the time, but over a period of about three years Kuronue had eventually resigned himself to his new status as a cadaver.

Not to say that his surroundings weren’t appreciated: it wasn’t terribly exciting, but the spirit felt that a little boredom was bearable for a century or two.

Today, though, Kuronue couldn’t laze about in the false sunshine in peace. A strange feeling itched at the corner of his mind, almost like a bug bite just barely beyond his reach. This was notable because Kuronue was dead. His body was a world away and a rotting skeleton- his soul should not have felt any physical sensations. The false sunshine warmed him, and he could eat the illusory food of the Spirit World, but he felt no pain or niggling feelings. Usually. But nonetheless, he did. But beyond that, it also felt wrong in a way that was difficult to describe.

Irritably the deceased bat demon turned his gaze inward toward the strange sensation, which, it rapidly became clear, was a voice attempting to garner his attention. As his meta-physical eyes and ears, extensions of himself rather than physical flesh, focused on the odd feeling nervousness gradually began to build within him.

There weren’t that many reasons for the spirits of deceased youkai to be contacted in their areas of Spirit world. One option was that the departed demon’s friends/family/worst enemies were seeking to hold a conversation with them. So far this had never occurred for Kuronue as the only one likely to contact him was Youko Kurama, the aforementioned comrade, but for various reasons this had not yet occurred. So that wasn’t very likely.

The second option was far beyond the worst case scenario most cadaverous youkai dreamed up, but was one which every one secretly dreaded. A demon was attempting to resurrect him.

There had been horrible stories told by members of his colony, tales he had listened to as a young pup clinging to Kaa-san’s kimono, simultaneously terrified and delighted, of resurrected youkai driven mad as they were forcibly returned to their own restored body. Over time, so his fellows had gleefully told him, the corpse rotted about the insane demon, eventually leaving the unfortunate youkai trapped in his or her own skeleton, unable to escape unless their “savior” wished them to or they were destroyed.

Unless he missed his guess, that was the fate that awaited him now. Altruistic in the case of dear friends Kuronue might be, even to the point of death, but he was rather attached to his sanity. No! Remove your disgusting grip from me! But the feeling of wrongness did not abate.

Instead it grew, wrapping about him, cocoon-like, stifling any ideas he might have had of escape. Running was more or less an illusion in Spirit World, anyway.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. This was his reward for an existence that been, in general, a miserable affair, one he didn’t wish to repeat. But it was happening. Damnit, Koenma! He had time to think in righteous fury, protecting the dead is your jurisdiction! When I get back your diaper-clad ass is mine!

With a strange tearing sensation, Kuronue’s tenuous grip on the afterlife released. Then the world shattered.

Shortly thereafter his grip on sanity did as well as eyes that hadn’t seen in more than ten years opened, revealing a smirking twelve-year old ningen. “Hello, Kuronue. I believe we have a mutual friend.”

--

This is the start of a series of one-shots for the first story of my YYH series of stories, Flowers Wilt in Shade. They’ll mostly be in chronological order, but it’s not, as usual, guaranteed.