Disclaimer: I don't own YYH

A/N: I've been batting around an idea for a Kaitou fic for some time now and while I was going over ideas and dodging plots bunnies eating my face, this jumped out at me. I don't think I've seen this done before, so yay! Even when I'm writing for another character, my muse steps in and hogs all the action. -points to the second character listed- Derp. Also this is my first try at absolutely no dialogue. Enjoy!


X -x-x-x-x- X

It would seem there was a good reason why the old psychic told him to never use his powers again. An extremely good reason. Whether she knew this would happen or not, he wasn't sure, but she seemed to know everything about anything so it was logical she would.

He certainly never knew anything about it. The only soul he had ever taken before was his own, testing out the rules of his Territory. The first time he had taken anybody else was that night.

Souls are fragile and very pure. Nothing is there when you're holding an unfiltered soul, and apparently, when you hold them so close in your hand, a piece of them rubs off on you.

Pieces that attach to you and haunt you.

It wasn't during the day - not at all. During the day he was still the same calm, cool and collected student he'd always been. No one would know the things he'd witnessed. But at night is when this new development would take place.

At night when he couldn't escape. At night when he needed his sleep for the next day, the torture would begin.

It was slow, at first. Jumbled images that didn't make sense, nothing jelled together. But soon, the images made stories and events, coming together to form a moving movie for him to watch.

And he was always the star.

In some he was floating in the air, looking at sobbing people, always begging not to be pulled from their families. Wailing for a second chance and him having to say no. Those made his stomach vibrate with pain.

Others were a compiled mix of getting beat up, playing video games, or looking at a photo of a young woman, that which always made his chest fill with heated lightning. And then there were kittens.

But those were mixed and mashed together - not anything that made sense. And they never stayed long.

No, the ones that stayed long and weren't jumbled, were the ones that were the most disturbing.

He was always alone in these, being chased by creatures he had only seen in books, running but not in fear - fear was not what he felt at all. He would turn and face the enemy, a sword in his hand and run it through the monster, tearing it to shreds. What confused him was he should feel some horror or even mild disgust at what he was doing, but he didn't feel that at all.


Deep, throbbing pleasure at watching the thing scream and cry, its blood hitting the ground, nothing but pain etched on its features as its eyes rolled back and it died.

Instead of running away or screaming himself, a smile would creep on his face.

It would change and he was binded in something, falling through the air, unable to get free. There was no fear, just uncontrolled rage as images filled his mind of houses crumbling and women burning to bits.

And others of himself being engulfed in flames. The fire never hurt, but actually felt good as it pulsed through him, like boiling lava in his veins.

And through all this, he'd be smiling.

He always woke up screaming.

This time the dream was different and he didn't scream really, more like a gasp as he sat straight up in bed. Hard to believe, he was starting to get used to it.

The dreams melded together tonight - different parts making a new story.

He was in a field of pretty flowers, butterflies flying above him, playing with a basket of little kittens. And then the whole field burst into flames, the kittens screeching for mercy as they were burned alive.

He swallowed hard and wiped the sweat from his brow.

He had no idea how long this was going to last, but one thing he knew for sure; he was never going to use his Territory again.