In the hazy blue of high summer, Kantarou had always thought it best to do nothing but lounge around in the shade.  By doing so, you avoided both getting burnt in the sun and getting too sweaty from moving around.  It was too hot to write or study, as the brain became muddled and sleepy in such weather.  So there he lay, just inside the paper doors on soft tatami, looking out at the scorched world.  It was strange, he thought, how cold he felt, even though he could see the heat shimmering blearily off the wooden veranda.  It was cold, and his chest felt tight, as though he was running.  Kantarou sat up.  There was a feeling in his mind, like he has supposed to be doing something.  Like he had forgotten something.  Or someone.  There were wings and pale eyes turned dark, and the feel of sharp teeth on his own flesh in his memory.  He felt it was important to know, like he thought he really should know how he had got here.  Perhaps even who he was.  Not knowing why, he put his hands together in a gesture of prayer, and words fell from his mouth.  Chanting; quiet yet confident, lulling back memory and reality until he could feel rain on his face and pain in his chest.  He was running.  Looking down, he could see his feet hit the ground and showers of rain splash up onto his already drenched hakama.  It was cold in this world.

***

Out on the street, Haruka growled in frustration and ran up the nearest street, trying to find some indication of where he was.  He looked back down at the soggy piece of paper in his hand, but it still made no sense.  Cursing the fool who had come up with Tokyo’s insane and incomprehensible method of labeling addresses, Haruka ran randomly down another side-street, listening intently, looking about wildly, looking for any indication of which way Kantarou might have gone.  He thought perhaps to stop and ask, but what with the rain there was no one around.  And in his present state of mind, it might not be the best idea anyway.  Haruka could feel his anger, the side of him that was callous tengu, swelling uncomfortably within him.  He had to find Kantarou quickly, or at least, whatever it was Kantarou had become.

Returning to Kantarou’s house in near-panic, Haruka had found Youko cowering beside the kitchen sink.

“Kan-chan tried to kill me,” she had said.

“Kan-chan ordered me away,” she had said.

“Kan-chan’s eyes were cold and cruel,” she had cried.  She wanted the man she knew back.  But at least Haruka knew there was something of his master left, if he had sent Youko away.  Nothing could make Kantarou kill, he thought.  If the man couldn’t even kill some blood-thirsty demon, he certainly couldn’t murder those he called his friends.

Youko had then rifled through the piles of paper on Kantarou’s desk, mumbling complaints about his lack of organizational skills, about his messiness.  She had been crying still, and Haruka had just waited, clueless as to how he could make her stop.

“I’ll get him back,” was all he could think to say.  Youko had stopped for a moment and smiled at him as though that was all she needed to hear, to know that everything would be fine.  There it was again; that complete trust that Kantarou had shown him only the night before.  The night before when Kantarou was Kantarou, and Haruka had held him and kissed him and wanted him all for himself.  Familiar anger rose in his chest.

“There’s not much time,” he had said, and Youko nodded and returned to searching Kantarou’s desk.

So now here he was, with that Suzuki woman’s address which Youko had eventually managed to dig out, held firmly in his hand.  And it was useless.  There was just no logic to the numbering system, leaving Haruka running back and forth, knowing he was in the right area but with no clue which way to go.  With each wrong turn he was longer getting to Kantarou.  With each passing moment the possibility that the daughter’s soul would overcome Kantarou once and for all grew greater, and that was something Haruka could not allow.  Though he didn’t want to think what he would do if he was too late.

Through the steady pounding of rain, Haruka heard a faint cry.  It was a woman’s voice, filled with fear.  Haruka stopped and listened for a moment, but heard nothing more.  Still, it was all he had to go on so he ran in the direction of the scream, straining his hearing for any further sounds.  He could hear a man shouting then, and fearful sobs, but they were distorted and dampened by the hiss of hard rain.  But the noises were certainly growing louder.  He passed one more house, two, three, then he caught site of the wooden plaque by the gate of the fourth; “Ishi”.  Haruka was sure that was the name of Suzuki’s brother.  From inside, there was a crashing sound and another cry.  Haruka took this as confirmation and stormed into the house, not even bothering to take off his shoes.  Bursting unceremoniously into the first room he came to, Haruka could see that Kantarou had not either.  And that this was certainly not Kantarou.

Kantarou’s body stood in the centre of the room, eyes narrowed and face twisted into an enraged scowl.  With both hands, not-Kantarou grasped a sword, which from the looks of it had been taken from the tokonoma.  It gleamed menacingly, antique white ivory and high-polished blade pointed unwaveringly at Suzuki Kuumi.  She cowered in a corner, weeping uncontrollably behind her brother who stood with his hands raised placatingly, blood dripping from wounds on his arms.

“Kantarou!” Haruka shouted, drawing forth his staff and moving slowly towards his master.  “Stop this!”  Kantarou turned hideously malicious eyes towards him.

“I’m not him, you fool,” not-Kantarou leered, studying the tengu’s staff with interest before turning back to Suzuki and her brother.  “Stay out of this.  It’s none of your business.”

“Kantarou is my... Kantarou wouldn’t kill, and I know he’s still in there,” Haruka said flatly.  And he wouldn’t let anyone take him away.  Kantarou was his.

“How do you intend to stop me, tengu?” not-Kantarou asked.  Haruka flinched; it was Kantarou’s voice but was so unlike Kantarou that Haruka wondered if there really was anything left of his master.  Anger rose within him at the thought and he grasped his staff tightly.  He would use it if he had to.  Kantarou would not begrudge him for it.

“Anyway I can,” he said.  Not-Kantarou’s eyes narrowed further, then he was grinning.  The sword in his hand lowered slightly and he turned back to meet Haruka’s gaze.

“But why would you want to?” he asked.  “I know what he knows.  I could release you… Haruka.”  He drew out the name pointedly, then stood still, carefully watching Haruka’s reaction.  The tengu growled, not believing a word of it.

“Your Kantarou never will.  You know that,” Kantarou’s voice went on.  This time Haruka did not want to believe it.  He did not want to care that he would always be under Kantarou’s control, even if deep down he did.  He was the Demon-eating tengu after all, and was proud.  Even so, Kantarou was his and, at times, did as he asked.  There was freedom in that.  Enough at least for now.  And he was proud.  He would not allow this ghost to destroy his master.

“I don’t care,” Haruka snarled. “Now get out of his body, damn ghost.”  Not-Kantarou raised an eyebrow and smirked.

“There’s nothing you can do... Haruka,” he said, and turned away, raising the sword and stalking towards Suzuki’s brother.  “Get out of the way.  I don’t particularly want to kill you.”  Suzuki Kuumi looked pleadingly towards Haruka as her brother tried to reason with the ghost.

“If you really are Kirara, then this is your mother! How could you kill her?”  Kantarou’s features contorted into a look of pure rage.

“And I was her daughter! How could she ever have killed me?” Kantarou’s voice yelled, then he was charging at them and Haruka could see the ghost meant to kill.  Ishi Touya drew back in terror, crushing his sister against the wall.  Haruka, knowing he was faster than any human, moved deftly in front of them and met Kantarou’s sword with his staff.  Not-Kantarou growled in irritation.

“Do not interfere, Haruka,” he said, and Haruka felt the all-too familiar tug of his name.  He drew back for a moment, lowering his staff and Kantarou’s eyes watched him curiously, calculating.  Haruka frowned and brought himself into a defensive position between the processed Kantarou and Suzuki’s brother.

“You’re not my master,” he said defiantly.  And this thing really wasn’t.  The bond was still there, he could feel it.  So something of Kantarou remained, but it was vague and suppressed and Haruka could defy this being’s orders almost easily.  He just had to keep telling himself this wasn’t Kantarou.

Rage flashed across Kantarou’s face and he ran towards Haruka, drawing the sword back to take a swing at the tengu.  Haruka easily met the attack and pushed back, causing Kantarou to stumble a little.

“I’ve waited years for this,” not-Kantarou snarled.  “I won’t let you stop me.”  And he attacked again, lashing furiously with the sword.  Haruka easily avoided the sword, but found it increasingly difficult to temper his anger and not fight back.

“Kantarou,” he spoke quickly, precisely.  “I know you are still there, so fight her!”

“He’s too weak,” not-Kantarou laughed, withdrawing slightly and taking the point of the sword in his free hand carefully.  “He’ll be gone soon...”  He paused, thinking, then a large grin spread across his face.  “And if that happens, I suppose you will not last long either.  Maybe.  I wonder how that works.  Not even he knows that.”

“All the more reason for me to stop you,” Haruka replied and held up his staff.  He’d seen enough.  If Kantarou could not exorcise himself, he would do it.  Not-Kantarou backed off a little, looking confused.

“What are you...?”  The roar of Haruka’s lightening cut off the end of his sentence, and Kantarou screamed in pain as it curled around his body, attempting to force out the foreign spirit.  Haruka concentrated harder.  The daughter’s rage was strong and she clung to Kantarou’s body with a desperation the tengu had not come across before.  But he didn’t want to hurt Kantarou either, and the way she was clawing and scraping at Kantarou’s mind to hang on to the body would do damage if she kept it up much longer.

“Let go of him!” Haruka demanded, sending one last powerful shock through his master’s body before dispelling the lightening, afraid anymore would kill Kantarou.

Kantarou fell hard to his knees, panting heavily, his arms outstretched in front of him holding himself up.  Haruka approached cautiously.

“Kantarou?” he ventured.  In the corner of the room, Suzuki continued to weep fitfully, asking again and again if it was over.  Haruka did not know.

Kantarou’s breaths calmed a little and he sat up slowly, looking around him.  His eyes rested on the sword laying where it bad fallen a few inches from his right.  He reached out a little and touched it gently, thoughtfully, then with a swift movement took the sword in his hand and brought it up to his own throat.  Eyes that were not Kantarou’s looked up at Haruka from beneath Kantarou’s white hair.  Haruka felt a knot tighten in his stomach and he stepped back carefully, certain now the ghost processing Kantarou was completely insane.

“I told you I would not let go of this body, tengu,” Kantarou’s voice sneered.  “But if I can not keep it, at least perhaps I can have my revenge.”

“I won’t let you keep his body,” Haruka confirmed vehemently.  An amused smile tugged at Kantarou’s lips.

“Fine. Then we’ll make a deal.”  Not-Kantarou paused and looked towards the corner in which Suzuki and her brother still cowered.  “Let me kill her, and I will leave this body.”  Suzuki gasped in horror, and begged Haruka not to agree.  Haruka found he could not look at her.

“Refuse and I’ll slit his throat, killing us all.”  Kantarou’s hands pressed the blade against his own neck to emphasize the point, breaking the skin so that a sliver of blood crept down that white, delicate skin.  To Haruka, there didn’t seem like much choice.  His own life aside, he could think only of Kantarou.  With every second this farce drew on he could feel his master slipping away to nothing; his soul being pulled to who-knew-what fate at the hands of the demon inhabiting that house.  Though he hated to admit such weakness, he cared too much for the human to let that happen.  And he wanted his Kantarou back with him.  The touch, and taste, and smell of that one human intoxicating him again, as it had done only the night before.  It was selfishness, he knew.  And Kantarou might hate him for it, but to Haruka, Kantarou’s life was far more important than that Suzuki woman’s life could ever be.  She cowered there still; weak and crying and defenseless.  Even so, Haruka felt unsettled and thought perhaps this was guilt.  But he was not human, he told himself.  He generally didn’t like humans anyway, he argued.  Kantarou was an exception.  An exception because he did not kill, and loved his kind and was everything Haruka was not.  Without a doubt, Kantarou would hate Haruka if he just let the ghost kill.  But what else could he do?  With every minute that passed Kantarou’s features grew more impatient and the blade pressed deeper into Kantarou’s throat.  That same human who had made him love had also made him feel guilt at what he was about to do.

“Fine,” Haruka agreed shortly.  Suzuki, and her brother now too, pleaded with him.  But he did not listen and would not allow himself to care.  His eyes looked only at Kantarou.  Smiling dangerously, Kantarou stood up and brought the sword away from his own throat to point again at Suzuki.  Haruka just hoped there was little enough left of Kantarou now that he would not know what was happening.  With that in mind, Haruka wrenched Ishi Touya away from his sister.

“He was not part of the deal,” he explained flatly at Kantarou’s curious look.  There was that malicious smile again.

“Fine.”  Kantarou turned his attention back to Suzuki and stalked predatorily towards her.  “Now you shall know just what this feels like, mother,” the ghost spat, and lazily raised the sword.  Ishi Touya fought frantically in Haruka’s grasp, begging him to help his sister.  Haruka continued to watch Kantarou, and tried to think of nothing.  A manic grin spread across Kantarou’s face, enjoying, savouring even, the sight of her mother begging for mercy and sobbing hysterically in terror, before bringing the sword down to slash across her chest.  Suzuki choked and coughed, blood now staining the front of her fine kimono as it seeped from the open wound.  She attempted to grab her assailant, but the ghost drew back the sword and thrust it deep into her stomach.  Suzuki coughed wretchedly, the ghost watching wide-eyed, hands clutching the sword tightly still, as the woman slumped.  Dead.

“I’ve had my revenge on her,” the ghost said, never taking Kantarou’s eyes off the body before her.  “That is enough for now.  I shall leave this body..

“Get away from her,” Haruka demanded, but the ghost just looked back at him briefly, cruel smile still fixed on that face, before looking back at the body.

“No.”  Then there was a loud hiss as the spirit left Kantarou, forming for a moment into a thick black shadow.  The hollow eyes of the ghost admired its handiwork once more before dissipating into nothingness.

Haruka shoved Ishi Touya aside frantically, intent on getting Kantarou away from the dead Suzuki and the sword in his hands before the human came to his senses.  But it was too late.  He could see Kantarou’s eyes were his own again now, wide not with glee but with complete horror.  Kantarou looked down at his hands, still tightly grasping the sword and choked, confusion clouding his face.  He let his arms fall limply to his sides, his face turning a deathly shade of white.  Ishi Touya was shouting and crying at no one inparticular.  He fell to his knees and drew his dead sister into his arms.  Kantarou watched, sickening comprehension on his face.  Haruka cursed that bitch of a ghost, and fell to the floor beside his master, wrapping his arms tightly around him.  Kantarou felt stiff and cold in his arms, his eyes glazed.

“It wasn’t you,” Haruka whispered into his ear, and placed one hand gently over Kantarou’s eyes.  He wondered if he had really made the right choice after all, in letting the ghost murder using Kantarou’s body.  Haruka felt eye-lashes brush against his palm as Kantarou blinked.  He turned towards Haruka.

“Haruka?”  His voice was quiet, shaken.

“I’m here,” he replied, keeping his hand over Kantarou’s eyes to try and block out the sight of the murdered woman.