Disclaimers: I do not own Yami no Matsuei or Descendents of Darkness. However this fanfiction is 100 mine! Thanks!

Authors note: Hey guys! Please leave feedback. If I don't get reviews I'll assume you hate this and I'll quit working on it! Thanks TCT

2007- After taking this fan fiction down in 2003 because of the risky content I have decided to go through and edit it so that it can be re-submitted on I've done my best to remove any graphic sex from this story, but in keeping with the true story of Yami no Matsui, a little sex is intended. I will edit it to the best of my ability and will rate this story M for sexual themes. Thanks and as I stated in 2003, leave reviews!

Chapter 1
Nightmare

The cold night wind blew over the grassy plane. A lone tree stood silently in front of the red rising moon. It had fallen dark earlier than usual for some unknown reason. Two figures stood by the tree. They seemed to be arguing.

It didn't take long for the blood moon to rise. The couple continued to argue. The smaller who's silhouette appeared to be a woman began to walk away. The other figure who appeared to be a man followed, his hand reached into his long trailing coat. Even from a distance a person could tell it was a knife. He advanced on the woman thrusting the blade deep into her chest. Blood washed up over his white coat and as if tipped off by some unseen spy, he turned.

His piercing eye's caught sight of the boy only a few yards away. He had seen everything. Had he heard as well? Anyway that didn't matter. All he had to do was cast a spell over the boy and remove his memory. The boy was clad in a pale mint green male sleeping Kimono. His deep emerald green eyes just stared blankly at the gruesome scene.

The man straightened himself and let the dead woman fall from his arms. That objective had been executed, he had a new target: the boy. He wouldn't cast a spell just yet. No, he'd make the boy run, things would be more fun that way.

As if on cue the boy took off darting across the plane. The boy would not get far, for Muraki was much faster. He walked slowly watching the boy's futile attempt to escape. His eye's consumed the pale flesh sending small shudders threw his body. The boy's sandy hair cast a glow from the moonlight as it flew back from his face. His fine curves drove Muraki to the breaking point. He wanted to touch the boy and run his fingers threw the soft locks of sandy gold. Only out of lust, he had no other emotion for the boy. It was simply bloodlust. He had killed once tonight and he could smell the boy's fear, that smell drove him insane. He wanted to touch the velvety skin that was trying to escape and feel it tremble under his grasp as he pinned the boy to the ground.

His pace quickened again and he was right behind the boy. He grasped the boy's frail arm in his strong hands, pulling him to a stop. The boy cried out, begging for his life. A smile spread over Muraki's thin lips. He tore the belt off the Kimono and let it flutter to the ground. Tears streamed down the boy's face as Muraki wrestled him to the ground, and pulled open the Kimono.

His eye's devoured the pale flesh reflecting the moons light. Casting a light spell on the boy he removed his own clothes and leaned close to the boy's neck. His breath was hot and he left a thin trail of saliva on the boy's skin. Under Muraki's grasp the boy's body trembled uncontrollably. Just as a searing pain ripped through the boy's body, Hisoka bolted forward.
Sweat trickled down his face mixing with his tears. He took deep breaths trying to slow his racing heart. The nightmare had returned again. The same nightmare had been torturing him for the past several weeks. He kept dreaming of Muraki's assault. Sometimes the dreams were so violent that he could again feel the pain as Muraki's onslaught reoccurred in his mind. Shaking Hisoka threw the covers back and put his feet on the cold wooden floor. The room was quiet and dark. He looked at his alarm clock. The red digits flashed 4:45.

Walking on shaky legs, Hisoka crossed the room, pulled on his bathrobe and opened the door. The hall was dark except for the small lights at each outlet. They produced enough light so that anyone wandering the halls that late could find their destination without getting hurt. Hisoka made his way to the bathroom. He flipped on the light making the small outlet light go out. He closed the door and made his way to the sink.

He looked at his reflection in the mirror. His sandy blond hair had fallen this way and that about his face. His face had paled but his eyes were still that violent shade of green. They appeared unchanged to him; they still held the hate for Muraki. He turned the cold knob and a jet of chilling water shot out and into the empty basin. Cupping his hands he caught the chilling water in his hands and splashed his face. Blindly he groped for the towel near the window. After his fingers caressed the soft fibers he pulled it to his face. Touching the soft towel to his skin he buried his face deep inside it. There was comfort in the towel. He couldn't exactly place it, but perhaps it was the fact that he didn't have to see anything or hear anyone.

Pulling the towel away, Hisoka hung it back in its original place. Looking out the window, he could see the sun rising. The morning mist would dissipate and the world would be buzzing with busy men, women, and children. How he wished that he could have once belonged to that world. His mother and father had both denied him that opportunity. They feared him and his "abnormality", or so they called it. His mother had even said that he was not her son. They had locked him in a cage to hide him and his imperfection from the world. When he had fallen ill they didn't even stay at his bedside as he passed into the next world. He had never experienced anything but pain in his life. No one had ever loved him or cared for him. Perhaps that's why he didn't know how to react to Tsuzuki. Tsuzuki was kindhim him and he had never risen his voice at him.

Sighing Hisoka turned the water off and looked again into the mirror. His face had regained some of its color. A bit of water had splashed on to his yellow pajama's causing a dark spot to form on the fabric. Ignoring the spot he opened the door to the hall and turned off the light. The little light in the outlet lit up again casting its small glow, something Hisoka had never been given the chance to do. He envied the little light somehow. Crossing the hall to his room he stopped. His legs were beginning to feel weak again. A shiver ran down his spine and pain wracked his chest. His airway was beginning to constrict and his vision was beginning to .
.

"Tsuzuki…." his legs gave out from under him and he melted to the ground.

The door to his right opened and Tsuzuki appeared. "Hisoka!"

The image of Tsuzuki began to mix with the wall as the room began to spin, being engulfed in darkness.

To be continued…