Better the Devil You Know by Ravenbell, commentary by Veleda_k
Story: Better the Devil You Know
Author: ravenbell
Fandom: Yami no Matsuei
Commentator: veleda_k
If you're going to read my commentary, then you must, must read the story by itself first. I spoil a lot of the twists and turns early on, and you deserve to be surprised. You can find it here.
My commentary is in bold.
"Go back to sleep."
The story starts with an order. Muraki is firmly in control, of both Hisoka's situation and the reader's.
Hisoka blinks, half-lidded eyes hazy with confusion, and it seems for a moment that he might protest. He shouldn't be here, in a strange room, in a strange bed surrounded by humming machinery. He shouldn't be tolerating the touch of a murderer - his own murderer, no less .
But then the tension in his face eases, and Hisoka mumbles an assent before nestling his head back against the pillow. His breathing and heart rate begin to slow again, following the usual pattern.
"That's right." Muraki pulls the covers back to carefully reposition Hisoka's right arm, tightening the restraints. A hollow needle juts out from a vein in his bound wrist, connected to an IV drip at his bedside. "You're very tired. Don't try to fight it."
Muraki checks the equipment meticulously, piece by piece. He has to be careful with the flow of drugs being injected into Hisoka's bloodstream. They're designed to accelerate the onset of REM sleep and ensure abnormally long periods of dreaming, but too much could damage him permanently. Contrary to popular assumption, Muraki has found shinigami healing powers to be rather fickle and unreliable, and he doesn't want to take unnecessary risks.
Not when he's this close to winning.
Muraki waits a few more minutes, watching the data of vital signs and brain activity scroll across the monitor displays. When he's absolutely sure that his guest is asleep, he leans over and places his fingertips against the boy's temples.
"Now," he whispers. "Show me what you want."
What's happening? Why is Hisoka tied to a bed, in strange room, with Muraki? Ravenbell doesn't start us off with any exposition. We're left confused and disoriented. Not only is it a great way to hook us, it also succeeds at putting us at a disadvantage. Muraki is in control; we are not.
---
It starts, as Muraki expected, with one of the usual nightmares.
”One of the usual nightmares.” So, even if we haven't read the prequel, we know that Muraki has been poking around in Hisoka's head for some time.
They're in a darkened corridor of the Kurosaki estate, one of those shadowy, endless dream places that has no beginning and no end. Somewhere close by a woman is weeping, a soft yet unmistakable sound that seems to reverberate from all directions at once.
He isn't the only one who hears it. The young master of the house is with him, a particularly charming version of Hisoka Kurosaki, who can't be more than six years old at the moment. Barefoot, and clad only in a cotton nemaki, he should be safely tucked in bed at this hour of the night. But he knows the way, and Muraki readily follows him down the corridor, as it twists and turns, and turns again. At one point a shadow figure tries to block their way, but it vanishes suddenly before Muraki can get a very good look at it.
The shadow figure is a subtle but important detail. Muraki seems and acts perfectly in control, but his situation is inherently uncontrollable. But that won't become truly clear until later.
Finally Hisoka stops in front of a sliding screen, identical to a dozen that they've passed already. He hesitates for a moment, but then steps forward, and opens the screen just a crack.
The woman inside is beautiful in her sorrow. She's seated with her back to the screen, face hidden by her hands. Long, unbound hair trails over bent shoulders, accentuating the frailty of her figure. Her robes are in disarray, one white shoulder bared. She doesn't look up as Hisoka slips silently into the room.
Muraki watches the boy's somber expression become worried, then stricken. Slowly, he walks toward the crying woman with one small hand outstretched. It makes for a lovely picture, a little boy innocently trying to offer comfort, trying to soothe away the hurts that he can't possibly understand. What could be more natural for a child, or more endearing to a parent?
Given what we and Muraki both know about Hisoka's relationship with his mother, this paragraph comes off as cruelly smug. In this story, oftentimes we won't be told what the characters are feeling, or even shown through their actions-just knowing their thoughts is enough.
Hisoka's hand finds the edge of the woman's sleeve, then the curve of her bare shoulder. "Mother?" he whispers.
Muraki holds his breath in delightful anticipation.
He is such a sadistic bastard. Ravenbell writes my very favorite Muraki.
The woman screams.
She recoils from the boy as though he had burned her. "Get away! Don't touch me! Don't touch me!" Hisoka stumbles back as she rises from the chair, hands striking out blindly as if to swat away an offending insect. Her eyes are red-rimmed, bleary and unfocused.
"Mother, please!" Hisoka tries to retreat, tries to move out of her way, but he slips and tumbles to the floor in an ungainly sprawl. There's a look of helpless misery on his face. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!"
It's really driven home here just how young this dream Hisoka is. Anyone would feel sympathy. Well, anyone but a sadistic psychopath.
"How can I be your mother? You aren't my child! You can't be my child!" She looms over him, her lovely mouth is distorted by the hateful words. She shakes not with sobs now, but with rage. Hisoka places his hands over his ears as her voice rises in volume and pitch. "You're a monster!" she cries. "A demon! You never should have been born!"
Muraki knows what will happen next. Rui Kurosaki will continue to terrorize her son, becoming more and more hysterical with each passing moment. Sometimes Hisoka keeps trying to placate her as the room begins to shrink. Sometimes he manages to get up and run before the wood panels turn into cold iron bars. But every time, without fail, the door slams shut before he can reach it, trapping him in a familiar cage with a howling, shrieking thing that no longer looks like his mother.
This is a really frightening dream. The subtle horror is excellent.
But not this time, if all goes according to plan.
"I should have drowned you when I realized what you were! I should have strangled you in your crib!" The walls seem to tremble as the verbal assault continues. Hisoka is still on the floor, transfixed under the horrible gaze of the dream-woman. Muraki can feel the boy's terror growing, fueling the nightmare. As a child, he can't control his emotions, can't hide them behind a sharp tongue and a scornful gaze. He's completely vulnerable here. Defenseless.
Once again, Muraki's emotions are never explicitly stated in this paragraph, but you can still feel his anticipation and and pleasure in Hisoka's vulnerability.
Muraki grows tired of simply watching. He crosses the room slowly, purposefully, exerting just enough control over the dreamscape so that his footfalls are audible in spite of the screaming woman. There's a trick to it, of course. It's not that the sound of his steps is louder, but rather that they are loud enough so that their measured rhythm is able to break through the din, enough to be noticed.
Hisoka looks up, and he seems to see the doctor for the first time. His eyes widen in alarm. "Why are you here? Y-you're not supposed to be here!" He stands up on unsteady legs and backs away, breathing rapidly.
Muraki advances, a little faster. He redoubles his mental efforts, and the mother falls silent, body frozen in place. Her strength drains as Hisoka's attention is diverted, and she shrinks to little more than a pale wraith. Muraki pays her no mind, keeping pace with the frightened boy. "Tell me what you want," he demands softly.
"Go away!" Hisoka's back hits the wall, and there's nowhere left to go. He raises his hands defensively, an act that only makes him look more exposed. But even so young and so small, there's a steely stubbornness behind those cherubic features. "Get out of my dream!"
Yes. This is exactly what child Hisoka would be like.
Another step, and Muraki is close enough to reach out and touch him. "Only a dream, boy? You know as well as I do that this far more than a simple nightmare."
Confusion flits over Hisoka's face. "No, it's not. This isn't real. I never - "
"Of course it's real. All dreams are." Muraki drops to one knee, so that he's face to face with the boy. He takes care to speak slowly and clearly, offering a voice of reason. "The mind plays tricks with our perceptions, and the memories we have of childhood are rarely as complete or incontrovertible as we would like to believe. We forget in the waking world, but remember the truth in our sleep."
Hisoka shakes his head. "You're trying to trick me."
"I only want you to remember." And it's true, in a sense. Muraki wants the boy to remember every word he says. "Haven't you hidden from yourself long enough? Aren't you tired of being afraid?"
"I'm not afraid." Hisoka's tense posture says otherwise, though he seems to accept that Muraki isn't going to attack him. Slowly, he lowers his arms, hands uncurling.
What a trusting child, so easy to draw in and ensnare. Muraki finds it difficult to keep his thoughts from straying to more satisfying games he could play with such an innocent version of the brat, but he continues. Oh my god, Muraki is such a sick bastard. Every time I read that line it turns my stomach a little. Which makes it excellent writing. Muraki should turn one's stomach. "Don't you find it odd that there's so much that you can't recall from this time? Why there were so many things that didn't make sense to you? So many questions unanswered?" He leans in a little closer, making the conversation more intimate. "Why does it frighten you to see the truth?"
"But you weren't here... were you?" Hisoka is still doubtful, but he isn't dismissing the possibility yet. His brow furrows slightly, and Muraki knows the boy must be searching his memories, turning them over in his head to find the flaws.
Something moves in the corridor outside, and Muraki is sure he glimpses the fleeting shadow figure again. Possibly more than one of them this time. They're a lurking reminder that the dreams are simply too complicated for him to control every aspect and variation. Another reminder that no matter how in control Muraki is, the situation is always tenuous. He has to be careful. Satisfied that the spectral bystanders won't pose a threat, he turns his attention back to Hisoka.
"I was always here," Muraki says firmly. "I attended to your mother when she was ill, and I came when you cried out for help. Don't you remember me?" He allows his physical appearance to shift ever so subtly, the lines of his face growing softer, his pale hair growing slightly longer. Now he's twenty-five years old at the most, an anonymous young physician whose presence could have been easily forgotten.
"No. I don't remember." Hisoka looks at the floor, at his feet, anywhere but at the doctor.
It's a dangerous moment, but one Muraki has prepared for. "Your mother had been suffering a prolonged illness. I had come at your father's request when her usual physician was otherwise engaged. It was very late at night when I arrived, too late to see her. But I couldn't sleep, so I was in the courtyard getting some air, when I heard the screaming. Such a terrible sound."
"You did?" Hisoka looks up in surprise. "So then you came and found me and mother." He turns to look at the wraith woman, still a malevolent presence in the room. "And then - " His voice falters, shaking. "And then you - "
"This is your dream. I can't do anything until you tell me what you want." The doctor takes Hisoka's hand in his own, and squeezes it gently. "It's up to you, boy. Say the word and I'll disappear into your subconscious, and the story will end the way it always does. But I don't think you want that." Gently, he traces warm fingers down the curve of Hisoka's pale cheek. "And I don't want to leave you here with her."
Muraki is pleasantly surprised when the boy begins to cry, trying to hold back at first and then quickly dissolving into undignified tears. It's a lovely sight. "Help me," he sobs. "Help me!"
"It's all right now." He draws Hisoka into a strong embrace, and relishes the way the boy's scrawny arms tighten around his neck. This could just refer to the fact Hisoka's embrace indicates trust, but I'm reminded of the accusation later that what Muraki was looking for was admiration. The young body shudders with relief. "You're safe," Muraki murmurs, stroking his back. "You don't need to be afraid any more. I'll protect you."
The room begins to dim and fade as Muraki carries the boy back out into the darkened corridor. Hisoka's mother has disappeared, but the poor child doesn't even notice. His tearstained cheek is still pressed against the doctor's shoulder, hands clinging to his shirtfront like he's holding on for dear life.
Muraki smiles. The first battle has been won.
Uh-oh.
---
It's ironic, how much of this newfound power he owes to the boy.
Now we're going to get some exposition. The pacing in this story is excellent.
Initially, the dream experiments were mainly to satisfy his own curiosity, a time-wasting diversion at best. But by learning how to affect the young shinigami's dreams through his empathy, Muraki discovered quickly enough how to manipulate and control them at will. When the risk of discovery became too great, he stopped his nightly visits with the boy, turning his attention to less satisfying, but more expendable subjects. It was only a matter of time before Muraki found he could apply the same techniques to the unconscious minds of others, could use their dreams to affect their waking lives. Eventually, he found it possible to invert his subjects' most deeply held beliefs, wrench out their most guarded secrets, and reorder their perceptions to suit his own purposes.
In case you had forgotten, Muraki is creepy and evil.
Of course there were unfortunate setbacks, as there always were in the development of such techniques. Some of the dreamers never woke up. Others went mad, regressed, or lost their memories. So it was a very long time before Muraki felt his new skills were properly honed to the extent that they could be safely used for more practical purposes.
Because he'd always planned on coming back for Hisoka Kurosaki.
I love the sheer amount of menace and danger in that one sentence paragraph.
For the next dreamscape, Muraki is very deliberate. For the setting, he chooses the family dojo where Hisoka was trained as a bushi in accordance with the traditions of his house. This is where the boy was rigorously schooled every day in archery, swordplay, and a variety of martial arts. It was a safe haven even after his parents found it necessary to confine their son to a barred cell in the depths of the Kurosaki estate, only allowing him out for a few limited hours each day under the strict supervision of his tutors and instructors.
It's late in the day, and all the lessons are over. Hisoka is practicing aikido forms in the training hall, fighting with a featureless dream figure who is visibly blurred around the edges. The boy is older now, about ten or eleven years old, and already showing signs of growing coldness and apathy. No doubt he understands that there are guards just outside the doors, ready to intervene if they sense even the slightest bit of rebellion from their charge. More shadows haunt the doorways - empty, featureless things.
Another reminder of the shadows.
The doctor's entrance is leisurely, as before, and he takes the time to watch and appreciate the boy's efforts. If the intensity of his regimen is any indication, Hisoka Kurosaki's current preoccupation is with maintaining what little control over his life he still has. Muraki feels only the slightest remorse as he prepares to pull the boy's strings again.
The mention of “slight remorse” is really intriguing, considering that remorse isn't an emotion that Muraki expresses very often. I would have liked to have seen that explored more.
"Wonderful," he praises, as Hisoka finishes the last repetition, and his opponent dissolves into nothingness.
To his credit, the boy quickly turns, and bows politely. "Good evening, doctor." His voice is neutral, but Muraki notes the slight unease in his posture. The fear and mistrust are still there, barely being held in check. Only Hisoka's uncertainty about the situation is keeping him civil for now.
"Good evening." Muraki returns the greeting. Mindful of etiquette, he stays at the edge of the practice floor, signifying that he's only here as an observer and does not intend to intrude. "You're looking much better since I saw you last month. I understand that you have something you wanted to discuss with me."
Of course Hisoka doesn't have any idea what he's talking about, and only stares at the doctor blankly. But there's a script to follow in this little play, and Muraki will not be dissuaded by an uncooperative actor. So, he simply puts the words into Hisoka's mouth for him.
"You told me once that you had studied the occult, and had some experience with cases like mine. I wanted to hear more about them." Hisoka looks as though he's on the verge of panic for a moment, when he can't control his own mouth and tongue. But once the lines are said, he can speak normally again, and adds, "But I'm - I'm sure I didn’t send for you."
"I came of my own accord, dear boy," Muraki responds smoothly. "I was concerned about you, especially in light of your parents' increased restrictions on your activities. The servants told me that you're no longer allowed to receive visitors. Is that true?"
"I'm afraid there's nothing you can do, unless you know of some way to cure me." Muraki's words again from Hisoka's lips. Though it's difficult to tell, the boy seems more accepting this time. After all, many strange things occur in dreams with no rational explanation.
This part of the scene is a reminder of just how surreal this whole experience must be for Hisoka. Muraki holds all of the information, so it's easy to forget how incredibly disturbing it would be to be on the other side.
"Cure you?" Muraki feigns surprise. "Is that really what you want?"
"Yes." Caught up in the momentum, Hisoka answers honestly, without prompting. "I wish I never had these powers. All they bring is pain and misfortune. They're a curse."
"That's your parents would say," the doctor counters. "Your empathic and spiritual abilities are a gift. They may seem burdensome now, but in time I think you'll find them very useful. Possibly even essential. You simply need time to develop them properly."
"You don't understand," the boy insists with surprising emotion. "I can't even control them. I feel everything, whether I want to or not. I hate being like this! It's horrible!" The frustration is clear in his voice. And the guilt.
How long had Hisoka bottled up those feelings, trying to hold back everything to retain some sense of self-control? Surely at this age, he had never been so forthcoming before. But then again, how many people in the wretched boy's life would have been in a position to understand his plight?
The detached not-quite-pity Muraki shows here is a deeply intriguing piece of his relationship with Hisoka. It's especially interesting in light of Hisoka-as-Saki's accusations later.
It's clear what Murski's role should be at this stage of the game.
"You can’t control your powers because you've never understood them. In spite of everything, you do want to understand them, don't you?" Muraki is deviating from his script, but he's curious to see if the boy will reach the right answers unaided. "Why don't you tell me what it is that you really asked me here for?"
Hisoka stiffens. "I didn't - "
"If you doubt my intentions, boy, you only have to confirm them for yourself," Muraki reminds him, holding one hand out toward Hisoka. "Your powers have hurt you, but have they ever deceived you?"
Hesitantly, Hisoka steps forward, and places his own hand over the doctor's. It's a risk, but Muraki has confidence in his degree of control over the dream. And it's another minor victory when he sees the boy wince at the pain of contact, and then smile faintly. "You want to help me. I don't know why, but you do."
"That's right." Muraki closes his hands over Hisoka's, concentrating a little harder, and is pleased when the boy doesn't withdraw. "And you’re old enough that you don't need a protector anymore. You want to fight your own battles, as you should." He pauses, considering. "Once we help you temper those powers of yours, I think you'll be quite formidable."
Muraki is a master manipulator. In this scene, he really does know exactly what Hisoka's wants. (Of course, the fact that Hisoka wants power and strength is hardly difficult to ascertain, but still.)
"You mean you'll teach me?" Hisoka's eyes brighten, his voice incredulous.
Muraki finds it satisfying to know that he's guessed correctly. "If you could stand me for a teacher."
"Yes!" It's like a light has been switched on, and all sign of the boy's dark suspicions vanish in an instant. "Oh yes, please!" Suddenly it's Hisoka who's clutching more tightly to Muraki's hand.
That's the lovely thing about dreams. They seldom hold to any sort of real-world logic, and yet the emotions felt by the dreamer are absolutely genuine, and are often stronger than anything they might feel when awake. Hisoka's excitement and hopefulness overpower any sort of rational consideration of the situation. No doubt he knows very well that Muraki is his enemy and cannot be trusted. But In a dream, sense and reason are relative things, fluid and ever-changing.
Here, the difference between friend and foe can be determined by the smallest action or inaction. It can be something as simple as giving the boy something he never knew he wanted.
"I'll teach you everything I know." Muraki steps out on to the dojo floor, crossing that invisible barrier. "I'm afraid my own knowledge about such things is limited, but I believe that even some basic mental training would be beneficial to you. And once I conduct a thorough examination of your physiology, I'll be able to do more - with your consent, of course." His fingers twitch at the thought of his scalpels, cutting red lines in such delicate flesh.
The great thing about Ravenbell is that no matter how pleasant Muraki is acting, she never forgets what he truly is, and she doesn't hesitate to remind us. That last sentence is another one of those deeply creepy lines that I just love.
"Of course." Hisoka nods. "I don't know if I want to use my powers like you say, but I want to learn whatever I can about them. If I can't make them go away or hide them, then maybe I can show my parents that I can - " He stops short, expression darkening. Then he turns away without another word, arms crossed tightly over his chest.
"What's the matter?" Muraki places a hand on his shoulder, making sure that the boy registers his concern through the touch.
Hisoka shakes his head. "My parents will never agree to this."
Muraki laughs softly. "Your parents, dear boy, will never have to know." He reaches over to smooth back Hisoka's tousled hair. The boy is still young enough that such a gesture is not yet inappropriate or untoward, and he relaxes at the doctor's touch. "I can come and go easily enough if you happen to develop some mysterious ailment that requires regular observation. Nothing contagious or debilitating, of course, but one where it would be safer for everyone if I made a weekly visit to ensure nothing was amiss. How does that sound?"
"Good." Muraki doesn't need empathic powers to feel the boy's elation.
"Then, let's not waste any time." He releases Hisoka's hands and walks toward the centerline of the dojo floor. "Shall we have our first lesson?"
"Yes." Hisoka follows him without hesitation.
---
Click here for part two
Author: ravenbell
Fandom: Yami no Matsuei
Commentator: veleda_k
If you're going to read my commentary, then you must, must read the story by itself first. I spoil a lot of the twists and turns early on, and you deserve to be surprised. You can find it here.
My commentary is in bold.
"Go back to sleep."
The story starts with an order. Muraki is firmly in control, of both Hisoka's situation and the reader's.
Hisoka blinks, half-lidded eyes hazy with confusion, and it seems for a moment that he might protest. He shouldn't be here, in a strange room, in a strange bed surrounded by humming machinery. He shouldn't be tolerating the touch of a murderer - his own murderer, no less .
But then the tension in his face eases, and Hisoka mumbles an assent before nestling his head back against the pillow. His breathing and heart rate begin to slow again, following the usual pattern.
"That's right." Muraki pulls the covers back to carefully reposition Hisoka's right arm, tightening the restraints. A hollow needle juts out from a vein in his bound wrist, connected to an IV drip at his bedside. "You're very tired. Don't try to fight it."
Muraki checks the equipment meticulously, piece by piece. He has to be careful with the flow of drugs being injected into Hisoka's bloodstream. They're designed to accelerate the onset of REM sleep and ensure abnormally long periods of dreaming, but too much could damage him permanently. Contrary to popular assumption, Muraki has found shinigami healing powers to be rather fickle and unreliable, and he doesn't want to take unnecessary risks.
Not when he's this close to winning.
Muraki waits a few more minutes, watching the data of vital signs and brain activity scroll across the monitor displays. When he's absolutely sure that his guest is asleep, he leans over and places his fingertips against the boy's temples.
"Now," he whispers. "Show me what you want."
What's happening? Why is Hisoka tied to a bed, in strange room, with Muraki? Ravenbell doesn't start us off with any exposition. We're left confused and disoriented. Not only is it a great way to hook us, it also succeeds at putting us at a disadvantage. Muraki is in control; we are not.
---
It starts, as Muraki expected, with one of the usual nightmares.
”One of the usual nightmares.” So, even if we haven't read the prequel, we know that Muraki has been poking around in Hisoka's head for some time.
They're in a darkened corridor of the Kurosaki estate, one of those shadowy, endless dream places that has no beginning and no end. Somewhere close by a woman is weeping, a soft yet unmistakable sound that seems to reverberate from all directions at once.
He isn't the only one who hears it. The young master of the house is with him, a particularly charming version of Hisoka Kurosaki, who can't be more than six years old at the moment. Barefoot, and clad only in a cotton nemaki, he should be safely tucked in bed at this hour of the night. But he knows the way, and Muraki readily follows him down the corridor, as it twists and turns, and turns again. At one point a shadow figure tries to block their way, but it vanishes suddenly before Muraki can get a very good look at it.
The shadow figure is a subtle but important detail. Muraki seems and acts perfectly in control, but his situation is inherently uncontrollable. But that won't become truly clear until later.
Finally Hisoka stops in front of a sliding screen, identical to a dozen that they've passed already. He hesitates for a moment, but then steps forward, and opens the screen just a crack.
The woman inside is beautiful in her sorrow. She's seated with her back to the screen, face hidden by her hands. Long, unbound hair trails over bent shoulders, accentuating the frailty of her figure. Her robes are in disarray, one white shoulder bared. She doesn't look up as Hisoka slips silently into the room.
Muraki watches the boy's somber expression become worried, then stricken. Slowly, he walks toward the crying woman with one small hand outstretched. It makes for a lovely picture, a little boy innocently trying to offer comfort, trying to soothe away the hurts that he can't possibly understand. What could be more natural for a child, or more endearing to a parent?
Given what we and Muraki both know about Hisoka's relationship with his mother, this paragraph comes off as cruelly smug. In this story, oftentimes we won't be told what the characters are feeling, or even shown through their actions-just knowing their thoughts is enough.
Hisoka's hand finds the edge of the woman's sleeve, then the curve of her bare shoulder. "Mother?" he whispers.
Muraki holds his breath in delightful anticipation.
He is such a sadistic bastard. Ravenbell writes my very favorite Muraki.
The woman screams.
She recoils from the boy as though he had burned her. "Get away! Don't touch me! Don't touch me!" Hisoka stumbles back as she rises from the chair, hands striking out blindly as if to swat away an offending insect. Her eyes are red-rimmed, bleary and unfocused.
"Mother, please!" Hisoka tries to retreat, tries to move out of her way, but he slips and tumbles to the floor in an ungainly sprawl. There's a look of helpless misery on his face. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!"
It's really driven home here just how young this dream Hisoka is. Anyone would feel sympathy. Well, anyone but a sadistic psychopath.
"How can I be your mother? You aren't my child! You can't be my child!" She looms over him, her lovely mouth is distorted by the hateful words. She shakes not with sobs now, but with rage. Hisoka places his hands over his ears as her voice rises in volume and pitch. "You're a monster!" she cries. "A demon! You never should have been born!"
Muraki knows what will happen next. Rui Kurosaki will continue to terrorize her son, becoming more and more hysterical with each passing moment. Sometimes Hisoka keeps trying to placate her as the room begins to shrink. Sometimes he manages to get up and run before the wood panels turn into cold iron bars. But every time, without fail, the door slams shut before he can reach it, trapping him in a familiar cage with a howling, shrieking thing that no longer looks like his mother.
This is a really frightening dream. The subtle horror is excellent.
But not this time, if all goes according to plan.
"I should have drowned you when I realized what you were! I should have strangled you in your crib!" The walls seem to tremble as the verbal assault continues. Hisoka is still on the floor, transfixed under the horrible gaze of the dream-woman. Muraki can feel the boy's terror growing, fueling the nightmare. As a child, he can't control his emotions, can't hide them behind a sharp tongue and a scornful gaze. He's completely vulnerable here. Defenseless.
Once again, Muraki's emotions are never explicitly stated in this paragraph, but you can still feel his anticipation and and pleasure in Hisoka's vulnerability.
Muraki grows tired of simply watching. He crosses the room slowly, purposefully, exerting just enough control over the dreamscape so that his footfalls are audible in spite of the screaming woman. There's a trick to it, of course. It's not that the sound of his steps is louder, but rather that they are loud enough so that their measured rhythm is able to break through the din, enough to be noticed.
Hisoka looks up, and he seems to see the doctor for the first time. His eyes widen in alarm. "Why are you here? Y-you're not supposed to be here!" He stands up on unsteady legs and backs away, breathing rapidly.
Muraki advances, a little faster. He redoubles his mental efforts, and the mother falls silent, body frozen in place. Her strength drains as Hisoka's attention is diverted, and she shrinks to little more than a pale wraith. Muraki pays her no mind, keeping pace with the frightened boy. "Tell me what you want," he demands softly.
"Go away!" Hisoka's back hits the wall, and there's nowhere left to go. He raises his hands defensively, an act that only makes him look more exposed. But even so young and so small, there's a steely stubbornness behind those cherubic features. "Get out of my dream!"
Yes. This is exactly what child Hisoka would be like.
Another step, and Muraki is close enough to reach out and touch him. "Only a dream, boy? You know as well as I do that this far more than a simple nightmare."
Confusion flits over Hisoka's face. "No, it's not. This isn't real. I never - "
"Of course it's real. All dreams are." Muraki drops to one knee, so that he's face to face with the boy. He takes care to speak slowly and clearly, offering a voice of reason. "The mind plays tricks with our perceptions, and the memories we have of childhood are rarely as complete or incontrovertible as we would like to believe. We forget in the waking world, but remember the truth in our sleep."
Hisoka shakes his head. "You're trying to trick me."
"I only want you to remember." And it's true, in a sense. Muraki wants the boy to remember every word he says. "Haven't you hidden from yourself long enough? Aren't you tired of being afraid?"
"I'm not afraid." Hisoka's tense posture says otherwise, though he seems to accept that Muraki isn't going to attack him. Slowly, he lowers his arms, hands uncurling.
What a trusting child, so easy to draw in and ensnare. Muraki finds it difficult to keep his thoughts from straying to more satisfying games he could play with such an innocent version of the brat, but he continues. Oh my god, Muraki is such a sick bastard. Every time I read that line it turns my stomach a little. Which makes it excellent writing. Muraki should turn one's stomach. "Don't you find it odd that there's so much that you can't recall from this time? Why there were so many things that didn't make sense to you? So many questions unanswered?" He leans in a little closer, making the conversation more intimate. "Why does it frighten you to see the truth?"
"But you weren't here... were you?" Hisoka is still doubtful, but he isn't dismissing the possibility yet. His brow furrows slightly, and Muraki knows the boy must be searching his memories, turning them over in his head to find the flaws.
Something moves in the corridor outside, and Muraki is sure he glimpses the fleeting shadow figure again. Possibly more than one of them this time. They're a lurking reminder that the dreams are simply too complicated for him to control every aspect and variation. Another reminder that no matter how in control Muraki is, the situation is always tenuous. He has to be careful. Satisfied that the spectral bystanders won't pose a threat, he turns his attention back to Hisoka.
"I was always here," Muraki says firmly. "I attended to your mother when she was ill, and I came when you cried out for help. Don't you remember me?" He allows his physical appearance to shift ever so subtly, the lines of his face growing softer, his pale hair growing slightly longer. Now he's twenty-five years old at the most, an anonymous young physician whose presence could have been easily forgotten.
"No. I don't remember." Hisoka looks at the floor, at his feet, anywhere but at the doctor.
It's a dangerous moment, but one Muraki has prepared for. "Your mother had been suffering a prolonged illness. I had come at your father's request when her usual physician was otherwise engaged. It was very late at night when I arrived, too late to see her. But I couldn't sleep, so I was in the courtyard getting some air, when I heard the screaming. Such a terrible sound."
"You did?" Hisoka looks up in surprise. "So then you came and found me and mother." He turns to look at the wraith woman, still a malevolent presence in the room. "And then - " His voice falters, shaking. "And then you - "
"This is your dream. I can't do anything until you tell me what you want." The doctor takes Hisoka's hand in his own, and squeezes it gently. "It's up to you, boy. Say the word and I'll disappear into your subconscious, and the story will end the way it always does. But I don't think you want that." Gently, he traces warm fingers down the curve of Hisoka's pale cheek. "And I don't want to leave you here with her."
Muraki is pleasantly surprised when the boy begins to cry, trying to hold back at first and then quickly dissolving into undignified tears. It's a lovely sight. "Help me," he sobs. "Help me!"
"It's all right now." He draws Hisoka into a strong embrace, and relishes the way the boy's scrawny arms tighten around his neck. This could just refer to the fact Hisoka's embrace indicates trust, but I'm reminded of the accusation later that what Muraki was looking for was admiration. The young body shudders with relief. "You're safe," Muraki murmurs, stroking his back. "You don't need to be afraid any more. I'll protect you."
The room begins to dim and fade as Muraki carries the boy back out into the darkened corridor. Hisoka's mother has disappeared, but the poor child doesn't even notice. His tearstained cheek is still pressed against the doctor's shoulder, hands clinging to his shirtfront like he's holding on for dear life.
Muraki smiles. The first battle has been won.
Uh-oh.
---
It's ironic, how much of this newfound power he owes to the boy.
Now we're going to get some exposition. The pacing in this story is excellent.
Initially, the dream experiments were mainly to satisfy his own curiosity, a time-wasting diversion at best. But by learning how to affect the young shinigami's dreams through his empathy, Muraki discovered quickly enough how to manipulate and control them at will. When the risk of discovery became too great, he stopped his nightly visits with the boy, turning his attention to less satisfying, but more expendable subjects. It was only a matter of time before Muraki found he could apply the same techniques to the unconscious minds of others, could use their dreams to affect their waking lives. Eventually, he found it possible to invert his subjects' most deeply held beliefs, wrench out their most guarded secrets, and reorder their perceptions to suit his own purposes.
In case you had forgotten, Muraki is creepy and evil.
Of course there were unfortunate setbacks, as there always were in the development of such techniques. Some of the dreamers never woke up. Others went mad, regressed, or lost their memories. So it was a very long time before Muraki felt his new skills were properly honed to the extent that they could be safely used for more practical purposes.
Because he'd always planned on coming back for Hisoka Kurosaki.
I love the sheer amount of menace and danger in that one sentence paragraph.
For the next dreamscape, Muraki is very deliberate. For the setting, he chooses the family dojo where Hisoka was trained as a bushi in accordance with the traditions of his house. This is where the boy was rigorously schooled every day in archery, swordplay, and a variety of martial arts. It was a safe haven even after his parents found it necessary to confine their son to a barred cell in the depths of the Kurosaki estate, only allowing him out for a few limited hours each day under the strict supervision of his tutors and instructors.
It's late in the day, and all the lessons are over. Hisoka is practicing aikido forms in the training hall, fighting with a featureless dream figure who is visibly blurred around the edges. The boy is older now, about ten or eleven years old, and already showing signs of growing coldness and apathy. No doubt he understands that there are guards just outside the doors, ready to intervene if they sense even the slightest bit of rebellion from their charge. More shadows haunt the doorways - empty, featureless things.
Another reminder of the shadows.
The doctor's entrance is leisurely, as before, and he takes the time to watch and appreciate the boy's efforts. If the intensity of his regimen is any indication, Hisoka Kurosaki's current preoccupation is with maintaining what little control over his life he still has. Muraki feels only the slightest remorse as he prepares to pull the boy's strings again.
The mention of “slight remorse” is really intriguing, considering that remorse isn't an emotion that Muraki expresses very often. I would have liked to have seen that explored more.
"Wonderful," he praises, as Hisoka finishes the last repetition, and his opponent dissolves into nothingness.
To his credit, the boy quickly turns, and bows politely. "Good evening, doctor." His voice is neutral, but Muraki notes the slight unease in his posture. The fear and mistrust are still there, barely being held in check. Only Hisoka's uncertainty about the situation is keeping him civil for now.
"Good evening." Muraki returns the greeting. Mindful of etiquette, he stays at the edge of the practice floor, signifying that he's only here as an observer and does not intend to intrude. "You're looking much better since I saw you last month. I understand that you have something you wanted to discuss with me."
Of course Hisoka doesn't have any idea what he's talking about, and only stares at the doctor blankly. But there's a script to follow in this little play, and Muraki will not be dissuaded by an uncooperative actor. So, he simply puts the words into Hisoka's mouth for him.
"You told me once that you had studied the occult, and had some experience with cases like mine. I wanted to hear more about them." Hisoka looks as though he's on the verge of panic for a moment, when he can't control his own mouth and tongue. But once the lines are said, he can speak normally again, and adds, "But I'm - I'm sure I didn’t send for you."
"I came of my own accord, dear boy," Muraki responds smoothly. "I was concerned about you, especially in light of your parents' increased restrictions on your activities. The servants told me that you're no longer allowed to receive visitors. Is that true?"
"I'm afraid there's nothing you can do, unless you know of some way to cure me." Muraki's words again from Hisoka's lips. Though it's difficult to tell, the boy seems more accepting this time. After all, many strange things occur in dreams with no rational explanation.
This part of the scene is a reminder of just how surreal this whole experience must be for Hisoka. Muraki holds all of the information, so it's easy to forget how incredibly disturbing it would be to be on the other side.
"Cure you?" Muraki feigns surprise. "Is that really what you want?"
"Yes." Caught up in the momentum, Hisoka answers honestly, without prompting. "I wish I never had these powers. All they bring is pain and misfortune. They're a curse."
"That's your parents would say," the doctor counters. "Your empathic and spiritual abilities are a gift. They may seem burdensome now, but in time I think you'll find them very useful. Possibly even essential. You simply need time to develop them properly."
"You don't understand," the boy insists with surprising emotion. "I can't even control them. I feel everything, whether I want to or not. I hate being like this! It's horrible!" The frustration is clear in his voice. And the guilt.
How long had Hisoka bottled up those feelings, trying to hold back everything to retain some sense of self-control? Surely at this age, he had never been so forthcoming before. But then again, how many people in the wretched boy's life would have been in a position to understand his plight?
The detached not-quite-pity Muraki shows here is a deeply intriguing piece of his relationship with Hisoka. It's especially interesting in light of Hisoka-as-Saki's accusations later.
It's clear what Murski's role should be at this stage of the game.
"You can’t control your powers because you've never understood them. In spite of everything, you do want to understand them, don't you?" Muraki is deviating from his script, but he's curious to see if the boy will reach the right answers unaided. "Why don't you tell me what it is that you really asked me here for?"
Hisoka stiffens. "I didn't - "
"If you doubt my intentions, boy, you only have to confirm them for yourself," Muraki reminds him, holding one hand out toward Hisoka. "Your powers have hurt you, but have they ever deceived you?"
Hesitantly, Hisoka steps forward, and places his own hand over the doctor's. It's a risk, but Muraki has confidence in his degree of control over the dream. And it's another minor victory when he sees the boy wince at the pain of contact, and then smile faintly. "You want to help me. I don't know why, but you do."
"That's right." Muraki closes his hands over Hisoka's, concentrating a little harder, and is pleased when the boy doesn't withdraw. "And you’re old enough that you don't need a protector anymore. You want to fight your own battles, as you should." He pauses, considering. "Once we help you temper those powers of yours, I think you'll be quite formidable."
Muraki is a master manipulator. In this scene, he really does know exactly what Hisoka's wants. (Of course, the fact that Hisoka wants power and strength is hardly difficult to ascertain, but still.)
"You mean you'll teach me?" Hisoka's eyes brighten, his voice incredulous.
Muraki finds it satisfying to know that he's guessed correctly. "If you could stand me for a teacher."
"Yes!" It's like a light has been switched on, and all sign of the boy's dark suspicions vanish in an instant. "Oh yes, please!" Suddenly it's Hisoka who's clutching more tightly to Muraki's hand.
That's the lovely thing about dreams. They seldom hold to any sort of real-world logic, and yet the emotions felt by the dreamer are absolutely genuine, and are often stronger than anything they might feel when awake. Hisoka's excitement and hopefulness overpower any sort of rational consideration of the situation. No doubt he knows very well that Muraki is his enemy and cannot be trusted. But In a dream, sense and reason are relative things, fluid and ever-changing.
Here, the difference between friend and foe can be determined by the smallest action or inaction. It can be something as simple as giving the boy something he never knew he wanted.
"I'll teach you everything I know." Muraki steps out on to the dojo floor, crossing that invisible barrier. "I'm afraid my own knowledge about such things is limited, but I believe that even some basic mental training would be beneficial to you. And once I conduct a thorough examination of your physiology, I'll be able to do more - with your consent, of course." His fingers twitch at the thought of his scalpels, cutting red lines in such delicate flesh.
The great thing about Ravenbell is that no matter how pleasant Muraki is acting, she never forgets what he truly is, and she doesn't hesitate to remind us. That last sentence is another one of those deeply creepy lines that I just love.
"Of course." Hisoka nods. "I don't know if I want to use my powers like you say, but I want to learn whatever I can about them. If I can't make them go away or hide them, then maybe I can show my parents that I can - " He stops short, expression darkening. Then he turns away without another word, arms crossed tightly over his chest.
"What's the matter?" Muraki places a hand on his shoulder, making sure that the boy registers his concern through the touch.
Hisoka shakes his head. "My parents will never agree to this."
Muraki laughs softly. "Your parents, dear boy, will never have to know." He reaches over to smooth back Hisoka's tousled hair. The boy is still young enough that such a gesture is not yet inappropriate or untoward, and he relaxes at the doctor's touch. "I can come and go easily enough if you happen to develop some mysterious ailment that requires regular observation. Nothing contagious or debilitating, of course, but one where it would be safer for everyone if I made a weekly visit to ensure nothing was amiss. How does that sound?"
"Good." Muraki doesn't need empathic powers to feel the boy's elation.
"Then, let's not waste any time." He releases Hisoka's hands and walks toward the centerline of the dojo floor. "Shall we have our first lesson?"
"Yes." Hisoka follows him without hesitation.
---
Click here for part two