The Realm of Death - KakuHida

SUMMARY: He is dying... Finally, he is dying...

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The dead do not die.

The dead never, truly die.

Sure, their bodies die, but their souls drift on - to heaven or to hell, it does not matter, for they continue to look on and watch over the ones they love.

However, if they have no people in which they love, do they truly die, then? For if they have nothing to watch over, and no one to protect, what have they - in life or in death?

There is no escape.

This is only but a void - a void I like to call "life." But death - perhaps that is a void, too, and perhaps I will never know.

I am immortal.

The meaning of the word - simply, undying. Perfect, I am not. Intelligence, it does not increase. Strength, it does not appear. These are all aspects we humans have to strive to achieve, aspects our minds and bodies develop alone. These things are not affected by immortality - the only thing immortality actually does is causes the heart to beat - forever.

Sometimes, I regret my decision to become immortal - for, as I stated before, I love nothing. I love no one, and no one and nothing loves me.

Liar, liar

I don't want to love, and I don't care to care.

I have not been taught to feel close to anything or anybody - I have been taught to slaughter. It's all I know, and all I wish to know. I don't want to feel love.

I do


The dead never die, unless they're already dead.

Perhaps I am dead. On the inside, perhaps my heart has long since crumbled into dust to rest upon my bowels. Then, perhaps it has not. Because everytime he would look at me, that same dust would race. And everytime he spoke to me, the melodic sound would remain, bouncing around my skull like a chorus of angels.

I close my eyes. They no longer wish to see the dirt above me - they wish to see the color of the hair of him. My eyes have grown weary, now, and my mind tired, and I slowly find myself giving into the embrace of what I believe is death.

Every day that passes, I have to see that color - a painful reminder of the hair I once ran my fingers through.

He has forgotten me, no doubt - and dear God, how long has it been? A year? I have no trace of time here. I cannot see the sun - and it will never again reflect upon my irises again. Just like I will never see his eyes again, never feel his skin, never smell his scent, never taste his flavor, never hear his voice.

Never again.


Death has finally come for me, and I welcome it with open arms. I am ready.

Ready to meet my god. Ready to see my family. Ready to watch over Kakuzu. But as the embrace begins to settle over me, I find myself opening my eyes once more.

Once more, this time, because - what is that sound?

It is a sound of scratching, as if a cat has found my tomb. Nails in the soft dirt above my head.

I tell myself it is all my imagination and close my eyes once more. It is my mind, anxious to be free of this shell, ready to move onto the next life. It is only hearing things, things it wants to hear - the sound of freedom, crawling towards me and growing steadily louder.

I open my eyes again.

Again, because I feel a pitter of something upon my cheek.

I believe it is dirt, but I have no hands. They are away from me, across my tomb. I so desperately want to reach up and see what it is, but I cannot, so I close my eyes again. I imagine slipping into death, almost like slipping into sleep - going through four cycles before I gain it. Attempt. Access. Relaxing. Achieving.

I am at the last stage when my eyes force themselves open.

Force them open, because light is suddenly stinging my retinas, filtering through my eyelids.

I blink, staring up at such a bright light - the glow of the moon? Have I finally passed?

I decide I have, but then have second thoughts when I discover I cannot move my body.

Well, then, what is going on? Yes, that is definitely the moon, I note, because no other celestial orb contains such an ominous yet eerie beauty. It is impossible - there is no one here. No sounds disturb the quiet forest around my tomb - some kind of sick joke, then?

My eyes stare up at the sky. It is so close, it seems. Some bastard is teasing me, allowing me to see the light. Soon, they will cover me with dirt.

But I am wrong.

A face enters my line of sight - a face I have so long wanted to see. The flat green eyes promenade in the scarlet sclera, and the stitches trace the jaw in a beastly smile, though the corners of the actual lips are turned down in a frown. The tan skin is still flawless, and though the hair is slightly longer, the person is still easily recognizable.

He jumps down into my tomb, his feet landing beside my head. "There you are," he says, his voice still deep and melodic. His rough-skinned hands pick up my cranium, and he smiles at me. "I've been looking for you forever, you know."

I stare at him, eyes wide.

"Let me fix you. Then, we will go."

If this is the realm of death, Jashin, never let me wake up. I return his grin, and he begins to reattach me to my body.

So, then. I am not truly dead.

I have been saved.

- The Realm of Death - END -