Ultimate Conquest

Disclaimer: All Yu Yu Hakusho characters belong to their respective copyright owners. Other characters are copyright of the author. Other characters and events in this fanfic bear no intentional resemblance to those living or unliving, dead or undead; in this life, past life or after-life. If they do, it's just coincidence, okay? (Can I help it if I'm psychic?) Don't sue me, please. No $$$.

Prologue: A Pact Sealed

The dank corridor winds on, smelling faintly of unnamed fungi and lichen, the smell pungent yet reminiscent of fresh life. It is silent except for the constant drip, drip, dripping of water from the ceiling. Even when there is no rain outside beyond these walls, water would constantly flow through the stones and mortar that lined the walls and ceiling of the corridor. Where the walls meet the cold, stone floor, a steady stream of water flows, no doubt fed by the endless supply of underground water that managed to seep its way into this dark, man-made cave.

The Ancient One moves on slowly, his long cloak dragging along the floor, yet remaining miraculously dry. His sandal-shod feet taps out a staccato rhythm in the silent space, blending somewhat harmoniously with the dripping of the water. He holds up a staff of an unknown material that looks suspiciously like a gnarled branch but with the off-white color of bleached bone. The head of the staff glows with an effervescent light, a light that is cold and ghostly, somehow so suitable for these surroundings he was travelling in. The strange light lit up his way, casting alien shadows onto the damp floor. The walls shine with a similar sheen, seemingly slimy and smooth but, were one to touch the mortar walls, one would be amazed at the multitude of textures there.

The light catches an object ahead of him, an object that reflects back the soft light with an added brilliance. Two eyes look back at the Old One, glowing in the semi-darkness, waiting for its master.

"Hn!" The Ancient One gestures to the creature, urging it to continue onwards down the corridor. He was old and he warranted the privilege of travelling at his own pace. He waited for none. Those who wished his services may wait for him. He would come when he does, no sooner, no later.

The Ancient One turns around a corner in the cave-like corridor and enters a large hall lighted by huge candles. He glances around his workshop, noting that his companion has curled up by the fireplace. The fire that burns there glows green, casting more brightness into the large room yet not lighting it up completely. No warmth issued from the fireplace, just light, green and fey. He shuffles towards his workbench, muttering some unintelligible words and the light from his staff dies, temporarily casting a dark shadow over his face, a shadow that deepens as he pores over a scroll of ancient oilskin.

He has been having dreams, disturbing dreams. Dreams that would not go away.

The old man rolls up the scroll, tucking it into the hemp cord that surrounds his thin waist. He moves to the shelf-lined walls, peering at the many jars and bottles that are arranged there. He picks some up and returns others, finally settling on a small collection of glassware that he arranges on his workbench. He takes out a large bowl and fills it with the water that drips ceaselessly from the wall, scraping the lip of the bowl up and down the wall's surface as he gathers the abundant moisture. His lips move constantly, reciting unknown incantations and long-forgotten mantras. A mush of assorted fungi cling to the lip of the bowl, forming a dark, moist crust that is pushed into the bowl by gnarled, calloused fingers. Finally, when the bowl is filled to his preferred level, he places it by the fireplace, in the green light of the cold, dancing flames. He goes back to his workbench and measures out certain amounts of the contents of the glass containers on the bench, mixing them all up in an earthenware mortar, grinding the solid mass into fine powder. He shuffles back to the fireplace, and crouches by the bowl of still water, noting with a satisfied nod of his covered head that the fungi had spread out over the water surface forming a pattern of random swirls of varying colors.

He sprinkles some of the ground ingredients onto the water, hissing out a chant of varying pitch. The swirls on the water move, forming runes known only to the Ancient One and his ilk. He grins, a soft cackle escaping his thin lips to fill the otherwise silent room. By his side, his companion stirs, raising its head. Its eyes blink once, twice before it rises to its haunches, yawning wide. The firelight reflects off small yellow fangs, slick with saliva. The Ancient One notices that his companion has awakened and reaches out a gnarled hand to stroke its fur that is as dark as a moonless night.

"My apologies, Little One," he smiled, exposing teeth that are as yellow as the creature's, if not as sharp. "But it is good that you are awake. I have need of your talents." He reaches out and brings the cat-like creature nearer to the bowl. He dips his fingers into the rune-covered water and brushes the liquid over the feline's head, quietly shushing the animal's protests. He gathers the remaining powder from the mortar and sprinkles it in a rough circle around him. He stands up and steps out of the circle, leaving the feline and the bowl enclosed within the ring. The creature sits still, its yellow eyes closed.

The old man stands, suddenly straight, raising his arms, looking towards the fire. His lips move soundlessly. He throws his head back and cries out a string of alien words, syllables that seem at odds with each other and yet seeming to flawlessly flow together like rivulets into a stream.

"Come, Restless One! Let your voice be heard!"

With that last command, the water in the bowl bubbles, splattering onto the floor. The feline's eyes snap open and it lets out a haunting howl of frustration and release as its body begins to blur and fade, replaced by a formless violet haze. The soft violet vapor twists and turns about the small form on the floor as the creature collapses. The vapor that covers the dim figure of the feline begins to coalesce, solidifying yet never reaching complete solidity. Slowly, a humanoid form emerges, one without a distinct face but not featureless.

"Speak! Tell me why you haunt my dreams!" The old one commanded, his voice strong and forceful, the voice of one that has never been defied.

A hollow, distant voice seemed to echo around the dimly lit room. Cold and monotonous, the voice spoke softly but clearly. "Bring me back, old one. Bring me back to this world that I may live again."

"And why should I do that?" the Ancient One asked, slightly surprised at the fearless quality of the spirit's voice. "Why should I bring you back? The affairs of Death should not be meddled with."

"Because you need me. Because I can give you what you seek. I can give you the Third Sight."

The old man started, visibly surprised.

The Third Sight!

The Third Sight was the ability to see the future, an ability that he had coveted for endless centuries. For some, the talent came naturally. For some it could be learnt. He was not privileged enough to be among the former so he had sought to acquire the talent through learning. But he had not been successful. The magicks that he practised had defiled his essence, rendering it impossible for him to acquire this particular talent. And he, the Ancient One, had lived long in this world, had garnered the knowledge of generations, the secrets of the centuries. The Third Sight had eluded him for as long as he could remember and he had an excellent memory. It was a constant thorn in his side. A thorn that refused to be dislodged, constantly nagging him with the knowledge of the one area where he had failed.

"And how would you do that, faceless one?"

A small laugh reverberated through the room. Oddly the cloudy figure too, seemed to shake with barely concealed mirth. "You do not think me so stupid, Old One? I am disappointed." Again the figure laughed. Abruptly, the laughing stopped. "I will give you the secret once you have set me free."

"And if I refuse?"

The figure seemed to shrug, nonchalant. "Then I stay in this limbo, awaiting my predestined time to reappear into the world. Meanwhile, I will plague your dreams and you will lay forever thinking of what you could have had.

"It is your choice, Old One."

The old man smiled cynically. "It is you who ask this boon of me, and yet you threaten me with children's nightmares."

"Children's nightmares? Perhaps...But will you think so in a year's time? Two years?"

"I have lived long. I have seen many things. What makes you think that this childish threat would frighten me?"

"Oh, I do not mean to frighten you, Old One. But can you live on while remembering that what you seek had been offered to you on a silver platter, yet you had refused it?"

The old man remained silent.

"Can you, Old One?"

"Yameru! Enough of this pointless banter! I will grant you your wish but under my conditions."

"Name your price," the voice asked, a hint of victory in its words.

A small, beatific smile lit up the wrinkled, sallow face hidden by the thick folds of the cowl.

"Your soul," he cackled, challenging.

After a tense silence, the voice spoke again. " Can I choose my vessel? And my time?"

"That is a simple matter. All can be arranged," the old man answered, rubbing his hands nervously behind his back. So close, he thought. The third sight *and* a soul! He hadn't seen a bargain like this in over two centuries.

"Done!"

The old man smiled, hardly able to contain his excitement. The bargain was sealed!

E-mail me your comments and C&Cs