The Art of Subconscious Illusion: Rewritten (Death NotexHouse, MD crossover)

Demons

Full Summary: The rewritten version of the original well-loved fic, this portrays the story of the fight between House the diagnostician and the mental patient who calls himself Kira. One week is all that is allotted for him and his team to save Kira from the world and himself…and House's neck is on the line.

A/N: Here you are, another chapter of AoSI: R! I know this one is a little odd, but to tell the truth, the plans are very vague at around this part. Then again, I’m still with it enough to note the slight irony at the speech Light made in chapter 3 and the events of chapter 8. If you can spot it, you get a prize.

For the most part, I’ve been working on the new crossover that I mentioned in the Author’s Note of last chapter. It’s a crossover of Death Note and House of Night, and already it has eleven chapters! It’s fully planned, too, so I know exactly how it’s going to go (unlike with this one). While I’m gonna try and have that crossover (named ‘NoHoper’, if you want to read it) finished before the end of December, this one will take a little longer than that, sorry. What’s more, I’ve been daydreaming too much about the sequel I’m planning, but that won’t be around until I’ve finished all of my current fics, of course (sort of like a first generation and second generation thing).

I’m rambling again, so do just enjoy this new chapter of AoSI: R!

Chapter IX

Demons

September 9th 2006

Day 3

He hadn’t noticed it until now, but he was… cold. Bitterly cold.

In and of itself, that should’ve been strange and alarming, but he couldn’t bring himself to react or even show a reaction, not at all. He could barely move an inch; he could barely speak for soreness; his limbs weakened far beyond manageable capacity. There was much he wanted to do right now: Destroy the camera being thrust in his face; demand clothing; even scratch his nose, but he couldn’t summon the strength for anything, practically imprisoned.

He was on that spiral again, the one that ended at the bottom of the abyss, the oubliette with a secret window open, letting in the light. He’d crawl through it, suddenly gaining the energy to run, energy he squandered on himself to bad ends.

But… he wasn’t at that point yet. The hands were still passing him down to the bottom, squeezing at his neck, his wrists, only to hand him the tools of destruction. He’d tried to resist that first time, but no longer. Even if an effort was made to fight, it was amazing how no one noticed the change that would beset him, the way never thought to ask after him during those dark times…

…No, why think that? It’s not surprising at all. His masks are usually so good, so deceptive, or were… until they shattered and broke.

Earlier… (Was it really yesterday? The days were beginning to overlap…) he was in a different kind of oubliette, one that spun out of control, where the energy stabbed into him and he wanted to reel in confusion. The darkness was still there, and the thoughts remained, spinning and weaving, crushing and flowing.

Why do you go on living like this? You’re a nuisance to the world! What right have you to save it?!

Go ahead, no one will mind. Mother… Father… This is destroying them; you can see it in their eyes. The way they look at you, the way they look at each other. If you don’t, then they will, you know that for sure.

What’s wrong? She won’t know, she won’t stop you; she won’t even be there until it’s too late to stop!

This world doesn’t deserve you, doesn’t deserve your intellect, your strength, your martyrdom.