With the remembrance of his identity at long last, Light was no longer held back by reparations of the mind.

He felt freed in a way; freed from his former way of thinking and returned to a way of superior thinking as he envisioned. He was free to do whatever he mostly reckoned as Kira, and that fact alone comforted him in his strange methodology unconventional from the thought patterns of others. Laboring to still change and revolutionize the world, the former occurrences of his past life and the pain that went through his body sent a shock through him, reminding him of the psychosomatic wounds he endured in his past life. Just then, he could remember how he died.

But it felt like a fever dream.

Something bizarre; something that was beyond explicable understanding by someone like him. Unsure of how he died beyond anything else, all that he was sure of was the fact that he was Kira. He was the one who killed the former and, for what he knew, original L. The former L had died at his hands. The thought gave him a bit of pride, but disgust after discovering who he sordidly fell to. 

Near.

The bastard had defeated him, ending his reign. More than that, all the regret associated with his final pouring moments made him realize the defeat that he withstood was meant to cause such seeping, heart-wrenching pain. All directed to him by no other than Near. The thought made him cringe in disgust. That shallow, small detective had defeated him. Shallow was all Light thought of Near. A one-dimensional, selfless and emotionally incoherent and speechless detective who only spoke in terms of an investigation which Light believed he escaped the crosshairs of long ago. 

The very thought of Near defeating him; an idea which transpired in the real, tangible world, pissed off the brilliant, overachieving mind of Light. He was alerted to rage, only intensely staring at his reflection in the bar known as Quindecim, his anger reflected in his passionate eyes. Various other memories associated with his death came pouring into his head. He was in a suit for business.

Business. Not running or jogging. 

But business, and it was as simple as that.

Just business. But what business could he have had at the Yellow Box Warehouse?

Near was the answer.

Near. The scrupulously magnificent child detective had outdone him to the point where he could no longer see what was what; instead, in exchange of any clarity, he only saw Near in the chronological film reel of remembrance. Remembering Near was enough to nearly send him off the edge in a fit of rage, bringing out the ignition of Kira. The ignition of a persona which was lured forth into a tragedy of discordant proportions through the pride, grandeur, and delusions of Light Yagami.

Light shook his head. Remembering what happened in the warehouse ― no, remembering what happened in general shook him with a tense reminder that his power; his temporary lasting sensation of strength and invincibility as Kira was taken away from him; taken away via the doings of another. Via the doings of Near, via the doings of the Special Kira Task Force, via the doings of the Japanese Task Force, and via the doings of his own father, who had passed, marking in an important turn of events after his blatant lie to his own father about not being Kira. About not being the very person who killed hundreds upon hundreds of people with the power of a notebook; about not being the very person whose heart was lacking of any raw connection, any raw fiber of attachment to be honest and genuine with Misa Amane, about not being the very person who was secretly plotting to kill the original, former, and admittedly murky detective known as L. 

His thoughts were scattered across the place, and he could not remember the specifics of why he ran; of why he ran across the rooftops, certain to escape, but not guaranteed as the sounds of pursuing voices followed after him. He could remember his cause of death, but not the specific moments that led up to his undoing in the tangible, physical world. Not the specific; bare, dry moments that led to his complete and utter defeat; not the moments that had turned him into a bloody, defeated and virtually useless, begging incarnate of his former self pleading not to die. He could remember his heart seizing up suddenly, proving to be useless against the supernatural control of the Death Note. 

And alas, he died suddenly.

A heart attack.

The heart attack sent him to his current situation. Immersed in the labyrinth of a place known as Quindecim with a history that he could only dream of knowing, Light Yagami quickly regained concentration, simultaneously locking eyes with Decim, who seemed to be intently staring at him during his moments of contemplation spent looking at an intense reflection of himself.

Silence was exchanged between the two. Neither side said anything for a moment, not even breaking a word to one another or exchanging an alternative glance to the side for a moment even as Decim washed glassware absently. Eye contact eventually vanished on Light's end for a moment, dispersing as he returned to gazing at his own reflection. He was still struggling in piecing it all together. But the psychosomatic wounds persisted, forcing him to eventually come falling apart at last. He slammed his fist against the desk, coming apart and hinging at the jaws, a tinge of pain enough to drive him insane. His hands gripped at the sides of his hair as the pain was enough to split his conscious mind apart.

Light Yagami: "...This... pain!"

Decim: "...Are you okay?"

Decim asked, stopping his wash of the glassware at the sink of Quindecim with an interrogative glance from his blue, calm eyes of serenity seemingly remaining undisturbed by the outward disturbance generated by Light's deviation from a state of silent anger to outward rage and suffering. The psychosomatic pains persisted for a moment longer, forcing Light to maintain a strained, stressed expression relaying emotions of crucial, crushing proportions as his world came tearing and splitting apart at the moment, undergoing an elaborate deconstruction from the pain which coursed through his body. Light lost grip on the reality around him as gunshots went flying through the air followed by the puncturing of a bullet and the sound of shells falling to the floor. It was in the past. The far past. A past Light could still remember if he concentrated hard enough on the details that mattered.

Shot.

He was shot.

With each bullet that hit him, his body contorted and purported to another stature, causing him to fall back slowly. A splash of dry, murky water sounded with Light's collision with the ground of the Yellow Box Warehouse as he saw surrounding familiar operatives; the investigators of the Japanese Task Force, seemingly watching in sheer disbelief of the events transpiring before their very eyes as a silhouette of a figure continued to fire before withholding. Steps followed after as the gun in the very hand of the attacker aimed down with the tracking of accompanying footsteps. The barrel of the gun reconciled itself towards Light's face, gleaming in the skylight of the Yellow Box Warehouse as if a reminder of his impending fate; his impending doom at the hands of the very detective he underestimated most.

Touta Matsuda.

Death awaited him at the looks of it. He could feel the nearness of death regardless. Even if Matsuda didn't shoot, even if Light found the strength to produce the vocals needed to beg for his life, he would likely need to escape the other operatives that he conned relentlessly; conned with the knowledge that he was lying. Conned with the knowledge that he was dishonest, cheating, and fleeting of them all; deceptive enough to constantly lie and outsmart them through the utilization of supernatural forces little could bear to understand aside from the brilliant mind of the original and former L. That included the original. The one that he tuned out; the one that drove him to a profound anger and simultaneous pride altogether. He tried to subside anger and pride. He tried to subvert it to beg.

But he couldn't. No sound aside from muttered cries left him. Any second now, he could die then, feeling the stakes in the present. But the chronological film reel ended there as Light eventually returned to his senses as if mandated by force, a voice calling out to him.

Decim: "...Hello?"

His hinging, poorly balanced and poorly established position on the table of the bar-resembling setting known as Quindecim changed and he found himself back to the norm. Back to the norm of reality more or less.

Back to how things should've been, he supposed. Waiting.

Light Yagami: "I'm... I'm fine, sorry."

Decim: "Understood. What would you like?"

Light Yagami: "...I'm fine for now. Thanks for the offer."

Decim: "...Very well. There remains something to be discussed pertaining to you elsewhere. Please wait here. I'll be right back."

Decim lightly informed, turning around.

Light Yagami: "...Yeah. Got it."

Light said, shaking his head. He was fine, right? Perfectly fine. He could hold it together. Just like old times. He could hold it together and not crumble. Not break just like he had in the past.

. . . 

A mysterious, shadowed figure in the dark elsewhere in the cornerstones of the mysterious realm; the mysterious place which Light seemed to reside conversed discreetly with colleagues at a roundtable shrouded in darkness. Normally, in the conditions imposed in a situation similar to the one the subject, Light Yagami was in, the subject would be required to be judged by an Arbiter to be sent back to the lands from which they came as a reincarnated duplicate of what they were, or into the eternal void of nothingness. Light Yagami's methodology of killing, though, was unprecedented. Under the sanctimonious guise of godhood under Kira, he had come to kill thousands of people during his yearly-exceeding reign.

One rule that was taken into account was the fact that the user of the notebook after explanation was incapable of going to Heaven or Hell to be judged; the two dimensions practically failed to exist in the uncovered rules of the notebook. And whereas the concept of Heaven and Hell juxtaposed in comparison and contrasting of their details and existing features, the existing premise of reincarnation and purgatory could be thought of to be the same in Quindecim in essentiality.

The Shinigami Realm had been a subject of small visitations or discussions. Shinigami, quaint, undead but not quite alive or conventionally existing creatures were observed to be the ones distributing the notebooks around, earning the interest of Arbiters and alike as well as the administration committee conversing with the obscured figure of a man that was not revealed in shape nor form precisely, only taking on the appearance of a shadow.

???: "...So, we know the new visitor can't be judged conventionally, and we certainly don't want someone of that capacity to be in our court. But I suggest a good recommendation would perhaps be assessing Light's usefulness and sharpness from a distance."

All surrounding voices seemed to come up, expressing agreement with the idea.

. . .

By then, Decim had come back to talk to Light Yagami. Light idly looked around Quindecim, examining his surroundings with a glint of passion in his eye for wrongdoing of some kind; some form of deception now that he was aware of Kira. His eyes were called back when he saw Decim's mouth move, signaling that the pasty-skinned and strangely calm bartender was speaking to him.

Decim: "Do you still not remember anything of your arrival here?"

Light Yagami: "Not... not really, no."

Light lied. He did remember something of his arrival. In the small time he'd been in Quindecim, he recognized the circumstances prior to his death. Light began analyzing the bartender after the casual departure of a life from his mouth, suspecting that the bartender was oblivious to the truth. He probably was.

Decim: "...Interesting."

Decim, by then, had finished washing the glassware, and began to dry any splotches of water or drink left on the countertop, removing it with the pang of natural efficiency. He seemed to move at a natural, indifferent pace as Light observed, turning a blind eye to follow suite with his illusion of oblivious behavior.

Decim: "I've had a few guests like yourself before. One of them, a female, experienced long-term amnesia. She became my assistant thereafter for a short time."

Light felt the temptation to ask something, but held his silence, brainstorming on what to say next before hearing the sound of a door open.

A tall man with aggressive eyes and reddish hair revealed himself from one of the openings of Quindecim's bar-like atmosphere, tanned skin gleaming in the dim lighting of the bar as he walked forward, accompanied by a wounded cat. The man, named Ginti, seemed to be an Arbiter. He approached Light Yagami with an aggressive strut, seemingly using his imposing build to look down on the arrival to the realm.

Light Yagami: "...Is there something I can help you with?"

Ginti: "You look a lot more different than I expected. Does a psychopath such as yourself ever feel remorse for his victims?"

Light Yagami: "...Huh? I have no idea what you're talking about. It's customary for a stranger to give their name before addressing someone else."

Decim: "He's right, Ginti. The same is expected of yourself, no less whether you're an Arbiter or someone here to get judged like him."

Light Yagami: "...Oh, Ginti's your name, huh? Well, my name's..."

Ginti: "Oh, I know who you are, alright. You're Kira. So many humans have been dying because of you and your pathetic little pursuit of justice. There's not enough Arbiters or general personnel to deal with the humans in the bank of those that have died and passed nor is there enough time to put up with your shenanigans, so let me set one thing straight!"

Light Yagami: "...Huh? What are you talking about?"

Decim: "Ginti, you've just broken the code of conduct by revealing that. He doesn't remember anything yet."

Ginti: "...Why should I care about the code of conduct when we're speaking to a mass murderer here? You and I know better than anyone else that this deceptive piece of shit probably knows what I'm talking about better than anyone else."

Once again, another lie from Light awaited. His face seized up with visible shock at the forefront of the accusations which pelted upon his frame, the words of weight carrying considerable meaning to Light Yagami as Ginti conveyed feelings of intense contempt upon him. Light believed his existence even in a realm that he supposed to be a variant of the afterlife would bring the same pain and suffering he experienced in the Human World moments before his death, bursting up from his bar stool with sweat dribbling down the side of his face, visibly agitated.

Light Yagami: "I'm not Kira! I never killed anyone. Where's the exit? I'm leaving this place!" Light scrawled around desperately, trying to find a route to leave.

Decim: "I'm afraid you can't. Once one has departed from the land of the living, they cannot return to that land even if their will exceeds everything else that comes before them. You are eternally condemned to this form of existence."

Ginti: "...Delusional. Just like I expected. Either that, or just lying to save his own skin. If it were in my own hands, I'd..."

Decim: "He's blinded to the reality of the situation. Clearly, he doesn't seem to know what went on, Ginti, so calm down."

Decim urged, arousing further anger from Ginti for a moment. But alas, the reddish haired and brute Arbiter calmed down, resisting from taking out any decries of force upon the liar before him whose sweat beads pinched on the cheeks in the absence of any moisture to cling onto, dribbling down and splashing against the floor, seemingly a dead giveaway of some sort of fear from Light Yagami. Was it fear of the prospect of being trapped? Was it for fear of really being Kira?

Ginti stared at him for a moment, still distrusting him.

Ginti: "Great. Now I'm gonna get an earful from Oculus. I'll just say for the record that this bastard deserved to get shot by that police officer. Alright?"

Decim: "That's enough. The Special Arbiters and other senior officials will be arriving soon to give their judgment on the present party."

Light Yagami: "...Offic..."

The memories started to flood back briefly. He could see only a portion of the aforementioned officer's face in his vision, remembering that he was confronted with the reconciliation of a gun's barrel pointing downward, sufficiently reloaded and ready to discharge a bullet that could blow his fragile mind apart in less than a second. On the floor, bruised and bleeding, Light had no choice but to squirm, looking up to the ceiling in a paralyzed frame of mind.

Matsuda. Matsuda. He could remember the rushed words, the swing of all the hatred and consummate rage onto him when he turned it all onto his father, Soichiro Yagami, Chief Director of the National Police Agency, intending to justify his actions. Had he known his words would end him in such an undesirable and unenviable position nearing on the verge of death, he would've kept silent. 

All those years of breezing through and clearing all suspicions came to be allotted to a total waste for his incompetence and brief period of brashness approaching the inconspicuous child known as Near and the insidious suspicion surrounding his circumstances with the Japanese Task Force and general law enforcement. 

As powerful as the Kira name had come to be, getting shot so many times made Light realize the crippling inability of his name; his title. Kira was portrayed as more powerful than he could ever be as the individual man or as a general human. In all practicality, the power of being praised as something equivalent to a deity; to an entity capable of doing things man could only dream of doing or conceive through the subconscious was appealing to Light, driving his pride and egomania since the very beginning.

Light opened his mouth to give some protest of some sort, but the sound of an elevator coming up in the compartmentalized bar took his attention, forcing him to look the other way. An isolatory elevator operator referred to as Clavis by Decim revealed himself with the presence of an unnamed figure, reporting the physical characteristics of Light from a distance as soon as the elevator opened as if by automatic interference.

Unknown: "Visual identification confirmed. This must be the real Light Yagami."

Light Yagami: "...Huh? Who are you?"

Unknown: "...That's not important. I am the party who will act as a messenger from two Special Arbiters who will be responsible for coming to the result of judging you in the near future. You see, you're Kira. The accusations are true, and you are a mass murderer who has killed thousands of people. However, as of recent actions, it appears the properties of this realm have caused you to relinquish most or if not all of your memories and interactions as Kira or more specifically memories about the note, which have changed your outlook dramatically."

Light Yagami arched a brow, thinking deeply for a moment.

Light Yagami: (...Wait a minute. They think I've relinquished every memory of the Death Note, huh? That's clearly not the case. I just remembered what happened not too long ago.)

Unknown: "Anyhow, we are in a situation where our standards of judgment cannot conform to you. Without direct contact with the Death Note, your memories cannot return to you as we've discovered, which means that your life's record is only half-complete in an Arbiter's selective criteria. If you pass the tests, you may stay here."

Light Yagami: "...Tests? What if I recall my forgotten memories? What happens then?"

Unknown: "It'll all become clear later. As for you recalling your memories, it wouldn't matter. The rules of the Death Note forbid for any user to go to Heaven or Hell. You cannot be reincarnated. You are stuck between the abstracts of life and death, which is extraordinarily rare. Special provisions have been formulated for you, however. Your body is in perfect shape. It cannot deteriorate  or be destroyed by the effects of age. You will become an Arbiter and weigh judgment upon others."

Light Yagami: "...So, what you're telling me is that I'm dead. I'm... I'm really just dead?"

Light asked to make sure and reassure any second questions or doubts, tense, nervous, and unsure.

Decim: "Yes. You are dead."