Nuvenberg’s incredible qi shielded her from even supernatural manhunting measures.
Yasukuni Avenue was as still as death. Nobody passed this way at night. The rain stopped. The moon came out. Though it too hardly seemed the same, the moonlight swirling around in a smoky specter. As if it was riding on the wind itself.
Which was entirely possible in Demon City.
As were the three mismatched figures standing next to the altar in front of the entrance to Hanazono Shrine, not far from the station.
The first was a naked woman, around five-foot seven. The second was a ten-foot-tall giant with an unnaturally small head. The third was a young man wearing an Inverness topcoat.
The woman’s right hand was secured to one of the columns. She wasn’t moving at all, secured there as if by some invisible power. Another naked woman lay at her feet. Her vacant eyes and incoherent mumblings identified her at a glance as a crazy person.
Fresh steel bound the woman’s wrists to the columns. Add to that the altar, the crazy woman—this all had the stench of some abominable black magic.
Not to mention the remaining two, Siegfried sporting Yamada’s head, and Gento Roran.
“He coming?” Siegfried asked. All the more surprising was his clear articulation. He had on a pair of jeans, but was naked from the waist up.
“Don’t know,” Gento said. “Perhaps tormenting this woman some more will make the time pass faster?”
The words had hardly left his mouth when Azusa writhed in wordless agony, the pain inflicted by the devil wires binding her. She groaned and arched her back, bending so far back as to expose the undersides of her arms, her breasts shaking.
The means invisible to the vacant eye, a crease dented the skin around her left nipple.
“Is Setsura going to show?” Gento said, not looking at her. “Yes?” Blood erupted around the nipple. “Or no?”
The nipple tore away and dropped to her feet. Crimson streaks lined her skin. Gento picked it up and pressed it against her mouth.
“This is yours. Good for nothing but a man’s pacifier. Suck on it yourself.”
Azusa clamped her mouth shut. But soon threw her head back, gasping for air. With a cruel and pitiless determination, Gento shoved in the severed nipple. His white fingers closed over her lips as she tried to spit it out. A trickle of red saliva dribbled from the corners of her mouth.
This was Gento Roran. The same somehow sorrowful young man who had seized Azusa and laid her on the mound and told her to speak with the earth. Growing up for him meant becoming a merciless demon.
Tears spilled from the corners of her eyes.
“Stop it,” came an unexpected voice from above him. Yamada’s head peered down, colored by unbridled disgust.
“Why should I?”
“Rather than tormenting the girl, consider why Setsura might not have arrived at this time. In five minutes, it will be eleven o’clock. And five or six minutes until it shows up. If Setsura doesn’t come, we will be in its sights.”
“Relax. Two servings should be enough.”
“You intend to leave her here?” asked the giant.
Gento glanced up at him with a puzzled expression.
“The woman is still good for something. Take her with you.”
“Hoh. So now you’re the one giving the orders?”
The two stared at each other. Ghastly currents flowed between them, ready to draw fresh blood at the slightest touch.
Gento whirled around. “He showed. I’m not the only naive one out tonight.”
Out of the darkness at the back of Yasukuni Avenue, reaching towards Kabuki-cho, the man casually strode through haunted moonlight, the black slicker as cool as a dream.
“How nice of you to show up,” Gento said, stepping away from Azusa.
Restrained by his accursed wires, the nipple remained in her mouth. Blood stained the underside of her left breast.
His field of vision taking in the entirety of the scene, the expressionless Setsura said, “Let the girl go.”
He was speaking as him.
“Out of the question. I can’t walk away empty-handed.”
“Mayumi-san took flight. From the seventh floor, no less.”
“How about that.”
“Do you think I am lying?”
“No. But if that is indeed the case, I can’t very well return her. A deal is a deal.”
Azusa screamed. The unearthly cry unleashed as her right nipple severed and the drizzle of blood again rained down onto the pavement.
“Move and it’ll be the eyes next. Or maybe even if you don’t. Just watch and don’t raise a fuss.”
“Stop it!” Azusa shouted in a near frenzy.
“Siegfried,” Gento said sharply. “Get to it.”
The giant moved. Toward Azusa. His hands traced a peculiar pattern in the air. Yamada’s Dimensional Blade severed the devil wires. Azusa collapsed to the ground.
“Son of a bitch.”
“Please. I am only doing what you want.”
The giant picked up Azusa and placed her on the altar. Setsura observed this unexpected turn of events without comment.
The giant slowly turned around. The wall of muscle, that enormous mass, swept towards him. A body like that imagined by the ancient Greek sculptors, marred by not a single scar.
The destructive power of the Dimensional Blade, that had twice pushed even Gento Roran to the limits, went without saying. This time, facing off against him and Gento might actually give Setsura the fight of his life.
But then—a shadow passed across the ground, a dark warp in the moonlight. Forgetting their mutual wager with life and death, they raised their heads and looked into the sky.
From somewhere far away a dog howled.
The moonlight swirled like a whirlpool. From within the outlines of the brilliant white orb arose the shape of a large bird, looming ever larger as it streaked toward the ground.
A pair of radiant red eyes, a hooked beak, the fierce beating of its wings reaching thirty feet across. A falcon.
For tonight was the night of the falcon.
Afterword
And so Maohden draws ever closer to the climax.
As things stand now, Gento will go from strength to strength, leaving Setsura in the dust, stuck with his own status quo. Well, we’ll just have to wait for the final volume to find out how he fares.
Meanwhile, the introduction of Magic Town in Takada no Baba lends an increasingly medieval flavor to the tale.
The model here is Prague in the Czech Republic, the center of black magic, occult science and mysticism in the sixteenth century. In fact, an “Alchemists’ Alley” really existed on the grounds of Prague Castle where Rudolf II housed his personal alchemists, astrologers and magicians. There are photographs even, that tell the tale (though probably not taken at the time).
Night and day, smoke of curious color and scents wafting from the old and worn chimneys—human figures moving behind the shaded windows and drawn curtains, carrying out their suspicious experiments—it’s the kind of thing that charges up my imagination as well.
As long as this place remains a figment of the past no tourist can visit; as long as there are junior mad scientists holed up in their basements, suffering the scorn of the modern age while keeping alive these age-old experiments with their crazy-ass theories and techniques; as long as there’s a tabloid press with at least one eye focused on worldly and commercial success—
Or rather, perhaps because of all that, I wanted to bring it back to life, its eerie people and its dark arts. The whole eerie town. A place where I could creep through the spooky shadows, past the stone houses lining the worn cobblestone streets, making my way to outskirts that might not even exist, with only moonlight as my guide—
I suspect I’d have more than a few kindred spirits along for the ride.
I’ve mentioned this in previous essays, but including the time I spent at college, I lived for eight years in Harajuku. The shops and v
enues that stood out in my mind included the Roman confectionery shop; the Leon tea house; The Alex disco; the Mademoiselle Non-non boutique; and the Kiddyland toy store. It made for quite the relaxing stroll.
My apartment was ten steps (literally) off Meiji Avenue. When I stepped out onto the sidewalk, a bookstore and cafe were right there. Slip into a side alley, and at the end was a public bath.
All well and good, but my favorites were the Omotesando residential streets heading toward Aoyama Avenue. Especially at night, a casual stroll to the public bath at the top of the hill was a real delight.
Houses like old castles, stone walls wound with ivy; a silhouette sitting at a desk behind French-style bay doors; houses decorated with stained glass windows; an elegant white mansion. Simply imagining the lives being lived there was like venturing into a different world.
My thoughts during those strolls have now suffused Maohden.
These days, though, far from going on long walks, I’ve become a couch potato for whom having to stand up is an inconvenience. But as long as I’m able to preserve those feelings on the printed page, there’s hope for me yet.
Maohden may ultimately be less about Setsura vs. Gento than a story of Shinjuku.
I haven’t returned to those residential streets I once wandered in my youth, but luckily now I hold the magic of the novel in my hands. After this, please resist the urge to dismiss this as a mere exercise in sentimentality. It’s not that bad.
And now, a few excerpts from the next volume:
The falcon’s bloodshot eyes reflected its red-hot loathing toward all those squirming life forms on the earth below. This was not the product of hunger. This was an otherworldly madness and malice, devoid of those instinctual senses of self-preservation and indifference.
The witch’s right hand moved without appearing to move at all. A presence rustled through the air around them, something that should not be there was. The witch’s disciple. Mephisto’s eyes began to glow with an unnatural light.
The gust of cool wind revealed itself in a slender slash of light. As soon as it twined around a concrete pillar, or a feral dog’s head, or the torso of a passing pedestrian, its sheer speed left only the clean cut behind as they crumpled to the ground. Wherever this wind blew, it left in its wake a field of unrestrained, undifferentiating slaughter. Now this glittering wind was attempting to pass through the whole of Shinjuku.
The stars of the show: Setsura Aki, Doctor Mephisto, Gento Roran. The supporting actors: Azusa Sasaki, Hyota, Mayumi, Galeen Nuvenberg. The writer, director and producer: Hideyuki Kikuchi.
Maohden, Volume 3 concludes an entertaining thrill ride that has surprised even its creator. Don’t miss it!
Hideyuki Kikuchi (while watching Local Hero)
Late in the night of September 25, 1986
Maohden Vol. 2 Page 17