“As if you would understand,” Kyoya said peevishly, lying down on the ground. And yet, the way the corners of his mouth turned up, he was not as put out as he might pretend.
“Anyway—”
“I’m going with you.”
“You don’t get it, do you? I’m saying you’re a burden I don’t want to carry around.”
“That’s because you care about me. Think of me as the air. Do whatever you want as if I wasn’t there. I’ll be your shadow, never getting in your way. I’m an Aikido three-dan. And I’ve got this laser ring. Any monsters or gangsters show up and I can take care of myself.”
“Look here—”
“Besides, any time you spend trying to send me back is time wasted. Especially if I resist.”
“You, resist?” Kyoya said, his eyes widening.
“That’s why I’m asking you to let me go with you. I can’t shut myself away in some safe place while my father is in such dire straits.”
Sayaka’s eyes glistened. The old saying was no less true here and now—no man could resist the tears of a beautiful woman.
Kyoya sighed. “Fine. Do whatever.”
“Oh! Thank you!”
Suddenly she was right there, with her sixteen-year-old lithesome limbs circled around his neck. The supple warm softness of her breasts pressed against his back.
Kyoya flushed and jerked around. “Idiot! This is hardly the time or place for that!”
Sayaka was only wearing her bra and panties, making her buxom dimensions plain as day. “Don’t look!” she shrieked, like any normal sixteen-year-old. She blushed bright red and ran back behind the wall.
“Um, ah, you all right?” Kyoya stammered, then said more forcefully, “You coming along is your decision, so don’t go looking for sympathy. Start complaining or whining, and we’re through. One more thing: if any of those chaps from the Information Bureau come for you, they’re getting no argument from me. You’re all theirs.”
Sayaka smiled and nodded. “Yes, but I left a message for Yamashina saying not to come looking for me. If it came out that I was in Shinjuku, and if anything should happen to me here, they’d likely be held responsible by the press, so I am quite sure they’ll do nothing.”
“That’s all?” Kyoya said doubtfully. “You’ll just leak it to the tabloids, that’s all?”
“Um, no.” Sayaka mulled over the right way to put it. “Rather, ah, words to the effect that if push came to shove, it might lead to demotions and budget cuts and the like.”
For a moment, Kyoya stared at her cherubic countenance. Then he blurted out, “Man, I so do not want to get on your bad side.”
The moaning and maledictions filled the gloom of the Sorcerer’s hideout. Suiki writhed on the cold floor, hand pressed against his eye. The tip of the needle jutted out from between his fingers. The psychic energy Kyoya had concentrated in his “needlework nenpo” hadn’t only ruined his eye, but had shot clean through it and was now impossible to extract.
“You not only didn’t destroy the boy, he killed your demon fish, wounded you, and took our hostage. You have the gall to slink back here, a dishonorable fool. Well, you should suffer a while longer.”
The merciless voice resounded from the darkness, the voice of the Sorcerer. But different than before, suffused with a ghastly demonic energy that made the flailing Suiki forget his suffering for a second, start, and look around.
“Forgive me, Lord Sorcerer. I will have my revenge. But it hurts. Not only my eye, my whole body burns. Kyoya Izayoi, this is a grudge that will never be buried between us.”
“Yes. Never. You will extinguish him before he finds us. Can you do that? Can you swear to me, Suiki?”
“I swear. Upon my life and existence in the Demon Realm. Do something about this needle!”
A moment of silence. Then harsh laughter. “Fine. Come to the operating table.”
Suiki stumbled to the back of the shadowed room. An operation was underway. Bathed in the blinking light from the computer displays, the machines silently executed the program.
The results of the operation lay upon the altar. Inside the glimmering pale mannequin that housed the soul was a skeleton of specialized metal alloy construction. What appeared to be a variety of electrical components were secured to the surrounding banks of machines by thousands of conduits and electronic synapses and translucent tubes.
Now and then, the light of the “soul” dimmed, and the low computerized voice reciting the incantations spilled forth from the speakers, breathing life back into it.
This was a Demon Realm surgery, executed by the program in the computer’s memory according to the haunting incantations, sans the blood transfusion equipment, cardiotonic steroids, life-support systems—all of the usual medical essentials.
“Come.”
Drawn by the supremely confident command, Suiki approached a corner of the operating table. The charcoal black skeleton grew transparent—or rather, the dark arms coiled around the pale soul rose from the table. The steel fingers clamped around the end of the needle in Suiki’s eye and without any resistance pulled it out.
Suiki backed away with a fearful-sounding howl. He and his fellow demons didn’t follow the Sorcerer because his powers exceeded theirs. The beings summoned to this world must bow down to he who summoned them—a law that had existed since ancient times. But now it was clear to him that the dead Sorcerer lying on the altar before him possessed powers that indeed surpassed theirs.
With a ping, the Sorcerer tossed the twisted needle onto the floor. “Is Kaki present?”
“I am here.” Kaki emerged from the darkness.
“Accompany Suiki and find the boy and the girl. They needn’t be killed. Until my surgeries are finished, they must not come to this location.”
Implying that once the operation was complete, he wouldn’t mind how or when they attacked.
“Understood. I will once again take control of the girl’s shadow.” A rare note of anger rang in the normally stoic Kaki’s voice. Saying that Kyoya needn’t be killed was the same as saying that they couldn’t kill him. “Suiki, though, is of no use. He will stay behind and perform bodyguard duties.”
The sound of Suiki grinding his teeth in reaction to the harsh disdain could clearly be heard.
“No. Even having disposed of the sword containing his father’s psychic powers, he remains a frightening wielder of the nenpo arts. He may be honing those skills even as we speak. Including today, there are three more days before its appearance in the world. My operation will likely take that long. During that period, he absolutely cannot be permitted to step within these precincts. You will combine your forces in its defense. Of course, if he can be defeated, nothing would be more appreciated.”
A smile sneaked into that last sentence.
A ball of flame expanded, lighting up the inky darkness. “Let’s go, Suiki. Don’t forget her shadow.”
“Understood.”
The two demon sprites departed, and the mutterings of the dead man in the midst of the pitch black seemed to trail after them. “The powers of the Demon Realm are gathering. As things stand now, it might not have been necessary to deprive him of his wooden sword after all.”
Kyoya and Sayaka found themselves in the middle of the marketplace plaza.
They’d first sought out the taxi stand the hotel owner had told them about. Not only were there no taxies, but all of the shops had lowered their shutters. The streets were empty of pedestrian traffic.
When Sayaka had wandered through earlier in her hypnotic trance, the place had been packed. Something unexpected must have happened in the meantime. Had they been experienced residents of Shinjuku, they likely would have smelled trouble in the air and kept their distance. But they were in a hurry, and Sayaka didn’t remember a thing about the last time she’d been here.
“Maybe it’s a shopping holiday.”
“Maybe,” said Sayaka, perusing the map Kyoya had entrusted to her. “What if we cut through the mark
et to Shin-Okubo station? We might be able to hail a taxi there.”
And so the two of them ended up at what had once been Shin-Okubo station. The mountains of rubble along the High Street cleared away to form a one-hundred-fifty-foot diameter plaza. The borders of the plaza were crowded with people.
“What’s going on? Looks like an open air rave,” Sayaka said.
“Nothing like that. I smell death in the air. This must be why all the shops are closed. Wait here for a second.”
Kyoya slipped into the crowd. Mumbling, “Excuse me, excuse me,” he made his way to the front. Two yakuza gangs were staring each other down from either end of the plaza, ten or so to each side. Cradling old-type laser rifles and shotguns, they trash-talked each other, each trying to provoke the other.
In each gang were five far quieter types, radiating a killer vibe that the rest couldn’t begin to match. Kyoya’s attention was drawn to them. He said to the three-eyed mutant standing next to him, “Looks like trouble to me, like it’s gonna end up in a duel, eh?”
“That’s what I figure too. Hey, new face. Haven’t seen you around these parts before.”
“You know your turf.”
“I remember who’s been to the market even once. These eyes, you see.”
The man pointed at his forehead. The bright and clear third eye winked at him. It seemed the equivalent of a photographic memory.
“Best you not go wandering around. There are folks around here who like nothing better than picking fights with outsiders, you know?”
Despite his grotesque appearance, he seemed a friendly man. He had a newspaper stuck in the back pocket of his trousers. It was a daily tabloid detailing important events in Shinjuku and commercial activities in the markets. A few pages, but taking the concept of “freedom of the press” to its limits, seeing no problem with running ads from contract killers, for example. Though the location of the press was a closely-guarded secret.
“Strange situation. Can you clue me in on how it’s going down? The bunch over there, typical street gang, right?”
The man nodded. “The fat lady on the right, she leads the Hippopotamus Group. The skinny one on the left with the long neck, the Praying Mantis clan. They’ve been struggling for control of this market for a long time. And today, all of a sudden, things suddenly hit the boiling point.”
“Completely out of the blue?”
“From what I’ve heard, sometime around noon, Yoshiko—she’s the head hippo of the Hippopotamus Group—hit on some girl younger and prettier than her. A bad habit of hers. Well, this girl had some moves on her, and four or five of Yoshiko’s henchmen got sucked into the earth right before her eyes. Rumors had been floating around that the Praying Mantises put a couple of high power espers on the payroll. So she must have concluded the girl was one of them. The Hippos have been hiring espers for themselves too. This showdown was a long time coming.”
“Scary,” said Sayaka behind him. She sounded truly unnerved. “To think that a girl could suck people into the earth. It sounds more like that demon.”
“It sure does.” Kyoya nodded. For the time being, her ignorance was her strength. “But an esper battle sounds interesting. What? We can spare a few minutes.”
“Yes. Ah, it’s started.”
The first contestants from the two groups proceeded to the center of the plaza. The Hippo’s esper was a short, stocky middle-aged man. The Mantises sent in a tall and gangly guy, skin and bones. Also middle-aged. In fact, aside from their ages, the rest of the espers tended to physically resemble the gangs they represented.
Kyoya wondered aloud, “What, do espers fall into the tall and skinny category and the short and fat category?”
Sayaka said, “No, I think it all comes down to the leader’s predilections. They seek out their own. Birds of a feather.”
“Makes sense.”
Kyoya thought it a dumb theory, though when Sayaka said it with a serious face, it was hard not to take seriously.
The buzzing crowd unexpectedly quieted. The stocky esper crossed his arms in front of his chest. The gangly one made a sign with his fingers. The paranormal battle had begun.
The eyes of the skinny esper flashed with an incandescent fire. Twin rays of heat penetrated the stocky esper’s chest. People in the crowd behind him hit the dirt as the rays flashed over their heads and smashed into a nearby shop. The esper’s chest and the shop burst into magnesium-white flames.
The beams projected by the skinny esper’s eyes reached three hundred thousand degrees. But though his clothes were engulfed with fire, a smile broke out on the chubby man’s face. His right hand reached in the direction of his opponent. A bright red beam sprang from a device attached to his wrist.
It plunged into the skinny esper’s forehead. He gurgled. The light died in his eyes. Smoke pouring from the hole in his head, he crumpled to the ground. A decisive victory. A murmur ran through the crowd.
“What just happened?” Sayaka asked in an emotional voice. “The tall one’s heat ray struck first.” Though she could retain her composure regardless of what straits she found herself in, the death and suffering of others was another matter entirely.
“The fastest is not always the most effective. Look.” Kyoya pointed at the chubby man, who was slapping out the fires consuming his clothes. His chest was burned, but the flesh beneath wasn’t even scratched. “He’s a defensive player. That’s where his true powers lie. The cells of his body can probably repair themselves as quickly as they’re destroyed. Like one of those regenerating hydras. Cut one in two and you end up with two. His cells must do the same kind of thing. Cut off his head, stab him in the heart, as long as some cells remain they’ll grow a new head or fill in the hole. Then he delivers the shot with the laser gun on his wrist. When fighting an esper who’s all offense and no defense, that’s enough.”
Nodding in response to Kyoya’s explanation, Sayaka looked intensely at the plaza. Another two mounted the stage. Again, a fat man and a tall guy. These two were in their twenties.
An invisible aura of death and destruction crossed between them. Without a sound, the fat one exploded from within like a popping kernel of corn. Almost simultaneously, the tall one split apart from the crown of his head down to his waist. The tall guy’s psychokinesis blew up the fat guy at the same time the fat guy’s psychokinesis cut him in two. From this vantage point, the arrangement of the tall guy’s internal organs were as visible as in an autopsy, though the surface was as smooth as glass and not a drop of blood spilled out.
The citizens of Demon City barely raised a collective eyebrow at the grisly deaths of the two espers. Certainly no one would shed a tear for them.
“Stop it, please!”
Sayaka momentarily forgot where she was and ran into the plaza, too quickly even for Kyoya to stop her. The espers and the crowd watched her utterly incongruous entrance in amazed silence.
“I do not know the reason, but you cannot continue these gruesome struggles!”
Sayaka’s plea was filled with anger and grief. Tears that did not flow when thinking about her father struggling at death’s door ran down her cheeks, glittering in the sunlight. Three lives had been lost before her eyes, and nobody had done anything to intercede, a spectacle that she could not abide.
Sayaka stood in the middle of the plaza and called compassionately, “No matter what your differences, killing each other is no solution. This must cease now. Don’t you treasure the life your parents gave you?” She examined the two gangs, and then turned to the crowd. “Why didn’t you do anything to stop it? It is a tragedy for any life to be lost for any reason. Do you enjoy watching such heartless murders take place?”
“Whaddya think? Of course we do!” came an answer from the crowd. “Quit raining on the parade.”
Laughter followed. “Take a hike, kid. Or take off your clothes.”
The laughter grew louder. A shadow like a small thunderhead stepped forward from the Hippopotamus Group. Yoshiko Kokonoe’s narrow
eyes filled with cruel glee.
“I thought I recognized your face. You’re that girl from before. Hey, everybody, this one’s a Praying Mantis esper!”
A rustle shot through the throngs like a strong wind through a field. The Praying Mantis boss yelled back angrily, “Don’t listen to that crap! She’s got nothing to do with us!”
“Playing dumb, eh? Fine. You and me will settle this later. For now, let’s see her true colors.”
She nodded at one of the remaining espers. With a roar of wind, Sayaka’s blouse and bra sheared off and floated away like chaff. She shrieked and crouched down. Claps and cat calls followed.
“Stop!” she said.
She meant Kyoya, who was about to charge into the fray. But it had the effect of halting the whistles and cheers for a minute.
Sayaka stood proud and straight. The exposed upper half of her body—hands pressed against her generous chest—trembled slightly, her white skin flushing red. She was a sixteen-year-old girl. There was no way she wouldn’t feel abashed.
A muted commotion stirred the air as Sayaka lowered her hands, exposing her breasts—large for her slender frame and tinged by bashfulness—to the crowd.
Not a hoot, not a jeer. A bold act of will for such an unworldly girl. Sayaka’s strange show of determination and courage struck the hearts of the unruly onlookers.
“Is this enough to get you to stop fighting?” she asked softly. Her desire to save the lives of the espers was the only thing that kept her from fainting dead on her feet.
Commendable, Princess, Kyoya murmured to himself. Coming here was worth it after all, if for her sake alone.
Sayaka called out again, the earnest expression on her face not faltering in the least, “If this will not mollify you, then I will bare the rest as well. Please, at the least, cease your fighting.”
The crowds, the gangs, all looked on silently. The hulking, menacing form of Yoshiko turned to the espers and shrieked, “What do you think you’re doing? Strip her naked! Shame her to death!” But the espers didn’t move. “Shit! You’re gonna let this brat play you all for fools?”
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