With his particularly strong regrets, he was transformed by the unearthly winds, becoming a physical manifestation of all those grudges and regrets, with his beloved bike mowing down everyone he found wandering there. In the end, possessed by maledictions of the slaughtered dead, the mad blood condemned him to hunt down new victims until the end of eternity.
“How tragic.” Sayaka’s tears fell onto the helmet.
A moment later, she gasped. Joy flooded her features. The bloody, immovable helmet loosened slightly. Kyoya stood up, a disbelieving expression on his face.
“They—they disappeared. All of them—gone.” Happiness suffused the rider’s voice. He grasped Sayaka’s arm with a hand clad in a worn leather glove. “Thank you. Thank you. Now I can truly die and leave this accursed place. You should leave quickly as well.”
“First there’s something I’d like to ask you,” Kyoya said, coming to his side. “Do you know where that pan-dimensional thing called the coin purse disgorges its contents in the DMZ?”
The rider gestured with his right hand toward Chuo Park. “The library in the forest. Near there. But be careful. The forest is home to nests of haunted creatures and angry ghosts far stronger than what you’ll find here.”
“Thank you,” said Kyoya, from the bottom of his heart. “I am very grateful to you.”
Strength seemed to seep out of the rider’s body. “No—problem. You—could I get your name?”
“Sayaka.”
“A name like a pleasant breeze. A good name. My name is—”
His voice stopped. His hand fell to the ground. The ghost rider had finally earned his eternal rest. His head in her lap, Sayaka hadn’t moved the whole time. Kyoya looked on with a sense of awe.
The espers in the market plaza—this vengeful ghost rider—the girl’s touch turned evil to good. Perhaps as much could be expected from the daughter of a “holy man,” but a valuable gem in any case. Perhaps her touch could transform even Demon City.
A little while later, Sayaka quietly got to her feet. “What if we removed the helmet?”
“The curse seems to have been broken. I think he would want to sleep like this.”
“You’re probably right.”
Kyoya’s eyes were drawn to the bike. At some point it’d become covered with red rust. The bike was following the rider to the grave.
“There’s some open space over there. We can bury him and the rest of the remains. After that, we’d better go back inside the building. The night around here is too dangerous to go running around. We’ll wait until morning.”
That was when Sayaka noticed their surroundings were wrapped in a falling dusk. The stars of autumn twinkled in the darkening sky. Unaware, the time had slipped past six.
Filling in the grave, Sayaka appealed to Kyoya, “Please don’t tell me to go again.”
“I couldn’t do that to the person who saved my life. Besides, I don’t think it’d do any good.”
“Thanks!” she said, throwing her arms around his neck.
“Yow!” Kyoya grunted. The bruises from the chain on his neck were still raw, as were the scrapes and road burns on his back.
“S-sorry. Those wounds look bad. They need to be treated.”
“I’m okay. Wherever we camp out tonight, we should be able to find a first aid station. Albeit thirty years old. So, where shall we stay?”
Sayaka looked in the direction that Kyoya seemed to be avoiding. “Isn’t that a hotel over there?” The Keio Plaza Hotel, the lingering effects of the auto-suggestion machine.
“Ah,” Kyoya said hesitantly.
“Let’s stay there. I’m good at lullabies.”
“Lullabies? Who’s gonna listen to them?”
“You.”
Kyoya glared at her. “You plan on sharing a room?”
An awfully prim-sounding question for a guy who’d cop a feel whenever it struck his fancy.
“Sure.” Sayaka nodded and smiled. “Shall we get going? No? If worst comes to worst and we’re in separate rooms, our actions would likely be compromised.”
“You’ve got a point.”
“Don’t worry about me. I can sleep anywhere. I don’t care if you snore or grind your teeth or anything. Won’t bother me.”
“And who exactly do you think’s gonna be doing those things?”
Sayaka pouted, looking positively crestfallen. Kyoya burst out laughing. The same girl who in the midst of a hotel turned into a demonic sea had laughed at his jokes now sulked at an inconsequential aside. He couldn’t resist the delightful juxtaposition of images in his mind.
Still looking clueless, Sayaka managed a small smile.
“Yeah, it doesn’t suit you. Well, the presidential suite? But separate beds.”
Hurrying along the darkening streets to the hotel, Kyoya felt a dark and growing gloom gathering in the pit of his stomach. Monsters and vengeful ghosts were waiting in the forest. And yet his nenpo would be fully constrained for the next day. What weighed on his mind all the more was the time he had left to save the president. Two days, max.
That night, they stuffed their stomachs with canned food from the restaurant pantries. And yet lying on the king-size bed in the five-room luxurious presidential suite, couldn’t sleep a wink.
The next morning, walking from the hotel to Chuo Park—only a block away—the two got an up-close look at why the no-go area of the DMZ was a place no sane person should go.
They set out from the ground floor of the hotel, heading straight to the park. Passing beneath Eleventh Street, they were suddenly assaulted by a fierce, cold wind. They raced through the shadows to the other side, but still practically froze to death. It seemed that the vengeful ghosts laid in wait where the sun didn’t directly shine.
Another thirty feet on, the earth caved into a sinkhole the shape of a grinding mortar. At the bottom, the giant jaws of an anteater-like creature snapped at them. It seemed a “normal” living thing, and when Sayaka shot her laser at it, it scurried deeper into the earth without putting up a fight. The prevalence of such animals was likely due to the destruction of the gene research laboratories in Ichigaya.
“We came through that okay!” Sayaka exclaimed with relief, as they climbed out of the hole.
Kyoya frowned. Having to rely on a girl wasn’t something he wanted to make a habit of. As for his own weapon, he’d borrowed a yard-long wooden pole from the hotel. The end of a mop, actually. So that was nothing to write home about either. Unable to use his nenpo, he couldn’t even match Sayaka in simple fighting strength. He could even the score by taking the ring for himself, but his pride wouldn’t allow it.
Climbing out of the hole took time, and it was nine o’clock sharp when they emerged onto Twelfth Street, adjacent to the park. They’d left the hotel at seven. It’d taken two hours to walk two city blocks.
Nevertheless, they slipped easily into the haze-shrouded precincts of Chuo Park.
As soon as they stepped from the street into the park, a strange feeling of satisfaction enveloped both of them. The warm sensation permeated their skin, sweeping away the fear and unease.
Sayaka sat down heavily on the grass, as if all the tension had drained from her body. “This is that terrifying place? But it’s so beautiful and relaxing.”
“That it is,” Kyoya agreed.
The broad expanse was covered with green grass and shrubs and trees. There was the fragrant smell of blooming and blossoming life—the dappled sunlight streaming through the treetops—and listening more closely, it seemed that music might even be playing somewhere off in the distance.
And yet a part of Kyoya resisted complete immersion in this world—the senses and intuition imbued in him as a martial artist since the age of two. There was something off about this place.
The day before, looking down from the roof of the Sumitomo Building, the park had been shrouded in haze. Besides, why was everything so green in autumn? Knitting his brows, he forcibly suppressed the warm cloud enveloping his mind.
Several men and women emerged from the cover of the trees and came toward them. They wore varying kinds of dress and all bore bright smiles on their faces.
“Welcome to this place of repose,” a middle-aged man called out. “We’re delighted to have you here.”
“Place of repose?” said Kyoya. “This is the middle of the DMZ, the no-go zone.”
The man spread his hands apart in a gesture that said: Take a look around. “It is as you see. Is this such a perilous place? The rest of the world builds fences and walls to isolate us. But danger exists in places other than this. After all, outside the no-go zone, isn’t there a safety zone? A zone of safety as opposed to what?”
He had a point there. A gentle old lady took Sayaka by the hand and helped her to her feet. “Come on. Our country is just a little ways away.”
“Country?”
“A Shangri-La built by those who wander into the forest and say goodbye to the fallen world. And you will soon join our number.”
“Soon?” pressed Kyoya, seeing Sayaka was already completely taken with the giddy mood. “Does joining this club of yours take time?”
The old woman said with an affectionate smile, “Only a little while. Until then, relax and get accustomed to our world.”
The group set off back to the forest. They passed through the thick overgrowth and several minutes later came to a large clearing.
“It’s beautiful,” exclaimed Sayaka.
Even Kyoya couldn’t help opening his eyes wide. The same Shangri-La conceived by the philosophers and scholars of old had been constructed here, of all places.
In the center, a fountain shot a column of clear water towards the deep blue sky. Around the grounds, spilling over with sunlight and green, a great number of people moved about. Young lovers lying on the grass, conversing in soft whispers. Older couples lounging beneath the heavily-laden fruit trees. Children scampering around the fountain. Soft, golden breezes tousled their hair. Sweet, bittersweet tones tickled their ears.
And all this effervescing life glimmered with light.
“Well, how about it?” the old woman asked Sayaka. “You don’t want to leave again, do you?”
“No,” said Sayaka, her expression no different from those of entranced youngsters around her. Any thoughts of her father or the future of the world fled her mind. Kyoya was no different.
“Then let us be on our way,” a man said, giving Kyoya a friendly shove on the back.
That was what saved them. Although Sayaka had applied a topical antiseptic to his back at the hotel, the wounds were far from healed. The contact of the man’s hand sent a fiery spike of pain into his brain.
The Shangri-La before his eyes changed. The fountain grew cracks and moss and mold. Rotting corpses bobbed in the muddy, rancid water. The green grass turned ash-gray, withered and faded, the fragrant forest into tangled mounds of leafless, skeletal wood.
Kyoya looked down at the ground and sucked in his breath. Those once luscious fruits were weather-beaten skulls.
The residents of this paradise didn’t move. Their pale gaunt faces and sunken bloodshot eyes revealed them as the spirits of the dead—all staring intently at them.
There was no light. The smell of death, of rotting entrails, issuing through their nostrils and the pervasive smothering white haze ruled this world. The refined music became a strange intermittent sound like something breathing. This place of repose was a den of zombies, who beckoned the living into their midst.
The man took in Kyoya’s expression and grinned. “Ah, so you came to your senses.”
Kyoya didn’t answer. Instead, he swung the rod in his right hand against the man’s head. The skull caved in with a sickening crunch. The smile didn’t fade from the man’s pale ghostly face.
“That won’t work. And you’ll never leave the forest. Don’t worry. You’ll soon get used to our company.”
Kyoya struck him in the side. He toppled over, laughing. Kyoya pushed the old woman away and seized Sayaka’s hand. “We’re getting out of here. This is a graveyard.”
Sayaka shook her hand free. “No, I’m going to stay here a little while longer.”
There was no point in arguing. Sensing movement behind him, he turned around. The dead that had so far silently watched them now approached them en masse.
“Sorry!” said Kyoya, jabbing Sayaka in the solar plexus.
She doubled over. He threw her over his shoulder and sprinted off to the heart of the forest. Men and women appeared from within the mist and withered wood, clutching at them. Like Kyoya and Sayaka, they had wandered into the forest and become prisoners of the undead.
Swinging the rod, he could knock down everything in reach, but without imbuing the blows with a destroying nen—splitting heads open, crushing necks, bowling them over like tenpins by force alone—they’d soon clamber back to their feet and keep on coming.
“This sure ain’t working.” Kyoya gave up trying to push them back. Searching the map in his mind, he took off for the library. There it was. The remains of the gray building, half of it fallen over. Definitely the library.
A zombie woman appeared out of the mist on his right. He bowled her over with a roundhouse kick and rushed onto the grounds.
“What the hell—!”
The feeling of being pursued instantly left his mind. He couldn’t see the “coin purse,” but in the sky above—or rather, the whole region around them—was not just the Waseda Hotel, but a place that seemed connected through a dimensional void to an entire other world. In the middle of the grounds was a mountain of all those things that—ignoring the normal laws of time and space—had disappeared in the past.
Wooden boxes carved with what looked like Mayan hieroglyphics, gold and gems spilling out of cracks and fissures; a bunch of Native American tepees; several Avenger torpedo bombers; human bones scattered hither and thither. Kyoya had no idea what most of them were or where they came from.
Except for one—overshadowing the rest, the black silhouette of the bow of a ship and its huge gun jutting up from the earth.
“This—this is from an old battleship. But what ship—” The name was carved into the rusted hull. “What does it—U—ne—the Unebi!” Kyoya shouted.
During the Meiji Period in 1886, the newest cruiser in the Japanese navy had disappeared without a trace in the South China Sea on a return voyage from France. Kyoya read about it in a book about unexplained phenomena. He certainly never would have guessed it’d been sucked into a pan-dimensional void and deposited here in Shinjuku.
Wait a second. People disappeared too. In the state of Tennessee, five people witnessed the disappearance of one David Lang. Then a young boy named Jimmy who vanished as he jumped off a wall. Were these bones—?
Kyoya shook his head. There were a thousand more questions he’d like to ask. But right now Asura was the first and only priority. Where would he even start searching through this pan-dimensional lost and found department?
He felt a great presence behind him and whirled around. And gulped. A dozen yards away stood several hundred zombies, pleading and reproachful looks in their glassy eyes.
“W-what the hell are you doing here? Get lost!” He waved his arms but they didn’t budge. Kyoya wanted to scream and shout. All the zombies did was stand there and stare at him and creep him out.
“Come along,” said a man, beckoning to the flustered Kyoya. “Come back with us,” said a woman missing half of her face. Others chimed in: “Join us. Become one of us.”
He did not succumb to the siren’s song largely because of Sayaka’s painful weight pressed against his back. Any other person would have heard nothing but a mother’s softly cooing voice.
“Shut the hell up!” Kyoya shouted in this half-dream state. “Play all the games you like, but this world belongs to the living! This girl and I got responsibilities! And you got a place waiting just for you, so get yourselve
s the hell there.”
“How disappointing. What a disobedient child.”
“We have no choice. Take him back with us.”
The crowd of zombies nodded in unison and marched into the courtyard. Kyoya tried hiding amidst all the “lost and found” rubbish, but with Sayaka on his back, they soon caught up with him. Pressed back against the hull of the Unebi, waving the wooden rod, kicking and flailing with his arms had no effect.
“Shit! Get lost, monsters!”
The rod slapped against the ship with a clang like a big gong. The thunderous vibrations echoed around the courtyard and rippled through the air, shaking the frame of the ship itself, and the gaping end of the big gun.
And there was Asura, balanced on the barrel of the gun. The delicate balance lost, it fell down.
The zombies had Kyoya and Sayaka by then, and the mop handle, and were carrying them away. As if descending out of heaven, Asura fell into Kyoya’s hand.
“Long time no see, old friend,” Kyoya said softly.
The hot psychic energy stored in the sword traveled from his palm through every cell in his body. And even rekindled his own languishing nen.
He swung Asura downwards. The zombies nearest him turned to dust and disappeared. The rest screamed and scattered. Kyoya twisted his body and landed lightly on his feet. He ran up to the ones bearing Sayaka away and with a single sweep of the sword retrieved her.
The zombies could sense Kyoya’s regenerated life as well. They formed a circle around him at a distance but didn’t come any closer. Kyoya threw Sayaka back over his shoulder and held Asura vertically in front of his chest and closed his eyes to slits.
This was the “white light stance.” As the name suggested, it wrapped him in a brilliant white blaze of light.
Taking his alignment straight through the forest, it would emerge at the outskirts of the park. If memory served, the boundary of the DMZ. But Kyoya’s feet were aimed at the “place of repose.”
Many of the zombies were swept up in the blaze. Even those who simply touched the wall of light saw their arms disintegrate before they disappeared. In the center of the forest filled with the souls of the dead, a young man acted with a singular resolve, moving inexorably forward. A mere dash of the white nen of father and son overwhelmed legions of vengeful ghosts.
Demon City Shinjuku: The Complete Edition Page 15