The powers of his thought flowed forth and annihilated.
Kyoya was alone. The moon came out. The stars twinkled in the sky. A holy night in the Himalayas.
“I guess he’s really gone,” he said, in tones as relaxed as his features.
At the last moment, he knew he had heard Valen’s voice. Thank you. He too had been freed from the destructive delusions of the world.
“A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.” A fierce sense of conviction colored his face. It was soon replaced by one of human concern. “But how the hell do I get back to Japan?”
Doctor Mephisto gazed at Sayaka in front of him, wondering what to do next.
During this month, the experiments with the spirit of Semiramis taking control of Sayaka’s physical body had continued. Today the time had come. Not even Mephisto knew what the golden mask intended to do with Semiramis once she had fully reincarnated. The question hadn’t been asked. The answer hadn’t been offered.
He had been present during every experimental session, and so was fully apprised of their progress. But it appeared that for all his abilities, the lord of the Demon Palace could not easily revive a soul and command the physical body of another.
Sayaka’s soul resisted with a strength that surprised even Mephisto. This willowy young woman had a spine of steel.
The mental powers the golden mask possessed were startling. When he attended the procedures, strange changes arose in the Demon Palace. The power systems largely came to a halt. Considering the amount of energy required to support this structure, the mask’s psychic numbers must be astronomical.
Attacked on one side by the mask and on the other by an evil spirit, Sayaka was definitely losing ground. Yet she didn’t complain, and neither did Mephisto interfere.
Sayaka intended to ferret out the mask’s true intentions. When she made this clear on the first day of the experiment, the mask made a promise.
The experiment was being conducted on the terrace where they viewed the moon. The phantasmal night and the lamp fires of the capital of Babylon glimmered in the distance. Sayaka sat on a chair. The mask thrust out his hands. Sayaka fell into a trance.
“Semiramis,” he said.
“Yes,” Sayaka said. Her answer came with unusual alacrity.
“Do you understand. It is I. Nebuchadnezzar.”
“Yes.”
“My dream is at last in my grasp.” His voice trembled with joy. His eyes glowed with a blood-red glee.
Perhaps that was when he noticed something strange happening on the green-covered terrace. The fountains of water muddied and oozed. From all across Demon City flowed a white substance like a low-lying fog, disappearing into the openings at the base of Demon Palace Babylon.
A deep growl—not a voice, not a reverberation—echoed through the night air, the city groaning in pain.
“Do you remember? I built this city and these gardens for you. I beheaded a hundred thousand for your sake, trampled a million more underfoot. All that death and destruction to succor the power you possess, to unbind it and bring to pass miracles of such unspeakable evil, and bring the whole world under my control. You reveled in the blood of the slaughter, and in your joy released your powers. Remember. Remember what happened.”
“I remember. I remember. How could we ever forget? I moved mountains and shaped continents. I formed rivers and caused the rain to fall. I drowned the forces of the enemy and guided the flaming stars down to scorch their cities. Ah, I can hear it even now—the screams as they died, with curses of hatred and venom on their tongues. I am the immortal queen, the woman who consumes the energy of the dead and their angry spirits and lives forever. And yet—and yet—why—”
“Semulia,” said the masked lord, his body shaking with anger. “That wandering warrior who appears always and out of nowhere. He killed you. He killed me. Your power proved fruitless in the face of his abilities. Such frighteningly refined skills. But he is no longer part of this world. Rather, however he may still be part of it, he will be too late this time. Now the world is ours. King Nebuchadnezzar and Queen Semiramis of the great and terrible Babylon. In this most evil city in the world, compared to which Sodom and Gomorrah were mere shadows, you shall drink its eternal energies to your heart’s content, and take hold of reincarnation and immortal life. That is why I chose this place.”
The mask threw back his head and laughed. As did Sayaka, her face suffused with evil rarely seen.
The mask turned to Mephisto. “The promise has been fulfilled. Now the process of reincarnation should be plain. You may go.”
“Not quite yet,” Mephisto softly said, revealing neither in his beautiful visage nor in the depths of his soul the slightest surprise at their appalling pasts and horrifying goals.
“Hoh. What else, then?”
“I have beheld the shape and form of your reincarnation. I need nothing more from you. Now if you would eradicate that woman and restore Sayaka-chan.”
“What are you—”
The eyes in the golden mask focused on Mephisto like a pair of lasers. Mephisto looked back at him. The contest was resolved in an instant, without a sound, with no smoke or fire. The mask reeled, slumped against the stone parapets of the terrace.
“Have you seen it? Mephisto’s evil eye?” the black-clad figure calmly said.
He was wrapped in fire. The flames swept backward, engulfing his cape as it spread out like the wings of a giant black bird of prey, and scattered across the terrace.
“You should have been seared down to your bones. I would expect no less from Doctor Faustus, that most uncommon of wizards.” Only her voice was different. Fixing her glowing eyes on Mephisto, she got up from the chair. “The desires I told to you in the library will now be fulfilled.”
Sayaka smiled seductively. Her disheveled silk gown slipped from her round shoulders, showing the tops of her breasts. And parted around her legs, exposing the tops of her thighs. Her captivating presence now would make the most sober of eyewitnesses doubt that she had ever been that innocent young woman.
This was not Sayaka. This was the incarnation of evil reincarnated inside her, having pushed her righteous soul down into the darkness. Semiramis, the queen of ancient Mesopotamia, once all but erased from history. For all his strengths and resources, could Mephisto hold his own when this demoness unleashed her powers?
“Such beauty should be consecrated to none other than me. Receive the kiss of my mouth and be on your way to destruction.”
The white and wicked hands coiled around Mephisto’s neck and pulled him to her. Their lips overlapped. A groaning sound seeped out from where their mouths met.
Ah, but what fate awaited the Demon Physician? Sucking on his lips in ecstasy, Semiramis smiled her bewitching smile. She poured strength into her pale hands. Her hands trembled. A moment later, her hands around his throat, Semiramis threw her head back.
“W-what are you doing, bitch!” she cried out with the mien of a monster. That this was Sayaka underneath alone made the appearance a hundred times worse than any “normal” woman. “No. Not her. Not her alone. Y-you—who are you?”
Rivulets of sweat streamed down Sayaka’s cheeks. Her eyes opened wide, eyes devoid of pupils.
“I know. You—you are—”
Sayaka/Semiramis whirled around, focusing her empty eyes on a sturdy figure standing on the edge of the terrace. From those same pair of lips came a pair of sounds, loathing and joy combined.
“Semulia!”
“Kyoya-san!”
II
It was indeed Kyoya.
This young man should be thousands of miles away on a mountain peak, engaged in rigorous mental and physical training. How could he have set foot in this floating palace?
He casually walked toward them, as if his broad smile alone was enough to answer all such questions, radiating a strength and confidence a world apart from before.
“You—!”
Her right hand slashed through the air. A fantastic fo
rce tightened around Kyoya, equal to the bear hug of a giant. With a thrust of his elbows, it evaporated without a trace.
“You damned—” she growled.
“Izayoi kenpo.” Kyoya smiled, flashing his white teeth. “With a bit of supercharging, to be sure. I think it’s about time for the fat lady to sing.”
“What are you saying? You dare say such a thing to me? To Semiramis!”
“Hey, it’s a whole new era. It’s been thousands of years. You people have got to get with the times. Give the magic act a rest and go back to sleep in whatever cave you came from.”
“Bastard!” she cried out, and again fell back senseless.
“Impressive,” Mephisto said, without the slightest hint of intonation in his praise. When Kyoya turned his cool gaze on him, he said, “Why the look?”
“Turncoat.”
“That is unkind.”
“I leave a single girl in your care, and you expose her to all kinds of dangers playing around with your dumb hobby. You and me are gonna have words when we get out of this place. Don’t forget.”
“I’m afraid you haven’t been fully apprised of the situation.”
“Meaning what?”
At that moment, the mask seized Sayaka and vaulted away. Kyoya lunged forward with Asura, but concern for Sayaka’s physical well-being delayed his response a split-second. Another leap, and the mask dodged the attack that hummed through the air at his midsection. The two of them disappeared into the palace.
“Wait, dammit!”
Kyoya and Mephisto ran after them. They found themselves in front of the big pool. A single silhouette in red stood there with unusually long arms. The knight Vian. The golden mask and Sayaka were behind him.
Sayaka squirmed and writhed, almost too much for him to handle. The souls of Semiramis and Sayaka struggled for control of her body.
“Why not call it a day?” Kyoya softly suggested.
The red shadow didn’t budge. “What happened to my brothers Valen and Mathias?”
Kyoya averted his eyes. “They are sleeping beneath the Himalayan snow.”
“I see. They were hoping to duel with you. But that gives me all the more reason to fight. First to protect my lord. Second to avenge their deaths.”
“I have no desire to fight you.”
The knight seemed to smile beneath the helmet. “I am Vian, the eldest of the three knights of Marduk. I challenge you in the name of our lives, our souls and our honor.”
Kyoya didn’t reply, but had already assumed a hasso stance, with Asura raised over his right shoulder. He stepped forward as if gliding on ice. Sayaka, the mask, and even Mephisto took little note of him, only of that charged space where these radiant warriors battled to tip the balance between life and death.
The knight drew his very long sword. Kyoya felt as if he were being assaulted by a hallucination, Vian’s arms were that long. The sword added another ten feet. It was impossible to judge his actual reach, and for a fencer the absence of that bit of information could prove fatal.
He wasn’t getting any time to think through the problem. White light flashed up from below. Kyoya twisted his body out of the way and counterattacked, aiming at the forearm. The knight brought his long arm back with amazing swiftness, parried and thrust again.
Kyoya deflected the thrust and Asura spit fire. The knight raised his arms. In this strained stance, Kyoya lunged at his chest. He didn’t use his nenpo. This was a pure kendo move. Against such an opponent, he wouldn’t have used it except as a last resort.
The answering attack came from the jodan position, Vian bringing the sword down from directly above his head. The blade threw off a vibe that stood his hair and his spirit on end.
This time, Kyoya’s spirit was suffused with the determination of death.
Answering the downwardly sweeping sword with a right jab had nothing to do with victory. It was the unconscious manifestation of the most logical strategy at this moment in time.
Both appeared faster than the other. Both appeared a split-second too slow.
The steel blade snipped through Kyoya’s hair and the tip buried itself in the marble floor. Just as the red knight’s giant frame flew back through the air with tremendous force and fell down on the edge of the pool.
“Are you all right?” Kyoya called out, running over to where he lay. However he might have to fight him, from the start he’d never had reason to hate him.
The water in the pool roared and rose up before his eyes. The wave turned inside out, bursting from within like a budding flower. A stone statue climbed fifteen feet into the air. This must be the monster that sent that wall of water against him the first time Kyoya had visited the Demon Palace.
The immense frame shook the marble as it stepped out of the pool. Directly beneath its feet was the red knight. The awful crunching sound aroused Kyoya’s ire.
“Son of a bitch!” he shouted, and took off running. He sensed a fierce battle somewhere further away, Mephisto and the golden mask engaged in their own death struggle.
Concentrating all his psychic energies, Kyoya attacked the huge foot that had trodden upon the red knight. The big stone god clasped a hand against its leg. Unlikely that it could feel pain, but even stone could comprehend the nen-induced damage.
It swept sideways with its right hand, like a giant scythe. Kyoya struck at the forearm, just as he was thrown backwards. He turned a somersault in the air and landed on his feet.
No sooner had he assumed a fighting stance than the statue was gone. “What the—?” he started to say, as he was forcefully lifted into the air. An arm grew out of the floor, with Kyoya riding on its enormous palm. He didn’t need to be told how space could be warped and twisted here.
Five fingers curled around his chest. Kyoya stabbed Asura into the wrist, burying the sword halfway down the blade. This was one result of his training.
The stone statue spasmed. Kyoya put his shoulder into the thrust. A fissure ran up the arm, the stone shattering as Kyoya jumped down to the floor. The arm vanished. Kyoya glanced toward the pool.
“Mephisto! Look!”
The water in the pool had turned into a blood red tide, as had the water raining down on the plants and flowers. This strange phenomenon must be the consequence of absorbing Demon City’s dormant energies as fuel in the demoness’s reincarnation.
“Above you!” Mephisto called out.
Kyoya dodged to the side. A giant foot came stomping down. The earth shook.
“This freaking Gumby from hell!” Kyoya shouted, hardly the stuff of strict martial training.
He closed his eyes and focused on one particular spot. His eyes flew open. He swung Asura down from the jodan position. The air twisted around the tip of the sword like eddies in a stream. The space in front of him split apart, revealing the stone god.
“Leave the rest to me,” Mephisto said in his always calm, cool and collected tones.
“All yours!”
A sliver of silver light racing along above his head. No sooner had it wound around the arms and legs and neck of the giant, but in the blink of an eye the statue weighing hundreds of tons of stone lost its head and all its limbs.
The repeated reverberations shook the floor.
A simple wire had been transformed into a fearsome weapon that could sever stones—this was Doctor Mephisto’s wirework.
Kyoya squatted beside the red knight. “Hang in there,” he said, though the emptiness of such encouraging words was painfully obvious.
“Defeat is death. That is the law of Babylon. I appreciate being able to fight such a valiant warrior.”
“You’re Vian, right?”
“Yes.”
“You ever end up a wandering spirit, feel free to look me up. If a body is what you need, I’ll lend you mine.”
“Thank—you—”
The knight’s head fell back. Kyoya turned away and gazed at Mephisto, his face dark with melancholy. At some point, Mephisto had taken custody of Sayaka.
&n
bsp; The mask touched Mephisto’s cape. The two of them were blown backwards, broke through the thick glass doors and fell onto the terrace. Beyond was a sea of blood.
Unleashing an inarticulate roar, Kyoya sprang forward, slashing straight down at the crown of the golden mask’s head.
The mask parried with his left hand. His hand shattered. Asura sank into his skull. This incarnation of evil suddenly crumbled. A moment later, his figure was colored by crimson flames. The entire side of the pool became a sea of fire.
Kyoya ran onto the terrace. Mephisto was standing there, Sayaka in front of him. Sayaka and another woman. Superimposed over that transfixing beauty was the figure of the woman submerged in the waters of the great subterranean temple.
Doctor Mephisto stood rooted there, transfixed.
Semiramis.
She showed none of the fleeting detachment from before. For the first time, her features revealed the full and vivid expression of evil. Freedom was finally in her grasp.
Then what would become of Sayaka?
“Hoh! Free at last! Behold!” Semiramis indicated another set of glass doors. The body of a woman appeared there. This was the body of Semiramis, preserved within the water now pouring off it. “Now it is mine to enter. And when I do, the world once again becomes the means of satisfying my taste for blood. Together with Demon City Babylon—”
She twisted her frame, threw her head back and laughed. A second later, that body was powerfully wrenched. Those wide eyes turned back toward Sayaka, the mouth contorted with hatred and surprise. “How dare you!”
She gasped, reaching out toward her own body. Bloody hands grasped her ankles. The hands of Nebuchadnezzar, the masked king. A mummified face peeked out from behind the broken mask. Like the mask, the hair hanging down from his head was fake as well. This is what became of a life lived for twenty-five hundred years.
“It is over, Semiramis. Our fate is sealed. Who knew that we would encounter Semulia and Faustus in this time and place?”
Semiramis fell atop the broken face like the last leaf of fall, and winked out of existence. And so the demoness met her all too brief end. At the same time, her physical body mutated into a lump of decayed flesh and splattered across the floor.
Demon City Shinjuku: The Complete Edition Page 33