A/N: The idea came to me as a Halloween story, but looks like I've missed that holiday. So an early Happy Labour Thanksgiving Day.
Ken Akamatsu owns Negima and its characters. Dr. Cornelius P. Troy is my own invention but was inspired by the 'Call of Cthulhu' role playing game published by Chaosium'
The following conventions are use "words", 'thoughts', "spells", 'reading'
Shadows Across the Moon
A full moon, glowing with a coppery-orange color, hung high above Mahora. Its light cast shadows that flitted about like moths. Crossing the elementary school's playground, two girls walked side by side, moving at the languid pace of friendship. At first glance, they appeared similar in their matching uniforms, but a closer look made their differences apparent.
One girl had dark brown hair that fell to her waist and her developing figure showed the potential for turning the boys' heads. She exuded a sense of joy that would make people smile in response to meeting her. By contrast, her slender companion was tense and wary as eyes constantly darted around, scanning their surroundings as if she was point on a patrol. This girl's hair hardly reached her shoulders and had been gathered into a pony tail tied off to the side. Jutting above her head was the hilt of a sword nearly as long as she was tall.
"I didn't expect my club meeting to last so long Se-chan," the cheerful girl said. "Thanks for waiting for me."
"It's my duty, er, pleasure Kono-chan," her friend replied as eyes carefully peered at the dark spaces resting beneath nearby trees. Setsuna's ears strained to catch the slightest sound but heard only the gentle swaying of branches and the hard click of their heels.
"The moon is beautiful tonight isn't it?" Konoka asked.
The swordswoman glanced up and gave a terse "yes" in agreement.
"Do they call that a Harvest Moon?"
"That was last month," Setsuna answered. "I think this is called a Hunter's Moon."
They walked a few more steps in silence. The fragrance of pine was strong, but another scent, undefined, lay beneath it. Setsuna was trying to place it when she felt a hand, soft and silky-smooth, glide against her bare palm. It felt warm against her skin as their fingers intertwined around each others like a vine curling about a garden trellis. Heat rose in the swordswoman's cheeks as a pink flush spread over them.
Holding hands was nothing to get flustered over she reminded herself, yet Konoka's closeness made concentrating on anything else difficult. Imagining the other girl's giggles over her embarrassment, Setsuna resolved not to show how affected she was. A few more steps and congratulations seemed in order when the swordswoman was stopped in her tracks.
"Do you like me Se-chan?"
Too stunned by the question to think, she stared speechlessly at Konoka's face. Setsuna had devoted the last half of her life to this girl. How could there be any doubt what her feelings were? Finally, she found her voice. "Of course I like you," she stammered. "You are the most important person in my life."
A smile, swift in execution and devastating in impact, covered her friend's face. "I'm so happy," Konoka replied and then moved closer.
Like a cat upon its unsuspecting prey, those smiling lips pounced and captured hers. Setsuna tried to protest but only a "mumpf" could be heard. Lightheadedness enveloped her as the world began to reel.
Distracted as they were, neither girl noticed the dark shape loom over them. A shiny, black leg struck, knocking Setsuna to the side. Gravel scrapped against her shoulder as the swordswoman hit the ground and rolled. In an instant, she was on her feet, sliding the scabbard from her blade.
Six feet splayed out to hold up the huge creature's bulk. In appearance it resembled a wingless wasp about 2.5 meters long. Black scales shimmered in the moonlight and Konoka lay, covered in deep shadows, beneath the monstrous insect. As the end of its body curled into a c-shape, Setsuna could see a stinger at the tip. Swiftly it jabbed down at the prone girl but stopped short as Yunagi barred it way.
Muscles strained as the swordswoman fought to keep the dagger-sharp stinger from her friend. Pressure suddenly released as the creature rapidly swung about, and struck out with one of its legs. Appendage and sword met as the force knocked Setsuna back though she managed to keep her feet this time. Pulled from a pocket, her hand held three talismans. "Kashou," she shouted as the paper strips were flung forward. As they streaked towards the beast, white wings spread out to either side of its opponent.
Setsuna was aloft as the charms burst into flames against their target. Ki flooded through her and gathered in her sword. As the monster seemed ready to stab its helpless prey, the cry "Ougi Zanmaken!" rang out. Power slashed down, slicing through armor-like scales into softer tissue below, and severed the creature in two.
"Kono-chan!" Setsuna shouted as she landed and push part of the smoking body from atop her ojou-sama. "Are you alright?"
But Konoka didn't answer her protector's frantic question. The girl's eyes were shut and the front of her blouse was covered with an ever widening red stain.
--
Brick tenements, built at the turn of the previous century, lined the street. Unlike other North End neighborhoods, slowly recovering from decades of neglect, these buildings remained dark and vacant; grim reminders of what happens when rising expectations meet falling land values. Only those with no place else to go could be found here, and even they would leave after a night or two, victims of a sense of dread that pervaded the block.
An abandoned church stood at the end of the row, on the corner of Dexter St and Bishop Ave. Plywood boards were nailed over windows and a chain link fence encircled the property. But the sanctuary wasn't empty this evening as a very special group of worshippers gathered in the once holy place.
Light flickered from tall candelabras, each set at the point of a pentacle painted on the hardwood floor. A group of twenty robed and hooded figures gathered round a makeshift altar, their voices filled the air with an eerie drone not unlike the incessant chirping of insects on a summer's evening. A naked girl, bound and gagged, lay upon the table.
"Oh great Azathoth, Lord of All Things, who sits at the center of space and time, hear our words," cried one of the worshippers.
An unseen force rippled through the air as a thin, plaintive melody from a flute sounded. "This is our lamb," the speaker continued, "without blemish or stain. Perfect in every way."
A knife appeared, candle-light gleaming from its polished blade. The girl began to twist but rough, cruel hands reached out and held her in place. "Accept our sacrifice and bless us with your favor."
Knife lifted into the air, one hand clenched about the hilt while the other grasped its end. Overhead, rafters creaked as a black shape leapt down. Boot heels struck the floor, followed by the ominous click of twin hammers being cocked back. Pistols flashed in the shadows and their roar drowned out other noises. Robed cultists shrieked and scrambled to flee, but were mercilessly gunned down.
As quickly as it had begun, the massacre was over. Surveying the body strewn floor, the gunman loaded fresh magazines into both hand guns and then stepped forward. He was dressed in a black turtleneck, trousers, gloves and boots. Thinning, blonde hair covered his head and steel rimmed glasses perched in front of watery-blue eyes. Holstering his weapons, the man grabbed the knife's wielder by the robes and hauled him up.
The assailant's hand pulled backed then flew forward, striking the cultist's cheek. "Wake up!" he shouted. "You're not dead yet!" Several more slaps followed and then a groan.
Eyes fluttered open and the robed man stared up at his attacker, fear plainly visible. "Don't … don't hurt me," came a whimper.
In the distance, the wail of police sirens could be heard. "Don't worry, you're just small fry," the blond-haired man declared contemptuously as he shoved the cultist away. "You're not worth the bother."
A stench reached him and the gunman glanced over at the table. The girl had thankfully fainted, but lay in her own filth. A cold anger filled his gut and colored his pale face, bright red. "The hell you're not!" he yelled as a booted foot crunched into the other man's mouth.
--
Hours later, a group of reporters gathered in front of the French Hill Police Station. Like a pack of wolves they lay in wait for their prey. Doors swung open as a knot of uniformed officers appeared. Within their protective circle, a man dressed all in black, with a pair of pistols holstered to his hips, strode forward. A wide-brimmed hat rested atop his head and a woolen overcoat was slung around his shoulders in the manner of a cape.
"Doctor Troy! Doctor Troy!" they shouted, clamoring for his attention. Questioned fired rapidly one after the other. "How many people did you shoot?" "Do you know you're being sued by one of your victims?" "Has the university suspended you?" "How is the girl?"
"Hold up," he told his escorts and then faced the sea of flashbulbs and microphones. "The girl is alive and under the care of physicians at the St. Mary's Hospital. But she's undergone a traumatic experience that may take years of therapy to overcome, if ever."
"Doctor Troy, do you feel remorse over the people you shot?"
"Nobody died this evening. I have no remorse about that," he replied as his mouth curled into a disdainful scowl. "But I'll tell you what I do feel remorseful about."
"That girl started an online relationship with a man who claimed to be a professional photographer, and offered her $200 if she'd pose for him," he told the reporters. "She was drugged by one of these people you asked if I feel sorry for and nearly murdered by him and his associates."
"You want a story?" he asked as barely suppressed anger etched his words in clear relief. "Then print that one."
"Let's go," he told the officers as he turned on his heel and ignored all further questions. Doctor Cornelius P. Troy, Professor of Occult and Paranormal Studies at Miskatonic University, climbed into the back seat of the squad car and let out a weary sigh. It had been a long evening and getting longer by the minute.
"Where to Doc?" the driver asked.
"To the university please, Armitage Hall."
It took several flicks of the siren to clear a path, but they were soon clear of the police station and turning up Main Street.
It reflected poorly on society that he was painted as the villain while murderous scum like the cultists were made into victims. The man he had kicked in the mouth was trying to slap a civil suit on him for pain and suffering. 'Let him,' he thought. 'Who has money? I'm a college professor.'
A vibration caught his attention and he pulled the cell phone from a coat pocket. The screen showed a new text message but the number was unfamiliar. Opening the message, he quickly scanned its contents. 'Dear Doctor Troy … are experiencing problems that call for a man of your talents … need you to travel to Mahora immediately … awaiting your response … Konoemon Konoe.'
'Japan,' he thought to himself. He hadn't visited there in years, and Mahora had a reputation much like his own school. If they couldn't handle something, then the problem was more than serious. Riding in the back of a police cruiser, Doctor Troy composed his answer. 'Sir, I am honored that you think so highly of my abilities. Rest assured that I will come to Japan at the earliest opportunity and render whatever aid I can. Yours Very Truly, Cornelius P. Troy.'
--
A/N: Kashou translates as burn. Ougi Zanmaken is the Shinmei-ryu technique 'Evil Cutting Sword'. Miskatonic University and other landmarks mentioned come from stories written by H. P. Lovecraft and other authors that have used his Cthulhu Mythos as background for their stories.