Disclaimer: I do not own the series_ it belongs to Hiroshi Shiibashi-sensei.
Author Notes:
Well this is my first fiction ever posted on a website. As a newbie, I will only bother you experienced readers with the basics. The story's initial chapters are loosely based on the happenings after the first story of the first Light Novel. It is not necessary to have read it. T has been selected as the rating for possible gore. Constructive criticism is always welcomed. Please, please rate and review.
It was 1:00 am in the morning. Winds blew, water fell, lightning struck, clouds darkened. That was the blunt explanation of the forecast described by the Tokyo News anyway. As a person actually brought their heads outside the windows of their homes, they would notice how unfitting that flat description was. The sky was covered with Persian blue to smoky grey, quite hard to distinguish in the darkness. Every time the lightning struck, it seemed to rip the cloudy spread in half with the intensity of its glow and swiftness easily likened to a sword strike, only curlier. The rain was merciless, even to those with the best umbrellas walking along the soaked pathways, comparable to tap water in fact. Yet the sound of the droplets pelting down diffused very easily into the atmosphere, so much so, that to a certain shivering girl in a soaked tent, it was almost applause.
It was not the worst of her problems. Although looking at the brilliantly striking lightning should have been at least relatively, if not absolutely, harmless, it was even worse than giving her a headache from the brightness. She was reminded of an incident some months ago, where she had seen flames of that very same azure.
They had at first been but a colossal circle, trapping the huge hairy form of her boss. His eyes popped in a mix of anguish and indescribable outrage and his screams were elaborating on his expression. Now, they flared up and started eating away at his fur, wrapping him in a curly coat of their own, which kept him so warm that the skin beneath too began to burn.
A few minutes earlier, other anthromorphic rat underlings of his got their heads slammed against each other, producing a mini fountain of blood, while those of some popped off and burst due to a razor sharp, very tight, scarlet string being wrapped around their necks. Some of them were also unfortunate enough to be turned into ice sculptures, as a white, snow streaked wind crossed their paths. Those sculptures were sometimes shattered by spears and arrows being thrust into them with alarming speed, but otherwise these weapons were fired at warmer, more animate prey.
She, not caring what her own punishment would be, had just hidden in a corner, watching the last moments of fellow underlings she had conversed with only minutes ago. She saw the roots: they could be called anything, perpetrators, predators or even performers as they carried out these acts with a victorious smile on their faces.
The most haunting one of all was his smile. Alongside the struggling form of her affiliation's sworn enemy stood he, the leader of this attack. His deep burgundy eyes seemed to drink in the scene with as much pleasure as drinking a soothing catnip cocktail. She had blinked and rubbed her glasses to convince herself that she was not dreaming.
After a few seconds, she saw that he was unperturbed, even bored by this large battle. She from then onwards had begun to wonder whether the red in his eyes was even natural for them or had they somehow become so because of the constant bloodshed they were forced to reflect for their owner turning into their fixed color. Because it had been from that incident, that she had started to research on this gourd haired ayakashi.
A loud ripping noise was still not enough to jerk her out of her reminiscing, the rumbling she was fixated upon, was far too great in volume. Yet anyone would notice hot, ragged growls of breathing on their head…
The claps of thunder were deafening and beyond that, hail soon accompanied the water, falling like pebbles all over Ukiyoe Town. Finally those outside were forced to accept that nature had outmatched them and retreated to whatever shelter they could improvise.
The next day, the sky was a flawless light cobalt blue, with only specks of the cottony shapes which had caused the chaos last night. It was almost as though trying to pretend that last night's havoc had never been wreaked.
It was thus not unexpected that the next day was bitterly cold and this also owed to the fact that winter had only begun to grace the town with its presence. Still it would not stop her from making her daily trip to the library. She cast a determined look at the cloudy grey sky, and then lowered her neck, not wanting to spare another glance at it. Her trembling was reminder enough of the weather. Although she had hoped that the 7 layers of clothing she wore underneath her citrine colored post office coat would help, but she had been hoping for 9 unyielding years. Simply because she intended to change one aspect of her routine did not mean it would change her whole day.
At least she would not have to run with her post bag over her head, like the last two raining days.
Sometime later, she was at the counter made of bronze colored terrazzo, pinning the signing register to it as her height was not even half of that of the counter and she had had to go around it to seize the record keeper. The room was huge and had a thick cobalt blue carpet at the sides and a polished white marble floor in the middle. Milky white walls surrounded it. The librarian was currently on a break but she had permission to sign in when she wanted.
She quickly, but neatly scribbled 'Hisako Murasaki' onto the column followed by her clock-in time. Sheltering her pen in her pocket again, she looked up at the security camera hung on the extreme right. It most likely reflected a highly displeasing sight: a three to four year old girl who looked like her face and all the visible tanned skin had both been burned and taken a hurling of undiluted sulfuric acid. Most of it was shrouded with scabbed, patched skin which was black, tinted with blood and rot. It was the same story with her arms except that the patches were longer. Black eyes looked through the injured mask. It was all framed by very frizzy, curly, platinum blond, hair in a high ponytail which was heavily streaked with what appeared to be soot, and bangs down to her chin were excluded from the ponytail.
Her purpose here was to do the usual study of Houjutsu and other mythological arts, make notes on it and practice on-the-desk meditation again. The library, in her opinion, was the only place that gave off this vibe. Taking out her notebooks from the bag which was supposed to be housing her mail, she laid them on the table and got to work. All the time she went over the descriptions of yin and yang, she was reminded of how betrayed she felt to discover who Abe no Seimei was. Legends had depicted him as a good person, yet only the ones who were true onmyouji and knew about the era in better detail could discern the truth. The mistake was also hers, to have read from so many different versions. Even though astronomical onmyoujutsu had not been on the top of her focus requiring topics, she had always harbored deep respect for that onmyouji who had done so much research, contributed so much.
She had a lot of respect for onmyouji in general and it had only gotten stronger once her own affiliation was taken out by the Kantou's Nura Clan of youkai. Granted, this clan had done this to save two people: a human and an onmyouji, they had not paused to consider the consequences of their decision, simply breaking, entering and killing. She called it barbaric, especially from a 500 year old clan which had been intending to punish its former allies and had hoped that the onmyouji, who had been saved, did something about the rather arrogant attitude of these Yakuza. It was not fair, she was wishing that the onmyouji would fight her battle for her, as, ever since the Keikain had found out the reason for this action, she had become allies and had no personal reason to rebel against this group.
She was a child and acting like one. Yakuza were supposed to have attitude. By wishing they had been more considerate, she was wishing they did not exist as such.
But what could she on the other hand do? It was not like facing a group of enemies lustful of her blood, which she never won easily against and always ended up running, this was an entire Yakuza group. She would, Hisako grudgingly thought, be much above her rank to simply glimpse one or two members of the main house being sent to deal with her. She may have lived nine or ten years but along with the many problems that had been embossed into her being, her mental and physical age refused to advance.
Even though the Keikain were now allies with the Nura, she would still respect them: this was the only thing she was sure of.
This was not what she would call, a thought fit for initiative.
Rather than rebellion however, she had tried to join the ones who lived on Ukiyoe's First Street, but after hearing her former affiliation, the fusuma had been slid shut on her. Thereafter she had tried every day to get accepted but to no avail. So now she was unwelcome for both the rats and the cats, most of said rats being in a plain she would have to slit her throat to get to. But she had always been unwelcome with them_ it was now merely part of the past that had tainted her trustworthiness forever.
Today would be different. Today would make it her 100th attempt, the 100th day she had tried this. And since she meant to bring nothing but favor (for the time being) to the Bakeneko Clan, luck would work for both parties. It could be both, logic based on the 100 being an important number for the Nura clan, or simply her frustration making her delusional.
Now she was being a plagiarist. Fate seemed to have decided any of her chances today at all. For, had it not been the appearance of a certain someone who took advantage of the noise of thunder last night, she would never have been this optimistic. Prudence was essential. She ought to remember it was not her own brilliance at work here.
Still she was brimming with confidence about her chances and her plan, although devoid of her previous politeness, would give them an illustration of her intentions.
Albeit being dressed as a postage girl, she normally went around in this getup minus the cap which she had crammed into her coat pockets. The frizzy haired blonde got up and tidied up the reading room's desk in a rush. Then she slung her satchel over her shoulder again and went to sign out.
Outside she spent two hours of the day delivering postage to the residents of Ukiyoe. As usual, she went on foot, using one form of onmyoudo she derived based on the style of Haigo Keikain. Someone like her with pathetically weak muscles desperately needed it. The Idoro Style with which Haigo had utilized Yang force to increase his speed and strength was done absolutely no justice in his fight as it had only taken a few seconds for the Kitsune to win. She practiced the Idoro Style in its modified version of an onmyoudo style of her own she constantly studied and worked to perfect. With this and her yokai aura working together she charged her feet after collecting and building up Yang force to run faster or kick off from the ground and travel like a yokai ninja.
Once she was done, evening was quite near and she felt the need to again check on the sky. It was a cobalt hue now with grayish black and simply grey clouds seeming to congregate for another shower. Her only hope, now that the one of facing a storm free night was crushed, was that it was not as brutal.
Nervousness could make a one mile walk seem very short.
Today will be different, she thought.
The cobalt hues had now begun to be replaced by deep indigo. The night seemed not as cloudy as the day_ some stars were able to twinkle to life. She saw it as a sign of hope as she traveled to her destination.
The road and sidewalk were empty although it was not that late. She looked back and front repeatedly, pushing her glasses up her sweaty nose as she did so. And repeatedly was she forced to remind herself that she had not the kind of sixth sense that would enable her to determine whether she had been followed. The assumption still seemed to correspond with the notion of common sense, however so she quickened her pace.
Hisako eagerly took in her surroundings the moment she got in, even though she had seen them over a hundred times. There were brick red walls all around with a few circular lanterns hanging in. The lamps all had a crimson glow and gave the whole place a violet feel. The walls were bound by thin wooden slabs which formed borders and notices plus posters were pinned on them.
She rapped on the fusuma and waited. Exhaling to keep herself occupied, she looked behind her nervously and right then it opened and a female bakeneko with sunny blond hair and cocked ears answered the door. A look of disdain crossed the maiden's face and she gritted her fanged teeth. The three-year-old could hear ruckus of celebration and enjoyment from inside which the sliding door had surprisingly been able to muffle.
"It's one thing to not being able to take a hint but haven't we already spelled it out a dozen times? N-E-V-E-R! Now get out!"
"N-E-V-E-R!" the frizzy blonde yelled, "This day I ask what I hath not dareth to before. I ask thee," she then pointed a finger at the purple kimono clad waitress in a medieval manner, "Doest thou prefer I assist the survivor of thine rival in resurrection of his clan?"
The bakeneko's brown slit-pupil eyes widened and her teeth drew apart as her mouth opened a little.
"Or formerly," the little girl went on to press her advantage, "Doest thou think thine rival hath been vanquished?"
"STOP TALKING LIKE THAT!" her fangs are back to grinding at each other again and her pupils dilated. The blonde flinched but without surprise. Her sage like manner was the best for provoking her enemies mostly because it was great at bringing the effect of a seemingly critical realization, even if said realization was quite trivial.
"Please let me in," the blonde complied humbly and lowered her head, "It is not simply a question of whether or not you trust me anymore," her strategy at conversation had backfired spectacularly.
In her head the hearer was supposed to ask 'what do you mean?' and she would give a summary but all the time for that now seemed like it would be spent just getting to that stage. Prolonged contact for both human and yokai with her was deadly for her life, again, one of the many misfortunes carved into her destiny.
The waitress looked behind herself in vexation. She was not attracting attention from customers but other bakeneko were looking curiously at her. Some of them gave her looks of disapproval or questioning, which was understandable as the evening hour had begun and more yokai would soon be coming through the door. It would be best not to keep holding it and further taint the reputation of the restaurant.
Quite tactfully, in the platinum blonde's opinion, the sunny blond female had led her into the storeroom, past the chatter of many yokai lightheartedly eating, drinking and shouting. She had to work a little to avoid stepping on anybody else's hand, foot, claw or tentacle and avoided the Hi no Tama who were laughing their heads off for a reason best known to themselves.
"The boss is pretty busy at the back for now. Start talking before I change my mind or he comes back," the knuckles of both hands came to rest on her thick, Byzantium colored obi beautifully decorated with lilac roses.
"In the same manner that you think I was sincere to Kyuso, one of the rats tore up my tent last night. I was ordered to do things that would, in collaboration with him enable their fear to once again be strengthened and for them to gain followers. I think this person was not alone in this conspiracy and he has not lost the motive of taking over the Nura Clan
'Tis in your best interest to keep me here rather than join them otherwise you could be blamed if I am forced to take part. I will honestly do my best, please, and I need to affiliate with a clan soon!" she said very quickly and then huffed at the floor.
"I don't know. First off, you already know we've believed you to be a spy," the expression on the waitress' face was not softened, "Secondly, this isn't an orphanage and you're only going to drive customers away or attract questions. Thirdly, if you're that WEAK and NEEDY," she twisted her tongue to make the words heard in a horrible mock child-like voice, "then it isn't going to matter if you do join them 'cause you won't increase their chances, just like the last time. Oh we all better give in, Mormoi is involved in this! You can threaten or beg us but it isn't going to work out."
She bent down and grabbed her shoulder. MURASAKI got hauled off, grating the floor with her feet as she struggled to draw breath properly. This much proximity and it would only be about 25 seconds before this bakeneko developed that murderous intent.
Fortunately and not so fortunately she found herself crashing onto the roka, thrown from the fusuma which was shortly slammed shut. She slid a few feet forward until friction intervened. Then she remained limp, both from the impact and the further crashing of her brilliant plan and formerly newfound confidence. Had her desperation made her delusional? Or, as it was the 100th time, the circumstances would still favor the Nura, NOT her and perhaps this was good for them but she had been thinking otherwise.
That aside, what was she to do? She had been followed here, no, she was confident her movements had been followed since last night. Now that she had been rejected from Bakenekoya for the 100th time they would no doubt murder her too. As in their perception she was far more human than yokai, it was only fitting that their 'generous' self control be rendered unneeded, replaced by bloodthirst.
Now she was a third party, worth nothing to the Bakeneko and by extension, the Nura Clan, an enemy for the remaining Kyuso clan, unaffiliated and considered a lowlife with no better things to do. Maybe a tiny ragdoll like herself should have just stayed in her tent and make toys out of paper or do origami, she contemplated in disgust.
It was too late for it now. She was 100% sure the rats had watched her come here. Quite apart from her own actions being the cause of her predicament, she was willing to pin the origin, still on the clan. She had nothing to lose anymore besides her job as the postage girl, yet living solely as a human was hardly an option either. She could not affiliate with her former clan, nor with the enemy clan or with any other clan as numerous customers went in and out of Bakenekoya and were sure to be familiar with her face if nothing else. And who would keep a mixed breed like herself anyway? The third heir of the Nura Clan only got his title because of his inheritance.
She had lost a lot more than she could have accounted for ten minutes ago. Was there no path for redemption then? Dragging her disappointed, sorry self out of the eatery's door she strayed idly on the road, wondering when the rats would reveal themselves.
This is how fate can turn the most innocent of people into criminals, she thought as she fumbled in her bag for her weapons.
Had she pulled out a staff, she would have looked like a cosplayer to the average pedestrian but she was very glad there was no one to comment when she pulled out an enormous sheathed claymore, over three times her size out of her postage bag and looked up at the sky, meanwhile taking a backward wide stance. Redemption aside, she would make sure the Nura Clan realized what they had done to someone who had once been willing to help them and seek refuge, if nothing else.
She would make sure her name was cleared.
