Disclaimer: I do not own Touhou. Touhou is the intellectual property of Team Shanghai Alice and
Summary: Gensoukyou; land of things forgotten. Protected by its ever-vigilant guardians, it has known a relative peace for more than a millennium. But the bells toll once more; something wicked and unseen approaches... the Endgame has begun.
There and Here Once More Book I: Endgame
Prologue
The bar was a dingy, cheap, messy place. The counter was aligned with two rows of drinking glasses, all of moderate size. Along the walls were old pictures of planes and warships. It wasn't a place of luxury or laughter. The smell of tobacco and alcohol hung heavily in the air; a den for misfits and the unclean. Along the sides, several burlesque fellows take puffs of their cigarettes; no one spoke. The pool table, the only somewhat-clean ornament in the establishment, seems like an altar of worship. At one end a moustachioed delinquent knocks the cue, signalling the beginning of a game; at the other a sarashi-and-pants-clad woman, chewing on a toothpick. The bartender's eyes roam across his establishment, looking out for trouble. His balding features and wrinkled bags belie the fact he is only in his forties. He wiped one glass clean; his frame, wiry and tough no matter how it looked like, didn't betray any lack of authority. Eighteen patrons were under his eye tonight. The policemen had finished their rounds for the day; they had left early, not keen on inviting trouble to themselves; it was a night in Hokkaido, after all. One did not become part of law enforcement in these parts without knowing when to not poke their noses in.
Out of his eye, the bartender spied the tired and thin face of a man he had grown to know well over the past decade and a half. Upon him was a thick woolen coat, slightly drenched from what was probably a light shower; he didn't seem to have any strength in his frame, slightly hunched over and slowly taking steps forward. Nor did he seem to have a presence; the other patrons didn't seem to have noticed him either. Following habit, he reached underneath the bar to pop a delectable bottle of vintage bourbon. The sound of resin hitting resin reached his ears; the female had managed to miss a try on the pool table, judging by her current strut. His eyes traveled to the scowl-wearing Ane-sama; still a picture for impatience, as always. He turned back to the man; he had taken a bar stool. The contents of the bottle were poured into one of the glasses on the counter. This man was a regular patron; he knew how his drink was prepared well enough. Setting the glass right in front of him, the bartender's eyes traveled to his frequent customer, eyes glazing over his features once more.
Thin face; horn-rimmed glasses, sunken, dark eyes and a crooked nose were the most defining features of this man. The greased pitch-black comb over made him indiscernible from a regular office drone in the city. The skeletal hands wrapped around the glass, not lifting it to his lips, which were pitch-white to match his own extremely pale complexion. Almost every other night of every day for the past several years, this man would come quietly through the doors, sometimes without him even being noticed. He'd have a few drinks at times; sometimes even have a small chat about the baseball scores, and leave, paying in excess and leaving change to keep. The bartender never asked anything personal of him; one never questioned where one's feed came from in this part of town. A small cheer from the pool table from the moustachioed man was loud of enough for him to hear, breaking the silence.
The man at the counter decided to follow suit.
'Closing late tonight, good sir?' he took a sip from his glass, downing a tenth of the fill in one go, as passive as he always was.
'Naw; followin' weekend's schedule jus' fer tonigh'. Goin' to the mounties fer a hike tomorrow mornin'.' he replied thickly.
'Ah,' the thin-faced man raised a skeletal hand with a smile, tipping the contents ever so slightly, 'to good health, then, barkeep.'
The bartender nodded quietly, wiping a small saucer with the cloth in hand. For a moment, the only sounds in the bar were from the two duellists at the pool table, cursing and dragging their feet as they knocked the orbs of resin around, taking turns as they did so. The dark-eyed men produced a pocket watch from his coat, observing the needles before sliding it back in, away from sight.
'You waitin' fer someone?' the bartender inquired; the man did not answer; he merely set the glass down from his lips.
The establishment's door slowly opened, catching the attention of all patrons. An umbrella closed, and in walked a young woman.
All eyes were on her, save for the man on the bar stool. Striking blonde hair and distinguishably Eurasian features marked her as a foreigner to some, ambiguous to others. Honey-blonde hair streamed down her shoulders like a veil, crowned in what would absurdly resemble a shower cap of sorts, complete with lace. A beauty, she was most definitely to those within sight; a cold and powerful beauty, unreachable, untouchable. A beauty in the middle of a dingy Hokkaido bar wasn't that unusual a display, even by thuggish standards. The downright dissonant item was her matter of clothing; she looked to clad in what seemed to be a priestess' robe, along with the ornate tabard down her front, complete with patterns in a bizarre mixture of fiery orange and cool violet. Nothing to say of the downright alien presence of a pair of leather boots on her feet to go with the ensemble.
Yakumo Yukari had been her name for as long as she had known it to be; she was not here for a mere social visit.
The bar, with the duel of the pool table ignored, even by its players, kept their eyes trained on her as she walked towards the man at the stool, dragging one of the metal and wood stools and propping next to him, expression unknown; arguably blank. Golden cat-like orbs seemed to glow as she took her place next to him. If the man acknowledged her existence he did not show it. The bartender gave a gesture to the young woman, but stopped short when his eyes met with that of the man's; eyes that indicated that her presence was not unwelcome. As a bartender, one read customer expressions expertly; one did not simply lie around polishing glasses and pouring alcohol without picking a few observational skills along the way. The man smiled kindly to him, gesturing for the bottle to stay. The bartender did so, moving to the fridge at the other end of the bar for another bottle of bourbon.
'You're late.' He said in a neutral tone, pouring the contents of the bottle into her glass, 'Three-point-six minutes, to be exact.'
'I must have inherited it from mother.' She replied; her glass was filled, but she relented in the indulgence of the beverage. Her mood was sour enough; she didn't need patronising gestures to lighten the atmosphere, 'I don't take mine with any ice.'
His smile did nothing in disarming her guarded nature. Yukari only downed the glass in one swift gulp.
Silence reigned for a good while. No words were exchanged between the both of them. The man and Yukari only sat side by side, letting peace wash over them as it did; attention focused itself back on the pool table. The small cheers and curses of the participants began to fill the dingy quiet of the establishment. No one else entered the bar; the smell of cigarettes acted up again; patrons had lit up their choice of tobacco, inhaling and exhaling. The bartender returned with a bowl of peanuts and another bottle of the aforementioned bourbon before moseying off to attend to the burlesque party's needs.
It was at this that Yukari began to speak.
'How long do we have?' she quietly started, sipping a glass of the warm liquid. It tasted like a trail of thorns down her throat.
The man silently pondered his drink before letting the words leave his lips.
'I don't know.' he finally said, stirring the contents of his glass absently. Her expression did not change; nor did his; her eyes were focused on the bench of the counter. His on the swirling bronze drink, 'A few days,' it was almost a whisper, 'if we're lucky, a few months. Should be enough time to prepare for the inevitable, wouldn't it?'
The fine sound of cracking glass hit his ears; he trained his eyes to the source of the sound and spied, indeed, just what the sound implied, in the hands of Yukari. A grip so tight it made her knuckles white, her thumb pressing against the centre of a web of cracks. Her eyes betrayed none of the emotion he wondered of her. He set his glass to his mouth, downing another before proceeding to pour himself one more glass. He already knew what she wanted of him; what she would ask next; a question that he already knew the answer to; a question she knew the answer to… and yet, sometimes he wondered… if blind hope was just another means of despair? The yellow eyes turned to him; he could feel himself begging his head to turn away.
They looked too much like a long-gone memory.
'You can stop it.' It was not a guess; it was a statement. It was a half-truth, almost a lie; so close to being a lie.
'Not anymore.' He took a swift gulp; then another. His expression betrayed the utter hopelessness… the despair he felt. Numbed they may have been; but felt they were, still.
It was like a rusted knife twisted into the very depths of his soul.
Their eyes then met; her blazing yellow that only echoed strength; his that held the dark bindings of a pain ever-present.
It told the tale of what he once was… and what he had become.
Yukari's expression dropped the mask of indifference; her actions spoke louder than she ever could, as they always would, to him. He knew her too well. For that moment, it was as though she was a child again… and he... was him.
'Once upon a time you were ZUN.' Yukari's voice was stoic; but the words she used suggested so much more than her manner if speech.
The name rang bells; it spoke of emotion; of passion and sorrow.
Of loss.
His eyes briefly lit under the poor lighting; a small shadow of the fear and awe she had remembered. Flashes of a man in sokutai before her, regal and proud; a symbol of power and terror; they flooded his mind for a brief, brief moment. The sound of an army crying out its war call rang throughout the land; the roar of a distant past, thrown to the winds of the forsaken. The only thing left… was what was before Yukari: a mere shade of the man she had known him to be; a broken symbol, a shattered existence.
'Once upon a time, dear daughter.' He turned a sad smile to Yukari; one that she did not return. His sunken face, more skull-like than it should have been, drifted to memories of yore, 'Once upon a time.' His attention turned back to the bottle, casually pouring himself yet another helping; a dissonant action to the dark atmosphere, 'But it comes, whether you wish for it to be so… or not.'
'Send my regards to your sister.'
No words; a closed door; the strong smell of tobacco.
Without another word, she was gone. The patrons went about their usual activities. It was as though she had never been.
A part of him even questioned if she was ever there.
The seconds turned into hours quickly. When all was said and done, the only living beings in the bar were him and the bartender. One bottle of bourbon was rolling on the ground; the other on the counter, almost empty. The bartender was right in front of him, wearing a mask of indifference as he observed the wad of cold hard money on the wooden serving tray.
The man who was once ZUN giggled.
Despair was the only constant in the cosmos.
Beer was the perfect remedy.
'Here's to God.'
He raised a toast to the ceiling, smiling ear-to-ear.
'The universe's biggest son of a bitch.'
His laughter might as well have been tears of blood.
The star shone brightly; so bright, in fact, that it almost burnt his eyes. It was the brightest star of all, shining in the night sky. A special star, he knew it was. That's why it was so bright; brighter than all the others. Brightly, brightly, so brightly. It whispered to him; sweet promises it would never break; that it would take him; take him away from everything; from all pain. It made him feel special; more special than anyone had ever thought he was. It would take him. Take him away; far, far away. From this. All this would be naught but a distant memory, a black taint to be shed.
The red light came for him; a messenger of joy and prosperity. For good boys like him, of course. Only for good boys like him. It'd take him and only him. He was special. The star said so, after all. It shone so brightly, so brightly. It was warm, it was soft, it was everything.
It was everything.
Everything.
It hungered.
Come.
No.
Come.
He screamed.
Mine.
The stars were gone.
Us.
It shone brighter.
To us.
A dark hand reached out.
Mine.
The abyss opens.
The maw welcomes you.
It devours all.
A young man's eyes opened as the sun peaked through his blinds. The radio blared as the smell week-old laundry hit his nose. The blanket, still his closest companion, wrapped tightly around his body as he felt the cold air touch his skin; tired eyes raised themselves to the clock on the wall, indicating his duties to the community were about to begin. He closed his eyes, trying to savour the precious few minutes he had left. Shifting slightly, he moved his feet underneath the blanket, rubbing them together to keep warm. It was just about the end of the working week, and he was going to ooze all he could of the precious moments he had left. The satisfied grunt from his throat made clear of his intention in milking as much rest time as he possibly could; and nothing would stop him, bar an emergency call.
The sound of a familiar tune made itself known to his ears, causing him to groan.
So much for a good snooze, he mused, reaching out a naked arm to the offending item.
He brought the mobile to his ear.
'Good morning, Officer Asato here.'
A/N: Reviews are accepted, those that say "Update plz" and nothing else are ignored; general rule is invoked. Improvements to grammar and delivery are listened to very intently.