"That's the situation I got myself into, Verde-san. But that's neither there nor here. In the official science community, I'm nobody, but well, who am I in the mafia world? What kind of a mafioso can I become?"
"Oh, signor Irie, I understand you perfectly well! You think I had it easier: world-wide reputation, Nobel prize, a bright future. Yes, I have achieved a lot, but that was what put me in a very difficult position when I had to go into the shadows. Even if I could prove that I was me, in a very short time I would turn from a scientist into a guinea pig. The whole world would want to study me, to try to understand the essence of my transformation into a funny midget completely unlike my former self. In any case, I wouldn't be able to work in peace for a long time."
"Your work was more important for you than money and fame - because you had already had all of this! I was like this in my youth, an unmercenary idealist, who hung upon words of my current boss, and then a friend... who just troweled colorful but vague promises of quite dizzying future. And then it turned out that my friend was actually the head of a mafia clan. In response to the request to clarify his promises, he just joked about the impending world domination. That he would eventually find a place for me..."
"So, now you won't have a scientific career, signor Irie. Don Gesso doesn't care about your might-have-been career, and he could have contributed to it - oh, indeed he could have! And you can't leave the Gesso family, since the world of legal science is now closed to you; you won't be let go alive. But, as I understand it, you aren't going to be a lifelong dependent of signor Gesso, working for him in his luxurious residence near Milan?"
"If anything depended on me, Verde-san..."
"But something does depend on me, my not so young friend. Transformed into an Arcobaleno, being forced to leave the legal world you are so grieving for, I involuntarily used the criminal connections I had as a normal person. And I expanded them. In particular, this applies to my ties with Vongola family. I gather you can imagine its extent?"
"Quite, Verde-san. The strongest family of Europe and beyond."
"And beyond! You are absolutely right, my friend. I think they will be very interested not only in the results of your promising research, but also in things you know about Gesso family. Particularly, in the boss's plans for the creation of the Millefiore corporation. And the Nobel Prize and other benefits of worldly glory you still care about, they will provide as well, be sure."
"I don't know how to thank you, Verde-san."
"You're welcome, Irie-san. But it would be a very good idea to remember who you are obliged to."
"Obviously, Verde immediately informed me." With a light and contented smile, Byakuran tipped on the telephone handset. "Of course, I gave Irie a chance - time to come to reason and repent. But he didn't tell me, didn't report his conversation with Verde in any version. He didn't even hint."
"Moron," boomed Zakuro, dramatically clutching his head. "Didn't have brains to understand if Verde works for you, you have him on the leash and he'll rat him out right off the bat! Scientist... baked from the shit."
"An intricate way to escape into death." Daisy muttered. "He could have made it easier, though."
Bluebell snorted, showing she didn't care about the fate of the deceased. Right now, ow she was more interested in tearing open her bag of chips.
"He has already been taken care of by our best expert gardener and our part-time main esthete," Byakuran said, nodding at me. He was shivering and wrapping himself in a blanket (what was quite strange in such warm weather, and even with optimal artificial climate of Gesso residence).
"Always happy to help turn an ugly act into a luxurial bush of wonderful platycodons to decorate our greenhouse with," I said, settling comfortably on the couch in the reclining position.
"Kikyo won't shoot the breeze," Zakuro loudly laughed.
"So now Shoichi blooms and smells," giggled Bluebell, still crunching her chips.
"What could be more beautiful than a fragrant cozy grave," a thin smile lit Daisy's grim face.
"I'm glad you all are happy and in a good mood," Byakuran leaned back on his couch, sipping coffee and eating marshmallows, "but it's time to pay attention to our main goal."
Bermuda aka von Weckenstein happily jumped on the shoulder of a hefty fellow in the cylinder, with a tightly bandaged face - probably the tallest of the Vindice.
"I was waiting for you, my friends, and now, finally, you're all here, like a happy family!"
I probably hadn't experienced a stranger feeling in my life: to feel like two beings, one of them lounging with all possible comfort on the couch in the Byakuran's residence, and the second a clot of flame, suspended in the tank, which more resembled a cylinder with transparent walls - and all at once!
Now I began to understand - or rather, to feel! - what Ghost became... And how Byakuran felt since emerged his twin, who ended up in the Vindice Penitentiary. As if the one lying on the couch was not me but my empty shell, completely devoid of flames.
I could see neither the cylinder itself, nor what was outside it, but the flame used as a radar informed me that the cylinder stood in a large room with a vaulted ceiling, which was consistent with our knowledge of the Vindice Penitentiary.
The castle-monastery built in the Sicilian Alps by the first Baron von Weckenstein, one of the vassals of Frederick Barbarossa.
And the appearance of the current baron, the descendant of the self-appointed bishops and rulers of these places, known to us under the alias Bermuda, I knew perfectly well and could imagine even without seeing him. A huge humanoid object, on whose shoulder sat Baron, was probably his favorite means of transportation. A Vindice nicknamed Jäger. Both of them were solid impenetrable black long tongues of flame.
"Your boss has decided that if he gives me your flame as clots, your twins, then I release his own twin - the Ghost. The deal is good, but! I changed my mind. I have other conditions. I will release all of your counterparts, consisting of your precious flame, but only after I use their force - and it's all your strength, all your flame. Que faire, my task is too grandiose to waste my time on little things like honesty. I need all the flames of Funeral Wreaths, and I got them. As well as the flames of many other powerful individuals contained herein. But then, when I quench my thirst for revenge that has been gnawing at me longer than you suckers have been alive, I will free your flame - if by that time it won't go out, quenched by me. Tell your boss. I know you can hear me."
The teleportation system should not be used before Bermuda retired to a safe distance, going to meet with someone he wanted to take revenge on for so long. We did not know exactly who he was, but, according to Byakuran, this man, who identified himself as Kawahira, was quite an exceptional person. So exceptional that even Bermuda needed to take the flames of many people imprisoned by the Vindice to attack him.
Our boss informed Bermuda about Kawahira's location when they closed the deal. But he didn't tell Baron that in the same area would wait another interesting person, who would create the proper illusion for Weckenstein.
Soon after Baron and Jäger disappeared out of my flame radar range, Byakuran utilized the teleportation system. It didn't require any of his flame (and he just lacked his flame - almost all of it, in the form of his twin Ghost, lived now in a capsule-cylinder in the building of the Vindice Penitentiary, depriving boss of an opportunity to ever use it), it was enough to press the signal buttons on the remote, disguised as a telephone. At boss's signal, six Strau Mosca biorobots (a special model, different from the standard one by increased power magnitude of the generated flame), worked at maximum capacity as their flame dischargers connected to the teleportation system. Their combined flame discharge put the system into operation, and the "surplus", being teleported to the former convent, split into heavy-duty capsules that contained our counterparts, including Ghost, boss's twin. It meant our illusionist reported that Bermuda directly contacted Kawahira now, and that we should hurry too.
The remnants of the robots' flame energy sent to the teleportation system were enough to transfer all of us to our counterparts, straight to the jail of the Vindice, who didn't expect such a surprise.
I had just laid on the couch with the pitiful remnants of my Cloud flame,for the first time in recent years feeling like a complete nonentity, like a drunken out, dry vessel, and now I was already standing in the dark-even pitch dark-vaulted chamber, feeling the close presence of other the Funeral Wreaths - as real objects on my "radar" and as sources of flame: the sparkling blue fountain of Rain flame, th golden radiant orb of the Sun flame, blinding scarlet, star-shaped Storm flame with lots of spiny ray, and a bright orange mushroom of Sky flame.
We haven't seen the white flash of energy discharge that destroyed the cylindrical capsule, - it lit up the dark room (the Vindice don't need light) for a split of a second while we teleported here. Now I could only hear dust crunch under our feet - dust in which turned the recent repository of our twins, clusters of flame that now was our flame again, merging with us.
However, it was time to get to work - the Vindice had probably sensed our presence and would be here at any moment .
"Oh, such a beautiful box!" Bluebell screamed upon seeing the heavy-duty flame emitters later implanted in our bodies. Since then we simply called them "boxes". Carnage boxes. Previously, to activate these devices, we needed to touch them with a ring, but now they were part of us, like any other organ. And just before the implantation of the emitters, our restless inventor Verde improved them a bit and combined them with the teleportation system. Now with their help, it was possible to "pump" our flames in an imaginary twin, filling a vague thought form, giving it physicality and durability, and as well in an ally, equipped with a carnage box in the body. The receiving boxes worked as flame converters, turning them into a compatible flame type for the receiving partner. Thus each of the Funeral Wreaths could pool their power, at least for a little while.
"Now, Kikyo!" The emitter worked as a communicator receiving signals from the other's flame, transmitting them into my body, the nervous system converting them into words, as if the brain was connected to the radio. In this case, it was boss's words. I knew the others could hear them too - the part of our plan I was tasked to carry out had to be put into action first. A monstrous dose of flame burst into me. An ordinary man would never have survived. Or even a gifted, but inexperienced and untrained man. We had to get used to this flame oversaturation gradually, through extended collective training.
Cloud flames burst out of me as a purple X-shaped cross. It took the form of four tornados of light, a luxurious hurricane rushing into the sky. Whoa, sky? We were still in the monastery castle turned into a prison by the Vindice, or more precisely, by their too revengeful master... Belatedly I realized that the castle was gone. It had turned to dust, with a loud bang, somewhat reminiscent of the crackling of torn paper, but much more intense - as if a ton of paper was torn simultaneously. (I was reminded of the mountain of papers I had to deal with on my previous job, an eternity ago). The magnificent man-made rock, spawn of the Romanesque architecture of the XIII century, erected by the will of the feudal adventurer, Bermuda's ancestor, disappeared, scattered in the ashes along with outer baileys reinforcing the hill where it had just stood, and where now stood the five of us. Fortunately, I got my bearings and took action: vortices of my flame merged into a huge spiked sphere filled with water splashing out of tanks in which the prisoners were held - decompression was a slow process, and they, having been subjected to water pressure for long periods of time, would be better off staying in the water.
Among them was our second goal, Rokudo Mukuro. And those who weren't contained in the tanks, I secluded in smaller impervious spiked spheres - their soildity was enough to let former prisoners survive the collapse of prison. There was no need in these spheres: I removed them and gave former prisoners an opportunity to get out of the way. For our work was not finished yet: on the needle tips of the huge water-filled sphere twitched the impaled Vindice, for once in caught by surprise. Now they were shrouded in a playful blue glow emitted by Bluebell, sailing over dark purple ball grinning with monstrous spikes in her favorite battle form of a graceful mermaid. Rain Flames, strengthened by all of us, thwarted all Vindice's attempts to resist.
From within, the sphere was"illuminated" by shimmering golden glares of Daisy's flame - without wasting time, our Sun guardian got busy with the water that contained several unhappy swimming prisoners, now released from tanks.
Daisy himself was with us on the rock, but the teleportation system moved his flames into my sphere. Now he was changing the properties of water which would serve as sustenance for human bodies, because the life-support system which supported their terrible existence in prison sunk into oblivion together with the prison.
Everything took a few moments - I didn't like bragging, but we, Funeral Wreaths, had excellent reflexes.
Neither I nor Daisy needed an extra boost to maintain the sphere and turn water into improvised life-support system. Now almost all power of Zakuro and Byakuran (and robots connected to the teleportation system) was aimed at supporting Bluebell. We couldn't let Vindice go too early.
Zakuro was staggering, and one didný need to be a Funeral Wreath to figure out to whom we owed the recent force majeure.
"Well, you made a real mess, Storm Guardian! It was a historical relic, didn't bother people, graced the landscape, could attract tourists, and now what's this? Imagine what would be left from all of us if Kikyo-chan got angry with you?" Boss's irony passed perfectly well through the "general address system" of our carnage boxes. In this case, boss jokes to lift our spirits, and even utterly frustrated Zakuro, who hadn't kept himself under control and poured too much flame into me, understood it. I had a flash of a thought: could I have imagined at my previous work that a superior was capable of good-natured humor?
