Credit: Immeasurable thanks to charlzway, DeathDragon130, XTAIGAX and Ereshkigaal for beta reading
This chapter's warning: Uh, the portrayal of Hibari as a psychopathic antihero and a horde of OCs for more bloodbaths?
Nunchaku = a traditional Okinawan weapon consisting of two sticks connected at one end with a short chain or rope
Smørrebrød = open rye-bread sandwiches, usually laden with slices of cold meat, sausage or hard-boiled egg
Ichthus / ichthys (the Greek word for 'fish'), which is a Christian symbol for Christ, is a depiction of a fish composed with the initials of these five words: Iesus Christos Theou Uios Soter (Jesus Christ Son of God Saviour) and is encircled by the words in full. During the persecution of the early church, this symbol was among those used by Christians as a means of identification and to designate a place of gathering.
Selkie = a mythical Celtic creature who is said to live as a seal in the sea but shed his or her pelt to become human on land
Vade Retro Satana means 'Step back, Satan!' in Latin.
Threnody = a mourning hymn for the dead
Misericorde = a thin-bladed dagger; so called, in the Middle Ages, because used to give the death wound or "mercy" stroke to a heavily-wounded adversary (its Latin derivative, 'miser' / 'wretched' + 'cor' / 'heart' = 'misericordia' / 'compassion')
Espada ropera = a light, thin, ornate sword developed in the mid-fifteenth century Spain
Creese (also spelt as 'kris' or 'keris') = a Southeast Asian asymmetrical, wavy-bladed dagger
Here's the full chart of the singular & plural forms for the word 'draug' in Danish:
Singular, without specific article: draug
Plural, without specific article: drauger
Singular, with specific article: draugen
Plural, with specific adjective: draugerne
'You're crowding around.'
The words were spoken in a flat tone, yet they bore the speaker's undisguised resentment. At the sound of his voice, the four girls who were chatting merrily stopped their giggles, colour draining from their faces. They separated immediately and each individual paced the remaining length of the corridor with hurried steps; the shortest of them had even mumbled a frantic apology before she scurried away towards the 'Academic Studies' section.
Her remorse was wasted, thoroughly ignored. The one who had reprimanded the girls continued walking towards the opposite direction, under the barrel vault of the corridor, the red 'prefect' band encircling the gakuran sleeve of his right arm swaying lightly with every step he made. No longer was Hibari Kyouya a hapless child, but a youth inured to fear. At sixteen, he had grown into an unspeakably ferocious and competent exorcist-in-training whose formidability had done considerably to earn him obedience from his fellow students, but ever so slight fondness from them.
Hibari did not pause until he reached an arched entryway. The entrance opened to reveal the main hall of the Exorcism Studies Section—a circular colonnaded hall of porphyry floor and flanked by two state-of-the-art winding stairs that hosted the palladium parapegm of the Vongola Coat of Arms. The Coat of Arms consisted of a winged clam perched at the intersection of two crossing rifles, from which, hung a shield depicting a single bullet. Crowned by swirling acanthus leaves, a banner inscribed with the 'Vongola' name served as its base.
Ahead of the corridor entry, seven doors graced the hall, each separated by a huge tapestry depicting mythical scenes around the world. The first door on the left was engraved with the picture of a storm symbol. Underneath the icon was the Division Guide: Mantra, sutra reading, curses, hexes, jinxes, exorcism ceremony, counter-goety, abnegation of necromancy, precautions against the Sigil of Baphomet, etc. The door on its right was engraved with the picture of a rain symbol and inscribed with one-on-one duels underneath the icon. The next door bore a sun symbol and the Division Guide: Recuperation for bites, stings and poisoning by werewolves, zombies, spiders, etc. A thunder symbol etched the fourth door, which was meant for Preservation and maintenance of artefacts, talismans, charms, seals, holy water, etc.
The fifth door was engraved with a cloud symbol. This division was for Fighting against multiple opponents and was where Hibari belonged. The violet tapestry on its right depicted young Kintaro in his red bib taming a pack of bears beneath the lush trees on Mount Ashigara. However, personally, Hibari preferred the light blue tapestry on the right of the Rain Division, which portrayed the hero Beowulf wrestling the ferocious Grendel with his bare hands under the murky sky.
The engraving on the sixth door was the mist icon; underneath which, were the words: Exorcism involving mind control, shape-shifting and illusory techniques. The last door, which was the door on the right of the entrance, was the entrance to the sky division—the most difficult of all, of which duties involved Dangerous missions for rescuing lost-in-action exorcists.
No access beyond to these doors would be granted to any student who had not passed the placement test. To take the test, it was necessary for students to study six years of fundamental exorcism, in which all subjects of exorcism were obligatory. Unlike the Academic Studies, the Exorcism Studies did not segregate students based on age, but by the length of their stay at the academy. Therefore, it was possible, for instance, for a twelve-year old sixth-year elementary student from the Academic Section and a twenty-one-year old third-year university student from the Academic Section to become classmates as second-year students in Basic Exorcism.
Upon passing the test, students would advance to a more talent-specific level and be allowed to choose the subjects of their interest. The placement test itself consisted of seven parts: Wording Fluency, Battle Obduracy, Restoration Proficiency, Scientific Approach, Stamina Maintenance, Strategic Manipulation and Problem Solving. Students with the highest score for literary studies would naturally join the Storm Section. Those who mastered the intricate way an amulet did its work would earn themselves seats in the Thunder Section, and so forth.
Those who failed the exams at the end of the six years of Basic Exorcism Studies might repeat a grade or move to the Department of Exorcism Support Studies, where they would undergo trainings as Auxiliary Exorcists. Depending on their skills and what their exorcist partners lacked, the graduated exorcist supporters had a wide range of jobs, including, but not limited to, luggage porters, linguistic interpreters, informants, project managers and weapon suppliers.
Furthermore, students under eighteen would receive compulsory academic studies in accordance to the Japanese educational system in addition to their exorcism studies, although mature students were allowed academic studies, as well, should they wish to. The academic studies taught them how to cope with normal jobs, in case a solicitor or a hockey player wanted to be a part-time exorcist.
Hibari went through the door with the cloud symbol. As he passed, an older boy standing at the corner nudged his companion with a meaningful smirk; even so, Hibari proceeded to the male changing room for a uniform switch. The Academic Studies Section employed the gakuran for boys and sailor suits with pleated skirts for girls, while the Exorcism Section employed the same outfit for both genders. The jackets, trousers and boots were optimised for the ease of fighting: High collars and long sleeves for prevention against monster bites made of light-weighted, flameproof, waterproof and bulletproof synthetic fibres enchanted with dwarves' hair. Each button was glazed with the paste of golems' teeth to increase its durability. All uniforms had the same black colour, but to distinguish students by their seniority, the sleeve hems differed in colour for each grade. All uniforms were equipped with the necessary pockets and straps for holding weapons.
As soon as the door opened to reveal Hibari's figure, the bustling liveliness of the male changing room turned into the mortuary silence of a burial ground. All tittle-tattles were snuffed out. Adam's apples bobbed up and down. Breathing hitched. Shoulders stiffened. Each of the fourteen occupiers of the room kept his gaze at his own locker.
The prefect walked past them without a second glance. It did not escape his notice, however, that with every step he took, the others' fingers fumbled for buttons more frantically. In Hibari's presence, nobody was disinterested in finishing as soon as possible and getting out from the room.
Having donned his exorcist uniform, Hibari consulted his timetable. Today, he would get Demonology at three-thirty, Italian Grammar at four-thirty and Combat Training at six. He returned the timetable sheet into his locker, calm as ever, when he heard the door of the changing room fly open. Six boys, all older and taller than Hibari, burst in. Judging from the brown hem of their sleeves, they were fifth-graders—two years above Hibari.
'So, this is the famous Hibari Kyouya, eh?' remarked the boy who entered last, after closing the wooden door behind him with a kick. He had a cleft chin and a regent hairdo and appeared to be the leader of the gang.
His expression quite unfazed, the younger boy offered no reply. His eyes glanced at the clock on the wall, which showed twenty-one past three in the afternoon. The distance between the changing room and the Demonology classroom took four minutes' walk. He had exactly five minutes to leave this room if he did not want to be late for his lesson. No. For a prefect, being late was never an option.
'What's the matter?' mocked the gang leader, 'Afraid you'll be late and lose your precious prefect band?'
At the sound of his taunt, the few remaining occupants of the changing room scampered outside, regardless of their unzipped jackets and unbuckled belts. The room was left empty, save for Hibari and the six upperclassmen.
Again, the prefect did not answer. Instead, he walked unperturbed towards the exit, where the gang leader had blocked it with his leg. The other boys lined themselves on either side of their leader, each drawing their weapon.
Hibari's eyes narrowed. 'You're dirtying the wall with your shoe.'
With raised voice, the older boy spewed back, 'You've got guts to address your sempai like that! Just because you're—how did Skull phrase it … oh yeah, "the record breaker for the Cloud Section placement test after over two centuries"—you treat your seniors like shit.'
Can't this vermin dwell on something else, besides what has taken place over two years ago?
In a tone still as flat as before, Hibari said, 'Vongola Academy Rules, Article #17: "Students who deliberately damage school properties are liable to reimbursement as well as detention, exclusion, or any type of punishment that teachers deem appropriate to the severity caused." That rule applies to upperclassmen and underclassmen alike.'
It was only at times like this that Hibari spoke so lengthily. He had already been a quiet child by nature, but his life as an exorcist-in-training aggravated his asocial disposition.
'Still actin' high 'n' mighty, are you?' The gang leader grinned. His cronies smirked too, except for one, who was too preoccupied in nose-picking.
Hibari glimpsed at the clock again; he had wasted half a minute on idle chatter.
One of the senior boys swung his fist, aiming his spiked brass knuckles at the pit of Hibari's stomach. But the kouhai had already seen his trajectory—the contraction of his muscles, the movements of his joints, the course of his gaze and the pattern of his breathing. The prefect stepped away from his assaulter's outstretched arms; the older boy's stomach ran into his clenched fist. The sempai fell on his back, vomiting bile, while his brass knuckles thudded against the floor.
Predictably, his companions charged at Hibari en masse. Much to their annoyance, the third-year prefect dodged their lunges effortlessly and even declared in an unruffled tone, 'Vongola Academy Rules, Article #8: "Students who execute the art of exorcism, be it in weaponry or knowledge, to harm their own fellow exorcists for personal reason are subjected to—"'
This time, before Hibari finished quoting the rest of the article, a fat boy cut him off, 'Screw you and those stinky rules!'
Undoubtedly, it was him who lay on the floor next, his nunchaku flying some two yards away.
'You motherfucking cunt!' yelled the third boy, scuttling with his spear aimed at Hibari's eye.
One minute and twenty-four seconds later, Hibari swung the door open. He stepped out alone, straightening the creases of his uniform, the tonfas hanging by his waist remained undrawn. The fifth-grade boys lay unconscious on the floor, their bodies black and blue. Thus, it became official that those who sought to fight Hibari Kyouya would be granted annihilation.
###
The next afternoon, the students on school grounds were free of Hibari's reign of terror because at that moment, he was sitting on the school bus. The prefect sat with his arms folded across his chest as Namimori School gradually became a tiny dot from the back of the retreating bus. The academy was located at the heart of Shiretoko National Park, which was said to be the last unexplored region of Japan; in the Ainu Language, 'shiretoko' meant 'the end of the Earth'.
The vehicle glided on, passing by the enchanted forest and advancing towards the direction of the settlements of the mekura—the word which literally meant 'ignoramus' in Japanese, but used by the Namimori exorcists as the term for calling non-exorcists, ordinary people who either did not know about or refuse to acknowledge the existence of spiritual beings.
The leaves were swaying—waving the passengers goodbye and wishing them safe return—but the gravel groaned beneath the rolling tyres, as the path in this part of the forest was unpaved. The grumbles of the pebbles irritated Hibari's ears, darkening his already bad mood. Even the splendid view of the Kamuiwakka Waterfalls gave him nothing but a small consolation. Enhanced with the natural beauty of its rocks and vegetation, this steamy natural hot spring was given the name 'kamuiwakka', which meant 'water of the gods' in Ainu. Having so little care for such splendour, Hibari recalled the unexpected discourses that had occurred one hour prior.
###
'Do you know why I've summoned you here?' spoke what appeared to be an infant boy whose height barely reached Hibari's knees. In truth, this infant, usually referred as 'The Baby' by Hibari and a handful of other students, was the headmaster of Namimori School. He was the strongest of the seven insanely powerful people put under the curse of the Arcobaleno; their grown-up figures were reduced to that of infants, though this seemed to hold no effect for their physical strengths and psychological perceptions.
The headmaster's fingers reached for the golden tassel that tied the burgundy curtain of his office window. With each string the infant fiddled, every nerve within Hibari's body tingled; Headmaster Reborn could defeat any opponent to date.
'I broke the eighth article of the Vongola Academy Rules by using exorcism techniques in retaliation to my attackers yesterday.' Hibari managed not to stammer, but he was aware that he was close to doing so. There was something about the headmaster's aura that gave him the feeling of being trapped in a dark room together with a wild beast without any weapon to defend himself with.
'So, is punishment to be expected then?' remarked the headmaster. Backlit by the afternoon sun, the fabric of his black suit glimmered slightly. A yellowish orange pacifier hung loosely by a string from his neck. The headmaster's familiar, Leon the chameleon, was snoozing soundly over the rim of his fedora.
Hibari had been prepared to hear the word 'detention'. Instead, what he heard from the infant was: 'In that case, you will escort a new teacher from the bus stop at Shiretoko Nature Centre back to Namimori School this afternoon.'
'Why?' Hibari's gaze at the headmaster was too defiant to be overlooked. The idea of a teacher who was incapable of getting to the school without a student guide was unheard of. Moreover, even if the teacher did request for such company, the straight-laced students who would happily offer their dedicated service were rife.
Reborn simply smiled, though not without a devilish glint in his eyes. 'The point of a punishment is the implementation of an activity that the wrongdoer would find least enjoyable.'
Hibari's jaw twitched, brows knitted into a frown, as he made his descent upon the spiralling stairs outside the headmaster's office at the top of the circular tower. Although his sociopathic demeanour was a secret to no one, he could not help getting agitated about Reborn's awareness on how he would have been able to withstand detentions without breaking a sweat. Instead, the headmaster chose to subject him to the worst kind of torture: Confinement within a crowd of noisy bus passengers, from Vongola Academy to Shiretoko Nature Centre, for six whole hours. And that was only because they were travelling on an enchanted school bus—it would have taken over eight hours via an ordinary bus, if the mekura could find the path.
Yet, what had awaited Hibari outside the crenelated tower was even more unexpected: The six boys he had beaten the day before were currently standing under a maple tree in the courtyard with the ivy-draped inner curtain wall behind their backs. Hibari's supposition was that they were there to square him away; as the troublemakers who ganged up on a single lowerclassman, they surely had received a more severe punishment than his. Still, the prefect intended to walk past his upperclassmen with an intention to ignore them completely, unless they attacked him again.
He was some five metres away from them when the gang leader called out, 'Wait, Hibari Kyouya—ah, I-I mean, aniki!'
Even though Hibari's lips remained shut, one glare from him was enough to convey: 'Since when have I become your elder brother?'
'Uh,' the gang leader fidgeted, his Regent-styled hair moving oddly as he did so. 'We've talked and come to an agreement that we … we want to follow you.'
Hibari eyed him in silently. Contrary to his crude demeanour yesterday, the older boy was courteous today, had even used the polite way of even going so far as to speak in keigo, which is normally addressed to one who was older, or of a higher social standing.
The leader of the gang bowed to Hibari. 'On behalf of all six of us, I, Kusakabe Tetsuya, apologise for our misbehaviour yesterday. We look to you for guidance from now on, Kyou-aniki.'
'I'm not anyone's aniki,' replied Hibari as he stepped away.
'A-ah, well…,' He shifted uncomfortably while making a short, tentative pause, and then: 'Kyou-san?'
What? Hibari stared at the other boy in disbelief.
'Kyou-san it is then.' Taking Hibari's dumbfounded muteness as an approval, Kusakabe confirmed with much enthusiasm.
In the end, even with Hibari shooing them away, the newly self-proclaimed 'Disciplinary Committee' saw him off all the way to the school bus stop. Little did he know that from the next day onwards, they would congregate around him, with evenly matched hairdos, so that their uniformed appearance would better suit that of a proper disciplinary committee.
###
The best thing while travelling around Shiretoko-Goko or 'The Five Jewels'—according to the standard of one who had been sick enough to travel on bumpy roads—was its paved street. Bedecked with pedestrian wooden trail along their perimeters, the five lakes served as a boundary between wilderness and civilisation, and from this point onwards, hello asphalt!
When the bus passed by the second lake, Hibari took delight in momentarily watching a bear swimming in the small, tranquil lake surrounded by a luxuriant forest. But then, the vermillion streaks in the glorious cupola of heaven presaged the dusk. By sheer radiance, the golden rays of the sun perforated through the bus window, compelling the boy to shield his eyes with his forearm. The next minute, Hibari gave up and closed his eyes entirely.
Doing so only allowed the bitter memories of his second bite to revisit him.
###
Every year, each branch of the Vongola Academy of Exorcism from all around the world, would arrange a field trip, allowing the exorcists-in-training to meet real-life monsters while being under the care and protection of their teachers, with different locations designated for each grade. Five years ago, along with all the fourth grade students of Basic Exorcism Studies and three teachers, Hibari visited Denmark. The young exorcists-to-be were not going to indulge themselves carousing around the lush parterres of Tivoli Gardens or the opulent interiors of Amalienborg Palace; they were here to see Danish spirits.
The students had the chance to come face-to-face with real spiritual beings only during a field trip or mission assignments. The creatures studied at the Vongola Academy of Exorcism during their daily lessons back at the Academy were enchanted manifestation created from the DNA of the relevant creatures. They possessed the traits of the creatures in question. Some argued that they were like clones to a certain extent, except that they were not truly alive—which made the description of 'animate weapons who had no will of their own' fit more accurately. Others insisted that they were closer to being tangible illusions. The fact remained, however, that they were disposable and new copies can be easily re-generated in the Thunder Section Laboratory. The exorcists called these 'kairai', which meant 'dummy' or 'puppet' in Japanese.
'That would be an infringement on spiritual rights,' explained a teacher when her student asked why they did not practice on the real thing. 'Imagine how inconvenient it would be for a demon to get exorcised over and over until all students in this class get their turn.'
Under close supervision of their teachers, the Vongola students had purified many a myling—the ghost of a child left to die in the wilderness—so that their spirit could pass on. While visiting a farm, they shook hand with a nisse, who was a good wight that, in exchange for food, took care of the house and barn while the farmer was sleeping. The students had also witnessed Isobe, the only male teacher supervising them during this fieldtrip, repelling the allurement of the ellepiger—alder tree maidens whose hollow backs contradicted their frontal pulchritude.
Their second day of activity opened with the fiddle performance of a young and handsome fossegrimen's on his waterfall—much to the music lovers and pubescent female students' delight. After grabbing a quick smørrebrød lunch, they paid a visit to an old cemetery to seek wisdom from the ghosts. The sun shone cheerfully and everything was fine … until the troublemaker Uboshita kicked an unnamed, lichen-covered tomb when none of the teachers was looking.
The crude quality of its grave marker indicated that it had been erected before the tenth century, but its Patonce Cross decoration seemed to be added centuries later, during the age of the chivalry. The crucifix had four arms of equal length, each terminating in floriated points. Of these arms, none were scratched, but the intersection—a circular inscription of the Ichthus symbol—which had already dented, now formed a larger crack. Why then would this ancient sepulchral structure, so steadfast despite its superannuated age, break at the kicking force of a mere twelve-year-old child? One could only presume that it was the child's spiritual strength, rather than his physical one, that caused such a fissure—Uboshita's spiritual energy ranked highest of all fourth graders.
The class members were deep in conversation with the ghosts, who undoubtedly welcomed their visit, not realising what terrible entity had been unleashed, now that the seal was broken. A student was asking the differences between Boller, Birkes and Rundstykker breads when the baker's ghost gave out a startle. The moustached transparent figure cast a worried glance at the tomb that Uboshita had just desecrated and swore, 'Oh fuck!'
The student raised her eyebrows in indignation; to the best of her knowledge, she had not done anything offensive so as to deserve her interviewee's vitriol. Tossing her braided hair over her shoulder, she began, 'Excuse me?'
However, the chestnut-haired ghost ignored her question and shouted frenziedly, 'Go away; it's dangerous in here! GO!'
Before she could ask him anything else, the ghost had vanished without a trace, and so had the other ghosts. No more wispy, ethereal presence floated around on the cemetery ground. In bewilderment, the students looked at the desecrated tomb—the direction that all ghosts seemed to have dreaded before they removed themselves from the burial ground. Nobody knew why Uboshita had collapsed, unconscious.
The most senior of the three teachers, Fahlmer, who rushed to the boy's help, caught sight of the tombstone shifting. She alerted herself for the worst-case scenario and instructed, 'Wakatsuki-sensei, the Shield Charm! Isobe-sensei, guide the students!'
The bespectacled woman knelt down and drew the triangular shape of the Shield of the Trinity in mid-air using her spiritual energy, the arcane diagram emitting a radiant silver glow. The spiky-haired man directed the students to calm down and concentrate. The jowly-faced woman gathered all her strength and hurled the swooned Uboshita into the safety of the Scutum Fidei. The boy's torso got in, but his legs were still outside the words 'non est' that bridged 'Pater' and 'Sanctus Spiritus'—the phrase was supposed to be read as: 'Pater non est Sanctus Spiritus' or 'Father is not the Holy Spirit'.
The air grew noisome and dank and mildew-like, filled with the breathing of the open crypt. The malodour was repulsive enough to make eyes water. A gravid, gruesome feeling settled into the funereal ground, almost like smoke creeping into a lung. Hibari knew this smell: The foetid scent of the undead.
The gravestone shattered. From underneath the undulating ground, five fingers erupted, their form of driest withering and their skin of darkest blue, while their nails long and curved and caked with dirt. They grabbed Fahlmer's forearm. Curled around it. Lingered.
The teacher struggled to free herself from the talon-like attack, but her assailant's grip was far too dominant. With her other hand, she took out from her pocket a Saint Benedict Medal, inscribed with the Vade Retro Satana formula to ward off Satan. The ghoulish creature's movement halted. A small amount of smoke billowed forth from the fiend's sizzling skin, where the amulet was pressed against it.
It's all right; there's only one enemy, Hibari bit his lip and assured himself. Three teachers and a class of exorcists-in-training are more than enough for a fight.
Just as the rest of the class were exhaling in relief, Fahlmer screamed. The creature's grip tightened, ripping her arm from her body. The plump woman recoiled in agony, her scrunched-up face bearing the tale of her torment. Nausea swept upon the young exorcists-in-training when they saw blood splattering on the ground and neighbouring grave markers.
The ground was agape, and from it, a figure rose to its full height, bearing a visage so withered and a terror so ancient. A full Viking armour—an iron helmet, ravaged with rust; a round shield of alder, mouldered with decay; and a brynje, from which broken strands of chainmail dangled in rusty tatters—braced its body. Underneath the fabric of its tunic, its trunk seemed lean, even emaciated; its belt, to which was fastened a corroding battle axe, hung loosely from its tenuous waist. Its dark blue skin, partially marked by the mastication of maggots, was sullied with filth, and yet, it still glimmered with an eerie incandescence. It looked almost like a ghost, with the phosphorescent substance glowing all around it; except that it was tangible. It could touch them and hurt them, even devour them—just as it had done to Fahlmer's ripped arm. The bright sunlight forthrightly illuminated every detail of the heinous act, from the moment the abomination's yellow teeth gnawed off one of the fingers down to the final crunch as they pulverised the bone.
This was a 'draug'—the monstrology lessons had given the young exorcists-in-training that much knowledge. What the lessons had not taught them was how little resistance amulets could do against such a ghoulish entity, how helpless their formerly invincible instructor was at the hand of a real monster, how the lives of thirty-one students and their three teachers might end in a single summer day.
Unbeknownst to the grave visitors, the crypt had been sealed by the Knights of Templar in times of old, who had then placed the Patonce Cross and Ichthus to guard the tomb. Thus, the draugen had come to be pent underground. For centuries, it had lain beneath the soil with no air to breathe and no food to eat; still, the black coach of Death refused to admit such an accursed creature as the draugen. But now, at the breaking of the seal, the draugen was liberated from its subterranean prison.
As the draugen strode towards them, the students reeled back in horror. Some of the younger ones covered their eyes; others clenched their classmates' shirts. They had managed to secure Uboshita's body inside the shield's perimeter, but even such a shield could not shelter mortals from a demon of the supreme rank.
'Fahlmer-sensei, take the children and run!' cried Isobe, 'Ciara, back me up!' Withdrawing his tessen folding fan, the spiky-haired instructor stepped out of the shield's borders. His fiancée, Wakatsuki, followed closely behind him.
An expression of irresolution passed for an instant over Fahlmer's face, but being a teacher necessitated her to prioritise the students' safety above her colleagues'. Clutching the severed arm with her good hand, she shouted, 'This way, class!'
The students thronged behind the injured teacher, panic driving them forward. As exorcists-in-training, they ought to put theory they had learnt into practice, but all that came to their minds now was a single word: RUN!
The last thing Hibari saw before he turned to follow Fahlmer's lead was the cadmium blades protruding from Isobe's unfolded fan clash against the portion of the draugen's helmet that covered its neck. Born from the union of a man and a vampiress, Isobe possessed the vampiric superhuman strength as well as the immunity to sunlight exposure. He was a full-pledged A-rank exorcist who had slain over thirty monsters and captured a dozen alive. And yet, gone had the air of confidence that had usually accompanied the dhampir, ousted by a stern look and knitting brows.
They will be all right, Hibari assured himself. Wakatsuki-sensei's spells can protect Isobe-sensei from the undead's infection.
Although raised by her human father, Wakatsuki was mothered by a dullahan—a headless Irish wight who carried a whip made of human corpse's spine and rode a feral black horse. Famed for both speed and efficiency in battles, Ciara Wakatsuki was the best spell-caster in Namimori after the Head of Department from the Storm Section. Recently, she had even received an award for a spell of her invention. Together with Isobe, she would make a perfect combo.
However, not even two minutes had lapsed when the running students heard, 'REZART!'
The high-pitched scream gave Hibari gooseflesh. No diva's aria filled the opera hall; only the threnody of the distressed woman spread across the realm of the dead. Yet, Wakatsuki's voice was no less melodious than how it sounded in normal circumstances. The irony that he appreciated the beauty in such shriek was alarming.
Without pausing, Fahlmer fumbled with her mobile phone, trying to request for help. Some of the students glanced over their shoulders with a worried look; others chose not to witness what was happening to the two teachers they had left behind—the panic tone that Wakatsuki-sensei used while uttering her beloved's name could never mean anything good.
As the students, under Fahlmer's lead, approached the border of the necropolis, the road seemed to assume a graver desolation. The footpath was penumbral and gloomily quiet. No insect or lizard prowled about the rocks underneath the leafless twigs of the dead trees. There was no tell-tale of the other two teachers. No sign of the draugen either.
Suddenly, Hibari felt an uneasy sensation; a cold feeling of dread twisting deep within his guts. The fiendish creature did not seem to be pursuing them, but the air around them now reeked of the same filth as when the draugen first emerged from its dungeon. The smell was faint, but its presence was unmistakable. Hibari felt every inch of skin twitching in horror at this realisation.
Fahlmer dropped her mobile phone onto the grass to grab the student who stood nearest to her.
'Sensei?' asked the student, her tone compassionate, probably under the impression that the severity of Fahlmer's wound obliged the teacher to seek support even just to keep her standing.
Then, the little girl's eyes widened with dread. The arm that was gripping hers had turned bluish in pallor, the skin speckled with amaranth venation. There were unnatural protrusions on Fahlmer's eyeballs that rendered the lids impossible to close. The teacher's lens and corneas were gone, leaving only the lividness of the vitreous chambers to occupy the entire eyes. Wispy odour of decay seeped out of the now undead's arm, where the execrable draugen had severed it earlier.
A frightened squawk rang out, followed by a cacophony that comprised shock, fear and desperation until a boy, Lambo Bovino, threw a rock at Fahlmer and her grip became enfeebled. Another boy—Yamamoto Takeshi—snatched the opportunity to break the girl free from the undead, though not before the teacher bit off the upper half of her ear. The students scampered off in different directions and soon, in the bedlam that was ensued, they were caught in voluminous swirls of mist. Little did they realise that the next time they crossed paths with one another, some of them would sink their teeth upon their comrades' flesh.
Silence presided over the pathway once more.
Hibari ran northwards. No matter where he looked, everything was covered in a thick, eddying fog that had also swallowed his classmates. The only sign that they had ever been there were the disturbed dried leaves and mulch on umber earth. The graveyard looked as though it had been deserted again, but not without a menace in its quiescence. The ground was watching every movement.
Wheeling this way and that, Hibari blundered around on the foreign soil. Hopelessly lost. Alienated. He waved his arms about in an attempt to dispel as much fog as possible, but to no avail. If only drauger had not been endowed with magical abilities! Weather control was one of the draugerne's attributes. The blanket of mist—the miasmal white substance that had not existed before the rise of the draugen—separated the students from one another with uncanny swiftness as well as prevented them from exiting the funerary ground. The coils of mist rose, enfolding the entire scene around him with their malignant, pallid emanation.
There has to be a landmark, the boy tried to look for something that would give him his bearings. But there was just fog out there, interminable fog amidst treacherous gravels and shifting trees beneath the carked sky. Even the white clouds above had turned slate-grey.
The silence deepened with each step he took. The air shimmered and retreated before him, taunting him with its placidity. Columns of dust arose and stole away like apparitional thieves. At any other time, Hibari could alert himself in case unseen, sinister-laughing cacodemons rose all about him from the graveyard ground, lurking behind the grave markers and soon emerging to assail him. Today, the sighting of a draug made this prospect pale in comparison.
The lone boy listened closely for any scream—the sound would enable him to distinguish who had been infected in precaution to their imminent attack. Brigitte Desmarais, whose ear had been nibbled by Fahlmer's, had to be a goner. Uboshita Tomio, who was left unconscious near the draugen, was in all likelihood zombified too. The three of them—with Liesbeth Fahlmer—would prey upon others. Who else would fall? There was no sound. No frightened yelp. No shriek of surprise. Nothing.
The fog inspissated thicker, turning so condensed that it walled his vision. Sweat drenched the boy's temple. Drauger were reputed to possess shape-shifting attribute—a seal; a great, flayed bull; and a grey, earless, tailless horse with a broken back were among the list of what drauger were capable of transfiguring themselves into. Nonetheless, no literary source stated that a draug could not transmogrify itself into a human.
Think of anything but fear! The little boy tried to divert his thoughts, though with little success. The fright he was fevered with kept resurging from different corners of his mind.
If only everyone had been protected by the safety of the exorcist uniform! Those high collars and long sleeves could have prevented monster bites, as their synthetic fibres—light-weighted, flameproof, waterproof and bulletproof—were enchanted with dwarves' hair. Fahlmer mightn't have lost her arm and none of the students would have been infected. Yet, such a thing would be too much to wish for; during fieldtrips, teachers and students wore ordinary clothing to blend with the mekura.
Hibari tried to recall the details of his exorcism lessons. The teachers often mentioned how crucial it was to make use of the unique traits each individual possessed. The Vongola Academy staff and students were largely composed of half-breeds between supernatural beings and humans, in which one held different potentials from another. The descendant of a selkie, for instance, would be able to unleash her power most potently in the proximity of water.
Nervously, Hibari closed his eyes. The busaw's saliva that flowed within his arteries had endowed him with keener senses. When he concentrated to the utmost and used this ability, other people's murmurs became audible at normal speaking level, and their normal speeches became deafening thunders. Albeit he received no improvement for sight, he was capable of sniffing out freshly-shed blood within a six-hundred-metre radius.
Hibari switched off the inhuman power within him whenever he could, but he had to resort to it now. The sheer sensitivity was stupendous, terrifying; his own heartbeat, along with myriads of other sounds, came to his ears with excruciating clarity. Even in this vapour-laden field, everything was animate. The lives of the local vegetation filled every corner of his conscience—blooming, bursting, teeming, rotting—and the variety of it could even implode a botanist's brain. But what's more, among the tiny insects that were crawling or flying through the monstrous weeds, hope of survival and despair of the draugen's unrivalled powers contended in bristling fear. This fear infiltrated to every recess within the marrow of the boy's bones, heightening the tingling sensation of nervousness within him. A part of him regretted the decision to employ the busaw mode because of this hypersensitivity, but deep down, he knew that such a drastic measure was necessary.
Hibari clamped his jaws together to prevent their quivering; the rising tide of dread was gnawing at the remaining reasons within him. Currently, the mephitic scent of death erupted from six different spots within the vicinity; the foulest of which, indubitably, belonged to the draugen. Two living entities were located very close to the draugen; both Wakatsuki and Isobe were still alive. Even so, this was no time to stay idle, for an undead was approaching from the north-east, fifty metres ahead.
In order to forefend attack on or by his classmates, the easiest thing do was to avoid everyone, especially considering the number of undead had increased within the span of three minutes. This strategy worked for over an hour before it became evident that all efforts to find the exit were in vain, at least until the mystical fog had lifted. The busaw's smell and hearing sensitivity did not enable Hibari to detect the exit; sooner or later, he was bound to chance on the newly-turned draugerne.
Hibari bent over with his hands on his knees. Hard pants escaped from his mouth. Sweat streaked from his chin. This busaw mode was wearing him out. He had never, in his entire life, activated it for more than twenty minutes at a time. Today, he could not go on after the eighty-fourth minute. He had no choice but to deactivate it and return to being an ordinary child who was lost in the curdling charnel mist. There had already been eleven living corpses in the proximity so far.
He was trying to decide what to do next when suddenly his thoughts were interrupted by the rustling sound of the grass behind. With his ultra-sensitive hearing, the footsteps would have sounded booming, but at his present state, they sounded very light, if not surreptitious. He turned around, expecting to see one of his classmates, but to his surprise, it was only a scuttling marmot.
The boy exhaled in relief and turned back. He was about to walk again when a realisation hit him: What if, perchance, the marmot had been affected? He swerved, taking extra caution to prevent the furry rodent from biting his leg. Fortunately, it had already gone; he wouldn't want to hurt small animals.
When Hibari resumed his course, the path ahead was no longer empty; his classmate, Junichiro Bergmann, appeared before him. The other boy's mouth was slightly open to reveal two rows of pointy teeth, in-between which, a repulsive amount of saliva was dribbling. Two kinds of scent emitted from Bergmann's body. One was the sewer-like odour which derived from the large cut on Bergmann's forearm; the other, the ammonia originating from Bergmann's lower part. Probably, the half-German boy had leaked on his pants during the undead's assault.
At this sight, a shiver passed through Hibari: He would have to slay or be slain. Not that he was particularly close to Bergmann, but it was nonetheless a fact that this freckled boy had shared the same classroom and dining hall with him for the last four years.
Hibari looked to his left and right, considering the option of escape. However, as though reading his mind, the taller child leapt to block his escape route, forcing the younger boy to step back with clenched jaw.
Bellowing a battle cry, Bergmann hefted his mace and swung it across. Hibari sidestepped to dodge it, and his opponent's weapon missed his ear by a breath. Using his tonfas, Hibari managed to deflect Bergmann's mace. Twice, his strikes managed to hit the half-German boy, but the undead could no longer feel the pain.
The mace came swinging menacingly through the air once more. Hibari met it with his misericordes. At the clash of the blades, a strident sound—a strange, agonised keening—egressed. Bergmann checked a second blow, and a third, then, just once, fell back a step.
The flurry of blows resumed. Again and again the weapons collided, until Hibari was panting from the effort; when it came to brute strength, Bergmann was superior by far. Then, after five minutes of exchanged blows, Hibari's parry came a beat too late. The first hit cracked the smaller boy's ribs. He staggered. In that moment of weakness, another strike assailed him. And another. And another.
The next thing Hibari noticed was that the bruise in his ribs was minor compared to the excruciating pain on the rest of his body, but he had no time to dwell any further. His opponent's heavy blows had brought him to his knee. Now Bergmann's standing figure towered his kneeling one, hands firmly gripping on the mace. Bergmann was only nine months older than Hibari, but this small gap in age did not mean a small gap in build; Bergmann's frame could easily pass him as an average fourteen-year-old. If he did not stop the auburn-haired boy, that mace would split his skull open. Even so, one of those hands was the same hand that had passed him the basketball in some P.E. lessons and, once, lent him a sharpener when the lead of his pencil had broken.
Hibari's blood ran cold in his veins. The mace was getting closer. He rose. With one pull of the trigger, the upper parts of the tonfas' compartments opened to reveal a pair of handle-less misericordes. He crossed his arms overhead, connecting the twin blades of osmium to his opponent's throat. The metal pierced through the tender flesh of Bergmann's neck; and yet, no squall, no bulge of eyes, no involuntary jerk, no spasm of muscles followed. No more agony for the undead.
With another dexterous blow, Hibari sheared the lean strip of flesh which still held the head. The head dropped, rolling and rebounding off the ground. Bergmann's body toppled down to the face of earth, thrashing wildly, as though in remonstration to stay upright. Only after seconds later did the jactitation discontinue. A common metal would have been insufficient to extirpate an undead, but an exorcist's blade, which could even slash through the incorporeal substance of a ghost, could bring an undead an eternal rest.
After shaking the blood off his blades in one swift, cutting motion, Hibari trudged with a downward gaze. He had killed a fellow human being.
Killed.
The detestable mist that loomed persistently over the funeral ground refused to tell him that his strife for survival was not in vain.
Hibari's next opponent was yet another classmate. Geavonna Vasquez was careening about with an espada ropera embedded in her chest. Her olive skin looked paler, with venous specks spreading over it like venation on an etiolated plant. Blood gushed from the large hole in her abdomen, where her right hand grappled with her intestines, fighting to keep them inside; while her left hand fended off her right one.
'It hurts … save me; I don't want to become a draug!' besought the girl. Her voice sounded heavier, so much gruffer than her usual timbre that it sounded as though she was grunting rather than pleading.
Hurts? She can still feel the pain?
Hibari wondered if she had attempted to take her own life by stabbing her heart with her own weapon before an undead perforated her stomach. The other newly-turned draugerne roamed while decaying, not knowing that they were being led astray by the accursed instinct to prey upon the living. On the other hand, she, owing to her half-dead circumstances, retained the woeful consciousness of the living while she gradually withered.
The sixteen-year-old girl used to be part of the noisy, gossiping bunch that he had disliked, and if his guess were correct, she had acted cowardly by taking her own life, rather than opposing the monsters. Even so, the borderline between fondness and disfavour became no longer visible in the dark hour of mortality. With clenched jaw, Hibari swung his tonfa again. Just as its name indicated, the misericorde granted her a merciful death strike. Such was the only salvation he could bestow upon the wretched.
Looking at the blood droplets streaming on his blade, Hibari tightened his grip on the tonfa. Bergmann might have no longer felt a thing, but Vasquez had not been a full undead. She could probably have been saved, if he had known how.
Hibari resumed his quest for the graveyard exit, each plodding step ponderous with guilt.
Instead of the gate of wrought iron, what he found next was the fight between his two classmates. The top of Sasagawa Ryouhei's head smashed onto İstemihan Tekin's nose. Blood gushed from the Turk's nostrils, but his unchanging expression indicated that he felt no pain. He had already become an undead. A few steps behind, Sasagawa Kyoko watched with fingers clasped together in a prayer, anxious for her brother's safety.
The white-haired Japanese boy swung his head back as far as it would go and then charged again. A loud crack resounded; his second head-butt broke the Tekin's jaw. Again, Tekin was unaffected by the pain. However, the older Sasagawa's force pushed him backwards, staggering. His grip on Sasagawa's collar loosened. Next, his broken chin suffered further damage from Sasagawa's uppercut punch.
Hibari turned away. His assistance was unneeded when victory was this obvious.
After a few more minutes of sauntering, Hibari perceived that a tree trunk had been hauled across the pathway, its branches protruding in all directions and the stumps filed down to brutal points. There were traces of familiars' spiritual energy: a sky lion and a giraffe's. Even the scaredy-cat Sawada Tsunayoshi had been compelled to fight Mujahid Al-Dimashqi there, so it seemed.
It was wrong of Hibari to assume that the third kill would make him feel less guilty than the first two. When he relinquished the headless body of Park Dae-Jung, bile rose to his throat. The draugen might be the source of the calamity, but the fact remained that it was the child named Hibari Kyouya who had massacred his friends.
The fourth kill took the littlest effort of all. Shara Sekarwati, his classmate who had passed her years of basic exorcism with the bare minimum grades and frequently resorted to trickery, was no match for him. She ran to his side, screaming frantically and begging for protection, while claiming that an undead was chasing her. Nevertheless, he did not miss the pungency oozing from her supposedly brown, yet now achromatic, skin. His misericorde had stabbed her heart before she could even draw her creese.
Hibari's fifth opponent, however, was not going to take it easy.
While Hibari was striding, clouded with guilt, his wretched mind neglected the ever-presence of impending danger. Something came upon his way, moving rapidly from the seven 'o' clock direction. Before Hibari could turn around, the thing slammed into him from behind, knocking him to the ground. A crushing weight bore down on his back, pressing the air from his lungs. No matter how much he struggled, he couldn't remove the stranger's knee. Amidst the mist, a noxious odour was overpowering him. A hand closed around his head and dunked his face into the soil below. The fingers were short and chubby and adult-sized, very much like…
Before the dirt obscured his vision, the boy caught a glimpse of a blurred mass of black stripes on white. A white tiger. Fahlmer-sensei's familiar.
Familiar? Of course! Why hadn't he thought of using it? Hibari concentrated hard, to bring the image of his own familiar in his mind, mentally calling its name and asking for its help.
Mud filled Hibari's ears and nose as his face was pressed deeper into the dark earth. But the familiar responded to his adjuration. A hedgehog appeared, floating in the air and shooting its spikes at the tiger.
The deeper his head sank, the more difficult it was for him to breathe, and the more Hibari felt warm and sleepy. Yield, said a voice inside his head. What are you struggling for? Most of your classmates must be dead by now. The other two teachers will likely become drauger too. There's no hope for survival.
Death had haply spared him because Dino had arrived to save his skin from the mga busaw three years prior. But coincidence did not happen twice.
Dino…
If he died as a child with no significant achievement today, how could he grow into someone Dino would be proud of?
Hibari opened the side compartments of his tonfas, in which from each sprang a spiked flail or chigiriki. The teachers and other students had been of opinion that this feature was redundant when Hibari had handed down his design to the weapon maker two years prior, but the boy had remained adamant about having something akin to the feature of Dino's weapon for his own choice of weapon. Now the flails lashed upon Fahlmer—not enough to give her pain, but they did well in removing her from Hibari.
Hibari sprang to his feet, and, still coughing from the dirt, he saw Fahlmer draw her chakram. (Despite her Dutch origin, she had been raised in Pakistan; hence, the choice of familiar and weapon.)
The tonfa flew, torn from the boy's grip, and went skittering away, before his opponent's hand slammed into his injured ribs and clubbed him onto the ground once more. The pebbles rattled beneath him and the lightest breeze sent clouds of dirt stinging into his eyes.
Hibari jabbed the misericordes at her.
Missed, jabbed again—
Missed again.
Not only did his teacher predict his every movement, but she also parried away his every attack effortlessly. To Hibari, it was utter torture; his fingers, his wrists, his arms, his shoulders were strained just from trying to hit her. Beads of perspiration rained down his face in big drops. In stark contrast, Fahlmer was hardly even panting; fatigue was a stranger to the undead.
Minutes by minutes, as cuts and bruises etched across Hibari's body, fright and exhaustion, too, enveloped the child. When the busaw's claws had pierced through his flesh three years prior, his blood had only been trickling, rather than gushing like it was now. Hibari struggled to his knees and tried to call out for help, but pain seared through his throat, where Fahlmer's chakram had grazed it.
With all his strength, Hibari swung his twin tonfas at the pit of Fahlmer's stomach one after another. The blades swished and weaved through the air, glinting in the afternoon sun as he moved from one familiar stance to the next with practised ease. Still, his teacher dodged his attacks and left new cuts on his skin yet again.
Even so, the new pain awakened something within him. It made him feel so afraid. It made him feel so excited. It made him feel so alive. There was a bright flash, a spark—and then Hibari felt heat surging through his veins, every fibre of his nerves tingling from the strange sensation. He winced, biting back a noise of discomfort, as the frisson increased and grew unbearable…
The first odd thing he noticed was a stranger's claw holding his tonfa. The boy moved his weapon, trying to shake it off. The claw-like fingers with long, black nails moved along with him. He squeezed the tonfa handle tighter. So did the stranger's hand. He used his other hand. The same long, pointy nails were there. It was then he learnt that the two things resembling a beast's talons had been his own hands all along.
He felt power, immense power that he didn't know he had ever possessed. A strange, baseless confidence told him he could even uproot a tree if he'd wanted to. And appetite for retaliation surged within him. There was an urge to torture, to punish his opponent for injuring him several times during their current battle, to show her the meaning of strength…
What?
Hibari's breath hitched. What the heck was he thinking of in the midst of a fight? He blinked a few times, and then concentrated on his survival. He launched another attack. He snapped his arm out, shoving the tonfa's cylindrical body into his teacher's mouth. This time, neither Fahlmer's speed nor power could defend her. The metal crunched into the senior fighter's teeth and she tumbled backwards, her chakram flung from her chubby hand and clattering on the road.
Hibari was still trying to figure out what was happening, only to glance up and see Fahlmer spitting out two blood-covered incisors onto the grass. Then, fur gradually began to cover his opponent's body—grey fur, pointed ears and massive paws. Even in her undead state, the woman transformed into a she-wolf—three-legged, owing to the amputation of her hand by the draugen. Fahlmer inherited a quarter blood of a werewolf from her grandfather and her exorcist ability allowed her to assume the wolf's form at any time of her choosing, and not strictly only during a full moon.
In her human form, Fahlmer was as mighty as an average middle-weight pro-wrestler. In her lupine form, she was beyond Hibari's worst nightmares. Her strength was apparent from the ferocity of her clawed swipes, and even the way she flung her chakram his way. He barely managed to duck out of harm's way, the weapon hissing narrowly past his shoulder. Without giving him the time for a second evasion, Fahlmer slashed her claws across Hibari's face, just next to his nose, forcing him to lurch back in pain.
Fahlmer swiped her claws out again, slashing across the boy's chest and spattering drops of blood even as he tried to get away. He dove at her, but his outstretched arms caught nothing but air—she was much too fast.
Hibari jolted as Fahlmer's fangs sank into the crook of his neck. The sharpness of the wolf's fang imparted electrifying pain into him. Her speed gave him no reprieve to hold back an agonised scream. Hibari struggled to free himself from the death-grip. Then, everything was a mêlée of blows and bites, clashing and clanging metals, howls and grunts. Just as fresh wounds bloomed all over the child's body, red splodges marred the grey fur of the wolf.
Although both combatants were equipped with supernatural strengths, the teacher's superior battle experience gave her the upper hand. As soon as she managed to swipe the tonfas out of Hibari's hands, Fahlmer pounced down on the student, pinning him to the ground. She loomed over him, blue eyes staring down as she bared her sharp fangs into a snarl, saliva dribbling from her jaws.
The ground hit Hibari hard in the back, and the world turned over around him. He shook his head, trying to stop the trees and the sky from spinning. Fingers still twitching, the boy glanced longingly at his tonfas, flung some six and eight metres away. Farther away, Roll, the hedgehog, was multiplying itself and besieged Fahlmer's tiger from twelve directions. The boy still did not trust the strength of the new black nails—he did not yet understand this new, hidden power—but what other option did he have?
Hibari struck the huge canine body above him with his nails, cleaving through the fur and the pelt beneath and splitting her chest, revealing the red flesh inside. For eight horrifying seconds, it seemed that this drastic measure had no effect on the undead she-wolf. But when Hibari's razor-sharp nails pulled her pulseless heart from her chest, she stepped back. This type of undead, as stated in the textbooks, was cautious of the loss of an organ.
Hibari seized the opportunity to collect his weapons. Before he reached his second tonfa however, Fahlmer's chakram spun speedily at him and would have sliced off his forearm had he not shifted away in time. The circular blade whirled so closely, he could feel the breeze in its wake.
The she-wolf caught the chakram with her jaw, only to send it flying towards Hibari again. This time, the blade nicked against his cheek, grazing it. Hibari flinched when he felt the stinging pain, but he pressed forward. Fahlmer hurled her chakram again, missing the boy by just a slight margin. He ducked away from the path of the flying chakram, steadily closing the gap between them.
Snarling angrily, the wolf sent her chakram curving through the air once more towards him. Hibari managed to parry the blow however, knocking the chakram away before bringing his blade down to clash against Fahlmer's own—carbide-tipped steel versus osmium, the blades scraping noisily against each other before locking together. Fahlmer growled, fangs bared, the muscles of her face a rigid mask. Hibari's eyebrows knitted, teeth gritted, refusing to surrender.
Seeing an opening when Fahlmer aimed at his throat, Hibari flung a sideways sweep at his opponent's undefended head. She raised her leg on instinct to block the blow, but the child's misericorde flashed down through the air. The osmium blade tore her carbide-tipped steel away and crashed into her skull, splitting her vertically into two and spraying a rain of blood all over the turf. The wind sighed in witness as her legs crumpled and her limbs flopped. Her beautiful grey fur was dabbed with crimson droplets.
Hibari looked at the two halves of Fahlmer's body in disbelief. Did such a thin misericorde cut through the wolf's sturdy bone structure? Was it his power … or rather, the busaw's power that resided within his blood? He waited, both tonfas poised for another strike. His opponent lay sprawled out on the ground, over the pool of blood, with one leg silently twitching and the others, still. Then, the teacher moved no more. Only, from each body half, the she-wolf's steel blue orb stared and stared at him. Without blinking. Without ceasing.
The white tiger dissolved into the miasmal air; its contract with its master became null and void the moment the exorcist met her demise. Hibari's hedgehog, too, vanished, for its present task had been completed.
The boy looked at his hands, and, to his wonder and relief, the busaw-like nails were no longer there. He sagged, gulping air and scrubbing cold sweat off his face with his sleeve. After slaying the teacher who often praised his martial arts performance during classes, could he still care about such a thing as sin? If he were to descend into hell, he would take as many undead as he could with him. He exhaled and rested for a while.
TO BE CONTINUED