Ultimate Heroes 2007

Stage Seven- Demons Alike

The streets of Neo-Tokyo were a desolate place in any sense of it. The mocking glare of neon street signs gave a false life to the world of dead concrete and metal- such a grand magistrate of architecture on a floating island, devoid of its population, acting only as a colossal labyrinth lit through sickly yellow and red aura dotting the roads and buildings. One of the most mistreated of the streets in the district of the Neo-Tokyo slum districts was out to the South, across past the monster highway that split through Neo-Tokyo's underbelly and led out into an abrupt dead end in the wastes. This gangland street in particular was a hotspot for black trafficking, the exchange of weapons and drugs in the areas of this modern city that even the law cared nothing for. The buildings in the new Ota-ku area would have been abandoned even had the population of the city not evaporated- most where simply used as gang outposts for the social garbage that inevitably found its way here. The roads were so distraught they could be classed as rural terrain, and the entirety of this badlands street was drowned in the provocative art of mainstream graffiti. Lost in this formidable under-ladder of society were numerous fronts, mostly drugs dealerships, but some took on a more ambitious forte for their business- one of the most recognised was an assassination business working within the area, however it had never been revealed to the public, much as the 'across the wastes' transportation company that would deliver their less lawful clients into Europe or Korea for a substantial fee.

One cartel in particular however was a simple bar near an apartment terrace, the pub worked locally and publicly, however it was also widely known as a dealership hotspot. The landlord had connections. That was some time ago though, and now the entire front was in ruins, following some unexplained massacre.

Both buckled tables cracked forcefully under the weight, despite being held between the sieges of rubble for so long. The lighting, much as any other part of the city, had been cut down- the only source of illumination was that of the neon blare, which entered through the terrible gash running through the wall, and the door which held onto the frame only by a screw or two, and through the slanted gap past the warped hinges, something skulked drearily through the murderous wreck.

A shadowed hand passed lazily across the gritty woodwork of the pub bench, as the soundless figure stalked into the mess. Such formidable destruction in such secluded quarters, and buckled against the shattered wall of the complex, strewn out in a pitiful position and digging into the mesh of destruction, a corpse with a ghastly look of frozen horror breaking its contorted face. The stranger stood to a still before the haunting stare, the eyes glaring up through white pupils at the lording figure. At the side of this mangled shape, a jukebox with scarred face stood as possibly the last remaining fixture that had not been torn to shreds- Such terrible wrath.

The one standing amidst the chaos had not caused this. Snaking his hand through his hair, the stranger cracked his eyes open to the musical machine, it reminded him so of someone, and he knew that someone was close, they must be. Gliding a gloved hand down past his hip the shadowed presence wrapped his fingers so cautiously. Before they even clutched firm, a valiant swing, a piercing glide, and the object was returned to its place at his side. With a dreading whirl, the machine came to life.

Praised to my father…
…Blessed by the water…

The sullen individual had seen all he had expected, that the one he was seeking, they were not here. Turning his head aside he glanced out through the gouge in the closest wall, asides the door. It leaked out into the night, giving view to the stairway just outside of the bar door that led back into the abandoned streets of Neo-Tokyo.

…Black night, dark skies…

The haunting melody trailed after him as the stranger made past the barrage of crumbled stools and the wrecked pinball machine that lay sprawled out across the tiled flooring. Touching a hand onto the face of the ruined doorway, the frame gave way and the entrance slid carelessly into the rubble coating that threatened to consume the stranger's boots. Without a gesture of notice the stalking one stepped across the fallen door and vanished seamlessly into the abyss of the Neo-Tokyo underbelly. As the shadow faded out into the darkness, the buzzing jukebox began to flicker and its lights fade out, as the frame of the lonesome fixture split diagonally through, and slid apart.

The Devils cry!

"I'm getting the impression you're not quite what I suspected." Dante's courteous words were illustrated by his testing smirk, his face wasn't far from Kizuato's own, and the temptation to tear off that annoying rag was almost too much. His arm angled dynamically, Dante sported his lengthy blade close to his own chin.

"I hear that one a lot." 'Zuato matched him with a cheeky grin, bearing his dangerous looking canines. Dante had to admit, he was expecting something like fangs, or the usual demon tricks of the trade. Kizuato was also gripping his blade, the kunai held at a conspicuous angle just before his neck. As opposed to Dante, Kizuato was not standing.

The two blades were pressed against one another, Dante with his feet posed against the grit and the dirt, while the trickster ninja posed perfectly in balance overhead, supporting himself at a downward angle with one hand clutching the seething kunai.

"You gonna tell me how you can see with that dishtowel on your face?" Despite Dante's shifting weight on the blade the kunai managed to keep perfect impact on the pressure zone. Kizuato's arm was still close to his side and his legs remaining in place, giving the ninja the impression of a frozen downward missile. Had either of them taken their natural, or hereditary, vision from their locking conflict- they would have realised that the fluctuating shadows were the cause of the artificial lights, the rainbow of sickly neon colours, flickering and dying in places as though their very energy was being influenced. The energy parasite was leaking through the system, the flux of lights and dance of the Tokyo shadows reaching out, and intruding on their battle stance.

The motion was first noticed by Dante, who could spot the distant sparkle of lights out across the tall buildings of the city past the floating assassin's spiky head. Far sooner than expected though, that slight crack of the neck told Dante those invisible eyes were no longer focused on him, but on the spasm of the shadows below- The opportunity for a lethal strike while he was vulnerable, otherwise this fatal dance could last all night. With a nimble break of movement, and fierce and precise swipe, Dante landed it perfectly.

He caught the fabric of Kizuato's bandana with his other hand.

"Let's see those devils eyes!" Making a harsh tug on the mask the devil hunter made to remove it, however Kizuato didn't need to be watching to anticipate his vulnerable moment would be exploited, though he hadn't quite expected that reaction. His other hand jolting from his side, the topside ninja shifted the barrel of a long black handgun right into Dante's face- his own- Ebony. Without stalling for a breath the swift ninja pulled the trigger and lodged a bullet through Dante's head, causing the young man to recoil and fall back without grace to the stone underfoot. Brushing his short blade across the edge of Dante's own Kizuato forced space between the two of them with a mighty thrust, forcing the two conflicting powers apart and leaving the Buraindo brother to spiral some space into the air before landing on one palm, still in his reversed angle, staring ahead as the second son of Sparda dropped alongside his tumbling blade.

After a deathly moment, when the streetlights flicked and died in unison of their distant brethren, there came a movement from the huddled red mess on the ground. A blooded hand raised and pulled back the long crimson coat shrouding his face, before craning his back into a sitting position opposite Kizuato. Dragging a red stained hand across his face, the mess of blood leaking down from Dante's forehead edged down his neck and past his collarbone. The murderous hole through his skull, however, was gone.

"I don't blame you for the shot, but did you really have to steal the other one too?" Dante grudgingly pushed off the ground, leaving only a thin puddle of blood in his wake.

"I figured you'd have tried doing the same." Kizuato simply responded, tweaking his bandana back to normal without the slightest notice that the inhuman being before him had recovered from such a life threatening assault.

"What can I say?" Dante responded, batting down his lax trousers from the unsanitary coating of the courtyard ground, "-there are never any good playmates anymore." That mocking glint returned to the half-blood's glare as what remained of their streetlight masquerade died out, as though a grand black curtain was drawn across. From their dynamic poses both of these superior warriors glanced to their accompanying shadows, both relaxing their battle dance and melting into a casual stance, shooting their spiteful glares away from one another as they inspected the night in unison.
"Who killed the lights?" Dante called out, throwing his arms out dramatically with his sword 'Rebellion' lying out across his outstretched arm. Even being half a devil, this was a serious downer on Dante's abilities- however this was not true for Kizuato, whose Perfect Sight technique allowed him precise vision even in such hopeless light. Clutching the stub handle of his slightly warped kunai, young 'Ato raised the specialist blade out at arms length- Dante had taken to spinning lightly on the spot, calling out into the darkness for any sign of what was causing such an unusual fluctuation. The black carpet was passing on ahead, eating the light further down into the city as all the lights died out one after another, burrowing Neo-Tokyo into darkness.

"I may not be a technological genius but…I'm guessing that is a bad thing." The tip of Kizuato's kunai was facing away from them both, facing off into the beyond, into which Dante could not see. Shuffling over to the aware ninja's side Dante leant forward, positioning a hand over his eyes to steady his view. At this instance it would be simple for the assassin to slit this capable warriors throat and continue his search- however to kill an opponent when they were at such a disadvantage, especially one who at least seems to have some spark of honour, wasn't his way. Through the interlinking side streets and roads of downtown Neo-Tokyo an unrecognised force tore havoc through the bowels of the district- the torrent of gravel and cement tearing through the streets like a low-flying ballistic missile. Dante only managed to make out this storming form by the almost wave like backlash from its onward rampage- before he could even question the eagle eyed stranger on what in Mundus' name he was looking at, Kizuato snaked his head back to face the devil hunter, face blank and with no inclination of his motives. For a second Dante tensed the grip on his sword, expecting some rebuttal assault while there was a distraction to be exploited- with two fingers poised in the form of a pistol, the slick ninja posed his opposite hand just beyond Dante's temple. Considering Dante was holding his blade with two hands he had to admit, had they both had one firearm apiece, the assassin would be at the advantage here. In a slow voice Kizuato jerked his hand.
"Bang." The words followed a short pause. No sooner had this deciding rhetorical shot been fired than Dante pushed back his leg, forcing up his weight through his body and churning his sword, attached kunai and all, into a dramatic arc which ended with the son of Sparda holding out the sword one handed at a climactic angle as the ninja brother was vaulted into the sky, and refused to return from the nightly heavens.

The torpedo velocity tearing through the downtown roads toppled shacks and towers alike as its wake grew more ferocious, the ground shivered and clumps of gravel the size of Dante's fist dances clumsily along the concrete. His head cocked aside into the abyss his unlikely fellow had shrouded his escape; Dante perked his vision back across his shoulder. The ground was kicking up and the street scarred through the centre, some unknown object propelling across the black paved road that fell apart in its wake, like some earth-bound comet. Rocking his head back Dante scoffed, barely audible even to himself above the climaxing roar. With his lengthy slate boot the devil hunter kicked the tip of his blade, bringing it up to his shoulder.

"Looks like I'm going solo on this one." Shuffling around to face the gloom of the dying backstreets Dante's form was immediately consumed by a building wave of rubble and dust, like a forceful wave preceding the impact of the strange and titanic form that charged down at the half blood in the lightless artificial fog. "Thanks a lot, asshole."

A hollow moaning filled the barren hallways, these doors and halls intertwined and connected seemingly at whim, laden with unopened doors-many of which locked. Such a complex building seemed without reason in a wasteland such as this, for what reason could a mansion complex of this density be of use in the ruins of a dead city?

The black shadow shape bobbed along above the scattering crimson rug, like a white-faced spirit draped in a long black veil of pure darkness, pierced through by the light of the candles and giving a translucent aura. The entity known as No-Face paced noiselessly, though he may have had legs they were concealed in his shadow form body, the movements swam in a fluid and creepy motion- and behind this stalking soul, a creature no less creepy haunted down the deserted halls.

A long, bony finger pierced through No-Face's ghostly body, to no effect. Ryuzaki followed pace-for-pace as the spirit butler went about his duties, L had already followed the haunting black glob through the kitchens, only to trail into the lower stories of the building, all the while the carpet of matted fleshy slime marked the hallway walls as though some decaying beast had limped on last legs through the mansion, slumping down into the lower bowls of the dimly lit mansion home. Prodding at the gas-like wanderer before him, the curious Ryuzaki made special care to avoid stepping into the dried slop that trailed in some patches along the lane of the rug, or even across some spaces of the wall- especially considering he remained without shoes, and among some of Ryuzaki's other quirks, he wasn't particularly keen on stepping in something so unsanitary.

At first the raven haired genius hadn't been able to recognise for what purpose this 'No-Face' was following the crusted trail alongside him, however after some short time he made some assumptions, and decided to investigate into the clearly inhuman creature in the meanwhile, until his presumption could be proven.

"I wonder if Face-kun can talk?" Ryuzaki requested of the spirit, leaning his body slightly to one side as he stalked behind it. All the noise that No-Face emitted was a gentle moan, but no words. With a forefinger pressed to his lip the hunchback detective watched that blank masked face from the sidelines, no response.
"Is Face-kun looking for the maid girl?" This time L was more direct, he had assumed early on that this servant was searching out something-or someone- and given the absence of the young servant girl that Light and himself had encountered before, Ryuzaki would first assume the reason for the stray ghouls behaviour had something to do with it- the smeared blood and melted skin didn't seem to bother him in the slightest. From the crescent grove that symbolised the mouth of the gloomy mask a muffled whimper, like the final whimpering breaths of some feeble man, addressed L's words as a phantom chime; this choked whisper only intrigued the curious detective further. Asides those stark bare feet the blood trails began to form into only a meagre slither, smudges, and then mere specks before vanishing from their path entirely. Whatever had caused it was not on this end of the trail- however from the looks of it, it had begun somewhere close.

At the brim of the wide hall the path met into a firm dead-way, nothing but a typical doorway no different from those around it standing at its face, and no indication that anything had passed through its presence, recent or otherwise. This, however, was not the only path available- No-Face had already came to a drifting halt, seeming to weave gently in the air just a fraction above the rug, having already passed the ghoul, L placed his oddly posed hand onto the simple brass doorknob, twisting with his thumb and forefinger. Locked, not something unusual in a daunting mansion- Ryuzaki almost felt like he was alongside those FBI agents in the bombers hotel, all that time ago.

Something tapped at L's shoulder, something like a chilled pillow pressed against his shirt and making him recoil with reflexes that appeared slower than most. The spectre had prodded the detective, whom was hunched in his specialised crouching stance, only to meet with a wide-eyed glance of surprise.

"How can you touch me if I can't touch you?" This was the first thing out of Ryuzaki's mouth, though he was aware this fellow had mostly limited responses. This was not the important part however, as no sooner did the haunting black shape catch Ryuzaki's attention than it departed through an open doorway to the left side of the hall, which L had scooted past. One of the rules of thorough investigation, always check the immediate area first before moving on- however had L noticed the curled human form sitting alone in a somewhat feeble position, he may have done what he did best, and ignore the norm.

The masked whisperer wandered through the open passage, as opposed to the wall for once, under the simple parted wooden frame that looked no different from the three other doorways at this turn. Backing up in his steps Ryuzaki, hands slumped into pockets, reversed without changing face until he was opposite to this new passage- his new ghostly friend already gracing the light violet flooring within. The shoeless detective was grateful to find delicate shag carpet beneath his toes, and twiddled them affectionately as he stared for a moment to the ground, had anyone been watching him then L would no doubt experience one of many unusual looks he was so adapted to. None the less, once his attention had risen from his own feet and his stiff neck craned upward, the huddle form besides the small single bed at the far side took away whatever concern he may have regarding his feet. No-Face drifted close by the young girl holding at her knees.

"Sitting like that helps you think, doesn't it?" Ryuzaki's words went unheeded as he pointed out the clear benefits of sitting like that- at least in his own mind.

This considerably smaller side-room was just as lush in it's furnishings as the mansions tastes seemed to dictate, the walls were plastered with a maroon paper laced with golden ivy that crawled out along the fringe of the sides and from the carpeted floor like sensual sparkling fractures that only diminished the want of lighting- possibly why the only bright source in the chamber was the single fresh candle burning on the side table, wax dripping lazily off its surface and rolling down onto a torn out package of bandages that laid aside the silver holster on the polished table surface. The bed covers were a similar tone to that of the carpeting, only a more dense plum in tone, and with some rather ghastly slashes on the underbelly mattress of the thrown back covers- stained with a dense red slather that ran down onto the floor.

"Why would he go?" The young girl clutched her legs, pressing her knees against her forehead, smearing the dotting tears that trailed down to her tattered pale shorts. L immediately recognised her, how could he forget?
"You don't use nearly enough sugar in your coffee." The sharp-witted detective matched her stance merely a few inches from her trembling shape, albeit he did seem rather more comical in the childish hunch. Aside the pair the lopsided spirit drifted past, unleashing a dull howl against Kaori's diminishing sobs. The candles dance sent the shadows of the coiling bandages in an epic parade across blood soaked sheets, the red pulse trailing down into thin lakes into the crevices of ghoulish gashes that tore the mattress apart.

Slowly, a bony index finger pressed to her shadowed forehead, gently lifting her head from her knee's and bringing her innocent hazel eyes to latch with the grand spooky spheres that remained to observe her, unblinking, unwavering. She recognised this strange man; he'd been watching her since she first appeared in their doorway- carrying the tray and avoiding their sniping questions.

"I'm sorry." She spoke meekly, rubbing her forearms across her eyes. Ryuzaki could only assume from the redness of her eyes she'd been here some time in this state, of course it was fully understandable- locked in some madhouse, and for someone so young. Yet, L already had strong belief that not everyone here was as they seemed.

"You've been here longer than I have." The young detective placed a hand against the bottom of her chin, holding her gaze up with a few fingers in the same delicate manner he held most objects at length. "Perhaps you can tell me, what you're doing here?" Ryuzaki attempted not to frighten her, as he seemed so prone on doing. More than anything though, it was the way he stared at her that made him seem such a daunting form. However nobody in memory had seen L blink, so she'd have to put up with it.

Aside the blood stained bed sheets came the gentle grunts of the wandering ghost, No-Face laid slotted marking pupils onto the scarlet ravages, unleashing a hollow whimper as his phantom arm extended to prod against the silver bandages. Ryuzaki's broad sight tilted slightly over toward the bed, clearly the gruesome trails end was distressing the voiceless ghost. The pen on the mental notepad scratched away as poor Kaori cleared her eyes and sat huddled in the flickering shadow of the creepy stranger. Her shaggy garbs were torn and stained, her shoulder length black hair messy and wild. It was clear she came from a difficult place, a slum perhaps, and her eyes spoke volumes of the things she had seen- even in such a place, surrounded by people so dangerous and blooded trails of torn flesh and creatures that are neither men nor god, she seemed so unfazed.

"I…don't really know how I…" Her words seemed lost and unclear; slowly Ryuzaki's crooked neck slinked back into place, his headlamp-like eyes inspecting her as she tried to make sense of what she could offer, of what would make sense to say. The masked face of the curious spirit twisted around, it's face as blank as that of the pale skinned investigator. They were a suiting pair, unreadable, unmistakable.

"I suppose not." L muttered under his breath, after all he couldn't recall exactly how he and Light had shown up here either. Gradually Ryuzaki pushed up from his kneel, drawing up to his full height, given his persistent hunch, and slid his hands back into their protective blankets at the sides of his plain baggy jeans. The slither of the vital fluid that smeared through the confines of the small room, building in mass and vulgar tone as it wretched through the doorway, drew his attention away from its source at the bed, had this been caused by something human? Surely there was no human with such an amount of blood to waste. The marks and scrapes along the walls only convinced L further.

"I remember…I ran…" She paced her words slowly, the man's hunched frame did not move, his back to her as his wide pupils trailed the path of gore. Along the base of the walls, blooded hand prints, hand prints that grey wider and more disfigured the father it dragged itself across the ground. "They…shot me." Now Ryuzaki's eyes passed down the line of blood, and continued moving under they pressed back against his head, turning slightly with a bare footed slide under his angled head once again brought the feeble young girl into view. Her mouth was shadowed, she almost seemed to be trembling, but that would more likely have been the shade of the flame against her curdled shape. A rattled breath much as No-Faces coursed through her. "I think I died."