Kateracks and I would like to apologize for missing a week in posting. I had a visitor at my house and had to give them my undivided attention. Also we had a minor timeline crisis that needed to be resolved before any posting (or writing even) could continue. Thankfully, after debating for four days and rewriting certain parts, the conflicts have all been eliminated.
On another note, we would like to thank everyone for getting us nearly to 2,000 views! As a reward for your loyalty, we have decided to give all of you a special treat when we hit 2,000. Stay tuned for further details.
Now, on with the story!
A box appeared over the screen of Kusanagi's PDA like an ominous, floating warning. Connect Charger. The battery is getting low. 4% remaining. He stared at the message for a moment as if it could alter the very meaning of his life. Maybe it actually had, since the bartender was rarely on his phone long enough for it to completely discharge in a single day. Fushimi was the one who they expected to hear every mid-afternoon saying, "Ah? The battery's dead already." Then, with a scoff, he would spend the rest of the day tethered to the wall where he could plug in the charger.
"Ah? The battery's dead already," Kusanagi muttered under his breath. Immediately, he and the two others in the room had a strange sense of Deja-vu. Feeling, all of a sudden, the urge to abandon the topic, he stuffed the PDA back in his pocket where it belonged.
Also hoping to change the subject, Mikoto referred to the phone call that preceded the awkward moment, asking, "Y' learn anything?" Even Anna looked over with interest.
Hesitant to add nothing but bad news to the already dire situation, the blond man sighed, "I wish I had. That was my last contact. No one knows who the man in the picture is or what group he might be from."
He was surprised, then, by the voice of someone he didn't realize was awake. "Hmm, that's odd. Anna did just say it felt like we'd figure it out soon." Right away, Kusanagi turned to face Totsuka who was stretching his hand out above his head in amazement. It took all the strength he had, but he could move his fingers.
Kusanagi, of course, should not have been surprised. The younger man had been waking up abruptly for a few minutes at a time all day long. Each time, he was just a bit stronger than the time before. Even now, though it was obvious he was not well, he was actually starting to sound like himself.
Frustration from the phone call carrying over, Kusanagi rebuked, "If you're feeling well enough to add commentary, why don't you tell us what happened?"
With watery eyes, Totsuka dropped his hand to the bed like a scolded child, but it also seemed like he would take the question seriously. He had been expecting for quite some time that they would eventually deem him healthy enough to relive the experience. The look on his face changed to one of deep reflection. Where would he start? What parts would actually be beneficial to share? Opening his eyes, he rolled his head to the side to look at the impatient expression on their leader's face, but cutting right across his view of the redhead's vivid eyes was the metal railing on the side of his bed. No good. That wouldn't do at all.
"King, come over here, would you?" He invited with a hint of his usual tone.
Letting out a troubled sigh, Mikoto stood and strolled over to Kusanagi's side. "I could hear you over there," he grumbled.
"It's a favor, King, a favor," the younger insisted innocently. Once Mikoto leaned over the railing, looking at Totsuka out of the corner of his eye like, What is it this time? the latter requested, "Would you help me sit up first?"
This too reminded the leader of the original time they visited Totsuka in a hospital. His hand balled automatically into a fist that would most likely bury itself in the silly boy's skull. As startled as Kusanagi may have been, he wouldn't have moved fast enough to prevent anything. Totsuka just looked up at him hopefully, not an ounce of fear on his face. He didn't even flinch.
That hand flew forward, clutching Totsuka's hospital gown and ripping him away from the bed. Then, Mikoto reached around with his other hand and shoved the bed into a sitting position by force before dropping his friend roughly back to the soft surface. It wasn't exactly ideal, but he had done what was asked of him. Looking at their friend, the two men noticed his head had drooped off to the side, his eyes had rolled to the back of his head, and a small bit of drool trickled from his mouth.
"He looks completely dead," Kusanagi stated harshly, clearly blaming Mikoto. When the redhead just shrugged, Kusanagi tried to rouse Totsuka again, shaking his feet and calling his name. There was no reaction from the younger man.
Figuring Kusanagi would accuse him of mistreating an injured person if he hit Totsuka to wake him up, Mikoto looked around for another quick solution. The one nearest to him was a plastic cup of half-melted ice cubes that he threw in Totsuka's face. After he coughed a few times, the younger opened his eyes to Mikoto's expression that demanded information. Even Kusanagi, who looked shocked, didn't complain because he wanted to know.
Therefore, Totsuka compliantly began his explanation, "There isn't much to say. It's just like it seems. Three men attacked Emi and me at the beach. We tried to get away, but we couldn't. I tried to fight them off, but I couldn't. It's all fuzzy after that."
"Do you really not remember anything more than that?" Kusanagi inquired. The story really confirmed nothing except that Emi had been with him at the time of the attack.
Totsuka looked at the ceiling to think. "Hmm…I'm pretty sure we ended up in the Green Clan's territory by the end."
While that explained how Hayashi had been the only person to date who had given them information on the subject, it really still wasn't helpful. "What about the people? The three men. Do you remember anything about them? Any special powers?"
"Special powers?" Totsuka repeated. "You mean like Strains? No, they were just thugs with sticks and guns. Pretty average looking mafia, really. Although, one of them did have half of his head shaved with some elaborate design that reminded me of the New Year's Festival."
Something clicked in Mikoto's mind, and a spark flashed through his eyes. "I know who it is," he practically growled in a way that clearly conveyed his intensity throughout the room. Taking hardly even the time to sling on his leather jacket, he immediately made his way to the door. This time, it wouldn't just be to cool down.
Knowing that, Totsuka called after him, "King, don't go alone." That reiteration of the command that had originally been given to the younger managed to stop Mikoto in the doorway for a brief moment. Looking back at the boy who now gave the order, he responded with a scoff that could almost be called a laugh. A group of thugs would be easy for him to handle, even alone. He was glad that he looked back, though. Totsuka was smiling, for the first time since the event. As serious as he was, he was teasing the elder, and that put Mikoto at ease in just the slightest.
Returning the favor, Mikoto replied, "I won't," with a smirk that silently added, so you won't get to send someone to secretly spy on me.
Once again, Kusanagi felt like he was inadequate as the substitute restraint to their king's temper. He faltered for words and didn't have the energy to chase after him every time he ran off. In contrast, Totsuka was still confined to bed, but with a single look he could take the edge off of Mikoto's fury. Kusanagi sighed. He had been working too hard and still had accomplished nothing.
With only one statement, Totsuka also lifted the burden off of the bartender. "You were right, after all, Anna, weren't you? We did figure it out pretty quickly."
That boy wasn't anxious about how things would turn out at all. He trusted entirely that things would work out if he left it in their hands. That alone made Kusanagi feel like his efforts were worth it.
As it was already evening, Mikoto was pretty sure there would be someone hanging out at the bar. Kusanagi had given Yata the key, after all, with instructions to close the business but keep it open as their base until he returned. The two people that the red king found at his base were not the ones he expected. Nor was he entirely surprised. Dewa was washing the counters and Fujishima mopping the floors. They must have been vigorously informed of how dead they would be if Kusanagi returned to find his bar, his pride, a wreck.
Mikoto barely noticed this, though, stepping inside only to state, "Come with me." The two exchanged glances as he went back outside. It was easy to tell he was beyond upset, likely heading off to burn something, or someone. Neither of them were his usual first choice for backup going into battle. Even if they were taken by surprise, neither could refuse the order of their king. At once abandoning their respective tasks, they hurried to catch up to him.
It was sunset when they arrived at the traditional style mansion. That golden orb burned brightly behind the red king as if he wasn't already brimming with his own warmth. At the same time, darkness crept across the sky above the pointed, tile roof, a fitting shade for the future that awaited those within. Neither Dewa nor Fujishima knew why. They had pondered over this question, murmuring their thoughts about it to one another on the way. No real conclusion had been agreed upon.
In the garden of the mansion, two men stood guarding the door. Whether they were strong fighters or not was irrelevant when facing the red king's wrath. Heads knocked against each other's, both men were laid out on the porch before they could even react to intruders being present. Having secured himself clear access to the entrance, Mikoto addressed his two accomplices.
"Ask them where Haruna is," he ordered with his back to them. Then, throwing open the sliding door, he strode inside, leaving the two boys to gawk in shock at the only trace of him that remained—the smoldering paper within the frame that he touched.
Fujishima was too stunned to do as told, so Dewa straightened his shirt and approached the fallen guards. His mind was racing with all the same questions, such as why they had to be the ones to do the interrogating. More importantly, what did Totsuka's girlfriend have to do with it? Even if he was just as perplexed as his fellow clansman, he could step up to fill the role demanded of them.
Kneeling beside the guards, Dewa took a deep breath and then began, "Um, excuse me, Sir, do you happen to know where Emi-san is?" When he received no response, he continued in more detail. "Haruna, Emi, that is. You do know who she is, right?"
Fujishima made an awkward sound like he had something important to point out but didn't want to interrupt. Eventually, he mentioned uncertainly, "They're both out cold."
Dewa stopped questioning the men before him then, noticing also that they were in no condition for giving answers. "How does Mikoto-san expect us to ask them anything?"
The response came in the form of a body flying through the wall, past them to the koi pond by the fence.
"We need to keep up with him," the one with glasses decided urgently, and both boys rushed inside the building.
They caught up to him right as they were rounding a corner. A man in a yukata with all his hair shaved off charged down the hall at them, firing a handgun aimlessly as if he intended to ward them off in this way. Mikoto wasn't shaken in the slightest, simply standing there with his hands in his pockets while the bullets flew on either side. On the rare occasion that one strayed too close, it would deflect harmlessly off his aura. As soon as the man was in reach, Mikoto grabbed his gun and used it like a lever to deliver him to the boys that had been hiding from the bullets behind their king.
Surprised that Mikoto hadn't simply finished him off, Dewa hesitated a moment before realizing he was being expected to question the man. "Um, excuse me, Sir," he began, the same as formerly, sounding more than a little embarrassed at the setting. "You wouldn't happen to know where Emi-san is, would you?"
"Who?" The man asked in reply. His face wore a scowl that gave the impression he still thought he could take on all three of them.
"Emi-san is a girl, about this tall," he described, gesturing with his hand to indicate her height came up to about his nose. Very aware of how bizarre the situation was, Dewa truly wished he at least knew why they were looking for Emi. Had she gone missing? Was this where she lived? The reason could make a big difference in his approach, but he tried his best with only generic information. "She is very important to us, after all."
That bit seemed to recall the girl to the mobster's mind, as recognition flashed through his eyes for a second before he returned to his combative attitude. "I wouldn't tell you anything, even if I did know who you were talking about," he responded obstinately.
Even the composed Dewa started to lose his cool when the outnumbered man attempted to elbow him in the side. With a glowing fist, the red clansman shoved him against a wall and tried to be threatening even though he was quite a bit too short. "Hey, this is Homra you're messing with. If you aren't telling us something we want to know, we have ways of getting it from you." Somehow, he was still coming across way too polite for an interrogation.
Mikoto had grown impatient by then, enough so that he took over. "Where have you taken Haruna?" He demanded, words gruff and deliberate so they were easy to understand. His hand clutched the man's jaw so tightly that it made him writhe in pain.
The sound of searing flesh reached Dewa's ears at the same time as the word, 'taken.' It shocked him, as well as Fujishima. He replayed it through his mind to process the impact. Taken? As in kidnapped? Emi-san had been kidnapped? Everything made sense then. He could feel his palms get sweaty and the blood rush to his head. No wonder Mikoto was so mad; he was too.
The man continued to resist the red king, spouting haughty, meaningless things like, "You'll never find her," and, "No one here knows where she is."
"That isn't true," Mikoto replied to the latter. Those who had been part of the attack would undoubtedly know something, and this man certainly knew who had been part of the attack. The impulsive punch thrust into his gut for lying, however, prevented the man from answering another question ever again. He slid down the wall when Mikoto let go of his face. Another one down; still no information.
By that time, it seemed the cavalry had been called in. Two men entered the hall, one from each direction to pin them down. Fujishima—who was also clearly angry now that he knew what to be angry for—was closest to the man behind them. Reaching to his side, he grabbed an expensive vase from a pedestal, filled it with fire, and smashed it over the mobster's head. A flaming punch hit him like a meteorite, knocking him to the floor, face destroyed by hundreds of sharp, burning bits of ceramic.
The other man trembled when the red king looked his way. When he was pressed against the wall and questioned, he sounded like he sincerely didn't know anything, so Mikoto changed the subject. Referring to the man Totsuka had described, he asked, "Where's Dragon Head?" It wasn't the most flattering name to call the person he sought, but Mikoto wouldn't ever trouble himself with the full description of, your fellow member who shaves his head in the pattern of a dragon. The way he said it still got the job done.
Pointing his finger at the ceiling nervously, the man stuttered, "U-upstairs."
Mikoto let him go and shoved him aside in disgust as he made his way to the stairs. For a moment, Dewa thought if the coward ran fast enough, there might actually be a survivor tonight. Those who weren't dead now likely were to be soon since Fujishima had lit the house on fire with his attack.
The mobster wasn't that smart. Maybe it was the confidence in Mikoto's shoulders as he walked away, or maybe the man completely underestimated the two clansmen. Either way, he raised his gun to shoot at the red king's unprotected back. Of course, Dewa wasn't going to let that happen, so a moment later that guy was no longer a possible survivor. Mikoto never even looked back.
Upstairs was more of a fortress based upon the number of men who had gathered on the landing. Now that he had Dragon Head in mind as a destination, though, Mikoto didn't bother to question them all individually. Launching a flame down the hallway, he cleared a path straight through the center and walked down it, paying little heed to the people left standing. They were the job of his two accomplices.
Mikoto strolled across scorched carpet right up to the most ornate door of the building, which would obviously be where the important people were. Unleashing his power had left an unsightly burn mark on the center, but that didn't matter much after he busted the whole thing down.
Currently with a one-track mind, Mikoto went straight towards the man with the dragon design. Even though, he had quickly scanned the room to understand where everyone stood, he paid little attention to anyone but his target, blasting straight through a man with a crooked nose who was in his way. He stumbled after his encounter with the red king, surprised that he hadn't received worse. Like a match that delays for a split second before the chemicals in it light, however, the man with the crooked nose was consumed by flames as soon as he thought he was safe.
The red king reached Dragon Head then, making a single accusation, "So you're the one who attacked Totsuka and Haruna." He seemed to be looking at the mobster in his overpriced suit in a degrading way with the thought of how simple it would be to devour him in an instant. Instead, he held in his wrath long enough to growl, "Where is she?"
He behaved in a way that implied he had no clue other people were in the room. Originally, Dragon Head and Crooked Nose had been standing before a fancy desk of solid wood, behind which sat the leader of this particular syndicate. Since the leader was there, his four most trusted bodyguards were as well—one on either side of the door, and another by each of the two windows. They all were strongly built men, and they all had guns.
Dewa and Fujishima entered the room to see Mikoto standing recklessly in the center of all these men with no apparent recognition that they were there, talking only to Dragon Head. Upon a hand gesture from the leader, the guard by the door moved to shoot the intruder, but Fujishima interfered. The men by the windows were closer to Mikoto, however, and one charged at his seemingly vulnerable back.
Without looking, the red king reached out and wrapped his massive hand around his attacker's throat. "Don't interrupt," he ordered gruffly as the man momentarily cried out when a burning sensation filled him from the inside. In a matter of seconds, the man's skin began to droop as if melting off the bones, then became deathly pale, flaky, and he vaporized, turning into a small, hot mist in the air.
Dragon Head wavered and backed himself against the desk when Mikoto turned his attention back to him. The king was done talking. Gripping his opponent by the back of the head, he smashed the man's face onto the desk.
"Where is Haruna now?" He repeated the question, making known at the same time that Dragon Head was at risk of suffering the same fate as his coworker if he didn't cooperate.
As if the leader of the yakuza was an after-thought, a side-show to the main event, he successfully called his two remaining guards to him, instructing one to safely guide him away from danger, out of the burning building, while the other would stay to fight. The one who would stay seemed disappointed by his lot in life, but the others would not fare better. Like an after-thought to the side-show, Dewa stood blocking the doorway.
"You are the leader of one of the three coalition syndicates, Migi, aren't you?" Dewa inquired, having deduced where they were.
The leader snarled haughtily in reply, "This will not be the last you see of us, Homra!" He then tried to push by, but Dewa stayed in his path.
"Where are you running off to?" Dewa asked in a condescending tone. "There's nothing left of your mob. Do you really expect your partners will show you mercy if you beg for their help? Or, perhaps, is there a boss of yours that you can crawl back to? Does Migi answer to someone higher?" His own question brought an idea to the red clansman. One of the men downstairs had said that no one here knew were Emi was. Did that mean Migi had been nothing more than the method of acquiring her? Had they simply passed her up the chain?
He changed his inquiry immediately. "Who did you give Emi-san to?"
The leader of Migi smirked with an evil gleam in his eyes—one far too confident for a man who had just lost all of his subordinates. Snapping his fingers, he waved his final bodyguard to come forward. Just taller than two meters, the guard stood like a tower over shorter Dewa, but he additionally had the broad build of a soldier. Even with the teen's fire powers, he would struggle to defeat a man like that.
Back at the desk, that was slowly starting to burn under Mikoto's left hand, Dragon Head was feeling like there really was a dragon breathing fire in his head, and didn't doubt for a second that the pattern on his hair was glowing like a hot iron. His skull felt like an oven in the desert making the thoughts in his mind wave around like an intangible mirage. He couldn't give a straight answer if he wanted to. He didn't want to, knowing very well that if he revealed information, he would be killed by the boss—if not by Mikoto anyways. Still, the overwhelming presence of the current threat moved him, as it likely would any imperfect human, to spill his guts in an attempt to prolong his life even minimally.
"B-b…the black clan," he stuttered out, unable to form a complete sentence. It was so hot in their vicinity that he could periodically hear the steam form from his evaporating sweat, yet somehow Mikoto controlled his strength enough to ask questions.
He lifted the mobster's head from the table a few inches, just to slam it against the wood again, drawing blood. "I know that. Where'd they take her from the cemetery?"
"I don't know," Dragon Head swore.
Trying to be angry without killing the guy, Mikoto threw him at the wall near a window, instantly catching the curtains on fire. "Where'd they take her?" He repeated, sounding—if possible—even more threatening as he approached the man who had attacked his friends.
He looked up at the red king in terror, not able to make his mind work so as to stand or flee. The damage inflicted would be one of permanent paralysis, speech difficulties, and inability to focus even if Mikoto stopped there. Still, he bent down, casually casting a shadow over the mobster, impatient to hear the response to his most recent question. Even if Dragon Head could remember his surprise at the speed with which the Black Clan disappeared with the girl, if he could bring back to mind the details of the remainder of their scheme, only unintelligible noises would come from his mouth. Mikoto's patience ran out, and he saved the man from continuing a meaningless existence.
Dewa was proud of himself for having successfully held his ground in the doorway until the red king joined them. Thanks to him, and the small advantage that having fire gave him over his large opponent, no one had escaped while the king was busy. That being said, Dewa was not winning his battle. His face was starting to swell around his eye and on his jaw. Hand prints were developing around his throat where he would have been choked if his skin hadn't burnt the bodyguard's hands.
Mikoto honestly didn't care one way or the other about the two remaining mobsters. They were in his way. That was all that mattered. A second later, they no longer were, and Dewa stood alone, surrounded by nothing but ash upon the charred frame of the house. The red king was ready to leave, and his two clansmen followed proudly behind, just as confused as ever. Nothing remained of Migi, the people who had attacked Totsuka and delivered Emi to the Black Clan, nothing but a flame rising behind them in the night sky. Neither had they learned anything useful. Judgment was executed, though, and a warning sent. No one would spite Homra and live to regret it.
Woot! Suoh, burn IT down! Anyhow, see you all next week.