A/N: Long time no see-sorry it's been a while, but things have just been busier than expected, and I have not been feeling the writing bug lately for anything . This semester is looking like it'll be more stressful than last, which wasn't too awful, but the reason I had time to finish this chapter was because a class was cancelled and things pushed back, so...yeah. Fun times, fun times.

Thank you everybody for reviewing, following, and favoriting! Sometimes I stare at how many of you there are and wonder how this is real. You've all been so patient, so I wanted to get this up as soon as I finished with it; it's not the longest chapter (by no means the shortest, though), but I don't know when I'll have time to write again so I figured I'd give you this while I could.

So! About next update! Um. It'll come when it can, I guess, but I suppose the date I'll give myself will be sometime in March! I love how vague these update dates are getting blugh.

Without further ado, here's the chapter!

Chapter Twenty-Five: Blut, Schweiß, und Pest

(Blood, Sweat, and Pestilence)

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Way off in the distance, there was a pulsing mass of what looked like engorged spores, swelling, pulsating, popping, multiplying. All that was holding them back was, to the naked eye, a star made of fire, hot, red, streaming and flickering from a core white-hot. The naked eye could not see the figure—the figures. One, round, in heavy robes, fell to the ground, knelt. The other, burning, bright, hovering beside, voice inaudible from such a distance but crackling, popping. Fire.

The naked eye from down the mountain could not see the third figure, did not see it come up behind the first, could not see the thin, short blade it held. Down. Quick. Through the throat, the end emerging on the side of the fire-pentagram, shimmering in the unsteady light. Blood, out the mouth, onto grass and wild flowers and weeds.

The first figure collapsed, but only two were witness; the second figure, the third, invisible against the faltering star and the pulsating growth on the side of the mountain. And then the third pulled the fire-second to him with the blade, sunk his teeth in the flesh of the second without burning, the light flickering, flailing against the single lens of his glasses, the white stripe in his hair. The second, consumed. The first, on the ground, fingers to throat, bleeding. The third, hunching, groaning, bouts of flame emerging from his skin. Younger. Stronger.

Nobody saw except the first figure on the ground. Nobody saw the third figure, having eaten the second, stagger off, burning without burning. Nobody saw the first figure go limp—not quite dead, but almost. Almost.

Everybody saw the star fade and the sickly-white growth of the Impure King swell forward.

Shiemi stroked Nii-chan's mossy head with her fingertips and pressed close to Rin. He looked down at her, eyes still puffy and red, tear-tracks still on his cheeks, and tried to smile at her. He succeeded, halfway, but there was still a bewildered, scared air to him that only heightened Shiemi's unease with the situation.

At the front of the crowd, two figures emerged from the elevator; one of them was Shima-san's brother, and the other was a person that Shiemi didn't recognize but knew was in bad condition by the boils on the other woman's face and the blackish blood down her right cheek. She inhaled and took a tiny half-step forward, more to Suguro-san's side than Rin's, but Yukio placed a hand on her shoulder. Looking back, he seemed just as exhausted as Rin, and he shook his head.

"Wait," he murmured above the sound Shima-san's dad calling out the names of the newcomers. "They have qualified healers on hand; the only reason she hasn't been attended to is if she had important information."

"Even if she's—" Shiemi asked in a voice that trembled. They say she's a traitor. Suguro-san saw, she's a traitor, would they keep her from medical help?

A moment passed before Yukio answered. "This is Kyōto," he said, and the way he said it helped to ease her heart a little. A little. She returned her gaze to the woman at the front, and lifted the hand at Rin's side to her heart, pressed there. It beat quickly.

"Mamushi," Suguro-san breathed, his back tense; she looked past him to see the woman, Mamushi-san, holding a hand out to stop somebody from coming closer. She rasped something that Shiemi didn't really understand, and in the next moment their group was pushing forward. The crowd resisted, then one exorcist turned around and saw the group, saw Suguro-san, and she cried, "Young Lord!"

The crowd parted quickly after that, and Mamushi-san looked up from where she was coughing, a hand at her throat, eyes wide. "Ryuuji-sama," she said.

Shiemi felt Konekomaru-san brush past her and turned her head, watched him stand right behind Suguro-san. Konkeomaru-san's hand lifted, stalled just before Suguro-san's back, and then the taller of the two boys fell to his knees in front of Mamushi-san. A second longer of hesitation, and then Konekomaru-san's hand was on Suguro-san's shoulder, Shima-san on the other side, just as hesitant, a little further away but there.

Shiemi swallowed against the lump in her throat, the worry from earlier, from in the shed with Rin and friends she thought might not be friends anymore, returned. It was a little changed, a little less angry and a little more frightened. She shuffled forward another step, an arm's length away from Suguro-san, and listened.

"What happened?" Suguro-san asked, loud and angry, the way he'd been in the shed. Shiemi wondered now if it was just anger. "Mamushi, what the hell were you doing? Y-Your eye."

"I'm sorry," she murmured, and she looked up to the rest of them—beyond Shiemi, to the right, the left. Her eye caught Shiemi's for a moment, and then she looked away again, raised her voice. "I am a traitor, but please, listen."

The silence was heavy. Shiemi found herself wanting out, wanting gardens and plants and oxygen. Nii-chan chirped under her fingers. She swallowed.

Mamushi-san continued. "Earlier, Todou-san and I used the 'right' and 'left' eyes we stole, and we…" she paused, then straightened her shoulders and barreled on. "We revived the Impure King with them."

The crowd behind Shiemi burst into noise. She blinked, then looked back at Yukio. "What's the Impure King?" she asked, even as she heard that same question being asked, over and over.

When Yukio opened his mouth to answer, an older man with greying hair pushed past her and called out, "Wait! Isn't the Impure King the one the Myodha defeated in the Edo period? Wasn't it sealed under Kongou Shinzan in a near-death state?"

"Yukio?" Shiemi asked.

Yukio nodded and leaned closer. "It's a powerful demon of rot—this is very bad, the lengths to which the Myodha went to seal it the first time were..."

From ahead, Shima-san's brother shouted, "Shut up everybody! Right now, Ossama is out there fighting that thing alone! We shouldn't be in here squabbling!"

Oh no, Shiemi thought, and she twisted back around to look at Suguro-san and Konekomaru-san and Shima-san. She couldn't hear anything clearly over the chatter, but she could have sworn that one of them had gasped.

"Please send reinforcements," Mamushi-san said, breaths heavy. She fell over onto her hands and knees, coughed. Then she pushed herself up onto her knees and looked out to the crowd. "Please save Ossama from the Impure King!"

"Um," Hisoragi-san said, but the rest of his words were drowned out in a cacophony of voices.

"We can't—the Impure King is too strong. We can't beat that!"

"You're a traitor, how do we even know if we can trust you?"

"How would we defeat the Impure King? Most of us don't know anything about it!"

Rin tensed next to her and Shiemi sucked in a breath through her nose, straightened her shoulders. Her hands trembled at the thought of facing something as unknown and dangerous (Yukio said it was very bad, so it had to be very very bad), but wasn't Suguro-san's father these peoples' beloved Ossan? How could they say these things? How—how—

"This is no time to argue!" Shima-san's dad turned around and raised his hand. The crowd fell silent, and moments later, he continued to speak in a deep, quieter voice. "All exorcist units, security squads one and two, and the first squad of the keep are to deploy and subdue the Impure King. The Impure King is kin of the King of Rot, so be sure to guard against the poison."

The chatter rose up again, but nobody moved.

"Now! There's no time to waste!" Shima-san's dad roared, his face contorting and shifting the markings on the side of his face. "Out out out!"

"Um," Hisoragi-san asked again, "what—are we an Exorcist unit?"

Izumo-chan smacked him on the shoulder and huffed. "We're Esquires, that's it. We're not experienced enough for this."

"—please, help Ossama," Mamushi-san said, and Shiemi turned her attention back to Suguro-san, and what she could see of Mamushi'san over his crest of bleached hair. Rin murmured something next to her but she ignored it for the time being, focused instead on the woman who looked like she really needed some medical attention.

Around them, people were calling and gathering into groups—only they, the Esquires, and Yukio weren't. A few squeezed around the other side of Rin, and Shiemi felt oddly detached, like she wasn't really there. Rin was warm beside her, and she could feel the summer heat still in the air—the night hadn't dissipated it as much as she'd like—and there were voices, all around her, but it was like floating. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to focus again on Mamushi-san, on Suguro-san and Shima-san and Konekomaru-san and understand what was going on.

But by that time, there was Shima-san's brother, holding Mamushi-san in his arms with a grave expression on his face. She only caught the tail-end of his words. "—anything happens to him, I'll rip you both a new one!"

"Yeah yeah, it'll be fine." Shima-san shrugged, pulled on Suguro-san's arm to have him stand. Soon, Shiemi couldn't see Shima-san's brother or Mamushi-san in his arms, could only see the back of Suguro-san's shirt, the soft wrinkles in the white fabric, the tie just visible under the bottom of the collar. Shiemi could only watch as the people around them dispersed—even Yukio.

"You guys need to stay here—yes, Nii-san, that includes you. Especially you, actually." Yukio said, crossing his arms. There were only a few stragglers that stayed behind, double- and triple-checking their equipment; Suguro-san and Konekomaru-san and Shima-san were all huddled together. Shiemi wondered where Angelica-chan and Yamada-kun and Takara-san were, if they were okay, what they were doing.

Rin growled and shoved his hands in his pockets. "But, like, this is a demon of rot and junk—wouldn't, you know, burning it out be the best plan?"

"Yeah, sounds like a great plan," Hisoragi-san said from where he was sitting against the wall, one leg out, the other bent up. He leaned over and started rubbing the shin of the one stretched out. "Except, you know, that handy little fact that we all know about that could probably kill you if I got my facts straight."

Shiemi crouched down next to Hisoragi-san. "Is your leg hurting you? Do you need anything for the pain?"

He grimaced. "Maybe. No time for a rub or anything though."

"Not even ukon-san?" Shiemi was ready to ask, and she could feel Nii-chan shifting next to her, puffing up just a little bit.

"I have pain relief back in my room, but—well, like, maybe keeping my weight off it will be better. Just need a moment." Hisoragi-san smiled up at her, his dark eyes creasing a little shut. He looked more like he was in pain than he was happy, but that was okay.

"Mmm, okay," Shiemi said. She stood up, tugged at the bottom of her skirt. It was still a little weird, wearing something so short. "But if it starts hurting too much, you should send one of us to get it, okay?"

"Not me," Izumo-chan muttered from where she was on Shiemi's other side, playing with her hair and staring at Rin and Yukio.

"Thanks a lot, Eyebrows." Hisoragi-san rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know."

Shiemi smiled back and turned to lean against the wall with him, clenching and unclenching her hands in the material of her skirt. She felt her heart in her chest, fast, felt full of energy, but she had no garden to pour it out into, had no balms to make or poultices to create and it—it really made the energy build on top of itself. If the hall weren't so quiet, if there weren't others around, she might have actually stamped her feet in frustration.

Instead, she followed Izumo-chan's example and looked over at Rin, who was crossing his arms now, closed, frustrated. "But I could help, Yukio, I could—"

"That's a bad idea," Yukio insisted, dragging a hand down his face, voice hushed. "We know you could, but you—you're not strong enough for something like this, for one, and for another, saving us damns you and I won't do that. I refuse to do that."

Rin let out a strangled growl and crouched down, tugging at his hair. He looked up. "Yukio."

Yukio didn't answer for a long, long time. Finally, he closed his eyes and sighed. "I'm supposed to be helping out elsewhere, Rin. Having you come with me would be seen as irresponsible—"

"But it wouldn't be! They just don't know that I can handle—"

"And the others?" Yukio said, pushing up his glasses. "Can they? If something happens, if you guys run off like the idiots I know most of you are, wouldn't it be better for you to be with them?"

"Then wouldn't it be better for both of us to be with them?" Rin said, looking down again. His eyes were obscured by his bangs, half of the rest of his face by shadow. Shiemi felt Nii-chan shift on her shoulder, felt the fabric of her skirt between her fingers. It wasn't rough, wasn't smooth; she could feel the fibers, the weave, slightly damp from sweat. She kept staring at Yukio, silent, both of them, all of them—it occurred to Shiemi, suddenly, that this should have been private. But in a wide room with no walls, only pillars and empty space and dull wooden floors underneath, there was no chance of privacy.

Slowly, Yukio crouched, held out a hand and grasped Rin's shoulder with careful fingers. "I'm sorry, Nii-san. But you need to be safe. And if you go out there…"

"I won't," Rin mumbled. It took Shiemi a moment to understand the words. "I promise."

All Yukio did was let out a sigh. Somebody ran behind the two of them, her short hair bouncing as she went, the back of her exorcist's coat flaring up. Yukio turned his head, watched her enter the elevator, and then stood.

"I need to go, Nii-san."

Rin pushed the heel of his hand into his forehead. "Would you—at least call me if shit happens, okay? I'll come."

"Nii-san—"

"You're my brother. I'll come." Rin's voice was sterner, louder. Shiemi's fingers clenched in her skirt, proud and scared and still bursting with energy. "Please, Yukio."

Shiemi watched and unfolded her fingers from the material of her skirt, smoothed the rumples down so they weren't so apparent. Hid her hands behind her back and felt the surface of the wall—mostly smooth, a little pebbled. It was cream, she knew.

"Okay," Yukio said. "But promise—promise you'll stay safe, and that you'll not use them."

"He won't," Izumo-chan interrupted. "Because we'll kick him if he does. How does that sound, Okumura-sensei?"

"Hey!" Rin said, but his fingers unclenched a little from around his head. He dropped his hands to his knees, stared at Izumo with the funniest expression on his face. "No! I don't like this plan!"

"I'll hold you to that then," Yukio said, a smile on his face. "Keep him from being stupid, okay?"

"I won't be!" Rin wailed. He started to stand, only to yelp and clutch the back of his head. He twisted around to look at Suguro-san, whose eyebrows were raised.

"Okumura-sensei," Suguro-san drawled, and still outstretched from his smack, "he tried to get up. I don't think I could stop him if he got up, so permission to keep him here?"

Yukio huffed and grinned. "Don't hurt him."

"Bon!" Rin screeched. "What the hell was that for?"

"Go on, sensei," Konekomaru-san said. "You should leave and help. The sooner the better."

Yukio raised his eyebrows, but sighed. "Stay here, okay? You're not experienced enough for a fight like this."

"Yeah, definitely, I agree." Shima-san said, nodding. He nudged Rin's head with his knee, and Rin shoved him away with a grumble and a pout. "We shouldn't leave. Juuzo told us not to leave. Okumura-sensei's just told us not to leave. It's hellish out there. We'd die. Well, maybe not Rin, but we'd die."

Suguro-san's lips twisted and he looked away. Another Exorcist, on the way out, stopped at their group. "Okumura-san? Are you—"

"I'm coming, sorry," Yukio said, and he was already moving when he looked back over his shoulder and said, "Don't, Nii-san. Please."

Rin shrugged, humor bleeding out of him so fast it was like it wasn't there in the first place. He didn't say anything, looked down again.

Yukio hesitated, still looking back. Seeing the expression on Yukio's face hurt Shiemi, hurt her almost as much as she thought it might be hurting him.

"Okumura-san!"

"Please," Yukio said, and then he was gone, heavy footfalls crossing from wooden boards to concrete and finally to the elevator. He didn't turn around, and Shiemi watched the doors shut on his back.

Rin let out a breath and wiped at his face. Shiemi leaned forward from the wall, and then back, and then forward again. Would he want her to go and ask? She wondered. She worked the words around in her mouth as the last two ranking Exorcists moved past, not even paying their group any attention.

Instead of moving forward, Shiemi sunk to her haunches, hands folded and set on her knees, feet pressed together. She kept her eyes on Rin, who was carefully only looking at his hands.

The silence was only silence because none of them spoke; dull thudding echoed through the room overhead, echoes of voices like afterthoughts. Frantic, quick, panicked. The peace down in the room, around Shiemi, didn't feel like peace at all, and some part of her wished that there was more of the crowd from earlier to fill up the space.

"…we're not staying in here," Suguro-san said, quietly. Shiemi stopped watching Rin and looked up at him. His arms were crossed. "Not while my shitty dad is out there on his own."

"Aren't the Exorcists looking for him?" Hisoragi-san asked. "There are enough of them, they'll make sure he's safe."

Suguro-san growled and shifted his weight. "The Impure King means that there are never enough Exorcists, from what I've gathered. If we can get out there and help my old man, then…"

"But the Paladin is here," Shima-san groaned. "I keep telling you Bon, us going out there is going to kill us!"

"No," Rin murmured, and it was quiet enough to hear him. "My dumb old man isn't able to do everything. I should be out there."

"We should be out there," Shiemi corrected, and almost immediately her hands flew to her mouth. She looked up, surprised that the words had come out, and watched all of them watching her.

Hisoragi-san was the first to break the silence. "We're just—newbies," he said, eyes wide. He spread his hands. "What can we do?"

"Well," Konekomaru-san said, pushing his glasses up with one finger, "we have two Doctor hopefuls, two Tamers, three Aria, one Dragoon, and two Knights. Hi—Takumi-san, you're pursuing only Doctor, myself only Aria, Kamiki-san only Tamer, and Rin-san only Knight. Bon isn't advanced enough in Dragoon yet to utilize those skills well enough, however. So it would follow that an optimal divvying of the roles would be this:

"Takumi-san, you would be our Doctor. Moriyama-san would assist you as needed, but her role would be split between that and defensive Taming. Kamiki-san would be our offensive Tamer. Bon and I would focus on Aria—we know enough to at least keep the spores away from our immediate group, at least. Then we would have Rin-san and Renzou-san working on physically beating back the Impure King until we found Ossama."

Izumo-chan put one hand on her hip and narrowed her eyes. "That sounds fine in theory, but is our only goal finding Rooster-head's dad? If so, I think that everybody else has that covered."

Suguro-san scowled. "I need to beat some information out of that dumb—"

"If that's the case," Konekomaru-san said, raising his voice above Suguro-san's, "we simply do our best to move through and aid wherever we can, using that formation."

Rin looked up. "Formation?"

Konekomaru-san hummed. Then he faced Shima-san and pulled him to stand directly in front of the elevators.

"Neko? What are you—woah, wait, I never said I was—"

"Hush," Konekomaru-san said. "Renzou-san would be in back, fending off whatever growth or adversaries were behind us. In front of him would be Kamiki-san—Kamiki-san, please come here."

As Izumo-chan sighed but complied, Shima-san began to waggle his eyebrows instead of frowning. "All right, Neko, you have me intrigued."

"I will destroy you," Izumo-chan hissed, eyes narrowed. "You better have a good reason for me being here, Miwa."

"I will explain that." Konekomaru-san said, and then he continued. "Next to Kamiki-san would be Takumi-san, and in front of them Moriyama-san—in a sort of triangular position, if you may."

Shiemi stood and helped Hisoragi-san up. Hisoragi-san said, even as they walked over together, "I don't have a choice in this, do I."

"You do," Konekomaru-san said. "Because we do have another Doctor and we would need to find a proper and simple kit for you—"

"There's one in my room," Hisoragi-san interrupted from where he stood next to Izumo-chan. "Fujimoto-sensei gave it to me."

"Ah, good," Konekomaru-san said. "As I was going to say, this is the optimal situation from what I can tell. Now, Bon and I would be on either side of you three, and Rin-san in front of us." As he spoke, he moved into position, Suguro-san doing the same in silence. Rin turned around but didn't get up. His eyes were narrowed in thought.

"So," Rin said, "Shiemi and Takumi and Eyebrows would rotate around, right? Whoever was needed up front, that is."

Konekomaru-san shrugged and scratched at his cheek. "I mean, I think that works. Takumi-san would need to be in the middle, so to speak, the most, but if Moriyama-san needs to fall behind and Kamiki-san needs to push up front to help in any attacks…"

Rin nodded and pushed himself to his feet. "Like, I haven't really worked in a team other than with my brother, but you know, it seems pretty solid? You and Bon keeping whatever away from our sides, me ahead, Renzou behind, the three of them in the middle…that sounds good."

"What if we had to split up?" Izumo-chan asked behind Shiemi. When she looked, Izumo-chan was crossing her arms. "How would we do that?"

"Well, there are seven of us—so two and two and three, I think," Konekomaru-san said. "Um, no offense Takumi-san, but probably you'd be in a group of three."

Hisoragi-san grunted, but didn't say anything to the contrary.

Kokekomaru-san perched his chin on his fist and looked at the ground, the light sliding over the top of his head. "So...Takumi-san and Kamiki-san and…probably Bon or Rin. Moriyama-san with myself or Renzou or Bon, and then the rest as needed? I'm not sure."

"Shit, Neko, you've been holding out," Shima-san said. Konekomaru-san flushed and stuttered something out about how it really wasn't anything.

Rin spoke up. "Why not Shiemi with me?"

"Because you heal faster than us, dumbass," Suguro-san said. "I'd probably be better with Shiemi-san—"

Shiemi had to stop the curling discomfort in her gut at the memory of Suguro-san in the shed, anger in his eyes and coldness in his face. He's fine, she told herself. He trusts and accepts Rin.

"—and Renzou with the other two, and then you with Neko."

Izumi-chan made a disgusted noise, and Shima-san let out a cry of jubilation. Shiemi very carefully packed up her misgivings, which were absolutely unwarranted because Suguro-san hadn't meant to be so cruel, not really, and placed them in the back of her mind. Besides, if it helped this awful gnawing in her gut at not doing anything, at staying behind when everybody else was fighting.

Konekomaru-san nodded. "I am fine with this. If we have to split up, then this is how we do it, all right?"

"Though if we do have to mix it up," Izumi-chan said, standing up straight and tall and tapping one boot against the floor, "we mix it up."

"Of course!" Rin said, hands on his hips. "We gotta be flexible, after all! So, we're going out to get Bon's old man, right? And then Yukio?"

"He's going to hate us," Hisoragi-san groaned. "We're going to die."

"Probably," Shima-san agreed. "But, well, if I die at least I get to go with a view!"

Izumo-chan colored and whipped around. "What the hell is that supposed to mean, you insufferable pervert?"

"Just that I would get to see your beauty one last time before I left this earth!" He leaned over and grinned. "Not that I'd ever let it come to that point, but it's good insurance! You're very pretty today by the way—did I tell you that yet?"

"I am going to kill you someday," Izumo-chan snarled, flushed, pointing a finger into Shima-san's chest. "And you're going to regret everything."

Konekomaru-san snickered, and even Shiemi found herself smiling a little.

"You're all insane." Hisoragi-san said. "We're going out, probably into certain death, and you're all laughing. What did I do to deserve this."

"You hung out with the literal son of Satan," Bon said, and for a moment the room was quiet. Then Rin, huffed and crossed his arms.

"We weren't hanging out! He was actually my enemy, and I saved his butt!"

Shiemi giggled, one hand raising up to her mouth to cover the smile with the tips of her fingers. When she snuck a glance at Rin, he was staring at her as though she'd betrayed him; She had to turn away and hide her face with the whole hand.

"Forgive him," Konekomaru-san said. "You were saved by the literal son of Satan; in doing so, you probably signed some sort of informal contract that said your life would be one insane trial after another."

"I hate you all," Rin and Hisoragi-san said, almost in tandem. At this, Shiemi burst out into laughter.

"Shiemi!" Rin howled. "What—why are you laughing? I thought you were on my side, not theirs!"

"It's kind of true," she said between giggles, and turned back so that Rin could see the wide smile on her face. His face lost its indignant cast and went…not quite blank, but almost, eyes wide. Almost dumbstruck. She chalked it down to a lessened kind of betrayal.

Hisoragi-san sighed. "All right. So. No chance of talking you guys out of it?"

"You can stay if you like," Suguro-san said, already turning around, "but I'm going."

"Right, then!" Rin said, a little red for some reason. He moved forward as well, reaching out and slinging an arm around both Konekomaru-san and Shiemi. He was warm, almost unbearably so in the heat, but Shiemi couldn't find it in herself to shrug him off. "Operation: Find Bon's Old Man, start!"

"That's a dumb name," Hisoragi-san said, but he turned around and started walking to the elevator as well.

"Agreed. Satan's Son is not allowed to be in charge of naming things." Izumo-chan threw over her shoulder.

"Eyebrows!" Rin screeched. "Why?"

"Might as well get it out while we can," Suguro-san said, reaching over Shiemi's head to pat Rin on the shoulder. "Can't haze you now, can we?"

"You don't need to! What—wait a minute, I'm the one with the most experience, why am I being hazed?"

Shiemi laughed against Rin's side as she found herself pressed between many bodies again. But instead of just unease—because she was afraid, afraid even as the elevator doors closed and the machine rose up—she felt anticipation, an odd sense of safety. She felt her fellow Cram students all around her, like they were a team, like they were friends or at least something like friends. And when the elevator doors opened and they could hear the yelling more clearly, Shiemi shook out her nerves and thought that if it was together, maybe they could get through this.

Fujimoto had seen a lot of things, but none had been quite so monstrous or quite so daunting as the Impure King. "That doesn't mean we can't beat this one off, though!"

The poor man leading him to the director laughed, nervously. "But if it's something you, the Paladin, has never seen before…"

"I used to think that," Fujimoto said, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Then I realized that of we keep being scared of big things, we won't get anywhere. There's always something bigger and scarier. We just have to keep going."

"I—I mean I understand that, but at the same time, this is the Impure King, and Ossama is nowhere to be found…" The man shrugged and took another few steps through the waist-high grass.

"We'll find him. You have me, after all! Fortunate that I'm here." Fujimoto grinned and pulled at the stubble on his chin. "Just think about how much harder it would be if I weren't!"

"Ahaha, that—that is true, sir. Ah, look, here we are, there's the director!"

Fujimoto grinned. "I'm just being facetious, don't worry. Thank you for taking me to Shima-san…I didn't catch your name, what was it?"

"Mita Takanori. It's good to meet you!" Mita-san bowed. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to see to distributing the demonic-repelling masks."

"Of course, carry on." Fujimoto bowed back, then moved forward through the grass. If he weren't so worried about the Impure King and how the mass of slowly creeping fungus and pustules were constructing what looked like a bridge, he might have been annoyed at how heavy and insulating Exorcist robes were. Sweat dripped down the side of his face, and he wiped it off a few steps before he reached Shima-san.

"Hey, I heard the down-low from your kid while he was carrying Mamushi-chan to the infirmary—you need help calling Ucchusma?"

"Fujimoto-san," Shima-san said, inclining his head. "Please; a senior Tamer would only aid our cause. The chant requires over ten, and the more the better. As it is, there are only five of the Archpriest's bloodline, and that should upset Ucchusma enough."

Fujimoto came shoulder to shoulder with Shima-san and crossed his arms. "You didn't pull in your youngest?"

Shima-san shook his head and sighed. "No. If I were worse off, then possibly, but he is too young and inexperienced at the moment."

"I suppose there is that," Fujimoto said. He wiped the sweat off his face again and observed the pyre being constructed in the center of the summoning circle. "You're not worried he'll run off and do something stupid?"

With a snort, Shima-san turned his head and raised his eyebrow. "I'd be more worried about Bon if Renzou weren't with him."

Fujimoto sighed and put one hand on his hip. He stared at the fire, and wished the night weren't so hot already, wished he wasn't thinking about how much easier it would be if Rin were to… "I think I know what you mean."

He knew better than to think that Yukio was with Rin; not when this hell was going on, not when Yukio had a rank where Rin did not. Fujimoto pinched the bridge of his nose under his glasses and tried to pull himself a little closer together.

"Fujimoto-san, is everything alright?"

Fujimoto let out a little laugh. He opened his eyes and looked at Shima-san. "Well, it's about as good as the situation allows. The pyre looks about ready to summon our great demon and roast some ass—whaddya say we go over and sit down?"

Shima-san gazed at him a moment longer, and then nodded, stern. "I agree. Flamethrowers and mid-level demons won't hold out forever."

Around them, through the crackling of the flame, Fujimoto could hear the other Exorcists yelling, the roar of fire and chanting of lower-level Tamers. As if on cue, Hojo-san called out, "Fujimoto-sama, Shima-san, the pyre is ready!"

"Alright, sounds good!" He wiped more sweat away from his brow, and followed Shima-san through the high grass until they reached the circle of tamped-down grass. Fujimoto looked again at Hojo-san, and the inked skin of the snake tattoo on the side of Hojo-san's face shone in the pyre's light.

"Ah! Here, Fujimoto-sama, sit here." At the voice, Fujimoto looked away from Hojo-san, feeling a little surer of the task before them, and nodded at the young man. One of Shima-san's, Fujimoto thought.

"Thank you, Shima-kun," he said. When he bent down to sit, he could feel his joints aching. God he wished he weren't getting so old; at least he wasn't the old geezer a few seats to his left.

"Of course!" Shima-kun grinned, flashed a thumb's up. The fire turned his bleached hair orange in the light, and Fujimoto didn't know if it was shadow or the roots that made the hair closest his scalp so dark. "My pleasure!"

"All non-Tamers, please stand back away from the circle!" Hojo-san called from where he sat, legs crossed. He began to fold his hands into position. "We will begin the chant on my signal!"

Fujimoto looked at the pyre and folded his own fingers; ring and pinky down, interlocking, the middle fingers pressed together at the tips, index fingers framing the arch, thumbs tucked against each other. He took even breaths as much as he could in the hazy air; at least he'd been inoculated before heading out into the field.

Hojo-san inhaled, and then he said, "On three. One, two, and…"

Fujimoto began to chant the sutra, voices around him humming in chorus with his, the fire burning, his coat heavy on his shoulders and sweat building on the backsides of his bent knees. What a difference, Fujimoto thought, from the last time he was in these parts. On a mission to find the Koma-sword, to snowy Kyōto, where he found not only that but a bunch of backwards fools making themselves sicker and sicker through ineffective prayer.

If he weren't chanting, he would have laughed. He'd really planned to kill whatever kid, didn't he? What a fool he'd been to think he could, to think that he was so cold-hearted and cold-minded that he could kill something as defenseless as a child, even if it was—even if they were children of Satan.

Tatsuma had been right, all those years ago. He really didn't have that in him.

The final syllables of the chant sang from his lips, set his teeth to vibrating, his lips numb with power. The flames on the pyre swelled, burst, and from them a form emerged, made of something like fire but more solid, denser, brighter.

Ucchusma spread his wings, opened his beak-like mouth to reveal a second face, and spoke. "I am Ucchusma, a demon who serves ten of the Myō-ō-Dharani Archpriests. Those who wish to use my flame—prove your blood!"

Shima-san stood, the light from the fire making his features harsher. From a pouch on his belt, he withdrew a scroll and opened it, gripping the top of the aged paper with his right and the rolled up bottom with his left, so that the names visible—crossed out or not—were displayed sideways. "The bloodline of the Archpriests, recorded on this scroll, has suffered many losses over the past 150 years. Five are here now; we wish to borrow your flame with—"

Crackle, snapping, and the scroll burst into flames as Ucchusma's voice rang out, the force of it sending vibrations into the soil under Fujimoto. "Five is insufficient!"

Fujimoto swallowed, throat suddenly dry. Shit. If they didn't have Ucchusma, a powerful agni demon on their side—

"However!" Ucchusma said, just as loud but not as forceful, and Fujimoto let himself hope again. "I do not wish my sworn enemy, the Impure King, to corrupt this land so I will lend you my power to the degree of five Archpriests."

Ucchusma pumped his wings, and Fujimoto could hear flames behind him as well as in front as the staffs of the Myō-ō-Dharani followers burst into fire that somehow did not scorch or tarnish the metal. Fujimoto stood up and listened to the cries of jubilation.

"Ahaha, that'll do it!"

"Dragoons, in position, flamethrowers out!"

"I don't care what it is, rubbish or Impure King, I'll sterilize it with fire!"

"Aren't they the same thing?"

"Squad one, to me!"

"Doctors, straight to medical! Tamers, as many fire-related demons as possible!"

Ucchusma nodded and collapsed back into ordinary flames as the people around Fujimoto hustled and moved, the rot of the Impure King creeping ever-nearer, bursting boils and dripping ooze.

"Fujimoto-san, your orders?" Shima-san asked, coming up to stand by Fujimoto's shoulder.

Fujimoto turned, faced the Impure King. He narrowed his eyes and folded his arms. "Advance with the salamanders being summoned, incinerate as much of the bacterial masses as you can. Separate into teams—but don't stray too far apart. Just enough that we beat back at much of the growth, with just enough space between each squad to be able to burn any tendrils that try to sneak through. Any thoughts?"

Shima-san nodded and then raised his voice. "The enemy cannot move, but he is growing rapidly! Separate into squads, but keep fairly close together! Salamanders in front, flamethrowers vanguard! Fan out and attack—go!"

The squads finished sorting themselves out and surged forward in a cacophony of noise—stamping feet, rustling grass, screaming and shouting and literal roaring from one of the Salamanders. Fujimoto stayed back and watched them go.

"Will you be at the medical base?" Shima-san asked, hefting his own staff, bright orange-yellow fire consuming the edge. The rings at the end jangled, at odds with the soft crackling of the flame.

"Of course," Fujimoto said. "That's where I'm needed most right now, and I can pull double and keep the medics safe."

Shima-san nodded and squared his shoulders. "Then, to victory."

"I expect to have a drink with you when you get back," Fujimoto said, and clapped Shima-san's back. He turned, and strode through the grass towards the medic's station. "So don't get yourself swallowed up."

"Same to you, Fujimoto-san," he heard, and then Shima-san roared out a battle-cry, adding to the tumultuous noise and the rustling of grass melding into the chaos.

Fujimoto knew that Shima-san might not make it back. He knew that any one of them might not make it through the night, not with a catastrophe of this level upon them. But his stride never faltered; in fact, it sped up the closer he got to the camp and could hear the panicked yelling. He hoped Yukio was there. He hoped Rin was there. He hoped they weren't.

Just let them stay safe, he thought to himself, calling out to a Doctor to find out what he could help with. Please, just let them stay safe.

Shura couldn't believe she'd been pushed back inside to help with goddamn mask distrubition. She was an Upper-First class Exorcist, and while she hadn't faced anything as huge as the Impure King, she'd bet her bra on the fact that she was more experienced than at least half the people currently out there. And where was she?

"Ah, Yamada-kun, if you would be so kind as to pull those boxes off the shelves, we'll start going through them and counting inventory." Suguro-san said, holding a kimono sleeve up to her mouth and turning away to cough.

"Sure," Shura drawled, picking at the hoodie to pull it away from her skin. Damn was clothing suffocating, especially in this heat. She pushed up onto her tiptoes and used her fingertips to pull the box of miasma-repellent masks over the edge of the shelf.

"And, Octavian-chan, if you might work on opening the boxes?"

"Of course," Angel said, and Shura grinned to herself. Well, she might be Upper-First class, but at least she wasn't an Arc Knight who had to deal with the most menial labor.

Behind her, she heard an x-acto knife slice through packing tape, the pop of it breaking as Angel pulled the flaps of the box open, and as she caught the weight of her own box she heard him push the box to the side in a static of soft scraping noise.

A tickle in her throat, and she almost dropped the box with the cough that scraped out of her. Bent over, Shura tightened her fingers around the cardboard and stared at the empty shelf in front of her, the dust not enough to set off an allergic reaction. It felt like somebody was dropping stones into her gut, with how much the unease was building.

"Yamada-kun? Are you unwell?" Suguro-san said, but not a moment later she also coughed; when Shura turned to look, she'd raised a kimono sleeve to her mouth, her fingers curled around the edges of the hem. Their eyes met, a moment, and then Suguro-san averted her gaze.

"We should work on distributing the masks," she said, "the poison may be drifting this way. Please take one for yourselves as well."

"Of course," Angel said, again, and Shura set the box down, looked up, watched the way he held a mask out to Suguro-san. "Please take care of yourself as well, ma'am."

Suguro-san smiled, but nodded and accepted the mask with both hands. "Thank you very much for your concern; there should be bags in the closet over there, if you want to pack them and head out."

"Sounds good to me," Shura said, stretching, fingers interlaced and above her head. Her back arched, and she thought—not for the first time—that it was good they'd found a binder that didn't leave much of a bump where her boobs were. It was amazing she was able to pull off Yamada-kun at all, with her figure.

Damn she was ready to get out of these stifling clothes.

Footsteps on the floor, and a knock on the doorframe: Shura let her arms swing back down, shoved her hands in her pockets at the sight of a young woman in a kimono at the front of the room. "Suguro-san, do you need any help?"

"I think we have it covered here, thanks to Yamada-kun and Octavian-chan!" Suguro-san said from behind the mask. "Though please, take one of these masks—we began coughing in here, and I would like to ensure that precautions are taken."

"Of course!" The woman stepped forward and accepted the mask Angel brandished at her. "Are you certain there is nothing, however?"

Suguro-san hummed. Shura shifted and cracked her back, took another breath of the stuffy air. Her chest ached a little; really, she was pushing the limits of how long she was supposed to wear this thing.

"Ah!" Suguro-san said, tipping her head back up at the young woman. Shura saw a flash of white out of the corner of her eye, and snatched the mask out of thin air. "I haven't seen any of the other children around; might you know where they are, or could you keep an eye out for them for me?"

"Oh, you mean the young master and his friends? They were back in the inn a while ago, although they seemed to be in a hurry." Shura's attention zeroed in on the young woman. "I thought it was odd, but they assured me that they would stay out of danger. They did seem to have a Nekomata with them, so…"

Despite herself, Shura snorted, and almost immediately regretted the attention it garnered. With three eyes on her, she swallowed, throat dry, and spoke up. "Well, they're all a bunch of idiots, so. I doubt that, yanno."

"Oh dear," Suguro-san said after a moment, head bowing. "Well, Nishi-san, if you could see if you can find them and make sure they stay here, I would appreciate it."

"I'll do my best, ma'am," Nishi-san said. She bowed, glanced at Shura, then Angel, then back to Suguro-san. "Thank you for the mask!"

"Our pleasure—and please, let me know as soon as possible."

"Yes ma'am!" Nishi-san said, and she turned and was gone. The silence was interrupted only by Angel unzipping one of the bags, and it was as if he'd broken a spell.

"I do hope they're alright," Suguro-san said, to the floor. Shura san watched her shoulders shift, knew that the woman was holding her hands to her chest. "And Tatsuma…"

Shura pressed her lips together, turned around. She pulled the straps of the mask over her face and pushed herself to tip-toes, reached for the next box.

She wished she could tell Suguro-san that things would be okay. That they wouldn't get into trouble, that her husband was unhurt. But the silence remained heavy with worry, because if Shura knew anything about the Okumura twins, it was that they were prone to stumbling into danger—no matter if it was the wrong key shoved into a doorknob, or running into the wrong crowd, or even if they were trying to actively avoid it. They were sons of Satan, and Shura was starting to get the impression that the title came with a curse.

Yukio, hidden in the bushes, watched the form of what had to be, what couldn't be Todou Saburota, bent on the ground, back arched, fire burning from his very pores. This is bad, he thought, swallowed, pulled his cell phone out of his bag. This is really bad, he thought, and was so glad he'd put his phone on absolute silence as he navigated the buttons one-handed, his focus flickering between Todou and the screen. Home, messages, new, insert Rin, then Dad, then to the message field…

What had to be Todou Saburota but was too young to be Todou Saburota coughed, one hand over his mouth. Ta, Yukio typed, Todou Saburota convulsing. Su, then ke, and he wondered if it wouldn't have been easier to just go back and grab one of the comrades he'd been fighting with just a few moments ago, te, and Todou Saburota stopped moving.

Silence. Yukio's thumb hovered over the send button, and he couldn't take his eyes of Todou, could hardly breathe. The fire crackled, he could hear far-off yelling, and it struck him how distancing this moment seemed, how much it were as though a dream, an illusion.

Todou broke the moment. "Hello, young visitor."

Yukio felt his chest tighten, his throat harden, and he couldn't breathe. Slowly, he lowered his thumb to the send button. He swallowed, felt sweat trickle down the side of his face, down his neck.

"I know you're there, you know." Todou said, and his voice wasn't as gravelly now that he was younger. He stood, his arms swaying at his sides, and his eyes were bright, too bright. Yukio grit his teeth and had to fight with himself not to get the hell out of there.

"There's no sense in hiding." The freckles on his face glowed, his feathered, pointed ears twitched at the sides of his face, and the sweat dripping down Todou's face was the only thing that allowed Yukio to take in one breath, then another. If he was unstable…

His thumb trembled on the send button. If he was unstable…

"Come out, Okumura Yukio." Todou smiled, and all Yukio could see the fangs, the eyes that flickered bright, the flames, the lopsided set of the shoulders and the blood on Todou's coat.

Yukio swallowed, then slowly shut the flip phone. If Todou was unstable…

Then Father didn't need to waste his time. Rin didn't need to run the risk of being discovered. Yukio…Yukio could handle things here.

Siding the phone into his pocket, the message still there, he stood and stepped through the underbrush to face Saburota Todou in the clearing.

"I'm here," he said, and ignored the frantic beating of his heart in his throat.

A/N: I really do not set out to write cliffhangers, by the way. They. just seem to happen. Apparently this might have been a cliffhanger.