Akechi waited outside the mansion door for several minutes, his anger steadily growing, periodically hammering on the wood with his sword hilt. This assignment was bullshit, but he couldn't just ignore it. Father would make things difficult for him. But it would also be a problem if this Madarame asshole complained about unwarranted entry onto his property- especially if Akechi was forced to order his men in through a window. The door looked a bit too formidable to bust open; it sure felt thick as Akechi banged away on it.
Fuck it. He'd been out here long enough to justify busting in the window. He signaled to one of his men, the order on the tip of his tongue- and then the front door audibly unlatched. Akechi and his men focused their attention on the door.
It opened an inch, revealing a crack of blackness, then stopped.
What the fuck is this!? First, Akechi found himself waiting on the stoop like a servant, and now the real servants in the house were playing games!? There was just no way the master of the house ordered his doorman to crack open the door like that! Akechi was sure someone was messing with him. Well, he would be damn sure to mess with them right back.
He lashed out his leg in a furious kick. The door shot open in a whoosh of air, slamming against some unseen piece of furniture inside. Glass shattered, the door rebounded slightly, vibrating. The open doorway revealed a shadowed room- no lanterns, no lights, no people. Akechi strode in, his soldiers followed him. Where the fuck was that doorman? Did he open the door and run away? Smart move, actually- but it made Akechi just a bit more angry than before.
But for the moment, there was nothing to vent his anger upon. It was just a darkened, empty atrium. Did anyone even live here? There were no nearby hallways. Where could the unseen doorman possibly have gone in so short a time?
"Officer! I'm sorry for the delay. I was abed."
Akechi oriented to the voice of an aged male- senile sounding and shaky. It had emerged from a side corridor on the main floor, and as Akechi's eyes traced to the shadows of the hallway, a smallish old man with grey hair stepped into the relatively brighter dimness of the dusky atrium. The man's hair was done up in a traditional sort of ponytail, and he wore a rather baroquely golden kimono. The old bastard slept in that? Must love his own money.
But- but this was now all very weird.
"Mr. Madarame?" said Akechi, seeking confirmation of the obvious to buy himself time. His anger was quickly transitioning to curiosity. This goose chase wasn't exactly going as he'd envisioned. What was with this house? Where was the staff? Why was it so dark?
"Yes, it is I. How can I help you fine members of the Guard?" Madrame smiled softly in a grandfatherly way.
Akechi twinged to the obvious platitude. He'd spent his entire life in Tock-Yo's limelight and his father was a major power broker on the city council… Akechi had been spoon-fed enough political bullshit to recognize the smell, and this wasn't exactly a skilled offering; this Madarame was doing his best to seem like a dolty old man. What was he hiding?
The final vestiges of Akechi's anger and irritation evaporated as his awareness opened wide to information. His eyes scanned over Madarame's form: his kimono was unwrinkled, the skin under his eyes was taunt, the old man approached from the ground floor, not from up the stairs where most homeowners would sleep. Obviously, he had not been sleeping, which meant he'd heard Akechi's demands, which meant he'd ignored them for some time. Doing what? Hiding what?
Eyes roving the room now, Akechi engaged in conversation to buy himself some time.
"We received a complaint. You didn't hear us knocking?"
The darkness of the room made fine details impossible to discern, but Akechi's eyes found the room to be equipped with old-style oil lamps, no electrics. The walls near the lamps lacked the stain of smoke and heat. They were not used often, if at all. Odd. Akechi looked for dust on nearby furniture, but he wasn't able to discern the cleanliness due to the dim lighting. His eyes eventually roved back to the kindly looking Madarame.
Madarame's eyes were a dull grey, but for some reason, they seemed bright and vibrant in the dusky light. Akechi's attention was drawn to those eyes, and they seemed to become slightly golden as he watched. He felt a sort of floating feeling, a light fog gathered at the edges of his consciousness, a soothing calm settled onto his mind.
"No, I'm sorry. I didn't hear you. But there isn't any reason to be knocking," said Madarame, eyes gleaming pinpoints in the dim. "There is nothing amiss. You can leave satisfied."
Akechi found himself inclined to agree. There was nothing amiss here. Just a lonely old man in an old house. If he didn't have staff and he didn't light the atrium lights, it probably just meant his fortunes were running out in old age. That was not a unique story- plenty of families holed up in their mansions as their finances ran dry, letting everything fall apart around them rather than accept a new reality. This must be one of those cases. So why would Niijima Makoto be here? Well, she obviously wasn't. The police report must have been some prank.
Akechi started to turn back towards the door, the order to withdraw on his lips. This was all just a prank, just as he'd thought. A goose-chase. A pointless waste of time to send Akechi halfway across the damn city; ordered out of the council room like a dog- a fucking dog!
Anger blazed back into Akechi's mind. He should have just ignored the order. He should have just left when he saw the Madarame house was dark. Why had he come inside in the first place? Was he stupid? Was he a goddamn moron?
Akechi's mind ran into that question like it was a brick wall. His whole body stopped, one leg half-raised in its next step towards the front door.
No.
Akechi knew, he knew he wasn't stupid. Other people were stupid, not him. This city was rife with stupid people. It was full of morons fucking each other, breeding new morons until the end of fucking time. That was why the Akechi family ran this place, kings over a pen of rutting pigs.
Akechi's mind suddenly lurched in eureka. He noticed the fog at the edges of his awareness- really noticed it. And his mind looked at it directly, and as if under the heat of a mid-morning sun, the fog melted away.
Akechi blinked.
What- what just happened? He'd looked at Madarame, the old man's eyes had looked weird, and then Madarame had said everything was fine and Akechi had believed him. Why would he believe that bullshit? It was like some fucking magic spell…
Magic spell. Niijima Makoto. Vampires. A vampire in the house.
Holy shit!
Akechi spun back on Madarame, pulling out his pistol in the same movement. At the periphery of his vision, Akechi saw his guardsmen follow his lead and level their rifles at Madarame. The old man looked rather surprised to be staring down the barrels of a dozen firearms.
"What- what are you doing?" gibbered the old man.
Akechi's finger tensed on the trigger of his pistol. What indeed, was he doing? He was sure this old man had tried casting a spell on him- but how could he prove it? He couldn't just gun down an old man in his house and hope that there was proof he was a vampire. Madarame wasn't some gutter dweller. He had money. He mattered! If Akechi shot him and there was no proof to find, then half the city's elite would rise up in outrage against council overreach. Not even his father could cover that up. It would be a big problem.
Akechi needed to cover his ass, was what.
"Hirata!" barked Akechi, his eyes not leaving Madarame.
"Sir!"
"Ride to the church in Kanda. Tell Medjed to send an inquisitor. Immediately. The rest of you, settle in for a long wait."
"Yes, sir!"
Running footsteps across the floor and out the door. Akechi never took his eyes from Madarame, who was now looking entirely nervous. That wasn't entirely confirmation that the old man was really a vampire- anyone would be nervous about the arrival of an inquisitor. They waited in a tense silence, the sound of a running horse quickly receding into the distance.
"Medjed!?," said Madarame, breaking the silence. 'Why on earth would-"
"Shut the fuck up!" barked Akechi. If he was right, Madarame could try casting another spell. "Don't move, or I'll shoot you for resisting the guard."
Madarame looked fearful for a moment. Then the fear vanished from his face like a rising curtain, his greyish eyes gleaming a brief, dull red. Akechi felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.
"Necronomicon," said Madarame.
A spell!
"Fire!" shouted Akechi, pulling the trigger of his pistol.
He winced against the expected blast of his revolver, the gunsmoke and the body of his bucking weapon briefly obscuring his vision. A cascade of rifle-cracks went off nearby as his men opened fire, filling the room with deafening echoes. The acrid smell of powder filled Akechi's nose.
Through it all, Madarame smiled viciously as bullets impacted the floor and walls around him, splinters of wood and puffs of plaster erupting in tiny explosions. They'd missed! They'd all missed! At this range? How was that possible!?
Madarame stepped toward a large painting near at hand, a generic garden scene. He flashed his teeth at Akechi, then turned and jumped into the canvas.
Only to bounce back with a soft thud. The old man stumbled backward, rebuffed.
Madarame's arrogant expression transformed into sudden panic while the room filled with the sounds of rifle bolts clacking fresh rounds into chambers, empty shell casings thocking to the hardwood floor of the atrium. Akechi's own single-action revolver clicked hungrily as he pulled back the hammer for the next shot.
Meanwhile, Madarame pounded his fist on the canvas with desperate intensity. As Akechi aimed his next shot, he wondered what the moron was even doing. Committing suicide?
Madarame spun back towards Akechi and his guards, his eyes wide with fear. "Necro-!"
Pop! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!
Madarame's body jerked crazily as a dozen shots hit him simultaneously, one arm almost completely separating from the shoulder, blood and flesh splattering the nearby painting, black in the dim light. Madarame's ruined form collapsed to the floor, eyes bulging and still.
Akechi kept his gun leveled on the corpse, his thumb pulling back the hammer again, his breathing heavy from adrenaline. He watched the body, half expecting it to get back up. But it remained still, a pool of dark blood growing around it.
Shit! Was that it? Was that all it took to kill a vampire?
His mind recalled Niijima Makoto's impromptu victory parade. The head! The head, burning in the sunlight! Maybe that wasn't fake, after all. He had to take the head!
Akechi stepped forward towards the corpse. No one could survive all those shots. No human, anyway. But upon closer inspection… Madarame's body was still twitching. Akechi holstered his pistol and drew his sword.
He took aim at the old man's neck- what was left of it anyway- and chopped.