PROLOGUE:
Drunken Style
The rain was pouring down, creating waterfalls off the corners of the ramen shop awning. A motorcycle leaned halfway inside, its owner slumped over the counter, surrounded by empty cups.
Her long black hair was tied back in a loose, messy ponytail. She had on fingerless gloves with blunt spikes on the knuckles. Her black leather jacket seemed more fitting for motorcycle riding than her short-shorts and combat boots. It also helped slightly conceal her katana and wakizashi.
"Hey," the cook said, holding a piece of paper over her head. "I think you've had enough. It's time to pay up."
"Enough?" the girl scoffed. She raised her head and flicked the paper. "Another round!"
"You've drank three whole bottles," rebuffed the cook. "And only had one cup of fried noodles."
"Fine," cried the drunk biker. She brushed her angular bangs out of her face. "I'll order a bowl, and another round!"
The chef frowned and shoved the bill in her face again. "Pay this first," he insisted. "So I know you're good for it."
The girl took her bill, looked at it, then reached for her pocket. Just as it looked like she was going to get her wallet, she threw her napkin in the cook's face and made a run for it.
"Hey!" he cried.
She dragged her motorcycle out in the rain and attempted to get on it. But she was too drunk and the seat too wet, so she slipped right off, and the bike fell on top of her.
"Aah!" She tried to stand, but the cook came out and stood directly on her bike, on top of her.
"Now," he snarled. "Are you going to get out your wallet, or does this have to be ugly?"
The woman reached for the two samurai swords at her waist. The cook shifted his weight, crushing mainly her right side under the bike.
"That's where my wallet is," she protested with a strained voice.
"Uh-huh," the cook replied. "Yeah, I've heard that before."
Around them, the power starts to go out in all the buildings. With the continuing rain, everything becomes inconceivably dark.
"What the-" remarked the cook, when the rain began to swirl, making a pattern.
A cloaked figure began to rise from the ground. Growing taller and taller with the rain and the darkness, it seemed.
The drunk girl took the opportunity to push up on the bike, throwing the bewildered chef to the ground and getting her wheels back upright. She turned the engine and flicked on the headlights.
The cloaked figure had grown taller than the surrounding buildings. Its cloak seemed to slink into every alleyway, turning into smog. Anyone left wandering outside started to cough furiously, including the chef.
The biker woman pulled her shirt over her nose. She put her motorcycle in neutral and walked it back, exposing the entire cloaked monster in a bright light.
The cloak was becoming tentacles, and the face of the creature looked almost clown-like, with a wide mouth full of uneven, yellow, and sharp teeth. Its eyes glowed red angrily, ominously.
"I am Gokuban," it cried. "I am the manifestation of water and darkness! With the rise of my brethren, I will drown this earth, suffocating everyone in darkness!"
One of the nearby tentacles grabbed the cook by the ankle and hoisted him up.
"Aah!" the man screamed. "Please! Please, no!"
"A demonstration of my power," the monster cried, bringing the chef closer to its mouth.
"Help!" he cried. "Help me!"
"Hey," the biker called up to him. "If I save you, will you forget my bill?"
"What?" the chef replied in disbelief.
"What?" the monster chuckled.
"If I save you right now," the girl said. "Will you forget my bill?"
The monster laughed. "As if a lone human can defeat the great Gokuban!"
"Well?" she pressed for an answer.
"Yes!" cried the cook in peril. "Yes! Fine, whatever! Please!"
She put up her bike's kickstand and tightened her ponytail. Then stretched her shoulders and cracked her knuckles.
"Gokuban," she addressed the monster. "I haven't had good exercise in a while. But you look like a decent warm-up."
"How dare you?" roared Gokuban. "I am-"
Gokuban was cut short by the girl charging with a great battle cry. She tripped over her own boots, but managed to stay on her feet and clumsily scrambled onto his nearest tentacle. Using the momentum of gravity while she was, still, technically falling, she pulled the tentacle into a twisting roll until it snapped off.
"Aah!" Gokuban screamed in pain and shock, before growing another appendage in its place. He laughed softly. "Stupid girl. I am made of darkness and water! You can't hurt me!"
The monster tried to grab her, but her bizarre movements made it impossible to know where she was going to be. Her swings also proved to be more calculated than they looked: Gokuban's three attacking tentacles fell to pieces, diced like carrots.
"Aah!" Gokuban screamed in pain, green smog gushing from his wounds. "Damn you!" He grew them back and thrust them at her all at once, seemingly a clean shot. "Die!"
Suddenly, the drunk's eyes lost all their light. Emotionless, almost soulless, she dropped to the ground so hard she went into the pavement.
"Drunk Drop," she muttered.
The monster attacked sailed right over, missing her by a centimeter.
When it lifted, she was nowhere to be seen.
"What?" Gokuban leaned down, trying to find her. "Where did she-"
From out of nowhere, the girl leapt from the back of his shoulder, shoving her sword into the gap between his face and cloak.
"Aah!" he roared, rearing back his head, taking his attacker with him. She drove her blade in deeper, tearing Gokuban's face off like a glued-on mask.
"No!" He swung about wildly, knocking into the nearby buildings and crashing the infrastructure.
But the girl stayed her course, almost as if she was bored. Her eyes were still soulless, focused entirely on her sword and the growing tear of true, sticky monster blood.
Gokuban's flailing became less about attack and more about desperation and pain. He clawed at his face, only to help it rip away further. Amidst an agonizing cry, the samurai made a leap, sheathing her sword and landing on the top of Gokuban's face. Her weight pulls the rest of it away, leaving his head a skinned husk of muscle and gushing green blood.
The girl jumped again, landing by the chef and cutting him out, before getting them both safely on the ground.
The now-faceless Gokuban faded into the rain.
The cook knelt on the ground, bowing before Aiko. "Thank you," he said. "Thank you for saving my life."
"Yeah, yeah," said Aiko, putting on her helmet.
"Are you a hero?" asked the cook. "What's your name?"
"I'm not a hero," snapped the girl, getting on her bike. "I'll be back, for more sake."
**Shout out to my very talented sister, for the drawing of Aiko Kamikaze! I wish this website would let me post her Instagram tag.**