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I thank all the owners of the Tenchi characters who have chosen not to sue me for suggesting some alternative uses for them.
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Speak when spoken to.
^Tenchi Muyo: Sanctuary and Asylum^
-Verse Eight is Martyr-
-Part 1-
Names of ambition refresh---to know and to be known.
Old wraths of identity---cannot leave it alone.
-ZJS
A modern shadow rode in on new light as it poured into the modest office. Dust from unreachable or unrecognized crevices escaped for a few glorious moments before cowering back into the floorboards. Stiff and formal steps moaned and crackled over the fallen door as it lay like an imploded drawbridge. Calmly or dutifully guarding the retreat of citizens and kings, spiritual guidance and his bokken faced invasion.
Signs of age directed nothing away from the rigid strength of Katshuhito's position; the wooden sword angled forward, late afternoon catching its coat of fine sealant. And though he kept the rest of his body vertical in the shadow, it was clearly ready for any stance.
Entertaining a moment of curiosity, the intrusion squinted for the source of the spectacle glare. Not wasting any eye contact, he smoothed back a hair strand, faded on a pair of bullet sunglasses, and impossibly sharpened his grin. Still silent and statuesque, the priest watched cold confidence try to break through the next barrier with less overt force.
Finger-painted, flex at the sides, crack in the center, once then again; the ritualistic flutter-snaps received no response. He glanced down to watch his thumb test its opposite's sharpness. While making sure polish still matched fabric he heard a heavy footstep something cut through a trace incense of smoke.
Nobuyuki would have envied his father-in-law's natural understanding of geometrics; the bokken was positioned diagonally between pre-slice and mid-slice, the point-forming angle at the tip was exactly parallel to Seita's throat.
Although the position required Katshuhito to bend a bit and make the height difference more than slight, he let the glare fall from his glasses and caught the sapphire oozing down the length of his weapon.
Holding his sunglasses at a dainty perpendicular to his grin, Seita let them fall a moment later. They met the floor unwatched and unheard as he folded both arms across the silent chuckle shaking in his chest.
While the one would not show fear, the other could not hide excitement, even with a thousand layers of cheap velvet around his tongue.
"What a shame," shamelessness sighed, "I was so happy to finally have somebody awaiting and even anticipating my arrival, yet, here I am, still greeted with the same misplaced hospitality."
Extra teeth fought to burst forth ahead of schedule as he watched Katshuhito's slow precision return the previous stance, unofficially demoting him from the ranks of imposing model to finely crafted chess figure. The piece in question turned with tranquil dignity and stepped over to a rack on the far wall.
"For a moment I wondered if you thought a splinter suited me better than a beheading, but I still don't see any purpose to that little display.
"Not surprising." The bokken went back on its proper pegs with cold delicacy.
"Oh?" Such genuine surprise tried to look honest with only half- mocked interest.
"It took you off guard."
Turning on his heels, and then bending a frown where Seita expected him to formally bow, Katshuhito folded his own arms lower and more neatly into his sleeves. Judgment came sure and steady.
"I heard your footsteps in the yard, slow and vain, like the number of Kendo graduates who have come here to feed their pride rather than test their skill. I only needed a stick to know that you are not a god, or even a demon."
Old glass caught the light again one after the other in reflection of bloodless paint drawing into shadow. Nonchalance and shiny boots stepped off the fallen door to stand in front of the main desk, to look down where others had knelt.
"My hospitality hasn't been misplaced," Katshuhito continued, making Seita glanced over to draw a smile from the priest's barely wavering calm, "it has been lost."
The elder frowned deeper at the chuckle that glanced away, and walked behind his desk to keep the battle in the open. They matched glares again all through the smug-slow migration of Seita's hands to the small of his back.
"Indeed, something tells me 'knocking' wouldn't have changed that."
"You can make all the grand presentations you want, I can no longer argue my better intuition."
"But you must, unless you want your 'intuition' to become cold clairvoyance." The challenging intellect watched the home player for a response before congratulating himself with a follow up of condescending nostalgia.
"Ah, I'm going to miss our little exchanges---a good thing your 'better intuition' wasn't more ambitious, they might never have happened."
"You will have plenty of time to reflect on them." Katshuhito answered with tempered steel, opening a side drawer and removing the Tenchi- ken. He held it with both hands, intensely thinking over its intricate design.
"Seita, has anyone told you yet how Ryoko got here?"
Taking a moment to look up for a response, then wishing he'd taken none or kept them all, he saw Seita's face angle down like a cauldron ready for a poison-pour. Neck tendons strangled the beauty from deep eyes and sprayed it over pristine teeth in a colorless shine.
"Let's not over-step."
Whatever invisible smoke was stinging his eyes and begging a cough reflex, Katshuhito was certain it came from this man's throat.
"Let's not over-look," Seita closed one eye for focus and caressed the shrine keeper's not very distant image with a little nail, "the daring prince, who saved his world---" the words softened his lips and twirled his tongue around his point. He watched the dance then looked to seduce the daring prince to join.
"Twice."
The tip of his favored décor slowly pressed into the tip of his favored weapon.
Enclosing darkness made Katshuhito blink and open his eyes as tight as possible. He bit his tongue as an old remedy to hold onto consciousness, but the world stayed black just the same. Shaking his head against the imposed illusion hardly seemed more promising. When he heard Seita's voice again it sounded impossibly plain, no wrappings of velvet, no coats of acid, a human voice, calm despite an underlying air of consuming bitterness.
"Open your eyes, Prince Yosho."
---
Jurai stretched out before him more beautiful than a biased memory. Green within green, blue over silver, clean sunlight filled it all with a contented smile, a healthy hand nestling into a silk pocket. Enormous trees dusted leaves onto sparkling rivers and sleeker than marble wood bridges. A cloud moved and a bed of wildflowers caught him with his mouth open, laughing in every shade of pink.
He nearly ducked at the flock of birds passing low overhead. Their collective chirrups reminded him of how much he still missed and were answered by ceremonial trumpets on the distant horizon. A moment of belief that he'd been transported back, then a definite fear for how wonderful it felt. The delusion was replaced with little relief by the unaltered voice; still so strange for lacking any of the usual affectations. When he turned to see Seita leaning against a mammoth tree trunk, unchanged flamboyant attire dismissed any confusion.
"This is how we remember Jurai, not how it exists today." He explained, stone-smoothing his stare to match his monotone. The prince's eyes wandered about reflexively, still unable to hide any awe.
"However, despite an ever swelling population, its 'natural charm' has changed very little."
Seita leaned away from the tree and took an unthreatening step forward, trying to meet his audience's gaze rather than draw it up to him.
"I'm creating this complete sensory illusion at a significant expense of energy, and I've already exerted plenty to keep your family from interrupting us." For once he ignored the angering frown and regarded the sword still clutched in Yosho's right hand. "So lets not waste it with any hero-vengeful interruptions. If I speak in riddles, it is not to compliment your ability to solve them, or rate them, it is only to further inspire me towards a fitting presentation."
The former prince watched the new enemy walk up alongside him like a trusted guide.
"Now," tranquility breathed out to make room for ambition, "take in what your home was, so that you can better appreciate what it could have been."
Yosho watched Seita walk to the edge of their hilltop, the cruelty rising in his voice again, obvious and ominous through tense movements. Still shaken himself by the change in scenery, he hesitantly followed, standing a meter back from the former guest's right.
"Just look at it---I've been privileged enough to see so many worlds, and still this one inspires me. No surprise that you would retire to a quaint imitation of it."
His fingers spread emphatically, then closed gentle, then reopened curious. Yosho hardly bothered grasping at how he could still check his nails and thus wasn't concerned where his other hand had pulled the writing quill.
"From my place in oblivion," he reminisced, changing each nail to an organic turquoise with a single tap from the pure white feather, "I would spend years, simply watching over it" he pinched the bottom with his new fingers, pulling up to savor its texture and gradually mold it into a leaf, "considering and reconsidering my place in its history."
Even with the familiar gesture of crushing it next to his ear, Yosho failed to share or appreciate any softening nostalgia. Before he could form a response despite and slightly to spite the request not to interrupt, Seita smiled over his shoulder at the prince's reaction to flight.
Remembering and more so reminded, Yosho pulled his wide eyes up from a tug- of-war with the retreating ground.
*We are not flying. We are not even in motion. We are still standing in my office while this image of Jurai moves around us.
The lush landscape was enveloping, even epic from this vantage point, rapidly transported upon an invisible platform. Yosho kept his focus on the guide, ignoring the instinct to adjust his balance for lack of visual footing and haplessly fighting his normally encouraged urge to absorb the surrounding energies. Contemplating whether Seita wanted to burden or entice him with memories made for a lot of anger and a lack of strategy. The protection of calm would have to carry the burden a little longer. Another flock of birds flew by, nearly swarming them and neatly adding resentful acknowledgement of the skill behind such vivid illusions.
They began to close distance with a large agricultural community. Yosho felt his stomach turn and wished for a motion sickness excuse. Protective instincts concerning the peasantry welled up, atrophied and bitter from centuries of neglect. The streets teamed with activity, each person busy connecting commerce and art and commerce, oblivious to the two figures flying overhead.
Yosho told himself again, more forcefully, that they were not visiting ghosts. But while they sailed up the main street towards the local nobility's estate, his concentration kept returning to what his guide had said.
*'Twice'? What could he have meant? Why show me Jurai as I remember it? Has something changed that Mother failed to tell me about?
*No. Do not doubt. Do not feed him.
He gritted his teeth and glared at Seita's back and perfect-gentle billowing hair, hardly noticing the elaborate arrangement of blossom-trees and post-ivory pillars lining the Duke's private road.
*How could I have been so foolish?! Thinking he was merely using chicanery to soften his transition back to a normal life.
*I knew! He kept dropping subtle hints, waiting for me to confront him, but I just kept telling myself to wait for some real evidence. Weren't those battle scars left around the forest proof enough?
The next sensation really did feel like motion sickness, but it only added to the other unnamable ailments.
*Who else knows?! How many of them has he made too afraid to call him out?
He had to close his eyes for the next pang.
*He's returned without Mihoshi--- and Tenchi, Tenchi hasn't come to the shrine today.
*Washu---she still hasn't come out of her lab.
*Stop. Worry is only distraction and it will only serve whatever psychological attack he's mounting. I have to stay patient, there's a chance they are all even more oblivious to his intentions than I am.
Lifting his eyes resolutely Yosho spread them a little wider to behold the Duke's private garden. He flexed a few toes just to be sure of the new ground even as it conveyed him behind Seita's steady pace. The taller man stepped carelessly through a bed of delicate flowers but the insult in this quickly turned baseless for lack of footprints. Upon closer inspection it seemed he phased through his illusions as effortlessly as anything else.
Yosho reluctantly watched his own form do the same.
"Your highness, you may not want to 'dignify' my illusions, but if roles were reversed I'd consider making it harder to keep this fabrication convincing."
Even though he wore it so smoothly, passive fair play didn't suit him.
"Go on, trample a few orchids. Take that sword and sever a few trees."
Not that Yosho trusted his sensual enticements any differently.
Still, since even a fool would have known to hesitate, he considered it long enough to taste the frustration of being faced with an illusion he could neither trust nor disregard. Still, since only a fool would remain forever on the defensive, he allowed himself an idea and a smile.
"You must not have been watching Jurai as closely as you thought; no Duke would allow his pond to grow this murky." Yosho stated as if he were lecturing Tenchi on sword Technique.
"Hm," Seita considered all the way over a small hill and into a wide meadow, "it's funny you should notice that."
The velvet in his response tightened in knots around Yosho's chest. Before he could thoroughly curse another failed move, he noticed a third party. The Duke's formal attire looked familiar, but the name escaped him. Seita walked past him then turned to face Yosho again. Still the stately man gazed into the garden.
A small start for the sound of tiny feet and the former prince turned to see the rest of the subject running towards them.
"Fah---Father!" The little girl cried out piteously, nearly tripping.
She reminded Yosho, for a painful moment, of his own younger sisters. Her hair was dark like her father's and tied in a single braid that swung with the weight of many large and flashy hair-ties. The distress on her face stole the life beneath her freckles and all the amusement normally found when young girls find a treasure trove of their mother's excess jewelry. She cried out again for attention, but her father continued starring on empty.
Yosho almost bent to comfort her when she neared him, but was ignored even before he could reconsider. The girl finally tripped and fell to her knees behind her father, whining sharply for a moment before calling out again, still too upset to stand up again.
"Father! What's going on? Why are all the servants leaving? Everything's getting dirty and---and I'm ^hungry^!" She had clearly never known want, but the distress in her voice implied she almost never came running to her father with problems.
Yosho looked back at the nobleman, instantly unnerved that any father could keep his back turned to his daughter's cries. He frowned less than unamused back at Seita but only received an imitation-patient smile and anxious eyes gesturing back towards the exchange.
"Father?" Her voice now hushed from the fear any child might know if suddenly ignored by a parent.
"Commoners are not to be trusted, the help will all be replaced in good time."
The stern reply came with businesslike formality, and the Duke still refused to meet his daughter's tearing eyes.
"But---but father." She sniffled.
The Duke whirled around violently and Yosho readied himself for an attack on either himself or the girl.
"The kitchen is on the first floor of the east tower, now leave me in peace!"
His daughter cringed at the pain of her father's roar, eyes wide with terror. Yosho tried to look back over with disgust rather than rage.
"If you wanted to show me callous parenting we could have stayed on earth." He leveled off his voice, all the while forcing himself not to stand between the two figures. Though he'd told himself the scene was false more than enough times, it affected him more than any staged production might have.
Seita's hands, previously holding his biceps, met at the wrist to frill each finger out beneath his chin. He dropped his head and jerked it back up, mouth wide and eyes rolled back in a hellish wane. The laugh that he emitted was not enhanced, but it must have torn at his throat to make it. Yosho wanted to scream for silence as the cacophonous mixture of wheezes and roars wretched up towards the sky. Loath to endure any more of the exaggerated non-answer, he looked back at the Duke, hoping to see him transform into some sort of ogre to finally bring the nightmare to a head. Unfortunately both characters were still starring at each other, matching fear with frustration.
"You---simple---old---FOOL!" A sharp ethereal hiss pierced the air for attention, but did not affect any aspect of the artificial environment. "Have you been ignoring everything I've said?! Do you think that I went to all this trouble just to---to make you doubt the parenting skills of your devoted subjects?!"
Grotesque laughter shook the guide again and tightened Yosho's grip on the sword, still waiting anxiously in his pocket. A thick purple smoke made it clear that this laugh was an illusion as it consumed and compacted the slender form. Like a snake stuck devouring its prey backwards, soon all that remained was a cloud ribbon slithering towards the prince with a Seita mask. Yosho did not flinch at the ghostly reformation, almost glad to consider blowing on it to see if it dissipated.
"Pay close attention, Yosho of Jurai."
The specter swam a taunting circle around his head, putting a temporary purple filter over the garden. Yosho managed a bit of optimism that at least this gaseous transformation did not emit an odor. He watched Seita move towards the Duke, weaving like a dragon till the nobleman's head was similarly encircled.
Every orbit hissed out a little more.
"Bring the callous---to a boil---the boil to a scar---the scar to a ^mouth^.
The trails of vapor cast off at every turn began floating inward rather than outward, dissipating as they wormed their way into the nobleman's ears and eyes. Yosho's face tightened as he watched these trails form a chant.
'And---how.' 'But---why.'
'The trees---watch' 'The waters---LIE!'
"A suggestion whose source is unknown," Seita matched a seductive waft to his form, "must surely come from with-in...or from ^on-high^."
Suggestions stopped with a 'how'. The clean face clouded a little, smiled at Yosho, and spoke on with more of a hiss.
"From within oblivion I can know, but I cannot influence. And once out in existence it is very draining to twist perceptions.
"Luckily, even the strongest wills can be redirected with only a few choice illusions."
"What should I say to him, my Lord?" Seita asked with playful malice. "Should I tell him that his darling daughter is really a demon, have him strike her down?"
Yosho remained silent while the ghost continued to swim lazily around the Duke, seeing him smile confidently at his opponent's stubbornness.
"No. Even the cruelest misinformation does not carry the destructive power of uncertainty...of ^helplessness^. The seed of dementia lies in every mind, and indeed the stress of even the most mundane existence can cause it to germinate naturally.
"However, I have learned the path, I have the access. Ryoko and Tenchi were right to fear the little 'vacations' that you are on right now." A chuckle turned the cloud a slightly darker shade.
"Who knew that a tiny aquatic creature held the fate of sanity in one of its simple self defense tactics? Now, through the grace of oblivion, I can wield that power over anyone. Over everyone!"
Seita's voice and form thinned to swirl in a tighter orbit.
"It takes quite an investment, but I can press the buttons. I can pull the strings. I can ^cut^ the wires."
At the drop of a spiked confession, the Duke clutched at his skull and sank to his knees with a trembling moan. His daughter crawled pitifully forward for an explanation. She cried into his hair, torn between her own grab for comfort and her meager attempt to offer it to the fallen Lord. Yosho tried to stare at the ghost now swirling a wider orbit over the both of them, but the emotional scene kept drawing him in. It was an unusual thing to be telling himself to favor his anger over his sympathy, but the Duke's eventual response made it possible.
With a timid movement the nobleman withdrew from his daughter's arms, looking down at his hands then back up at her with a competitively fearful expression.
"Who---who are you, what are you doing in my garden?" He whimpered loudly.
Yosho watched through the first shivers of physical weakness; the little girl slowly shook her head in disbelief while her father proceeded to look around him like a frightened animal, mumbling something about the trees needing shade and the fish needing water.
"So, how many orphanages do you think I could fill?" Seita broke his circle and swam back, speaking in his velvety tone again as he slowly maneuvered himself around his audience.
"How many children might further their abandonment, never knowing that their own anguish only deepens my pit? How many nobles might I be able to turn against each other?" Yosho watched clouded blue eyes close to savor the idea and felt his demeanor break in icy defense of his people.
"Jurains---are not so weak of spirit."
His guide continued slow encirclement in silence, preparing, Yosho assumed, the proper cruel chuckle or clever response to belittle his faith. When he did speak, however, he matched every icicle and made an unexpected defensive move.
"And ^I^---am not so narrow of purpose."
Both faces hardened as Yosho noticed, with little relief, that the father and daughter were fading away. The orbit ceased, leaving the smoky glare to hovered on level with the old spectacle gleam.
"Even if I were to help myself to some of that water you guard so heavily, as I will when I will, it would only hide the inevitable fact that my body still ages every moment I remain outside oblivion. In a thousand years I could, maybe, affect half of Jurai's aristocracy---and there is always someone willing to fill an empty throne."
Bitterness went into emphasis by thickening and spreading the body of smoke like a storm cloud. Yosho commanded himself not flinch as he was thoroughly enveloped. He readied his mind for any sign of intrusion, convinced that he could meet and drive away any would-be inner attack. When Seita spoke again, it seemed to be into his ears, but still he focused will upon the principles of peace and discipline that could overcome any evil.
"For every life I destroyed, another would be rebuilt. As much pain as madmen can cause, there would only be unknown yet still 'external' circumstances. No revolutionaries, no martyrs---just ^victims^."
The smoke dissipated completely from the garden onto a high and elaborate balcony facing a picturesque sunset. A tall man dressed in the white and green robes of a Great Tree guardian leaned over the far left corner railing. His hair was Seita's color and length, but was tied in traditional Jurai fashion. Yosho assumed this to be the latest disguise or victim, but could not bring himself to ask which would be the most horrible, hence the most likely.
This type of guard was the closest thing to a priest the Jurai culture had, never more than a handful appointed at a time to stay closest to Tsunami's tree, each expected to be more educated and virtuous than almost any nobleman. More protective instincts burned stone in Yosho's mind, and he ground his teeth till they hurt, till they went numb, till he relaxed enough to hurt again.
He walked over to the right corner railing and improved on the contemplative pose. The sixth guest confirmed the first guess with the drop of a silk handkerchief.
"Finally allowing yourself to enjoy the view?"
Hologram aging thickened around Yosho's eyes as he looked away from the sunset to the relatively plain trees below.
"Any guesses yet at what we're here for?"
Wind blew silence into the priest's hair.
"Then I shall have to elaborate." Seita breathed deeply, still showing excitement by further suppressing it.
"If I were to simply go about, one by one, sending important Jurains to the asylum, I would only leave unfortunates, and unfortunates are remembered mostly for the sake of remembering, for making the 'hardly fortunate' seem 'lucky enough'."
It might have been violent fantasies that softened Seita's voice yet managed to further focus his thoughts.
"What business do we have here then? How shall I start my talents towards the most meaningful ends?"
Yosho heard him rise from his leaning position and did the same, readying himself to meet those eyes again. Seita, however, remained transfixed on the last remaining auras of sunlight, speaking again to finally hear himself express such thoroughly examined ideas.
A wine goblet former like an inverted icicle in the speaker's hand, already held out to toast the sky. Now inadvertently watching the sunset through the glass, Yosho noticed movement in the patch of colors directly behind it. Cup like a cookie cutter, Seita pulled it back full to the brim with cloud.
"The most significant change in sentient beings, thus far, has been the transition from struggling with their environment---to struggling with their design." He lifted his glass to contemplate the swirling concoction of bruised specters and melon juice.
"This is most prevalent in 'advanced' cultures like Jurai, where the differences between 'defeat', and 'failure' become most pronounced."
Seita turned his head, haunting his words with a stirring glare over a gently rotating beverage.
"Anyone can steal or withhold life, but who can cause it to be ^rejected^? Whatever grandiose manner I might have used to destroy your world, it would not have carried a fraction of the weight...as Jurai destroying itself."
Yosho bit the hesitation from his tongue for what he believed was the best yet opening to attack Seita's confidence. He laughed, he laughed loud and deep and as mockingly as he knew how.
"^That^ was your plan! All this just to justify some ridiculous notion that you could make the empire perish in a mass suicide?"
Yosho redirected his anger into another burst of cruelly belittling laughter.
"And you claim to know so much about my people. HA! For eons we have taken better care of our depressed and withdrawn than anyone in the galaxy, and I doubt this has changed since my time away."
With hands crossed behind his back, and a sure expression, Yosho awaited Seita's reply. The guide narrowed his eyes and looked away, leaning back over the rail.
"Thus Our Goddess Tsunami did grant upon her people, the Jurains, a water so like herself, composed of life eternal and just, so that they may know life longest and best. She bid that all children partake of it as they enter adulthood, and bid that it remain within them.
"'May no true Jurain let the water spill by a hand from without or a hand from within.'
"Thus Our Goddess Tsunami did grant upon her people, the Jurains, the water of life, bidding they keep it safe till she called them to return it."
The unaffected voice, with a solemn yet peaceful edge, perfectly mimicked one of the sacred statements that the Great Tree guardians often read to him. Yosho remembered this particular passage well, and could not have quoted more accurately himself. That this sinister being would even know of it was unsettling, but his use of it as a rebuttal returned a few of the missing pieces to the first exposure to Seita and his dimension. A brief needling dizziness gave him a taste of what came after terror.
"As you can see," he drained his glass and crushed it to silent dissipating shards; condescending bitterness returned. "I understand quite well how Jurains value life."
He began to walk towards Yosho, daring him to move, stopping with a hand's width between them, looking down.
"One could even say that they almost embody life, that they are closest to divinity."
Before the audience could turn his sharp breath into a reply, the star sneered and aborted and disgusted his words.
"Believe that 'all life' is divine if you want, and you ^will^. Jurains have long thought on their closeness to this obscure Goddess of yours. They are in a dominant position over nearly all they survey, and there cannot be true order without control, and no control unless inequality is recognized. And what better way to make the most of inequality than a monarchy?"
Seita cleared the foulness from his mouth to smile viciously again, whirling around and away to the far corner of the balcony with only a few wide strides. Impish agility leapt up on the railing and stepped to the wider corners. He turned and looked farther down at his audience, fingers newly arched and teeth still barred into a smile.
"These 'noble' Jurains, so consumed with life, so then consumed with living, so then consumed with themselves," he added a throaty chuckle, "so then consumed ^by^ themselves!"
Something new overflowed into Yosho's focused mind, driving him to search the bottomless eyes for the first time since their conversation in the forest. He'd been so flamboyant with his malicious intent till now that it hadn't seemed necessary.
The task was not unlike reaching into boiling water for a sacred treasure, but the prince forced himself to look. He needed to make sure he was not flattering this trickster too much by even considering that their battle was of more than wills. The newly intensified expression managed to soften curiosity into the elevated man, bringing him down to meet it.
Smoothing makeup began to melt and smear into gray and dirty pink on the path of oversized and invisible tears. Intense blue pools festered into yellow stains, each outshining the apex of a carbuncle. Blonde cascades frizzed and twisted with brown grime. In the process of making himself grotesque rather than alluring, or even frightening, he managed to throw off Yosho's concentration just as the sound of his unaffected voice had. And in knowing this he filled his throat with hot tar and chalk dust.
"Look as closely as you like, loose yourself in full circle allure." He swallowed or wetted his throat. "All my glamour---disfiguring true: their pride into arrogance, their vitality into decadence. And that---is where I would get my hands dirty." He wiggled them beneath his chin in a quick insect-like motion.
"My power would act not as the draining parasite, but as the ^driving muuussseee^."
Bursting ambition pressed the body flat like clay, smooth like glass, reflective like a full-length mirror. Elaborately framed with thick golden twists of flowering vine it hovered at the perfect distance to emphasize the height difference as one walked up behind the other. Yosho only seemed to notice the image of his younger self, dressed in the loose and elegant clothing reserved for important social engagements.
"Shouldn't you know that the most enduring lies come in the form of flattery?"
At this the reflection angled his head upward though the original remained statuesque. It checked its profile then snorted sharply to purge its nostrils. An indignant tongue over teeth roll completed the check for facial imperfections. The reflection did not tense and Yosho did not feel the sensation of Seita's hand's spreading over raised shoulders.
"All my illusions---would be invested in delusions---of splendor---of grandeur."
Once again as pretty as handsome could be, Seita lowered his head and met Yosho's eyes through the mirror. He spoke to match the reflected prince's vanity as the young champion went so far as to extend his arms for stronger admiration. The pair shared a lusty grin as the already fine features began to exaggerate, muscle tone inflating and jaw line thickening till he resembled an absurd plastic satire of the much-envied royal features.
Unexpectedly, Yosho felt the delicate kiss Seita placed on his cheek to melt the projection into a more accurate reflection of the true face behind Misaki shrine. The shock of it added to the initial tingle of adrenaline blown down his back.
"We are, as we are, and we ^are^ what we ^do^. So be young for a while, and let me be your escort." Seita charmed his arm around Yosho's. The opposing glamour of a strict old man held on for dear life.
"So be it," he continued with a sigh, "status and humility are still fashionable at any age."
The reflections shared another cunning smile then traded for a hard stare, unflinching even as one led the other's reflection through the railing.
It had only taken Yosho's helpless blink to transform their balcony view to another royal garden, this one kept in much finer shape and decorated with an elaborate party. All around them were vast tables of rich food and wealthy flowers. Musicians flailed away at lighthearted music just loudly enough to be heard above the surrounding clouds of laughter and boisterous gossip. He'd attended parties and celebrations before, but there did not seem to be any particular theme or event here.
He looked about more closely and realized the elaborate states of dress and even undress many of the guests were presenting and rewarding themselves with. It was odd to see so many nobles gathered in such a small space and behaving so indulgently, yet he quickly realized that many of the attendees were lesser landowners, merchants, and what must have been a thin strip of fabric between a guild of concubines and a mob of prostitutes.
"I would only need to cast a few soft suggestions to the 'right' minds of the right people to inspire a frequency in these kinds of gatherings. Naturally I'd have to do more than polish a few mirrors, but you'd be surprised how easy it is to encourage certain instincts.
"When dreams, when soft whispers mistaken for thoughts, when they combine, why, even the most noble-man can be brought to host a ball to further reward the higher class for all the responsibilities they are burdened with."
Yosho began to view this new vision of a Jurain inhibition funeral with greater disgust as a young woman wearing a lowest cut gown and a tray of sparkling wines approached them. To his surprise, she stopped by the post- humble narrator and exchanged coquette smiles as he took a glass for himself.
She turned to the shrine keeper next, shamelessly holding the tray out to compress an already generous bosom between her arms. He simply stared at her over his glasses, listening to chuckles offered for his rising discomfort.
"I can understand your abstinence from carnal indulgences, just as I can understand your disdain for illusions, but why let a combination of these things work you into such a-"
"What is the point of this?" Yosho interrupted sternly, braking Seita's flamboyant momentum and leaving him with a sharp frown.
"You 'inferred', at least, that you were going to explain yourself, but all you've done so far is continue to show me what you ^think^ you could turn Jurain nobility into."
The wench pouted her lips and lowered her eyes like a child, backing away towards Seita who wrapped his arm around her shoulders consolingly.
"He doesn't understand my dear." The solemn tone was exaggerated as he positioned his glass for her to drink and rested his cheek on her head.
"Isn't it obvious that vanity flourishes and ^festers^ best in these kinds of collectives. People throw parties for the same reason they attend them: to show off."
Seita set down the now drained glass, picked up another, and began to lazily pour it down the woman's dress. When the last drop fell, Yosho recoiled at the sound of fabric being stretched by a pair of swelling breasts. He reflexively and unconvincingly chanted a reminder that they were both still simply standing in his office. The chemical reaction continued to intensify till two mounds of flesh burst out to overtake him.
Everything around him went peachy for half a minute, the single color surrounding his senses. Small relief came when he felt himself being elevated, or the ground was receding again, and saw the night sky as his body inched up and out of the false fertility symbol. The feeling of a boulder rather than a waterbed beneath his feet made him look down in confusion. He was standing upon a masterfully carved stone areola, only part of what appeared to be a gigantic statue of a woman spreading smooth gray thighs to distant city lights. Not at all surprised, he turned to see Seita sitting on the opposite tip like a dock, leaning onto his knees and swinging his legs. The moments dress now consisted of loose silk pants and an unbuttoned silk shirt, both a sports car red identical to his nails, lipstick, and eyeliner.
Yosho thought this outfit suited him much more than anything any Jurain might wear, but, he reconsidered, not so well as the grotesque image he'd become to jeer any search for a different depth in his eyes. But colors aside, the illusionist's tone was becoming less entertained and more consumed. But shallower inside, Yosho's initial question begged and regretted itself again.
*Twice? He said I saved my world twice.
"After all the ways I've exercised my powers to greater understand, and better influence the sentient mind, I'm still enamored with the ease with which I can gain access through the creative drive."
Mid-reflection, the red ribbon stood and posed in the breeze, interrupting the gray bandage's thoughts.
"Jurai provided the perfect setting to mix business with pleasure. You see, I wanted for so long to be an artist, but I always lacked the resources, and, more importantly, the coordination. So, what better way to utilize the nobility's decent into decadence?"
He offered the sinister velvet as much to himself as for his audience to enjoy. He spun on his toes and hugged himself, savoring a cooling breeze. It continued to billow his hair and shirt as he stretched out his arms in a cruel imitation of religious ecstasy.
"I would have helped myself to that water, and then poured out for centuries, living through a perpetuation of compulsive-creative- competition!" Something too loud to escape made him smile very wide and shed replicated sheets of his shirt into the sky like chaos kites.
"The parties would debauch ever further, giving leave to raise art grand enough to make this behemoth look like a paper doll!" His chuckle went wild.
"Yes! Yes indeed! Working my way through all the supple minds of desperately ^bored^ aristocracy---giving them justification for every inspiration, and why not?"
Seita's shirt began to grow, unraveling infinite, crawling around him and into a cocoon. It tightened till it wrung like a towel then unraveled smooth. The single sheet grew again, spiraling down one breast and up the statue's other till it ended and pointed at Yosho. More like wet paint than fabric, then more like a pool than a mark, he watched thick juice ripple.
Both hands raised, Seita elevated himself slowly enough to let the ever-red liquid ooze down and congeal latex into elbow length gloves, a buttoned vest, and a skirt to sweep the underground. He cradled his fingers and felt along his forearms, pulled at the lapels, and smoothed his narrow hips with an approving sway. Even through the wind that tied bombshell hair back and the groans of rubber movement, each knuckle cracked audibly.
"Shouldn't the most unapologetic military power not also be the authority on 'art for art's sake'---for me to for-sake---as I---would forseeeeee!"
Another triumphant bellow struck down an arch of lightning. He began to gesture with every length of himself, a symphony conductor for a better slave driver. Each spectacle struck up from the ground and molded itself like an assembly of soldiers gathering as their lord called them.
"Towering fountains to wastefully renew the beauty of water's own texture." To his left, far enough to keep away the dust and boast their size, white columns of marble twisted towards the heavens with all the grace of swan necks and live wires.
"Magnificent arches and pyramids of glass---centuries spent to exploit all the angles and angels of light!" He clutched the air to his right as lightning planted creation again. A chaos of refracted glares erupted across the land as structures formed themselves from huge quantities of mirrors and windows like multiplying bacteria. A new, more absurd, and even more grotesque crystal imitation sprang up with each pose.
"Func-tion-less funct-tions-best as ^flattery^!" Seita whirled around to face his prince again, literally singing the praise of his vision in a quarter of a fine tenor and a third of a folk croon. He angled his arms with palms up, lean tendons stretching out through tense showmanship. Behind him more bastard brilliances of architecture reached up to the sky, overwhelming to imagine that any sane person would invest such time and energy into their construction.
Yosho kept his astounding revulsion hidden behind old glasses, gripping his arms more tightly as again they both seemed carried on invisible platforms. Buildings continued to swell up around them as they traveled at high speed up the sacred Tsunami River, now surrounded by flamboyant geometry in every conceivable marriage of wood, stone, and metal.
"There would be halls and theaters, galleries overflowing with ELITIST GRAFFETI!" He kept his violent rally going slightly above and ahead of his crowd. He kept his back turned to the Emperor's palace as they approached.
"What wealthy man could resist the call to strike back at his 'boredom' and 'mortality'?" A wrinkle in his lips wanted to spit the words out for good, but he had explanations to chew.
"I've seen it happen on smaller scales throughout the universe, but I, ^I^ would obsess every Jurain noble with a ^war^," Seita inhaled a gasp and exhaled a chuckle, "to create the grandest tribute or challenge to the ^aesthetic^...the addictive and sole ^an-esthetic^ to the apathy born of coddled lives, of jaded power!"
He pulled his hair back for some luxurious and very necessary calm.
"Of course, some nobles would try to speak out against these 'impractical' and even 'over-ambitious' investments---" he smiled malice and spoke reassurance, "they could be quickly and irrevocably persuaded.
"Yet the Jurain economy would soon begin to buckle under the weight of its wantonness. The common people, the peasants, the ^slaves^, all of them would soon feel the sting of the divide between themselves and 'creative' society."
They reached the palace walls and flew up alongside them, setting down again on a high parapet overlooking the once tranquil and bounteous Jurain plains. They were now crowded with elegant waste, each shadowed by wide lakes of sprawling poverty. Seita stepped closer to the ledge and gestured downward with both hands.
"So. Inevitable. Uprising." He stated with cruel confidence.
A raging cacophony grew from beneath them, exploding the volume of a long muted ocean. Yosho walked up to the edge reflexively, knowing too well what he would see.
"Driven to feel like beasts of burden under the yoke of artistic ambition, pleas would turn to demands as they would turn to their highest authority for liberation." Jurai's new soothsayer looked over with barely suppressed elation as earth's oldest priest was caught by every nobleman's nightmare.
Jurain peasants for thousands of miles had gathered into a mob. They surrounded the castle with an amorphous sea of shouting bodies, brandishing banners and fire, held back only by walls built to withstand an army of only slightly larger numbers. Between this spectacle and their vantage point was the elaborate, and now comparatively dignified, speaking platform. The Emperors and their favored ambassadors had used it for eons and for much smaller and more orderly crowds. It was vacant of even the customary guards.
"Wouldn't it be glorious, to see the masses of Jurai brought to such vengeful chaos, simply by the properly nurtured desires of their nobility? I would have to all but reinvent dedication to bring it to this point, but it would only be time---only time before one of the greatest bastions of ^life^ in all ^existence^, was on the edge of implosion." His voice hissed alternately, but did not lose its deadly monotone.
Yosho slowly turned his entire body, a completely unfamiliar acceptance filling him like an inverse meditation, leaving no shadow of pity and not even a seed of regret. He glared at what he didn't know, but what he knew would set out to consume every living thing in the maw of its own savored madness.
"I have seen enough. Flatter your plans, and cower behind whatever ^deranged^ power it is that fuels them, I will not let you leave this shrine."
He took the sword from his pocket and held it at his side. Blue light unsheathed at a downward angle without any semblance of formality or righteousness, ready to sever the honor between an opponent and an enemy.
"Now face me."
Seemingly unaffected, Seita watched the spectacle below for an entire minute before he sensually tested his hair's length of softness. Vain and erotic pleasure smoothed his closed eyes and thin smile. Sparing no gleam or glimmer or glamour of amused superiority, he turned to meet the priest's new challenge.
"At least you've recognized the turning point, the time of approaching climax, the finely orchestrated moment when you would save your world and the countless others indebted to it," air blasted through his teeth between words, "the moment---when I---would ^strike^!"
Yosho leapt forward and thrust with everything down to the last spark, running half the blade through Seita's unmoving neck a moment before it doubled in size. So much Jurai power after so long burned through him, the exertion pains were enough to flash a realization that he couldn't stop the attack if he wanted to.
Regardless, he managed to increase his efforts when he saw empty blue immunity roll back into white cells. The gloves came up alongside his face, sleek red claws gripping at a glamorous mouth stretching into a silent scream. Yosho filled in the sound for them both while every drop of paint and thread of packaging was sucked into the sword like wet paper down a drain.
***
Nobuyuki let his eyes wander and thoughts idle at the stoplight. A lot of engines were doing the same, none of them willing to take any credit for all the stinking noise. Tailored suits, marriageable skirts, and oversized fads nudged over the gutters, waiting for their turns. He could see signs above the thralls but imagined the window mannequins would have their clothes changed by the time another crowd pocket opened up. Still, it wasn't too bad for this time of week.
He looked down at his watch, checked it with the time on the dashboard, and sighed. They'd make it back by dinnertime if they turned around right now before they actually started looking for a parking spot.
A shuffling in the passenger seat pulled over his smiling attention.
Sasami had been playing with her chair's cranks and levers, an economic retro novelty to replace boring automatic-adjust switches. In the coarse of such easy amusement she'd apparently found just the right angle for a nap.
The dreamy goof-grin spread up the side of his face without a hitch, filling up with sweet new voices to call him 'father'. He had to watch her reflection on the window over the masses outside, then he had to apologize under his breath. Not surprisingly, the driver behind him didn't hear it and honked again even as honorable father began moving forward.
It must not have been the noise, because the little princess had been a truly sound sleeper up till now. Something, however, made her turn over and snuggle tighter into the cushions, wrinkling her nose and trembling her lip. Honorable driver switched between her and the road for a couple blocks.
"^Tokimi^. ^Don't^..."
The words haunted between a groan and a whisper, goose-bumped Nobuyuki flesh, and almost fender-bent his van. He held out his hand reflexively to keep Sasami from jerking too hard in her seat belt. To his surprise she ignored the jolt and his touch, cradling further into herself.
A few more moments of quiet tension inside the van and the noise outside faded to white, leaving a tighter silence to grip the steering wheel.
Sasami sprang up out of consciousness with a loud gasp. Nobuyuki hit his head and put his foot back down on the brake in time.
"It's, ^owww^, er, it's okay little Sasami, you were just having a nightmare." He reassured her and rubbed his skull.
After a few more long breaths and a guilty wipe of sweat, she dared to look over.
"S-Sorry."
"For what," he smiled kindly, "you didn't do anything wrong."
She barely finished a weak smile before she looked away, dreaming again out the window.
Nobuyuki let the new silence tense for another block and cleared his throat.
"Well, um, at least now you can help me look for a parking spot."
She must not have heard him.
When they eventually found a parking structure without a 'full' sign he tried again at just making conversation.
"So, who's Tokimi? An imaginary friend of yours?"
Sasami blinked slow, and long before she could show any surprise. Noboyuki was hopeful when she looked away from the window, till she looked at her lap.
*Brilliant 'Dad' now you've made her feel immature. Guess it's obvious where poor Tenchi ^does^ get his charm from.
When his apologetic look was ready he offered it over, making sure this time that they were already parked first. It was rejected and replaced with a lighthearted, almost excessively naïve shrug.
"Oh," Sasami giggled, "I don't know; it was just a dream."
Nobuyuki chuckled and sighed with relief.
"Okay."
After a quick glasses check, The Breadwinner hopped out of the Misaki Mobile with eager-to-shop heroism.
The Second Princess stayed inside for a moment, mumbling into her novelty purse.
"^Don't give in^."
***
The master key retired itself to permit the master enough space for an exhausted moan and a collapse to his knees. It took him a long succession of heavy breaths to realize that he could still hear a sea of shouting Jurains. He looked around the empty parapet, desperate for the surroundings to at least resemble his office again.
"^Age, before beauty^." A dozen voices surrounded him in whispers of vapor.
Yosho didn't bother to look around, or even clutch at the words seeping directly into his head; he followed his instincts down to the sword.
"Our young professor relearned quickly that restraining what I am only encourages what I do; does our old priest have the finishing-faith she did not?"
He gripped the hilt so tightly that it shook in his hands. Two spherical red gems, and one white marble reflected the gleam of panic. Raspy chuckles pressed sand into raw skin.
"What concerns you more, how to do it, or how to ^justify^ it?"
The mob's fury began to rise again.
"Hmmm," the sword pondered overtly, "I wonder what the prince would have done, that Yosho I knew seven centuries ago? How did ^he^ make important decisions?"
The illusion of sinking twisted his stomach even more than the illusion of flight, but soon after his eyes passed the floor he found himself once again on level ground, kneeling with more dizziness and less dignity than his younger self. A few quick glances turned confusion back into horror; he'd never been so vain as too ask what he looked like while praying at the base of Tsunami, but apparently someone had known.
A surrounding network of platforms branched and rooted out to hold the saplings grown from The Great Tree. In the presence of royalty a few of the larger ones ricocheted random beams of every-colored light off their nurturing moats and into the sky-ceiling. Try as the future ships did to get in on the conversation, the towering original remained still and silent. When the beams ceased, Yosho looked up at the idol he'd spent as much personal time with as any family member. The sacred tree of Jurai, vessel of their Goddess, more glorious now than he could have remembered, and so he forgot the image of himself while he respectfully maneuvered into a more comfortable position.
"This is how you were." Seita's velvet came directly from the hilt, clear and calm.
At the first sound, Yosho simply gripped the source tight again and rose. He tore his eyes painfully away from Tsunami and back to the back of his younger self, taking care not to even think about his hand.
"It's always ironically inspiring---to watch people grasp at inspiration by humbling themselves, or throwing their thoughts aside."
The muffled roar of the mob at the other end of the palace continued to filter through like an ominous static. Yosho's younger self sighed heavily and lowered his head a little more.
"She never really answered any of your questions, did she?" Gentle jeering filled Yosho with mixed nostalgia, but the priest reasserted his focused expression.
"But you wanted her to, as much as you treasured the revelations you'd come to by 'praying', what you yearned for most of all was ^actual contact^. You told yourself that she preferred to work indirectly, but you knew the ancient texts describing her will were written from the same 'intuition' you waited for."
The sigh carried more amusement than a chuckle
"And waited for."
Yosho remembered so many of the tears he'd dropped at her roots, remembered cursing as a boy. What good was it to have special access to The Great Tree if all it did was stand there?
"As your father argued with his advisors, reorganizing misplaced trust in the nobles, you would most surely be locked away in here---with your third mother.
"The people feared the king, but they respected you, thus it would have been 'your job' to either deter or ignite a revolution."
Another chuckle was almost too soft to hear, and Yosho thought he felt the hilt vibrate. He looked back at his younger self, saw him face down with palms up, faintly slurring distress.
"Please Tsunami, the people, your children, I have failed to keep them safe. Now my complacency has set them on the verge of anarchy. I am lost, I-I beg you, tell me some way to save our way of life. If the monarchy loses support, then our enemies will divide us, they will-"
The younger prince broke into sobs periodically broken with mumbled declarations of faith, desperation, and self-pity. Whenever his son in law had shown recordings with him on them, Yosho had always found it surreal and rather uncomfortable. This was no comparison. Somehow Seita had duplicated his younger voice and all too convincingly managed to add an intense anxiety to it. Still unwilling to look down, he looked back up at Tsunami, by now fully expecting something horrible to spawn from the pain in his hand.
"No Jurain has ever figured out why they can directly communicate with trees spawned from Tsunami, but not with The Great Tree, Herself. Perhaps the energy is too concentrated, perhaps she was a creation more than a discovery...another secret lost in the eons of Jurai's history.
"Whatever the explanation, the prince was only interested in a revelation."
The next chuckle was restrained, clearly more to save resources than to save face.
"How he always yearned, but would never have expected, and would never have suspected, that his 'answered prayer'---would be my 'successful ritual'."
True to style, the subhuman throat signaled a similar change in the nature of Seita's illusion. Every one of Tsunami's leaves began to radiate with a gentle white glow. The prince raised his head. For a moment Yosho wondered if the younger version was going through a seizure, having sprung up with wide mouth shaking for the iron device tightening around his heart.
Though the audience himself was standing almost lifeless, he felt something similar binding his stomach. He'd dreamed and fantasized of this moment countless times, now it was being shown to him as vividly as he could imagine by a foe he could comprehend less by the moment.
The two princes watched together. Their sincerely hidden and the falsely projected emotions pulsed at the sight of The Tree's fading glow, then cowered not to overshadow the semitransparent luminescence of the woman stepping out from it.
She was slightly taller than the prince, an angel-white dress covered all but her neck and hands. The divine wind that kept her golden hair in perpetual motion also made the plain yet elegant garment cling to her curvaceous body. She held her hands out to embrace all of existence with a transcendent love, and smiled for the photo commemorating her sainthood. Slow steps glided her forward, eyes remaining serenely closed.
The prince slapped both trembling hands over his mouth, leaving nothing to hold back his engorged eyes. As the icon came close enough to spit on, Seita's vision sank to his knees in a terrified bow. Seita's viewer, meanwhile, stoically ground back the inner-explosions.
"This is how you always envisioned her. When I first learned how to interact with people's dreams I spent a decade in ecstasy, merely exercising the creative freedom this completely relaxed and vulnerable state gave me. Yet, I only rarely dared observe yours Yosho, you were too important to taint."
Tsunami halted and stood directly above one desperately devoted subject and completely oblivious to another. Her eyes opened like a titled baby doll, looking down on the younger with the serene and humbling blue of omnipotent power.
"^F-Forgive me, my Goddess, my life, my^-" The prince's shocked whispers caught in his already clenched throat. Yosho shivered to imagine what it would feel like to believe he was finally beholding his goddess, and then to feel her lay both hands upon his shoulders.
"Rise, child of Jurai." The sensually feminine voice crept out slow and soft, frosting Yosho's bones with the distinct croon behind it.
His knees wobbled, and his head refused to lift from the floor, but the prince rose obediently. The vision of Tsunami kept her hands on his shoulders as she closed her eyes and leaned forward. Yosho watched as she tilted her mouth to the prince's ear and began to form soundless words. Jurai's true prophet of a false Goddess communicated the gravity of his revelation by simply turning his quivering hands into limp fish.
After only a few minutes of this, Tsunami folded her arms into the opposing wide sleeves of her dress and took a step back. The young man must have stolen the sad strength to raise his head, but he managed, and was petrified again by the sight of her flawless and faultless face. The bow he eventually gave her arched with all the grace of forced and solidified certainty, but he still reverted to a trembling little boy when she gently grasped his presented forehead and placed a reassuring kiss upon it.
The prince turned and strode purposefully toward the exit, taking no notice of the old priest watching the scene like a genocide aftermath, however, it seemed like everything might be ignored that didn't involve the new and divine objective.
Yosho watched himself break into a jog and burst out through the huge main doors. The violent echo foreshadowed what he almost demanded the illusionist confirm. When he whirled around to face his vision of Tsunami she remained as serene as painless death. Words almost choked him. He swallowed and began breathing heavily, no longer bothering to ignore his sword, looking down with enough hate to launch it into the sun.
Seita's voice, plain and stony, almost nasal without any glamour, snapped Yosho's focus back to The Goddess.
"In your darkest moments-" 'she' likewise adopted his melodramatic pauses and mockingly confident grin, "you were always most eager to please me, and to ^join me^."
Taking a step forward, it smiled wider from the well-concealed chuckle for Yosho's poorly concealed rage.
"I offered you ^both^. For alas, as with all deities, once offended I must be appeased."
She connected her fingertips over her belly and dug her stare into the priest.
"Whatever influenced the sins of the nobility, the high crown allowed them to threaten the masses of my children, and whether by action or restraint, salvation can only come through ^sacrifice^!"
The last word slashed out into razors and darkened eyes. Another step closer and Yosho instinctively stepped back into a fighting stance, holding his sword out but unable to ignite it. Even this perversion of what had once been the ideal was still too accurate a replica to attack. He forced his breath to calm, but had to gasp when the floor beneath him sank inside. There wasn't even enough time to look at the ceiling before he was back on the parapet and overwhelmed again by the sound of boiling Jurai.
Yosho jerked his head to the left and right, then strode over to the ledge. The dark mass of shouting peasants had kept growing; he could hardly see anything but the sky beyond them. Looking down at the speaking area, he was relieved to see it still empty.
A single voice descended through three, first the false goddess's, followed by Seita's true, then subhuman tone.
"This---was to be---my greatest triumph!"
He wore Tsunami's body as he levitated out a meter above the floor to the opposite corner of their vantage point. Even from a side distance the cosmetically perfect hybrid made Yosho turn away in horror. Desperate for reassurance, he looked back at the sword hilt. The white marble was still there.
"Now ^watch^! And know the fame I could have given you!"
Seita was almost shouting now, but hellish gurgles reduced his volume to a growl. He motioned with two upturned claws, the smallest curving in like barbs. Yosho told himself not to tremble as they both moved down to the empty speaking area.
Positioned before the crowd, looking down with his hands behind his back, Seita took a moment to continue. Though he could detect a monotone in the shouts, Yosho kept absolute focus on the madman in Goddess's clothing turning to face him. The mob still provided a sufficient background.
"Now what is it that upsets you more, that I would ^infuriate^ your people, or that I would ^impersonate^ your deity?" Still savoring his verse-speech as much as ever, Seita balanced one hand then the other in flamboyant emphasis, breathing psychotic grandeur. He received the usual response, but didn't seem surprised.
"Still wondering what 'She' would have told you?" His painted smile widened perfectly perverse.
"You'll know---what it ^knows^, you'll know---how it ^grows^, and you'll know---^why I pose^!" Facial expressions and hand positions shifted in clownish sync with his guttural recitation. He hugged himself tight then held his hands out to define megalomania, milking each word from the sky.
"As much as beings throughout existence love to talk about it, no one, 'nothing' understands the power of faith---so well---as the faithless!" Ecstatic roars of laughter pierced Yosho's skull, burning through subhuman to inhuman to immortal, deep and thick as a mouthful of septic glue. A wind raced over them, turning Seita's hair and Tsunami's dress into golden and ivory flame. This continued till the moment Yosho feared he would bury his palms in his ears.
He could only laugh for so long but obviously still loved directing visions over his audience's shoulder.
"People of Jurai!"
An enormous screen came to life behind Yosho, further projecting his young image to those standing even a mile away, and sending his voice to those even farther back. The older Jurain helplessly turned white around.
The prince was smeared and splattered with blood. He walked forward at a slow ritualistic stride, carrying a small body under each arm. By the color and style of their hair they could only be his sisters. They hung like wet rolls of carpet, their entrails dragging on the ground alongside the prince's freshly dawned holy robe. A deep red carpet smeared behind them.
Once again he walked past obliviously, nearly brushing one of Aeka's bloody ponytails against his future's elbow. Every member of the raging mob had, within that first minute of entrance, subsided from a roar, to a shout, to a mumble, to absolute silence. The priest could hear moisture squishing in the prince's boots as he walked over the podium to its farthest ledge. A last survivor called out with the reach of a planet-splitting canyon.
"People of Jurai! People of Jurai, I have heard your calls for justice." Though he repeated himself at first like many public speakers, he spoke in a monotone, eyes washed out like sun-bleached bone.
"You have been wronged by those who were sworn to protect you, their hedonism and vanity has oppressed and endangered the well being of the common citizen, the most precious water of Jurai.
"The high crown did nothing to prevent this. ^I^ did nothing to prevent this. Our arrogant confidence made us blind. But my guilt is inconsequential to the poverty so many of you have suffered; there is no sacrifice too great for my people.
"As in so many times of hardship, I prayed to our beloved Goddess, I prayed to The Great Tree Tsunami for guidance. And this time, this time she answered more clearly and vividly than ever before. She placed the responsibility, as I have, on the head beneath the crown. But more than that, she willed that a sacrifice be made for the wrongs allowed to befall her children.
"In accordance, I have made this sacrifice of my own flesh and blood, and I bid all of Jurai to accept the will of their Goddess. So truly did she say unto me, that no being may claim exclusive rights to the trees any longer, that for Jurai to survive---its nobility ^must perish^!"
The prince took a step closer to the ledge, gripping his slain sisters more tightly and looking up to the sky as he spoke. Seita hovered up to his right, fingers arched and face deathly focused on properly dictating the puppet's climax.
"She bid that I tell all Jurains to free themselves from the shadows of their masters' private gardens. She bid me relieve everyone of any right to her power, to live free on not but her memory."
The prince looked into the sky as the torches below brightened.
"She bid that my final words declare: 'The Spirit---is dead."
No more steps left till the end of the ledge.
"'Long-live---^The Ghost^!'"
With eyes closed and mouth limp, the last prince of Jurai plummeted down, holding tight to the princesses till they all cracked and burst against armor-polished wood. The crowd and the audience forgot to breathe.
Seita looked down at his projected plans, then craned his neck around to bathe his priest in the consuming wrath of oblivion. The mob's roar became deafening. Weapons' fire, explosions, and falling architecture signaled the beginning of a world-riot.
Yosho watched the blue from the white threaten to swallow him and prepared to confront the true ambition of his foe. Loosening his grip on the sword, he thought on how there had never been any mention of material gain in these 'plans', he remembered the subtle and overt challenges offered almost every time the guest spoke, and reconsidered what little he knew of demons. Never would he have imagined feeling so frightened when at last presented with the answer to his pleas for some sign of more than here.
Fueled by this indirect gaze of victory, the image of Seita levitated up and out with his back to the crowd, spreading arms into the billowing wind to glorify the conduction. Behind him the beloved trees that decorated the countryside added to his spectacle, going up in flame one by one. He bellowed to the sky, passing judgment with insane abandon.
"And so, consumed by a plague of servants without masters, the 'Empire of Life' would descend into ^chaos^! And from, and into that chaos, all surrounding kingdoms would easily fall; feeding my dominion with the consuming power of their surrender, of their ^apathy^. They would show me the deepest pits of the mortal to ^immortal^ mind!"
Without missing a nerve, Seita clutched and tore long chunks of hair from his scalp. They trembled in his fists as he looked down to devour the priest.
"^Yes^! I am the one who deserves this and more. I would live to hear of it--- even after your very language was dead, the day---when Jurai--- BUUURRRNED!"
The climax of his vision spread out, enveloping air and melting light. For a moment Yosho envisioned being made to numbly watch his own flesh burn to the cinder. He took a step back and brought the hilt's white eye in front of the figure, now gradually relaxing, lowering its arms and head.
The tyrant's grandeur faded, hair tossed to the wind and re-grown into a ponytail. Tsunami's dress tightened into a steel gray suit.
"Do you understand now? Do you see why you were so important to my masterwork?"
Seita's projection of himself set down and climbed off the wall. Among the screaming and fires its voice was like a single piece of iron struck lightly in a deserted junkyard. It took almost zombie-like steps towards its audience, growing a lavender tie and matching subtle makeup. His hair darkened slightly from the invisible hands further slicking it back. As it spoke again the riot began to fade.
"I spent every aspect of my existence preparing for my orchestra. This vision of having your ultimate aid in Jurai's fall, it drove me like a second life."
The screams faded to wind while the fires dwindled to starlight. All of Jurai slept in glass. Yosho looked around and looked back at Seita, swallowing and absently wondering how long ago he had broken a sweat. One more footstep brought the projection just out of sword range. A look of regret too callous to be remorse directed its face downward.
"But it was not to be."
Silence took once last breath before it was torn away by a gigantic explosion near the west towers of the palace. Some patrol ship had been obliterated by a familiar red energy blast. An organic wail rose up to forever remind the real Jurai of complete terror.
"MIIIIIIYYYAAA!"
***
^Tenchi Muyo: Sanctuary and Asylum^
-Verse Eight is Martyr-
-Part 2-
Any title can be won. And nothing can be done. Will the curious fury say how?
Each King's time will come. And nothing's will be done. Is your bravery wavering now?
-ZJS
***
Three more patrol ships charged towards the palace to be sliced along a single red beam of energy. Ryo-ohki paused near the speaking platform, her shadow spreading over the ringleader and his crowd like a ragged circus elephant. Another shrill echo of thunder carried the vessel in an arch toward the palace center and The Great Tree. Yosho watched a larger group of Jurai ships give chase as if he didn't know and wouldn't relive their fate. Seita's projection descended into a bitter whisper and did not look up as its audience looked back.
"Other interests decided to present themselves."
Thunder rolled back in a wail, louder and more agonized. The deadly blossom of organic minerals retreated into view firing desperately. Even from this radically different perspective, Yosho recognized the battle details more easily than any other. A cluster of Jurai energy slammed into Ryo-ohki's hull as Funaho flew around to attack from a different angle.
"Why don't we follow them, Yosho? Few people get the opportunity to relive a memory this way; you might learn something."
A faint red spotlight seemed to be focusing where they stood, Yosho looked up to see one of Ryo-ohki's blasts descending upon them. He blinked rapidly and the light transformed into a pile of high boulders beneath a blue sky. Ryoko's soulless battle cry nearly froze him against shielding his eyes from a shower of pulverized rock. A cloud of dust consumed and dissipated to show Jurai's young prince narrowly escaping a lethal slash of energy.
"That conflict was extraordinary." Seita's projection leaned casually into a split in the rocks, watching from behind and over Yosho's shoulder as the battle elevated into a war. This understatement prompted another ear splitting screech.
"You know, Ryoko might suggest that Kagato's control made her fight below ability, but he only ever had control over her will. Even if given her body, he could never have lasted this long against Jurai's greatest swordsman---in his prime."
At the return of mocking confidence, Yosho's most intense memory replayed. He could not help but gape at the wild animal writhing to claw him from the end of his sword. It would have taken something unimaginably more violent to distract him from those final moments before Ryoko lost consciousness.
Someone was happy to oblige, reappearing between them and point-counting the gems as they appeared on the sword hilt.
"Three...two...one. Crisis averted." The potentially biased referee refolded his arms and scowled back at the spectators.
"Attention diverted."
Yosho's younger self looked at his sword with a mixture of relief and disbelief, the pose almost becoming a kind of circular or omnipresent memory. As the prince knelt over his vanquished foe, the priest could almost hear the way she had breathed; faint and slow as a trance. He remembered the pitiful moan she leaked out when he lifted her eyelids to find soft gold in the place of violent ruby. He even remembered the soft and surprisingly delicate feel of her body cradled against him. The prince began walking back to the crash-landed Funaho, the subdued demon a rescued child.
"You put her in a stasis chamber," Seita interrogated bitterly, "but tell me what you ^didn't^ do."
"I-" Yosho looked over at the projection with a new kind of confused anxiety. Reliving a memory this way shouldn't shake him more than Seita's future vision.
"Funaho was too damaged from the crash to take off again safely, but you didn't have any backup. When you took off in pursuit there was an entire armada on its way. You told them to stand down, that if this 'devil' didn't shoot them down, you would."
"I-I did not want any more lives to be lost."
The recreated environment around them froze like a photograph. Some hilarious and cruel irony crawled up in the projection's throat, amused chuckle to piercing cackle in five seconds flat.
"Oh the hero's vanitee-hee-hee!"
Seita's projection copied off Ryoko and teleported out of sight, reappearing inches away from Yosho's standing ground.
"Do I need to show you everything?!"
The screaming close-up was followed by complete darkness, quickly fading into a new angle of the memory. Yosho watched himself climbing out of Ryo- ohki's crater at a forest edge.
"After putting Ryoko safely away, you found that her ship was dormant, as well as mostly buried. You 'could' have went right back to Funaho, 'could' have transmitted a distress call-" Bitter lectures from all directions turned to a vengeful accusation directly behind Yosho's left ear.
"But you DIDN'T!"
Wincing first at the harsh volume, footsteps whirled Yosho around to watch his younger self walk through and to his future. The battle weary prince disappeared into the dense forest.
"A life-saver, and a path-finder."
New and agelessly familiar surroundings illuminated around the cold monotone.
"You wandered for miles, but eventually---'found what you were looking for'."
Double meaning didn't strike as overtly as resentment. Regardless, the young prince's face still lit up like a child's firework at his first glimpse of a Shinto shrine. At last he began to show the appropriate mannerisms of someone visiting an alien world.
"Hello there." A frail old man stepped out of the priest's quarters. The humble building was only slightly more rugged looking than the one Yosho maintained, but the ceremonial robe weighing down this collection of wrinkles and white hair hadn't changed in 700 years.
Prince Yosho stared in bewilderment, pocketing his sword and clearing his throat half way through his response.
"You---you speak Jurain?"
"Excuse me?" The old man asked with a slightly less confused expression.
Stepping in to gesture towards Yosho's past, the narrator gave his version of the revelation.
"That's when you realized where you were, having chased Ryoko for months at full speed to get to a planet that was not on the records and still primitive. But strangely enough one of its languages was programmed into Jurain translators. It only took this short conversation to make this the 'barbarous planet' your father had 'rescued' your mother from."
Yosho watched himself recompose and bow to the priest, just as his mother had taught him.
"Please forgive my rudeness, I am lost, a stranger in this land."
The old man smiled at the change in tone and nodded.
"I haven't had any new visitors to the shrine in years, I hope you were not harmed by that earthquake."
"Earthquake? Oh, yes, the earthquake. Thank you, I am unharmed." Noble princes of Jurai often have to chew their ire for liars and keep their eyes averted to focus on a plan.
"Someone from the nearby village said that they saw two battling demons falling from the sky."
Though casually mentioned, young Yosho still had visible trouble swallowing the rumor.
"Is that so?"
"Hm," the old man nodded with closed eyes, "if it is so then let us hope that they vanquished each other."
Yosho could feel Seita's semi-private chuckle better than he could hear it, like a stained hand smearing its film along a pane of glass. Meanwhile, the elderly priest returned to inviting smiles.
"But you look tired from your travels. Come, I have some extra soup, and I'll look at my maps while you rest."
The prince followed trustingly, again looking around with a softening light in his eyes. Yosho remembered and followed without moving; as primitive and alien as it had looked, he'd shown less nervousness with each step.
Moment by moment he relived the experience, watching himself accept hospitality with a newfound passiveness, listening while he strained to fabricate an impression of himself as a traveling merchant, whose supplies were washed away in a river. When the prince rose to leave and give proper thanks, the priest offered something that shook the stranger anew. Bittersweet emotions shimmered behind Yosho's eyes as he barley maintained his immunity before all too accurate illusions.
"I will say a prayer for your travels good sir, go in peace."
The prince stared for a moment at the little man who had just offered him a high honor for no apparent reason. He bowed again more slowly before walking back towards the crash site with a thoughtful step.
Yosho remained standing alongside the priest, held tightly by Seita's enduring silence. Fears of being forced to re-watch the past 700 years of his life vanished as the world faded to stone and to forest again. The prince was walking right towards him and the ledge of an unchanged rock formation. With casual agility, his younger self descended the boulders, sighing to see the crater through the trees. A light breeze moaned through the cave behind him. He turned and, somehow compelled, entered with his sword lighting the way.
For long minutes Yosho waited for his younger self to reemerge, waited for Seita to make a comment, and received both in sync.
"What were you thinking Yosho? What inspiration struck you in that haven, and that hole?"
Smooth but unfocused, Seita's voice seemed to be asking both the present and the past without expecting an answer from either. An obvious dilemma or five raged through the prince's mind as he alternated glances between the crash site, the cave, and the direction he'd left the shrine.
"At this point I told myself that you were holding off the S.O.S till you made sure the natives would not be troubled by the arrival of other Jurain ships." The monotone stone he criticized himself with did little to crush his spite. "I didn't foresee the potential impact of your decision."
Yosho swallowed, dry nausea at the thought of what had been watching him during that pivotal decision. The guilt was haunting enough on its own, now that it had help he could feel a fear-bend in the last wall of his composure.
Spring greens falling to brown, covered in white, and swelling back again as their position returned to the old man's shrine. The smooth beauty of this politely rushed transition went unnoticed. Now Yosho was standing near an outdoor alter, watching a man offer ritual incense. By the hair and stature he recognized himself, the first years when he lived at the Masaru shrine, eagerly learning the ways of this new ancient tradition. The hundreds-of years-young priest shifted and entered meditation with a serenity untouched by the empty serenade.
"You told the priest that you wanted to learn everything about his culture, and would help him teach a self defense class to pay your keep. Whenever possible you went off to work on securing Ryoko in the cave, replanting Funaho in a position where she could keep the pirate alive.
"For years I kept watch over the Lord of Jurai and the Priest of Earth, waiting alongside your family for a hero's welcome."
A shadow pulled Yosho's eyes away from his meditating self. The solemn image had reappeared, dressed in a priest's clothes, sitting on the altar like an impatient boy at a bus stop. The breeze he announced himself with felt predictably unnervingly real.
"So why? Why replace a prince with a priest?"
Two elegant fingers plucked two smoking incense sticks as the rest stood up casually on the altar. A hand, a wood block, and an iron bell struck themselves. Yosho watched the sounds match tempo with each new perpendicular cross over, and noticed that even a little ash fell off in the process. Holding both sticks up to trap Yosho's head in a shrinking corner angle, Seita's projection kept only one eye open for focus. A thin ribbon of smoke parted around and drew attention to it.
"Did that drained and comatose woman need a special warden?"
His question answered itself, but gorged out anemic sarcasm with vengeful insight.
"Why abandon your people, your ^Goddess^, to favor the world your mother discarded easily enough."
The priest that would be Katshuhito didn't respond, the priest that had been Katshuhito scowled. One blue eye caught and clenched fire, moving the incense to put the elder's forehead in crosshairs. Both sticks started burning down like slow fuses.
"It was the energy you felt when you first walked into this shrine, the energy you've kept perpetuated at your own. You were always consumed with either sword practice---or escaping into prayer before Tsunami."
The wick burned down and the projection opened its other eye before closing both.
"But you weren't satisfied with merely having the Jurai power, you wanted to ^be^ the Jurai power.
Smoke continued, crawling out from each painted nail as it brought both hands back into an arch before its chest. If nothing could mock holiness with grace, then this projection would.
"A swelling part of you loathed your people, their Nobles, and so much petty materialism, for ^your^ truest happiness came when you felt you were approaching 'oneness', a 'transcendence' from the pain of self."
Seita's projection shook its head to mock, before opening its eyes to invert pity.
"Yet, distractions and interruptions abounded the life you were born into, and you knew it would only get worse after taking the throne---and your half-sister."
The smoke shut off from the projection's fingers as it gestured around with half a shrug.
"But then at last your self-sacrificing nature paid off; here you were given the perfect oasis to renounce nobility...and wrap yourself up in the holy womb these simple people provided."
Seita's projection hugged itself till its exaggerated smile wilted and rotted off. Yosho felt its eyes boring the stench into him.
"I kept checking up on you for centuries, watching you travel to different shrines to avoid suspicions about your curious longevity. But then," it swallowed a heavy ball of something petrified and no less foul, "'like father like son.'"
Grinning up the side of its cheek, cursing down the length of its nose, but even the projection couldn't keep such a sneer going and still darken authority.
"Similar as they were to Jurains, you enjoyed the earth people---one of them enough to start a family with her, as if your vows to Aeka had been made by someone else."
"How self-indulgent." Head to the side in halfcocked surprise, Seita's projection ground its teeth behind a smile. It lasted no longer than needed, giving back to focus as it stepped off the altar and onto the past's head, balancing perfectly on still bowed shoulders.
"The key character in my composition---completely caught up in the most coddling of compulsions." Phlegm tore in its throat, but the projection took little time in savoring another word sculpture, hair wiped forward and back in the time needed to put out the incense with a sizzle.
"The great prince of Jurai, trapped by a lust for the euphoria of peace and righteousness, thoroughly addicted to his spiritual ^narcotic^!"
One breath clenched in its jaw, saluting the observation with a neck full of tendons. Slowly, calmly, Yosho let himself breath as well, less visibly he hoped.
Seita's projection looked down at its hands, caressing thumbs over fingertips till they reached the sharp parts, then looked back at Yosho with a more curious sort of intensity, suggesting that he actually wanted an answer for the next question.
"And thus, when it was clear you'd found your early retirement, I returned to Jurai. Do you know what I found?"
Yosho swallowed and tried not to look at the illusion's new pedestal.
"Come now, take a guess. There is 'some' open communication between your two homes now, isn't there? Haven't you managed to pick up a clue or two or three?"
Yosho's organs clenched, his mouth shriveled, but he would not give this illusion any more than he had to. A painted frown played the part of half a smile, recognizing the routine they'd created without concern, then chuckling, then cackling.
"I-I-I knew it!" The projection pointed at him then gestured at clawing out his heart. "You have no IDEA how important you've become!"
Smoothing back its hair and breathing down its laughter, blue tyranny stepped off the shoulders of gray submission.
"I'm sure your parents said they've missed you terribly," another chuckle stepped the suspense forward, "they always were so very 'diplomatic'."
Yosho steadied himself but couldn't even balance his feet amid the tension building for this next revelation. Between believing Seita's words and disregarding them all, the greater danger seemed to swing closer on a pendulum.
"Seriously now, could the most beloved of Jurai's nobility chase a demon into space, not return, and simply be 'missed'? No Yosho, in the eyes of all the people you saved you became more than a hero, more than a celebrity, you became a legend!"
The word steamed out through sharp teeth much as they had during the final moments of Jurai's fall. Yosho's mouth quivered open at this new information, inadvertently begging the source for more. Though still too bloated with resentment to pass for a storyteller or a journalist, the illusion tried for both.
"That's right, when you and Ryoko both failed to reappear after more than 50 years, word spread that you had given your own life to keep Jurai forever safe from the dreaded demon. Artists and scholars began dedicating poetry and architecture to you, singing praises to your gloriously violent selflessness."
The projection cracked fresh hate into both knuckles.
"The keepers of The Great Tree started to believe the Goddess Herself had chosen you to be Her champion, the savior of all Jurains. They collected your friends and teachers, your yes-men and parasites, to make a formal document of the 'wisdom' you passed along before your great deed, surely invaluable to anyone not fortunate enough to have known 'The Great Yosho'.
"Your sacrifice spread through the Empire and beyond, all through tales of the kind prince who heard the voice behind the Jurai power and gave his life to protect his people. Prayers to Tsunami were often offered to you as the keepers published their---'your' book."
Stopping halfway through its next step, Seita's projection fought to calm itself again, sighing heavily and pressing one sharpened finger into its lower lip. Yosho dreaded when the eyes would open again, but felt little relief when they looked off into the trees. It spoke through its hand in a dry whisper.
"Little by little---humble philanthropy's emotional caress became more stylish than grandeur's," not wanting to leave the audience out of the performance, the projection lowered its hand and, staring, clutched at Yosho's throat again, "particularly among the less endowed masses---and the nobles who wished to appease them."
Folding hands behind its back, the projection roughly ground its neck up to the sky.
"Jurai lost its potential," it hissed dreamy ethers at some specific star still visible in daylight then shared them back down at Yosho, "and I lost my opportunity."
The illusion stopped for a long silent breath, not blinking to see the story sinking in and to feel it being correctly.
"It's ironic really; martyr-fans are so ripe for delusion and devaluation of their own individual lives, yet their egos are so swollen with 'selflessness' and coddled by 'higher purpose' hopes---that they are all but immune to mass apathy."
Somewhere beyond all that malice, Yosho thought he could sense a fascination truer than any of the day's explanations. But the moment was lost in the increasing rage twisting his narrator's features.
"Regardless of what they believed about you, those in power recognized how to best use this 'Great Yosho's' popularity to maintain social--- 'stability'. Even though none your immediate family were willing to believe you were dead, they could not deny the importance of ruling the people through their celebrities."
A chuckle built itself on iron and mucus as the projection sat back on the back of the peaceful man who would be a saint. It reached into his robe and pulled out the sword, watching for Yosho to do the same.
"Hm, the trouble your parents have gone through to keep you and your grandson a secret; seems to have all---paid off." The projection balanced the weapon idly between opposite forefingers after lightly exploring its texture.
"If only those people knew the brave, selfless, Tsunami-inspired prince had in truth been looking for an excuse to abandon them, just so he could escape into a more 'spiritual' existence." The sour word darkened the projection's eye and lip lines. Yosho watched nails turn from a soft red to a radiant burgundy.
"Maybe it's wrong to place all the blame on the icon; you probably just assumed that they'd find a new prince. The Jurai power, if it really ^had^ a consciousness at all, would certainly not mind one less disciple."
Balanced rigidly between the projection's palms, the hilt caught the sun in its gems and shone it into Yosho's eyes for a flinch. Each new and softer word began compacting it a little more.
"Surely giving your life to something that brought you such tranquility couldn't harm anyone," the sword disappeared into the projection's clapped hands, it lowered them onto its lap and lashed out with a hushed and no less deadly subhuman hiss.
"^But it did^."
A bead of sweat slid down Yosho's cheek. The projection didn't watch it, probably didn't see it, and definitely wouldn't need it. The former First Prince of Jurai let himself look at his sword, knowing the uncertainty it would reveal, but hardly knowing why he gave into the whim so passively.
*This is careless, foolish. He's looking back at me through that white gem.
*But couldn't he see me anyway?
*No. Not like this. Why am I distracting myself, do I need to look upon Jurai again, draw strength from my heritage?
*But how can I now that-
Yosho clenched and pocketed the hilt forcefully, looking back and specifically looking down at the projection and its smirk, intending to dismiss an overused overconfidence mask.
The eyes were frozen open and empty, finally attacking him, drawing out his strength like a syringe tipped with oblivion. Yosho fought not to gasp, or wail, or flee as he saw Seita's own meditation. All the pomp and violence had been an opening act for nothing, for emptiness honed into a weapon lashing out on a velvet tongue.
"Aeka and Sasami abandoned their families to find you. Leaving Tenchi to free Ryoko led Kagato here to nearly destroy you all.
"And by defying your birthright, you unwittingly aborted my ambition, bringing me here to avenge and ^renew it^." The projection stood and stepped around, looking at the younger priest then lifting him by one finger beneath his chin.
Yosho began to tremble as the projection turned to pick another incense stick from the rudely extinguished bowl, holding it like a scalpel before the past's forehead.
"Your Goddess may have forgiven you," the green ooze on the tip began to bubble and then smoke something to churn any stomach, "but I have not."
Seita's image dug the small ember in, twisting it like a cigar in an ashtray. Yosho was prepared to feel his skin burn as the old yard faded back into his present office.
---
The first edges of relief kept their distance, but all the familiar sensations beckoned an overcoming embrace. Yosho breathed anxiously and kept his eyes moving to keep the rest from yielding again. The position of the sun spoke hours, but the position of a few other things reassured some hopes. Expecting to have knocked something over during his loss of perception, he was almost calm enough for relief.
"End of act one."
Seita's voice made the sword sound clear and smooth. Without the urge to think to hesitate this time, Yosho stared directly into the white marble. And there it was again, this time saving any need for illusions. After centuries of perfecting the meditative state, he at last found himself in its inversion; peace through union with existence replaced by fear in confrontation with oblivion. He should lock the sword away where no living thing could think of it. He should drop it and run screaming.
"And here you are again, seven point zero two centuries later, near the same battle grounds, a different demon in your custody."
No visual illusions, yet the voice seemed even less believable without a flamboyant body to attach it to. The weight of the sword seemed to be leaving his hands for his chest.
"It's not really a victory though, is it? You've limited the range of my influence, but you've done nothing to slow my ambition."
A thoughtful silence ensued. Yosho slowly began to hold the hilt up to eyelevel, the setting sun refracted through the gems, but not the marble. He felt his arm muscles tense around thoughts of the lake, the cave, the core of the sun.
"And the irony persists; by putting me so close to an implement of Jurai you've only made it easier to connect to those who share its power."
An old man's patiently and fearfully long blink pushed back returning visions of invasion. But no, this thing could not read thoughts, could only twist them.
"It recognizes---interacts with your energy like a tracking device," a thoughtful chuckle punctuated loudly for such a small sphere, "and I wouldn't be surprised if I could do the same with Ryoko's other gems."
Eyes almost too wide to look wise, Yosho tried to swell himself into calling a bluff. But Seita's voice, without even hardening, went evenly serious.
"You know Yosho, being part of this union between your power and Ryoko's has made me realize something. I long wondered about the energy Funaho fed both you and Ryoko with, why it lasted so long away from Jurai. Normally you and your tree would have wilted in only a few hundred years after taking root in alien soil."
Two gentle winds danced leaves over the fallen door but, Yosho decided, didn't feel menacing enough to be illusions.
And now it is quite clear to me; while you were concerned with keeping Ryoko alive, by keeping her gems in the sword, the energy in ^them^ has been keeping you both alive more than the dwindling power in Funaho."
A short silence made way for a quick chuckle.
"If you're worried about me trying to 'cross' or 'uncross' any wires while I'm in here, rest assured; I don't think that would be possible. Still, now that I've reacquainted you with your unashamed fall to earth, and unknown rise to heaven, I can already feel a great rush of power.
"It's quite an improvement over the one's I received working lesser wonders on the rest of your 'gifted' family, though I probably wouldn't have been able to put on such a spectacle for you if they hadn't warmed me up."
Yosho wanted to smother the voice in his fist again, and would have were his chest not still hoarding weight upon weight.
"I'm sure they'll have plenty more to contribute."
Nothing should sound so dangerously confident from within a prison, but Yosho had to hide his fear better, but he had to tell himself it was only fear. The weapon's voice would be met head on, even as it traveled through muscles, organs, and into his skull on a snaking point of this same emptying needle.
"What---has it all been for my Prince, my Teacher, my Savior? What enemy grows closer to you for being vanquished? How-" a sharp breath steamed around Yosho's throat and down Seita's, "can a quest for peace bring so much selfish misery?"
There was no denying this swelling emotion its name. Yosho hadn't felt it so strongly since his boyhood, those nights where he forgot sleep, consumed by a lethargy that swallowed sadness and rage as easily as joy. Depression's recognizable transience lost, those were the nights where hopelessness became him.
All the beauty of the world was not lost, or forgotten, but never existent. Certain that he was edging defeat, certain that this feeling was equal to the voice oozing out of the sword, Yosho thought he could see the mouth of oblivion in a white marble.
"We've got time together to figure it out now, though I'm sure you'll learn to 'transcend', to shut me out like so many other things. I'll never have my occasion to take Tsunami's water now, in the end I suppose you'll get to experience my life slipping away, while you remain young."
Yosho imagined Seita's hands doing something seductive, but couldn't imagine how long it might take for the marble to crumble, and wasn't prepared for the moment's silence to be so brief.
"^Like---so---many---others^."
The words echoed and dissipated into a cruel whisper, pouring directly into his mind like a thick caramel. Intrusion, violation, Seita was spreading a hand over Yosho's consciousness with perverse glee. No perception of the office changed, none of his senses took in anything abnormal, but for that moment something added itself to the sovereignty of his existence, a parasite of omnipresence. Knowing best his rapist, he felt the depths of wielded madness. Gone and clean again in a second moment, everything tangible came first, but Seita's voice came before that.
*Hello, Prince Yosho. I'm happy to be here with you now. Please pay attention to my voice, and to every word I say. You should relax so that we can begin. This is for the best so do not be afraid. Relax and relax again, pay attention still to my voice, pay attention again to my words.
*Now.
The sword's weight drug Yosho's arm down like a thick rope of taffy, he swallowed and began to breath very slowly.
*Begin with the number 21. We will begin counting backwards from 21 till we reach 0. At each number you will be more at peace, more relaxed where you are. I will count out loud while you count to yourself.
*Ready.
*Now.
*Begin.
*21. At peace.
*20. At peace.
*19. At peace.
*18. At peace.
*17. At peace.
*16. At peace.
*15. At peace.
*14. At peace.
*13. At peace.
*12. At peace.
*11. At peace.
*10. At peace.
*9. At peace.
*8. At peace.
*7. At peace.
*6. At peace
*5. At peace.
*4. At peace.
*3. At peace.
*2. At peace.
*1. At peace.
*Zero. You are now at peace.
*Prince Yosho, do you feel at peace?
"Yes." Yosho answered with a bland voice, blinking his head forward a few slow centimeters.
*Do you know why we're speaking today?
"No."
*We're here to talk about your life, Prince Yosho. Or rather, your lifespan, the length of your life.
"Masaki, Katshuhito."
*What's that?
"Masaki, Katshuhito. My name is Masaki, Katshuhito"
*I see. Katshuhito is not a prince, he is the Shinto priest who cares for this shrine. You are Katshuhito, correct?
"Yes."
*Jurai, Yosho was and is a prince.
* Correct?
"Yes."
*He would not tell somebody who he was unless it was safe, or unless they already knew, correct?
"Yes."
*I already know. You were named Yosho Jurai, you have given yourself other names over the years. Masaki, Katshuhito is one of these names, correct?
After two extra moments of hesitation, Yosho answered.
"Yes."
*In this case if I address you by one name, I am also addressing you by the other, do you understand?
"Yes. Who are you?"
*You are at peace Yosho, and evil cannot harm those who are at peace, correct?
"Yes."
*You believe that Seita is evil, correct?
"Yes." Half a hesitation, and a slightly lower tone crept in.
*Since you are now at peace, Seita cannot harm you, and you have no reason to fear him, correct?
"I---don't know. Seita is different."
*Is it evil to show enjoyment when people are in pain?
"Yes"
*Does Seita do this?
"Yes."
*Is Seita evil?
"Yes."
*You are at peace now Yosho, correct?
"Yes."
*Do people at peace need to fear evil?
"No."
*Are you afraid of Seita?
"No."
*I am Seita. Are you afraid of me?
"No."
*That is correct, Prince Yosho. You are at peace, and you are not afraid of me, correct?
"Yes."
*You are at peace, and you are not afraid of listening to my words, correct?
"Yes."
*Good.
*You are at peace, Prince Yosho. You will listen to my words.
***
It takes some practice to successfully keep the bitter dregs in the teacup, more practice than Ryoko had, or needed. She solemnly made goofy faces to fish flakes of green peace out of her teeth. Meanwhile, Tenchi and Aeka simultaneously rose towards the teapot to give everyone a refill. They noticed each other moments before their hands met and promptly retreated, Aeka blushed while Tenchi simply averted his gaze. This little moment did not go unnoticed; Ryoko's eyes darkened for jealousy then darkened again for guilt. She silently poured them all some more tea and sat back down, silently nursing the lump in her throat as the Washu-worry-count clicked higher. Looking for a new visual pattern to get lost in, she let her eyes fall on and climb Aeka's kimono.
Much to her surprise and relief, she was not looking at Tenchi. Neither of them had thanked her for pouring more tea, but it was evident now that, for Aeka anyway, it was more important to mentally absent. Her rival's use of the same coping mechanism should have brought the same combination of surprise and relief, but all Ryoko could think of was illusions, mocking and cruel voices, the nightmare. She'd been so close, those blue eyes and that blonde hair.
Gold ballooned but couldn't lift her head. The throat tingle felt like a weak whisper, but was apparently loud enough to grab attention.
"Mihoshi."
"What did you say Ryoko?" Tenchi asked hesitantly.
"Mihoshi! Where's Mihoshi!" Ryoko forced her head up with a jerk, looking towards the front then back door. A third of her legs were ready to stand.
"Mihoshi? She's-" He attempted a calming voice, but it caught on the horrible realization his throat.
"Don't you remember? She went on patrol this morning," Aeka continued in a lifeless voice, "with Seita."
Ryoko looked at Tenchi with helpless furry, and he responded with a desperate reach for control.
"Now wait a minute wait a minute, I'm sure she's fine. Washu has a link to her ship, so if anything was wrong-"
"How can you be so sure, Tenchi? How can you be so sure of anything anymore?" The pirate sank back down to the couch, hands lost in her hair, eyes angled down but frozen open.
"Stop it, Ryoko!" Aeka sprang to her feet, glaring down with fists balled at her sides. "We can't talk like that. We can't let this---this ^break us^! Washu's probably categorizing that monster's innards as we speak!"
Ryoko looked up at the princess with slight bewilderment. Strangely unashamed of her morbid prediction, Aeka merely swallowed, sitting back to her tea and whatever else she was using to divert comfort to her mind.
"That's right Ryoko," Tenchi managed, forcing away the unpleasant and too pleasant image, "Mihoshi's probably on her way home now, she may even get here before dad and Sasami do."
There was no room in either Ryoko's or Aeka's anxiety to acknowledge that they had looked over at each other in perfect sync. Flawless empathy ignored, there was no room to feel rude for shouting.
"'Dad and Sasami?!' Tenchi, what the hell are we supposed to do if they get back before Washu does?!" Ryoko was ready to climb across the table, and the sight made Tenchi sink back into his chair. The attack, however, came from his side.
"Tenchi! Please, don't let Sasami..." Aeka clutched onto his hand for dear life, but trailed off before she could make any last requests. Her wavering eyes frozen on his till they sank away for fringe tears.
Thankful to still be assertive when the situation was serious enough, Tenchi still shivered under the weight of Aeka's hands.
"Don't worry miss Aeka, if they get back before we get an answer from Washu then-" he paused for thought and exhaled, "then I'll get grandfather to take them both away to the city for a while."
Ryoko rose and tried to square her shoulders.
"Alright then, I'll go call him and tell him that-"
"Hold, on Ryoko."
Halfway out of the living room she stopped and turned with a puzzled expression.
"Huh?"
"Don't tell him anything yet, okay. I'd like to keep him from worrying if I can."
Both girls searched for understanding in his face. He looked at the floor with hands in the air, denying them knowledge to put them at ease.
"Please, just let me think of something to say first."
"Okay, Tenchi."
Ryoko slowly resigned herself back to the couch.
One last word from the self appointed leader before they returned to a silent commune. Looking over at the clock, Tenchi added almost casually:
"Besides, it's Friday, he'll be meditating for at least another half hour. He might not even hear the phone, and I'd rather not interrupt him."
***
Brilliant cherry blossoms and crisp leaves mixed with other dead vegetation, dancing and falling in the wind. Birdsong and tree-rattle caressed the silence. Masaki shrine looked deserted, as it usually did when closed to the public. Millions of people were enjoying the romantic beginnings of the sunset, but none from this blessedly high vantage point.
The wind blew another fistful of leaves and a pinch of cherry blossoms inside the office and over Prince Yosho's feet. In his Katshuhito disguise, the wrinkles fold a little more as he thinks about sweeping for a moment. He promptly returns focus to his peace and Seita's voice.
*How long have you lived in Japan, Prince Yosho?
"Almost 702 earth years."
*In that time, how many funerals have you attended?
"94."
*How many of these friends and family died in old age?
"About 75."
*Do you think that is a lot for a single person to lose in a lifetime?
"Yes."
*Your lifetime will last much longer, correct?
"Yes."
*You will likely attend many more funerals before having your own, correct?
"Yes."
*Has anything pained you more than the loss of friends and family over these centuries?
Two more slow blinks than usual, but he answered calmly.
"No."
*Does it still hurt to lose all these friends, and to know you will lose more?
"Yes. Sometimes."
*Do you ever feel 'old', Prince Yosho?
"Yes." A short strain strung itself around Yosho's throat.
*Do you ever wish that you had a human lifespan?
"Yes." The string tightened.
*You are at peace Prince Yosho, correct?
"Yes."
*Good.
*Have you ever wished to die, Prince Yosho?
"Yes."
*But you could never take your own life, correct?
"Yes."
*Have you ever imagined being vanquished in a battle?
"Yes."
*Do you still fantasize about this?
"Yes. Sometimes." The hesitation was hardly noticeable.
*Is this because you feel old?
"Yes."
*Is this because you are tired of attending funerals?
"Yes."
*Do you every worry that a small part of this fantasy might make you lose a battle in life.
"I don't know."
*Do people at peace need fear?
"No."
*Are you at peace, Prince Yosho?
"Yes."
*Have you ever worried that these fantasies of defeat could make you fight a battle below your ability?
"Yes."
*Do you think this could still happen?
"Yes."
*Why?
"Because I don't want to attend funerals anymore." Yosho's voice was soft as ancient hair on a baby's hand.
*Are you at peace?
"Yes."
*When your lifespan is over Prince Yosho, will you be more at peace than you are now?
"Yes."
*Does a part of you want your lifespan to be over?
"Yes."
*Could a part of you make you lose a battle?
"Yes."
*You were trained in the highest self-defense methods of Jurai, correct?
"Yes."
*Part of that included detecting poisons, correct?
"Yes."
*Are you tired of attending funerals?
"Yes."
*Is it possible that your fantasy of being vanquished might make you lose a battle in real like, because you already feel old?
"Yes."
*Would it be possible for someone to put poison in your tea?
"Yes."
*Would it be possible for you to ignore it, because you already feel old?
Yosho blinked slowly but did not open his eyes again.
*You are at peace Prince Yosho, correct?
"Y-Yes."
*When your lifespan is over, will you feel more at peace than you do now?
"Yes."
*When your lifespan is over, will you have to attend any more funerals?
"Yes."
*If someone poisoned your tea, might your fantasies of defeat make you ignore a strange odor?
"Yes."
*You are listening to my words Prince Yosho, correct?
"Yes."
*You are at peace and have no fear of evil, correct?
"Yes."
*You feel old, correct?
"Yes."
Yosho's monotone answers seemed to hold steady, but by this they had clearly thinned out since the first introductory questions.
*A part of you wants your lifespan to end, correct?
"Yes."
*This part of you might cause you to ignore poison in your tea, correct?
"Yes."
*Are you at peace, Prince Yosho?
"Yes."
*Do you wish to be more at peace?
"Yes."
*Would Seita put poison in your tea?
"Y-Yes."
*Do you wish to be more at peace?
"Yes."
*Would I put poison in your tea?
"Yes."
*Would your fantasies of defeat make you ignore it?
"Yes."
*Do you wish to be more at peace?
"Yes."
*Do you wish for our talk to help you?
"Yes."
*If the only way to do so would be to have this talk remain with you, without your remembering it, would you have it done?
"Yes."
*I will count up from zero and stop at 21. I will count out loud while you count to yourself. When I reach 21 you will no longer be at peace. This talk will remain with you, but you will not remember it. Is this what you want?
"Yes."
*Listen to the sound of my voice. Pay attention to my words. I will count out loud while you count to yourself. When I reach 21 you will no longer be at peace. This talk will remain with you, but you will not remember it.
*Zero. No longer at peace.
*1. No longer at peace.
*2. No longer at peace.
*3. No longer at peace.
*4. No longer at peace.
*5. No longer at peace.
*6. No longer at peace.
*7. No longer at peace.
*8. No longer at peace.
*9. No longer at peace.
*10. No longer at peace.
*11. No longer at peace.
*12. No longer at peace.
*13. No longer at peace.
*14. No longer at peace.
*15. No longer at peace.
*16. No longer at peace.
*17. No longer at peace.
*18. No longer at peace.
*19. No longer at peace.
*20. No longer at peace.
*21. No longer at peace.
*You are no longer at peace Prince Yosho. This talk will stay with you, but you will not remember it.
A thick weariness pulled at the muscles in Yosho's Jaw as he stared down at the sword, the sun was lower than it had been just before he'd raised his hand to, maybe, hurl his master key out away anywhere. He blinked roughly and considered what Seita had just said about watching him die 'like so many others'. Though the fear inspired by these last words made him feel like a child, he screamed within himself to pull forth the strength to strike back, to avenge those tormented by this lunatic, and avenge his insulted pursuit of enlightenment.
"Those who have no appreciation for life-" he held the sword higher to proclaim roughly, yet without much projection, "-can have no appreciation for death."
The sword remained silent, the air still. Yosho thought he heard chuckling in the distance and tried to prepare himself for another avalanche of hellish cackles. He sent off a whole hearted prayer to a Goddess he hoped he more than half believed in; may he not be turned into a madman, may he not live the rest of his life without the peace he'd worked 700 years to perfect. His arm shook, and the sight again made him wish he could strangle the contents of the sword. Seita's voice emanated from the hilt in an almost casual tone.
"How right you are, 'grandfather'. Indeed, killing you will gradually become more insignificant once you are dead."
"What?" The ghost of Yosho gasped.
"Did you think that I was only out for your guilt and uncertainty? That's all well and good for an average day's work, but as you should have picked up, we've still got quite a personal debt to settle."
Yosho thought he could see that same malicious grin pressed up against the tiny white window at the base of his sword.
"Tell me grandfather, during the past week or so, did you ever make any tea that didn't quite live up to your usual standards?"
The blood drained from Yosho's face so quickly he could feel it.
"I have always been fascinated by assassins who kill with poisons, all the stealth, the creativity required. And for every being who claims to be immune, there's just that one they haven't come across yet."
A semi-erotic sigh poured out of the hilt, once again shaking in Yosho's hand.
"So this is what it feels like to gloat over an action rather than just an observation?
"I like it well enough so far." Seita's voice offered a full second for a half grin.
Whole body trembling to the rhythm of ground teeth, each of the rational voices in Yosho's mind screamed for attention like hysterical toddlers.
"I used one of the best formula's I've come across in all my travels, your stomach wont be able to hold any food or water; you'll waste away between bouts of unconsciousness and violent nausea. The best part is that the effects are so subtle that medicine wont be able to detect any problems. It should be taking affect any moment now."
The lunatic pricking behind Seita's voice threatened to puncture through his overacted overconfidence at any moment. The gems in the hilt were no longer catching the sun as Yosho could hardly keep his arm steady for the pain rising in his stomach.
"Tell me grandfather, as a real warrior, does anybody ever ^truly^ feel honor when their killer takes extra care to use a favorite weapon? Probably not, right?"
Yosho clutched his lower abdomen with his free hand and bent with a grunt.
"Right."
Trying to steady himself, Yosho knocked some pieces of stationary off his desk to dance with the dead leaves on the floor. He looked into the sword, and felt something akin to a large section of Seita's dimension opening up around him. Senses were wearing out, but he could still distinguish the tears between the sweat on his face.
"I assure you grandfather, we are quite even now. Yours is, in fact, the first sentient life that I've directly destroyed. When I reexamine the technicalities of my methods I'll probably find a way to make this achievement more ^and^ less significant."
"Wh-Why?!" The velvet wrapped iron in the voice of his killer finally crushed that last branch of Yosho's will. He might have taken comfort that he wasn't so vain as to wonder what his pitiful face looked like.
Calm and confident as it was, Seita's voice held no comfort at all.
"Grandfather Katshuhito of the Misaki Shrine, Yosho, favored prince and martyr of Jurai, if you still can't figure that out after all we've been through---then perhaps you never will."
A strained gurgle, a dull thud, and the contrasting playful sound of a wooden toy sliding across the floor. Masaki shrine was peaceful again, comforting energy built from almost 700 years of prayer and meditation still thick as incense smoke. The surrounding trees absorbed and returned it, birds sang with the wind to decorate the expansive silence. Lower and more brilliant now, the sunset shone in through the missing door and onto the un-swept office floor. A white marble in Yosho's sword caught light. It glistened sickly yellow like a morsel of fat, speaking softly to anyone.
"And perhaps I never did."
***
^Tenchi Muyo: Sanctuary and Asylum^
-Verse Eight is Martyr-
-Part 3-
Well enough to beg and hard enough to succeed-
Measure up the nurse like a graven stone.
Soon enough to confess and good enough to bleed-
Bring down the witness like a graven stone.
-ZJS
***
The door to Washu's lab swung open, its metal handle banging a rattle off the wall. Tenchi managed to keep from startling too much tea into his lap, but the subsequent collapsing thud made everyone spill their share. A single explosion of footsteps rushed altogether over each other, hardly exchanging glances or sparing breaths to see the noise for themselves.
A road-kill had been painted with magenta nail polish and dropped on a pile of rags, its pitiful crawling movements surely no more than an insect's last reflex. No one bent too close till it started rotting familiar. Filthy bruises smeared across the woman's face, cut by strands of hair caught in trickles of blood. Solid emeralds looked up and melted into sun- faded rubber. Her true unknowable age flashed between moan ground teeth as she crawled forward another few inches.
"Washu!" Tenchi's initial shock broke first, sending him down on his knees, hands outstretched in complete and helpless compassion.
"Miss Washu, are-are you alright?!" Mirror to his position, Aeka tried to take in the weight of the injury and the new size of the patient.
A desperately strong hand struck out and clutched onto Tenchi's arm, he made a sound like a hiccup but quickly tensed to maintain both their balances. Washu coughed violently, matted hair shaking over her face and revealing more of her tattered clothing. Aeka shared shock again till she noticed more blood seeping through in other places. Shivering with Tenchi again, she craned her head to stare at the door. A thin sewage of smoke crept out over the top frame. Having seen the path to chaos, she jerked her face back to the source of reason.
"Washu! ^What happened to Seita^?!" Aeka wailed desperation onto her battered face.
The question, the stained hair wilting into her mouth, both were ignored easily enough. Washu looked up at Tenchi, turning more pity than a child or crone could conjure into more terror than an animal could conceive.
"Yo-sho-" She croaked out and crumpled lower from the exertion.
Positioning herself with a hollow slap to the floor, Aeka hollered and hauled back what was left.
"Yosho?! What about Yosho?! Please Washu, tell us!"
A harsh whisper almost decayed into a gurgle beneath the animal as it began hitting the road again.
"Hurry!"
Tenchi sprang up and tried to direct his panic into a life preserver.
"Quick Aeka, help me get her to the couch. There's a first aid kit in the closet and-"
"No, don't worry about---help Yosho." Washu began coughing under the Princess's hands. Tenchi heard the strain in speaking, feared the same in breathing.
"Aeka, you and Ryoko stay with Washu. I've got to get to the shrine!" Tenchi directed with moderately calm hysteria. He whirled around to where he had last seen Ryoko to find a fallen cup and a carpet stain.
***
Silhouette outlined in light, a chameleon revealed like a freshly cut paper doll, regaining color and volume at its leisure. Seita walked out from the darkened corner of Yosho's office, taking a dignified step with each relaxing breath. He closed his eyes, pulling arched fingers apart and lowering them with all the grace of a noble machine trying to hide its rust. Smoothing itself back behind his ears, a platinum glare passed over his hair as he stepped into the light around the fallen priest. With eyes opening to the change, glass black faded into steel blue business to suit. Another breath stretched the seams and sagged the jacket into a thin wide- sleeved shirt, collecting on his thighs and waving off his wrists when he crouched down for a closer look. About to trace the crumbled clothing on Yosho's back, Seita's hand reconsidered and rested thoughtfully against his cheek instead.
"All that time spent opening your consciousness, renouncing your mind to the universe."
Still nostalgic for seduction, he pressed and rested his soft cheek a little more against his hand.
"So much space covered and released to free you from---'mundane' perception. A greater peace, and a greater comfort, melting into the sea of your ancestors and idols. Simply abandon all your instincts have brought you to find what brought you your instincts."
Seita paused, folding his arms over his knees and resting his chin on them.
"More than ever, open to greet the great objectives. More than ever, open to suggestion. None the wiser: while the 'less enlightened' pined for the power they would lose---the wise man merely lusted for the peace he would receive. None the wiser: so goes the misers."
Best in show, brightest blue ribbon buttons traveled and savored over the labored rises on Yosho's body till they rested on his sword.
"I was unable to harvest mass apathy from you, but now you've still heightened my silo. It seems my hypothesis was correct; the ambitious pursuit of enlightenment is the pursuit of escape, a quest for complete peace is a quest for death. Where I cannot drain the appreciation of life, I can swell the desire for death."
Brow thickening, weighing his face down till his chin, lips, and nose all dragged themselves over his forearm till only the forehead could stall. He spoke to himself again, but only for the truly interested audience this time.
"I have planted the seeds in your family, and I have severed the roots in you, let us see if The Tree responds now."
Raising himself up on a clever and joyless smile, Seita walked towards the sword with even heavier feet. He looked down at the white marble he'd projected into and after-tasted a small sound of amusement.
"I didn't know I'd get the opportunity to give you such a false hope, but you had such true faith."
A thought-pause hummed his throat and scratched his chin. A head-tilt brought the white marble to life. It rolled beneath the hilt's skin like a maggot, birthing itself at the opposite end and floating upward to tall eyelevel.
"Should I still serve them a sentence, a cage to rattle---a hole to fill?" His mouth pulled to the side in a failed half-smile.
"No, little to say now for reassurance---hide it or hide from it---prisons-- -just let the heroes feel they are safe, and just let the villains think they are right."
"^Reassurance^."
All in a brooding hush, Seita's thoughts steamed out and corroded to a head. He looked down and drug his fingertips over each other, two shiny blue trains passing back and forth till the sharpened engines had to test their strength.
"Reassurance. Safe. Right." Looking up at the marble again, the indigo ice balm evaporated from his lips as he bit down on the bottom. Matching eye shadow and nail polish disappeared like novelty ink.
"Silence the enemy and feel safe. Speak to the master and know you are right. Reassure. Invert and fester, but by all means reassure." The tiny white sphere caught light and began losing volume into a tiny white circle.
"Safe, and speak to the master. Silenced, and speak to the master." Voice reaching a serious monotone, the private monologue ended on a fingertip. Seita wiped saliva off his tongue and wiped dust off his marble.
Hands already behind him, he waited as it grew like a white balloon filling with slugs. Shrinking and stretching into shape, an albino tadpole formed tiny appendages. Bones grew into place beneath the doughy skin, and a frog matured again into a faceless ape huddling in the cold. Not allowed or not remembering to blink during the accelerating growth, Sayta stared, his lower lip drooping slightly. Soon a hairless doll dipped in creamy plaster and soon again to life-size.
The baby's head shrunk and its body swelled. It turned in levitating vitro to face Seita with a bowed head, hands and feat still bound together in sleeping prayer. Fat rolled into every appendage. Fingers fisted excessive then stubby, its stomach became bloated, drooping over its smooth sexless crotch. Breasts without nipples do the same; tear shaped bags of soft lard are ready to slide off at any moment. Conversely, the face began to shrink, its features shifting and smoothing over in more subtle deformity.
Thin hair, clear as cleaning bristles, wormed out at shoulder length. The mounds of fat surrounding its limbs glistened with a clear film, cellulite dimples fell in and boils rose up with light gray puss just below the surface. Seita presses his lips together and takes a deep breath. A tiny string of saliva wiggled at the end of its lolling mouth as it looked up with bleached-out pupils. Vacancy further evicted any lights that could have been left on in the doll's face, impairment obvious without color or apparent reception. It stares at him like television till his eyes narrow.
"If oblivion were entertaining a form, it would glamour itself in the blur between pity and fear."
He spoke formally for the audience behind him through their reflections on the doll's expansive surface. Ready to wink at or banish any who shifted in their seat, he shook and smiled into its eyes.
"And it would speak the end of mimicry."
It lolled its head forward then up and to the side. Trapped in its throat a deaf child cried out shrill pleading gibberish. Obesity-crippled arms twitched like a dying bird. This movement caused a few boils to rupture and run as heavy flesh folds over. Neither closing his eyes nor moving his mouth, Seita inhaled the personal apparition with all the miserable arrogance of a man searching for even higher dignity in an elite river of sewage.
"^Formal is vanity, vanity is failure, and failure is apathy---proper apathy^." His whisper shook over arched fingers pressing into his lips.
"^So if you please, I thank you^." He offered a timid bow and calmed himself, shoulders straight, hands at chest level, and voice polishing swords with velvet.
"You don't mind that I speak for you---to speak to you---do you?"
The doll looked at something over Seita's right shoulder before its head became too heavy to ignore somethin on his knees. It seemed capable only of a voice trapped in the waves between a sick child's yawn and a ghostly wail.
"^Do you^?"
"This grotesque form is almost more than beautiful, and almost meaningless. This is what you want." Plainly stated, he allowed an even blink.
"^What you want^." The doll replied the same way during another random head movement, while Seita looked over at Yosho for a thoughtful moment.
"He got his peace, do I get my power?"
"^My power^."
"Yes, I know, but do I get it, or at least closer to it?" A breath for confidence came out in a rehearsed anti-faux-humble acceptance speech. "I've measured a new milestone. I have turned insight into insurrection. I have inverted the sanctuary of transcendence. The priest's patrons and the prince's idols must both be already honing a taste for my blood...yet I can already taste the vomit that will be in his mouth."
"^Mowwwwwwth^."
The doll's mouth hangs farther open as its face shakes with a silent hiccup. A second throaty convulsion oozed a large mouthful of watered down milk and gristle to shine and streak a path over its chin and down its belly. A few small chunks caught in the breast crevices. It looked straight into Seita's eyes with vacant playfulness, making a suckling kissy- face.
"Hmm." He raised an eyebrow of well-planned mild intrigue with another turn toward the fallen prince. Something loathsome twinkled vainly in his eye and he lightly pursed his own lips.
"Probably risked material contact enough times today."
"^Today^."
"Yes, time, I know. Can't play forever or win the game hiding in time-out."
"^Owwwwwwwwwwwwt^." The doll's head rolled back with a zombie's surreal echo.
Clean features frowned then scowled intensely enough for another paint job, sucking a vile accusation into every pore to breath back a controlled stream of fire.
"Is that what you think? That I would ^invert and pervert the principle of the treatment^, then just reveal the placebo and abort another replacing experiment? ^Revoke my grant again^?! Well here!"
The fabric hanging leisurely from Seita's torso contracted in a hungry reflex, clutching his body so tightly that it stretched into a formal gown and squeezed and curved him into a feminine figure. Dignified hair jumped out to the side in a frenzy and fell back again in two long braids. A puff of glitter and a blue cone hat with complementing lace at the tip fell onto his head. Paint and hormones swelled and smeared through his face till the transformation was less than perfect completely by choice. He finished the job smartly with a pose of ladylike indignity.
"Why don't I just wake the prince with a kiss?" Faeries caught the elegant spread of his arm and glided him over to Yosho's side. "Test and waste your faith in me again, keep up with his story for ^another^ 700 years as he rewrites it backwards, sideways, both ways, but never ^your ways^! Then maybe find out what I'm---really---made of!"
The princess's pert breasts heaved as her dainty fingers strangled the air at her sides. The doll shifted its arms slightly, making a sickly wet sound. It looked at Yosho, the ceiling, the desk, and offered a milky string of drool in Seita's direction. With a voice slightly deeper and resonant of his favored hisses, it answered him.
"^Made oooooooooof^."
A thoughtless fade took Seita out of better than drag and back into perfect drugs. Another breath and he was calm, another breath and he was smiling, and another breath brought him a controlled fit of excessively therapeutic giggles. Once his inside joke subsided he replaced it with the sound savored in his footfalls, slow rubber two-taps against the wood floor. The doll lolled its head again while he inflated his lungs and a new, wider smile.
"^Nothing^." Seita offered his sinister velvet, continuing his approach confidently despite the lack of change in the doll's expression.
"^What we are, what we create. We are what we create. 'So---what?^'"
Less than half a meter from the doll, he stopped and bent to what would be eye level when its head finally stopped lolling about. Intense blue met empty white at a slight angle, but both locked. The doll closed its mouth and swallowed, making a tiny bubble at the corner of its lips. Seita leaned progressively closer, a tyrant selling himself to his shadow's greed, ravenous to hear his own thoughts spoken with all the pomp of clever cruelty.
"So I understand, that we don't want to 'ask' and 'know' anymore---^because we're bloated^," he jabbed his right index finger into the dolls immense belly, eliciting a moan of thick and erotic labor pains, "with asking and knowing."
Close enough now to taste its breath, he continued in softer so as more perverse, barely audible over another deep response to his subtly twisting finger.
"We're bloated---and immune."
"Immuuuuuuuuuuuuuuune." The doll's voice gurgled out a little more to glisten the trail down its body.
Barely-living white still stared blindly into post-repulsed blue. A single word, from the right poet, could make a threat seem so romantic.
"Immortal."
He kissed the doll, withdrawing his hand and holding the other behind his back while he bent into it. The soft and empty face received the vulgar exploration passively, all the while content to roll its head accordingly with his movements. After a few rough rotations and a tiny almost-gyration, he withdrew. The dolls expression remained unchanged for being so close to someone turned from two statues into one, melted, compressed, tribute and warning.
"^Immortalllllllll^." Fat gasped, rolling its head back to look at the ceiling and choke on itself. Seita stood straight again with a step back and a look outside.
"I'll say. I will. I'll get there-I'll get them---I've got a new vehicle to try out."
Post-ventriloquist, The Ghost of Madness exorcised its name under both breaths:
"^Owwwt^."
Right hand man closed his eyes with a tired smirk for milder exhaustion.
"Yes. Yes. Back to work."
Passing through the empty doorframe on hesitant steps meant for leisure, subtly up-righting the best posture for anyone, Seita still slouched ever so slightly as his consuming throat stole a bit of breath of relief. The doll lolled its head into a white residue then a forgettable glare of light.
"^Work^."
Seita imitated its voice well enough, checking both feet one at a time till, for the first time in some time, he spoke again to himself rather than for himself.
"Business is booming. But, the self-employed may yet lose their competitive edge."
Heavy feet savored the stairs down and into the courtyard, letting his shoulders slump then bounce back up with each step. Not yet ready to look ahead, he turned back. His shadow stretched across the small building, bent on the stairs and imploded into the open office. Perfect moment for a better observation; but not even half a gesture. He accepted a calm horizon gaze with a dignified posture and a straight face that surrendered one eyebrow after the other.
Ryoko floated at the far corner of the shrine, face deathly calm and poorly lit by the sunset behind her. Warrior fingertips curled when she caught his attention. She straightened her neck with a breath, pulling her hands from her invisible pistols and crossing them behind her. This perfect imitation of his preferred stance amplified her slender figure and explosive hair; a palm tree's shadow nearly combined with the former guest's to form a diagonal black path across the shrine. Wind moved leaves across it.
Closing this short distance took Seita two and a half steps and no blinks.
"Don't. Move."
Restrained rage carried just enough distance in the empty air, but he was already there, line unbroken, Ryoko's hair made the perfect spotlight even as she tilted her head forward to cut eyes.
"You're missing it you know." Seita took in the foreground and the background with a soft appreciation, waiting for the foreground to turn back and notice.
In a quick movement she snapped her head around, visibly tensed, and turned back. All reprimands for taking her eyes off him roared, but she managed to muzzle them. Blue calm continued to look everywhere through her.
"Missing what?" Darkened dry, she held the spit down with her teeth.
"The sunset of course, its particularly nice from up here."
Ryoko narrowed her eyes at him, sharpening them further when he focused the softest on the foreground.
"You know, you're really quite a vision, floating there in the sunset." He grinned almost bashfully, blinking and looking down for a moment.
Ryoko almost gave away a flash of terrified revulsion, but aborted it with a slaughter glare that tightened her whole face.
"Sorry, the most common atmosphere to use, and still the hardest to use well." Romance began to fade from Seita's face, his co-star and audience clearly unimpressed. He peacefully relaxed out any humanity with half a sigh.
"I see you're not dressed for battle."
"What'd be the point?" Ryoko asked without a shred of self-pity.
Pleasantly surprised, Seita up-chuckled a smile.
"At least you're learning something."
"Yeah. Great." Sarcasm held the gory frontline. "Now where is he?"
"Oh." Plain and simple worked up a voice to outdo any excess of confidence.
"Well, if you're referring to priest Katshuhito, you're likely to get only a few basic answers," he took a moment to watch his little nail dimple his thumb, "however, if you mean Prince Yosho, then, depending on who you ask, you might get some seriously conflicting-"
"Answer me, Seita." The interruption verbally sneered into his flashy evasions, boring out his name like a carbuncle, yet she seemed to need a little more boldness to look past him. "Is he still in there?"
"Who?" He resumed his approach with reverted confidence.
"Tell me. Now." Ryoko's tone went throaty with resentment.
No matter what was pumping it up, the lump in her throat had always felt the same. It had been strangling and nauseating and humiliating at worst, but all in all she could at least tell herself, remember it as only a rock. Now, as Seita pursed his lips to wet them without showing his tongue, it was different. Folding one arm across his midsection, resting his elbow on it, and gently pinching his sinus, it was different. Looking tired, it was different. Crawling his eyes back up her body and down her throat, it was different. Tasting new inspiration there, blending a special croon into his voice to overshadow the abrasion in his face, it was so much worse.
"Do you really think another session would help?"
Ryoko waited to feel her nails digging into her palms, hoped her arms weren't trembling from the effort, and plugged her scream behind a tongue tip ready to be bitten off. But she wouldn't draw her sword, and she wouldn't cry yet. Pleading to the bitter end she wouldn't yet.
*I'm sorry, Tenchi.
*I don't think I can do this.
*Please. Please, PLEASE don't do it again! You horrible---miserable---
If she'd had another quarter second to think on it, she wouldn't have given up the other three widening her eyes on a memory. A good thing she withdrew her tongue before she knew what to do with it. She really tried to believe this time that her eyes could cut into him, butcher him like a sick runt.
"I'm not the who needs help."
The sheer coyness made him stare back, lowering his hand, giving away his need for defense, opening up to the rest of her attack.
"Even when you're sleeping," Ryoko continued with a significantly more nervous delivery of cruel insight, "you can't forget how miserable you are."
The whole bowl of confidence, and a small helping of color drained from Seita's face, the new surrealism of it layering over that morning; her second failed assassination, his interrupted dream.
He quickly matched the rage, shining blue-steal to gleaming pure-gold. She heard his chuckle then, grotesque, and loud enough to be as obvious a projection as the changing color of his clothing. Indigo expired into ghostly gray, to bright sliver, to polished ivory. The fabrics clung to his body like melting plastic over a slender action figure. Six extra Seita's, feet all glued to the same spot, bent and contorted around their original like anemone tentacles, their faces writhing like the oversexed undead, mouths and eyes writhing and gasping into oblivion.
"How perceptive. How perceptive?"
The center bettered double meaning, in a sharp whisper. Each word stretched his torso like vanilla taffy till head and shoulders were level with the floating woman. His arms melted inward while the extras danced their hands to smear their faces in a perpetual group nervous breakdown.
Still feeding off his initial reaction, Ryoko looked the new illusion up and down with brutal criticism. She managed to balance his new pose with simplicity.
"I think the big giant head suited you better."
Seita sliced his face open with his most intense and malicious smile, the matching chuckle echoed in Ryoko's mind like a fist full of broken glass. Her next breath shook in her throat, and she hid another curse at herself for playing tough when she had sworn to play cool.
"M-maybe you're out of ideas, after such a busy day."
The chuckle snapped off, and the smile deflated. He searched her expression. There was more depth to his eyes, but she was instantly reminded of how Kagato looked at her when conducting an experiment. For a moment it seemed someone was accelerating the sunset, but the surrounding scenery faded to a black too complete for any earth night. She refused to accept failure, would not show her terror.
"Interesting that you would say so." Perversely soothing tones took control of his voice. His surreal bust broke away in the center, discarding the copies into darkness like leftover love-me petals, inflating a new and normally proportioned body, dressed in casual black slacks and burgundy shirt, no tie, barely dress shoes. A leather recliner formed just in time to catch him, Ryoko glanced and saw its reflection behind her. No sign of interest.
"You see, that's precisely the theme I was considering when you came to ask me such a vague question. And don't worry, 'he' is alive, and I'll tell you where 'he' is, after-"
"NOW!" Ryoko floated forward with fists at each side, forgetting or discarding, any previous attempt at a new approach. Seita half-grinned away his annoyance.
"'After'---you hear my proposal. However long that takes, I assure you ^this^ approach will take longer."
She crossed her arms and doubled her glare.
"Please have a seat, I'll try to be brief."
One glance, the coach resembled a bucket of filth, and she looked back with a thick shroud of impatience waiting over apprehension.
"Alright then. Now, you mentioned me 'running out of ideas'. It might happen, but I'm not worried about exhausting my---creativity, any time soon. 'Time' in fact, is what concerns me."
A wrinkle of confusion worked its way into her confrontation. His proposal continued with less flamboyant smoke and more focused steam.
"You see, whoever, whatever you and your little family may think I am, the only important issue is that I am not entirely immortal. As I explained shortly after working my way into Tenchi's home, I don't age when I'm inside oblivion, but what I didn't explain was that I need to do more than simply 'exist' in there to strengthen my abilities."
Eyes closed for a pausing breath, another wrinkle softened Ryoko's face to see him actually need a moment to collect his thoughts.
"In truth, I didn't even give a quarter of the explanation for all that I am, and all that I might be. I say 'might' because I'm not yet sure if I'll be able to see even the first auras of my goal, even with a Jurain lifespan, or two."
Threads of spite wormed into Seita's throat and eyes, he looked away from Ryoko just as anger flew over her own face. He arched his fingers in his lap, moving the tips apart and together again slightly.
"Ryoko, I sincerely want to know; why do you think I go through so much trouble to confront people with such ^unpleasant^ perception projections?" He waited a moment and another before looking up, only to see her hardened into an even deeper silence. Accepting, perhaps expecting this, he spoke at his hands again.
"If you think I'm trying to gain power over others, you're completely mistaken. And if you believe I simply crave the singular looks of terror I can inspire, you'd be only half-right. Dismiss and dismantle me as 'insane'; but if that were the case I wouldn't still smell so much confusion---so much curiosity."
He grinned to himself before continuing.
"Even though I speak frankly now, I'm sure you still see me as 'The Ghost of Madness'. Indeed I am. Yes. In. Deed. I am as much the nemesis of mental prosperity as such a thing can exist."
Back on track, his next breath served mostly as inflation.
"In the scheme of things used to be another rather simple and expendable life form. It was only by ^embracing oblivion^ that I was able to catch even a delirium spark of what I could become." His voice tensed back with its manic sort of reverence. Ryoko instantly felt a small but all too recognizable uneasiness as he raised a coin-sized white hole up between weakly clenched hands.
"It is more than I told you that first day, but perhaps not more than you could understand." He grinned ironically at the tiny portal then Ryoko. "But more than I could explain after such a 'busy day'."
His amusement dissipated, replaced by a seriousness eased under gentle sincerity.
"It is the heart, the ^God^ of what I am, yet it has given me nothing, it only enhances the abilities I already have." The portal blinked closed. Ryoko regained some composure.
"Now consider myself; a simple humanoid, ^poorly^ mutated with the abilities of a mass." He severed his left hand with his right little nail, a razor through hosiery. They grew back together inverted. Two right hands touched point to thumb then faded right. He looked up.
"Now imagine your-self." Gesturing towards her with palms upturned, she noticed how increasingly plastic his thin, vein-less forearms were looking. Her anxiety was quickly distracted back. "A masterful creation."
The suggestion raised Ryoko's eyes for a fraction of a moment before they hardened and hardened again.
"Please, if you cannot imagine, then at least consider. If you cannot consider, merely ask: 'would I like to be invulnerable, would I enjoy a limitless new form of transportation'. Just take a moment, please."
Ryoko's anger shivered out along her arms and down the base of her neck. Stoic resistance pressed down on Seita's words like a brick upon delicate insect antennae. He tried again, same voice, eyes passively looking over his fingers as they performed again, making slow kaleidoscope imitations, this time without any tricks.
"I've little doubt that ^any^ sentient being could be accelerated through time in 'my' dimension. I still marvel that no others have made it through the initial---'discomfort' and approached me as a clone, an apprentice, or a successor."
Ryoko stifled a gasp of revolted disbelief, turning it into a sickly gulp.
"Precisely." He tried and half succeeded to keep hisses subtle. "As I mentioned before: with a time changing goal; who can predict my distance, even with an extended lifespan. But 'my' is merely a single end, a different set of means is a different story. There's no need to 'become me' to obtain power equal, and more than likely greater than mine. You are nothing if not resourceful, and I am sure that oblivion---that whatever power fuels my pursuits, could do the same for you."
Shifting a little in his seat, Seita un-designed his fingers, flattened them over his thighs, and examined her silence.
"If you are still too battle ready to envision your future success, then remember our first session. Again."
During many portions of his speech, she had given hard glances to either side of herself, trying to force out the surrounding darkness. Almost ready for a sake wish, this new argument rekindled her rage and snapped up a murderous glance. He met it, glad as ever to see his effect.
"Think about Tenchi. This young man who, I'm sure, is now equally bent on the angle of my destruction. Your devotion to him must surely stem from something more deeply ingrained than an attraction---for the notable level of Jurai power he can conjure---when so inclined."
Experienced fists, unused to hiding, buried themselves in the sleeves of her kimono while Seita returned to watching his fingers, the kaleidoscope raised higher this time.
"Yes, summoning the 'wings' is a rare thing among Jurains, certainly among half-breeds. Meaning no offense of course; he most likely has more current potential than you or any of the others."
Ryoko cursed inward; he probably wouldn't be able to speak so softly if he didn't assume she was listening.
"Yet, his power is only relevant here in how it relates to you, in how you relate to him. You are no longer a tool, but you are still a warrior, and now the role of 'guardian' seems even more appealing. As I recall, the only thing that could quell the rather extensive rage you attacked me with-- -was Tenchi.
However bad this condescent was, it couldn't have been worse than meeting his eyes. She made herself sure.
"Just think; how much stronger a protector could you become? How much safer would Tenchi and his family be if you never had to worry about being ^overpowered^ by another Kagato---by another Seita?"
Extra delicacy stressed the term to its limits.
"Surely you never wanted to be just another 'normal earth girl'. And I doubt even that you'll be satisfied with your power 'if' Tenchi gives you your other gems back. Why do you think I am approaching you with this offer? Recruiting a backup plan is no flattery, but after all these centuries I have come across few mortal beings that could ever carry the flame as well as you could."
Seita's fingers began to detach themselves, floating up to form snowflakes, spider webs, and vulgar stain-glass abstracts. He spoke with more intensity, clearly knowing that Ryoko was watching the display and not likely to respond.
"It is you, Ryoko, your very design that makes you the perfect candidate. Realize. Accept. Down to the cell, perhaps further, your body was constructed to tap into and wield ^power^."
He slithered a grin around his finger dance over her face guard.
"Do you think Washu designed such capacities, such talents, to have ^tea parties^ ? For a 'daughter' why not make a quality lab assistant with a perfectly bulbous brain?"
A quick chuckle shook in his throat. Acrobatic fingers dismantled their interpretive play and resumed their positions as he crossed his arms with a satisfied breath.
"She obviously didn't want a successor...or any competition." He smiled through that she was once again illuminated by the sunset.
"But there's really no competition, is there? The professor could not contain me, and only your attacks have even sparked my interest. Clearly none were as qualified as you to rescue the old prince."
They locked eyes. Holding back, but hardening breaths were growing impossible. She finally found a cheap distraction with the pain in her hands. A blood-curdle passed through her briefly at a narrowing in Seita's characteristically calm stare. He looked at her slightly sideways and curled an index finger over his lips.
"Oh," he spoke again in mocking seduction, "I almost forgot. There ^is^ still some competition to be considered. Tell me Ryoko, while you're here, where are Tenchi---and Aeka?"
*She...
*Damn him! Damn him! Damn him! Damn her! Damn HIM! Damn EVERYTHING!
*NO! I can't lose it all now!
*I ^can't^ let him ^win^!
Intense and entire mental commands pulled her wide-eyed gaze downward, but she quickly glared back under her eyelids. Seita would and did only smile, closing his eyes with a serene breath.
"My dear student, that problem could be an easy first success. Your own under-exploited capacity for perception-projection---with a few hints, fewer hopes, and better faith you could take Tenchi on glorious vacations at the blink of a lovely eye. You could almost literally ^give him the world^."
An enormous star mural stippled behind him, making way for a Tenchi and a Ryoko to laugh together in mid-flight. Making the adjacent wall, a romance and a tranquility watched over them watching the sunset from a cliff face. Fading in across from that was an enlarged close up photo taken directly from Ryoko's mind. She looked at herself held lovingly in Tenchi's arms, wanting to scream in a million different ways.
First admiring his development, Seita glanced over and half-grinned at Ryoko's mixed horror.
"Whatever Tenchi desired, you could make him believe he already had. You could ^be^ his world, Ryoko. You could change yourself to anything and ^everything^ he wanted."
As he spoke the pirate in the oversized photo faded into more elegant, then even more sensual clothing. Her skin wavered out of tans. Hair changed shape, style, and color; starting black to brittle platinum, and slowly to a deep familiar purple.
"You could be his dream."
Her photo's body began to change.
"By the grace of ^your^ will ^his^ heart---could posses euphoria's maidenhead."
The Tenchi portrayed in the photo became no less happy with the more delicate and formally dressed fantasy in his arms.
"Even if you had to---'replace' something."
Ryoko sunk her fingers into her skull, screaming to the heavens too loudly to see them.
"SHUUUUUUT! UUUUUUUUUP!"
The scenery around them returned to nothing, absorbing even the coaches as Seita stood in dignified patience to what would have been rejection to anyone else. Ryoko swallowed her pain, preferring to gag rather than cough. She resigned onto the solicitor, not bothering to straiten out of a pouncing stance. Small globs of energy glowed between her claws.
"How to use this new capacity would be, as I mentioned, your decision. Feel free to suggest one of your own ideas and I will gladly see if it could be carried out." The slightest glare of agitation shone through a frayed edge in Seita's velvet presentation.
"Where's Yosho?" Spit wasn't supposed to catch light in a vacuum.
"Just a moment now, I've not yet finished expla-"
"WHERE!?"
Ryoko's hands rose up slightly, and settled again by force. Breaths would not slow the race and eyes would not starve the fire till someone was a smoke stain.
In the meantime someone looked down at her blankly. A moment of contemplation included a glance up to both sides, a softened face, and an apologetic moment of understanding.
"Hm. I assumed this setting would provide less distraction, how thoughtless of me. Situational anxiety is bad enough without environmental stress."
The Misaki shrine faded into view again; an eclipse ending just in time for sunset. Vain business was standing slightly below Ryoko again. After scanning the area without any head movements, she glared down at him, the energy still ready to burst from her hands.
"I should have known," Seita continued, "that an 'empty' room would only bring back unpleasant memories."
He looked out toward the last rays of the sun, calmly unconcerned but more likely oblivious to Ryoko's struggle into breath and out of her weapons.
"But on that note you should be comforted; once you've mastered and allied with true emptiness---even the greatest genius in the universe won't be able to construct a prison strong enough to hold you."
His voice solidified again, and he met her re-focusing rage with his own consuming depth.
"I don't think I need to tell you how rare an opportunity this is, to be offered a chance at a transcendence beyond anything that old man could conceive. If you could set aside your disagreements with my means, set aside the all too natural but ultimately unnecessary fear of oblivion's embrace-"
Ryoko felt herself begin to black out, but a dry and surreal nausea stabbed terrified adrenaline into every cell of her body. She knew a portal had opened up behind her. It hurt to whirl around so quickly while forming her sword, but it provided a small feeling of readiness, particularly when Seita's head emerged from the door precisely as she'd expected.
"-I could begin to endow you with an understanding of ^everything^."
The stressed word hissed in unnatural grandeur, washing over Ryoko like a post-sexual lust. Seita completed the offer just as his bare toes curled out over the edge of the portal. The excess of white made her glad for the imminent loss of sun, as she was too horrified to squint. He stood there with his arms out in a slight welcoming, dressed in loose white clothing, facing out with significantly less feminized and polished features. His hairless scalp caught the glow of her sword. Knowing she was as sober as she'd ever be, silent terror screamed in for Tenchi, then anyone.
"You see Ryoko, when faced with the 'blank'---'truth'---you're already holding up better than most anyone could. I'm offering you a chance at an achievement to surpass anything ever possible in or around existence. Don't flatter my 'cruel experiments' with your fear, come with your sword and take the trophy, the right to one day breathe ^infinity^ and ^perfection^."
Seita eagerly crossed one arm across his midsection and balanced his other elbow upon it, holding his hand out to would-be harmlessness. Wide sleeves over thin arms dangled in a breeze.
"Come inside Ryoko, understand what makes you so afraid and you will surpass it. At least spend a moment, go back and never return if you choose, but a moment, embrace oblivion for just a moment."
Easy to guess what had sharpened the gleam in his eyes, what was hiding in plain sight, easy and impossible to trust. The blue struck her like any clear liquid in her mother's lab: water or deadly chemical? Every instinct screamed that she was still facing something worse than Kagato could've dreamed himself into, however, the emotion, the thought, the intangible aura of ^something^ was imploding behind his impossibly peaceful gaze. A last grasp of defiance was too small to announce itself but just big enough to be noticed.
"You're obviously crazy," she stated simply with a pause only for herself, "but if you think I'd consider going in ^there^ with ^you^---well then you're just plain ^stupid^."
Seita's hand retracted over the other side of his midsection, and he looked down at the shrine below Ryoko's feet. His gaze traveled out and down towards the house as mature but overt disappointment lulled out of him.
"I see. You are still afraid of becoming an extension of another's will, again. I understand, of course, as well as any could."
He turned back to stare with a cruel imitation of melancholy. She ground her teeth again and let her sword dissipate, responding with her own imitation of a dignified guard.
"I doubt it."
To her near shock, Seita did not chuckle, or even smirk, yet he gradually displayed newfound capacity for a lack of expression.
"In that case, let me explain to you why I needed to come up here to have a little talk with the prince and the priest."
Ryoko's brow clenched slightly.
"Don't concern yourself with the ineffectiveness of his disguise. The point is that Yosho's decision to chase you down to this planet eventually affected me almost as much as it affected you. I had very complex and important plans for Jurai, and he inadvertently aborted ^them^ when he abandoned ^it^. He has helped to make amends for this though, and I have little more use of him or the family he has started here."
He leveled his gaze and allowed a thin sheet of sinister velvet to drag over his face.
"You might be interested to know that I did visit Kagato shortly after Yosho secured his martyrdom on Jurai, after all he was, once again, an almost equal agent of loss for me. I merely looked in on him at first, not wanting to be 'how intrusive' till I at least decided 'how upset' he was."
A quarter smile wiggled at the side of his mouth.
"There was some respectful curiosity regarding why he would be so anxious as to risk damaging his favorite weapon."
Overloading layers of golden rage went unnoticed while he continued, speaking down into his hand and a holographic replica of The Great Tree.
"He was naturally impatient for your return and his inability to locate you- --had predictable influence. This aside; by merely listening to a few oral journal entries and observing the material covering his work room I discovered something interesting."
Seita looked up from the tree as it disappeared.
"It seems Kagato actually believed the Jurain myth about Tsunami, that there was actually a being of immense power lurking in their great tree, that it possessed a supremely powerful ship and could travel between all dimensions of existence.
"I'm not sure how cognizant you were of this rather inconvenient mission of yours, but that was the booty Kagato wanted on Jurai."
Ryoko felt half a moment of murderous impulse when Seita rubbed his nose in a particularly mortal fashion. He looked towards the sky and spoke in near frustrated curiosity.
"Now, in seeing the depth of planning and study he went through, I began to wonder why he believed the key to the Jurai power lied in their icon. We were both men of science for as long as we knew each other, and I thought he'd surely have better results imitating frequencies than tracing colloquies.
"Needless to say I was intrigued, so I decided to further test the range of existence I could explore through oblivion." A significant lowness curled around Seita's throat as he continued this new explanatory story.
"I have given up the search and begun it again many times, discovering a number of 'interesting' things between the tedium. But, seemingly by accident, I did at last find something. And I did at least find someone."
Arched fingers provided a picture viewer that soon opened like a flower hinged at the thumb tips. Inside grew the head and shoulders of an exotic woman, her gold hair cascading around formal facial markings and eyes too important for one color.
"Ryoko, there is a rage that can surpass yours. No, not surpass, rather ^defy^. Yes, this---this 'being' defied everything the teachers told me I knew. But her ship didn't look Jurain, and indeed she certainly didn't act like their 'benevolent' Goddess."
Seita hugged himself and chuckled. The model picture looked up for the pirate's thoughts.
"Oh my, I still have trouble adequately making-eloquent our encounter," he began dressing the solemn nostalgia, "there's really no way to describe the fury she ^became^ when I invited myself into her chambers, carrying myself the way I do." He tilted his head at Ryoko in a weak joke, ignoring the increased absence of color in her face.
"Like a new kind of instinct, her condensing emotion was clearly fueled by an ancient fear; apparently she 'should' have had no trouble obliterating me with less than a gesture. I tried to initiate a session, but all she would offer were waves reserved for crushing galaxies."
The memory commanded him; an almost childish grin wavered beneath his eyes and their ancient grasp at 'timeless'.
"It was only when I finally got the chance to open an oblivion portal in her vicinity---then, then she stopped, and merely ^stared^. I'm still waiting to see that kind of disbelief again," he sighed silence, "might I be fortunate enough to experience anything so intensely."
Craftsmanship improved affection down into the tips of his nails as they combed through, subtly shaping the woman's hair.
"Her shock outlasted mine; thus fortunately thus formally I could introduce myself---my insights and my interests---my experience and my ambition. Perhaps I shouldn't have used so many names or so much honesty, but I was determined to incite a response, and prepared to bombard her with answers and questions till at last I was certain-"
She similarly ignored his thumb as it risked everything to caress her cheek unafraid.
"That she was not more than a being of over-whelming, yet still oh-vert power."
He combined admiration and anticipated disappointment thoughtlessly, gestating them as he stretched a dry corner of his bottom lip on a canine.
"There was quite a stalemate between us, we battled not so much with patience as with---with-" Seita pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled forcefully, looking back up only at Ryoko's feet, missing her simultaneous, if more subtle, loss of inflated composure.
"No, the only important thing is the one question she answered, the only words she would give me. I asked her where I could find Tsunami."
Making a confession, and speaking to himself, he waited for an interruption from without or an addition from within. He spread tense fingers over the bust and lifted it to his head, pulling out gold and glamour till the women was superimposed onto his body.
"And she told me---^'My sister has her own plans for the prince'^."
The feminine voice was pitiless cold to begin; Seita recreated this for the mask and impaled Ryoko with a grasp at death's authority. She was almost gracious when the 'being' ceased and the talking commenced.
"I wish I could do the encounter more justice," Seita continued in a calming tone just as the last golden hair was replaced with his own. The return of his idol's androgyny seemed more human now. Even as make-up lines slug-trailed across his face, and serpents curled round his throat, he retained his empty white uniform.
"But you'll just have to trust that it was enough, at the time, to re- motivate me. I inarguably could no longer give two ageless men anything but frequent observation, looking in on both Kagato and Yosho while we all tried to build ourselves up."
The serpents tightened their metal scales, asphyxiating his face and rubbing his voice raw.
"But as I am still far from immortality, I am even farther from omnipresence. So! I return from a rather average session, away for only a year, and I find that Yosho's little grandson has been quite busy, what with school, and freeing you, and ^killing Kagato^!"
Ryoko absently wondered, between terrors, if sarcasm could ever look pretty again.
"And thus," Seita snapped back into calm, "you can imagine my surprise. Looking in on earth again only to see The Emperor of Jurai facing his son the savior for the first time in 700 years."
He narrowed his stare, breaking ice concentration into clouds of cutting sand, easily ignoring Ryoko's lingering reaction to Tenchi's latest little title. A simple sigh rolled out of him as he shook his head at some shorter third party to the side.
"And after all I've done for my search, for my work," he looked back up, hoping to share a memory of their earlier encounters, "I only make moderate progress."
Blue forgot itself to a darkening sky-search as gold nearly forgot to hold back another wave of nausea. Oblivion had stretched a little wider.
"Perhaps I'll find irony in it yet, that I trusted my insight so much when analyzing her tone." Seita tilted his head back.
"When she referred to 'her sister' I was certain she was doing so with the hopes that ^one of us^ would finally be meeting our match." He chuckled to the stars' first impressions as they rushed out the last auras of sun. "For some reason I never considered she might have been only entertaining me."
The good humor drained from Seita's voice word by word, Ryoko expected him to blow into his fists to combat some private chill. When he cracked his knuckles instead, she hoped it would drown out the sound of gulping her breath back to life. Lowering her eyes seemed like the only way to hide the single thought screaming more than its share of space.
*Sasami...He doesn't know!
"It still strikes me as odd though, that I could do so much to the displaced children of Jurai, without even a ^whisper^ of a 'sister'." Something like finality drifted down into his hands as they took their time forming the perfect arch. Ryoko stared at them as well; anything to avoid his face, suddenly wanting nothing so much as for him to disappear into his hole again.
"If you're still concerned about the old man---" The pause turned out to be a stop and a reflexive tone change.
"Ryoko?"
She looked up against a raging minority of will, begging for anything to fight everything that held up that single eyebrow and its deathly serious curiosity.
"Ryoko, ^you^ wouldn't know anything about either of these 'sisters', would you?"
For a moment the pores on her face stopped moving. She bit down on metal and bent broken fingers back into their sockets, prompt and short-lived as this interruption.
"Why don't you ask a tree?"
Surprised and elated with her comparatively prompt response, she held her confidence with almost to stop the drain. This portal was just a hole; this was just a reminder. Just another thousand to go. It had to be a good sign for Seita's own half-grin to be struggling with its own predictability.
He looked down. Ryoko watched his nose line up over his upper lip as he polite seceded to satiate any more bitter a failure or victory.
"Life. Lies."
Before Ryoko could wonder at a grasp at the source of this response, Seita lifted his eyes and spoke again in traditionally tailored uniform.
"But at least you're still destructive, and I'm still stupid. Another question you could answer; is it even possible to have two consciousnesses within oblivion? I often wonder if there might be a ^vulnerable^ place for me after all.
"I can feel your rage Ryoko---like a film on my fingers. You would rather erase, rather replace than succeed me. This could very well be the only opportunity, the only chance to face The Ghost of Madness on equal ground."
Seita's taunting hiss curled out thinly, trying to wire in any would-be attacks. Almost everything stepped backward into the portal, nothing more than a face phased through a white wall.
"What?" Ryoko growled despite herself.
"You are obviously still consumed with the idea of personally destroying me. For any reason, perhaps you could...from within oblivion."
She wanted to clutch her skull, squeeze out more courage and hopefully some way to properly reject this ludicrous and painfully appealing invitation. Words came in half-conscious rambles, crawling through and crushing together to form enough material.
"I don't need to worry about that; people like you never---people like you never get to see it coming, but they always get it."
Swallowing anger and chewing it again, Ryoko absorbed the juices. It felt good to savor her words so devilishly, but she'd be damned before she enjoyed this.
"Nobody needs to destroy you, but somebody will."
Foreseeable and just as appropriate, Seita smiled, phasing his arms through the white wall, ready to form a limp arch with his hands at any moment. Hearing his voice without any affectation greater than calming resentment, it made Ryoko scream herself back into a block of ice.
"Do you promise," he tilted his head slightly not to miss a cell of her face, "would you forgive," tilting back the other way, "can you self- preserve mercy and cruelty together," tilting up into closing eyes, "and wield the power left in their wake?"
Too much, there was only one way for drawing it out; Ryoko checked her hands, looked into them of her own will, for her own will. She had to know that being touched by him without any feeling was real, that it did not assert his control. It seemed almost kind then, in context, for him to flag her back to war with a handkerchief wave of sinister velvet.
"Eloquence finds you after all, indeed I never took you for much of an artist." The near then nearing casual tone suggested something up his sleeve directly before he reached up his sleeve. "So you can imagine my surprise when I found this."
The first and only dared drawing pulled open at the edges like a tiny and expendable telegram.
"It's very quaint, but I still have to ask: who ^is^ this anyway?" He rotated it a few degrees in each direction, a mildly confused and bluntly insulting reaction. "Ah well, must not be too important."
Tiny paper squares floated down to the Masaki courtyard, pieces of an old receipt with confidential information. Pirate's gold watched them with stroke-opened eyes, hardly hearing empty blue sprinkle unenthusiastic mixing directions over the final ingredients.
"No more time for illusions or victims. Your warden and your savior never left the office, it remains to be seen whether they end up as martyrs, or quitters."
One last bit of paper stuck to his fingertip and he flicked it off before it caught in his arch. Acceptance and finality, and Ryoko could not breath a memory of whether she wanted him departed, deceased, or worse.
"I can only hope there are more interesting trees and carpenters on the next planet."
The oblivion portal, quiet-polite, swallowed Seita away. No wind to stir Ryoko's hair or the six poorly colored, and slightly malformed, pieces of confetti beneath her. She lost altitude without half the cheer of a deflating balloon, feet bending and slowly collapsing the rest of her body so that the ground barely noticed. A robot low on batteries followed its program just the same; each piece of liter must be collected carefully. Hands cupped just in case the wind decided to return. So much maybe change and would-be comfort came panting and hollering up the shrine steps.
"GRANDPA!---RYOKO!" The names came closer together between strained bonds, but stopped mute or dead as Tenchi stared incredulously at the woman kneeling in the wrong direction for prayer.
"Ry-Ryoko!" His throat to dry to choke, he scrambled over and nearly fell to his knees next to her. After a painful swallow of too little saliva, he leaned forward on both hands with both eyes almost out of everything but weak shouts.
"Ryoko! Ryoko, what happened!? Where's grandpa?!"
His mouth hung open on a last gulp, wider than was necessary. Whoever more fearfully, he placed his hand on her shoulder.
She wailed like a small animal normally unable to make sounds at all. Tenchi stumbled back on his rump while Ryoko clutched and trembled both hands over her chest. A few tiny whimpers huddled inward at his next gulp.
"^Ryoko^."
He whispered for memory, dazed desperation trying to replace an unbelievable present with any fondness the past might spare. The silence continued, drawing more recognition onto Tenchi's nearly soaked canvass. Soon no balanced critique could deny the lopsided distance forming between them.
Instinct and luck must have pulled everything's vision towards the office entrance. A late and half an early breath sounded like 'grandpa' or 'oh no', but both were quickly buried as he sprinted towards the new entranceway.
By Ryoko's unchanged posture who would have known her desperately anonymous prayers had been answered? Tenchi had left her. She continued to read into trembling palms even after the pieces of delusion faded away.
***
^Tenchi Muyo: Sanctuary and Asylum^
-Verse Eight is Martyr-
-Part 4-
Innocence, sacred and futile---measure the deepest deceit.
Paradise, forsaken and brutal---show the invulnerable incomplete.
-ZJS
***
Noboyuki's room was almost nerd neat, only a few books out of line, center dresser drawer pinching out a white wrinkle. Scuffs and scratches along a honey stained desk were all too well dusted to be obscured by paper scatter. A few loving faces propped themselves up in stainless angles and stood up for bric-a-brac. Immaculate carpeting, tense for lack of traffic, shimmered in sterile glass sunlight. The ceiling fan hummed along around pleasantly, dissipating some of the noxious odor and circulating the rest.
Yosho's thin white sheet clung to his emaciated body, gray and heavy with sweat. The closet mirror doubled the room back on itself, helping him strike the perfect dearly departed pose if he'd just move his other hand in place. No one would notice the slighted breathing if they weren't looking for it.
"Grandpa?" Tenchi whispered through the creak of the door.
A wheeze caught in the old throat and retired.
"I've got some soup for you."
He kept his eye on the tray as he entered, closing the door behind him with his elbow, curtsying to ease the latch down and in. Steady steps and he was beside the bedside. Through the soup steam his grandfather looked like a won-ton dumpling, wet doughy wrinkles with a few pinches of meat inside. Tenchi kept looking. His jaw set against stone and his neck shrunk back, eyes too frozen and clear for water. A few stubborn hairs of dust floated through the sunlight and, he imagined, wormed their way straight into his grandfather's lungs, but if he tried to catch them now the soup would get cold. Tenchi kept looking.
"Are you awake grandpa?" In a loud whisper restrained emotion can scream.
Age breathed and youth swallowed in equal silence.
Balancing the tray on his left hand with more strength than necessary, Tenchi bent to the table cabinet. An artillery of prescriptions, some fired and some duds, were moved one by one into neat little rows farthest from the bed. There was still not enough room, so the empty ones were stacked on top of the fat ones till they could be recycled.
"I'll just leave it here." Caretaker Masaki whispered to himself, still hoping to be heard.
Once the tray was within reach, once the napkin was refolded, and once the tray was readjusted to be perfectly parallel with the cabinet's edge, Tenchi bent down to the other bedside commodity. His grandfather's vomit was a thin pink, a perfect compliment to the dark blue plastic bucket. It was normally used to wash the van, but he looked at it like it wasn't there as he picked it up and carried it into his father's bathroom.
Water moved and he returned. While replacing the bucket in its shallow carpet indentation, the caretaker let his patient returned into his more silent and still undivided attention. He didn't notice the reopened door till Washu took a step through it.
"What's his status?"
Startled and solemn again in less than a over the shoulder glance, Tenchi offered a weak smile from his frozen crouch. Washu kept her eyes on Yosho, walking in with all the dignity her injuries and adult form would allow. She'd been afforded a sort of diagonal balance through the padded casts on her right wrist and left ankle, better, not to mention, the brace around her ribs. Everyone had needed to learn quickly how to keep eyes on her face, but the wall plaster on the other side of the bed was still more inviting.
"The bucket was less than half full again, so I'm giving him the same soup." Plain flavor; Tenchi answered.
"What about his pan?"
"I---was--justabouttodothat."
"I'll take care of it, go-" Washu started cold, rethinking the end of her sentence till Tenchi thought she might leave it at that, "go see if Sasami needs any help with dinner."
She could have done better, but didn't seem to care. Tenchi stood next to her while they looked down at the bed.
"Please. Thank you." She excused herself and dismissed him with equal and minimal courtesy.
Tenchi reached the doorway and stopped, speaking formally into his left shoulder.
"Miss Washu, I really think we should take him back to the hospital. I know they probably would have called us if they'd made any progress, but maybe if we took him to a different specialist-"
"No."
The mechanical sound made him turn around in what he hoped was misunderstanding.
"Miss Washu?"
"I said no, Tenchi. I still can't believe I let you take ^me^ to that barbaric place. No, the last thing he needs is the stress and the exposure to more germs. We've already given him enough of Ryo-oh's sap to make him stick to the wall, I doubt those 'doctors' could do any better."
"But-"
"I've told you the only explanation that makes sense, Tenchi. We're doing all we can till I can get my lab fully operational again."
Tenchi took a breath for a retort, but gave it back. In a few heavy steps he was closing the door behind him with more stealth than likely needed. Washu strained superior and heard him mumble to himself, but could only make out the words 'the time'.
The strength of his posture hid the atrophy pulling Tenchi's eyes onto the floor beneath his feet. The emptiness in her cheeks challenged the anxiety in her walk as Aeka kept her gaze just high enough to avoid low obstacles. They made their way into the living room with all the slow certainty of blind men at home, looking up at the sound of each other.
"Good afternoon Lord Tenchi, I just made some tea, would you like some?" The princess asked, one mourning servant to another.
"Yes, thank you." Tenchi answered in kind.
He sat down on the couch with all the comfort of a cold bus-stop bench, glancing at the dead television like a slow clock. Disinterested reflex passed back towards the kitchen and Aeka. She placed the tea tray down and sat next to him rather than across or adjacent; this rare occasion made him pay extra close nerves to the cups, and to her hands.
They blew on their tea, looked into it, and blew again.
"How is he?" Aeka asked her puddle reflection.
"He-" Tenchi swallowed, then tried again with some tea, then ignored the burn. "He liked the soup, so I gave him some more."
They exchanged a few sips in silence. Tenchi glanced at Aeka watching her tea. Aeka glanced at him trying not to watch her.
"Sorry I overslept today," Tenchi began with forced casualness, "I didn't get to see dad, how is he?"
"Pleasant," Aeka answered pleasantly, "but he still seemed very tired."
She sipped at the responding sigh.
"He's not getting enough sleep. That cot he has in the office just isn't good for him." The negativity in his face overreacted to a lecturing tone.
"I agree. I keep suggesting that he try the couch instead." Aeka offered in collective support.
Tenchi's face relaxed, then kept relaxing, till his anxiety wrinkled outward in equal excess. Aeka failed not to notice, and fully hid her eyes behind her bangs. It took longer for her to break the silence again.
"I---I believe he does not want to behave as if Mihoshi were not coming back at any minute." The extension of support stretched to its limits. Tenchi let it connect and sink in.
"I take it you haven't heard any word from her."
"I'm afraid not, neither Ryo-oh or the guardians have received any messages."
With an increasing weight in his jaw, then throat and stomach, Tenchi reached to warm up his still steaming tea.
"Where's Sasami?"
Aeka raised her head, and looked toward the room she shared with her sister. If her own eye-bags weren't still weighing her down, Tenchi would have cleared the way for a mad dash.
"She's taking a nap," Aeka breathed and forced her attention back to her tea, "I think the change in weather is making her groggy."
"Yeah, I think I know how she feels. They say it's going to be a really hot summer."
"It isn't already?" Aeka failed to return his weak delivery of weak conversation.
Tenchi roughly massaged his cup, recognizing and sharing the necessary evil in not losing touch keeping watch over the younger princess every second of the day. It should have helped more, he thought then tried not to.
"Have you received any news from Washu?" Aeka crossed passivity.
"She...still won't let me take him to another doctor, but I'm hoping she'll be able to do a better analysis soon. Of course, she doesn't know when her lab will be ready."
Extending silence made Tenchi look up at her for longer and longer increments.
"Do you really want to know, Your Highness?"
Washu's impersonal voice yanked their attention into the hallway. She was already within a few strides of the couch, uninterested in Tenchi's enduring fascination with her stealth.
"Excuse me?" Aeka asked with almost genuine misunderstanding.
"Do you really want to know your brother's status?"
"Washu, I-" Tenchi's attempt at concerned disapproval didn't make it off the ground.
"I'm sorry Tenchi, but I can only stand misinformation for so long." Washu finished for him without taking her focus off Aeka.
"Misinformation? What---what are you talking about?" She widened her eyes at Washu then tried to deepen them at Tenchi. He had already hung his head. Some loose split ends needed to be set back behind her ear before science could take its rightful place.
"Princess Aeka, even with my grossly limited equipment, I can safely hypothesize that your brother has not contracted any sort of infection, nor has he been poisoned."
Aeka's clenched brow narrowed wide eyes slightly, but her parting lips covered the difference.
"What?"
"Most life forms have the equivalent of a central command organ for all their biological functions, usually a 'brain'. They function automatically whether it's a psychological reaction to a physical stimulus---or a physical reaction to psychological stimulus."
Information paused but did not bring up a visual display or even clear her throat. Accustomed to professional presentation, royalty couldn't help but notice when the speaker began to scratch the cast on her wrist.
"As you likely recall, Seita could directly influence perception, this could only be possible by directly influencing the brain. Not to be inappropriate, but you probably haven't forgotten that his ability to project false stimuli somehow gave him some additional access to involuntary bodily functions."
Washu's lips kept moving too quickly for Aeka's to finish retreating.
"It should actually come as little surprise that such automatic functions as processing sensual stimuli and responding to small shifts in organ chemistry be carried out similarly."
Aeka's eyes had begun to drift back down to the bandages again as Washu gradually removed more emotion from her voice. The next cast-scratching pause gave her the perfect chance for a meek interruption.
"^Are you saying---that he can make us^-"
Tenchi wondered for a moment if Washu had even heard her be predictable.
"I considered that. Perhaps he can introduce, or imitate, a message to the brain to make it believe the body has been infected, but this is unlikely. It seems far more probable that Yosho introduced the necessary message himself."
Tenchi could hear Aeka's head jerk upward, but he kept his own focus on his knees.
"My guess is that your brother is perpetuating his own affliction. If the message of a specific sickness had been introduced artificially, then in addition to the symptoms there would also be the counteractive measures taken by his body. There are none, hence the rapid decline.
"His brain believes it has the symptoms of an affliction and it responds in turn. There has been a fairly adequate amount of research done on the mind's influence on the body's homeostasis; the idea of a disease can often have more of an impact than the disease itself.
"'If' the theories are correct, then Seita is either continuing to convince Yosho that he has these symptoms or has found a way for him to keep convincing himself. In my opinion the latter is the most likely, and your brother has been given a powerful suggestion rather than a potent poison."
"But-but how could he do that?" Aeka trembled. Tenchi watched her hands grip the fabric of her kimono and he felt them in his stomach.
"If his powers of persuasion hypertrophy, as they seem to, then after all this he can likely do almost anything he wants."
Again, Washu was speaking to herself as much as anyone else. She seemed to realize this at roughly the same moment she recognized the scratching position of her hands. With dignified robotic closure, she lifted her head and hid her hands behind her back.
"But if the ^former^ explanation for my hypothesis is true, then he could be doing so right now."
Tenchi had never heard hopelessness grow in Washu's voice, but unsettling as it was the rapid decay into apathy sounded even more chilling.
"That is the status as of now, as it has been. I'm going to my lab now."
She turned.
"Washu!" Aeka stood up from the couch too quickly to straighten her back, the desperate gasp paralyzed.
The tallest woman turned back with the same apathy, now hardly dignified.
"But what---what can we do? Will he recover?"
"He is showing very little tendency to stabilize, and no sign of improvement. Tenchi was right; I cannot make any more predictions till I've made extensive reconstructions in my lab."
Washu turned again, and closed the closet door before anyone could call out to her again. Extended minutes passed, and neither of them tried to speak.
Tenchi punished himself with looks at Aeka's face, and threatened that he might only see it again from this restrained angle. He ran his hands through his hair roughly, apologizing for his and every other living person's failures.
"Aeka. Im sorry. I-"
"Lord Tenchi."
It was her diplomatic voice, that desperately intimidating composure. Somehow she simultaneously hid and focused all of her anxiety, just as she often did when apologizing to him. She was too upset now to waver.
"Thank you for considering my welfare."
He looked over, and was nearly helpless. Their eyes locked in a perfect exchange of guilt and disappointment.
"I appreciate your concern, but I am not a child."
She would consume him, yet was somehow glowing with enough pity for both of them.
"In the future, please do not keep anything from me. I try not to keep anything from you. I-"
Something inside the palace broke as soon as it could into tiny searing shards; Aeka's eyes did not widen dramatically, but every inch of exposed skin visibly clenched. Dumbly, Tenchi watched as she averted her face to implode to escape if need be. She quickly relinquished the privilege of breath, clutching the robes above her knees again.
"I-"
It hardly seemed possible that even a Jurain could shiver so much. He lost his own throat as understanding gave everywhere and guilt took everything. Aeka flew and fell onto his torso, clutching it with weak and desperate fingers. The sobs were supposed to be wails, but there simply wasn't enough control left.
Slowly and unsure and even Tenchi could complete the task of maneuvering without maneuvering them so that he could hold her and stroke her hair. Still unable to speak, he tried to calm his own heartbeat, tried to think of things resembling comfort. The best he could get for a while was a distraction; Aeka felt so very soft and delicate. Her hair smelled the same and better than ever, and he was almost hesitant to do anything but pull her closer when he finally regained enough of his throat to reassure them both.
***
Outdoor chores were finished at dusk and in time to pass on to the shrine patrons that 'sweeping was good for the soul'. He was happy to see his house in the distance and quickened his pace despite the mild exhaustion. Soon enough he noticed Ryoko sitting on the roof. The closer he got, the slower he walked, and the more unnerved he became that he could not tell if she were watching him or not. When he came within shouting distance it clenched his stomach to wonder if she had even seen him. Only through gold could there be any invested interest. He tried not to show that he saw her once within usual pouncing distance, but had to keep returning his eyes to the path in front of him. Two steps away from being able to see her without dramatically arching his neck, he stopped and made eye contact. He hoped he looked more concerned than afraid.
The distance he'd felt that day at the shrine was still growing, but maybe distance wasn't the right term; something was being blocked or cut off. She still looked so afraid that she simply couldn't care anymore and it made him want to scream till he went hoarse, and he might have, but it might be more important to surgically removing his stomach first. Their eye contact lasted all of a cough before Ryoko's face dragged downward and phased away like an illusion. It was a different feeling than the one he remembered from her appearance at his school, and different from the one he got when the ghost of his mother turned out to be Seita, but at that moment both belonged in the same file. He didn't know why, and didn't want to think about it.
***
Dinner that evening included no conversation to speak of. The fanning heat had turned into a miserable humidity net, but complaints sounded more like observations. After making sure the kitchen was nearly blinding in some places most everyone had set out to let in as much air as they could. There were a few yawns between the goodnights.
Tenchi tried to at least lie still in complete silence without his breathing and complete darkness without the intense moon. Grandfather's teachings swirled in his mind just as relentlessly. Knowledge all began to sound the same after an hour or so. The only lesson that endured was the ability to be a part of his environment. Perception, sensitivity, he felt every gentle fiber of his sheets, and he could taste the anxiety in his home all the way down the back of his sandy throat. It was too damned humid, but he still needed a glass of water.
He didn't bother tiptoeing, or even walking slowly. The large windows in the living room let in plenty of light and but Ryoko wasn't maintaining a cover snore. Almost thankfully, his glance traveled up to where he pictured her sleeping with her face in her arms, then no longer relieved or ready, he drifted back down to linger on the couch. With a dissatisfied and almost authoritative frown, he resolved to get his father out of the study and into the living room for a good night's rest, no snoring tonight so no arguments.
Then he resolved to do it after he had his glass of water, thinking that the couch had not reminded him Mihoshi, or Seita, glad for a self-defeating moment. It was hard to drink during near spasms of panicking rage, deep breaths helped as soon as he could breathe.
On his way out of the kitchen Tenchi noticed his father sitting out on the back porch with a bottle of sake at his side. Slightly bent over, Nobuyuki's drab tan shirt almost looked like a grain bag. Despite the fact that portliness didn't run in his family, Tenchi had to reconsider telling him this as an icebreaker. He merely sat down on the opposite side of the bottle and looked up at the sky.
"This really isn't the best way to get to sleep, ya know." Nobuyuki spoke in quieted and pure fatherly affection as he poured some sake for his son.
Forgetting how to hesitate, Tenchi took it, drained it, and returned it. He noticed that there were two other unused saucers by the bottle, but didn't know whether to think of 'absent-minded' or 'optimistic'. Even though his father used the same saucer-cup for himself and offered it back to him, he still drank to the more comforting latter.
"Whatever ^else^ you've done hasn't worked." Like father, like returning with the same dry sarcasm.
"I'm fine, what kind of Japanese would I be if I didn't sleep in an office from time to time?"
Tenchi grinned and assumed his father could feel it.
"Do you think you might go back to school before the semester's over?"
"I don't know."
The solemn answer killed the undead party. When the sake came back towards Tenchi he began to shake his head, then lower it, then clutch it. Nobuyuki put the tools aside and continued staring out at the fields. He remained equally mundane and serene while his son pulled open and let go with an iron jaw. A smoke throat balanced frank and frightened to almost hide slow tears.
"What did I bring into our house dad? I can't even think about how long it might take for things to be normal around here again, which---which is stupid because I know they never will."
Even when drinking for sorrow it was rude to gulp so loud
"I have to keep thanking you for understanding why I don't want to give any details. It's not just that it's hard; it is, but I don't want to give you any more stress than you already have. I've put you through enough."
An exhaled chuckle puffed out and drifted into a near sob, but Tenchi kept fighting to say something valuable.
"Dad, I can't tell you how sorry I am, all this, all this madness I've brought into your house. You've been so supportive, and so---damn it you ^don't deserve this^!"
Tenchi started breathing in exhaustion to dry out the sobs, his wind began to waver but it afforded him some level of control. Nobuyuki picked up and reopened the sake after a few minutes of letting his son re-contain himself. Middle-aged nasal goofball and all, his voice was then so entirely ^him^ that it could have sounded right speaking anything, even fatherly advice.
"You know, your mother believed that ^everybody^ always got ^exactly^ what they deserved," he paused to recap the sake, "just like her father." Grabbing the dishes, he stood without looking down on his son. "I like to believe the same thing."
Tenchi breathed it in and thought he might have smiled, standing to follow slowly but shortly after.
Nobuyuki left the screen door open and Tenchi entered through it like an archway.
Glass sang half a note as the liquor bottle settled on the coffee table. The couch played half a chord as the man of the house made himself comfortable.
"Sleep well, son."
"You too, dad."
***
Sasami's sleeping face nuzzled her pillow tenderly. Loose hair nearly covered as much of her body as the sheets. Random eye movement coordinated a rising smile.
---
"Wow Ryo-ohki, have you ever seen so many flowers!?" Sasami asked as she spun around in the endless sea of petals. Her companion raised a pair of ears like a periscope nearby and began circling Sasami like a dolphin rather than a shark.
"I wonder how we got here, there doesn't seem to be any trails," She settled to scratching her chin quizzically. Ryo-ohki emerged beneath her feat with a happy meow. The colorful pollen that had accumulated on her fur made Sasami bend a giggle to dust it away.
"Hmm, I'd like to run around with you Ryo-ohki, but there are so many flowers I couldn't even walk without stepping on them." Sasami mused sadly.
The perfect pet leapt from too clingy cleaning hands. As she landed the flowers around her promptly closed and retreated back into the ground, leaving a blank patch of soil. Small steps bounded ahead a few feet, the flowers in her path continuing to regress. Sasami marveled at the trail being passively mowed in front of her.
"Hey Ryo-ohki, that's neat!" The little pathfinder stopped a few yards away and turned to meow encouragement. Trust fun giggled and took a step forward.
"So which way are we going," she asked enthusiastically.
The cabbit tossed back another meow to follow and began to steadily clear more ground. For a moment Sasami felt the urge to reexamine her surroundings for a more logical direction, but following her friend seemed as natural as breathing. Any further progress should, indeed, be taken in confidence that she was being led to something fun. Sasami almost reveled after a while.
---
As The Second Princess of Jurai rose, her bed warmer woke from a nestled position in the sheets, blinking away the sleep weakly to see first Sasami, then, after another blink, a gigantic carrot shuffling away. Ryo- ohki yawned and returned to her own dream with a contented purr. Dainty toes walked wearily but with comparatively good coordination to be working with closed eyes. As she exited the room Aeka turned over and continued her faint snoring, sleeping better with the door open for circulation.
---
The flowers retreated at right angles where Ryo-ohki had taken seemingly random turns, making the path more geometric than most. For a moment Sasami wondered if the path was being made for her friend rather than by her friend. Regardless then, she imagined someone being able to see a design from high above and giggled at the possibilities.
---
The soft slap of bare feet on the floor was not enough to resurrect exhausted architecture. Sasami didn't know that Tenchi had let himself leave the screen ajar, but walked outside anyway.
---
Such bright sunshine on the prairie made her wonder why she was feeling a chill fighting through humidity. She rubbed her arms and shrugged. Ryo-ohki began to move faster, Sasami laughed and gave chase. The soft dirt beneath her feet became oddly itchy but they both continued on at the same pace regardless, never venturing off course, priding the stretch of their path rather than worrying about its final length.
---
Sasami's young reflection approached the edge of the lake. Her jerky sleep-stride would have mirrored a ravenous zombie had she not such a sweet and happy expression on her face.
---
Ryo-ohki stopped without turning. The still second place princess slowed and stood a few feet behind her friend and gathered confusion all around her. Flower Sea still stretched endlessly; in fact she frowned when she saw that their path had re-grown behind her. Her full uncertainty returned as her guide turned around in the short rectangle of bare dirt between them and meowed happily, eyes closed, head tilted.
"This is weird Ryo-ohki." One little person's little fear went a long way.
Her friend didn't answer but remained completely still and silent as every single flower in sight closed and snaked back into the ground. The overwhelming retreat made Sasami gape in amazement. In a fairytale rainbow of seconds the endless colors had transformed into nothing but blue sky and less than dead dirt. Although she could feel a slight breeze, not a single pinch of dust stirred.
---
Not the picturesque moon, not a decorative window; a white hole delivered Seita onto the shore with a soft crunch of sand. He parted his hand arch, dividing the snake gracefully enough to watch two halves squirm, one ready behind him, and one up to Sasami's ear. The princess's eyes fluttered distress at her dream till someone tore her out of it with a loud snap of his fingers.
---
Ryo-ohki chewed and wrestled in a tangle of sheets, the roots of her dreams giving her more than enough trouble. The joyous struggle eventually carried fantasy over the edge of the bed and onto the floor with a soft thud. Aeka's eyes fluttered open wearily at the noise, but she decided to remain asleep. Ryo-ohki spat out a crumple of sheets and yawned a meow loud enough to make the princess take notice of the ship, then the empty bed behind her. Humidity lost to the chill.
"Sasami?"
---
The abrupt change swayed the pig tales over Sasami's wobble till she rubbed her eyes back into balance. With a sleepy groan she grabbed at the sudden cold on her arms then jerked a stark expression every which way then forward.
"How did I...^Seita^!" Crouched to meet her face to face, gasp to grin, he gently took Sasami's hands in his own.
"Did you miss me, princess?"
Somehow, amid a steady boil of unnamable and consuming nervousness, she managed to specifically look surprised that he didn't use her first name.
---
Aeka possessed herself with every rush of air before bursting into Tenchi's room.
"SASAMI!" Her second hair cover came undone at such a yell and such a valiant attempt to search every corner at once. Tenchi exploded from sleep and nearly fell out of bed.
"Aeka, what's going on?" Scraping the rust from his eyes almost slurred him.
"Tenchi, I can't find Sasami!"
She wailed, digging him by the shoulders and nearly watering him by the face. Landscapes aside, but within infinitely more seconds than they could afford, both headed down the stairs with Ryo-ohki close behind them. Tenchi shout-pounded on the closet door.
---
The moon's reflection dissolved passively in the lake ripples, yet its brilliance still made the golden strands draped about Seita's head seem merely yellow. His smile fell lifeless as Sasami timidly pulled her hands away and took a small step back.
"What's going on Seita, how did I get out here?" She asked uneasily, beginning to rub her arms again.
"You know Sasami, in theory, sleepwalkers do get more exercise." Cleverness offered comfort.
"And where's everybody else?" Not hearing the offer, she looked around even more anxiously for any other sign of life.
"They'll come looking for you soon enough. Why do you ask?" Softness haunted circles around his voice, making her take her time to look at him again.
"You've been gone e-e-ever...ever since Tenchi's grandfather got sick, and every time I ask about you they get all serious and tell me I have to call them right away if I see you...or-or hear you. What's---," Sasami's fear made her look at the ground and twiddle with her hair. "Are they mad at you?"
A heightened awareness stood slowly into quiet orbit, listening to the rustle of black cotton over black leather and ivory synthetic under lavender faux fur, listening to his bones. The rest was background like the back of his hand; lake and wind ripples just gathering leaves, and every blade of grass was the same cut of air.
Sasami watched his gaze sweep the field. He was so tall that he probably couldn't even see her with his head level, but with the skylights behind him his eyes could have been blue or black or blind glass. Even when he closed them she wasn't sure if he was listening to the all he could hear. When he breathed deep it was always obvious by the stretch of his chest, and this time when he looked back down she knew he could see his whole shadow covering her. Everything was so still in his face for so long that when he swallowed, even if it wasn't nervousness, it stood out as much as his breath.
The little princess took another step back and clutched at the oversized T-shirt that was trying to billow above her bare legs, holding it down with the lump in her throat.
"But why?" It was hard to hear her own voice and if she blinked she might cry, or maybe something worse.
Though she really needed to wet her eyes soon, when Seita took an arm's reach step forward they locked wider open. Having never heard the sinister velvet before, she couldn't tell it was laced, striped with dreamy ceremony.
"Because I said so."
---
"Where is she Washu?!" Aeka howled as she took hold of the scientist's collar. Washu had barely entered the living room when the pounce came. She winced from the pain interrogating her injuries.
"Aeka, calm down! Washu's still hurt." Tenchi selflessly tried to sooth Aeka's anxiety with his own.
When The First Princess took both hands away they were shaking so weakly it was a wonder they'd ever held anything. Lowering her head held her throat in place, but her voice almost seemed the same.
"^Please---please help us find her^."
Nothing left to give than what they wanted; Washu glanced over Aeka's head, through Tenchi, and slowly to her right. The open screen door invited in a breeze; it politely removed a petal from the flowers Sasami had set in water and tossed it at their feet.
---
From red to white, the trembling skin under Sasami's fingers would be turning purple soon. It sounded as pitiful as it looked.
"W-W-What are you talking about?"
Looking up at the sky now, she could see more of his eyes as he searched the stars for falling, hiding things. The velvet evaporated so soothingly that it would have been forgotten if it could.
"Did you have many friends back on Jurai, princess?"
"Huh?" Momentary confusion watered down fear.
"Apart from your parents, is there anybody else who misses you?"
It felt good to finally be able to look at the ground, and even better to close her eyes, almost surprising she didn't cry and answered in a reflex mumble.
"I guess not."
"Still, do you think we become friends with people, or just our perceptions of them?"
She caught herself before she looked back up and brought her head down even lower, her answer sounding the same, though not a reflex and not entirely honest.
"I---don't know what you mean."
"Let's put it another way; picture Tenchi, good, kind, honorable. Tenchi. What if the same person you saw as him no longer acted the same, if he behaved totally different? Would you still consider Tenchi to be your friend?" When seducing a jury Seita did not pace, he only looked at the ground and rocked back a little on his heels.
Her tears felt natural, but impossibly more afraid. And although her voice wasn't reflexing any more it was even harder to move. Forcing herself to answer before something worse she accidentally forced her head back up to see him looking directly over her. A few strands of gold almost touched.
"That won't happen, Tenchi's my family, everyone else too. We'll---we'll love each other forever."
Everything in her face hurt, and it was starting to feel like her arms were frozen or missing for holding them so tight so long.
Chuckles jerked in Seita's neck like a series of rapid grunts as he stepped back and bowed slowly forward with his hands firmly behind him. He lifted his head eye to eye, glare to stare, malevolence making the ever-soft face seem like it should be creased, carved, and gray like a tyrant's corpse.
"Only ^Nothing^ last forever."
---
Emeralds were moldy rocks as Washu watched Tenchi follow close behind the princess's mad dash, the partially open screen door barely stayed on track. The footfalls then the bellows faded and she walked slowly into Nobuyuki's room, never lifting her face from the floor till she came to Yosho's side. The old man's sickly form remained unchanged as she stood over him, watching his breaths.
*Ryoko?
She listened to every splinter of the no response, experiencing up from the roof shingles to the sake, mentally squinting to see her daughter's knees up close.
*Did you see her leave?
After the first agony spark Washu reflexed the connection a little thinner.
"No, of course you didn't."
Defeat hurt her throat but spread completely evenly to her chest so the sting didn't jerk a tear. She still needed to brace herself on Yosho's mattress as she spoke again, uncertain whether he'd hear her sound older than even a Jurain would consider. This time not knowing felt worse than the dead voice.
"I guess we're going to lose Sasami now too."
Thinking out loud for two people who weren't listening, it was worse than not knowing, and worse for the moment she saw the field over Ryoko's forearms before the vision pulled back even tighter into itself.
Science tenderly spread her face and hands across Spirit's chest. Labored breaths and exhausted sobs kept each other company.
---
Her legs still wobbled a little as Sasami began backing away again.
If he was taller this time when he stood up straight again, she told herself it wasn't real, in fact this was all only a dream. But a masochist wouldn't pry open a laceration to deepen this Seita's smile just for her sake.
"I don't understand," she cried muffled terror to force her eyes shut, and angled her head as if anticipating a strike, "why are you acting like this?"
"^Ac---tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing^." Stretched into a pinch of steam and nearly kissed directly into her ear; the sinister velvet could actually be worse.
Stuck between a gasp and a choke, Sasami pulled away, not really ready to see him eye to eye ever again, but not expecting not to see him. She turned back to where he'd been; he'd only moved to close his eyes and arch his fingers together the way he did. His last smile and every other were gone.
Turning to flee fast enough to fling tears almost kept her from noticing a six-meter wide oblivion portal spread open and spread swallow. Seita walked out and it closed too quickly for her to notice extra dizziness. One approach matched one retreat and neither faces moved till Sasami gasped and looked from the sensation of the lakeshore sand to the trepidation over her shoulder. Even with only the moon Tenchi's house was just visible across the lake.
"Unless it's a play, there is no acting, only practicing."
Still learning to switch her head around painlessly, she was lucky to be distracted; he'd crept to only half a meter away, still condensing the velvet steam back into a dream cloud.
"Try to think of my time with your family as a project. My most important work to date, actually, and that we're here now because it seems there is still more to do. I've been making plans for you, for us, for a while. But they've become thoroughly outdated already, princess."
"Why aren't you calling me 'Sasami'?" Terror tangled priorities too well for her to notice.
It sounded like another chuckle, but his face wasn't changing, frozen entirely till he brought his wedged hands up and folded every finger in save the smallest, lowering face into knuckles with a blast of wheezy disorientation. But before Sasami could think past how unlike him this was he pulled his hands down with a few quick breaths to reinstate a confident smile.
"I will be giving you a new name soon enough, and until I do, a title is more appropriate. You see, I'd planned to take you on as a sort of long- term project, as a way to keep ties, and to keep your family tied."
A hundred marbles appeared in the atmosphere, too deep sea colored to reflect even the moon. Seita angled his hand to hold an invisible waiter's tray, and the orbs collected above it, replicating a familiar sake bottle glint by glint.
Dreary cave echoes rang in Sasami's ears as he unplugged the cork for a luxurious inhale.
"But as I was considering a recent disappointment, I thought of my original plans for you, princess."
Nearly petrified, a few quivers of Sasami's hope searched his face for a cruel joke.
"You know how Ryoko loooves sake? Well I was thinking that you might develop a taste for it too, surely a princess shouldn't be denied such pleasures. I would take it upon myself, or course, to make the proper house calls to ensure you always got what you wanted---what you needed."
Freezing blue between the two, his eyes swept down her hair and squeezed into the bottle. Spite tightened expression while he slowly titled the contents onto the ground. Instead of forming a puddle beside him, the liquid poured continuously, filling up into a Jurain noblewoman slightly older than Aeka. With a small shake of his wrist, Seita expelled the last drop to create a worn copy of Sasami's favorite headband.
The figure's clothing was stained in poor places, its watery eyes stared blankly over dark bags and emaciated hands shaking a reach up towards the bottle. Pulling it into her mouth and letting her arms flop down, she gulped, leeched, suckled till it leaked, gagged, coughed alcohol near Seita's feet. He didn't step back as she braced herself, fingers in the wet weeds, but the doctor did retrieve the medicine. A mortified hiccup escaped the younger princess as she watched him hold the bottle inches above the projection's reach. It whine-jumped up over and over. Bright teeth gorged on its desperation till at last it fell back to its knees and clutched at his feet. He looked down at the future then up at the present.
"S-S-Sweet, sweet addiction."
Jackhammer air fluttered from his throat, still sharp and barely purposefully uncontrolled. A panicking smile nibbled on his bottom lip and widened his eyes far down on the older princess. She twittled her fingers weakly about her face as she mouthed and gulped at the seemingly endless runoff. Usually, Sasami only heard liquid splatter against flesh in the onsen.
"How lovely it could have been to enslave a princess---to herself."
Dregs turned back into marbles, dissolving the bottle out of Seita's hand. With the last glass drop the barely living contents formed into a mass of them, a moment as a sea egg cluster. It quickly collapsed, each sphere burrowing itself in the globe.
In another attempt to disappear, Sasami tried to turn away again, crushing her face closed in her hands. Only half a step closer was a lot for him and too much already; her scream came stillborn.
"Seita...please...stop." Her voice was discouraging enough without reminding her of that pitiful projection.
"Don't worry, princess, believe it or not I don't want you to lower yourself to my power, I want you to ^surpass it^."
Everything terrible in his voice was soft again, and the sand felt even colder as Sasami took her own half-step back, knowing full well how helpful it wasn't.
"But as things slouch now we don't stand a chance."
It might have been the bones cracking in his hands.
"Even if the very idea of succeeding me sounds too fantastic, a new student, a final test is all that will sustain me long enough to accept failed immortality."
The blanket was soft and almost too heavy when it wrapped itself around her, this was a very hot summer and she'd been sweating in some places, but when she gasped her eyes open at the new surrounding her breath cloud hadn't dissipated yet. Seita was kneeling, pulling his hands away after balancing it on her shoulders. Only daring to move her eyes down a little; it looked like it felt; a velour trimming of the night sky. Yet, here it couldn't be half that real.
"But it all depends on whether our head start is in the right direction," he continued, blinking numb when he had her eyes again, "it won't be a play date for either of us, but all the other answers are starting to ask themselves out."
At the first signs of him lowering his guard to watch his fingers arch, she shut tight and tried to shrink back like a turtle without putting too much in the blanket.
"There is a type of---an act of---of baseness, that can plant the seed of apathy like no other. The very thought of it, even from a bystanding or avenging perspective, can choke off life like---like ^Nothing^."
Hearing his breath sharpen made everything sound impossibly worse, Sasami felt another knot finish and glue itself tight in her stomach.
"We will experience it together like never---and you, you will be reborn from what it is to know the ultimate failure---with no punishment. And I-"
His swallow against his cut off wheeze had to have made everything else worse, but he continued the same for sounding the best.
"I will finally get to admit defeat; that actions really do speak-"
The breaths belonged to a rodent till they left through a beast of burden. One, two, three, calm. Another swallow and Sasami heard his bones crack again as he leaned forward, she wasn't seeing her life flash anymore than she was feeling she'd ever had a voice.
"But, if-in-results end up in-conclusive, we may stumble upon the answer to something else," the laugh was weak breath chips, almost like the rodent again till it was entirely like a vermin, "or at least a question to confront the question:"
The saliva readied itself around his teeth to wet his lips as he pursed them in. It had taken him this long to perfectly crush together sinister and velvet on their affected deathbeds.
"^Why is it, that the two most prolific propaganda tools continue to be sexuality-"
Seita's hand shot forward, clutching and dragging Sasami's face upwards by her chin. The bony cage was colder than it could be and the tiniest bar curved inward, dimpling and caressing down her cheek with a perfect point.
"-and cute---little---children^?"
Moon mocking teeth parted smiles and perfumed sweet, but everything pretty handsome plummeted into confusion when the royal circles appeared on the little forehead in a raging turquoise brilliance. A strong breeze erupted all around them, grasses and trees hissed grand promises to come. Seita looked across the lake at something in the distant forest erupting a powerful aura.
---
A harsh gasp froze the search, Tenchi turned to face Aeka, who'd barely made it ten meters from the forest edge before stopping and clutching her tiara. It radiated overwhelming and familiar. Funaho's ground beacon faded, and from that distance they glanced to the next. The wide edges of more than any apparition were just visible across the lake.
---
Seita's future stepped back so quickly that his hand clasped on itself. He looked down at Sasami but mostly at the light water reflection behind her. The energy from her forehead flashed and basically blinded for half a moment. Demanding from each direction, especially everywhere, the voice's force described nothing less than divine.
"STOP___THIS___NOW!"
The unwelcome guest watched his still gripping right hand experience itself forever if it wanted, not too long after he blinked very thoughtful and stood very tall, hands behind him, half a smile up to do the other half's work. He looked where awe should be as a Goddess gently put her hand on Sasami's shoulder and motioned the bewildered girl into a protected position at her side. At a glance his fallen blanket evaporated back up into place.
Though each color spoke peace from life and life through peace, her face was hardened with the combined power of countless defensive parents. In such an existence-altering state presence alone was flattening the grass around him, but Seita stepped forward like a cocky bully over a line in the sand.
The eyes, the vision of Sasami's future, pressed into his movements like brail, her frown deepening as he lowered his head. Near concealed ends of a sharpened grin just visible, he chuckled to frighten children at an amusement park, sighed---begged to lick a razor, then promised a bath in the tortured ravishing of original innocence, talking eager confidence simultaneously into match and mock.
"You...must be...^Tsunami^!"
***
A garden surrounded from out of will, loving its fear of its maker though its maker would never ask. In the center something impossible didn't want to be disturbed. The servant, ready to eat a star before asking how many more, remained disembodied, old, and male for the same sake. Designed as a filter, a fetcher, now he'd taken on the role of advisor as per result of an unspoken request poorly retracted. Protecting her would always mean risking destruction at a glance.
*My lady?
*I do not wish to be disturbed, much less to express it so.
*Might I apologize by performing something new?
*No.
*Then, if it disturbs you no more, I have a question.
*No.
*...My lady, it weakens my use to you to comprehend your indirect answers.
*It takes nothing of me to know your questions, all of them.
*Then may it take less for you to hear them; did you speak to your sisters?
*My 'sister', yes.
*For her benefit?
*Not one that would be clear to her.
*Then is it without more knowledge than her own that she now faces-
*Dare not use such strong terms. She 'acknowledges'; that is flattery enough.
*Yes, my lady, I understand. I was-
*I...do not wish for you to interfere. Is that still clear?
*It weakens me to comprehend your indirect answers; you know I would not hesitate to risk my existence for yours.
*Not ^your^ existence, not your existence when ^my^ champion has already 'given' himself to destroy---this.
*His sacrifice was a testament to you.
*Of course it was, he knew no more, better than my sister's champion.
*Will either of them fair---'differently' against 'this'?
*Of course, they know no better.
***
One gentlest hand moved Sasami slightly more behind softer robes. Two better than bluest eyes looked at the discolored pallor on favored fingers, testing the texture of the coarse hair on his bare forearms, the plain white stain cloth over his chest, and plotting a coarse path over his scalp. He pressed flat against teeth and fat around lips. Trembling unclean for breathing unsavory, more as he realized what was being seen and pressed a little half claw all the way in. Held between himself and a Goddess his hand was further lost in tremors for the weight of a blood drop on his pretty point. The left hand crawled up and around like a starfish to hold it dear against his forehead. Breath after breath stumbled out, freezing him to death in a base ecstasy limbo.
Little by little by hoarding replacing calm, both hands fell to an outstretched parallel, palms lifted up in tempting surrender. Take your best shot and embrace the future. Behold the opening ritual to trade the body for the world. The Ghost of Madness looked into the eyes of The Great Tree. A smooth loathing consumed the nasal quality of his natural voice in a braving storm of lascivious fabric and decadent paint.
"By the mortal zeal," he stepped forward more surely than weak muscles should, "and my new name."
Sasami gasped in terror, clinging tighter to her future robes and hiding one eye behind them. Sapphire venom coiled and clenched at the wilting flesh beneath it.
"Please open the path to our ancestors, the space trees."
The air crushed in his hands, shuddering into his blood as it seeped into his throat.
"Heaven to ocean, ocean to earth, earth back to heaven; draw me the taste of forgetting the light."
Another ice storm titled on its edge to narrowly miss him and he folded upright with hands behind and face forward. Smug smiles were born ready.
"I was wondering when you were finally going to show up."
Tsunami didn't move enough to be standing still, but when she spoke her entire form shimmered life into life out of everything. A place for destruction to rest its weary head spread sheets good and far.
"I cannot allow you to harm this child."
A tooth edge grew in his corner smirk, ripe and waiting but instead snapping every trace of every picture down to a line of a face; skipping stone-serious and sinking into humorless like an iron file turning wood blocks to paper.
Almost fascinated with the dramatic change in expression, Sasami tilted out for a better look. This was what Seita really looked like, left for too long in an unhealthy weight loss oil that didn't mix with paint. Even as her head began to feel lighter her stomach began to wail. She buried her face, a whispered plea for home, and a few tears into the tightly clenched softness. It was quiet enough to hear that empty place of his open up to speak for him. She tried to envision Tsunami standing up to it all.
"I take it your 'sister' didn't give you any warning."
The Goddess's frown returned slightly to send the negotiators home, all but crossing her arms for emphasis.
"She didn't have to."
The even shorter answer seemed to undercut Seita's calm and returned a small amount of glare to his face. He quickly made in shine back with a shameless rasp of sarcasm.
"A crypt-tic answer? Nooo! Now when have the powers beyond the stars ^ever^ needed to keep us guessing?"
Sarcasm was always basically spite anyway, but the next step forward was small enough to not seem so sure. Pink cool pools blinked unaffectedly to receive the reflection of blue heat needles; apparently he either knew or did not care to ask her plan.
"But I still can't help but be honored," the half smile wanted to be a real blade so bad, "should I be ironic and say-"
A chuckle tossed his head about for a gentle moment, he closed his eyes to open them again on a post-confident modern-effeminate voice version.
"That I'm 'unable to express how uncanny it is to interpret your words'?
"Yes, for ^you^ to speak to ^ME^ with a focus for ambiguous-"
Those two little stabs in the bile stressed the bag enough to spill it all out in a tidal wave.
"It makes me feel so RIGHT---so ^DAMNABLY^ RIGHT!"
He looked ready to spit after spraying so much saliva glaze around his fury, but swallowed some more to gorge his pride back to calm confident, if still shaking, Seita.
"I simply must be, for you to only appear now with the discipline ruler after I've already done so much to---'tart up all of existence for oblivion's kiss', yes, I do still like the sound of that---and you ^must^ have liked the ^sight^ of it."
Like a new sale on free spirit, plain clothes wavered for trying too hard to balance as he spun, hands and now face up to the sky. Almost back to fury, but it was all painfully funny, really it was.
"Now it's only fitting for YOU to 'bear witness' because YOU---^watched^--- ^it all^!
On the next revolution he stopped at their station and hung his head, seeming to rest his engine. Though they moved him, his breaths were quiet, and though he wasn't boxing he thumb-wiped his bottom lip. Still quiet as he looked up, he kept attention on the cleaning hand and the texture between thumb and forefinger. Again he looked at Tsunami and killed smile memories, pointing to his mouth, wiping bottom lip again slow, not stopping till the red thick slick ended halfway along his cheek. Turning the scowl almost too easily into a harlot's pout, he tilted his head, waiting for Tsunami to show some sign of suppressed revulsion that he could bill as desire. During the silence Sasami dared to expose half an eye. Sensing it or yearning for it, Seita moved to catch her attention off guard, smiling, savoring, a quarter of the perfect tears.
"In some, whatever, 'your' universe it seems there ^are^ more important things than NOT flattering me." He realigned his head to face her straighter, pulling up some velvet worms on the way.
"It seems Jurai really is the Promised Land, yet you don't save its peasants, and certainly not it slaves," he grinned sharp, "but not just any noble either. It's only worth your time if it's the cutest---little---"
Seita's blue displaced malice, needing all the narrow for curiosity. The wind only for this wave had made her seem almost an underwater apparition, but a moments difference in her robe and or Sasami's footing revealed a glance more of The Second Princess of Jurai. A leaning step closer set painting hands behind him again, in almost three triangles he examined the short and tall of it and their reflections in the lake. Every change of view melted some of the wax prurience into a series of thin trails and finally a flat puddle. He tried to build it back up again for being the first to notice, but it kept running through his fingers and eventually scalding him. It seemed only natural, though, to whoop it up for connection brand enlightenment.
"^That's---IT^!"
Rising manic cackles canceled out portions of his elated victory bellow, but he continued till they reached a compromise on their own.
"That---that's i-heh-heh-it! All this time-"
He gave it all to laughter, the collapse of his lungs, the tearing of his throat, who cared so long as the Goddess and the princess heard nothing but his fanatic praise of irony, romantic shortsightedness, and everything in between.
"All this time you were ^right under my nose^!"
A rain of broken multicolored glass fell shrilly on Sasami's ears and she covered them desperately, almost loosing her balance as she tried to bury her eyes in robes again. The laughter eventually exhausted and hid Seita's face in his own hands. He shook a few more chuckles loose, hissing for the crickets with a deep breath, then regarding them with the unfathomable pride that might even make his executioner hesitate.
"I guess we can't take anything more for granted."
He bent down, crouching with arms draped carelessly over his knees, glaring right into Sasami's face through Tsunami's robes.
"Is it safe to ask 'directly' then, if this young body is on lease...or is the mortgage already bought and paid for?"
No change in the Goddess's expression, though she visibly considered one.
"That is none of your concern."
Even with a mouthful of peace she knew how to speak to a willful child, but Seita only smiled wider and rose with a chuckle of avenging patience.
"No, it is ^all^ of our concerns." He searched and sized, letting sinister velvet billow lavishly to wrap round her from the ankles up. Another step forward, two and a quarter more before he'd be within whispering distance again.
"Don't you see? It answers my question...^that^ is what it takes to get your attention. All those rituals, all those prayers, all that begging, it all falls into hopeless, albeit affectionate subjectivity." The minimal alms he afforded her sense of philanthropy were so pompous they could only be sincere. "None of it, good Goddess, can get your attention like pure, and inescapable, ^self preservation^."
Seita gestured an open hand toward Sasami and Tsunami followed it, only after laying a gentle hand over the princess's head did she finally allow herself to return what she could of a darkened glare, glowing with more deadly focus than she'd used to appear with.
"I see you don't deny it," he claimed victory after another short chuckle.
"My relationship to Sasami makes no difference now." Tsunami watched Seita light up with the rising weight of confrontation in her voice.
"Your relationship to 'her'?" Chest shook and face tightened with new silent laughs, barely kept under control with a sharp sneering smile, "The only issue now---is your future relationships to ^me^!"
A perfect wedge or tent for the wind and heavens, it still shook again to be formed on such uneasy ground. Tsunami fully furrowed her brow, uninterested or unable to hide her insult for all the threat she'd already fought to stand above. Her apparent anger only intensified as he spoke on, a brilliant actor to make a lunatic sound so seductive.
"I must admit though; no mortal being should be able to face a Goddess this way---and vice versa."
Where he should have added a smirk, Seita let his face sink. But a solemn natural; his gaze was perfect, he knew.
"But don't worry, we'll be equals just long enough for you to succeed me."
Tsunami's eyes slowly began to weaken and widen, but she managed to keep her jaw set. The arch raised till the tips of his middle fingers lined up with the bridge of his nose. He took a long step backward without any desire to imitate retreat or break eye contact.
"Perhaps it ^would^ have been kind of your sister to warn you. During our-- -'encounter' I didn't yet feel I would need someone to continue my work, of course I was also not quite so 'important' then."
Another step back, the building intensity in his breath and eyes beginning to steal the energy needed to keep his smile up and eventually the focus to flatter the sound of his voice.
"The sessions I've conducted here, the advancements I've made-" Seita looked down at Sasami again and let his chaos smile for him for a trembling, nearly frothing moment before he had to speak again. It held on best it could.
"Just---the ^inspiration^---the ^preparation^ to properly 'initiate' this child," he swallowed, breathed, and looked back at the Goddess, "it has made me more powerful than-"
A thought frown cut him off. He closed his eyes with a silent moment sighed out. Tsunami moved Sasami almost completely behind her.
"No," he continued with a shade of quieted self-consciousness, "I really do talk too much. You knew what I was going to do to Sasami, and now you know what I'm going to do to you, but to understand ^why^..." Eyes open to the obsession behind the legacy, to the basic instinct behind the light, Seita spoke sincerely and couldn't help but sacrifice his voice unto a thousand subhuman hisses.
"I will undo divine and give ^exactly^ what is wanted. I won't tell you the ^answer^, I will show you your ^master^!"
He'd clenched his face shut to keep the silent uprising from shaking his skull loose. Tsunami pulled her head back and squared her shoulders, seeming to need a breath but taking none. She closed her eyes as well, but serenely, and opened them with all traces of hostility completely banished.
"There are many things that choose to be destructive, but I must only deter them when they threaten the balance."
The aggressor shot open and glared over his fingertips with undivided suspicion. She continued.
"And yes, sometimes that means protecting myself; I have a responsibility to all living things, that includes you."
Perhaps checking the blues before they narrowed into slivers again, she still spoke with another layer of consuming compassion.
"I understand the power that has possessed you well enough, and it has no place here."
One last pucker to test coagulate, one last look at pieces of the white and flesh colored thing holding him up, and serenity found its malignant twin in the close of Seita's eyes. He pulled his head back for more height and lowered his arched hands to chest level; such a convincing imitation of benevolence drained the surface mortality from his face in no time.
"So that's your answer, so indeed, so envision, we truly can't take anything more for granted. New instincts only convince so far. Like my time with your sister; this session will require a little more---"
"^Faaaith^".
Even from a slight distance even a lesser creature would have noticed the minute tension clenching the otherwise frozen man's expression. And, being a Goddess, Tsunami couldn't be so mortal or dishonest to hide horror when the word surrounded her like torches echoing in fog. And more, mouth still tightly closed, his laugh crept low and menacing up her memory and into her voice. The sound itself was not so unsettling as the fact that she actually ^heard^ it. Only in the few beginning and completing moments of merging with another life form had she glimpsed what it was like to have separate senses.
Now she felt it, as clearly as a mortal might feel a pregnant insect burrowing into their flash, it was only sound, but it clenched torment at her consciousness, confusing her almost nonexistent knowledge of physical pain. Everything about the laughter increased and she wanted to cover her ears as Sasami was doing, but resisted, barely.
Hissing whispers began to squirm into his laughter like a locust plague. Soon countless voices bombarded her at once, each with senseless or imitated words. The overtly maddening sounds, however, stepped into a slightly quieter background to make room for a collection of mentally damaged persons wailing garbled pleas or damnations as they struck their heads against padded walls.
Another impulse, this time to bend and focus enough energy to hug Sasami tightly against her, it had to be extinguished quickly. She couldn't resist looking down though, and coddling the little princesses head, searching for comfort that she'd just been able to block most of their connection.
"^I believe your sister experienced this same---adjustment^".
Into the forefront of the cacophony it seemed almost a charming calm, yet Tsunami knew then what Sasami would experience where he to whisper venom over her ear.
"I had to focus harder than I thought possible just to get a simple perception projection through to her." The asylum chorus projected further in his momentary absence or recruitment. "Only now it is so much easier."
Tsunami looked up into the flashing wave of a true shield, but never let Seita think for a moment that she didn't have unrelenting eyes on him. The invisible barrier crushed the grass and passed over him. Though this was distressing enough the second time, it was even worse to 'see' him smile shade up by shade up of high-class whore-red lip color. He opened his eyes to the speed of new doll skin fading onto him and filling weak into lean. Conversely he left it to blue to express without excess the immune arrogance and the merciless lust of his ambition. Speaking plainly had always known how to sound almost sagely. No love lost for the warm up sinister poses, intimidation clearly pleased him more with the idea that he might be wise.
"It would make sense for the highest beings to be less susceptible to certain anxieties. But for your sister, and I'm sure for you as well; it must be especially terrifying to confront something you cannot destroy, and even more so, to be confronted by something you cannot accept."
An echoed crack of a cartilage whip and the hopeless case ambiance faded into lake water. Seita began to lift both elbows without moving the position of his hands. He seemed ready to pull the arch apart, but instead it stayed intact while arms detached at the wrists like pieces of vanilla taffy. Drooping tails of flesh dangled from the stumps as he raised them upward to slowly ignite the crowd for stigmata.
His hands, still suspended before his chest, took their own moment before unfolding and landing palms down and fingers spread on each breast. They vacuumed the air from beneath his loose white shirt, quickly making it as tight as a second rubber skin. A lone breeze ruffled and melted the pale pant legs till they relaxed into a skirt over his feet, overly long, overflowing onto the ground like cake batter.
Quick chameleon; both hands blended completely black. Veins grew from the detached tails on his wrists, all eager to spread like accelerated roots up his torso, neck and arms. Some creased their paths and some wove through in hasty stitches. From the still elevated severances at the ends of his arms rigid black structures, bird bone insect antennae, began to puncture their way out through the dough.
Seita's already slender torso began to emaciate till his belly sunk in, exposing a sickly and angular ribcage. With a sound like crumbling mortar a spine must have detached to stretch him ever taller. Skirt flow changed course as well, molding legs into a bulbous white mollusk tail that was soon open to the overrun of veins. Each of the hard growths from his arms began to branch off in tribute to a batwing skeleton. When the roots had spread evenly across everything form the neck down, his body continued to stretch and grow with rough autopsy and practice taxidermy noises.
Through every moment of the transformation, their eyes never forsook each other. With both of them concentrating on not concentrating entirely on this grotesque figure, neither of them could match the other with much more than an attempt at cold, blank, patience.
First to flinch, out of the running, over the race, Seita rolled his eyes back to white and looked upward. Flesh leeched against the collarbones just as it had around his ribcage. The wings continued to grow outward even as he pulled his shoulders forward to deepen the dent beneath his neck. Frames creaked and snapped at the sudden slam of chin to chest, echoing similar as he raised his head up to reveal a toothless gapping maw. His skull deflated, pulling eye sockets and mouth back like a rubber mask.
Something like growth continued till it towered a half story above The Path Engraved by The Light. A new head ripped itself up from the torso. This long and perpetually melting worm cut its mouth wide enough mouth to swallow a Jurain. It bent toward the Goddess without a sound save the splattering drip of graying flesh, saliva. The veins began to sprout from the wing bones and nearly fill in the space between them in a flat twist of chaos pattern. When its breath should have wilted the princess's flowers its wings began to slowly fold around them.
It stretched its mouth further with a thickly layered roar, clogs of jellied skin poorly obstructing hoards of guttural moans. Swinging low and back a few meters it let out a flood of nausea gray. The spill turned to slow glue abruptly with Seita standing haloed by his latest mouth. His long snow bright coat was buttoned only at the waist, corner folded up hourglass with onyx sand at both ends of time. Quicksilver devoured chrome on the natural fingertip sway at his sides. Quicksilver tempted platinum over touch don't kiss lips, around worship don't speak eyes. Mercury ran a lightning de-coloration down every perfect strand of Seita's dandy draped hair.
As the unspeakable claimed its right to mute even divinity, Tsunami's will projected stoically, washing through to the core of this image as it hardly did credit to the loathsome, violating force thrusting it into her consciousness. Yet, through to the greater everything of what she was, she needed to keep Sasami safe. Already held tight against the storm, the princess gratefully accepted memories of new trees rising up from ash, and polluted waters slowly being reclaimed by tiny and hearty animals.
If her charge could be shielded this much, then she could remain appearing unafraid, and unaffected by Seita's apparent call on her bluff. He lifted a hand, sharpened nail out for polite blood, and smoothed back some of the pearl curtain. Head tilting into the affectation angle, he smiled his eyes closed for the onslaught of lust all primed for genocide on chance of tasting his sinister velvet tongue.
"There is nothing so vain as a self-inflicted grotesque."
The other hand came up to smooth glue back the other side, each finger soon pulling his chin up, making sure everything stayed in place when the last of the velvet left the All of the rest.
"^But there is nothing---so grotesque---as wasted vanity^!"
To this still unaffected testimony to Jurai's strength, Seita bowed, holding his eyes for as long-menacing as possible before taking aim at the ground with puckered lips. A phlegm-drop dripped like a falling egg white if it were white. Soon as it hit the bit of fluid began its slow grow into an oblivion portal. Satisfied with the size of a manhole cover, he stood again and faced his future like a new concubine.
"Vanity, like time, may mean something entirely different to immortals, but you are in no position to ^waste^ mine."
More automatic than nature, Tsunami's eyes widened at the absence under the decidedly more proportioned nose. Seita followed the path her affect to this naked reanimation of a dead nemesis, then back up to claim interest as she begged forgiveness of herself for hoping to face it like a vulgar taxidermy. He almost spoke like a gracious winner: no insults, no sympathy.
"I will take the faith of Jurai, in all her forms, and transform 'it' into my apprentice. I will ensure the survival of this, the grandest undertaking conceivable by either doctor or deity, artist or fascist. What the Ghost of Madness may not finish, you will."
The white puddle disappeared down the drain in a matter of seconds, dynamic if it weren't just for show, maybe even distracting if Tsunami hadn't bowed her own head and raised it with a hesitant yet irreplaceable thought. He called her bluff, reflecting his frown on the back of her last card.
"So savor it, the honest narcotic of truly having no choice."
Smug smiles were, undoubtedly, born ready and willing to the end.
"Because there is nothing you can do to stop this."
Exhausted arrogance and forgotten compassion, the final sphere, deadened his voice to a deafening calm. Having lost most of her shield at the opening presence of a somehow thicker two dimension, Sasami's frightened sniffles again tried to muffle themselves in Tsunami's robe. The lake still caressed the sand beneath their feet.
And up like a creased stain on this latest aesthetic ideal, this bare core rolled over a leftover mortality peel. Perhaps it simply unnerved him to see such a different form of confidence on someone's face, unsure but resolute to be naturally unafraid.
---
It was cold inside Aeka's shield, probably colder in the lake billowing under them. Tenchi felt the hilt merging with his hand, waiting for this to feel reassuring again, not thinking twice for leaving the armor ring behind, not blinking once to stare at the royally consumed profile. Earth gravity, she had cursed to herself, would keep them from moving fast enough to vaporize everything in their path. He didn't know if he wanted some degree of his hand on her shoulder, but he still wasn't ready for whatever the distant apparition might grow into.
---
Tsunami closed her eyes and held out her hand. A large oval in the sand between them glowed white-hot-hottest, then mirror-slightly imperfect. Tender melancholy finally allowed patience their embrace.
"I'm not going to stop you."
Seita's projection glanced down at his reflection then up at Tsunami with a curious frown. She was contented, stroking Sasami's hair as she continued.
"You are going to stop yourself."
He looked at his reflection again in time to see it shatter into a pool of light draining into a window on an immaculate hospital hallway. People crossed the halls with wheelchairs and flowers. Uniforms and important protective suits marched casual and sincerely concerned. The intercom echoed and hauled Seita in by the inner ear. A man who, even at a distance, looked to be his older, less attractive, and more professional brother, kept him there. The standard, staff issue shoes, didn't match his pants but they did squeak in a smart about-face as he finished with the receptionist and walked up the hallway. The window backed up to keep him and show him closer.
"What exactly is-" He scoffed up an eyebrow, but stopped when a voice called out from off the mirror.
"Dr. Shima, excuse me, Dr. Shima."
The doctor stopped and turned to face a middle-aged man in humble class casuals who approached as soon as he was acknowledged.
"G-Good afternoon Dr. Shima, my name is Matsumo Yama, my sister, Matsumo Kiren, was a patient of yours." Slightly nervous would have been severely embarrassed if he'd tried to keep any cooler.
"Ah, yes, Ms. Matsumo," the Dr. replied after a brief pause, "how is she doing?"
"She's doing very well. Actually, it will be Ms. Tetuken soon."
"That's-" the Dr. began kindly.
"I j-j-just wanted to thank you!" Broken restraints interrupted, taking the hand without the clipboard in both of his, "you helped my sister so much...you-you're a great man, Dr. Shima."
The Dr. put a comforting hand on the ready to break shoulder, and held the rest up with an off the record smile. Swallowed again by a pool of light, the brittle window readied to be replaced with another.
Silver didn't waver, cemented on even as the tendons gripped excessively to rebuild the arch. Then the tips slipped a little before buckling into each other. Seita's lines still shimmered while he stretched open the top two and sunk open the bottom one. A holy aura, two-dimensional halo opened behind him, its diameter flickering everything between peacock and hardhat. The movement continued, seemingly in tune with his own previously excited chaos breaths till they too calmed. A pinprick of white healed above the platinum curtain.
By his tallest posture, Seita's doll skin drained dye, and by Tsunami's mirror one too many two dimensions struck him flat as a map, beholding the landscape, beholden to his executioner. Bodily lean stretched rusted wire, thin and frail then disembodied grotesque and bisected plain on just this map's paper cut.
Beholding the landscape and disembodied grotesque, his makeups and costumes clutched a spill of entrails more pretty than should have been necessary. Nothing imperfect, only good enough to hold back a mortal wound. Beholding the landscape and bisected plain, standing so straight after being laid out flat, this plane in emptiness. This now a plane only an incline in a void till the movement is complete; from center to the end will fall back twice the distance on the now new decline.
Sasami felt moved to see where her fear had gone, struck curious by the sudden quiet. Tsunami was watching Seita as he watched something on the ground, she stepped out from behind the robes and took a step forward. Her future didn't hold her back.
The image gave out to an older man taking the podium of a large stage.
"And the award for outstanding achievement in the field of Psychotherapy goes to..."
One time Sasami had seen a very old person on a shopping trip, they quaked constantly as if it were natural. Even though Seita's hands were stuck tight in their wedge, he was trembling the same way, as if caught in a vigorous applause.
The same Dr. walked across the stage, smoothing some slightly longer and sheepishly curling hair behind his ear, trying to smile away his humility flush. He tried not to look the presenter in the eye for too long before bending to the microphone's level and clearing his throat.
The image changed more quickly this time; Dr. Shima's office was furnished with black polish and decorated with pieces of inoffensive surrealism. Under shorter and slickest hair, over moderately fine suit, he made a note with a conclusive dot. It took nothing from his attention on the plain young girl occupying the couch. They both rose and the Dr. opened the door and smiled for her, lucky not to have anything in his mouth when she embraced him.
"Thank you Dr. Shima, thank you for everything," she promised not to cry, even if happy or hidden in his comparatively high chest. Rather than place a comforting hand on her shoulder, this time he stood looking down the drain of his expression.
Dropping knees, slouching shoulders perfect for the weight of reacquainted fragility, not too fast, not sturdy enough. Detached pieces all clutched together in a scowl, his jaw line just one sync crushing out a vibration code obvious as a cheap parlor trick. That to exalt creation he needed to exploit baser instincts and exorcise soft emotions like foreign reflexes.
He clenched his face at the ground for it, but knew the reaction that was coming. But to rediscover it again after so much atrophy, so small and mundane? Already it had been numerous enough, though, to share forever, and numerous and repetitive enough though, to bring his standard in to negate it.
Even as the strain forced him to fall before the glass, catching himself, holding himself up, holding out on his hands, he showed off knowing he'd already failed for real. Still there was so much energy to use, so much energy to have to think about it. Still there was so much contempt that it should be expected. In the angles of his flawless sapphire predictable would be worse than vulnerable, even when the two merged. The clever must dismiss better than the stronger can hide, and Seita wanted to look smart when he submitted to the first battle lost on his terms. He wanted so much, and he had to look smart when he looked up into Sasami before sinking into nothing.
---
Sasami felt Tsunami again, not looking up though, as the Goddess rested her hand and began fading it off the still growing shoulder. Her serenity flowed out over fear's regrets and out into life's everythings.
"I am still with you, Sasami."
Weak automation craned her head up at the peaceful apparition's last moments, Tsunami was facing solemn into the patch of ground Seita had held. There was just enough time to turn back down and smile at her vulnerable self before her vulnerable self, The Second Princess, stood alone by the water again, hearing every insect and wind quieted and clear. Something powerful was cutting the lake right toward her. She didn't move.
"SASAMI!"
Aeka's wail dwarfed the roar of water and Jurai power that brought her and Tenchi to the shore alongside and slightly farther inland for the momentum. Tenchi had his sword ready even if he'd forgotten or lost his shoes.
Less than ladylike, Aeka stumbled onto her knees and gripped her sister by the shoulders in a desperately loving strangle.
"Sasami, what happened, what are you doing out here?!"
Swaying slightly under the force, Sasami didn't lift her face enough to see more than her sister's mouth.
"Aeka, is she-" Tenchi held his ghost in by his teeth, his sword fading out. A hasty, unfocused step or two and he was trying to find the little pink eyes himself.
"Sasami, a-a-are you okay?" He tried to project kindness over ahead of paralyzing fear.
Big brother and sister's voices kept getting quieter and more desperate in their attempts to coax out a response. Though consumed, Tenchi still whirled around battle ready at the sudden hum behind them. He lowered the sword after a moment, and turned it off after another, powerless and muted twice over. Ryoko's face was shadowed over by her hair.
Still holding her little sister, Aeka looked down at nothing as well, face held in stone.
"Where have you been, Ryoko?" The summer's deepest heat parted ways for the ice on the princess's breath.
Two short steps forward, and Ryoko was ready to ignore the question. Without affecting her own withdrawal, she used it to sharpen a perfect imitation of her usual brash impatience.
"Out with it, kid. What happened?"
"Sei-ta..."
As far away as her voice was, Aeka caught it, devouring it as she gripped tighter and shook in tiny explosions.
"^Seita?! What about him?! What did he do to you Sasami^?!"
Tenchi began to shake under Aeka's new volume, grinding his teeth at the ground.
The Second Princess of Jurai looked up at everyone through her sister, and went meek with compassion pains.
"He looked so sad."
I thank all the owners of the Tenchi characters who have chosen not to sue me for suggesting some alternative uses for them.
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^Tenchi Muyo: Sanctuary and Asylum^
-Verse Eight is Martyr-
-Part 1-
Names of ambition refresh---to know and to be known.
Old wraths of identity---cannot leave it alone.
-ZJS
A modern shadow rode in on new light as it poured into the modest office. Dust from unreachable or unrecognized crevices escaped for a few glorious moments before cowering back into the floorboards. Stiff and formal steps moaned and crackled over the fallen door as it lay like an imploded drawbridge. Calmly or dutifully guarding the retreat of citizens and kings, spiritual guidance and his bokken faced invasion.
Signs of age directed nothing away from the rigid strength of Katshuhito's position; the wooden sword angled forward, late afternoon catching its coat of fine sealant. And though he kept the rest of his body vertical in the shadow, it was clearly ready for any stance.
Entertaining a moment of curiosity, the intrusion squinted for the source of the spectacle glare. Not wasting any eye contact, he smoothed back a hair strand, faded on a pair of bullet sunglasses, and impossibly sharpened his grin. Still silent and statuesque, the priest watched cold confidence try to break through the next barrier with less overt force.
Finger-painted, flex at the sides, crack in the center, once then again; the ritualistic flutter-snaps received no response. He glanced down to watch his thumb test its opposite's sharpness. While making sure polish still matched fabric he heard a heavy footstep something cut through a trace incense of smoke.
Nobuyuki would have envied his father-in-law's natural understanding of geometrics; the bokken was positioned diagonally between pre-slice and mid-slice, the point-forming angle at the tip was exactly parallel to Seita's throat.
Although the position required Katshuhito to bend a bit and make the height difference more than slight, he let the glare fall from his glasses and caught the sapphire oozing down the length of his weapon.
Holding his sunglasses at a dainty perpendicular to his grin, Seita let them fall a moment later. They met the floor unwatched and unheard as he folded both arms across the silent chuckle shaking in his chest.
While the one would not show fear, the other could not hide excitement, even with a thousand layers of cheap velvet around his tongue.
"What a shame," shamelessness sighed, "I was so happy to finally have somebody awaiting and even anticipating my arrival, yet, here I am, still greeted with the same misplaced hospitality."
Extra teeth fought to burst forth ahead of schedule as he watched Katshuhito's slow precision return the previous stance, unofficially demoting him from the ranks of imposing model to finely crafted chess figure. The piece in question turned with tranquil dignity and stepped over to a rack on the far wall.
"For a moment I wondered if you thought a splinter suited me better than a beheading, but I still don't see any purpose to that little display.
"Not surprising." The bokken went back on its proper pegs with cold delicacy.
"Oh?" Such genuine surprise tried to look honest with only half- mocked interest.
"It took you off guard."
Turning on his heels, and then bending a frown where Seita expected him to formally bow, Katshuhito folded his own arms lower and more neatly into his sleeves. Judgment came sure and steady.
"I heard your footsteps in the yard, slow and vain, like the number of Kendo graduates who have come here to feed their pride rather than test their skill. I only needed a stick to know that you are not a god, or even a demon."
Old glass caught the light again one after the other in reflection of bloodless paint drawing into shadow. Nonchalance and shiny boots stepped off the fallen door to stand in front of the main desk, to look down where others had knelt.
"My hospitality hasn't been misplaced," Katshuhito continued, making Seita glanced over to draw a smile from the priest's barely wavering calm, "it has been lost."
The elder frowned deeper at the chuckle that glanced away, and walked behind his desk to keep the battle in the open. They matched glares again all through the smug-slow migration of Seita's hands to the small of his back.
"Indeed, something tells me 'knocking' wouldn't have changed that."
"You can make all the grand presentations you want, I can no longer argue my better intuition."
"But you must, unless you want your 'intuition' to become cold clairvoyance." The challenging intellect watched the home player for a response before congratulating himself with a follow up of condescending nostalgia.
"Ah, I'm going to miss our little exchanges---a good thing your 'better intuition' wasn't more ambitious, they might never have happened."
"You will have plenty of time to reflect on them." Katshuhito answered with tempered steel, opening a side drawer and removing the Tenchi- ken. He held it with both hands, intensely thinking over its intricate design.
"Seita, has anyone told you yet how Ryoko got here?"
Taking a moment to look up for a response, then wishing he'd taken none or kept them all, he saw Seita's face angle down like a cauldron ready for a poison-pour. Neck tendons strangled the beauty from deep eyes and sprayed it over pristine teeth in a colorless shine.
"Let's not over-step."
Whatever invisible smoke was stinging his eyes and begging a cough reflex, Katshuhito was certain it came from this man's throat.
"Let's not over-look," Seita closed one eye for focus and caressed the shrine keeper's not very distant image with a little nail, "the daring prince, who saved his world---" the words softened his lips and twirled his tongue around his point. He watched the dance then looked to seduce the daring prince to join.
"Twice."
The tip of his favored décor slowly pressed into the tip of his favored weapon.
Enclosing darkness made Katshuhito blink and open his eyes as tight as possible. He bit his tongue as an old remedy to hold onto consciousness, but the world stayed black just the same. Shaking his head against the imposed illusion hardly seemed more promising. When he heard Seita's voice again it sounded impossibly plain, no wrappings of velvet, no coats of acid, a human voice, calm despite an underlying air of consuming bitterness.
"Open your eyes, Prince Yosho."
---
Jurai stretched out before him more beautiful than a biased memory. Green within green, blue over silver, clean sunlight filled it all with a contented smile, a healthy hand nestling into a silk pocket. Enormous trees dusted leaves onto sparkling rivers and sleeker than marble wood bridges. A cloud moved and a bed of wildflowers caught him with his mouth open, laughing in every shade of pink.
He nearly ducked at the flock of birds passing low overhead. Their collective chirrups reminded him of how much he still missed and were answered by ceremonial trumpets on the distant horizon. A moment of belief that he'd been transported back, then a definite fear for how wonderful it felt. The delusion was replaced with little relief by the unaltered voice; still so strange for lacking any of the usual affectations. When he turned to see Seita leaning against a mammoth tree trunk, unchanged flamboyant attire dismissed any confusion.
"This is how we remember Jurai, not how it exists today." He explained, stone-smoothing his stare to match his monotone. The prince's eyes wandered about reflexively, still unable to hide any awe.
"However, despite an ever swelling population, its 'natural charm' has changed very little."
Seita leaned away from the tree and took an unthreatening step forward, trying to meet his audience's gaze rather than draw it up to him.
"I'm creating this complete sensory illusion at a significant expense of energy, and I've already exerted plenty to keep your family from interrupting us." For once he ignored the angering frown and regarded the sword still clutched in Yosho's right hand. "So lets not waste it with any hero-vengeful interruptions. If I speak in riddles, it is not to compliment your ability to solve them, or rate them, it is only to further inspire me towards a fitting presentation."
The former prince watched the new enemy walk up alongside him like a trusted guide.
"Now," tranquility breathed out to make room for ambition, "take in what your home was, so that you can better appreciate what it could have been."
Yosho watched Seita walk to the edge of their hilltop, the cruelty rising in his voice again, obvious and ominous through tense movements. Still shaken himself by the change in scenery, he hesitantly followed, standing a meter back from the former guest's right.
"Just look at it---I've been privileged enough to see so many worlds, and still this one inspires me. No surprise that you would retire to a quaint imitation of it."
His fingers spread emphatically, then closed gentle, then reopened curious. Yosho hardly bothered grasping at how he could still check his nails and thus wasn't concerned where his other hand had pulled the writing quill.
"From my place in oblivion," he reminisced, changing each nail to an organic turquoise with a single tap from the pure white feather, "I would spend years, simply watching over it" he pinched the bottom with his new fingers, pulling up to savor its texture and gradually mold it into a leaf, "considering and reconsidering my place in its history."
Even with the familiar gesture of crushing it next to his ear, Yosho failed to share or appreciate any softening nostalgia. Before he could form a response despite and slightly to spite the request not to interrupt, Seita smiled over his shoulder at the prince's reaction to flight.
Remembering and more so reminded, Yosho pulled his wide eyes up from a tug- of-war with the retreating ground.
*We are not flying. We are not even in motion. We are still standing in my office while this image of Jurai moves around us.
The lush landscape was enveloping, even epic from this vantage point, rapidly transported upon an invisible platform. Yosho kept his focus on the guide, ignoring the instinct to adjust his balance for lack of visual footing and haplessly fighting his normally encouraged urge to absorb the surrounding energies. Contemplating whether Seita wanted to burden or entice him with memories made for a lot of anger and a lack of strategy. The protection of calm would have to carry the burden a little longer. Another flock of birds flew by, nearly swarming them and neatly adding resentful acknowledgement of the skill behind such vivid illusions.
They began to close distance with a large agricultural community. Yosho felt his stomach turn and wished for a motion sickness excuse. Protective instincts concerning the peasantry welled up, atrophied and bitter from centuries of neglect. The streets teamed with activity, each person busy connecting commerce and art and commerce, oblivious to the two figures flying overhead.
Yosho told himself again, more forcefully, that they were not visiting ghosts. But while they sailed up the main street towards the local nobility's estate, his concentration kept returning to what his guide had said.
*'Twice'? What could he have meant? Why show me Jurai as I remember it? Has something changed that Mother failed to tell me about?
*No. Do not doubt. Do not feed him.
He gritted his teeth and glared at Seita's back and perfect-gentle billowing hair, hardly noticing the elaborate arrangement of blossom-trees and post-ivory pillars lining the Duke's private road.
*How could I have been so foolish?! Thinking he was merely using chicanery to soften his transition back to a normal life.
*I knew! He kept dropping subtle hints, waiting for me to confront him, but I just kept telling myself to wait for some real evidence. Weren't those battle scars left around the forest proof enough?
The next sensation really did feel like motion sickness, but it only added to the other unnamable ailments.
*Who else knows?! How many of them has he made too afraid to call him out?
He had to close his eyes for the next pang.
*He's returned without Mihoshi--- and Tenchi, Tenchi hasn't come to the shrine today.
*Washu---she still hasn't come out of her lab.
*Stop. Worry is only distraction and it will only serve whatever psychological attack he's mounting. I have to stay patient, there's a chance they are all even more oblivious to his intentions than I am.
Lifting his eyes resolutely Yosho spread them a little wider to behold the Duke's private garden. He flexed a few toes just to be sure of the new ground even as it conveyed him behind Seita's steady pace. The taller man stepped carelessly through a bed of delicate flowers but the insult in this quickly turned baseless for lack of footprints. Upon closer inspection it seemed he phased through his illusions as effortlessly as anything else.
Yosho reluctantly watched his own form do the same.
"Your highness, you may not want to 'dignify' my illusions, but if roles were reversed I'd consider making it harder to keep this fabrication convincing."
Even though he wore it so smoothly, passive fair play didn't suit him.
"Go on, trample a few orchids. Take that sword and sever a few trees."
Not that Yosho trusted his sensual enticements any differently.
Still, since even a fool would have known to hesitate, he considered it long enough to taste the frustration of being faced with an illusion he could neither trust nor disregard. Still, since only a fool would remain forever on the defensive, he allowed himself an idea and a smile.
"You must not have been watching Jurai as closely as you thought; no Duke would allow his pond to grow this murky." Yosho stated as if he were lecturing Tenchi on sword Technique.
"Hm," Seita considered all the way over a small hill and into a wide meadow, "it's funny you should notice that."
The velvet in his response tightened in knots around Yosho's chest. Before he could thoroughly curse another failed move, he noticed a third party. The Duke's formal attire looked familiar, but the name escaped him. Seita walked past him then turned to face Yosho again. Still the stately man gazed into the garden.
A small start for the sound of tiny feet and the former prince turned to see the rest of the subject running towards them.
"Fah---Father!" The little girl cried out piteously, nearly tripping.
She reminded Yosho, for a painful moment, of his own younger sisters. Her hair was dark like her father's and tied in a single braid that swung with the weight of many large and flashy hair-ties. The distress on her face stole the life beneath her freckles and all the amusement normally found when young girls find a treasure trove of their mother's excess jewelry. She cried out again for attention, but her father continued starring on empty.
Yosho almost bent to comfort her when she neared him, but was ignored even before he could reconsider. The girl finally tripped and fell to her knees behind her father, whining sharply for a moment before calling out again, still too upset to stand up again.
"Father! What's going on? Why are all the servants leaving? Everything's getting dirty and---and I'm ^hungry^!" She had clearly never known want, but the distress in her voice implied she almost never came running to her father with problems.
Yosho looked back at the nobleman, instantly unnerved that any father could keep his back turned to his daughter's cries. He frowned less than unamused back at Seita but only received an imitation-patient smile and anxious eyes gesturing back towards the exchange.
"Father?" Her voice now hushed from the fear any child might know if suddenly ignored by a parent.
"Commoners are not to be trusted, the help will all be replaced in good time."
The stern reply came with businesslike formality, and the Duke still refused to meet his daughter's tearing eyes.
"But---but father." She sniffled.
The Duke whirled around violently and Yosho readied himself for an attack on either himself or the girl.
"The kitchen is on the first floor of the east tower, now leave me in peace!"
His daughter cringed at the pain of her father's roar, eyes wide with terror. Yosho tried to look back over with disgust rather than rage.
"If you wanted to show me callous parenting we could have stayed on earth." He leveled off his voice, all the while forcing himself not to stand between the two figures. Though he'd told himself the scene was false more than enough times, it affected him more than any staged production might have.
Seita's hands, previously holding his biceps, met at the wrist to frill each finger out beneath his chin. He dropped his head and jerked it back up, mouth wide and eyes rolled back in a hellish wane. The laugh that he emitted was not enhanced, but it must have torn at his throat to make it. Yosho wanted to scream for silence as the cacophonous mixture of wheezes and roars wretched up towards the sky. Loath to endure any more of the exaggerated non-answer, he looked back at the Duke, hoping to see him transform into some sort of ogre to finally bring the nightmare to a head. Unfortunately both characters were still starring at each other, matching fear with frustration.
"You---simple---old---FOOL!" A sharp ethereal hiss pierced the air for attention, but did not affect any aspect of the artificial environment. "Have you been ignoring everything I've said?! Do you think that I went to all this trouble just to---to make you doubt the parenting skills of your devoted subjects?!"
Grotesque laughter shook the guide again and tightened Yosho's grip on the sword, still waiting anxiously in his pocket. A thick purple smoke made it clear that this laugh was an illusion as it consumed and compacted the slender form. Like a snake stuck devouring its prey backwards, soon all that remained was a cloud ribbon slithering towards the prince with a Seita mask. Yosho did not flinch at the ghostly reformation, almost glad to consider blowing on it to see if it dissipated.
"Pay close attention, Yosho of Jurai."
The specter swam a taunting circle around his head, putting a temporary purple filter over the garden. Yosho managed a bit of optimism that at least this gaseous transformation did not emit an odor. He watched Seita move towards the Duke, weaving like a dragon till the nobleman's head was similarly encircled.
Every orbit hissed out a little more.
"Bring the callous---to a boil---the boil to a scar---the scar to a ^mouth^.
The trails of vapor cast off at every turn began floating inward rather than outward, dissipating as they wormed their way into the nobleman's ears and eyes. Yosho's face tightened as he watched these trails form a chant.
'And---how.' 'But---why.'
'The trees---watch' 'The waters---LIE!'
"A suggestion whose source is unknown," Seita matched a seductive waft to his form, "must surely come from with-in...or from ^on-high^."
Suggestions stopped with a 'how'. The clean face clouded a little, smiled at Yosho, and spoke on with more of a hiss.
"From within oblivion I can know, but I cannot influence. And once out in existence it is very draining to twist perceptions.
"Luckily, even the strongest wills can be redirected with only a few choice illusions."
"What should I say to him, my Lord?" Seita asked with playful malice. "Should I tell him that his darling daughter is really a demon, have him strike her down?"
Yosho remained silent while the ghost continued to swim lazily around the Duke, seeing him smile confidently at his opponent's stubbornness.
"No. Even the cruelest misinformation does not carry the destructive power of uncertainty...of ^helplessness^. The seed of dementia lies in every mind, and indeed the stress of even the most mundane existence can cause it to germinate naturally.
"However, I have learned the path, I have the access. Ryoko and Tenchi were right to fear the little 'vacations' that you are on right now." A chuckle turned the cloud a slightly darker shade.
"Who knew that a tiny aquatic creature held the fate of sanity in one of its simple self defense tactics? Now, through the grace of oblivion, I can wield that power over anyone. Over everyone!"
Seita's voice and form thinned to swirl in a tighter orbit.
"It takes quite an investment, but I can press the buttons. I can pull the strings. I can ^cut^ the wires."
At the drop of a spiked confession, the Duke clutched at his skull and sank to his knees with a trembling moan. His daughter crawled pitifully forward for an explanation. She cried into his hair, torn between her own grab for comfort and her meager attempt to offer it to the fallen Lord. Yosho tried to stare at the ghost now swirling a wider orbit over the both of them, but the emotional scene kept drawing him in. It was an unusual thing to be telling himself to favor his anger over his sympathy, but the Duke's eventual response made it possible.
With a timid movement the nobleman withdrew from his daughter's arms, looking down at his hands then back up at her with a competitively fearful expression.
"Who---who are you, what are you doing in my garden?" He whimpered loudly.
Yosho watched through the first shivers of physical weakness; the little girl slowly shook her head in disbelief while her father proceeded to look around him like a frightened animal, mumbling something about the trees needing shade and the fish needing water.
"So, how many orphanages do you think I could fill?" Seita broke his circle and swam back, speaking in his velvety tone again as he slowly maneuvered himself around his audience.
"How many children might further their abandonment, never knowing that their own anguish only deepens my pit? How many nobles might I be able to turn against each other?" Yosho watched clouded blue eyes close to savor the idea and felt his demeanor break in icy defense of his people.
"Jurains---are not so weak of spirit."
His guide continued slow encirclement in silence, preparing, Yosho assumed, the proper cruel chuckle or clever response to belittle his faith. When he did speak, however, he matched every icicle and made an unexpected defensive move.
"And ^I^---am not so narrow of purpose."
Both faces hardened as Yosho noticed, with little relief, that the father and daughter were fading away. The orbit ceased, leaving the smoky glare to hovered on level with the old spectacle gleam.
"Even if I were to help myself to some of that water you guard so heavily, as I will when I will, it would only hide the inevitable fact that my body still ages every moment I remain outside oblivion. In a thousand years I could, maybe, affect half of Jurai's aristocracy---and there is always someone willing to fill an empty throne."
Bitterness went into emphasis by thickening and spreading the body of smoke like a storm cloud. Yosho commanded himself not flinch as he was thoroughly enveloped. He readied his mind for any sign of intrusion, convinced that he could meet and drive away any would-be inner attack. When Seita spoke again, it seemed to be into his ears, but still he focused will upon the principles of peace and discipline that could overcome any evil.
"For every life I destroyed, another would be rebuilt. As much pain as madmen can cause, there would only be unknown yet still 'external' circumstances. No revolutionaries, no martyrs---just ^victims^."
The smoke dissipated completely from the garden onto a high and elaborate balcony facing a picturesque sunset. A tall man dressed in the white and green robes of a Great Tree guardian leaned over the far left corner railing. His hair was Seita's color and length, but was tied in traditional Jurai fashion. Yosho assumed this to be the latest disguise or victim, but could not bring himself to ask which would be the most horrible, hence the most likely.
This type of guard was the closest thing to a priest the Jurai culture had, never more than a handful appointed at a time to stay closest to Tsunami's tree, each expected to be more educated and virtuous than almost any nobleman. More protective instincts burned stone in Yosho's mind, and he ground his teeth till they hurt, till they went numb, till he relaxed enough to hurt again.
He walked over to the right corner railing and improved on the contemplative pose. The sixth guest confirmed the first guess with the drop of a silk handkerchief.
"Finally allowing yourself to enjoy the view?"
Hologram aging thickened around Yosho's eyes as he looked away from the sunset to the relatively plain trees below.
"Any guesses yet at what we're here for?"
Wind blew silence into the priest's hair.
"Then I shall have to elaborate." Seita breathed deeply, still showing excitement by further suppressing it.
"If I were to simply go about, one by one, sending important Jurains to the asylum, I would only leave unfortunates, and unfortunates are remembered mostly for the sake of remembering, for making the 'hardly fortunate' seem 'lucky enough'."
It might have been violent fantasies that softened Seita's voice yet managed to further focus his thoughts.
"What business do we have here then? How shall I start my talents towards the most meaningful ends?"
Yosho heard him rise from his leaning position and did the same, readying himself to meet those eyes again. Seita, however, remained transfixed on the last remaining auras of sunlight, speaking again to finally hear himself express such thoroughly examined ideas.
A wine goblet former like an inverted icicle in the speaker's hand, already held out to toast the sky. Now inadvertently watching the sunset through the glass, Yosho noticed movement in the patch of colors directly behind it. Cup like a cookie cutter, Seita pulled it back full to the brim with cloud.
"The most significant change in sentient beings, thus far, has been the transition from struggling with their environment---to struggling with their design." He lifted his glass to contemplate the swirling concoction of bruised specters and melon juice.
"This is most prevalent in 'advanced' cultures like Jurai, where the differences between 'defeat', and 'failure' become most pronounced."
Seita turned his head, haunting his words with a stirring glare over a gently rotating beverage.
"Anyone can steal or withhold life, but who can cause it to be ^rejected^? Whatever grandiose manner I might have used to destroy your world, it would not have carried a fraction of the weight...as Jurai destroying itself."
Yosho bit the hesitation from his tongue for what he believed was the best yet opening to attack Seita's confidence. He laughed, he laughed loud and deep and as mockingly as he knew how.
"^That^ was your plan! All this just to justify some ridiculous notion that you could make the empire perish in a mass suicide?"
Yosho redirected his anger into another burst of cruelly belittling laughter.
"And you claim to know so much about my people. HA! For eons we have taken better care of our depressed and withdrawn than anyone in the galaxy, and I doubt this has changed since my time away."
With hands crossed behind his back, and a sure expression, Yosho awaited Seita's reply. The guide narrowed his eyes and looked away, leaning back over the rail.
"Thus Our Goddess Tsunami did grant upon her people, the Jurains, a water so like herself, composed of life eternal and just, so that they may know life longest and best. She bid that all children partake of it as they enter adulthood, and bid that it remain within them.
"'May no true Jurain let the water spill by a hand from without or a hand from within.'
"Thus Our Goddess Tsunami did grant upon her people, the Jurains, the water of life, bidding they keep it safe till she called them to return it."
The unaffected voice, with a solemn yet peaceful edge, perfectly mimicked one of the sacred statements that the Great Tree guardians often read to him. Yosho remembered this particular passage well, and could not have quoted more accurately himself. That this sinister being would even know of it was unsettling, but his use of it as a rebuttal returned a few of the missing pieces to the first exposure to Seita and his dimension. A brief needling dizziness gave him a taste of what came after terror.
"As you can see," he drained his glass and crushed it to silent dissipating shards; condescending bitterness returned. "I understand quite well how Jurains value life."
He began to walk towards Yosho, daring him to move, stopping with a hand's width between them, looking down.
"One could even say that they almost embody life, that they are closest to divinity."
Before the audience could turn his sharp breath into a reply, the star sneered and aborted and disgusted his words.
"Believe that 'all life' is divine if you want, and you ^will^. Jurains have long thought on their closeness to this obscure Goddess of yours. They are in a dominant position over nearly all they survey, and there cannot be true order without control, and no control unless inequality is recognized. And what better way to make the most of inequality than a monarchy?"
Seita cleared the foulness from his mouth to smile viciously again, whirling around and away to the far corner of the balcony with only a few wide strides. Impish agility leapt up on the railing and stepped to the wider corners. He turned and looked farther down at his audience, fingers newly arched and teeth still barred into a smile.
"These 'noble' Jurains, so consumed with life, so then consumed with living, so then consumed with themselves," he added a throaty chuckle, "so then consumed ^by^ themselves!"
Something new overflowed into Yosho's focused mind, driving him to search the bottomless eyes for the first time since their conversation in the forest. He'd been so flamboyant with his malicious intent till now that it hadn't seemed necessary.
The task was not unlike reaching into boiling water for a sacred treasure, but the prince forced himself to look. He needed to make sure he was not flattering this trickster too much by even considering that their battle was of more than wills. The newly intensified expression managed to soften curiosity into the elevated man, bringing him down to meet it.
Smoothing makeup began to melt and smear into gray and dirty pink on the path of oversized and invisible tears. Intense blue pools festered into yellow stains, each outshining the apex of a carbuncle. Blonde cascades frizzed and twisted with brown grime. In the process of making himself grotesque rather than alluring, or even frightening, he managed to throw off Yosho's concentration just as the sound of his unaffected voice had. And in knowing this he filled his throat with hot tar and chalk dust.
"Look as closely as you like, loose yourself in full circle allure." He swallowed or wetted his throat. "All my glamour---disfiguring true: their pride into arrogance, their vitality into decadence. And that---is where I would get my hands dirty." He wiggled them beneath his chin in a quick insect-like motion.
"My power would act not as the draining parasite, but as the ^driving muuussseee^."
Bursting ambition pressed the body flat like clay, smooth like glass, reflective like a full-length mirror. Elaborately framed with thick golden twists of flowering vine it hovered at the perfect distance to emphasize the height difference as one walked up behind the other. Yosho only seemed to notice the image of his younger self, dressed in the loose and elegant clothing reserved for important social engagements.
"Shouldn't you know that the most enduring lies come in the form of flattery?"
At this the reflection angled his head upward though the original remained statuesque. It checked its profile then snorted sharply to purge its nostrils. An indignant tongue over teeth roll completed the check for facial imperfections. The reflection did not tense and Yosho did not feel the sensation of Seita's hand's spreading over raised shoulders.
"All my illusions---would be invested in delusions---of splendor---of grandeur."
Once again as pretty as handsome could be, Seita lowered his head and met Yosho's eyes through the mirror. He spoke to match the reflected prince's vanity as the young champion went so far as to extend his arms for stronger admiration. The pair shared a lusty grin as the already fine features began to exaggerate, muscle tone inflating and jaw line thickening till he resembled an absurd plastic satire of the much-envied royal features.
Unexpectedly, Yosho felt the delicate kiss Seita placed on his cheek to melt the projection into a more accurate reflection of the true face behind Misaki shrine. The shock of it added to the initial tingle of adrenaline blown down his back.
"We are, as we are, and we ^are^ what we ^do^. So be young for a while, and let me be your escort." Seita charmed his arm around Yosho's. The opposing glamour of a strict old man held on for dear life.
"So be it," he continued with a sigh, "status and humility are still fashionable at any age."
The reflections shared another cunning smile then traded for a hard stare, unflinching even as one led the other's reflection through the railing.
It had only taken Yosho's helpless blink to transform their balcony view to another royal garden, this one kept in much finer shape and decorated with an elaborate party. All around them were vast tables of rich food and wealthy flowers. Musicians flailed away at lighthearted music just loudly enough to be heard above the surrounding clouds of laughter and boisterous gossip. He'd attended parties and celebrations before, but there did not seem to be any particular theme or event here.
He looked about more closely and realized the elaborate states of dress and even undress many of the guests were presenting and rewarding themselves with. It was odd to see so many nobles gathered in such a small space and behaving so indulgently, yet he quickly realized that many of the attendees were lesser landowners, merchants, and what must have been a thin strip of fabric between a guild of concubines and a mob of prostitutes.
"I would only need to cast a few soft suggestions to the 'right' minds of the right people to inspire a frequency in these kinds of gatherings. Naturally I'd have to do more than polish a few mirrors, but you'd be surprised how easy it is to encourage certain instincts.
"When dreams, when soft whispers mistaken for thoughts, when they combine, why, even the most noble-man can be brought to host a ball to further reward the higher class for all the responsibilities they are burdened with."
Yosho began to view this new vision of a Jurain inhibition funeral with greater disgust as a young woman wearing a lowest cut gown and a tray of sparkling wines approached them. To his surprise, she stopped by the post- humble narrator and exchanged coquette smiles as he took a glass for himself.
She turned to the shrine keeper next, shamelessly holding the tray out to compress an already generous bosom between her arms. He simply stared at her over his glasses, listening to chuckles offered for his rising discomfort.
"I can understand your abstinence from carnal indulgences, just as I can understand your disdain for illusions, but why let a combination of these things work you into such a-"
"What is the point of this?" Yosho interrupted sternly, braking Seita's flamboyant momentum and leaving him with a sharp frown.
"You 'inferred', at least, that you were going to explain yourself, but all you've done so far is continue to show me what you ^think^ you could turn Jurain nobility into."
The wench pouted her lips and lowered her eyes like a child, backing away towards Seita who wrapped his arm around her shoulders consolingly.
"He doesn't understand my dear." The solemn tone was exaggerated as he positioned his glass for her to drink and rested his cheek on her head.
"Isn't it obvious that vanity flourishes and ^festers^ best in these kinds of collectives. People throw parties for the same reason they attend them: to show off."
Seita set down the now drained glass, picked up another, and began to lazily pour it down the woman's dress. When the last drop fell, Yosho recoiled at the sound of fabric being stretched by a pair of swelling breasts. He reflexively and unconvincingly chanted a reminder that they were both still simply standing in his office. The chemical reaction continued to intensify till two mounds of flesh burst out to overtake him.
Everything around him went peachy for half a minute, the single color surrounding his senses. Small relief came when he felt himself being elevated, or the ground was receding again, and saw the night sky as his body inched up and out of the false fertility symbol. The feeling of a boulder rather than a waterbed beneath his feet made him look down in confusion. He was standing upon a masterfully carved stone areola, only part of what appeared to be a gigantic statue of a woman spreading smooth gray thighs to distant city lights. Not at all surprised, he turned to see Seita sitting on the opposite tip like a dock, leaning onto his knees and swinging his legs. The moments dress now consisted of loose silk pants and an unbuttoned silk shirt, both a sports car red identical to his nails, lipstick, and eyeliner.
Yosho thought this outfit suited him much more than anything any Jurain might wear, but, he reconsidered, not so well as the grotesque image he'd become to jeer any search for a different depth in his eyes. But colors aside, the illusionist's tone was becoming less entertained and more consumed. But shallower inside, Yosho's initial question begged and regretted itself again.
*Twice? He said I saved my world twice.
"After all the ways I've exercised my powers to greater understand, and better influence the sentient mind, I'm still enamored with the ease with which I can gain access through the creative drive."
Mid-reflection, the red ribbon stood and posed in the breeze, interrupting the gray bandage's thoughts.
"Jurai provided the perfect setting to mix business with pleasure. You see, I wanted for so long to be an artist, but I always lacked the resources, and, more importantly, the coordination. So, what better way to utilize the nobility's decent into decadence?"
He offered the sinister velvet as much to himself as for his audience to enjoy. He spun on his toes and hugged himself, savoring a cooling breeze. It continued to billow his hair and shirt as he stretched out his arms in a cruel imitation of religious ecstasy.
"I would have helped myself to that water, and then poured out for centuries, living through a perpetuation of compulsive-creative- competition!" Something too loud to escape made him smile very wide and shed replicated sheets of his shirt into the sky like chaos kites.
"The parties would debauch ever further, giving leave to raise art grand enough to make this behemoth look like a paper doll!" His chuckle went wild.
"Yes! Yes indeed! Working my way through all the supple minds of desperately ^bored^ aristocracy---giving them justification for every inspiration, and why not?"
Seita's shirt began to grow, unraveling infinite, crawling around him and into a cocoon. It tightened till it wrung like a towel then unraveled smooth. The single sheet grew again, spiraling down one breast and up the statue's other till it ended and pointed at Yosho. More like wet paint than fabric, then more like a pool than a mark, he watched thick juice ripple.
Both hands raised, Seita elevated himself slowly enough to let the ever-red liquid ooze down and congeal latex into elbow length gloves, a buttoned vest, and a skirt to sweep the underground. He cradled his fingers and felt along his forearms, pulled at the lapels, and smoothed his narrow hips with an approving sway. Even through the wind that tied bombshell hair back and the groans of rubber movement, each knuckle cracked audibly.
"Shouldn't the most unapologetic military power not also be the authority on 'art for art's sake'---for me to for-sake---as I---would forseeeeee!"
Another triumphant bellow struck down an arch of lightning. He began to gesture with every length of himself, a symphony conductor for a better slave driver. Each spectacle struck up from the ground and molded itself like an assembly of soldiers gathering as their lord called them.
"Towering fountains to wastefully renew the beauty of water's own texture." To his left, far enough to keep away the dust and boast their size, white columns of marble twisted towards the heavens with all the grace of swan necks and live wires.
"Magnificent arches and pyramids of glass---centuries spent to exploit all the angles and angels of light!" He clutched the air to his right as lightning planted creation again. A chaos of refracted glares erupted across the land as structures formed themselves from huge quantities of mirrors and windows like multiplying bacteria. A new, more absurd, and even more grotesque crystal imitation sprang up with each pose.
"Func-tion-less funct-tions-best as ^flattery^!" Seita whirled around to face his prince again, literally singing the praise of his vision in a quarter of a fine tenor and a third of a folk croon. He angled his arms with palms up, lean tendons stretching out through tense showmanship. Behind him more bastard brilliances of architecture reached up to the sky, overwhelming to imagine that any sane person would invest such time and energy into their construction.
Yosho kept his astounding revulsion hidden behind old glasses, gripping his arms more tightly as again they both seemed carried on invisible platforms. Buildings continued to swell up around them as they traveled at high speed up the sacred Tsunami River, now surrounded by flamboyant geometry in every conceivable marriage of wood, stone, and metal.
"There would be halls and theaters, galleries overflowing with ELITIST GRAFFETI!" He kept his violent rally going slightly above and ahead of his crowd. He kept his back turned to the Emperor's palace as they approached.
"What wealthy man could resist the call to strike back at his 'boredom' and 'mortality'?" A wrinkle in his lips wanted to spit the words out for good, but he had explanations to chew.
"I've seen it happen on smaller scales throughout the universe, but I, ^I^ would obsess every Jurain noble with a ^war^," Seita inhaled a gasp and exhaled a chuckle, "to create the grandest tribute or challenge to the ^aesthetic^...the addictive and sole ^an-esthetic^ to the apathy born of coddled lives, of jaded power!"
He pulled his hair back for some luxurious and very necessary calm.
"Of course, some nobles would try to speak out against these 'impractical' and even 'over-ambitious' investments---" he smiled malice and spoke reassurance, "they could be quickly and irrevocably persuaded.
"Yet the Jurain economy would soon begin to buckle under the weight of its wantonness. The common people, the peasants, the ^slaves^, all of them would soon feel the sting of the divide between themselves and 'creative' society."
They reached the palace walls and flew up alongside them, setting down again on a high parapet overlooking the once tranquil and bounteous Jurain plains. They were now crowded with elegant waste, each shadowed by wide lakes of sprawling poverty. Seita stepped closer to the ledge and gestured downward with both hands.
"So. Inevitable. Uprising." He stated with cruel confidence.
A raging cacophony grew from beneath them, exploding the volume of a long muted ocean. Yosho walked up to the edge reflexively, knowing too well what he would see.
"Driven to feel like beasts of burden under the yoke of artistic ambition, pleas would turn to demands as they would turn to their highest authority for liberation." Jurai's new soothsayer looked over with barely suppressed elation as earth's oldest priest was caught by every nobleman's nightmare.
Jurain peasants for thousands of miles had gathered into a mob. They surrounded the castle with an amorphous sea of shouting bodies, brandishing banners and fire, held back only by walls built to withstand an army of only slightly larger numbers. Between this spectacle and their vantage point was the elaborate, and now comparatively dignified, speaking platform. The Emperors and their favored ambassadors had used it for eons and for much smaller and more orderly crowds. It was vacant of even the customary guards.
"Wouldn't it be glorious, to see the masses of Jurai brought to such vengeful chaos, simply by the properly nurtured desires of their nobility? I would have to all but reinvent dedication to bring it to this point, but it would only be time---only time before one of the greatest bastions of ^life^ in all ^existence^, was on the edge of implosion." His voice hissed alternately, but did not lose its deadly monotone.
Yosho slowly turned his entire body, a completely unfamiliar acceptance filling him like an inverse meditation, leaving no shadow of pity and not even a seed of regret. He glared at what he didn't know, but what he knew would set out to consume every living thing in the maw of its own savored madness.
"I have seen enough. Flatter your plans, and cower behind whatever ^deranged^ power it is that fuels them, I will not let you leave this shrine."
He took the sword from his pocket and held it at his side. Blue light unsheathed at a downward angle without any semblance of formality or righteousness, ready to sever the honor between an opponent and an enemy.
"Now face me."
Seemingly unaffected, Seita watched the spectacle below for an entire minute before he sensually tested his hair's length of softness. Vain and erotic pleasure smoothed his closed eyes and thin smile. Sparing no gleam or glimmer or glamour of amused superiority, he turned to meet the priest's new challenge.
"At least you've recognized the turning point, the time of approaching climax, the finely orchestrated moment when you would save your world and the countless others indebted to it," air blasted through his teeth between words, "the moment---when I---would ^strike^!"
Yosho leapt forward and thrust with everything down to the last spark, running half the blade through Seita's unmoving neck a moment before it doubled in size. So much Jurai power after so long burned through him, the exertion pains were enough to flash a realization that he couldn't stop the attack if he wanted to.
Regardless, he managed to increase his efforts when he saw empty blue immunity roll back into white cells. The gloves came up alongside his face, sleek red claws gripping at a glamorous mouth stretching into a silent scream. Yosho filled in the sound for them both while every drop of paint and thread of packaging was sucked into the sword like wet paper down a drain.
***
Nobuyuki let his eyes wander and thoughts idle at the stoplight. A lot of engines were doing the same, none of them willing to take any credit for all the stinking noise. Tailored suits, marriageable skirts, and oversized fads nudged over the gutters, waiting for their turns. He could see signs above the thralls but imagined the window mannequins would have their clothes changed by the time another crowd pocket opened up. Still, it wasn't too bad for this time of week.
He looked down at his watch, checked it with the time on the dashboard, and sighed. They'd make it back by dinnertime if they turned around right now before they actually started looking for a parking spot.
A shuffling in the passenger seat pulled over his smiling attention.
Sasami had been playing with her chair's cranks and levers, an economic retro novelty to replace boring automatic-adjust switches. In the coarse of such easy amusement she'd apparently found just the right angle for a nap.
The dreamy goof-grin spread up the side of his face without a hitch, filling up with sweet new voices to call him 'father'. He had to watch her reflection on the window over the masses outside, then he had to apologize under his breath. Not surprisingly, the driver behind him didn't hear it and honked again even as honorable father began moving forward.
It must not have been the noise, because the little princess had been a truly sound sleeper up till now. Something, however, made her turn over and snuggle tighter into the cushions, wrinkling her nose and trembling her lip. Honorable driver switched between her and the road for a couple blocks.
"^Tokimi^. ^Don't^..."
The words haunted between a groan and a whisper, goose-bumped Nobuyuki flesh, and almost fender-bent his van. He held out his hand reflexively to keep Sasami from jerking too hard in her seat belt. To his surprise she ignored the jolt and his touch, cradling further into herself.
A few more moments of quiet tension inside the van and the noise outside faded to white, leaving a tighter silence to grip the steering wheel.
Sasami sprang up out of consciousness with a loud gasp. Nobuyuki hit his head and put his foot back down on the brake in time.
"It's, ^owww^, er, it's okay little Sasami, you were just having a nightmare." He reassured her and rubbed his skull.
After a few more long breaths and a guilty wipe of sweat, she dared to look over.
"S-Sorry."
"For what," he smiled kindly, "you didn't do anything wrong."
She barely finished a weak smile before she looked away, dreaming again out the window.
Nobuyuki let the new silence tense for another block and cleared his throat.
"Well, um, at least now you can help me look for a parking spot."
She must not have heard him.
When they eventually found a parking structure without a 'full' sign he tried again at just making conversation.
"So, who's Tokimi? An imaginary friend of yours?"
Sasami blinked slow, and long before she could show any surprise. Noboyuki was hopeful when she looked away from the window, till she looked at her lap.
*Brilliant 'Dad' now you've made her feel immature. Guess it's obvious where poor Tenchi ^does^ get his charm from.
When his apologetic look was ready he offered it over, making sure this time that they were already parked first. It was rejected and replaced with a lighthearted, almost excessively naïve shrug.
"Oh," Sasami giggled, "I don't know; it was just a dream."
Nobuyuki chuckled and sighed with relief.
"Okay."
After a quick glasses check, The Breadwinner hopped out of the Misaki Mobile with eager-to-shop heroism.
The Second Princess stayed inside for a moment, mumbling into her novelty purse.
"^Don't give in^."
***
The master key retired itself to permit the master enough space for an exhausted moan and a collapse to his knees. It took him a long succession of heavy breaths to realize that he could still hear a sea of shouting Jurains. He looked around the empty parapet, desperate for the surroundings to at least resemble his office again.
"^Age, before beauty^." A dozen voices surrounded him in whispers of vapor.
Yosho didn't bother to look around, or even clutch at the words seeping directly into his head; he followed his instincts down to the sword.
"Our young professor relearned quickly that restraining what I am only encourages what I do; does our old priest have the finishing-faith she did not?"
He gripped the hilt so tightly that it shook in his hands. Two spherical red gems, and one white marble reflected the gleam of panic. Raspy chuckles pressed sand into raw skin.
"What concerns you more, how to do it, or how to ^justify^ it?"
The mob's fury began to rise again.
"Hmmm," the sword pondered overtly, "I wonder what the prince would have done, that Yosho I knew seven centuries ago? How did ^he^ make important decisions?"
The illusion of sinking twisted his stomach even more than the illusion of flight, but soon after his eyes passed the floor he found himself once again on level ground, kneeling with more dizziness and less dignity than his younger self. A few quick glances turned confusion back into horror; he'd never been so vain as too ask what he looked like while praying at the base of Tsunami, but apparently someone had known.
A surrounding network of platforms branched and rooted out to hold the saplings grown from The Great Tree. In the presence of royalty a few of the larger ones ricocheted random beams of every-colored light off their nurturing moats and into the sky-ceiling. Try as the future ships did to get in on the conversation, the towering original remained still and silent. When the beams ceased, Yosho looked up at the idol he'd spent as much personal time with as any family member. The sacred tree of Jurai, vessel of their Goddess, more glorious now than he could have remembered, and so he forgot the image of himself while he respectfully maneuvered into a more comfortable position.
"This is how you were." Seita's velvet came directly from the hilt, clear and calm.
At the first sound, Yosho simply gripped the source tight again and rose. He tore his eyes painfully away from Tsunami and back to the back of his younger self, taking care not to even think about his hand.
"It's always ironically inspiring---to watch people grasp at inspiration by humbling themselves, or throwing their thoughts aside."
The muffled roar of the mob at the other end of the palace continued to filter through like an ominous static. Yosho's younger self sighed heavily and lowered his head a little more.
"She never really answered any of your questions, did she?" Gentle jeering filled Yosho with mixed nostalgia, but the priest reasserted his focused expression.
"But you wanted her to, as much as you treasured the revelations you'd come to by 'praying', what you yearned for most of all was ^actual contact^. You told yourself that she preferred to work indirectly, but you knew the ancient texts describing her will were written from the same 'intuition' you waited for."
The sigh carried more amusement than a chuckle
"And waited for."
Yosho remembered so many of the tears he'd dropped at her roots, remembered cursing as a boy. What good was it to have special access to The Great Tree if all it did was stand there?
"As your father argued with his advisors, reorganizing misplaced trust in the nobles, you would most surely be locked away in here---with your third mother.
"The people feared the king, but they respected you, thus it would have been 'your job' to either deter or ignite a revolution."
Another chuckle was almost too soft to hear, and Yosho thought he felt the hilt vibrate. He looked back at his younger self, saw him face down with palms up, faintly slurring distress.
"Please Tsunami, the people, your children, I have failed to keep them safe. Now my complacency has set them on the verge of anarchy. I am lost, I-I beg you, tell me some way to save our way of life. If the monarchy loses support, then our enemies will divide us, they will-"
The younger prince broke into sobs periodically broken with mumbled declarations of faith, desperation, and self-pity. Whenever his son in law had shown recordings with him on them, Yosho had always found it surreal and rather uncomfortable. This was no comparison. Somehow Seita had duplicated his younger voice and all too convincingly managed to add an intense anxiety to it. Still unwilling to look down, he looked back up at Tsunami, by now fully expecting something horrible to spawn from the pain in his hand.
"No Jurain has ever figured out why they can directly communicate with trees spawned from Tsunami, but not with The Great Tree, Herself. Perhaps the energy is too concentrated, perhaps she was a creation more than a discovery...another secret lost in the eons of Jurai's history.
"Whatever the explanation, the prince was only interested in a revelation."
The next chuckle was restrained, clearly more to save resources than to save face.
"How he always yearned, but would never have expected, and would never have suspected, that his 'answered prayer'---would be my 'successful ritual'."
True to style, the subhuman throat signaled a similar change in the nature of Seita's illusion. Every one of Tsunami's leaves began to radiate with a gentle white glow. The prince raised his head. For a moment Yosho wondered if the younger version was going through a seizure, having sprung up with wide mouth shaking for the iron device tightening around his heart.
Though the audience himself was standing almost lifeless, he felt something similar binding his stomach. He'd dreamed and fantasized of this moment countless times, now it was being shown to him as vividly as he could imagine by a foe he could comprehend less by the moment.
The two princes watched together. Their sincerely hidden and the falsely projected emotions pulsed at the sight of The Tree's fading glow, then cowered not to overshadow the semitransparent luminescence of the woman stepping out from it.
She was slightly taller than the prince, an angel-white dress covered all but her neck and hands. The divine wind that kept her golden hair in perpetual motion also made the plain yet elegant garment cling to her curvaceous body. She held her hands out to embrace all of existence with a transcendent love, and smiled for the photo commemorating her sainthood. Slow steps glided her forward, eyes remaining serenely closed.
The prince slapped both trembling hands over his mouth, leaving nothing to hold back his engorged eyes. As the icon came close enough to spit on, Seita's vision sank to his knees in a terrified bow. Seita's viewer, meanwhile, stoically ground back the inner-explosions.
"This is how you always envisioned her. When I first learned how to interact with people's dreams I spent a decade in ecstasy, merely exercising the creative freedom this completely relaxed and vulnerable state gave me. Yet, I only rarely dared observe yours Yosho, you were too important to taint."
Tsunami halted and stood directly above one desperately devoted subject and completely oblivious to another. Her eyes opened like a titled baby doll, looking down on the younger with the serene and humbling blue of omnipotent power.
"^F-Forgive me, my Goddess, my life, my^-" The prince's shocked whispers caught in his already clenched throat. Yosho shivered to imagine what it would feel like to believe he was finally beholding his goddess, and then to feel her lay both hands upon his shoulders.
"Rise, child of Jurai." The sensually feminine voice crept out slow and soft, frosting Yosho's bones with the distinct croon behind it.
His knees wobbled, and his head refused to lift from the floor, but the prince rose obediently. The vision of Tsunami kept her hands on his shoulders as she closed her eyes and leaned forward. Yosho watched as she tilted her mouth to the prince's ear and began to form soundless words. Jurai's true prophet of a false Goddess communicated the gravity of his revelation by simply turning his quivering hands into limp fish.
After only a few minutes of this, Tsunami folded her arms into the opposing wide sleeves of her dress and took a step back. The young man must have stolen the sad strength to raise his head, but he managed, and was petrified again by the sight of her flawless and faultless face. The bow he eventually gave her arched with all the grace of forced and solidified certainty, but he still reverted to a trembling little boy when she gently grasped his presented forehead and placed a reassuring kiss upon it.
The prince turned and strode purposefully toward the exit, taking no notice of the old priest watching the scene like a genocide aftermath, however, it seemed like everything might be ignored that didn't involve the new and divine objective.
Yosho watched himself break into a jog and burst out through the huge main doors. The violent echo foreshadowed what he almost demanded the illusionist confirm. When he whirled around to face his vision of Tsunami she remained as serene as painless death. Words almost choked him. He swallowed and began breathing heavily, no longer bothering to ignore his sword, looking down with enough hate to launch it into the sun.
Seita's voice, plain and stony, almost nasal without any glamour, snapped Yosho's focus back to The Goddess.
"In your darkest moments-" 'she' likewise adopted his melodramatic pauses and mockingly confident grin, "you were always most eager to please me, and to ^join me^."
Taking a step forward, it smiled wider from the well-concealed chuckle for Yosho's poorly concealed rage.
"I offered you ^both^. For alas, as with all deities, once offended I must be appeased."
She connected her fingertips over her belly and dug her stare into the priest.
"Whatever influenced the sins of the nobility, the high crown allowed them to threaten the masses of my children, and whether by action or restraint, salvation can only come through ^sacrifice^!"
The last word slashed out into razors and darkened eyes. Another step closer and Yosho instinctively stepped back into a fighting stance, holding his sword out but unable to ignite it. Even this perversion of what had once been the ideal was still too accurate a replica to attack. He forced his breath to calm, but had to gasp when the floor beneath him sank inside. There wasn't even enough time to look at the ceiling before he was back on the parapet and overwhelmed again by the sound of boiling Jurai.
Yosho jerked his head to the left and right, then strode over to the ledge. The dark mass of shouting peasants had kept growing; he could hardly see anything but the sky beyond them. Looking down at the speaking area, he was relieved to see it still empty.
A single voice descended through three, first the false goddess's, followed by Seita's true, then subhuman tone.
"This---was to be---my greatest triumph!"
He wore Tsunami's body as he levitated out a meter above the floor to the opposite corner of their vantage point. Even from a side distance the cosmetically perfect hybrid made Yosho turn away in horror. Desperate for reassurance, he looked back at the sword hilt. The white marble was still there.
"Now ^watch^! And know the fame I could have given you!"
Seita was almost shouting now, but hellish gurgles reduced his volume to a growl. He motioned with two upturned claws, the smallest curving in like barbs. Yosho told himself not to tremble as they both moved down to the empty speaking area.
Positioned before the crowd, looking down with his hands behind his back, Seita took a moment to continue. Though he could detect a monotone in the shouts, Yosho kept absolute focus on the madman in Goddess's clothing turning to face him. The mob still provided a sufficient background.
"Now what is it that upsets you more, that I would ^infuriate^ your people, or that I would ^impersonate^ your deity?" Still savoring his verse-speech as much as ever, Seita balanced one hand then the other in flamboyant emphasis, breathing psychotic grandeur. He received the usual response, but didn't seem surprised.
"Still wondering what 'She' would have told you?" His painted smile widened perfectly perverse.
"You'll know---what it ^knows^, you'll know---how it ^grows^, and you'll know---^why I pose^!" Facial expressions and hand positions shifted in clownish sync with his guttural recitation. He hugged himself tight then held his hands out to define megalomania, milking each word from the sky.
"As much as beings throughout existence love to talk about it, no one, 'nothing' understands the power of faith---so well---as the faithless!" Ecstatic roars of laughter pierced Yosho's skull, burning through subhuman to inhuman to immortal, deep and thick as a mouthful of septic glue. A wind raced over them, turning Seita's hair and Tsunami's dress into golden and ivory flame. This continued till the moment Yosho feared he would bury his palms in his ears.
He could only laugh for so long but obviously still loved directing visions over his audience's shoulder.
"People of Jurai!"
An enormous screen came to life behind Yosho, further projecting his young image to those standing even a mile away, and sending his voice to those even farther back. The older Jurain helplessly turned white around.
The prince was smeared and splattered with blood. He walked forward at a slow ritualistic stride, carrying a small body under each arm. By the color and style of their hair they could only be his sisters. They hung like wet rolls of carpet, their entrails dragging on the ground alongside the prince's freshly dawned holy robe. A deep red carpet smeared behind them.
Once again he walked past obliviously, nearly brushing one of Aeka's bloody ponytails against his future's elbow. Every member of the raging mob had, within that first minute of entrance, subsided from a roar, to a shout, to a mumble, to absolute silence. The priest could hear moisture squishing in the prince's boots as he walked over the podium to its farthest ledge. A last survivor called out with the reach of a planet-splitting canyon.
"People of Jurai! People of Jurai, I have heard your calls for justice." Though he repeated himself at first like many public speakers, he spoke in a monotone, eyes washed out like sun-bleached bone.
"You have been wronged by those who were sworn to protect you, their hedonism and vanity has oppressed and endangered the well being of the common citizen, the most precious water of Jurai.
"The high crown did nothing to prevent this. ^I^ did nothing to prevent this. Our arrogant confidence made us blind. But my guilt is inconsequential to the poverty so many of you have suffered; there is no sacrifice too great for my people.
"As in so many times of hardship, I prayed to our beloved Goddess, I prayed to The Great Tree Tsunami for guidance. And this time, this time she answered more clearly and vividly than ever before. She placed the responsibility, as I have, on the head beneath the crown. But more than that, she willed that a sacrifice be made for the wrongs allowed to befall her children.
"In accordance, I have made this sacrifice of my own flesh and blood, and I bid all of Jurai to accept the will of their Goddess. So truly did she say unto me, that no being may claim exclusive rights to the trees any longer, that for Jurai to survive---its nobility ^must perish^!"
The prince took a step closer to the ledge, gripping his slain sisters more tightly and looking up to the sky as he spoke. Seita hovered up to his right, fingers arched and face deathly focused on properly dictating the puppet's climax.
"She bid that I tell all Jurains to free themselves from the shadows of their masters' private gardens. She bid me relieve everyone of any right to her power, to live free on not but her memory."
The prince looked into the sky as the torches below brightened.
"She bid that my final words declare: 'The Spirit---is dead."
No more steps left till the end of the ledge.
"'Long-live---^The Ghost^!'"
With eyes closed and mouth limp, the last prince of Jurai plummeted down, holding tight to the princesses till they all cracked and burst against armor-polished wood. The crowd and the audience forgot to breathe.
Seita looked down at his projected plans, then craned his neck around to bathe his priest in the consuming wrath of oblivion. The mob's roar became deafening. Weapons' fire, explosions, and falling architecture signaled the beginning of a world-riot.
Yosho watched the blue from the white threaten to swallow him and prepared to confront the true ambition of his foe. Loosening his grip on the sword, he thought on how there had never been any mention of material gain in these 'plans', he remembered the subtle and overt challenges offered almost every time the guest spoke, and reconsidered what little he knew of demons. Never would he have imagined feeling so frightened when at last presented with the answer to his pleas for some sign of more than here.
Fueled by this indirect gaze of victory, the image of Seita levitated up and out with his back to the crowd, spreading arms into the billowing wind to glorify the conduction. Behind him the beloved trees that decorated the countryside added to his spectacle, going up in flame one by one. He bellowed to the sky, passing judgment with insane abandon.
"And so, consumed by a plague of servants without masters, the 'Empire of Life' would descend into ^chaos^! And from, and into that chaos, all surrounding kingdoms would easily fall; feeding my dominion with the consuming power of their surrender, of their ^apathy^. They would show me the deepest pits of the mortal to ^immortal^ mind!"
Without missing a nerve, Seita clutched and tore long chunks of hair from his scalp. They trembled in his fists as he looked down to devour the priest.
"^Yes^! I am the one who deserves this and more. I would live to hear of it--- even after your very language was dead, the day---when Jurai--- BUUURRRNED!"
The climax of his vision spread out, enveloping air and melting light. For a moment Yosho envisioned being made to numbly watch his own flesh burn to the cinder. He took a step back and brought the hilt's white eye in front of the figure, now gradually relaxing, lowering its arms and head.
The tyrant's grandeur faded, hair tossed to the wind and re-grown into a ponytail. Tsunami's dress tightened into a steel gray suit.
"Do you understand now? Do you see why you were so important to my masterwork?"
Seita's projection of himself set down and climbed off the wall. Among the screaming and fires its voice was like a single piece of iron struck lightly in a deserted junkyard. It took almost zombie-like steps towards its audience, growing a lavender tie and matching subtle makeup. His hair darkened slightly from the invisible hands further slicking it back. As it spoke again the riot began to fade.
"I spent every aspect of my existence preparing for my orchestra. This vision of having your ultimate aid in Jurai's fall, it drove me like a second life."
The screams faded to wind while the fires dwindled to starlight. All of Jurai slept in glass. Yosho looked around and looked back at Seita, swallowing and absently wondering how long ago he had broken a sweat. One more footstep brought the projection just out of sword range. A look of regret too callous to be remorse directed its face downward.
"But it was not to be."
Silence took once last breath before it was torn away by a gigantic explosion near the west towers of the palace. Some patrol ship had been obliterated by a familiar red energy blast. An organic wail rose up to forever remind the real Jurai of complete terror.
"MIIIIIIYYYAAA!"
***
^Tenchi Muyo: Sanctuary and Asylum^
-Verse Eight is Martyr-
-Part 2-
Any title can be won. And nothing can be done. Will the curious fury say how?
Each King's time will come. And nothing's will be done. Is your bravery wavering now?
-ZJS
***
Three more patrol ships charged towards the palace to be sliced along a single red beam of energy. Ryo-ohki paused near the speaking platform, her shadow spreading over the ringleader and his crowd like a ragged circus elephant. Another shrill echo of thunder carried the vessel in an arch toward the palace center and The Great Tree. Yosho watched a larger group of Jurai ships give chase as if he didn't know and wouldn't relive their fate. Seita's projection descended into a bitter whisper and did not look up as its audience looked back.
"Other interests decided to present themselves."
Thunder rolled back in a wail, louder and more agonized. The deadly blossom of organic minerals retreated into view firing desperately. Even from this radically different perspective, Yosho recognized the battle details more easily than any other. A cluster of Jurai energy slammed into Ryo-ohki's hull as Funaho flew around to attack from a different angle.
"Why don't we follow them, Yosho? Few people get the opportunity to relive a memory this way; you might learn something."
A faint red spotlight seemed to be focusing where they stood, Yosho looked up to see one of Ryo-ohki's blasts descending upon them. He blinked rapidly and the light transformed into a pile of high boulders beneath a blue sky. Ryoko's soulless battle cry nearly froze him against shielding his eyes from a shower of pulverized rock. A cloud of dust consumed and dissipated to show Jurai's young prince narrowly escaping a lethal slash of energy.
"That conflict was extraordinary." Seita's projection leaned casually into a split in the rocks, watching from behind and over Yosho's shoulder as the battle elevated into a war. This understatement prompted another ear splitting screech.
"You know, Ryoko might suggest that Kagato's control made her fight below ability, but he only ever had control over her will. Even if given her body, he could never have lasted this long against Jurai's greatest swordsman---in his prime."
At the return of mocking confidence, Yosho's most intense memory replayed. He could not help but gape at the wild animal writhing to claw him from the end of his sword. It would have taken something unimaginably more violent to distract him from those final moments before Ryoko lost consciousness.
Someone was happy to oblige, reappearing between them and point-counting the gems as they appeared on the sword hilt.
"Three...two...one. Crisis averted." The potentially biased referee refolded his arms and scowled back at the spectators.
"Attention diverted."
Yosho's younger self looked at his sword with a mixture of relief and disbelief, the pose almost becoming a kind of circular or omnipresent memory. As the prince knelt over his vanquished foe, the priest could almost hear the way she had breathed; faint and slow as a trance. He remembered the pitiful moan she leaked out when he lifted her eyelids to find soft gold in the place of violent ruby. He even remembered the soft and surprisingly delicate feel of her body cradled against him. The prince began walking back to the crash-landed Funaho, the subdued demon a rescued child.
"You put her in a stasis chamber," Seita interrogated bitterly, "but tell me what you ^didn't^ do."
"I-" Yosho looked over at the projection with a new kind of confused anxiety. Reliving a memory this way shouldn't shake him more than Seita's future vision.
"Funaho was too damaged from the crash to take off again safely, but you didn't have any backup. When you took off in pursuit there was an entire armada on its way. You told them to stand down, that if this 'devil' didn't shoot them down, you would."
"I-I did not want any more lives to be lost."
The recreated environment around them froze like a photograph. Some hilarious and cruel irony crawled up in the projection's throat, amused chuckle to piercing cackle in five seconds flat.
"Oh the hero's vanitee-hee-hee!"
Seita's projection copied off Ryoko and teleported out of sight, reappearing inches away from Yosho's standing ground.
"Do I need to show you everything?!"
The screaming close-up was followed by complete darkness, quickly fading into a new angle of the memory. Yosho watched himself climbing out of Ryo- ohki's crater at a forest edge.
"After putting Ryoko safely away, you found that her ship was dormant, as well as mostly buried. You 'could' have went right back to Funaho, 'could' have transmitted a distress call-" Bitter lectures from all directions turned to a vengeful accusation directly behind Yosho's left ear.
"But you DIDN'T!"
Wincing first at the harsh volume, footsteps whirled Yosho around to watch his younger self walk through and to his future. The battle weary prince disappeared into the dense forest.
"A life-saver, and a path-finder."
New and agelessly familiar surroundings illuminated around the cold monotone.
"You wandered for miles, but eventually---'found what you were looking for'."
Double meaning didn't strike as overtly as resentment. Regardless, the young prince's face still lit up like a child's firework at his first glimpse of a Shinto shrine. At last he began to show the appropriate mannerisms of someone visiting an alien world.
"Hello there." A frail old man stepped out of the priest's quarters. The humble building was only slightly more rugged looking than the one Yosho maintained, but the ceremonial robe weighing down this collection of wrinkles and white hair hadn't changed in 700 years.
Prince Yosho stared in bewilderment, pocketing his sword and clearing his throat half way through his response.
"You---you speak Jurain?"
"Excuse me?" The old man asked with a slightly less confused expression.
Stepping in to gesture towards Yosho's past, the narrator gave his version of the revelation.
"That's when you realized where you were, having chased Ryoko for months at full speed to get to a planet that was not on the records and still primitive. But strangely enough one of its languages was programmed into Jurain translators. It only took this short conversation to make this the 'barbarous planet' your father had 'rescued' your mother from."
Yosho watched himself recompose and bow to the priest, just as his mother had taught him.
"Please forgive my rudeness, I am lost, a stranger in this land."
The old man smiled at the change in tone and nodded.
"I haven't had any new visitors to the shrine in years, I hope you were not harmed by that earthquake."
"Earthquake? Oh, yes, the earthquake. Thank you, I am unharmed." Noble princes of Jurai often have to chew their ire for liars and keep their eyes averted to focus on a plan.
"Someone from the nearby village said that they saw two battling demons falling from the sky."
Though casually mentioned, young Yosho still had visible trouble swallowing the rumor.
"Is that so?"
"Hm," the old man nodded with closed eyes, "if it is so then let us hope that they vanquished each other."
Yosho could feel Seita's semi-private chuckle better than he could hear it, like a stained hand smearing its film along a pane of glass. Meanwhile, the elderly priest returned to inviting smiles.
"But you look tired from your travels. Come, I have some extra soup, and I'll look at my maps while you rest."
The prince followed trustingly, again looking around with a softening light in his eyes. Yosho remembered and followed without moving; as primitive and alien as it had looked, he'd shown less nervousness with each step.
Moment by moment he relived the experience, watching himself accept hospitality with a newfound passiveness, listening while he strained to fabricate an impression of himself as a traveling merchant, whose supplies were washed away in a river. When the prince rose to leave and give proper thanks, the priest offered something that shook the stranger anew. Bittersweet emotions shimmered behind Yosho's eyes as he barley maintained his immunity before all too accurate illusions.
"I will say a prayer for your travels good sir, go in peace."
The prince stared for a moment at the little man who had just offered him a high honor for no apparent reason. He bowed again more slowly before walking back towards the crash site with a thoughtful step.
Yosho remained standing alongside the priest, held tightly by Seita's enduring silence. Fears of being forced to re-watch the past 700 years of his life vanished as the world faded to stone and to forest again. The prince was walking right towards him and the ledge of an unchanged rock formation. With casual agility, his younger self descended the boulders, sighing to see the crater through the trees. A light breeze moaned through the cave behind him. He turned and, somehow compelled, entered with his sword lighting the way.
For long minutes Yosho waited for his younger self to reemerge, waited for Seita to make a comment, and received both in sync.
"What were you thinking Yosho? What inspiration struck you in that haven, and that hole?"
Smooth but unfocused, Seita's voice seemed to be asking both the present and the past without expecting an answer from either. An obvious dilemma or five raged through the prince's mind as he alternated glances between the crash site, the cave, and the direction he'd left the shrine.
"At this point I told myself that you were holding off the S.O.S till you made sure the natives would not be troubled by the arrival of other Jurain ships." The monotone stone he criticized himself with did little to crush his spite. "I didn't foresee the potential impact of your decision."
Yosho swallowed, dry nausea at the thought of what had been watching him during that pivotal decision. The guilt was haunting enough on its own, now that it had help he could feel a fear-bend in the last wall of his composure.
Spring greens falling to brown, covered in white, and swelling back again as their position returned to the old man's shrine. The smooth beauty of this politely rushed transition went unnoticed. Now Yosho was standing near an outdoor alter, watching a man offer ritual incense. By the hair and stature he recognized himself, the first years when he lived at the Masaru shrine, eagerly learning the ways of this new ancient tradition. The hundreds-of years-young priest shifted and entered meditation with a serenity untouched by the empty serenade.
"You told the priest that you wanted to learn everything about his culture, and would help him teach a self defense class to pay your keep. Whenever possible you went off to work on securing Ryoko in the cave, replanting Funaho in a position where she could keep the pirate alive.
"For years I kept watch over the Lord of Jurai and the Priest of Earth, waiting alongside your family for a hero's welcome."
A shadow pulled Yosho's eyes away from his meditating self. The solemn image had reappeared, dressed in a priest's clothes, sitting on the altar like an impatient boy at a bus stop. The breeze he announced himself with felt predictably unnervingly real.
"So why? Why replace a prince with a priest?"
Two elegant fingers plucked two smoking incense sticks as the rest stood up casually on the altar. A hand, a wood block, and an iron bell struck themselves. Yosho watched the sounds match tempo with each new perpendicular cross over, and noticed that even a little ash fell off in the process. Holding both sticks up to trap Yosho's head in a shrinking corner angle, Seita's projection kept only one eye open for focus. A thin ribbon of smoke parted around and drew attention to it.
"Did that drained and comatose woman need a special warden?"
His question answered itself, but gorged out anemic sarcasm with vengeful insight.
"Why abandon your people, your ^Goddess^, to favor the world your mother discarded easily enough."
The priest that would be Katshuhito didn't respond, the priest that had been Katshuhito scowled. One blue eye caught and clenched fire, moving the incense to put the elder's forehead in crosshairs. Both sticks started burning down like slow fuses.
"It was the energy you felt when you first walked into this shrine, the energy you've kept perpetuated at your own. You were always consumed with either sword practice---or escaping into prayer before Tsunami."
The wick burned down and the projection opened its other eye before closing both.
"But you weren't satisfied with merely having the Jurai power, you wanted to ^be^ the Jurai power.
Smoke continued, crawling out from each painted nail as it brought both hands back into an arch before its chest. If nothing could mock holiness with grace, then this projection would.
"A swelling part of you loathed your people, their Nobles, and so much petty materialism, for ^your^ truest happiness came when you felt you were approaching 'oneness', a 'transcendence' from the pain of self."
Seita's projection shook its head to mock, before opening its eyes to invert pity.
"Yet, distractions and interruptions abounded the life you were born into, and you knew it would only get worse after taking the throne---and your half-sister."
The smoke shut off from the projection's fingers as it gestured around with half a shrug.
"But then at last your self-sacrificing nature paid off; here you were given the perfect oasis to renounce nobility...and wrap yourself up in the holy womb these simple people provided."
Seita's projection hugged itself till its exaggerated smile wilted and rotted off. Yosho felt its eyes boring the stench into him.
"I kept checking up on you for centuries, watching you travel to different shrines to avoid suspicions about your curious longevity. But then," it swallowed a heavy ball of something petrified and no less foul, "'like father like son.'"
Grinning up the side of its cheek, cursing down the length of its nose, but even the projection couldn't keep such a sneer going and still darken authority.
"Similar as they were to Jurains, you enjoyed the earth people---one of them enough to start a family with her, as if your vows to Aeka had been made by someone else."
"How self-indulgent." Head to the side in halfcocked surprise, Seita's projection ground its teeth behind a smile. It lasted no longer than needed, giving back to focus as it stepped off the altar and onto the past's head, balancing perfectly on still bowed shoulders.
"The key character in my composition---completely caught up in the most coddling of compulsions." Phlegm tore in its throat, but the projection took little time in savoring another word sculpture, hair wiped forward and back in the time needed to put out the incense with a sizzle.
"The great prince of Jurai, trapped by a lust for the euphoria of peace and righteousness, thoroughly addicted to his spiritual ^narcotic^!"
One breath clenched in its jaw, saluting the observation with a neck full of tendons. Slowly, calmly, Yosho let himself breath as well, less visibly he hoped.
Seita's projection looked down at its hands, caressing thumbs over fingertips till they reached the sharp parts, then looked back at Yosho with a more curious sort of intensity, suggesting that he actually wanted an answer for the next question.
"And thus, when it was clear you'd found your early retirement, I returned to Jurai. Do you know what I found?"
Yosho swallowed and tried not to look at the illusion's new pedestal.
"Come now, take a guess. There is 'some' open communication between your two homes now, isn't there? Haven't you managed to pick up a clue or two or three?"
Yosho's organs clenched, his mouth shriveled, but he would not give this illusion any more than he had to. A painted frown played the part of half a smile, recognizing the routine they'd created without concern, then chuckling, then cackling.
"I-I-I knew it!" The projection pointed at him then gestured at clawing out his heart. "You have no IDEA how important you've become!"
Smoothing back its hair and breathing down its laughter, blue tyranny stepped off the shoulders of gray submission.
"I'm sure your parents said they've missed you terribly," another chuckle stepped the suspense forward, "they always were so very 'diplomatic'."
Yosho steadied himself but couldn't even balance his feet amid the tension building for this next revelation. Between believing Seita's words and disregarding them all, the greater danger seemed to swing closer on a pendulum.
"Seriously now, could the most beloved of Jurai's nobility chase a demon into space, not return, and simply be 'missed'? No Yosho, in the eyes of all the people you saved you became more than a hero, more than a celebrity, you became a legend!"
The word steamed out through sharp teeth much as they had during the final moments of Jurai's fall. Yosho's mouth quivered open at this new information, inadvertently begging the source for more. Though still too bloated with resentment to pass for a storyteller or a journalist, the illusion tried for both.
"That's right, when you and Ryoko both failed to reappear after more than 50 years, word spread that you had given your own life to keep Jurai forever safe from the dreaded demon. Artists and scholars began dedicating poetry and architecture to you, singing praises to your gloriously violent selflessness."
The projection cracked fresh hate into both knuckles.
"The keepers of The Great Tree started to believe the Goddess Herself had chosen you to be Her champion, the savior of all Jurains. They collected your friends and teachers, your yes-men and parasites, to make a formal document of the 'wisdom' you passed along before your great deed, surely invaluable to anyone not fortunate enough to have known 'The Great Yosho'.
"Your sacrifice spread through the Empire and beyond, all through tales of the kind prince who heard the voice behind the Jurai power and gave his life to protect his people. Prayers to Tsunami were often offered to you as the keepers published their---'your' book."
Stopping halfway through its next step, Seita's projection fought to calm itself again, sighing heavily and pressing one sharpened finger into its lower lip. Yosho dreaded when the eyes would open again, but felt little relief when they looked off into the trees. It spoke through its hand in a dry whisper.
"Little by little---humble philanthropy's emotional caress became more stylish than grandeur's," not wanting to leave the audience out of the performance, the projection lowered its hand and, staring, clutched at Yosho's throat again, "particularly among the less endowed masses---and the nobles who wished to appease them."
Folding hands behind its back, the projection roughly ground its neck up to the sky.
"Jurai lost its potential," it hissed dreamy ethers at some specific star still visible in daylight then shared them back down at Yosho, "and I lost my opportunity."
The illusion stopped for a long silent breath, not blinking to see the story sinking in and to feel it being correctly.
"It's ironic really; martyr-fans are so ripe for delusion and devaluation of their own individual lives, yet their egos are so swollen with 'selflessness' and coddled by 'higher purpose' hopes---that they are all but immune to mass apathy."
Somewhere beyond all that malice, Yosho thought he could sense a fascination truer than any of the day's explanations. But the moment was lost in the increasing rage twisting his narrator's features.
"Regardless of what they believed about you, those in power recognized how to best use this 'Great Yosho's' popularity to maintain social--- 'stability'. Even though none your immediate family were willing to believe you were dead, they could not deny the importance of ruling the people through their celebrities."
A chuckle built itself on iron and mucus as the projection sat back on the back of the peaceful man who would be a saint. It reached into his robe and pulled out the sword, watching for Yosho to do the same.
"Hm, the trouble your parents have gone through to keep you and your grandson a secret; seems to have all---paid off." The projection balanced the weapon idly between opposite forefingers after lightly exploring its texture.
"If only those people knew the brave, selfless, Tsunami-inspired prince had in truth been looking for an excuse to abandon them, just so he could escape into a more 'spiritual' existence." The sour word darkened the projection's eye and lip lines. Yosho watched nails turn from a soft red to a radiant burgundy.
"Maybe it's wrong to place all the blame on the icon; you probably just assumed that they'd find a new prince. The Jurai power, if it really ^had^ a consciousness at all, would certainly not mind one less disciple."
Balanced rigidly between the projection's palms, the hilt caught the sun in its gems and shone it into Yosho's eyes for a flinch. Each new and softer word began compacting it a little more.
"Surely giving your life to something that brought you such tranquility couldn't harm anyone," the sword disappeared into the projection's clapped hands, it lowered them onto its lap and lashed out with a hushed and no less deadly subhuman hiss.
"^But it did^."
A bead of sweat slid down Yosho's cheek. The projection didn't watch it, probably didn't see it, and definitely wouldn't need it. The former First Prince of Jurai let himself look at his sword, knowing the uncertainty it would reveal, but hardly knowing why he gave into the whim so passively.
*This is careless, foolish. He's looking back at me through that white gem.
*But couldn't he see me anyway?
*No. Not like this. Why am I distracting myself, do I need to look upon Jurai again, draw strength from my heritage?
*But how can I now that-
Yosho clenched and pocketed the hilt forcefully, looking back and specifically looking down at the projection and its smirk, intending to dismiss an overused overconfidence mask.
The eyes were frozen open and empty, finally attacking him, drawing out his strength like a syringe tipped with oblivion. Yosho fought not to gasp, or wail, or flee as he saw Seita's own meditation. All the pomp and violence had been an opening act for nothing, for emptiness honed into a weapon lashing out on a velvet tongue.
"Aeka and Sasami abandoned their families to find you. Leaving Tenchi to free Ryoko led Kagato here to nearly destroy you all.
"And by defying your birthright, you unwittingly aborted my ambition, bringing me here to avenge and ^renew it^." The projection stood and stepped around, looking at the younger priest then lifting him by one finger beneath his chin.
Yosho began to tremble as the projection turned to pick another incense stick from the rudely extinguished bowl, holding it like a scalpel before the past's forehead.
"Your Goddess may have forgiven you," the green ooze on the tip began to bubble and then smoke something to churn any stomach, "but I have not."
Seita's image dug the small ember in, twisting it like a cigar in an ashtray. Yosho was prepared to feel his skin burn as the old yard faded back into his present office.
---
The first edges of relief kept their distance, but all the familiar sensations beckoned an overcoming embrace. Yosho breathed anxiously and kept his eyes moving to keep the rest from yielding again. The position of the sun spoke hours, but the position of a few other things reassured some hopes. Expecting to have knocked something over during his loss of perception, he was almost calm enough for relief.
"End of act one."
Seita's voice made the sword sound clear and smooth. Without the urge to think to hesitate this time, Yosho stared directly into the white marble. And there it was again, this time saving any need for illusions. After centuries of perfecting the meditative state, he at last found himself in its inversion; peace through union with existence replaced by fear in confrontation with oblivion. He should lock the sword away where no living thing could think of it. He should drop it and run screaming.
"And here you are again, seven point zero two centuries later, near the same battle grounds, a different demon in your custody."
No visual illusions, yet the voice seemed even less believable without a flamboyant body to attach it to. The weight of the sword seemed to be leaving his hands for his chest.
"It's not really a victory though, is it? You've limited the range of my influence, but you've done nothing to slow my ambition."
A thoughtful silence ensued. Yosho slowly began to hold the hilt up to eyelevel, the setting sun refracted through the gems, but not the marble. He felt his arm muscles tense around thoughts of the lake, the cave, the core of the sun.
"And the irony persists; by putting me so close to an implement of Jurai you've only made it easier to connect to those who share its power."
An old man's patiently and fearfully long blink pushed back returning visions of invasion. But no, this thing could not read thoughts, could only twist them.
"It recognizes---interacts with your energy like a tracking device," a thoughtful chuckle punctuated loudly for such a small sphere, "and I wouldn't be surprised if I could do the same with Ryoko's other gems."
Eyes almost too wide to look wise, Yosho tried to swell himself into calling a bluff. But Seita's voice, without even hardening, went evenly serious.
"You know Yosho, being part of this union between your power and Ryoko's has made me realize something. I long wondered about the energy Funaho fed both you and Ryoko with, why it lasted so long away from Jurai. Normally you and your tree would have wilted in only a few hundred years after taking root in alien soil."
Two gentle winds danced leaves over the fallen door but, Yosho decided, didn't feel menacing enough to be illusions.
And now it is quite clear to me; while you were concerned with keeping Ryoko alive, by keeping her gems in the sword, the energy in ^them^ has been keeping you both alive more than the dwindling power in Funaho."
A short silence made way for a quick chuckle.
"If you're worried about me trying to 'cross' or 'uncross' any wires while I'm in here, rest assured; I don't think that would be possible. Still, now that I've reacquainted you with your unashamed fall to earth, and unknown rise to heaven, I can already feel a great rush of power.
"It's quite an improvement over the one's I received working lesser wonders on the rest of your 'gifted' family, though I probably wouldn't have been able to put on such a spectacle for you if they hadn't warmed me up."
Yosho wanted to smother the voice in his fist again, and would have were his chest not still hoarding weight upon weight.
"I'm sure they'll have plenty more to contribute."
Nothing should sound so dangerously confident from within a prison, but Yosho had to hide his fear better, but he had to tell himself it was only fear. The weapon's voice would be met head on, even as it traveled through muscles, organs, and into his skull on a snaking point of this same emptying needle.
"What---has it all been for my Prince, my Teacher, my Savior? What enemy grows closer to you for being vanquished? How-" a sharp breath steamed around Yosho's throat and down Seita's, "can a quest for peace bring so much selfish misery?"
There was no denying this swelling emotion its name. Yosho hadn't felt it so strongly since his boyhood, those nights where he forgot sleep, consumed by a lethargy that swallowed sadness and rage as easily as joy. Depression's recognizable transience lost, those were the nights where hopelessness became him.
All the beauty of the world was not lost, or forgotten, but never existent. Certain that he was edging defeat, certain that this feeling was equal to the voice oozing out of the sword, Yosho thought he could see the mouth of oblivion in a white marble.
"We've got time together to figure it out now, though I'm sure you'll learn to 'transcend', to shut me out like so many other things. I'll never have my occasion to take Tsunami's water now, in the end I suppose you'll get to experience my life slipping away, while you remain young."
Yosho imagined Seita's hands doing something seductive, but couldn't imagine how long it might take for the marble to crumble, and wasn't prepared for the moment's silence to be so brief.
"^Like---so---many---others^."
The words echoed and dissipated into a cruel whisper, pouring directly into his mind like a thick caramel. Intrusion, violation, Seita was spreading a hand over Yosho's consciousness with perverse glee. No perception of the office changed, none of his senses took in anything abnormal, but for that moment something added itself to the sovereignty of his existence, a parasite of omnipresence. Knowing best his rapist, he felt the depths of wielded madness. Gone and clean again in a second moment, everything tangible came first, but Seita's voice came before that.
*Hello, Prince Yosho. I'm happy to be here with you now. Please pay attention to my voice, and to every word I say. You should relax so that we can begin. This is for the best so do not be afraid. Relax and relax again, pay attention still to my voice, pay attention again to my words.
*Now.
The sword's weight drug Yosho's arm down like a thick rope of taffy, he swallowed and began to breath very slowly.
*Begin with the number 21. We will begin counting backwards from 21 till we reach 0. At each number you will be more at peace, more relaxed where you are. I will count out loud while you count to yourself.
*Ready.
*Now.
*Begin.
*21. At peace.
*20. At peace.
*19. At peace.
*18. At peace.
*17. At peace.
*16. At peace.
*15. At peace.
*14. At peace.
*13. At peace.
*12. At peace.
*11. At peace.
*10. At peace.
*9. At peace.
*8. At peace.
*7. At peace.
*6. At peace
*5. At peace.
*4. At peace.
*3. At peace.
*2. At peace.
*1. At peace.
*Zero. You are now at peace.
*Prince Yosho, do you feel at peace?
"Yes." Yosho answered with a bland voice, blinking his head forward a few slow centimeters.
*Do you know why we're speaking today?
"No."
*We're here to talk about your life, Prince Yosho. Or rather, your lifespan, the length of your life.
"Masaki, Katshuhito."
*What's that?
"Masaki, Katshuhito. My name is Masaki, Katshuhito"
*I see. Katshuhito is not a prince, he is the Shinto priest who cares for this shrine. You are Katshuhito, correct?
"Yes."
*Jurai, Yosho was and is a prince.
* Correct?
"Yes."
*He would not tell somebody who he was unless it was safe, or unless they already knew, correct?
"Yes."
*I already know. You were named Yosho Jurai, you have given yourself other names over the years. Masaki, Katshuhito is one of these names, correct?
After two extra moments of hesitation, Yosho answered.
"Yes."
*In this case if I address you by one name, I am also addressing you by the other, do you understand?
"Yes. Who are you?"
*You are at peace Yosho, and evil cannot harm those who are at peace, correct?
"Yes."
*You believe that Seita is evil, correct?
"Yes." Half a hesitation, and a slightly lower tone crept in.
*Since you are now at peace, Seita cannot harm you, and you have no reason to fear him, correct?
"I---don't know. Seita is different."
*Is it evil to show enjoyment when people are in pain?
"Yes"
*Does Seita do this?
"Yes."
*Is Seita evil?
"Yes."
*You are at peace now Yosho, correct?
"Yes."
*Do people at peace need to fear evil?
"No."
*Are you afraid of Seita?
"No."
*I am Seita. Are you afraid of me?
"No."
*That is correct, Prince Yosho. You are at peace, and you are not afraid of me, correct?
"Yes."
*You are at peace, and you are not afraid of listening to my words, correct?
"Yes."
*Good.
*You are at peace, Prince Yosho. You will listen to my words.
***
It takes some practice to successfully keep the bitter dregs in the teacup, more practice than Ryoko had, or needed. She solemnly made goofy faces to fish flakes of green peace out of her teeth. Meanwhile, Tenchi and Aeka simultaneously rose towards the teapot to give everyone a refill. They noticed each other moments before their hands met and promptly retreated, Aeka blushed while Tenchi simply averted his gaze. This little moment did not go unnoticed; Ryoko's eyes darkened for jealousy then darkened again for guilt. She silently poured them all some more tea and sat back down, silently nursing the lump in her throat as the Washu-worry-count clicked higher. Looking for a new visual pattern to get lost in, she let her eyes fall on and climb Aeka's kimono.
Much to her surprise and relief, she was not looking at Tenchi. Neither of them had thanked her for pouring more tea, but it was evident now that, for Aeka anyway, it was more important to mentally absent. Her rival's use of the same coping mechanism should have brought the same combination of surprise and relief, but all Ryoko could think of was illusions, mocking and cruel voices, the nightmare. She'd been so close, those blue eyes and that blonde hair.
Gold ballooned but couldn't lift her head. The throat tingle felt like a weak whisper, but was apparently loud enough to grab attention.
"Mihoshi."
"What did you say Ryoko?" Tenchi asked hesitantly.
"Mihoshi! Where's Mihoshi!" Ryoko forced her head up with a jerk, looking towards the front then back door. A third of her legs were ready to stand.
"Mihoshi? She's-" He attempted a calming voice, but it caught on the horrible realization his throat.
"Don't you remember? She went on patrol this morning," Aeka continued in a lifeless voice, "with Seita."
Ryoko looked at Tenchi with helpless furry, and he responded with a desperate reach for control.
"Now wait a minute wait a minute, I'm sure she's fine. Washu has a link to her ship, so if anything was wrong-"
"How can you be so sure, Tenchi? How can you be so sure of anything anymore?" The pirate sank back down to the couch, hands lost in her hair, eyes angled down but frozen open.
"Stop it, Ryoko!" Aeka sprang to her feet, glaring down with fists balled at her sides. "We can't talk like that. We can't let this---this ^break us^! Washu's probably categorizing that monster's innards as we speak!"
Ryoko looked up at the princess with slight bewilderment. Strangely unashamed of her morbid prediction, Aeka merely swallowed, sitting back to her tea and whatever else she was using to divert comfort to her mind.
"That's right Ryoko," Tenchi managed, forcing away the unpleasant and too pleasant image, "Mihoshi's probably on her way home now, she may even get here before dad and Sasami do."
There was no room in either Ryoko's or Aeka's anxiety to acknowledge that they had looked over at each other in perfect sync. Flawless empathy ignored, there was no room to feel rude for shouting.
"'Dad and Sasami?!' Tenchi, what the hell are we supposed to do if they get back before Washu does?!" Ryoko was ready to climb across the table, and the sight made Tenchi sink back into his chair. The attack, however, came from his side.
"Tenchi! Please, don't let Sasami..." Aeka clutched onto his hand for dear life, but trailed off before she could make any last requests. Her wavering eyes frozen on his till they sank away for fringe tears.
Thankful to still be assertive when the situation was serious enough, Tenchi still shivered under the weight of Aeka's hands.
"Don't worry miss Aeka, if they get back before we get an answer from Washu then-" he paused for thought and exhaled, "then I'll get grandfather to take them both away to the city for a while."
Ryoko rose and tried to square her shoulders.
"Alright then, I'll go call him and tell him that-"
"Hold, on Ryoko."
Halfway out of the living room she stopped and turned with a puzzled expression.
"Huh?"
"Don't tell him anything yet, okay. I'd like to keep him from worrying if I can."
Both girls searched for understanding in his face. He looked at the floor with hands in the air, denying them knowledge to put them at ease.
"Please, just let me think of something to say first."
"Okay, Tenchi."
Ryoko slowly resigned herself back to the couch.
One last word from the self appointed leader before they returned to a silent commune. Looking over at the clock, Tenchi added almost casually:
"Besides, it's Friday, he'll be meditating for at least another half hour. He might not even hear the phone, and I'd rather not interrupt him."
***
Brilliant cherry blossoms and crisp leaves mixed with other dead vegetation, dancing and falling in the wind. Birdsong and tree-rattle caressed the silence. Masaki shrine looked deserted, as it usually did when closed to the public. Millions of people were enjoying the romantic beginnings of the sunset, but none from this blessedly high vantage point.
The wind blew another fistful of leaves and a pinch of cherry blossoms inside the office and over Prince Yosho's feet. In his Katshuhito disguise, the wrinkles fold a little more as he thinks about sweeping for a moment. He promptly returns focus to his peace and Seita's voice.
*How long have you lived in Japan, Prince Yosho?
"Almost 702 earth years."
*In that time, how many funerals have you attended?
"94."
*How many of these friends and family died in old age?
"About 75."
*Do you think that is a lot for a single person to lose in a lifetime?
"Yes."
*Your lifetime will last much longer, correct?
"Yes."
*You will likely attend many more funerals before having your own, correct?
"Yes."
*Has anything pained you more than the loss of friends and family over these centuries?
Two more slow blinks than usual, but he answered calmly.
"No."
*Does it still hurt to lose all these friends, and to know you will lose more?
"Yes. Sometimes."
*Do you ever feel 'old', Prince Yosho?
"Yes." A short strain strung itself around Yosho's throat.
*Do you ever wish that you had a human lifespan?
"Yes." The string tightened.
*You are at peace Prince Yosho, correct?
"Yes."
*Good.
*Have you ever wished to die, Prince Yosho?
"Yes."
*But you could never take your own life, correct?
"Yes."
*Have you ever imagined being vanquished in a battle?
"Yes."
*Do you still fantasize about this?
"Yes. Sometimes." The hesitation was hardly noticeable.
*Is this because you feel old?
"Yes."
*Is this because you are tired of attending funerals?
"Yes."
*Do you every worry that a small part of this fantasy might make you lose a battle in life.
"I don't know."
*Do people at peace need fear?
"No."
*Are you at peace, Prince Yosho?
"Yes."
*Have you ever worried that these fantasies of defeat could make you fight a battle below your ability?
"Yes."
*Do you think this could still happen?
"Yes."
*Why?
"Because I don't want to attend funerals anymore." Yosho's voice was soft as ancient hair on a baby's hand.
*Are you at peace?
"Yes."
*When your lifespan is over Prince Yosho, will you be more at peace than you are now?
"Yes."
*Does a part of you want your lifespan to be over?
"Yes."
*Could a part of you make you lose a battle?
"Yes."
*You were trained in the highest self-defense methods of Jurai, correct?
"Yes."
*Part of that included detecting poisons, correct?
"Yes."
*Are you tired of attending funerals?
"Yes."
*Is it possible that your fantasy of being vanquished might make you lose a battle in real like, because you already feel old?
"Yes."
*Would it be possible for someone to put poison in your tea?
"Yes."
*Would it be possible for you to ignore it, because you already feel old?
Yosho blinked slowly but did not open his eyes again.
*You are at peace Prince Yosho, correct?
"Y-Yes."
*When your lifespan is over, will you feel more at peace than you do now?
"Yes."
*When your lifespan is over, will you have to attend any more funerals?
"Yes."
*If someone poisoned your tea, might your fantasies of defeat make you ignore a strange odor?
"Yes."
*You are listening to my words Prince Yosho, correct?
"Yes."
*You are at peace and have no fear of evil, correct?
"Yes."
*You feel old, correct?
"Yes."
Yosho's monotone answers seemed to hold steady, but by this they had clearly thinned out since the first introductory questions.
*A part of you wants your lifespan to end, correct?
"Yes."
*This part of you might cause you to ignore poison in your tea, correct?
"Yes."
*Are you at peace, Prince Yosho?
"Yes."
*Do you wish to be more at peace?
"Yes."
*Would Seita put poison in your tea?
"Y-Yes."
*Do you wish to be more at peace?
"Yes."
*Would I put poison in your tea?
"Yes."
*Would your fantasies of defeat make you ignore it?
"Yes."
*Do you wish to be more at peace?
"Yes."
*Do you wish for our talk to help you?
"Yes."
*If the only way to do so would be to have this talk remain with you, without your remembering it, would you have it done?
"Yes."
*I will count up from zero and stop at 21. I will count out loud while you count to yourself. When I reach 21 you will no longer be at peace. This talk will remain with you, but you will not remember it. Is this what you want?
"Yes."
*Listen to the sound of my voice. Pay attention to my words. I will count out loud while you count to yourself. When I reach 21 you will no longer be at peace. This talk will remain with you, but you will not remember it.
*Zero. No longer at peace.
*1. No longer at peace.
*2. No longer at peace.
*3. No longer at peace.
*4. No longer at peace.
*5. No longer at peace.
*6. No longer at peace.
*7. No longer at peace.
*8. No longer at peace.
*9. No longer at peace.
*10. No longer at peace.
*11. No longer at peace.
*12. No longer at peace.
*13. No longer at peace.
*14. No longer at peace.
*15. No longer at peace.
*16. No longer at peace.
*17. No longer at peace.
*18. No longer at peace.
*19. No longer at peace.
*20. No longer at peace.
*21. No longer at peace.
*You are no longer at peace Prince Yosho. This talk will stay with you, but you will not remember it.
A thick weariness pulled at the muscles in Yosho's Jaw as he stared down at the sword, the sun was lower than it had been just before he'd raised his hand to, maybe, hurl his master key out away anywhere. He blinked roughly and considered what Seita had just said about watching him die 'like so many others'. Though the fear inspired by these last words made him feel like a child, he screamed within himself to pull forth the strength to strike back, to avenge those tormented by this lunatic, and avenge his insulted pursuit of enlightenment.
"Those who have no appreciation for life-" he held the sword higher to proclaim roughly, yet without much projection, "-can have no appreciation for death."
The sword remained silent, the air still. Yosho thought he heard chuckling in the distance and tried to prepare himself for another avalanche of hellish cackles. He sent off a whole hearted prayer to a Goddess he hoped he more than half believed in; may he not be turned into a madman, may he not live the rest of his life without the peace he'd worked 700 years to perfect. His arm shook, and the sight again made him wish he could strangle the contents of the sword. Seita's voice emanated from the hilt in an almost casual tone.
"How right you are, 'grandfather'. Indeed, killing you will gradually become more insignificant once you are dead."
"What?" The ghost of Yosho gasped.
"Did you think that I was only out for your guilt and uncertainty? That's all well and good for an average day's work, but as you should have picked up, we've still got quite a personal debt to settle."
Yosho thought he could see that same malicious grin pressed up against the tiny white window at the base of his sword.
"Tell me grandfather, during the past week or so, did you ever make any tea that didn't quite live up to your usual standards?"
The blood drained from Yosho's face so quickly he could feel it.
"I have always been fascinated by assassins who kill with poisons, all the stealth, the creativity required. And for every being who claims to be immune, there's just that one they haven't come across yet."
A semi-erotic sigh poured out of the hilt, once again shaking in Yosho's hand.
"So this is what it feels like to gloat over an action rather than just an observation?
"I like it well enough so far." Seita's voice offered a full second for a half grin.
Whole body trembling to the rhythm of ground teeth, each of the rational voices in Yosho's mind screamed for attention like hysterical toddlers.
"I used one of the best formula's I've come across in all my travels, your stomach wont be able to hold any food or water; you'll waste away between bouts of unconsciousness and violent nausea. The best part is that the effects are so subtle that medicine wont be able to detect any problems. It should be taking affect any moment now."
The lunatic pricking behind Seita's voice threatened to puncture through his overacted overconfidence at any moment. The gems in the hilt were no longer catching the sun as Yosho could hardly keep his arm steady for the pain rising in his stomach.
"Tell me grandfather, as a real warrior, does anybody ever ^truly^ feel honor when their killer takes extra care to use a favorite weapon? Probably not, right?"
Yosho clutched his lower abdomen with his free hand and bent with a grunt.
"Right."
Trying to steady himself, Yosho knocked some pieces of stationary off his desk to dance with the dead leaves on the floor. He looked into the sword, and felt something akin to a large section of Seita's dimension opening up around him. Senses were wearing out, but he could still distinguish the tears between the sweat on his face.
"I assure you grandfather, we are quite even now. Yours is, in fact, the first sentient life that I've directly destroyed. When I reexamine the technicalities of my methods I'll probably find a way to make this achievement more ^and^ less significant."
"Wh-Why?!" The velvet wrapped iron in the voice of his killer finally crushed that last branch of Yosho's will. He might have taken comfort that he wasn't so vain as to wonder what his pitiful face looked like.
Calm and confident as it was, Seita's voice held no comfort at all.
"Grandfather Katshuhito of the Misaki Shrine, Yosho, favored prince and martyr of Jurai, if you still can't figure that out after all we've been through---then perhaps you never will."
A strained gurgle, a dull thud, and the contrasting playful sound of a wooden toy sliding across the floor. Masaki shrine was peaceful again, comforting energy built from almost 700 years of prayer and meditation still thick as incense smoke. The surrounding trees absorbed and returned it, birds sang with the wind to decorate the expansive silence. Lower and more brilliant now, the sunset shone in through the missing door and onto the un-swept office floor. A white marble in Yosho's sword caught light. It glistened sickly yellow like a morsel of fat, speaking softly to anyone.
"And perhaps I never did."
***
^Tenchi Muyo: Sanctuary and Asylum^
-Verse Eight is Martyr-
-Part 3-
Well enough to beg and hard enough to succeed-
Measure up the nurse like a graven stone.
Soon enough to confess and good enough to bleed-
Bring down the witness like a graven stone.
-ZJS
***
The door to Washu's lab swung open, its metal handle banging a rattle off the wall. Tenchi managed to keep from startling too much tea into his lap, but the subsequent collapsing thud made everyone spill their share. A single explosion of footsteps rushed altogether over each other, hardly exchanging glances or sparing breaths to see the noise for themselves.
A road-kill had been painted with magenta nail polish and dropped on a pile of rags, its pitiful crawling movements surely no more than an insect's last reflex. No one bent too close till it started rotting familiar. Filthy bruises smeared across the woman's face, cut by strands of hair caught in trickles of blood. Solid emeralds looked up and melted into sun- faded rubber. Her true unknowable age flashed between moan ground teeth as she crawled forward another few inches.
"Washu!" Tenchi's initial shock broke first, sending him down on his knees, hands outstretched in complete and helpless compassion.
"Miss Washu, are-are you alright?!" Mirror to his position, Aeka tried to take in the weight of the injury and the new size of the patient.
A desperately strong hand struck out and clutched onto Tenchi's arm, he made a sound like a hiccup but quickly tensed to maintain both their balances. Washu coughed violently, matted hair shaking over her face and revealing more of her tattered clothing. Aeka shared shock again till she noticed more blood seeping through in other places. Shivering with Tenchi again, she craned her head to stare at the door. A thin sewage of smoke crept out over the top frame. Having seen the path to chaos, she jerked her face back to the source of reason.
"Washu! ^What happened to Seita^?!" Aeka wailed desperation onto her battered face.
The question, the stained hair wilting into her mouth, both were ignored easily enough. Washu looked up at Tenchi, turning more pity than a child or crone could conjure into more terror than an animal could conceive.
"Yo-sho-" She croaked out and crumpled lower from the exertion.
Positioning herself with a hollow slap to the floor, Aeka hollered and hauled back what was left.
"Yosho?! What about Yosho?! Please Washu, tell us!"
A harsh whisper almost decayed into a gurgle beneath the animal as it began hitting the road again.
"Hurry!"
Tenchi sprang up and tried to direct his panic into a life preserver.
"Quick Aeka, help me get her to the couch. There's a first aid kit in the closet and-"
"No, don't worry about---help Yosho." Washu began coughing under the Princess's hands. Tenchi heard the strain in speaking, feared the same in breathing.
"Aeka, you and Ryoko stay with Washu. I've got to get to the shrine!" Tenchi directed with moderately calm hysteria. He whirled around to where he had last seen Ryoko to find a fallen cup and a carpet stain.
***
Silhouette outlined in light, a chameleon revealed like a freshly cut paper doll, regaining color and volume at its leisure. Seita walked out from the darkened corner of Yosho's office, taking a dignified step with each relaxing breath. He closed his eyes, pulling arched fingers apart and lowering them with all the grace of a noble machine trying to hide its rust. Smoothing itself back behind his ears, a platinum glare passed over his hair as he stepped into the light around the fallen priest. With eyes opening to the change, glass black faded into steel blue business to suit. Another breath stretched the seams and sagged the jacket into a thin wide- sleeved shirt, collecting on his thighs and waving off his wrists when he crouched down for a closer look. About to trace the crumbled clothing on Yosho's back, Seita's hand reconsidered and rested thoughtfully against his cheek instead.
"All that time spent opening your consciousness, renouncing your mind to the universe."
Still nostalgic for seduction, he pressed and rested his soft cheek a little more against his hand.
"So much space covered and released to free you from---'mundane' perception. A greater peace, and a greater comfort, melting into the sea of your ancestors and idols. Simply abandon all your instincts have brought you to find what brought you your instincts."
Seita paused, folding his arms over his knees and resting his chin on them.
"More than ever, open to greet the great objectives. More than ever, open to suggestion. None the wiser: while the 'less enlightened' pined for the power they would lose---the wise man merely lusted for the peace he would receive. None the wiser: so goes the misers."
Best in show, brightest blue ribbon buttons traveled and savored over the labored rises on Yosho's body till they rested on his sword.
"I was unable to harvest mass apathy from you, but now you've still heightened my silo. It seems my hypothesis was correct; the ambitious pursuit of enlightenment is the pursuit of escape, a quest for complete peace is a quest for death. Where I cannot drain the appreciation of life, I can swell the desire for death."
Brow thickening, weighing his face down till his chin, lips, and nose all dragged themselves over his forearm till only the forehead could stall. He spoke to himself again, but only for the truly interested audience this time.
"I have planted the seeds in your family, and I have severed the roots in you, let us see if The Tree responds now."
Raising himself up on a clever and joyless smile, Seita walked towards the sword with even heavier feet. He looked down at the white marble he'd projected into and after-tasted a small sound of amusement.
"I didn't know I'd get the opportunity to give you such a false hope, but you had such true faith."
A thought-pause hummed his throat and scratched his chin. A head-tilt brought the white marble to life. It rolled beneath the hilt's skin like a maggot, birthing itself at the opposite end and floating upward to tall eyelevel.
"Should I still serve them a sentence, a cage to rattle---a hole to fill?" His mouth pulled to the side in a failed half-smile.
"No, little to say now for reassurance---hide it or hide from it---prisons-- -just let the heroes feel they are safe, and just let the villains think they are right."
"^Reassurance^."
All in a brooding hush, Seita's thoughts steamed out and corroded to a head. He looked down and drug his fingertips over each other, two shiny blue trains passing back and forth till the sharpened engines had to test their strength.
"Reassurance. Safe. Right." Looking up at the marble again, the indigo ice balm evaporated from his lips as he bit down on the bottom. Matching eye shadow and nail polish disappeared like novelty ink.
"Silence the enemy and feel safe. Speak to the master and know you are right. Reassure. Invert and fester, but by all means reassure." The tiny white sphere caught light and began losing volume into a tiny white circle.
"Safe, and speak to the master. Silenced, and speak to the master." Voice reaching a serious monotone, the private monologue ended on a fingertip. Seita wiped saliva off his tongue and wiped dust off his marble.
Hands already behind him, he waited as it grew like a white balloon filling with slugs. Shrinking and stretching into shape, an albino tadpole formed tiny appendages. Bones grew into place beneath the doughy skin, and a frog matured again into a faceless ape huddling in the cold. Not allowed or not remembering to blink during the accelerating growth, Sayta stared, his lower lip drooping slightly. Soon a hairless doll dipped in creamy plaster and soon again to life-size.
The baby's head shrunk and its body swelled. It turned in levitating vitro to face Seita with a bowed head, hands and feat still bound together in sleeping prayer. Fat rolled into every appendage. Fingers fisted excessive then stubby, its stomach became bloated, drooping over its smooth sexless crotch. Breasts without nipples do the same; tear shaped bags of soft lard are ready to slide off at any moment. Conversely, the face began to shrink, its features shifting and smoothing over in more subtle deformity.
Thin hair, clear as cleaning bristles, wormed out at shoulder length. The mounds of fat surrounding its limbs glistened with a clear film, cellulite dimples fell in and boils rose up with light gray puss just below the surface. Seita presses his lips together and takes a deep breath. A tiny string of saliva wiggled at the end of its lolling mouth as it looked up with bleached-out pupils. Vacancy further evicted any lights that could have been left on in the doll's face, impairment obvious without color or apparent reception. It stares at him like television till his eyes narrow.
"If oblivion were entertaining a form, it would glamour itself in the blur between pity and fear."
He spoke formally for the audience behind him through their reflections on the doll's expansive surface. Ready to wink at or banish any who shifted in their seat, he shook and smiled into its eyes.
"And it would speak the end of mimicry."
It lolled its head forward then up and to the side. Trapped in its throat a deaf child cried out shrill pleading gibberish. Obesity-crippled arms twitched like a dying bird. This movement caused a few boils to rupture and run as heavy flesh folds over. Neither closing his eyes nor moving his mouth, Seita inhaled the personal apparition with all the miserable arrogance of a man searching for even higher dignity in an elite river of sewage.
"^Formal is vanity, vanity is failure, and failure is apathy---proper apathy^." His whisper shook over arched fingers pressing into his lips.
"^So if you please, I thank you^." He offered a timid bow and calmed himself, shoulders straight, hands at chest level, and voice polishing swords with velvet.
"You don't mind that I speak for you---to speak to you---do you?"
The doll looked at something over Seita's right shoulder before its head became too heavy to ignore somethin on his knees. It seemed capable only of a voice trapped in the waves between a sick child's yawn and a ghostly wail.
"^Do you^?"
"This grotesque form is almost more than beautiful, and almost meaningless. This is what you want." Plainly stated, he allowed an even blink.
"^What you want^." The doll replied the same way during another random head movement, while Seita looked over at Yosho for a thoughtful moment.
"He got his peace, do I get my power?"
"^My power^."
"Yes, I know, but do I get it, or at least closer to it?" A breath for confidence came out in a rehearsed anti-faux-humble acceptance speech. "I've measured a new milestone. I have turned insight into insurrection. I have inverted the sanctuary of transcendence. The priest's patrons and the prince's idols must both be already honing a taste for my blood...yet I can already taste the vomit that will be in his mouth."
"^Mowwwwwwth^."
The doll's mouth hangs farther open as its face shakes with a silent hiccup. A second throaty convulsion oozed a large mouthful of watered down milk and gristle to shine and streak a path over its chin and down its belly. A few small chunks caught in the breast crevices. It looked straight into Seita's eyes with vacant playfulness, making a suckling kissy- face.
"Hmm." He raised an eyebrow of well-planned mild intrigue with another turn toward the fallen prince. Something loathsome twinkled vainly in his eye and he lightly pursed his own lips.
"Probably risked material contact enough times today."
"^Today^."
"Yes, time, I know. Can't play forever or win the game hiding in time-out."
"^Owwwwwwwwwwwwt^." The doll's head rolled back with a zombie's surreal echo.
Clean features frowned then scowled intensely enough for another paint job, sucking a vile accusation into every pore to breath back a controlled stream of fire.
"Is that what you think? That I would ^invert and pervert the principle of the treatment^, then just reveal the placebo and abort another replacing experiment? ^Revoke my grant again^?! Well here!"
The fabric hanging leisurely from Seita's torso contracted in a hungry reflex, clutching his body so tightly that it stretched into a formal gown and squeezed and curved him into a feminine figure. Dignified hair jumped out to the side in a frenzy and fell back again in two long braids. A puff of glitter and a blue cone hat with complementing lace at the tip fell onto his head. Paint and hormones swelled and smeared through his face till the transformation was less than perfect completely by choice. He finished the job smartly with a pose of ladylike indignity.
"Why don't I just wake the prince with a kiss?" Faeries caught the elegant spread of his arm and glided him over to Yosho's side. "Test and waste your faith in me again, keep up with his story for ^another^ 700 years as he rewrites it backwards, sideways, both ways, but never ^your ways^! Then maybe find out what I'm---really---made of!"
The princess's pert breasts heaved as her dainty fingers strangled the air at her sides. The doll shifted its arms slightly, making a sickly wet sound. It looked at Yosho, the ceiling, the desk, and offered a milky string of drool in Seita's direction. With a voice slightly deeper and resonant of his favored hisses, it answered him.
"^Made oooooooooof^."
A thoughtless fade took Seita out of better than drag and back into perfect drugs. Another breath and he was calm, another breath and he was smiling, and another breath brought him a controlled fit of excessively therapeutic giggles. Once his inside joke subsided he replaced it with the sound savored in his footfalls, slow rubber two-taps against the wood floor. The doll lolled its head again while he inflated his lungs and a new, wider smile.
"^Nothing^." Seita offered his sinister velvet, continuing his approach confidently despite the lack of change in the doll's expression.
"^What we are, what we create. We are what we create. 'So---what?^'"
Less than half a meter from the doll, he stopped and bent to what would be eye level when its head finally stopped lolling about. Intense blue met empty white at a slight angle, but both locked. The doll closed its mouth and swallowed, making a tiny bubble at the corner of its lips. Seita leaned progressively closer, a tyrant selling himself to his shadow's greed, ravenous to hear his own thoughts spoken with all the pomp of clever cruelty.
"So I understand, that we don't want to 'ask' and 'know' anymore---^because we're bloated^," he jabbed his right index finger into the dolls immense belly, eliciting a moan of thick and erotic labor pains, "with asking and knowing."
Close enough now to taste its breath, he continued in softer so as more perverse, barely audible over another deep response to his subtly twisting finger.
"We're bloated---and immune."
"Immuuuuuuuuuuuuuuune." The doll's voice gurgled out a little more to glisten the trail down its body.
Barely-living white still stared blindly into post-repulsed blue. A single word, from the right poet, could make a threat seem so romantic.
"Immortal."
He kissed the doll, withdrawing his hand and holding the other behind his back while he bent into it. The soft and empty face received the vulgar exploration passively, all the while content to roll its head accordingly with his movements. After a few rough rotations and a tiny almost-gyration, he withdrew. The dolls expression remained unchanged for being so close to someone turned from two statues into one, melted, compressed, tribute and warning.
"^Immortalllllllll^." Fat gasped, rolling its head back to look at the ceiling and choke on itself. Seita stood straight again with a step back and a look outside.
"I'll say. I will. I'll get there-I'll get them---I've got a new vehicle to try out."
Post-ventriloquist, The Ghost of Madness exorcised its name under both breaths:
"^Owwwt^."
Right hand man closed his eyes with a tired smirk for milder exhaustion.
"Yes. Yes. Back to work."
Passing through the empty doorframe on hesitant steps meant for leisure, subtly up-righting the best posture for anyone, Seita still slouched ever so slightly as his consuming throat stole a bit of breath of relief. The doll lolled its head into a white residue then a forgettable glare of light.
"^Work^."
Seita imitated its voice well enough, checking both feet one at a time till, for the first time in some time, he spoke again to himself rather than for himself.
"Business is booming. But, the self-employed may yet lose their competitive edge."
Heavy feet savored the stairs down and into the courtyard, letting his shoulders slump then bounce back up with each step. Not yet ready to look ahead, he turned back. His shadow stretched across the small building, bent on the stairs and imploded into the open office. Perfect moment for a better observation; but not even half a gesture. He accepted a calm horizon gaze with a dignified posture and a straight face that surrendered one eyebrow after the other.
Ryoko floated at the far corner of the shrine, face deathly calm and poorly lit by the sunset behind her. Warrior fingertips curled when she caught his attention. She straightened her neck with a breath, pulling her hands from her invisible pistols and crossing them behind her. This perfect imitation of his preferred stance amplified her slender figure and explosive hair; a palm tree's shadow nearly combined with the former guest's to form a diagonal black path across the shrine. Wind moved leaves across it.
Closing this short distance took Seita two and a half steps and no blinks.
"Don't. Move."
Restrained rage carried just enough distance in the empty air, but he was already there, line unbroken, Ryoko's hair made the perfect spotlight even as she tilted her head forward to cut eyes.
"You're missing it you know." Seita took in the foreground and the background with a soft appreciation, waiting for the foreground to turn back and notice.
In a quick movement she snapped her head around, visibly tensed, and turned back. All reprimands for taking her eyes off him roared, but she managed to muzzle them. Blue calm continued to look everywhere through her.
"Missing what?" Darkened dry, she held the spit down with her teeth.
"The sunset of course, its particularly nice from up here."
Ryoko narrowed her eyes at him, sharpening them further when he focused the softest on the foreground.
"You know, you're really quite a vision, floating there in the sunset." He grinned almost bashfully, blinking and looking down for a moment.
Ryoko almost gave away a flash of terrified revulsion, but aborted it with a slaughter glare that tightened her whole face.
"Sorry, the most common atmosphere to use, and still the hardest to use well." Romance began to fade from Seita's face, his co-star and audience clearly unimpressed. He peacefully relaxed out any humanity with half a sigh.
"I see you're not dressed for battle."
"What'd be the point?" Ryoko asked without a shred of self-pity.
Pleasantly surprised, Seita up-chuckled a smile.
"At least you're learning something."
"Yeah. Great." Sarcasm held the gory frontline. "Now where is he?"
"Oh." Plain and simple worked up a voice to outdo any excess of confidence.
"Well, if you're referring to priest Katshuhito, you're likely to get only a few basic answers," he took a moment to watch his little nail dimple his thumb, "however, if you mean Prince Yosho, then, depending on who you ask, you might get some seriously conflicting-"
"Answer me, Seita." The interruption verbally sneered into his flashy evasions, boring out his name like a carbuncle, yet she seemed to need a little more boldness to look past him. "Is he still in there?"
"Who?" He resumed his approach with reverted confidence.
"Tell me. Now." Ryoko's tone went throaty with resentment.
No matter what was pumping it up, the lump in her throat had always felt the same. It had been strangling and nauseating and humiliating at worst, but all in all she could at least tell herself, remember it as only a rock. Now, as Seita pursed his lips to wet them without showing his tongue, it was different. Folding one arm across his midsection, resting his elbow on it, and gently pinching his sinus, it was different. Looking tired, it was different. Crawling his eyes back up her body and down her throat, it was different. Tasting new inspiration there, blending a special croon into his voice to overshadow the abrasion in his face, it was so much worse.
"Do you really think another session would help?"
Ryoko waited to feel her nails digging into her palms, hoped her arms weren't trembling from the effort, and plugged her scream behind a tongue tip ready to be bitten off. But she wouldn't draw her sword, and she wouldn't cry yet. Pleading to the bitter end she wouldn't yet.
*I'm sorry, Tenchi.
*I don't think I can do this.
*Please. Please, PLEASE don't do it again! You horrible---miserable---
If she'd had another quarter second to think on it, she wouldn't have given up the other three widening her eyes on a memory. A good thing she withdrew her tongue before she knew what to do with it. She really tried to believe this time that her eyes could cut into him, butcher him like a sick runt.
"I'm not the who needs help."
The sheer coyness made him stare back, lowering his hand, giving away his need for defense, opening up to the rest of her attack.
"Even when you're sleeping," Ryoko continued with a significantly more nervous delivery of cruel insight, "you can't forget how miserable you are."
The whole bowl of confidence, and a small helping of color drained from Seita's face, the new surrealism of it layering over that morning; her second failed assassination, his interrupted dream.
He quickly matched the rage, shining blue-steal to gleaming pure-gold. She heard his chuckle then, grotesque, and loud enough to be as obvious a projection as the changing color of his clothing. Indigo expired into ghostly gray, to bright sliver, to polished ivory. The fabrics clung to his body like melting plastic over a slender action figure. Six extra Seita's, feet all glued to the same spot, bent and contorted around their original like anemone tentacles, their faces writhing like the oversexed undead, mouths and eyes writhing and gasping into oblivion.
"How perceptive. How perceptive?"
The center bettered double meaning, in a sharp whisper. Each word stretched his torso like vanilla taffy till head and shoulders were level with the floating woman. His arms melted inward while the extras danced their hands to smear their faces in a perpetual group nervous breakdown.
Still feeding off his initial reaction, Ryoko looked the new illusion up and down with brutal criticism. She managed to balance his new pose with simplicity.
"I think the big giant head suited you better."
Seita sliced his face open with his most intense and malicious smile, the matching chuckle echoed in Ryoko's mind like a fist full of broken glass. Her next breath shook in her throat, and she hid another curse at herself for playing tough when she had sworn to play cool.
"M-maybe you're out of ideas, after such a busy day."
The chuckle snapped off, and the smile deflated. He searched her expression. There was more depth to his eyes, but she was instantly reminded of how Kagato looked at her when conducting an experiment. For a moment it seemed someone was accelerating the sunset, but the surrounding scenery faded to a black too complete for any earth night. She refused to accept failure, would not show her terror.
"Interesting that you would say so." Perversely soothing tones took control of his voice. His surreal bust broke away in the center, discarding the copies into darkness like leftover love-me petals, inflating a new and normally proportioned body, dressed in casual black slacks and burgundy shirt, no tie, barely dress shoes. A leather recliner formed just in time to catch him, Ryoko glanced and saw its reflection behind her. No sign of interest.
"You see, that's precisely the theme I was considering when you came to ask me such a vague question. And don't worry, 'he' is alive, and I'll tell you where 'he' is, after-"
"NOW!" Ryoko floated forward with fists at each side, forgetting or discarding, any previous attempt at a new approach. Seita half-grinned away his annoyance.
"'After'---you hear my proposal. However long that takes, I assure you ^this^ approach will take longer."
She crossed her arms and doubled her glare.
"Please have a seat, I'll try to be brief."
One glance, the coach resembled a bucket of filth, and she looked back with a thick shroud of impatience waiting over apprehension.
"Alright then. Now, you mentioned me 'running out of ideas'. It might happen, but I'm not worried about exhausting my---creativity, any time soon. 'Time' in fact, is what concerns me."
A wrinkle of confusion worked its way into her confrontation. His proposal continued with less flamboyant smoke and more focused steam.
"You see, whoever, whatever you and your little family may think I am, the only important issue is that I am not entirely immortal. As I explained shortly after working my way into Tenchi's home, I don't age when I'm inside oblivion, but what I didn't explain was that I need to do more than simply 'exist' in there to strengthen my abilities."
Eyes closed for a pausing breath, another wrinkle softened Ryoko's face to see him actually need a moment to collect his thoughts.
"In truth, I didn't even give a quarter of the explanation for all that I am, and all that I might be. I say 'might' because I'm not yet sure if I'll be able to see even the first auras of my goal, even with a Jurain lifespan, or two."
Threads of spite wormed into Seita's throat and eyes, he looked away from Ryoko just as anger flew over her own face. He arched his fingers in his lap, moving the tips apart and together again slightly.
"Ryoko, I sincerely want to know; why do you think I go through so much trouble to confront people with such ^unpleasant^ perception projections?" He waited a moment and another before looking up, only to see her hardened into an even deeper silence. Accepting, perhaps expecting this, he spoke at his hands again.
"If you think I'm trying to gain power over others, you're completely mistaken. And if you believe I simply crave the singular looks of terror I can inspire, you'd be only half-right. Dismiss and dismantle me as 'insane'; but if that were the case I wouldn't still smell so much confusion---so much curiosity."
He grinned to himself before continuing.
"Even though I speak frankly now, I'm sure you still see me as 'The Ghost of Madness'. Indeed I am. Yes. In. Deed. I am as much the nemesis of mental prosperity as such a thing can exist."
Back on track, his next breath served mostly as inflation.
"In the scheme of things used to be another rather simple and expendable life form. It was only by ^embracing oblivion^ that I was able to catch even a delirium spark of what I could become." His voice tensed back with its manic sort of reverence. Ryoko instantly felt a small but all too recognizable uneasiness as he raised a coin-sized white hole up between weakly clenched hands.
"It is more than I told you that first day, but perhaps not more than you could understand." He grinned ironically at the tiny portal then Ryoko. "But more than I could explain after such a 'busy day'."
His amusement dissipated, replaced by a seriousness eased under gentle sincerity.
"It is the heart, the ^God^ of what I am, yet it has given me nothing, it only enhances the abilities I already have." The portal blinked closed. Ryoko regained some composure.
"Now consider myself; a simple humanoid, ^poorly^ mutated with the abilities of a mass." He severed his left hand with his right little nail, a razor through hosiery. They grew back together inverted. Two right hands touched point to thumb then faded right. He looked up.
"Now imagine your-self." Gesturing towards her with palms upturned, she noticed how increasingly plastic his thin, vein-less forearms were looking. Her anxiety was quickly distracted back. "A masterful creation."
The suggestion raised Ryoko's eyes for a fraction of a moment before they hardened and hardened again.
"Please, if you cannot imagine, then at least consider. If you cannot consider, merely ask: 'would I like to be invulnerable, would I enjoy a limitless new form of transportation'. Just take a moment, please."
Ryoko's anger shivered out along her arms and down the base of her neck. Stoic resistance pressed down on Seita's words like a brick upon delicate insect antennae. He tried again, same voice, eyes passively looking over his fingers as they performed again, making slow kaleidoscope imitations, this time without any tricks.
"I've little doubt that ^any^ sentient being could be accelerated through time in 'my' dimension. I still marvel that no others have made it through the initial---'discomfort' and approached me as a clone, an apprentice, or a successor."
Ryoko stifled a gasp of revolted disbelief, turning it into a sickly gulp.
"Precisely." He tried and half succeeded to keep hisses subtle. "As I mentioned before: with a time changing goal; who can predict my distance, even with an extended lifespan. But 'my' is merely a single end, a different set of means is a different story. There's no need to 'become me' to obtain power equal, and more than likely greater than mine. You are nothing if not resourceful, and I am sure that oblivion---that whatever power fuels my pursuits, could do the same for you."
Shifting a little in his seat, Seita un-designed his fingers, flattened them over his thighs, and examined her silence.
"If you are still too battle ready to envision your future success, then remember our first session. Again."
During many portions of his speech, she had given hard glances to either side of herself, trying to force out the surrounding darkness. Almost ready for a sake wish, this new argument rekindled her rage and snapped up a murderous glance. He met it, glad as ever to see his effect.
"Think about Tenchi. This young man who, I'm sure, is now equally bent on the angle of my destruction. Your devotion to him must surely stem from something more deeply ingrained than an attraction---for the notable level of Jurai power he can conjure---when so inclined."
Experienced fists, unused to hiding, buried themselves in the sleeves of her kimono while Seita returned to watching his fingers, the kaleidoscope raised higher this time.
"Yes, summoning the 'wings' is a rare thing among Jurains, certainly among half-breeds. Meaning no offense of course; he most likely has more current potential than you or any of the others."
Ryoko cursed inward; he probably wouldn't be able to speak so softly if he didn't assume she was listening.
"Yet, his power is only relevant here in how it relates to you, in how you relate to him. You are no longer a tool, but you are still a warrior, and now the role of 'guardian' seems even more appealing. As I recall, the only thing that could quell the rather extensive rage you attacked me with-- -was Tenchi.
However bad this condescent was, it couldn't have been worse than meeting his eyes. She made herself sure.
"Just think; how much stronger a protector could you become? How much safer would Tenchi and his family be if you never had to worry about being ^overpowered^ by another Kagato---by another Seita?"
Extra delicacy stressed the term to its limits.
"Surely you never wanted to be just another 'normal earth girl'. And I doubt even that you'll be satisfied with your power 'if' Tenchi gives you your other gems back. Why do you think I am approaching you with this offer? Recruiting a backup plan is no flattery, but after all these centuries I have come across few mortal beings that could ever carry the flame as well as you could."
Seita's fingers began to detach themselves, floating up to form snowflakes, spider webs, and vulgar stain-glass abstracts. He spoke with more intensity, clearly knowing that Ryoko was watching the display and not likely to respond.
"It is you, Ryoko, your very design that makes you the perfect candidate. Realize. Accept. Down to the cell, perhaps further, your body was constructed to tap into and wield ^power^."
He slithered a grin around his finger dance over her face guard.
"Do you think Washu designed such capacities, such talents, to have ^tea parties^ ? For a 'daughter' why not make a quality lab assistant with a perfectly bulbous brain?"
A quick chuckle shook in his throat. Acrobatic fingers dismantled their interpretive play and resumed their positions as he crossed his arms with a satisfied breath.
"She obviously didn't want a successor...or any competition." He smiled through that she was once again illuminated by the sunset.
"But there's really no competition, is there? The professor could not contain me, and only your attacks have even sparked my interest. Clearly none were as qualified as you to rescue the old prince."
They locked eyes. Holding back, but hardening breaths were growing impossible. She finally found a cheap distraction with the pain in her hands. A blood-curdle passed through her briefly at a narrowing in Seita's characteristically calm stare. He looked at her slightly sideways and curled an index finger over his lips.
"Oh," he spoke again in mocking seduction, "I almost forgot. There ^is^ still some competition to be considered. Tell me Ryoko, while you're here, where are Tenchi---and Aeka?"
*She...
*Damn him! Damn him! Damn him! Damn her! Damn HIM! Damn EVERYTHING!
*NO! I can't lose it all now!
*I ^can't^ let him ^win^!
Intense and entire mental commands pulled her wide-eyed gaze downward, but she quickly glared back under her eyelids. Seita would and did only smile, closing his eyes with a serene breath.
"My dear student, that problem could be an easy first success. Your own under-exploited capacity for perception-projection---with a few hints, fewer hopes, and better faith you could take Tenchi on glorious vacations at the blink of a lovely eye. You could almost literally ^give him the world^."
An enormous star mural stippled behind him, making way for a Tenchi and a Ryoko to laugh together in mid-flight. Making the adjacent wall, a romance and a tranquility watched over them watching the sunset from a cliff face. Fading in across from that was an enlarged close up photo taken directly from Ryoko's mind. She looked at herself held lovingly in Tenchi's arms, wanting to scream in a million different ways.
First admiring his development, Seita glanced over and half-grinned at Ryoko's mixed horror.
"Whatever Tenchi desired, you could make him believe he already had. You could ^be^ his world, Ryoko. You could change yourself to anything and ^everything^ he wanted."
As he spoke the pirate in the oversized photo faded into more elegant, then even more sensual clothing. Her skin wavered out of tans. Hair changed shape, style, and color; starting black to brittle platinum, and slowly to a deep familiar purple.
"You could be his dream."
Her photo's body began to change.
"By the grace of ^your^ will ^his^ heart---could posses euphoria's maidenhead."
The Tenchi portrayed in the photo became no less happy with the more delicate and formally dressed fantasy in his arms.
"Even if you had to---'replace' something."
Ryoko sunk her fingers into her skull, screaming to the heavens too loudly to see them.
"SHUUUUUUT! UUUUUUUUUP!"
The scenery around them returned to nothing, absorbing even the coaches as Seita stood in dignified patience to what would have been rejection to anyone else. Ryoko swallowed her pain, preferring to gag rather than cough. She resigned onto the solicitor, not bothering to straiten out of a pouncing stance. Small globs of energy glowed between her claws.
"How to use this new capacity would be, as I mentioned, your decision. Feel free to suggest one of your own ideas and I will gladly see if it could be carried out." The slightest glare of agitation shone through a frayed edge in Seita's velvet presentation.
"Where's Yosho?" Spit wasn't supposed to catch light in a vacuum.
"Just a moment now, I've not yet finished expla-"
"WHERE!?"
Ryoko's hands rose up slightly, and settled again by force. Breaths would not slow the race and eyes would not starve the fire till someone was a smoke stain.
In the meantime someone looked down at her blankly. A moment of contemplation included a glance up to both sides, a softened face, and an apologetic moment of understanding.
"Hm. I assumed this setting would provide less distraction, how thoughtless of me. Situational anxiety is bad enough without environmental stress."
The Misaki shrine faded into view again; an eclipse ending just in time for sunset. Vain business was standing slightly below Ryoko again. After scanning the area without any head movements, she glared down at him, the energy still ready to burst from her hands.
"I should have known," Seita continued, "that an 'empty' room would only bring back unpleasant memories."
He looked out toward the last rays of the sun, calmly unconcerned but more likely oblivious to Ryoko's struggle into breath and out of her weapons.
"But on that note you should be comforted; once you've mastered and allied with true emptiness---even the greatest genius in the universe won't be able to construct a prison strong enough to hold you."
His voice solidified again, and he met her re-focusing rage with his own consuming depth.
"I don't think I need to tell you how rare an opportunity this is, to be offered a chance at a transcendence beyond anything that old man could conceive. If you could set aside your disagreements with my means, set aside the all too natural but ultimately unnecessary fear of oblivion's embrace-"
Ryoko felt herself begin to black out, but a dry and surreal nausea stabbed terrified adrenaline into every cell of her body. She knew a portal had opened up behind her. It hurt to whirl around so quickly while forming her sword, but it provided a small feeling of readiness, particularly when Seita's head emerged from the door precisely as she'd expected.
"-I could begin to endow you with an understanding of ^everything^."
The stressed word hissed in unnatural grandeur, washing over Ryoko like a post-sexual lust. Seita completed the offer just as his bare toes curled out over the edge of the portal. The excess of white made her glad for the imminent loss of sun, as she was too horrified to squint. He stood there with his arms out in a slight welcoming, dressed in loose white clothing, facing out with significantly less feminized and polished features. His hairless scalp caught the glow of her sword. Knowing she was as sober as she'd ever be, silent terror screamed in for Tenchi, then anyone.
"You see Ryoko, when faced with the 'blank'---'truth'---you're already holding up better than most anyone could. I'm offering you a chance at an achievement to surpass anything ever possible in or around existence. Don't flatter my 'cruel experiments' with your fear, come with your sword and take the trophy, the right to one day breathe ^infinity^ and ^perfection^."
Seita eagerly crossed one arm across his midsection and balanced his other elbow upon it, holding his hand out to would-be harmlessness. Wide sleeves over thin arms dangled in a breeze.
"Come inside Ryoko, understand what makes you so afraid and you will surpass it. At least spend a moment, go back and never return if you choose, but a moment, embrace oblivion for just a moment."
Easy to guess what had sharpened the gleam in his eyes, what was hiding in plain sight, easy and impossible to trust. The blue struck her like any clear liquid in her mother's lab: water or deadly chemical? Every instinct screamed that she was still facing something worse than Kagato could've dreamed himself into, however, the emotion, the thought, the intangible aura of ^something^ was imploding behind his impossibly peaceful gaze. A last grasp of defiance was too small to announce itself but just big enough to be noticed.
"You're obviously crazy," she stated simply with a pause only for herself, "but if you think I'd consider going in ^there^ with ^you^---well then you're just plain ^stupid^."
Seita's hand retracted over the other side of his midsection, and he looked down at the shrine below Ryoko's feet. His gaze traveled out and down towards the house as mature but overt disappointment lulled out of him.
"I see. You are still afraid of becoming an extension of another's will, again. I understand, of course, as well as any could."
He turned back to stare with a cruel imitation of melancholy. She ground her teeth again and let her sword dissipate, responding with her own imitation of a dignified guard.
"I doubt it."
To her near shock, Seita did not chuckle, or even smirk, yet he gradually displayed newfound capacity for a lack of expression.
"In that case, let me explain to you why I needed to come up here to have a little talk with the prince and the priest."
Ryoko's brow clenched slightly.
"Don't concern yourself with the ineffectiveness of his disguise. The point is that Yosho's decision to chase you down to this planet eventually affected me almost as much as it affected you. I had very complex and important plans for Jurai, and he inadvertently aborted ^them^ when he abandoned ^it^. He has helped to make amends for this though, and I have little more use of him or the family he has started here."
He leveled his gaze and allowed a thin sheet of sinister velvet to drag over his face.
"You might be interested to know that I did visit Kagato shortly after Yosho secured his martyrdom on Jurai, after all he was, once again, an almost equal agent of loss for me. I merely looked in on him at first, not wanting to be 'how intrusive' till I at least decided 'how upset' he was."
A quarter smile wiggled at the side of his mouth.
"There was some respectful curiosity regarding why he would be so anxious as to risk damaging his favorite weapon."
Overloading layers of golden rage went unnoticed while he continued, speaking down into his hand and a holographic replica of The Great Tree.
"He was naturally impatient for your return and his inability to locate you- --had predictable influence. This aside; by merely listening to a few oral journal entries and observing the material covering his work room I discovered something interesting."
Seita looked up from the tree as it disappeared.
"It seems Kagato actually believed the Jurain myth about Tsunami, that there was actually a being of immense power lurking in their great tree, that it possessed a supremely powerful ship and could travel between all dimensions of existence.
"I'm not sure how cognizant you were of this rather inconvenient mission of yours, but that was the booty Kagato wanted on Jurai."
Ryoko felt half a moment of murderous impulse when Seita rubbed his nose in a particularly mortal fashion. He looked towards the sky and spoke in near frustrated curiosity.
"Now, in seeing the depth of planning and study he went through, I began to wonder why he believed the key to the Jurai power lied in their icon. We were both men of science for as long as we knew each other, and I thought he'd surely have better results imitating frequencies than tracing colloquies.
"Needless to say I was intrigued, so I decided to further test the range of existence I could explore through oblivion." A significant lowness curled around Seita's throat as he continued this new explanatory story.
"I have given up the search and begun it again many times, discovering a number of 'interesting' things between the tedium. But, seemingly by accident, I did at last find something. And I did at least find someone."
Arched fingers provided a picture viewer that soon opened like a flower hinged at the thumb tips. Inside grew the head and shoulders of an exotic woman, her gold hair cascading around formal facial markings and eyes too important for one color.
"Ryoko, there is a rage that can surpass yours. No, not surpass, rather ^defy^. Yes, this---this 'being' defied everything the teachers told me I knew. But her ship didn't look Jurain, and indeed she certainly didn't act like their 'benevolent' Goddess."
Seita hugged himself and chuckled. The model picture looked up for the pirate's thoughts.
"Oh my, I still have trouble adequately making-eloquent our encounter," he began dressing the solemn nostalgia, "there's really no way to describe the fury she ^became^ when I invited myself into her chambers, carrying myself the way I do." He tilted his head at Ryoko in a weak joke, ignoring the increased absence of color in her face.
"Like a new kind of instinct, her condensing emotion was clearly fueled by an ancient fear; apparently she 'should' have had no trouble obliterating me with less than a gesture. I tried to initiate a session, but all she would offer were waves reserved for crushing galaxies."
The memory commanded him; an almost childish grin wavered beneath his eyes and their ancient grasp at 'timeless'.
"It was only when I finally got the chance to open an oblivion portal in her vicinity---then, then she stopped, and merely ^stared^. I'm still waiting to see that kind of disbelief again," he sighed silence, "might I be fortunate enough to experience anything so intensely."
Craftsmanship improved affection down into the tips of his nails as they combed through, subtly shaping the woman's hair.
"Her shock outlasted mine; thus fortunately thus formally I could introduce myself---my insights and my interests---my experience and my ambition. Perhaps I shouldn't have used so many names or so much honesty, but I was determined to incite a response, and prepared to bombard her with answers and questions till at last I was certain-"
She similarly ignored his thumb as it risked everything to caress her cheek unafraid.
"That she was not more than a being of over-whelming, yet still oh-vert power."
He combined admiration and anticipated disappointment thoughtlessly, gestating them as he stretched a dry corner of his bottom lip on a canine.
"There was quite a stalemate between us, we battled not so much with patience as with---with-" Seita pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled forcefully, looking back up only at Ryoko's feet, missing her simultaneous, if more subtle, loss of inflated composure.
"No, the only important thing is the one question she answered, the only words she would give me. I asked her where I could find Tsunami."
Making a confession, and speaking to himself, he waited for an interruption from without or an addition from within. He spread tense fingers over the bust and lifted it to his head, pulling out gold and glamour till the women was superimposed onto his body.
"And she told me---^'My sister has her own plans for the prince'^."
The feminine voice was pitiless cold to begin; Seita recreated this for the mask and impaled Ryoko with a grasp at death's authority. She was almost gracious when the 'being' ceased and the talking commenced.
"I wish I could do the encounter more justice," Seita continued in a calming tone just as the last golden hair was replaced with his own. The return of his idol's androgyny seemed more human now. Even as make-up lines slug-trailed across his face, and serpents curled round his throat, he retained his empty white uniform.
"But you'll just have to trust that it was enough, at the time, to re- motivate me. I inarguably could no longer give two ageless men anything but frequent observation, looking in on both Kagato and Yosho while we all tried to build ourselves up."
The serpents tightened their metal scales, asphyxiating his face and rubbing his voice raw.
"But as I am still far from immortality, I am even farther from omnipresence. So! I return from a rather average session, away for only a year, and I find that Yosho's little grandson has been quite busy, what with school, and freeing you, and ^killing Kagato^!"
Ryoko absently wondered, between terrors, if sarcasm could ever look pretty again.
"And thus," Seita snapped back into calm, "you can imagine my surprise. Looking in on earth again only to see The Emperor of Jurai facing his son the savior for the first time in 700 years."
He narrowed his stare, breaking ice concentration into clouds of cutting sand, easily ignoring Ryoko's lingering reaction to Tenchi's latest little title. A simple sigh rolled out of him as he shook his head at some shorter third party to the side.
"And after all I've done for my search, for my work," he looked back up, hoping to share a memory of their earlier encounters, "I only make moderate progress."
Blue forgot itself to a darkening sky-search as gold nearly forgot to hold back another wave of nausea. Oblivion had stretched a little wider.
"Perhaps I'll find irony in it yet, that I trusted my insight so much when analyzing her tone." Seita tilted his head back.
"When she referred to 'her sister' I was certain she was doing so with the hopes that ^one of us^ would finally be meeting our match." He chuckled to the stars' first impressions as they rushed out the last auras of sun. "For some reason I never considered she might have been only entertaining me."
The good humor drained from Seita's voice word by word, Ryoko expected him to blow into his fists to combat some private chill. When he cracked his knuckles instead, she hoped it would drown out the sound of gulping her breath back to life. Lowering her eyes seemed like the only way to hide the single thought screaming more than its share of space.
*Sasami...He doesn't know!
"It still strikes me as odd though, that I could do so much to the displaced children of Jurai, without even a ^whisper^ of a 'sister'." Something like finality drifted down into his hands as they took their time forming the perfect arch. Ryoko stared at them as well; anything to avoid his face, suddenly wanting nothing so much as for him to disappear into his hole again.
"If you're still concerned about the old man---" The pause turned out to be a stop and a reflexive tone change.
"Ryoko?"
She looked up against a raging minority of will, begging for anything to fight everything that held up that single eyebrow and its deathly serious curiosity.
"Ryoko, ^you^ wouldn't know anything about either of these 'sisters', would you?"
For a moment the pores on her face stopped moving. She bit down on metal and bent broken fingers back into their sockets, prompt and short-lived as this interruption.
"Why don't you ask a tree?"
Surprised and elated with her comparatively prompt response, she held her confidence with almost to stop the drain. This portal was just a hole; this was just a reminder. Just another thousand to go. It had to be a good sign for Seita's own half-grin to be struggling with its own predictability.
He looked down. Ryoko watched his nose line up over his upper lip as he polite seceded to satiate any more bitter a failure or victory.
"Life. Lies."
Before Ryoko could wonder at a grasp at the source of this response, Seita lifted his eyes and spoke again in traditionally tailored uniform.
"But at least you're still destructive, and I'm still stupid. Another question you could answer; is it even possible to have two consciousnesses within oblivion? I often wonder if there might be a ^vulnerable^ place for me after all.
"I can feel your rage Ryoko---like a film on my fingers. You would rather erase, rather replace than succeed me. This could very well be the only opportunity, the only chance to face The Ghost of Madness on equal ground."
Seita's taunting hiss curled out thinly, trying to wire in any would-be attacks. Almost everything stepped backward into the portal, nothing more than a face phased through a white wall.
"What?" Ryoko growled despite herself.
"You are obviously still consumed with the idea of personally destroying me. For any reason, perhaps you could...from within oblivion."
She wanted to clutch her skull, squeeze out more courage and hopefully some way to properly reject this ludicrous and painfully appealing invitation. Words came in half-conscious rambles, crawling through and crushing together to form enough material.
"I don't need to worry about that; people like you never---people like you never get to see it coming, but they always get it."
Swallowing anger and chewing it again, Ryoko absorbed the juices. It felt good to savor her words so devilishly, but she'd be damned before she enjoyed this.
"Nobody needs to destroy you, but somebody will."
Foreseeable and just as appropriate, Seita smiled, phasing his arms through the white wall, ready to form a limp arch with his hands at any moment. Hearing his voice without any affectation greater than calming resentment, it made Ryoko scream herself back into a block of ice.
"Do you promise," he tilted his head slightly not to miss a cell of her face, "would you forgive," tilting back the other way, "can you self- preserve mercy and cruelty together," tilting up into closing eyes, "and wield the power left in their wake?"
Too much, there was only one way for drawing it out; Ryoko checked her hands, looked into them of her own will, for her own will. She had to know that being touched by him without any feeling was real, that it did not assert his control. It seemed almost kind then, in context, for him to flag her back to war with a handkerchief wave of sinister velvet.
"Eloquence finds you after all, indeed I never took you for much of an artist." The near then nearing casual tone suggested something up his sleeve directly before he reached up his sleeve. "So you can imagine my surprise when I found this."
The first and only dared drawing pulled open at the edges like a tiny and expendable telegram.
"It's very quaint, but I still have to ask: who ^is^ this anyway?" He rotated it a few degrees in each direction, a mildly confused and bluntly insulting reaction. "Ah well, must not be too important."
Tiny paper squares floated down to the Masaki courtyard, pieces of an old receipt with confidential information. Pirate's gold watched them with stroke-opened eyes, hardly hearing empty blue sprinkle unenthusiastic mixing directions over the final ingredients.
"No more time for illusions or victims. Your warden and your savior never left the office, it remains to be seen whether they end up as martyrs, or quitters."
One last bit of paper stuck to his fingertip and he flicked it off before it caught in his arch. Acceptance and finality, and Ryoko could not breath a memory of whether she wanted him departed, deceased, or worse.
"I can only hope there are more interesting trees and carpenters on the next planet."
The oblivion portal, quiet-polite, swallowed Seita away. No wind to stir Ryoko's hair or the six poorly colored, and slightly malformed, pieces of confetti beneath her. She lost altitude without half the cheer of a deflating balloon, feet bending and slowly collapsing the rest of her body so that the ground barely noticed. A robot low on batteries followed its program just the same; each piece of liter must be collected carefully. Hands cupped just in case the wind decided to return. So much maybe change and would-be comfort came panting and hollering up the shrine steps.
"GRANDPA!---RYOKO!" The names came closer together between strained bonds, but stopped mute or dead as Tenchi stared incredulously at the woman kneeling in the wrong direction for prayer.
"Ry-Ryoko!" His throat to dry to choke, he scrambled over and nearly fell to his knees next to her. After a painful swallow of too little saliva, he leaned forward on both hands with both eyes almost out of everything but weak shouts.
"Ryoko! Ryoko, what happened!? Where's grandpa?!"
His mouth hung open on a last gulp, wider than was necessary. Whoever more fearfully, he placed his hand on her shoulder.
She wailed like a small animal normally unable to make sounds at all. Tenchi stumbled back on his rump while Ryoko clutched and trembled both hands over her chest. A few tiny whimpers huddled inward at his next gulp.
"^Ryoko^."
He whispered for memory, dazed desperation trying to replace an unbelievable present with any fondness the past might spare. The silence continued, drawing more recognition onto Tenchi's nearly soaked canvass. Soon no balanced critique could deny the lopsided distance forming between them.
Instinct and luck must have pulled everything's vision towards the office entrance. A late and half an early breath sounded like 'grandpa' or 'oh no', but both were quickly buried as he sprinted towards the new entranceway.
By Ryoko's unchanged posture who would have known her desperately anonymous prayers had been answered? Tenchi had left her. She continued to read into trembling palms even after the pieces of delusion faded away.
***
^Tenchi Muyo: Sanctuary and Asylum^
-Verse Eight is Martyr-
-Part 4-
Innocence, sacred and futile---measure the deepest deceit.
Paradise, forsaken and brutal---show the invulnerable incomplete.
-ZJS
***
Noboyuki's room was almost nerd neat, only a few books out of line, center dresser drawer pinching out a white wrinkle. Scuffs and scratches along a honey stained desk were all too well dusted to be obscured by paper scatter. A few loving faces propped themselves up in stainless angles and stood up for bric-a-brac. Immaculate carpeting, tense for lack of traffic, shimmered in sterile glass sunlight. The ceiling fan hummed along around pleasantly, dissipating some of the noxious odor and circulating the rest.
Yosho's thin white sheet clung to his emaciated body, gray and heavy with sweat. The closet mirror doubled the room back on itself, helping him strike the perfect dearly departed pose if he'd just move his other hand in place. No one would notice the slighted breathing if they weren't looking for it.
"Grandpa?" Tenchi whispered through the creak of the door.
A wheeze caught in the old throat and retired.
"I've got some soup for you."
He kept his eye on the tray as he entered, closing the door behind him with his elbow, curtsying to ease the latch down and in. Steady steps and he was beside the bedside. Through the soup steam his grandfather looked like a won-ton dumpling, wet doughy wrinkles with a few pinches of meat inside. Tenchi kept looking. His jaw set against stone and his neck shrunk back, eyes too frozen and clear for water. A few stubborn hairs of dust floated through the sunlight and, he imagined, wormed their way straight into his grandfather's lungs, but if he tried to catch them now the soup would get cold. Tenchi kept looking.
"Are you awake grandpa?" In a loud whisper restrained emotion can scream.
Age breathed and youth swallowed in equal silence.
Balancing the tray on his left hand with more strength than necessary, Tenchi bent to the table cabinet. An artillery of prescriptions, some fired and some duds, were moved one by one into neat little rows farthest from the bed. There was still not enough room, so the empty ones were stacked on top of the fat ones till they could be recycled.
"I'll just leave it here." Caretaker Masaki whispered to himself, still hoping to be heard.
Once the tray was within reach, once the napkin was refolded, and once the tray was readjusted to be perfectly parallel with the cabinet's edge, Tenchi bent down to the other bedside commodity. His grandfather's vomit was a thin pink, a perfect compliment to the dark blue plastic bucket. It was normally used to wash the van, but he looked at it like it wasn't there as he picked it up and carried it into his father's bathroom.
Water moved and he returned. While replacing the bucket in its shallow carpet indentation, the caretaker let his patient returned into his more silent and still undivided attention. He didn't notice the reopened door till Washu took a step through it.
"What's his status?"
Startled and solemn again in less than a over the shoulder glance, Tenchi offered a weak smile from his frozen crouch. Washu kept her eyes on Yosho, walking in with all the dignity her injuries and adult form would allow. She'd been afforded a sort of diagonal balance through the padded casts on her right wrist and left ankle, better, not to mention, the brace around her ribs. Everyone had needed to learn quickly how to keep eyes on her face, but the wall plaster on the other side of the bed was still more inviting.
"The bucket was less than half full again, so I'm giving him the same soup." Plain flavor; Tenchi answered.
"What about his pan?"
"I---was--justabouttodothat."
"I'll take care of it, go-" Washu started cold, rethinking the end of her sentence till Tenchi thought she might leave it at that, "go see if Sasami needs any help with dinner."
She could have done better, but didn't seem to care. Tenchi stood next to her while they looked down at the bed.
"Please. Thank you." She excused herself and dismissed him with equal and minimal courtesy.
Tenchi reached the doorway and stopped, speaking formally into his left shoulder.
"Miss Washu, I really think we should take him back to the hospital. I know they probably would have called us if they'd made any progress, but maybe if we took him to a different specialist-"
"No."
The mechanical sound made him turn around in what he hoped was misunderstanding.
"Miss Washu?"
"I said no, Tenchi. I still can't believe I let you take ^me^ to that barbaric place. No, the last thing he needs is the stress and the exposure to more germs. We've already given him enough of Ryo-oh's sap to make him stick to the wall, I doubt those 'doctors' could do any better."
"But-"
"I've told you the only explanation that makes sense, Tenchi. We're doing all we can till I can get my lab fully operational again."
Tenchi took a breath for a retort, but gave it back. In a few heavy steps he was closing the door behind him with more stealth than likely needed. Washu strained superior and heard him mumble to himself, but could only make out the words 'the time'.
The strength of his posture hid the atrophy pulling Tenchi's eyes onto the floor beneath his feet. The emptiness in her cheeks challenged the anxiety in her walk as Aeka kept her gaze just high enough to avoid low obstacles. They made their way into the living room with all the slow certainty of blind men at home, looking up at the sound of each other.
"Good afternoon Lord Tenchi, I just made some tea, would you like some?" The princess asked, one mourning servant to another.
"Yes, thank you." Tenchi answered in kind.
He sat down on the couch with all the comfort of a cold bus-stop bench, glancing at the dead television like a slow clock. Disinterested reflex passed back towards the kitchen and Aeka. She placed the tea tray down and sat next to him rather than across or adjacent; this rare occasion made him pay extra close nerves to the cups, and to her hands.
They blew on their tea, looked into it, and blew again.
"How is he?" Aeka asked her puddle reflection.
"He-" Tenchi swallowed, then tried again with some tea, then ignored the burn. "He liked the soup, so I gave him some more."
They exchanged a few sips in silence. Tenchi glanced at Aeka watching her tea. Aeka glanced at him trying not to watch her.
"Sorry I overslept today," Tenchi began with forced casualness, "I didn't get to see dad, how is he?"
"Pleasant," Aeka answered pleasantly, "but he still seemed very tired."
She sipped at the responding sigh.
"He's not getting enough sleep. That cot he has in the office just isn't good for him." The negativity in his face overreacted to a lecturing tone.
"I agree. I keep suggesting that he try the couch instead." Aeka offered in collective support.
Tenchi's face relaxed, then kept relaxing, till his anxiety wrinkled outward in equal excess. Aeka failed not to notice, and fully hid her eyes behind her bangs. It took longer for her to break the silence again.
"I---I believe he does not want to behave as if Mihoshi were not coming back at any minute." The extension of support stretched to its limits. Tenchi let it connect and sink in.
"I take it you haven't heard any word from her."
"I'm afraid not, neither Ryo-oh or the guardians have received any messages."
With an increasing weight in his jaw, then throat and stomach, Tenchi reached to warm up his still steaming tea.
"Where's Sasami?"
Aeka raised her head, and looked toward the room she shared with her sister. If her own eye-bags weren't still weighing her down, Tenchi would have cleared the way for a mad dash.
"She's taking a nap," Aeka breathed and forced her attention back to her tea, "I think the change in weather is making her groggy."
"Yeah, I think I know how she feels. They say it's going to be a really hot summer."
"It isn't already?" Aeka failed to return his weak delivery of weak conversation.
Tenchi roughly massaged his cup, recognizing and sharing the necessary evil in not losing touch keeping watch over the younger princess every second of the day. It should have helped more, he thought then tried not to.
"Have you received any news from Washu?" Aeka crossed passivity.
"She...still won't let me take him to another doctor, but I'm hoping she'll be able to do a better analysis soon. Of course, she doesn't know when her lab will be ready."
Extending silence made Tenchi look up at her for longer and longer increments.
"Do you really want to know, Your Highness?"
Washu's impersonal voice yanked their attention into the hallway. She was already within a few strides of the couch, uninterested in Tenchi's enduring fascination with her stealth.
"Excuse me?" Aeka asked with almost genuine misunderstanding.
"Do you really want to know your brother's status?"
"Washu, I-" Tenchi's attempt at concerned disapproval didn't make it off the ground.
"I'm sorry Tenchi, but I can only stand misinformation for so long." Washu finished for him without taking her focus off Aeka.
"Misinformation? What---what are you talking about?" She widened her eyes at Washu then tried to deepen them at Tenchi. He had already hung his head. Some loose split ends needed to be set back behind her ear before science could take its rightful place.
"Princess Aeka, even with my grossly limited equipment, I can safely hypothesize that your brother has not contracted any sort of infection, nor has he been poisoned."
Aeka's clenched brow narrowed wide eyes slightly, but her parting lips covered the difference.
"What?"
"Most life forms have the equivalent of a central command organ for all their biological functions, usually a 'brain'. They function automatically whether it's a psychological reaction to a physical stimulus---or a physical reaction to psychological stimulus."
Information paused but did not bring up a visual display or even clear her throat. Accustomed to professional presentation, royalty couldn't help but notice when the speaker began to scratch the cast on her wrist.
"As you likely recall, Seita could directly influence perception, this could only be possible by directly influencing the brain. Not to be inappropriate, but you probably haven't forgotten that his ability to project false stimuli somehow gave him some additional access to involuntary bodily functions."
Washu's lips kept moving too quickly for Aeka's to finish retreating.
"It should actually come as little surprise that such automatic functions as processing sensual stimuli and responding to small shifts in organ chemistry be carried out similarly."
Aeka's eyes had begun to drift back down to the bandages again as Washu gradually removed more emotion from her voice. The next cast-scratching pause gave her the perfect chance for a meek interruption.
"^Are you saying---that he can make us^-"
Tenchi wondered for a moment if Washu had even heard her be predictable.
"I considered that. Perhaps he can introduce, or imitate, a message to the brain to make it believe the body has been infected, but this is unlikely. It seems far more probable that Yosho introduced the necessary message himself."
Tenchi could hear Aeka's head jerk upward, but he kept his own focus on his knees.
"My guess is that your brother is perpetuating his own affliction. If the message of a specific sickness had been introduced artificially, then in addition to the symptoms there would also be the counteractive measures taken by his body. There are none, hence the rapid decline.
"His brain believes it has the symptoms of an affliction and it responds in turn. There has been a fairly adequate amount of research done on the mind's influence on the body's homeostasis; the idea of a disease can often have more of an impact than the disease itself.
"'If' the theories are correct, then Seita is either continuing to convince Yosho that he has these symptoms or has found a way for him to keep convincing himself. In my opinion the latter is the most likely, and your brother has been given a powerful suggestion rather than a potent poison."
"But-but how could he do that?" Aeka trembled. Tenchi watched her hands grip the fabric of her kimono and he felt them in his stomach.
"If his powers of persuasion hypertrophy, as they seem to, then after all this he can likely do almost anything he wants."
Again, Washu was speaking to herself as much as anyone else. She seemed to realize this at roughly the same moment she recognized the scratching position of her hands. With dignified robotic closure, she lifted her head and hid her hands behind her back.
"But if the ^former^ explanation for my hypothesis is true, then he could be doing so right now."
Tenchi had never heard hopelessness grow in Washu's voice, but unsettling as it was the rapid decay into apathy sounded even more chilling.
"That is the status as of now, as it has been. I'm going to my lab now."
She turned.
"Washu!" Aeka stood up from the couch too quickly to straighten her back, the desperate gasp paralyzed.
The tallest woman turned back with the same apathy, now hardly dignified.
"But what---what can we do? Will he recover?"
"He is showing very little tendency to stabilize, and no sign of improvement. Tenchi was right; I cannot make any more predictions till I've made extensive reconstructions in my lab."
Washu turned again, and closed the closet door before anyone could call out to her again. Extended minutes passed, and neither of them tried to speak.
Tenchi punished himself with looks at Aeka's face, and threatened that he might only see it again from this restrained angle. He ran his hands through his hair roughly, apologizing for his and every other living person's failures.
"Aeka. Im sorry. I-"
"Lord Tenchi."
It was her diplomatic voice, that desperately intimidating composure. Somehow she simultaneously hid and focused all of her anxiety, just as she often did when apologizing to him. She was too upset now to waver.
"Thank you for considering my welfare."
He looked over, and was nearly helpless. Their eyes locked in a perfect exchange of guilt and disappointment.
"I appreciate your concern, but I am not a child."
She would consume him, yet was somehow glowing with enough pity for both of them.
"In the future, please do not keep anything from me. I try not to keep anything from you. I-"
Something inside the palace broke as soon as it could into tiny searing shards; Aeka's eyes did not widen dramatically, but every inch of exposed skin visibly clenched. Dumbly, Tenchi watched as she averted her face to implode to escape if need be. She quickly relinquished the privilege of breath, clutching the robes above her knees again.
"I-"
It hardly seemed possible that even a Jurain could shiver so much. He lost his own throat as understanding gave everywhere and guilt took everything. Aeka flew and fell onto his torso, clutching it with weak and desperate fingers. The sobs were supposed to be wails, but there simply wasn't enough control left.
Slowly and unsure and even Tenchi could complete the task of maneuvering without maneuvering them so that he could hold her and stroke her hair. Still unable to speak, he tried to calm his own heartbeat, tried to think of things resembling comfort. The best he could get for a while was a distraction; Aeka felt so very soft and delicate. Her hair smelled the same and better than ever, and he was almost hesitant to do anything but pull her closer when he finally regained enough of his throat to reassure them both.
***
Outdoor chores were finished at dusk and in time to pass on to the shrine patrons that 'sweeping was good for the soul'. He was happy to see his house in the distance and quickened his pace despite the mild exhaustion. Soon enough he noticed Ryoko sitting on the roof. The closer he got, the slower he walked, and the more unnerved he became that he could not tell if she were watching him or not. When he came within shouting distance it clenched his stomach to wonder if she had even seen him. Only through gold could there be any invested interest. He tried not to show that he saw her once within usual pouncing distance, but had to keep returning his eyes to the path in front of him. Two steps away from being able to see her without dramatically arching his neck, he stopped and made eye contact. He hoped he looked more concerned than afraid.
The distance he'd felt that day at the shrine was still growing, but maybe distance wasn't the right term; something was being blocked or cut off. She still looked so afraid that she simply couldn't care anymore and it made him want to scream till he went hoarse, and he might have, but it might be more important to surgically removing his stomach first. Their eye contact lasted all of a cough before Ryoko's face dragged downward and phased away like an illusion. It was a different feeling than the one he remembered from her appearance at his school, and different from the one he got when the ghost of his mother turned out to be Seita, but at that moment both belonged in the same file. He didn't know why, and didn't want to think about it.
***
Dinner that evening included no conversation to speak of. The fanning heat had turned into a miserable humidity net, but complaints sounded more like observations. After making sure the kitchen was nearly blinding in some places most everyone had set out to let in as much air as they could. There were a few yawns between the goodnights.
Tenchi tried to at least lie still in complete silence without his breathing and complete darkness without the intense moon. Grandfather's teachings swirled in his mind just as relentlessly. Knowledge all began to sound the same after an hour or so. The only lesson that endured was the ability to be a part of his environment. Perception, sensitivity, he felt every gentle fiber of his sheets, and he could taste the anxiety in his home all the way down the back of his sandy throat. It was too damned humid, but he still needed a glass of water.
He didn't bother tiptoeing, or even walking slowly. The large windows in the living room let in plenty of light and but Ryoko wasn't maintaining a cover snore. Almost thankfully, his glance traveled up to where he pictured her sleeping with her face in her arms, then no longer relieved or ready, he drifted back down to linger on the couch. With a dissatisfied and almost authoritative frown, he resolved to get his father out of the study and into the living room for a good night's rest, no snoring tonight so no arguments.
Then he resolved to do it after he had his glass of water, thinking that the couch had not reminded him Mihoshi, or Seita, glad for a self-defeating moment. It was hard to drink during near spasms of panicking rage, deep breaths helped as soon as he could breathe.
On his way out of the kitchen Tenchi noticed his father sitting out on the back porch with a bottle of sake at his side. Slightly bent over, Nobuyuki's drab tan shirt almost looked like a grain bag. Despite the fact that portliness didn't run in his family, Tenchi had to reconsider telling him this as an icebreaker. He merely sat down on the opposite side of the bottle and looked up at the sky.
"This really isn't the best way to get to sleep, ya know." Nobuyuki spoke in quieted and pure fatherly affection as he poured some sake for his son.
Forgetting how to hesitate, Tenchi took it, drained it, and returned it. He noticed that there were two other unused saucers by the bottle, but didn't know whether to think of 'absent-minded' or 'optimistic'. Even though his father used the same saucer-cup for himself and offered it back to him, he still drank to the more comforting latter.
"Whatever ^else^ you've done hasn't worked." Like father, like returning with the same dry sarcasm.
"I'm fine, what kind of Japanese would I be if I didn't sleep in an office from time to time?"
Tenchi grinned and assumed his father could feel it.
"Do you think you might go back to school before the semester's over?"
"I don't know."
The solemn answer killed the undead party. When the sake came back towards Tenchi he began to shake his head, then lower it, then clutch it. Nobuyuki put the tools aside and continued staring out at the fields. He remained equally mundane and serene while his son pulled open and let go with an iron jaw. A smoke throat balanced frank and frightened to almost hide slow tears.
"What did I bring into our house dad? I can't even think about how long it might take for things to be normal around here again, which---which is stupid because I know they never will."
Even when drinking for sorrow it was rude to gulp so loud
"I have to keep thanking you for understanding why I don't want to give any details. It's not just that it's hard; it is, but I don't want to give you any more stress than you already have. I've put you through enough."
An exhaled chuckle puffed out and drifted into a near sob, but Tenchi kept fighting to say something valuable.
"Dad, I can't tell you how sorry I am, all this, all this madness I've brought into your house. You've been so supportive, and so---damn it you ^don't deserve this^!"
Tenchi started breathing in exhaustion to dry out the sobs, his wind began to waver but it afforded him some level of control. Nobuyuki picked up and reopened the sake after a few minutes of letting his son re-contain himself. Middle-aged nasal goofball and all, his voice was then so entirely ^him^ that it could have sounded right speaking anything, even fatherly advice.
"You know, your mother believed that ^everybody^ always got ^exactly^ what they deserved," he paused to recap the sake, "just like her father." Grabbing the dishes, he stood without looking down on his son. "I like to believe the same thing."
Tenchi breathed it in and thought he might have smiled, standing to follow slowly but shortly after.
Nobuyuki left the screen door open and Tenchi entered through it like an archway.
Glass sang half a note as the liquor bottle settled on the coffee table. The couch played half a chord as the man of the house made himself comfortable.
"Sleep well, son."
"You too, dad."
***
Sasami's sleeping face nuzzled her pillow tenderly. Loose hair nearly covered as much of her body as the sheets. Random eye movement coordinated a rising smile.
---
"Wow Ryo-ohki, have you ever seen so many flowers!?" Sasami asked as she spun around in the endless sea of petals. Her companion raised a pair of ears like a periscope nearby and began circling Sasami like a dolphin rather than a shark.
"I wonder how we got here, there doesn't seem to be any trails," She settled to scratching her chin quizzically. Ryo-ohki emerged beneath her feat with a happy meow. The colorful pollen that had accumulated on her fur made Sasami bend a giggle to dust it away.
"Hmm, I'd like to run around with you Ryo-ohki, but there are so many flowers I couldn't even walk without stepping on them." Sasami mused sadly.
The perfect pet leapt from too clingy cleaning hands. As she landed the flowers around her promptly closed and retreated back into the ground, leaving a blank patch of soil. Small steps bounded ahead a few feet, the flowers in her path continuing to regress. Sasami marveled at the trail being passively mowed in front of her.
"Hey Ryo-ohki, that's neat!" The little pathfinder stopped a few yards away and turned to meow encouragement. Trust fun giggled and took a step forward.
"So which way are we going," she asked enthusiastically.
The cabbit tossed back another meow to follow and began to steadily clear more ground. For a moment Sasami felt the urge to reexamine her surroundings for a more logical direction, but following her friend seemed as natural as breathing. Any further progress should, indeed, be taken in confidence that she was being led to something fun. Sasami almost reveled after a while.
---
As The Second Princess of Jurai rose, her bed warmer woke from a nestled position in the sheets, blinking away the sleep weakly to see first Sasami, then, after another blink, a gigantic carrot shuffling away. Ryo- ohki yawned and returned to her own dream with a contented purr. Dainty toes walked wearily but with comparatively good coordination to be working with closed eyes. As she exited the room Aeka turned over and continued her faint snoring, sleeping better with the door open for circulation.
---
The flowers retreated at right angles where Ryo-ohki had taken seemingly random turns, making the path more geometric than most. For a moment Sasami wondered if the path was being made for her friend rather than by her friend. Regardless then, she imagined someone being able to see a design from high above and giggled at the possibilities.
---
The soft slap of bare feet on the floor was not enough to resurrect exhausted architecture. Sasami didn't know that Tenchi had let himself leave the screen ajar, but walked outside anyway.
---
Such bright sunshine on the prairie made her wonder why she was feeling a chill fighting through humidity. She rubbed her arms and shrugged. Ryo-ohki began to move faster, Sasami laughed and gave chase. The soft dirt beneath her feet became oddly itchy but they both continued on at the same pace regardless, never venturing off course, priding the stretch of their path rather than worrying about its final length.
---
Sasami's young reflection approached the edge of the lake. Her jerky sleep-stride would have mirrored a ravenous zombie had she not such a sweet and happy expression on her face.
---
Ryo-ohki stopped without turning. The still second place princess slowed and stood a few feet behind her friend and gathered confusion all around her. Flower Sea still stretched endlessly; in fact she frowned when she saw that their path had re-grown behind her. Her full uncertainty returned as her guide turned around in the short rectangle of bare dirt between them and meowed happily, eyes closed, head tilted.
"This is weird Ryo-ohki." One little person's little fear went a long way.
Her friend didn't answer but remained completely still and silent as every single flower in sight closed and snaked back into the ground. The overwhelming retreat made Sasami gape in amazement. In a fairytale rainbow of seconds the endless colors had transformed into nothing but blue sky and less than dead dirt. Although she could feel a slight breeze, not a single pinch of dust stirred.
---
Not the picturesque moon, not a decorative window; a white hole delivered Seita onto the shore with a soft crunch of sand. He parted his hand arch, dividing the snake gracefully enough to watch two halves squirm, one ready behind him, and one up to Sasami's ear. The princess's eyes fluttered distress at her dream till someone tore her out of it with a loud snap of his fingers.
---
Ryo-ohki chewed and wrestled in a tangle of sheets, the roots of her dreams giving her more than enough trouble. The joyous struggle eventually carried fantasy over the edge of the bed and onto the floor with a soft thud. Aeka's eyes fluttered open wearily at the noise, but she decided to remain asleep. Ryo-ohki spat out a crumple of sheets and yawned a meow loud enough to make the princess take notice of the ship, then the empty bed behind her. Humidity lost to the chill.
"Sasami?"
---
The abrupt change swayed the pig tales over Sasami's wobble till she rubbed her eyes back into balance. With a sleepy groan she grabbed at the sudden cold on her arms then jerked a stark expression every which way then forward.
"How did I...^Seita^!" Crouched to meet her face to face, gasp to grin, he gently took Sasami's hands in his own.
"Did you miss me, princess?"
Somehow, amid a steady boil of unnamable and consuming nervousness, she managed to specifically look surprised that he didn't use her first name.
---
Aeka possessed herself with every rush of air before bursting into Tenchi's room.
"SASAMI!" Her second hair cover came undone at such a yell and such a valiant attempt to search every corner at once. Tenchi exploded from sleep and nearly fell out of bed.
"Aeka, what's going on?" Scraping the rust from his eyes almost slurred him.
"Tenchi, I can't find Sasami!"
She wailed, digging him by the shoulders and nearly watering him by the face. Landscapes aside, but within infinitely more seconds than they could afford, both headed down the stairs with Ryo-ohki close behind them. Tenchi shout-pounded on the closet door.
---
The moon's reflection dissolved passively in the lake ripples, yet its brilliance still made the golden strands draped about Seita's head seem merely yellow. His smile fell lifeless as Sasami timidly pulled her hands away and took a small step back.
"What's going on Seita, how did I get out here?" She asked uneasily, beginning to rub her arms again.
"You know Sasami, in theory, sleepwalkers do get more exercise." Cleverness offered comfort.
"And where's everybody else?" Not hearing the offer, she looked around even more anxiously for any other sign of life.
"They'll come looking for you soon enough. Why do you ask?" Softness haunted circles around his voice, making her take her time to look at him again.
"You've been gone e-e-ever...ever since Tenchi's grandfather got sick, and every time I ask about you they get all serious and tell me I have to call them right away if I see you...or-or hear you. What's---," Sasami's fear made her look at the ground and twiddle with her hair. "Are they mad at you?"
A heightened awareness stood slowly into quiet orbit, listening to the rustle of black cotton over black leather and ivory synthetic under lavender faux fur, listening to his bones. The rest was background like the back of his hand; lake and wind ripples just gathering leaves, and every blade of grass was the same cut of air.
Sasami watched his gaze sweep the field. He was so tall that he probably couldn't even see her with his head level, but with the skylights behind him his eyes could have been blue or black or blind glass. Even when he closed them she wasn't sure if he was listening to the all he could hear. When he breathed deep it was always obvious by the stretch of his chest, and this time when he looked back down she knew he could see his whole shadow covering her. Everything was so still in his face for so long that when he swallowed, even if it wasn't nervousness, it stood out as much as his breath.
The little princess took another step back and clutched at the oversized T-shirt that was trying to billow above her bare legs, holding it down with the lump in her throat.
"But why?" It was hard to hear her own voice and if she blinked she might cry, or maybe something worse.
Though she really needed to wet her eyes soon, when Seita took an arm's reach step forward they locked wider open. Having never heard the sinister velvet before, she couldn't tell it was laced, striped with dreamy ceremony.
"Because I said so."
---
"Where is she Washu?!" Aeka howled as she took hold of the scientist's collar. Washu had barely entered the living room when the pounce came. She winced from the pain interrogating her injuries.
"Aeka, calm down! Washu's still hurt." Tenchi selflessly tried to sooth Aeka's anxiety with his own.
When The First Princess took both hands away they were shaking so weakly it was a wonder they'd ever held anything. Lowering her head held her throat in place, but her voice almost seemed the same.
"^Please---please help us find her^."
Nothing left to give than what they wanted; Washu glanced over Aeka's head, through Tenchi, and slowly to her right. The open screen door invited in a breeze; it politely removed a petal from the flowers Sasami had set in water and tossed it at their feet.
---
From red to white, the trembling skin under Sasami's fingers would be turning purple soon. It sounded as pitiful as it looked.
"W-W-What are you talking about?"
Looking up at the sky now, she could see more of his eyes as he searched the stars for falling, hiding things. The velvet evaporated so soothingly that it would have been forgotten if it could.
"Did you have many friends back on Jurai, princess?"
"Huh?" Momentary confusion watered down fear.
"Apart from your parents, is there anybody else who misses you?"
It felt good to finally be able to look at the ground, and even better to close her eyes, almost surprising she didn't cry and answered in a reflex mumble.
"I guess not."
"Still, do you think we become friends with people, or just our perceptions of them?"
She caught herself before she looked back up and brought her head down even lower, her answer sounding the same, though not a reflex and not entirely honest.
"I---don't know what you mean."
"Let's put it another way; picture Tenchi, good, kind, honorable. Tenchi. What if the same person you saw as him no longer acted the same, if he behaved totally different? Would you still consider Tenchi to be your friend?" When seducing a jury Seita did not pace, he only looked at the ground and rocked back a little on his heels.
Her tears felt natural, but impossibly more afraid. And although her voice wasn't reflexing any more it was even harder to move. Forcing herself to answer before something worse she accidentally forced her head back up to see him looking directly over her. A few strands of gold almost touched.
"That won't happen, Tenchi's my family, everyone else too. We'll---we'll love each other forever."
Everything in her face hurt, and it was starting to feel like her arms were frozen or missing for holding them so tight so long.
Chuckles jerked in Seita's neck like a series of rapid grunts as he stepped back and bowed slowly forward with his hands firmly behind him. He lifted his head eye to eye, glare to stare, malevolence making the ever-soft face seem like it should be creased, carved, and gray like a tyrant's corpse.
"Only ^Nothing^ last forever."
---
Emeralds were moldy rocks as Washu watched Tenchi follow close behind the princess's mad dash, the partially open screen door barely stayed on track. The footfalls then the bellows faded and she walked slowly into Nobuyuki's room, never lifting her face from the floor till she came to Yosho's side. The old man's sickly form remained unchanged as she stood over him, watching his breaths.
*Ryoko?
She listened to every splinter of the no response, experiencing up from the roof shingles to the sake, mentally squinting to see her daughter's knees up close.
*Did you see her leave?
After the first agony spark Washu reflexed the connection a little thinner.
"No, of course you didn't."
Defeat hurt her throat but spread completely evenly to her chest so the sting didn't jerk a tear. She still needed to brace herself on Yosho's mattress as she spoke again, uncertain whether he'd hear her sound older than even a Jurain would consider. This time not knowing felt worse than the dead voice.
"I guess we're going to lose Sasami now too."
Thinking out loud for two people who weren't listening, it was worse than not knowing, and worse for the moment she saw the field over Ryoko's forearms before the vision pulled back even tighter into itself.
Science tenderly spread her face and hands across Spirit's chest. Labored breaths and exhausted sobs kept each other company.
---
Her legs still wobbled a little as Sasami began backing away again.
If he was taller this time when he stood up straight again, she told herself it wasn't real, in fact this was all only a dream. But a masochist wouldn't pry open a laceration to deepen this Seita's smile just for her sake.
"I don't understand," she cried muffled terror to force her eyes shut, and angled her head as if anticipating a strike, "why are you acting like this?"
"^Ac---tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing^." Stretched into a pinch of steam and nearly kissed directly into her ear; the sinister velvet could actually be worse.
Stuck between a gasp and a choke, Sasami pulled away, not really ready to see him eye to eye ever again, but not expecting not to see him. She turned back to where he'd been; he'd only moved to close his eyes and arch his fingers together the way he did. His last smile and every other were gone.
Turning to flee fast enough to fling tears almost kept her from noticing a six-meter wide oblivion portal spread open and spread swallow. Seita walked out and it closed too quickly for her to notice extra dizziness. One approach matched one retreat and neither faces moved till Sasami gasped and looked from the sensation of the lakeshore sand to the trepidation over her shoulder. Even with only the moon Tenchi's house was just visible across the lake.
"Unless it's a play, there is no acting, only practicing."
Still learning to switch her head around painlessly, she was lucky to be distracted; he'd crept to only half a meter away, still condensing the velvet steam back into a dream cloud.
"Try to think of my time with your family as a project. My most important work to date, actually, and that we're here now because it seems there is still more to do. I've been making plans for you, for us, for a while. But they've become thoroughly outdated already, princess."
"Why aren't you calling me 'Sasami'?" Terror tangled priorities too well for her to notice.
It sounded like another chuckle, but his face wasn't changing, frozen entirely till he brought his wedged hands up and folded every finger in save the smallest, lowering face into knuckles with a blast of wheezy disorientation. But before Sasami could think past how unlike him this was he pulled his hands down with a few quick breaths to reinstate a confident smile.
"I will be giving you a new name soon enough, and until I do, a title is more appropriate. You see, I'd planned to take you on as a sort of long- term project, as a way to keep ties, and to keep your family tied."
A hundred marbles appeared in the atmosphere, too deep sea colored to reflect even the moon. Seita angled his hand to hold an invisible waiter's tray, and the orbs collected above it, replicating a familiar sake bottle glint by glint.
Dreary cave echoes rang in Sasami's ears as he unplugged the cork for a luxurious inhale.
"But as I was considering a recent disappointment, I thought of my original plans for you, princess."
Nearly petrified, a few quivers of Sasami's hope searched his face for a cruel joke.
"You know how Ryoko loooves sake? Well I was thinking that you might develop a taste for it too, surely a princess shouldn't be denied such pleasures. I would take it upon myself, or course, to make the proper house calls to ensure you always got what you wanted---what you needed."
Freezing blue between the two, his eyes swept down her hair and squeezed into the bottle. Spite tightened expression while he slowly titled the contents onto the ground. Instead of forming a puddle beside him, the liquid poured continuously, filling up into a Jurain noblewoman slightly older than Aeka. With a small shake of his wrist, Seita expelled the last drop to create a worn copy of Sasami's favorite headband.
The figure's clothing was stained in poor places, its watery eyes stared blankly over dark bags and emaciated hands shaking a reach up towards the bottle. Pulling it into her mouth and letting her arms flop down, she gulped, leeched, suckled till it leaked, gagged, coughed alcohol near Seita's feet. He didn't step back as she braced herself, fingers in the wet weeds, but the doctor did retrieve the medicine. A mortified hiccup escaped the younger princess as she watched him hold the bottle inches above the projection's reach. It whine-jumped up over and over. Bright teeth gorged on its desperation till at last it fell back to its knees and clutched at his feet. He looked down at the future then up at the present.
"S-S-Sweet, sweet addiction."
Jackhammer air fluttered from his throat, still sharp and barely purposefully uncontrolled. A panicking smile nibbled on his bottom lip and widened his eyes far down on the older princess. She twittled her fingers weakly about her face as she mouthed and gulped at the seemingly endless runoff. Usually, Sasami only heard liquid splatter against flesh in the onsen.
"How lovely it could have been to enslave a princess---to herself."
Dregs turned back into marbles, dissolving the bottle out of Seita's hand. With the last glass drop the barely living contents formed into a mass of them, a moment as a sea egg cluster. It quickly collapsed, each sphere burrowing itself in the globe.
In another attempt to disappear, Sasami tried to turn away again, crushing her face closed in her hands. Only half a step closer was a lot for him and too much already; her scream came stillborn.
"Seita...please...stop." Her voice was discouraging enough without reminding her of that pitiful projection.
"Don't worry, princess, believe it or not I don't want you to lower yourself to my power, I want you to ^surpass it^."
Everything terrible in his voice was soft again, and the sand felt even colder as Sasami took her own half-step back, knowing full well how helpful it wasn't.
"But as things slouch now we don't stand a chance."
It might have been the bones cracking in his hands.
"Even if the very idea of succeeding me sounds too fantastic, a new student, a final test is all that will sustain me long enough to accept failed immortality."
The blanket was soft and almost too heavy when it wrapped itself around her, this was a very hot summer and she'd been sweating in some places, but when she gasped her eyes open at the new surrounding her breath cloud hadn't dissipated yet. Seita was kneeling, pulling his hands away after balancing it on her shoulders. Only daring to move her eyes down a little; it looked like it felt; a velour trimming of the night sky. Yet, here it couldn't be half that real.
"But it all depends on whether our head start is in the right direction," he continued, blinking numb when he had her eyes again, "it won't be a play date for either of us, but all the other answers are starting to ask themselves out."
At the first signs of him lowering his guard to watch his fingers arch, she shut tight and tried to shrink back like a turtle without putting too much in the blanket.
"There is a type of---an act of---of baseness, that can plant the seed of apathy like no other. The very thought of it, even from a bystanding or avenging perspective, can choke off life like---like ^Nothing^."
Hearing his breath sharpen made everything sound impossibly worse, Sasami felt another knot finish and glue itself tight in her stomach.
"We will experience it together like never---and you, you will be reborn from what it is to know the ultimate failure---with no punishment. And I-"
His swallow against his cut off wheeze had to have made everything else worse, but he continued the same for sounding the best.
"I will finally get to admit defeat; that actions really do speak-"
The breaths belonged to a rodent till they left through a beast of burden. One, two, three, calm. Another swallow and Sasami heard his bones crack again as he leaned forward, she wasn't seeing her life flash anymore than she was feeling she'd ever had a voice.
"But, if-in-results end up in-conclusive, we may stumble upon the answer to something else," the laugh was weak breath chips, almost like the rodent again till it was entirely like a vermin, "or at least a question to confront the question:"
The saliva readied itself around his teeth to wet his lips as he pursed them in. It had taken him this long to perfectly crush together sinister and velvet on their affected deathbeds.
"^Why is it, that the two most prolific propaganda tools continue to be sexuality-"
Seita's hand shot forward, clutching and dragging Sasami's face upwards by her chin. The bony cage was colder than it could be and the tiniest bar curved inward, dimpling and caressing down her cheek with a perfect point.
"-and cute---little---children^?"
Moon mocking teeth parted smiles and perfumed sweet, but everything pretty handsome plummeted into confusion when the royal circles appeared on the little forehead in a raging turquoise brilliance. A strong breeze erupted all around them, grasses and trees hissed grand promises to come. Seita looked across the lake at something in the distant forest erupting a powerful aura.
---
A harsh gasp froze the search, Tenchi turned to face Aeka, who'd barely made it ten meters from the forest edge before stopping and clutching her tiara. It radiated overwhelming and familiar. Funaho's ground beacon faded, and from that distance they glanced to the next. The wide edges of more than any apparition were just visible across the lake.
---
Seita's future stepped back so quickly that his hand clasped on itself. He looked down at Sasami but mostly at the light water reflection behind her. The energy from her forehead flashed and basically blinded for half a moment. Demanding from each direction, especially everywhere, the voice's force described nothing less than divine.
"STOP___THIS___NOW!"
The unwelcome guest watched his still gripping right hand experience itself forever if it wanted, not too long after he blinked very thoughtful and stood very tall, hands behind him, half a smile up to do the other half's work. He looked where awe should be as a Goddess gently put her hand on Sasami's shoulder and motioned the bewildered girl into a protected position at her side. At a glance his fallen blanket evaporated back up into place.
Though each color spoke peace from life and life through peace, her face was hardened with the combined power of countless defensive parents. In such an existence-altering state presence alone was flattening the grass around him, but Seita stepped forward like a cocky bully over a line in the sand.
The eyes, the vision of Sasami's future, pressed into his movements like brail, her frown deepening as he lowered his head. Near concealed ends of a sharpened grin just visible, he chuckled to frighten children at an amusement park, sighed---begged to lick a razor, then promised a bath in the tortured ravishing of original innocence, talking eager confidence simultaneously into match and mock.
"You...must be...^Tsunami^!"
***
A garden surrounded from out of will, loving its fear of its maker though its maker would never ask. In the center something impossible didn't want to be disturbed. The servant, ready to eat a star before asking how many more, remained disembodied, old, and male for the same sake. Designed as a filter, a fetcher, now he'd taken on the role of advisor as per result of an unspoken request poorly retracted. Protecting her would always mean risking destruction at a glance.
*My lady?
*I do not wish to be disturbed, much less to express it so.
*Might I apologize by performing something new?
*No.
*Then, if it disturbs you no more, I have a question.
*No.
*...My lady, it weakens my use to you to comprehend your indirect answers.
*It takes nothing of me to know your questions, all of them.
*Then may it take less for you to hear them; did you speak to your sisters?
*My 'sister', yes.
*For her benefit?
*Not one that would be clear to her.
*Then is it without more knowledge than her own that she now faces-
*Dare not use such strong terms. She 'acknowledges'; that is flattery enough.
*Yes, my lady, I understand. I was-
*I...do not wish for you to interfere. Is that still clear?
*It weakens me to comprehend your indirect answers; you know I would not hesitate to risk my existence for yours.
*Not ^your^ existence, not your existence when ^my^ champion has already 'given' himself to destroy---this.
*His sacrifice was a testament to you.
*Of course it was, he knew no more, better than my sister's champion.
*Will either of them fair---'differently' against 'this'?
*Of course, they know no better.
***
One gentlest hand moved Sasami slightly more behind softer robes. Two better than bluest eyes looked at the discolored pallor on favored fingers, testing the texture of the coarse hair on his bare forearms, the plain white stain cloth over his chest, and plotting a coarse path over his scalp. He pressed flat against teeth and fat around lips. Trembling unclean for breathing unsavory, more as he realized what was being seen and pressed a little half claw all the way in. Held between himself and a Goddess his hand was further lost in tremors for the weight of a blood drop on his pretty point. The left hand crawled up and around like a starfish to hold it dear against his forehead. Breath after breath stumbled out, freezing him to death in a base ecstasy limbo.
Little by little by hoarding replacing calm, both hands fell to an outstretched parallel, palms lifted up in tempting surrender. Take your best shot and embrace the future. Behold the opening ritual to trade the body for the world. The Ghost of Madness looked into the eyes of The Great Tree. A smooth loathing consumed the nasal quality of his natural voice in a braving storm of lascivious fabric and decadent paint.
"By the mortal zeal," he stepped forward more surely than weak muscles should, "and my new name."
Sasami gasped in terror, clinging tighter to her future robes and hiding one eye behind them. Sapphire venom coiled and clenched at the wilting flesh beneath it.
"Please open the path to our ancestors, the space trees."
The air crushed in his hands, shuddering into his blood as it seeped into his throat.
"Heaven to ocean, ocean to earth, earth back to heaven; draw me the taste of forgetting the light."
Another ice storm titled on its edge to narrowly miss him and he folded upright with hands behind and face forward. Smug smiles were born ready.
"I was wondering when you were finally going to show up."
Tsunami didn't move enough to be standing still, but when she spoke her entire form shimmered life into life out of everything. A place for destruction to rest its weary head spread sheets good and far.
"I cannot allow you to harm this child."
A tooth edge grew in his corner smirk, ripe and waiting but instead snapping every trace of every picture down to a line of a face; skipping stone-serious and sinking into humorless like an iron file turning wood blocks to paper.
Almost fascinated with the dramatic change in expression, Sasami tilted out for a better look. This was what Seita really looked like, left for too long in an unhealthy weight loss oil that didn't mix with paint. Even as her head began to feel lighter her stomach began to wail. She buried her face, a whispered plea for home, and a few tears into the tightly clenched softness. It was quiet enough to hear that empty place of his open up to speak for him. She tried to envision Tsunami standing up to it all.
"I take it your 'sister' didn't give you any warning."
The Goddess's frown returned slightly to send the negotiators home, all but crossing her arms for emphasis.
"She didn't have to."
The even shorter answer seemed to undercut Seita's calm and returned a small amount of glare to his face. He quickly made in shine back with a shameless rasp of sarcasm.
"A crypt-tic answer? Nooo! Now when have the powers beyond the stars ^ever^ needed to keep us guessing?"
Sarcasm was always basically spite anyway, but the next step forward was small enough to not seem so sure. Pink cool pools blinked unaffectedly to receive the reflection of blue heat needles; apparently he either knew or did not care to ask her plan.
"But I still can't help but be honored," the half smile wanted to be a real blade so bad, "should I be ironic and say-"
A chuckle tossed his head about for a gentle moment, he closed his eyes to open them again on a post-confident modern-effeminate voice version.
"That I'm 'unable to express how uncanny it is to interpret your words'?
"Yes, for ^you^ to speak to ^ME^ with a focus for ambiguous-"
Those two little stabs in the bile stressed the bag enough to spill it all out in a tidal wave.
"It makes me feel so RIGHT---so ^DAMNABLY^ RIGHT!"
He looked ready to spit after spraying so much saliva glaze around his fury, but swallowed some more to gorge his pride back to calm confident, if still shaking, Seita.
"I simply must be, for you to only appear now with the discipline ruler after I've already done so much to---'tart up all of existence for oblivion's kiss', yes, I do still like the sound of that---and you ^must^ have liked the ^sight^ of it."
Like a new sale on free spirit, plain clothes wavered for trying too hard to balance as he spun, hands and now face up to the sky. Almost back to fury, but it was all painfully funny, really it was.
"Now it's only fitting for YOU to 'bear witness' because YOU---^watched^--- ^it all^!
On the next revolution he stopped at their station and hung his head, seeming to rest his engine. Though they moved him, his breaths were quiet, and though he wasn't boxing he thumb-wiped his bottom lip. Still quiet as he looked up, he kept attention on the cleaning hand and the texture between thumb and forefinger. Again he looked at Tsunami and killed smile memories, pointing to his mouth, wiping bottom lip again slow, not stopping till the red thick slick ended halfway along his cheek. Turning the scowl almost too easily into a harlot's pout, he tilted his head, waiting for Tsunami to show some sign of suppressed revulsion that he could bill as desire. During the silence Sasami dared to expose half an eye. Sensing it or yearning for it, Seita moved to catch her attention off guard, smiling, savoring, a quarter of the perfect tears.
"In some, whatever, 'your' universe it seems there ^are^ more important things than NOT flattering me." He realigned his head to face her straighter, pulling up some velvet worms on the way.
"It seems Jurai really is the Promised Land, yet you don't save its peasants, and certainly not it slaves," he grinned sharp, "but not just any noble either. It's only worth your time if it's the cutest---little---"
Seita's blue displaced malice, needing all the narrow for curiosity. The wind only for this wave had made her seem almost an underwater apparition, but a moments difference in her robe and or Sasami's footing revealed a glance more of The Second Princess of Jurai. A leaning step closer set painting hands behind him again, in almost three triangles he examined the short and tall of it and their reflections in the lake. Every change of view melted some of the wax prurience into a series of thin trails and finally a flat puddle. He tried to build it back up again for being the first to notice, but it kept running through his fingers and eventually scalding him. It seemed only natural, though, to whoop it up for connection brand enlightenment.
"^That's---IT^!"
Rising manic cackles canceled out portions of his elated victory bellow, but he continued till they reached a compromise on their own.
"That---that's i-heh-heh-it! All this time-"
He gave it all to laughter, the collapse of his lungs, the tearing of his throat, who cared so long as the Goddess and the princess heard nothing but his fanatic praise of irony, romantic shortsightedness, and everything in between.
"All this time you were ^right under my nose^!"
A rain of broken multicolored glass fell shrilly on Sasami's ears and she covered them desperately, almost loosing her balance as she tried to bury her eyes in robes again. The laughter eventually exhausted and hid Seita's face in his own hands. He shook a few more chuckles loose, hissing for the crickets with a deep breath, then regarding them with the unfathomable pride that might even make his executioner hesitate.
"I guess we can't take anything more for granted."
He bent down, crouching with arms draped carelessly over his knees, glaring right into Sasami's face through Tsunami's robes.
"Is it safe to ask 'directly' then, if this young body is on lease...or is the mortgage already bought and paid for?"
No change in the Goddess's expression, though she visibly considered one.
"That is none of your concern."
Even with a mouthful of peace she knew how to speak to a willful child, but Seita only smiled wider and rose with a chuckle of avenging patience.
"No, it is ^all^ of our concerns." He searched and sized, letting sinister velvet billow lavishly to wrap round her from the ankles up. Another step forward, two and a quarter more before he'd be within whispering distance again.
"Don't you see? It answers my question...^that^ is what it takes to get your attention. All those rituals, all those prayers, all that begging, it all falls into hopeless, albeit affectionate subjectivity." The minimal alms he afforded her sense of philanthropy were so pompous they could only be sincere. "None of it, good Goddess, can get your attention like pure, and inescapable, ^self preservation^."
Seita gestured an open hand toward Sasami and Tsunami followed it, only after laying a gentle hand over the princess's head did she finally allow herself to return what she could of a darkened glare, glowing with more deadly focus than she'd used to appear with.
"I see you don't deny it," he claimed victory after another short chuckle.
"My relationship to Sasami makes no difference now." Tsunami watched Seita light up with the rising weight of confrontation in her voice.
"Your relationship to 'her'?" Chest shook and face tightened with new silent laughs, barely kept under control with a sharp sneering smile, "The only issue now---is your future relationships to ^me^!"
A perfect wedge or tent for the wind and heavens, it still shook again to be formed on such uneasy ground. Tsunami fully furrowed her brow, uninterested or unable to hide her insult for all the threat she'd already fought to stand above. Her apparent anger only intensified as he spoke on, a brilliant actor to make a lunatic sound so seductive.
"I must admit though; no mortal being should be able to face a Goddess this way---and vice versa."
Where he should have added a smirk, Seita let his face sink. But a solemn natural; his gaze was perfect, he knew.
"But don't worry, we'll be equals just long enough for you to succeed me."
Tsunami's eyes slowly began to weaken and widen, but she managed to keep her jaw set. The arch raised till the tips of his middle fingers lined up with the bridge of his nose. He took a long step backward without any desire to imitate retreat or break eye contact.
"Perhaps it ^would^ have been kind of your sister to warn you. During our-- -'encounter' I didn't yet feel I would need someone to continue my work, of course I was also not quite so 'important' then."
Another step back, the building intensity in his breath and eyes beginning to steal the energy needed to keep his smile up and eventually the focus to flatter the sound of his voice.
"The sessions I've conducted here, the advancements I've made-" Seita looked down at Sasami again and let his chaos smile for him for a trembling, nearly frothing moment before he had to speak again. It held on best it could.
"Just---the ^inspiration^---the ^preparation^ to properly 'initiate' this child," he swallowed, breathed, and looked back at the Goddess, "it has made me more powerful than-"
A thought frown cut him off. He closed his eyes with a silent moment sighed out. Tsunami moved Sasami almost completely behind her.
"No," he continued with a shade of quieted self-consciousness, "I really do talk too much. You knew what I was going to do to Sasami, and now you know what I'm going to do to you, but to understand ^why^..." Eyes open to the obsession behind the legacy, to the basic instinct behind the light, Seita spoke sincerely and couldn't help but sacrifice his voice unto a thousand subhuman hisses.
"I will undo divine and give ^exactly^ what is wanted. I won't tell you the ^answer^, I will show you your ^master^!"
He'd clenched his face shut to keep the silent uprising from shaking his skull loose. Tsunami pulled her head back and squared her shoulders, seeming to need a breath but taking none. She closed her eyes as well, but serenely, and opened them with all traces of hostility completely banished.
"There are many things that choose to be destructive, but I must only deter them when they threaten the balance."
The aggressor shot open and glared over his fingertips with undivided suspicion. She continued.
"And yes, sometimes that means protecting myself; I have a responsibility to all living things, that includes you."
Perhaps checking the blues before they narrowed into slivers again, she still spoke with another layer of consuming compassion.
"I understand the power that has possessed you well enough, and it has no place here."
One last pucker to test coagulate, one last look at pieces of the white and flesh colored thing holding him up, and serenity found its malignant twin in the close of Seita's eyes. He pulled his head back for more height and lowered his arched hands to chest level; such a convincing imitation of benevolence drained the surface mortality from his face in no time.
"So that's your answer, so indeed, so envision, we truly can't take anything more for granted. New instincts only convince so far. Like my time with your sister; this session will require a little more---"
"^Faaaith^".
Even from a slight distance even a lesser creature would have noticed the minute tension clenching the otherwise frozen man's expression. And, being a Goddess, Tsunami couldn't be so mortal or dishonest to hide horror when the word surrounded her like torches echoing in fog. And more, mouth still tightly closed, his laugh crept low and menacing up her memory and into her voice. The sound itself was not so unsettling as the fact that she actually ^heard^ it. Only in the few beginning and completing moments of merging with another life form had she glimpsed what it was like to have separate senses.
Now she felt it, as clearly as a mortal might feel a pregnant insect burrowing into their flash, it was only sound, but it clenched torment at her consciousness, confusing her almost nonexistent knowledge of physical pain. Everything about the laughter increased and she wanted to cover her ears as Sasami was doing, but resisted, barely.
Hissing whispers began to squirm into his laughter like a locust plague. Soon countless voices bombarded her at once, each with senseless or imitated words. The overtly maddening sounds, however, stepped into a slightly quieter background to make room for a collection of mentally damaged persons wailing garbled pleas or damnations as they struck their heads against padded walls.
Another impulse, this time to bend and focus enough energy to hug Sasami tightly against her, it had to be extinguished quickly. She couldn't resist looking down though, and coddling the little princesses head, searching for comfort that she'd just been able to block most of their connection.
"^I believe your sister experienced this same---adjustment^".
Into the forefront of the cacophony it seemed almost a charming calm, yet Tsunami knew then what Sasami would experience where he to whisper venom over her ear.
"I had to focus harder than I thought possible just to get a simple perception projection through to her." The asylum chorus projected further in his momentary absence or recruitment. "Only now it is so much easier."
Tsunami looked up into the flashing wave of a true shield, but never let Seita think for a moment that she didn't have unrelenting eyes on him. The invisible barrier crushed the grass and passed over him. Though this was distressing enough the second time, it was even worse to 'see' him smile shade up by shade up of high-class whore-red lip color. He opened his eyes to the speed of new doll skin fading onto him and filling weak into lean. Conversely he left it to blue to express without excess the immune arrogance and the merciless lust of his ambition. Speaking plainly had always known how to sound almost sagely. No love lost for the warm up sinister poses, intimidation clearly pleased him more with the idea that he might be wise.
"It would make sense for the highest beings to be less susceptible to certain anxieties. But for your sister, and I'm sure for you as well; it must be especially terrifying to confront something you cannot destroy, and even more so, to be confronted by something you cannot accept."
An echoed crack of a cartilage whip and the hopeless case ambiance faded into lake water. Seita began to lift both elbows without moving the position of his hands. He seemed ready to pull the arch apart, but instead it stayed intact while arms detached at the wrists like pieces of vanilla taffy. Drooping tails of flesh dangled from the stumps as he raised them upward to slowly ignite the crowd for stigmata.
His hands, still suspended before his chest, took their own moment before unfolding and landing palms down and fingers spread on each breast. They vacuumed the air from beneath his loose white shirt, quickly making it as tight as a second rubber skin. A lone breeze ruffled and melted the pale pant legs till they relaxed into a skirt over his feet, overly long, overflowing onto the ground like cake batter.
Quick chameleon; both hands blended completely black. Veins grew from the detached tails on his wrists, all eager to spread like accelerated roots up his torso, neck and arms. Some creased their paths and some wove through in hasty stitches. From the still elevated severances at the ends of his arms rigid black structures, bird bone insect antennae, began to puncture their way out through the dough.
Seita's already slender torso began to emaciate till his belly sunk in, exposing a sickly and angular ribcage. With a sound like crumbling mortar a spine must have detached to stretch him ever taller. Skirt flow changed course as well, molding legs into a bulbous white mollusk tail that was soon open to the overrun of veins. Each of the hard growths from his arms began to branch off in tribute to a batwing skeleton. When the roots had spread evenly across everything form the neck down, his body continued to stretch and grow with rough autopsy and practice taxidermy noises.
Through every moment of the transformation, their eyes never forsook each other. With both of them concentrating on not concentrating entirely on this grotesque figure, neither of them could match the other with much more than an attempt at cold, blank, patience.
First to flinch, out of the running, over the race, Seita rolled his eyes back to white and looked upward. Flesh leeched against the collarbones just as it had around his ribcage. The wings continued to grow outward even as he pulled his shoulders forward to deepen the dent beneath his neck. Frames creaked and snapped at the sudden slam of chin to chest, echoing similar as he raised his head up to reveal a toothless gapping maw. His skull deflated, pulling eye sockets and mouth back like a rubber mask.
Something like growth continued till it towered a half story above The Path Engraved by The Light. A new head ripped itself up from the torso. This long and perpetually melting worm cut its mouth wide enough mouth to swallow a Jurain. It bent toward the Goddess without a sound save the splattering drip of graying flesh, saliva. The veins began to sprout from the wing bones and nearly fill in the space between them in a flat twist of chaos pattern. When its breath should have wilted the princess's flowers its wings began to slowly fold around them.
It stretched its mouth further with a thickly layered roar, clogs of jellied skin poorly obstructing hoards of guttural moans. Swinging low and back a few meters it let out a flood of nausea gray. The spill turned to slow glue abruptly with Seita standing haloed by his latest mouth. His long snow bright coat was buttoned only at the waist, corner folded up hourglass with onyx sand at both ends of time. Quicksilver devoured chrome on the natural fingertip sway at his sides. Quicksilver tempted platinum over touch don't kiss lips, around worship don't speak eyes. Mercury ran a lightning de-coloration down every perfect strand of Seita's dandy draped hair.
As the unspeakable claimed its right to mute even divinity, Tsunami's will projected stoically, washing through to the core of this image as it hardly did credit to the loathsome, violating force thrusting it into her consciousness. Yet, through to the greater everything of what she was, she needed to keep Sasami safe. Already held tight against the storm, the princess gratefully accepted memories of new trees rising up from ash, and polluted waters slowly being reclaimed by tiny and hearty animals.
If her charge could be shielded this much, then she could remain appearing unafraid, and unaffected by Seita's apparent call on her bluff. He lifted a hand, sharpened nail out for polite blood, and smoothed back some of the pearl curtain. Head tilting into the affectation angle, he smiled his eyes closed for the onslaught of lust all primed for genocide on chance of tasting his sinister velvet tongue.
"There is nothing so vain as a self-inflicted grotesque."
The other hand came up to smooth glue back the other side, each finger soon pulling his chin up, making sure everything stayed in place when the last of the velvet left the All of the rest.
"^But there is nothing---so grotesque---as wasted vanity^!"
To this still unaffected testimony to Jurai's strength, Seita bowed, holding his eyes for as long-menacing as possible before taking aim at the ground with puckered lips. A phlegm-drop dripped like a falling egg white if it were white. Soon as it hit the bit of fluid began its slow grow into an oblivion portal. Satisfied with the size of a manhole cover, he stood again and faced his future like a new concubine.
"Vanity, like time, may mean something entirely different to immortals, but you are in no position to ^waste^ mine."
More automatic than nature, Tsunami's eyes widened at the absence under the decidedly more proportioned nose. Seita followed the path her affect to this naked reanimation of a dead nemesis, then back up to claim interest as she begged forgiveness of herself for hoping to face it like a vulgar taxidermy. He almost spoke like a gracious winner: no insults, no sympathy.
"I will take the faith of Jurai, in all her forms, and transform 'it' into my apprentice. I will ensure the survival of this, the grandest undertaking conceivable by either doctor or deity, artist or fascist. What the Ghost of Madness may not finish, you will."
The white puddle disappeared down the drain in a matter of seconds, dynamic if it weren't just for show, maybe even distracting if Tsunami hadn't bowed her own head and raised it with a hesitant yet irreplaceable thought. He called her bluff, reflecting his frown on the back of her last card.
"So savor it, the honest narcotic of truly having no choice."
Smug smiles were, undoubtedly, born ready and willing to the end.
"Because there is nothing you can do to stop this."
Exhausted arrogance and forgotten compassion, the final sphere, deadened his voice to a deafening calm. Having lost most of her shield at the opening presence of a somehow thicker two dimension, Sasami's frightened sniffles again tried to muffle themselves in Tsunami's robe. The lake still caressed the sand beneath their feet.
And up like a creased stain on this latest aesthetic ideal, this bare core rolled over a leftover mortality peel. Perhaps it simply unnerved him to see such a different form of confidence on someone's face, unsure but resolute to be naturally unafraid.
---
It was cold inside Aeka's shield, probably colder in the lake billowing under them. Tenchi felt the hilt merging with his hand, waiting for this to feel reassuring again, not thinking twice for leaving the armor ring behind, not blinking once to stare at the royally consumed profile. Earth gravity, she had cursed to herself, would keep them from moving fast enough to vaporize everything in their path. He didn't know if he wanted some degree of his hand on her shoulder, but he still wasn't ready for whatever the distant apparition might grow into.
---
Tsunami closed her eyes and held out her hand. A large oval in the sand between them glowed white-hot-hottest, then mirror-slightly imperfect. Tender melancholy finally allowed patience their embrace.
"I'm not going to stop you."
Seita's projection glanced down at his reflection then up at Tsunami with a curious frown. She was contented, stroking Sasami's hair as she continued.
"You are going to stop yourself."
He looked at his reflection again in time to see it shatter into a pool of light draining into a window on an immaculate hospital hallway. People crossed the halls with wheelchairs and flowers. Uniforms and important protective suits marched casual and sincerely concerned. The intercom echoed and hauled Seita in by the inner ear. A man who, even at a distance, looked to be his older, less attractive, and more professional brother, kept him there. The standard, staff issue shoes, didn't match his pants but they did squeak in a smart about-face as he finished with the receptionist and walked up the hallway. The window backed up to keep him and show him closer.
"What exactly is-" He scoffed up an eyebrow, but stopped when a voice called out from off the mirror.
"Dr. Shima, excuse me, Dr. Shima."
The doctor stopped and turned to face a middle-aged man in humble class casuals who approached as soon as he was acknowledged.
"G-Good afternoon Dr. Shima, my name is Matsumo Yama, my sister, Matsumo Kiren, was a patient of yours." Slightly nervous would have been severely embarrassed if he'd tried to keep any cooler.
"Ah, yes, Ms. Matsumo," the Dr. replied after a brief pause, "how is she doing?"
"She's doing very well. Actually, it will be Ms. Tetuken soon."
"That's-" the Dr. began kindly.
"I j-j-just wanted to thank you!" Broken restraints interrupted, taking the hand without the clipboard in both of his, "you helped my sister so much...you-you're a great man, Dr. Shima."
The Dr. put a comforting hand on the ready to break shoulder, and held the rest up with an off the record smile. Swallowed again by a pool of light, the brittle window readied to be replaced with another.
Silver didn't waver, cemented on even as the tendons gripped excessively to rebuild the arch. Then the tips slipped a little before buckling into each other. Seita's lines still shimmered while he stretched open the top two and sunk open the bottom one. A holy aura, two-dimensional halo opened behind him, its diameter flickering everything between peacock and hardhat. The movement continued, seemingly in tune with his own previously excited chaos breaths till they too calmed. A pinprick of white healed above the platinum curtain.
By his tallest posture, Seita's doll skin drained dye, and by Tsunami's mirror one too many two dimensions struck him flat as a map, beholding the landscape, beholden to his executioner. Bodily lean stretched rusted wire, thin and frail then disembodied grotesque and bisected plain on just this map's paper cut.
Beholding the landscape and disembodied grotesque, his makeups and costumes clutched a spill of entrails more pretty than should have been necessary. Nothing imperfect, only good enough to hold back a mortal wound. Beholding the landscape and bisected plain, standing so straight after being laid out flat, this plane in emptiness. This now a plane only an incline in a void till the movement is complete; from center to the end will fall back twice the distance on the now new decline.
Sasami felt moved to see where her fear had gone, struck curious by the sudden quiet. Tsunami was watching Seita as he watched something on the ground, she stepped out from behind the robes and took a step forward. Her future didn't hold her back.
The image gave out to an older man taking the podium of a large stage.
"And the award for outstanding achievement in the field of Psychotherapy goes to..."
One time Sasami had seen a very old person on a shopping trip, they quaked constantly as if it were natural. Even though Seita's hands were stuck tight in their wedge, he was trembling the same way, as if caught in a vigorous applause.
The same Dr. walked across the stage, smoothing some slightly longer and sheepishly curling hair behind his ear, trying to smile away his humility flush. He tried not to look the presenter in the eye for too long before bending to the microphone's level and clearing his throat.
The image changed more quickly this time; Dr. Shima's office was furnished with black polish and decorated with pieces of inoffensive surrealism. Under shorter and slickest hair, over moderately fine suit, he made a note with a conclusive dot. It took nothing from his attention on the plain young girl occupying the couch. They both rose and the Dr. opened the door and smiled for her, lucky not to have anything in his mouth when she embraced him.
"Thank you Dr. Shima, thank you for everything," she promised not to cry, even if happy or hidden in his comparatively high chest. Rather than place a comforting hand on her shoulder, this time he stood looking down the drain of his expression.
Dropping knees, slouching shoulders perfect for the weight of reacquainted fragility, not too fast, not sturdy enough. Detached pieces all clutched together in a scowl, his jaw line just one sync crushing out a vibration code obvious as a cheap parlor trick. That to exalt creation he needed to exploit baser instincts and exorcise soft emotions like foreign reflexes.
He clenched his face at the ground for it, but knew the reaction that was coming. But to rediscover it again after so much atrophy, so small and mundane? Already it had been numerous enough, though, to share forever, and numerous and repetitive enough though, to bring his standard in to negate it.
Even as the strain forced him to fall before the glass, catching himself, holding himself up, holding out on his hands, he showed off knowing he'd already failed for real. Still there was so much energy to use, so much energy to have to think about it. Still there was so much contempt that it should be expected. In the angles of his flawless sapphire predictable would be worse than vulnerable, even when the two merged. The clever must dismiss better than the stronger can hide, and Seita wanted to look smart when he submitted to the first battle lost on his terms. He wanted so much, and he had to look smart when he looked up into Sasami before sinking into nothing.
---
Sasami felt Tsunami again, not looking up though, as the Goddess rested her hand and began fading it off the still growing shoulder. Her serenity flowed out over fear's regrets and out into life's everythings.
"I am still with you, Sasami."
Weak automation craned her head up at the peaceful apparition's last moments, Tsunami was facing solemn into the patch of ground Seita had held. There was just enough time to turn back down and smile at her vulnerable self before her vulnerable self, The Second Princess, stood alone by the water again, hearing every insect and wind quieted and clear. Something powerful was cutting the lake right toward her. She didn't move.
"SASAMI!"
Aeka's wail dwarfed the roar of water and Jurai power that brought her and Tenchi to the shore alongside and slightly farther inland for the momentum. Tenchi had his sword ready even if he'd forgotten or lost his shoes.
Less than ladylike, Aeka stumbled onto her knees and gripped her sister by the shoulders in a desperately loving strangle.
"Sasami, what happened, what are you doing out here?!"
Swaying slightly under the force, Sasami didn't lift her face enough to see more than her sister's mouth.
"Aeka, is she-" Tenchi held his ghost in by his teeth, his sword fading out. A hasty, unfocused step or two and he was trying to find the little pink eyes himself.
"Sasami, a-a-are you okay?" He tried to project kindness over ahead of paralyzing fear.
Big brother and sister's voices kept getting quieter and more desperate in their attempts to coax out a response. Though consumed, Tenchi still whirled around battle ready at the sudden hum behind them. He lowered the sword after a moment, and turned it off after another, powerless and muted twice over. Ryoko's face was shadowed over by her hair.
Still holding her little sister, Aeka looked down at nothing as well, face held in stone.
"Where have you been, Ryoko?" The summer's deepest heat parted ways for the ice on the princess's breath.
Two short steps forward, and Ryoko was ready to ignore the question. Without affecting her own withdrawal, she used it to sharpen a perfect imitation of her usual brash impatience.
"Out with it, kid. What happened?"
"Sei-ta..."
As far away as her voice was, Aeka caught it, devouring it as she gripped tighter and shook in tiny explosions.
"^Seita?! What about him?! What did he do to you Sasami^?!"
Tenchi began to shake under Aeka's new volume, grinding his teeth at the ground.
The Second Princess of Jurai looked up at everyone through her sister, and went meek with compassion pains.
"He looked so sad."
