Langer 7
Yuki's hair stood on end. The energy was unbalanced with anger and hunger, violence. It needed cleansing.
As a writer he didn't practice his religion often. He'd never written a Shinto believer into any of his stories. Qi gong didn't make any appearances either. It didn't mean he wasn't a priest and a practitioner.
There was once a qi gong master who walked a field with a student. As the master stepped down he felt a wire under his toe and flung both the student and himself back, landing them both on their backsides. It was the master's awareness and connection with the world that had prevented them from being blown farther than their backsides by the bomb the wire would have triggered. That same sense vibrated in Yuki now, telling him the entire place was a bomb.
He turned the corner and found the floor carpeted with Indian rugs, the space lit with warm flickering candles. Pausing he sent more intent, more energy into the blessing wrapped around his steel bar. Compared to the rest of the destruction, the room he stood on the edge of was impossible. A harem room, golden edges windows painted on the walls with make believe windows on the outside, the bodies of slave girls laying like gothic poetry over chairs and each other, draped in silks and blood, it was the end of all tales. At the center sat a Chinese man in black silk and golden earrings. His lips were crimson, too decadent to be red, too sensual to be scarlet. He smiled, ivory fangs pristine, as if they'd had nothing to do with the carnage in the room.
Long fingers combed through pink hair, pulling it back from the unconscious face of the singer in his lap. "This one just smelled like he was a favorite of the gods, but I didn't expect them to send a bare foot, blond, Japanese man with a stick."
Yuki let his defenses fall, letting himself become more fully Uesugi Eiri, priest, as he mouthed blessing incantations, invoking ancestors for assistance. What he got was the distinctive feel of Shuichi's teeth on his ear, nibbling, licking. Eiri blinked, twitched. "I'm going to kick you all the way back to the underworld."
In that moment, he wasn't sure if he was talking to Shuichi's spirit clinging to his shoulder, or to the Chinese demon.
"Oh, and a priest as well. The energy was so weak, I couldn't tell at first. Do forgive me," he said smooth as rancid butter. He tilted Shuichi's chin back, revealing a very pale face, dark circles under closed eyes. "You did come after this little one, didn't you?"
Eiri's father had explained combat with demons, about on the same way that he'd explained sex with women, practical, grocery list. If Eiri wasn't sure his father was his father, he'd be concerned that his father hadn't actually done either of the tasks.
"Maybe you're just too glutted to feel anything," Eiri said walking into the room, stepping over objects he wouldn't think about.
"Speaking from experience? You smell like beer, and fear," the demon said, thumb playing with Shuichi's lip. "He's dead anyway. Spirit ran away the first time I tasted him."
"Put him down, come fight me," Eiri said, taunting, smooth. There was such a thin layer of restraint left. Demon, man, God, Eiri didn't care. The rage that lived in the part of him that was Yuki had never really touched so deep as to make it into Eiri. It did so now, drawing energy up from the very ground he walked on.
"Very well," the demon said, standing so that Shuichi slide down to the floor like a broken puppet. "It is nearly time for me to be gone from this place. America is such a lovely place. I must explore, sample some of every taste here. Don't you agree?"
"I think you really need to die here," Eiri said, bonding with the Yuki rage. "America has enough demons."
"So arrogant," the demon purred, seemingly still.
Eiri felt the lunge in his spirit before he saw it. By the time he saw it, the Yuki part of him had already impaled the demon on the end of broken steel. Eiri twisted, pulled, attempting to free the bar.
The demon snarled and jerked himself free. "What kind of priest are you," he snarled, quite angry.
"The effective kind," Eiri said, dropping the bar, crumbling the blessing in his fist as he rearranged the characters in his mind. Chi burned in his fist, turning the blessing to dust.
When the demon lunged again Eiri brought his hand up and blew dust. Every true intent he'd ever had to protect Shuichi, to love him, to cherish him was in that dust, every intent of good that Eiri had ever had flew in the face of the demon, who breathed it in. Intent, belief, will, Eiri held his ground as the demon reached for him. True decisions are hard to over come though and the demon watched his fingers shatter. Tiny micro shatters, the love of Eiri for Shuichi shattering him from the inside out. Fingers dissolved, dropping towards the carpet like sparkling spilled sugar. The demon's mouth opened, wordless, he released the chi he'd stolen. Eiri stood his ground, as now harmless dust blew past him, leaving his silhouette in the carpet.
"I'm going to haunt you," Shuichi said, fairly cheerfully for a ghost.
Eiri spun, golden eyes narrow. "Get back in your body, Idiot!"
Shuichi's spirit got those big eyes, all emotion, all heart, and just like always, it made Eiri want to hold him. Yuki held his ground, stern as ice in January. "Now!"
Eiri's will alone shoved Shuichi back. The next moment was blank, empty and he had no idea how he got from where he stood to where he knelt, holding Shuichi in his arms. Intent and spirit magic were powerful, but not powerful enough to close the bite marks on Shuichi's throat, or put blood back in his body, and Eiri crumbled like dust inside as he clutched Shuichi to him, pouring every warmth of chi from him. It never worked like this in real life. Death always won in real life.
"Stupid idiot," he cried, soaking pink hair with tears. "Stupid idiot."
"Don't be mean, Yuki!" It was such a small tiny voice, and yet, self assured.
"Shuichi!"
"You're hurting me, Yuki," Shuichi whined. "Let go!"
Now this was real life! Real life he could deal with. "Stupid, ungrateful brat," Yuki said with all the love he felt.
The day would find the rescuers back, find Touma back, but he didn't want to wait here in this room. "Is anything broken?"
"How should I know? God, I feel aweful!"
Okay, maybe they could wait here, for emergency crews. The day had started over for Eiri though. As long as Shuichi lived Eiri would live, and there would be life where ever they were. "Don't worry. You look awful too."
"Yuki!" Shuichi smacked Yuki's chest with a weak hand.
"Yes, Shuichi?"
"I love you," he said, including a bad word that American radio wouldn't allow said live. "I love you."
"I love you too, Idiot."
Yuki's hair stood on end. The energy was unbalanced with anger and hunger, violence. It needed cleansing.
As a writer he didn't practice his religion often. He'd never written a Shinto believer into any of his stories. Qi gong didn't make any appearances either. It didn't mean he wasn't a priest and a practitioner.
There was once a qi gong master who walked a field with a student. As the master stepped down he felt a wire under his toe and flung both the student and himself back, landing them both on their backsides. It was the master's awareness and connection with the world that had prevented them from being blown farther than their backsides by the bomb the wire would have triggered. That same sense vibrated in Yuki now, telling him the entire place was a bomb.
He turned the corner and found the floor carpeted with Indian rugs, the space lit with warm flickering candles. Pausing he sent more intent, more energy into the blessing wrapped around his steel bar. Compared to the rest of the destruction, the room he stood on the edge of was impossible. A harem room, golden edges windows painted on the walls with make believe windows on the outside, the bodies of slave girls laying like gothic poetry over chairs and each other, draped in silks and blood, it was the end of all tales. At the center sat a Chinese man in black silk and golden earrings. His lips were crimson, too decadent to be red, too sensual to be scarlet. He smiled, ivory fangs pristine, as if they'd had nothing to do with the carnage in the room.
Long fingers combed through pink hair, pulling it back from the unconscious face of the singer in his lap. "This one just smelled like he was a favorite of the gods, but I didn't expect them to send a bare foot, blond, Japanese man with a stick."
Yuki let his defenses fall, letting himself become more fully Uesugi Eiri, priest, as he mouthed blessing incantations, invoking ancestors for assistance. What he got was the distinctive feel of Shuichi's teeth on his ear, nibbling, licking. Eiri blinked, twitched. "I'm going to kick you all the way back to the underworld."
In that moment, he wasn't sure if he was talking to Shuichi's spirit clinging to his shoulder, or to the Chinese demon.
"Oh, and a priest as well. The energy was so weak, I couldn't tell at first. Do forgive me," he said smooth as rancid butter. He tilted Shuichi's chin back, revealing a very pale face, dark circles under closed eyes. "You did come after this little one, didn't you?"
Eiri's father had explained combat with demons, about on the same way that he'd explained sex with women, practical, grocery list. If Eiri wasn't sure his father was his father, he'd be concerned that his father hadn't actually done either of the tasks.
"Maybe you're just too glutted to feel anything," Eiri said walking into the room, stepping over objects he wouldn't think about.
"Speaking from experience? You smell like beer, and fear," the demon said, thumb playing with Shuichi's lip. "He's dead anyway. Spirit ran away the first time I tasted him."
"Put him down, come fight me," Eiri said, taunting, smooth. There was such a thin layer of restraint left. Demon, man, God, Eiri didn't care. The rage that lived in the part of him that was Yuki had never really touched so deep as to make it into Eiri. It did so now, drawing energy up from the very ground he walked on.
"Very well," the demon said, standing so that Shuichi slide down to the floor like a broken puppet. "It is nearly time for me to be gone from this place. America is such a lovely place. I must explore, sample some of every taste here. Don't you agree?"
"I think you really need to die here," Eiri said, bonding with the Yuki rage. "America has enough demons."
"So arrogant," the demon purred, seemingly still.
Eiri felt the lunge in his spirit before he saw it. By the time he saw it, the Yuki part of him had already impaled the demon on the end of broken steel. Eiri twisted, pulled, attempting to free the bar.
The demon snarled and jerked himself free. "What kind of priest are you," he snarled, quite angry.
"The effective kind," Eiri said, dropping the bar, crumbling the blessing in his fist as he rearranged the characters in his mind. Chi burned in his fist, turning the blessing to dust.
When the demon lunged again Eiri brought his hand up and blew dust. Every true intent he'd ever had to protect Shuichi, to love him, to cherish him was in that dust, every intent of good that Eiri had ever had flew in the face of the demon, who breathed it in. Intent, belief, will, Eiri held his ground as the demon reached for him. True decisions are hard to over come though and the demon watched his fingers shatter. Tiny micro shatters, the love of Eiri for Shuichi shattering him from the inside out. Fingers dissolved, dropping towards the carpet like sparkling spilled sugar. The demon's mouth opened, wordless, he released the chi he'd stolen. Eiri stood his ground, as now harmless dust blew past him, leaving his silhouette in the carpet.
"I'm going to haunt you," Shuichi said, fairly cheerfully for a ghost.
Eiri spun, golden eyes narrow. "Get back in your body, Idiot!"
Shuichi's spirit got those big eyes, all emotion, all heart, and just like always, it made Eiri want to hold him. Yuki held his ground, stern as ice in January. "Now!"
Eiri's will alone shoved Shuichi back. The next moment was blank, empty and he had no idea how he got from where he stood to where he knelt, holding Shuichi in his arms. Intent and spirit magic were powerful, but not powerful enough to close the bite marks on Shuichi's throat, or put blood back in his body, and Eiri crumbled like dust inside as he clutched Shuichi to him, pouring every warmth of chi from him. It never worked like this in real life. Death always won in real life.
"Stupid idiot," he cried, soaking pink hair with tears. "Stupid idiot."
"Don't be mean, Yuki!" It was such a small tiny voice, and yet, self assured.
"Shuichi!"
"You're hurting me, Yuki," Shuichi whined. "Let go!"
Now this was real life! Real life he could deal with. "Stupid, ungrateful brat," Yuki said with all the love he felt.
The day would find the rescuers back, find Touma back, but he didn't want to wait here in this room. "Is anything broken?"
"How should I know? God, I feel aweful!"
Okay, maybe they could wait here, for emergency crews. The day had started over for Eiri though. As long as Shuichi lived Eiri would live, and there would be life where ever they were. "Don't worry. You look awful too."
"Yuki!" Shuichi smacked Yuki's chest with a weak hand.
"Yes, Shuichi?"
"I love you," he said, including a bad word that American radio wouldn't allow said live. "I love you."
"I love you too, Idiot."