Chapter Ten: The Alleyway
Crouching in the shadows at the edge of a rooftop, Sesshoumaru waited.
Below him, cloudy fluorescent lights flickered along an alleyway, illuminating the scattered trash and graffiti. The alleyway fed into an old delivery dock of a vacant warehouse, but now it had a new purpose. It was the meeting place for a den of thieves.
Beginning with the filth at the garage, he'd managed to systematically hunt down their members and move his way up their hierarchy. After weeks of violence and interrogations, he was here. Shortly, their leaders would convene in this hidden place, and he would put an end to their crimes.
The sound of a motorcycle hummed in his ear. He looked back, and at the mouth of the alleyway, he spotted it. Bright red in color, it waited there, its jittery motor growling. Then with a whine, it whizzed away into the night.
Before he could consider it, half a dozen shuffling steps pulled his attention back to the dock.
With their hands shoved into the pockets of their thick coats, men convened from different directions, sauntering as if on an evening stroll. As they met, they gave quick bows and lit cigarettes. They spoke jovially to each other, but he could hear the fear underpinning their conversations, and it wasn't long before they started talking about the rash of attacks.
"There aren't many of us left, are there?" one said, pulling his coat collar closer.
"It grabbed Hiro last night," another replied somberly, "The bastard would have got me too."
"And why didn't it?" a third accused, "I heard you were a coward, Hachirou. That you hid when it came around. That you pissed yourself and let it take him"
"You weren't there, Isamu! You don't know what it was like!"
"He was your brother! Like we're your brothers."
"Don't you think I know that? I wanted to save him, but…" he trailed off.
"That thing isn't human," the first one finished for him.
Isamu scoffed. "What do you mean it isn't human? What else could it be, Rokurou?"
"It's a demon. An evil spirit exacting revenge."
The others murmured in agreement.
"What are you guys?" he said, astonished by what he was hearing. "Am I surrounded by a bunch of old, superstitious hags?"
"You haven't seen it, Isamu," Hachirou said, his voice trembling. "Hiro was in the back of the warehouse. It ripped four steel doors off their hinges, deadbolts and all. Hiro managed to get out to the parking lot, but the demon was there waiting for him. He got to his car, but it picked it up with him in it and threw it into the bay. If the cops hadn't shown up when they did who knows if he'd still be alive right now!"
Isamu growled.
"If it is a demon," another man added. With a cigarette hanging from his lip, he walked toward them, the embodiment of cool collectedness. "Then we're doomed."
"Kenta-san," Hachirou said, and the group bowed deeply.
"But if it bleeds." He pulled his hand out of his pocket just far enough for them to see the glint of gunmetal. "We'll make sure it becomes an evil spirit. They want this taken care of."
In the presence of their confident leader, their okashira, the men breathed easier and chuckled with relief.
A bottle clattered down the alleyway.
"What was that?" Hachirou whispered.
Kenta held up his hand, silencing him, and retrieved the revolver from his pocket, thumbing back the hammer.
Despite the freezing midnight temperatures, the air suddenly felt heavy, stifling.
At the opposite end of the dock, there was the clang of spilled trash cans.
Sweat chilled the backs of their necks. Dread pounded in their chests.
Overhead, they heard the scratching ring of metal being dragged over concrete.
"It's here," Hachirou muttered, gulping down on the lump in his throat.
They glanced at him, their expressions rife with pity and contempt.
He whimpered. None of them had ever seen it, but he had, and when he spotted the glowing gold eyes high on the roof above them, his terror was realized. He bolted for the nearest alleyway.
"Hachirou!" Isamu shouted, seething with anger. Pulling out his switchblade, he planned to take care of this coward now. But when he started after his fleeing silhouette, another shadow dropped down, enveloping it. There was a heavy thump and Hachirou let out a wet groan.
Then he was gone.
Gripping his knife until his knuckles turned white, Isamu scanned the alley. Under the scant lamplight, strewn pieces of newspaper rustled.
Something wet dripped onto his forehead.
He reached up and touched it with his fingers. It was dark, and he smeared it around before putting it up to his nose. It had a metallic scent, one that he knew well. Blood. He swallowed and looked up. Golden eyes met him, and a hand reached out of the shadows, grabbed his face, and yanked him into the darkness.
Isamu struggled, but then there was a sickening thump. His knife clattered onto the ground, and silence followed.
The rest of the men formed a ring, putting their backs to each other. Each drew a knife, holding it close to their bodies to keep their hands from trembling.
"What do you want?" Kenta shouted at the rooftops.
Silence.
"Answer me, demon!"
A white apparition leapt down from the sky, landing at the center of the ring.
"Demon? Close, but not quite," Sesshoumaru whispered. He grabbed Kenta by his coat and flung him across the dock and into the side of a building. With an arcing swing he swept the crowbar around, striking each man across the back. They stumbled forward, gasping with the wind knocked from them. Using the hook to snatch one by the neck, Sesshoumaru yanked him back and punched him soundly in the side. The man sputtered and collapsed, lost to the dizzying pain.
Sesshoumaru swung the crowbar again, hitting the next one in the gut, and he finished the third one by cracking him across the face with his fist. But as he raised his hand to finish off the last man, there was a loud pop.
Following its origin, he looked back at their okashira.
Crumpled against the base of the wall, Kenta panted, blood seeping out of the corner of his mouth. In his weaving hand, there was an odd object.
Sesshoumaru stared at it, mystified. It was like nothing he had ever seen.
There was another pop.
He felt strange. His body suddenly heavy, he collapsed onto his knees. Something wasn't right, and when he looked down at his chest, he spotted the cause. Rounder than what an arrow made, there was a hole piercing through him. He growled. He wanted to move. He needed to move. Mustering his strength, he climbed back to his feet.
Another pop.
He felt it strike his gut, and he fell back down onto his stomach, his mind a murky haze of pain.
"Okashira!" Rokurou called out. He was the only one left and he limped over to his injured leader.
"Is it dead?" Kenta asked, wincing as he was pulled up onto his feet.
"I don't know. Let's just go."
"No," he replied coldly. Using Rokurou as support, Kenta nodded towards the fallen demon. "We're ending this. No one screws with the Kuro-Sakura Gang."
Together, they hobbled over. Through his coat, Kenta could see him breathing and he smirked. "So, you are alive." He cocked the gun again and took aim at his head. "But not for long."
A loud, revving whir sped down the alleyway, and the dock filled with the blinding flash of a headlight. The red motorcycle buzzed around the corner, barreling for the two men.
They stumbled back as the bike spun between them and the demon.
Pushing the kickstand down with his boot, the rider stood up. Dressed in a red and black leather suit, he wore a black helmet with a tinted visor, and at its crest were the bristles of a red mohawk. He pulled a baton off its clasp on his bike, and with a twist, it extended into a full-length staff.
"So, you want to get in on this too, boy?" Kenta growled, and he pointed the gun at the rider.
The swing came fast, and before he could pull the trigger, the revolver flew out of his hand and across the ground. The next blow struck his chest, and with a stabbing hit, he hit Rokurou hard in the stomach. They both fell, the last thread binding them to consciousness snapped.
With another twist, the staff collapsed back down. The rider turned back and walked over to the demon. He knelt beside him and shook his head at the severe wounds. "I'm sorry, man."
A hand snaked out and grabbed his wrist.
"Take me home." Sesshoumaru rasped as he struggled get up onto his hands and knees.
"#%$# me!" the rider half-yelled and tried to pull away.
Somewhere close, sirens started to wail.
"Take me home."
"Look, man, you need to go to a hospital. The cops'll take care of you, so, uh, don't bleed out until then, all right?"
"I need to go home."
The rider looked down at him, conflicted. Then he sighed, "#%$# me." He reached under his arm. "Can you stand up?"
With the help of the rider, Sesshoumaru summoned what strength he had left and pulled himself up.
"You're a heavy bastard, aren't you?" the rider grunted as he guided him over to the bike. "Here, lift your leg over the seat, and don't move unless I tell you or else you're gonna make me drop my bike. Home won't matter if your brains are splattered all over the street, got it?"
He snorted.
"Yeah, this is a great idea," he muttered and got onto the bike. Glancing over his shoulder, he looked back at the daiyoukai as he drifted forward to lean against him. He sighed again. "I hope you live, because this isn't worth it otherwise."
And with a highly tuned whine, they took off down the alleyway.