List of characters (for the confused, memory refreshing, and to introduce a few new characters)
Mortals: Kazutaka Muraki, Oriya Mibu; Sayuri Tanaka: reincarnated mother of Kazutaka
Shinigami: Asato Tsuzuki, Yutaka Watari, Seiichiro Tatsumi, Hisoka Kurosaki, Konoe
Enma: king of hell/hades; real (given) name: Tsurudo Miwazaki; Meifu and its judgement bureau are under the sovereignty of Enma Dai Oh.
Miyoko Kawamura: former partner and friend of Seiichiro, a professor at the psychics institute in Meifu.
Daisuki Seki: an officer with the sweeper division, a liaison organisation based in the mortal world; sweepers provide support to Shinigami on assignments by gathering intelligence, undertaking surveillance, etc.
Masaru Urasawa: commander of Shinigami special forces, an elite team of Shimigami who operate similarly to SWAT teams, MI6, CIA, Mossad, etc.
The celestials/true immortals: Omayuwa-Ran Shimahara: emperor of heaven, also known as O-Ran, the Sorrowful Emperor; god of fire.
Eijisho Shimahara: prince royal of heaven, god of scholars, brother of O-Ran, also known as Illustrious One.
Masato Mikoto: god of the earth, god of the harvest, father of Asato Tsuzuki.
Hatate Mikoto: empress of heaven, consort of O-Ran, sister of Masato; god of water.
Isao Shimahara: firstborn son of O-Ran and Hatate, god of music and song, also known as the first prince, real father of Kazutaka Muraki.
Midori Shimahara: sister of O-Ran and Eijisho, princess royal of heaven, god of woods and forests.
Gintaro Ueda: the male twin of the twin gods of love, consort of Midori.
Sanae Ueda-Shimahara: daughter of Midori and Gintaro, Sword and Shield of the East, de-facto commander-in-chief of heaven's army, adopted daughter of Hatate and O-Ran, real mother of Oriya Mibu; Sanae's army battles demons; after the ban on the deities presence in mortal earth, her warriors step in to aid Shinigami if their assignments involve demons.
Nagi Harada: chief enforcer of O-Ran; enforcers are the emperor's personal guards who see to the enforcement of heaven's laws, a separate force from the army led by Sanae; Nagi is secretly in love with Isao.
Junko Moriyama: Oracle of heaven; sovereigns of heaven are chosen by her divinations; also known as Most High, and Venerated One.
Kyomo Sagawara: lover and consort of Junko; battalion general in the army headed by the Four Swords and Shields, god of the air and wind.
Seijin Mukojima: lover and consort of Junko; battalion general, as above, god of lightning.
Oshiro Iwako: former emperor of heaven.
Makoto Shimahara-Iwako: consort of Oshiro; former Sword and Shield of the East.
Iroki Shinoda: historical keeper and scribe; former student of Eijisho.
Fumio Ikeda: mortal teacher and writer with whom Eijisho fell deeply in love.
Yukihime: O-Ran's flight beast, a white dragon.
Toshimaru: Masato's flight beast, a black winged horse.
Homuya: flight beast of Makoto Shimahara, a white eagle.
Love and darkness
Part Nineteen
The fallen god's gift
Tension filled Daisuke's cluttered office...
Wearied by his racing thoughts, flashbacks of recent events in his life and of what might come, he shut down his mind and surrendered to the blessed oblivion of deep, dreamless sleep, sprawled on the couch...
When he jerked awake and turned his sight to the others, he found the scene unchanged. Yutaka, Daisuke and the two specials still at their work, unflaggingly chasing down pathways, through little cities of a virtual world displayed on the monitor, their heads huddled together, united in their common goal of breaching the firewalls in their way, their intermittent conferring low.
He saw his blond friend stifle a yawn, flex his shoulders and lean back in his chair. While he pushed up his glasses so he could pinch the bridge of his nose, Seiichiro's hands settled on those tense shoulders, fingers kneading. The gesture was appreciated with a squeeze from the blond's hand and Tsuzuki smiled, affection for the two of them washing through him. Suddenly catching a whiff of the shadow master, he realised that the blanket draped over him was actually Seiichiro's overcoat. He smiled again, rising to drape it over a coat rack by the door.
Phosphorescence flickered in the corner of his eye. He felt a disturbance of the air nearby and turned to see Urasawa's form materialize in degrees. After exchanging quick nods with the impeccably attired captain, he began plying the hacker team with freshly-brewed beverages and snacks, happy at having something to distract him, calm his nerves, which had begun acting up the moment he awoke from his nap. His trip to the cafeteria provided him with another opportunity to cast his telepathic net and trawl for Muraki...
On his return, carrying yet another tray laden with hot beverages and snacks, Urasawa had taken up a watchful position behind his underlings, arms folded across his chest. Tsuzuki heard one of them, the woman, address him. "We're making good progress. We're halfway there, sir." The man appeared to relax a little and glanced to his left.
Seated at one end of the couch again, Tsuzuki saw those sharp slate eyes settle on Seiichiro. Although he didn't know it, the secretary was being closely scrutinized.
The man being observed suddenly listed and the Shinigami sprang to his feet, but Urasawa got there before him. The captain's arm shot up to steady him, his voice low when he spoke, suggesting that Tatsumi ought to lie down. Watari, halfway up on his feet, returned to his work once he saw that his obstinate comrade was being seen to, his golden eyes narrowing with ire upon seeing who was attending to him. Tsuzuki sighed, expecting Seiichiro's protests and insistence that he was "perfectly fine" to resume anew, but instead witnessed quite the opposite. Where he had failed, Urasawa was succeeding. Either that, or the shadow master was simply too weak to keep his act going, thought the Shinigami, hoisting an exasperated eyebrow. He couldn't help but grin triumphantly when Seiichiro leaned into the support of the arm around him, allowing the captain to steer him to an armchair. The Shinigami's eyes narrowed with insight, viewing the spit-and-polish captain in a new light. Seiichiro's head lolled and located Urasawa's shoulder. Although very slender, the captain was as tall as the secretary. Brown hair brushed Masaru's cheek, and the captain's now-healed mouth twisted awkwardly; for one as emotionally stunted as he was, it was the closest thing to a smile he could engender.
In obvious pain, the secretary grimaced and sat slowly, his breathing fast and strained. Tsuzuki half-rose, reached for a mug on the tray he had brought in moments ago but once again, Urasawa beat him to it. He plonked his bottom back down, more amused than annoyed as the captain proffered the still-steaming coffee to his patient.
"I'm guessing that it would be futile to try and convince you to take to your bed for some well-earned rest," Urasawa paused to glance at the Shinigami on the couch, who nodded his agreement emphatically, "so, at least get some of this down. It's not the finest blend, but it's hot. It might help. And stay off your feet."
Tsuzuki blinked in amusement, suppressing another grin. The scene before him was almost comedic. Seiichiro, Mister Control, was meekly obedient, although the Shinigami conceded that he was in all probability, in too much pain for even a squeak to escape his mouth, which was at the moment pursed tightly, proof of his discomfort. As for the captain, Mister Emotionally-challenged, well... in place of its usual gruffness, his voice was markedly tender, thick with feeling when he breathed, "Here you go." The Shinigami's mouth gaped when he saw the captain wait patiently for both of Seiichiro's quivering hands to close around the mug before releasing it. Shadow master breathed his thanks; both men locked eyes, cobalt blue meeting milky blue-grey... captain's eyelids fluttered, his eyes looking away first... before he turned to stride briskly back to the hacker team, the rush of heated blood to the captain's pale cheeks did not escape Tsuzuki's keen notice. Tsuzuki wondered fleetingly about when it had happened... just when had the unsuspecting man found himself swept off his feet... he shook his head, laughing inwardly at himself... he probably wouldn't be able to answer if I asked him... I don't know when it happened to me... perhaps love is like that... one never knows when one will be clobbered by it...
Your fourth reason, ey, Urasawa? Which is: you've got the hots for Seiichiro Tatsumi, Seventh Division Secretary, and the only Death God who holds the rank and title of Shadow Master... o-ho aniki, it looks like love's come a-tapping at your door... will you open it, or keep it shut and bolted?
Masato allowed Tsurudo to enter before him, frowning at the timbre of Eiji's voice. Responding to his announcement of their arrival and soft tapping at the door of his study, the prince royal's voice, calling for them to enter, sounded strange to him, so unlike that of the ebullient man he had known through the ages. The sight that met their eyes disturbed them as they approached him.
It seemed that it took a lot of effort for the emperor's brother to rise from his chair by the open drop windows, as though his body had aged with debility overnight. Tsurudo forestalled him with a clicking tongue and feigned disapproval. "Stay where you are and at ease, my dear Eiji." A wide grin lit up his face. "Aren't we just a couple of old friends come to call on you? You will honor me if you treat me as such and dispense with stuffy formalities." King Enma turned to his companion, beaming. "Isn't that right, Masato?" He took hold of both of Eiji's hands in his.
Masato nodded, determinedly keeping his mouth curled with his smile, which had almost vanished when he glimpsed his beloved kinsman's countenance. His heart clenched with shock and sympathy. He was greatly panicked, but would not allow himself to reveal anything other than mere joy at seeing him again.
Oh Eiji... great battered rock of the emperor... with no rock of your own to fall and lean against... Do you still pine for him, that young scholar with hair and eyes of bewitching black, and tempting cherry lips of pouting mortal flesh? Keeping up appearances all through the ages, with no lover at your side to fill and comfort you... Now with this uncertainty of the fate of those two, your beloved nephew's child, and that beauteous infant that came forth from Sanae, a child you adored as much as Hatate did, you are at last crumbling... you have the look of one who is about to make THE CHOICE...
He was gripped by an urge to hold him tightly, sooth that poor, lonely, hidden heart within that strapping chest if only for a little while; find comfort himself in this embrace for the yearning of his own estranged child, but he resisted it due to Enma's presence. But Eiji's sunken, lustreless eyes found his, his will deserted him. A sob found its way out of Masato's throat and he fell into the arms opened wide for him.
Tsurudo Miwazaki turned and moved away from them, giving the two some solitude for their brief moment of tender consolation.
On the rooftop of a building, Asato Tsuzuki shut his eyes and hung his head, disappointed, defeated.
It's as though you've left this world... I can't sense you at all now... did you pick up on my attempt to sense you? You must have, because for just a few seconds, I'm sure I locked on to your thoughts. You were thinking of him, your Orimi. I saw him through your eyes, close, in front of you. He was looking back at you, face twisted with sadness, as yours must have been, tears flowing down his cheeks... you were trying to find words to tell him how sorry you were, how much you loved him... such torment, such hopeless thoughts, silent cries for help... I saw Oriya's lips moving... I spoke your name, told you I would help you. And then, you must have sensed me, I felt the shock of your mind against my intrusion... the images were cut off and my mind became blank, black. I tried to sense Oriya's mind but found nothing. Why are you hiding from me? Why won't you let me help you?
Downcast, he picked his steps across the wet tar sheets that lined the rooftop, sidestepping the pools of water in the sunken spots, his hair and clothes spattered by the steady drizzle of rain. The door he approached, leading to the stairwell, suddenly swung open, pushed open with so much force that it crashed against the wall with a loud bang and then shuddered, straining at its rusty hinges. Lost in his thoughts, he was severely startled.
"Guessed I might find you here, Tsuzuki. Mind if I... speak with you?"
Tsuzuki gaped at the slender silhouette of Masaru Urasawa moving towards him while waiting for his heart to re-start.
"Sorry for startling you," Masaru went on, in his brusque robotic manner of speech, coming to a stop at a polite distance from the bemused Shinigami, his breath made visible by the icy air, securing the sash of his long leather coat quickly with a single knot. "It's freezing out here. What on earth are you doing up here anyway? If you needed some fresh air, don't you think you should have at least worn your coat? It's raining, or hadn't you noticed?"
The Shinigami blinked, jaw still slack, wondering which question to answer first. In the next moment, he was laughing out of control. The captain stiffened, pale complexion suffused with red. "I'm sorry..." He swallowed and tried again. "I didn't mean to..."
"Don't worry about it, Urasawa-san," Tsuzuki thumped the captain's upper arm with a sassy fist. "Of course you may speak with me... and, thanks for your concern for my well-being."
The spark of humour and mischief in violet eyes thoroughly disarmed Urasawa. Unused to the flood of emotions currently destabilizing him, he lowered his eyes, feeling vulnerable and brittle, shrinking from the fabulous colour of the eyes pinned on him.
In the dimness, the Shinigami's sharp eyesight glimpsed glinting tiny reddish hairs of the eyelashes curtaining the captain's eyes. Fingers encased in soft black leather curled and uncurled with tension and uncertainty, jaws clenching and throat swallowing, the words were having a hard time of it, trying to get out...
"So, what's up? You seem all strung up, enough to have almost taken that poor door off its hinges."
Still nothing came from Urasawa. All Tsuzuki heard was another gulp. Throwing his head back and inhaling deeply with eyes closed, he murmured, voice almost a whisper, but Urasawa heard the words.
"There's... there's a little place down the street there." The wind caught and stirred his dark hair as Tsuzuki indicated the direction with a small twist of his head. "It's warm, dry... has some slow jazz going, nice husky-voiced female singer... lots of bottles with coloured magic stuff in them all lined up in rows." Even in the gloom, the colour of the Shinigami's eyes made the captain gasp softly in tribute to them. But he could not hold that glittering gaze for long and so dropped his sight to the puddle in front of his boots, saw in it the reflection of lightning illuminating a patch of dark sky. "I need... some of that magic right now. I'll put some away while you... talk... tell me what's on your mind."
Slowly, the head of tawny hair, washed so scrupulously that it shone like silk, lifted. Bewilderment, embarrassment and reluctance lingered in Masaru's eyes and tweaked the death god's heartstrings.
Long time, or perhaps, first time, you've felt like this, ey, Urasawa? Horrifying isn't it? To discover that you no longer have control over yourself... that you're so vulnerable... breakable... that someone has such power over you... someone whose mere presence can make you so deliriously happy, make your heart race like that, make you want to cry like a kid... enjoy the crazy ride if you can, captain, and hold on with everything you've got... you're a slave to love now, and it's only the beginning.
Adopting an easy air of cheerfulness, he stepped closer to him, grinning. "You may have heard that I'm an incorrigible drunk at times, but I assure you I have no intention of getting drunk tonight because I'm on call, see? The moment those whizzes hard at work down there in Seki-kun's office hit pay dirt, I'll be ready to deploy. But right now, I need a drink. You need to talk... get some answers. You came to me, so I'm your man. What do you say?"
"I don't drink-"
"You can have milk, tea, juice! Or water or nothing! Quit stalling, I'm thirsty! And I want to get indoors out of the rain! This isn't like you, captain! Do you want me to punch your lights out and sling you over my shoulder?"
Masaru squared his shoulders, a hint of his arrogance igniting brilliantly in his narrowing eyes. "No, thank you. I've felt quite enough of your fist for one day."
O-ho aniki... this one's loaded with fire, enough fire to melt all that frost you've put around your heart because of me. He's a beauty too... something tells me he's going to be perfect for you... once he learns how to stop being such a prick anyways...
Tsuzuki's teeth flashed in a broad grin. "That's more like it."
The two forms on the rooftop became transparent before vanishing completely.
His voice weak and hoarse, eyes unfocused as they stared out the window, Eijisho began his account.
"No one thought it unusual when the Oracle consecutively chose a member of the Iwako family for over two millennia. The Iwako kings and queens were conscientious and wise rulers, except... for the last... or more accurately, the second last..."
"That would be Oshiro Iwako?"
The prince royal nodded slowly, as if his head was too heavy, at Masato's question. "His conduct and decisions were faultless until he became a father... it would be unfair to label him a thoroughly inept king... except for the regrettable fact that his errors of judgement served to cancel out all the good and great he had ever accomplished."
Without thinking, Enma squirmed slightly in his chair, wondering as to what relevance the Iwako dynasty had to his question: who, or what, is Nameless One?
Eiji slowly turned his haggard countenance to him. "Bear with me, Tsurudo. The answer to your question will become clear soon enough." At once Enma lowered his head in apology, but Eiji's smile was sweetly forgiving.
"When Oshiro's consort, Makoto, a Shimahara princess and a forebear of mine, was with child, she visited Junko, hoping the Oracle would be able to discern the gender of her unborn child. Junko told the queen that she would bear more than one offspring – five, in fact. Makoto was at first disbelieving, but when Junko convinced her of the accuracy of her prediction, the queen was jubilant.
"Thus, Makoto was bewildered when she brought forth only one baby, who was named Hirose by his proud father."
The listeners widened their eyes simultaneously, sitting upright, fully attentive now to the prince's narrative.
"When the news of Hirose's birth reached Junko, she flew post-haste to the palace to view the newborn infant. It was said that after she gazed at the child in Makoto's arms, she backed away, began to tremble, all the blood draining from her face, whispering, "No," over and over while shaking her head.
"With a cry of terror, she staggered to the open window, out of which she leapt and took flight. So swiftly did her wings beat to carry her away from that room that all one could discern was her form zipping through the air. Neither the midwives and wet nurses nor Makoto could comprehend Junko's behaviour, for they were all besotted with the infant, so indescribably beautiful was he. The queen attributed the Oracle's reaction to surprise and perhaps, embarrassment at being wrong in the foretelling of the birth of quintuplets, and quashed the disquiet in her heart, for she had believed Junko's prediction wholeheartedly. It was true that her belly had been quite enlarged, to the point that she had taken to her bed two months before she began her birth labour because it proved entirely too strenuous for her to remain on her feet.
"As for Hirose, well... he was quite large for a newborn infant. Oshiro held a lavish feast to commemorate the birth of his son. Junko declined attendance at this fete. Emperor was enraged, empress was puzzled and hurt.
"On the following day, emperor demanded that Junko appear before him to explain her impertinence, but she refused, with unfortunate consequences. The royal enforcers were despatched to the Oracle's palace on Oshiro's orders, to have her brought forcibly to his court. A skirmish took place between the enforcers and Junko's guards. Appalled by the brutality of Oshiro's enforcers, she finally conceded to appear before the king, only to remain tight-lipped when an explanation for her conduct was demanded of her. She relented somewhat only when the empress entered the court in tears. Seeing Makoto's distress, she implored for forgiveness for her lapse, with marked defiance, however. Although Oshiro yet seethed, he pardoned Junko grudgingly.
"Oshiro doted on his son to the point of distraction, and the boy grew... very quickly... according to my father, at an abnormal, frightening rate. While still a child he had the physique of an adolescent. But, Oshiro was completely blind to this aberrance. Makoto became more disturbed as she witnessed this. Even more horrifying to her was the fact that Hirose continued to demand to nurse from her. Repulsed, she would not submit, but there came a day when the prince brutally subdued her to have his way. To complement his 'blindness', Oshiro became deaf – to the empress' pleas to keep Hirose restrained from touching her – and ordered her to perform her 'duty' to their son by nourishing him with her milk. Outraged, she refused, declaring, 'That thing is not our child!' The emperor merely glanced at her with disgust, saying, 'Then whose child is he? Do you mean to imply you have been unfaithful to me?' She could not answer, but stared at him in horror, at that moment realizing that something was amiss with her husband, perceiving that he would not support her no matter what atrocity Hirose committed. A cold claw of intense fear clamped around her heart and she ran from him.
"Makoto endured the demands of Hirose to be fed, until he seemed to grow bored of it, distracted by other pursuits, none of them wholesome to say the least. Woe it was to any servant or courtier who caught his eye – man or woman regardless – these victims, provided they ever again emerged from his chambers after the depravities and perversions they had endured in Hirose's bed, would flee the palace never to return. Ten years after he was born, his appearance was that of a fully grown man, and no one could say for certain that it was his beauty alone that made it impossible to refuse his demands to appease his sexual appetites, or whether he was employing other means, such as the inherent powers he possessed as an immortal. My father heard told from some who had heard it from others, about his visits to the mortal realm, where he preyed upon and tormented innocent mortals, driving them to madness, enticing them with his charm and beauty, to rape, maim and murder, all for his enjoyment..."
Eiji paused, for breath, and to sigh deeply...
He made swift work of two Margueritas before calling for a double martini. Now, he watched the hands opposite him, hands that didn't know what to do with themselves, and anxious eyes that darted around, looked at nothing and saw nothing. Asato Tsuzuki sighed impatiently.
"A pity you hadn't brought your knitting. That way, you could've kept your hands occupied."
At once the hands in question stilled and disappeared from the Shinigami's view. At his lap, Masaru Urasawa commenced picking at his cuticles, his Virgin Mary left untouched and growing tepid.
"If you don't start talking, I'm going to start charging you by the second, captain. I could use the extra income." The Shinigami drained half of his Pernod and suppressed a burp, eyeing the sweat breaking out on Urasawa's pale forehead.
"I… well… I…"
"Keep going, out with it."
"I… I think… this… was a bad idea-"
Tsuzuki scoffed. "Nonsense! Tell me what's on your mind. You'll feel better if you do, I promise you."
"I… well… you see… I… are you… are you… and… and… Secretary Tatsumi… together?"
In the subdued lighting of the bar, violet eyes twinkled with mischief.
"Together? In what way do you mean exactly, by together?"
The captain's mouth, normally so contemptuous in its affectation, opened and closed repeatedly, like a suffocating fish.
Ah, this feels so good. Like slowly roasting you on a spit. Pay-back, in a way, for being such a jerk, for what you did to Muraki and Oriya. Oh, what fun!
"Hmm. Why, whatever is the matter, captain?" Tsuzuki leaned forward, his voice full of concern, while Urasawa's eyes bulged. "Let's see now… together… ah, do you mean like, together on this mission?"
"Not that!" snapped Urasawa with an anger that caused the Shinigami to jerk backwards in feigned fear, his hands up to shield himself.
"Oho! You're wound up much too tightly, my dear captain. May I recommend that you imbibe some magic juice? It's really medicinal you know, for what ails you-"
Urasawa's hand shot out from under the table to grab the Shinigami's glass. The remaining martini disappeared down the captain's throat. Tsuzuki grinned as he saw the captain's face grimace and twitch as the glass slammed back down on their table. Sighing, he summoned a waiter. "Another double martini, please."
"Make that three!"
Tsuzuki shrugged.
No sooner had they been served, the captain downed his two martinis and grimaced again. The Shinigami smirked at the man, who had covered his face with his hands. "Feeling better, captain?"
Urasawa shook his head. "I feel sick."
A melodious giggle rippled from the Shinigami. "No, captain. You're not sick. You're in love."
Urasawa dropped his hands and stared. "Give it to me straight. Are you and he… Tatsumi… tothether? Are you an item?" He slumped back on the banquette, exhaling heavily.
The Shinigami sipped slowly and delicately from his glass and raised an eyebrow, considering tormenting the miserable Urasawa further, but desisted. After all, he was madly in love himself. He thought of poor Watari, trying to keep it together in the face of the loss of his beloved Oriya… Oriya, reclaimed by the one he himself loved…
"No, but we're close, close like brothers… we've known each other for a long time."
Urasawa straightened, relief and hope mingling on his face, but suddenly collapsing with angst once more. "Is he… spoken for?"
Tsuzuki shook his head. "No. He's not romantically involved with anyone… as far as I know, that is." He opened his mouth again, on the verge of saying something more, and then shut it, deciding not to the mention the fact of there being the possibility of a rival for Seiichiro's affections. This potential rival, insofar as Tsuzuki knew, had not yet made any moves with regard to his passion for the shadow master… but if this said rival were to discover that another had set his sights on Seiichiro, he might just be spurred into action… how would Urasawa fare, he wondered as he drank the last of his martini, if pitted against the King of Death, Lord Enma himself, in a battle for Seiichiro Tatsumi's love? He chuckled to himself. Best of luck, Urasawa, if it should come to that.
"What? What's so funny?"
"Oh, nothing… nothing at all. What do you say to one last drink? I'd like to drink a toast to your-"
Both men leapt upright when the cell phones in their jacket pockets vibrated…
By the time Tsuzuki and Urasawa re-appeared in Seki's office, five teams of sweepers plus Urasawa's two subordinates) had been mustered. Each team of five was to be led by Watari, Tsuzuki, Seki, Urasawa (who eagerly agreed to stand-in for Tatsumi), and another sweeper named Munei.
Their mission was to check out the five properties which were located in and out of the capital, two bungalows and three apartments – fruits of the hack job into the land ministry's database – which were listed as being under the ownership of Kazutaka Muraki, apart from the penthouse in Tokyo which they already knew of. As Tatsumi had foreseen, Muraki had not put in an appearance at this residence, nor had Mibu returned to the Kyoto inn called Kokakuro.
"Maintain maximum cloaking at all times, and if you spot either one of them, do nothing, but contact me at once. I will remain here." Tatsumi's voice was tired and monotone, but his gaze picked out Tsuzuki from among the gathering of men and women, his eyes imploring the Shinigami to desist from acting independently and impulsively. Tsuzuki nodded and silently conveyed his assurance, mostly out of compassion for Tatsumi's wretched appearance. "Dismissed."
The pause in the prince royal's story provided an interval to refresh themselves with tea. When their cups were set aside, Eiji continued...
"A dark tragedy was swiftly unfolding...
"Tales of Hirose's deplorable exploits reached Makoto's ears, and her horror became despair as she wondered how her body could have brought forth that monstrous being, but nothing could have prepared her for his invasion of her chambers, his eyes lit with lust...
"And so it was that in the dead of night, Makoto fled from the palace, accompanied by Tamiko, her most trusted handmaiden, seeking refuge and safety at Junko's palace. The Oracle was surprisingly calm at the sight of the empress' hysteria and her torn and bloodied night robes, remaining unshaken at Makoto's shocking revelations...
" 'Hiro... no! That monster! Had forced himself upon me! And attempted an unspeakable act... I fought him off... tried to at least, but he was so strong... it was Tamiko who came to my rescue... she stuck a kitchen cleaver into his skull... blood splattered from his head... this blood here, on my clothes, is his... I was not hurt, only a few bruises from his gripping of me... no, I am not hurt outwardly; it is my heart that is almost destroyed... I thought he was dead as his body slid off me... but when we had reached the door of my chamber to make our escape, I heard him moaning... he was coming to! When I glanced back, I saw that he was sitting up and was attempting to pull the cleaver out! Oh, Junko, most high and venerated Oracle, please... help me!' she cried, stumbling into the embrace of Junko's arms.
"When she had calmed, the terror had gone from her eyes, only to be replaced by the look of a being whose spirit has departed from her body, she spoke, her whispering muffled against the Oracle's breasts, where Makoto had pressed her face, like a child seeking its mother's warmth and comfort. 'You knew... didn't you? When he was born...? You knew! That something... was horribly wrong... that he is not... not of us, Oshiro and I...?'
"Junko paused in her gentle rocking of her and kissed Makoto's hair, before giving her over to the care of Tamiko, who urged her to lie back against the pillows.
" 'Yes. And you knew as well, but could not bring yourself to believe, because you had brought him forth... and because you could not accept-'
" 'How could I... how could my body have spawned that... that creature?! What... what became of my own... my offspring?!'
"Filled with pity for the distraught empress, Junko took her into her arms again, for she knew that when the truth finally penetrated the wall Makoto had put around her psyche to shield herself from the pain and grief, her hold on her would prevent her from fleeing away to some isolated spot, to mourn until her body could no longer contain her broken spirit. 'You are not to blame. You are the innocent victim of a most cruel and dark scheme of an evil entity. I ask of you now to be brave, as brave as you have ever been in these days past, no, braver than that, stronger than that, Makoto, and you can, for I know you well. Prepare now to accept the truth. Deep in your heart, you know... what became of your beloved babies, but have sought to deny the sad and terrible truth...'
"The Oracle's arms tightened around the violently convulsing empress, Junko's tears falling at hearing the screams of grief emerging from Makoto's gaping mouth, only half aware that her consorts, Seijin and Kyomo, had entered the room and were approaching the bed, their expressions deeply marked with sorrow for Makoto.
"`Yes, dear one, mourn for them now, let them all come out now, all your tears for them... for your lost children.'
"Sometime during her night of deep grief, Makoto Shimahara plotted her revenge, and at the first light of dawn, she and her handmaiden returned to the palace. Hirose refrained from harassing the queen, behaving in an exemplary manner if their paths crossed such that anyone who witnessed them would only have cause to believe him a most exemplary and dutiful son.
"By and by, Emperor Oshiro put forth his intention of abdicating his throne in favour of Prince Hirose taking his place. It was an audacious flouting of one of the most sacrosanct of our laws – the selection of kings or queens is solely the Oracle's duty. Later analysis led my father to believe that Hirose's intention was clear – he wanted the Oracle gone, out of his way, and influenced Oshiro to enrage her with his announcement. It worked. An enraged Junko descended upon the palace to confront him. Her outrage had unfortunately robbed her of rational thought – she should not have gone alone. Her censures and accusations against the prince, of his being a malevolent entity, an impostor who had devoured Oshiro's and Makoto's true offspring, met with Oshiro's derisive laughter, and he in turn calmly accused the Oracle of high treason, of plotting to assassinate the prince, savagely striking her in front of a smirking Hirose. In shackles, Junko was dragged from the imperial court and cast into a dungeon to await her execution by beheading, which manner of death would be performed by Oshiro's hand!
"When Junko failed to return, her two consorts, Kyomo Sagawara and Seijin Mukojima, sent an envoy to Oshiro's court. Needless to say, they were incensed to learn of the unpardonable handling and imprisonment of the Most High Oracle. Prince Seijin and Princess Kyomo, cohorts and abettors of the Four Swords and Shields, formidable warriors themselves and responsible for subduing and destroying demons that had harassed and oppressed mortals, mustered an army from their clans. Along with members of Junko's constabulary of guards, they prepared to storm the Emperor's palace, and wanted no less than the heads of Oshiro and Hirose for what had been done to their beloved Junko. The then Swords and Shields attempted to intervene and halt the impending attack upon the palace to avert chaos in the realm, but they lacked true motivation, having heard of Hirose's exploits. Nevertheless, they pleaded with Kyomo and Seijin for restraint but their fury would not be appeased; not until their swords had been bathed with the blood of Oshiro and Hirose, they declared, and Kyomo's arrow fired their written declaration of war right into the very floor of the throne room of the palace.
"The empress sprung into action. She sent a trusted emissary to the Oracle's consorts, pleading with them to hold off their attack, promising them a resolution to the deplorable affair without bloodshed and the safe return of Junko to their arms. They agreed, for Makoto's sake. Next, employing all her womanly charms, Makoto set to work on Oshiro. After exhausting him in sex play, she began cooing sweetly in his ear. It would be inauspicious, she pointed out, to have the Oracle executed with the impending enthronement of their son. 'I desire it to be a truly joyous occasion,' she cried tearfully. 'Nothing, especially the death of the Oracle by your hand, should mar his coronation. Kyomo and Seijin will stop at nothing to get Junko back and to punish you for striking the face of their paramour. They have amassed a vast army against us. Oh, my beloved, it is clear that the Oracle is not in her right mind and this has caused her to oppose you. Harm her and we'll face the wrath of her consorts... our precious Hirose might be harmed! I beg you to release her. Let us then turn our minds to preparations for Hirose's coronation.'
"Makoto's depiction of a devoted wife and mother won the emperor over. 'Very well. I will do as you ask. However, I will release her after the enthronement. Once Hirose is emperor, I will have her and her troublesome consorts banished to the outer lands bordering the perimeters of our realm. Seijin and Kyomo's talents will be put to good use with the eternal task of keeping our realm safe from the demons of Middle Space. The time of choosing celestial rulers by Oracle is over. That dual-gendered freak can retire to a life of cooking, cleaning and weaving for her lovers for all I care!'
"At the banquet following Hirose's enthronement, a glowing Makoto ensured that her husband and 'son' became thoroughly inebriated. When they finally lost consciousness, she ordered the courtiers to carry them to their bedchambers, while she bid farewell to all the guests who had come to toast the new emperor. As soon as the doors of the banquet hall were closed, she hurried to the cell where Junko was imprisoned and freed her; it had been simpler than she had expected, the guards were dozing peacefully.
"The two then made their way to Hirose's bed. Junko would later comment on Makoto's bearing as she glanced at her while she looked down at Hirose, muttering in his drunken sleep. 'The air crackled around her, and flames seemed to blaze in her eyes as her aura flared and swirled, its colour changing from white to scarlet,' she said, and she was disturbed by a forewarning: what was about to unfold in that bedchamber was but an overture to a series of cataclysmic events that would put the heavens on a slow but inexorable course towards absolute sorrow, absolute loss.
"She put her hand over her mouth to stop her sob at what she envisioned, but Makoto's voice pulled her out of her terror. That voice was broken from her pain and rage at first, but began fortifying as she tossed her head defiantly and reclaimed her lost identity, the identity that was her birthright – the fearless, the headstrong, the pure, the wild woman who had relentlessly patrolled and protected our borders against the constant incursions of the rabble of demons from Middle Space who constantly sought to invade and overrun our realm, a forerunner of our own beloved Sanae Ueda-Shimahara and former mentor and leader of Kyomo Sagawara and Seijin Mukojima, and became once more the woman she had been before her marriage had tamed and re-moulded her into Oshiro's tractable consort. 'Harken to the voice of Makoto Shimahara and give me your support, O ancient ones! I hereby invoke my divine right to punish, as empress and mother of my murdered children. By the power of justified revenge, I curse thee, imposter and devourer of my innocent offspring!'
"Instantly, they heard a ghastly shriek of pain and Hirose's prone form burst into flames, twitching and thrashing in agony, until it was reduced to nothing more than a pile of smouldering ash. Makoto collapsed to the floor, inconsolable in renewed grief for her lost children. As she wept, Junko saw a black nimbus with twelve red eyes rise from the heap of ashes. She stared at those eyes in horror, for those eyes were the sad, irrefutable evidence – although they had been devoured, their eyes, five pairs, had become part of what was left, what was emerging from what was left of Hirose's ruined body.
"Swiftly, Junko called upon the ancient ones, as Makoto had done, to aid her. They answered her call, appeared in thick clouds of white mist, surrounded and closed in on the evil nimbus, forcing and driving it out of the open window. She followed, flying after the mists of the ancient ones, making certain that the dark mass was cast out of the heavens, hoping desperately that Makoto had not seen the eyes...
"But she had seen them. She rose to her feet, silently fuming, her anger warring with her heartbreak, a mother's deep sorrow, devastated at the knowledge that her unborn children's souls had been stolen by a thing of horror. She felt pain in her belly, phantom pains, envisioning the despicable sin inflicted on them while they slumbered within her womb. She glared at the ashes on the sheet. The form that had been Hirose's had been fashioned out of the flesh of her unborn children, she realised, sick and shaking with sorrow. The eyes she had seen within the dark mass that had wafted from those ashes were their eyes. She cleared away the last of her grief from her thoughts, her plan of vengeance flashing brightly before her eyes."
Eiji stopped for breath yet again, his chest rising and falling heavily. His voice was becoming weaker, and his two listeners were alarmed, but he rallied to continue with a cheerless smile.
"But, poor Makoto's curse was not yet complete. While Oshiro still slumbered from the excesses of wine at the first signs of dawn, she left the palace for Mount Shirohana, leaping from cloud to cloud, instead of on the back of her flight beast. There on its highest point, she waited till all the celestial suns – there were eight of them then – rose to their zeniths.
"Only Junko Moriyama heard her spoken thoughts. It was likely that Makoto wanted her to know what she was about to do, and thus had linked her mind to the Oracle's, as she ascended higher and higher beyond the clouds, closer and closer to the largest sun...
'My revenge is not over. It will be carried in Shimahara blood, slumbering and dormant, until one of my descendants, one chosen by The Blood, awakens it. Shimahara blood will in turn destroy you, devour you, cursed thing, devourer of my children. The sacrifice of my life will empower my curse. The terrible heat that will burn me away shall empower the blood of the one who will exact my vengeance and fulfil this curse, born from the pain of a mother's heart...'
"Yet frozen in shock from Makoto's words and her intended sacrificial suicide, Junko, from a turret balcony of her palace, searched the skies with her panicked eyes and saw her, a speck against the circle of a sun, and cried out. Her shouts brought Seijin and Kyomo rushing to her, in time to see her launching into the sky, calling desperately to Makoto. Comprehending the situation, they followed their paramour, frantically attempting to reach and restrain her but she was too swift for them, her gossamer wings beating themselves into a blur, like a hummingbird's, as she ascended towards the cloud layers. All Kyomo and Seijin could do was to keep her in sight and attempt to overtake and stop her, for there was no way to reach Makoto – it would be suicide for all three of them as well.
"Junko was beginning to tire but forced the strength of her pinions to their limit, when she heard Makoto command her chosen sun to move out of its orbital path, which it did, with the empress pursuing. That was the last Junko, Kyomo and Seijin saw of Makoto and that sun. But Junko still heard her voice, thanking the eighth sun, for it too would be sacrificed... the act was an addendum to her curse, Junko realized, a sort of foolproof measure. 'Such will be the force that will empower the blood of the Righteous Devourer... as I merge with you and we are both thus consumed, so shall you be devoured, slayer of my children.'
"Those were the last words that Junko heard. The fallout of the exploding sun did not affect the heavens – Makoto had seen to that – when Junko and her consorts heard the distant booms, but the land below them did rock and tremble, so that many were panicked and came running out of buildings and dwellings. At last, spent and inconsolable, the Oracle plummeted. Her lovers caught her. They too were exhausted, never before had they ascended so high beyond the clouds. A distant squeeing caught their attention as they began their descent, the Oracle safe in Seijin's arms. At first they thought it was an enforcer, but as the shape loomed closer, they saw it was Homuya, Makoto's devoted white eagle, her flight beast. The great bird was desperately searching for its mistress. Junko summoned it and it hovered close to them as she gently stroked and soothed the distressed creature. It bore them down upon its back to Junko's palace, gave a single mournful cry and flew off towards the distant mountains. Homuya has never been seen again."
The group of twenty-five, Shinigami, Sweepers and Specials, around Tatsumi vanished, leaving him alone in the silent office. Heavily, he dropped his tired frame into the chair, the one in which Urasawa had settled him earlier. His left index finger began worrying at a tear in the upholstery on the armrest as he frowned and sighed. From the instant Seki had produced the printout of Muraki's five additional domiciles, something had begun to bother and prick at his thought processes.
We have overlooked something… what? What is it?
When he had first asked himself this question, the answer had actually revealed itself, for a fraction of the time it takes to blink, but it seemed to have been snatched away – it was like a light switched on and then off at once – right at the moment Seki-kun had yelled at the top of his voice and dashed to the printer. That moment of temporary triumph had allowed everyone a well-earned break. Handshakes and back-thumping accompanied spoken thanks of their collective efforts, stretching of stiff necks and tense, tired muscles, quick calls to waiting lovers and family members; those that smoked lit their cigarettes and took their first long drags with obvious relish and relief.
Urasawa had approached his chair to announce that he and his subordinates would remain to assist with the reconnaissance operations of the locations, for which he had expressed his gratitude profoundly, if somewhat incredulously – he had expected the haughty specials commander to make his exit as soon as the hack had been accomplished. Ill though he was, he had snuck a surreptitious peek at Urasawa before calling everyone to attention for formations of units and instructions, and had noted a change in the man's disposition. He couldn't really put a finger on what change it was though, but he had, by way of being in proximity with him for the several hours elapsed, glimpsed a chink in the man's armor, a certain frailty…
He reminded the secretary of a hermit crab… and how in a clear memory, a childhood from one of his previous lives, he had loved the sea and its teeming life, scoured the shallows among the rocks to look for these comical crustaceans who appropriated the castoff shells of sea snails and conches to shield their soft, vulnerable underbellies; he had laughed hysterically at how they pranced about in their bizarre armor proudly, unaware of how ridiculous they appeared sometimes. Once he came across a little one who was attempting to scurry around in an abalone shell; it was much too heavy of course, but it kept persevering. Compassionately, he hurriedly searched the area, procured a conch shell and placed it close to the exhausted creature, who promptly abandoned the heavy armor in favor of Tatsumi's gift. There had been something heartbreaking in the way they went about their lives. He had grown to love those clever creatures for their resourcefulness, amazed at the intelligence in those microscopic brains. They found a way around the frailty that nature had bestowed on them by using deception and just got on with the business of survival. His reminiscences were pushed aside by the urgency of his mission.
Now, as he wracked his brains for it, that answer seemed to be poised, hidden beneath the surface of his thoughts. Several times it seemed on the verge of making itself known again, only to scurry away and hide itself again, as though it was being suppressed and obstructed, frustrating him, time and time again. Yet he was certain that it was something that should have been so obvious, not some great revelation, but just a simple possibility… a possibility that could become fact, if only he could grasp the elusive, lost notion … a thought that could make all the difference… all the difference between failure and success… all the difference… between life and death…
Unconsciously and metaphorically, his fingernail probed into the crack in the leather, while his brain worked feverishly, attempting to dig out the stubborn hiding thought, chiding himself aloud while an insidious voice inside his head told him over and over to give it up. It was seductive, this relentless voice that whispered to him like a lover's, telling him that he wouldn't find what he was looking for…
He yelled, cursing the phantom's voice, told it to shut up, tears running down his cheeks…
All the difference between life… and death… all the difference…
Seiichiro Tatsumi did not discover the hidden detail on this night. When it eventually allowed itself to be revealed to him, it would be too late to be of any use – and this became clear to him – that he would only unearth the missing detail when it would be too late!
And he began to sob, and then to moan with grief, his tears but a prelude of the deluge to come, his hand clutching at the place where his stricken heart lay. To stop the flood of shouts of rage, he bit into the knuckles of his fisted hand…
O cruel Fate! We have no chance against you!
It seemed to him that years had passed before he felt himself surrounded, a gentle hand on his face, a soft voice calling his name…
The five team leaders found him, still sprawled in the chair, his lips working soundlessly. They didn't need to tell him; he already knew: that they would return from fruitless missions. Their downcast faces confirmed it, he saw Tsuzuki's mouth moving but he could not hear his words; yet he summoned enough strength to widen his eyes and shake his head as though in bewilderment to convey his surprise to them.
His little mistake of avoiding Tsuzuki's eyes gave him away and when the Shinigami moved towards him after he'd risen to his feet and began asking him what was wrong, his legs would no longer hold him up, he saw the room and all the faces around him start to spin, the floor began rising… Tsuzuki caught him before he slumped to the floor and placed him on the couch.
"I knew this would happen. He's had it, totally burned out."
The Shinigami glanced at the man at his side, who had spoken. "Captain, would you be kind enough to help carry him-" He stopped speaking, since Urasawa already had Seiichiro in his arms. "I'll stay on here. I'm not giving up just yet. Watari-"
"I'm staying too."
Later, in Meifu, after Urasawa placed Seiichiro in the stretcher that whisked him off and away from his sight, his shoulders sagged. After the time he had spent with them, he had grasped the situation, besotted as he was with Tatsumi, and realised that the shadow master had been pushing himself to his limits for Tsuzuki's sake – no doubt the success of finding the two men, Muraki and Mibu, was of utmost importance to the Shinigami; possibly to the other one, the blond one, as well. He had wanted desperately for one of the teams to return with good news and was deeply disappointed that they had not – Secretary Tatsumi's reaction to their failure of unearthing the two runaways alarmed him. His arms still tingled, his heart still pounded frantically, from having held him so close…
Tsurudo looked into irises of the colour of new jade, within Eiji's drowsy eyes, and felt his heartbeat quicken erratically, the way it always did when he beheld beauty – his reaction was in no way related to eroticism, but was simply his soul's homage to anything beautiful, be it man or woman, god or mortal, flower or tree or creature, sea or mountain, painting or music – and enquired if Eiji felt well enough to continue.
The eyes of virgin jade closed, and a mantle of gold-blond hair was roused into movement by Eiji's nodding head.
"I'm fine, Tsurudo… there's not much left to tell. From your description of the entity controlling Kazutaka, I can only assume that this is the very same one that brought heartbreak to Makoto… Oshiro, upon hearing of what had happened to his beloved 'son', and to Makoto, fell to pieces. His family took him into their care and he lives out his days in obscurity. It was heard told that he has never uttered a word since leaving the palace. Junko consequently went through a period of self-doubt and self-recrimination, blaming herself for a grievous error on her part, thinking that surely an emperor chosen by her divination would have been strong enough to resist the enchantments and deceptions of an evil entity."
"Do you have any knowledge of his origins?"
Eiji shook his head. "No, Tsurudo. I do have a theory though… I learned by digging through journals of those who were her contemporaries that prior to her marriage to Oshiro, Makoto disappeared. This happened during one of her visits to the mortal world… apparently, she loved going there; as is the case with all of us, she was besotted with the mortal ones… she had gone on this trip with some friends. On the appointed day and time when her group was supposed to assemble at a certain place to return to the heavens, she didn't show. A frantic search for her whereabouts was conducted, with no success. The palace was in an uproar because of Oshiro's upcoming wedding ceremony. After three days had lapsed, on the day before the wedding day, she just… turned up, at her home, with no explanation for her disappearance! She was befuddled, disheveled, dazed, and had no memory whatsoever of the period she had been missing. But everyone breathed a great sigh of relief. She was back, the wedding would go on as planned the following day, and that would be that. Her baffling disappearing act was simply swept under the carpet…"
Tsurudo leaned forward, steepleling his fingers. "And you believe that… that was when she was nabbed? That was when the dreadful deed was done to her?"
"Mmm," Eiji answered, little frown lines appearing between his flaxen eyebrows. "If she was alone at the time, without the aid of her cohorts, it would have been relatively easy to overcome her. By all accounts, nameless one is thought to have considerable powers. I'm assuming that he concealed himself within her and lay in wait until he could bring his plan to fruition – a plan of reigning on the very throne of heaven."
Eiji groaned as if in pain and pressed fingers to his forehead. "Oh, I am sure that you know, Tsurudo, about the history of the old gods?"
Enma nodded. "Indeed I do, but not in great depth."
"Then, suffice it to say that nameless one's attempt wasn't the first nor will it be the last…
" 'Demons' as they are termed in this age, a word which gives rise to images of deformed monsters to the uninformed, are simply the displaced remnants of a race of gods – the beast gods – who lived alongside of my ancestors, and very peaceably I might add. A fallacious term that, 'demons' – they were said to be beautiful beyond description, in both their beast forms and humaniforms. It was an era when beast gods were chosen as sovereigns – nothing unusual about that; perfectly acceptable, because they were considered equals. Equal to us. We, equal to them. But… that was long, long before the troubles began.
"Through no fault of theirs, they were 'half-bloods' – part man, part beast. Oh, it's a long, sorrowful and shameful history! What was done to them was utterly reprehensible… prejudice, envy of them for they were doubly more powerful than the 'pure-bloods', thanks to their beast natures, led to hatred and persecution. At first, they did not retaliate… those that could not flee from capture and the inevitable slaughter went to meet their fate quietly, and with heartbreaking dignity. They were gentle, peace-loving beings … but after the horrors inflicted upon them seemed only to escalate, to the point where it seemed that their race would be driven to extinction, there inevitably emerged the revolutionaries, the saviors who inspired and led their people to fight back and cause the tide to turn. Well, you can guess what happened."
When Eiji stopped and clamped his eyes shut, Masato continued in a subdued voice.
"Wars. Long and bloody ones… Over time, many of our race began sympathizing with, and, eventually supporting the beast gods in significant numbers, even joining their armies and dying alongside them. Due to this, the tide did turn. The then pure-blood sovereign decreed that the half-bloods were under her personal protection; that the terms 'pure-bloods' and 'half-bloods' were never to be used again – doing so would be deemed a crime. Those who had been guilty of instigating and perpetrating the genocides against them were swiftly brought to justice. As further peace and reconciliation offerings, the empress had treaties drawn up. But sadly, this vindication of sorts had been bought at too high, much too horrific a price. Too many lives lost over so many long years before the prejudice and hatred could be eradicated. Generations of beast gods had been born and had died experiencing only suffering through endless wars. The cruelties they had suffered remained indelibly etched in their collective memory. They found they could not forgive nor forget. They no longer felt safe or welcome… they feared that the unreasonable hatred against them lurked ominously in the collective psyche of my forebears, and would show itself again. So, they chose to leave.
"Where they went initially is unclear. Over time we learned that they no longer existed as a united tribe, but broke up into pockets of communities that lurk in Middle Space and in the world of mortal men. The atrocities committed against them during their time here scarred many of them deeply and in time, some of them wanted their revenge, which was: to wipe our race out. Until they manage this, they gain some measure of satisfaction by persecuting mortals, knowing how devoted we are to them. They lampooned our ancestors' perception of them by terrorizing mortal men in the guise of bizarre, lewd and repulsive creatures while concealing their true forms, venting their hatred of us by turning their bloodlust on these defenseless people, flaunting the very traits which their persecutors had accused them of possessing.
"Nameless… might very well be one of these remnant beast-gods."
"If that is truly the case, his motives for capturing mortal souls are quite clear to me now. It all fits. He must be stopped… the regrettable past suffering of these beast gods notwithstanding," Enma said grimly.
A period of silence fell, while Enma and Masato ruminated.
"If indeed the one who has been controlling Kazutaka is this very entity, I wonder if it was just a coincidence that he chose him, or whether he knew that he is descended from the Shimahara family? If the answer is the latter one, then perhaps he is seeking some sort of poetic justice by using a scion of the family of the same blood of the one that brought ruin to his plan of ruling the heavens?" mused Masato aloud.
"The same blood… hmm… yes… I wonder…" murmured Tsurudo.
Halfway into their ascent, he had to stop for breath. Panting heavily, bent over and clutching his knees, he glanced at his companion who continued the steep climb up the two hundred stone steps towards the old shrine and monastery. While he had lagged further and further behind, Kazutaka had kept up a brisk pace during this excursion, seeming to have forgotten about Oriya, whose breathing grew labored with each new step.
"Kazu… stop… I have to catch my breath… wait for me…" His words were ground out between heavy huffs of breath.
The sight of Kazutaka's form shrinking as the distance between them widened deeply disturbed Oriya. For most of his life, it seemed, that was what he most often saw – Kazu's retreating back, always walking away from him, always leaving him – and now he desperately wanted him close. He could no longer stomach the feeling of being left behind.
He called out again, louder this time, "Kazu, come back to me."
At once long legs stopped their motion. Surprised and alarmed at seeing his companion left so far behind, he hurtled down the steps towards him. Thinning eyes regarded the flushed face and heaving chest. The grin that slowly spread across Kazutaka's face was teasing. "I did suggest a quicker and easier way of reaching the top, but you were the one who wanted to feel the ground beneath his feet-"
A swift punch on his arm silenced him. "Just stay close to me, that's all."
"Sorry. I was lost in thought. Let's take a break, shall we?"
Oriya gratefully sat down on a step while Kazutaka lit a cigarette. A small smile curled the former's lips. "You're not winded at all. Amazing, considering all the cigarettes you smoke in a day." Chuckling, Kazutaka sat down beside him.
"So what were you thinking about that made you forget all about me?"
"The first day we met."
"Liar. But tell me anyway… how we met. I remember only bits and pieces."
"Huh! You say you love me and you don't fully remember the day we met?"
"Oh go on!"
"No, I won't tell you-"
"Why not?"
"I want you to see it… in my thoughts. I want you to feel it… how it felt for me. It'll be a good test of what you've learned so far. I won't make it easy for you to get into my mind. And remember, you must probe my thoughts without my sensing it. If you manage it, I can gauge the strength of your mind. When we get to the shrine, we'll switch – I'll probe your mind for a particular memory – you choose it. But," a pale hand lifted, index finger displayed for emphasis, "You must not let me discover it. The results of this test will be particularly crucial."
"Tch! Slave driver!"
He was weeping again when he set aside the paperback after slowly leafing through the book, his sight darting over the tiny print on the pages, still disbelieving that Tsurudo had not forgotten his long ago request, and touched that a Shinigami had gone to all that trouble for him. He promised himself that he would thank that young man in person…
"I am sorry it took so long. They weren't easy to find. Volume two is a modern edition, what is called a paperback, slightly raggedy, but I doubt you will mind. After all, it matters not what holds treasure within – I researched it and learned that it is, I quote, 'highly acclaimed, truly a brilliant work, a masterpiece'. And, what a stroke of luck, my dear Eiji! Volume one is a first edition, signed by the author himself!"
He had heaved himself up off his lounge with Masato's assistance when a grinning Tsurudo had held up the mysterious parcel he had brought with him, assuming that it contained his favorite sweet – emperor's beard candy and sweet rice dumplings stuffed with chestnuts (Enma always brought him those). But when their true contents were made known to him, he had practically flung himself against the king of the dead, embracing him with his signature hug and kissing both his cheeks effusively.
Masato, looking on in delight, swallowed his laughter upon witnessing a flustered, lifted-off-his-feet, blushing Enma Dai Oh. He felt like hugging and kissing the king himself for managing to restore some of Eiji's ebullience.
Eiji pressed his palms to his warm cheeks, as giddy-headed as an overjoyed child, before unwrapping the silk-bound parcel with all the passionate anticipation, tenderness and love he would have employed had he been undressing the one who lived within his heart. When the ancient manuscript was laid bare before him, Eijisho Shimahara's breathing and heartbeat quickened. Pressing a shaking hand to his chest, he waited for calm to return to the core of his life-force.
Drawing a chair to the lectern, he sat, gazing at the book reverently as though it was a holy relic, his face flushed with color, fully aware of what was happening to him – his projection of erotic symbolism into the experience of touching this very thing that he had touched… his fingers found the corner of the front cover and lifted it… the reading of the handwritten dedication was the heartfelt recitation of his wedding vows… in bending his head and kissing the letters that spelled the signed name, Ikeda no Fumio, he kissed the beloved face, the delicate pink pouting mouth… in the opening of the book he opened the way to their passionate union, parting his beloved's legs… in the susurruses of his breath, kisses were bestowed upon the gateway to their bliss… as he passed through it and was welcomed, his storehouse of ancient but evergreen passion broke open and gushed forth in a flood, hot from his eyes, hot between his thighs… and he was unashamed… to feel shame was to sully the experience, the symbolic act of love with his beloved.
Panting, he languished in euphoria, prolonging the fantasy and ecstasy of his wedding night. No-one could take that away from him. Once more, aloud, he read the dedication, written in old-style script. He would not allow sadness to blight his fullness after an age of famine. It was not his own voice he heard, but Fumio's, reciting his wedding vows…
I dedicate this work, this labor of love, to my silent, unseen Visitor, with eternal gratitude. It has been a long time since you came to me, too long since I inhaled your unforgettable sandalwood scent.
I was frightened by your first visitation, convinced that I was being haunted by a ghost. I consulted with an oracle who confirmed who you were, firstly, by your scent; and secondly, to verify it, by an experiment of leaving offerings of candied sweet potatoes, which he asserted were one of your favorite foods (I sincerely hope you enjoyed them).
Yet, my mortal heart and mind were too puny to grasp such a wonder; I could not dare to believe that you would grace and honor me by your visits, and thus remained somewhat skeptical. After I overcame my awe and fear, oh, alas, how quickly I came to take your visits for granted! Did my indifference make you angry? Ah, alack, I longed for your visits only after you stopped coming!
Now, here in my loneliness and solitude, I whisper a prayer to you: Thank you. I am sorry for my impassiveness that was entirely due to idiocy. Never did I mean disrespect or ingratitude. Forgive me.
I keep in my heart a hope, that you will forgive me and that I may again be honored by your visits, if not in this life, then perhaps, the next one, or the one after that, or the one after…
This hope now consumes me. It lights my path, in the absence of your presence. I will never forget you, O Illustrious One.
Ikeda no Fumio, Nara Heijo-kyo, 1507
He had come to, blinking at harsh white hospital light, feeling the white walls closing in around him, and oddly… exposed… and realized with disgust that he was wearing a thin cotton gown which was fastened by ties at the back of his neck. Those ties made his skin itch. He felt his irritation rise – he abhorred those gowns – and why, why, why did they always have to remove your underwear? – he could feel his butt chafing against the bed sheet. The stupid thing was not closed at the back. The thought of his body being covered only by that flimsy garment made him feel vulnerable. No one had even the decency to pull the threadbare, faded blanket over him. At any moment, one of those antiseptic people who reigned supreme in this antiseptic domain could come in and whip off the only thing protecting his modesty. He shuddered. Oh, they're clever bastards! They know perfectly well that a lot of the fight goes out of someone who is dressed in such insulting attire! Why couldn't they have put me in pajamas?! I'm out of here! When he tried to sit up, determined to dress and get the hell out of there before any one came in, he felt a chill along his naked back and was immediately overcome by a bout of dizziness and nausea. He swayed while cold pearls of sweat broke out on his forehead.
"Ah, tut-tut-tut, you shouldn't try to get up, Tatsumi-san," admonished a lisping voice from somewhere nearby.
A pair of big hands pushed him gently back to a reclining position. The walls went round and round.
"I am most distressed because you haven't taken my advice seriously, Tatsumi-san," the voice went on, "and look at what has happened? Exactly what I told you would. If you won't agree to take complete bed-rest at home, then I will have no other choice but to resort to keeping you here until you recover. So, what's it going to be, hmm, Tatsumi-san?"
By this time, he'd managed to put a name to the voice. Yamanami. The medical officer who'd clicked his tongue and shook his head sadly at him when he'd treated his injuries after the cemetery fiasco. A tall, muscular man with doleful eyes and thick droopy eyelids. Built like a nightclub bouncer. He squinted at him and saw the reproving face looming over him. He didn't feel like answering. He couldn't. He didn't have the strength. So he sulked, ignoring the MO, who was rocking his large frame on his feet, shifting his weight from heel to ball, heel to ball…
Yamanani was a reasonable man, and was prepared to be patient. "Well? Tatsumi-san? Would you prefer to go home and listen to my advice, or-?"
The man in the bed croaked, "I have to see Miyoko Kawamura-"
"Eh?" The eyelids and sparse eyebrows raised themselves a fraction higher. "Whatever for, Tatsumi-san? You are in no condi-"
"Look. Please. I'm on a very important assignment. I can't be lying around here-"
A meaty hand flew up. "Ah, tut-tut-tut." Yamanami shook his head sadly. "You don't seem to grasp the situation here. You are se-vere-ly fa-tigued, Tatsumi-san. You should not have been on a mission, let alone be moving about. Your broken ribs will not mend if you pursue this foolhardiness, Tat-"
"Yamanami-san. Please. All I'm asking for is that you contact Professor Kawamura at the Psychic Institute and request that she come here. I need to consult her urgently."
The MO seemed disappointed and shook his head even more sadly. "I am the doctor-in-charge of you. This Pro-fes-sor Ka-wa-mu-ra is not. Therefore, I will do no such thing, Tat-"
It all went downhill at that point. Tatsumi huffed and lost his temper, began yelling incoherently, hoarsely, and attempted to get out of bed. For a big man, Yamanami had quick reflexes. Those meaty hands of his caught him by his arms, not roughly, but efficiently and without inflicting hurt, pinning him down against the bed with one hand while pressing the emergency button beside the headboard. In bustled two orderlies who strapped him to the bed. A trolley rattled in on squeaky wheels, another man in starched whites attached to it. From a tray of implements, a humming Yamanami acquired a syringe needle, fed it with the liquid sedative that eventually found its way into the furious secretary's vein. It knocked him out almost instantly; his immobilized body lay sprawled gracelessly on the bed like a deflated helium balloon, an unfinished expletive hissing though his lips…
As soon as Yamanami and his henchman vacated the room, Masaru Urasawa slipped into it. He had witnessed the sedation of the secretary when concern for the object of his affection had lured him to his room. Hearing Tatsumi's strained yelling, he'd peered suspiciously through the open doorway…
He caught a fleeting, guilty glimpse of well-formed thighs and quickly averted his eyes. He pulled down the bunched gown, tucking the open flaps smoothly under the shadow master's body, acutely aware of how he himself would feel if he had been forced into a hospital sojourn, doomed to wear one of those offensive garments for the duration. He wondered, whatever happened to good old comfortable pajamas? One's modesty at least is not compromised by pajamas, looking long-sufferingly heavenwards. After unfastening the restraining straps, he arranged the flaccid limbs of the unconscious man neatly, cocooned him up to his neck with the blanket. He could feel the chill in the room and frowned. A hasty search of the built-in wardrobe resulted in the procurement of a spare blanket which he draped over the secretary, meticulously tucking its ends under the mattress, leaving no unsightly rumples. Satisfied with his handiwork and assured that Tatsumi would be kept warm, he nodded his head in approval, once.
He wanted to linger, to sit beside him, be there when he awoke, but he had his duties to see to, reports to read and submit… he looked dotingly at Tatsumi's depleted, pasty face, slack jawed in his sedative-induced slumber and brushed the mussed brown bangs away from his damp forehead with his fingers, and whispered a promise to him that he would look in on him later…
From the land of deep troubled sleep, where the ceaseless whispering of disembodied voices tormented him, his mind and body were slowly stirred awake by Oriya Mibu's hungry, searching arms, hands and mouth. The panic in those touches diminished when they found what they sought. As the soft light of dawn lit the bed of their lovemaking, they had merged, the shrill howling of the wind outside muting the cries of their coupling, until the one did not know where his own body ended and the other's began, until it seemed that their very souls were fused together and would not be prized apart…
Time was running out for them, they knew… and so every moment, every spasm of pleasure, every word, every glance, every moment spent sleeping side by side, was beyond measuring in value.
When they separated, their souls appeased by their fiery union, they lay together until exhilaration subsided.
A surgeon's fine hand played with chocolate hair. "I have slowed down time, to buy us more moments together. I will continue to do this until you are ready-"
"I'll be ready when you say you are. I've had moments in these few days and nights past that far outweigh those I've had with you before our re-uniting. I am content at last." Oriya pulled his lover close.
"You never question me, and accept everything quietly," Kazutaka said, tightening his arms around the damp, willowy body. "I have known that you have special gifts – the telepathy and others, but you have been suppressing them by your sorrow, or perhaps by your fear… I'm all too familiar with it… the endless questioning, 'what am I?'… the fear that if you allowed them to come to full bloom, you would see in yourself a monster, a monster like me. But, you must turn them loose, Orimi… you will need them for the task at hand. If I lose this opportunity, there may never come another-"
"I'm not afraid anymore. I'm ready…"
They became aroused again when they washed each other in the bath, so that they began the encore of loving each other all over again but reversed the final roles. They sobbed and squealed into each other's mouths, not with sorrow, but with the pleasure just before the end, so intense that it was almost unbearable, painful, even, when they could no longer see the world outside of their eyes, when their sight turned inward, blinded by the light of bliss as their spasms of exquisite pleasure gathered and wound tighter and tighter. After their liquid passion ripped out of them, they lay together on the wet floor to recover, with the inevitable return to stark reality, both disconsolate that they were still alive after their symbolic deaths, both thinking how it would have been a perfect way to die, locked together in passion for eternity…
Oriya helped his lover to dress, seeing the fatigue in his eyes, the sluggish movements. "I'll be fine," slurred the latter. "It's not the sex," he said, chuckling, "in case you're wondering," producing an endearing flush on Oriya's cheeks and earning a vicious pinch on his bum, the only place on his body where some soft flesh could be found for such an action. "It's the strain of keeping the barriers up around us," he continued, trying not to wince from the pain that Oriya's fingers had inflicted, and determinedly ignoring the excitement it sent to his groin. "That Shinigami's gained some telepathic skills. He's annoyingly persistent."
"He… has his reasons," murmured Oriya, his expression changing, like gathering dusk before the death of a day. The word 'shinigami' was a blow delivered to his gut. Hastily he moved away from Kazutaka before he noticed – he could read him like a book. There was a millstone tied to his heart and it was dragging it to a hellish place of darkness where the color gold could not reach, could not penetrate. They flashed in his mind's eye before he forcefully eclipsed them with willpower: anxious gold, timid gold, caring gold, loving gold, lusting gold, sated gold, happy gold, hurt gold, hurt gold… thinking about his golden Shinigami would compromise his determination to not let Kazutaka down…
"Kazu… did you ever feel anything… for him?"
"Hmm? For whom?"
"Tsuzuki."
"Oh, that Shinigami? Feel? Like what?"
"Like… you know… were you… fond of him?"
"Fond of him? Oh I get it. You mean: did I ever love him?"
"Yes."
"Jealous?"
"No. Just curious is all."
Creases appeared on Kazutaka's forehead while he searched within himself quietly, wanting to answer his lover truthfully. Finally, he huffed, and shook his head, before looking straight into Oriya's eyes. "No. There was never any love. That… what happened in that place… what I told you about… was just that… sex… it's true that I was someone else then, but that doesn't justify any of the things I did… you know all of it, that I needed him for my crazy ambitions to revive Saki… I'm not proud of them, those things I did… I do remember being aware that he was very attractive… especially those eyes… oh, I had a lot fun teasing him and getting his goat up… it was absolute fun to watch, it was so easy to pull his strings… he was completely docile, hardly any fight left in him… but he looked exquisite… I was aroused… I just had to fuck him… so I did… and it was a great fuck… for both of us… I knew that he wanted it, from his thoughts… and I thought, great, maybe he doesn't get laid much, perfect, and good because I wouldn't have to resort to rape… I took what he was willing to give… that was that, we had a mutual fuck… no love was involved. Why did you ask me this after all this time, Orimi?"
"I just wondered is all." He failed miserably at keeping a straight face. He'd cringed every time Kazutaka used the word 'fuck'. If only that was what had happened with his golden Shinigami. But no, he had fallen so deeply in love with him, almost drowning in a sea of molten gold… But he would never believe that now… he probably thinks I took advantage of him… to fuck him… He tried to collect himself, putting on a mask of calm impassivity, but it was too late; Kazutaka had been watching him with narrowed, insightful eyes. He turned to move away from him, but hands, hands that he loved, caught him, turned him around so that they were face to face.
"Orimi… it was entirely different from what happened between you… and Yutaka Watari." Kazutaka's hand went up, to stop his visibly shaken, open-mouthed lover from speaking, his voice low and gentle. "And now, my love, we have come to your fork in the road. I will ask you once again, for the last time, if you have made your true heart's choice. My path is crystal clear but you are not bound to come with me. I have come face to face with every evil and sordid thing that I have done, and there is nowhere for me to go, nowhere for me to hide from them… but, I will not selfishly drag you along. You have another path you can choose. I will not love you any less if you change your mind. If there is any doubt, any faltering in your heart, you must come clean with it and be honest with yourself-" His hand was grasped, cutting off his words.
"I have chosen. I will not change my mind. There is no going back for me, nowhere for me to hide either. My path is the same as yours."
He was in an art gallery, looking at the numerous paintings covering the walls. The first one he peered at astonished him. Impossible, he thought… this cannot be! He drew himself closer to the framed canvas… no doubt about it, it WAS them, there on the painting… before he could decide what to make of it, he was sucked, screaming with helplessness and fright, into the world of the painting! What was static, pleasing paint on canvas, became real… rushing rising water, so harmless when he had been outside of the painting, looking at the still world frozen in paint, was now hazardous...
They stood on the opposite bank, looking at him, their faces incredibly sad and resigned, where there should have been panic… they were holding each other's hands… behind the small spit of land upon which they stood, the flood waters were relentlessly rising and encroaching into their frail place of safety… he started to cry out; within moments, they would be swept away! In desperation, he cast his shadow towards them… but, before his horrified eyes, instead of saving themselves by allowing his shadow to grab them, they plunged into the rampaging river and disappeared… he took to the air, flying above the churning, roiling river, but could not spot either of them… up and down the length of the river, searching the banks in case they had been washed ashore… but to no avail…
Before he could gather his wits in the wake of the tragedy he had witnessed, he was once more standing on the black and white marble tiles of the gallery… in front of another painting, shaking, sweating and bewildered. He looked around him and saw that there were several people strolling through the place, stopping every now and then to admire, appraise and appreciate the hung paintings. When his condition returned to normal, he shook off the experience, attributing it to a trick of the mind… and moved to look at the next painting…
It was a lovely work, trees in a forest, a winding path cutting through it, blue skies above… two smudges of color that didn't seem to belong there, which seemed to spoil the whole pastoral effect… but he found himself bringing his face closer to it to attempt to make out what those two tiny shapes represented. As soon as he did that, the same thing happened – he was lifted off his feet and pulled into the painting…
He found himself standing among the tall trees… forest smells wafted through his nostrils… he heard voices, someone talking, and followed the sound… and then, there they were, not so very off… and his heart filled with joy and pounded like a drum because he had found them… as he neared them, they turned to look at him, their faces were, oh, so sad, so sad that it broke his heart… he heard his own voice speaking… "Oh, at last I've found you! Come with me. You both will be safe with me. Everything will be all right," and his arms formed a gesture of overjoyed welcome… but they began shaking their heads, and his pounding heart began to beat with trepidation because he now saw that the place where they stood was on the very edge of a cliff! The one with silver hair said, "Sorry, so sorry… sorry, so sorry." The one with long dark hair said, "Forgive us… we cannot come with you… forgive us." The two forms merged in embrace, and, before his horrified eyes, the embracing pair tumbled off, disappearing from his sight! Roaring with sorrow, he hurtled towards the precipice… and saw them… the two become one… shrinking, falling… shrinking, falling… swallowed by the pitch black gully…
Out and in…. in and out… of those paintings… over and over… each time he found himself returned to the gallery, he was drawn relentlessly to the next painting… he tried so hard to move his legs towards the exit to flee, but his legs would not obey him… no escape for him… no escape for them… over and over, he failed to save them, failed to stop them… over and over, they were taken away from him…
After each harrowing, sorrowful encounter, he had crumpled to the ground, howling with misery and roaring with rage, and each time, a figure had appeared to him, laughing gleefully. It was obscured in long tattered robes, a cowl over its head.
He lashed out at the laughing apparition. "Why are you laughing, you loathsome creature?! Stop laughing! Who are you?!"
And the cackling figure pointed to its forehead. "Why, don't you know? See, here, this is my name," it rasped, displaying wicked yellowed teeth as it swept the cowl back and brought its face closer to him.
Seiichiro Tatsumi looked and saw that the word on the creature's forehead was: FATE
On and on, it laughed and laughed, its repulsive mouth growing larger and larger, while on and on, Tatsumi cried and screamed, covering his ears to block out the sickening sound…
The laughing maw of Fate gaped and stretched, became wider and larger until it was a huge black hole… within it there were more laughing mouths, and within them there were more, and within those there were more laughing mouths…
In his sedated state, he was cruelly trapped by his hallucinations, in which he repeatedly failed to save Kazutaka Muraki and Oriya Mibu. When the sedatives eventually began to wear off, he forced his eyes open. His eyes felt hot, his throat felt like it was clogged up with sand. He couldn't even move a finger, or a toe, his body seemed to weigh a ton. Finally he admitted to himself that he was truly ill – he knew he had a high fever – and that it had been pure folly on his part to have pushed himself like he had. Thirst tormented him but he couldn't call out, couldn't reach the call button…
Seiichiro Tatsumi fought the sensation of sleep coming upon him, absolutely terrified of experiencing those hallucinations again. But his exhausted body cried out for the rest he had denied it, and so he succumbed to sleep, blessedly free of the dreams of delirium…
Drifting, in and out of sleep… someone's face hovering close… he blinked to bring his sight to focus, but could not define the features of the face, could not see the mouth that spoke, murmuring softly… something soft and cool mopped his forehead… he tried to speak but only hoarse noises emerged from his parched throat… his gentle caregiver spooned quenching water between his lips… the hand that held his felt so comforting… before he fell into another long spell of sleep, he cracked his eyes apart again and squinted, caught a glimpse of color around the face… it was like a halo… a red halo…
Am I awake? Am I dreaming? Am I delirious?
He reached out with his hand and at once it was grasped, gently squeezed, and he was so very grateful, because that hand was a lifeline that kept him from sinking into his despair…
The whispering that filled his head was a noise like surf crashing towards landfall. When he staggered backwards and pressed his hands to his head, Oriya grabbed him and guided him to a couch. "Are you all right, Kazu? Can I get you some-"
He was waved away impatiently and Kazutaka's voice was harsh. "I'm fine. Let's begin again. One more rehearsal before the curtain rises. Be warned, Orimi. I won't go easy on you. If you pass out again, I'll douse you with cold water and drill you until you perfect it. No rest for you until then!" His words rasped from between clenched intimidating teeth and rose to a shout. "He will know at once if your thoughts and feelings are bona fide or if they are staged! He must not discover our plans by reading them from your thoughts! If that happens, it's Game Over!"
Brown eyes and pale face winced; instantly, Kazutaka was remorseful, but his hasty apology was smothered by soft lips and hard arms.
"Trust me, Kazu. It's your turn to trust. Let's begin."
Hot lava flowed into cooling placid water and became harmless. Kazutaka Muraki allowed himself to tenderly taste his lover's mouth. But he did not obey the demands of his stiff organ which seemed to have absorbed all his anxiety and needed to be uncorked again, did not allow himself to lay that luscious body down, naked once more, to graze his lips along moon white skin, did not allow himself to slide his heat into him, yang into yin, rocking against him, thrusting desperately to appease his apprehension over the approaching moment of reckoning...
He did not know if days, weeks, or months had passed; but when he awoke again, feeling more than marginally recovered, it felt more like years had gone by. A slow scanning of his room made it clear that he had been moved. His present accommodation matched his condition – more than marginally improved – from the windowless, dingy basement room where he had first found himself. First on his list of improvements were the two windows to his right, through which he could see his beloved sakura trees in the distance, where they significantly enhanced the surrounds of the drab buildings of the Bureau. He sorely missed his walks among them, standing beneath the gentle shower of the drifting pastel blooms as they fluttered by him coquettishly on their way to the ground, or more than often, on their way into his cupped hands. Second was the absence of the chilly dampness that plagued the basement wards.
After a tapping on the door, a trolley entered with a smiling nurse in tow. Her smile was so wide that her eyes were almost forced completely shut, her voice and demeanour so perky and chipper that Seiichiro found himself smiling in response without any conscious effort, although his greeting in return to hers was wobbly and croaky.
"How wonderful to see you up, Mister Tatsumi! Let's hope it won't be long before you'll be about as well, so I can say, 'how wonderful to see you up and about, Mister Tatsumi!'"
She laughed with gusto at her bit of wit, and Tatsumi laughed croakily along with her. Before she served his meal, she checked the valves of his IV drips, her half-moon smile still on her face, but waned somewhat as she concentrated on her tasks. Because she was well-built and robust, her patient was surprised that her touch was remarkably gentle when she checked his pulse. She set his hand back down, patting it, and smiled at him so warmly that he was sorry for pigeonholing her. When she turned, his sight was drawn to her abundant scarlet hair which was swept back and gathered in a neat chignon and remembered the red halo. Once she had him all set up – bed angle adjusted, pillows plumped, movable meal table positioned, covered dishes all laid out – she bon appetited him brightly and told him to eat as much as he could to "build up his strength".
"Thank you, Katsuragi-san," (her name tag had helpfully informed him of her name, half of it at least; the other half was an 'H.') he said, "for taking such good care of me. Forgive me for not expressing my thanks earlier, but I was so out of it. I really appreciated your constant care."
Puzzlement animated her face. "Hmm? But... Tatsumi-san, this is the first time I've met you. I've been away on vacation. In fact I just started my shift-"
"But... when you said you were glad to see me up, I thought that-"
"Ah, I understand! My fellow nurses told me that you had been asleep for days."
"Then... I must have confused you with someone else. Sorry."
"That's quite all right. Eat up and get well soon, Mister Tatsumi!"
She and her trolley departed, leaving him somewhat forlorn in the sudden silence. All he managed to eat was the soup before his heartsick feeling returned to trouble him...
Later that day, he learned three things.
The first was who his mystery nurse had been. The second: he had been asleep for five days.
The latter piece of information was provided by Masaru Urasawa, who had come to visit as soon as he was on his own time. The secretary's agitation upon learning that he had lost so much time upset the captain, although he did not display this, nor did he display his joy and relief at seeing Tatsumi sitting up and looking very much recovered. He also told him that Tsuzuki and Watari had been ordered to return to Meifu by Enma, and that the search was essentially at an end. It had been left to the sweepers to do what they could, and this upset the shadow master to a worse degree, provoking in him an irrational anger for Enma Dai Oh's seeming indifference in coming to that decision. Tatsumi's reaction naturally increased Urasawa's level of distress, but he busied himself in the opening of windows, the adjusting of the secretary's bed to a lower angle, the gentle lifting of the head of brown hair and the removal of the extra pillow, the pulling up of his blanket. He did all this with such a practised hand, with a certain familiarity, that the shadow master felt himself smiling while he wondered if the hermit crab captain had ever been a nurse.
"Do try not to get so upset, Secretary Tatsumi. It will prove detrimental to your health. May I... sit?"
"Please do, herm-(cough), sorry, captain."
"Thank you, secretary. Please call me Urasawa."
"Please call me Tatsumi."
"If I may be so bold, Tatsumi, what is it that is affecting you to this degree?"
It didn't take much coaxing for Tatsumi to spill it all. He told his visitor all about his missing thought and his fears, and was pleased when the captain did not look at him askance or with pity while suggesting that he get more rest. He did however leap out of his chair (startling Seiichiro) as though it had ejected him from it, commence to ponder the problem deeply while pacing the length of the room, practically scowling as he did so, muttering "something... overlooked... hmm... something that should have been obvious... hmm..."
Distracted somewhat and rather pleasantly by a backside that looked tight and hard enough to bounce a ball off, thanks to snugly-fitting black denims (displayed whenever Urasawa turned to pace to the opposite wall), Seiichiro got another jolt when his hermit crab turned around abruptly and punched a palm with a fist.
"Rented properties! Is that it? Muraki may have rented some properties!"
Seiichiro's gaze turned blank while he brooded. "Mmm... no, that's not it... not what I thought of... damn... in any case, Muraki's as sharp as they come. If he'd rented a place, he would have done so under a false name."
Captain Urasawa felt as crestfallen and despondent as Secretary Tatsumi looked, and deliberated on whether or not to tell him about what Tsuzuki and Watari had discovered when they had gone to Kyoto... to Kokakuro... Finally, he decided on the professional route, and that was: to tell him, and not the personal route, which was to spare him the added worry; that worried face gave him a pang every time looked at it, and he wanted to kiss that face until all the worry lines disappeared.
And thus, Seiichiro learned the third thing... that Watari had wanted to go check the place out, and Tsuzuki had gone with him...
Kokakuro had closed its doors... for good. The place was shut up and locked down. There was a 'FOR SALE' sign posted at the entrance. As the two Shinigami dallied there, wondering what to make of it, a man approached.
"Hullo. Regulars?"
"Sorry?" Watari said to the new arrival.
"Oh, pardon me. I saw you two from over there. I'm just as taken aback as you two. I found out about this," the man indicated the FOR SALE sign, "yesterday evening." I met one of the employees who had come to remove the last of his things and was locking up. He told me that a lawyer had shown up, just like that (a snapping of fingers provided additional emphasis to the instantaneity of the event), out of the blue, called for a meeting and told all the staff that the place was to be sold, and that the proceeds were to be divided up among all the employees. Huh. How do you like that? I'm gonna miss... this place. I have my supper here almost every night. I forgot... that the place was closed... and came here out of habit... how silly of me, right, guys?"
The death reapers had stared at the man as they listened, in gathering apprehension, a knot of uneasiness forming in both their bellies. The closing and sale of Kokakuro was a sign of finality, a clear statement that meant: Oriya Mibu was never coming back.
Yutaka Watari turned his gaze from the unlit lantern, which looked as dejected as he felt, to the stranger with the self-deprecating grin.
"Er, not at all. We're going... to miss it too, right, Akagi?" Watari said, turning to Tsuzuki.
"Right. Place served the best dinner in town. It's a shame, but guess we have to find another joint to eat at."
"Name's Morikawa... Hideo Morikawa."
Politely, Tsuzuki responded. "Akagi... Shinji Akagi. And this is my buddy, Nakamura... Tenzo Nakamura."
"Good to meet you both." The man's already narrow eyes had narrowed further as they peered at them. "Were you... personally acquainted with Kokakuro's owner, Mibu-san?"
Watari's glance had fallen to the pavement so Tsuzuki answered. "We knew him by sight and only in passing, but we saw him perform once, and we were very impressed." The Shinigami noticed the look of hope instantly being replaced by one of disappointment on Morikawa's face. "And you, did you know him?"
Morikawa's answer was almost a whisper. "Yes... I knew him... I thought that... either of you would have some news of him... and some idea as to why this happened... his sudden departure and disappearance a week ago... that's why I approached you when I saw you... Yoshida was terribly distraught..."
"Yoshida," murmured Watari.
"Yes, Yoshida, the employee I met here last evening. He was Mibu-san's personal manservant... he was in tears... the poor old guy... Mibu-san took him off the streets when he was a destitute. He told me, 'I loved him... like my own son... what's happened... where's he gone... if not for him, I would still be a bum and would have died a bum,'" Morikawa recounted, shaking his head, turning away hurriedly from the Shinigami so they wouldn't see his own tears...
Far away, a being made of mist descended upon a house, answering the summons...
The beast god who had no solid form was excited and had been waiting with impatience, imagining all manner of things that his promised gift might possibly be. It had been a long time since such a feeling stirred him, not since he had first come upon the sweet innocent lad with silver hair... not since he had almost, almost brought that vile place called the heavens to its sorry knees... oh, it had almost been his victory, one that could have begun to unleash the revenge for all the injustices done to his people... a revenge that would slowly banish the images of rivers of blood, blood of the murdered beast gods, flowing on celestial ground... a revenge that would exterminate the whole lot of pure-bloods... he spat at the word.
Rotten blood is more like it.
It was within his grasp, so close he could taste it, smell it... he would create rivers, lakes and oceans of rotten blood in the heavens... murder them all... before he destroyed the whole rotten place... then move on to the underworld kingdom... and then this pathetic mortal world...
He sighed and wondered if his servant was still alone. He enjoyed him well enough – it was so gratifying that he felt like laughing aloud; to think that a descendant of that despicable clan, of which one was now the Emperor – was at his disposal, literally – but he had enjoyed that other one as well, had hoped to make him his pawn too... and the rapes of that half-god flesh, born of the Sword and Shield of the East, had been a particular delight...
Ah! Too wonderful!
He pictured a scene: he would possess them, one at a time, and ravish them brutally in front of them, a father and a mother, before doing away with them... before he obliterated the whole rotten lot of them...
His fantasy put him in an intense state of arousal.
Preying on the innocent, the weak, committing vile acts, stealing mortal souls – all of these kept him in a constant state of lust.
He was a creature of lust.
The first thing he needed to do was to vent himself. Maybe there would be a servant about, and he could rape by possessing Kazutaka's body... or they could just grab someone off the street and do away with him or her later... if not, well then, he would content himself by Kazutaka getting himself off...
He was distracted by his urges... there, suddenly, was Kazutaka Muraki, or, more correctly, Kazutaka Shimahara, a Descendant of the Rotten Gods... smiling, welcoming, gushing, cooing...
"How wonderful to be in your presence once more, my Master! It's only been a week, but it seems like far longer because I have missed you so much..."
That sublime, pleasurable feeling again, like the last time... of being seduced... must be careful... he is after all, half-god... mustn't let my lust make me stupid...
Being ushered up the stairs... into a larger dimly lit room... where only a single chair was placed...
Kazutaka, face and voice full of love and delight... his arm sweeping upwards, a hand indicating the far end...
"And now, may I present my gift to you, my Master!"
A figure in the shadows... seeming to float, moving gracefully, demurely... stopping to stand beneath the spotlights... a face half hidden by an open fan... an exquisite apparition that had stepped out from a classical painting...
To be continued...
To my readers: Fought my way back from illness and depression, and finally managed to put up this chapter. Hope for your understanding for the long, long wait for this update. Very grateful for your patience.
To DarkAngelJudas: Thank you for the little push – I needed it :)