Act II

Chapter II

Movement inwards, and retrieval is not rescue. A long chapter.

Mukuro took a moment to spy over the walls; a stunning sight awaited him in the open square past the gates.

Chrome's trident, clad with its engraved pewter ornament was easily recognized with all three of the tips planted solidly into the ground in the center of the opening. This, however, was not what shocked him- instead, it was the indigo viper that cracked its maw as if it were a leviathan of the realm of beasts. His first reaction was far from fear, rather, interest. There was little doubt that no other human had used transmigration as he had to acquire illusory or summoning powers, for this it must have been something else entirely.

Mukuro studied the scene intently with the lens, nearly certain that the snake was simply a coincidental illusion. And to his relief- it was. Yet as he noticed of his own illusions that led him to Chrome, the trident itself was leaking flames of mist into the illusory construct- leaving him a single obvious choice, and little time to consider another as the reptilian beast lunged its head towards him.

'Now, what to do with the trident?' the pondering illusionist had little time to wonder as he jumped into the fifty foot area.

The snake, or illusionist behind it, must have hardly expected him to simply attack- as the snake hesitated, Mukuro did not- lashing out with a blade of mist extending from his palms and slashing directly through the serpentine mouth of the beast. Its killer was immersed in cold searing his skin as viscous blood drenched him from crown of head to the bottom of his spine; the exhilaration of making a single decisive strike surged overpowering his sense of touch and nearly sight. Giddy from success, the voice so muted in the moment, shouted within his mind, an unheeded warning as her reached out with a confident hand and grasped the shaft of the other trident that held the string of Chrome's out of reach life from the scissors of the Fates themselves.

And fortunately, the air was as still as it was before. The ground was free from the vibration of some sort of trap, as he weighed the longer, thinner trident in his hand and marveled at its lightness; with how much training that Mukuro underwent daily, the trident sang to him as if it were to sway in the wind if he did not hold it in his cherishing grip. His fingers caressed the ebony, recalling the quiet solitude, yet innocent excitement as he sat quietly in a candle lit room from his old family, away from the rest of the world while he toiled in that workshop, cutting and polishing the ebony to an optimum and perfectly uniform thickness, and then imbuing the spikes with his hardest flames of mist so that Chrome could have the most powerful weapon that an illusionist could hope for.

The familiar weapon graced his hands with the lilting memory of her gripping the trident, sweating and occasionally bleeding while practicing for tireless hours every day; all in pursuit of becoming a perfect vassal for him. How dangerous she could have been, within the hands of another; she was a flawless tool, even.

For that, Mukuro berated himself. Perhaps she did act like such a willing tool, it was only because he had intruded into her mind and saved her life as she was certain to die. It meant nothing of being easily controlled, it instead meant that she was grateful and gave gratitude where it was due. That she had a great respect for him obviously influenced the decision., but it was no different, he reasoned, than a boy saved from cancer to work towards being a physician. The fact that she was an attractive girl and he had gone through many hells made little difference, simply that she was indebted to him, and would be willing to serve him even if she were not.

And that is where his logic twisted to an end. Why, then, would he feel inclined to touch her when she was away, to patronize and scold her playfully, but worry so for her safety, or her to never give up when she learned, to try and surpass his expectations even if she would hurt herself? It was obviously not the case of her simply being a zealous student, that was obvious. But instead, an attachment that Mukuro did not care to hazard a guess upon. But instead, something that struck him with an unheard-of fear.

The realization crept up on his neck, a stoppered breeze of sensation. He was attached to her, and her absence, or, even worse, her death, would be more painful than any physical injury that he could suffer. He would lose a pupil, true, but beyond that he would also lose his only link to the outside world and someone who, while not completely understanding him, knew how to console and make him happy. If nothing else, his caretaker, yet an equal to him, a confounding thought.

All of his thoughts, however, had him only hesitating. The would-be rescuer stared blankly at the ground, thoughts still as empty as the ground before him. His body an oil slick awaiting a bursting spark of inspiration- which came in a torrent of determination.

Mukuro's body finally relaxed, his mind again at peace. The solution was not difficult- in fact, he himself knew exactly what was to be done; find Chrome. And that very thought was all he needed- not to destroy any obstacle in his way in a bloody rampage, but simply to find her. The rest was simply irrelevant; he himself would not be conscious to save her if someone did not keep her alive, although, as he felt, weaker than she had ever been.

A resounding wooden 'thud' was easily audible as Mukuro stomped the ground beneath him- a trapdoor.

'Unheard of, what a surprise,' came the obvious thought as he spun the trident, tip earthwards as they were thrust with incredible force through the very ground and Mukuro's body fell for but a flash- the tunnel was barely sufficient for him to fit within while standing, tall as he was, while the egregiously bright sunlight searing into the pitch-black tunnel, making his presence all the more obvious. This was undoubtedly the least thought-out plan conducted in a decade, yet it was of little concern. Shrugging aside the damage already done, he assessed the area. Nothing in the way that he came from but a solid wall of earth, while the tunnels were covered with thick logs and supported by metal shafts, all in conspicuously rusted condition, with rail tracks on the floor.

Walking silently yet again in quick, light steps, Mukuro's ears were trained for the slightest bit of sound in the desolate mine. For several minutes he kept his crouched, rolling steps to the point where all hints of sunlight were long gone from his sight, which was completely adjusted to the absolute darkness. From his sense of direction, the path was devoid of deviations, but drifted ever so slightly to the left side.

After another hundred steps, a chilling vision beheld him. A macabre human skeleton with a soft, motionless lantern within the hollow skull hung, nailed, immediately in front of him. But it was the angle that struck a long-forgotten chord within him; the sockets of the skull were trained directly upon him, as if the gaping mouth sensed him from the cloak of darkness surrounding him.

With that, a curse rang within his mind- it was simply an implanted illusion!

Mukuro dispelled it from his head in an instant- battling the fear of what truly awaited as the skeleton disappeared from his sight, instead leaving the lantern that lazily cast light, stealing gasps of oxygen from the inner tunnel.

And then, in a flat-footed instant, the lantern frame dropped, almost slower than reality to the hard floor- and shattered.

Time abruptly rushed forwards when a trio of clothed swordsmen sprang forth at Mukuro from the darkness, leaving him an instant to draw and parry three crossed and far heavier blades, nearly dropping the weapon. With smallsword in hand, he baited the lead swordsman, a tall adult easily twenty years his senior. The man came forward with a wide sweep; to no avail as Mukuro lunged during the backswing tip first into his aorta. Using his still-moving arms as shields from the others' swings, he coldly pulled the blade back straight through the man's chest and engaged the others. They wisely chose to take opposite sides- but their tactics would not save them from lack of skill. Not wanting to die a hasty death, the pair forced him backwards at blade point, anticipating an opening, which Mukuro gave, opening his guard-

Only to hop back and make a razor cut across the knuckles of the blade that entered within a centimeter of injuring him. He didn't scream, Mukuro noted coldly. He would, but whether from death or fear was not important; The trash who harmed Chrome deserved to die a hundred deaths. His partner slashed for his arm, but with such an obvious telegraph, the Italian instinct overtook him, as, machinelike, Mukuro trapped the blade in a counterclockwise circle, and with a single step forward, pierced through the abdomen with an upwards thrust.

With only himself remaining and nowhere to run, the final fighter dropped the European sword and placed his hand on the hilt of a katana, which he was obviously more familiar with. This was obviously the most dangerous of the three, taking a practiced wide, crouched stance. Mukuro found himself enjoying combat again, even if it was with mere humans. As precaution, he checked the man's element- to his surprise, he held a large capacity of Rain flames, which also were conducted onto the blade.

"Oya? You're no fool," Mukuro commented as he coated his own weapon with mist. The enemy swordsman gave him little pause, taking a lightning-quick uppercut with the false edge- he exploded forwards with a horizontal attack that landed solidly, tearing a gash across the manifested torso. Mukuro gritted his teeth as he returned with a forceful slash that the opponent evaded. He retreated several steps, reminding himself of his training. A two-handed weapon was never as versatile as a single-handed, because the parries that one could guard with were halved from sixteen to eight. But of course, they had the advantage in power, making up sometimes for the loss in distance and control.

"What a disgrace, ambushing me with such a weak weapon," he called out, gauging the reaction. An immediate step with attack followed, a barbaric false cleave- but Mukuro saw through the ruse. It was no attack in anger, but a crafted deception. There was no comforting slowing-of-time; the opponent turned the blade and thrust straight forward towards his stomach; the illusionist took a step outwards with his back foot, avoiding the incoming hit and holding the blade downwards to parry in prime, rotating and driving his own sword forwards, but due to the twisting of the samurai-like fighter, there was only a minor wound inflicted upon the chest.

Mist was construction, whereas Rain represented tranquility. Thus, to combat another, one would simply reverse the tactics. The constant, raging attacks of the Storm element made this the most possible, but the deception and misdirection of mist would take more skill to manipulate. Finally starting to become serious, Mukuro switched realms from the ubiquitous Asura to Hell itself, starting the counterattack with two layers of illusion; an obvious false strike to the heart, combined with a real illusory attack to the throat. As predicted, the swordsman took the parry to block both strikes- leaving him free to activate the realm of Demons- with a single, lethally placed strike directly beneath his foe's arm, he was impaled through the heart and other arm. Rokudo Mukuro paused for a moment, appreciating the interesting challenge and sliding the blood from the blade with a rolling wave of solid flame.

X

I shall make my apologies now for such a late chapter. My laptop charger was lost in China, making me unable to write for weeks and it took me a long time to get back into the habit. But here is another chapter that I hope is enjoyed (with the originally 666-word scene written beforehand) and promises to continue my ten-day rule. Again, my greatest apologies. I have utmost hope that this chapter came out better than before and too many have not abandoned my story.