Disclaimer and Notes: Owning stuff like this is a pain in the ass. Therefore, I do not. That is all.
It surprises me a bit that most of what has happened so far story-wise has occurred in the span of about one week or less, and yet I've been writing this for over a year now! Gah…anyway, let's finish this current (endless!) Thursday with a little less (and maybe, so-to-speak, a little more) action. Pine-sol alert! (If you can't figure that one out for yourself, I can't help you…)
Also, after much personal debate, I'm going to keep the Wraith. My plans have been in flux, and my visions of the end battles are starting to take more definite (and definitively awesome) form. Strange factoid: the (quite literal!) Ghostbusters-style Proton Packs actually did make an appearance, courtesy of Kaolla Su, at least once in the original LH manga. And here I was, worried that using them might be a little too far-fetched…go figure.
Chapter 16: If Things Aren't Working Around Here, It's Because I'm Laughing So Hard
Deep within a carefully guarded vault in the mountains of Kyoto, several levels beneath a school of legendary renown, a single blade rested quietly in its sheath.
Few knew of this blade's existence, and fewer still understood its terrible power. It was an evil blade, forged by a legendary smith that had been corrupted by ambition and demonic possession. If one could overcome and seal the evil of the blade, it was a weapon of nearly unparalleled power; if, on the other hand, they succumbed to its influence, the blade became an instrument of catastrophic destruction.
Shortly after sunset, the vault was opened by force.
The demonic presence of the blade was partially sentient, and could sense it was no longer alone. It was a rare event for it to even see the light of day, let alone be drawn; very few people had ever possessed the strength to dare touch it willingly, and fewer still could hope to control it. It felt something akin to anticipation, waiting for the next person to ensnare with its siren-like power.
At best, the blade would be challenged; at worst, it would run rampant.
But the one who picked it up was not like any before him. The blade reached out to ensnare the owner's soul, only to discover the owner had none to find.
In its place was a cold malevolence more even powerful than its own.
The blade screamed an unearthly howl as the sheer force of the man's atrocious will overpowered it. The evil within it was torn apart with surgical precision, its power cut off from its will and infused with that of the malevolence holding the weapon itself. The sub-demon bound to the blade was dissected further, its will for chaos and destruction removed and annihilated. What little remained was drained of its energies, leaving a husk that dissolved into oblivion.
When the infamous demon-spirited Hina Blade was finally drawn, it was no longer an evil possessed weapon. The evil it contained was now little more than the raw power it had contained and a purpose without immediate form, a weapon of specific and catastrophic potential.
This blade would serve only one master alone to its full potential, for his purposes only; though no longer inherently possessed by evil, it became something far worse.
It was an indiscriminate weapon of slaughter, a weapon of pure, cold malice incarnate.
Without a hint of emotion, Atrocity turned and left, crushing the scattered and shredded corpses of a dozen Shinmei-ryu swordsmen that had stood in his path underfoot With a single swing, the ceilings, floors, and walls before him crumbled and fell into an angular mountain of debris, riddled with the corpses of those unfortunate enough to have been in the path of its blast. With equal disregard for the death and destruction, he climbed the pile as swiftly as a staircase straight to the surface.
Words failed to describe how furious Essade was at that moment. He cursed the four languages he knew for their failure to provide strong enough euphemisms and expletives to express it.
Physical violence, on the other hand, suited him quite well, and he reveled in its little excesses while his fury lasted.
Many would have described a man like Essade as overlarge, as an ill-tempered swine among greyhounds. Few would dare say this to his face, however; quite aside from being a vastly powerful crime lord, his girth belied his boar-like strength and temper.
Essade's men were expendable as far as he was concerned. If they stayed on his good side and successfully carried out the tasks he assigned, they were treated quite well; even the best among them, however, were subject to his wrath if they failed.
His messenger, who had returned near midnight to explain that the loss of communication with his forces hours earlier was due to their sound defeat, failed him. His head lay cracked open and oozing in the corner somewhere, ripped clean from his body when Essade smashed the back of his hand against his skull with bestial force. His tacticians failed him; one now lay in his commandeered bed with a ceremonial mace embedded in his chest, another was riddled with holes, shot down by Essade's guards as he tried to escape his boss's wrath; the last was locked in the dog cages, joining the unusually vicious pack of mutts Essade kept as pets for dinner—as the main course.
Still livid, Essade managed to regain some control after this had been accomplished. He looked at the discourteous mess the failures had made with contempt. Turning to a now-terrified aide, he ordered, "Have this filth cleaned immediately."
As the aide rushed to carry out his order, he pondered his next move. With the substantial force he had amassed now gone, he had to recalculate his strategy. Oh, he could easily gather another, but it would have to be many times its former size to make up for the strength of the Oni clan alone, and he was growing impatient. It would take little more than a week to amass such a force again, but the pieces were already in motion against him; vicious and cruel though he was, even Essade knew he had to come out on top in order for it to make any difference.
This was going to require something better. No…someone.
A snarling grin came over his features. All he needed now was one hundred pounds of gold and the phone number of his contact with the group…
Food went a long way toward restoring one's energy reserves, but it didn't help with bone-tired exhaustion. This much, at least, Keitaro was certain on when he shuffled back into his temporary room with Kitsune not far behind.
His mind was reeling, and he failed to care anymore. It had been one hell of a week, and he was positive it would take him a year to process today alone. Today, he had faced down a thousand foes at once and won; he had fought hundreds of others and purposefully avoided killing any of them, yet came out on top in the end.
He had faced down his worst fears, and had prevented them from coming true. And he'd learned from his own grandmother—Granny Hina, the very woman that had placed him of all people in charge of the Hinata-Sou and given him responsibility for its maintenance—so much more of what was going on. He learned about the international crime lord, Garhem Essade, and the dealings he had with the Oni; he was the one responsible for the battle, and remained their primary enemy in terms of sheer force. The Oni clan's re-emergence had been a deciding factor, for its re-emergence threatened the world if it wasn't stopped, and even the practitioners of Shinmei-ryu would not be enough. A union of human, demon, and sub-demon forces would inevitably take an unprepared world by fatal surprise, and the conflict could easily surpass all that had originally transpired if they were not defeated decisively as they had been today. Hina herself had left her mostly public life and affairs over the past year to actively work against Essade and his allies in secret.
This, too, was why she had left the inn under his care; she had known what he was capable of, what he was destined to do. Hina had many powerful allies, most of whom Keitaro already knew. Their task was to prepare, to fight, to make victory possible; keeping those allies alive in the process was a task that fell squarely on his shoulders.
Of all of them, only he could truly wield the ancient gear he bore and use it to its fullest, at least without becoming a worse danger himself. Essade would be far worse with such devices in his possession, but there were even worse things than him in the world as well.
Tomorrow, there would be more to do, but the hell that was today was finally over. Though more worries would come in the morning, he could temporarily relax. Hina had assured him that the battle, for now at least, was over. He had seen everyone he knew and cared about, and they were all relatively okay.
'Bullshit,' he called on himself, frowning. 'Sure, they're all alive, but okay? My two best friends in the world had to fight and kill people they had nothing to do with, for my sake. My tenants are scared and exhausted. Motoko was barely standing on her own after dinner and her sister wasn't much better off. Naru was okay physically, but her eyes looked so haunted...even Su seemed a little quieter for once. And Kitsune?'
Kitsune sat on the bed as he rested up against the wall. Both of them were dirty, tired, and lost in thought now. Her eyes, he noticed, were open more than they normally were, but they weren't gleaming; the look in them was unsteady at best, as though the day's events were steadily playing within their depths. She rummaged in her bag, pulling out the second bottle of sake she had brought almost automatically. When she went to open it, though, she hesitated, staring at the reflective surface of the glass without really focusing on it. Slowly, her arm lowered, the bottle slipping lower and lower until it touched the ground. She let it go, and it tumbled with a gentle clink on the hard ground, rolling away from her slowly. "Better save it, I think," she mumbled to herself. "Never thought I wouldn't be in the mood for it, but…" She trailed off into silence, staring at her shaking hands. "It's just...the same stuff as the other day, you know? It wouldn't help…not today."
Keitaro's heart wrenched in his chest. Sure, he knew logically that she had volunteered for this, at least in principle, the same as he had, but that held no comfort; she had been with him the entire way, had seen the same horrors he had, gone through the same nagging doubt and worry that tore him fifty ways from center the entire time. When he'd gone berserk against the last horde, she had watched, had shot stragglers to keep them from getting near their friends. She was here because of him, just as he was here because of them.
He didn't know if he would be able to fully cope, but he knew he had seen enough, been through enough pain to survive it all. Could he say the same about her? Would he dare to even try? Motoko would cope, in time; she was a warrior already, and strong enough to find a way. Naru had seen far less, though what she had seen and done would affect her nonetheless. But she'd bounce back eventually; you couldn't ever quell a spirit that strong for long. Just how she would come back, even he didn't know; Naru was as unpredictable as ever.
But Mitsune's stresses were accumulating at an alarming rate. In the course of half a dozen days, her world had been turned upside down and inside out because of him. She had seen and experienced horrors she had never bargained for, had illusions shattered that her own clever mind had missed, and had started what was turning out to be the most dangerous relationship he could ever imagine her having. She had been assaulted, shot, torn from her more or less predictable and safe world, and forced to experience the bitter and hellish reality of war, the stuff that gave people a lifetime of waking nightmares without respite.
She was not meant for this. She wasn't innocent in the worldly sense, but there were levels of innocence she should never have lost, should never have even known existed, that she had. Motoko would have lost them by eventually, as a willing and able-bodied warrior; Su would retain some measure of them by her own nature, and Naru would confront or avoid what she could not handle head-on and come to her own terms with it. He'd lost most of this kind of innocence in other's defense, and had long ago come to terms with realities he didn't want to have to know, but did. Mitsune, however, had done nothing more to deserve such loss than indulging her own natural curiosity; it was as though she had gone to look up something at a library, and found herself trapped in a natural disaster instead. Had she stayed home that day, she would be watching it on the news, not living—or dying—in it.
His mind forcefully snapped itself away from its current track. His method of coping had always been to focus on others before himself, a habit that had ultimately put him in the very same situation. Though he felt incredible guilt for putting them all in the same situation, he knew better than to wallow in it. If he stayed alive, stayed sane long enough, he could still do something to help. Right now, though, his skin was crawling with the feeling of the slowly solidifying filth that coated his armor; he couldn't even offer Mitsune a hug in good conscience in such a state. "I…think I need a shower," he muttered, forcing himself back to his feet slowly.
"Yeah, so do I," she muttered back, the ghost of a smile and a chuckle breaking her increasingly distant stare for just a brief moment.
As he gathered the only clean clothes he had left, he missed the sudden return of a slight gleam in his girlfriend's eye. Her gaze fell on his back as he left; as it did, an idea broke through her current gloom that gradually caused the fleeting smile to return and transform itself into a grin.
Kitsune might never have been meant to experience the horrors of the days behind her, but a Fox like her was always clever enough to find a way to deal with anything she set her mind to.
Keitaro, oblivious to his girlfriend's current train of thought, found himself setting his clothes on the bench of the very same shower stall Mitsune had changed in the night before. Perhaps because of the unusual nature of the underground fortress, the bathrooms were mostly communal, relatively small, and unisex; each stall had its own toilet, sink, and double-curtained shower and changing station in the back. He was alone, he realized; even though it was still early in the evening, his was the only stall in use.
The sooner he could get the blood and stench off of his armor, and off of himself, the better off he would be.
He didn't even bother to strip the ancient protective suit off before getting into the stall; though he'd left the cloak behind to launder some other time, the armor would never fit in a washing machine without breaking it—or breaking the machine, for that matter. For the first five minutes, he let the water hammer its entire surface, the scales and plates proving themselves to be waterproof as he did. Steam filled the narrow stall, making it hard to see, but he didn't care. He found himself marveling at the sensation of feeling both soaking wet and bone dry at once as the mixed signals of his own skin and the ki-charged living biometal competed in his brain. Before long, the surface had shed the grime and gory remnants of the day's battle, and he briefly left the shower to shed the pieces into a pile on the bench.
Free from the thing's influence, he quickly began to feel the full extent of his exhaustion wash over him as he returned to soak under the generous stream of hot water. Everything was sore and cramping; his shoulders registered the strain of the weights they had borne, and his entire body throbbed painfully from the severe level of ki he had made it produce, handle, and continuously use in the course of one day. Only now did he understand why it had been so important for him to fully rest before today; had he been the least bit tired at the outset, he would have been quite literally dead on his feet at this point.
He was barely standing as it was, even then. Soon, the effort necessary to remain standing became too great to maintain. He let his legs slowly buckle, lowering himself to the floor and kneeling heavily into one leg as he went. Resting his head on his knee and loosely holding the leg with his arms, he felt himself slipping in and out of consciousness under the shower's steady, calming flow.
In his half-aware state, he didn't really notice the door of the communal bathroom quietly opening or the soft shuffle of bare feet toward his stall. The door was shut and secured by a simple latch from the inside, but the newcomer used a bent piece of stiff wire to quietly release it from the other side. Once past the barrier, the wire was used to quietly re-tie the latch more securely from the inside. Careful hands quietly slipped past the first curtain leading to the changing section of the stall, their owner disrobing in silence.
As she peeked past the final curtain, she saw him kneeling on the ground, his back to her and his head drooping over his knee. Small bruises dotted his form, evidence of the blows he'd taken through his armor from errant bullets and blows, but he had escaped with no lasting injuries that she could see. In the muted light of the bath, she could still make out the lines of his older scars, which were pink and white from the heat of the water; the shadows made the tense, heavily knotted muscles in his back and shoulders stand out even more than usual.
At any other time, he would have jumped out of his own skin when he felt a pair of hands contact his shoulders and smoothly slide their way down the length of his arms, but the combination of exhaustion and recent memory dulled his reflex to the smallest of surprised twinges. Soft, wet skin slid around him as the owner of said hands nuzzled into him.
"K-Kitsune?" he asked quietly, surprise evident in his voice.
"Hmmn?" Kitsune replied into his neck, her head rested on his shoulder. He glanced over to see a peaceful, content expression on her face, her eyes lightly shut and her lips pressing forward briefly to place a kiss on his cheek. "Thought you might like some company, Kei-kun," she said quietly into his ear.
A million questions flashed through his brain, only to vanish in smoke before he could articulate any of them. The sight of her there, the sensation of her bare flesh pressed against his, the very thought of having her willingly join him in the shower like this was enough to melt away his worries and doubts. In their place, he felt an inexplicable joy and contentment in her presence, a burning desire for her to remain there with him as long as possible.
He found himself giving her one of his rare, completely genuine and heartfelt smiles. He slowly twisted in her embrace to draw her into his own, his body somehow forgetting much of the tiredness that had threatened to overwhelm it moments earlier. The time where his presence in a bathing area any time a female was occupying the same space meant instant pain and forced flight seemed like a distant memory now; though he had never dreamed it could be possible, here he was. Instead of flying limbs and indignant battle cries, he felt and exchanged a wordless conversation of hands and lips and water, the slick sliding of flesh on flesh as fingers danced and kneaded over tired muscles and aching limbs. There was no pain in this; quite the opposite in fact. Neither was in a hurry to finish the experience anytime soon; one told the other where it hurt, where to reach with the soap, what knotted muscles need attention and which areas liked it the best, and the other responded in kind, caring for the first even as they did the same.
Both he and Mitsune lost track of time in their endeavors, neither having reason to care about it. They felt the closeness of this newfound intimacy they were sharing and little else; in the breadth of one encounter, they wordlessly reaffirmed one another in a way no one else could do for them but one another. When they both emerged over an hour later, Keitaro caught a glimpse of their reflections in the bathroom mirror; he was surprised to see how peaceful they both seemed, one arm wrapped around each other's shoulders and the freshly scrubbed skin of their faces free of the burdens the day had heaped upon them. He felt himself smile as he left with her, both carrying the pieces of his armor in their free hands as they went.
"You really think we should?" Haruka asked.
"Honestly? No. I think we should take about a week off after today. But we all know that that's not gonna happen anytime soon, so this is the next best thing. We aren't hanging out past noon anyway, and we've still got a crime lord, an inhumane walking tank, and who knows what else to deal with when we get back. Everyone's been going nonstop all day; let 'em rest while they still can."
"He's right, my dear," Hina agreed, nodding toward Seta. "We have dealt them a mighty blow today; tonight, we must rest, so that our next stroke will fall all the heavier."
Haruka sighed. "If you say so. I still don't like the idea of sleeping wide open like this, but I guess we don't have much of a choice." She leaned forward and flicked a small switch on the control panel, and spoke directly into a small, flat microphone suspended above it.
"Attention all personnel, this is Commander Haruka speaking: due to the recent engagement with the enemy, there will be a mandatory extension to normal resting hours tonight of two hours. All alarms will automatically reset to go off at 0900 hours. Breakfast will be served at 0930, and evac will commence at noon. Good work today, people, rest up while you can. Haruka out."
It had been a very long time since Tsuruko had fought so hard for so long. As she finished directing the night crew in re-securing the base as best as they could, she made her way back to her own quarters to rest.
As a warrior and commander, she had compelled herself to ensure the safety of as many lives as possible, including those of the surviving forces on base; if anything went wrong and someone was ambushed and killed in the night because of her own negligence and desire for rest, she could never face them in the afterlife.
As a human being, though, she knew she had to take time to herself to recuperate eventually, lest the strain overwhelm her as it had her younger sister.
Still carrying herself with a measure of her normal, steady grace the entire way, she steadily became more aware of just how tired she was; even so, her will was as adamant as ever, and she didn't show her fatigue just yet. No, that could wait a few moments longer; there was, after all, just one person in her life she truly felt comfortable sharing her weaknesses and feelings with openly, and he was waiting for her—if she was lucky.
She didn't have long to worry, though. As she rounded a final corner, the door to her quarters came into view. Leaning against the frame casually was a man in Guardian's gear, propped at a high angle by a pair of lanky legs. To the undiscerning eye, he was just another member of the base's crew. He was on the taller side but not the type that seemed inherently dangerous or tough, though Tsuruko knew better. To her relief, he was relaxed and relatively unhurt, bearing only a few scratches in testament to the day's battles.
Secretly, Tsuruko congratulated herself for putting him on the upper-level forces; from what she had seen and heard, they'd had an easier (and less dangerous) time overall, and no major confrontations with undead or supernatural hordes. It wasn't that she doubted his ability so much as appreciated the strength of her foes; if he had been with her instead, there was a good chance he would have been killed…or worse. For him, she could not deny that protective instinct; a part of her wished she had done the same for her sister, but thanks to the efforts of young Urashima and his friend Motoko had survived the ordeal as well.
'It is a shame Urashima-san is already spoken for,' Tsuruko mused to herself. 'Motoko may yet realize what she misses in her solid rejection of males...'
For the moment, however, Tsuruko decided to put such musings aside. When the man at her doorway spotted her, she could see the relief in his face as clearly as his amusement. "They finally give you the night off, huh?" he teased her lightly, a casual grin overtaking his expression.
"For the moment, yes," she confirmed, sliding her form closer to his until they were barely a foot apart.
"Good thing, that. Wouldn't want my lovely Commander losing her beauty sleep any more than she has to," he added.
She nodded, her expression becoming more serious and distant. "Hopefully, there will be time enough to lick our collective wounds clean before we must face receiving any more."
"Hmm. Speaking of which," he caught her attention and gaze, "I seem to remember saying you could go gallivanting off fighting the forces of evil with the Ultra-Long Ancient Stabby-Sword Art of Wanton Doom only if you took care of yourself, Tsu-chan."
"And so I have. I live, do I not?" she retorted with faux indignation.
"You won't if you let all those get infected, love." He looked pointedly at the state of her attire. She glanced at herself critically and frowned, noticing the many cuts and scrapes that crisscrossed her limbs and torso everywhere that her clothing and armor had given way. Her hands were starting to blister as well, in spite of the thick calluses they had developed from years of training with the blade.
"Since when did you become such an observant healer?" she asked in a more subdued tone.
"Since I fell in love with someone that seems to always need one." He smirked at the slight pout she gave him. "C'mon, let's get you cleaned up, shall we?"
She held her expression only a moment longer, but couldn't repress the warm smile that took its place. "Only if you insist, my love," she finally relented, following her husband into her—and his—quarters.
Only when the door had been closed and locked did Tsuruko visibly relax. In the corner on a makeshift perch rested her pet crane, Shippu; she gave the bird a gentle stroke on the neck in greeting as she passed. As she went to sit and remove her weapons and equipment, her husband went to the room's small closet to retrieve her traveling medical kit.
She winced slightly as she removed the sleeves of her gi, feeling the points where the armor had been penetrated tug back slightly as the inner material stuck to the dried blood around each wound. "I understand Haruka's insistence on wearing this armor, but it is of little help against blades," she remarked.
"Better to deal with the shortcomings of the Kevlar than to risk being riddled with bullets," he pointed out as he began cleaning the freshly exposed wounds.
"That is true," she agreed. "but they are not my first choice for extended swordplay—mmph!" She bit down a hiss of pain as the cleaning solution contacted one of her cuts. "Well? How bad are they?"
"These don't look too bad. This one's a little deep, though. Let's get these wrapped up…"
For the next ten minutes, they went over her injuries one by one. Fleetingly, she found herself envying the likes of Keitaro and Seta, both of whom had achieved significant mastery of the difficult ki healing techniques. Even among the Shinmei-ryu, such skills were incredibly rare, often used by only the best of their healers in the greatest of need. Injury ultimately placed limits on a warrior's capabilities, inhibiting their ability to function at their full potential. To recover from injury in the shortest time possible meant everything when one's skills were needed; as it was, it would take her days to mend, even if the wounds themselves amounted to little more than minor annoyances.
Minor annoyances that really stung, but nothing too bad.
She sighed. "I always end up feeling like an Egyptian mummy after this," she remarked wistfully, eyeing the expert job her husband had done of wrapping her wounds. "I will never understand how you manage to make them so secure without being too tight."
He chuckled softly, wrapping an arm around her bare shoulders and placing a kiss on her cheek. "Lots of practice, Tsu-chan."
She smiled warmly, and drew him into a kiss of her own. Though the bandages were to hold as securely as ever throughout the night, all remaining pretense—and articles of clothing—between them quickly fell away in the face of their rising, yearning passion.
Making sound judgments about anything or anyone required an open mind, not just one's own inflexible principles.
That was the lesson Motoko took away from the hellish day she had endured. Every thought she now had in her mind, she found herself questioning and examining more thoroughly than ever before. Who was she now? Was she the same Motoko, the dauntless and self-assured warrior that could confront her own problems head-on and rise above them? Was she still the young woman who held such ironclad convictions about the world around her?
Or was she just a fool that lived her own lies to fill the many shadowy voids in the core of her own being, so as to ignore the fact that they were there?
Her thought process was now radically different from before, and it unsettled her to no end. She had never before questioned her own motivations and reasoning behind her actions; even to herself, she had leaned on the principles and beliefs she had held for support, for self-reassurance in the face of her own day-to-day life. So long as she held rigidly to them, she could remain centered and confident in a chaotic environment. She drove men away at the edge of her blade based on her conviction that they were inherently perverse and contemptible; she followed her own definition of her family's code of honor to the letter, and had cut off her own ability to see beyond the scope of their tenets and rules for all but the barest few aspects of her life.
In short, she had willingly blinded herself to the forest for her focus on the trees.
She closed her eyes in thought. How strange it was to turn inward, to question what she had accepted as immutable fact, only to find to her own surprise that her principles had been a house of cards waiting to fall! Above all, she had believed she was, or strived to be, entirely self-sufficient in her ways; she was a warrior of the ancient and powerful Shinmei-ryu school, relying only on her own skill and honor. Yet today, she learned that neither was enough on its own; she would be dead a dozen times over, including by her own hand, had not someone else prevented it from happening.
Even now, she wouldn't even have the strength to move on her own at the moment without some means of support.
As confusing and dizzying as the shift in her perspective was, there was something…comforting in what it revealed. She had seen aspects of the people she thought she had known, or at least had known about, that she had never anticipated. She had seen her sister, so powerful and in control at all times actually break down and shed a few tears when she found out that Motoko was alive and well. She had seen men and women fighting to the death for the sake of others, for the sake of a man most hadn't met or known but had believed in anyway.
She had seen a male she had automatically written off in her mind as just another contemptible, perverted fool rise to her defense when she was ready to collapse, nearly losing his own life to ensure she had a chance to keep hers. She'd seen qualities she never thought any male could possess emerge in him just as they had in his friend Keitaro under the extremes of their situation, like the true temper of a sword forged in fire.
And she was now seeing herself in a light she had never considered possible. She no longer knew herself, and it unsettled her, but she was slowly learning about the parts of her she had kept buried for as long as she could remember. She had been merely content with her illusions, but their shattering awakened a desire for something more real, tangible, and fulfilling than they had been. She was tired, too damn tired to think or care about anything anymore, and yet…a part of her refused to rest until she knew more.
Maybe that was why she accepted Shirai's help moments ago, when she found that she was still too unsteady to trust her own legs to guide her back to her room. She leaned more heavily than she cared to admit on his relatively low shoulders, managing through stubborn will to keep herself moving forward while he bore about half her weight. Oh, she knew his reputation well enough from Naru and from her own experience, but to bridge the divides she had maintained for herself she found herself…what, exactly? Overlooking it a bit? Trusting the person, whose actions she herself had witnessed and appreciated, more than the reputation itself? Failing to react as she once thought she should so quickly, whether because of exhaustion or newfound unwillingness? Whatever the reason, she was allowing herself to do what had once been unthinkable: consciously choosing to rely on another person—a male, for that matter—for something she could not attain for herself.
Where was the voice of that part of her that objected to the very thought of acting this way? Why was its insistence that Shirai was only too eager to "help" her, that she was a fool to let so much get by her defenses in her weakened state, now so weak? She felt oddly empowered by her own freedom from herself, as though her past assumptions had been fetters and blindfolds rather than the pillars she had relied on.
Maybe someday, she would be able to admit actually enjoying having someone there to rely on. For now, she simply attributed the strange warmth she felt to a lessening of her own reflexive fear rather than anything else.
Shirai, for his part, wasn't about to push it. After seeing the things Motoko could do with a sword all day, he knew better than to piss the young kendoist off.
Not far behind them, Naru walked in uncharacteristic silence. It was odd, especially for her; though her brain had been overwhelmed by the many conflicting and extreme thoughts and emotions of the day, it had been relatively quiet in her own mind after the incident in the zombie-filled corridor hours earlier.
She felt numb with mute horror. Perhaps normally, she would have felt horrified at standing face to face with such a terrible and demonic force as that, but there was no terror or revulsion in those few minutes. No, that had been a span filled with blinding cold rage, a time where everything wrong in her mind poured itself into a single emotion with a viable and precise target. It had fueled her to heft a weapon so large that she would never have been able to lift, let alone use; it had poured out in the form of a stream of lead, holding her steady as thousands of rounds annihilated everything before her.
And when it was over, nothing filled the emptiness in its wake save that sense of horror and disgust.
Logically, Naru knew that they had been nothing but corpses and evil creatures, but logic was not her strongest point in life. She had set a monster on monsters, a fury to match the fury she felt, and it had left nothing but chaos, destruction, and gore in its wake. The problem was that she didn't know for sure what that monster really was.
Who it was might be more accurate.
For the first time, her own anger disgusted her. It made her feel disgusting, like a land mine waiting for some poor damn fool to walk over it so it could violently remove their leg. She had hauled a weapon down to a battlefield she had no business on, because she was angry. She had unleashed horrific carnage because some undead freak had pulled her hair. Oh, sure, it was "necessary" that they all die—again—but did that really justify the way she did it? The reason she did it?
If they'd been living human beings, would she have done the same? Was she capable of something like that?
She rubbed her temples in frustration. Nothing made sense anymore. The man that she could never admit she had her eye on from day one was officially beyond her reach, taken by none other than her best friend. She had driven him away, never letting him get close enough in spite of his (and, much as she hated to admit, her own) desire to the contrary. What had she been thinking? Did she really believe something like this wouldn't happen, that he'd stay in limbo like that forever while she got past her own misgivings? She couldn't even blame it on him anymore; she had no one to blame but herself.
She should have been angry about this. She was angry about this; several hundred shredded corpses now lay in testament to that.
Now, she was just sad, disgusted with herself, and lonelier than ever.
To her side, Haitani loped along, keeping pace with her in as casual a manner as he could manage. Earlier, he had felt distinctly terrified by the show of force Narusegawa had displayed, but that terror had quickly slipped away as he observed her further. Oh, sure, he was getting a better idea now about what Keitaro had meant about her, and had a renewed sense of respect for all the poor guy had willingly put himself through on her behalf, but now…
A part of him felt sorry for her, too.
Haitani normally didn't delve too deeply into complicated matters like this, but even he had a contemplative side on occasion. He could be pretty sure of what he observed, enough to puzzle it out on his own; right now, he was seeing someone that had annihilated a horde almost single-handedly withdraw into herself, and quite frankly that worried him. Naru had been a confident, strong-willed girl as long as he had known her, as popular and self-reliant as she was pretty. It was like watching an active volcano annihilate everything in a two-mile radius, only to suddenly go completely dormant halfway through. It was like she was no longer herself, like she had given up. He'd been planning on trying to get to know her better, on having to deal with the repercussions of her tenacious ferocity in his own way in order to do so. Sure, it might kill him, but where was the fun in life if you didn't take a few chances and risks along the way?
But now…something was different, and it was awakening a protective instinct he didn't know he had within him.
"Some day we've all had, huh?" he tried in a calm and even tone, hoping to get a response from her.
Naru looked up, as though registering where she was for the first time. The brief surprise fell off into a contemplative look as she regarded him a moment, before nodding. "Yeah…some day."
"You gonna be all right?" he asked.
"What's it to you?" she retorted without much spirit.
He shrugged. "You're a friend of my friends, and maybe a friend of mine as well. Either way, I still want to make sure you're okay."
She snorted noncommittally, looking forward again. "What makes you think I'm not?"
"Same thing that makes me think nobody is at the moment."
"Oh." She frowned, glancing around at the few people nearby furtively. He had a point, it seemed; everywhere she looked, she could see the exhaustion and mental weariness on people's faces and in their movements. Even Motoko, strong as she was, seemed drained and…different, somehow. "I…guess I can see what you mean."
For a moment, silence stretched between them again. Finally, Haitani added, "Just don't go thinking you're alone in all this; I've got a friend that did that, and look at where it's gotten him."
She glanced at him curiously. "You mean Keitaro?"
Haitani nodded. "Yup. Dude would suffer in silence to the end of his strength if we let him. Thing is, he had more of a choice in the matter, because he could handle a lot more than most people could; but even he can't get away with that forever. Shirai and I wouldn't let him, for one."
She stopped, a small spark of indignation returning to her voice. "What's that got to do with me? I can take care of myself."
Haitani paused, and turned to meet her gaze. "I'm sure you can, Naru. Doesn't mean you have to, or that you should. If you need or even want some help with anything, don't hesitate to ask. I, for one, will. Good night."
With that, Haitani turned and walked away, leaving Naru to ponder his statements in silence.
At about eight-ten in the morning, Keitaro's eyes fluttered open. The room was dark, save for the soft azure glow of the still-on portable monitor set up on its tripod stilts in the corner. He was still lying in the same position as he had assumed the night before, half-propped up against the corner with a few pillows for support. To his mild amusement, Kitsune was snuggled against and around him like a warm weighted blanket. Both were covered by the somewhat meager sheets.
The last thing he could remember from the night before was curling up with her in much the same position, watching most of three or four episodes of Trigun…and then nothing after that. 'I guess we must've drifted off before it finished,' he mused to himself, remembering just how he had ended up with it in the first place…
When they had reached the door, they immediately noted something was different. "What's this?" Mitsune asked, examining the small box that had been placed just beneath the doorknob.
"I dunno," Keitaro replied, bending over to examine it. There was a note on top and his eyes widened when he began reading its contents aloud. "To my favorite grandson: inside is a gift I have been meaning to give you since the beginning of your tenure at the inn, but have been unable to for what are now likely obvious reasons. I want you to know that I am very proud of you; it is a rare person that has a heart as pure as yours. May this help encourage you as you told me it once did, and give you two lovebirds something to enjoy when you're not ma—what?" He was suddenly blushing furiously.
"What 'what'? What's it say?" Kitsune asked curiously.
"Ah, nothing, nothing," he responded, a little too quickly.
"Lemme see!" She snatched the note away before he could stop her and read the final line silently. Her eyes widened, and her cheeks flared as well. "Eeep! How did she…?"
"It doesn't matter," Keitaro groaned. "You can't slip anything past Granny Hina, it's just not possible. She's worse than you when it comes to teasing, too."
Kitsune slapped her forehead in dismay. "Yeah, I remember that, too. We're doomed, aren't we?"
He chuckled. "Afraid so. Still, I wonder what's in the box..."
Bringing the small (but somewhat heavy) box into their room, he set about opening it on the bed. For a moment, he stared at the contents in disbelief; then, he began to grin widely. "Ohoho, man, this is awesome!" he excitedly remarked.
"What is it?"
"Check it out!"
Inside the box was a small DVD player, a portable flat-screen monitor with a sturdy but relatively small tripod, and a sturdy carrying case to hold them. The front of the case had two circular sections on the side made of a stiff, fabric-coated material; inside one of them were a small number of discs, the titles of which he immediately recognized. "This is…these are my favorite…!"
"Oh, wow, I haven't seen this in eons!" Mitsune gasped when she read one of the titles. "Heh, now I know what she meant."
"Yeah…he's kind of half the inspiration for how I live, now that I think about it." He grinned again. "Shall we watch it?"
"Sure! You set that up, and I'll rearrange us a seat on the bed!"
He almost felt guilty about leaving his brand new toy on all night long. Almost.
At any rate, much of the previous night's soreness and exhaustion was long gone. A quick glance at the clock revealed how long they had been sleeping; it took a moment for his still semi-conscious mind to remember Haruka's announcement from the previous night. When he finally made the connection, he realized there was a good forty five minutes until they had to officially get up. The thought was oddly comforting, as staying here like this with Mitsune in the hazy and peaceful state between sleep and full consciousness was nothing short of heaven.
Never in his life had he felt so comfortable. The feeling had nothing to do with the cramped quarters, the stiff mattress, the sterile filtered air, but rather with the company. A month ago, he could have assumed an identical position in his own, familiar room, in the midst of what few comforts his life afforded him, and been too terrified to appreciate any of it if he had awoken to find himself in the same bed as one of his tenants. Now, in the least comfortable circumstances imaginable, the same occurrence brought him more comfort than anything he had ever experienced.
He gazed down at his girlfriend's sleeping face, struck by how peaceful she looked. Though she was well known for spending much of her time with her eyes almost fully closed, seeing her asleep was something entirely new and different. Her breathing was even, her lips softly curled in the slightest hint of a smile. Her head rose and fell gently with every breath he took; as he gently brushed a few stray strands of her light-colored hair behind her ear, she seemed to nuzzle ever so slightly closer to him automatically.
How he ever came to be this lucky, he would never understand. The torrent of events and circumstances defied explanation and reason, and he was just along for the ride. But like the free-flowing energies of his ki, he would follow that flow if it meant he could be with this mischievous angel in his arms that much longer.
After a few minutes, her breathing changed subtly, and her hold on him grew distinctly tighter. "Izzit mornin' yet?" she mumbled sleepily as she slowly came awake with a yawn.
He smiled and nodded, meeting her bleary-looking gaze as she cast it in his direction. "Yeah, but it's only about quarter past eight or so. We don't have to get up until nine."
"That's good," she remarked. Glancing around the room, she noted the odd light and snickered slightly when she found the source. "Boy, we must've been pretty tired last night."
He chuckled. "I know what you mean. Still, nothing like a good night's rest to fix bone-tired exhaustion, right?"
She smiled. "So says the same guy that would work himself to death if you let him?"
He smirked a little sheepishly. "Well…can't say I'm exactly inexperienced with the overall process, can I?"
"Nope!" She nestled herself into him a little more, listening to the deep, soft rush of air in and out of his chest as he breathed slowly and comfortably beneath her. Mentally, at least, she could see herself completely content with staying where she was with him, just like this, for as long as she could possibly get away with.
Physically, however, she was still thinking about the earlier half of their night, and the sheer intimacy it had entailed. There was something about being that close to him, about caring for his needs as he cared for hers, that awakened more than her mind and her emotions just now. She had always been one to be in tune with her own physical desires, and was often able to direct them and control them by her own will; yet as the heat in her chest began to roar to life, she began to realize that control was simply no longer an option.
She'd be annoyed by how great of an effect he was having on her, but she was too busy enjoying it to care.
"So," she asked, the tone of her voice changing to become ever so subtly seductive as she began to slowly ease herself more fully against him, "I take it you're awake now, right?"
He blinked hard, meeting her gaze with only half-guarded curiosity. "Uh…I think so," he offered, his brain briefly going on hold as the strange mix of old and new instinctual reactions fought briefly and fiercely within him as he caught the growing twinkle in her eyes.
As if sensing his hesitation, Mitsune didn't wait for him to advance. Closing the small distance between them, she let her lips do the talking for her in a language that used no words yet remained clear as a bell.
The impasse in Keitaro's brain crumbled and disappeared almost instantly, and the fiery and feral beast that was his passion for her rose in a wave to meet hers. Unlike the previous night, neither was really tired or sore and both were restless and edgy with a need neither had been able to address without rest. The delay had only heightened the desire, fueling it with emotional and physical intimacy without a means of release…until just then.
He was awake now. Oh, hell yes, he was.
The moment their locked lips broke, the floodgates began to open in earnest. The scant clothing they still wore was flying off with incredible speed, their physical ministrations all but rippling around the fabric as it was forced to cross between them. Mitsune was boiling with heat, and still he felt even hotter to her skin. Everywhere they touched sent electric tingles coursing through her body so intense that she swore her skin was humming. The rational part of her mind was swiftly losing control, and she was rapidly losing the will to follow it; somehow, she managed to regain it for a moment, and she managed to gasp, "W-wait! I…unnh! I wanna try something, K-Kei-kun…"
Distracted and slightly confused, Keitaro managed to break away, breathing hard. "Wha…?"
"Stay there, and sit back slightly." she told him, seizing the opportunity to force herself into motion as he watched her curiously. A quick glance at her open bag revealed exactly what she was looking for, and she grinned impishly. With one hand, she deliberately found the monitor's remote control and pointed it at the glowing screen; with one long leg, she reached into the bag to grab the item she had spotted between her toes, her gaze held on his the entire way.
As Keitaro watched his girlfriend's leg rise once more, he saw her hit a button on the remote, plunging the room into complete darkness. His breath hitched slightly in surprise, as he had been enjoying the view; however, the inability to see her only raised his anticipation.
The lightest touch of her fingers traveling up his thighs made the fire in his loins build even higher; all at once, he felt her weight pressing against their insides, and a hot breeze of breath so close to his throbbing excitement that it nearly made him gasp.
Something warm, wet, and slightly rough touched its base and slowly traveled to its tip, and he gasped anyway. "K-Kitsu-chan…!" he uttered, groaning, as the sensation suddenly enveloped him completely.
He couldn't see what she was doing to him, and didn't really need to. The sensation alone was driving him insane with pleasure. He heard a rustle of plastic near the other end of the bed, but didn't register it at first; he was more intently focused on the humming moan in her throat. Moments later, the sensation disappeared, and he almost groaned in frustration before he felt her legs and hips swiveling forward between his own. 'What is she doing? Oh…oh, wow…oh, that's clever…' he though, as something flat and curved pressed against him, wrapping and pulling a rubbery sheath over his length with surprising skill.
Suddenly, he felt her on top of him, and he kissed her fiercely as he renewed his earlier ministrations with increased fervor. "Take me," he heard her plead into his mouth, and he held back no longer, meeting her arching hips and embedding himself in the divine, wet furnace between them.
Together they writhed and drove into each other, unbridled and wild. He felt her nipples grazing the skin of his chest as she swayed on top of him, groaning and mumbling incoherently. Their bodies became slick as ice and hot as embers, the sensations between them building ever higher. His hands moved as much as his hips, blindly finding and caressing every exquisite part of her he could reach. At last, at the peak of their limits and slick with their mingling sweat and her juices, one of his fingers pressed at the tip of their junction while another found its way down her spine into the crevice of her ass, pressing against the opening it found; she cried out and spasmed around him, drawing him over the edge and causing his blackened vision to erupt with light and color as he erupted again and again.
A.N.: Well, this was a fun chapter to write! The one thing I enjoy in the writing process the most is getting into the character's heads. When I set out to write this, I was fascinated by how a group of personalities like this could end up interacting the way they did as opposed to the way they are now. Major events can be as extreme as war, as subtle as a single well-placed comment; how we react to them determines what will happen next. A few chapters back, a reviewer (pak40 I believe) made an interesting suggestion that proves this point. He suggested I try to hook up the Dimwitted Duo with the Pervert Patrol (in essence, Haitani and Shirai with Naru and Motoko), since Keitaro and Mitsune our spoken for each other in the storyline. Normally, in a straight-up storyline based on Love Hina, I would have thought such a thing to be nigh on impossible; in this one, however, things are different. When I really got to thinking about it, I realized that none of the characters were going to come away from the events I was putting them through unchanged; war, especially, can do that to people.
I began to realize that, contrary to being out of character, having two such relationships start to develop would actually make a lot more sense. Both girls are being confronted with aspects of themselves that neither would think about the same way otherwise, in a manner that essentially gets it through their heads where they've been going wrong and more importantly why. At the same time, Keitaro's pals are being faced with something they aren't used to, and responding in their own ways to it. In the process, they are learning a few things about themselves they might not have otherwise. By putting them all through the fire together, there is an opportunity to show that there is, or at least can be, more to each of them than normally meets the eye. Expect more developments on these fronts as we go along.
Inspirations abound in this chapter. The title is a direct quote from Durandal in the original Marathon game (get it at source DOT bungie DOT org, for free; it's well worth it!). Musically, check Cowboy Bebop OST 4: Future Blues for the tracks "No Reply" and "Gotta Knock a Little Harder", both of which have been running themes as I've written this and other chapters in spirit. As noted in the storyline, I'd like to give a shout-out to Trigun as well, since it was Vash the Stampede that basically pioneered the way I characterize Keitaro's philosophy. Sure, he does less (intentional) skirt-chasing per se, but the level of hidden skill, the willingness to suffer for others to an extreme fault, and the steadfast desire to preserve all life as much as possible positively scream the best parts of both Vash and Keitaro. Also, another reviewer shout out: there you go, Riostarter1214. Hopefully, that was a bit more to your liking (it was to mine!). Given the way things are going, I doubt it will be the last...but honestly, there's more (and probably better) stuff on AFF than there is on this site if you're still looking...
Next time: tensions rise as the good guys bug out, bound for confrontation with a higher order of enemy. Stick around, for nothing is ever as it seems() seems() seems()…