I'm indebted to Gengkotsuya for her assistance. A conversation about the Lenten rite of Salibatbat was a major inspiration for the events in this chapter.
Thanks to the readers who waded through all the chapters so far and taken the time to leave feedback. Your patience and dedication do you credit.
Tsuzuki kept walking. He stumbled over jagged rocks of solidified lava, heedless of the chilly night breeze.
He had to get away from Muraki before he gave in to temptation - a temptation of the flesh.
Delectable human flesh.
But it was impossible to eradicate Muraki from his mind...or his senses. Muraki's dried blood smeared his cheek, and the taste of it lingered on his tongue and teased his nostrils. His stomach growled, hungry for the forbidden drink it had just been denied.
This is my body and blood. Partake of this and be saved. As you now live within me, so I will live within you.
Tsuzuki shivered, and pulled his unbuttoned shirt around his bare chest. He inhaled great gulps of the cool night air to clear away the metallic stench.
When you drink, you will understand... Cast aside the remnants of the seal that binds you. The unveiling awaits!
A lifetime ago, he swore he would never again break this most heinous of crimes. He had a hazy memory of a long darkened room lit by flickering torches in which he grovelled on the ground, begging for mercy:
Please forgive me! I'll never do it again! I promise I'll never do it again!
Tsuzuki closed his eyes. Yet another broken promise to add to the pile.
Muraki was a fool to tempt him. Like a child playing with fire, his boldness stemmed from ignorance, not courage. For the past five nights, he had demanded Tsuzuki reveal his true self and insisted that nothing could shock him. Yet when confronted with his wish, Muraki shrank away in disgust like everyone else.
That was why he suppressed this side of himself. That was why he wore a cheerful face and never confided his darkest urges to anyone. No one would accept him if they knew.
No one.
The breeze gathered strength to become an icy wind. His shirt flapped open under its onslaught. It grew in intensity to become a gale blasting directly into his face. He couldn't turn away from it, for the wind followed him at every turn, blowing with such ferocity he could barely open his eyes.
Wind - the power associated with Metal according to elemental magic tradition.
"Muraki?! Is this your doing?"
Sheltering himself against the wind was futile. It continued to push him back. It whipped his clothing aside and caressed his flesh with icy fingers. A high-pitched howl filled his ears. From eyes slitted against the cold blast, Tsuzuki saw the stillness of the rocky landscape around him. No dust flew up, no shrub trembled. Only he was being targeted by this mysterious wind.
Tsuzuki pressed his hands together and bowed his head. Hunching his body forward against the blast was the only way he could remain upright. The howling in his ears increased to a deafening roar. Focusing his mind, he mentally began to recite the prayer to summon Byakko, his Wind shikigami...
Like a naughty child turned obedient at the threat of punishment, the wind vanished to a wisp of a breeze.
Without its bracing force, Tsuzuki overbalanced and tumbled flat on his face.
"Muraki!!" He lifted himself up, furious.
He was no longer in the barren rocky ground of Unzen Spa. He found himself on his hands and knees in a park, with his fall cushioned by a grassy lawn. Overhead was a luminous full moon. Looking down, he discovered he wore his usual black trenchcoat, tie and trousers, with a plain white shirt.
A few metres away was Muraki. He was dressed immaculately as ever in his white trenchcoat, shirt, and trousers. He knelt in seiza position, his head bowed, on a mat laid out over the grass. Perfectly motionless, he may as well have been deaf to the world. Next to him was a small wooden table holding paper, a fountain pen, and a small dagger.
This night, this place...everything was different. An illusion? A dream?
Tsuzuki strode towards the likely source. This time he would keep his cool, regardless of what Muraki threw at him. "Muraki!"
Jolted out of his reverie, Muraki lifted his head. His long fringe of silver hair fell away to reveal a pair of matching grey eyes, both wide with wonder.
Tsuzuki stopped dead in his tracks. The retracted scarred right eyelid and the unnatural false eye beneath were gone. Without it, Muraki's face was a slate wiped clean - unlined and youthful, utterly beautiful in its chiselled perfection. This was Muraki, but not the one he knew.
This one was still whole, still human: Muraki before his demonic covenant.
"I must already be dead," Muraki whispered to himself. "Dead or dreaming. Either way it makes no difference." His enthralled gaze took stock of Tsuzuki from head to foot, drinking in the very sight of him. "You have me at a disadvantage. You know my name."
"You mean...are you saying you don't who I am?"
"Oh, I know who you are, but I wouldn't dare presume to know your name. I merely know what everyone knows, for your exploits have preceded you in myth and legend. Wherever your shadow falls, death and destruction shall follow." Muraki dropped his gaze to a point on the ground past Tsuzuki. "You know my plans, naturally. Have you come for me?"
Tsuzuki followed the direction of Muraki's gaze. All he could see was his own shadow cast by the moonlight - nothing out of the ordinary. He turned back to see Muraki's upturned face, now looking him directly at him once more. Waiting in anticipation...for what?
Was this another of Muraki's twisted games? Maybe it was a trick to fool him into another macabre blood-drinking 'communion.'
Tsuzuki lowered himself to a sitting position on the grass. He eyed the low wooden table with its sheet of blank paper, and the dagger resting nearby - the traditional implements for seppuku, ritual suicide. "I see you've gone to the effort to make the proper preparations." None of this was real, so there was no need for panic. "But you haven't written your death poem yet."
Muraki bowed his head in apology. "I was meditating on some suitably lyrical stanzas for the occasion when you arrived."
"Ahh, I see. Sorry for interrupting you." It was Tsuzuki's turn to perform an ironic bow of his own. "A shame you weren't able to find a white kimono to wear for the occasion."
"My apologies for the oversight." Muraki bowed again. "No doubt you have witnessed much more elaborate seppuku preparations than mine." Self-consciously he straightened the lapels of his immaculate white trenchcoat. "I did my best with the clothing I do possess."
A thought struck Tsuzuki. "Don't you normally wear a white outfit to work?"
Muraki blinked, surprised. "No. Why should I?"
"Really?" Tsuzuki was taken aback, for he'd always associated Muraki with white. In their very first meeting in Nagasaki, Muraki had worn this exact same outfit. "Well... I guess wearing white wouldn't be that practical, especially in your profession." The moonlight gifted his attire with an ethereal glow. Tsuzuki found it hard to take his eyes off him. "But it does look good on you."
Muraki was silent for a moment. "So I wear it well, is that all?" The compliment seemed to displease him. "Do you think I wear this for appearance's sake alone? Do you think I lack the purity of motives required to wear the colour white?"
"No, no. I never said that." A touchy subject. "I was just wondering why, on this lovely evening, a man who once worked to save others would suddenly decide to do away with himself."
"What is there to explain? Do you think I haven't seen you working behind my back to undermine my efforts at every turn?" In his lap, Muraki's hands clenched into fists. "You seek out the patients with the most tenuous grip on life, and prise what little energy they possess from their feeble grasp!"
The serene mask was crumbling. Grey eyes narrowed, gleaming with life and heat for the first time.
Desire and trepidation stirred within Tsuzuki. White did suit Muraki well, but anger suited him even better. Here was the real Muraki, the one he knew so well. "Have you seen Death at work?"
"Yes. I see you at work all the time. Your shadow lurks in the corners of the intensive care unit and operating suite. You haunt the emergency department and skulk the corridors of the ward, waiting for the chance to undo our feeble efforts at healing." Turning his palms up, Muraki studied his hands. "At best, we surgeons remove the source of illness, and hope our patients have the recuperative powers to make a full recovery. I know this..." His deep voice dwindled to a husky rasp. "I know this...and yet..." He looked up, eyes blazing with hatred. "Why, of all people, did you have to take him?"
Him. Just one simple syllable from Muraki's lips was all it took to drive the knife of jealousy deep into Tsuzuki's heart.
"Who...who was he?" Tsuzuki was too afraid to look Muraki in the eyes. "Was he someone important to you?"
"Of course he was important! You know very well what he meant to me. He was my first...my very first!"
"I see." The knife twisted deeper, squeezing the breath out of him. Tsuzuki didn't understand it. What was there to be jealous of? Muraki was a man of the world - he had loved a woman before, so why not a man? What made him think he was Muraki's first male lover?
But a sense of betrayal tormented him. He remembered Muraki's starstruck gaze in Nagasaki, his lingering caresses and extravagant flattery. He could still hear Muraki's words aboard the Queen Camellia whispered seductively against his ear:
My desire keeps escalating...driving me crazy...for you, a man!
Tsuzuki pulled up a handful of grass. "Such is life." He held out the grass so Muraki could see the broken blades and torn roots. "It can be as easily given as it is taken away. That is why you ought to value the time you have been given, instead of throwing away what you have left."
"I value my time!" Muraki snarled. "All ten hours of it, from the time I first saw him dying in the emergency department to the moment I pulled off my surgical gloves and walked out of the operating theatre!"
The grass fell through Tsuzuki's lax fingers. Not a lover...but a patient?
Muraki paused, a little stunned by his own outburst. "He was my very first patient as a cardiothoracic registrar," he continued more normally, "a young man with an acute aortic dissection. I saved his life back then - but now he's dead."
Tsuzuki resisted the desire to sag over in relief. But the idea of standing over a sick person, working to save a life for ten hours - it was beyond Tsuzuki's comprehension. He would never know such manual effort. Calling a shikigami took only seconds. Working non-stop for eight hours was tedious enough. The only thing Tsuzuki could remember doing for ten hours non-stop was sleeping.
He saw Muraki's white-knuckled fists and imagined those same fingers feverishly working to restore life. "What's an aortic dissection?" he asked meekly.
Muraki blinked, diverted from his anger. "A tear in the lining of the aorta, resulting in blood tracking through the muscle layer and dissecting the aortic wall in two. The pain is agonising, the outcome catastrophic. The haematoma constricts the aortic lumen to produce haemodymanic shock, then tracks up to the major aortic branches, producing stroke and myocardial infarct. If it tracks back to encase the heart, it leads to cardiac tamponade and almost certain death." His gaze was distant, lost in memory. "He was a 16-year-old male, previously undiagnosed Marfan's syndrome. I reviewed the CT scans, explained the findings to his parents, and obtained the consent for surgery. I remember organising the angiograms, booking the theatre, desperately searching for an on-call anaesthetist with cardiopulmonary bypass experience in the middle of the night." He snorted in rueful amusement. "Coaxing a senior anaesthetist from his bed at two in the morning...that was one of the most delicate steps in the entire procedure."
The medical jargon meant little to Tsuzuki. But like a child thrilled by adventures of dashing heroes in faraway places, he was entranced by Muraki's words. "So...you performed the operation that same night?"
Muraki nodded, still remembering. "Excision of his aortic root and valve and the insertion of a composite valve-graft replacement, followed by reimplantation of coronary arteries into the artificial graft. We were working against the clock to limit the risk of neurological complications--"
Tsuzuki let him continue, charmed by the strange words. They sounded like obscure spells, exotic music - mysterious and exciting to his ears. As a master of shikigami, science was foreign to him - in fact, science was the enemy to the proud gods who once roamed the earth. And personally, science left him cold. Facts and figures generated for their own sake did not interest him. He never really understood Watari's fascination with the subject.
But Muraki's words were different. He described the kind of science that could save a human life. His words were imbued with a weight and power as great as any summoning prayer or spell. Muraki possessed a unique ability he would never ever know. And the responsibility sat well on his shoulders. His voice resonated with sureness and authority. It was the kind of voice that inspired confidence amid uncertainty, that seemed to transform words into action simply by voicing them aloud.
Even the air had become still, as if the wind paused to hear him speak.
Demons and shikigami would be arrested by such a voice calling them by name.
Tsuzuki-san...My dear Tsuzuki-san...
Even he was all too susceptible to its allure. But this Muraki would never call him by name. Oddly enough, Muraki had no idea who he was. Perhaps he had yet to find his grandfather's records.
Muraki stopped, suddenly aware of Tsuzuki's rapt attention. He looked visibly abashed and oddly endearing for it. "Forgive me for monopolising the conversation."
"No, not at all. So did you save him?" Tsuzuki was eager to hear more. "Did he make a full recovery?"
"What does it matter? Indeed, he made an impressive recovery at the time, only to be critically injured six months later in a car accident. The life-saving aortic graft remained intact, which is more than I can say for the rest of him. My painstaking handiwork wasted - everything I had done for him at the time had all been for nothing."
Tsuzuki resisted the impulse to apologise and commiserate with him. Muraki's grief stemmed from a bruised ego more than a broken heart.
"Muraki, everyone dies sooner or later. Your operation, impressive as it was, was never going to make him live forever. You can't predict the future - no one can. Even knowing what you do now about his ultimate fate, would you rather have sat on your hands and watched him die when he first came to you with his dissecting aorta?"
"No." Muraki looked offended at the idea. "Of course I'd still operate on him."
"Of course. How could you not? You possess the skill to help many people with your scalpel. And that's exactly what you did with that patient. Your efforts weren't in vain."
"Truly you are generous in victory," Muraki mocked. "You are kind, far too kind." Absently he pulled out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. "But you can't claim sole credit for this death. I had a hand in it as well, ne?"
Tsuzuki stiffened. "Are you...are you saying you killed him?"
"Effectively, I did." Muraki lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply before removing it from his lips. "I prescribed a blood-thinning medication for him after his operation to prevent clots forming on the graft - as per standard practice. Do you know what caused his death?" A parody of a grin curled his lips.
Tsuzuki shook his head.
"Massive intracerebral haemorrhage from head trauma sustained during the accident." He took another drag from his cigarette, drawing out the silence for dramatic effect.
"B-But how is that your fault? Unless you caused the accident--"
"I was the one who put him on the drug that made him bleed like a stuck pig in the car wreck..." His voice rose sharply. His gaze became fixed, overbright, maniacal. "It's really true! The pen is mightier...than the sword! With the blade I saved him six months ago...only to doom him with a few strokes of my pen..." He suddenly erupted into fits of hysterical laughter. "Death wins! Death...always wins!"
Tsuzuki didn't know what to say. Even teetering on the edge of insanity, Muraki's pain was all too visible to see.
Muraki covered his eyes with one hand, while he gasped for breath. His silver hair parted briefly to reveal his ears - unadorned by the ruby studs. "I can't bear living...in this ridiculous world...where nothing goes according to my plan. Disease, disfigurement, decay...there is no escape from death's tightening noose. My deeds are thwarted at every turn...and I can't stomach defeat any longer, shinigami. You win."
None of this is real, Tsuzuki reminded himself. This was just a dream, a hallucination, a charade. The Muraki he knew was marked by a demonic covenant branded on his eye and harnessed Metal energy to do his bidding. The Muraki he knew called him by name...
"Take me. You can be my kaishakunin, the assistant who delivers the final blow." Muraki stubbed out his cigarette as he spoke. "Let me finish this smoke, and I shall carry out the deed. I am in no state of mind to write a graceful and carefree death poem as dictated by custom. I have spoken what was in my heart. That is enough."
Illusion or not, Tsuzuki couldn't sit and watch like an indifferent bystander. It wasn't in his nature to hold back when he knew he could make a difference. He picked up the grass he had dropped moments before and clenched them in his fist. If he did possess this Wood energy, the occult fifth element, then he may as well put it to use.
"This isn't a battle, Muraki. You're not a loser any more than I am a winner. Life and death have existed side by side since the dawn of time. One cannot exist without the other. Just as living things die, so their bodies are consumed in order to create new life." He lifted the grass in his hand. "I'll prove it to you. Look at what these soiled hands of death can do."
Focusing his mind, he tried to visualise energy flowing from his hand into the torn blades of grass. Nothing happened. Was he supposed to say something? But what? He didn't say anything before. On the contrary, his newly-rediscovered powers were beyond his control. If it hadn't been for Genbu's guidance...
Plants retain information passed down through many generations within the very fibre of their being. This little one has not forgotten its foremost allegiance.
Tsuzuki tried again. Grow, he silently commanded. In his mind's eye, he imagined a big bouquet of glorious yellow tulips bright enough to bring a smile to anyone's face.
His fingertips tingled. The grass blades lengthened in his hand, their tips slowly uncurling inch by inch, then blossoming into a chaotic profusion of fluffy white dandelion heads, sheafs of grass with nodding heads of grain, and tiny petalled flowers with long hairy stems.
This wasn't the lovely tulip bouquet he imagined. This was little more than a laughable mass of weeds.
But Muraki didn't laugh. He leaned forward for a closer look, eyes wide. Perhaps this was his first encounter with any form of magic, for there was something delightfully innocent about his curiosity.
"A trick," he murmured at last. His eyes narrowed. "The grasping hand of Death is not known for such generosity."
"It's no trick. Here, you hold it." Tsuzuki thrust the makeshift posy into Muraki's face.
Muraki reached out to grab it, a reflex action. His fingers brushed Tsuzuki's hands.
A sizzling jolt of awareness passed through Tsuzuki. He had a vivid impression of smooth fingerpads, and long slender fingers capable of great dexterity and power. Most of all, he was aware of that scorching living heat that made his muscles weak with desire...and his insides rage with bloodlust all over again.
Over the weeds, he saw Muraki's mesmerised gaze - fixed and wide-eyed, as if he too was entranced by the physical contact...and equally as hungry.
Tsuzuki tried to pull free. He mustn't give in - not now. But Muraki clasped his hands, holding them prisoner. The thriving weeds continued to grow, flowers and seedheads spilling over their joined hands.
"It's not much." Tsuzuki laughed weakly. "Not in the same league as a bouquet of roses, huh?"
Muraki paused. His gaze became hooded. "Are you trying to proposition me?"
"No!" Tsuzuki felt his cheeks flush. "I-I just wanted to demonstrate how wrong you are about life. Life is much more resilient than you think. It can flourish in the depths of the ocean, within the heart of volcanoes, at the peaks of the highest mountains...and even in the shadow of death itself."
"Really?" Muraki's gaze flicked to a point on the ground beside Tsuzuki.
"Yes. If you can just learn to look beyond your own humanity, you'll see how diverse and vigorous life can be. Death isn't the end, Muraki - it's simply a transformation into new life."
"New life? Life from death? Surely you make fun of me. Next you'll be promising me resurrection and eternal life!" Muraki's grip became manacles around Tsuzuki's wrists. The weeds fell between them, forgotten. "What are you, really? Why do you hide yourself? Why should I believe you when you refuse to reveal your face?"
"I'm not hiding." Cold dread stole over Tsuzuki. "What do you see when you look at me?"
"Nothing," Muraki said simply. "You are null and void. You are absolute zero. All I see is an amorphous mass of swirling blackness devouring everything in its path - including me."
"I'm not like that!" Tsuzuki glanced down at himself. He saw no swirling blackness or empty void. "Can't you see me at all? Not even my eyes? What about my hands?" He squeezed Muraki's fingers. "You're holding them right now."
"Only because you're adept at mimicking your victims!" Muraki tried to pull him closer. "I see no eyes. All I see are two points of light where your eyes should be."
Muraki's scent filled his nostrils: a heady blend of aftershave and the faint musk of human flesh. Saliva filled his mouth. His stomach growled. His willpower wavered.
"You can't fool me. I know what you want. I see you for what you truly are." Muraki's hands slid up his arms to seize his shoulders. "Neither the feel of your sham body...nor this fragrance of...of..." Puzzled, he bent forward and inhaled deeply. "Roses?"
Tsuzuki didn't move. He couldn't smell roses - all he could smell was the intoxicating scent of living human flesh. Any closer and he'd be able to sink his teeth into the column of Muraki's throat.
"My mother...she used to wear a fragrance like this. She adored roses...almost as much as her collection of porcelain dolls." Muraki released him. "As a child...I would do my best to measure up to their flawless perfection...to be worthy of her approval. Of course, I never could, and my shortcomings only worsened in her eyes as I entered puberty. Never again would I be her finest doll. Dolls stay young and cute forever. Dolls do not age and decay and die."
What kind of a mother did Muraki have? What kind of a mother saw their child as an inanimate doll?
"Most shameful of all, a part of me was relieved when she died. I thought I'd be free of her disapproval at last." Muraki chuckled to himself. "But I was wrong. She lives on in me. Like her, I crave perfection...and I always fall short. I am still my mother's doll."
"Don't say that! You can be different! You can reject your mother's ideals! You can choose to be free of her influence!"
"Humans are not free. The spectre of death hangs over us, waiting." Muraki cast a mocking glance at Tsuzuki. "It seems as if the one certainty we mortals have in life is the option to choose the time of our own death through suicide. Isn't that so, shinigami?"
"I'm not here for you," Tsuzuki replied. He ignored the crazy impulse to nibble Muraki's curling lips until he erased that smirk. A persuasive argument was needed - a challenge to rouse Muraki's competitive streak. "If you're after the moral high ground of helpless victimhood, then be my guest. Admit defeat and die by your own hand - the coward's way out. But don't expect me to cut you down before your prime and spare you further misery. Your time isn't up yet."
"Am I not yet a ripe enough target for you? You take the life of a teenage boy, yet you spare the life of a grown man? Why? Do you want to see me suffer more?"
"No, no! I want..." Tsuzuki shook his head in frustration. "I want to see you reach your full potential as a successful surgeon. There will be more patients after this one, many you will save from near-death - and yes, some we shinigami will claim for our own. As a surgeon embarking on your career, these setbacks will wound you and cause you grief...but they can also hone your determination and spur you to greater heights. Whether you wilt or thrive in the face of adversity depends on you!"
"So what do you recommend? A training session in delusional positive thinking to blind myself to the unbearable truth?"
"You could learn from nature." Tsuzuki picked up a discarded violet thistle flower. Despite being torn at the stem, it continued to writhe and grow. "A flower bud can blossom after it is picked for a bouquet. A pruned tree or shrub can regrow more vigorously with a profusion of flowers and a finer crop of fruit. Plants endure regardless of what fate casts their way." He twirled the flower between his fingers. It pirouetted up in a renewed growth spurt. "You chose your career for a reason, right? There are special people in your life you dearly want to help - as well as one you want to resurrect for your own twisted purpose."
Startled alarm hardened into brooding suspicion. "So you know of my plans for vengeance. I never knew a God of Death could be so well-versed in the minutiae of a single life."
Tsuzuki's knowing smile didn't reach his eyes. "Die now, and you give up not only your life but theirs as well, plus many of your future patients. If you have no problem with that, then far be it for me to stand in your way." Tsuzuki stood up. The flower fell from his hand.
Muraki caught it. "I don't believe my ears. Does Death seek a contest?" A statement, not a question. "Do you want a rival to uphold the lives you intend to cut down?"
"Not a rival...but perhaps a guardian." A wistful note entered Tsuzuki's low voice. "A guardian of human life - someone to inspire hope in the ill during their darkest hour, and fight on their behalf to keep the shadow of death at bay." He shrugged and turned around, ready to walk away. "That's been the role of all healers, from traditional herbal practitioners to specialised heart surgeons, right?"
Muraki's head lifted. He knew a challenge when he heard one. A glint of defiant pride lit up his steely eyes.
"Very well, I accept. But on one condition."
Tsuzuki stopped and turned around, only too eager to please. "What?"
Muraki contemplated the violet flower for a long moment. "As part of our contract, you bless my corporeal form with the same regenerative power you bestow on these plants. Only by granting me immunity from death can I ever be a worthy guardian of life."
"Contract?! Who said anything about a contract?"
"How else can I be sure you will keep your word? A contract is the only way to ensure both parties will honour its terms."
"No!" Tsuzuki stepped back. "I don't make contracts! I-I'm not a demon hunting for human souls!"
"How are you any better? You're a shadowy god who drains humans of life to feed the yawning void within yourself."
"I uphold the orders of JuOhCho, the court that judges the dead! I don't know why you think I'm some black void gobbling up people left, right and centre, but I swear I'm not like that! I appear as human as you!" He knew he appeared perfectly normal - apart from his unusual eye colour. "Maybe...maybe you're the one who can't see properly. Maybe you're too blinded by prejudice and arrogance to visualise me as I truly am!"
"Then what about this?" Muraki stood up and held out the bobbing thistle flower. "Has JuOhCho decreed that you trample human potential only to bestow it on...on useless weeds?"
"Plants aren't useless! Plants provide the food that sustains all animal life. Plants absorb the carbon in the atmosphere and replace it with life-giving oxygen." He jabbed an accusing finger in Muraki's direction. "All the little luxuries you take for granted - the cigarettes you smoke, the coffee and tea you drink in the morning, and the wine and sake you sip at night - all these come from plants!" A sudden wave of inspiration filled his voice with excitement. "Plants are even the source of important drugs like aspirin and morphine! Imagine how difficult medicine would be without them! If anything, humans owe a huge debt to plants and should be helping them survive instead of...of knocking trees down and setting fire to forests as if they're the only species who have the right to exist on this earth--"
A brutal snap stopped Tsuzuki in mid-sentence.
The bobbing thistle flower was gone. Muraki held the lifeless stem in one hand. His other hand was curled in a tight fist.
"I see." Muraki observed the broken stem dispassionately. "Plants are your raison d'etre. Plants are weak and defenceless, and therefore the ideal excuse for your merciless culling of humanity, ne?" He opened his fist and the crushed flower fell to the ground. "You want your acolytes to be fragile and pitiful creatures, so you may play the part of the noble protector. You bolster your ego in the comforting knowledge they are dependent on you alone for support: the classic features of an individual who compensates for their poor esteem by embracing a saviour-complex."
Cut to the quick, Tsuzuki was speechless. Muraki's words were sharp and precise, a finely honed blade aimed straight at his greatest weakness. In his mind's eye, he could see himself blithely reassuring people that he'd protect them from harm no matter what the circumstances, dismissing the level of danger involved, always keen to offer hope and a supportive shoulder to cry on. He just wanted to be their friend. He wanted to win over their trust...
"W-What's wrong with wanting to help others who are suffering and in need of help? Aren't you doing the same thing as a doctor? That means you've got a saviour complex as much I have!"
Muraki bowed his head in acknowledgement. "Indeed I do. And look what it's brought me." He held out his arms and whirled around, his white trenchcoat flaring around him. "Frustration, self-loathing, guilt and misery! But tonight it will end here." He threw the stem away and strode past the low table. With one graceful swoop, he seized the dagger.
"Muraki!" Tsuzuki halted when Muraki waved the upright blade before him. "What are you up to?"
"Give me the power of regeneration. Give me the same power you grant to plants, and I promise you a fine contest of epic proportions. Strengthen me in body and mind so I can be a worthy opponent for you. Compared to your greatness, I am but a mere blade of grass - puny and helpless, trembling at the hint of a breeze." Muraki lifted the dagger up before him. "Let me be a sacred sword, as hard and unyielding as steel - for that is the only way I can do your bidding."
A chill went down Tsuzuki's spine. None of this was real...was it? "I-I don't want a contest or a contract. I don't want you to do anything for me. All I want is for you to live and help others to do the same--"
"I can't!" Muraki roared. "I've tried and I can't! I'm plagued by the fear of failure night and day! My hand trembles constantly under the weight of my guilt! I'm not fit to perform surgery! I'm too weak...too weak..." He came towards Tsuzuki and held out his left hand, palm upwards. "See for yourself! Even the spiked leaves of a mere weed can cause me injury!"
In the moonlight, Tsuzuki could see the oozing dark blood. It was only inches from his face. The metallic scent filled his nostrils, making him giddy. But he couldn't take it. Human flesh was forbidden...expressly forbidden...
"A minor wound...nothing compared to the callous way you treated that flower." Tsuzuki turned away, ignoring his stomach's protest. He wrapped his trenchcoat close to shield himself from temptation. "In time your body will heal itself..."
Muraki dropped his hand to his side. "I see. So what would be a more fitting punishment in your eyes? What restitution should I make?" He blocked Tsuzuki's path before he could escape. "Are you like the vengeful gods of the West, demanding sacrifice after sacrifice of the finest produce to appease your wrath? Or should I humble myself before you with acts of flagellation or mutilation to rouse your pity?" His grey eyes lit up. "Why, that's it! Then you will bless me with your healing regenerative power, ne? You will have no choice but to heal me, for how else will I be able to answer your challenge?"
Icy fear gripped Tsuzuki, rooting him to the spot. Muraki's manic glee terrified him in a way his anger never could. "You must be crazy. I never asked this of you...never ever."
But Muraki was too caught up with his plan to listen. "Yes, of course! What a perfect solution!" He stepped away, his footsteps as light as air. "As you have taught me tonight, so I shall prune my body to strengthen my mind." He removed his glasses with a toss of his head and carelessly threw them aside. "Blinded by prejudice and arrogance, I shall renounce these useless eyes that, by your very own words, cannot see you as you truly are. For this fervent act of devotion, please grant me this indulgence - a release from this sentence of guilt and death!" He raised the dagger, blade up in his right hand. "I humbly ask this of you, my lord--"
Tsuzuki seized Muraki's arm. "No!"
Muraki slashed blindly with the dagger. "Deliver me...from my living hell. Even wrapped in your shadowy black void...is a better place..." They tumbled to the ground together, the knife between them.
"Stop praying!" Tsuzuki tried to lever Muraki's arm out to one side. One slash of the blade caught him across the jaw. "I'm no healer! I'm a shinigami, dammit!" He clawed at Muraki's white-knuckled grip to prise the knife free.
Muraki slammed his free left hand over Tsuzuki's face, and shoved his chin up and away.
Blood. Fresh blood. It was everywhere. Against his parted lips, along his nose, smeared against his cheeks and chin. It invaded his nostrils, suffocating him with its overwhelming metallic odour. The hunger pangs clawed inside him, a ravenous beast demanding to be let loose.
A taste. One lick would do. He'd denied himself long enough. All he had to do was slide out his tongue, and that luscious human flesh would be all his...
You're not human! Monster! Monster! You're not human!!
Tsuzuki bit his lip hard. He had to resist. He had to resist!
With a huge effort of will, he seized the bloody hand and pushed it away. "I'm human! I am! I aaam!" He sat up and bellowed it to the moon and stars, the trees and grass, and the taunting voices in his head. "I aaaaaam!"
Silence. None of them contradicted him. There was just a soft squelch beside him, followed by the scrape of steel against bone. Tsuzuki cringed in horror as he was suddenly splattered with warm liquid. He saw Muraki's hand fall lifelessly to his side, fingers uncurling from the dagger. Twined around the blade was a shiny blob of bloody tissue. A portion of it glistened white and grey.
"No...I never meant..." Tsuzuki put his hands to his mouth. "What...what have I done? What have I...Muraki...?"
Lying face up on the grass, Muraki was deathly still. Blood pooled in his right eyesocket and trickled down his cheek like bloody tears. He bared his teeth in a grimace of unspeakable agony, yet not a sound left his lips.
Trembling violently, Tsuzuki buried his face against Muraki's chest. "Forgive...forgive me..." He took a deep breath in, squeezed his eyes shut, and let everything out in an ear-splitting howl of anguished despair.
The wind swirled around him, whipping the sound from his mouth, yet he kept howling. Violent tremors shook the ground, each one stronger than the one before, and he still howled. The earth could shudder and sob as well - for this terrible guilt was too much to bear alone.
"Such audacity! Being a chimera does not grant you the right to provoke your betters with impunity!"
That rumbling basso profundo voice snapped Tsuzuki to full awareness. "Genbu?"
In his reptilian guise, the God of Earth lowered his head, his serpentine neck arching down from a great height. "You dare to break the fragile barrier that divides your world from ours? You dare to bring down the wrath of the Elements yet again?" Black smoke curled from his nostrils. "Awaken the Creator, and know the Destroyer shall follow." He stamped the ground with one foot, sending another tremor through the ground.
"It's my fault, Genbu! I shouldn't have let go of him...but I couldn't help it!" Tsuzuki looked up in desperate appeal. "We've got to help him! We've got to do something!"
Genbu's features lacked the expressive mobility of a human's, yet there was a softening in his golden gaze.
"And you already did, Tsuzuki-san." Muraki's voice, low and soothing, spoke from behind. "See for yourself."
Tsuzuki turned. The green park was no more. They were back in the barren wastelands of Unzen Spa. Beyond the hilly horizon, fingers of faint sunlight penetrated the starry pre-dawn sky.
Muraki was sitting on his knees, dressed in the same white trenchcoat and suit as before. But his face was free of blood. Silver hair fell over his forehead, concealing his right eye. In each earlobe was a ruby stud. There was no smug triumph, no condescending smirk on his face. His expression was an impassive mask as steely and impenetrable as the Metal sustaining him.
Of course. It had all been an illusion...yet one with the vivid clarity of truth.
Tentatively Tsuzuki lifted the silver fringe of hair from Muraki's forehead. He studied the retracted eyelid and the false metallic eye with a newfound dread.
"This...this isn't man-made?"
"Medical technology has yet to perfect a bionic eye. When I returned to work, I explained it to my colleagues as an experimental prototype, one too intricate and costly to ever be available to the public."
Tsuzuki dropped his hands. "You once told me it was custom-made for you!"
"And it was," Muraki replied simply. "There is only one like it in existence."
"On the Queen Camellia you mentioned how hard it was to preserve the optic nerve and find spare parts! I remember you said--"
"I didn't lie. I had CT scans performed in order to understand the mechanism behind it. I hoped to make a similar implant to assist vision-impaired patients, but it proved impossible. The images revealed an array of thousands of photosensitive electrodes linked by intricate circuitry to the optic neurons - a fusion of the organic and inorganic that defied scientific explanation. After much research, I did manage to commission a crude approximation of the individual electrodes at much expense. But as for implanting them into the eyesocket so they could send signals to the brain..." Muraki shrugged. "I never could replicate in animal experiments the very model that worked so well within myself. I realised then that the answer lay not in dismantling the mechanism, but in meeting the maker." His level stare pinned Tsuzuki to the spot.
Tsuzuki didn't voice the obvious question burning inside him - the same question he'd asked night after night. He'd gone down that dead end too many times before, and he had the feeling Muraki was daring him to take the same well-trodden path yet again.
"So you never saw him? The one you encountered that night...you never asked him to reveal his name or face?"
"No." Surprise flickered in Muraki's good eye. The guarded tension in his features eased. "Why would any god explain himself to a human? On the contrary, many jealously guard their true face behind a fake guise. Is that not so, Guardian of Earth?"
With his head hovering protectively over Tsuzuki, Genbu let out a dismissive snort. A puff of black smoke curled from his nostrils.
"All I sought was an indulgence - a small reprieve from the burden of mortality. My meagre sacrifice was accepted as a sign of my devotion to my new calling."
Meagre sacrifice...
Muraki had said the same about Saagatanus after he'd gouged out the demon's eyes on the golf course. Tsuzuki remembered it well. Muraki then offered both eyeballs to him - re-enacting the gory ritual he first performed on himself?
Tsuzuki felt sick to the stomach. "So how did you learn the occult arts?" he asked tightly. "The ability to curse others...drain them of their spiritual energy...calling on demons to do your bidding..."
"The demons were the ones who first came to me. News of my indulgence spread like wildfire throughout Makai, the demon world. Many demons, large and small, visited me in visions and dreams. A living example of true regeneration like myself excited their interest. Demons are low in spiritual energy and must prey on others to maintain their addiction to Fire. But they pay a high price for their fiery pyrotechnics - they forfeit all regenerative potential of their own."
"True! True!" Muraki's grey cat appeared gingerly between the rows of horns on Genbu's head. "How long are we meant to remain in this purgatory? How long are we to be treated as outcasts? Have we not already suffered enough? We await the immeasurable Light that will lead us out of darkness!"
"If demons were granted limitless power, they would leave nothing but scorched earth and ash!" Genbu rumbled. With ponderous steps, he moved close behind Tsuzuki. "Humans are already desecrating the Earth well enough without a helping hand!" He tilted his head forward as he spoke, unbalancing the cat on purpose. The feline scrabbled for purchase on the leathery scales, then let out an angry hiss and leapt to the ground. Quickly it sought refuge in Muraki's lap.
"Hush, Genbu. I won't allow that to happen." Tsuzuki turned back to Muraki. "Go on. So demons came to you for help?"
Muraki nodded. "When they heard of a human who had been gifted with regenerative potential, they were desperate to know how they could obtain a similar favour for themselves. They offered me all kinds of worldly pleasures in return: wealth beyond my wildest dreams; miraculous surgical skills to make me the envy of my peers; a bevy of sexual partners of every possible age, gender and persuasion to satisfy my every desire." He idly stroked behind the cat's ears and sighed deeply. "I would be lying if I said I wasn't tempted at the time."
Unwelcome images of Muraki entwined in the arms of another filled Tsuzuki's mind. "Somehow you don't strike me as the kind of person who'd say no to fame and fortune with lashings of gratuitous sex."
"Tsuzuki-san!" Muraki affected a hurt expression. "You have so little faith in me. Even I know that life's pleasures taste far sweeter when they have been earned through one's own efforts."
"But you could've become a miraculous healer, the surgeon you always longed to be! Do you expect me to believe you refused the chance to fulfil a lifelong ambition?"
"Did you expect me to be so easily duped?" Muraki retorted. "Demons are motivated by profit, not altruism. Demons are the hustlers of the spirit world. Imagine if I had entered into such a contract. As soon as the contract was fulfilled and my life and soul forfeit, my patients would surely die shortly after from some mysterious post-operative complication. The demon would claim their souls as well, I imagine." Muraki looked fondly at the cat. "It would be kinder to kill a patient by my own hand than save one through a demon's, ne?"
The cat blinked. "We no longer need to kill now that we are in the presence of the everlasting Light. The Light will save us, nourish us and sustain us. Glory be to the Light."
Tsuzuki was losing patience. "Then why keep a demon sealed in cat form? What do you gain by keeping this creature?"
"Knowledge. Arcane knowledge only an ageless being would know. My encounter with the afterworld left me full of burning questions. I wanted to know everything about the mystical spirit worlds, the powerful beings who inhabited them, and their purpose in meddling with us humans. Most of all, I wanted to learn about my mysterious benefactor, and how I could summon him back again." Muraki took off one of the ruby studs. It was covered in blood. He held it before the cat, which began licking it. "This little one taught me all about Meifu's indentured shinigami, Makai's squabbling demons, and their eternal battle for that most prized of spiritual resources: human souls."
"In exchange for your blood? No wonder you're anaemic!"
"Not just blood," Muraki corrected. "Demons have no use for human blood, ne?" His grey gaze challenged Tsuzuki to disagree. "But blood that once flowed with regenerative potential is different. Even eight years later, it retains a bewitching aroma that charms living and non-living alike, and as for the flavour..." He held up his blood-stained fingers. "Would you like another taste?"
Hypnotised, Tsuzuki couldn't look away.
"No one will judge you here. Taste this, and understand why so many are drawn to your side." He left his earring with the cat then held his hand out to Tsuzuki. "The potential in my blood has been diluted to an infinitesimal level, yet it still nourishes and sustains. So imagine how much richer and sweeter the blood of my benefactor must be - the one who first blessed my decrepit flesh!"
Tsuzuki seized his wrist. "You never saw his face. You couldn't recognise him. You said so yourself! How do you know--"
"He concealed his face, but he opened his heart. I spoke to him as freely as you and I speak now. I bore witness to his bountiful generosity and amazing miracles. He proved to a doubter like myself that he is the seed from which regeneration springs forth!" Muraki's fringe lifted as if blown by a non-existent breeze, revealing his false eye. "He left his mark on me as proof! Behold the omnipresent symbol of life itself, present in everything from strands of DNA to the very structure of the galaxy!"
Tsuzuki couldn't breathe. A glowing red spiral swirled around Muraki's pupil, circling inwards upon itself without end. He'd seen this before - in the same dream that Muraki marked him in red, and announced his presence in Nagasaki.
"Aha!" Muraki noticed Tsuzuki's stunned recognition. "Finally you see it, ne?" He placed his clean hand under Tsuzuki's chin, preventing escape. "At last you remember."
"B-But I don't remember doing this! I only know this mark from my dreams! How can it be my handiwork if I can't remember doing it?"
"Because you've been asleep," Muraki murmured soothingly, "and you sleep even now. You are the lord and owner of many faces, and like a miser you jealously guard each and every one." He slid his index finger along Tsuzuki's jawline. "You may think me duplicitous, but I cannot compare to a master like you."
"I'm not...like that..." The glowing spiral seemed to be drawing him in, deeper and deeper, into a black void.
Watching from his bird's-eye view overhead, Genbu's reptilian eyes narrowed to slits.
"Let me show you the name - the true name of the one who granted me this indulgence, the name of the one I am unworthy to utter aloud. In this name lies the enlightenment and the glory that is your birthright. Read and you will understand." Muraki's silken voice held a sinister yet tantalising promise. All the while, his fingers were stroking a feather-light path to the sensitive flesh at the nape of his neck.
"Why?" It took all of Tsuzuki's willpower not to lean into the gentle caress. He averted his gaze from the glowing spiral. "Why do you want to wake me up? What's wrong with the way I am now?"
"You've slumbered for too long. You dulled your vision because you hated your eyes." Muraki tilted his head and leaned closer until their lips were inches apart. "You allowed yourself to be chained and fed scraps because you feared your very teeth and claws. You turned your back on your true self to embrace ignorance and fear, to the point that even the sight of your own shadow unfurled fills you with horror."
Wherever your shadow falls, death and destruction shall follow.
Tsuzuki shoved Muraki away and rushed to his feet. His shadow was nothing more than a small pool of inky blackness beneath him. He whirled around on the spot once, then a second time, his black trenchcoat flaring about his legs. His shadow exaggerated the swirl of cloth and physical motion, but otherwise mirrored the sudden motion with precision.
He turned on Muraki. "What unfurled shadow are you talking about? My shadow is normal, like anyone else's!"
"Do you want to see what I see?" Muraki stood up and offered his bloodstained fingers again. "Then you must taste a little more. Your body stirs, but your mind still sleeps. Only when your mind is awake will you see--"
Tsuzuki stepped back. "See what? Kagetsu is not my power! And Metal is not my power either! How can I be responsible for that artificial eye of yours? All I can do is...is make plants grow!"
"A fledgling effort - an early manifestation of elemental Wood." Muraki placed his fingers against Tsuzuki's lips. "The fifth element is yours to harness and command, if you would only choose to accept your destiny."
Tsuzuki shook him away. "No! It's just a paranormal ability of some kind - like ESP or telekinesis!" He ignored the prickling sensation along his shoulder blades. "Commanding an element is something only a shikigami can do, and there's no such thing as a Wood shikigami!" He appealed to Genbu for support. "You tell him! Is there any shikigami that commands Wood energy?"
Genbu stared from one man to the other: Tsuzuki's wild desperation, Muraki's zealous determination. "There is no such shikigami..." he slowly intoned.
Tsuzuki felt vindicated. "See, Muraki?"
"...residing in Gensoukai."
"Well, well," Muraki chuckled. "Note the qualifier, Tsuzuki-san. Your God of Wisdom only speaks for those inside Enma's virtual world! What about a shikigami that lives beyond the reaches of Gensoukai?" he demanded of Genbu.
"The world outside is a hostile place for a shikigami. Our names are forgotten, and reverence for our power is derided as superstition." His despondent gaze lingered over Tsuzuki. "No shikigami can survive for long divided from his own kind."
"Genbu...?"
Genbu cleared his throat with a great rumble. "While I am here I must nourish the Earth." With that, he swung around and plodded away.
Stunned, Tsuzuki watched him go. He'd seen his shikigami in the grip of many powerful emotions: rage, triumph, joy, displeasure. But never had he ever seen a shikigami so gloomy...and disappointed.
Worst of all, disappointed in him.
"Wisdom is only useful to one who wishes to be wise," Muraki murmured from behind. "To one who prefers to remain a fool, it must be a great nuisance indeed."
"Go back to your apartment." Tsuzuki wasn't in the mood to trade petty insults any longer. "If you've drained enough spiritual energy from me to create elaborate illusions, you should be able to return home without my help."
"These are more than illusions. These are the memories of your past re-created anew by your subconscious mind. All I did was provide certain visual triggers to facilitate your recall. Everything you experienced came from your mind alone." Muraki frowned when he saw Tsuzuki walking away. "Why aren't you joining me?"
"It's nearly morning, and I have to speak to Genbu--" The ground trembled beneath them. A vicious swing of Genbu's tail, and a rocky hill collapsed into a rubble-strewn plateau. A stamp of his foot, and the earth parted to reveal a new fissure of glowing rocks and hissing steam.
"Before he sets off a volcanic eruption," Muraki finished, walking after him. "Very well. I shall wait for you in my apartment. When you return, we shall feed and have breakfast together."
Tsuzuki stopped in his tracks. "No! We've done it enough times already! No more feeding!" He pointed wildly into the distance. "Go home and get some sleep, you sex maniac!"
"When I pray, you will surely come..." Muraki seized the hand and brought it to his lips. "...for I am yours, and you are mine."
Tsuzuki pulled his hand free, but not before he'd felt the nip of sharp teeth. Without a word, he whirled away after the God of Earth.
"Remember to return my car as well," Muraki called after him. He watched Tsuzuki leave, arms folded, satisfied with his progress.
The cat rubbed its head against his leg. Muraki picked it up in his arms and allowed it to lick the dried blood from his fingers.
"Observe his shadow," Muraki said. "See the way it ripples in his wake - just like that first moonlit night."
"But it ebbs and flows without his knowledge, then freezes into obedience when he looks upon it." The cat lashed its tail impatiently. "Why does it conceal itself from him? Shouldn't it be an exact counterpoint to the glory of the Light?"
"No doubt it follows the timid example set by its master. But never mind. We will take on that task in its place, ne?"
In a flash of white light, the two of them vanished.