Chapter 4: Mundane Revelations
Multiple commercial and residential properties were lost in the last battle. Thankfully, the human causalities were minimal. The assault's scale, though, still caused public confidence in NERV to crater. All these developments had warranted a slide-based presentation in the latest meeting with Command Ikari. Bullet-pointed statistics that detached and sanitized the profound loss to Tokyo-3 and NERV both.
Diabolico's mind, as during the presentation, was more preoccupied with another, more intimate matter: demons. His people. His subordinates. All revived, and now his enemy.
This reality created a serious issue: Diabolico's relationship with these attackers would arouse NERV's suspicion. This would then extend to his allies. Who would then blame him for the increased difficulty in their impossible labor. In short, a pariah among pariahs.
Are Loki and Vypra with them? Diabolico thought, stroking his chin. Damnable Man in White. If I am forced to fight them, I'll–
Someone tapped Diabolico's elbow, interrupting his internal declaration of vengeance. He looked down at his left and was greeted with Ohno's stern glare.
"Diablico-san, are you paying attention?" he said.
What Diabolico was required to pay attention to was an impromptu presentation on how the Nipponese addressing system worked. Every monster, at some point during the prior battle, had suffered navigational issues attempting to discern meaning from the characters and numbers plastered on the buildings and street posts throughout Tokyo-3. Realizing this, Ohno had ordered, in his own words, a "crash course."
Besides Ohno, there were only three other humans left in ANNO. Kumano Kanon, the sole female stood by the room's sole door, arms crossed. Despite having the shortest stature among everyone present, her gaze bespoke a warrior twice her size. From Bluefur's and Goldar's testament, her success in close quarters combat, using electrically conducive daggers, matched that of the most savage demon.
Tanabe Yujiro, ANNO's dedicated sniper, was the exact opposite of Kumano. Where aggression was apparent in Kumano's stature, Tanabe was collected. He sat in the corner, cleaning his disassembled sniper rifle's components with brush, cloth, and oil. On occasion he would break from this duty by readjusting the glasses on the bridge of his nose.
Finally, the presenter himself, Tenryū Katsuya, an amiable lieutenant in ANNO, always had a jovial expression on his face. Even as he went into detail about the Nipponese postal system. Once, though, wasn't enough.
"Alright, let's go over this again," Tenryū said, as if speaking to children. The black tipped writing utensil—a dry-erase marker, as Diabolico overheard—in Tenryū's hand was pressed underneath a seven-digit number string, divided into sets of three and four by a hyphen. Before this numeric sequence was a symbol composed of two parallel horizontal lines, bottom one speared under a perpendicular line. The space in-between was a white void of restrained possibility.
Rito waved his bone hands, as he said, "It's the postal code."
"Correct, Revolto-san." Tenryū pointed at Villamax as the marker went to the next line underneath, composed mostly of characters from the local written language, kanji, with two digits pressed between characters toward the end.
"The first component is the prefecture," Villamax stated confidently. "Next is the ward, followed by the city district."
Tenryū, dry-erase marker held away from his palms, clapped. A small grin graced his lips. "Excellent. Now to test the others."
Goldar growled. He sat beside Rito. Bluefur stood somewhat close to the pair. The foldable chairs, even a tetrad, were unable to support the toxic monster's weight. A boon for the NERV employee in the rubber suit— Ohno referred to it as a "hazmat suit"—responsible for spraying him down.
"Goldar-san. What's the next component?"
Goldar bared his teeth but grunted out a reply. "The city district."
Ignoring the blatant aggression, Tenryū turned to the standing Bluefur. "After that, Tsuchigumo-san?"
Undeterred by the nickname, or even aware of its meaning, Bluefur proclaimed: "House number."
Tenryū 's grin broadened to where his white top incisors showed. "Finally, our friends in the back."
Ecliptor, arms crossed, brooded in the corner close to where Tanabe labored.
"Any day now," Tenryū said with mock annoyance.
The space monster ignored the taunt. Diabolico, tired of this, answered on Ecliptor's behalf. "Sometimes another number may be added, if the building is an apartment."
Tenryū looked at Ecliptor, grin faltering. "Acceptable answer, Diabolico-san."
The review concluded. Ohno told everyone to meet in this same room tomorrow morning at six sharp. The humans and monsters, free until next sunrise, filed out the room, conversation raging among themselves. Goldar and Rito followed Kumano to the dojo for sparring practice. Tenryū and Kanabe departed for the nearest shooting range for target practice. Bluefur decided he wanted an afternoon nap in the dumpster he had taken residence in. The NERV personnel in hazmat suits followed behind, spraying him down as their wristwatches blared. Ecliptor held his tongue as he separated from everyone. Destination unknown. That left Diabolico and Villamax (Ohno had remained in the room). Diabolico told the warrior he would see him again on the morrow, not waiting for a reply.
His destination was the Library of Jedidiah, a repository for varied texts, on level seven. The depth of subject matter made it an excellent faculty to further Diabolico's understanding of humans.
After a few hundred steps, he arrived at the elevator. He pressed the button with the upward pointed arrow symbol. His gaze turned from the now amber button to the elevator doors and back again. A sharp ding signaled an end to the painful wait.
Finally, Diabolico thought, if I wasn't concerned about the consequences, I would teleport to the library entrance.
As he rued his self-imposed limitations, the elevator doors opened. Any conversation among the trio of NERV staff—two females and one male—had died when they noticed the waiting Diabolico. Fear, in its myriad expressions, twisted their faces. They filed out, one by one, bowing quickly and sputtering insincere greetings.
Annoyed, Diabolico grunted out a monotone triumvirate of niceties: thank you, not a problem, and have a nice day. Now he entered the emptied elevator. A quick jab at the seven button, and his ascension commenced.
Diabolico shut his eyes. Several surprised demonic faces haunted him. He had expected to face more Ants, not his own people. He heard his name on their un-uniform lips, a condemnation.
The elevator stopped. Its ding was a call that freed Diabolico's thoughts.
He exited. The Library of Jedidiah was in the level's center—a few minutes' walk. Despite its accommodations, comfortable seating and temperature-control, for example; barely anyone visited it. A blessing, in Diabolico's opinion. Fewer humans he would have to worry about.
The glass door's sight caused Diabolico's black heart to rejoice. A few more steps…
"Diabolico," Villamax called from behind him. The warrior must have run up the stairs.
The demon sorcerer suppressed a sigh. "What do you want?"
"I must speak with you." Villamax strode closer. His controlled, but long strides suggested whatever the topic, the matter was serious.
"What is so urgent?" Diabolico said, suspecting—and fearing—what Villamax might inquire.
At that moment, as if the universe took pity on Diabolico, the Library of Jedidiah's doors whooshed open. Commander Katsuragi, several tomes in her arms, strolled out.
"Hello guys!" Commander Katsuragi said in the Mariner Bay's tongue as she approached them. "You doing well?"
"Fine," Diabolico answered in her native tongue, Nihongo. "I was showing Villamax a few of NERV's facilities."
Villamax stiffened. Lying apparently caused him physical discomfort; good to note.
"Isn't it wonderful? We have two gyms, a dojo, and even a pool hall, I recall." Commander Katsuragi had switched to Nihongo without issue. "There's probably more I'm not remembering, too. Headquarters is massive."
"A truth," Villamax began, speaking Nihongo in a formal tone, "that we are only beginning to appreciate."
Commander Katsuragi nodded and continued: "That's why we have diagrams and maps everywhere. Our staff tends to get lost."
Yet, I have inconvenient meetings regardless, Diabolico thought.
"What are you guys doing later this evening, if you don't mind me asking?"
Peculiar question. "Reading an assortment of texts," Diabolico said then turned to Villamax. "What about you?"
"Blade practice."
"Well," Commander Katsuragi said, "if you don't mind changing plans, Shinji wanted to invite you to dinner."
Initially, Diabolico thought he had misheard. Why would anyone want monsters at a meal? In their own home?
Commander Katsuragi, on her part, waited patiently for a response. Villamax provided one.
"We would be honored." The helmeted monster bowed.
This respectful display flustered Commander Katsuragi. "No need for that!"
"One should always use proper etiquette," Villamax said as he returned to an upright position.
An incredulous look appeared, albeit temporarily, on Commander Katsuragi's face. "Okay…Give me a few seconds here and I'll give you the address."
Shifting the tomes underneath her right arm, she used her now free hands to rummage through her coat pockets. She pulled out a small ringed, rectangular booklet and a black mechanical writing instrument. After a press of the button top that brought out an inked tip, she wrote a few quick lines then tore out the paper sheet it was on.
"Here," Commander Katsuragi said as she presented the information to Villamax. "I also included my cell number. In case you have any other questions."
"Thank you. I will let you know," Villamax said.
"See you guys later!" Commander Katsuragi waved, pen still in hand. Her gaze lingered on Diabolico. Though brief, its intensity was piercing.
They waited a few minutes for her to leave earshot, before resuming.
"Do you actually intend to take her offer?" Diabolico said.
Without hesitation, Villamax said, "Yes. We need as many positive relationships as possible with the humans, especially NERV. Accepting her invitation helps that goal."
Diabolico chuckled. "Never thought you had such guile."
"It's not guile," Villamax said perturbed. "It's courtesy."
Regardless of the intent, the monster was attending that dinner. The more Diabolico thought about it himself, the more sense it made. Their godly benefactor had ordained that the Children—the EVA's pilots—were to be protected while not harming any other humans. Fear, much like what the others displayed in the elevator a short while ago, endangered that commandment. Any attempt to mitigate this, therefore, was advantageous.
"Villamax. What is that address Commander Katsuragi provided?"
Fireor stood at attention. Both his regular hand and arm-blade behind him. His taloned digits stroked the arm-blade's edge. How he wished he was slicing a hapless human. Then…this.
"Are you certain?" That question discomforted Fireor more than any asked prior. Nonetheless, the demonic warrior nodded at the questioner.
"Yes. The Arch-traitor Diabolico assisted the other monsters and humans, impeding our attempts to procure the Children."
A clenched, scaled fist struck the stone table, cracking the impact area. Prince Olympius's patrician features contorted into an aesthetic snarl. "Now he has decided to fight his own people. Disgusting!"
Prince Olympius had uttered that term, "disgusting", several times already. The first few utterances were directed at other demons that had suffered defeat. They were lucky.
"Disgusting?" the Ant Queen Amazon guffawed. "What's disgusting is how many of my subjects fell before your traitor."
The Amazons' leadership sat on the opposite side of the table from Prince Olympius. The Ant Queen, who referred to herself, as Joou, was in the middle. On one side was the Crab Amazon, Kani, their faction's chief logistician. On the other, croaking softly was the Toad Amazon, Hikigaeru, the Amazons' spiritual leader and proselytizer.
Their chosen names, despite their race's diet and ferocity, were lackluster.
"You lost a few dozen grunts. We lose Implings like that every battle," Prince Olympius said, waving his hand dismissively. "Not like they have any personality to begin with."
Joou began to rise, only for Kani's claw to force her down.
"That is not the point, your majesty," Kani stated. The scarlet mandibles that were his mouth conveyed no emotion. The intense gaze from his jade eyes compensated, though. "Every monster—regardless to their rank—plays an important role in the Grand Scheme. Ants and Implings deserve respect for their sacrifices that contribute to it."
Hikigaeru seconded that assertion, offering praise to the Typhon, the Amazons' god and savior. Prince Olympius, an ever evil and proud son, worshipped Queen Bansheera. The sneer he gave was disparagement of this idol, whose followers had the audacity to assert stood above demonkind's matriarch. If superior numbers—and the agreement to revive their queen—were not debilitating factors, then every demon in this human-infested city would slaughter these pompous aberrations.
Joou turned her insectile gaze upon the standing monsters. She licked her lips as if catching juicy pray. "To return to the topic at hand. How did this Diabolico swoop in and fly away with the child?"
Prince Olympius redirected his ire. "Yes. How was that possible, Fireor and Freezard? An entire Impling platoon supported you."
Fireor rubbed his arm-blade. His next words meant life or death. Thankfully, someone else interceded.
"The traitor," Chillyfish said, voice reverbing as if traveling through ocean waves, "had assistance from two others. The big blue simian and the knight-errant. The former pummeled the Implings while the latter occupied these two."
"And you?" Prince Olympius leaned on the table. Ivory lips pursed. "Where were you?"
The Amazon representatives waited intently. All this led Fireor to rub his arm-blade more. His talon-like nails scratched against the metal, creating a low, sharp ring. Freezard beside him risked a small tap of the foot. Fireor ceased his fidgeting.
"I was chasing after the simian, as these two, and others, have corroborated. When I arrived, the knight-errant and the simian had capitalized upon the shock. The child was already in flight with this Diabolico. Noting this, I proceeded to join the ground-based fighting, where my intercession was most effective."
Chillyfish was calm and cool in his explanation, like half his name.
Joou, her large pink lips in a predatory grin, raised a segmented index finger. "By join, do you mean saving these two's sorry hides?"
Hikigaeru croaked out a cough, while Kani rested his claws atop one another on the table. Prince Olympius glowered even more. Great responses to clear provocation.
Chillyfish was unperturbed. "Freezard and Fireror had the knight-errant cornered, if the simian had not intervened before the arch-traitor had, then the child would now wriggle in our vile grasp." He motioned at Fireor and Freezard. "In that scenario, these two would receive your praises and not your ire."
The glow, precursor to eye beams, died in Prince Olympius's orbs. Fireor blinked. Death was averted. For now.
"Any more questions?" Kani said, claw tips tapping the table softly. His jade eyes looked over those present. "No questions? In that case, let's adjourn."
"Agreed," Joou said, disappointment apparent. Predators never liked watching escaped prey.
Prince Olympius nodded, glaring at Joou. Hikigaeru, whether aware of this tension, or ignorant of it, proceeded to conclude the inquisition with a prayer to Typhon. Webbed hands led claws and segmented appendages in rising. The others remained silent as the Amazons praised their deity. Fireor gazed at the relief on the table. The sculpted scene was a prominent, six-armed monster with spikes and tendrils, whose hands reached out, in all directions, to slavish monsters begging for aid. Part of this marble throng was smitten by Prince Olympius's own fist. The Typhon was so close to his followers, but unable to save them from others' wrath.
Once the inquisition concluded, Prince Olympius rushed them out with a clawed index finger jabbed at the door. Outside the meeting room, Fireor relaxed. His body returned to a neutral position. Freezard went down on scaled knees beside him, mumbled thanks to Queen Bansheera. Chillyfish, amber eyes staring out from the lappets dangling from his hat-like head, nodded at the relieved demons, walking away without another word.
A sigh escaped from Fireor's mouth slits. Chuckling from behind interrupted his joy at survival. He turned around. Body hunched over and covered with arm-length quills, Yamarash's muzzle was split in a malicious grin. His beady red eyes were hungry and, if rumors were true, he enjoyed monster flesh as much as human…
The Gatekeeper, standing on the right-hand side of the meeting room's door, opposite of the Porcupine Amazon, pointed his staff at Yamarash. The blue left side of his body was a mesh of twisted flesh, with the pauldron a snarling monster with cavity-yellow horn, eyes, and teeth. The right side was ivory armor with gold flourishes at the plates' edge; a large ruby inlaid in the pauldron. His helm was curved, blue and white halves like the rest of his body. In a depression of the helm's forehead was a smaller ruby.
"Cease your perverse intimidation," the Gatekeeper said, his bass voice reverberating with demonic contempt. Several lengths of linked chains and multi-colored beads hung freely from his staff's top. When he turned the weapon towards Fireror and Freezard, all the loose ornaments spilled down in a clanging cascade, metal devil horns only a middle fingers length from the former's breast. "You two. Act like proper demons. Do not shame Queen Bansheera."
That evocation delivered the desired results. Freezard rose like a coiled serpent striking. His hood flayed out and his snout opened, permitting his forked tongue to flicker, cold venom dripping from his fangs. Fireor followed suit, standing straighter and laying his arm-blade at his chest.
Yamarash found this even funnier. He chuckled; levity devoid of mirth. The quills over his body stood in readiness.
Creaking chairs and palms hitting the table behind the door halted any conflict. Fireor shared a disappointed glance with Freezard. Yamarash's sadistic grin disappeared.
"Another time, fellas," the Porcupine Amazon whispered in disappointment, quills flaccid.
Final threat made (one that sent an uncharacteristic shiver up Fireor's spine), Fireor and Freezard went to the end of the hall opposite to the one Chillyfish took. The duo were halfway to the staircase on that end when the doors flew open and the Amazon representatives stepped out.
Fireor noted how the Gatekeeper's gaze never truly left Yamarash. Joou marched past Hikigaru and Kani, who talked with the guards. Prince Olympius appeared, and Fireor looked away.
Fireor and Freezard turned into the stairwell at the hall's end. They proceeded halfway down, exiting on to the fourth floor. Immediately, a stillness in the air like a freshly opened grave suffocated them. No Implings, or Amazons, dared to tread this floor. For good reason.
Those demons with more arcane interests had turned the fourth floor into a magical laboratory. Their experiments were operated in secret. Rumors ran rampant. Most popular was the one where monsters were dragged inside rune-inscribed rooms and used as a transmogrification base for silver and gold. Neither Fireor and Freezard paid serious credence to such speculation, but caution was always prudent.
The first hall was short, four rooms on either side. Appearances were much the same as anywhere in the building: drab and mundane. This changed when they turned right at the end.
Windows on the left and about a score of rooms on the right, the corridor was an umbilical from one stunted hall to the other. A connection mired in animal and human blood, desecrated symbols, and Queen Bansheera statuary.
"Feels like our old tomb," Freezard said, emotion creeping into his reptilian cadence.
"Aye." Fireor noted that several doors down, blue smoke seeped out from the bottom clearance. "Haze and all."
The demon duo kept close to the windows—and to each other. Their bodily weapons and elemental attacks, in tandem, were equal to any sorcery.
Three quarters of the way, a door partially opened. A bloody five fingered hand poked out, grasping the bottom frame. Sinister laughter boomed from the opening. Thorny vines wrapped around the appendage, then pulled the owner back screaming. The closest Queen Bansheera statue, stone gaze turned downwards left, had witnessed this terrible act with a sculpted fanged smile. Rubies inlaid as eyes shone with malicious pleasure.
Falkar's handiwork, Fieror thought. If he put half the effort he does in his artistry into actual battle, then all our problems would be solved.
There were no more side incidents the rest of the way down the corridor. The only noise was their soft footfalls, the Queen Bansheera statues ever watching.
They turned at the right-hand corner. The hall was the same in length and room number as the first, but that's where the similarities ended.
The artificial lights in the ceiling were out. Shadows engulfed the hall's back end, a narrow realm of darkness. The only being that dared to inhabit this place boarded himself in the last room on the left.
"You think he knows we're here?" Freezard asked anxious.
"He may or may not. Regardless—" Fireror willed orange flames to life over his arm-blade. "—he'll discover the consequences, if he tries anything funny."
Now with their own lighting, the demonic duo dared to breach the darkness. Glass crunched under their feet, crackling evidence of why there was no lighting.
When they reached the last door on the left, before Freezard even attempted to turn the nob, it opened.
"Enter." A low, raspy voice commanded.
They marched in. All the artificial lights were destroyed like those in the hall. Fireor's arm-blade flames illuminated a demolished wooden table and upholstered chair placed in the room's center, a large pot atop the makeshift kindling. Heavier at the top than the bottom, with stenciled azure human figures engaged in farming and fishing all around its sides, the ill-proportioned receptacle drew the eye. A viridescent light glowed from its top.
A narrow face, emaciated and skeletal, emerged from the shadows. The pot's glow enhanced the menace in his scarlet eyes. Bone hands, fingers tipped with talon-like vermillion nails, gripped the receptacle's sides, an azure human's throat was caught against the weaponized unguis.
"Fireor. Freezard. Welcome!" Ghoular's voice, despite the pleasant words, crackled and rasped softly like old parchment one careless touch away from disintegrating.
"Up to the same tricks, I see," Fireor said, keeping his arm-blade flames alive.
"Tricks? Tricks?!" Ghoular laughed, the bandages wrapped around his arms fluttering with every movement. "What am I? A street magician?"
"You have a cape like one," Freezard said. A careless statement that earned a nasty glare from both Fireor and Ghoular. The latter's faux jovialness returned, though.
"I do!" Ghoular leaned over the glowing pot, hands leaving the sides briefly to pat at his pointed, conical royal blue hood. The gold orbs inlaid distorted Fireor's and Freezard's reflections.
The laughter stopped. "Now to business, fellow Bansheerans." Ghoular's childish glee had changed to deadly seriousness.
Fireor tapped Freezard's right elbow. On cue, the serpentine demon turned his head back, neck frills splayed out, and began to gag. Thick saliva strands flowed from his mouth corners, a round shape bulged in his throat. Ghoular watched with concerned intensity.
A few more minutes passed and Freezard chucked up the item stored in his secondary stomach. Enwrapped in intestinal fluids, saliva, and venom, the head was disgusting. Black hair matted and features shrunken from inert ingestion, the human owner's identity was lost.
The nymphic laughter from Ghoular returned. He skipped around the pot, bending down to pick up the head. Ghoular brought it to eye-level, ignoring the vile liquid it was drenched in. His mouth opened wide with an audible crack—a mummy's smile.
"What a fine specimen. A fine specimen indeed! Where did you acquire it?" Ghoular inquired, staring into the head's dead eyes.
"A human that worked for NERV," Freezard said, moving his jaw up and down to work out tension. "Thought those cheap excuses for Rescue Blasters could hurt a demon."
Ghoular turned the head in his hand around. "Proved them wrong!" The shocked expression on the head's face concurred.
Unceremoniously, Ghoular turned around and dunked the cranium in the pot. There was no plunk that indicated some brew inside. There was no sound made at all.
Ghoular resumed his original position around the pot. "The usual," he said.
Fireor and Freezard nodded. In response, Ghoular's wrapped bone hands shifted to the pot's top, hovering above it in repeated motions—a tattoo in the air. A bright, etheric light burst from the opening in the pot.
"My eyes!" Freezard stated for the pair.
The otherworldly illumination eventually ebbed away. Fireror's vision returned in proportion to this recession. Once completely gone, the demon saw Ghoular presenting a deck of cards in his palms—an arms-length away.
Fireor and Freezard both jumped back, adopting fighting stances. This earned a singular chuckle from Ghoular.
"If I wanted to harm either of you, I could have done so already," Ghoular stated matter-of-factly.
"What do you want in return?" Fireor asked, grabbing the upper half of the deck. The cards' backs were in the decreed Bansheeran style: A black diamond in the center filled most of the space with a gold slitted eye with Batling wings. In circles at the diamond's points were alchemical symbols. What the shape failed to engulf was divided into colored quarters with brown and yellow towards the top, and red and blue at the bottom.
"More specimens like the one you brought me," Ghoular said, still serious.
Fireor nodded. "You'll recieve plenty in the coming weeks."
Ghoular's vermillion eyes beamed. "Excellent. Now—" He clapped his hands. "Say hello to Whirlin, if you see him this evening."
When the claps stopped, Fireor and Freezard were transported from Ghoular's personal chamber-office to a back alley. Pedestrian chatter and automobile horns blared.
"I hate it when he does that," Freezard hissed.
"What do you expect?" Fireor said, turning around to see if any humans had witnessed their sudden materialization. "He isolates himself, only interacting with others in a mercantile manner. Social etiquette is not a strength that grows from such a personality."
"Still…" Freezard displayed his fangs. "Give a fellow Bansheeran warning when you're about to teleport them. Especially if the destination is a non-disclosed location in a human-infested city!"
Fireor nodded. No one had seen them, so far. The alley's unkempt state and plentiful, wild calligraphy splayed along the walls meant they were in Yumoto district. Perfect, fewer steps.
"Let's use these before someone screams 'monster'!" Fireor raised half the glamor cards and tapped his sole index and middle fingers against the back.
"Lucky you," Freezard snarled. "We paid for a full deck, but only got half. I swear, when I see Ghoular next, I'll—"
The cool threat ended as Freezard lifted up his clawed hands. Held between the lethal ungues was the other half of the deck. When Freezard realized what was within his literal grasp, his jaw hung open.
"Street magician. Right?" Fireor said, failing to suppress a chuckle.
Freezard closed his jaws to quiet an angered hiss. That caused Fieror's chuckles to devolve into laughter.
"Give me those damnable cards!" Freezard separated one card from his set. The remainder was swallowed, stored in his secondary stomach.
Mana focused; their respective cards glowed until the light engulfed them. When it subsided, two humans stood where demons had.
"Thank Bansheera! We look the same," Freezard said.
"Same," in this context, meant that the glamour had disguised them in the exact same guises as before. This advantageous development saved them from renewing relationships with their contacts.
"Let's go," Fireor said, pointing with his right hand—or his arm-blade in actuality—to a sharp left turn.
What sky was visible past the valley formed from the buildings' tops had turned a dark red: twilight. Streetlamps were already alit. In the next few minutes, when the sun set, neon lights that adorned every available space in this part of the city would turn on. A fluorescent rainbow in the night that drew residents to vices. Fireor and Freezard had separate appointments at the same establishment.
The two walked leisurely. The humans around them fell mostly into two categories: clients in casual or business wear, or those in more provocative dress. A few that fit the latter designation stopped them to solicit "hostess" or "massage" services. Acting the role, Fireor and Freezard listened to these offers, then declined them with a polite bow.
Eventually, they reached their destination in Yumoto's heart: Chiisana Kabukichō. A garnished building that combined modern humans' concrete and steel engineering with thatched roofing that harked to past architectural styles. The establishment's front signage, surrounded with string lights that enfolded the business' exterior, was a black rectangle with white calligraphy painted across it. The characters' curves were emphasized in the brush strokes, contrasting with the more functional style used in other parts of Tokyo-3.
Fireor and Freezard entered. The inside had a hardwood floored lobby that had conventional furniture surrounding a small table in the center with a check-in desk off to the left. Towards the lobby's back, ascending under a blanket of patterned red and pink carpet, the stairs branched off to the left and right to the employee's work quarters. A professional veneer for an illegal product.
Familiar with Chiisana Kabukichō's protocol, Fireor and Freezard went over to the check-in desk. The manager, as in all their prior visits, was handling the appointments and walk-ins.
"Good evening, gentlemen," the manager said, bowing as they approached. Her rose balm lips were pulled up into a soft smile, after she exited the bent posture. "How may I help you?"
Freezard started first, telling her the "appointment" he had with a particular employee. The manager consulted her guest book. She flipped through the pages, barely pulling the paper. Her search was almost a silent one. Her hands stopped. A manicured fingernail scrolled down the lines of typography, stopping halfway down the right-hand page.
"There you are, Chida-san," the manager said, producing a key with a laminated tag that had a room number. "Please enjoy your stay."
Freezard—known as Chida in his disguise—bowed in thanks. He shared a glance with Fireor before heading up the stairs. Fireor repeated the same process, eventually earning a key himself. By the time he had finished, the lobby was filling with other customers. Always good to be ahead of the horde.
His destination was on the fifth floor, twenty-third room. Every wooden door had the room number in numerals and native characters. Each one was polished to the point where it was reflective. Fireror paused to check his disguise. The face was square-jawed and clean shaven with close-cut black hair. Powerful muscles were noticeable beneath the three-piece suit. This glamour had a warrior's physique.
Minutes later, Fireor arrived at the twenty-third room. Obeying the prescribed etiquette, Fireor knocked with his now human-looking flesh hand. Several seconds after lowering the appendage, the door swung open.
"Bob-san!" greeted Shiina Asami. She wore white shorts with two small red triangles made from red cloth, held close to her chest by several strings tied together on her back. "Please come inside."
Shiina grabbed Fireor's left hand and dragged him inside. The room, despite its small dimensions, had a desk in the far-right corner beside the windows that looked out at the street. A bed, queen-sized as Shiina had told him during their first meeting, was pushed, headboard first, against the right wall. Scarlet pillows and sheets adorned the mattress.
She guided him to the bed's edge, where they sat down. "How was work today?" Shiina asked.
Fireor thought a moment on his response then said, "Not that good. Almost closed the deal, but another company secured the contract."
Shiina covered her mouth with the palms of her hands. "How did the executives react?"
"As well as you would expect."
She moved her hands down, fingertips at her chin. "They blamed you and your co-workers."
Damn, was Shiina astute. "Yeah," Fireor said, "but we still kept our jobs."
"That's good," she said, smiling. The expression showed her slightly crooked front teeth—an attribute Fireor liked—for some unfathomable reason… "Do you want to do the usual?"
Fireor nodded in consent.
Shiina leaped from her seated position over to the stand with the television facing the bed. The box-shaped entertainment object was cumbersome with twin metal antenna (rabbit ears, as Shiina referred to them) sticking out from the top. Its remote, in contrast, was a rather thin device with over-sized gray buttons.
In one fluid motion that would have proven deadly if Shiina held a blade instead of a light plastic brick, she jumped away from the television stand and sat back down on the bed's edge, pressing the "ON" button on the remote.
The screen exploded with colored picture. An older human male with short gray hair and large glasses sat behind a posh wooden desk. Despite the camera's focus on him, his eyes were cast down, reading from papers grasped in his liver-spotted and wrinkled hands.
"City is going to Hell," Shiina said, a drawn-out expression etched across her face. "It's like the first few years after Second Impact."
Fireor shifted his weight around on the bed. "How was your work today?"
Shiina smiled impishly. "You won't believe what Chiba-san wanted today."
Chiba Nobu was a Level-3 engineer for NERV. Due to his position, he was privy to sensitive information including his organization's martial assets. He was also a discrete drunkard with licentious tendencies. A shared trait with a dozen or so other NERV staff that patroned Chiisana Kabukichō. Information, much like the term "massage", was a porous commodity in this love hotel. Whatever in Queen Bansheera's name a love hotel was!
"I'm all ears, Shiina-san," Fireor said, his glamour simulating a human smile. "And please, go into detail."
Katsuragi's apartment was a mess. Boxes were stacked everywhere. Clothes and other personal objects were strewn all over the floor. Garbage bags sat in random heaps of three and four. From the lack of flies swarming about, Diabolico assumed those contained more personal paraphernalia rather than decomposing waste.
"Just don't stand there, guys," Commander Katsuragi said, in the Mariner Bay tongue, scooting some boxes out of the way to make a traversable path deeper into the abode. "Come in. Make yourselves at home."
Diabolico and Villamax looked at each other. This was their last opportunity to abandon this dinner—whatever that would entail, considering the setting.
"Shinji-san," Commander Katsuragi called in Japanese to deeper within the apartment. "Our guests are here!"
"Already?" the Third Child cried from further in. "I just put on the miso!"
Commander Katsuragi spun about—a feat considering the floorspace deficit—her violet ponytail whipping around behind her. "Shinji has spent the last hour preparing dinner. He's really worked hard on this."
Despite their misgivings, Diabolico and Villamax dared to enter with the latter closing the door behind them. Escape was no longer an option.
The pair shuffled their feet around as they attempted to move deeper into the apartment. Commander Katsuragi navigated around the domestic impediments with a hawk's grace. She was down the corridor while Diabolico and Villamax were only steps from the entrance.
"Kitchen's this way," Commander Katsuragi said, smiling. She walked through an ingress on the right-side of the corridor, leaving struggling Diabolico and Villamax to catch up.
Several seconds later, Diabolico and Villamax passed through the ingress themselves. The kitchen floor was emancipated from the trashiness that had polluted the domicile's entranceway. At a wooden table off in the left corner, close to cabinets, sat Commander Katsuragi. She opened a brown label-covered can and began to drink.
At the stovetop and the ovens off to a corner in the left, Shinji finished dinner. A few pans with various ingredients simmered. The boy paid these dishes minimum attention. He focused on stirring the contents of a round pot.
"Come on guys," Command Katsuragi said after setting her drink down. "Take a load off."
That phrase, "take a load off", meant sitting down at the table. Diabolico and Villamax obeyed their hostess' command. Both sat on the side opposite the Commander with Diabolico across from her. The chairs were tiny compared to their larger frames.
"What would you like to drink?" Commander Katsuragi said leaning back in her chair.
"Do you have any wine, Commander Katsuragi?" Diabolico asked. He had not had any since before the demon's war against Mariner Bay's first human settlers, the Phoenicians.
She sighed. "Unfortunately, my salary doesn't afford me Italian vintages. Would cheap beer or sake do?"
Diabolico, suspecting a slight jab at his social class, decided to play. "I would love some sake. Whatever variety falls in the lowest denominator the better."
The two shared mischievous smiles. "Alright," Commander Katsuragi said. "What would you like, Villamax?"
"Thank you, but I am not thirsty at the moment."
She raised a finger. "You can just call me Misato. No need for rank, or honorifics."
Commander Katsuragi shrugged her shoulders. She rose from her seat and walked over to the ugly green, coffin-sized appliance beside the counter. There were two handles, one short at the top and one long at the bottom. These sizes corresponded to the dimensions of the doors they opened. She opened the larger one.
Soon a transparent green bottle appeared In Commander Katsuragi's hands at an angle, held like a relic. What Diabolico presumed was sake, flowed towards the corked top. A parchment-brown label wrapped around the bottle's bottom. The larger symbols, as far as Diabolico's innate multilingualism permitted, read as, "Okuden Kantsukuri"—Mirror of Truth. The appliance's door closed with a woosh.
"Give me a few more moments. I have to grab a few ochoko's," Misato said after setting the sake bottle on the table.
"Excuse me, Misato-san. Do you mind grabbing some bowls as well?" Shinji requested this without turning away from his cooking.
"Sure thing!"
As Misato rummaged in the bottom cabinets where Shinji labored, Diabolico looked behind him at the rest of the dining room. There was another sliding door that led to an adjacent room. Close to that, pushed into the corner, loomed an olive-shaded appliance.
The sliding door opened. Steam poured out, and a diminutive figure emerged. A wing ending in three claws grasped a pink wash cloth draped around its neck-like fingers. Claws on its webbed feet lightly tapped the wooden floor, as it waddled out. Its jade eyes met Diabolico's gaze.
"That's Pen Pen," Misato said as she returned to the table with small palm-sized saucers. "He's a penguin."
"Fascinating," Villamax said. "Based on his anatomy, is his species native to arctic biomes?"
"Kind of…"
As Misato and Villamax discussed "Pen Pen's" pedigree, Diabolico stared at the bird. The metal backpack he wore had an elytra-like pouch and a tag around the collar bone. His name was prominently etched with "BX293A", in small font, above it. Does that mean Misato used him as a sumpter animal?
Mariner Bay, much like everywhere on the old world, had birds that flew and sang. The only species Diabolico had personally observed that had webbed feet like—if he overheard Misato correctly—this Fiordland Penguin, were the falcated ducks that swam around the park ponds. None were this big, though!
Pen Pen, no longer interested in the humans and monsters, shook his head, strewing water droplets off his head crests. After a few brief rubs from the hand towel, the Fiordland Penguin walked over to the appliance. He pressed a button on the panel with a claw. The square green bulb lit as the door slid open.
Unable to view the insides due to his seated position, Diabolico only guessed at the contents. Regardless, Pen Pen gave him a side-long glance. The sole beady eye visible to the demon squinted, annoyance clear on his beaked visage.
Misato, whose explanation barely registered to Diablico, explained that Pen Pen gave that all too human expression to first time visitors. She made a joke comparing the bird to a guard dog.
All this rang hollow as Diabolico watched Pen Pen enter the appliance, door shutting behind him.
What other strangeness awaits discovery? Diabolico thought.
That was a question better left to another presentation at NERV HQ.
Ceramics clanged against the wooden table, drawing Diabolico's attention from Pen Pen's "room". Shinji, one hand in a mitt, passed out several bowls apiece to every individual at the table. In the following minutes, the boy filled the dishes with steaming food and set the round pot in the center with a ladle beside it.
Labor done; Shinji sat down beside Misato with a satisfied look. This child was different from the one that complained profusely in Diabolico's grasp as he flew him to safety. Ryan, his former apprentice and ward, seldom had such varying emotional states. The punishments encouraged a disciplined personality.
The meal was flavorful. Pickled vegetable roots with an acidic flavor from the fermenting ingredient. Grilled fish that was savory with every bite. There were also the prepared crunchy carcasses of scarlet, long-antennae crustaceans. Flavorless white rice provided a supporting granular texture that completed the culinary ensemble.
Everyone partook in this feast—except one.
"What's wrong, Villamax-san?" Shinji said, putting down his bowl. "Is the food not to your liking?"
Villamax, whose chopsticks merely hovered over a dish of grilled fish, turned his head away and said, "I don't really consume food."
Diabolico and Shinji shared the same quizzical expression. Misato placed her wooden utensils down after a crunchy bite of crustacean, and said, "How do you nourish yourself then?"
"My body is covered in photosynthetic cells. Thousands of nano-scaled wires use the solar energy collected to stimulate my muscles and nerves. My boots are also designed to generate internal power with every footstep. My heart and lungs are kept functioning with a faux-Power Crystal installed into my chest cavity. Also…"
This continued another several minutes—a full treatise on Villamax's technologically enhanced physiology. At the conclusion, Shinji's mouth was agape. Diabolico's mind raced, attempting to understand half the alchemy and sorcery that sustained his ally. Misato merely sipped sake.
"You're an alien cyborg if I ever heard one," she said after placing the sake saucer down.
Villamax chuckled. "Balbanite Technomancers know their craft."
He placed his chopsticks down, pushed his chair out and stood. "My apologies, though. I know that leaving unfinished food goes against this nation's basic etiquette—but I did not wish to offend young Shinji through spurning his culinary efforts."
Misato spoke before Shinji uttered a syllable. "That's alright. Whatever you don't eat, we'll save as leftovers." She smiled at Shinji. "Right?"
Shinji appeared mortified at this notion. He prepared to protest, but after looking around the room, sighed instead.
"Leftovers are fine."
Misato smiled triumphantly. "Now that's settled, on to more important business. Diabolico, what's your story."
The demon almost choked, caught off-guard. After assuring himself that he wouldn't suffocate on rice grains, he spoke. "Why do you ask?"
"Well, Villamax went into such detail about himself that I think it's only fair that everyone does the same." Misato propped her left elbow on the table and rested her chin on the back of her hand. "Don't you agree?"
Their interrogations are different as well, Diabolico thought. "Certainly, but before I do, may we hear a little of your story?"
"Shy, are we?"
Diabolico smiled now. "Only striving towards fairness."
"Screwed myself there," Misato said to herself as much to the others at the table. "Alright. Where to start…?"
"Perhaps with how you were employed by NERV?" Villamax suggested.
"Now that's a story." Misato leaned back in her chair. "It began while I was an undergrad at Shinshu University's Agriculture department in Tokyo-2. One of my extracurriculars was a Comparative Religion class. Whole lot of fun, especially the unit we covered on Christianity. That's how I met Ritsuko. We were placed together on a group project involving the Old Testament."
Diabolico, based on this information, already suspected where the tale was heading. He remained silent, though, and let Villamax speak.
"I assume Dr. Akagi already had a connection to NERV?"
Misato nodded. "Her mother was the chief scientist for Gehrin, NERV's predecessor. Guess who was in-charge even then?"
"Commander Ikari?"
"Yep. So, considering how Ritsuko's mom was a favored subordinate of the boss himself…well you don't need me to spell it out."
Nepotism. How demonic.
"Misato-san?" Shinji chimed in.
"Yes?"
"Your major was Agriculture. How were you qualified?"
Diabolico noted a sweat bead rolling down Misato's face, at least the side not visible to Shinji. "Let's just say some acquired specialties and previous work experience made my resume standout."
The vagueness in her response suggested more was involved, including Pen Pen. Shinji attempted to push the subject further.
"Look at the time," Misato said, staring down at her bare right wrist. "It's a school night. Time for bed, Shinji."
An incredulous look appeared on Shinji's face. "Tomorrow is Sunday."
"We're going to tour the city tomorrow. Plenty of locales to visit, so we need to wake up early."
Shinji began to protest, but Diabolico interjected. "Shinji. Listen to her."
Disappointed, but obedient, he pivoted subjects. "The dishes need to be cleaned."
"Oh, don't worry about them. I'll clean them before hitting the hay myself," Misato said, waving her hand in a playful, yet dismissive manner.
Shinji's expression suggested he wasn't reassured. Regardless, he must have realized that he wasn't receiving any more answers tonight, because he got out his seat and bowed and thanked them for joining dinner. After some brief reciprocal thanks from the monsters, the boy exited the room from the screen doors only a few feet away.
They remained seated, listening to Shinji's footsteps. Half-an hour must have passed before he was asleep proper. As a precaution, though, they waited several more minutes.
"You guys want to check out the veranda?" Misato asked, rising before either Diabolico or Villamax replied.
The monster pair, shrugging their shoulders, followed her through the same screen doors that Shinji had left from. Misato with her long strides was already halfway across the living room. Despite rushing behind in her wake, Diabolico noted a few furnishings in the space. A television set was in the far-right corner with a side board pushed against the right wall close to the appliance. In the center was a short-legged table.
No chairs, Diabolico thought. Do they simply sit? If so, why does their dining area have them?
Misato pulled the handle of the glass door on the right. Warm night air blew in from the opening. Running automobile engines were carried on the wind like chirping mechanical locusts. In apartment complexes across from the one they were currently in, lights beamed, blotting out the stars.
Diabolico and Villamax followed Misato onto the veranda. There were potted plants on both ends. An armless lounge chair with horizontal blue-and-white-bar-patterned upholstery was angled where the sitter's feet would point to the brick knee wall. A cheap, white plastic table, same height as the lounge chair, was only an arm's length away.
Misato leaned back, slightly left of center, against the knee wall. "Lovely night."
Diabolico nodded. "Lively, too."
"Most cities, if free from war and strife, bustle when the sun goes down," Villamax stated.
Diabolico had never spent time inside a city without destruction. Seldom had peaceful relations with humans either. What a literal lifetime changes…
Misato's apartment, situated almost at the complex's top, commanded an excellent view of the surrounding cityscape. The streetlights illuminated a discrepancy that Diabolico hadn't noticed before.
"The buildings in this city are either clumped together or spread far apart."
Misato nodded in the artificial twilight. "Intentional design choice. Tokyo-3 was built in clusters to repel Angels."
"That's not what I heard," Villamax said, leaning over the knee wall himself to observe the neighboring structures. "Tokyo-3 is meant as this nation's new capital."
A laugh, condescending almost, burst from Misato. It was the first time Diabolico had heard such intonations from the commander.
"That's the 'official' story told to the public," Misato said after her laughter had ebbed. "Reality is, if the Diet ever recognized it, that all Tokyo-3—" She spread her arms out, as if embracing the whole city. "—is a fortress disguised as a metropolis."
Diabolico processed this revelation. He noticed how few lights were actually burning in the surrounding cityscape. That explained another irregularity: why so few humans, civilians as NERV described them, were harmed in the last battle.
"Is that why the population is low?" he dared to ask.
Misato nodded. "I would say roughly forty percent of Tokyo-3's residents are NERV employees and their families. Rest are hopefuls that moved here expecting better opportunities."
"Wouldn't the Angels deter residency?"
"Pre-Second Impact? Yeah. But considering the environmental degradation since, people are willing. You can't blame them either. Hakone, what Tokyo-3 was called years ago, suffered the least. There's still fresh ground water!"
"NERV is preying on the destitute." Villamax's gloved hands flexed audibly. Anger had crept into his noble posture. "Does Commander Ikari not care about the deaths?"
Misato paused a moment, then: "More so than the JSDF, but that's not much difference."
"Is this a large-scale ploy to entrap the Angels?" Diabolico rubbed his chin. "Or is this a farce for every other human watching this play?"
"Good questions." Misato sighed. "Unfortunately, I don't have the security clearance to answer them."
Discussion ceased a few minutes. The whoosh of passing cars on the streets below prevented silence from settling. Two shadowy figures in the far distance, mere inkblots from where they stood, embraced in an illuminated window, oblivious to the political machinations and otherworldly struggles outside each other.
"Why are you here?" Misato asked.
Diabolico started to provide some excuse, but Misato's shadowed stare killed that.
"I shared sensitive information, so I expect reciprocation," she said.
Villamax, ever honorable, answered her. "We are fulfilling a contract."
Misato arched a violet eyebrow. "A contract?" she said in a whisper.
"'Protect the Children from harm. Don't harm humans in turn.' Follow those two stipulations and we have our deceased companions resurrected."
Resurrection was a difficult reality for humans, who seemingly lived in only one iteration, to comprehend, let alone accept. The skepticism in Misato's eyes attested to that.
"That's what someone—or something—promised to you guys? Is that why Bluefur and Goldar haven't had the temper tantrum they appear on the verge of starting?"
Diabolico laughed despite himself. Her description conjured a vision in his head of Bluefur and Goldar as diminutive children, fighting over a beetle rolling a dung ball.
"I'll take that as a yes." Misato turned her gaze back towards the living room. "If I accept your story at face value, what's in it for this higher power to protect random kids."
A misdirect at the end. The Children were the EVA pilots, a fact the Man in White was well aware of. Important question was why the interest in protecting them?
"That's what we are trying to figure out among ourselves," Diabolico finally said. "We don't have the clearance on that ourselves."
Misato shook her head in mock disdain, then said: "My apartment is bugged."
"Your domicile has an infestation?" Diabolico said, surprised. Perhaps the garbage bags had contained food waste.
"Not those kinds of bugs! I'm talking hidden cameras and microphones. Recording equipment that catches everything that happens in those walls."
Diabolico's mouth dropped. How much had NERV overheard?
"I'm assuming that's why you brought us out here." Villamax lowered his tone, adopting out-of-character conspiratorial tones. "To speak honestly between us without eavesdroppers."
"Bingo," Misato said in a similar hushed voice.
"Does Commander Ikari suspect you are disloyal?"
Misato grimaced. "He doesn't trust anyone except Deputy Commander Fuyutsuki."
Diabolico stifled a groan. Great, he thought, another personage on NERV's hierarchy.
"If your privacy is as compromised as you say," Villamax continued, while gesturing to Misato's apartment, "why risk this."
Misato scooched closer to them. Her right elbow perched on the knee wall with right hand next to her mouth, hiding her lips from anyone possibly watching from outside the apartment complex. "I know for a fact the veranda isn't bugged. I combed it over before you guys arrived. That said, I suspect I'm going to find a miniature camera recording me sunbathing in the next few days.
"Now if my boss doesn't trust me. What does that mean for your tokusatsu troop that rescued his own son out of thin air?"
Those words weighed heavily in Diabolico's thoughts. Their quest, and the quest giver, had sent them straight into the gloved hands of a paranoid tyrant. Honestly, warring with his own race was easier.
"What happens now?" Villamax asked.
"This conversation is off the record, and we won't have another one like it," Misato said. "After the higher-ups realize that I had dinner with our 'contract workers', they will heighten their surveillance on us."
Diabolico aired a final question. "How do we earn NERV's trust?"
Villamax turned to Diabolico. His body language communicated clear surprise at Diabolico's directness. Misato had no such shock.
"You will never earn Commander Ikari's trust, but he's not NERV's entirety. There are multiple divisions with their own leadership. Cultivate trust with them and it will make your lives easier."
Last bit of advice provided; Misato leapt from her position twice until reaching the entryway. "Thanks for visiting! Hope that you will join us again!" Her typical smile was shadowed like an eclipse, lending a sinister aspect to her farewell.
Before either monster replied, Misato stepped into the living room and slid the glass door behind her. A few seconds later and the lights inside were switched off. Left in the urban night's gloom, Diabolico and Villamax looked at each other. The former recited his incantation and lightning struck them.
As the energy dissipated, the duo found themselves surrounded with trees. Nocturnal insects provided a soft chorus that eased neither's troubled mind. At least they were transported to a remote part of the GeoFront. Diabolico hadn't the energy to handle any more liaisons with humans, at the moment.
"This…complicates matters," Villamax stated. Whether for their mission, or returning to HQ, Diabolico had no idea.
Regardless, he stretched out his wings. Diabolico would soar above the canopy and scout a way back. "We will have to tell the others what we learned. Discreetly as possible."
Barely above the ground, Villamax called him back down.
"What?"
Villamax looked around, as if Misato's "infestation" had followed them. "Trust is a rare commodity given current circumstances. Besides Rito, I believe you are the only other one that lacks any underlying malice. That's why I hope you will answer this honestly: do you know those monsters that attacked us?"
Diabolico's gut sank. That dreaded question, much like Misato's revelation, had struck him like a viper's bite. Now, how to treat it.
A/N: I'm alive! But in all seriousness, I'm happy to have another chapter published. This one has been long in the pipeline, primarily an original short story that I am seeking to self-publish. I'm currently completing the editing process for that. Regardless, I just wanted to thank everyone for the continued readership of this story. This is the chapter where this story is really going to takeoff, so expect more excitement in the coming future. Also, shout out to DinoZillaPrime: our prior discussions in regard to Prince Olympius has really helped me think further about how this character is involved in later chapters. As always, please leave a fav, follow, and/or review. I always appreciate the feedback. In regard to the reviews, please don't hesitate to post one, even if it's just to say you like the story. It always makes my day to read one. Until next time!