Vortex World,
Okinawa Prefecture, Naha City
Kagatsuchi 2/8 Waxing
A gunshot echoed through the city scape, and the imp which had crawled atop the flipped car fell, its head exploding in a hail of gore and red light. Yosho barely registered its death, carving his own weapon deeply across the zombie's neck. Duke Aym's sword tore through the damaged and decrepit flesh like it was butter, yet as the monstrostiy fell two more beasts-a pair of ghouls-took its place.
The man retreated, putting distance between himself and the two gray-skinned monstrosities, and Pascal jumped forward, flames licking in his jaws as he spewed fire across both opponents. They fell in screams, and two carefully aimed shots from Kiyone-the woman was dead-eye with a pistol-took them from the world as a single hole each appeared on their bald craniums.
They fell, and Yosho looked around, searching for the next demon who dared to take on the two humans and finding the street they were on abandoned once more. The threat past, the warrior-priest lowered his weapon, panting, his blood still hot and singing with adrenaline. Straightening, the man took a long, deep, meditative breath, willing his heart to sooth itself as Kiyone drew near, holstering her weapon. "Well, I got to say, I never expected a priest to be so proficient with a sword."
"Better to be a warrior farming than a farmer at war." The man said without thought, and Kiyone snorted, moving past him to examine the corpses.
"MJ, catch," Kiyone tossed something small towards him.
Yosho caught it with a glare. "'MJ'?"
Kiyone grunted, storing what appeared to be coins in one of the pockets strapped to her vest. "Masaki-Jurai, right? MJ."
Yosho stared, unimpressed. Kiyone shrugged. "I could change it to 'Yoshi' if you like, or 'Splinter'. You seem like a 'Splinter' kind of guy." When Yosho continued to stare at her, the woman sighed. "You're last name's too long." She stated. "Comes with having spent so much time in and around law enforcement. Everyone has a nickname."
"Is that so?" The man raised an eyebrow, staring down at what had been tossed to him-some kind of capsule drug, and hesitantly pocketing it, uncertain and unwilling to swallow it. "Than what is yours?"
The woman looked back at him with a smirk. "Cadejo." She said.
"Ka…de…ho?" Yosho repeated.
"Close enough." Kiyone replied. "It's Spanish. Ca-de-jo."
"I don't…I'm afraid I don't understand. What is a…kadeho?"
Kiyone laughed. "You'll need to buy me a drink for that." She said.
"MJ and Kadeho." Yosho grumbled. "Can't say I know them."
"True enough, but after a cataclysmic event, can you say you really know anyone?"
The ex-prince sent Kiyone a side-long glance. "Honestly…Can't say I can." He stated.
There was something coy in the smirk Kiyone passed him as she stood. "Lets go. The place I was thinking about is still a couple of miles away."
"Where are we going?" Yosho asked, holding his arms out as Ko'Neko, who'd found his Safe Spot on Pascal's armored back throughout the fight, lept back onto the human, scurrying up the Juraian's shoulders and making himself comfortable with a long purr.
"Motorcycle shop."
"Seems like a bad time to invest in organ donors."
The woman rolled her eyes. "We wouldn't get far with them either." She stated. "Gas eventually runs out, and in case you haven't noticed, most of the city has been replaced with sand. Once the gas is gone, there's no guarantee we'd find a new pump."
"Than why…"
"A good motorcycle helmet will save a man's head when he crashes at ninety miles an hour." Kiyone stated. "Most of the jackets now have Kevlar fibers-like this handy-dandy police vest-interwoven in the fabric." She slapped the police vest with an open palm. "The jackets have chest, back, shoulder, and elbow protection, and the pants have similar Kevlar fibers with hip and knee armor integration. Same with the gloves, with emphasis on the back hand and the palm, and even the boots have some additional shielding around the ankles." She pointed to Yosho. "In comparison…what are your robes made of again?"
"…Cotton." Yosho replied.
"Any more questions?"
"Did you have a motorcycle?" Yosho asked, his own curiosity getting the better of him. "You seem to be quite knowledgeable on the subject."
"I may or may not have ridden one or two in a past life." Kiyone replied. "More often than not though, it was me and paramedics scraping an idiot off the tarmac because he was too cool to wear any protection." She shook her head, then muttered, "Dress for slide, not the ride…" She sighed. "The ones who lived-without loosing anything-usually-not always but usually-survived because of the helmet and riding gear.
"And the ones who didn't?" Yosho asked in morbid curiosity.
Kiyone's expression was grim. "Even the best body armor isn't going to protect a person from a truck colliding with them going seventy the other way." She said.
Yosho winced. "Point made."
"That aside, at least the gear we pick up will protect us from some of the weaker demon's strikes. I don't know about you, but I certainly want some kind of armor between my frail human skin and a zombie bite." She shuddered. "I don't know if those things are like Hollywood zombies or not, and I'm in no rush to find out."
The two continued for three miles, picking their way across a broken landscape of collapsed sky scrapers, decimated vehicles, and past roads to nowhere which led into great dunes of golden sand. Strange creatures of all makes, shapes, and types dotted the landscape they traversed. Groups of tiny Fae led by taller High Pixies, roaming hoards of ghouls and zombies scrambled over each other as they traveled mindlessly across far off highways. Strange avian-like creatures which soared through the air-some with human faces and the bodies of owls or waterfowl, others whose bodies resembled birds only in the loosest sense, their bodies rainbow and iridescent from where the blue light of Kagatsuchi shined down upon them. Farther up, high above their heads but not so high as to touch the strange orb, massive, draconian creatures glided on massive wings, unaware and uncaring of the smaller entities below them.
Some of the beings challenged them, and met their end between sword, gun, fang, and magic. Many more kept their distance, made wary by the massive demon which walked with ease between Kiyone and Yosho. Others took no notice of them, their business their own as they traveled on their own journey through the landscape. Some barely passed them a glance, others stared and pointed or growled and hissed in warning.
Yosho looked up, shielding his eyes against the bright light of what had become this new, enclosed world's sun, and stared at the broken skyscrapers which hung above their heads. He could recognize none of it from where they walked, and wondered if perhaps, somewhere above them, Tenchi and Nobuyuki walked a similar path.
Despite the wasteland sands which surrounded them, the air was cool and pleasant; almost as if the first crispness of Autumn had kissed the world prior to its end. The man took a long breath, yet smelled nothing familiar outside the stink of heated metal, petrol oil, and acrid desert sand. There was something else beneath it-something bitter and musky which Yosho could not identify, and another smell which reminded him of Ozone.
None of it was pleasant, and releasing the breath, a hand moved to rub beneath Ko'Neko's chin. He felt familiar pinprick claws dig through the cotton against his skin, and the feline head-butted him with affectionate enthusiasm. "I miss the Shrine." He murmured, his voice soft and too low for Kiyone to hear. I miss the trees. Funaho above all. He thought. Whether it was during his time at the Academy, in Jurai, or on Earth, Yosho had never been much for cities with their metal walls and polluted landscapes. He had always been, and remained, a Son of the Forest.
"I do too." The nekomata replied. "Yet had you remained there, it is no guarantee you would be here now." The cat nuzzled his left ear, and the sound of his purr almost overwhelmed any other noise. "Yet look up, to the right. Where the great Garuda flies, do you see it?"
Yosho looked up, following his feline companion's instructions and spying a massive demon-made all the more massive by how small he was so close to the landscape above it-which appeared to have fused a man with a great raptor. "Look above it. Do you see the forest?"
He did, and the sight made him stop. "That's a mountain." He breathed, and felt his eyes go wide as his heart skipped a beat. "Is that…our mountain?" His eyes skimmed across the green ocean of trees, searching the rich landscape for any territorial features which could be recognized as his home.
A lake.
Ryo-oh-ki's lake.
His eyes widened, and with ease he suddenly found the gray path which led up-down?-the mountainside. He saw a stone outcrop just barely peeking through the forest grounds-Ryoko's cave-and further off…
Funaho.
Green and glorious and still flourishing among the forest trees she called home.
Frozen, the man stared, daring not to blink lest the image be an illusion lost in the next instant. "It…survived?"
"The Shrine may not have served youkai such as myself, yet it remains a concentrated location of high spiritual energy." Old Ko'Neko said. "It does not surprise me that it survived the Conception." The feline groomed himself, gnawing at a mat of fur between his paw pads. "The question which holds now though is…What now dwells within the Shrine you once called home?"
"Hey, MJ! What are you doing? Stop daydreaming and let's go!" Kiyone had wandered a fair distance off before noticing her companion's absence and now stood at the embankment of a road close to three hundred meters away. She waved at him, and Yosho jogged to catch up, ignoring the way his cat's claws dug into his shoulder to find purchase.
Something massive swooped down towards the woman-one of the large flying monstrosities from high up in the sky, and he bellowed to her, "Look out! Behind you!"
Pascal snarled, fur bristling, and the demon rammed into Kiyone, knocking her down as the creature swept past her. The beast was massive, an entirely black wyvern which flew on great draconian wings. A long, serpentine, black feathered neck supported a broad, hippopotamus-like head. Its flesh was beaded, like a tortoise, its tail split in two, and its legs were broad and muscular like a lion's. It flew over their heads with a deep and terrible howl, and then Yosho too dove to the ground, covering his head as the creature flew over him. It's long, broad tails came so close to him that the warrior-priest could have reached out and touched them had he the courage.
And then it was past, legs splaying out as it landed in an intersection crowded with cars. The tails whipped around its body, and the cars-like children's toys-swept out of its range and into the adjoining buildings, widows not already decimated by the earthquakes exploding inwards as walls collapsed.
As it stood at its full height, its head easily crested a five story building.
Yosho scrambled to his feet as Ko'Neko lept forward with a yowl, racing towards Kiyone as the woman rose as well. "Go!" He roared, "Run!"
The woman didn't hesitate, and together they raced off, the echoing roar of the demon following them as they raced down a side road to break its line of sight.
The wyvern did not pursue them.
They ran a solid mile before slowing to a stop, panting harshly as the two humans looked back to see if anything chased them. Other demons raced past them, some ghouls, others imps, more which neither Yosho or Kiyone had encountered but held a similar level of panic as they fled past the group. None paid the humans a single glance, and Yosho grabbed Kiyone and ducked into an open building, where the two observed the stampede of demons with frantic eyes.
"What was that?" Kiyone breathed, catching her breath.
Yosho shook his head. Her guess was as good as his.
"Lord Seth, of the Desert." Old Ko'Neko lept atop a table, grooming himself furiously. "A god of chaos, destruction, and," the youkai paused to observe the two humans, "…foreigners."
"What's he doing coming after us?" Yosho demanded.
"He wasn't." The nekomata replied. "We are small where as he is large; none of us called to him, yes?" At the others nods he continued, "than we were not his prey. We were ants watching a creature incomprehensibly large descend about his business. Consider yourselves fortunate you did not catch his attention."
"Terrifying." Kiyone muttered.
"Such is the world you now live in." The feline replied. "You are only as insignificant as your power makes you. Yet with more strength comes the garnered attention of those of comparable might. You'd do well to remember that."
Yosho shuddered.
The stampede of fleeing demons was slow to die down, and in that time, the two humans made themselves busy searching the room they'd entered, Pascal keeping guard at the entryway they had been in while the nekomata took up a similar post near the closed door leading further into the building. In its past life, it had been the kitchen to a larger restaurant of some sort, and the duo found huge bags of rice and noodles, seasonings, and kitchenware-including a long, three hundred millimeter yanagiba- a type of long sashimi knife-which Kiyone slid into her belt. When Yosho stared at her, the prior detective made a face, "I can't always rely on my gun." She said. "Ammo is finite."
They found a walk-in freezer which had long since lost power, the meat frozen inside long since thawed and rancid. The heavy industrial fridges hadn't survived much better, and the vegetables and pre-prepped meats and dressings all were soft, rancidly-sweet, and stinking of rot and contamination.
Yosho grimaced as the stench hit his nose, swiftly closing the latest door as he fought off a gag. "With how spoiled everything is, you'd think more time had passed in this world." He wheezed.
Kiyone grunted in what he thought was agreement, then came up from an island cabinet with several bags of nuts and dried fruit. "Not a total loss." She tossed them on the kitchen island, and Yosho looked over in curiosity, spying a bag of pistachios, one of cashews, another of peanuts, and several more bags of raisins, dried apricots, and even dried apples and dried mangoes. The woman ripped open the bag of cashews and poured herself a small handful, then offered the bag to Yosho.
The man accepted it, mindful to take a small handful as well, then squeezed the air out and rolled the opening. "I wish we had a bag or satchel." The man said, popping one of the cashews into his mouth and savoring the sweet flavor. "We could take some of the grains with us then." Though he had not eaten since first arriving in Naha City, the man found he was not hungry, and even consuming the small snack did not awaken any hunger. I should consider myself so lucky. He thought, a popped another cashew in his mouth. Perhaps it was the Soma though; maybe it affected my appetite.
"We might get lucky yet." Kiyone said, moving to the far wall and opening several of the untouched cabinets. "If there are at least some grocery bags…" She trailed off, eating as she went, one cashew at a time similar to Yosho. They had to make the food last, after all.
She looked back at he man. "Can you take post near the entrance while I have Pascal help me?"
"Yes." The man nodded and moved to the entrance, approaching Pascal from behind and watching as a couple ghouls shambled by. They glanced at him as they passed, and Yosho stared at them in sullen silence. Perhaps they were human once; the leftovers of what had once been returning to exist anew in this wretched world. Naked, emaciated, humanoid creatures, their flesh a gray-black, eyes glowing orbs of red, their hands little more than long talons. They were bald of any hair Yosho could see, and equally void of any gender characteristics; one resembled another resembled another resembled them all; part of him found himself relived by that. What if they were human? He thought, watching them snarl at him before shuffling on as he tightened his grip on the Duke's Sword. Human like the zombies were; some ignorant of their last lives, others with still with enough intelligence to speak? Could these creatures be Humanity's legacy? Mindless, weak, and hungry, forever fleeing from beasts and demons far stronger than they could ever hope to be?
For a moment his eyes came to rest on his right hand, tightly wrapped around the sword which rested with its nose in the earth before him, taunt and ready to lurch the blade up as soon as a demon took undue interest in them. The flesh was a healthy white gold, the skin firm, the muscles tight and responsive after the healing properties of the soma. Behind him he could hear Kiyone rummaging through the drawers, muttering to herself and cooing softly to her demon dog in unabandoned affection.
He glanced back, and found the woman had climbed atop the beast, standing on the bony armor plates on the hound's back to reach the upper cabinets. Pascal stood stone still, and had it not been for the tail that even now swayed back and forth, would have appeared a statute for all intent and purposes.
He turned back to the door. "Why did we survive?" He asked aloud.
"What?" Kiyone asked behind him.
"Why do you think we survived?" He raised his voice. "We've seen zombies and ghouls, pixies and kodama, garuda and even a supposed god. Yet no other humans." He glanced back over his shoulder at the woman. "Why do you think we survived? What makes us different from anyone else?"
"Getting philosophical on me, Priest?" Kiyone asked, opening another cabinet and smiling brightly as she found something of interest. "Fucking knew it." She whispered, and removed a linen grocery bag from the shelves, carefully lowering herself down onto Pascal's back before sliding off his unarmored side. To Yosho she said, "I couldn't tell you, and frankly, I don't care."
Yosho looked back at her in surprise. "You don't?"
"No." The woman shouldered the linen bag before murmuring a gentle thanks to her pet, scratching behind the beast's ear as the massive demon leaned into her. "I have been through…a lot in my life." She revealed, her words careful and considerate. "I've been dealt a bad hand over and over again. Frankly, I'm amazed I was still even alive to see the end of the world. I used to ask myself, 'why me', before coming to the conclusion that it didn't matter. I was alive where others died. I had survived what others had failed to." She looked back at Yosho with calm, resolute teal eyes. "I am here whereas others are not. The 'whys' don't matter-you could stand in that doorway and ponder them until you were old and gray and never come a step closer to an answer. The reality of it is that you and I are both here, and what matters now is how do we keep it that way." She set the linen bag on the kitchen island, then knelt down, gathering one of the unopened bags of rice and several unopened bags of noodles and slipping them inside the bag, then slipping in the nuts and fruit. "What's happened is long past. Nothing you or I do will change that. So fuck it, we spat in Death's eye and got away with it. Now we keep two steps ahead of Him and live voraciously." She looked at the man with a smirk. "I refuse to lie down and die just because the world I knew ended."
"Quite the proclamation." Yosho said.
Kiyone shrugged. "My world has ended at least three times." She said. "My life, my career, my future…always upended when I thought things were going good. So I stopped caring and began rolling with the punches." She approached him and offered him the linen bag. "You should too." She said. "The sooner you begin flexing to the blows, the easier it will be to adapt."
Yosho took the bag. It was heavy. "You expect me to carry this when I fight with a sword?"
"No, I expect you to put the bag down and then fight." The detective replied. "Now lets clear out of here. We'll find some backpacks at the motor shop that we can carry this stuff in. Until then, figure it out and adapt."
"You act as though I am inflexible." Yosho commented with a raised eyebrow.
Kiyone laughed as she walked past him, venturing fearlessly out into the ally with a quick check in either direction for demons. "You're a priest," she said, "aren't you?" The ex-detective looked at him with probing teal eyes, and beneath the surface he could see mounting suspicion. You fight with a sword. That gaze said. And your cat is a nekomata which you personally raised since it was a kitten. You survived the end of the world. Who-or what-are you?
Yosho held his silence.
Together they ventured onwards in silence. Old Ko'Neko abandoned his usual perch on Yosho's shoulder for the larger, more stable Pascal, freeing Yosho's shoulders for the bag of food supplies on one shoulder, and the flat of the broadsword resting uneasily on the other. It was easy enough to get back onto the main road, and when Yosho looked back behind him, he could still make out the head of the massive draconic Seth, who appeared almost to watch their departure as its massive head swept back towards them. Then its head craned to the sky, and it bellowed, its howl echoing off the surrounding buildings and bouncing back to the departing group in a warped, hollow warble.
They crested a skyscraper that still held the dusty word TOSHIBA across its windows, and the terrible god was gone, left behind like so many other relics of the past world.
Vortex World,
Okinawa Prefecture, Naha City Kagamizu District
Kagatsuchi Half-Waxing
The Harley Davidson's Okinawa branch was a large, two-story building divided with a showroom on the second floor, with large and heavy bikes showing their chrome schemes and sleek shapes to the world, and a first floor which served as a sales shop for both motorcycles and sportsware. The building was shaped as a large half-dome, overlooking what once had been the coastline and now was simply desert. The windows had been blown out, and the once expensive pieces of machinery now like on their sides on the floor like discarded children's toys.
Yosho eyed the thrashed building dubiously, eying the second floor warily. While he had no prior experience himself with the bikes, he heard they were as heavy as they were expensive. "Is it safe?" He asked, the group walking pack several shredded display bikes which had not survived the world's end, and now rested in mangled heaps on the ground. They look like they didn't survive that truck going seventy. He thought, and suppressed a shudder.
"We're going to find out." Kiyone said, ignoring the wreckage and slipping carefully across broken glass and inside. "Pascal, guard the entrance." She paused and turned to stop the massive beast from following. "Make sure nothing approaches. You too Furball." She looked at Ko'Neko." If anything big comes by, come grab us so we can hightail it out of here." Her feet crunched beneath broken tile, and with no small amount of hesitation, Yosho followed after her.
The floor above them appeared stable-at least for the moment-and the two picked their way through the destroyed building, navigating past vacant office rooms and fallen, torn pictures of Harleys as they moved towards the back, where several lines of motorcycle jackets and a small display of helmets rested near a fallen shelf.
"Start finding your size." The building was quiet and empty, yet despite that Kiyone's voice was soft, as though fearing to disturb the peace of a tomb. "I want to get in and out ASAP."
The warrior-priest grunted in agreement, making his way to the jackets and shuffling through the sizes. He found a black leather jacket in his size and took it off the rack, surprised by its weight. Leaning the sword against a wall and slipping the linen grocery bag off his shoulder, the man slipped the jacket on. It felt stiff and heavy against his frame, and as he zipped it up, he felt his elbows dig uncomfortably against something hard and unyielding. Elbow pad. He reminded himself. And it feels like there's some kind of back armor and chest armor in here as well. He rotated his shoulders, testing the jacket's mobility, and found it stiff and unyeilding.
Slipping it off, the man kept looking.
Eventually he found another jacket, this one a vegetable tanned brown that clung to his frame more tightly than the last. It felt lighter, too, though he could feel similar armor against his shoulders, elbows, back, and chest. Two angled external pockets lined the surface against his chest, and three more interior pockets rested near the zipper. The pockets were deep, and while the jacket felt stiff, it wasn't uncomfortable. It'll stretch out with time. He thought, and moved on as Kiyone looked at him, wearing a woman's deep blue-dyed leather jacket, and gave him a thumbs up. She pointed to a rack of pants, then turned back to a display of helmets she was examining.
Following her lead, Yosho investigated the pants, finding materials ranging from similar leather to denim and choosing out one black and one blue pair of jeans. Similar to the jacket, they were unusually heavy, and the man slipped around a corner to to try them on, catching Kiyone's eye in the reflection of the helmet she was holding and pointing to where he was going.
Another thumbs up from the ex-detective, and Yosho left her to her devices, slipping out of his airy, free flowing religious garb and slipping into the tighter, form-fitting pants. He felt knee pads as he slipped first one leg, then the other into the blue jeans, and felt a stiffness at his hips which were likely more armor. The pants felt strange, alien, and awkward after so many years of wearing not only Juraian robes but also Shinto robes, and he frowned in disapproval of the pants. He stretched first one leg, then the other, and found that the jeans easily worked with him, allowing him his freedom of movement despite the tightness against his skin. I'll need to get used to this. He thought with dismay, spying another rack of shirts which laid on a knocked over rack, and approaching them. T-Shirts with the brand name lay scattered on the floor, and with some hesitation he searched through them until he came up with a shirt with a relatively simple design-a black shirt with the simple HD shield and emblem. Disrobing, the ex-Prince slipped the shirt over his head before grabbing the leather jacket once more. A broken mirror showed a series of strangers with his face staring back at him in the motorcycle gear, and as one the multiple reflections grimaced. Perhaps this is what it means to go 'full native'. He thought, and slipped back around the corner, leaving his robes in a small, folded pile on one of the shelves.
He wouldn't need them anymore.
Kiyone looked back at him and raised an eyebrow. She was trying on a pair of black leather gloves. The woman released a low, appreciative whistle. "Don't you look like the bad boy." She said. "Sure you aren't gonna run off on one of these organ doners? All your missing is a pair of sunglasses and a sawed-off shotgun." She teased.
Yosho stared at her, unamused. "Forgive me if I fail to understand the reference.
Kiyone shrugged, unconcerned. "Check out the helmets." She told him. "Make sure it's secure against your head-no wiggle room-preferably full head but I'll settle for three-fourths if you're picky or we're really unlucky." She pointed out the two specific types of helmet to him, then slipped past him. "I'm trying on my own pants."
"Just scream if you see a demon." Yosho replied. "I'll come rushing."
Kiyone snorted. "I'm sure you will." Several pairs of pants under her arm, she slipped behind the same corner he'd been behind, and Yosho went about examining the helmets before him. Just like training back on Jurai. He thought. Wearing a helmet while first being introduced to fights with live weapons. The more things change, the more they remain the same…These helmets were different from what he was familiar with. Some were a single color; white or grey or usually black. Others displayed elaborate patterns or designs, ranging from geometric shapes and colors to skulls.
Never having been one for the elaborate; he preferred simplistic beauty, Yosho picked up a gray helmet and slipped it over his head. The helmet slid forward with enough slack that it's side bounced off his nose when he turned his head. Removing it, he checked the size; extra-large.
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. American sizes. He thought. There were several US Military installations near Naha City, one of the larger ones being Kadena Air Base which, prior to the end of the world, sat about thirty minutes from the city. Given Harley Davidson was an American motorcycle company, it didn't surprise him that the Okinawa branch had such large helmet sizes out on display. They probably used to make as many sale to visiting forces as they did to Native residents. The man thought, exchanging the helmet for a gray one in a size medium and slipping it on. It was a snug fit, but not tight, and he groped for the chin strap, slipping it through the D-rings with practiced fingers. He rolled his head, and found the padding kept everything in its place without issue.
The man slipped it off with a sigh, moving to examine the same gloves he'd seen with Kiyone and yelping as a Will O' Wisp lunged at him from behind the same cabinet.
"THIEVES!" The being howled, and Yosho fell backwards as the creature collided with him. He grunted, more winded than injured, then shoved the ethereal creature off of himself as he scrambled for the sword. "Makibi-san!" He cried, and felt a scream of anguish tear from his lips as the creature bellowed, and red streaks of energy was torn from his body.
It's like…Ryoko did the same thing! Back at Funaho! He thought, feeling his strength leave him as he dropped to a knee. He struggled to right himself, yet through an act of sheer will and desperation, the man rose to his feet and grabbed the sword.
With a growl, the man raised it, bringing it down heavy-handed and without grace. The creature backpedaled, yet Yosho still managed to clip it, and felt the sword slice through something tangible. The evil spirit shrieked, and Yosho stumbled after it, feeling his strength return to him as adrenaline kicked into gear.
Kiyone rounded the corner, pantless and with gun in hand as she fired two shots at the beast. Yosho barely noticed, advancing on the creature even as the spirit recoiled from the strikes, and thrust the sword forward with a roar.
The spirit dropped to the floor, and a voice, masculine and panicked, rang out from the entity. "I yield, I yield!"
Yosho froze, and with her weapon aimed carefully at the spirit, Kiyone came to stand beside him. "You speak?" Yosho demanded.
"'Course I do Asshole!" The evil spirit's face seemed to morph, disintegrating from a malevolent face and into the dim silhouette of a human. "The fuck is wrong with you!? What do you want from me?"
"What do you want from us?" Kiyone countered. "You attacked us first, unless I'm mistaken." Her eyes never left the being.
"I attack-it's you jackassed fuckfaces who're stealing my wares! The hell am I supposed to do? A man's tryna run a business at the end of the world and its hard enough without shitheads like you stealing right beneath my nose!"
"Thieves?" Yosho lowered his blade-though not completely. "These items are yours?"
"A 'course!" The spirit replied. "I own this whole building you Asswipes! What, you think 'cause the world ends you can just ransack whatever the fuck you want?"
Now even Kiyone was lowering her weapon, though she did not switch the safety back on. "You claim to own this place?" She asked.
"Fucking A' I do!" The spirit crowed. "Alive, dead, doesn't matter, this place is mine!"
Kiyone stared, then squinted at the spirit. "…Al?"
"That's my name, don't wear it ou-" The spirit abruptly fell silent, and seemed to observe Kiyone with fresh scrutiny. "The fuck you know my name, Princess?" The spirit spat.
Now Kiyone flipped on the safety, straightening as she lowered the weapon to her side with a sigh. "For fuck's sake, Al. Even in death you can't take a fucking hint, you greedy pig."
Yosho looked at the woman in surprise. "You know this spirit?"
The entity was silent, and seemed to stare at the teal haired woman with scrutiny. "…Cadejo? Is that you?"
"In the flesh, which is more than I can say for you, Al."
The spirit chuckled, and the hostility seemed to drain from it. "Well why didn't you say something sooner! Is it Black Dog or White Dog this time around?"
"White dog." Yosho glanced at her in curiosity, finding her sending him a side-long glance. She turned her attention back to Al. "We came looking for some protective gear. Knew this place had some good stuff but wasn't expecting anyone else to be around to guard it. Thought you and everyone else was dead and gone, Al."
"Everyone else is dead and gone. Or at least, not a human or a spirit like you n' me." Al grunted. "Some of 'em just died. Others turned demon an' run off. I ain't leavin' my shop though."
"So I see." The woman ran her hands through her hair with a sigh. "Sorry about that. You still willing to do business with me? I wasn't trying to do you dirty."
The spirit snorted. "Does that fat lady sing?" He demanded. "'Course we still doing buiz. Far as I know, you the last customer I got."
"That means you'll cut me a deal than." Kiyone said.
"Fuck you I will." Al retorted.
Kiyone shrugged and looked at Yosho. "Dump your clothes and grab your robes-we're leaving." Without another word she turned and walked off, leaving Yosho to gape at her retreating figure…and admire how that figure moved without pants.
The man blinked, and regarded the woman carefully as he noticed the discoloration across the detective's legs and hips. Are those…burn scars?
He lost his opportunity at a second glance as Al rushed forward. "Wait! Wait wait wait wait!"
Kiyone paused and looked over her shoulder at the spirit.
"Alright Cadejo Blanca, just hold on, let's talk this out, okay? You're a reasonable woman, I'm a reasonable spirit, we can reach a midground, how 'bout that?"
"Fifty percent off." Kiyone turned to face him, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Eh, fuck you! Five percent!"
Kiyone turned back around and kept walking. Yosho felt a torn amount of respect for the ex-detective's hard bargaining skills and pity for Al. Even he wouldn't undercut a salesman that heavily.
"Okay okay, ten percent!" Kiyone kept walking. "Twenty percent?" She rounded the corner. "Damn it Cadejo, you're killing me! Twenty five percent!"
Kiyone stuck her head back around the corner. "Forty-five."
Al groaned. "Thirty…" He sounded close to begging.
"Forty."
"Thirty-five…Makibi, for the love of whatever gods live in this world, please!"
The woman narrowed her eyes, and her head began the slow creep back around the corner. Al groaned. "Fine!" He screamed. "Thirty-five and I'll open up The Shop for you, you damn black dog!"
When Kiyone's face reappeared, it looked smug. "Deal." She said, and disappeared around the corner once more, likely to finally put some pants on.
Grumbling under his breath, the spirit turned and stormed off. He looked at Yosho, and the warrior-priest caught the barest hint of a sneer on his face. "Kid, do you even know what you getting yourself into?" He growled.
Yosho looked at him with a start. The last time anyone had called him a 'kid' had been during his years at the Academy. "I cannot say that I do." He replied honestly.
The spirit grunted. "Ya got in over ya head is what you done." He grumbled. "Woman's a god-damned hellraiser. You'd be smart to run the other way."
"Why do you say that?" He asked.
Al laughed. It was a dry, morose sound. "If you ain't figured it out already, you will soon. Don't say I didn't warn ya."
"Stop talking shit behind my back." Kiyone rounded the corner again, this time dressed in a pair of thick black denim jeans. "You act like I can't hear you or something." She sighed, and looked at Yosho in exasperation. "Ignore him. Half of what comes out of his mouth on the daily is bullshit anyway."
"I'll take your word for it." Yosho replied quietly, though he could not deny Al's words troubled him. I have known her for only a couple of hours. He reminded himself. That is hardly enough time to know another person. He followed after her silently as the ex-detective and the spirit quarreled over prices. 'Macca' seemed to be the new currency of this world, and they had been fortunate in their battles in picking up whatever cash the residential spirits had dropped upon their defeat.
"I want to see The Shop too." Kiyone said, and Yosho arched an eyebrow.
Al sighed but said nothing, and the spirit diverted its initial course towards one of the front desks and instead towards a staircase leading towards the upper floors. Yet rather than follow the staircase up, instead the entity moved to door who's outline was disguised against a wall displaying a large mural of Harley motorcycles traversing a mountainside road. He opened it, revealing another staircase leading down a level, and traveled down it, Kiyone close on his heels.
Yosho stared at the staircase in doubt. Of course. He thought in disdain. Leave it to an American motorcycle company to have a creepy murder basement hidden in plain sight from the public. Would you expect anything else? Shaking his head, he moved to the staircase, looking back towards where The Duke's Sword-his sword now-lied resting against a wall. Then, against his better judgment, he turned and followed human and spirit down the staircase, wondering what savagery he was about to get himself into.
The ground floor was cold and dark save for some emergency lights which still seemed to be operating off a generator, and as Yosho reached the ground floor, the lights came on, revealing the internal lay out. A large shooting range laid out before them, and Yosho passed individual lanes of pale white booths where people in their yesterlives had gone to shoot. Something dinged against his shoes, and the man looked down, kneeling to pick up the metallic item he'd kicked. It was a spent ammo case, still rank with the smell of gunpowder. He rolled it in his fingers, finding the case smooth but dented, and looked at the shell's back.
.308 Win
Yosho looked up, then took a long, deep breath. He set the empty casing on one of the stall tables, and followed after Kiyone and Al as they approached a booth set up in the center of the room. It was a display booth, Yosho noted, filled with lights to highlight the models on display, and as he joined the ex-detective, he peered down through the glass into what was inside.
Weapons.
Handguns, rifles, shotguns, knives, swords, tazers, even several iron knuckles, one of which claimed it was made of titanium. Light and fast! Mess up your enemies face in half the time with energy to spare!
The sight made his skin crawl, and Yosho's eyes turned to the wall behind Al, staring at the long line of rifles-ranging from small scale .22 hunting rifles to shotguns, semi-automatic military rifles to matte black sniper rifles.
I am in an American motorcycle shop which is a storefront for a Black Market arms dealer. Yosho wondered to himself, maintaining a carefully stoic expression as Kiyone leaned over the table, examining the handguns on display. With a self-proclaimed 'retired' police officer turned dog trainer. What on Tsunami's green Jurai am I doing here?
"I need a couple boxes of forty-fives." Kiyone said, her gaze still invested in the display case below her. "Chances are we're going to be running into more demons and I'd rather have too much than too little."
"Okay, easy enough." Al nodded. "We don't have many outside the Yakuza who invest in that, so I've got loads in back. What else are you hankering for. I see you eying that desert eagle…you finally going to invest in it with the world's end? You'll get a good price on it…"
Kiyone released a bark of laughter and shook her head. "Nope. I'm looking for something for my partner here." She threw a thumb back towards Yosho, who looked at her accusingly. "Something easy to use and reliable. He doesn't strike me as a gunslinger."
"I already have my weapon." Yosho said. "I would prefer not to have a gun."
"You say that until you're up against something that flies." Kiyone replied. "Then you'll wish for a gun. So you're getting a gun now before its too late. I'm not traveling with a liability." Under her breath, low enough that Yosho almost missed it, the woman continued, "I've had enough of those already."
The man heaved a long sighed, recognizing he wasn't escaping this latest predicament and resigning himself to his fate.
"Classic Glock will carry you a long way." Al recommended. "Especially if you invest in some hollow points."
"That's what I was thinking…" Kiyone examined two handguns in particular, then gestured to Yosho. "The seventeen and the nineteen. Let's see how they hold."
The spirit brought the two weapons out on display, and Yosho stared at them both. Aside from a small size difference, they looked identical to his untrained eyes, which was to say that every hand gun that wasn't a revolver looked identical to him.
He looked at Kiyone. "…What am I supposed to do?" He asked.
"Pick one up and hold it. See which one fits better in your hands." Her hands were casual and informative, and following her instruction, Yosho picked up first the smaller one-the ninteen-and held it with one hand. "What's your eye dominance?"
"My what?"
"Eye dominance." Kiyone repeated, and when Yosho continued to stare at her, she sighed. "Bring your finger to your nose and then move it out in front of you. Follow it with your eyes."
Feeling only slightly ridiculous, Yosho followed her instruction. "Now, focusing on your finger, close your right eye." Yosho did as bid. "Now open it and close your left eye, still focused on your finger." Again, the prince did as instructed, and watched as his finger's location seemed to move ever so slightly right. "Which eye made your finger move?"
"My right."
"You're left-eye dominant." Kiyone replied. "Hold the pistol with your left hand and cradle it with your right along the bottom of the gunstock. Whatever your dominant hand is doesn't matter-your accuracy comes from your eye."
They never taught this in any of the weapon courses back home. Yosho thought, and following the detectives instructions, switched his grip on the weapon. It felt strange and awkward in his left hand.
"Turn and aim it at the ground." Kiyone instructed.
Again, Yosho followed her instruction, and Kiyone reached over and grabbed the weapon. "Keep hold of it-and keep your booger finger off the trigger!" She snapped, and yanked the weapon, trying to pull it from his grip, wrestle it from his fingers, and in general jostle it around. After a moment the woman stopped, then looked back at him. "How's it feel? Grippy? Too loose? Any hot spots?"
"It feels fine." The man replied, uncertain of what else to say.
Kiyone nodded, then instructed him to grab the larger seventeen. The two repeated the action, and Yosho frowned, feeling as though the grip wasn't quite as secure with the larger handgrip. "Which one is better?" The woman asked.
"The nineteen." Yosho said.
Kiyone nodded, and Yosho set the weapon back on the display booth. "Can he try out one of the test nineteens you keep around?"
"Yeah, yeah…" Al put the guns back under the display booth, locking the glass doors and moving off towards a locked weapons rack. Undoing it, he removed a black handgun and returned to them with two magazines loaded with nine millimeter ammunition. "Go have fun, Lovebirds." He said with a shooing motion.
"How 'bout I come back over there and shove this Glock right up your ass?" Kiyone retorted, but didn't wait for a reply, instead taking the weapon and ammo and leading Yosho to the booth closest to them. The woman reviewed how to hold the weapon, showed him how to safely load and unload the magizine, how to clear it, and the different setting on the weapon itself. She showed him the three dot scope and how to aim, then had him load and fire down the field at a paper target that had been hung up for someone who'd never had the chance to fire on it.
His accuracy was piss poor through the first magazine, and Kiyone advised him on how to improve his aim; fire on the end of the exhale prior to inhale, don't predict the recoil, keep the three dots lined and level with each other, aim for center mass. Her instruction helped through the second magazine, and as Kiyone punched the button that drew the target back to them, the two examined the bullet holes from the second round of munitions. "You have some good grouping, but it still looks like you're trying to fight the recoil." The ex-detective said, a finger circling around a small cluster located in the lower right-hand side of the target. "We'll hopefully train that out of you with some live fire experience, where you aren't thinking about the recoil, but otherwise…it'll do. Hows it feel?"
Yosho stared down at the gun in silence. It feels…different. He thought. The last time I held a Terrain gun was in 1905, when I'd been unfortunate enough to have been drafted into second Russo-Japanese war during the Battle of Tsushima. The weapons from that time period had been simple, rudimentary pistols, inaccurate, small caliber, and with magazines half the size of the Glock. And I used my right hand and eye to shoot. He remembered. Everyone did, regardless of if they were left or right handed. There was no 'eye dominance' back then.
But this…
This felt like a killing weapon.
"…It's fine." Yosho said.
Kiyone raised an eyebrow at the man's lack of commentary, then shrugged. "We'll buy it then." She said, and the two returned to the display case. Yosho returned the weapon to Al.
"Well?" Al demanded.
"We'll take that and two boxes of nine mil hollow points as well." Kiyone replied. "You have any spare police vests?"
The man snorted. "Course I do. Got those and, just before the world ended, some military-grade IPE as well."
"The vests will be fine." Kiyone said. "I've seen that IPE and it looks too heavy with all the other thing's we're carrying around. I don't want us to slow down any more than necessary.
"Fine, fine." Al groused. "Anything else?"
"Two seventy-two hour backpacks and a holster for the Glock."
"Holster comes free with the Glock."
Kiyone flashed him a smile. "You know, this is why I keep coming back to you, Al."
"Yeah, yeah. Save it for your boy toy, Cadejo."
"And don't forget, Spirit or not, I will still shove my Ruger where the sun don't shine if you don't watch your mouth." The smile never left the woman's face.
"Oh hurt me sweetly, why don't you." Al grumbled, unphased by the threats as he gathered her requested items and rang up a price.
"Excuse me."
The spirit paused and looked at Yosho. "Do you have any…sheaths which might fit the sword I left upstairs?"
The entity paused and scratched it's chin. "Grab it and bring it down. We'll see what I can do."
The man retrieved the weapon upstairs, waving to Pascal and Ko'Neko, who still sat waiting outside the building. "We're almost done." He called, and departed back down the stairs as the two demons looked on in antsy anticipation.
When he returned, Kiyone had two large black backpacks in front of her. She was placing a box of ammunition in first one, then the other. The Glock, now in a holster, sat atop one, and next to it rested a similar police vest to the one Kiyone had adorned when Yosho first met her.
At Al's instruction, Yosho rested the large broadsword down on the opposing countertop, then turned to load up the other backpack at Kiyone's word. He slide the holster onto the belt on his leather jacket, surprised when it held without too much issue, then slipped the police best over his jacket, being careful to ensure the gun didn't catch. With the ex-detective's assistance, he fitted the vest to his person, then turned to load up the rest of the bag with the remaining supplies provided.
Al returned a moment later with a large leather sheath. "Wasn't expecting some kind of mall nerd cosplayer to walk into my shop." He grumbled.
Yosho bristled, uncharacteristically insulted by the man's words. "Some of us were trained in other methods of war." He said. "And have tested their might in live combat."
"Sure thing Pal." Al dismissed him with the wave of a spectral hand. "This is the closest thing I can find. Good luck with that backpack of yours though. Your toothpick's so big it'll drag on the ground if you keep it on your belt."
"I'll manage." Yosho replied, sliding the weapon into the sheath and finding it was a tight fit even with the sheath's large build. For a moment, he was afraid it wouldn't fit, and then slowly, the sword glided in, though it came with a harsh, grinding sound.
"Lube her up with some gun oil and she'll go in fine." Al said, and set a bottle on the table top.
Yosho reached for it.
Al pulled it back. "Uh-uh. Pay up first. Five hundred Macca-and that's with the discount."
"And people wonder why I call you a greedy pig." Kiyone reached into her pocket and slammed several coins on the counter. "There, that's for everything-the gear, the bags, the weapons, the ammo, and the-how much is the sheath?" She asked in dread.
"On the house." Al replied. "I got it from one of the Dollarstore cheap swords that are just glorified display pieces. Could never sell the hunks of junk off anyways and now they're about as useful as the thousands of dollars Tamiya spent on them for our inventory.
Kiyone sighed but said little else, instead turning her attention back to Yosho. "You ready?"
The man removed his weapon and grabbed the oil, coating it liberally on both sides before sliding it back into the sheath. This time it went in smoother and faster. Capping the gun oil, he placed it in one of the smaller pockets before hefting the bag onto his back and sliding the sheathed weapon onto his right shoulder.
He felt like an awkward mess.
But at least he was an armed awkward mess.
"Let's get going." He said, and Kiyone nodded.
Al chuckled. "Pleasure doin' business with you Cadejo. Don't get your rookie killed this go around, eh?"
Kiyone narrowed her eyes at the man and flipped him off, then turned towards the stairs, leaving Yosho to follow in her wake.
"Watch out for yourself Kid." Al dropped his voice as Yosho moved to follow. "While the White Cadejo guides and protects, the Black Cadejo walks with the Devil. It's anyone's guess which one that Cadejo is at any given moment. Take care she doesn't lead you off a cliff."
"Thank you for the warning." Yosho said with a small bow. Then turned and followed after the woman, following her up and into the great unknown, wondering not for the first time who-and what-his own companion was.
And just how genuine her intentions were.
Comments of a Madwoman: Cadejo-a supernatural hound from Central America known for roaming isolated roads, it comes in two differnet colors, black and white. One is said to guide and protect travelers. The other is said to be the devil in disguise...beware the red eyes on the black hound.
yanagiba: A long sashimi prep knife. Can be anywhere from 200-300mm in length.