On his knees and eyes widened, he watched the severed body drop onto the pile of more corpses.
The blood that oozed out of it, flowed from the top of the heap, and pooled at the base. The puddle's circumference expanded until it soaked his knees.
Red splatters painted the rustic wall. The room was her canvas, and he was no exception.
He grabbed his arms, shuddering. "Please… stop…" He choked. "They're just children."
Akira retracted Fueguchi in a whip. "Children?" She tilted her head. Her eyes trained at the twin girls. "Their kakuhou are not fully developed. They're still ghouls. Nonetheless." Akira glanced at Haise. "Pick up your quinque, Haise."
"...No…" Haise had both hands covering his face. "I can't!" His eyes quivered between his fingers.
"Tell me. What do you think the ghouls see when they're eating the children?" Akira turned away. "I'm not going to repeat myself. Pick up your quinque or I'll arrest you for abandoning post."
He was seeing a brown-haired lady with a warm smile kneeling before a man in a white coat.
That man, who had silvery hair at shoulder length, made the same grin as Akira—wry in every way—as he wielded the spine in his hand.
"How disappointing." Akira lashed out with the quinque in her hand.
That was the same spine that decapitated the brown haired lady.
"NOOOO!"
"No."
"Come on, Doc!" Yoshida cried out. "You've got to let our examiner process her before the evidence vanishes."
"It's still a 'no'." The surgeon continued to scribble on a chart, without much of a glance to the peacekeepers standing behind.
"Please, Dr. Nagao," said Hayashi. "The ghoul who attacked Mado could be a serial predator. If we don't catch that ghoul in time—"
"As I've said!" The surgeon finally faced them. "Mado's condition is too unstable. Now, she's spiking a fever. If she gets into cardiac arrest—Again—then your examiner can process her in the morgue." He closed the file and inserted the pen into his chest pocket.
The surgeon left behind the two frustrated peacekeepers.
"What do we do now?" Yoshida squeezed his nape.
"You do nothing."
The peacekeepers pricked their backs, slowly turned around to see a scowling face at the door. "Chief!"
He had heard how it was like when their loved ones were in the hospital. None of those stories had nineteen children in the pictures.
He hadn't slept in the past few days. Just a little noise or as soft as a beep was enough to stir him.
Else, he was asked to fill and sign papers, which he didn't have full comprehension. At least three of those papers he signed could potentially kill the woman he loved.
Amon dug into his side pocket and took out his phone. He pressed on the power button several times, but the display wasn't responsive.
Though he had no problem asking for a phone call at the nurse station, his nightmare had just started.
The ringing tone went on for more than a minute until Emily finally answered the phone. Amon wasn't prepared for her report.
Akane was having a cold. Some of the kids were coughing, and he could hear Yuya screaming and crying in the background. Amon worried that Emily might have caught it too, considering how coarse her voice was.
Hikari had gone out to look for a doctor from the neighborhood's clinic. Even if the teenager returned, the sick kids were a handful and way beyond what a fifteen-year-old could handle.
The only way to make sure the children were fine was to be there himself. He glanced at the clock. He could reach Shizuoka within a couple of hours if he departed immediately.
"Please accept our most sincere apology!" There came three men, bowing to Amon. "I will educate my subordinates to be better peacekeepers." The man in the middle kept his hands pressed onto his subordinates' heads.
Amon turned around to face the glass window. His heart plummeted at the sight of her slumbering form.
He wasn't sure how much more he could take. He only knew if anything happened to her while he was away, he wouldn't forgive himself.
"Mr. Amon?"
She froze. Breathing became non-essential.
His face buried into his palms. Dark red sprouts shot out from his back. The flare grew and spiraled at an abnormal speed.
It was unstoppable.
Her widened eyes quivered at the segmentation, which almost fooled her into believing that there was another Fueguchi.
But those legs, which grew out from each segment, wouldn't lie.
He yanked his hands away, arched his back, and stared at the ceiling with his mouth wide open. She supposed he was screaming, but she wasn't hearing anything, except her own heartbeat.
He's different from the other investigators…
She gritted her teeth and tightened her grip on Fueguchi. She had the Twentieth Ward turned upside down just to be the first to jump into any lead she could get, but all this while he was right under her nose.
It disgusted her.
"I've been looking for you…" She lifted Fueguchi up high. "Centipede!"
Natori stood near the creek, staring at the clear water. The rippling water distorted his reflection.
"This is the last time we should meet."
Natori saw another person's reflection on the water. "Agreed. Did you get it?" He was then handed a transparent sealed bag with a large red "EVIDENCE" printed on it. "This isn't everything."
"You'll get the rest when the money checks out." The unknown man faced the water, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Natori. "It cost me a lot to buy the nurse."
"You'll get compensated." Natori turned the sealed bag, which had a folded black blazer. The tag on it had the name he wanted.
"I better do. Nice doing business with you." The man tucked his hands in his jacket, leaving.
The time was right to start a drizzle.
Natori opened the umbrella. His hand clasped it hard, feeling the rock-like droplets thrum on the black nylon canopy. His overcoat and leather gloves shielded him from the cold, but not the ghosts that were haunting him.
Thunder and lightning. Different seasons. Same place.
His scream made no sound. His tears poured with the rain. Only the thunders knew his pain.
He gathered the bodies in his arms, wishing they would warm up.
Natori covered his face and let out a hysterical laugh. How foolish he once was!
"Poor thing!" A child in a masquerade appeared from nowhere. Bandages wrapped about the face and the hands fully. She was just like an Egyptian mummy but with a maroon cloak. She bent over to level her eyes with his and cocked her head. "Do you want to know who killed them?"
Poor or rich. Good or evil. Life, once gone, would never return.
Which was why vengeance was sweet.
Natori watched the drooping leaves of the willow shedding tears. He had never shed his since then.
He preferred watching.
Back in the days of the Academy, one of her classmates once questioned the need of wearing an anti-riot suit to a raid.
She couldn't blame them. The armor—a helmet, the kevlar, and the limbs protectors—was symbolic to law enforcement and served to distinguish them from their foes, but against the kagune? A Q-bullet might be more useful.
Three years passed. She had never heard of that classmate anymore. Probably deceased or left the force. The practicality of the gear had never crossed her mind since then.
Akira winced when she tried to still herself. The twirling was nauseating.
A casual tilt of her chin brought her eyes to the onlookers. They weren't even the size of her fingertip. She hated to estimate the actual height. Against her wish, the number was already in her head.
"Akira!"
Then, there was this guy who didn't know when to give up.
"Akira!"
"I'm fine!" Akira never did give her reply much thought. She kept tucking her chin every now and then to check on her leg, even more frequent when she was gradually losing her senses on. The cable that tangled around her ankle seemed to be holding on so far. With the freefall and the sudden jerk, she would be very lucky if it was just a dislocation.
"I'm coming to get you!"
"No!" She snapped her head back. A chunk of concrete broke off. Together with other smaller pieces, they hailed down on her like a meteor shower. "Grab the hostages!"
"But—"
"That's an order!" Akira tucked her chin again to check on her tether. Half of the back wheels from the trailers had just slipped out of the breached wall.
Dark clouds took over the sky, forcing the sun to yield. The sagging flag extended itself and flapped in the gale.
So the weather hated her.
The turbulence swung her like a pendulum. As the amplitude increased, the trailer was pulled over to the brink so that it began to tip. The metal creaked as if crying out for help.
"She's right, Haise." It was Houji. "The bombs will set off any minute. Focus on the mission."
She almost forgot.
Akira arched her neck to glance at the lower levels. Dynamites, more than dozens of them, were secured on each pillar, waiting to be detonated.
Aogiri was known to stage a show. The puppet master decided to pull strings on humans to do their dirty work.
Very original indeed. She was glad that she had their attention.
"Haise…" Akira sighed. She hadn't really had the conversation with him.
"Just hang on! I'll come to you!"
She smiled. "You did well." She should have said it much earlier, if she hadn't been such a coward.
"Why?" She could hear him laugh. "You're making me happy now. It's unlike you."
She reached to the straps next to her calf. It was another useless tool against the kagune, but the commission gave it out anyway.
Just in case.
"Akira?"
Few ever had to let it slip out from the holster. In desperate times, it was essential to survival.
"Here's the final lesson…" Otherwise, a single slice would end one's misery. "Fight, even if it hurts." She swung up against the cable.
It snapped.
"Akira!"
The alarm blared.
Amon went for the door, but never reached it. He cried out her name as he was pushed farther and farther away. Only when he had stopped struggling, they left him be.
As more people came running down the hall, a man leisurely passed by in the opposite direction, pushing a cart full of dirty linens. The squeaking of the wheels was loud enough to mask an empty syringe tossed into a passing waste bin.
"What are you saying, Ayato?" Touka couldn't breathe. Yomo was as perplexed as she was. It must be the bloodloss because it wasn't like her brother to make such jokes.
The name had vanished for years. No one took that name. No one could.
Ayato flapped his wings again. He scratched the mask, which started to crack between the horns before breaking apart.
The hair was blue and long. The eyes turned red. The only thing missing was the glasses.
Ayato screamed in agony. He willfully turned his rigid neck to his right and as far as possible to look at his back. It was all red. Not glowing. Just blood.
His wings were gone. Ripped from his back.
His eyes quivered in horror. How did that happen?
"You have lots of questions, I see." It was that funny looking man again. Ayato couldn't make sense of his vision. The split view of the mysterious man rotated like clockwork. "Unfortunately, you'll never live to get the answers."
Ayato's eyes widened. His head drooped. Watching the red crystals bury deep into his torso, his eyes began to shut.
That monster…
"He's… here…" Ayato gasped. His eyes were open but it was a fog. "Kishou Arima… He's alive."