《Storia: Sins of the Fathers》 1. Till Death Do Us Part 1. Till Death Do Us Part Three a.m. and the grand ballroom bustled with celebration, the revellers full of energy despite the ungodly hour. The night was theirs, after all, and tonight of all nights, they had reason to celebrate. Excitement swept over Tetsuya as he led another toast, but as loud as the response was, it wasn¡¯t enough to drown out the undercurrent of apprehension that he sensed beneath the veneer of good cheer. Tension, anxiety, even outright fear - darker emotions lurked beneath the surface: shadows in the deep water of his men''s minds. Not that these were his men, per se; they simply came with the territory. For this event, he''d appropriated the identity of one Hosaka Junichi, head of the Tachibana Group, one of the first enforcer gangs the Syndicate had taken into its fold. He¡¯d chosen them primarily for their reputation for loyalty, which was said to be unparalleled. For an organization such as the Syndicate, a zaibatsu whose main revenue stream consisted of crime, they were valued servants, indispensable to their operations in Tokyo. Tonight, however, loyalty ended. He made his way around the darkened ballroom, searching for Junichi¡¯s lieutenants and advisors, names and faces he¡¯d extracted from the man¡¯s mind. Would they notice that their oyabun was uncharacteristically outgoing tonight, too expansive, too amiable? He rather doubted it. His illusory mask was flawless, and he¡¯d memorised the man¡¯s every mannerism, from the way he winced slightly after sitting, to his penchant for terribly lame jokes that his men had no choice but to laugh along with. Besides, this lot were dead drunk; there wasn¡¯t much challenge in deceiving them. Liquor flowed freely at their tables, the sort of drinking you only saw when someone was getting married or buried. He smiled grimly. Maybe both, tonight. Walking a wide circuit around the ballroom, he joined conversations, led toasts, all the while reaching out with his mind, insinuating himself into the heads of the men he passed. As Guild Gramarye¡¯s only telepath, it was his prerogative to carry out assignments such as this one, and of late he found himself treasuring the privileged position that it afforded him within the Guild. There were few others who could have persuaded Sensei Ryou to change his mind once it was made up, and fewer yet whom Ryou would have trusted to act in his stead. A thin blade of pain slipped between Tetsuya¡¯s temples as he forced his mind outwards, expanding his influence to encompass the bulk of the men seated around him, but he pushed past the pain. He couldn¡¯t afford to fail tonight. Not after he¡¯d given his personal guarantee to Ryou. Tonight, these men promised one of their brothers to the bloodsuckers, throwing him upon their mercy. Where was their concern, their outrage? He sifted through through the surface emotions that flowed from them, digging deeper until he uncovered the inchoate unease, the formless fear and unspoken doubt that he¡¯d been hoping for. Inwardly, he allowed himself to indulge in a certain measure of satisfaction¡­ but not too much. After all, complacency was the deadliest sin, to be avoided on pain of death. He¡¯d chafed at Ryou¡¯s strictures when he was younger, but as he left childhood behind him he thought he could appreciate their wisdom. Times were changing, however. There had been a time when Ryou wouldn¡¯t have condoned the audacity of what Tetsuya was planning tonight, much less personally endorsed it, but he hadn¡¯t been the same ever since losing his arm. Then again, neither had Tetsuya. It was as though their roles had been reversed, with the student counseling caution while the teacher champed at the bit, raring to strike out against their adversaries. Ryou had originally intended to put in a personal appearance at the ceremony, just so he could look his erstwhile tormentors in the eyes as they burned and blackened at his feet. It would mean war, yes, but Tetsuya suspected that that was the only way Ryou would ever find peace. Personally, he wasn¡¯t terribly enthused about the prospect of open conflict between their factions - he liked the status quo, and he¡¯d worked hard to maintain it as best he could. They¡¯d compromised, culminating in his mission tonight - to shatter the Syndicate, to wreak havoc and sow discord, to turn the rank and file against their vampire masters. War between the magi and the vampires - not so appealing. War between the vampires and the Yakuza, however¡­ that was perfect for their purposes. - Masato had to admit, he hadn¡¯t seen himself getting married at twenty-one. Nor had he ever envisioned himself at the head of a table as grand as this, with toasts being raised in his and Sakuya¡¯s names all about the massive ballroom. He hadn¡¯t touched a drop himself, suspecting that he¡¯d need his wits about him for the night ahead. Stealing a glance at his new bride, he was slightly reassured to see that she looked as anxious as he felt, though judging from the rosy blush that suffused her cheeks, anxiety wasn¡¯t the only emotion ruling her at the moment. Come to think of it, how did vampires even blush? His understanding of their physiologies was lamentably thin, though there would be ample opportunity for him to learn from now on. That was his - their - role in all this, after all; to act as the bridge between their people, their union a symbol to the rest of the Syndicate. In the end, they were both just pawns in a greater game. He wasn¡¯t bitter about that, not really - he¡¯d accepted certain responsibilities, years ago, and he¡¯d come to terms with the fact that his life wasn¡¯t completely his own any longer. His father would have been proud to see him today, if he weren¡¯t so ripe with cancer that the doctors couldn¡¯t even pretend to ease his pain. He should be here, thought Masato, hurt and resentment welling up in him out of nowhere. He deserves to see his son grow up. Ah, but there was the rub, wasn¡¯t it? He hadn¡¯t grown up until his father¡¯s illness had put him out of commission, hadn¡¯t become the man his family needed him to be until he had no other choice. For the most part, these were old scars, past regrets that he¡¯d made his peace with. Sometimes, however, they had a way of leaping out at him when he least expected it. Delicate, cool fingers entwined themselves around his own, and he turned, meeting Sakuya¡¯s eyes. Perhaps she¡¯d noted his heart rate rising; she was quite sensitive to these things for someone who was, by vampire standards, merely a child. Their courtship, if you could call it that, had begun only a year ago, after she¡¯d recovered from the trauma of being turned. Her people spoke of the vampirism process in exalted terms, but he knew better. Turning - becoming something inhuman, or post-human, if you preferred, wasn''t easy or painless. It wasn''t uncommon for neophytes to go feral, becoming little more than mindless feeding machines until their sires could re-establish control over them. Not that any of this was official knowledge, of course¡­ but one heard whispers. Particularly when those whispers concerned one¡¯s betrothed. Looking at her fair, unlined face, he couldn¡¯t imagine it contorted into a mask of bestial ferocity, couldn¡¯t imagine her sweet lips stained red as she drank deeply from a fresh kill¡­ but then for a moment he could, and all too well. He banished the image from his mind, squeezing her hand gently and forcing a smile. It felt more natural on his face as she squeezed back, holding his gaze with her pure, guileless eyes. A man could fall in love, just like that. ¡°Is everything alright, Masato?¡± ¡°Yes, fine. I was just thinking about my family.¡± He could have made some excuse, passing it off as nerves or some such. He didn¡¯t. She knew about his background, anyway - he¡¯d been open with her throughout their relationship, holding nothing back from her. Once, early on, she¡¯d asked about his parents, and without thinking about it he¡¯d coldly but politely deflected the question, as was his custom. The unspoken puzzlement and disappointment he¡¯d sensed from her had left him with a bad taste in his mouth, though it was less so her reaction than her pained efforts to hide it from him. Her candor and innocence was childlike, but Sakuya herself was by no means childish - she could tell that the subject hurt him, and she badly wanted to understand why. To understand him. In the face of her earnest affection, all his prevarication and evasion felt disingenuous; hurtful, even. So he¡¯d told the truth, his sob story coming out in dribs and drabs over the course of their courtship. He was glad for her listening ear, her unassuming acceptance, her wordless comfort. Who would have thought it? The first shred of humanity he¡¯d seen in years, and it came from a vampire. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. ¡°Am I not your family now?¡± she asked, her eyebrows raised ever so slightly. Concern, but with a mild teasing edge to it. ¡°You are, blood of my heart,¡± he said, moving closer to speak in her ear. It was the highest term of endearment the vampires had, traditionally spoken only between sires and their progeny. Her blush grew deeper at his forwardness, bashful pleasure stripping away some of the careful poise she¡¯d put on for the night, and he was privately gratified to see it. It made her charmingly defenceless, closer to the gentle, genuine girl he¡¯d grown to love rather than the sublimely beautiful - but somehow plastic - facade she¡¯d drawn about herself during their marriage rites. Perhaps it was because she reminded him of another girl he¡¯d once known, his bygone first love¡­ but that was behind him, now. With Sakuya, he could think only of what lay ahead. ¡°We¡¯re in this together. Forever,¡± he said. ¡°Till death do us part,¡± she murmured, smiling wryly. For other couples, it was an inevitability. For them, it was a joke. As they drew closer together for a kiss, moving with the unconscious synchronicity of lovers, Masato closed his eyes and dreamed of eternity in her arms. Eternity ended as the explosions began. - A cascade of explosions filled the ballroom with a chaotic melange of sound and light, intermittently illuminating the tumultuous tableau that was Tetsuya''s design. Gunsmoke and bloodscent filled the air as battle was joined, a contingent of Yakuza - Junichi''s men - opening fire on the vampires between them and their sworn brother. Tables were kicked on their sides to provide cover, turning the ballroom into a battlefield. Even with the element of surprise, Tetsuya wasn¡¯t optimistic about their chances. One vampire could kill ten men ten different ways in ten seconds, and according to his projections, there had to be close to eighty vampires of varying seniority in attendance tonight, comprising the majority of the Syndicate''s higher leadership. Even with more than two hundred armed men on his side, the odds were still laughably slim - but a quick, bloody rout was not acceptable. He needed survivors to spread the word about this night. He needed the vampires to be shaken and outraged by the betrayal, and that meant hitting them where it hurt. Hurt. Even thinking the word was a dangerous mistake. His head throbbed with the effort he¡¯d expended in pushing the men over the edge. Forging the welter of discordant emotions in the ballroom into a jagged edge of resolve had been instrumental in slicing through the discipline and restraint that kept these men in line, but the blade cut both ways. For a moment, he¡¯d feared it had been a fool¡¯s errand, that his magic and his will simply weren¡¯t enough to tip the balance - but the first gunshot had been music to his ears, a single deafening note that he¡¯d exulted in. Now, however, he paid the price. He hastily slipped his earplugs in, knowing that noise would only worsen the pain. Gritting his teeth against the headache, he reached under his jacket and undid the bandoliers cinched tight around his body, distributing the gunbelts to his men. This was another reason he¡¯d needed to impersonate Junichi - only someone of his rank would be exempt from the vampires¡¯ security checks. There was all manner of contraband stashed about his person - most of it easy enough to hide under his clothing, but there was no taking chances around vampires. They were perfectly fine with guns being toted around - after all, what did they have to fear from lead or steel? Such base metals were of no consequence to the children of the night. Fortunately, he had the silver bullet he needed. Literally. Lots of them. There were precious few ways to kill, or even hurt, vampires, and he¡¯d been carrying a few hundred of them around his body the whole night. Not to mention the grenades he¡¯d tossed down as the gunfire began. These were of Ryou¡¯s design; a combination concussion grenade and thunderflash designed to overwhelm the vampires¡¯ heightened senses whilst releasing copious amounts of silver powder into the air. At the moment, they were the only thing holding the vampires back on their side of the ballroom, preventing them from turning the fight into a massacre. The dust wouldn¡¯t hold them back forever, however - it was a delaying tactic, and he had to capitalize on the time he¡¯d bought. ¡°To me, men! Load silver! Cut them down!¡± he roared, his voice magically amplified to cut through the din. It was a battle call, yes. But it was also a slap in the face of the Syndicate¡¯s leadership, who had spent the last five years attempting to monopolize the supply of silver in Japan so as to cut off all access to one of their weaknesses. After this, they would whisper bitterly amongst themselves: had the Tachibana Group been using their position to stockpile silver in preparation for this betrayal the whole time? Who else might have access to it? Who else had they told about silver¡¯s true value? Inhuman screams of pain began to ring out over the gunfire. Tetsuya breathed in the odor of putrefaction that signified the dissolution of a vampire and smiled, relishing in the twisted satisfaction that it brought. They could be killed. He knew it was possible in the abstract, but seeing it for himself for the first time was unspeakably cathartic. Ryou had upset the balance of power when he¡¯d singlehandedly annihilated the elders of House Scarlet, and the repercussions of his vengeance were still felt keenly even now. Certainly, it had escalated the hostilities between the magi and the vampires. However, the precedent he¡¯d set had been earthshaking. No longer could the vampires pretend to be untouchable, immortal, above the squabbling of petty mortals. One man could reduce thousands of years of experience to so much dust in the wind. One man could stand up to the deathless rulers of the underworld and live to tell the tale. Tonight he was that man. The clock was ticking. He had to bring the fight to the vampires before they could rally and mount a proper defense. He had to strike the deathblow to this attempted alliance. Marshalling his men around him in a tight wedge, he pulled one of his lieutenants in close. ¡°On my mark, we charge. Break through their lines and get to the head table, understood? We¡¯re getting him out of there.¡± ¡°Yes, sir.¡± The man, a veteran in Junichi¡¯s retinue, nodded fiercely. As his orders were relayed, Tetsuya called to mind the image of Ryou raising a fist of metal high above his head, his hand still glowing white-hot from his work that night. The guildhall had been awestruck and ashamed in equal measure. Awe at their sensei¡¯s courage and skill. Shame at ever having doubted that he would return to them. Even as his metallic prosthesis smoked and cooled, Ryou¡¯s eyes had burned ever hotter, the intensity of his presence leaving no room for doubt or fear in their hearts. Pulling the moment into his consciousness, Tetsuya focused on the surge of triumph that he¡¯d felt in that moment, letting it emanate from him in a wave of uplifting emotion. Immediately, his men stood straighter, their stances growing taut and ready as the dust began to clear. He enflamed their emotions further, strengthening their resolve, honing their will. Standing in the centre of the formation, Tetsuya pushed hard one last time, bringing them past the point of reason, making them nearly crazy with confidence as he gave the command. ¡°CHARGE!¡± 2. Bloodbond 2. Bloodbond Masato cradled Sakuya¡¯s head in his arms as she shivered, lips trembling against his chest. ¡°What¡¯s happening, Masato? We - we¡¯re one family now, aren¡¯t we? Why is your family - ¡° ¡°Shh, shh. There¡¯s no reason to be worried, alright? Everything will be dealt with. Everything will be fine,¡± he said, trying to project confidence he didn¡¯t feel. Truth be told, he was even more shaken than her. This marriage was a pivotal point for the future of the Syndicate - what was Junichi thinking, pulling a stunt like this? Why would he have spent years negotiating and planning with the vampires, only to turn around and stab them in the back? ¡°Explain yourself, Ikeda.¡± That dry, authoritative voice, cutting through the din of battle, filled Masato with dread. As he looked up, Lord Li¡¯s sombre, severe gaze made him wish he hadn¡¯t. The head of House Li was a stern man, with a reputation for ruthless determination that he¡¯d earned over years - decades - of bloodshed. By marrying Sakuya, Masato had also married into House Li, thus committing himself to Li¡¯s command, much as though he were one of the House¡¯s vampires. His life was Li¡¯s to direct, now. ¡°I apologise deeply for this situation, my lord. I swear to you that I have no part of this. My loyalty belongs only to you and your house.¡± Masato rose to his feet and bowed deeply, presenting himself as the humble servant that he was. This, too, had been part of the training he¡¯d undergone in preparation for today. Men of the Tachibana Group might have rankled at the thought of prostrating themselves before anyone but their oyabun, but Masato had been taught to show the vampire elders only the utmost respect, lest he invite their displeasure. ¡°Be that as it may, this mess does not reflect well on you.¡± Li¡¯s body language was opaque as he stepped closer to their table, motioning for Masato to rise. His eyes held Masato¡¯s for a long moment. ¡°I expect a member of House Li to be in control of his affairs at all times.¡± Masato couldn¡¯t help but jump slightly at that. Was Li officially acknowledging him as a member of his house? There was a world of difference between being accepted into the fold on a technicality and being personally acknowledged by the head elder himself. ¡°My lord, I¡­ regret that I have been remiss in my duties. I will take full responsibility for my oversight.¡± ¡°I daresay you will. It would be a damnable shame if you were to let an incident like this tarnish your distinguished record with the Auditorial Board.¡± A trace of amusement played across Li¡¯s otherwise grim features for a moment. ¡°You have shared vis with Sakuya before, have you not?¡± At Masato¡¯s side, Sakuya stiffened, her body growing tense. This was going into dangerous territory - it was as though Li had asked how often they made love. From anybody else the question would have been shockingly inappropriate, but as their sire and master Li had the right to know. Masato cleared his throat, trying not to avoid Li¡¯s gaze. ¡°Yes, my lord.¡± ¡°And you have practiced fighting with her strength?¡± ¡°Yes, my lord.¡± Masato could sense Sakuya¡¯s discomfiture at this line of questioning, and while it pained him to ignore it, he couldn¡¯t afford to show disrespect to Li. ¡°That is well. You are of my house now, Ikeda, and I would see you prove your worth.¡± Li¡¯s expression remained cool amidst the chaos, but the force behind his words was palpable. ¡°Join the fray. Entry to our ranks is reserved for those who deserve it, and I can think of no better opportunity for you to show me that you do. Put an end to this debacle, and bring your oyabun to me alive.¡± Masato swallowed hard as he shot a quick glance at the battlefield. Junichi was leading from the back, protected by ranks of his men - men that Masato would have to cut through in order to get to him. Men he¡¯d called his brothers. Li hadn¡¯t mentioned his work with the Auditorial Board merely by way of praise - as an Auditor, Masato¡¯s duty had been to ensure that the Syndicate¡¯s various branches and subsidiaries stayed in line. An unsavory task, but a necessary one considering how atomized and secretive the Syndicate¡¯s organizational structure was. Managers who skimmed off the top. Dealers who adulterated the product to line their own pockets. Wherever loyalty to the Syndicate wavered, he was there to put an end to it. ¡°My lord, I¡­¡± ¡°You will do as you¡¯re told, Ikeda. Either he gets called to account or you do.¡± Li turned away, joining the rest of the Syndicate elders as they hastily evacuated before the situation escalated even further. After the decimation of House Scarlet, there was an unspoken fear amongst the vampires that even the most ancient and powerful of their number might be felled by a mortal. There would be a private car on standby to take them to a safe house while the conflict was dealt with. Masato sat in shock for a moment, struggling with the enormity of what Li was asking. It was terrible enough to contemplate striking down his sworn brothers, but working as an Auditor had taught him to compartmentalize, to carry out his duties regardless of whatever personal sentiments he might hold about the case at hand. Sakuya, on the other hand¡­ After they¡¯d first formed their bloodbond, Masato had been careful not to use the inhuman strength it granted indiscriminately, and doubly careful not to shed blood with it. By ingesting her blood, he took on some of the inhuman vitality that vampirism granted, inhabiting a fraction of the twisted unlife that Sakuya herself was bound to. He remembered reeling from the rush of alien sensation that her blood brought, the sudden attunement to vis, the essence of life itself, the feeling of invulnerability that suffused every muscle in his body. Power enough to break down walls, to run up buildings. Enough strength, enough speed packed into his body for him to tear through the defenses of any quarry. This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. On the first case he¡¯d worked with her blood in his system, the crooked trust fund manager he¡¯d been investigating had tried to make a break for it. Masato had confronted him in his office about some of the suspect investments he¡¯d made with the Syndicate¡¯s money and gotten two bullets in the chest in response. By that point, he¡¯d learnt two things: first, by the Syndicate¡¯s standards, such conduct typically sufficed for an admission of guilt. Second, with vampire blood, you were basically invulnerable. His flesh spat the bullets out, and he took advantage of his target¡¯s shock to leap across his desk and smash his face into it. The next few moments were a red blur. Protocol was to subdue the target and bring him in to Syndicate headquarters for a thorough debriefing, but protocol was the last thing on Masato¡¯s mind once the scent of blood - living blood, rich with vis - hit him. Need rode him, formless lust alloyed with insatiable thirst, guiding his thoughts, his hands, his heart. When the world came back to him, he became aware of the shattered remnants of the man¡¯s ribs, flayed free of flesh to expose his innards. Masato¡¯s hands clutched a cooling scrap of flesh that had once been a heart, wringing the last drop of life from it. On reflection, he knew that he should have felt horror, or disgust, or something similar. Everything would have been easier if he had. Even now, though, all he could remember was the satisfaction, the sense that everything about this was good, was right, was the way it should be. That night, Sakuya nearly died. He¡¯d returned to find her violently purging, retching up gouts of black-tinged blood, her pale face streaked with crimson tears. She hadn¡¯t been able to look at him, let alone talk to him, until he took her in his arms, using the last of his unnatural strength to still her uncontrollable shaking. I hate being a killer, Masato. And to have made you one, too¡­ I just - Through their bloodbond, Sakuya had been able to sense his whereabouts and actions no matter how far apart they were. At first, it had been nice to be with him as he went about his day, coming to understand better how he worked and behaved in his daily life. But when he¡¯d drawn on her power to kill, to spill blood¡­ the thirst that possessed her, the impulses that she feared and hated, that she spent every moment trying to suppress, came flooding out. The look on her face, horror and disgust and hurt, shook him to his core. He¡¯d seen innocence die before. Never again. Slowly, he¡¯d coaxed her into a semblance of composure, apologizing profusely, begging her forgiveness as her blood left his system, leaving him human again. He held her head to his chest as his heartbeat started back up, letting its familiar rhythm lull her out of her delirium. She¡¯d admitted to him once that she loved its sound, that constant reminder that you were alive. She hadn¡¯t realised how much you could miss that until it was too late. He¡¯d picked up on the silent implication behind that - but it¡¯s not too late for you, Masato - and sensed the burden she must be carrying, the guilt she felt at being the one to initiate him into this hideous, bloody business. She hadn¡¯t asked for her curse, and he hadn¡¯t asked for his duties - yet here they were, caught in the worst of both worlds. Perhaps that was when he¡¯d first begun to love her. Perhaps that was why they¡¯d sent her to him. The trap had been laid perfectly, and its teeth had closed around him long ago. All of which was to say that he now faced an intractable dilemma. On the one hand, Li¡¯s orders were absolute. On the other, Sakuya¡­ ¡°Masato.¡± Her cool hand gently closed over his, cutting through his reverie. ¡°I can¡¯t put you through that, Sakuya. Never again.¡± Uncharacteristically for Sakuya, her expression was resolute. ¡°Do it. Don¡¯t worry about me.¡± Her grip grew firmer, and she drew him closer to her, forestalling any further refusal on his part with a kiss on the lips. He could feel her trembling minutely against him, betraying her anxiety, but her voice was clear and determined. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Masato¡­ I should never have allowed my weakness to put you in this position. If this is what it takes for the House to recognise us, I will gladly endure it.¡± His heart clenched at her words. It wasn¡¯t right that someone as pure as her should have any part of this, wasn¡¯t right that she should blame herself for being human. But duty called. ¡°Sakuya¡­¡± Stroking the gentle curve of her face, he leaned in for another kiss. ¡°I¡¯ll make it quick.¡± She nodded, her cheek against his. Then she slit her throat. Tilting her head sideways to bare her throat to him, she drew a razor-sharp fingernail across the tissue-thin skin over her jugular. Vampires still had veins, arteries, and most of the anatomy that humans had - it was just that none of it functioned the same way. Instead of spurting out, Sakuya¡¯s blood pooled slowly around the cut, as if awaiting his lips. Though the two of them were outranked by the other guests at the table, the vampires politely directed their attention elsewhere as Masato brought his lips to Sakuya¡¯s neck - the bloodbond was as intimate as it was taboo, with shadings of significance that Masato had hardly begun to grasp. All he could think of was how much it hurt Sakuya to be used in this way, and how much he hated himself for being an accessory to her pain. But he drank nonetheless, swallowing his self-loathing along with her blood. If this is what it takes, Sakuya, I will slaughter every last one of them. She shivered, unconsciously cradling his head as he drank deep of her power. He had, after all, promised to make it quick. Not for their sakes, but for hers alone. Rising, he turned towards the unfolding battle. The euphoric rush that usually hit him after ingesting Sakuya¡¯s blood was muted today, the sweetness of her essence tainted by the bitter bile that seemed to be all he could taste at the moment. He scanned the battlefield quickly, the ballroom¡¯s dimness fading away as her blood worked its way through his system, enhancing his senses beyond reason. He often thought that this must be how predators see the world, prowling the wilderness with their prey always in their sights. Oyabun. He identified Junichi amidst the chaos, passing out ammunition to his men. Silver - and plenty of it, from the looks of it. He felt a chill creeping towards his core. How long had Junichi been planning this betrayal? The union, the marriage - had it all been posturing, a complex maneuver to set up this attack? Being a pawn he could accept, but being played like this, sent to Sakuya to deliver the Judas kiss¡­ that was unforgivable. Fortunately, he didn¡¯t need to forgive Junichi. He just needed to bring him in. 3. A Debt Long Overdue 3. A Debt Long Overdue ¡°Oyabun, we can¡¯t hold the line for much longer. What are your orders?¡± The grizzled gangster was too well seasoned to let his voice tremble as he reported to Tetsuya, but his fear and discomfort were all too apparent. With good reason, too - after the initial charge, their men had been routed by the Syndicate¡¯s reserves, and they¡¯d been forced to give ground, inch by bloody inch. By this point, they stood barely forty strong, though his men had managed to establish a perimeter of sorts, keeping the vampires at bay with suppressive fire whilst they regrouped. Tetsuya kicked himself mentally - it was dangerous to think of them as his men, even if he had assumed the role of their oyabun. He wasn¡¯t fit to be a leader. Hadn¡¯t been for years. All he could do was lead men to their deaths, which fortuitously happened to dovetail with his purpose here tonight. He raised his head and took a deep breath. The ballroom stank of gunsmoke, blood, and the odor of profound rot - while his side had sustained heavy losses, he¡¯d made the Syndicate pay dearly for every death. The silver had caught the vampires entirely off-guard, thinning their ranks and crushing their morale in one fell swoop. Where was their immortality now? What claim did they have to supremacy when a single piece of metal was all it took to pop them like the swollen leeches they were? Tetsuya fought back a wild grin. All was as planned. ¡°Secure the exits. We¡¯re done here.¡± His lieutenant maintained his deferential manner, but couldn¡¯t completely hide his surprise and reluctance. ¡°But sir, Masato¡¯s still¡­¡± Tetsuya took a half-step to the side. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry about him. He¡¯ll be along shortly.¡± The other man opened his mouth, as if to interject, but all he could manage was a strangled gasp. As he slumped to the ground, blood streaming from the hole in his back, Masato let his hand fall, dropping several fragments of spine to the ground. ¡°And here you are.¡± Tetsuya raised an eyebrow appraisingly, noting the rips in his suit where bullets had grazed - and in one instance, hit - him. Nothing too serious, considering that silver wouldn¡¯t damage Masato as severely as it would a true vampire. Those wounds would simply hurt like hell and refuse to heal until the vampire blood passed out of his system, providing a source of ceaseless agony. ¡°Oyabun.¡± For all that, Masato¡¯s voice was remarkably level, though there was a dangerous edge to it. ¡°What is the meaning of this? Why are you betraying your word?¡± ¡°I am collecting a debt long overdue, Ikeda.¡± Tetsuya knew it was Junichi¡¯s face that Masato saw, and Junichi¡¯s voice that he heard, but these words came from him and him alone. The damage dealt to the Syndicate tonight - wrought by their supposedly loyal retainers, no less - constituted the success of the mission Ryou had charged him with. From here on out, it was his show¡­ and to be fair, Ryou wasn¡¯t the only one who let his personal agenda influence his professional conduct. Tetsuya gestured to the dead, the dying, the ballroom that he¡¯d converted into an abattoir. ¡°All this, everything that happens tonight... it¡¯s on you.¡± Masato recoiled as though slapped, his cold composure breaking into confusion and hurt. Interesting, how the implication that he was responsible in any way for the suffering around him could hit him harder than the wounds he¡¯d taken on the way here. ¡°When have I ever shown anything less than absolute dedication, oyabun? When have I ever shirked my duty? For the sake of the clan, I gave myself up as a sacrifice - and now I find that you¡¯ve played me for a fool.¡± He struck. So silent and so swift was Masato¡¯s approach that the men around him hadn¡¯t yet realised that he was in their midst, let alone that he¡¯d just felled one of their number. There was vampire blood to thank for that, Tetsuya thought to himself - the deadly speed and grace it imparted made killing absolutely effortless. To an unprepared target, Masato would be nothing more than a blur up until the moment he closed in for the kill - which, in point of fact, happened to be now. But Tetsuya was prepared. With a moment''s mental exertion, the world ground to a halt around him, his synapses surging at superhuman speed. Time was not his domain, and thus true chronomanipulation lay beyond his grasp, but this hack was a reasonable approximation of it. Cognition and perception were functions of the mind, and with each of them pushed past the point of absurdity, every detail around him came into clear, crisp focus - though he¡¯d had to tweak with his hearing to avoid being deafened by the clamor of gunfire. Masato¡¯s lunging form became visible again, a figure moving in slow motion amidst a field of statues, his features frozen in a bitter snarl. So this day has come, Tetsuya mused internally. He¡¯d sworn to exact revenge upon Masato a long time ago, a resolution that hadn¡¯t wavered despite the intervening years and the distractions they¡¯d brought. Never mind that Masato had no idea who Tetsuya was. Never mind that he remained ignorant of the depth of his own wrongdoing. Tonight, Tetsuya broke the man. He ran imaginary fingers over the fabric of his own mind, unravelling it, seizing the threads as they came free and carefully knotting them around the men around him. It was a dangerous line he walked here - splintering himself like this effectively created a hive mind, allowing him to directly control their actions, but the process steadily eroded his sense of self, eating away at his sanity. That was why he hadn¡¯t assumed direct control from the start - it was easier and safer to instil the right emotions within the men and let them act for themselves. Now, however, he needed precision and unison. These men were experienced gangsters, more than capable of handling themselves in a fight, but against even a thrall like Masato - a human who¡¯d ingested vampire blood - they¡¯d drop like chaff. You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. If only it were as easy as reaching into Masato¡¯s head and crushing his mind, leaving him a brain-dead husk. Tetsuya had done it before, and would likely do it again someday - just not today. It wasn¡¯t the horror and revulsion for himself that accompanied the act that stayed his hand - he had his ways of coping with the aftermath, and he¡¯d simply accepted that that was the price he had to pay. No, the reason was simpler - he just couldn¡¯t. A thrall received some degree of mental protection in addition to physical enhancement, a warding against psychic interference. Tetsuya suspected it had to do with the vampire¡¯s claim over the thrall, guarding them against all influences besides their own, but speculation on the exact nature of this protection was academic at this point. There was no choice but to do things the hard way, and it looked like Masato was going to make it very hard indeed. In that moment, Tetsuya was ten dozen hands, drawing steel, loading silver, orchestrating a storm of gunfire with Masato at its centre. This wasn¡¯t Tetsuya¡¯s first encounter with a thrall - he knew dodging a bullet was well within Masato¡¯s capabilities, with the kinetic vision and lightning reflexes that vampire blood granted. The challenge was to ensure that he had nowhere to dodge - every angle had to be covered, each possible avenue of escape cut off before he had the chance to take it. In his state of heightened awareness, Tetsuya mapped Masato¡¯s trajectory, carefully watching how he set his feet as he ducked and wove between slugs. The bastard was as slippery as he was tenacious, often shifting out of the line of fire by a matter of millimeters, but perfectly willing to take a grazing hit if it gave him the chance to take down a gunman. Tetsuya was careful not to lose any men to friendly fire, but even so Masato was tearing his ranks to shreds. He felt his bones break, his viscera rip, a thousand flavors of agony washing over him as his men fell, each of them an extension of his will, each death burning a hole in his head. Biting back the screams that threatened to spill from his throat, he forced himself to step back, making space between himself and Masato. ¡°Do you enjoy this, Ikeda? Changing one leash for another, ready to go fetch whenever your master bids you?¡± Tetsuya called, his voice sounding thick and distorted to himself from within his trance of accelerated cognition. Masato paused almost imperceptibly before continuing his pursuit, lashing out with a brutal backhand that sent a man¡¯s jaw flying. The movement was pointedly casual, like swatting an insect from the air, as he replied coolly. ¡°Oyabun. I served your house, as my father did, and his father before him. Without question, without hesitation - such is the pride of the Ikeda name. When the blade you¡¯ve forged and sharpened comes seeking your throat, who do you have to blame but yourself?¡± Tetsuya tasted bile. ¡°You sicken me. So self-righteous, so wrapped up in being your master¡¯s blade that you neglect to consider who you¡¯re cutting, who you¡¯re hurting. So eager to serve that you abdicate all responsibility and blind yourself to the truth of your actions. You¡¯re proud of what your father¡¯s done? Fuck you.¡± ¡°No.¡± Masato eyed him intensely, his expression growing disturbed. ¡°You¡¯re not the oyabun. He would never let his men die for him like this, and he¡¯d certainly never say anything like that. What have you done, impostor!?¡± The game was up. As realization dawned in Masato¡¯s eyes, Tetsuya was already firing, fanning the hammer of his revolver - no time to sight, no point taking aim at this range. He was rewarded with a roar of pain as one shot hit true, taking Masato high in the chest - two grazed his arm and neck, whilst the last three went wide. He really wasn¡¯t much of a shooter - he could practically feel Ryou radiating disapproval all the way from here. Nonetheless, a chest wound like that from the custom .44 Special rounds he was firing would have taken a regular person out of the fight - these were hollowpoints with a perforated silver ball in the tip, designed to fragment upon impact and create multiple wound channels in the target, not to mention the stopping power of the expanding slug itself. Against a vampire or even a thrall, however, only the silver really mattered, and Tetsuya could tell that he hadn¡¯t hit close enough to centre mass. The silver fragments had overpenetrated instead of lodging in Masato as he¡¯d hoped they would - he stumbled backwards but stayed on his feet, though his face was a rictus of pain. Damn. A cleaner shot would have finished him - as it was, Masato could shrug off the impact of the slug and keep on coming. Before Masato could recover, Tetsuya dropped to one knee and yanked on the leg of a nearby table, the bracers around his left arm thrumming with energy, giving him enough power to yank the heavy wooden table on its side so that it shielded him. He sent a mental command to the men to cover him - without him concentrating on them, they lacked enough autonomy to act on their own, so for the past few seconds they¡¯d just been standing around. Stupid - he should have capitalized on Masato¡¯s distraction while he¡¯d had the chance. Too late to regret it now. While part of his mind focused on keeping Masato suppressed, his hands worked automatically, spilling spent shells out of the cylinders, reloading from his own gunbelt. ¡°Who are you!? What have you done with the oyabun!?¡± The hoarse rasp of Masato¡¯s voice rang out over the gunfire, his demands punctuated with gristly snaps and cracks as he cut his way towards Tetsuya. The oyabun was fine, just knocked out in the private suite of an Azabu nightclub, along with several call girls who¡¯d claim he¡¯d arrived at around four a.m. Tetsuya had planted the right memories in all of them, and any confusion could be attributed to the bottles they¡¯d remember Junichi generously opening that night. He¡¯d even procured the proper empties as befitting a man of Junichi¡¯s stature - a Yamazaki and a Hakushu. As to Masato¡¯s other question¡­ 4. Do What You Came To Do 4. Do What You Came To Do Wood splintered beneath Masato¡¯s fist, the thick wooden table cracking as he crashed down upon the coward¡¯s hiding spot. The sheer wrongness of the situation fuelled his rage, compounding it upon itself until it transcended toxicity. An impostor in their midst. An outsider, turning his brothers against him, using them as fodder, forcing him to strike down the men he¡¯d grown up with. He shook Yosuke¡¯s front teeth free from the back of his hand, letting the flesh close around the punctures he¡¯d sustained. A man - barely more than a boy, like himself - that he¡¯d known since childhood, that he¡¯d gone to school with, snuck clandestine cigarettes in the courtyard with, now a burbling corpse behind him. No time to grieve. No time to regret. Only the hunt mattered now. He¡¯d deal with his conscience after he¡¯d dealt with the intruder. He vaulted over the table, ready to tear into the bastard, letting his hands move without the need for conscious thought. The intruder¡¯s vis whispered to him through the haze of combat, some part of him zeroing in on a pulse that shouldn¡¯t have been audible over the general din. Bring him in alive. Even as he went for the throat, his fingers poised to choke, rather than snap - which would have been his standard modus operandi - his mind moved with its usual clockwork precision, getting the facts in order. Whoever this was, it wasn¡¯t the oyabun. Hauling him back to Li could clear the Tachibana Group¡¯s name and convince the vampire lord of his worth, assuming he could prove that this bastard was responsible for orchestrating the betrayal. Hard to do with no credible witnesses, but he¡¯d cross that bridge when he came to it. Unfortunately, he wouldn¡¯t have the satisfaction of killing the intruder himself - the honor of exsanguinating a ¡®guest¡¯ was traditionally reserved for a high-ranking vampire in the lord¡¯s service, following a lengthy period of interrogation. However, it was possible that he might win that privilege for Sakuya as her husband if he acquitted himself favorably enough tonight, potentially accelerating her rise through the ranks of Li¡¯s retinue. All the more reason to haul him in quickly. His hand closed around bare skin as he landed in a crouch, and - ¡°Come for your old man, kid?¡± His voice was gravel spilled from a shaking fist. It didn¡¯t have the same timbre, the same resonance that it had had when Masato had been a boy, but then he hadn¡¯t heard the man talk much ever since the cancer got to his lungs. The rapid run of Masato¡¯s thoughts fell to pieces as he got a good look at who he was throttling. ¡°Seems I¡¯m not done paying for my sins just yet.¡± Masato¡¯s father coughed fitfully, the weak hissing in his chest carrying perfectly to Masato¡¯s ears despite everything. He loosed his grip, drawing back unconsciously. ¡°Father¡­ what are you talking about? How could you -¡± ¡°How? It¡¯s easy, really. Just tell yourself you¡¯re doing the right thing, Masato, and if anyone gets hurt along the way... well, fuck them, right? You can¡¯t be blamed.¡± He waved a hand dismissively, letting it flop to the ground as if he hadn¡¯t the strength to keep it up. ¡°You were under orders.¡± The old man went on, though his voice was little more than a wheezing whisper by this point. ¡°You were so happy, and then I took it all away. Hurts, doesn¡¯t it? How could someone you trusted so much do something like this?¡± Dimly, Masato became aware of the gun trained directly between his eyes. It wasn¡¯t right. The old man had been so sick for so long that he¡¯d almost forgotten how intimidated he¡¯d used to be by his own father. He¡¯d nearly forgotten the strange species of fear, respect, and something vaguely like love that he¡¯d used to associate with the man¡¯s brusque manner. But the last time Masato had seen his father, he¡¯d been one step away from death, a trembling husk hooked up to a morphine drip. It wasn¡¯t him. It couldn¡¯t be him. That hand, the hand which had cuffed him around the head, picked him up from the ground, which had raised him - roughly, but with love - from child to man¡­ a hand he knew was nothing more than a withered claw curled around a call button at this point - it was too damn steady. Too healthy to be real. Besides, his father would never have hesitated this long before pulling the trigger. Even if it were his own son in his sights. To waver, to let mercy stay your hand when you knew there was only one way forward - that would have earned him a beating, or worse, when he was growing up. Before the old man¡¯s finger could tighten on the trigger, Masato slapped the gun aside. His hand flashed out to close around the man¡¯s throat, all doubt forgotten for the moment. This was what piety meant to him. His father would have understood perfectly. ¡°I don¡¯t know who you are, but if you were trying to mess with me by impersonating my father¡­ well, you fucked up bad.¡± He let his grip grow tighter, giving some release to the rage within - but even in the throes of fury he retained control. He shook the bastard hard, flinging his head backwards like a ragdoll¡¯s - but he didn¡¯t snap his neck, much as he longed to. This wasn¡¯t personal. It was duty. ¡°He wouldn¡¯t have played games with me. He would have done exactly as ordered - that was the first lesson he ever taught me. You know nothing of him, or me. You are not my father.¡±Stolen novel; please report. ¡°No. Perhaps not.¡± The stranger sat up straight, all affectation of weakness cast aside. It had merely been a sham, after all. He held Masato¡¯s gaze, his eyes suddenly flaring with such unnatural intensity that Masato flinched despite himself, his furious concentration breaking. ¡°But I was someone¡¯s, wasn¡¯t I?¡± Before Masato could react, the stranger¡¯s hand fell over his. Reality seemed to shift at that touch, vertigo and deja vu warring in his mind as the world around him swam out of focus, making him lose his grip. But then everything was clear again. His hand was sure as it had ever been, his aim true and straight. He couldn¡¯t miss at this range, not at an exposed target like this. His finger tensed on the trigger as he met his mark¡¯s eyes for the last time. What the fuck was this? ¡°Do it, Ikeda.¡± The man lying in the shadowed alleyway didn¡¯t seem afraid in the least as he stared up the barrel of the gun. He simply seemed resigned, like he¡¯d finally received bad news he¡¯d known was on the way. ¡°Do what you came to do.¡± Masato started. ¡°...Mr Rosenfield?¡± He knew this man. He remembered a friendly neighbour, a kind man whose presence had made it that much easier for Masato to adjust to the move away from the central Tachibana compound. In some ways, he¡¯d been like a second father to Masato, considering all the time his actual father had spent away on business. He remembered days spent playing in Mr Rosenfield¡¯s backyard with his daughter, Kris, wondering if this was what real families were like. Wondering if this was what was ¡®normal¡¯ looked like, and if so, whether he preferred it to whatever it was he had at home. Until¡­ until Mr Rosenfield had died. Until now. He tore his eyes away from the dying man, trying not to stare at the bullet wounds in his chest, soaking his shirt with blood. He looked down at himself, his hands, his suit. The wedding band, the cufflinks - the gun. He knew them well. They were his father¡¯s. ¡°Believe me, this isn''t personal, Leon. You were given the chance to deal, and you knew what would happen if you said no.¡± He felt his throat and mouth move of their own accord. Even the voice was spot on, an uncanny replication of his father''s in his prime. ¡°The Syndicate gets what it wants, huh? Don''t count on it.¡± Leon Rosenfield coughed, blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth. It hurt to listen to - yet he thought he heard laughter hidden somewhere in that sound. ¡°You think little Masato will miss me? Kid''s even closer to me than you, you know.¡± ¡°Don''t bring my family into this.¡± ¡°Fine. Don''t bring mine into it, either. I''m the one the bloodsuckers are after, right? Well, you got me. Mariko and Kris¡­ they don''t know anything about this. About me.¡± Leon gestured weakly at himself, closing his eyes. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ that¡¯s all I ask for. Go on. Pull the trigger, Ikeda.¡± With the awful inevitability of dream-logic, Masato felt himself comply. He strained against the movement, trying to drop the gun, trying to aim elsewhere, trying to do anything but kill the man - but it was useless. As he watched Leon Rosenfield¡¯s body jerk with the force of the shot and finally fall still, some part of him understood that all this had already happened. His father had killed this man years ago, had stood over him in this alley and shot him dead in cold blood. In the name of duty. There was a subtle shift in atmosphere as the moment passed. He was in control again, but it didn¡¯t matter. The deed was done. The man was dead. ¡°This¡­ this isn¡¯t right.¡± ¡°It''s not about what''s right, Ikeda. It''s about what''s true.¡± Leon¡¯s corpse spoke, its voice flat and dead. The cool condemnation in those words hurt worse than any wound could have. ¡°What were you told? That I''d died in an accident? No. This was all part of the plan. Go on. Tell me how great your father was. Tell me how important your duty is. Was it more important than my life? My family?¡± Leon¡¯s body blurred, shifting into the shape of a woman. His wife, Mariko. Masato recognised her even through the mask of bruises she wore, dark purple and fresh red. Her neck hung at an awkward angle, her teeth broken in. She might have died with her husband¡¯s secrets on her lips. Masato felt gooseflesh break out across his body. She¡¯d been kind to him too. Had this happened after the funeral? When had they come for her? Her ruined mouth moved fractionally, forcing out a painful croak. ¡°Did they get what they wanted from us, Masato? Did they¡­ is Kris safe?¡± It wasn¡¯t real. It couldn¡¯t be real. But he couldn¡¯t speak, couldn¡¯t breathe, couldn¡¯t find the courage to respond to a dead woman¡¯s question. He didn¡¯t have the right. He floundered, flailing for words that wouldn¡¯t come. Mariko turned over, as if shifting in her sleep, but as she moved she seemed to shrink, to fold in upon herself until - no. Oh, no. Kris Rosenfield lay still before him. Perfectly still. No breath. No pulse. She was still the girl he¡¯d spent so many hours of his childhood with, the one he¡¯d loved with the simple purity only a child could muster. Dead. She couldn¡¯t be more than seven. She was still in her elementary school uniform, her randoseru cast off to one side and emptied out. What had they been looking for? He reached out helplessly, hoping against hope to find some sign of life in her. He felt at her neck, trying to sense a pulse, but her flesh was stone cold. Kris was long gone. Something in him broke. He couldn¡¯t even react as she turned to face him. Looking into her dead eyes, he could feel everything he¡¯d thought he¡¯d known about himself dying along with her. It was better that way. Better to let go like this than to go on, knowing that everything he¡¯d ever been a part of had led to this moment. He¡¯d never asked for this. Perhaps now was the perfect time to just¡­ let go. 5. The Hearts A Stubborn Muscle 5. The Heart''s A Stubborn Muscle Just let go. Tetsuya trembled, every fibre of himself poured into the task of maintaining his hold over Masato¡¯s mind, repeating the message until it was indelibly seared into the other man¡¯s psyche. He hadn¡¯t known this was possible until now. The bloodbond¡¯s mental warding could be overcome. It was by no means easy - he felt like he was pushing past a haze of indefinable redness every time he tried to get into Masato¡¯s mind. There was something - someone - lurking in that haze, but whoever it was, they hadn¡¯t been able to interfere. He¡¯d chosen his angle wisely. There was a way into every mind, and he¡¯d found Masato¡¯s. Now all that remained was to push him over the edge. ¡°No¡­ this can¡¯t be real. I didn¡¯t¡­ I didn¡¯t kill you,¡± Masato murmured, swaying on his heels, eyes unfocused. Still fighting back, even after all the terrible revelations? Impressive. And also infuriating. Tetsuya snarled, forcing his mind into a scalpel¡¯s edge, peeling away layers of history and identity from Masato¡¯s consciousness. His stubborn sense of duty, his self-indulgent view of himself as a willing sacrifice, his conditioning as an Auditor and killer - Tetsuya coldly excised these, leaving Masato¡¯s self bare and vulnerable. ¡°This is who you are, Ikeda. This is what you¡¯ve made of yourself. Murderers and thieves who ruin everything they touch, you and your father and your fucking Syndicate. Take a good look,¡± Tetsuya whispered. ¡°Is this who you¡¯re proud of being?¡± Tetsuya¡¯s touch had temporarily expanded Masato¡¯s mind, giving him the capacity to absorb and process wide swaths of information in a fraction of a second, similar to the trick Tetsuya had used on himself earlier. Here, however, Tetsuya was in control of what Masato saw. He called up images and memories, taking advantage of the dilation of Masato¡¯s mind to show him years of carnage and destruction - his father¡¯s portfolio, and his own. How could anyone live with that much bloodshed? How could you kill, and destroy, and hurt so much, and still judge your own way of life normal? How could you live with yourself? You couldn¡¯t. Masato had built a paradigm for himself over the course of his life, allowing him to see things from a perspective that justified his actions in terms of duty, of necessity, of orders and obedience. Tetsuya took that from him, and let him see the unmitigated horror of everything he¡¯d been so proud of in his father and himself. Lives ruined, homes destroyed. Loved ones murdered or maimed. Kris, dead. Masato began to moan, and then to scream. This moment was years in the making. When he¡¯d been sent to watch over Kris, the first thing that had struck him about her was her pain. Her loss. He¡¯d helped her with some of it eventually, but it had cost her so much to share that side of herself with him. All he could do was take that pain into himself, like drawing poison from a wound. Now he was here to inflict that pain on those who¡¯d dealt it to begin with. No, Masato wasn¡¯t the one he really wanted to punish. That distinction was reserved for his father, but the man was already on death¡¯s door. Tetsuya had no intention of putting him out of his misery by granting him an early death. Which wasn¡¯t to say that his covert visits to the man¡¯s private ward hadn¡¯t paid great dividends. Without the memories he''d pulled from the man''s fevered mind, he''d never have discovered the truth behind Leon Rosenfield¡¯s death, or the significance Leon and Kris had had to Masato. He''d never have known who to go after next. Sometimes children paid for the sins of their parents. Kris certainly had. The way Tetsuya saw it, if Masato wanted to live up to his father''s name so badly, he should begin by familiarising himself with the man''s greatest accomplishments. And if he happened to realise just what scum he and his precious Syndicate really were along the way, well, it was too late to turn back now, wasn''t it? Kris believed in justice, in making the world as fair as it could possibly be, and it cut Tetsuya to the bone every time she stood up for that belief when the world had never been fair to her from the start. He knew better. Sometimes the world was only fair when you forced it to be. Now was one of those times. This was his chance to right the wrongs she¡¯d suffered. To give her the justice she¡¯d been denied as a child. He redoubled his efforts, bringing Masato closer to oblivion. Breaking a mind was never easy. Familiarity with the subject accelerated the process, but it also made it harder to separate yourself from the person you were killing. Tetsuya was deep inside Masato¡¯s guard, soaking in the same self-loathing, betrayal, and guilt that the man himself was experiencing. He held himself apart from it whilst simultaneously attempting to drown Masato in it. People could die like that, sometimes - the heart was a stubborn muscle, but the mind could override it, if you knew how to make it. If you could convince someone to embrace death wholeheartedly. Tetsuya thought he could.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Let go, you fucker. There¡¯s nothing left for you here. Your family is a nest of rats, your precious duty is a sham, and your bride is a disgusting leech. Red mist rippled and churned in his mind. Tetsuya sensed indignation and fierce protective instinct fractionally before a flurry of white lace crashed into him, limbs flailing and fangs bared. Ah. The disgusting leech. Sakuya, the sacrificial pawn the Syndicate deemed disposable enough to be used in this farce of a marriage. Before, she had been nobody - just a pretty girl unfortunate enough to fall into debt with the wrong crowd. Now, she was worse than nothing. She lowered her arms, shaking. Her pale skin was blistered where she¡¯d covered her face as she¡¯d dashed through the silvered smoke, but not charred, as a more senior specimen¡¯s would have been. She was still within her first decade as a vampire, and the last traces of her humanity had yet to fade. ¡°Stay away from him!¡± She stood over Masato¡¯s comatose form, arms outstretched in a childlike gesture of protection. ¡°I don¡¯t care who you are - you¡¯re not going to hurt him any more!¡± Tetsuya¡¯s only response was a soft, almost inaudible utterance. She cocked her head, as if trying to catch what he¡¯d said, but he saved her the trouble. His fist lashed out, catching her in the jaw and sending her stumbling backwards over Masato. At Tetsuya¡¯s command, the spells engraved into the bands of mithril encircling his upper and lower arms, calves, and thighs flared to life, sheathing his body in a thin but impermeable barrier of force. The bracers were kludgy prototypes, the product of unsupervised tinkering that exploited the principles behind the conversion of mana to kinetic energy in ways that Sensei Ryou would never have approved of in his workshop. Interlocking kinetic barriers would stop incoming blows and bullets, but he had to be very careful not to let them get out of alignment or the forces at work would rip him apart. It was even possible to take advantage of the forcefield¡¯s impermeable nature to punch straight through concrete with a bare fist, though if he didn¡¯t calculate the appropriate vector inputs properly, there was a significant risk of tearing his own arm off. All in all, it was unsafe, reckless and probably suicidal. It was worth it to punch a vampire in the face. Not that it was particularly effective, though. Already she was getting up, her face barely even marked by his blow, which would have taken a man¡¯s head off his shoulders. She glared at him, her jaw set resolutely, and lunged, but he threw himself sideways, skimming across the carpeted floor on a cushion of force. He needed his gun - punching a vampire might be satisfying, but it wasn¡¯t going to get the job done in a fight like this. His momentum carried him towards the gun, but before he could grab it she was on him, clawing wildly at his throat. The kinetic barrier held, repelling her - he could sense her confusion as her swipes refused to connect, turned aside by an invisible force. He groped desperately at the ground, trying to get a hold of his gun before she figured out what to do next. He felt his fingers brush the revolver¡¯s grip - but it skittered out of his grip, pushed by the forcefield around them. Damn it. Pulling himself forward arm over arm, he mentally disengaged the spell powering his right bracer. This time, he managed to get his fingers around the grip and trigger. He cocked the hammer as he hauled himself back to his feet, stopping short as he realised that she wasn¡¯t attacking him any more. Instead, she was hunched over Masato, her hands gently running over his stricken face, whispering to him as though calming a fevered child. Something in that image gave Tetsuya pause. There was too much humanity in that touch, too much love for him to think of her as just another vampire rather than a person. But he remembered a young girl crying at a wake. He remembered the impotent anguish of the man he''d admired his whole life as he regarded the wasted, withered flesh of his arm. And he admitted to himself that it wasn''t really about justice. It was about doing something. It was about striking back against the ones who''d hurt the people he cared about, striking at them wherever he could reach. Even if it meant destroying something as beautiful as this. Even if it meant punishing those who didn''t really deserve it. If there was any way to hurt them back, any way to make them pay for the suffering they''d wrought, he''d take it. He took the shot as she brought her lips to Masato¡¯s. - ¡°Masato? Masato, get up, please!¡± Cool hands on his face, slender arms holding him in an embrace. Masato felt something spark somewhere in the recesses of his consciousness, a sense that he should recognise that voice, that touch. So familiar. And yet he couldn¡¯t place it, couldn¡¯t put a face or a name to her voice. Her? She¡­ was someone important. There had been a girl he¡¯d cared about deeply, but she was gone. Dead. He¡¯d killed her. ¡°No, Masato! It wasn¡¯t real! You didn¡¯t kill her. Nobody killed her, Masato. I¡­ I was jealous, after the last time you mentioned her, so I looked her up. I didn¡¯t do anything to her, just¡­ watched her for a while. She¡¯s still alive and doing fine. So¡­ stop blaming yourself for something you didn¡¯t do, alright?¡± She could hear his thoughts, somehow. Good. It was good that someone could make sense of his thoughts, even when he himself couldn¡¯t. That girl¡­ she was alive. Living her life, somewhere. That was good, too. But what about all the people he had killed? Those, he remembered clearly. The look in someone¡¯s eyes when the light behind them went out forever. The screams of those who were dead but didn¡¯t know it yet. Surely he deserved to be blamed for those. Surely someone with this much blood on their hands didn¡¯t deserve to live, or to be happy, or to love. ¡°To hell with deserving! It¡¯s not about what you deserve, Masato. It¡¯s about what you get! I was a mess, and I fucked up a lot, back when I was alive. But I didn¡¯t deserve to die like this.¡± Her voice choked slightly, and he could see her gesture vaguely at herself. ¡°But you know what? I didn¡¯t deserve you, either. Yet here we are. I¡¯ve got you, and I won¡¯t let go. Come back to me, please!¡± Masato. She kept calling him that, as if she could use a name to pull his shattered self together and give it form. Each time she said it, he felt something pass between them. ¡°Who¡­ am I?¡± he croaked, struggling to make his mouth and throat remember how to move. As he did, his eyes came back into focus, letting him get a clear look at her face. Beautiful. Things began to make sense again, aspects of himself that had been scattered to the wind settling back into place. ¡°You¡¯re Ikeda Masato.¡± Masato felt recognition and affirmation return to him. ¡°My husband.¡± Sakuya. He reached up to touch her face. ¡°My love.¡± She bent close, and he tasted her. Her lips. Her blood. Strength, life, and purpose flooded into him, along with a newfound clarity. The blood on his hands was not a mark of guilt. It was a sign of accomplishment. Every kill a step forward, a step towards what he had become today. He would not be ashamed of what he was, or of the things he¡¯d had to do to come this far. He owned the murder, the ruin, the pain. Sakuya saw his eyes harden with resolve, and smiled, whispering through bloodstained lips. ¡°My killer.¡± 6. Black Resolve 6. Black Resolve There was a flurry of dark movement, and Masato was over Sakuya, taking the bullet. The slug hit dead centre, silver fragments dispersing into his body. Tetsuya saw tendrils of shadowy smoke rising straight out of Masato¡¯s skin, a sign that the silver was doing its job, burning him from the inside out. Fuck it. Good enough. Masato staggered, leaning heavily against his bride, and the two shared a brief, pained exchange before Sakuya let go of him and came straight for Tetsuya. Her expression was nothing like it had been mere moments before. Now she looked every bit the killer that he¡¯d taken her for. Good. That would make it easier to do what had to be done. He opened fire on her even as she turned, forcing her to sidestep awkwardly, ruining her momentum. He pushed his mind and senses back into overdrive, letting seconds spin out into hours. Her movements came into crystal clarity - she was crouched low, darting towards him, her body arched inwards to present a smaller profile. His finger tensed on the trigger, and the bullet caught her mid-movement. Perfect. Superhuman speed was far less useful if you hadn¡¯t learnt not to move in a straight line. She hadn¡¯t been trained in combat yet, then. Her left shoulder jerked, a plume of black smoke erupting from the wound. She screamed, but did not stumble, closing the distance with him. Tetsuya braced himself for impact, knowing he didn¡¯t have enough time to fire again. He didn¡¯t need to kill her, anyway - it was Masato he was after. That hit to the chest might not be enough, but if he could - Something crashed into him, slamming him to the ground. A dark form loomed over him, heaving with the effort of keeping him down. Masato. A steady stream of smoke was still seeping out of his chest wound - a hit like that should have taken him out of the fight for good. Somehow, he¡¯d found the strength to charge and tackle him. Tetsuya felt an instant of panic - suddenly the odds were far worse than he¡¯d initially assumed. His barriers held for now, keeping Masato at bay - the most he could do was keep him pinned down. But even that was bad enough. It was a simple formula: you hold him still, and I¡¯ll hit him. Right on cue, she fell on him, striking and biting wildly. He forced himself to remain calm - it wasn''t a problem. She couldn''t hurt him with his shields up. He had to focus on breaking free. He slammed his fist into Masato¡¯s face once, twice, and felt his hold loosening. Just a little more - Pain blossomed along his right arm, and he stared in horror at the claw marks she¡¯d left in his flesh, shredding the fabric of his shirt and jacket. Fortunately, the band of metal around his bicep had deflected the brunt of the blow, but she¡¯d drawn blood. Her nostrils twitched and flared, the reaction of a predator scenting its prey. Oh, fuck. She had his bloodscent now. His illusions were suddenly useless. No matter what face he wore outside this room, she¡¯d always be able to identify him. She¡¯d bring the Syndicate down on him and Guild Gramarye by extension. She had to die. As she reared back to strike again, he dropped the barrier around his left hand and brought his revolver up. It seemed to weigh far more now with the wound to his arm, but he brought it to bear on her and fired, fanning the hammer with his left hand. She darted away, aborting her attack. She trailed smoke where the bullets grazed her, but he couldn¡¯t get a clean shot. Never mind - one thing at a time. He slammed Masato¡¯s face one last time, throwing the man off him, and stumbled to his feet. His hands worked on autopilot, the right ejecting spent shells from their cylinders, the left reloading fresh bullets from - His fingers brushed blank fabric. Glancing down, he felt the absence of his gunbelts a fraction of a moment before he saw them clutched in Masato¡¯s grasp. Panic nearly seized him there and then - without those bullets, how was he going to fight them? - but he crushed the feeling, instead focusing on the question and its solutions. Before he could make much progress along that line of thought, however, Masato¡¯s bride was on him once more, darting out of the shadows to strike at his exposed arm. There was no way that he could dodge in time, and even if he could, she¡¯d still be in close combat with him, putting him at a great disadvantage. So he made no effort to. Instead, he parried her blow, cracking the barrel of his revolver against her knuckles as she closed in. Of course, there was no way a human could match a vampire¡¯s force or speed - so he cheated, activating the bracers along his arm. It wasn¡¯t so much him swinging his arm as his arm being propelled by several thousand Newtons¡¯ worth of force in the direction of her hand. The revolver impacted against her knuckles, pulverising the fragile bones in her fingers and throwing her attack off course. Under normal circumstances, it would be child¡¯s play for a vampire to reknit those bones in a flash and redouble her efforts, but the screech of pain and panic from her confirmed that these circumstances weren¡¯t normal. The runes etched into the barrel of his gun were more than mere decorative details - they converted a mundane, if perfectly machined, weapon into an implement through which great magic could be worked. More to the point, however, Tetsuya had also inlaid those runes with silver when he¡¯d crafted his gun. At the time, he¡¯d simply liked the contrast between muted gunmetal grey and the brighter sheen of silver. He hadn¡¯t imagined that he¡¯d ever need to pistolwhip a vampire. But a blow struck by silver was one that a vampire couldn¡¯t easily recover from, and the way she cradled her hand told him that she wasn¡¯t going to be using it any time in the foreseeable future. To be fair, the foreseeable future didn¡¯t go very far beyond the next ten seconds or so. Which was good, because he¡¯d very definitely dislocated his right shoulder pulling that stunt. He deactivated his pain centres and gripped his right arm with his left hand, popping the joint back into its socket. He let pain filter back in as he rolled his shoulder, but only a little - there was also some tearing along his chest and shoulder, and he didn¡¯t have time to deal with that right now. He suspected that some of the bones in his wrist might have broken, too, but for the moment he could still articulate it, which would have to do. If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. One arm crippled, two enemies left standing. Crawling, in Masato¡¯s case. Coming to his bride¡¯s defense. She was more guarded now, her broken hand held close to her chest as she clenched her other fist. Another sign of her inexperience - the gesture was an instinct leftover from her time as a human, completely counterproductive when a vampire¡¯s claws were far more dangerous. He couldn¡¯t let them regroup, but at the same time, his options for engaging them were deplorably scarce. What was he going to do, throw his gun at them? He considered - and discarded - the idea. Feasibility aside, he couldn¡¯t afford to leave any evidence that mages had been involved in tonight¡¯s attack. Spent bullets and grenades were one thing - those were untraceable, and in fact Ryou had made them available on the black markets some months ago through various fences, so there was little to no risk of them being linked back to Guild Gramarye. If he left his revolver, hand-crafted, inscribed and enchanted by a Guild Gramarye-trained artificer, lying on the floor here, however, that was a disaster waiting to happen. Could he go invisible and catch them by surprise, maybe get his bullets back? No, it would be too obvious at this distance, and she had his bloodscent anyway, so there was no hiding from her. Getting into a close-quarters scrap was also out of the question - it was still two-on-one, and he couldn¡¯t let her get any more of his blood. He cautiously felt the wound along his right arm - it wasn¡¯t deep, but it was still bleeding. Damn it. Fresh blood, from a living source, would only drive her into a feeding frenzy. He tried to bunch the sleeve of his shirt up over the wound under his jacket, to staunch the blood, though he knew she¡¯d still be able to smell it. As he did, he felt something hard press against his arm, at his belt. Reaching under his jacket, he took hold of it. A grenade. One he¡¯d reserved, just in case. Interesting. He felt the pieces of the plan fall into place fractionally before he sprang into action, ripping his torn sleeve off from the shoulder down and tossing it at her. The bloodsoaked cloth had the desired effect - she sprang towards it, towards him, driven by the impulse to feed. Masato tried to restrain her, tossing Tetsuya¡¯s gunbelts aside in panic, but in the throes of her bloodlust she towed him behind her as though he weighed no more than a child. As she came within striking range, Tetsuya drew back and raised his arms, as though to fend off her claws. Milliseconds ticked away in the back of his mind. Ignition. His shields went up as the grenade exploded behind the two of them. Their screams should not have been audible over the roar of the explosion and his earplugs, but he heard them nonetheless, and smiled. Silver shredded their clothes and seared its way through skin and flesh. The force of the explosion flung them forwards, directly into Tetsuya¡¯s barrier. They slammed against him, unmoving, impassive, as they rebounded and fell to the ground, shaking. His shields gave out, the mana powering them expended in absorbing the entire impact of the blast. No matter. He could finish this here and now. He bent to pick up a long shard of broken wood, a table leg that had been broken off by the explosion. Running his fingers over the broken edges, he called to mind hours spent in the workshop, carving, polishing, perfecting. With each pass of his fingers, the wood grew harder, sharper, as though it had been sculpted that way. He walked towards them slowly as he did this, not hurrying. They weren¡¯t going anywhere. Reeling from the explosion and the agony of thousands of silver particles boring into them, they could barely spare the breath to moan. Yet, as he drew closer, Sakuya stirred, pulling herself into a kneeling position. She put herself between him and Masato, her arms - or what was left of them - spread out in a futile, but powerful, sign of protection. She mouthed something. Take me. Spare him. Please. The look in her blood-red eyes hit him as nothing else could have. He knew that plea. He knew what it was like to see someone you loved hurt and broken, and to be powerless to do anything about it. You¡¯d give your own life if it could stop their suffering. His heart wrenched in his chest, but his hands did not falter as he raised the stake. There was empathy, and understanding. And then there was that black resolve within him, one that did not care at all what his heart felt, that gave his downward strike deadly force and unerring accuracy. Take her but spare him? He could meet her halfway. He slammed the stake through her heart and followed through, piercing Masato¡¯s as well, skewering the two of them together. She twitched, her expression moving through variations of hurt, horror, and resignation until she finally came to rest. Beneath her, Masato too fell still. It was done. A debt had been repaid, with the interest accrued over every year of grief and loss Kris had suffered. She didn¡¯t need to know about this - bringing Masato up to her would only stir up unpleasant memories for her - but he could look her in the eye now. He could believe in her justice without his conscience calling him a hypocrite. He felt as though this should have been momentous for him, but he didn¡¯t let himself get caught up in the moment - there were more pressing concerns right now. For instance, backing away as quickly as possible. A vampire¡¯s true death tended to be messy and dramatic, and he didn¡¯t intend to get caught up in it. Recovering his gunbelts from where Masato had tossed them, he hastily strapped them back on. Time to make an exit. He reached out to the surviving men through his mental link with them, noting that their numbers had dwindled to nearly nothing. They had done well to keep the vampires back for so long, giving him the time to deal with Masato personally. But they had one last task to do - cover his escape. Charge them. Kill as many as you can. Make them fear you! He slammed that message into their minds, pushing it to the forefront of their thoughts, then severed the link. Death paid for death. However, a clever man knew never to spend his own money when he could spend someone else¡¯s. Tetsuya stepped over the mangled body of a gangster, avoided a horrid pool of blood and ichor - the aftermath of a vampire¡¯s true death - and slipped out the door. So it began. Open conflict between the Syndicate and the yakuza, the first pebble that would start a landslide in Tokyo¡¯s underworld. They¡¯d rip each other apart, and he¡¯d watch, and laugh. There were greater agendas in motion here, like the slow shift of tectonic plates beneath the skin of the world, but for the moment he cared nothing for them. He¡¯d plunged the bastards into chaos to hurt them, pure and simple. Let them taste betrayal. Let them know the fear of losing control over everything you¡¯d ever known, for no reason you could see. Let them know how Kris had felt. 7. Guilty Pleasures 7. Guilty Pleasures Kris sipped her Tom Collins, savoring the gin¡¯s bitter astringency and letting the alcohol seep into her system slowly. After all the pomp and circumstance of the morning, she needed this. Coming of Age marked a pivotal turning point in her life, sure, but standing around for hours in a lined furisode had been more tiring than she¡¯d expected, not to mention posing for all the photographs afterwards, and socializing with half-forgotten acquaintances¡­ it was a pain, to be honest. At least she¡¯d managed to change into something more comfortable in her college dorm (with some help from her girlfriends) before coming out for drinks. To be fair, it had been nice to have the furisode on - it was like having Mom holding her, even when she couldn¡¯t attend the ceremony in person. She had helped Kris put on the furisode in the morning, and when Kris had finally gotten it on properly, Mom had looked¡­ happy. The way she hadn¡¯t looked in years, not since Dad had passed. Mom had worn this very furisode to her own Coming of Age ceremony, an elegant piece of her own design, and Kris could only imagine what she must have felt watching the daughter she¡¯d singlehandedly raised reach adulthood and become a full-fledged member of society. She wanted Mom to feel that way every day, and now that she was an adult in her own right, she could make that happen. ¡°Kris, finish that boring drink and come get another round! We¡¯re doing shots - Miyuki¡¯s treat!¡± Kyoko sidled up to her, playfully nudging another one of their friends in the side. Miyuki protested, but quickly acquiesced as the bartender lined up a row of shot glasses and got out the vodka. ¡°C¡¯mon, drink, drink, drink!¡± Yay, being an adult. Kris inwardly sighed, but dutifully downed the shot, savoring the burn in her chest that the liquor brought. She wasn¡¯t a party girl, unlike Kyoko and Miyuki, but she was a team player, and she knew that turning down the shot would only spoil the mood and lower the group¡¯s estimation of her. Sometimes you had to go along to get along, and she had a reputation to maintain. She stood out - there was no helping that. Whether it was her height, her heritage, her family background, her scholarship¡­ there was no shortage of factors that might have fostered resentment amongst her classmates. To this end, she¡¯d cultivated an unflappable - but still approachable - demeanor, as though you could throw anything at her and she¡¯d smile and handle it effortlessly. It was a conscious, calculated decision, and it took constant effort, but it ensured that they saw her as an object of admiration, rather than a despised pariah. From exams to parties to confessions, she met everything with the same air of confidence and capability, even when she was a nervous wreck on the inside - a knack of adulthood that she¡¯d picked up along the way. Setting her glass on the counter, Kris politely extricated herself from Kyoko¡¯s embrace - that girl got way too touchy-feely once she¡¯d had a few - and stepped away from the bar. ¡°Actually, I¡¯m going to make this my last drink here. I¡¯ve got to meet someone soon - I told you guys, right?¡± Kyoko, Miyuki, and the rest of their friends, loosely assembled around the bar, perked up at that. Kris froze, caught off-guard by this reaction, and raised an eyebrow as a knowing look crept onto Miyuki¡¯s face. ¡°Ah¡­ off to meet the mysterious boyfriend, hmm?¡± ¡°He¡¯s not my boyfriend-¡° Kyoko cut in. ¡°The one who¡¯s been able to capture our inscrutable ice queen¡¯s heart?¡± ¡°My heart hasn¡¯t gone anywhere, Kyoko.¡± ¡°Someone so important that you¡¯d run off and leave your best friends all by themselves here in this seedy bar?¡± Miyuki faux-swooned against Kyoko, who chimed in. ¡°Whatever shall we do without our white knight to hold off the lecherous hordes?¡± ¡°Kyoko!¡± Kris stifled a laugh, glancing around at the crowd, which consisted mainly of college students. Valentino¡¯s was anything but seedy, and sat along the borderline of expensive and cheap, which meant that a respectable group of young ladies like themselves could let loose a little without a) being harassed by said lecherous hordes or b) going bankrupt. That said, it wasn¡¯t as though Kyoko or Miyuki were strapped for cash. Kyoko¡¯s family was old money, and Miyuki had some cash coming in on the side - she¡¯d been close-lipped about it, but Kris had spotted her with a sugar daddy or two on her days off. They¡¯d booed her choice of bars at first, but after a spirited round of bargaining (not to mention anger, denial, and grief, not necessarily in that order), they¡¯d eventually settled for having their afterparty at Valentino¡¯s, a chic little hole-in-the-wall bar not too far from campus. Rolling her eyes, she waved to the bartender to settle her part of the tab.¡°You¡¯re a regular comedy duo, the two of you. When can I expect your debut?¡± Miyuki caught Kris¡¯s hand and shook her head at the bartender with a sweet smile. ¡°Don¡¯t you even think about paying today, miss - this is on Kyoko and I.¡± ¡°What? No, really, I can pay for my own -¡± ¡°This is the first time you¡¯ve come out with us in months, Kris! Come on, let us repay you for everything. A few rounds is nothing compared to all the times you¡¯ve been there for us.¡± ¡°All the times you lent us a shoulder to cry on, or lent us notes when we missed class, or talked us out of bad decisions¡­¡± Kyoko counted off Kris¡¯s accomplishments on her fingers. ¡°Or bailed you out of those bad decisions after you¡¯d already made them?¡± Kris cut in sardonically. Miyuki chuckled. ¡°That too. You¡¯re a good friend, Kris. Just... live a little, alright? Come on, we¡¯re adults now! One round for the road, and then you can go enjoy the rest of the evening with your not-boyfriend.¡±This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. Kris felt a retort come to her lips, but thought better of it and accepted the second round of shots Kyoko had gotten from the bartender. ¡°Oh, alright. To adulthood and responsible decisions.¡± ¡°To adulthood!¡± They toasted enthusiastically, and Kyoko slammed her shot glass on the counter, demanding another round. Kris made her exit as the gathering got rowdy, sobering up immensely as the frigid January wind reached straight through her coat and sweater to chill her from the inside out. Teeth chattering slightly, she hustled down the street, trying to keep warm by staying in motion. Already, she regretted letting Miyuki talk her out of wearing thermal underwear (they¡¯re granny undies, Kris, nobody wears those). How that girl managed to avoid hypothermia in this weather given her choice of attire remained a mystery to her, though she suspected that Miyuki¡¯s firm belief in the virtues of the ¡®alcohol blanket¡¯ had something to do with it. Well, she hadn¡¯t had enough to drink to ignore the cold, and though the black cashmere V-neck sweater flattered the lines of her body, taking advantage of her above-average height and slim build to do wonders for her figure, it didn¡¯t do very much to keep her warm. She typically dressed more sensibly than this, and Kyoko and Miyuki had delved deep into her wardrobe before putting together an ensemble that did justice to her figure. And what if I don¡¯t want it to do justice to my figure, Miyuki? What if I¡¯d rather be seen as a person in my own right, not a juicy side of meat? Kris had her share of reservations about the outfit, but knew that they were the fashionistas, not her. Learning when to accept well-intentioned advice and when to stick to your guns was another skill of adulthood, one that she¡¯d learned long ago. There was nothing wrong with wanting to look your best when you were out for a night on the town, and they were going out as a group, anyway, so unwelcome advances were less likely. Kris knew how to turn men down - she¡¯d let down her share of would-be suitors in high school and college - but she always made a point to do with tact and grace, for the sake of her reputation, if not the men¡¯s feelings. Not so easy to do with a stranger in a public setting, much less when both parties had had a drink or two. She tightened her scarf and snuggled into her duffle coat a little more, trying to get warmer and make herself look more nondescript. The bar she was heading to was in one of the less savory parts of town, and she hoped the cold would encourage the less savory individuals who always seemed to be loitering around on the street to stay inside. Who¡¯d brave this weather just to make catcalls at passing women, anyway? No one, thankfully. She walked past a building with blanks where the directory should have been, turned left at the corner, looked for a bricked-up window, and finally came to a stop in front of an unremarkable door in an anonymous alley. She knocked twice, paused, then knocked again. As far as she knew, this bar had no name, and the alley it was located in didn¡¯t turn up on any of the maps she¡¯d looked up. She¡¯d had to memorise the landmarks in order to find her way back to it after she¡¯d been here the last time round. A peep-hole that blended seamlessly into the door¡¯s wooden surface slid back, and though she couldn¡¯t see what was on the other side, she felt herself being scrutinised briefly. Then the door opened just wide enough to let her in, and she slipped inside without hesitation, knowing it wouldn¡¯t remain open for long. Her body prickled as it adjusted to the heated air inside the bar, and her eyes slowly adjusted to the dim lighting. Nameless this place might be, but there was no mistaking the effort and money that had gone into its ambience and decor. Dark mahogany panels lined the walls, and wrought-iron faux-antique incandescent lamps both drew the eye and filled the space with a warm, muted light. The clientele here definitely skewed a little older, as well as somewhat more¡­ sketchy, to put it bluntly. A group of middle-aged gentlemen congregated at one end of the bar, dressed impeccably, as though to say ¡®we are very definitely legitimate businessmen and not anything suspicious, even though our behavior may indicate otherwise.¡¯ This did make it somewhat difficult for Kris to find who she was looking for and navigate her way through the bar¡¯s patrons, but she¡¯d know Tetsuya anywhere. He was seated at a small alcove set into the wall across from the entrance, nursing a glass of some amber liquor on the rocks, and looked up as she approached. ¡°Hey, Kris. Congratulations on becoming an adult.¡± He smiled, raising his glass to her. She noted that he was favoring his left hand, which struck her as odd - he was right-handed, wasn¡¯t he? ¡°How¡¯s it feel?¡± She smiled back, taking her coat off and folding it over one arm as she took a seat. ¡°Same old, same old. Law school is impossible, dealing with people is exhausting, and I have no idea where to go with my career.¡± ¡°Weren¡¯t you thinking about becoming a public prosecutor? That¡¯s a respectable career goal, isn¡¯t it?¡± He raised a hand to get a waiter¡¯s attention - his left again. This time, she noticed a binding of some sort around his right wrist. An injury of some sort? She undid her scarf and placed it over her coat as a waiter brought a menu over. ¡°Yeah, I did¡­ but I don¡¯t know. Everyone¡¯s going into private practice because the money¡¯s better, and my family could certainly use some financial support from me. Mom¡¯s worked hard enough to keep us afloat - I¡¯ve got to start doing my part, too.¡± ¡°You got that scholarship, didn¡¯t you? I¡¯d call that doing your part.¡± She ordered a whiskey and coke and passed the menu back to the waiter. ¡°Mmm, I don¡¯t know¡­ What about you?¡± Tetsuya grinned wryly. ¡°Me? I got my bachelors¡¯ from the school of hard knocks, and the tuition was free. Well, I didn¡¯t pay in money, at least.¡± This was one of the reasons she liked hanging out with Tetsuya. He was an unabashed man of the gutter - or at least he didn¡¯t mind painting himself as such - so she didn¡¯t need to keep up appearances with him. The fact that he wasn¡¯t part of any of her other social circles meant that she could just be herself when she was with him, and¡­ interesting things tended to happen when she was around him. There was also no denying that he was easy on the eyes. He stood out, with his silver-grey hair and blue eyes, though she suspected those were fashion statements, unlike her own piercing green eyes, which she¡¯d gotten from Dad. In his crisp white oxford shirt, midnight blue blazer and jeans, he could have been taken for a model or an actor. She¡¯d noted at least two women discreetly checking him out just before she¡¯d sat down with him, though they¡¯d moved on quickly. She¡¯d first gotten to know him three years ago, just after entering college, and despite what Kyoko and Miyuki had implied, there really wasn¡¯t anything romantic about their relationship. (Yet.) She was just a straight-laced, career-driven, aspiring lawyer hanging out with an inscrutable, borderline-criminal, unemployed rogue. Together, they fought crime. Well, not really, but they¡¯d stopped a mugging once in Ikebukuro. And while she wasn¡¯t entirely sure if he was unemployed, he always seemed to be strangely free to hang out when normal upstanding members of society would be at work. Perhaps he was some kind of freelancer. ¡°Very funny. But you¡¯re¡­ older than me, aren¡¯t you? What do you do after you figure all this adulting business out? Isn¡¯t there anything else to life? I mean, I thought it¡¯d feel different, somehow. Instead, it¡¯s business as usual.¡± ¡°Firstly - rude. You can¡¯t just go around asking people how old they are, oh my god, Kris.¡± Tetsuya feigned outrage, getting a chuckle out of her. ¡°Secondly, as an old-timer, I can tell you that¡­ no, it really isn¡¯t any different. Granted, you¡¯re ahead of the curve. I know plenty of twenty year-olds who have no idea what to do with their lives, and here you are with everything figured out. So¡­ yeah, it¡¯s natural to feel a little disillusionment.¡± ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say I have everything figured out. What were you doing when you turned twenty?¡± Tetsuya looked momentarily nonplussed, but smoothed it over quickly. ¡°I was one of those twenty year-olds with no clue, Kris. No direction, no vision for the future. Luckily, I had enough on my hands to keep me busy. Sometimes that¡¯s enough. Anyway, are you sure you want to be taking life advice from a bad influence like myself?¡± She rolled her eyes. ¡°I¡¯m a good enough influence on myself ninety-nine percent of the time, Tetsuya. Sometimes you just have to be bad, y¡¯know?¡± ¡°Oh, is that what I am to you? A guilty pleasure? The proverbial pint of Ben & Jerry¡¯s on a cheat day?¡± He laughed self-deprecatingly, but restrained himself to a sardonic grin as her drink arrived. ¡°Nah, I¡¯m more of a Haagen-Dazs kind of girl. Got to have my rum and raisin.¡± She smirked as she accepted the glass from the waiter, and raised it towards Tetsuya. ¡°To guilty pleasures.¡± He met her toast with his own, their glasses clinking together lightly, their fingers brushing for an electric moment. ¡°To being bad.¡± 8. Secrets Within Secrets Within Secrets 8. Secrets Within Secrets Within Secrets As though something had just occurred to him, Tetsuya sat up suddenly, an enigmatic expression falling across his face. ¡°Speaking of which, you want in on a secret?¡± Kris raised an eyebrow as she placed her drink back on its coaster. ¡°Only if it involves something scandalous, illicit or dangerous.¡± He leaned back in his chair, considering. ¡°Oh, I think you¡¯ll like it, then. C¡¯mon, finish your drink and follow me.¡± ¡°Uh, what about the bill¡­?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it. I have a tab running, and the bartender knows me.¡± He finished his liquor, and she followed suit. Picking up his coat, he led her deeper into the bar, stepping around a wooden partition she¡¯d thought was a wall at first. It was even darker than the main area had been, and her eyes fought to adjust, but Tetsuya seemed to know where he was going. He paused at a random point and put his hand against the wall, doing something she couldn¡¯t quite catch. The wall swung open, letting wintry air in, and she shivered suddenly. ¡°Hey!¡± ¡°Oh, sorry - forgot to warn you. Don¡¯t worry, we¡¯ll only be outside for a bit.¡± The cold didn¡¯t seem to bother Tetsuya as much, though perhaps he¡¯d expected it. ¡°It¡¯s not far from here.¡± What it was remained a mystery, but she gamely followed him into the cold. He closed the hidden door behind them, and from the outside it looked like a typical service entrance. Taking a quick survey of her surroundings, Kris surmised that they were in a blind alley somewhere behind the bar. It was pretty much as nondescript as the entrance to the bar itself had looked, and she wondered what sort of revelation Tetsuya was planning to spring on her this time. Then he led her down a small flight of stairs set into the side of a building, knocked on a reinforced steel door, held up some sort of card to the peep-slot, and swept both of them through as soon as it opened. Kris felt deep pounding bass sweep through her like a second heartbeat, and she had to raise her voice to be heard over the synthesised vocals and rowdy cheers coming from below. ¡°What is this place?¡± ¡°Only the most exclusive nightclub in Tokyo. Just a moment...¡± Tetsuya took their coats over to the cloakroom - judging from the clerk¡¯s smile, he was a regular here. The only illumination came from recessed neon lighting which ran around the lobby¡¯s ceiling, pulsing in time to the beat and cycling through the colors of the rainbow. As she waited for violet to turn to red, the club¡¯s main doors opened, momentarily flooding the lobby with bass and synthetic fog. Two young men stumbled out, one of them basically draped over the other - either infatuated, or drunk, or both. Both were dressed to the nines and probably somewhere in Tetsuya¡¯s league in terms of attractiveness - maybe even higher if they weren¡¯t stone cold drunk. They made for the exit, but Tetsuya raised an eyebrow as they passed him, and reached past the clerk to grab two coats off the rack and throw them in the general direction of the men. The more sober of the pair caught them midair, shooting Tetsuya a dazzling smile and a thumbs up. ¡°Owe you one, Tetsu. See you around!¡± Tetsuya waved back as the two exited the bar, then smiled as he noticed Kris¡¯s expression. ¡°What? I know them, though Makoto isn¡¯t usually that drunk. I guess you¡¯re not the only one celebrating Coming of Age here tonight.¡± ¡°Wow. Ok, I don¡¯t know what I was expecting, but this¡­ wasn¡¯t it.¡± ¡°What you were expecting from me? From this place? From tonight?¡± Tetsuya seemed somewhere between intrigued and amused by her discomfiture. ¡°All of the above? There¡¯s way more than meets the eye here, huh,¡± Kris muttered. The secret bar had been one thing - she knew such things existed, and there was a certain storybook charm to the hoops she¡¯d had to jump through to discover and access it. But this went even deeper than that. How much stuff was there going on behind the scenes of her everyday life? How had she been so oblivious to these people, places, and systems when they were practically under her nose? ¡°I guess I really don¡¯t have everything figured out.¡± ¡°Few people do. Few people have the right kind of mind, or any interest in looking past the surface of what they see to what lies beyond and beneath. The world is made of secrets within secrets within secrets, Kris.¡± He looked as though he was on the verge of saying more, but an odd pensive look came upon him and he changed the subject. ¡°Anyway, shall we?¡± ¡°Yeah. Enough introspection for one night. Let¡¯s dance!¡± They pushed through the doors to the club proper and found themselves on yet another flight of stairs with an open view of the dance floor below it. Unseen fog machines shrouded the floor with coiling mist, turning each flash of strobelight into a luminescent pillar piercing the dark. As they descended, she noticed a walkway connecting the stairs to another corridor about halfway down to the dance floor. She pulled Tetsuya close, and practically shouted into his ear over the pulsing electronic music. ¡°What¡¯s over there!?¡±Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. He almost-shouted into her ear in turn. ¡°Private rooms! Too exclusive even for the likes of me!¡± Kris smirked at that, and he shrugged easily, then leaned close again. ¡°Oh, mind your valuables while we¡¯re down there! Usually nobody tries anything funny in here, but - you know.¡± ¡°Oh, yeah! Hold on to this, will you?¡± She pulled open the left side of his blazer and slipped her purse into the inner pocket. It was slim enough that it didn¡¯t even leave a bulge in the fabric. ¡°That should keep it safe.¡± ¡°You¡¯re putting a lot of trust in me here!¡± ¡°I am!¡± She looked him in the eye, and was suddenly reminded of just how close they were - their faces were practically touching. Judging from his reaction, he¡¯d come to a similar realisation. He raised a hand to her face and her breath caught in her chest. ¡°What about this?¡± But he only touched her right earlobe lightly. Her earring. A gift from Dad, and one of the last few things she had to remember him by. It was a plain silver stud with some intricate inscription - nothing too flashy. ¡°It¡¯ll be fine! You¡¯ll stop anyone who tries to rob me, right?¡± He groaned, but offered no further resistance, climbing down the stairs ahead of her. She took a surreptitious look around as Tetsuya tried to get an order to the bartender over the crowd of thirsty twenty-somethings already swarming the bar. As far as nightclubs went, it wasn¡¯t like any of the clubs that Kyoko and Miyuki had ever dragged her to - less cigarette smoke, the floor didn¡¯t stick to the soles of your shoes, and the DJ here seemed marginally better at timing a drop. The stage was raised against the far wall, and was large enough for a full band - in fact, there were instruments on stage, though the music was currently being blasted out of the DJ¡¯s Macbook. Private booths circled the dance floor, where those tired of dancing could cool off with a drink. Or make out sloppily, she noted, quickly averting her gaze from a public display of affection. Or snort¡­ something. What was that line from that movie? A wretched hive of scum and villainy? She thought of what she¡¯d said just minutes ago. Sometimes you just have to be bad - well, she was certainly learning from a master here. Tetsuya returned with a straight whisky in each hand, and they clinked glasses before knocking their drinks back - no point trying to toast over the music, and besides, they were still living out their last toast. She swallowed the whisky in one shot and tasted smoke and fire as she breathed out, an accompaniment to the heat within. The world swam around her a little, and she realised belatedly that she¡¯d had upwards of four drinks in the span of an hour. It wasn¡¯t enough to get her completely drunk, just a little tipsy. And hell, if I¡¯m going to be tipsy, I can think of worse people to be tipsy with, she thought as Tetsuya returned their empty glasses to the bar. There was an undeniable thrill in transgression - the guilty pleasure of breaking the rules, of doing what you¡¯d been told not to. What was the point of being an adult if you didn¡¯t know how to indulge in it once in a while? As Tetsuya made his way back to her, she met his gaze with an impish smirk, and led him to the dance floor by the hand, feeling a pattern of calluses on his fingers - was he a musician? Idly, she wondered what he might play, but then he was there with her in the middle of a sea of dancers. The press of the crowd pushed the two of them together, and the momentary sensation of his body against hers sent her thoughts in a very different direction. And they danced. Movement was a language unto itself, and as they moved together on the dance floor, they spoke, communicated, understood. Haltingly at first, but with growing fluency and depth as the song unfolded. Music and motion, body and beat became one unbroken experience for her, for them, deaf to everything but the song, blind to everything but each other. She moved against him and he against her, some touches featherlight, others lingering and longing, moments where the song and dance were little more than a genteel pretense, a veil that covered them but could not conceal the outlines of their desire. However, like all good things - and all bad things, for that matter - it came to an end. The music wound down, creating a lull in the atmosphere. The relative hush that followed was punctuated by the bustle of the crowd moving off the dance floor, seeking refreshment or rest. Kris leaned against Tetsuya in the midst of the exodus to avoid getting jostled, listening to the rapid rasp of his breathing, breathing in the mingled scents of clean sweat and cologne. She didn¡¯t recognise the fragrance. She barely recognised him, or even the person she¡¯d been just moments ago, the one who¡¯d dared to dance so freely and frankly. ¡°That was¡­ new.¡± He drew a deep breath. ¡°...Yeah. We should have done this earlier, huh?¡± ¡°We really should.¡± Much was left unsaid, leaving the space between them charged with implication, inference and suggestion. Mere words were an imperfect, inadequate medium for capturing everything that had passed between them in those fleeting moments of transcendent connection. Still, she tried, searching for the right words and the right time to say them. ¡°Shall we go somewhere quieter?¡± He nodded, and they moved off the dance floor, seeking a relatively secluded area. After a short and fruitless search for an unoccupied booth, they moved to a small landing partway up the staircase, close enough to the private rooms that the noise of the crowd below receded into the background. Leaning against the railing, she watched the people below mingle, drink, and move, and felt Tetsuya doing the same thing beside her. The moment they¡¯d shared earlier was fading, but Kris knew that they¡¯d crossed a line somewhere. It was too late to go back, even if she¡¯d wanted to, and she wasn¡¯t entirely surprised to find that she didn¡¯t. ¡°So¡­ just now.¡± She skirted around the thick tension that loomed between them, coming as close as she could to addressing it directly before drawing back, as if flirting with a naked flame. ¡°Yes.¡± He was as tentative as she was, his usual ready wit replaced with an awkwardness that she recognised. It was the way you felt when you were on the cusp of opening yourself to another person, with fear and hope clamoring endlessly in your ear. Trust him. He wants this, too, and he¡¯s right for you. No. What if he¡¯s not interested in being tied down to a square like me? What if asking him ruins the friendship we already have - something I can¡¯t find anywhere else? But isn¡¯t a relationship with him something I can¡¯t find anywhere else, either? Isn¡¯t this the best time to ask? ¡°What¡¯s going on between us, Tetsuya? Are we just friends, or is there something more?¡± She pushed ahead, refusing to be mired in indecision. She wasn''t the type to play games, not with something this important on the line. He shifted slightly to look at her, his features silhouetted in dim light so that she couldn''t see his eyes. Nonetheless, she sensed the gentle weight of his careful regard, and fought to keep herself from blushing. This was part of being open, of daring to let yourself be emotionally vulnerable with another person. One runs the risk of weeping a little if one allows oneself to be tamed. Yet he was worth the risk. Wasn''t he? ¡°I¡­ Do you want that? To be more?¡± He sounded as though he were fighting down embarrassment himself, which encouraged her a little. Kris turned to him, taking his elbow and moving him so that they faced each other properly. She smiled, giving release to the raw emotion surging within her. ¡°I do.¡± Tetsuya came closer, his expression glowing with relief. ¡°Kris - ¡° The door behind them crashed open, and a large man stumbled out of a private room. Kris and Tetsuya jumped back reflexively. It wasn¡¯t because the man was grizzled, tough, and dressed like a gangster - though he was all of these things - but because of the gout of blood spurting from his neck, staining the walls and ceiling. His eyes were wild and glassy, darting around at random until they settled on Kris. Through trembling lips, he forced out one word. ¡°Help.¡± 9. Starlight and Steel 9. Starlight and Steel Kris managed to keep most of her screaming on the inside, though a little eep escaped through her clenched teeth. The bleeding man staggered towards her, his unnaturally pale face twisting through variations of desperation, pain, and fear. ¡°...Please,¡± he croaked. ¡°Help.¡± He sped up as he approached, as though burning up what little life he had left, reaching out to Kris with a shaking hand. She froze, unsure of what to do or say as he drew near, but Tetsuya pulled her out of the way moments before the man walked right into the railing and toppled onto the dance floor. Screams. Commotion. Kris tensed, but before the crowd¡¯s panic could blossom into chaos, a dark form blurred past her from behind, flowing over the railing and onto the floor. ¡°Halt.¡± The voice was not particularly loud or threatening, but it carried perfectly through the room. It held a note of command that one instinctively leapt to follow, regardless of what your mind had to say. All around the dance floor, people froze in position. Beer cascaded down the chest of a man who¡¯d been unfortunate enough to get caught in the act of raising a pint to his lips, its slow dripping the only sound in the sudden silence. Kris felt herself lock up involuntarily as the command sank into her consciousness, but something in her rebelled, pushing against the invasive hold over her. Her body was a prison, but her mind was an unstoppable force, breaking the bars that held her. However, as the dark figure cast a glance about the room, Kris kept still so as not to draw its attention. She met its gaze out of the corner of her eye. The first thing she noticed was the girl¡¯s beauty. Hers was a face the old masters would have given their right hands to immortalize in art. Even the fresh blood staining her lips could not detract from her beauty - instead it only served to highlight the perfection of her features. Her eyes were piercing red, catching and reflecting the light like a cat¡¯s, making them stand out in the dimness. She did not blink. Neither did Kris, for fear of giving herself away. The girl stooped to pick the bleeding man up by his lapels - she was surprisingly petite, Kris realised, probably only coming up to her shoulder. Yet her delicate build belied surprising strength, as she single-handedly pulled the man, who was attempting to struggle away from her, back in her direction. His shirt tore, revealing a muscled chest and an impressive set of tattoos that spread across his torso and back, depicting coiled dragons in flight. She hoisted him to his knees with no apparent effort, speaking to him in a low undertone that Kris couldn¡¯t make out. His response must not have been satisfactory, as she backhanded him with enough force that Kris heard the small bones in his face crack. She spoke again, louder this time. ¡°Take the deal already, ¡®Guchi. You¡¯ve seen what I can do to your men. Do you want to find out what we can do to your wife? Your kids? If I recall correctly, Ryoko¡¯s about to start high school - sure would be a shame if anything happened to that pretty face of hers, wouldn¡¯t it?¡± The man gasped. ¡°I¡¯ll deal! I¡¯ll do anything! Don¡¯t¡­ just please don¡¯t hurt them.¡± ¡°I knew you¡¯d see reason.¡± She smiled, but didn¡¯t release the man as he continued to blubber and moan. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t be such a baby. Are those broken bones bothering you? Here, let me help with that.¡± Her fingers skimmed over the bruises on his face - then dipped straight through the skin, as if she were reaching into the surface of a puddle. Her other hand rested lightly on the man¡¯s throat, stifling his screams. She worked for a moment, then drew her fingers out, trailing blood and what might have been shards of bone. Kris fought down nausea as she saw what had happened to the man¡¯s face - the bruises were gone and the skin was whole, but the area the girl had touched was puckered and sunken, as though parts of the skull beneath it were gone altogether. ¡°Is that better? Stop whimpering now, it¡¯s unbecoming of a man of your status. How will you ever convince your Ryuusei boys to bend the knee at this rate?¡± Something clicked for Kris. The man¡¯s attire, his tattoos, that name. He was in the Ryuusei Clan, a yakuza group known for its involvement with the human trafficking trade in Japan. She¡¯d sat in on a trial involving one of their members recently. The hardened, unrepentant look in the defendant¡¯s eyes as he was held to account for his crimes and sentenced to life imprisonment had left an indelible impression on her mind - these men were career criminals, the worst of the worst. That fact stood out to her in the midst of the insanity she¡¯d just witnessed. A Yakuza mobster, one of the most dangerous men she¡¯d ever met, was getting thrown about like a ragdoll by a small girl. That wasn¡¯t quite right, either - while she looked to be in her early teens, her confident, sophisticated bearing and attire were clearly that of a mature woman. Kris thought she recognised some of those brands from Mom¡¯s catalogues, but it was too dim to make out the details. Whoever she was, she was clearly accustomed to getting what she wanted, even if it meant breaking some bones in the process. She was also clearly not quite human - Kris didn¡¯t know of any teenage girls who had the strength and speed this girl had just demonstrated. Performance-enhancing drugs, perhaps? Either way, she was out of her depth here. The girl drew a phone out from her blazer pocket and made a call, speaking quickly and quietly to the person on the other end. ¡°It¡¯s Scarlet.¡± She cut short the stream of invective that came over the other end of the line. ¡°Your boss just agreed to deal. No, I¡¯m not fucking with you - talk to him yourself.¡± Scarlet passed the phone to Taniguchi, who muttered a few words, then fell silent, hanging his head. ¡°No further questions? Perfect. I look forward to working with you too. Bye now.¡± She hung up before the person on the other side could finish talking. ¡°I love it when a plan comes together, don¡¯t you?¡± Taniguchi only looked at her hollowly, his expression one of purest misery. ¡°Just kill me. You got what you wanted out of me. End me now.¡± ¡°You¡¯re no good to me dead, ¡®Guchi. Such a drama queen.¡± Scarlet was already moving away, typing on her phone with a businesslike air about her. ¡°You live to fight another day, ¡®Guchi. That¡¯s what you should be taking away from this little kerfuffle.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve ruined my good name, you fucking bitch. What do you think I have left to live for!?¡± He threw himself at her clumsily, his hands reaching for her slender neck. Scarlet batted him away almost casually, the barest flick of her fingers sending him reeling to the ground as she continued typing. ¡°That¡¯s a good question, you know. What do you mortals have to live for? Family? Success? Power? You people have so many reasons for living, surely you can think of something. You have it easy. To us, your ideals are as fleeting and insignificant as a speck of dust, a trifle that might be lost with the slightest breeze. And the wind is only getting stronger these days, make no mistake about that.¡± ¡°Stop rambling and face me, bloodsucker. Give me my death!¡± Taniguchi charged at her once more, but as she stepped around his wild haymaker, his left hand struck out, holding a knife Kris hadn¡¯t noticed a moment before in a backhand grip. As the blade approached Scarlet¡¯s chest, she dropped her phone and grabbed Taniguchi¡¯s wrist, wrenching it backwards with enough force to produce a series of snaps, crackles and pops as the bones within ground together and broke. She snarled, losing the cool composure she¡¯d maintained throughout the exchange. ¡°Where¡¯d you get that little toy, ¡®Guchi? Which one of your dealers still has the balls to traffic in silver, huh?¡± Scarlet bent the man¡¯s wrist almost all the way backwards whilst twisting his arm and shifting her stance, throwing him to the ground and holding him in a lock. She dug the heel of one of her stilettos into a spot along his back, eliciting a moan of pain. ¡°There are a lot of things I could do to make sure you lead a long and miserable life. Give me some names and you won¡¯t have to find out what they are. You can live with one eye, right? How about no eyes? No tongue? How about I leave you a cripple or a paraplegic so you can burden your family till the day you die?¡± Taniguchi writhed in pain, but forced a reply through gritted teeth. ¡°Fuck you.¡± ¡°Names.¡± Scarlet kicked him in the side hard enough to crack ribs, then drove the tip of her shoe into the wound, getting a strangled scream from him. ¡°Or you get to find out what a collapsed lung feels like.¡± ¡°Iwai. Matsukawa...¡± Taniguchi panted out a list of names. Scarlet looked pleased at first, but as the list went on, her expression shifted to a frown. ¡°That¡¯s all the weapon dealers in Tokyo, Taniguchi. Are you fucking with me right now?¡± Taniguchi laughed hoarsely, and coughed blood. ¡°Maybe I am. Maybe I¡¯m serious. Maybe you vampires pissed off enough of us that we¡¯ve stopped giving a fuck about your promises and threats. Do your worst. Like you said, I may be insignificant and fleeting... but even a speck of dust can blind you.¡± Scarlet¡¯s upper lip drew back, exposing her incisors, which had grown longer and deadly sharp. ¡°Alright. You think you can defy us? You think you can stand in our way? Do not presume that you - any of you - stand on our level. You can be a tool in our hands, or you can be an annoyance to be disposed of. Speaking of which.¡±Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. Taniguchi still held the silver knife limply. Scarlet¡¯s hand wrapped around his almost gently, but at her touch skin darkened and flesh withered, reducing his hand to a shrivelled husk in moments. Kris shuddered at the sound Taniguchi made as his hand rotted, and had to stop herself from covering her ears - she didn¡¯t want to draw Scarlet¡¯s attention. Scarlet twisted Taniguchi¡¯s hand, then pulled it free in one abrupt motion, so that she held his dismembered hand like a macabre glove around the knife¡¯s handle. ¡°Just remember that you brought this on yourself, Taniguchi. This is what happens when you don¡¯t fall in line.¡± Scarlet cut away his clothing, and laid the blade against his shoulder. ¡°Hold still.¡± Taniguchi¡¯s cries cut off suddenly, and his body locked up completely. Scarlet began to cut, making a thin incision that ran around Taniguchi¡¯s shoulder and down his side. He bled, but somehow she stopped it with a touch, the wounds turning from raw red to scabby brown as she worked. The muscles in his throat strained to give voice to his agony, but her command held him fast even as she made a similar set of cuts on his other side. ¡°My, these are impressive. Must have taken a long time to get these done, huh?¡± Scarlet traced the dragons on Taniguchi¡¯s back, nodding as she appreciated the artistry. ¡°It¡¯ll make a nice companion to the phoenix I¡¯ve got hanging in my room. You remember Yoshio, right? Lieutenant of the Renge-kai? He couldn¡¯t bear to part with his, but I got my way in the end. I always do, Taniguchi. Keep that in mind.¡± She slid the knife smoothly under his skin, working it back and forth to part skin from flesh. Kris watched as Taniguchi¡¯s skin slowly came free from the hips upward. His eyes bulged, his gaze shifting erratically as though searching for some sort of escape from this torture. Then he met Kris¡¯s eyes. She started despite herself, and his gaze intensified. Help. Before she quite knew what she was doing, she was already in motion. ¡°Stop!¡± She ran down the stairs, weaving around frozen clubbers as she pushed her way to Scarlet and Taniguchi. Scarlet shot a stern glance in Kris¡¯s direction, not lifting her hands from her gory task. ¡°Kneel.¡± As before, the command hit Kris like a physical blow, turning her knees to jelly, but she¡¯d been expecting it this time. She willed herself upright, gritting her teeth with the effort it took to keep her legs moving. She had no idea what Scarlet was doing to her, or what she was getting herself into, but she couldn¡¯t stand by and let a man get skinned alive. Even if he was criminal scum. Scarlet raised her eyebrows as Kris approached, standing up straight - as Kris had thought, she wasn¡¯t particularly physically imposing, but her presence was a crushing weight. She cocked her head as she looked Kris up and down, as if examining a foreign specimen under the microscope. ¡°...Interesting. A human who can withstand my glamer head-on. What¡¯s your Arcana, Stubbornness?¡± ¡°I¡­ don¡¯t know what you mean. Please, just leave him alone. You¡¯ve gotten what you wanted out of him, haven¡¯t you? There¡¯s no need to be cruel, even to someone like him.¡± ¡°And there¡¯s a difference between need¡­ and want.¡± Scarlet¡¯s eyes glittered in the dim light, her small pink tongue darting out to wet her lips as they curved into a catlike smile. ¡°Shall I teach it to you?¡± Kris wasn¡¯t sure if Scarlet was threatening her or flirting with her, but either way every hair on her body was standing on end. ¡°No, thank you. I¡¯m sure we can resolve this like reasonable people, can¡¯t we, Miss Scarlet?¡± Scarlet chuckled at that, covering her mouth with her free hand as she rocked with laughter, her slender shoulders shaking with amusement. ¡°Reasonable people, she says! Oh, kids say the darndest things, don¡¯t they? And so polite, too! But you seem to have me at a disadvantage, young lady. You know my name, and I should probably kill you based on that alone. However, I¡¯m sure you could make it up to me by giving me yours.¡± Alright. Death threats aside, she¡¯d managed to draw Scarlet into a conversation, which was the first step to de-escalating the situation. Now she had to try and build some rapport with her, and leverage that into getting what she wanted. ¡°Fair enough. I¡¯m - ¡° Scarlet looked up abruptly, and Kris¡¯s words were cut off as a jumble of metal, cables, and glass fell onto Scarlet with a jangling crash. Kris jumped backwards by reflex and stumbled, almost falling on her back, but someone caught her by her shoulders, getting her back on her feet. Tetsuya. She suddenly realised she hadn¡¯t been paying attention to him whilst she¡¯d been caught up in the exchange between Scarlet and Taniguchi. He was breathing hard, like he¡¯d just done something strenuous. Like unfasten a load of heavy equipment and jump down from the scaffolding, perhaps? Staring at the debris with a feverish intensity, he whispered something she couldn¡¯t catch, his fingers flickering in the air before them in a curious gesture. Thick fog began to billow from within the mess, rapidly spreading out to cover the dance floor. He pulled her away from the wreckage and turned, pushing her so she was ahead of him. ¡°Run, now!¡± ¡°Wha - ¡° She began to ask what was going on, but one glance at his urgent expression told her he was deadly serious about the now. This was as panicked as she¡¯d ever seen him, even when they¡¯d faced down a thug with a knife in a seedy back alley. Then again, Scarlet was a thug with a knife elevated to the nth degree. Run first, questions later, then. ¡°Over there!¡± He pointed to a small door along the left wall, and Kris sprinted for it, barrelling through and holding it open for just long enough for Tetsuya to make it in after her. Looking around, she felt her heart sink - this wasn¡¯t an escape route. It was the manager¡¯s office, a small room with a drawer, a desk, and not much else - certainly nothing that would help them get out of here. While it was good to be away from Scarlet, this seemed like an out of the frying pan sort of situation. ¡°What... now?¡± One good thing about panting - you didn¡¯t have to try and stop your voice from shaking. ¡°I¡¯m working on it. Stand back.¡± Tetsuya held the door shut with one hand whilst tracing strange symbols against it with his other hand, running his fingers over the handle, the wood, the hinges, the frosted glass pane. He lay his forehead against the door, speaking swiftly and quietly, as though begging it for something. ¡°Tetsuya, are you¡­ praying? This isn¡¯t really the time - well, maybe it is, but it¡¯s not going to help us. Maybe we can barricade the door with the desk?¡± He looked back at her, his gaze intense. His eyes blazed with determination, and for a moment she could have sworn that they shone with electric blue brilliance. No, it had to be a trick of the light - she was adjusting to the white fluorescent light in here after the club¡¯s dimness. ¡°Trust me.¡± Kris was on the verge of pushing the desk towards the door, but his voice held a note she hadn¡¯t heard from him before. She¡¯d trusted him so far, with her evening, her purse, her heart. Had he let her down yet? Could she trust him with her life? Outside, the debris rumbled, loud enough that they heard it inside the room. A low, menacing growl followed, growing in volume and intensity. She was coming closer. Tetsuya stood strong before the door, one hand placed lightly against it. A thunderous crack resounded from the other side of the door, deafeningly loud in the confines of the room. Kris shuddered to think of the sort of strength one would need to strike such a blow, and what it would do to a simple wooden door. Yet the door held fast, refusing to budge, shake, or break. Kris held her breath in the beat that followed, and covered her ears as a hail of similarly forceful blows came down upon the door, on the handle, the hinges, the glass. Nothing broke. ¡°Clever.¡± Scarlet¡¯s hiss carried perfectly in the calm that followed the storm. That one word held volumes of scorn and fury. Tetsuya¡¯s face darkened at her taunt, his lips little more than a narrow white line. Suddenly, a look of panic came over him, and he pressed his free hand to the concrete wall next to the door. Just as he did, a terrible blow came from the other side of the wall. Flakes of plaster rained down from the ceiling, but the wall itself seemed to hold fast. ¡°Not bad. But you can¡¯t hold forever, girl. How long can you keep that spell up? I¡¯ve got nothing but time here.¡± Confusion was a refreshing contrast to terror. Kris waved to get Tetsuya¡¯s attention, mouthing, What is she talking about? She thinks I¡¯m doing this? He turned to look at Kris, the determination in his eyes tinged with desperation now. He mouthed back, I¡¯ll explain later. I¡¯m getting us out of this. He lifted his hands from door and wall, moving as though he carried an enormous weight. Reaching into his pocket, he produced a long, silvery key that gleamed in the bright light, transforming the bland harsh fluorescence to otherworldly radiance. There was something about his poise as he brought it forth, a certain air and attitude that Kris recognised. It was the same way a knight of legend might draw his blade to meet a challenge, an alloy of reverence and resolve. Closing his eyes, he seemed to fight a war with himself before he dared open them again. She could not say what had won in him, but when he looked at her once more, it was as though he was seeing someone else entirely. His lips moved. Trust me. He flipped the light switch off, plunging the room into darkness. No. Not darkness. It hadn¡¯t been a trick of the light, or her imagination. Tetsuya¡¯s eyes burned in the black, beacons of blue that cast the world around him into unearthly relief. The key in his hand caught and reflected his light, taking on an azure sheen. He covered the door¡¯s handle with one hand, and brought the key to it with his other, pushing it in. Kris had taken a philosophy module at university, where she¡¯d learned about shadows on a cave wall and the ideal forms of objects. What she heard now was the ideal form of a key sliding into the ideal form of a lock, infinite teeth meshing with infinite tumblers to arrive at the pure essence that was this sound. It was absurd. There was no keyhole on this side of the door, only a latch. And yet, it all seemed to make its own sort of sense. Some part of her mind saw what he was doing, even if she couldn¡¯t understand it. ¡°Kris.¡± She hadn¡¯t realised how quiet it was until he spoke her name aloud. He said it like a promise, like an affirmation, like speaking the name of God. The capital, the emphasis, was not a matter of inflection, but of intention, something that was recognised without being heard. She was not religious, but she knew the feeling as soon as he said her name. ¡°Do you believe in magic?¡± ¡°...No.¡± No, not even after everything she¡¯d just seen. Just as before, some part of her was capable of accepting it all, of making sense of the absurdity, of recognising the tip of an iceberg of accreted secrets emerging from a sea of mundanity - but that was not the part of her that was speaking now. Tetsuya smiled, as though he had expected that answer. He took her hand, drawing her close. The same warmth, the same presence. Despite everything, he was still the same man he¡¯d been scant minutes earlier, the one she¡¯d drunk with, danced with, opened herself to. The change was not in him, but in everything she¡¯d seen in him until now, like a hidden picture puzzle - at first, you didn¡¯t see it, but once you knew how to look... ¡°Do you believe in me?¡± He lifted his hand to her face, holding her gaze. Light danced endlessly in the space between iris and sclera, coruscating from the faded blue of the desert sky to the deep glacial blue of an iceberg¡¯s heart, spanning entire spectrums she¡¯d never imagined existed before she saw them in his eyes. She nodded. ¡°Good. Close your eyes.¡± His hand tightened around the doorknob, and he turned it in one quick motion. She squeezed her eyes shut, and heard him pull the door open. Immediately, he thrust both of them through the doorway, but they did not set foot on the ground on the other side. As she crossed the threshold, vertigo seized her, the bottom fell out of her stomach, and with her eyes closed, she saw: A yawning void that her consciousness expanded to fill, an infinite starry sky in which universes were born, blossomed, and burned before being born again from nothingness. Countless doors thrown open on countless worlds, worlds layered and honeycombed on top and throughout each other, and herself slipping from one portal through another, caught in a scintilla of time and space, an infinitesimal interstice between one realm and all others. An immense, blazing presence in the shape of a man, pulling her close to his side as he strode through rippling realities. His form shifted and stretched, a flickering shadow cast by an endless parade of lights, making it impossible to recognise him from one moment to the next. She knew him anyway. Tetsuya. As she thought his name, he came into sharp focus, disparate elements coalescing to form his face and body. He was skyclad, shaped from starlight and steel, a sculpted Adonis holding her to his side. The arc of his arm, reaching forwards, said more of beauty and perfection than anything she had ever seen in her life. And beneath the sublime existence that was Tetsuya, Kris felt something familiar, like an echo of a long-forgotten song. She blinked tears from her eyes, then realised that she¡¯d opened them. The world began to move once more, inchoate infinity crystallizing into concrete definition as her senses returned to her. At first, there was darkness - then Tetsuya snapped his fingers, and the lights came on. They stood in a well-furnished, though somewhat cramped room. Every surface was cluttered with stacks of handwritten notes or half-built contraptions, including the rumpled double bed and overflowing bookshelf. Kris glanced backwards, trying to catch a glimpse of the otherworld they¡¯d just stepped out of, but Tetsuya turned, firmly shutting the closet door behind her, cutting off any hint of the unreal experience she¡¯d just been through. ¡°I didn¡¯t imagine I¡¯d ever bring you here like this, but here we are.¡± He breathed deeply, then smiled self-deprecatingly, gesturing at the room. ¡°Welcome to my place.¡±