They had no intention of storming the building to kill everyone on sight. When the time came, they might benefit from an extra two or three to their number, but two was enough for their current goal. Anyone else would only slow them down. And they had Renobo, insurance for if anything went wrong. There were places where they might have left her, but doing so brought the risk of Panshigaru finding out, particularly if Biku had to contact his colleagues to drop her off. They were dealing with people that had no difficulty in breaking into his apartment and abducting Yuko. They might have already infiltrated the people he was likely to contact.
Having lost Shimizu, Biku had decided it was best to bring Renobo along. She would be a hostage if things heated up, and they could always just kill her if the situation demanded it. The wind was blowing stronger now. At the forest floor, nothing much had changed, but higher up the branches of the beech trees had begun to sway.
There it is.
Biku stopped dead. Fuminari stopped with him, noticing it too.
“Can you sense that?” Biku asked softly. He flicked his head-lamp off.
“Yeah,” Fuminari answered, killing his light.
“This is it…” Biku muttered.
Something similar had happened two years previously, when Hanko had pursued Fuminari across the Tanzawa mountains. Fuminari had sensed the beast’s aura and asked Kumiko if she could feel it. She told him she couldn’t, but that his behavior made it clear they were being followed. The thing they sensed now, however, was not tracking them. The forest itself was bristling with extraordinary energy. The darkness was frayed and prickly, as though pumped with electricity. The energy felt dense and heavy, pooling in discrete pockets.
“This is the same as outside Mt. Koya’s Inner Sanctuary,” Biku said. Kukai was there after all. His eyes lit up. Yet, it felt slightly overcharged. Lacking the signature calm of the sensation at Mt. Koya.
It was waking up.
The two men continued without torchlight. With each step, the feeling grew in strength. It felt like entering a cloud, vertically-stacked and swollen with preternatural energy. More than just an aura, the feeling was becoming an atmospheric dissonance. The hair on Fuminari’s arms stood on end. Renobo’s laughter shifted up a pitch.
Fuminari was the next to stop.
He could see something in the undergrowth ahead; a coiled, black, fog-like thing. It vanished each time he tried to look at it, like it had never been there. Then it came back each time he looked away, even when he shifted his gaze by only a fraction. There was clearly something there, and it was moving. It seemed to resemble human hair. It was crawling over the grass, advancing towards them on number of vaguely-defined, spidery legs. A wrinkled, monkey-like face appeared inside it, eyes flashing open for a moment before the creature shivered and faded away.
“What the fuck?” Fuminari exclaimed.
“The miasma, it appears to be congealing,” Biku commented.
Biku’s face appeared to be floating, a pale shape in the darkness. He started to walk again. As they continued they saw another of the hair-like things, then another. One hung suspended in the air, perfectly still despite the wind.
“Something is stirring,” Biku said.
But what?
Renobo’s laughter had become even more shrill. Fuminari pulled her down from his shoulder and covered her mouth with his hand. A lizard with a human face was crawling over his cheek.
5
Hosuke was sat around the dining table with Kurogosho, Enoh and Katsuragi.
They had just finished eating. Mugs of coffee steamed on the table before them.
“So, how about it?” Hosuke asked Kurogosho.
“How about what?” Kurogosho fixed his eyes on Hosuke.
“Yesterday’s proposal. Will you join me when I dive into Kukai tonight?”
“After seeing the marks on your back today, the idea seems a little…”
“Scary?”
“Indeed.”
“You’re afraid. At the same time, you’re interested—right, old man?”
“Quite.”
“So how about it? I got those marks ‘cause I fucked up. I won’t make the same mistake twice.”
“And what was the nature of your mistake?”
“I tripped over something and woke it up. Things would have been fine otherwise.”
“Is that so?” Kurogosho peered at Enoh and Katsuragi.
“The risk is, I believe, twofold,” Enoh began.
“Go on.”
“The first risk pertains to Kukai. Only Hosuke knows what happened in there. The danger may be greater than he suggests.”
“And the second?”
“...exists if Hosuke is being duplicitous.” Enoh turned to Hosuke.
“I’ve got nothing to hide man…”
“I wonder.”
“Listen—even if I did have something up my sleeve, it wouldn’t help me get out of this place. I’ll be unconscious on the Psyche Converter bed. The moment I try to pull something you kill me. Think I plan to stage a lovers’ suicide with this old crony?”
“Your reasoning is plausible.”
“Hah!”
“What are you planning? The plausibility feeds my suspicion.”
“Tell me…what did you see in there?” Kurogosho asked.
“I saw a passageway,” Hosuke replied.
“A passageway?”
“Yeah, a passageway. I don’t have another word for it. Wherever Kukai went—the other side, nirvana, heaven, whatever—his mind would have left a passageway. A kind of trail behind it. If we follow it, it will take us to where he is.”
“And what are these haunts?”
“I don’t really know. I can guess though, based on what I’ve seen.”
“Please.”
“After Kukai crossed over, an energy came to inhabit the passageway.”
“An energy?”
“The same as the one around Mt. Koya. There was always a magnetism to Kukai’s sokushinbutsu. A quality, that collects energy from around it. Enoh, you have probably noticed this.”
“I have.”
“For over a thousand years, huge numbers of people arrive to offer worship to Kukai. Do you understand the significance of this? Why do you think those people would chose to visit Kukai?”
“Ah, of course,” Enoh nodded.
“That’s right,” Hosuke’s lips curled. “They come to get all their shit off their chests, transfer it into Kukai.”
Kurogosho, Enoh and Katsuragi all glared, wide-eyed at Hosuke.
“So over a thousand-plus years, all that shit grows a will of its own. That’s what those monsters are inside of Kukai. Nothing that approaches consciousness, not even instinct. They’re something altogether more primal—a manifestation of human excess that only exists to consume.”
“Huh,” Enoh grunted.
“Their original form was pure energy, the stuff trapped in the corners of houses, out there in the mountains. That’s in the beginning. But the stuff in Kukai has been slathered time and again with the dregs of confession and greed. It’s become distorted beyond recognition.” Hosuke peered up at Kurogosho. “That’s my personal take on the things, of course.”
“And to reach Kukai, we must slip past these creatures while they sleep?”
“Exactly. Chances like this don’t come up too often. You could bear witness to Kukai’s immortality. I seem to remember you saying you were ready to die, old man, if it were necessary to achieve immortality. If the marks on my back scare you, fair enough. Well…” Hosuke gave Kurogosho a testing look, “how about it?”
Just then, someone knocked at the door.
“What is it?” Enoh asked.
“It’s Hanko and Jakou’in. They are missing.” A male voice spoke out from behind the door.
6
A virgin forest of birch, beech and maple extends away from the larch trees surrounding Lake Megami.
The forest floor is covered in a dense layer of undergrow
th, mostly bamboo grass, criss-crossed with occasional fallen trees, fertile ground for thick colonies of moss. A shadow was crouched now, boulder-like, concealed in the darkness beneath one of these trees. It was the dead of night. The wind howled like an agitated spirit, ringing through the branches of the surrounding woods. A couple of falling leaves landed on the dark form. It remained still. Completely unmoving like this, the form could have been a rock—but this was no rock.
This was a man—Senkichi Fuminari. He breathed in silence, calibrating each inhalation. His right shoulder was pressed against the tree, in his arms he held a woman—Renobo. Although it was more accurate to call her Miwa Ishibashi. They had forced her into a black dress. Where her skin was visible it was grotesque and covered with endless wrinkles. As she was now, Renobo was an elderly woman in her eighties. Her true age was somewhere in her early seventies, but she appeared a decade older. This was the woman’s true form.
Only her teeth remained perfectly white, appearing unpleasantly false. Her skin had lost its previous vitality and luster, retaining only her abnormal pallor. Her breathing was light, a tiny flute-like sound. Fuminari had his thick left arm around her neck, tensing from behind. Her right hand was over his groin, massaging him from over his trousers. Her long, narrow eyes still carried a hint of the Renobo of old.
Fuminari’s upper body was covered in khaki. His intense focus banished any lusty impulses that might have come from Renobo’s hand between his legs. He had two knives on his waist, a crossbow at his feet. Biku had gone on ahead to survey the inside the residence. The residence—the palatial building that was home to Kurogosho. Fuminari was located somewhere behind it.
Biku’s Land Cruiser was a kilometer back through the woods. They had made the initial climb in the vehicle, then walked the remaining distance. Renobo had given them details of the building’s interior; these were copied onto the map Fuminari had with him now.
“Fuminari,” Renobo said, her voice frail. “Do you really believe the two of you can take us on?” Her voice was broken.
Fuminari said nothing.
“Let me suck you off, right now,” she said.
“Pipe down,” Fuminari answered.
“I can make you hard…”
“Look, shut the fuck up or I’ll smash your teeth in and rip those fucking lips off.”
Renobo fell silent but her hand kept moving.
Fuminari listened to the wind. He sucked in air, it was full of the stench of grass. As always, it reminded him of blood. He let the thought linger for a moment. There was a sound, something faint. Not too close, not far away. Footsteps on the grass, parting the undergrowth, coming gradually closer. The sound carried a weight to it—whatever it was it had bulk to rival Fuminari’s own. He felt a cold rush of excitement run down his spine.
No fucking way…
He tensed, his entire frame stiffened.
A spark of baleful energy sliced through the air, gone in an instant. Through the darkness, the thing had come to a halt. It had noticed him, just as he had noticed it.
“Make a sound and you die,” Fuminari whispered into Renobo’s ear.
He turned to face where the footsteps had stopped, concealing his aura. He heard the rustle of the wind. There was, he remembered, a waning moon in the sky. But the light was too weak to reach the forest bed. The dark trees blended with the night before him.
One, two… Fuminari began to scan the black trunks, as though tallying their number. Ugh…
He swallowed a breath. One of the trees stopped at two meters, forming that unforgettable outline. He got to his feet, still carrying Renobo, the crossbow in his right hand. A wave of murderous intent billowed out from the black form, growing in strength as it came towards him like an attacking mist. When it reached him it transformed into a howling, black tornado—it slammed audibly into him. His hair blew upwards like a flame stoked in a breeze.
Hanko.
But not alone…there was another. Just as Fuminari had Renobo before him, so was there someone in front of Hanko. A woman. Dressed in perfect black with her face concealed under a veil. It was Jakou’in.
What the hell are they doing here?
Had Biku been caught? Given away his location? If so, why had only Hanko and Jakou’in been sent out?
“Hanko, huh?”
Fuminari heard the words come from his lips, surprisingly calm. Hanko replied with a deep, rumbling growl. Fuminari took a couple of steps forward. Hanko stayed unmoving. Fuminari could make out the creature’s shape, the inky gleam of its eyes. He knew Hanko would be watching back, seeing the same light in his own eyes.
The woman before Hanko was whispering something. She appeared to be trying to stop the beast from fighting. Hanko’s thick left arm swung out to brush her aside.
“No!” Jakou’in screamed, her voice gusty and abrasive. It sounded more for Fuminari than Hanko.
“Hee, hee!” Renobo laughed her broken laugh, a whisper in Fuminari’s arms. “Do you know why she doesn’t want you to fight Hanko?”
“Huh?”
“I know the reason.”
Fuminari felt a foreboding chill run down his spine. Renobo sounded amused.
“When was it now? Back in Tanzawa, a man and a woman…watching us act out the Heruka Rite. Hanko pursued them—chewed a couple of the man’s fingers. The man escaped by throwing himself into a valley river. The girl, though—she lived to become our captive.”
The shock hit Fuminari like a hammer through the brain.
“The man was you, Fuminari.”
So that was it, Fuminari thought. Why hadn’t I noticed? He had spoken with her, exchanged words in the dark. She had freed him, allowing him to escape from Miwa Ishibashi’s residence in Hachioji. Renobo put words to the realization.
“The woman became Jakou’in, the woman that stands before you now.” She barked each sentence.
“Kumiko!” The name tore from Fuminari’s lips, cutting through the darkness. His hold on Renobo relaxed. The woman ducked free, grabbing one of the knives from his waist as she ran across the grass. It came up, grazing Fuminari’s cheek. “Fuck!”
He charged after her. The huge black form sped towards him like the wind itself. A wave of hellish pressure rushed in, causing the hair on Fuminari’s neck to stiffen like needles. He tensed; crossbow still in hand he brought his elbows inwards, plunging his head behind them as he powered up every muscle in his body. The blow came in the next instant, the force a gigantic bludgeon slamming into his defense. The blow would have shattered the arms of any normal person, folded or not. Fuminari was knocked backwards, he tumbled through the grass.
The crossbow had split clean in two. Hanko’s leg came in, going for his head with enough power to tear it clean off. Fuminari had no idea which of the beast’s legs it was, it was all he could do to block the attack. He had forgotten about Hanko in the brief moment he had given chase to Renobo. Hanko had seized the chance with flawless execution. The beast’s boulder-like frame came crashing down as Fuminari landed, his back to the grass. Fuminari knew his ribs would be crushed if that weight—greater than even his own—connected. But there was no time to dodge. He kicked his right leg up towards Hanko’s groin. It met only air. Hanko’s fall had stalled in mid-flight.
Impossible.
A branch from one of the birch trees above groaned loudly. Hanko had grabbed it in mid-air, using it to break its descent. Fuminari hurled part of the crossbow still in his right hand at Hanko’s head, his insides burning in horror. It felt like daggers of ice slashing at his back. Without thinking, he dived through the undergrowth. Hanko’s heel slammed into the ground where he had just been, cutting deep. Fuminari pushed a knee down to force himself up, his face covered in scratches from the undergrowth. The next attack would connect before he was even on his feet.
A sharp wail cut through the night. The two of them stopped dead.
The sound had come from Jakou’in—Kumiko. A knife stuck out of her left breast, the handle protruding at a g
rotesque angle. It was the knife Renobo had taken from Fuminari’s waist.
“Heeeee, he he he!” Renobo was laughing, shaking her head wildly. “I’ve killed the disloyal whore! Now, Hanko, kill him!” she ordered.
Hanko did not respond. Fuminari kept still. Both had their eyes on Kumiko. She was groping through the darkness, swaying with her right hand on the knife in her chest. Her pale wrists were visible in the dark, dancing like phantoms. Only her eyes were visible under the black cloth that still covered her features. They were trained on Hanko and Fuminari.
Hanko bellowed, a soul-crushing roar that convulsed through the darkness. The beast’s incredible frame began to grow, swelling beyond its original size. Its eyes focused on Renobo, taking on a twisted light. Renobo had stopped moving, taken aback by the incredible surge of power.
“Hanko, what are you doing?” she snapped.
Hanko howled in pain. Then the creature burst into motion, heading right for her. There was rustling from above. Just as it seemed that Hanko would tear Renobo to shreds a diminutive figure swooped down to stand between them.
“Enough, Hanko!”
A small, elderly man in a robe got to his feet between them—it was Enoh. Hanko stopped short.
“We noticed you two had gone missing. I came looking.”
Enoh was Hanko’s creator—the beast’s master. Hanko contorted inwards, issuing another pained cry. Fuminari had never heard mourning so powerful.
“What were you about to do, Hanko?” Renobo screeched.
Jakou’in stopped swaying and crumpled to the ground, face up. Hanko was back in motion the moment Enoh’s eyes flicked away. Renobo went pale. Enoh flashed into motion, scything past Hanko’s face. Hanko’s cheek split open as though cut with a knife, revealing the beast’s pink flesh underneath. Thick blood rushed into the wound.
“Stop, now!”
Hanko ignored the command. It had been the same in Tateyama when Yajima’s knife had missed its target and instead pierced Jakou’in’s shoulder. The beast had ignored her pleas and snapped the man’s neck. Then Hanko had killed a man after he had knocked Jakou’in aside, during the attack on Fuminari and Biku at Yamanakako. Hanko showed no signs of slowing down. Enoh readied himself to attack again. This time Hanko’s right leg came up, heading for Enoh himself.
The Psyche Diver Trilogy: Demon Hunters Page 48
