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Chapter Text

A Game of Cat and Cat

“Demon Summoning is one of the blackest arts imaginable. Not only must the summoner submit his God-given soul to vile monsters, he must sacrifice others to call forth his evil masters. I pray that this dark art shall be lost in the mists of time…”

--Diary of Leon Belmont, translated by Julius Belmont

Kazuya Kawamoto was good at many things. Swords, for instance. His movements were blindingly fast, even with the heaviest blade. Another thing he was good at was first aid. He knew exactly how to set a bone or stop bleeding in an emergency, and exactly what not to do when a bullet is lodged in someone’s chest. Other things he was good at included stair climbing, falling long distances safely, navigating traps, keeping track of maps, boosting morale, and reloading guns.

But if there was one thing Kazuya Kawamoto prided himself upon, it was his skill with computers. He had been fascinated by them ever since he was old enough to be trusted not to drool over the keyboards. When he was thirteen, he had designed and built his own portable computer. By the time he was fifteen, he had broken and repaired it so many times that he could fix it in his sleep. It was also reinforced as best as his allowance could stretch.

His crowning achievement, in his opinion, was a virtual reality viewer. He had poured years of downtime into pushing pixels before it bore fruit. Unfortunately, he couldn’t complete his masterpiece, a program that simulated a gigantic tree. It was supposed to have seasons, show realistic sunlight and shadows, and a nonrepeating bark pattern. He already made an outline for the forest he was going to make, and it was all a matter of making the trees.

It was no exaggeration to say that Kazuya was the best computer scientist in the freshman class.

“A phishing scam?” repeated Soma Cruz, Kazuya’s roommate. “You fell for a phishing scam?”

“It said that it could halve my student debt,” said Kazuya tersely.

“Oh… wow,” said Naoki Kashima, his other roommate, looking over his shoulder. “I’m very sorry, Kazuya,” he said sincerely.

“I mean, I’m sorry, too, but… that’s basic internet safety,” said Soma. “I thought you knew about com-”

Naoki silenced Soma with a cutting glare.

“…Dinner’s on me, whenever you want,” said Soma quickly.

Kazuya sighed. Looking at his bank balance wasn’t going to magically change it. “Thank you for the sympathy, but I want to be alone right now,” he said, grabbing his bag.

Soma stepped back. “All right then. You have my number, so give me a call when you’re hungry.”

“Thank you, Soma.”

Kazuya strode out of the room, his bearing as regal and arrogant as a lion, and eyes icier than the January sky outside. His footsteps scarcely made a sound on the tiled floors. With arms toned and muscled from years of swinging heavy practice swords, he yanked the door to the basement. 

He probably would have looked very intimidating had he not been trying to eat three energy bars at once.

Despite his exceptional skill with computers, the fact remained that Kazuya was a refugee displaced from time, and more than a bit out of touch with the modern internet. The act of phishing, for example, was not terribly well known until well after the year 2000.

In Kazuya’s timeline, the internet stopped working after the autumn of 1999, burned by nuclear fire, and no one had bothered to make a new one. Even with all the demons running around, it was still easier to pay a kid 500 Macca to carry a floppy disc across town than it was to make ethernet cables.

Most skilled programmers, on the rare occasion where they would be caught in this situation, would have hacked the money back. But that would have left a trail, and Kazuya had no intention of being arrested again. He wasn’t sure if he could prove that they had scammed him first, and he already had a dim view of the justice system after his second stint in jail. Besides, just because he knew how to program didn’t mean that he knew how to hack.

But most skilled programmers didn’t know how to call up demons from the lowest pits of the Netherworld and make them sign away their freedom with digital work contracts. Especially not Lieutenant-Generals of Hell with the power to do practically anything in one night.

COMP strapped securely to his arm like an archer’s bracer, Kazuya descended the steps that led to the dorm’s basement. No one ever went down there unless they wanted to use the washing machines, and those broke so often that the students had long since jumped ship to the dorm across the street. Kazuya liked it down there, for the peaceful atmosphere and the comforting hum of machinery. It reminded him when he slept in tunnels.

Traditionally, summoning a demon required a ritual involving chanting, debauchery, alcohol, sugar, blood, and sacrifices, not necessarily in that order. Kazuya could skip most of that with the Demon Summoning Program, which translated the chanting and soforth into a smooth transition of binary. The sacrifices couldn’t be eliminated, but it could at least make it a little less messy.

The only problem exclusive to the program was the fact that without drawing a summoning circle, users could accidentally summon their demons into walls. Stephen couldn’t do much about that with just software, especially when it wasn’t guaranteed that every computer had active sonar detectors, so he had to do some fudging. He used the CPU’s orientation to calibrate the dimensions (somehow), gave the user the dimensions of free space required to summon the demon, and added an input for coordinates. It had taken Kazuya much trial and error to get this right, especially when he had to do this in the middle of a fight.

Two wisps of pale fire flickered into being. They swirled around one another, and coalesced into a winged green imp. The demon hissed as it scanned the room for enemies, but relaxed when it saw none. Payment could be delayed when a demon was summoned in the middle of a battle, but demons preferred pointless formalities whenever possible.

“It has been a long time since thou last called me,” said the imp in Japanese. “I trust you are well?”

Kazuya had made all of his speech-capable demons learn Japanese, partially because it was faster to communicate without the COMP’s translator, but mostly so that they could communicate with bystanders. Kazuya used to send them on errands without him, and too often were they attacked by demon slayers who couldn’t tell them apart from wild demons. The obvious solution of giving them distinguishing clothes or accessories stopped working after some rabble-rouser dressed up some captive demons in stolen clothes and turned them loose in the middle of the city. Not everyone believed a demon’s word, but it at least cut down the number of incidents.

“Good evening, Fleurety,” said Kazuya. “Unless you have any requests, I shall pay you in yen tonight.”

Outside of combat, demons were only required to obey orders after payment. They could request or accept literally anything, and Kazuya used to amuse children with an anecdote involving a Titan, some sock puppets, and the entire plot of Final Fantasy VII. However, to prevent summoners from paying in garbage, there was a clause in the contract stating that a demon could refuse any offer that did not use legitimate currency. Kazuya had learned that the hard way after his time travelling adventure in the Diamond Realm rendered his yen valueless.

“Dost thou have any Macca?” asked Fleurety.

“I do, but that’s for emergencies.”

Since the point of the program was to bind demons to a summoner to make them fight, a demon could not refuse a summoner’s orders if the summoner provided them with some form of legitimate currency.

Fleurety did not voice its displeasure. Instead, it said, “I accept thy offer of yen.”

“Good,” said Kazuya, digging into his wallet and dispensing the exact amount into Fleurety’s waiting hand. “Instead of Magnetite, I offer you my life force for sustenance. After I finish issuing orders, of course.”

Monetary compensation was at most an employer’s obligation, but energy was a biological necessity for demons that summoners had to provide. This energy had to be some form of life energy; demons couldn’t use anything else any more than humans could eat lightning. The traditional way was to use human sacrifices, and Kazuya usually used a substance called Magnetite, but today he was using his own life force. This wasn’t as dangerous as it sounded. If taken in small amounts, life energy grew back. It exhausted the summoner and made them unfit for combat, so Kazuya never used it when he trekked through Tokyo, but it was perfect for physically undemanding college days.

“I accept,” said Fleurety. It kneeled, head bowed low in supplication. “What is thy bidding, my master?”

Kazuya held up a slip of paper containing what little information he could glean from the email. “Are you capable of identifying humans with this information?”

Fleurety picked up the paper and began reading. “I am,” it said after a minute.

“Good,” said Kazuya. “I have good reason to believe that the person, or people, to whom this information belongs to has stolen from me. I command you to investigate their records and determine if this is true. If they stole from me, make them return everything they stole using this scam. Under no circumstances are you do harm them, let them know who I am, or allow anyone other than myself or any others on the list to see you. Make sure that they return more than just my money, or else they’ll know I’m the one behind this. I advise that you leave some ice or slash marks on the walls, so they know that it isn’t a dream.”

“Detailed as ever, master,” said Fleurety. “Very well. One night, I promise thee.”

Kazuya raised a hand. “I’m not finished,” he said. “In addition, I order you to get me a 300 ml cappuccino, made with whole milk, 5ml of cocoa dusted on top, and 5 ml of cinnamon mixed in with the milk. And a chocolate croissant from the pastry shop next to the train station. And a bowl of jambalaya, too. Place the cappuccino, croissant, and jambalaya on my desk within an hour of acquiring them.”

“Very well, then.”

“And I’ve been neglecting the dishes as of late…”

Fleurety stiffened. Oh, Lucifer, not again.

“…Make sure to separate the whites, the colors, and the delicates…”

I used to assassinate my masters’ enemies, fill their castles with gold and treasure, and grant them the most erotic desires of the flesh.

“You might as well give any homeless people you encounter a decent meal…”

I thought I’d be granting another son of man his deepest desires, but no, he wants to build houses and soup kitchens.

“Don’t mix bleach and ammonia; that’s poisonous…”

Forcing us to memorize his battle codewords was bad enough. I don’t think I’ll ever stop thinking of flanking from the left whenever someone mentions chocolate muffins.

“Oh, and get me some Pocky…”

Fleurety did not need to breathe, but it made the best semblance it could of clearing its throat. “May I speak, Master?”

Kazuya nodded. “Proceed.”

“I beg of thee, write me a list of thy commands. Thou ask much of me, and I do not wish to neglect any of thy requests.”

“Hm… you have a point,” said Kazuya. He took a notebook out of his bag and started jotting down orders. “Just do everything on this list. Can you do all of these?”

“I cannot perform all of those tasks,” said Fleurety with forced blandness. It had to get his revenge somehow.

Kazuya paused. “Let me ask something else. Which items are you incapable of performing?”

Fleurety couldn’t help but smirk as it said, “The third item from the top with a prime number of letters, all items that have a perfect number of vowels, the-”

Kazuya raised a hand. “Indicate which actions you cannot perform by tapping them with your finger.”

Fleurety tapped the twelfth item on the page.

“All right, so you can’t scrub the floors without waking up my-”

Fleurety kept on tapping that item.

“…Answer me. Are you tapping in Morse code?”

“Yes.”

“Can you translate it?”

“Yes.”

“What is the translation?”

“Henceforth, let it be stated that the truth value of the first statement is equal in value to the statement Left-Parenthesis Left-Parenthesis True AND False Right-Parenthesis XOR Left-Parenthesis False AND False Right-Parenthesis Right-Parenthesis OR Left-Parenthesis Left-Parenthesis True OR False Right-Parenthesis AND Left-Parenthesis True XOR False Right Parenthesis Right Parenthesis STOP The truth va-”

Kazuya raised his hands up in defeat. “All right, you win. I’m brute-forcing this. Can you perform the first item on the list?”

“Yes.”

“Can you perform the second item on the list?”

“Yes.”

“How many items can you not perform?”

“The number of items that I cannot perform is equal to the second happy number.”

“…Can you perform the third item on the list?”

This went on until Kazuya learned that he could not perform the fifth, seventh, eighth, twelfth, fifteenth, twenty-third, and twenty-seventh item on the list. “I assume you want your Magnetite now?” he said icily.

“Aye, verily.”

Kazuya took off his jacket and rolled up his left sleeve. “Take only what you require.”

Fleurety knelt and bit Kazuya on the shoulder with his long, sharp fangs. Kazuya winced, but did not cry out. The more painful the wound, the more Magnetite was generated.

After what felt like an eternity, Fleurety let go. “Thy will be done,” it said as it vanished into the darkness.

His only witness gone, Kazuya finally allowed himself to collapse spread-eagled on the ground. He heard a high-pitched ringing in his ears, and the noise of the machines began to sound farther and farther away. “You had better be worth it,” he muttered as the edges of vision began to darken.

When his tongue and teeth stopped feeling numb, Kazuya figured that he could sit up. With hands made clumsy with weakness, he poured an exact amount of rubbing alcohol on his wound. He then forced a square of chocolate into his mouth, savoring the taste. Feeling slightly better with some sugar in his bloodstream, he struggled to his feet and used the wall to get back to his room (cursing the stairs every step). He wolfed down leftover rice, fish, and fudge cake (he’d asked Fleurety to clean up after him) before collapsing into his bed without bathing or brushing his teeth.

By the morning of the next day, Kazuya’s bank account balance had righted itself, and his room was a little cleaner than before. Soma had left him a large beef bowl with extra vegetables in the fridge for him, along with a note saying that it was for him. Kazuya celebrated with the cappuccino, changed his bank account number and password, and returned Fleurety to whence he came. He told his roommates that he hacked his money back, and they believed him. Soma still insisted that he could have the bowl.

A good night’s rest and two meals couldn’t completely cure Magnetite deficiency, but he could at least walk to the lecture halls, given a few breaks in between. He should have been fine by the next day, when he would be meeting with that poor kid he met over the internet who needed some cash to pay back her little brother’s hospital bills before her father would have to give their college funds to the yakuza.

The only problem was the slowly melting bowl constructed of frozen jambalaya that Fleurety placed on top of his 8432 yen discrete mathematics textbook. “Note to self,” he said as he wiped down his book. “A bowl of jambalaya is not the same as a bowl containing jambalaya.”

X

A few days passed. Not much happened to Kazuya. He recovered quickly with rest and plentiful food, luxuries that he still had trouble believing in. He handed in homework, watched cat videos, and submitted his Neopets password to the inspector.

As usual, he paid little attention to his roommates.

X

It was a beautiful January day in Haruhata City. The bright sunlight and cloudless sky gave the illusion of a pleasantly warm spring day to those who chose to spend their Sundays indoors, but this lovely image fooled no one. It was bitterly cold.

Everywhere in the city, shops that sold tea, coffee, or hot chocolate saw small but meaningful bumps in profit. Even the coffee shop next to Haruhata University saw more sales during this seasonal winter depression than during finals week.

That café, called Back in Black, was unsurprisingly packed. Hardly anyone took particular notice of the three people sitting at a table in the corner. Who would? After all, they looked completely ordinary, with their orange, yellow, and white hair in Japan, and their perfectly normal fluffy white longcoats, and their… never mind.

 “You’re probably wondering why I called you here today,” said Yoko Belnades, professional monster hunter and scion of a clan of magicians. In front of her was a chocolate croissant and a black coffee. 

“If I had to guess, I’d say it’s because you couldn’t discuss it over the phone,” said Mina Hakuba, part-time miko and daughter of a clan of shine priests. She was holding a currant scone in one hand and a paper cup of ginger tea in the other.  

“And it has to do with… my problems,” said Soma Cruz, reincarnation of Count Dracula, King of All Vampires, Lord of Terror, and never, ever called the Prince of Darkness. A cup of hot chocolate and a cherry Danish sat on a plate, untouched.

Yoko nodded. “Exactly,” she said.

“Then why are we discussing this in a café instead of somewhere secure?” asked Mina.

“This is secure,” said Yoko. “At least, it’s the most secure place I can find.”

“How?” said Soma incredulously. “If you’re a professional va—a professional, why isn’t there-”

“I can’t take you anywhere else,” interrupted Yoko. “HQ’s off limits to civilians, and even if it wasn’t, I don’t want my coworkers to hear your secrets. Same goes for my apartment; we’re all in the same building and the walls are thin. You probably have roommates. A crowded place like a coffee shop near a college is loud enough so that no one can hear us.”

“Does that really work, or did you just get that from Harry Potter?” asked Mina.

“If you don’t believe me, just try listening to what those kids next to us are talking about,” said Yoko.

 “…How wonderful grass smells when you’re rolling around in it?” said Mina after a few seconds.

“Clean water just falls from the sky and no one bothers to pick it up?” added Soma.

“All right, bad example,” admitted Yoko. “But even if they can hear us, it doesn’t mean that they will. Most people are too caught up in their own lives to pay attention.”

“Even if we start talking about vampires?” said Mina.

“Even then. Most normal people would rather think that we’re either crazy or talking about a story. One of my coworkers swears that they overheard some bank robbers talk about their job a week before they actually did it. Happy now?”

“Okay then,” said Mina. “Sorry about the delay, I just wanted to be sure.”

“It’s fine; you were just being safe.”

Soma tore off a piece of his Danish, but did not eat. “So what’s so important that you’d come all the way here just to tell us?” he said. “The suspense is killing me.”

“The thing that I called Mina in the dead of night to call a meeting for?” said Yoko.

“Yes, that,” said Soma.

“The thing that’s so secret that I’m constantly looking over your shoulders to look for eavesdroppers?” said Yoko.

“Yes,” said Mina.

“The thing that’s so important that I’m willing to go against orders and risk getting fired?”

“Now you’re just messing with us,” said Soma.

“Come on, what is it?” said Mina eagerly.

Yoko said it.

“…That’s it?” said Mina.

“But we already knew that,” said Soma.  

Yoko stretched. “I’m not after your life,” she repeated, more out of teasing amusement than annoyance.

“…You’re messing with us,” said Mina. He tone was that of annoyance, but a smile slipped out.

Yoko took a sip of coffee. “Fine, that’s only technically true.”

Yoko’s eyes flitted around the café, and Soma realized that she had chosen their table for a reason. Her back was up against the corner, so she could see almost everyone in the room. She had placed Soma and Mina so that she couldn’t be seen by people on the street. “I really could get fired over this, but a misunderstanding could be a disaster, and it would be incredibly stupid if we could have just sat down and talked it over. Besides, it’s not like I’m the first person to spill.”

“Spill what?” said Mina.

Yoko lowered her head to the level of the table. “I’m on a mission right now, right here in Haruhata City,” she hissed in a low whisper. “I can’t tell you the details, but I can assure you that it has nothing to do with Dracula. We think.”

“You think?” said Mina.

“There’s no proof that he or his cults are involved,” said Yoko. “And by ‘no proof’, I mean ‘not enough information for any meaningful conclusion,’ not ‘curse you, Lex Luthor, we know you did it but you’re too good at covering up evidence.’” Yoko caught Mina’s grin. “Fine, I can only assure you that I was not sent here because of Dracula.”

Soma coughed. “Not that I’m not grateful for the info, but… why did you need to tell us this?”

Yoko shrugged. “I’m a professional vampire hunter. You’re Dracula’s reincarnation. If I started hanging around your city for no reason, and made flimsy excuses when you pressed for answers, you’d think that I was up to something, wouldn’t you? And if I didn’t explain anything, the easiest answer would be that I’m spying on you and betraying your trust.”

Soma and Mina looked at each other. “You watch a lot of movies, don’t you?” said Soma.

“Enough to know how stupid miscommunication plots are,” said Yoko.

“But… if you’re warning us that there will be spies around here, and you’re telling us not to worry, wouldn’t that be the perfect cover for you to actually spy on us?” said Mina.

“Wouldn’t it be more efficient to not tell you?” said Yoko.

“Only if your spies are absolutely sure that someone with Soma’s abilities won’t notice them.”

“Do you really have that much faith in Soma’s powers of perception?” said Yoko.

Mina shrugged. “I haven’t witnessed them firsthand, but if I knew that my target is the only known wielder of a supernatural power that has a seemingly infinite number of unconventional uses, I’d be as careful as I could.”

“True,” said Yoko.

“So how do we know that you’re not actually spying on us?” said Mina in a forced casual tone.

Yoko paused. “If I said that you’d see us more if we really were spying on you, that’s not proof because spies aren’t supposed to be seen. Maybe I could prove it by…”

 “Telling us what you’re going after will suffice,” said Mina with a smile.

“But even if I did tell you, I might be lying,” countered Yoko.

“True, true… But it’s possible to tell when someone’s lying, right?”

“But even if you know if I’m lying, that doesn’t get you any closer to the truth, because you don’t know if I’m hiding the fact that I’m spying on Soma or if I’m covering up something else.”

“But then if I took a squirrel and-”

Yoko never heard what Mina would do with a squirrel, because Soma chose that time to interrupt.

“Who do you work for, anyways?” said Soma suddenly.

The smile fled from Yoko’s face faster than a Tsuchinoko. “Are you accusing me of being a spy?” she said in a carefully measured tone.

“What? No!” said Soma, startled by her sudden seriousness. “It’s just… I’m confused because you’ve always been unclear about that. You said the church sent you for Castlevania, but you were also working with Arikado, who was working for some Japanese intelligence thing. And you were working with him and Julius in Celia’s castle. Which organization do you work for?”

Yoko blinked owlishly, than leaned back in her chair. “Sorry. Work habit. I get accused almost every time I’m hired. And no, I don’t keep losing my job,” she added when she saw the question Mina was afraid to ask. “I’m a freelance magician.”

“You’re a mercenary?” said Soma.

“I’m a freelance magician,” insisted Yoko.

“What’s the difference?”

“I only get hired by people who believe in magic.” Yoko took another sip of coffee. “To answer your question, the church hired me for Castlevania, but I worked with Arikado because I knew him from before. Normally, the Agency of Supernatural Investigation—that’s Arikado’s ‘Japanese intelligence thing’—doesn’t allow its members to work with outsiders unless strictly necessary, but he wasn’t acting in their name for Castlevania. I don’t think the Agency even knew that Castlevania was in Japan at all.”

“Really?” said Mina.

“I figured that if they knew, they’d send at least someone,” said Yoko. “But I’m not really a member, and Arikado never talks about what he did there, so I can’t be certain.”

“What about Celia’s castle?” asked Soma. “Did that Agency hire you?”

Yoko nodded.

“Julius too?”

“Technically, Julius isn’t a mercenary, but he came on their behalf,” said Yoko. “He’s supposed to be training his successor, but he had to come because a Dark Lord might have been involved. He can’t stop for anything less.” She took a bite of croissant. “And there’s your proof, Mina. If Dracula was involved, Julius would be here with the Vampire Killer.”

“But how can you prove that he’s not here?” said Mina.

“I can prove that he’s somewhere else,” said Yoko.

“Fair enough,” said Mina. “You win this round.”

“Any more questions?” said Yoko. Soma and Mina shook their heads. “None? In that case, I need to finish unpacking.”

“Do you need any help?” offered Mina.

“No, I’m all right on my own,” said Yoko, stuffing the remains of her chocolate croissant in her mouth. “See you later!”

The three of them said their goodbyes, and left to do more work.

It wasn’t until dinnertime that Mina realized that Yoko never told her what she was after.

“What could possibly be so important that the government would hire a mercenary?” she said to herself.

X

The Vortex World was a harsh, unforgiving desert. The glare of Kagutsuchi did little for the plants, but instead gave rise to seas of poison, rivers of Magatsuhi, and oceans of sand. There was little enough for a human to eat in a world of ruin, so the Demi-Fiend was forced to subsist on a diet of other demons. One might think that after returning to a society where food cost less than an hour’s hunt, one would want all sorts of treats like ice cream, steaks, parfaits, or even sushi.

But after surviving for months in a barren desert of demons, destruction, and doom, the dreaded Demi-Fiend just had a craving for sandwiches.

Even though it was only a few months shy of two years since the world was restored, Naoki Kashima still enjoyed sandwiches. He ate at least three every day, stuffed full of fish, beef, lettuce, cucumber, pork, or whatever was on sale. It was cheaper than buying a hot lunch every day, too.

One frosty morning, Naoki used the last slice of bread in the package, and was about to move on to the next bag when he realized that the baker had somehow forgot to slice the bread.

Naoki’s first idea was to just get a knife, but then he remembered that his cheap knife was too short to cut through the bread evenly.

Naoki’s second idea was to use his nails, the same tools that had opened cans and cans of cold soup, grass jelly, and beans, but then he realized that even if his nails were sharper than a vain man’s razor, they were shorter than his knife.

Naoki’s third idea was to use the energy sword that he produced whenever he used Deadly Fury. This sword was definitely long enough for a clean cut, and if the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy movie was correct, it might even toast his bread.

“Soma’s off with his girlfriend, and Kazuya’s off in the lab,” Naoki said to himself as he shut the curtains. “No one’s going to see.”

 Naoki placed the bread on his desk and held out his right hand. A shimmering sword of light flickered into existence. The bread toasted beautifully as the blade sliced through it, every slice with a golden-brown shell no thicker than an eggshell, leaving a soft, buttery center. It offered no more resistance to the sword that slaughtered thousands than a knife through water.

Unfortunately, neither did the desk. 

“…Crap,” said Naoki. He grabbed one of the unused trash cans (all three of them had brought one, but only the biggest one got used), stacked last semester’s textbooks on top, and propped up both halves of the desk. Thanks to the fact that the desk rested on panels instead of legs, the new pillar wouldn’t be seen from most angles.

Crisis averted, Naoki sat down and considered his options.

“I could swap it with someone else’s, and leave it to them… no, wait, then they’d just tell their roommates that they have no idea what happened to their desk. Maybe I can say it was like this when I got here. Yes, as long as they don’t think I did it—and I’m too weak and skinny to cut a table in half, even with a sword—mysterious phenomena happening around me won’t be too suspicious.”

Naoki let out a sigh of relief. “I wish I could afford a spare desk…wait.”

Naoki’s gaze fell on a dusty desk. “Thank goodness for my missing roommate.”

By the time Soma and Kazuya came back, Naoki had successfully swapped his desk with that of their fourth roommate, whom they hadn’t seen in days. When Daisuke Higawa came back and knocked over the support pillar, he’d be the one to deal with the broken desk and the barrage of questions.

“Serves you right, putting rotten fish in my underwear,” Naoki muttered.

X

That night, Yoko Belnades collapsed on her couch, exhausted from the day’s work.

Idly, she went to her laptop and played back the security footage that Arikado had sent her and the team.

A green monster emerging from a shadowy corner of a café, putting on a hat and apron, and brewing the tastiest looking cup of coffee that Yoko had ever seen.

The same green demon snatching dishwashing liquid and laundry detergent from the shelves of a supermarket, vanishing, and reappearing to replace the partially used bottles onto the shelves.

The green demon mucking around with a pot of stew and a freezer in a restaurant.

The green demon placing a steaming Styrofoam cup of something next to a sleeping homeless person, caught by a bank’s exterior cameras.

The green demon drinking a bottle of whiskey in a library and pouring through a math textbook.

Yoko had thought it was drunk at first, but there was a distinct lack of stumbling and clumsiness. It acted too keenly, too precisely, to be drunk.

Arikado had agreed. Yoko recalled his grave words as he handed her the memo a week before. “Another demon summoner,” she said to herself. “Is this really coincidence?” 

TO BE CONTINUED!

Chapter Text

"Justice is an integral pillar of society; one does not comprehend how important it is for wrongs to be righted until they have no one to depend upon save themselves. When someone else inevitably attempts to fill that void, endeavor to aid them in their mission. However, know that they are just as human and fallible as you, and that power will corrupt them. It is your responsibility to both aid and check them."

-How to Survive the End of the World, by Kazuya Kawamoto. Chapter 10: Living with Other People. The rest of the passage was inarticulate ranting about how he never deserved to be arrested, not even for taking bribes.

The funny thing about rumors is that every time you hear one, you get the feeling that you've already heard it. This doesn't just apply to bits of adultery gossip or ghost stores that are little more than fill-in-the-blank games of Mad Libs, such as, "Did you hear that _(name of person) ran off with their _(occupation)? _(exclamation)! How _(adverb) it was of them!" or "The ghost of _(celebrity) haunts the _(noun) in the _(noun), and _(verb ending in s) anyone who _(verb ending in s) it!" This also applies to rumors such as, "Our town is actually a spaceship built by the ancient Mayans," or, "Wearing the emblem of the local high school will protect you from being attacked by a man wearing a paper bag over his head." You've never heard a rumor for the first time.

In the city of Haruhata, the primary rumor was that at night, something lurked the winding streets, abducting the unwary. What exactly it was that was doing the abducting varied with the telling. Elementary school students assumed that it was yet another ploy by their parents to keep them from roaming about after curfew, and generally heard that it was monsters who ate bad children. Junior and senior high school students spread it like a ghost story in hushed voices, and spoke of ghosts, aliens, and demons from hell that wanted aimless revenge, dissection, or souls of the damned, and not always in that order. Adults chatted about serial killers and youkai, beings that generally didn't need a reason for whatever they did.

What gave that rumor such fertile ground was the fact that there was evidence. Something was happening. People were vanishing. The newspapers had plenty of articles that their readers were free to skim over during breakfast, use for pet litterbox lining, or even pin to walls next to maps and bits of colored yarn. While the papers generally had less lurid content than the rumors, hardly anyone contested the skeleton of facts they presented. The cases started around November. Victims ranged from the ages of fifteen to fifty; three in five were male. An average of one person per week went missing, but sometimes it spiked to as many as seven or eight. Many families and roommates of the vanished gave statements about how their _(relative) was a good _(noun), even if _(pronoun) would often go out at night. They all agreed that on the night of their disappearance, their _(relative) had left the house and never came back.

Naoki Kashima, like many civilians, couldn't remember when he first heard about the missing people. Looking back, he felt ashamed that he did nothing, especially when strange murders in the park was the first warning sign of the end of the world.

However, Naoki could pinpoint the moment when he started caring.

It was another frigid January afternoon, according to the internet. Naoki didn't allow himself to feel the cold if he could help it. He'd had the Wadatsumi Magatama in him since October. The Misama Magatama had the drawback of making him languish in the warm dorms and steamy baths, and while the Masakados Magatama protected him from ice magic, it didn't do a thing about mundane cold. The only thing he had to worry about with Wadatsumi was sticking his fingers in a socket or being struck by lightning, and even then it just hurt like hell.

Naoki sat at his desk, clad in a threadbare sweater that he didn't need, eating a freshly made sandwich. It was chicken and lettuce on rye, with a thick layer of mustard spread on the toasted bread. It crunched deliciously between his teeth, the cool layer of chicken melding perfectly with the still-warm bread.

Even though he was enjoying a meal, Naoki's senses were on edge, honed to catch his roommates' footfalls. It wasn't hard for someone used to ambushes to listen for footsteps, especially when the architecture was so convenient. A flight of stone steps led to the main entrance of the dorm, flanked on either side by two wings. Naoki's room was on the second floor of the east wing, its only window facing the steps, giving perfect acoustics for an eavesdropper. Those same qualities made it annoyingly loud when students went out partying on weekends, however.

Scarcely ten minutes before, Naoki had finished swapping his desk for his roommate's. He'd picked the one belonging to Daisuke Higawa partially because he was a jerk, but mostly because Kazuya and Soma would notice. Kazuya hated it when anyone as much nudged a single one of his books out of place, and Soma kept his desk so messy that it would have taken forever to reassemble the mess. Naoki had an excellent memory, good enough to memorize the layouts of entire dungeons, but there were too many pieces to bother with. Daisuke wasn't a very neat person, but his desk had fewer moving parts than Soma's.

Naoki was halfway through his sandwich when the sound of old, expensive boots on stone steps filled his ears. You could tell a lot about a person by their shoes. This pair, for instance, was a pair of walking boots designed to last the wearer a lifetime—or two, if necessary. They were probably ridiculously expensive when they were bought, but the price was negligible compared to the cost of a lifetime of worn-out shoes. It spoke of an owner who never had to worry about buying anything, but worried all the same to stay that way.

The building's electronic lock clicked open. There was about five minutes of silence, allowing for the wearer to change their outdoor shoes into indoor slippers, and then the door in the hallway creaked open. There was a flop, and then a slap, and then another flop, the telltale sign of someone walking on the balls of their feet in slippers too big for them.

The electronic lock to the room opened. "Hi Soma," said Naoki without looking up.

"Hello, Naoki," said Soma Cruz, putting his shoes down on the rack. Soma was very tall and wiry. He was in the parkour club, and he always had a habit of walking and running on the balls of his feet after practice. "How was your day?"

"Good. How was yours?"

"Good." Soma sat down at his desk and opened one of his handheld games, probably tower defense. This was normal for them. From what little they saw of each other, Naoki liked Soma; he kept his mess on his own section of the room, didn't make a lot of noise, and he could intimidate Daisuke into backing down whenever he tried throwing his weight around.

Not ten minutes later, the building's lock clicked open without warning. This time, even with Naoki's strained ears, he could barely make out soft taps on the tiled floors. The dorm lock opened, and in walked Naoki's second roommate, shoes in hand.

His boots were expensive and built to last, like Soma's, but for completely different kinds of terrain. They were thick, heavy wedges of rubber, leather, and metal, designed to crush snow, rocks, and small children underfoot. There were three kinds of people who bought these kinds of shoes. The first were people who used them. The second were people who wanted people to think that they were the kind of people who used them. The third were people who wanted a pair of snow boots and thought that expensive stuff was better.

"Hi, Kazuya," said Naoki.

"Good afternoon, Naoki," said Kazuya Kawamoto. Kazuya looked generally unremarkable. He was about average height, average build, and no visible muscles or paunch, but the way he moved set Naoki's nerves on edge. No one who could walk so quietly in those rubber monstrosities could be normal.

Kazuya immediately sat down at his desk and opened up a sleek laptop that he claimed to have built himself. This too was normal.

Naoki finished his sandwich. He looked around for something to pretend to do while he waited for Daisuke's arrival, and settled upon a textbook. Japanese composition was boring, but he didn't have to pay attention. All he had to do was wait for the sound of… of…

What did Daisuke's shoes sound like, again?

Naoki gave a quick glance at the outdoor shoe rack. Half of the shoes belonged to Daisuke, and those were bought that year. Only one pair was Naoki's, and he'd had that pair since middle school. Daisuke had leather sneakers that made high-pitched bangs, snow boots that made comforting thudding noises, sandals that snapped as he walked… which pair was missing, again? Ah, yes, the fancy pair of black boots that made dramatically loud taps on almost any surface.

Naoki could describe Daisuke's shoes, but what did they sound like?

When was the last time I heard them?

When was the last time I saw Daisuke?

A jolt of adrenaline filled Naoki's veins, as if he had drank one of Kazuya's espresso shots without permission and heard the door open behind him. He hid his face as best as he could from his roommates and checked his laptop for news articles.

Come on, come on, Naoki thought to himself, as his outdated laptop slowly opened the web page.

Finally, Naoki found the missing persons list he was looking for.

Natsumi Kuroba, age 25, last seen December 24.

Kenji Yamamoto, age 42, last seen January 3.

Daisuke Higawa, age 19, last seen January 13.

Naoki looked at the calendar. January 22. Daisuke's been gone for over a week, and no one noticed? A hot trickle of shame ran down his face. Soma's always off with his girlfriend, and Kazuya can't be bothered to take his nose out of his computer. If anyone should have noticed, it would be me.

As if moving on autopilot, Naoki shut his laptop, and prepared to leave. He took his wallet out of his pocket, removed every card with his name on it, and pretended to put them in his drawer while he shoved them in the pocket dimension where he kept his dozens of Magatama, hundreds of sundries, and millions of Macca. He then stuffed his mostly empty wallet in his pocket and grabbed his shoes off the rack.

He only had one pair of outdoor shoes, but thanks to Lucifer, he only needed the one; for reasons never quite made clear, Lucifer made everything Naoki wore at the start of the Conception indestructible. His shoes weren't even scuffed by Beelzebub's curse zones, his shorts held together even when slashed with Flauros's sword, and he could clean his underwear by holding it in fire. That wasn't to say his clothes made good armor; other than his shoes, all they protected was his modesty. His clothes didn't rip or tear because they were very elastic; the cloth simply deformed around blades, to the point where you could wrap one of his socks around a cleaver and still chop bone. Naoki guessed that Lucifer fixed his clothes because he was always watching him, and it would be boring to see him run around scavenging for clothes. But he still couldn't figure out why Lucifer pinched his shirt and jacket.

"Going somewhere?" asked Kazuya.

"Getting dinner," lied Naoki. It was already getting dark out.

"Don't forget your jacket."

"Thanks," said Naoki, grabbing a nondescript hoodie. "Bye."

Soma turned to Kazuya. "You do know that was your jacket, right?" he said.

"Eh," shrugged Kazuya. "It's cold out. He needs it more than I do."

X

It was only natural that this serial disappearance case would baffle the police; had they not been baffled, it wouldn't have been a serial case. The police of Haruhata city weren't exactly incompetent; their arrest record was exactly the national average every year (which did get them audited more than a few times). The problem was that the only cases that make headlines are the ones that aren't solved, which is why police always look less competent than they really are. In this case, however, even the police knew that they were outmatched, so they called in some experts.

The Agency of Supernatural Investigation, one of Japan's top-secret government organizations, saw a perfectly mundane series of serial murders. However, since their organization's funding was mostly siphoned off of the National Public Safety Commission (with permission), they couldn't refuse to help without a proper excuse. However, the crack team of experts they were expecting were busy with the actual occult cases.

So they sent in the rookies.

"It's standard procedure," said Agent Fireball, the senior agent in charge of Hermes Squad. He was a tall man in his fifties, with graying red hair and calloused hands. He was driving Yoko from the station to the squad's headquarters in his car. "For cases like these, when we're fairly certain that the police can solve it on their own, all we need to do is send some people to pretend to work. Obviously, that's a waste of any half-decent agent's time, so we send the new meat."

"And obviously, something went wrong, or else you wouldn't have hired me," said Yoko. "So, if all of you were just there to take up space, how did you manage to tape a demon?"

Agent Fireball scratched his nose. "I said that's all we need to do, not all we do. We've been running our own investigation. Cases like these are perfect training missions. Since the police will catch the culprits no matter what, and we're rank amateurs, everyone knows that nothing we do will have any impact. The rookies are free to screw up and make mistakes without having to deal with the guilt of failure when a new victim shows up."

"Sounds like those rookies are going to be in for a shock on their first real mission," said Yoko grimly. "Stick them in the middle of nowhere with no safety net. That's how you find a real field agent."

Agent Fireball gave a faint chuckle as he stared at the traffic light. "Oh, I think they'll be fine. You'll see when we get there."

The squad's headquarters, as it turned out, was a single apartment in the same cheap apartment building that housed the agents. "We get almost no funding," explained Agent Fireball as he unlocked the door. "They say it's because we have no real responsibilities, but I say working with nothing is good training." Yoko silently approved.

None of the rookie agents even looked up when the door opened. Most of them were watching the newest Phoenix Ranger Featherman Cyclone episode and griping about the new direction the show was taking. Some were playing games on their phones, others were giggling and gossiping, and one was even picking the pretzels out of a bowl of chips.

Agent Fireball cleared his throat. "Attention!"

The agents turned around, but none of them got up.

"Something happen?" said a short agent.

Agent Fireball sighed. "Weren't you paying attention, Agent Ninja?"

"Uh…"

"Agent Reaper, tell Agent Ninja what's going on."

A blue-haired young man choked on the pretzel. "Uh…"

"Ei-chan, you idiot!" said a blonde young woman. "He told us this yesterday! He's-"

"Agent Dragon, please refrain from using real names," said Agent Fireball curtly. He looked around. "Who here was listening when I gave you the memo?"

The dozen or so agents looked at each other. Only a handful raised their hands.

Agent Fireball sighed. "I'm drinking tonight," he muttered in a low voice, and announced in a carrying voice, "HQ hired this witch to… crap, I mean, HQ hired this woman who uses magic. Remember?"

There was a chorus of quiet yeses.

"I'm Yoko Belnades," said Yoko. "Pleased to meet you."

There was a chorus of hellos. A petit young man stood up and shook her hand. "I'm Agent Lily," he said. "It's okay if you forget my name. You'll get it eventually."

Mostly everyone reluctantly got up, shook her hand, and introduced themselves in a blur of names and faces. None of them looked completely well; some walked with limps, others had surgical scars.

"Now that that's in order, it's time to tell our new…comrade what we've been up to," said Agent Fireball. "Any volunteers?"

The agents all looked at each other, but said nothing. Agent Fireball sighed and pointed at Agent Dragon. "Your turn, Agent Dragon."

Agent Dragon turned red. "Uh… Okay, so it's like this. We're-"

One agent with an arm in a cast stood up and pointed at Yoko. "Two months," he growled. "Two months, we've been busting our asses out there, looking for evidence, and when we finally hand some nice, ironclad proof, they send us a mercenary?"

Yoko crossed her arms. "Better than nothing, don't you think?" she said calmly.

"Do you have any idea what we've been through?!" yelled the agent.

"Of course not," said Yoko. She was used to this sort of behavior from clients. "That's why I'm asking."

Agent Fireball raised his hands. "All right, calm down, Agent Cowboy-"

"We need backup, damnit, not just one gun for hire! You weren't the one mauled by a werewolf, Fireball!"

"Yes, Cowboy, and you're not the one who had to fight a giant mecha with nothing but a ballpoint pen and a vase of hydrangeas," Agent Lily retorted.

"Why you-"

"Agent Cowboy, Agent Lily, stand down," said Agent Fireball firmly. The two rookies glared daggers at one another, but sat back down. "Ms. Belnades, allow me to explain."

Yoko crossed her arms. "Please do," she said.

Agent Fireball took a chip from the bowl. "We might not have gotten anywhere with our assigned case, but these months have certainly not been wasted," he said. "All of us have gained valuable experience."

Yoko raised an eyebrow. "What kind of experience?"

Agent Wolf gave a mirthless chuckle. "What the boss means is that we're unlucky," she said. "We've been sniffing down every trail but that kidnapper. Last week, we busted a drug smuggling operation. The week before, some rich businessman turned out to be a werewolf. And don't get me started on the King of the Netherworld."

"Normally, we'd earn some credit for irrelevant cases, even if they aren't supernatural," said Agent Fireball. "Except every time, for some stupid reason, we couldn't report any of them."

"The head of CyCo was too rich to touch," said Agent Reaper.

"The English Professor who was a vampire didn't leave a body," added Agent Dragon.

"And the King of the Netherworld threatened to sic his legions of succubi and incubi on us in our sleep," added Agent Lily. When he saw Yoko's look of disgust and horror, he added quickly, "It was a misunderstanding. He didn't hurt anyone; he just wanted to go drinking in a human bar every now and then."

"That demon was the only piece of hard evidence that we were able to scavenge since we got here," said Agent Fireball. Before Yoko could ask, he added, "And no, my word is not enough. This is a government agency, after all; we need to fill out about a dozen forms to declare a closed case. The only thing they can take my word for is their test scores."

Yoko crossed her arms. She took in the wounds and bandages on the squad, but the results were inconclusive. "How do I know that you're not trying to make yourselves look better to-"

DING-DONG!

"Pizza delivery!" said someone at the door.

At this, every listless face in the room lit up like candles on a birthday cake. Agent Lily practically jumped out of his seat to answer the door.

"Hi guys!" said the pimply teenager carrying a large stack of boxes. The squad had clearly gone all out; there wasn't just pizza boxes, but fried chicken, sodas, and some of those molten chocolate cakes. The teenager stretched and cracked his back after depositing his load onto Agent Lily. "You guys get quarter price for everything," he said. "Least we could do for saving us from the rampaging space rhino; we would make it on the house, but you know we have to make a living, too…"

"Thank you, Kimura," said Agent Fireball, who paid with cash.

Agent Cowboy gave Yoko a smug grin. "Believe us now?"

"How do I know that you didn't bribe him?" retorted Yoko.

Agent Cowboy's grin melted. "Listen, you stuck-up witch, we were doing just fine before you came waltzing along. We've taken down dozens of monsters since we started. We don't need an outsider's help taking down this demon; we must have—what's so funny?"

Yoko hadn't realized that she was smirking. "You don't get it, do you?" she said. "Do you have any idea how hard it is for a top-secret government agency to hire a mercenary?" When there was no response, she explained, "You're entrusting me with some delicate information, so you start with a background check, which can take months depending on the efficiency of your bureaucracy. It's also almost impossible to find reliable information in the occult business, so you're going to have to sift through a lot of slag. Then you need to take steps to ensure my silence, which I am not at liberty to explain. Then, and only then, can you pay me, and explain how and why there's a hole in the budget the size of my fee, which I will not divulge. You want to know why they bothered with me?"

Agent Lily raised his hand. "Is it because the time, money, and effort put into your hiring is still less than that of a real agent, and so you're disposable?"

Yoko shrugged. "Close enough. It's because no one ever wants to deal with what I was sent to deal with." Yoko took in a deep breath.

"I'm not here to fight a demon. I'm here to fight a demon summoner."

X

Haruhata City wasn't a metropolis on Tokyo's scale, but it was large enough to have its own population of punks, hookers, Yakuza, delinquents, pimps, gangsters, foreign mafia members, and people who stayed out too late at night. Students at the University were given maps that ranked the districts by danger level, ostensibly to keep them out of trouble, but mostly as an overt way of showing them where the night life was.

Naoki, as a rule, tried to avoid such places. Back when he was a poor high school student on scholarship, he was careful to stay out of Tokyo's shadier spots for fear of being mugged and losing his dinner money. Now, as a poor college student on scholarship, he was careful not to stray into the seedy regions of the city for fear of being mugged and revealing his monstrous strength.

Daisuke, however, embraced the back alleys and abandoned warehouses that dotted Haruhata's landscape. Every night, he was out on the town, getting into fights and running from the cops. He'd disappear for days at a time, crashing at a friend's house or recovering at the hospital, then turn up like nothing had happened. And he would always brag about his many victories over the other punks in the city, to the point where Naoki was tempted to challenge him to a fistfight to shut him up.

But this was the first time he'd been gone for so long without telling anyone. Naoki might not have liked Daisuke, but ignoring his disappearance would haunt him with guilt for the rest of his life, just like-

Nostopdon'tthinkaboutthem,notyourfault, theywerewrong, shekilledinnocents, hekilledyourfriend, they'realive, they'realive-

But I killed them.

They'realivethey'realivethey'realivethey're-

There was a noise like two graham crackers being rubbed together, and Naoki realized that he had been grinding his fist against a brick wall. He gingerly removed it, allowing red dust to spill out of the inch-deep indent.

"Stop it," he muttered to himself. "It's in the past."

Naoki's first stop was a supermarket, for a baseball cap, a compact mirror, and the smallest bottle of black paint he could find. Once he was out of sight, he put on the cap and marked his face with the paint. Naoki wasn't an expert in disguise or subterfuge (his primary method of infiltration was, after all, regularly saying, "All hail Nihilo/Mantra," "Those Mantra/Nihilo are very stupid/cowardly/dishonorable/weak, wouldn't you agree?" and "Yay for loneliness!"), but he read books, and one plausible-sounding book about a conman-turned-mailman stated that when you have one very distinguishing feature, like gigantic ears or a large rubber nose, the mark you're conning will only remember that detail. Naoki had considered inking a dragon or tiger, but realized that he didn't have the artistic ability, and instead settled for tracing his currently-invisible demonic tattoos.

Confident that no one would recognize him, he stalked off into the streets.

It didn't take long for him to find a gang of punks hanging around. They were around his age, and all of them wore matching yellow scarves over their mouths. One swung her baseball bat menacingly as he approached.

"Good evening," said the leader in an intimidating growl. She looked several years older than Naoki. "What's it going to be then, eh?"

"I'm looking for a guy," said Naoki in his negotiation voice. "Daisuke Higawa. You know him?"

"Never heard of him in my life," said the leader smoothly.

"Then I'll just have to kick your ass until you tell me."

The words were out before Naoki could stop himself. Inwardly, he cursed. He was so used to negotiating with demons that he almost forgot how to talk to normal people. Threats worked like a charm with demons, who respected aggression and power. And since they made good on their threats more often than not, they could read the difference between bluff, bluster, and danger. Humans just saw a skinny, uppity punk who'd watched too many movies. Same with bribery; demons happily sold their lives and rights for chicken feed, but humans would just look at you funny. At least, Soma had when Naoki tried to get out of trash duty in exchange for a chocolate bar, two ginger teabags, and a pretty rock he found on the side of the road (the fact that he accepted was beside the point).

The delinquents bristled. "Lookin' for a fight, are ya?" said one, swinging her bat in what she thought was a menacing manner. "Well, if it's a fight you want, it's a fight you'll—GET!"

She charged at Naoki, telegraphing a horizontal swing. Naoki bit back his reflexive focus-dodge-punch routine, and embraced the challenge of fighting nonlethally. The style was slow, clumsy, unpracticed, and impractical for anyone who couldn't shrug off iron bars, but no one could be seriously injured.

He deflected the bat at an angle, knocking its owner off balance. A soft push to her knee was all it took to knock her on her butt. The second attacker charged at him, telegraphing his downward swing; Naoki slid forward and stopped an arm's length away. The punk couldn't stop in time and his momentum carried him stumbling into Naoki's open chest. Naoki grabbed him with both arms and spun around lightly, then pushed him gently into the third punk, who was smart enough to attack while his back was turned, but not enough to hide her footsteps.

"You can't defeat me," said Naoki. "Now will you tell me?"

"You haven't fought all of us," said the leader, standing up, and signaling her flunkies to stand down. "You're no ordinary kid; that's clear enough," she said to Naoki. "Let's see how you handle this!"

The leader charged at Naoki with her bat, but that was a feint; Naoki tried blocking her with his body again, but she moved back and struck his shoulder. He grabbed the bat with his other hand with lightning speed and yanked away, but met no resistance.

There was a bang and a clatter as the bat hit the wall. It took a moment for Naoki to process the fact that the leader was stupid enough to let go of her weapon in the middle of a fight. His eyes flitted away from his opponent for a fraction of a second, which was a mistake. The leader took his moment of confusion and used it to bury her heeled boot in his solar plexus.

Before he could stop himself, Naoki countered with a punch. He tried to pull back and soften the blow into a push, but all that did was send the leader flying into the opposite wall instead of ripping a hole in her ribcage.

"Oh, crap," Naoki said under his breath. He froze like a deer in headlights. "I…I'm so sorr-"

There was a soft, leathery sound below him, and Naoki's ankle felt tighter than usual.

CRACK!

WHAM!

Naoki's left foot shot into the air like a startled sparrow, and the back of his head slammed against the pavement. It didn't hurt; knocking him over was mostly a matter of leverage and weight instead of strength. Before his legs hit the ground, something coiled around his neck. The leader limped over to him, and planted her foot ominously over his balls. In her right hand was a wooden dowel connected to a leather rope; it took Naoki a moment to realize that she was garroting him with a jump rope. "Give up?" she growled. 

It would have been easy for Naoki to break free. You could crush boulders against his neck and balls (a fact that he had learned after a particularly traumatizing day when he tripped while jumping into the tunnel between the Third and Fourth Kalpa and fell spinning the whole way), and this girl was a lot lighter than the Oni who tried to dogpile him.

But he really had nothing to gain from winning this fight. "Fine," he pretended to groan. "You win. Take whatever you want. All I need is my underwear, my shoes, and my socks." Then he paused. "Oh, and this jacket isn't mine. I need to return it."

The leader removed her foot. "Sit up; I can't take this thing off when your head's on the ground." Naoki obeyed, and the leader gently uncoiled the jump rope. He rubbed his neck.

"Now, take off your clothes, or we take them off for you." Without breaking eye contact, the leader wrote something down on a piece of paper, and handed it to the worst fighter, along with a wad of bills. "Coffee run. The closest shop is that way."

Naoki unzipped his jacket and shrugged it off, pretending to shiver at random intervals. He removed one item of clothing at a time and handed it to the eager flunkies. "I'll take off my shoes and underwear, but you can't keep them," he said.

"What makes you think you can make us?" growled a flunky, as if Naoki hadn't left her bruised on the ground.

"You can keep your clothes once we're done with them," said the leader. "And please don't take off your underwear. No one is as sexy as they think they are when they're naked."

One punk grinned when she found Naoki's wallet inside his jacket's inside pocket—until she saw what was in it. "Just 1864 yen?!"

"I'm a starving student; that's like three or four cheap meals for me," said Naoki, mentally patting himself on the back for stowing his money away beforehand.

"Cough up more," said the leader.

"I can't," said Naoki.

"Then how about I hit you more until you give us something you don't have?" said the leader in a dry voice.

There was a moment of silence. "…I can take a hint," grumbled Naoki. "You don't know the guy I'm looking for, and threatening you was a waste of time."

The leader nodded and crossed her arms. "What made you think that we had any idea who this… Daisuke Higawa was?"

Naoki shrugged. "He spent all his free time picking fights in the shady side of town. I figured that he'd be infamous by now."

"And naturally, the best course of action was to walk up to a group of complete strangers and pick a fight?" said the leader icily.

"…In my defense, it worked out pretty well the last time I tried it," Naoki said to himself. In retrospect, it probably only worked for Ms. Takao since she was one of five humans (five with an error margin of one; Naoki and Hijiri both identified as human but had nonhuman bodies, so there were four humans if you didn't believe that it was your mentality that made you human, six if you did, and five if you didn't believe but didn't know Hijiri was actually a Manikin) in the entire Vortex World, infamous enough to have her own nickname, and was associated with the leader of a major faction.

The leader put her palm to her forehead and sighed. "What do you think this is, a movie? Did you really think that just because you know how to fight, you could just pick one punk-looking chelloveck off the street, and they'd take you straight to the nearest mob boss?! Get your bleedin' rassoodock out of the sinny, you nadmenny malchick!"

Naoki was fluent in about a dozen demonic languages, including the weird ones like Middle Avio-Raptor and Archaic Western Haunt, but he'd never heard anything like that. "…What?"

"Get your head out of the theater, you arrogant boy," repeated the leader scornfully.

"In what language?"

"Don't you know that's how all the punks in Tokyo talk?" said one of the lackeys.

"But I'm from Tokyo," said Naoki.

The lackey rolled his eyes. "Obviously, you're not a punk."

Naoki decided that it would be wisest not to mention that he had been arrested once, gained the respect of a gigantic gang of muscle-brained killers by beating a few of them to death with his bare hands, gave the metaphorical middle finger to everyone who tried to impose their ideals upon him by crushing their dreams underfoot, and had more tattoos than the average Yakuza member.

The leader waved off the question. "Never mind that," she said in a teacher's voice of forced patience. "The 'underground,'" (the leader used finger quotes), "isn't some small, close-knit community. We're just a small-time shaika, not runners for one of the big syndicates. I don't know a single member of the Yakuza, we don't associate with rapists or murderers, and most of us don't use our full names. Put it this way; do you know every single person in your school by name?"

"…You have a point."

The worst fighter came back from the coffee run and handed everyone their drinks. To Naoki's surprise, he gave him a small black coffee. "Cheapest hot thing on the menu," he said without looking at him.

"Thank you," said Naoki, glad that he chose the lightning weakness instead of fire. The coffee tasted terrible and did nothing for him, but it was a sweet gesture, more than what his physics professor did last week when she demonstrated how electrical conductivity varied with temperature by dragging the entire class outside in the snow.

"Don't thank me, thank her."

"Thank you," Naoki said to the leader.

"Don't thank me; you're the one paying for it," said the leader, sipping something that smelled like chocolate. She handed him his shirt. "You can have your clothes back now. Get out of here."

Naoki dressed himself quickly and walked away in hopes of finding some more receptive punks. He could hear the lackeys engaging in the age-old ritual of laughing away intense fear or trauma.

"What a poogly bum, am I right?" said one.

"The boss set him right and proper, didn't she?" said another.

"I thought you were done for, and then—BAM! Like stepping on a banana. Hope his rot bleeds out."

"He fought kind of weird, don't you think?" said the second. "Like he was in a kung fu movie or something."

"He's strong," said the leader grimly. She rubbed her back. "Strong enough to punch me into a wall, and he pays us to go away? I've only known one person who would do that."

There was a long pause.

"That's where you give us a name," said the second one.

"Yeah, and a long monologue about how that person shaped your life and killed your parents, and now you're hunting for them," said the third one.

"You know very well that P and M are alive," said the leader curtly. "And I don't plan on sharing my soliloquies."

Everyone sipped their drinks.

"…Boss?" said the first one.

"Yes, Sei?"

"Why don't you tell anyone your name?"

"Remember why I told you to never reveal your last names?" said the leader.

"Because… if anyone wants revenge, they can just use the phone book and attack us or our families?" said Sei slowly.

The leader nodded. "I knew to only use my first name back when I led a gang in Tokyo. The cops were so scared of me that they arrested every single person who shared my name, even little girls and old women."

"…Really?"

"Of course not. You'd see something about that in the news."

For the rest of the night, Naoki searched. He received no answers, and only slightly more friendly words, one from a tall foreign man in glasses looking for the station, another from another foreigner with a nice goatee and a long duster looking for the university, and the last from a very lost middle school girl who was crying in a back alley.

By the time he slumped into bed, he was no closer to discovering Daisuke's whereabouts. In fact, he had even more questions than before.

"I've battled demons and gods. I faced nine incarnations of death, and conquered every one of them. I've crushed the Lord of the Flies and the Voice of God beneath my feet, and bound them to my service. I'm the Demi-Fiend, and my power is far beyond the limits of humans."

"So how the hell did that girl get the jump on me?"

X

"I'm here to fight a demon summoner."

Had Yoko made that announcement to a more experienced group, there would have been silence. Jaws would have hung open, pencils would have been dropped, and everyone would have stared at her in horror.

Instead, Agent Cowboy just said, "So what?" and there was a murmur of agreement.

"She's right," said Agent Fireball gravely. Every agent stopped to listen. "Demon summoners are one of the worst enemies we can face. They're not as strong as ghouls or witches, and they don't spread like vampirism or lycanthropy, but they're…" Agent Fireball trailed off, and said in a more normal voice, "You know how in almost every video game, there's an extremely frustrating boss that's frustrating not because it's strong or has a ton of HP, but because it has an annoying gimmick? Like… do kids these days still play Metal Gear Solid?"

There were a few murmurs of yes. "Fighting a demon summoner is like fighting The End."

Gasps and shocked mutters filled the room. Less than half of the rookies understood, but those who did more than made up for the slack. Yoko recalled her grandfather telling her about a legendary monster controlled by one of Dracula's human servants, but that didn't seem relevant.

"Wait, so you're saying that fighting demon summoners is like fighting death?" said Agent Reaper.

Agent Fireball shook his head. "I could have phrased that better," he admitted. "The End is the name of an infamously difficult boss from Metal Gear Solid 3. His gimmick is that he's a sniper who behaves like a real sniper. He runs, hides, and shoots when you least expect it, and you have to beat him at his own game by sneaking up on him. The fight with him can take days."

"Or you can just skip the clock two weeks," Agent Ninja muttered to Agent Dragon.

"They made three of those games?" said a shocked Agent Reaper.

"So if a demon summoner is an annoying gimmick boss, then what's their gimmick?" asked Agent Lily, raising his hand. "What makes them so terrible?"

"Good question," said Agent Fireball. "Summoners can operate remotely. They don't need to by physically present to command their demons, so chasing their demons gets us nowhere. In fact, they don't even need to be in the same town. Much like a sniper, really. We call them Queen Bees."

Agent Reaper sputtered. "Demon summoners are cheerleaders?!"

"Of course not," said Yoko. "I mean, the last one I dealt with turned out to be captain of the cheer squad when she was in high school, but that's not important right now." Yoko tried imagining Celia Fortner with pom-poms doing backflips, but gave up.

The rookies looked at one another. "So, uh…"

"Why Queen Bee?" said Agent Fireball. "Bees have a hive system. The queen of the hive poops out eggs all day, and her worker children do all the work. Similarly, summoners don't need to work as long as they can conjure up more minions."

Agent Cowboy scoffed. "So, they're a bunch of shut-ins? That doesn't seem too-"

"You think it's just robbing supermarkets and making bowls out of frozen soup?" snapped Yoko. "You need sacrifices to summon demons. Every time you make a demon scrub your toilet or make you a sandwich, someone dies. That's why demon summoning is one of the five explicitly illegal schools of magic."

Thank God for that loophole, Yoko added to herself. Technically, Soma's Power of Dominance was a form of summoning, as it bound demons to his service. If Soma's ability was ever leaked to the Agency, Arikado was planning to plead that he didn't break any laws if murder anyone (they already agreed to credit/blame Julius for the deaths of Graham and Dmitrii). If that didn't stick, they were hoping that he'd be punished leniently since he didn't gain the power willingly.

"That's not even getting into what someone could do with that kind of power," Yoko added. "Want to know why no one wants to fight one? Once a summoner finds out that they're being hunted, they can hunt us back. It's no longer a game of cat and mouse; it's a game of cat and cat. And they have the advantage. Summoners have an almost inexhaustible army of tireless soldiers, spies, thieves, and assassins. If we kill one of them, there's a dozen out there to replace it, all fueled by human lives. Fighting their demons gets us nothing but blood on our hands."

There was a dead silence. Even Agent Cowboy looked scared.

"All right, you've convinced us," said a frightened looking Agent Ninja. "But… how do you know they can do that?"

That was her family's fault. Yoko had spent many an evening as a child on her grandmother's knee, hearing stories about the hidden history of the world. When she lost interest around junior high, her family assigned her extra homework and holiday essays. Her family never neglected to educate her about Dracula's hordes and the trail of destruction he laid across Europe (and how their ancestors fought heroically against them). But thanks to them, she knew the tale of Hector Laforeze.

Technically, Hector wasn't a summoner; he was a Devil Forgemaster, which was basically the same thing, except with levels in blacksmithing in addition to black magic. Rather than summoning monsters, he created them. But the principle was the same.

Of the five people who killed Dracula in the fifteenth century, only Hector and Alucard didn't pass their skills on to their descendants; Alucard because he had no children, and Hector because he deemed his powers too dangerous. According to Grant's diary, Hector had said that his abilities had the most potential for abuse. If one of his students wanted to ransack a village, they could just send a single demon to terrorize it without putting themselves in harm's way; someone with Trevor's techniques, Grant's skills, or even Sypha or Alucard's magic would have to risk their lives and reputations. Hector told Grant that if any student of his teachings used Devil Forging for evil, he'd never forgive himself.

On the other hand, he did pass down his skill in forging magical weapons. Apparently, he didn't mind if his students robbed someone with one of those. The only thing he objected to was riskless evil.

"Experience," said Yoko succinctly.

"Fortunately, they're vanishingly rare," continued Agent Fireball. "Most summoners are murdered by the very demons they conjure. That's enough to put off any sane person, and the rest don't often survive past their first summoning. Unfortunately, the high turnover rate just leaves the smartest and the most powerful." 

"And HQ thinks that a demon summoner's behind the kidnappings?" said Agent Hurricane.

"Not necessarily," said Yoko. "Although, it would make sense. Under most circumstances, you need human sacrifices to summon demons, and you can use demons to abduct people for sacrifices."

"Like a reverse Catch-22?" said Agent Dragon.

"… Sure," said Yoko.

Agent Fireball shuddered. "God knows what that summoner is doing. They could be anywhere, plotting…evil."

X

A few days after Yoko announced her presence, Soma and Mina met for dinner in the basement. They sat next to each other on an old couch, eating rice bowls with pork and vegetables.

"So… how's premed?" asked Soma.

"Good," said Mina. "How's prelaw?"

"Good," said Soma.

There was a pause as the author realized that they know nothing about either of those fields outside of movies.

"Okay, I know you're still worried about what Yoko's doing, so let's cut to the chase and talk about that," said Mina, taking out a notebook. "I've made a list of all the weird cases around here. I've been too busy for details, but… you know, premed."

"Mina, you're a godsend," said Soma.

"The obvious one is the disappearances, but that's probably not it, since it's been in the papers for over two months," said Mina.

"What disappearances?" said Soma.

From the sea of his souls, there was a long-suffering sigh from one of the Stolas, the wise owl demon. The disappearances thou saw in the paper of news, Master? Stolas said in what Soma thought of as his 'Alfred' voice. Soma let his souls call him whatever they wanted as long as it was distinct, and most of them called him things like 'Soma,' 'Cruz,' 'Kid,' 'Boss,' 'Leader,' or even 'Sugarcakes' or 'Jerkface.' Stolas was one of the few who referred to him as Master, with a capital M. Soma didn't like being called Master, because it made him feel like a slaveowner (which he was), but it made them feel comfortable for some reason. Soma had asked them to change it, but then realized it was hypocritical of him. Thou broke thine fast with porridge and gingerroot tea, whilst thou read books of the chemical sciences? Stolas added helpfully. Twas one fortnight ago, two days hence?

"Oh, right… those disappearances," said Soma.

Mina gave him a funny look. "I didn't say anything."

"Never mind; just talking to a soul."

Mina shrugged. "Anyway, the one I'm leaning towards is the blood bank robbery. According to Ayakashi Monthly, it's vampires."

"I doubt it," said Soma. "I mean, I'm not saying it wasn't vampires; who else would rob a blood bank? But I can't see Yoko being hired for a case like that. Vampires prefer live prey. If they're forced to stoop to dead blood, they're either pacifists or too weak to hunt."

"But if they were weak and desperate back then, they might not be anymore," said Mina.

"True," said Soma. "So that's a maybe."

Mina made a star mark next to that bullet point. "Iron golem sightings in cities?"

"Too vague to confirm or deny," said Soma.

Mina made another mark. "Someone's been setting weird fires at banks, and robbing them before the fire brigade gets there."

"What's so weird about that?" said Soma.

"No fuel, no salvaged equipment, nothing on the security tapes. Just spontaneous combustion."

"Probably supernatural then," said Soma. "But no way of knowing if that's Yoko's case."

"I guess not," said Mina making another mark.

By then, they had finished their dinner. After checking the halls and making sure that no one was coming, Soma took out a pair of wooden skewers, a bag of marshmallows, a bar of chocolate, and a box of graham crackers.

"Now's a good time for dessert?" he suggested.

"When isn't?" said Mina.

Ukoback, get ready, Soma said to the little flame devils.

Aye-aye, boss!

To a casual observer, Soma appeared more skilled in magic than Yoko, since Soma had dozens of different spells and Yoko had less than ten. But both Soma and Yoko agreed that Soma was cheating.

The Power of Dominance technically didn't allow Soma to use magic; he always had the potential. While it was technically true that, say, the Flame Demon soul gave him the power to shoot fireballs, it was still hypothetically possible for Soma to cast that magic without that soul. He'd just have to learn it like everyone else.

Casting a spell normally required the user to focus on everything they were going to do, in very specific terms. When Yoko cast her icicle spell, she didn't just think 'make five icicles and launch them;' she had to condense water from the air, gather it into the shape of spikes, freeze them by removing the heat, divert the heat to a safe distance, sharpen the icicles into points, etc.

Soma's souls streamlined the process by doing the grunt work for him. All Soma had to do was warn the souls in advance and focus his power on the general idea of what he wanted to do. His souls did the rest.

Soma held out his hand. A tiny flame formed at his palm, and hung in midair where he placed it.

"One of your better party tricks, I think," said Mina, spearing a marshmallow and holding it over the little flame.

"What about eating lit candles?" said Soma.

"Anyone can do that," said Mina.

"Pretending to be a piñata and making American pennies appear when you hit me?" said Soma.

"Too hard to watch," said Mina.

"… Entering mirrors and freaking out people by pretending to be a ghost?" said Soma.

"That's… not a party trick," said Mina, removing the marshmallow from the flame and rubbing it onto a graham cracker.

"Okay, how about making curry appear whenever I want?" said Soma.

Mina licked the stake with relish. "I still like this one better. Anyways…" she opened her list with one hand. "I also found a massive conspiracy linking… a former Foreign Minister, the current Defense Minister, the four Archangels, the American Ambassador to Japan, the SEBEC corporation, a secret task force run by the Kirijo Corporation, the Chief Technical Director of the Cybers Corporation, the Chief Technical Director of Karma Research Incorporated, a general in the JDSF, a school principal, two teachers, Mayan aliens, an escaped mental patient, at least three different cults, and… the Last Battalion?" 

"…They're really reaching on this one," said Soma, rekindling the flame.

"I didn't think so, either," said Mina, turning the page.

"Even if it was real, the government would never send a mercenary," said Soma. "If it implicates government officials and the military, it's best to keep that on the inside."

Mina left that unmarked. "How about a cult called the Brotherhood of Beelzebub?"

Soma groaned. "Not another cult…"

"Maybe this one won't try to kidnap you and try to resurrect Dracula," said Mina with shaky optimism. "I mean, how many people know that you're his reincarnation?"

Soma shrugged. "According to Arikado, it's a common rumor in the supernatural community, but there's so much misinformation that it's just as likely that it was you, Hammer, or Graham. The Belmonts and Belnades 'debunked' my involvement; the official stance is that I'm an innocent bystander and Julius killed Graham."

"Good," said Mina, looking relieved. "Apparently, it's more of a men's drinking club than a cult, but it's still possible that they could pull something off by accident." She made another mark. "Someone robbed a crematorium."

"Okay, that's just disgusting," growled Soma. In a burst of white-hot light, the hanging flame tripled in intensity. "It's one thing to… wait, did they steal money, ashes, or dead bodies?" he added in a normal voice. The flame returned to normal.

"Ashes," clarified Mina.

"It's one thing to rob a blood bank, but ashes?" continued Soma in that same growl. The flame once again exploded with white-hot light. "That's the last thing you leave your family after you die. It's not even worth any money; all you're doing is desecrating the dead and trampling over the grieving family. What kind of a sick person would do that?"

"Isn't it worse to steal someone's organs?" said Mina.

"Well, that's bad, too, but at you're saving someone's life with those," said Soma, deflated, the hanging fire reflecting his emotions. "And I guess it's more out of greed then sadism; robbing the dead for the money isn't as bad as doing it for no reason."

Mina made a mark. "Sightings of a ghost in a hotel?"

"…We really have no way of knowing for sure which case she's after," said Soma. "For all we know, there could be a press ban, and it might not even be in the papers at all."

Mina sighed. "I guess not. Yoko didn't give us any leads."

"This is a waste of time," said Soma, standing up and putting out the fire. "Let's go ask Hammer. He has actual underground contacts."

Mina glared at him. "You know, I spent two hours putting this list together," she said in a hard voice. "The least you could do is sit down and listen."

"Okay," said a cowed Soma, sitting down and rekindling the flame with a wave of his hand.

Mina turned the page. "A wealthy and respected member of the community harassed by a flying green demon that shot icicles at it?"

Soma barely heard Mina. A noise like crackling fire filled his ears, and a flash of orange light tinted his surroundings. His souls panicked.

Master-

Sugarcakes, you'd better-

There's something-

Boss, look out-

Sir, I implore you-

BEHIND YOU.

Soma stood up and looked behind the couch, and his heart rate exploded. Kazuya Kawamoto was kneeling on the ground, lovingly scratching the mane of a large blue lion with a snake's tail. The lion's snake tail wagged like a dog's. "Who's a good doggie, yes you are, yes you are…"

Mina would have made a break for it. As much as she didn't want Soma to be hurt, he could handle himself a lot better than she could. Then she realized that for all she knew, there could be another demon lurking in the hallway, and she didn't have any means of defending herself. The safest place was with her superpowered not-boyfriend. Not for the last time, she cursed her uselessness.

Soma would have taken the demon by surprise. All the conditioning he'd experienced in Castlevania and Celia's castle pointed to killing monsters; they had a habit of trying to murder him if he ran. Normally, taking the first strike wasn't always the best idea; dodging and memorizing patterns was a much better plan. But Mina, a normal person without his experience or athleticism, was right next to him, and he would never forgive himself if he dodged and she was hit.

Alas, Soma's shadow had fallen over Kazuya's eyes, revealing their presence.

Kazuya looked up. His eyes roamed from the hanging flame, to Mina, to Soma. "Oh, no, don't mind me," said Kazuya sardonically, the bliss of love and pride flashing into surprise, and then hardening into a mask of stone. "Please, carry o-"

Unfortunately, Kazuya never got to finish that sentence, because Soma threw a plate of curry at his face.

TO BE CONTINUED!

OMAKE: One Question

The top floor of the Obelisk was like a clay oven. It was, after all, the closest place in the Vortex World to the false sun of Kagutsuchi, but still Naoki shivered. This was not surprising. Demonic possession is never a pretty sight, especially when the face of your homeroom teacher turns into something like the unholy spawn of a brain scan chart and an inkblot test.

The tip of Naoki's horn tickled, warning him that someone else was in the room. He turned around and saw them.

The two people responsible for his transformation, the little blonde boy and the old woman, stood right there, as if dressed for the funeral of everyone in the world. "Oh my," said the old woman in a tone that sounded more like she was reluctantly scolding an errant grandchild for eating out of the cookie jar before supper. "It appears that my little master has agreed to answer a single one of your questions."

Naoki's eyes widened. Let's see, I don't really know what's going on—what the hell was Hikawa doing? Why am I a demon? Why does Isamu hate me now? Is there a bathroom in this plac—no, no, not that one!

"Lakshmi, quick, which question should I ask?!" said Naoki suddenly.

Lakshmi shrugged. "If you want wisdom, that's more of Sarasvati's schtick. I say you should ask where your teacher went, but that's just me."

"Odin, you're wise and only have one eye, say something!" said Naoki.

"Secret of power," rumbled Odin.

"…Hell Biker?"

"How to stop my baby from stalling all the time," said the skeleton motorcyclist, caressing his precious, precious bike.

"Loa?"

"Where to find some rum. Or chocolate," said the spirit in a skull.

Before Naoki could ask the opinion of Onkot or Parvati, the old woman cleared her throat.

"The question has already been determined," she announced.

Naoki shivered, barely allowing his hopes to rise…

"You have wondered why you woke up without your shirt or jacket," said the old woman. "My little master likes your abs and wishes to continue staring at them."

Before Naoki could decide whether or not that was a compliment, the duo vanished.

Chapter Text

Unless something extraordinary disrupts the balance between the worlds, it is difficult for a human or demon to cross between worlds. Under rare circumstances, however, some of the barriers between worlds may be lifted, allowing easy passage.

Halloween is one of those exceptions. For one night a year, demons may walk alongside humans, to play pranks or to just play. Fairies in particular love this holiday, as fairies love humans.

For, Jack Frost, Pyro Jack, and Ripper Jack, Halloween was the best night of the year.

Sunday, October 31, 2032

"Trick or Tr-hee-t!" said the little trio in unison.

"Jack Frost?" said Yoko Belnades, holding a large bowl of candy. "Pyro Jack? Ripper Jack? It's been so long! It's good to see you again!"

"Yo-ho-ko, you're so big!" said Jack Frost. "I thought we just played together a few decades ago, ho!"

"Humans don't live as long as demons, Jack Frost," said Yoko patiently, giving them each a large chocolate bar. "One decade is about an eighth of our lifespan."

"He-oh…" said Pyro Jack sadly. "Why?"

"That's one of those big philosophical questions that people have been asking themselves since humans could think," said Yoko. The Jack brothers were a bit like children; difficult concepts confused them. You had to break things down into small pieces.

"So what's the answer?" said Ripper Jack curiously.

"We still don't know," said Yoko.

"After all this time?" said Ripper Jack.

"We're just not very good at agreeing on the answer," said Yoko.

Pyro Jack looked sad, and then brightened up. Literally; his lantern flared up three times its normal brightness. "He-how about you come trick-or-treating with us, ho?" he said.

Yoko shook her head. "Sorry, I can't. I'm the one handing out candy now, you see. My family's depending on me."

"Leave them!" said Ripper Jack. "Have fun with us! Kids eat too much candy these days, anyways."

"No, really, I can't," said Yoko. "Demons worse than you three go out and hurt humans every Halloween. Most of my family's out fighting them, and I have to stay home to protect my little cousins."

"He-oh," said Pyro Jack.

"But," said Yoko, brightening up. "If you come by in an hour or so, I'll have some special treats for you."

"Hee-ho-ho-ho!" yelled Jack Frost. "Thank you, Yo-ho-ko!"

The trio of little demons scurried off into the night.

"…You're the only people in the world who can get away with calling me a ho, you know that?" Yoko said when they were far out of earshot.

"What's that, cuz?" said her younger cousin, emerging from the bathroom.

"Good timing, Kaitou," said Yoko, putting down the bowl. "Mind holding down the fort for a bit? I'm making dessert."

X

"Hee-ho!" said Jack Frost, drenching his shaved ice in strawberry syrup. "This is great! Thank you, Yo-ho-ko!"

Kaitou stared at Yoko. "Since when were you friends with demons?"

"Since I was seven," said Yoko. "Spiriting away. Grandma was furious. That's where we got that flayed orc skin hung up in the living room, remember?"

"I thought that was a gift from Auntie Yuka, after she went on vacation in England."

"No, that's the goblin skin in the parlor. Completely different."

"How's this so wet on the inside, ho?" said Pyro Jack, poking his lava cake.

"It's batter," explained Yoko. "The outside shell is cooked, but the inside is slower than-"

"These entrails are delicious!" said Ripper Jack.

Yoko and Kaitou stared at one another. They couldn't find any entrails, so they thawed out a bag of ground pork and dropped it in a bowl.

"Yo-ho-ko, what're those numbers on that box?" asked Jack Frost.

"That's a clock," said Kaitou. "It tells time."

Jack Frost stared. "So it's ten… fifty-seven!?" Jack Frost stood up. "We have to leave, ho!"

"Don't let Wyvern eat me this time, ho!" shouted Pyro Jack.

The trio scurried off into the night.

"…What was that all about?" asked Kaitou.

"Demons who cross over on Halloween lose their powers and die if they stay here past midnight," explained Yoko.

Kaitou stared. "…Is that true?"

"No, but it keeps them out of our hair," said Yoko. "We'd have armies march here every year if we hadn't spread that rumor."

"Oh…" said Kaitou. "Is that why Mom and Dad don't come back until morning? They're slaying the stragglers, so none of them find out we're lying?"

"Pretty much," said Yoko, wondering if it was a good idea to tell the ten-year-old about the adult's after-battle drinking parties. "Well, time to clean u-"

The monster alarm went off. Without as much as a backwards glance, Yoko sprinted out the house, wand in hand, ready to do battle the flock of harpies.

Kaitou stared at the uneaten food. "So… I guess I'm cleaning this up?"

Monday, October 31, 2033

Yoko sighed as she took another piece of chocolate out of the bowl. "House duty again," she muttered. "They tell me I have to go through the legendary castle of evil alone in two years, but they can't trust me on the night guard?"

"Sorry, Yoko," said Kaitou, head hanging low. "I didn't make Rank Five."

"No, it's fine, it's not your fault," said Yoko. "They just chose me instead of someone else, that's all."

"But-"

"No buts," said Yoko firmly. "Most children take that test when they're at least fifteen. All that means is that you're not a prodigy."

"But my cousin knows advanced lightning magic, and she's not even a Belnades!" said Kaitou. When he realized what he had said, he coughed and added, "I mean, shouldn't she be spending all her time on weapons training instead of magic like us?"

"She's also an adult," said Yoko. "You're a good magician, Kaitou. Just give it a few years; you can't rush experience."

"Okay," said Kaitou, not quite convinced.

There was a knock at the door.

"TRICK OR TR-HEE-T!" yelled a trio of demons.

Yoko's eyes widened in surprise. "Jack Frost, Pyro Jack, and Ripper Jack?" she said.

"Of course, ho!" said Jack Frost cheerily. "We-hee talked it over, and we're going to visit you every year!"

"Human lives are too short," said Ripper Jack. "Make the best of it when we can, right?"

"So we made you a cake!" said Pyro Jack. He held out a crushed cake with leaves and branches sticking out.

"Thank you," said Yoko. "That's so sweet of you."

"I know, right?" said Ripper Jack. "Want to come play some pranks with us? Pyro just found something called TP."

"It burns really good, hee-hee!" said Pyro Jack.

"…I still need to keep my family safe, you know," said Yoko. "Speaking of my family, if you burn anything down, they'll come after you. And you know what they do to demons…"

The trio shuddered. Jack Frost's head melted a little. Pyro Jack's flame dimmed to a pale yellow. Ripper Jack's skull lights dimmed.

"But, I'll make you a treat if you don't destroy anything," added Yoko brightly. "Just swing by in an hour or so, okay?"

"We can do this every year!" said Kaitou.

"Yeah, hee-ho!" said Jack Frost. "Come on, let's go get some more candy!"

When the demon trio were out of earshot, Yoko said, "You just want lava cakes, don't you?"

"What, you don't?" said Kaitou.

X

"…They're still not here," said Kaitou. "Yoko, can we-"

"No, Kaitou," said Yoko.

"But it's almost eleven," said Kaitou. "They can't make it-"

There was a knock at the door. "Sorry, ho!" shouted Jack Frost. "We were putting out fires all night!"

"T-hee-y weren't my fault, ho!" said Pyro Jack quickly. "We were scared! If something burned down, you might not give us dessert, ho!"

"You put out fires?" said Yoko. "That's-"

"No time!" said Ripper Jack. "We're just here to say goodbye. Goodbye!"

"We're sorry, Beelzebub!"

Once again, the trio scurried off in a blind panic.

"…I'm getting you all watches next year," said Yoko.

"So can I…?"

"Yes, you may."

Kaitou bit into the Jacks' cake. "Hey, this is actually pretty good!" he said.

But Yoko didn't hear him, because she had to chase off a gang of elves.

Tuesday, October 31, 2034

"TRICK OR TR-HEE-T!"

"Good evening, Jack Frost, Pyro Jack, Ripper Jack," said Yoko, not holding the bowl of candy. This year, Kaitou was handing out the candy, and they had real entrails for Ripper Jack.

"Ho-w'd you know it was us, ho?" asked Jack Frost.

"No one else talks like you three," said Yoko. "Come in, I made dessert early this year."

"Don't worry, Yo-ho-ko!" said Jack Frost. "We solved the time problem."

"…Solved it?" said Yoko, raising one eyebrow.

"We can stay out as long as we want now!" said Ripper Jack. "…All right, not really, but we can stay out after midnight now!"

"We're not supposed to tell humans how, ho," Pyro Jack said in a low whisper. "The b—I mean, we'd get into big trouble if any humans knew! E-hee-ven you!"

Yoko's face turned grave. "Can anyone else do what you did?"

"Er…"

"Tell me. Or no dessert."

The Jacks looked at one another. "…Yes," confessed Pyro Jack.

Yoko sat down. "I have a duty, you know. The Belnades family must protect the world from demons. I am obligated to tell my family about this."

The Jacks looked at one another.

"And they might have to destroy you," clarified Yoko.

Kaitou's eyes went wide. "But Yoko-"

"However," added Yoko. "I can make an exception, if you three agree to a deal."

The Jacks were silent.

"I'll let this slide if you prevent any other demons from doing what you did," said Yoko. "You can't hide it; they'll see you return late. Give them a fake spell or ritual, one that requires at least fifty complicated steps, so that when it inevitably fails, they'll blame it on themselves. I can write one up in half an hour."

"But…" Jack Frost said, looking from side to side. "W-hee were supposed to-"

Fire flared in Yoko's hands. "Do I make myself clear?"

Jack Frost yelped and hugged Ripper Jack. "Y-yes ma'am!" they said in unison.

"Ha, fire can't hurt me!" said Pyro Jack. "I'm Pyro Jack!"

Lightning arced between Yoko's hands. "Is this clear?"

"…Yes, ma'am," said the Jacks in unison.

"Now, then," said Yoko. "How about some dessert?"

"Yeah!" said Kaitou. "Now we can party all ni-"

"You have school tomorrow," said Yoko.

"Aw…"

X

Kazuya Kawamoto sat at his desk, debugging his compiler. It was several hours past midnight on a school night, but he neither noticed nor cared. He could sleep in class. His first class was English, which he had mastered in the future, and his second was Japanese Composition, which he did not care about. He could skip Gym if he had to, but naginata practice was a lot of fun.

"Hi-ho!" shouted a voice behind him, tapping his shoulder.

"Cal!" he shouted, falling off his swivel chair. He turned around, and saw the three Jack brothers. "When did you get here?!"

"Just now, ho," said Pyro Jack. "We opened the window."

"How did you not notice?!" said Ripper Jack incredulously, holding up a slightly damaged razor blade. "I had to break your lock to get in!"

"I have terrible tunnel vision," said Kazuya simply. "So, had fun running around? Nochy air do you good?"

"It did," said the trio in unison.

Kazuya stretched. "Time to hold up my end of the bargain," he said, typing something into his COMP.

Nothing happened.

"It's probably a technical glitch; let me check the manual," said Kazuya, looking at his emails. "Just sit down, don't break anything, and be quiet."

This went against the nature of the Jack brothers, but they couldn't disobey a direct order from their contracted summoner.

After a few minutes, Kazuya moaned. "Found the problem," he said. "The return function's destination isn't locked yet."

"Hee?" said Jack Frost, tilting his head.

"The computer doesn't know where your home is," explained Kazuya, still staring at the monitor. "It can't send you back until it knows."

"Why, ho?" asked Jack Frost.

Kazuya paused to rearrange the thoughts in his head to a higher (that is, more comprehensible) level. "This program is supposed to summon and dismiss demons. It's good at summoning, but the designer was in a hurry when he was programming the dismiss function, so it's poorly optimized. Most of the time, it returns you to your world by… reversing the ritual. Obviously, that doesn't work when I didn't summon you, like right after the contract is made, so there's another function for that. That one works by sending you back through the way you came… which, apparently, is closed."

"Ho does it know which way we got here, ho?" asked Jack Frost.

"Apparently, it's supposed to lock onto your home world using your quantum dimensional wavelength and cross-referencing it with the quantum signal that comes from parallel dimensions, which we know about due to quantum, and using multiple imaginary numbers to simulate the quantum tunnel…" Kazuya paused to stare. "…Nothing that uses the word quantum ten times in one paragraph can possibly be real physics."

"What's quantum?" asked Ripper Jack.

"It's a big field of science with lots of quarks in it, but that's not important right now," said Kazuya. "The point is that it can't send you back the way you came because the portal's closed. This wouldn't have happened in my time, since Stephen's teleporter broke all the barriers, but that's right horrorshow where it is."

The Jacks looked at one another. "So… we-hee're stuck hee-re, ho?" said Jack Frost.

"Yes," said Kazuya gritting his teeth and calculating how much Magnetite he'd be set back by. "Once the portal opens, I can send you back, but until then, you're stuck for the whole year."

The Jack brothers looked at one another. "Well, that's not so bad, ho!" said Jack Frost. "We can see summer! And winter! And spring!"

"Yay!" said Pyro Jack.

Kazuya glared at them. "If you're going to be taking up a year's supply of Magnetite each, you're going to have to make yourselves worth it. Now go make me a chasha of coffee. No moloko, two sakar. The Em's our, so you don't have to worry about her as long as you clean up."

"Even me, ho?" said Jack Frost.

"Fine, you can dust my shelves," said Kazuya.

Ripper Jack raised his hand. "Wait, so you can only send us back on Halloween nights?"

Kazuya shook his head. "The destination will be saved when I send you back the first time. Once that's set, I can summon or dismiss you at any time of the year. Your contract would be a waste of memory if it was that inefficient. Not that memory is a problem anymore," Kazuya added, smirking. "Thank you, Moore's Law."

"Sir?" asked Ripper Jack.

"Yes?"

"How did you know that we were demons instead of kids in costumes?"

"Easy. Pyro Jack hasn't got any legs. Most human children can't float."

Pyro Jack looked down. "…How did no one notice this until today?"

The three demons scurried off to their assigned tasks. Kazuya settled down at his computer, but before he could type in a single word, he said, "You did what to my lock!?"

TO BE CONTINUED!

I had to change the years a few times for this to make sense. Kazuya sent back the Jacks in 2035, before he went off to college, or else I'd have to explain how none of them were caught by Soma or Naoki. Soma might be more oblivious without his powers, but Naoki is kind of jumpy at the moment.

OMAKE

For the government workers in Makai (for lack of a better term), Halloween was a holiday. As it was the only time where demons could consistently travel to the human world, it would be unfair to deprive them of this freedom.

Not many government workers travelled to the human world. Most of them were content to put their feet up and go drinking, take walks on the seaside, or organize field sports. But there were a few who took regular trips. Surprisingly, their leader was one of them.

Every Halloween, Lucifer disappeared to the human world. He told no one where he went, not even his trusted second Beelzebub. Speculating on where he went was a casual pastime for his lieutenants when they were off the clock.

"Sabbaths, probably," muttered Crowley in the break room.

"For the last time, Lucifer does not hold Sabbaths!" snapped Hecate. "Why do you think he forbade them?"

"Oh yeah? Then what do you think he's doing?" said Crowley.

"There is more to life than sex," said Virochana serenely.

"Feasting," said Beelzebub.

"There's more to life than just feasting, too," said Virochana.

"I could go for some sex right now," muttered Ishtar.

"I'm always up for a round," suggested Mara. "Hey, how about we-"

"No, Mara," said everyone in unison.

"Party poopers."

There was silence. "In all seriousness, where is His Excellency?" said Lucifuge Rofocale.

"I know where he is," said Ashtar.

All eyes were on him. "He told you?!" said Ishtar incredulously.

"I am his faithful servant!" said Lucifuge. "I run the government for him! Why would he tell a mere lackey like you? You didn't even sign up for this; you're just a package deal with Ishtar!"

Ashtar shrunk. "He didn't tell me; I just saw him across the street when I was out buying shrubberies in Halifax! I couldn't follow him because there was only one cashier on duty, but it was definitely His Excellency!" Ashtar shuddered. "You don't forget eyes like his, even when he's in human form."

Lucifer's generals sat in silence. "So… what do you think he's doing in the human world?" said Hecate after a while. "And don't you dare say Sabbaths, Crowley!"

Beelzebub stood up. "Well, I'm off to punish the stragglers. Save me some grub."

X

"So… then… it turns out that it was a cockroach all along!" said Vincent Brooks, shaking his banana rum daquiri.

"Fascinating," said Louis Cyphre.

"That's not all," continued Vincent. "She thinks I'm an alien now, because of the whole sheep thing!"

"That reminds me of the time I lost my friend's scooter keys!" said Teddie, taking another swig of coconut liqueur. "Boy, he was so mad, he locked himself in the basement and drank all the hot chocolate! It was un-bear-able!"

"That reminds me of the time I lost my first job," said Louis Cyphre, taking another sip of his third bottle of brandy. "I was quite literally thrown out of the building."

His drinking companions stared. "Was it a tall building?" Teddie squealed nervously.

"No, it was not a tall building at all," said Louis Cyphre. Technically, the building's proportions were around the usual for Heaven. But he had been thrown out from the sky, which made it rather painful when he hit the ground.

The trio took another sip in unison.

"So," said Vincent. "Want to go see a movie or something? I hear there's a midnight showing of Silence of the Lambs at the theater down the street."

"I would very much enjoy that," said Louis Cyphre, dropping a large pile of money on the table and picking up his groceries. "Allow me this round. Alas, it is almost midnight, and I must be going. Good night, Vincent, Teddie."

Walking in a straight line, as if he was completely sober, Louis Cypher strolled towards the exit at a brisk pace.

Vincent fell out of his chair and stumbled towards the exit. "B—but—hey, Lou! Wait for-"

GONG! GONG! GONG! GONG!

Vincent clutched his head. Whether it was the loud noise or the holy origin, church bells hurt his ears.

Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong!

Vincent squeezed his eyes shut, and stumbled back into the bar.

Gong. Gong… gong…

When the noise of twelfth bell faded, Vincent deemed it safe to walk unsteadily outside.

Louis Cyphre was nowhere in sight. Not a single footstep marred the freshly fallen snow.

"He's gone," said Vincent, face turning pale and teeth chattering. "Just like a… a…"

"Cinderella?" suggested Teddie.

"GHOST!" wailed Vincent.

Teddie, the abomination spawned form the darkest depths of the human mind stared at Vincent. His breath unmisted, he said, "Aren't you the Lord of the Netherworld?"

"…Oh, yeah," said Vincent Brooks, Lord of the Netherworld, King of the Incubi, Protector of Lost Sheep, Conqueror of Nightmares, and loser of the drinking contest. "I probably have a hundred ghosts just like him down in the basement. Want to get some ice cream before the movie?"

"Do I?!"

Chapter Text

"A wandering vampire hunter might travel alone, but he is not a lone wolf. No matter how powerful the hunter may be, he can accomplish nothing without the help of strangers. The locals will always know the surrounding area, the latest gossip, and the strange old drunk who's been around longer than the elders can remember. Be polite, be sympathetic, and keep your pursestrings loose."

-Diary of Leon Belmont

Kazuya suffered from terrible tunnel vision. It wasn't that his eyesight or hearing was bad; he never had any problems sitting in the back seat of a lecture hall, taking a driver's test, or aiming a hunting rifle. He just had trouble noticing things like people or furniture from more than a few meters away. As long as he wasn't consciously observing his surroundings, he could have a brisk stroll inside crowded café and not see a single person until he was almost right on top of them.

Surprisingly, this didn't hamper his survival ability. He had walked straight into enemy ambushes so many times that he learned to walk silently; he wouldn't see them coming, but neither would they. Demons caught even the wariest by surprise all the time; all the practice just made him better at reacting. It didn't matter that he didn't notice distant sounds when his protective headphones rendered him practically deaf; he couldn't hear a thing with them on, but if he kept firing a minigun less than a meter away from his head, then he wouldn't be able to hear a thing with them off. Besides, Aoi and his demons were always around to point important stuff out.

Still, if you knew this weakness, it was possible to catch Kazuya by surprise. That was, after all, how he was assassinated.

It was also how Kazuya completely failed to notice two people speaking in indoor voices less than three meters away from him.

Soma Cruz, Kazuya's roommate, and a girl Kazuya didn't recognize were standing on the couch, staring at him and Cerberus. A fireball floated in midair behind them.

"Oh, no, don't mind me," said Kazuya, sliding his hand to the ground and preparing to run. "Please, carry o-"

Soma's left shoulder wound back, warning Kazuya of an imminent projectile. He leapt to the side before Soma could complete the throw, to avoid the fiery projectile smelling of-

"Curry?" said Kazuya, resisting the urge to break eye contact and turn around. "You threw curry at me?"

"Sorry, I was aiming at the lion," said Soma, barely paying attention to Kazuya. His eyes were on Cerberus. "Kazuya, why is there a monster in our-"

"You spoilt little bratchny!" yelled Kazuya. "Did no one tell you to never waste food!? There are people starving in—there are starving people everywhere; you're just going to throw two days' worth of food away just to-"

"Forget about the curry; what's this thing doing-"

"Forget the curry?! Forget about the curry!? Do you have any idea what it's like to starve?!" roared Kazuya. "Have you ever gone even one day without a meal, Soma? Gone to bed with an empty stomach? Gnawed on raw boots with barely enough strength in your-"

Soma reached behind his back and pulled out another plate of curry. "It's magic curry, all right?" he said, unintimidated. "I can just make more with magic. Do you really think that a student would just throw food away?"

Kazuya stopped yelling, but he continued to glare at Soma. "There are still lots of people out there who could use some-"

Soma raised both his hands. The plate slipped out of his hands, but vanished before it hit the ground. "Let's discuss this later, all right? I'll donate these to charity if it'll make you shut up. Let's focus on the important issues, like what are you doing with a demon lion in our basement?!"

At this, Cerberus's hackles rose. "You want to fight, Snowball?" he growled.

"Bring it on, Kimba."

Soma grabbed something on the inside of his coat, and Kazuya broke out into a cold sweat. The only things that people hid in their inside pockets were wallets and guns, and Kazuya was pretty sure that Soma wasn't going to bribe him.

Kazuya opened his mouth to threaten Soma with fiery death by Cerberus, but stopped himself. The proper response to a demon's threat was usually another threat; demons don't respect the weak, and some demons with overinflated egos thought that anyone brave enough to threaten them had to be stronger than them. Humans, especially ones who lived in peaceful times, didn't take threats seriously. Or they saw threats as a reason to jump straight to fighting, not as a means of negotiation.

The second best response was to act like a sycophant; it was easy to trap flattered demons in a contract, but obsequiousness only worked because most demons couldn't read human expressions and social cues. According to Takeshi, Kazuya's bootlicking act looked like the Comic Relief Villain prostrating before the Evil Emperor in a children's anime, but demons ate it up.

Which left bribery (an admittance of guilt to a human), sneak attacks (which would get someone killed), running (to where?), blackmail (Kazuya didn't even know this girl's name), and… normal human negotiation.

How did Aoi do it, again?

"Cerberus, down," said Kazuya in an authoritative voice that betrayed no fear. When they were alone, his dog was Pascal, but in front of other people, he was the mighty Cerberus, guardian of the gate of Hades.

Cerberus straightened his stance, and looked away. "You got lucky, br-"

"No taunting. He's got a piece in there." Kazuya raised his hands slowly and put them behind his head. Now wasn't the time to wonder how his roommate got his hands on a firearm. Kazuya had survived bullet wounds without protection before, but a) even an amateur could hit something vital from point blank range, b) there was no one around with healing magic, and c) it could be one of those rhino-hunting guns for all he knew. "Just sit down in that corner and let me take care of this."

Cerberus whined as he sat. "You can start by making that girl put down that chair."

"What ch-" Kazuya turned around and saw that while he was yelling at Soma, the girl had armed herself with a chair. "Ah, yes. That chair."

Soma's friend was pointing a wooden chair at Cerberus, like a lion tamer from an old cartoon. Her hands were shaking. "You're a demon summoner, aren't you?" said the girl in a loud voice, as if to drown out her fear.

"I am," said Kazuya, trying to remember how Aoi spoke during Center meetings, and then trying not to cry.

Soma stepped towards the girl. "Mina, he's got the lion under con-"

"Soma," said the girl. "You know how in almost every anime or video game, there's this one person who willingly turned to dark magic who's actually a decent person, and they fight their own kind? Like how Akira fused with Amon in Devilman and why Ghost Rider is a thing?"

"Of course I-"

"They're the exceptions."

"Wait, but wasn't Akira out to prove that there were humans who-"

"You know what I mean," snapped Mina.

Kazuya eyed the chair. "Do you plan to kill me?" he said.

"If I have to," said the girl. Her hands were shaking.

"Let's say that you do," said Kazuya. "And let's pretend that Cerberus here won't maul you two to death for it. What are you going to tell the police? Are you really going to tell them that you killed your friend's roommate because you think he's a demon summoner? Where's your proof?"

"There's a division that deals with people like you," said the girl.

This made Kazuya drop his arrogant tone. "What?!" said Kazuya. "Since when!?"

"Since… I don't know, at least the sixties," said the girl, who was only a little less surprised than he was.

"Then-" Kazuya stopped himself before he could spill the next words: 'Where were they when the demons came?' Instead, he managed to regain his composure long enough to say, "You still don't have any proof."

"I've been filming you since you started ranting about the curry," said the girl coolly.

"You're bluffing," said Kazuya.

"What?" said the girl.

"Why would you just happen to be carrying a video camera with you?" said Kazuya triumphantly. Soma and the girl gave him identical baffled looks.

"…We… have phones," said Soma delicately. "Y… are you sure you're a computer science major?"

It took Kazuya a few moments to recall that most people in the 21st century carried around cell phones, and that modern phones had camera and video capabilities. There went that plan. "All right, I give up. You win. Can we please just talk this out?"

The girl blinked. "You're begging us for mercy?" said the girl, surprise briefly overtaking fear.

"Actually, my plan was to discourage you from attacking me so that I could call for parley, but since you have the high ground, all I can do is beg for it," said Kazuya.

Soma sat down. "I'd like a parley, too," he said. "I'd like to know what's going on without fighting to the death for once."

The girl looked at the two, and caved. "All right, fine. Let's have a parley. But you have to send away that demon of yours!"

Cerberus growled. "I will not leave my master's s-"

"I'll do it, but only if you put down that chair and he puts away that gun," said Kazuya.

Soma's brow creased. "What gun?"

"What?!" growled Cerberus.

Kazuya raised his hands. "One at a time. Soma, I'm talking about the gun in your coa…" took Kazuya a moment to recall that he wasn't living in a postapocalyptic landscape with no gun control laws. "Never mind what you have in your coat; if you think you can take Cerberus on with it, I don't want it anywhere near me."

Soma shrugged. "All right, but you need to go first."

"Kazuya…" said Cerberus, stepping closer.

"You don't need to worry about me," said Kazuya, kneeling and gently scratching Cerberus's mane.

"But Kazuya-"

"If I don't do it, it's back to the battlefield for both of us," said Kazuya firmly. "No one's trying to kill me yet, and I'd like to keep it that way."

"She wants to kill you," growled Cerberus.

"Most humans have an aversion to killing their own kind," whispered Kazuya. "She talks big, but she won't do it if I don't threaten her."

"But-"

"Just go, Cerberus. I promise you I'll get through this."

Cerberus lowered his head. Kazuya flipped open the COMP's cover and hit a few keys. "Give it a moment; you know what these old computers are like."

Cerberus vanished in a flash of blue light.

"Your turn," said Kazuya, watching both students for any sudden movements. He was keenly aware of how naked and cornered he felt; the closest thing to a weapon on hand were couch cushions, and he'd been squatting in the corner farthest from the door. But he didn't have to worry; the girl walked the chair over to the other end of the room, keeping her eyes on him the whole time, and Soma tossed his jacket on the chair. Soma made a move to sit at his old seat, but the girl tugged him to a table next to the door.

"Now take that thing off your arm," said the girl, pointing at the COMP.

"No," said Kazuya.

"What was that?" said the girl, her harsh voice betraying her fear.

"Soma can throw magic curry at people, and one of you can make fireballs," said Kazuya. "If you're not completely disarmed, I'm not taking this off."

The girl quickly stood up and hefted the chair. "Then we're-"

"Still having that parley," interrupted Soma. "I don't care if we can get away with it; we're not killing my roommate."

"We're not killing him, we're-"

"Seriously, can you please just explain?" said Soma. "What's so ba-"

"Soma," said the girl. "You of all people should know that the Agency doesn't arrest people for magic. They arrest people for murder."

Kazuya flinched.

Soma blinked. "What?"

"Demon summoning requires human sacrifice," said the girl. Then she cursed, or at least muttered an unrecognizable word in a tone usually reserved for cursing. "…And now that he knows we know, we're next."

Kazuya's whole body tensed up. It was one thing to be accused of summoning demons; they already knew he could do it, and he could just say that he didn't do anything illegal with them. Murder was different. It was almost impossible to prove that he wasn't behind a specific murder; proving that he never killed anyone, besides being untrue, was much closer to impossible. "You think that just because I've killed people before, I'm going to kill you?"

The girl blinked. "When you put it that way, it's—I mean, yes! Isn't the killer's second target always the witness?"

Kazuya froze. If he said he wouldn't kill them, they'd go to the police. If he said he wouldn't kill them as long as they didn't report him, he'd sound exactly like a murderer, and they'd go to the police anyways. "I haven't killed anyone who didn't try to kill me first," he settled.

"Was that a threat?" said the girl warily.

"No!" said Kazuya. "It's…" He shot Soma a pleading look. "Soma, every criminal is at least allowed a trial by jury, right?"

Soma blinked. He looked as if he hadn't yet registered that the person who slept directly beneath him every night was a murderer. "Well, yes, but-"

"And murder is legal in self-defense?"

"…I guess?"

"And desecration of human corpses isn't illegal?"

"…I'm not sure about that, but I'm sure it's just in poor ta-"

"Please," begged Kazuya. "Don't call the police yet. If they're anything like the supernatural police I knew, they're not going to give someone like me a trial. Let me plead my case."

Kazuya bit the inside of his lip. This was it. Strictly speaking, he wasn't helpless; with just a few swift, practiced motions, he could summon his strongest demons, order them to kill these kids, and then walk away. Maybe life would go back to normal eventually, or maybe the police would find him, and he'd have to run away and go live as a globetrotting refugee for the rest of his life (which sounded kind of fun).

But he wouldn't. If he did, there would be nothing separating him from the Gaians he had slaughtered so long ago.

Kazuya removed his COMP and slid it towards Soma and the girl. "I'm completely unarmed," he said. "If you want to kill me, you probably can."

Both Soma and the girl looked taken aback. "…I can't say no to that," said Soma. "We'll do it."

Kazuya cleared his throat. "It all started in the October of 1999, when I was just fifteen years old…"

X

Yoko skimmed through another report. Normally, she would have done her homework before flying to a job, but she had taken the job on such short notice that her application for a record transfer hadn't had time to go through. Alucard's good word could help her get jobs, but there is little short of a national emergency that can hurry up bureaucracy. Agent Fireball was senior enough to approve a 'transfer' and gave her a censored pile of mission reports.

From what she could see, most of the rookie agents weren't bad at their job. Not that they were good detectives or fighters, mind you. Only professionals can be measured by kill counts or solved cases. The litmus test for an amateur is how they report their screwups. Sloppiness is normal when you're first starting, and no half-decent instructor will hold a training mistake against their charges. Deliberately downplaying or obfuscating their messes to look competent, however, is a warning flag for poor record-keeping. Too many times had a Level Nine threat been underreported as a Level Six when the survivors wanted to sound tougher than they were. Of course, as a mercenary, Yoko didn't know this firsthand; she heard it from her grandmother, a former officer in the USSR's Occult Police program.

Agent Cowboy looked up from the poker table, and folded. "I thought you're supposed to help us. What are you, the secret auditor?"

"I can't help you until I know what's going on," said Yoko. Cowboy, surprisingly enough, was one of the more meticulous rookies. He wrote down every detail, no matter how trivial, in the hopes that some of it might be useful.

"You already know everything from the briefings," insisted Agent Cowboy. "Quit wasting our time."

"No, I'm getting a lot from this," said Yoko. "Such as the fact that the blood bank robbery was never solved, and you just skipped straight to the flying robot shark incident."

"That's not a mistake," said Agent Lily, shuffling cards. "The blood bank was robbed by an underground doctor and his assistant, who needed it for emergency transfusions. We let them off in exchange for free treatment whenever we want."

Yoko shrugged. Lily was one of three agents she was certain was cheating. Those three wrote about their tailings and investigations going wrong all the time, but she'd never seen anything about poor combat performance. If they were to be believed, they'd never needed backup, could dodge bullets, and heroically dived in front of werewolves to save fallen teammates. Of course, she did know more than a few people who had done all that when they were around the same age, but all of them had trained all their lives as monster hunters. Except for Soma. But she was pretty sure that reincarnations of the most powerful vampire to ever exist were in short supply.

"So what are you going to do to help us, then?" asked Agent Reaper, another cheater. "Are you just going to hang around until we find this summoner?"

Yoko shook her head. "I charge by the day, and, surprise surprise, your bosses consider that a waste of money. Until we find the summoner, I'll be investigating alongside you. Don't look at me like that, Cowboy. You're not going to always be working with people you like."

"Which is why you two are going to be on the same team tonight," said Agent Fireball, walking in. Everyone looked up. "I've written this week's rota on the board. Everyone's getting at least one round with our new comrade. Any questions? Yes, Agent Dragon?"

"What are we allowed to tell her?" asked Agent Dragon, the third cheater.

Cowboy moaned. "Weren't you paying attention during the exams? Mercenaries are given by default level Daleth-Omicron-Charlie clearance."

"I know that!" snapped Agent Dragon. "I mean, if she's working with us, she needs to know what we can do, but that's in our profiles, and those are level Gimmel! And what if we're fighting a—what if we're fighting something we've fought before on a Level Theta mission?"

"That is an excellent question, Agent Dragon," said Agent Fireball mildly. "Agent Cowboy, you are correct, but you forgot that Ms. Belnades has already read files that normally require level Xi security clearance." Agent Dragon shot a smug look at Agent Cowboy, who scowled. "Ms. Belnades, would you mind stepping outside for a moment? There's a vending machine on the ground floor." He tossed her a 500 yen coin.

"Thank you," said Yoko. Agent Fireball wasn't being nice; this was nothing more than a simple ploy to ensure her alibi. If she didn't bring something back, or she couldn't give basic details on the machine, she was probably spying. Yoko didn't blame him, though; if this wasn't government, she'd probably be sending something back to the Belnades Clan Archives in case of emergency backstabs (from either side).

Yoko's suspicions were confirmed when she found that there was no vending machine on the ground floor. This was a trap meant for people who knew about this sort of test, and brought along their own snacks and drinks hidden on their person. Yoko never did this, because there is no brand ubiquitous enough to be in every single vending machine, or even any guarantee what kind of vending machine it was. She returned empty-handed, and made sure to knock.

Agent Wolf opened the door. "We're done," she said.

"Basically, you can hear anything from Aleph-Omega-Alfa to Daleth-Omicron-Charlie, anything between that level and Zayin-Lambda-Echo level is strictly-need-to-know, and we absolutely cannot-"

Agent Fireball sighed. "Agent Cowboy, knowing our codes does not make you smarter than her. Agent Wolf, tell Ms. Belnades what we've discussed."

"We—the rookies—can tell you bits of preapproved classified material, as long as it's below a certain clearance," said Agent Wolf. "For instance, profiles are usually off-limits to mercenaries, but we can tell you about our abilities or medical histories. If you need to know something higher, like how we killed a certain type of monster on a classified mission, Agent Fireball will fill you in. In the event that there's something that even Agent Fireball can't talk about, we're probably going to be pulled out, so you don't need to worry."

"Couldn't we just make a file full of stuff we can tell her and have her read it?" said Agent Reaper.

"That would take too long," said Agent Lily. "That is what need-to-know basis means. You don't read every book in the library to study for a test."

Agent Fireball turned towards Yoko. "I can make you another file by Friday, but in the meantime, just listen to the others." He turned towards the rookie agents. "The next shift is coming up, so get ready! Mobilize in ten, reconvene at 0500!"

The agents reluctantly stood up and began to prepare. Agent Fireball was already ready, and simply handed out advice as the agents passed.

"Agent Cowboy, good job staying unseen on patrol duty, but I think the Portuguese Mafia's caught on to the sudden gas leaks."

"Agent Wolf, you did an excellent job of evading that tracker, but you were missing quite a bit of context in that spy report."

"Agent Lily, I applaud your initiative regarding your training, but using your Stand to cheat at cards is terrible form."

X

Soma had a very clear idea of what was Normal and what was not. College was Normal. Roommates were Normal. Castlevania was Not Normal. Fighting monsters was Not Normal. Talking to people was Normal. Seeing a witch or a dhampir was Not Normal, but seeing Yoko or Arikado was Normal. Even discussing Not Normal things was Normal. This, however simplistic, is a common mindset held by many people living a double life, most commonly held by Persona users.

When Normal and Not Normal meld together, the result is disorienting.

For almost a year, Soma placed Kazuya firmly in the Normal category. Kazuya was more or less another extra on the set for college, a Normal Place.

Seeing Kazuya playing with a demon, an extra from some Not Normal Place, in the basement of his dorm, was about as disorienting as watching the new dub of his favorite foreign movie, only to find that King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table spoke in Southern US accents due to localization.

"…and I was a completely ordinary boy," said Kazuya. "I didn't know demons were real, I didn't believe in magic, and I wasn't even that smart or rich. That all changed when a man named Stephen tested his teleporter network exactly one week from Halloween, when the walls between the worlds were at their weakest. He accidentally broke the barrier between the human and demon worlds, allowing demons to-"

"Wait, couldn't he have just shut down the teleporter?" said Mina.

Soma expected Kazuya to roll his eyes and complain about being interrupted, but instead he gave a tense smile and said, "I asked Stephen that same question. Using the teleporter once made it easier for demons to enter this world using any route, not just the teleporters. Don't ask me why; I didn't understand then, so I can't remember now. Besides, the government seized the teleporters before he could destroy them." He paused. "You'd think they'd at least have destroyed the one in the Diet building."

"Anyways, that's just why everything went to hell. I became a demon summoner ten minutes after I saw a Preta rip a man's throat out. I ran into a Pixie, gave her my allowance, and she agreed to be my-"

"How?" said Soma. When Kazuya gave him a strange look, Soma cleared his throat. "Okay, there were at least five things wrong with what you just said. There's no way anyone could learn how to cast a basic fire spell in ten minutes, let alone summon a demon-" You're one to talk, muttered a Student Witch. Not now, he bit back "-and even if you could learn how to summon a demon, you just said you ran into one, not summoned one. Third, paying demons doesn't guarantee they're going to listen to you. Four, I forgot number four, but five, what about that thing?" Soma pointed to the wrist-mounted computer Kazuya put on the ground, knowing better than to touch his computers without permission.

Kazuya blinked. "Right. I forgot about that. Stephen wrote a program called the Demon Summoning Program, which covers everything you just said. It allows anyone with a microphone and 64 MB of memory to communicate with demons, make contracts that heavily restrict their ability to backstab you, return them to their home dimensions, and retrieve them. I have no idea how it works."

Mina looked as if he had told her that it was too late to deactivate the Evil Emperor's Death Ray.

"Don't worry, I'm the only one who has it," Kazuya added quickly. "As far as I know, I'm the only one who has the program, and I have no intention of distributing it. Before you ask, I got it off an email."

Soma chuckled.

"…Yes, Soma, that is exactly how I was scammed the other day," said Kazuya coldly.

Soma shook his head. "Never mind that. So you summoned demons to protect yourself? That doesn't sound that ba-"

"He had to kill people, remember?" said Mina urgently.

"Actually, I didn't," said Kazuya. "I'm not saying that I never killed humans before, but I never did it for the Magneti—you don't know what Magnetite is."

"The most magnetic natural mineral on earth?" said Mina.

Soma blinked. "You knew that off the top of your head?"

"I read a lot of Nat Geo."

Kazuya shook his head. "They're both called magnetite. My Magnetite is short for Magic Net Field Effect Mineral; -ite is the mineral suffix. They didn't call it Magitite because they didn't think anyone would take it seriously after Final Fantasy. The person who named Ma—my Magnetite, I mean—didn't know about the mineral called magnetite, and no one renamed it because… anyway, demons need my Magnetite to sustain their bodies in our world. Humans have a lot of it naturally, but there exist deposits in places with a lot of natural magic. I found it most efficient to scrounge it from other demons."

Soma blinked. Is this true? he asked the monster souls within him.

In response, Soma heard an incomprehensible cacophony.

Soma groaned internally. Please be quiet. The souls fell silent. Stolas, is this true?

The word is unfamiliar, Master, but the concept rings true, Stolas responded. We do not require sustenance from humans if we gather around places with strong ambient magic. The castle was a wellspring of magical energy.

Huh, thought Soma. Does that have anything to do with how I'd get a refill on magic when I broke stuff or killed monsters?

Did you not notice? Stolas added politely.

Wait, is this the same energy I use for magic?

Stolas nodded. The very same. Do you not bestow it upon us when you create bodies for us?

But most people can't use magic!

They simply lack the knowledge, not the potential, said Stolas. I believe the word is vestigial?

Got it. Thank you, Stolas.

I am at your service.

Soma realized that Kazuya was glaring at him. "I'm throwing myself on your mercy," he said, gritting his teeth. "The least you could do is listen."

"Sorry, just fact-checking," said Soma. "What did I miss?"

"He wants to demonstrate a summoning, and I said that even if this 'Magnetite' does exist, he can't prove that he didn't get it from humans," said Mina.

"It's real, and you can get it from demons," said Soma. When Mina gave him a look, he added, "I'll explain later. Hang on."

Stolas, could you please do some calculations for me?

A few moments later, Soma said, "It's difficult, but possible, to summon a demon entirely out of demon sacrifices."

Kazuya blinked. "How-"

"Gift. Horse," said Soma.

Mina considered this. "I have another que—two questions. How was this covered up, how old a—three questions. How was this covered up, how old are you, and why are you only going to colle—four questions. How do you look-"

"Time travel," said Kazuya bluntly.

Soma whistled. "That makes so much sense."

Mina looked up. "How?"

Soma shrugged. "He doesn't know the last Prime Minister's name, couldn't use the washing machine, things like that. Oh, and he hadn't even heard of Harry Potter until he came here."

Mina pointed at Kazuya. "Explain."

Kazuya sighed. "Technically, I'm from an alternate timeline, but 'dimensional traveler' sounds like an astronaut. From what I've read, the timeline's mostly consistent with what I remember, up until the demons," said Kazuya. He took a deep breath.

"In the November of 1999, a general in the JSDF led a coup. He claimed that the American ambassador was planning to nuke Japan because it was God's will. The American ambassador thought that general was planning to summon Lucifer. I'm not sure if either of them were guilty of those particular accusations, because they—anyways, they fought each other more than they fought the demons, and Tokyo turned into a battleground." 

Kazuya paused for a second longer than Soma should have. "I joined the local Resistance movement. We fought the coup forces and the American army, but the ambassador had a… surprise." Kazuya looked as if he wanted to say something significantly less pleasant. "We—the Resistance leader and I—managed to kill him, but Got—the general—was right about the nuke. Tho—the ambassador launched it right before he died."

Kazuya's hands were shaking. "The Resistance leader saved me at the last minute. A—she sent me and… me and some friends thirty years into the future."

"The Tokyo of the future was a wasteland, but we rebuilt. The Resistance leader reincarnated, and we worked together to—no, you need more context."

Kazuya took in a deep breath. "Two factions sprung up in our absence. Powerful ones, filled with powerful demons and summoners. Both of them wanted to massacre the other, down to the last civilian. The Resistance leader and I didn't want either of them to take over Tokyo, so we went to war. After we took the heads of their leaders, the survivors were willing to negotiate. People are a lot more efficient when they're not trying to kill each other, so we built a new city. Things were all right—for maybe a decade."

"One of the two factions took over the whole city, and crushed the other one," said Kazuya, speaking rapidly. "It was all legal, and Aoi and I couldn't retaliate because they were the entire government by then. They still couldn't kill us—we were too popular and powerful—so they assigned us to the slums. The Resistance leader did a good job of it, and we became a force to reckon with, so they-"

Kazuya's voice broke. "I got elected," he continued in a forced monotone. "I did the managing fine, but I wasn't so good at talking to the Cent—central authority. Aoi had pull with them—she was born into their cult—but all I had was demons. They gave me more and more problems, didn't lift a finger to help, and when I took a break…"

Kazuya sighed. "We had lovely natural cave systems, and I took a holiday. There was a cave-in. Some bratchney stole me COMP right off the arm, so I know it was an assassin. I died."

Neither Soma nor Mina interrupted this proclamation.

"Three years ago, on the day before Halloween, I woke up in my old bed, in my old house, with my m—everything was the same," said Kazuya. "Everything but the year. I don't know how it happened, what happened to the me of this timeline, or why the COMP still has the program." Kazuya sighed. "And that's my story."

Soma and Mina stared at Kazuya, and then looked at one another.

"That sounds so ridiculous that I don't know what to say," said Mina. She turned to Soma. "What do you think?"

"I think… Oh." Soma realized what she meant. All of you, one at a time. Did he sound like he was lying? If you think he said something that isn't true, but he wasn't lying about it, don't say anything.

He lies!

He speaks true.

I shall wreak vengeance upon he who once bound me to slavery…

Liar!

I don't think he's lying.

THE FILTHY EARTH BOY LIES!

Hey, I know that guy!

Look, it's Stepdaddy!

Yeah, me too!

Can we say hi? Canwecanwecanwecanwe

Soma clutched his head. One at a time.

"Soma?" said Mina.

"Is he all right?" asked Kazuya, tilting his head.

"I'm fine," said Soma. You know him!? Why didn't you say anything?! Oh, and only one of you speak this time. Vote on it.

After a while, one of the senior Bats explained that Lilim was one of Kazuya's demons when he liberated Shinjuku from a tyrant, Arachne fought him while he was trying to save the Resistance Leader, Kali helped kill the faction leaders, Quetzalcoatl was friends with Cerberus, and more than a few of them fought him at some point.

Wait, but… timelines?

We are not linear beings, explained Stolas. I will elaborate when you have time.

"He's telling the truth," said Soma. "He's travelled through time, fought those factions, everything."

Kazuya eyed him curiously. "And how do you-"

"Gift horse. Mouth," said Soma. "So now that you know he's not lying, are you going to let him off, Mina?"

Mina was silent.

"Mina?" said Soma.

"I'm thinking."

Kazuya's face morphed into the stony mask he usually wore, but Soma knew better. Dracula knew better. The vague wisps of the man Dracula once was knew better. Kazuya was as high strung as a violin tuned for a dog, and coiled to run.

Zephyr, get ready.

Tch, brat. I, Zephyr, do not take orders from—

NOW.

Zephyr had no choice but to obey. Soma's magic circuits rearranged themselves to accommodate the Time Stop spell.

Mina spoke.

X

Thunder boomed. Rain splattered on the muddy pavement, washing away the deeds of the night.

The murderer stalked the empty streets, clothes completely soaked. This was no mean feat in winter in northern Japan; the murderer was wearing three layers, not including underwear. The murderer seemed to expect the rain but did not care; not a single layer was waterproofed, but inside an inner pocket jangled a small plastic bag containing keys, a wallet, some paperclips, a small pocket knife, and some candy. The murderer did not carry a phone.

The murderer's destination was a dimly lit apartment building in the eastern corner of the city. Rain silenced booted footsteps as the murderer climbed the concrete steps. The door had a keycard scanner and a number pad, but the murderer required neither. A mere twelve seconds of pressing an ungloved hand against the scanner later, the door's bolt clicked open.

The murderer opened the door silently. The apartment's occupant was lying in front of the television, buried underneath a fort of cushions, pillows, cardboard boxes, and blankets. A mug of black tea sat in front of the quivering mass, next to a boiling electric kettle, a small saucepan of heated cream, and a half empty bowl of sugar.

"I'm home."

The accomplice barely looked up from the television. "Difficult job. Angry client. Don't talk."

"Don't be like that. I've got something for you." The murderer gently put a box on the ground, and opened it. "Say hello."

The box meowed. A tiny brown kitten popped out, looking at the world with bright amber eyes. "Mew?"

The accomplice looked up. "Was that a…?" The accomplice stood up, collapsing the fort. "A cat?"

"You said you used to have a cat," said the murderer, pouring a mug of tea and swishing it around to let the heat out. "You've been under a lot of stress lately. Thought you'd appreciate a pet."

"Yeah, and we all know how the last one turned out," muttered the accomplice, and added in a gentle voice, "It's okay, I won't hurt you." The accomplice extended a finger for the kitten to sniff. "What's her name?"

"She doesn't have one," said the murderer, wincing as chilled tongue met scalding hot water. "How about… Fluffy?"

"The Cerberus from Harry Potter?" said the accomplice. "Why not McGonagall?"

"This little kitty is too small to be Professor McGonagall."

The accomplice shrugged. "Guess that means Mrs. Norris is out of the question. Crookshanks?"

"Not orange enough. How about Bastet?"

"Too pretentious," said the accomplice. "Hubel or Wiesel?"

"Who?"

"Neuroscientists. They used a cat for their experiments on the brain. It was groundbreaking."

"…That's even more pretentious. We might as well name her Ailuros and be done with it."

"Morgana?" suggested the accomplice.

"Cute, but that sounds like a witch's cat."

"Felix?"

The accomplice considered this. "Classic cartoon character, and a pun on the Latin Felis. Works, except she's female."

"Fine. Felice?"

"Eh, it needs the x to be cool. How about Catherine?"

"I never liked that pun," said the murderer. "How about Luna?"

"Doesn't look like a Luna," said the accomplice. "What does that have to do with cats?"

"Luna is the name of Sailor Moon's guardian cat," said the murderer. "Didn't you ever watch Sailor Moon as a kid?"

"Didn't have cable, wasn't friends with anyone who had it," said the accomplice. "Why not Sagwa?" When the murderer didn't react, the accomplice sighed. "Of course you wouldn't watch non-cable cartoons. Sagwa's Siamese, anyways."

"What's the name of the cat from the Simpsons?"

"Itchy is a terrible name," said the accomplice. "Unless that's the mouse. Scratchy is also terrible."

"Not the Itchy and Scratchy Show; the Simpsons family had a pet cat."

"Snowball, and not for a brown cat. Besides, there were six cats named Snowball on the show, and they all died."

"Dawon?" said the murderer.

"Who?"

"In Hindu lore, Durga rides a lion or tiger named Dawon into battle," said the murderer. "Or Gdon, depending on your source."

The accomplice stared. "How did you know that off the top of your head?"

"How did you know the names of two neuroscientists off the top of your head?"

"…Touché."

"Maybe Frejya?" suggested the murderer. "Her chariot is pulled by cats."

"Just what we want, sentencing an innocent soul to hard physical labor," muttered the accomplice.

"Selina, then?" suggested the murderer.

The accomplice mulled this over. "Catwoman's real name, Selina Kyle. I like it. You're Selina from now on!"

"Mew!" said the cat.

The accomplice tickled the newly christened Selina under the chin, and then went stock still. "Does this apartment allow pets?"

The murderer sighed. "Do I need to remind you about all those times we have literally gotten away with murder?" When the accomplice didn't respond, the murderer added, "Yes, they do."

X

"Summoning is illegal because murder is illegal. If you've only killed in self-defense, and you only broke the law because your life was in danger, I can't turn you in."

X

Naoki yawned, and rubbed his eyes as he emerged from the building housing his calculus class. He'd been out all night searching for Daisuke. Then he remembered that he forgot to do his physics homework, and stayed up all night on it. Naoki was thankful that caffeine still worked on a body with glowing lymph and an extra brain in a horn, and didn't care if it made sense or not. He sometimes wondered if he could get drunk.

Naoki started towards the building that held his programming class, when he was struck by an adrenaline rush (or whatever demons produced). He felt himself step into his combat stride, ready to advance or retreat at a moment's notice. Every possible escape route was marked and sorted by difficulty. He ticked off a mental checklist of everything that could go wrong with him; the backpack could pose a few problems, his left shoulder was a little stiff, and he should put less weight on his right leg. Every noise, every tiny drop in temperature, every tiny zap of static electricity was quickly scanned for potential threats and discarded.

Naoki was in perfect combat mode. All he needed to do was find out what set him off. His instincts worked faster than his brain.

"…All you need is coconut milk, milk, hot water, gelatin, sugar…"

For a moment, Naoki wondered if he wanted coconut pudding. Then he remembered whose voice that was.

Using the crowd of students walking to their next class as cover, Naoki walked closer to the voice.

Bingo. The gang leader from the other night was sitting on a bench, talking to another student.

"There will be a film of pure fat. It tastes good, but if you want to get rid of it…"

Naoki quickly ducked behind a convenient wall, attracting a few stares. He got out his phone and pretended to read something.

"I need to get to class. See you tomorrow."

Naoki's heart sank. He had to go to his computer science class. For a moment, he wondered if it was worth missing a lecture on recursion, something he still didn't understand even when he got Kazuya to patiently explain.

What's all the fuss about, anyway? his rational brain added. She's not a demon. She can fight, but what's so special about that? You need to go to class.

Are you my rational size or the rationalizing side?

I could be either.

But if you're my rational brain, who's thinking this?

This metaphor doesn't work. The voice vanished in a puff of logic.

Naoki rubbed his temples. I have trusted my instincts in the part, but I have gotten false alarms before. Even if I had a low rate of false alarms in the past, the low probability of discovering someone who could put me in danger compared to the number of people I scan every-

"You're not very good at sneaking up on people, are you?"

"No, not—Aah!"

The gang leader was right next to him. "Rule number seven, aka, the Peekaboo rule. Just because you can't see someone doesn't mean they can't see you."

Naoki's first instincts told him to beat the intruder to death, but conditioning held him back better than his rational mind. He never attacked someone who was talking to him.

"You did a good job disguising yourself this time; face paint and a hat isn't a real disguise," the gang leader continued. She was standing well out of punching range. "Why are you following me?"

Naoki blinked. "I thought you were following me!"

"Cut the crap," said the leader, sticking her right hand in her coat.

Naoki would have gotten into his combat stance if he hadn't already been in it. "I guess you're finally doing this in the open," he said.

"There aren't any witne…" The gang leader's eyes flitted from side to side. "Is there anyone behind me?" she asked.

Naoki blinked. "No," he said.

"And there's no one behind you."

Naoki did not sense any hostiles behind him. "…I'll take your word for it."

"Cal," muttered the gang leader. "Do you know what this means?"

Naoki froze as he the revelation hit him. "…Class already started."

The gang leader quickly took her hand out of her pocket and zipped it back up. "Let's settle this later," said the gang leader. "Meet me at the abandoned power plant at midnight tonight. Come alone."

"What abandoned power plant?"

"The abandoned power plant at the other side of… just look it up," said the leader, running off.

X

It took Naoki a while to find the abandoned power plant. He couldn't find a web site for it, or even a Google Maps location, so he had to trawl through Haruhata's sparse Wikipedia article to find a mention of a power plant that was abandoned in the eighties due to budget cuts. He then had to cross reference a bunch of aerial photographs to find any nearby landmarks, and then trawl through about a dozen chain supermarkets on Google Maps to find the one that was next to the 24-hour doughnut shop.

Then he had to do more physics homework.

By the time Naoki reached the abandoned power plant, he realized that the gang leader hadn't said anything about where they were supposed to meet inside the power plant. Luckily, the gang leader had realized this, and was sitting right in front of the main entrance next to a campfire.

"You look cold," she said.

Naoki had just realized that he forgot to bring his jacket. "You… don't." The leader was wearing a large trenchcoat straight out of a 1930s gangster flick.

"Ever since the day I met you, I've been wondering who you were," said the gang leader. "You're not human, that's obvious enough."

Naoki blinked. "How did-"

"You parried a metal bat with your bare arm, punched me into a wall, and got your head slammed against pavement with no apparent injury," said the gang leader, ticking off with her fingers. "I don't know how you expected to get away with that." She paused. "Although I suppose you could be a cyborg or some kind of enhanced human, but you just said you weren't."

"…I'm bad at this, aren't I?"

"You're definitely a student; you were worried about being late to class," continued the leader. "That's a point in your favor; I know you haven't been stalking me."

"How do I know you haven't been following me?" said Naoki. "How do I know you're really a student?"

"If I were following you, I wouldn't get caught," said the leader confidently.

"…That's not proof, that's just bragging," said Naoki.

"If I were following you, then I wouldn't have to test you like that," said the leader, less confidently that time.

"Yes, but what if you're diverting suspicion away from yourself by accusing me?" said Naoki.

The leader paused. "…Why would I want to foll-"

"You said it yourself; you've wanted to know who I was since you met me," said Naoki. "How do I know that you haven't set up this whole 'coincidental' meeting so that you could interrogate me?"

"I have several friends who can vouch for me, like the one who was with me earlier," said the gang leader. "If you think they're in on it, there's something called a student directory. And I said we were late to cl-"

Naoki raised his hands. "All right, fine. We both know we're students. Now can we-"

The leader reached into her trenchcoat and pulled out a gun. "I'm not done."

Naoki got into a combat stance. "Pull the trigger and I rip out your throat."

The edges of the leader's mouth flickered upwards. "I'll do it for 652 Macca."

"Done," said Naoki, tossing a shower of coins at the leader without hesitation.

The leader stowed away her gun. "You're no ordinary demon."

Naoki gave her no leverage.

"I'll admit, I haven't spoken with many demons before," said the gang leader. "But I have known several humans who share your mannerisms. You make threats the same way they do, but you talk your way out of trouble, and bribe or take bribes when necessary."

"And your point is?"

"You may be a demon, but you negotiate like a demon summoner," said the gang leader. "Who are you?"

Naoki sighed. "What makes you think I'm going to tell you anything? You're just throwing inferences at me until I squeal. What do you think this is, a Detective Conan epis-"

The gang leader drew a sword hidden inside her trenchcoat. "Then I'll just have to beat it out of you, malchick!" She started to charge at Naoki.

All right, I'm pretty sure that never happened in Detective Conan.

Naoki held his ground, preparing to jump to the side. The leader definitely had some trick up her sleeve. The obvious answer was the gun. He wasn't bulletproof; he needed the Masakados Magatama for that. Except she already showed it off earlier, so she pro- 

Naoki jumped to the side a moment before he was in whip range, sliding a little on the concrete, and-

A zigzag of yellow light flashed in midair. Pain erupted throughout Naoki's body, and he fell to his knees, paralyzed.

Naoki ran a cursory check. Nothing seemed too badly damaged; the Wadatsumi Magatama made lightning more effective against him, but his natural toughness countered it. The worst part of Magtama weaknesses was pain; even if his rational mind knew that he could weather his weaknesses, the pain still distracted him long enough for enemies to get another free attack.

He couldn't defend himself while paralyzed, but that should wear off in…

Bambambambambam!

A flurry of bullets bounced off of his skull; it didn't hurt him as much as the lightning, but she shot him from out of Gaea Rage range.

Wait for it…

The gang leader reloaded her handgun, walking backwards.

This is taking way too long.

The gang leader hurled another bolt of yellow lightning at him.

Oh, come on.

The leader shot him again.

Zap.

Bambambambambam!

Zap.

Bambambambambam!

Zap.

Bambambambambam!

Zap.

Eventually, the leader ran out of bullets.

"…Cal, you're tough," said the gang leader at last, taking off a pair of headphones that Naoki didn't notice were there.

Naoki didn't say anything. He was still paralyzed.

"Now will you answer my questions?"

Naoki didn't say anything.

"…Right, that will wear off on its o-"

The world vanished in a blaze of white light. One of the weaknesses of Freikugel was that Naoki couldn't see while it was in use; using your eyes to shoot lasers rendered them temporarily unable to perform their usual function of absorbing light. Once his sight was restored and his eyes adjusted to the dark, he could see the tunnel of destruction in front of him, but he couldn't tell if he had landed a direct hit on the gang leader, or if it missed entirely.

"…Sodding hell," said the gang leader from behind him, echoing Naoki's thoughts exactly.

Naoki got to his feet. "You cheap, trigger-happy spammer!" he yelled as he charged at the leader. The leader stood her ground and threw knives at him with her left hand, but she wasn't very accurate, so Naoki ignored it. Her right hand was still in her coat.

Just before he was in what Naoki guessed was whip range, he stopped, and allowed the gang leader to overswing her sword in the space where he would have been. The moment it reached where his heart would have been, Naoki slid in, yanked her sword arm towards him, and punched her in the chest.

The leader's ribs shattered, not with a single crack, but with many little crunching noises accompanied by wet squishy sounds. The leader staggered back.

She was critically injured; just one strike to fi-

Jesus Christ, you're going to kill her!

Naoki froze. His eyes met the leader's, and suddenly he saw the eyes of Jyoji Hijiri.

"I've made many sacrifices in my lifetime. But, I've always followed the path I believe in. Just remember, you'll pay a high price for following that path."

Seriously, why Hijiri?! If I'm going to be blinded by guilt, why not someone who I k-

Their expressions are identical. She faces death with the same warning as-

Holy hell, they actually look really alik-

The air hummed with electricity. Naoki leapt back, but was too slow; several bolts of lightning burst in every direction, hitting the fence, a few trees, and Naoki.

Naoki's body seized up, and the leader snatched up her sword and buried it into Naoki's chest, leaning into it to support her half-dead body.

"…Do you want… continue?" said the leader, shuddering and breathing heavily. Naoki unclenched his hand, and his mouth filled with acid when he felt the thin, smooth stick that wasn't a stick slide out of his bloody hands.

The sword in his gut jiggled when he moved his arm, and his chest blossomed with pain. The lightning and the bullets hacked away quite a large chunk of his stamina to begin with.

All that, he could live with. He'd suffered far worse wounds before. But nothing healed the wounds in his heart.

"…Is it too late to talk?" said Naoki, intentionally feebly.

"…no," said the leader, putting her foot on Naoki's chest and grabbing the sword's handle "Hold still."

Before Naoki could vocalize an answer, the leader yanked the sword out in the exact manner that you are not supposed to do, splashing blood and glowing red lymph everywhere. Before Naoki could shout in pain or anger, the air filled with a pale blue-green glow.

Naoki's wounds vanished. Healing spells always felt strange; they didn't quite have a feel, but the sudden absence of pain was a sensation in and of itself.

The leader healed herself, rubbed her torso, and winced. "Have you seen my rib?"

Naoki pointed at it. She picked it up. "I'll get it fixed later."

"If you're going for Stockholm Syndrome, I haven't forgotten who shot first," said Naoki halfheartedly. "And now you know that you won't get answers out of me that way."

"And I know you don't want to kill me," said the leader. "That's all I wanted to know."

Did she plan this? Can I really trust anyone who—

No, seriously, how could anyone plan something this random without—

Wait, did she just use magic?

The only humans I know who could use magic used a Terminal or fused with a demon, but it looked like—

Come to think of it, Manikins could use magic, so—

How the hell did she get this good? I'm the Demi-Fiend! I've slaughtered gods and devils by the thousands, brought low the mighty creator, and killed death itself nine times! How could she—?

Would she have healed herself anyways and killed me if I hadn't given up?

Where is her gang? Why didn't she try to kill me in front of them? Why—

Seriously, what was the point of goading me like that? Did she overestimate her skill, or was she actually manipulating me into—

No, intentionally almost dying and gambling on my mercy is so stupid—

Where did she get that gun? And that sword? And—

The edges of the leader's mouth twitched upwards. "Judging by your silence, it looks like you have some questions for me," she said. "You ask your questions, I ask mine. We all go home happy."

Naoki growled. "Fine," he said. "First question. What is your name?"

The leader's eyes narrowed. "That's not on the table."

"I can live with not knowing anything. Can you?"

Naoki did not use contracts on his demons. He naturally had the power to summon and dismiss demons, but there was no magic binding them to his service. Naoki's demons only listened to him because they respected his strength. Not even the most dishonorable among them would betray him for another they thought stronger than he; the only way to prove it was to kill Naoki, and if they miscalculated, they would meet a swift and bloody end at his hands.

In most cases, he was stronger than they; after all, he couldn't talk them into joining if he wasn't, and the Minister refused to make demons stronger than his customers. The exceptions were the demons who evolved and the results of the Minister's fusion errors, but the evolved demons respected him after he led them through so many battles, and the fusion accident demons thought that anyone who fused them must be stronger and didn't even try to test him (although the Minister told Naoki not to push his luck).

Not surprisingly, Naoki had a strong aversion to lower bargaining positions. He'd paid the barest of lip service to Gozu-Tennou, and working for the Old Man in the Wheelchair was about as uncomfortable as it was enlightening (and Naoki was about 81% sure that he was the Devil).

The agreement was ostensibly between equals, but this was half blackmail. With violence off the table, all he could do was blackmail her back.

"…Spoken like a true demon summoner," said the leader with grudging approval.

Did I just say that out loud?

The leader cleared her throat. "I am call-"

"No nicknames, no lies, no half-truths, no 'I'm known as The Crushernator' or 'You may call me Marth,'" snapped Naoki. "Your real name." He held out his hand. "My name is Naoki Kashima, of the Fiend race. What's yours?"

The leader took his hand and gave him a crushing handshake. "Aoi. Aoi Miyama."

TO BE CONTINUED!

OMAKE: Language Barrier

(In my first drafts, Kazuya spoke much more clinically than he does now. I toned it down when he sounded like a robot and I sounded like I couldn't write dialogue.)

"Hey, Kazuya," said Mina.

"Yes?" said Kazuya.

"How come you speak so… weirdly?" said Mina.

"I do not know what you are talking about," said Kazuya. "Please tell me how my speech sounds strange."

"See? Like that!" said Mina. "No one talks like that! It's like you're standing on ceremony with the Prime Minister, but you've never heard of a synonym! Do people talk like that all the time in the future?"

Kazuya sighed. "I speak like this because I want to appear normal," he said.

"You call that robot-talk normal?"

"If I did not try to speak like this, then I will appear abnormal," said Kazuya. "It is not normal for someone my age to speak like someone from forty or fifty years ago. I will not be understood if I speak like someone from the future. I am trying to use basic words and grammar rules that do not easily change over time."

Mina whistled. "Makes sense. I guess when you're your age, you don't easily learn new languages, especially when it's technically your own. Guess you can't just read a slang dictionary, eh? Not that those are any good."

Kazuya shook his head. "It is hard to predict how a language will evolve. When a language changes, syntax changes, grammar changes, and pronunciation changes."

"Huh," said Mina. "Could you give me an example?"

"Grottier than a bodacious dook's neezhnies after a shive yet, that cool cat baboochka's starry threads, skinny though, cor, ain't spoogy to staja, ten four. Catch you on the flip side, bratty."

"…What?"

"I understand the following statement: while it is true that likable old woman's old clothes are uglier than an interesting ghost's underwear after it has been cut, she is not afraid of prison. Salutations on my departure, and I wish to see you again, brother."

"Language is strange," said Mina.

"Fish have no word for water," said Kazuya. "By the way, what does 'lit' mean, and how might I acquire some?"

Meanwhile…

"Group up, me droogs. Tonight is a raid on the Kirijo Building. If the millicents come round, shack up in the biblio until it's safe."

The gang looked at one another. Saitou's brow furrowed in confusion. At last, Sei spoke up. "Does that mean… we're going to stay at the library if the police see us?"

Aoi beamed. "Knew I kept ya' around for a reason, mate."

Note: Kazuya uses 70s and 80s slang in addition to Nadsat. I didn't use real 90s slang because it won't sound as dated as 70s and 80s slang; it's less important that Kazuya sounds like he's from the 90s than that he's forty years out of date.

OMAKE #2 The stupid twist

"So… where are you from?" Naoki asked.

"Kichijoji," said Aoi.

"Huh," said Naoki. "That's where my roommate's from."

"Maybe I know him," said Aoi. "What's his name?"

"Kazuya Kawamoto."

Aoi blinked. "Kazyua Kawamoto? He lives next door!"

"Wow, really?" said Naoki. "What are the odds?"

"Where are you from?"

"Ueno."

"My boyfriend's from Ueno!"

"Really? What's his name?"

"Yoshio Asuka."

"I don't know him."

There was another awkward pause.

"So… I hear Dawn of the Dead is showing. You guys want to come?"

Aoi glared. "I hate zombies."

"Oh. Okay then."

(In Shin Megami Tensei 1, the Heroine leads the rebellion, and not knowing her surname, the police arrest every woman and girl with her first name to find her. Coincidentally, the Hero's neighbor shares the Heroine's name, and is also the girlfriend of the Law Hero. She hates zombies because Nebiros revived her as a Bodyconian after death, and she despises her cursed existence so much that she asks the Law Hero to exorcise her).

Chapter Text

"At times, it can be difficult to resist the urge to garrote someone after you discover that they withheld information that would have been useful before you walked into that spider-infested forest without a map. Before you attract the attention of the local constable and meet your doom at the hands of another rope, keep in mind three things. One, you are a stranger in this land, and few would entrust strangers with their darkest secrets, such as the haberdasher's affair with the apothecary. Two, it is difficult to appraise the worth of information in the eyes of others; the fact that the cobbler is literate might not come up in casual conversation. Three, your grasp of the local language is probably imperfect. That said, you are responsible for asking for clarifications and providing them when necessary. However, there is no excuse for not telling someone that the antidote for spider bites uses vodka as a solvent."

-Diary of Leon Belmont, dated three days after the infamous Burning of Atterheim Woods incident. The bolded text was pressed so deeply into the page that the impressions in the following pages were visible 900 years after they were written

Of the many demon races Aoi knew and fought, Fiends were by far the most mysterious. Both Kazuya and Aoi had only encountered three Fiends in their entire lives: David in Ginza, the White Rider in Tokyo Destinyland, and Daisoujou in a broom closet in the Basilica. Each time, they had only emerged victorious after heavy losses, and earned little more than a fancy violin and a hefty bill from the healers. When Kazuya asked the Minister of the Mansion of Heretics a few questions on how to fuse one, the Minister shook his head and said fusing a Fiend required special materials.

"Aoi Miyama?" repeated Naoki Kashima. "Wow, that's… those are like the generic names you hear more than the names everyone says is generic."

Treating Naoki Kashima the way Kazuya negotiated with demons was a mistake. Aoi had thought that he was imitating humans by behaving like the humans who spoke with demons, but he didn't drop the mask under pressure.

"What were you expecting?" asked Aoi. "Something with 'lightning' or 'warrior' in it? Something thematically significant and pretentiously overblown? Or you thought I was related to someone famous?"

Picking a fight was an even worse mistake. Aoi had challenged him to assert dominance, the way Kazuya did, except she'd forgotten that he never attacked to show how strong he was. Once he knew she was stronger, she could let him go, because he'd know she could kill him if he stepped out of line.

Except Naoki hadn't been cowed, and if he hadn't shown her mercy at the last second, she could have died.

"I don't know what I was expecting," admitted Naoki. "It is a nice name, though."

The more Naoki spoke, the more human he seemed. Aoi knew many people who were a mix of human and demon, but Naoki didn't seem to fit in the usual three categories (Demonoid, Nephilim, and Vector). In fact—

Wait a minute.

"Let us continue this conversation elsewhere," said Aoi.

"What?" said Naoki. "We just got here! What's the point of calling me all the way out here if—"

"An abandoned power plant on the edge of town is a good place for a secret meeting," said Aoi. "The site of an explosion that levelled a dozen trees isn't."

Naoki looked back at the tunnel of destruction. "I guess it is pretty obvious something happened, but they'd have to come all this way to-"

"Do you have any idea how bright it was?" said Aoi.

Naoki shook his head. "Are you sure it's that bright, or does it just hurt your night vision?"

Aoi shrugged. "Why take chances? If we start running now, we can dodge the rozz."

"The what?"

"The, um… fuzz," said Aoi, trying to recall how her grandmother/mother referred to people who caught criminals. "Thieftakers? Pigs? Feds?"

"The police?"

"Yes, the police," said Aoi.

Naoki cocked his head to the side. "Seriously, what is with your accent?"

"Not important," said Aoi, taking one step towards him. He stepped back. "I can warp us out, but I need to touch you. If you want answers, get over here."

Moving more like a skittish Bai Ze than the Fiend he truly was, Naoki walked towards her, and Aoi put her hand on his.

"Traport."

X

There wasn't a lot to say after Mina let Kazuya go. Mutters of thanks, an offer of dinner, an offer of dessert, a revelation that two of them spent the entire conversation without introducing each other, some introductions, another mutter of good night. Kazuya left first, leaving Soma and Mina alone. They didn't have much to say, either, and bade each other good night.

Soma had gone on a snack run, so when he came back, Kazuya had already left for the communal bathroom (unless Kazuya had decided that a towel and toiletries would serve him better when running for his life than food and a computer). Rather than return to his homework or gather his things for the shower as well, Soma sat quietly, deep in thought.

By the time Kazuya returned, Soma had made up his mind.

"Let's do this while Mina's not here," said Soma. "You have questions. You wanted to ask them, but after Mina did you the favor of forgiving you, you feel asking for more would be impertinent. Or you had to submit for her mercy, and breaking that mask and acting like yourself would send you straight to jail. Maybe both. The point is, I have the time and I've never cared that you're a demon summoner."

Kazuya looked momentarily taken aback, before his face hardened into the usual stone.

"I've lived with you for almost a year, Kazuya," continued Soma. "I know how persistent you get when you care, and I know damn well how frustrating it is to not have your questions answered. If we don't do this now, you'll… go behinds our backs and do whatever arcane hacker magic you do."

"I'm a programmer, not a hacker," said Kazuya flatly.

"Then how did you get your money back from that scam?"

"I lied. I used a demon."

Soma shrugged. "Whatever you're planning, don't do it. Just ask; it'll be easier than spying." He leaned in closer and whispered, "I have no idea how thin our walls are, so let's assume that the people next door can hear everything we say. How about we pretend we're talking about… Eternal Punishment Online character creation?"

Kazuya nodded, and said at a normal volume, "I only have two questions. Can you answer for Mina, too?"

"I'll try, but I might get some things wrong," said Soma.

"Good enough. First, what are your…skills, and how does your character know demons are real? Did Stephen make a portal?" Kazuya paused. "I mean, was there a scenario where someone named Stephen made a portal, like in… um… what was the one before Eternal Punishment?"

Soma shook his head, and leaned in again. "You know what? Save the roleplaying for when people can see us. Let's just whisper."

"Ten-four," Kazuya whispered back.

"…I'm going to assume that means yes. The only physicist named Stephen I've ever heard of is Stephen Hawking, and he died before I was born. All I know about him is that he did quantum physics and had a wheelchair and voice synthesizer."

Kazuya stared. "…My Stephen had those, too."

Soma shrugged. "Then it's probably him. Anyways, if our Stephen made that portal, either trains and boats would be obsolete, or demons would be common knowledge by now. Or maybe it takes too much power to run a teleporter."

"No, they worked just fine when I'm from," said Kazuya. "Even before proper infrastructure was restored, I could wake up in Shinjuku's Underground Mall, spend the whole day killing demons in Ginza Station, and be back at Tokyo Destinyland by teatime. According to Stephen, you could harvest infinite (or a finite but arbitrarily large amount of) energy using the Demon World. He fixed my COMP so it never runs out of power, too."

Soma blinked. "You still had Destinyland in the future?"

"Enough of the castle survived for the survivors to turn it into a fortress. But we're getting off topic. Why do you and Mina know about demons?"

"Well, it all started two y-" Soma stopped. "It's technically because of Mina, so you need to know about her first. Her family has kept a shrine for… I don't know how long, so she's been doing magic since she was eight." He paused. "Well, that's more magic than demons, but all part of the same package."

"Then why didn't she use it on me or Cerberus?"

Soma shrugged. "You'll have to ask her, but I don't think she knows any offensive spells. I've seen her heal, and her family can seal, and maybe she can do wards and exorcisms, but I haven't seen her fight." As a safety precaution, Soma wasn't allowed to know any more about the Hakuba skillset than he already did. In theory, he wasn't supposed to know about the Belmont and Belnades family techniques, but there wasn't much point if Dracula had already seen their traditional arsenal anyways. Sometimes, Soma wondered if there were other hunter families that he wasn't allowed to know about.

Wait, wouldn't it seem weird if you didn't know if she could fight? Kali interrupted.

Yeah, you're her best friend! a Student Witch chirped. Why wouldn't she tell you?

Darn, you're right, Soma thought. All right, excuses, excuses…

Too difficult, suggested Stolas.

Too boring? Werejaguar suggested.

Not enough time, added Skeleton Farmer.

She's ashamed of her weakness, said a Witch.

Kazuya crossed his arms. "If I ask Mina for information, she will become suspicious."

Internally, Soma cheered. "I guess so," he said. "You don't need to worry about her, anyways. Like you said, if she knew offensive spells, she would have used them by now."

Kazuya nodded. "What about you? Did she tell you?"

Soma shrugged. "Technically, she told me when we were kids, but that doesn't count because she wasn't allowed to show me anything, and I thought it was a game. I only really knew after about two years ago. Remember that eclipse, last year of high school?"

Kazuya nodded.

"That's the day," said Soma. "A long time ago, Mina's family sealed the castle of an evil wizard inside of a solar eclipse."

Kazuya blinked. "How is that even possible?"

Soma shook his head. "I don't know."

"I'm not talking about how the magic worked; how can physical object be placed inside a moment in time?" asked Kazuya. "Was it on the moon? Did the castle only exist when there was a solar eclipse? Or was it some metaphor, like the castle was moved to the same cave where Amaterasu sealed herself?"

"I asked, but it was too complicated." This wasn't a lie. Mina had explained it as best she could when they were in Castlevania, before she knew he was Dracula, but it didn't make sense (especially when a dozen magic users were shouting even more confusing laws and addendums about the subject at once). After they escaped, she condensed it to a memo, but wasn't allowed to give it to him for more security reasons. "Anyways, regardless of how they managed it, the seal was leaky. When we came to watch the eclipse, it almost broke. The castle was still sealed, but it could still draw people in. One moment, I was climbing some stairs, and then BAM! I'm on the floor of an evil castle inside of a solar eclipse, which was somehow locked in perpetual night with a full moon even though solar eclipses are new moons by definition."

Kazuya crossed his arms. "Is this relevant?"

"No, just bizarre," said Soma. "It turned out that I'm the reincarnation of a powerful wizard, which is why I can use magic. The evil wizard's castle was full of monsters, and getting attacked by one triggered my powers." As soon as he said it, Soma cursed inwardly; volunteering too much information, especially in front of someone who might have known other magic users, was a terrible bluff.

Kazuya just nodded. "I've seen that before. Stress isn't enough; I heard that latent magic reacts to sources of active magic. Most magic users I met in 1999 only discovered they had magic after the demons came."

Soma hid his sigh of relief as best he could, and forced his body to relax as he as he tried to ask as casually as possible, "Just curious. You said the Resistance Leader reincarnated, too, didn't she? How did you know it was her? Did she have the same magic?"

Kazuya blinked. "It wasn't that she had the same magic… well, she did, but her arsenal is so generic that it's not proof. She had the same name and she looked almost the same… well, her…um… her father in this life was her cousin in her last life, and he named his daughter after… well, herself, so that doesn't count. But she did have some memories from her past life. The way she fought, too, was the same; it was completely different from the Messi—how the people who raised her. We also had this… psychic link that carried over."

Soma nodded, not really paying attention. The proof wasn't important. "So she was pretty much the same person?"

"Well, she spoke a lot more bluntly the second time around, lost her precognitive powers, and I knew her for about a month in her first life and a couple of decades in her second, but I'd say yes. Philosophy might not agree with me, but they haven't proven reincarnation is real yet."

Despite himself, Soma's throat clenched. That settled it. He could not tell Kazuya the truth about himself or his powers. It felt wrong to lie to him after he'd shown his belly and spilled his heart, but now he knew that Kazuya didn't distinguish between past lives. It was one thing to admit to summoning demons in self-defense, and another entirely to admit to being the more infamous vampire to ever… live.

"What about you?" asked Kazuya. "How did you find out about your past life?"

Soma shrugged. "Someone who knew me in my last life told me," he said. Technically, he figured it out moments before Arikado showed up. "He never tells me anything, so I don't know how he knew."

Kazuya nodded. "So you're trapped in a castle, you discover you have magic powers, and reincarnation is real. What happened next?"

"Not much," said Soma. "We escaped a few weeks later, it turned out that the eclipse had just ended on the outside."

Kazuya was silent for a moment, until he realized that Soma was finished. "That's it?"

"No, we got treated to a large and expensive lunch, went home, and took a week off of school because we both needed time to reintegrate into a society where everything is too loud and no one tries to kill you," said Soma, and sighed. "Look, it's not that I'm hiding anything, it's just that I don't think you want to hear about what kind of monsters we fought or some people you'll never meet."

"…I told you about Gouto, Thorman, Ao-"

"Yes, but you had to tell us about them to explain how you traveled to the future," said Soma. "If you just want to know why I know demons are real, it would be a waste of time to tell you about the American Marine who opened up a shop, the cult leader who claimed to be the reincarnation of the evil wizard who owned the castle, the amnesiac with a single-letter name, the-"

"Yes, I get the idea," said Kazuya.

A door opened in the hallway. Soma flinched, but Kazuya didn't seem to notice. "If Naoki comes in, we're going back to EP," he hissed. "I'm making the character…" Inside him, hundreds of souls clamored for attention, shouting out suggestions, each more ridiculous than the last. "…Dark Manakete Blue Mage Mathias Stormblood? It's fine if you don't remember; more realistic that way."

Kazuya whispered back, "Human Summoner Eleonora Redfern. Now, can we finish this before Naoki comes back? What kind of magic can you do?"

"I can make weapons from thin air," said Soma. "Knives, swords, axes, spears, bow and arrow, things like that. Also, curry, for some reason."

Soma had considered copping to Dominance, since it was dark magic just like summoning, and he only used it in self-defense. Except they weren't the same; all they had in common was that their powers were illegal and controlled monsters. The more Kazuya explained himself, the more Soma wanted to hug him and tell him he was safe and everything was all right; if Soma explained himself, Kazuya would slowly edge out of the room and call an exorcist, summoner status be damned. Kazuya kept the contracts at arm's length, in that computer of his, Soma imprisoned his monsters inside of his mind (in a completely non-emo way). Kazuya made contracts, Soma stole souls. Yes, Kazuya had to kill to sustain his demons, but at least he left them to their eternal rest afterwards. And Soma was pretty sure that there was some amount of mind control involved with Dominance, if none of them had kicked and screamed their way out like Dmitrii.

Also, if Soma inherited his power from his past life, it would certainly bring into question what kind of person would design magic that ripped souls out of dead monsters.

Kazuya blinked. "Oh. So you didn't need to take your coat off after all. What about fireballs?"

Darn, Soma almost forgot about that. "I can do those, too."

Quick, I need an excuse! What kind of a theme encompasses fire, weapons, and curry?

The Forge, said a Werewolf.

The Kitchen, said a Werejaguar.

Forge!

Kitchen!

Forge, but you can summon curry because it too is 'hot', said Killer Clown.

"Is that all?" asked Kazuya.

It took Soma a moment to realize that he wasn't the one who said that. "Yes."

"Hm," said Kazuya. "You said you've been doing this for two years?"

"Yes," said Soma. Explaining how he 'lost' his powers until he found some souls last December would raise some awkward questions.

"That does raise some interesting questions," said Kazuya.

Crap.

"You and Mina are the only magic users I've met who specialized so much," continued Kazuya. "I've never met a single combat-ready magic user who didn't know any healing magic. And even the most hardcore medics knew a little offensive magic." 

Soma shrugged. "Really? I would have thought they would master their arts before branching out."

Kazuya blinked. "…I am honestly impressed that you two survived for that long."

Soma silently stared at Kazuya. All right, we've spoken maybe four or five times in the past eight months, and the longest conversation we ever had was about dishes, but we all know Kazuya's not the best with people. "…Do you really think so?" he hazarded politely.

"Yes," said Kazuya with a tone that could have been unabashed sincerity or incredibly subtle sarcasm. "Charging into a demon-infested building with one healer and only one elemental attack was incredibly brave, especially for someone as inexperienced as you."

…There's no way that isn't sarcasm. "Actually, I was alone the whole time, so it was just one elemental attack," said Soma, annoyed.

Kazuya's expression changed to something close to, but not quite…disgust? His mouth opened and closed several times, puffing out half-formed syllables, before he managed a strangled, "Why?"

Soma almost flinched. Almost. There was probably a story behind that. "There were five other people in the castle with me, besides Mina, and our goals didn't always match up," he explained. "Two were deliberately trying to avoid me—well, one was up to no good and avoided everyone, but the other just didn't want to talk to me. Another one was tracking him—the evil one—so she couldn't stop for me. I tried teaming up with the fourth, but he was so much faster that I felt bad about holding him back. The last one wanted to escape like me and Mina, but neither of them could keep up with me, so they gave up and went treasure hunting instead."

"And none of you thought survival was more important than pride?" said Kazuya icily. "You didn't want the help of people you thought were weaker than you?"

Soma blinked. Yeah, there was definitely a story there. "Look, I had to go to the most dangerous parts of the castle. I wasn't going to put them in danger."

"So you left them behind?" Kazuya's voice, cold in the best of times, had dropped to the negative double digits.

Ah. That explained it. Soma could see it now: Kazuya, rushing off to an urgent summons, neglecting the defenses around his loved ones, and—

Soma hadn't realized his hands were shaking. "I didn't just dump them in a closet, if that's what you're asking," he said behind gritted teeth. "Someone—the one who was avoiding me and wasn't evil—put up a barrier up at the entrance. No monster could get through. They were safe there."

Kazuya blinked owlishly, anger clouded by confusion. "So… you didn't abandon your comrades the second you stopped needing them so that you could go on a mad quest for power?"

Damndamndamndamnheknows—

Don't be an idiot, sweetcheeks, said a Lilim. He's talking about something else. I was there.

"No, of course not," said Soma.

Kazuya's shoulders relaxed, anger cooled (or thawed). "I misjudged you," he said at last. "I thought you were… no, you were trying to protect your…" He blinked. "Oh god." Kazuya cocked his head, looking at Soma as if he'd never seen him before. His expression was clearly awe; what was less clear was whether this was football fan's 'can I have your autograph' or the doctor's 'you smoke how many packs a day?' "…You had absolutely no experience with magic, you hadn't even known magic was real, and you were there for… a period of time measurable in weeks. And yet you charged straight into danger to protect your friends."

"Well, I mean, you did the same thing, didn't you?" Soma blinked. Oh god, he did the same thing without Dominance.

Kazuya waved off the compliment. "That's different. I had help. How did you survive?"

Soma bit back the urge to give a sarcastic reply. The longer this conversation went on, the more he was sure that Kazuya lacked any capacity for subtlety; if he thought Soma was being an idiot, it would have shown on his face.

"Let me rephrase that before you get the wrong idea," Kazuya added when he saw Soma's expression. "When… um… monsters attacked, how did you stop them from killing you? Are you good at dodging or running? Do you attack so fast that they can't hit you, or are you so strong that you can destroy them with one mighty blow? What kind of armor do you favor?"

"I… all of the above, actually," said Soma. "If I had to choose, though, dodging saved my life more than anything else. How about you?"

Kazuya shrugged. "I move more than I hit, but that doesn't give my team enough credit. My greatest strength is probably coordinating. I always had at least two healers, a… demon that could boost speed and defense, a decoy or two, and a tank."

"…Like a meat shield?" Soma's hands clenched. Disgust welled up from the depths of his heart, every drop his own. Never, at least in his life as Soma Cruz, would he treat his souls so callously. Sure, taking souls was worse than signing a contract, but at least he treated his monsters with digni—

"Call me craven if you must, but I still live," said Kazuya in a hard voice. "If you haven't already noticed, the human body is fragile. Better that my revivable minions are temporarily inconvenienced than my friends are dead."

Soma stared. "…They don't resent you?" he managed after a long pause.

"They knew what they were getting into when they joined," said Kazuya. He cocked his head to the side. "You feel sorry for them?"

"Of course I do," said Soma.

"…You're either a molodoy-headed nazz or you've got a bleeding ticker," said Kazuya. "And I'm inclined to think the latter, if you survived this long."

"…Come again?"

"You're either a naïve idiot or you've got enough shilarny for all the Sammy shaikas in—I mean, too nice for your own good. Anyone who can pity the same things that attack them are-"

Look out the window, this instant!

Soma jolted up and bolted to the window.

…Who said that, and what am I looking at?

Art thou so callous that thou cannot recall the names of—

Just get to the point, Amalric Sniper #6, who shot me five times before I took you down with three axes, two—

Can thou see the mountains beyond thy school?

Soma shifted his position. All he could see was a black sky and some blacker jagged triangles dotted with multicolored lights, but that was just him. It would have been easy to say that his souls could see and hear what he saw and heard and call it a day, but that wasn't quite accurate; they used the same light that entered his eyes and the same pressure waves that entered his ears, but they interpreted it differently. The tsuchinoko rambled on and on about the beauty of infrared, the werebeasts couldn't stand dog whistles, and most of them had better night vision than he did.

As I suspected. That was no ordinary light.

"What do you see?" Kazuya hissed.

"Nothing," said Soma. Is it something that can wait? And don't tell me what's there; that would be suspicious.

Judging by the wind speed today, flying shouldn't take more than—

Thank you, Malphas, but that's not what I'm worried about. I'm sticking with the forge theme, and that means nothing but weapons, fire, and curry in front of my roommate.

Well, you are turning into a bat.

I appreciate the thought, but that joke doesn't work in Japanese, Killer Clown.

Yeah, it can wait, but I suggest you go check it out before tomorrow.

Thank you, Skeleton Archer.

Kazuya crossed his arms. "Soma. I'm not an idiot. What is going on?"

"I don't know, but something's wrong," said Soma. "Did you see that light?" Don't tell me what's there; I shouldn't be able to see that.

Kazuya uncrossed his arms. "How should I know? You were the one facing the window."

Dost thou wish to know the location?

Soma considered this. Keep it general.

You can see four peaks from this window. It's on the second from the left, a third from the top.

Soma sighed. "Never mind, it doesn't look like we can make it," he lied. "I can see where it is, but I don't know which bus routes we can take."

Kazuya put on his COMP. "Who says we need the bus?"

X

Meanwhile, next door…

Ichiro Makimura looked over his eavesdropping notes. "Hm… never mind, they're LARPers. I thought they'd be good recruits for the coming revolution."

X

Meanwhile, in the other room next door…

Shinji Asuka played back the footage from next door, and concluded that they had nothing to do with Cyber Hell's inevitable assault with giant robots.

X

Naoki hated teleporting. Using the Terminals was fine; riding the flow of Magatsuhi through the Amala Network was like a roller coaster. What he hated was being forcibly warped, especially when he stepped onto the wrong tiles in the Labyrinth of Amala. It didn't exactly hurt, but the jump between points was so abrupt that Naoki couldn't get used to them; it was like watching a spliced film cartoon that jumped from a highly detailed black and white landscape to a brightly colored animation of Devilman fighting Mothra.

Aoi's teleportation spell felt more like riding up an elevator: something invisible pushing him, a sensation of the cosmos around him, and a gentle stop before returning to the world.

In this case, the world was a waiting room. Cheap folding chairs, magazines several months out of date (even a few Ayakashi Monthlies; Naoki had a subscription), tacky ornaments, drab walls, bored-looking people… it couldn't have been mistaken for anything else. All right, it could have been mistaken for a lot of things, but Naoki was pretty sure that it was a waiting room.

"Hello, Madam Pain," said a foreign man sitting at a makeshift desk, reading what looked like a child's workbook (He said Madam Pain in English). "Back again?"

"Hello, Mr. Adams," said Aoi in English. Then she said some stuff in English that Naoki couldn't follow, although he could have sworn she said 'The Dude' four or five times.

"Although not having a bone is bad, your health is now good," said Mr. Adams slowly. "You cannot see the doctor now, because he is busy. Come back later tonight."

Aoi said more stuff in English. Mr. Adams repeated what she said with greater emphasis, and Aoi repeated it.

"…Madam Pain?" said Naoki.

"It's an alias," said Aoi. She then said more stuff in English.

Mr. Adams nodded, and wrote something down on a sheet of paper. "You speak English better than you did before."

Aoi thanked him, and said more stuff.

"What was that all about?" asked Naoki, after they said their goodbyes.

"My teleport spell can only send me to places I've designated, I can only designate one place at a time, I picked a doctor's office, I'm learning English from the secretary, and I want an appointment to get that rib fixed."

There were so many things wrong with that sentence that Naoki could only vocalize one. "At eleven at night?"

"Underground doctor," said Aoi, taking time to wave 'hi' to the other waiting patients.

"Who doesn't sleep?" said Naoki incredulously.

"Apparently not."

"New follower?" asked a patient with blue hair.

"Not today, Reaper, just a bystander," said Aoi. "Just found out about magic; showing him the ropes."

A handsome patient sitting next to the blue-haired one stood up and gave Naoki a business card. "I'm Agent Lily, of the Agency of Supernatural Investigations. If you run into any trouble, please call that number."

Naoki took it and thanked him.

"…You have business cards now?" said Aoi.

"Yeah, I know, right?" said a patient Naoki had thought was foreign until she opened her mouth. "We're secret agents! Recon duty should be spying, not advertising!"

Another foreign-looking patient sighed. "Do you think I get clients by showing up in the middle of the night and telling people they have a Kelpie problem?"

"You're new," said Aoi.

"I'm a mercenary," said the mercenary. "And you are?"

"Everyone calls me Madam," said Aoi.

"I'm…" Naoki stopped. "Should I make up an alias, too?"

"If you plan on lurking in more dark alleyways, I would," said Aoi. "Makes it harder for the millicents to get you… no offense."

"…If millicents means 'police,' none taken," said the foreign-looking agent. "I'm Yoko Belnades. And no, that is not an alias; I use my real name for professional reasons." Yoko handed them business cards. Aoi hesitated a tad too long before taking one.

Naoki gestured at the room. "Three secret agents. One mercenary. An underground doctor and a secretary. Didn't you say that there isn't an underground community?"

"Knowing one organization is not a community," said Aoi.

"Yes, but you knew him, too," said Naoki, pointing at the secretary.

Aoi said something in English to Mr. Adams, probably reassuring him that they weren't talking behind his back, before saying in Japanese, "They're bad examples. If you get into a lot of fights and your droogs aren't as good as you, you know someone who can patch you up for a minimum of deng. And if you live in the city long enough—and I mean really live in the city, not just stay on campus all the time—you'll run into the Agency sooner or later. They go through clients like Team Rocket goes through schemes. But in a good way," she added quickly.

"Like a television serial," said Agent Lily.

"Next week, the Agency faces its greatest enemy: the giant robot powered by rat ghosts!" intoned Reaper in a dramatic voice. "Will Agent Seal vanquish the foe from the deep? Find out on the next episode of Secret Agent Men!"

"…We're either the worst or the best at our jobs," grumbled the foreign-looking agent who wasn't Yoko.

"Big up, Dragon, you've saved a lot of people."

"…Big up?" repeated Dragon.

"At the moment of this comment, I praise you in a generic manner and encourage your self-esteem," translated Aoi.

Reaper laughed. "Now you know how we felt, Ginko!"

"No, Dragon's better about it than Madam," said Lily. "Dragon, you consciously insert Cantonese into your sentences, and your vocabulary is limited to exclamations and less common words, like 'darling.' Madam, you don't seem to notice when you substitute common words like 'pencil' and 'chair,' and you use different words for the same thing."

Aoi shrugged. "You can tell from context, can't you? Horrorshow. New guy, we're leaving."

"Wait." Naoki turned to the agents. "Is it true that you know everyone?"

"Ehh… not everyone," said Dragon/Ginko. "Only the people we rescue."

"Daisuke Higawa," said Naoki. "Do you know him?"

The agents, minus Yoko, huddled together, whispering. Naoki's ears were sharp, but only in the sense that he could identify distant sounds; he could tell a Zhen's chirp from a Badb Catha's in a hurricane, but listening to words was difficult.

"We're looking for him, too," said Reaper when they broke the huddle. "I mean, we're looking for everyone who went missing, but he's one of them."

"We've never seen him before, though," said Dragon. "I think Tiger said she got into a fistfight with him once, but that's it."

"Your testimony would be useful, though," said Lily, taking out a notepad. "When was the last time you saw him? What was he doing?"

Naoki answered his questions as best as he could. Lily looked disappointed, but he thanked him politely.

Come on, if it were that easy, it would sound like a trap. Haruhata's a big city.

Yes, but the Vortex World is a big world, and there was no telecommunications net.

How big was it, really?

Didn't the Amala Network count as a telecommunications net?

Yeah, but only three people knew how to use it.

How did anyone know what was going on, anyways?

And any humans would be news.

Wait, get into fights?

"Madam, I want to ask the secretary something. Could you please translate?"

"How do you know I'll be translating honestly?"

"Because…" Naoki blinked. When Aoi was on the verge of death, she looked just like Hijiri, but now she resembled someone else. "Are you a teacher or something?"

The edges of Aoi's mouth twitched upwards. "You could say that."

"…What's that supposed to mean?"

"Ask me later. Oi!" Aoi waved at Mr. Adams, and said something in English. The secretary responded, and there was some back and forth, shaking of heads, consultation of a book, and what looked like a bribe. "He says that patient confidentiality is absolute."

"But you're already-"

"To know what you say, I do not need to know Japanese," said Mr. Adams in halting Japanese. "Is true, if police know doctor help you, police will arrest doctor. But we do not tell everyone we help patient because patient might kill us. If two patients fight, we help both. Help is equal."

It takes a special job to learn 'kill' but not 'illegal'.

"Yakuza?" said Naoki.

Mr. Adams said more stuff.

"He says he can't say, but he really means yes," said Aoi. "If you're done here, I'd like to have some questions answered."

X

Mina did not like to talk about Castlevania. It wasn't that the experience was painful or traumatizing; she couldn't explore very far in, even when Hammer lent her guns, and so the burden was mostly shifted to Soma. The worst she ever saw was zombies.

Thunk!

Therein lay the pain. Castlevania was… shameful. It was not merely embarrassing; embarrassing would be clumsily attempting to help Soma on his grand mission and failing in a hilarious and endearing manner, necessitating her inevitable rescue.

Thunk!

No, what kept Mina awake at night was the fact that she couldn't do anything. If she told her magic-using family and friends, they would rub her head and assure her that Castlevania was the apex of a vampire hunter's career and it was no shame for an apprentice miko to stand back, or they would warn her of Richter Belmont, whose ennui had left him susceptible to dark magic. And her common sense agreed.

Except it wasn't the enigmatic agent Arikado, the experienced magician Yoko, the veteran Julius, or even the Marine Hammer who conquered the castle. It was her friend Soma, the only person who was less qualified than her.

Thunk!

Of course she was happy for him, and his journey hadn't exactly been a rose-lined walk through the park, but she couldn't help but feel like a stupid damsel.

THUNK! THUNK!

Celia attacking her and Soma in the middle of the street solidified that feeling. With Castlevania, she could at least lick her wounds with the assurances that Castlevania had killed hardened warriors, and Soma's status as Dracula's reincarnation was a decent excuse for his lack of experience. It was his castle, after all.

THUNK!

Celia had just sent three grunts at her, and all she could do was cower behind yet another barrier—that she hadn't made—while Soma, with only a knife and his own soul, killed the monsters without breaking a sweat. The fake hostage trick was the nail in the coffin.

Thunk!

She hadn't even had to be there to be a burden. Soma almost took a swan dive off the deep end because he thought she was dead.

THUNK!

And then Kazuya showed up, the first shovelful of dirt on top of the coffin, and all she could do was wave a chair around in the face of a hellhound the size of a lion. To add insult to… well, insult, the smart, sane route of calling for help turned out to be the prejudiced ramblings of a stupid girl who didn't know nearly as much as she thought she did. She could have sent an innocent man to the gallows.

Thunk!

Mina didn't need to be a veteran monster hunter to know what role she was being shoved into. She just had to read books.

Thunk.

After all, what anime hadn't had the Evil Emperor's Lieutenant kidnap/hold hostage the wife/girlfriend/daughter/friend of the hero/hero's friend/supporting protagonist/noble knight of the Evil Empire? And who didn't hate the wife/girlfriend/daughter/friend for being a liability?

Thunk!

The die was cast. She was the friend of a powerful, hated mage, and there was nothing she could do to change that.

Thunk!

(All right, she could just break off their friendship, but sentiment aside, it didn't seem like a good idea. It would take a while for his enemies to learn that they were no longer friends, and in the meantime, she didn't have his protection.)

Thunk!

I will not be the healer who gets kidnapped.

Thunk!

I will not be the damsel who dies for the plot.

Thunk.

Back in the old days, miko didn't just use the blessed hama-ya and hama-yumi for rituals. They shot people with them.

[A/N: Hama-ya and Hama-yumi literally mean evil-destroying arrow/bow. Yes, it's the same hama as the Hama spell.]

Thunk!

If they could do it, why can't I?

Thunk!

Mina was disappointed—but not surprised to see—that her last shot had not pierced the bullseye and shattered the target in one mighty blow, but instead hit the second outermost ring.

Mina lowered the bow, arms aching. She wasn't going to the Olympics any time soon, but she could hit the target. Of course, all those arrows wouldn't mean a thing without magic backing them up, but Mina had hama-ya to spare.

Now all she needed to do was carry her archery bag with her for the rest of her life without getting stopped or detained by police. She was pretty sure that she could give the—

A line of white light pierced through the darkness, thin as a cobweb and shorter than her fingernail, but bright as a camera flash at midnight. Mina blinked away the residual glow.

"…Okay, that was weird, but it's…"

Mina bit back the last word.

Every time someone says 'it's nothing' in a movie, it never is. Especially if you're in a horror movie, and life is basically a horror movie now, isn't it? I mean, adding Dracula to anything makes it horror automatically.

That said, if life were a horror movie, Kazuya would have already been killed by one of his demons. There's probably a perfectly logical explanation for this—

And it's probably wrong. Let's look at this realistically. That radio tower doesn't blind me when I look at it. What kind of normal light does that? I can't name a single one that—

All right, it's just an excuse to check out something weird.

Mina fished out some paper talismans out of her bag (only one of them was too shredded to use), sorted the practice arrows from the hama-ya (thank goodness for that special compartment), and checked the charge on her phone.

Right. On one hand, it was her job to check things like that out.

On the other hand, it didn't seem like a good idea to go without backup.

On the first hand, did she really want to be the kind of whiny girl who couldn't do a thing without a man?

On the second hand, would she rather be the kind of stupid girl who couldn't do a thing without a man, but was too stupid to realize that, and constantly had to be rescued by that man?

After reflecting upon it, Mina decided that there was no shame in asking for help. She unlocked her phone.

"Hi Soma, could we meet up? Like, now? I was thinking about getting a chocolate-banana sundae from that store that just opened up, and I can't finish it on my own."

Shortly after escaping Castlevania, the survivors made their own code. For exampling, naming a specific dessert meant 'Let's have a secret meeting'. Simply going out for ice cream or crepes was just an invitation; adding two or more flavors, ingredients, or toppings signaled a meeting. There was also a counter-phase (three or more items of clothing in one sentence) that meant that it was just a meetup and one of them was simply very enthusiastic about sugar. Of course, there had been a few close calls over things not immediately recognizable as desserts (apparently, cozonac with wine and oranges meant 'cake flavored with oranges with sweet wine poured on top,' tochitura with wine and oranges meant 'a meal of stew served with wine and ended with fresh oranges', and Americans sometimes put bacon in their milkshakes) and what counted as a dessert (especially over why a frappe was not a dessert but an affogato was), but since it required meetups anyways, it worked out. Hopefully, there wouldn't be any dresses made from icing sugar any time soon.

There was some commotion on the other end. "Hi, Mina, I'm doing something now—"

"There's a great spot up in the mountains."

"I got you."

There was more discussion on the other end.

"All right, Mina, I can pick you up. Where are you?"

"Archery butts," said Mina.

"Great, that's right next to the Chemistry building. Could you… you know, it's a great place to go stargazing. You should try it sometime."

Mina cleared her throat. "And where will you pick me up?"

"Oh, um… just down the street."

"Got it. Bye!"

"See you there."

Mina packed up her stuff and climbed the four stories of the Chemistry building. We need a code for 'disregard that last statement'.

The Chemistry Building was indeed a great place to look at the stars. It was on the edge of campus, bordering the track and football field, so light pollution was much more heavily cut.

"…Wait, Soma can't carry anyone as a bat."

Mina stared at the skyline. "I mean, maybe he could parkour his way there, but is that really more efficient than just taking the bus? And it's not like he can carry me… well, he can swing the Sword (still) in the Stone with one hand, but jumping around carrying me would cause a lot of whiplash issUUUUEEE—"

A gigantic shadow swooped down from above, blasting everything around it with a chilly wind. Mina sprang back, hand shaking.

Damndamndamndontpanicdontpanic—why did I get a bag with a zipper—

After some fumbling, Mina managed to unsling her bow and nock a single arrow. Aiming wasn't difficult, she'd already spent over an hour sh—

"Don't shoot!" Soma yelled.

A tiny ball of fire appeared over the shadow, revealing Soma and Kazuya. They were astride a large Pegasus—no, a huge, winged wolf.

"Sorry about that," said Kazuya. "Had to check how easily you'd spook." He whistled. "Is that a hama-yumi? You armed yourself fast. Isn't that sacrilegious or something?"

"Why? They're weapons," said Mina. Mina was not a Christian, but the vampire hunters' Holy Water use seemed a lot more sacrilegious than shooting enemies with weapons honoring a demon-slaying warrior. Especially the way Julius used it. Soma still wouldn't accept his famous Linguini di Mare, no matter how thoroughly he washed the pot.

"You saw that light, too?" Soma said quickly.

Mina nodded.

"We're going after it. Hop on!"

X

Humans who were partially demons, or demons who were partially humans, were not exactly uncommon sights in Aoi's experience. The Order of Messiah, which raised Aoi, classified them under three terms: Demonoid, Nephilim, and Vector, although they were open to the possibility of more types.

Demonoids, the result of a human fusing with a demon, were by far the most common. In those wild, starving days, when guns, men, and prayer were not enough to protect the little enclave, a few desperate souls, maddened by grief and hunger, would enter the Mansion of Heretics with beaten, captive demons. Some emerged with great powers. Others did not emerge at all, having lost either their lives or their identities.

Takeshi Fudou, one of Kazuya's friends from the past, was the luckiest Demonoid Aoi had known; he emerged with his sanity (relatively) intact. She suspected it had something to do with using one of Kazuya's contracted demons instead of a wild one; she wasn't present for Takeshi's fusion, but Kazuya's demons were always docile when he ordered them into the fusion chambers, unlike the defiant, trussed-up demons she'd seen paraded into the halls of Shibuya so many times before.

That said, Takeshi was insane even by demon standards. He killed whoever he wanted to prove his strength; never his friends, but often his allies. This was a common trait among Demonoids; they thought they were invincible and needed to show the world at every turn.

From what little Aoi saw of him, Naoki Kashima thought himself invincible, but approached this arrogance in the opposite direction. Where most Demonoids showed off their power by crushing their enemies as messily as they could, Naoki showed off by beating her gang with his hands tied behind his back, so to speak. From what little she could see of Naoki's face in the dim firelight, he didn't look afraid when she stunned and shot him, not even in the way blowhards try to retain dignity in the face of death.

But even if he was the most arrogant demon Aoi had ever met, he surrendered too easily, even—no, especially when he had the high ground. What's more, Naoki acted more like a summoner than a demon, and Demonoids could not summon.

Nephilim was the Messian term for people born part human and part demon; the original word referred to someone with a specific kind of parentage (male fallen angel and female human), and using it for the fruit of every union was like referring to every fruit as a pineapple, but it was the word Aoi grew up on. Every group used their own word, and the attempts to standardize it caused too much backlash over freedom of expression. The most technically correct term was Half-demon or Half-human, which Aoi found degrading. Hybrid was also common, but the term could also be used for anything from partially electric cars to crops that underwent selective breeding. Devil Child didn't work after the age of eighteen or so. The Gaian term Sacred One Born of the Earth was too pretentious. Legal documents referred to them as 'persons descended from demons within three generations.'

Unlike Demonoids, Nephilim could not be categorized under a specific set of behaviors; every Demonoid was one by choice (the Minister refused to fuse for visitors drunk, high, or coerced), and most of the ones who survived the process had similar personalities to begin with. Nephilim varied in personality just as much as any two given humans. Some could pass as ordinary humans, and others behaved like wild demons, so Aoi was never sure how many there were.

Except Naoki was too awkward to be a Nephilim. Adult Nephilim rarely had trouble controlling their powers; they had their whole lives to figure them out. Nephilim usually manifested their powers in childhood; most around the ages of seven or eight, but infants with (thankfully weak) demonic powers were not uncommon. The latest awakening Aoi had heard of was at the ripe old age of twelve. As a result of growing up with these powers, Nephilim with superhuman strength had especially good control; they needed coordination if they wanted to write without snapping pens in two, live anywhere with doors, or touch people without a doctor present. Naoki treated everything like it was made of glass, the demonic equivalent of sounding everything out while reading.

Lastly, Vectors were humans who were transformed by other Vectors, the most famous being vampires, zombies, and werewolves. Aoi did not know many personally, because most were quarantined and executed due to the infectious nature of their abilities.

(There was a running debate over whether ghosts counted as Vectors or not. On one hand, victims of ghost attacks were susceptible to becoming ghosts themselves. On the other hand, plenty of ghosts did not become ghosts after being attacked by ghosts. On the first hand, you could become a vampire or werewolf in ways other than being bitten by one. On the second, the correlation between ghosts and ghost victims was much less convincing than…)

Naoki as a Vector certainly fit; he lacked a Demonoid's bullheaded arrogance and the Nephilim's innate coordination. Aoi didn't know enough about Fiends to know if they were former humans, so his confession didn't help. Besides, Vectors had so many deviations that nothing proved anything; a former Biology teacher referred to them as the Protista of demons.

"…You've been staring at me for a while," said Naoki. "Please stop."

"My apologies," said Aoi.

They had taken the bus back to campus. Aoi was a Political Science TA, and while she shared an office with three other people, it was so late that she doubted that anyone would drop in.

"All right, let's make some ground rules," said Aoi. "Each of us takes turns asking one question. If one of us refuses to answer a question, that is the end of it, but we cannot ask the other an… equivalent question. For example, if I refuse to answer what my favorite food is, I cannot ask you what your favorite food is."

Naoki blinked.

"Are you not satisfied?" asked Aoi.

"Oh, no, it's just that most people I've known are annoyingly evasive when it comes to things like this," said Naoki. "It's always 'Come find me for answers,' or 'You will see' with them. That aside, the whole 'equal answers' thing seems unnecessarily complicated. What if we ask questions that don't apply to ourselves? Or what if one of us gets paranoid because we can't ask a question that the other doesn't mind answering?"

Aoi nodded. "In that case, we shall dispense with that rule."

Aoi had used the equal refusal negotiation hundreds of times before to mediate bitter feuds; to prevent one group from knowing more about the other, each of them had to answer the same question, so it was ostensibly an equal sharing of information. She had forgotten how inefficient it was when there was nothing at stake.

Naoki nodded back. "Let's just say that we can both refuse to answer any questions. I won't lie, but I won't tell you everything."

Aoi nodded. "You go first." Her body tensed involuntarily; she forced it to relax. No matter what Naoki asked, she could not refuse. Refusing to answer the first question was not only rude, it was a breach of trust. She couldn't regain it in such a short period of time, with only an—

"Why are you called Madam Pain?" asked Naoki.

"It's… a stupid story," said Aoi, breathing one extra breath per minute. "For reasons that I will omit for brevity rather than secrecy, I don't want to use an alias that sounds remotely like a real name. I used to be called The Porcupine, until one day I had to go to Mr. Adams's office for surgery. The doctor put me under anesthesia, and I hallucinated… something that made me repeatedly introduce myself. The doctor is American, and it turns out that 'Aoi' sounds a lot like a childish English exclamation for pain, so he was worried and asked me how I felt when I woke up. I was high enough to explain, so now he knows my real name. He has sworn to keep it a secret, even gave his own in return, but he thinks it's funny to call me Madam Pain. And since Mr. Adams writes down what the doctor tells him, that's what Mr. Adams calls me, and now everyone who goes to the office calls me that." She smirked. "Joke's on him; I made everyone call him The Dude."

"…Honestly, I thought it was because of the whip," said Naoki.

"He figured that's what most people would assume," said Aoi. "It sounds like I should be wearing heels and black leather, doesn't it? That's not my question," she added quickly.

"So is—"

"No, I'm not telling you his name, and no, it is not any variant of Jeff, Geoffrey, or Lebowski," said Aoi.

"…That wasn't what I was going to ask," said Naoki. "I wanted to know why you even have a whip."

"Put that on the queue; I get my question now," said Aoi. "Were you once human?"

"Yes," said Naoki bluntly. "Now, why do you know how to use a whip?"

"Someone taught me how to use a whip," said Aoi, not allowing annoyance to show on her face.

Naoki buried his face in his palms. "All right. From now on, follow-up questions don't count as new questions. What else did you want to know about me being human?"

"What made you… not human?" asked Aoi.

Naoki stretched. "That's… a bit of a long story. The short version is that I…" Naoki froze, mouth still open. "…Can I have some pen and paper? There's a lot of threads that explain things, but they're also tied to a bunch of other threads that aren't relevant."

Aoi nodded and handed him pen and paper. She tried reading Naoki's notes upside-down, but since it referred to a bunch of people she didn't know and used a lot of abstract doodles, it was about as much help as the people at the help desk at the Colosseum (for the last time, her Champion's Family discount did not expire and applied to the minibar).

At last, Naoki finished. He cleared his throat. "Okay, so I got into trouble with this cult, and I almost died, but for some reason Lucifer intervened and turned me into a demon so I could live. I think it's because he wanted me to join him, but he was really… evasive about the whole thing, so while I did do some stuff for him, I don't think either of us considers me his lackey. I mean, maybe he thinks of me as a pawn, but I don't officially work for him."

"What exactly did you do for him?" asked Aoi.

"Nothing bad, if that's what you're wondering," said Naoki. "He asked me to find the other Fiends and take back what they stole from him. It turned out that they were working for him anyways, so it wasn't even the kind of 'seemingly harmless prank kills everyone' ploy that you see the Devil do in every drama involving the Devil."

"How many Fiends?"

"Nine."

Aoi nodded. "I have more questions, but those can wait."

Naoki nodded. "Now then, why do you use a whip?"

"They're fast, concealable, and they're so rare that no one knows how to counter them," said Aoi tersely.

"Yeah, but it takes a lot of practice to even hit your target," said Naoki. "I mean, using any weapon effectively takes time, but everyone's used knives, and anyone can swing a sword. Why did you work so hard to learn such a difficult weapon?"

"The whip was the first weapon I learned," said Aoi. "I do not wish to say any more about the matter."

Naoki nodded. "All right, backing off. You go ahead."

Something harmless… "What sort of weapon do you specialize in?"

"Just my fists," said Naoki.

"…That's rather pot and kettle of you," said Aoi. "Why?"

"They're reliable," said Naoki. "I started out in an… an abandoned hospital, and most of what I found there didn't last me to the next town. Scalpels are more dangerous to you than your enemy if they break, anything wooden you can salvage is both flimsy and flammable, and metal pipes are impossible to hold if you're fighting fire, ice, or electricity. Learning how to punch wasn't easy, but… have you ever had a weapon break on you? … No, you're the kind who carries spares. You dropped your bat to feint in our last fight."

Aoi nodded. "It worked, didn't it?"

"Then I don't think you know how it feels," said Naoki, staring off at nothing. "To me, they weren't just weapons. They were my lifelines. Every club I dropped, every shiv I broke, every spell I cast dragged me closer and closer to…" He shuddered. "I never want to feel that helpless ever again."

…All right, that was a lot darker than she expected. "…Is there anything else you wanted to know about me?" she asked gently.

"What's with your gang?" asked Naoki.

"These kids tried to jump me in freshman year. Their technique was so sloppy, I just had to show them how to do it right. One thing led to another, and now I'm their leader."

"So… now you jump college students?"

"No, we target annoying rich people," said Aoi. "We wouldn't have fought you if you hadn't picked a fight."

"…I almost killed you."

"Yes, but it's not like we encounter a demon of unearthly power every night. They took down a cult without my help last week."

Naoki blinked. "Can I take another question? It's nothing too complicated."

"Sure." Fostering a feeling of debt, in small doses, was useful.

"Are you related to someone named Jyoji Hijiri?"

Aoi opened her mouth, and then closed it. "Possibly? I have a big family, and I can't keep track of all of them. Could you describe him?"

"Late twenties, early thirties, reporter for Ayakashi Monthly," said Naoki.

"No, I'm not related," said Aoi. "Why do you ask?"

"It's not that important, you just look a lot like him," said Naoki. 

Aoi took a deep breath. They were both sufficiently relaxed. "My turn now. I expect you to answer this seriously, no matter how strange the question is."

Naoki sighed. "You wouldn't believe the things I've seen. I can handle strange."

"Did you… originate from a future where the world was full of demons?"

Naoki's jaw dropped. "…No," he said. "But… I… I'll explain more, but why do you ask?"

"You're way too good to have learned off these streets, and you don't have formal training," said Aoi. "I can see by the way you move that you earned your strength; you may have taken a dozen Ziongas and fifty bullets, and yet you move like a Pixie."

Naoki blinked.

"That's a compliment," she clarified. "You move like you're small, which means that you were much weaker when you first became a demon, and grew into your current power level. You must have fought a great many enemies to get to your current level. Judging by your accent, am I correct in assuming that you're from Tokyo?"

"Ueno," said Naoki.

"I live in Shinjuku. If something strange happened in Tokyo, I would know."

"How do you know it didn't get covered up by all the buzz about the Phantom Thieves?" asked Naoki.

"Because I go out and investigate instead of sitting behind a screen all day," retorted Aoi. "I can assure you that there are no demons in Tokyo." She paused. "Well, there aren't very many in Tokyo. Certainly few in number and not strong enough for anyone to grow."

Naoki tilted his head. "I see what you mean. I mean, I think you skipped a step or two, but I did fight a lot of demons. But why do you…" Naoki's eyes widened. "Are you from the future?"

Aoi shrugged. "While the date of my… origin is many years ahead of today, I can assure you that the events that lead to demons appearing in my time did not occur in this timeline. If you would like to know more, wait your turn."

Naoki nodded, and began to write and doodle on that same sheet of paper.

"All right, Aoi, you might not believe me, but… the world ended last year."

X

When Kazuya arrived in this timeline, he was lucky to have the Demon Summoning Program on his COMP. For some reason, it had erased the summon data of all but one demon. Since that demon was Pascal, Kazuya didn't mind nearly as much. As awesome as it would have been to have Shiva the Destroyer as his servant (and as frustrating as it was to lose Gabriel, who had taken so long to fuse), losing his old friend/pet again would have been the worst.

However, that didn't mean that Kazuya was completely bereft of other demons. Sometimes he encountered the odd youkai in abandoned or wild places, some of which were willing to see new places with him. A trio of Makai demons had joined him last Halloween, but had made a promise to someone else not to tell any of their fellow demons (Kazuya could have forced them to do it anyways, but it wasn't worth it to lose their loyalty, and they could have done a substandard job to spite him). And, of course, there was the Ars Goetia, the handy book of demon summoning.

"And that is how I made a contract with the Marchioness Marchosias," said Kazuya. "Any questions?"

"Doesn't that book also tell you all about how the demons you summon can get you killed?" said Mina.

"So you've read it, too?" asked Kazuya.

"It's called reconnaissance," said Mina primly.

"No, it's called curiosity," said Soma. "I'm surprised that it worked at all."

"I've done summonings the old-fashioned way before," said Kazuya.

"No, what I'm surprised about is that you can still get demon summoning books today," said Soma.

"The internet is a wonderful place."

Soma facepalmed. "What I mean is, if there are certain groups interested in keeping the world safe from demon summoners, why haven't been destroyed and replaced with harmless replicas?"

"Shoddy bookkeeping, corrupt managers, incompetent ancient conspiracies, the printing press, rich people with libraries that are hard to break into, ancient books and scrolls that are protected due to historical value, and I can go on for days," said Mina. "That's not to say that a lot of them haven't been destroyed, replaced, deliberately mistranslated, or were written by charlatans. You can also get a lot of functioning rituals that the test summoners might not have done correctly."

"Test summoners?" repeated Kazuya. "I thought you said summoners were to be killed on sight."

"Yes, and firefighters can legally break down your door if your house is on fire," said Mina. "The organizations that censor these spells need to check if they really work or not; there was an incident back in the early twentieth century when these people accidentally corrected a ritual that someone else censored ages ago."

"And that led to one of the world wars?" said Soma.

"Not everything in the early twentieth century had to do with the world wars, Soma," said Mina. "Although I think it did lead to a new law in Silesia about what could legally be called a pickle. Anyways, trying to loophole them into international law led to a lot of potential loopholes for other summoners, so now they're one of those things that don't exist but everyone knows they do."

"Oh, like [INSERT EDGY POLITICAL COMMENTARY ABOUT CONTROVERSIAL GOVERNMENT POLICY HERE]," said Soma.

"Yes, exactly," said Mina. "You probably wouldn't want to be one, Kazuya. All they're allowed to do is see if the ritual works; they can't even make contracts."

"Duly noted," said Kazuya.

"Still, it seems like a bit of an oversight, if you could find a working ritual over the internet," said Soma.

"Actually, those are the safest kind of ritual," said Mina. "If you want to summon a demon, what are you going to use? A three-page typed pdf, or an ancient tome bound in human skin, written in Latin or Greek or some obscure language?"

"Verilog?" said Kazuya. 

"…What?" said Mina.

"The Demon Summoning Program is written in Verilog," explained Kazuya. "In English, with no comments, variables that are either lame puns or single or double letters, redundancies that break the program when removed, and a lot of other stuff that takes too long to explain. It's basically every grader's nightmare."

Mina coughed. "Anyways, when doing ritual magic, you need to… believe it works? No, that's not it."

"Confidence?" suggested Soma.

"Assurance?"

"Expectation," said Mina. "It's like… if you'd be surprised if the ritual worked, it won't work. I'm not going to say you have no doubts about it, either; it's healthy to know your limits."

"Like giving demons orders?" said Kazuya.

Mina blinked. "What do you mean by that?"

"It's… demons don't listen to you if you're weaker than them, so you can't show weakness when you summon," explained Kazuya. "You can't just puff yourself up and pretend you're not afraid, either; that makes you look ever weaker. Effective commands are somewhere in the middle; you take it as a given that your demon will listen, but you need to acknowledge that they will disobey if you're not good enough."

Soma eyed the gigantic wolf splayed out in Kazuya's lap. "…And you're still talking about it in front of your demon?"

Kazuya shrugged, kneading Marchosias's shoulders a little further down. "If I can't say that in front of her, that means I don't have enough confidence. Are your wings rested enough for another jump, Marchioness Marchosias?"

"Five more minutes, sir," she growled back.

"I…guess?" said Mina. "Anyways, the internet is safe for the same reason people don't buy crystals for health: it seems too easy to be authentic."

Kazuya blinked. "…Wait, those don't work?"

Soma looked back at Kazuya. "And here I thought you just liked interior decorating."

Kazuya considered asking Mina the miko if selling crystals was any different from donations and drawing fortunes on New Year's, but decided that it would be rude. "What about the Phantom Thieves of Hearts?" he settled. "They were a sketchy internet rumor."

Mina shrugged. "I have no idea what was going on with them."

"I… They're different," said Soma, a little shakily. "I think the Phantom Thieves were real people who just had an internet following, not a spell that a lot of people cast. They'd exist whether other people believed in them or not. Although there is an interesting philosophical question about the nature of whether humans exist independently or if others grant exi—"

At that moment, Marcioness Marchosias got to her feet and stretched. "I am ready, sir," she said. "One more hop?"

"And we can take the bus home," said Kazuya. "All aboard!"

The three students boarded the gigantic, winged wolf. Marchioness Marchosias (as she insisted on being called) took a running leap off of the roof, unfurling enormous wings on either side as they hurtled into the sky. Kazuya loved flying; it wasn't a very practical way to get around when he journeyed across Tokyo, due to weight and refueling problems, so he only did it for fun.

Mina, too, loved riding. What started as nervous mutters became wild shouts of laughter (the normal kind, not the kind you hear when someone is terrified out of their minds) as Marchosias swooped up and down.

Soma, however, just wanted the ride to be over. "You see that? No, that. A little to the left… there, we're going right at it… get a little lower, no higher… you can see that building right? Let's—CRAPTHEREAREPEOPLETHERE!"

"Fly up!" shouted Kazuya, and Marchioness Marchosias obeyed. He learned closer to her ear and said, "I want you to land at least fifty meters away from our destination, in the direction of the peak. Look out for a clearing that can accommodate your size; I don't want to have any crushed trees tonight."

The flying wolf obeyed, and landed on a board-lined path. "The trail leads directly towards the clearing," she said.

"Thank you," said Kazuya. "I will dismiss you now."

He punched in a few keys, and Marchioness Marchosias vanished. Soma removed his long, white coat and stuffed it in his backpack, Mina took out her phone (which had a flashlight), and Kazuya took out a bottle of whiskey. He splashed a little on everyone.

"We'll pretend to be drunk," he said. "If we're sober and we get caught, we'll have to explain ourselves. If we're drunk, we can't explain ourselves."

Mina eyed the bottle. "Where did you get that?"

"I had demons go on liquor runs," said Kazuya.

"But… why?" asked Mina.

Kazuya shrugged. "Good offering when recruiting demons, useful as an antibiotic, and I utterly despise underage drinking laws." He handed her the bottle. "Take a sip. It's more believable if you do."

All three of them drank.

Soma led them down the mountain. They walked in silence, until the path opened up, and they ducked into convenient bushes.

Five people were standing around an abandoned power plant, each holding a flashlight. They wore no uniforms, but their mannerisms betrayed what no uniform could: they were investigators.

"I must eat a potato chip," said one.

"Don't contaminate the crime scene, Ninja," said another.

"But my dark past compels me to."

"Yeah? Well, your dark past can—"

"Ease up, Agent Tiger, Agent Ninja can do it in the bushes," said a third.

"My gratitude from the depths of my ice-cold heart of stone, Agent Seal," said Agent Ninja, who walked (thankfully) in a different set of bushes.

All right, they might not have been very good investigators, but they were still investigators.

Soma poked Kazuya and pointed to the right. One of the trees had a hole the size of his head gouged out, as if struck by a gigantic drill. Behind it, a row of fallen trees stretched into the darkness.

"…Could this be the same Ultimate Chaos Crystalline Catalysis Infernal Inversion Magic from my homeland?!" gasped another.

"…I have no words, Agent Wolf," said Agent Tiger.

"Don't worry, guys!" piped up Agent Seal. "From my training in the Japanese equivalent of the Navy SEALS, I can track down the culprit!" He got to his hands and knees and started crawling.

"I… I wish I could help," said a fifth. "I'm so useless…"

"You're not useless, Peony," said Agent Tiger.

Agent Peony gasped. "R-really?!" she squealed.

"Your skills are of great value to the team," said Agent Seal.

"So stop moping and get your ass back to work!" shouted Agent Tiger.

"…That wasn't quite what I meant," said Agent Seal.

Mina poked Kazuya and pointed at her phone We cant investigate. we

Kazuya took out his phone, and wrote and showed (but did not send) the message: No lets keep going if they see then we are drunk. He took another sip to prove it before hiding the screen. Mina hid her screen as well.

Soma took his phone out, and added, Sure, but if we do that, we should go up the path and come down. I don't like our chances if we sneak straight there.

They crawled back up, and Soma led them down a roundabout path to the fallen trees. Not a heat-based attack, Soma texted. No signs of singeing.

How it go? Mina texted.

Goes 20 meters before it just… tangents off the mountain, Soma texted back.

Thangent? That doesn;tn sound right.

If you look at a topographical map and draw the line of destruction, it will indeed look like a tangent line.

2 straight 4 lightning or wind, Kazuya texted

What makes you say that?

Ligtning zigzag wind sctters on impact

Not that I'm questioning your expertise or anything, but how do you know that?

Had 2 frnds 1 lighng 1 wind. Kazuya's eyes lost focus, and he had to blink them back. He didn't usually type this badly. Had 2 fri3nds 1 lightning 1 wind

If anything, it resembles a laser beam.

Yes, of course! Although laser beams do have some singeing.

Some of them. However, some types of laser are not heat-based.

How is that even possible?

How should I know? I just fight the things.

Kazuya blinked. He was pretty sure that only one of them texted in full sentences and bothered to spell.

Kazuya slowly turned to his left. A man was squatting next to them. He waved.

It took you long enough. Hi guys. What are you doing here?

Mina waved back, but Soma pointed at him with a look of horror on your face.

WHAT ARE YOUDOING HEREE?!

"Hey, I think I heard something!"

The man nodded. We can continue this conversation another time. He took out a flask. Here, everyone drink from this, and we'll say we went hiking drunk.

Didghtat that. Kazuya showed him the almost empty bottle. Wh are yuou.

Good. You have your head on straight. My name is Julius Belmont. What's yours?

TO BE CONTINUED!

OMAKE #1: Underage drinking laws

(In the iOS version of SMT1, underage drinking is censored so the bartenders always give the heroes juice)

"…Are we allowed in there?" said Kazuya nervously.

Takeshi snorted. "Of course. I go in and out of there all the time."

Kazuya nervously trotted up to the bartender. "Sir, could I have a…" he looked up at the sign, "rum, please?"

"ID."

"…Never mind. Can I have a ginger beer, then?"

Later, in the Bar of the Resistance…

"Good morning, Mrs. Takahashi. Might I trouble you for two shots of shochu, for me and our newest recruit?"

"For the last time, leader, I can't serve anyone who looks under thirty!"

"I assure you, I am twenty," said Aoi, passing her one of the fake IDs.

Mrs. Takahashi looked at Kazuya and gestured at Aoi. "Our leader here can't tell anyone her last name, for security purposes," she explained. "Mr. Narukami did a good job on this one, but I know for a fact that you are not in the US Air Force, leader."

Later, after the apocalypse…

Yoshio and Takeshi looked around the bar. "This is… cleaner than what I was expecting," said Yoshio. "Remind me why we're here again?"

"Every adult goes to the bar to unwind," said Takeshi. "Loosest lips in town."

"Oh, just like speaking to everyone in a video game."

"Excuse me!" called Kazuya. "I'd like a gla—cup of whatever's cheap."

"No booze for you, kid," grumbled the bartender.

"B-but…the world's ended!" said Kazuya. "Why can't I have a drink?"

"Hate it when the light goes out of kids eyes," said the bartender. "Water's 1000 Macca a glass."

Later, after the tyrannical Ozawa's death…

Yoshio and Kazuya stumbled into the bar, eyes glazed with shock.

"One alcohol," said Kazuya blearily.

"No booze, kid."

"Excuse me?" Kazuya looked the bartender straight in the eye, grabbing the counter for support. "Do you want to say that again?"

"No firegold, moloko plus, vehina, or vellocet for you, kid."

Kazuya lunged for the bartender's throat, grabbing the front of his shirt and hissing, "We took down Ozawa. Our best friend ran out on us. And you're not going to serve us?"

"Ozawa is dead?" the bartender's face lit up. "Why didn't you say so? You each get a drink on the house!"

"One drink?"

"Liquids are valuable now, Kazuya, and he needs to make a living," said Yoshio levelly.

"I'd like a-"

"Still no booze, kid."

Later, after Aoi's rescue…

"I'm so sorry, but all alcohol is sacred," said the Shibuyan priest. "It is the blood of Jesus Christ, and so can only be used for ceremonial and medicinal purposes." He pointed to a stack of Twinkies. "All bread, as well."

"…I'm not an expert, but I'm pretty sure that's not how Christianity works," said Kazuya.

Aoi nudged him. "We're doing the best we can, okay? Beer's almost wine."

"I guess, but I'm also pretty sure that 'Fecundity' is not a name. Or a real English word, for that matter."

"Stop making fun of my Christian name!"

Later, in Roppongi…

"One…no, two shots!" shouted Kazuya. A disco, working vending machines, and a real bar? This was the best place ever!

"ID!" sang the bartender.

"…What?"

"ID!"

Kazuya cocked his head, then took out his wallet (kept as a souvenir from the past, since Macca used coins rather than bills). He coughed. "I am, totally a… forty-five year old man."

The bartender giggled. "Don't be silly, little boy! It says you're twelve!"

Kazuya blinked. "…What?"

Kazuya was so surprised about the bartender's comment that he just left the bar without ordering anything.

When whatever illusion befalling the place was lifted, and it turned out that almost everyone in the town was a zombie with a screwed up sense of when they died, a tiny part of Kazuya managed to stay adrift the ocean of horror, disgust, frustration, and sorrow.

It told him, "Let's not salvage anything here. It must be full of zombie slime."

Later, back in Shinjuku…

Kazuya slumped against the bar, tears streaming down his face. "Yoshio's dead…" he sniffed. "Pint?"

The bartender looked upon him with sympathy. "I know it's rough, kid, but drowning your sorrows won't do you any good. I've seen too many people lose themselves-"

"Pint, or Jatayu eats your liver."

The bartender looked at the oversized vulture, and decided to pour him a cup of ginger beer. "Your beer, sir."

Later, in Ginza, a town ruled by the Gaians, who believe in strength and anarchy…

"Give me a shot of whatever's cheap, and if you pull a gun on me, my little friend here will disembowel you," said Kazuya, gesturing to Jatayu the vulture god.

"I'm afraid not, boy," said the bartender. "The boss doesn't like kids drinking, and what the boss says, goes."

Later, after Asura's defeat…

Kazuya and Aoi emerged from the depths of the Basilica, victory sweet. Their journey was only halfway over, and only the Archangels above remained.

"Let's get hammered; we've beaten their boss, so they have to respect us now!" shouted Kazuya.

Unfortunately, these Gaians were a lot less power-happy than the Lilith-led Gaeans in another alternate Tokyo, and did not take well to the loss of their leaders. Nor to their murderers, as it happened.

Also, it turned out that the real 'boss'—the founder of the Cult of Gaia—was still alive to dictate his terms. Which was why Kazuya and Aoi were banned from Gaian bars forever.

Later…

"As a member of the democratically elected council, I would like a free beer," said Kazuya.

"As I respect your authority and acknowledge the service you have done for us, I shall give you a free drink. You're also still a kid. No beer for you."

Kazuya crossed his arms. "So I'm enough of an adult to decide the fate of this settlement, but not enough to drink a little firegold now and then?"

"I wouldn't vote for a teenage drunk."

"…Good point."

Several years later…

Kazuya marched into the bar one fine morning. "One shot of whiskey, please," he said, slamming the money on the table.

"What makes today any different?"

"Because," said Kazuya, hands on hips. "Today is my twentieth birthday. I am now legally allowed to drink alcohol."

"Prove it."

Kazuya slammed his ID on the table.

"…This says you're fifty."

"I went time-traveling."

The bartender flipped the card over and over. "Well, this is obviously a fake."

"How can it be a fake?" said Kazuya. "We haven't had manufacturing this good in… wait." Kazuya took back the ID. "You don't have IDs, do you? You don't card people; you guess their age."

The bartender nodded. "And you, sir, are eighteen years of age. Get out."

X

"…And it took me another four years, because the old bartender died, and the new bartender thought I was sixteen when I met her," said Kazuya. "And that, children, is why I despise underage drinking laws."

"…I thought it was because you're actually fifty," said Mina.

"That too."

OMAKE #2

(SPOILERS for Persona 5!)

(Disclaimer: The ending has been spoiled, but I don't know the fine details and I still want some surprises for when I get there. So please don't correct me if I'm wrong; I'll make corrections when I beat the game)

The room was bright and dingy, lit by cold, industrial plasma lights. Three teenage boys stretched lazily on bare mattresses, glowering at their new roommate. There were not delinquents acting tough to seem cool; they were tough as gristle and hard as bone.

"So, new meat," growled one inmate. "We're the worst of the worst. Who do you think you are?"

The one next to him stretched lazily. "I'm a mugger. Must have robbed twenty marks before getting caught." He chuckled. "You should have seen the looks on their faces when they saw the knife."

"I'm here for assault," said the second. "Saw some rich jerk looking at me funny? He'll never look anyone in the eye again."

"As for me, I'm a chivalrous made man," said the leader. "Soon as they let me out, I'll be running drugs overseas."

"What about you, new meat?"

"I masterminded a series of heists targeting the rich, powerful, and otherwise untouchable, effectively but not literally blackmailing them, thereby forcing them to publicly confess their crimes and betray their fellow conspirators. I'm only here because I refused to sell out my crew, and so the bigwigs we targeted can go to jail."

The other inmates stared.

"That was a joke. Trespassing."

[Edit: Still haven't beaten the game, but I'm now 90% sure that the public doesn't know Joker's identity. Turns out the media can't legally release the identities of juvenile offenders, and Joker was at oldest seventeen by the end of the game.]

Chapter Text

The Medic checked her supply of Medigun fluid. Almost half empty; six shots, or seven if she could pull back the trigger fast enough.

Beside her, Ripley fiddled with her machine gun and Marty McFly nervously clenched his katana. Normally, any healing unit was precious, and the Medic should have been guarded by/keeping alive a dozen soldiers or more, but the rest of their squad had been captured by the enemy. They had only barely managed to escape into a side tunnel, but they were deep in enemy territory, and none of them knew which way to base.

And yet, not a single one of them would have rewound time to the comfort of home base, where piping hot food was served in warm rooms, nor to the security of the legion, fifty men and women strong. For they held a treasure, more valuable than jewels and gold, more coveted than warmth on a cold winter night, more powerful than an army of thousands.

"Psst!"

The Medic almost dropped her gun. Captain Nobeard seemed to materialize from the shadows. "I believe ye be wanting to know this," he said. "The booty we seek be on the fifth floor, down what the locals call the Murder Hallway."

"And you expect us to charge in, with only two fighters and a healer?" spat Ridley. "That's suicide."

"The Professor has called for all hands on deck," answered Captain Nobeard. "Ye will not be alone. I swear it on Neptune's briny beard."

The Medic shook her head. "Ve must return to ze base at vunce." She reached into her pocket and showed him the treasure.

Captain Nobeard's jaw dropped. "…Aye," he said. "That be a surprise." He drew his cutlass. "Fear not, me hearties. I shall accompany y—"

There was a crash and a thud as the door behind them was kicked open by the Lone Wanderer, accompanied by a pack of demons.

The Lone Wanderer gestured menacingly towards the party, because the Lone Wanderer is a silent protagonist. What he really wanted to say was something along the lines of, "Aha! I see we have found our intruders! Surrender now, or be torn apart by my minions!"

"Shiver me timbers!" shouted Captain Nobeard, drawing his cutlass. "You shall ne'er take our colors, landlubbers!"

What the Lone Wanderer wanted to say was, "Aha, you have spirit! But you shall never take our flag! For a hundred thousand devils guard the citadel of doom, and all would fight you to the death!" Alas, he could not, because he was mute.

The Medic readied her saw, and charged.

X

According to Stolas, you couldn't use magic unless you knew that it was possible. You could have the potential to become an archmage and command power over life and death itself, but you couldn't cast a basic candle-lighting spell unless you expected it to work.

That was the best news Vincent Brooks heard all night.

"So does that mean that everyone can only use new magic?" he whispered as they huddled underneath the table, concealed by a black, floor-length tablecloth. Vincent had attended the party dressed as himself back when he was human dressed as himself as Lord of the Netherworld.

"Yes," said Stolas, who had been voted by the rest of the souls as the one in charge of Soma's mouth. The rest of the body was being controlled by Zephyr the magical time-stopping vampire, since he was among the most humanoid of the bunch, and because his exaggerated and flamboyant manner of walking was a lot of fun to watch.

"But you can still use your own?"

Zephyr shook Soma's head. Soma had started the party dressed as the Head Inquisitor from Monty Python, with the addition of a small sticker reading: 'Hello my name is: Penelope'. "The Inquisitors of Spain believed that demons were ethereal beings that could only influence the spiritual realm. According to them, only God—" Stolas spat the name "is capable of influencing the world."

"Meaning?"

"We can manipulate the master's mind and possess his body, but since he does not believe that we can use magic, we cannot," said Stolas.

Vincent blinked. "So he's using magic to control—to keep you from leaving, but he doesn't believe in magic—"

Zephyr shook Soma's head. "That is different. He exerts Dominance all the time, whether he is aware of it or not. Zephyr, would you kindly point to your left." Zephyr pointed Soma's finger to the right. "No, that is… I suppose it is unimportant. The master's friend Kazuya retains contracted to demons despite his foolhardy insistence that he is a mafia Don, and his other friend Naoki has succeeded in demolishing that wall despite his belief that Popeye the Sailor Man may only use superhuman strength as long as he has consumed spinach in the last ten minutes."

"Wait, what?!" Vincent popped his head outside of the tablecloth and cursed. "We just had that—oh, wait, that's the one we were planning to knock down eventually."

Zephyr yanked Vincent back underneath the table right before a flying teapot struck the ground, splashing everyone in sight with scalding hot tea.

"Now, now," scolded Louis Cypher, who for some inexplicable reason had decided to dress up as a Japanese schoolgirl, complete with brunette wig and messenger bag. "If you insist on behaving in such a preposterous manner, you shall have no cake."

Teddie pouted, and put the teapot back on the table. It was less inexplicable why Teddie had decided to dress up as Alice; he was reusing the costume from some crossdessing contest that he had won a few years ago. His idea of Alice's character, however, was even more bizarre than Louis Cypher's schoolgirl costume.

Right on cue, Teddie turned yet another one of his victims into a zombie, giggling happily as it bumbled into a Sudama who looked like it really wanted to be somewhere else, and promptly exploded.

"…Nergal, you're cleaning this mess up."

X

Vincent had to admit that Teddie's sudden bout of insanity wasn't really Nergal's fault. Vincent never paid much attention to what Nergal told him about ruling the Netherworld; after escaping his stifling life to become a demon, he wasn't about to let such stuffy things like precedent get in the way of his freedom, and so hadn't paid much attention to the whining Nergal. And it had worked out fine for years; Nergal had spent more time playing video games than doing any actual ruling.

Since Vincent usually spent his Halloween drinking with friends, Nergal had no reason to tell him about the grand tradition of the Hallow's Eve LARP party, where costumed demons gathered at the Netherworld Palace to play games such as Hide and Seek and Capture the Flag. Or that to make everything more fun, Ose of the Ars Goetia altered the minds of everyone involved to believe that they were their costumes.

Still, everything else was Nergal's fault for not vetting his guests properly.

For whatever reason, some mortal had the gall to summon Nergal and bind him to his service, and had convinced Nergal to accept compensation in the form of video game companionship. That Nergal was desperate enough to force mortals to play with him was not at all surprising to Vincent; after all, Vincent beat him every time, Catherine wasn't interested, his wife Ereshkigal and his sister-in-law Ishtar were too obsessed with beating each other in competitive Tetris to pay attention to him, and all of his minions and former minions let him win out of fear. What surprised Vincent was that Nergal liked this mortal and his friends (who also played video games with him) enough to invite them to a party, and that these friends were daft enough to accept a demon's invitation.

In hindsight, Vincent really should have realized that anyone who could have a casual chat with a gigantic devil was probably someone to watch out for. At least Teddie could be (mostly) placated with a tea party and lots of sweets, unlike Nergal's summoner (Kazuya), who was currently shaking down a group dressed as Innocent Bystanders (who found just as much amusement out of those costumes as humans dressed as serial killers, thieves, and other bad role models) for protection money, flanked by someone covered head to toe in black armor, save for a small sticker reading 'Hello my name is: Tony'.

Vincent looked at the sticker on Soma's chest. "So, uh… what's with the stickers?"

Stolas gave a long suffering sigh. "Any costume traits associated with the name 'Penelope' would have been overshadowed by the Inquisitor costume," he explained. "And that boy is unable to properly emulate an Italian stereotype."

"Ah," said Vincent, who was just as confused as the audience. He held out a hand, and an orb of dark magic appeared.

"I would not advise a head-on confrontation," said Stolas, as Zephyr gently pushed his hand away. "A not insignificant number of us would only be momentarily inconvenienced by your attack, and would take revenge should you attack any of the others."

Vincent was about to open his mouth to say that they had free revival services, but a heavy leather rope lashed around his neck, choking him.

A heeled boot stomped onto Vincent's back. "It looks like someone is in need of a little discipline," said a woman's voice.

Normally, Vincent was all for fun and games with instruments of torture. But the pain in this whip spoke of murder and executions, not pleasure and play.

He clawed at his throat, but that just made the whip tighter. He rolled from side to side, but she dug her foot deeper into his back.

"Madam, I do not know what the safe word is, but we do not consent," Stolas interrupted.

There was a pause, and the leather whip uncoiled, leaving Vincent gasping for air. "Oh," said the woman, carefully removing her foot from Vincent's back. "Sorry about that. I thought you were roleplaying as a submissive."

"An easy mistake to make," said Stolas agreeably, as Vincent rubbed his neck vigorously. "I believe that it would be wise to ask first."

Unsurprisingly, she was dressed from head to toe in black leather, with a layer of black cloth to prevent chafing. Like many dominatricies, she was wearing a hat, but rather than the stereotypical police or officer's hat, it was a brown fedora. I mean, I guess it goes with the whip? If Vincent remembered her name correctly, it was… um… Owie?

Aoi nodded. "Rule four: better to break character than to break bones."

"In fact, I believe that that gentleman… I apologize, but I cannot point at the moment… the gentleman in the suit with the fedora and candy cigar would very much enjoy a night with a lady as lovely as yourself."

"Duly noted," said Aoi, picking up her whip.

Vincent stood up. "Oh, yeah, no sex allowed in the castle tonight."

Aoi fiddled with her whip. "Why?"

Because you can't consent if you're not in your right mind, and even though it's my job to send succubi and incubi to seduce humans, you'd probably kill me if you remember that I didn't stop you. "Sanitary reasons."

Aoi crossed her arms. "Sanitary reasons," she repeated.

Vincent nodded.

"And the giant pit of fire ants and honey in the attic is perfectly okay?"

"…Well, honey is an antibiotic, isn't it?" said Vincent.

Aoi sighed. "Whatever. It's your party."

She strode confidently towards Kazuya and the gang of terrified demons (many of whom Vincent had seen tear other demons to pieces in single combat). Whatever Aoi the dominatrix said, Kazuya the mafia don seemed to like it, and they ran off together into a side room, protection money abandoned.

Stolas and Vincent would have looked at each other had Zephyr had the proper stage directions. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" said Vincent.

"Sadly, telepathy is not one of my magical abilities," said Stolas.

Vincent grinned and told Stolas the plan.

X

"Hey, youse looking for some… cannoli?" said Vincent in the best bad Italian accent he could muster. "Because the kitchens—"

The guy who was dressed as the Black Knight from Monty Python turned to face him. "If you're here about the brainwashing, forget it," he said.

Zephyr was so shocked that he fell over backwards, and pointed at Tony the Black Knight in horror. "Pardon me?" said Stolas politely.

"Mind control doesn't work on me," he said, opening his helmet to eat a canape.

"But—mafia don—"

'Tony' shrugged. "Going along with it was easier than fighting back."

Zephyr puffed himself up, posed dramatically, and pointed at 'Tony'. Stolas growled, "Then you, miscreant, of your own free will, have assaulted—"

'Tony' continued to eat his canape. "Don't you have something better to do? If you still have a problem, go ask your master to fight me tomorrow."

Zephyr bristled, but did not move.

"Thought not." 'Tony' stared off at a wall. "This will make total sense in… three, maybe four chapters?" He walked up and tapped the wall. "No, seven exactly. Unless the magpie throws a fourth Halloween chapter in between." He stared straight at you. "You'll know at the end of chapter fourteen."

X

"Hello, Tony's needs a che…" Vincent muttered to himself. "I bet that Tony over there would be happy to help you with a… You know what Tony would love right now…" He slumped against a wall. "Christ, I can't do it."

Zephyr clapped him hard on the shoulder. "Worry not," said Stolas, who then gave him a perfectly valid reason that cannot be revealed to the audience at the moment.

Vincent blinked. "O…kay then?"

It is said that if you play a video game too much, then you start seeing signs of it everywhere. Gamers who play 3D platformers see parkour paths on every roof and fire escape, people are discouraged from playing Mario Kart and driving, and Tetris is an excellent way to learn special reasoning (if you are willing to waste a not insignificant chunk of your life).

If there is anything that remains with a player long beyond the game is done, it is sound. Music soundtracks follow players everywhere, stealth gamers try to hide when alarms ring, and sound effects show up in the most unexpected places. But above all else, players hear voices. They hear the narration, the mocking tones of the villain, the aggressive bite of the rival characters, and the obnoxious chirping of the animal companion.

And one word haunts the ears and minds of players. It is not Navi's ignorable "Hey," nor the memetic "OBJECTION!" on the lips of many a fictional lawyer. It is a word that must be heard, on a game that cannot be muted, in a world where you hold the lives of all other players in your hands. Failing to heed that call guarantees pain, from enemies and teammates alike, and so players are forced to hear tha cursed word over, and over, and over, until they hear it in their sleep.

Vincent took in a deep breath, and shouted that word.

"MEDIC!"

As expected, a figure in red and white charged towards them, stuffed dove bobbing from the shoulder. "Vat iz eeit?" said Mina Hakuba in a bad German accent. Her white coat was stained with rusty blood (her blood, but she hadn't injured herself to get it), and the glint in her eye was almost as bad as the glint of the (very real, as it turned out) knife in the hands of the boy dressed as a werewolf wizard.

The overall effect was rather spoiled by the hacksaw, which was clearly tin foil over cardboard. And the 'medigun', which was just a super soaker; Ose's magic prevented her from realizing that she didn't need the water to heal.

"I bet that Tony over there would love to help you with a live vivisection!" said Vincent quickly.

Mina gave a maniacal grin. "Und I vill decide how he shall… help?"

"Of course," said Stolas smoothly.

Mina the Medic belted out an evil laugh that terrified Vincent, but wouldn't have ranked Top Ten compared to the rest of Nergal's guests. "To ze laboratory!" she shrieked.

Vincent looked at Stolas. "You are absolutely sure that he'll be fine?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

X

Now all that was left was Popeye 'Naoki' the Sailor Man. Actually, there were a lot of others people to deal with, but they haven't been introduced yet.

What? Fine, 'Tony' wasn't, either, but I had to tell you about him so I could get to Mina.

Of all of Nergal's guests, the Demi Fiend was the only one that Vincent had heard about. Like Vincent, he was a demon who was once a human, but much, much stronger. Where Vincent had bested Nergal alongside Catherine, the Demi Fiend had slaughtered thousands upon thousands of gods, devils, and angels, many of whom Nergal had advised to avoid at all costs.

If there was anything that Vincent learned from taking over the Netherworld wearing nothing but heart-print boxers, it was to never underestimate someone by their looks. The Demi-Fiend looked like a short, flighty teenager to begin with, and the sailor suit and pipe did nothing for him. In fact, the sailor suit made him look more like a teenager playing a schoolboy from Victorian Britain. And yet every instinct in his body (not related to food, mating, or defecation) screamed at him to run away.

So it was rather disappointing that he only needed one sentence to get him to stop destroying his walls.

"I, Vincent, Lord of the Netherworld, formally request that Popeye the Sailor Man shall serve spinach for dinner!"

Naoki the Sailor Man saluted, then ran off to acquire and cook spinach.

"That was easy," said Vincent.

Zephyr shook his head. "Naoki is not a good cook. First, we must find someone who knows how to cook spinach."

Vincent groaned.

"I know how to cook spinach," said one of Megaten's many characters named Akira. For complicated reasons, he was dressed as the human form of Akira Fudou of Devilman, which made him more lucid than normal.

"Good, go help him," said Vincent.

X

After hours of work, all of Nergal's guests were safely contained. Despite the loss of the most powerful players, the game of Capture the Flag had completed (red team won).

Vincent and Stolas had removed themselves to a Halifax pub, where they could drink in peace.

"I never want to do that again," said Vincent, sipping his banana rum daiquiri. "You're all banned from LARP night."

"I must agree," said Stolas. Zephyr was drinking a non-alcoholic fruit cocktail, because when Soma had a hangover, everybody had a hangover. "However, you cannot deny that the events of this night were truly unforgettable. Chasing Lieutenant Surge down the Fields of Blood and Flame in a magical motorcycle will be emblazoned within my mind for centuries."

"Yeah, but we wasted half an hour trying to get a ghost to take his meds," grumbled Vincent. "Why did it take him so long to realize that he could touch things? Louis Cypher was just fine."

Zephyr recoiled dramatically. "Pardon my ignorance, but why do you mention Hi…Lu…Louis Cypher?" asked Stolas nervously.

"He's a real ghost," said Vincent. "What, you didn't notice?"

Zephyr shook his head dramatically.

…Maybe I should ask someone about this. "Anyways, how about that—"

Zephyr went rigid. With slow, robotic movements, he put down the cocktail, and then began to breathe in and out. Then he turned to look at Vincent.

"Hi," said the being that was neither Zephyr nor Stolas. "I'm Soma Cruz, spelled with a zed. Thanks for taking care of my friends back there."

"Vincent, Lord of the Netherworld, Protector of Lost Sheep, S—"

"Yeah, yeah, you did a bunch of stuff, we've all been there," said Soma, rubbing his temples. "Your titles aren't impressing anybody."

"…Vincent Brooks." He took a sip of more liquor. "So, uh… who else do you have in there?"

"The Society?" said Soma. "That was all of them back there. You can join if you want, but only on days when Nergal's not there."

"No, I mean, in your head," said Vincent.

Soma sighed. "Stolas really shouldn't have told you that," he said. "Don't tell anyone else."

"Why?"

Soma shrugged. "Do you tell every human you meet that you're a demon lord? I don't go around announcing that I'm a soul-devouring monster."

Vincent shrugged back. "Yeah, I guess. So, is that more of a—"

The bar suddenly became sweltering hot.

Vincent looked around. "Hey, did you—"

"Do not cross me, Lord of the Netherworld," growled Soma, eyes blazing red. "Know that I have plundered your realm one hundred times before, and I shall do it one thousand times more if you dare betray me."

Soma got to his feet dramatically. "Should you keep my secrets, I shall spare your life. Until the day we meet again, farewell." He strode out the pub door, jacket flowing in an invisible wind.

Vincent stared. Of course something like this would happen. If he had so many souls in him that they had to vote for a representative, it was only natural that he'd find a nasty one that he couldn't handle. Classic villain mistake; getting greedy and taking more than he could chew.

This also had nothing to do with his problems. Sure, whatever demon possessing Soma was probably stronger than him, but he had challenged powers greater than himself twice before, and emerged victorious. Except he had no reason to gamble his life to rescue this kid. Vincent had to win against Dumuzid to live and get Catherine back, and he smote Nergal to marry his daughter and usurp him as Lord of the Netherworld. Besides, the kid didn't seem to be in any immediate danger. His friends could take care of him.

The pub door opened again. "Oh, don't bother trying to warn my other self," said the demon in Soma's body. "He can't even remember that his memory is missing, even if you remind him."

The pub door shut.

Vincent stared at Soma's drink. "I guess I'm paying for that?"

The pub door opened again. "Hey, uh… could you give me a ride home?" said Soma, eyes back to normal. "I don't know we got here."

X

Meanwhile, Yoko Belnades, Kaitou, and the Jack Bros. were chilling out together in her apartment. Well, heating in the case of Pyro Jack. And the Agents were working on damage control due to the influx of demons. And Julius Belmont was off doing important Belmont stuff. Whether they had declined Nergal's invitation or hadn't been on the list to begin with is a spoiler.

TO BE CONTINUED!

Chapter Text

"Underage drinking laws are terrible and no one should follow them."

-Diary of Kazuya Kawamoto

The call was on such short notice that it couldn't have even been called notice. Agents Seal, Tiger, Ninja, Peony, and Wolf were all on patrol duty when Agent Fireball ordered them all to the site of the explosion that levelled half a dozen trees.

Agent Seal, who was used to this sort of thing from his training as a member of the Japanese equivalent of the US Navy SEALS, quickly took stock of the situation. The remains of a small campfire stood in a corner, embers glowing faintly. Besides the obvious line of destroyed trees, there were empty cartridges and bullets scattered around, also still hot. Here and there were puddles of blood and another strange, faintly glowing liquid (Agent Peony took samples of both). And if anyone could see past those, they might even notice the burn marks on almost every other tree, ones that looked like fire from miniature lightning strikes. And then there were the two sets of footprints.

All those could wait. For now, the line of broken trees was the biggest priority. After partitioning off the scene and taking pictures of everyone's footprints (so that they could tell theirs from the culprits'), Agent Seal sidled towards the tunnel of fallen trees—

"YOU'LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE, COPPER!"

X

Kazuya's behavior warrants some explanation. It would be accurate, but not sufficient, to say that he was acting this way because he was drunk. To fully encapsulate what was going on in Kazuya's head, it is important to know the following facts.

First, Kazuya was one of those people whose mistrust of authority ran deeper than mere hatred. This wasn't because of any sense of inferiority or jealousy; if he were crowned Supreme Overlord and Dictator of the World, he would still disbelieve political figures on principle and cross the street to avoid police officers while glaring suspiciously (although these were all perfectly reasonable things for anyone to do if the title of Supreme Overlord and Dictator of the World was ever implemented). Most encounters with the law were resolved either by bribery or murder. And since Kazuya had a tight budget, and had just dipped into his 'comfort demon' allowance twice in one day (without even getting food out of it), he was not in the mood to bribe anyone.

Second, Kazuya hated hiding. That is, he was fine with lying low so that passing demons wouldn't notice him; avoiding fights was just common sense. He was also fine with lying in wait for ambushes; dirty tactics saved his life an innumerable amount of times. And of course he was fine with concealing his belongings in case of theft. Hiding was cowering from enemies who knew you were there, but not where. Hiding was the hand over your mouth, the feverish prayer to whatever god out there that your heart wasn't beating as loudly as you thought it was, the silence when the person next to you is dragged into the street, the bitter tears when your allies are executed one by one as you do absolutely nothing to save them, and the blunt, dull pain of tomorrow, when you realize that you could have saved your friends if you had all just ambushed your enemies before you sacrificed all of your allies to feed the faint hope that you'd come out unscathed.

And third, and most importantly, Kazuya was a sixty-something year old man in the body of a late teenager. Specifically, an man who had spent an unhealthy number of years drinking heavily, and a teenager who had never drank more than a pint of liquor over the course of his entire life (although this was more out of convenience, laziness, and stinginess than any moral argument). As a result of this dissonance, the amount of alcohol he thought was enough to make him appear to be drunk was greater than the amount of alcohol that would actually get him drunk. Especially since he hadn't eaten anything since lunch.

X

The drunken teenager hurtled out of the bushes, catching Agent Seal completely by surprise. Before he could fully process that he had been attacked, he was already on the ground, knees and elbows locked and two cold fingers pressed against his jugular.

Luckily, Agent Seal was a former member of the Japanese equivalent of the US Navy SEALS, and knew a maneuver that could throw any would-be restrainer and turn the tables on them, regardless of size.

Unfortunately, a second (less) drunk teenager, yelling, "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!" (in English) tried to yank the first teenager off. This teenager, while less drunk than the first one, did not seem to know how to break someone else's hold. Merely dogpiling the first teenager (and Agent Seal) was a perfectly reasonable technique, one that Agent Seal could easily escape. However, for some reason, this second teenager's idea of breaking a submission hold was to grab both people, lift them above his head, and shake them until he let go.

X

Soma's behavior warrants some explanation.

First, Soma was strong. That is to say, in terms of raw physical prowess, on a scale between 'look at how many pull-ups I can do!,' and 'I did the math, and without physics getting in the way, you can punch a kilogram of ice to the temperature of the sun's surface' (a region reserved for individuals such as the Demi-Fiend), Soma scored somewhere between 'unexpectedly strong for someone of his build, but he could be ripped underneath that shirt' and 'I am almost willing to accept that vampires are real if it can explain this'.

Second, while Soma had a handful of abilities that could restrain Kazuya without hurting him (usually by asking Arachne to make webs that weren't poisonous), none of them fit the 'fire and metal' theme, and he wasn't yet desperate enough to show off his extra abilities in front of Kazuya.

Third, Soma was Spanish-Japanese American, and due to some very determined parents, was also trilingual. His father wanted Spanish to be his first language, his mother Japanese, and they compromised on English. As a result, when surprised and tipsy, he defaulted to English.

X

Neither Agent Seal nor the first drunken teenager had expected being shaken apart, and since the first drunken teenager kept him restrained by pushing his joints against the ground rather than tangling their limbs together, it wasn't long before his grip broke. Agent Seal was unceremoniously thrown to the ground, more startled than in pain.

Now, the situation could have still been salvaged, had it not been for the drunken foreigner.

X

Julius's behavior warrants some explanation.

Julius had spent most of his life as a homeless drifter, and homeless drifters are not exactly known for their material possessions, nor for their friendly relationship with the law. As a form of petty revenge, he stole from every police officer he could (except for the ones who looked as poor as he did). He did not usually need what he stole, and the fences did not always appreciate the random junk he gave them, but it made him feel better. As Julius Belmont, head of the Belmont clan and bearer of a debit card (but not a credit card; 36 years of being off the grid wrought havoc on his credit score), he could no longer act on the urge to rob police officers. Unless, of course, he was drunk.

Julius was also slightly infamous among the Belmont clan for being surprisingly bad at whip techniques, at least for a wielder of the Vampire Killer. This was like coming in last place in an Olympic 200-meter Butterfly Semifinal race; Julius had his doubts about winning against most of the elders and professional hunters of the clan, and he would be the first to admit that he'd lose in a straight fight with his esteemed predecessors, but being able to fight effectively with a whip at all required years of training (unless you were a Persona user, someone who used whips regularly for non-combat purposes, or Leon Belmont), and it was hard to laugh at his record after seeing how many Belmont cousins he defeated in duels.

Still, since he had spent most of his life using every weapon in the Belmont arsenal except for whips, Julius's first instinct was to fight with either martial arts or subweapons. While some could beat him in single contests of throwing axes, crosses, or bottles of holy water, none of them could beat him in all three.

X

The drunken foreigner's boot caught Agent Seal in the solar plexus, leaving him choking and sprawled all over the ground. While he was down, the drunk rummaged through his pockets, nabbing his knives, gun, candy, tissues, napkins, compass, flashlight, matches, and money (but was nice enough to leave the wallet), before tying him up.

From the edge of his vision, his comrades began to realize what was happening. Agent Tiger began to charge. Agent Wolf started chanting a spell. Agent Peony was looking around in panic, all three guns still in their holsters. He couldn't see what Agent Ninja was doing, but that was probably fine.

"SHADOW NINJA STRI—"

Without even looking, the drunken foreigner hurled two glass jars behind him, hitting both Agent Tiger and a bush that turned out to be hiding Agent Ninja. The jars bounced off of the Agents, but shattered when they hit the ground, spilling their contents everywhere. The glass vanished, but whatever was in the jar turned the dirt to mud.

Agent Peony did nothing, as usual, but Agent Wolf had the perfect shot for a spell—

And would have taken down everyone in the area, if it wasn't for that third meddling teenager (who was also, it should go without saying, drunk).

X

Mina's behavior warrants some explanation.

Mina, as the audience may have surmised, suffered from feelings of inadequacy, and inadequacy often leads to stupid impulses to overcompensate. While common sense usually holds such impulses back, drinking is not exactly conducive to common sense.

As a miko, spellcaster, and player of video games, Mina also knew that the highest priority targets should be medics (unless restricted by the Geneva Convention), and the second highest were glass cannon wizards.

And lastly, to protect her precious bow and arrows from the elements, Mina kept them wrapped in oiled cloth and slotted into a sturdy case, which was as long and solid as a quarterstaff.

X

With a mighty whack, Agent Wolf was knocked to the ground, spell broken. Agent Seal couldn't tell who was more surprised (and not just because it was dark and the drunken foreigner stole his flashlight).

"What now?!" the third drunken teenager yelped, still holding the quarterstaff like a bat.

"Run!" shouted the second drunken teenager (or was it the first drunken teenager?).

"Kill!" screeched the first drunken teenager (never mind, that was definitely the second drunken teenager).

"Furați totul!" bellowed the drunken foreigner, throwing more of those bottles at anyone who tried to get up. [A/N 'Steal everything' in Romanian].

"Into the power plant!" shouted Agent Peony. In a different voice still recognizable as hers, she added, "Yes, into the power plant! We can shake them off there!"

"I DON'T TAKE ORDERS FROM YOU!" roared the first drunken teenager, dodging Agent Tiger's flying kick despite being dragged back by the second drunken teenager.

"If you don't pipe down and stop squirming this instant, I swear to God I'll shove a spear so far up your ass it'll come out of your goddamn mouth," growled the second drunken teenager.

The drunken foreigner was busy tying up Agent Wolf while fending off Agent Ninja and stealing Agent Wolf's canteen. The third drunken teenager seemed to realize that her friends weren't paying attention to her, and dashed down the mountain path alone.

That's when Agent Peony finally called for backup.

X

"The world ended last year."

To this dramatic proclamation, Aoi just nodded and said, "Go on."

"…Your lack of reaction is a little worrying," said Naoki.

Aoi crossed her arms. "Unless I missed something, the world is still here, so you've clearly done something about it. Please stop being unnecessarily dramatic."

Naoki shrugged. "It all started… well, it goes deeper than what I ever saw, but I got involved in April, in my last year of high school. The CEO (or some important position) of Cybers Corporation, Hikawa, thought that the world was broken and needed to be remade, so he found this ritual that let him. He was a member of this cult called… um…"

In one universe, the Demi-Fiend had never entered the Labyrinth of Amala, and never spoke with the Old Man in the Wheelchair. In that universe, the Demi-Fiend only heard the name of the cult once, in a magazine.

Not in this universe. In this universe, he spoke with several former cult members, learned where Hikawa learned how to summon demons, and why he was kicked out of the cult. "Gaia," he said.

This got a reaction out of her. "The Cult of Gaia tried to destroy the world?" Aoi asked incredulously.

Naoki blinked. "How did you know their full name was the Cult of Gaia?"

"I knew them in the future," said Aoi. "They were…" Aoi's expression was comparable to a free speech activist trying very hard not to ruin their message while standing next to a fascist on a pulpit. "They were half 'harmony with the ancient gods wrongly slandered as demons' and half 'anyone who tries to control us is evil'. The least I can say about them is that they wouldn't destroy the world."

Sounds like Isamu would fit right in.

Naoki nodded. "Actually, even the cult hated Hikawa, but he killed them before they could stop him. I don't know much about them."

Aoi gave him a hard look. "You said that you became a demon after getting on a cult's bad side."

Naoki shook his head. "The distinction between 'cult', 'one cultist', and 'one rebel cultist' didn't seem important. That's not a lie; it's a simplification."

This seemed to satisfy Aoi, so Naoki continued. "Somehow, Hikawa conned my teacher into helping him, but my teacher wanted me to live, so she brought me and… she brought me to the place where they were holding the ritual, which was the only place guaranteed not to be destroyed."

Isamu and Chiaki are personal. She doesn't need to know about them.

What about Hijiri?

Eh, if he comes up.

"How did Hikawa destroy the world?"

Naoki shrugged. "I don't know how he did it. He fulfilled a prophecy?"

"No, what was the vehicle of destruction? My world was destroyed by nuclear war."

Naoki blinked. "Hold on, when you say 'destroyed', do you mean a terrible cataclysm, or the literal end of days?"

"Cataclysm," admitted Aoi.

"My world literally ended," said Naoki. "I woke up in a place called the Vortex World. Vortex Worlds are… they're like little mini dimensions that form after a world ends, and whatever happens there decides how the next world is born. If a surviving human finds a… fulfils a bunch of conditions, they can shape the new world. Long story short, despite having the body of a demon, I'm human enough to count, so I fulfilled those conditions and created a new world exactly the same as the old one, so nobody noticed." Naoki hadn't realized how stiff his shoulders were. "And that's how the world ended."

Aoi nodded. "You restored the world?"

"Of course I did," said Naoki. "Every other option was terrible. Did you think I'd leave it behind?"

Aoi gave him a strange look. "No. I was just jealous. I left my world behind in pieces."

"Literal pieces?"

Aoi shook her head. "At the time of my death, we no longer had to live in a wasteland, but Tokyo was still not a pleasant place to live."

Aoi took in a deep breath. "As I've already told you, I'm from a completely different timeline. I was born in alternate year 2025, but that isn't where my story begins. Do you believe in reincarnation?"

"Yes."

Aoi blinked. "You seem certain. Do you know someone who reincarnated?"

"Jyoji Hijiri," said Naoki. "I'm not telling you anything else; it's not my place to tell you his secrets."

What else is there to tell? I don't even know who he was.

Yeah, but I know about that curse of his.

"I'm my own aunt and niece," said Aoi, crossing her arms. "Complicated is meeting your father as your cousin whom you must treat as your younger brother. But I'm getting ahead of myself. I only remember some of my past life, but I do know that in 1999, a scientist accidentally opened a portal to the world of demons, and demons invaded the world."

Naoki gulped as his stomach lining turned to lead.

"Naturally, there was mass panic. I don't know about the rest of the world, but in Tokyo, a Japanese general named Gotou attempted a coup and declared marshal law to fight the demons. He was a member of the Cult of Gaia. The American ambassador Thorman (who was Thor in disguise) also tried to restore order and brought in American troops from a nearby base, but his solution was to destroy Tokyo to stem the source of the demon outbreak. Naturally, both sides fought each other to the death."

"I had some bad experiences with Thor," grumbled Naoki.

"Did he nuke your country and kill your past life?" asked Aoi icily.

Naoki froze. "He nuked you? With his troops still in the city?"

Aoi sighed. "In his mind, they'd go straight to Valhalla for their sacrifices, I'm sure. I don't think any of them knew their commander was going to kill them; I remember this one soldier right bef—"

Aoi stopped. "Regardless, I wasn't happy with the way they were handling things, so I gathered a group of like-minded fighters and led a Resistance movement."

"Even though they were keeping you safe from demons?" said Naoki.

Aoi scowled. "All the safety in the world doesn't matter if we're living in fear. And who were they to decide that we had to die for them? They were worse than the demons."

Holy cow, this is some déjà vu.

"And then he nuked you."

"And then he nuked us, yes," sighed Aoi. "Twenty years after doomsday, I was born to the cousin of my past life. By then, the Cult of Gaia had grown into a powerful sect, but they were opposed by the Order of Messiah, which—don't tell me you heard of them, too."

"I know they exist and they hate the Gaiains, and that's it," said Naoki.

"The Gaians and Messians are bitter enemies," said Aoi. "I was born into the Order. And before you ask, no, I don't follow their teachings, and no, I don't hate the Gaians. I left when I met one of my companions from before—he was transported to the future by my past life—and together we fought both the Messians and Gaians until we could settle a peace treaty and rebuild society." She scowled. "A mere ten years later, the Messians manipulated the upper echelons so that only their supporters remained in power, and made the Gaian religion illegal. They couldn't kill or exile me, so they shoved me into a slum post until I was too influential, and then decided I was less dangerous dead."

Naoki blinked. "And then reincarnated again?"

Aoi shrugged. "I can't tell if it's reincarnation or memory manipulation, but three years ago, I woke up in the body of another Aoi Miyama. Ever since, I've been living her life." She sighed. "I hope she's all right."

"That's all you can do," said Naoki in a conciliatory voice.

Aoi stretched. "I have one last question. How did Lucifer turn you into a demon?"

Bug in my eye, bug in my eye, bug in my eye, bu—

Lust for power, murder of innocents, muddy—

"Worry not, I have no intention of attempting it on anyone, myself included," Aoi said, raising both her palms. "I have borne witness to countless tragedies after similar transformations. I just want to check something."

Is my poker face really that bad?

Yes. Yes it is.

"What do you want to check?" asked Naoki.

Aoi took out a piece of paper. "I want to see how you'd be classified. People who are both demon and human aren't uncommon in my world, so forgive me for curiosity."

"Both demon and human?" repeated Naoki.

That's a little wordy.

"It's wordy, but it's the most neutral term the committee came up with," said Aoi. "Hybrid sounds like something you'd call a plant or a vehicle, half-human or half-demon favors one side, and sub-human was just wrong."

"Sub-human?" repeated Naoki.

"Exactly," said Aoi.

Am I the only person who was given the Magatama?

If there were a lot of demons where she was from, then they must have caught one at some point.

It's still not that intuitive, letting it eat your eye.

No, I don't think every demon has a Magatama, or I'd be up to my neck in them. Besides, Jack Frost didn't recognize them when he sold them to me.

Still can't tell if I'm the only one out there.

When Naoki paused for a little too long, Aoi shrugged. "If you still don't want to tell me how, you don't have to. I can just ask the other questions."

"Oh, um… fire away."

Why didn't she just tell me the categories?

Too many, I suppose.

Or result bias.

"Question one," said Aoi. "Did you use the Cathedral of Shadows to fuse with a demon?"

"You can do that?" Naoki said without thinking.

Didn't I just say that I wasn't going to tell her how?

Yeah, but it doesn't count if she already knows that way.

Aoi nodded. "I've seen it done, and it rarely ends well. Question two: were the other Fiends former humans like you?"

Naoki shook his head. "I don't know. The question never came up." 

Aoi nodded again. "Question three: can you transform other humans into demons?"

Naoki's throat clenched. "I don't know. I've never tried."

I mean, it's not really a lie if I didn't do it? Chiaki was the one who tried shoving Marogareh down her eye socket.

Would it have worked if I helped?

Come to think of it, why didn't Hijiri ask me? It's not like he knew about the whole 'only humans can have a Reason' thing.

Or that he's cursed.

Would it have worked on Manikins?

No. I would never do such a thing.

Of course not. But wondering never harmed anyone.

"Last question," said Aoi. "Do you know anyone else who was turned into a demon the same way as you?"

"Not as far as I know," said Naoki.

Aoi nodded. "Thank you."

"That's it?" asked Naoki.

"There are only three categories, and I know you're not a Nephilim," said Aoi.

"What do fallen angel children have to do with anything?"

Aoi shook her head. "It's just a word for people born part demon and part human. The other two categories are Demonoids, which are humans who fused with demons in the Cathedral, and Vectors, humans who were transformed by another demon, like vampires or zombies."

"What about ones who are basically dead people?" asked Naoki.

"The last time I checked, people were still arguing over that," said Aoi. "We generally consider ghosts to still be human, but there was an argument to make them Vectors, since you can come back as a ghost if a ghost kills you."

"No, like real people who died and got shrines," said Naoki.

Aoi shrugged. "It depends on why they were deified. If they were originally ancestral spirits, they're human ghosts until they're honored out of tradition instead of love and ascribed supernatural powers when prayed to, at which point they undergo apotheosis. If they were worshiped upon death like the Roman emperors, they're deities the moment they die. If they were enshrined and honored out of fear of what they could do in the afterlife like the scholar god Tenjin, they're deities the moment they're honored. I don't know about living deities like the Egyptian pharaohs or… I can't remember which country or countries still do that, but I've never encountered one and so I don't know where they fall." Aoi shrugged. "I suppose the Messians failed to consider this category, because there is supposed to only be One True God. Perhaps they would consider them to be unquiet ghosts, saints, or charlatans with supernatural powers should they still live. But I suppose you're right, gods are as human as sentient Vectors, and there should be a fourth category."

She really does love the sound of her own voice.

Hey, she told me in one conversation more than what Ms. Takao told me the entire time we were in the Vortex World.

Aoi looked at the clock. "It's getting late. I need to go back to the doctor tonight, so you can have one more question." She wrote down her contact information.

"Oh, right," said Naoki. "I was wondering about that."

"My number?"

"No, why do you need the doctor if you already know healing magic?"

Aoi sighed. "Have you ever played a video game where healing magic is readily available, and yet someone will inexplicably die of their wounds for the plot?"

"Final Fantasy V had a good explanation," said Naoki.

"I haven't played that one, but you get the idea," said Aoi. "The point is, they're not entirely wrong. Are you familiar with the Dia line? Media, Diarama?"

"Yes," said Naoki.

"Dia heals you with what you already have," said Aoi. "It's easy, fast, and doesn't cost a lot of magic. The more advanced healing spells work by regenerating body parts, accelerating the natural healing process, or even turning back time. They're better than Dia, since they can return lost blood or replace failed organs, but they take years of dedicated study. Medics who learn them are generally too valuable to send on the front lines; fighters stick with Dia."

"Why—?"

"Don't I learn those spells?" said Aoi. "I never had the time. I was either surviving or holding down a job."

Naoki nodded. "I get it. But if you already have your rib, why can't you reattach it?"

Aoi turned the rib over in her hands. "Right now, this rib technically isn't part of my body. I could put it back, but I don't want to get the wound infected."

"You could dip it in alcohol," suggested Naoki.

"And I could drink the rest of the bottle to numb the pain as I cut open my own chest and jab a rib inside," said Aoi in an aggressively level voice. "Even the best doctors would rather enlist a complete amateur than operate on themselves. I'd either almost pass out from the pain, or I'd be too high to keep my hands straight."

Naoki shuddered. "…I won't keep you, then. Good night."

Aoi picked up her bag. "Good night."

X

That one turned on a radio transmitter, said Mothman.

Wait, if you can hear radio, how are you not deaf?

Really? Is that really what you should be focusing on right now?

Soma, who only took a few sips of liquor, quickly realized that Mina had the right idea.

"You can't kill every cop in town, K—iriyama!" Soma yelled, substituting the name at the last second. "We need to run!"

"We can't run!" Kazuya yelled back, a voice of fury laced with… desperation?

…Was Kazuya scared?

Then it clicked. Soma had seen—no, Dracula had seen it hundreds of times before. The most dangerous opponents were the ones who were cornered, the ones who had nothing left to lose. There was that old adage about a cornered rat, warnings about chasing rattlesnakes, and a proverb about a Chinese general who destroyed his own cooking pots and boats to force his men to fight.

Time to mend those pots.

"I know spells for night vision and speed," said Soma soothingly. "If you just calm down, we can get away."

Kazuya, however, was still as jumpy as a squirrel on cocaine. "They know our faces, they'll—"

Julius cracked his whip, and all eyes were on him. "Never kill police," he said in a low voice. "I don't care how much you think they deserve it, they won't rest until their comrade is avenged. Who do you think they'll care more about, some drunk teenagers or a cop killer?"

"Um…" said… Violet? Rose? Rhododendron? Peony, the one who had just stood there when her comrades fought. "We… well, you see, n—not to be rude or anything, but we're just checking out those trees. So, um… we don't care if you've been drinking and camping. We won't take you in if you surrender… I mean, if it's fine with you."

"Even though we beat up your comrades?" Soma asked warily.

Peony nodded vigorously. "We don't need to fight! We just need you to tell us what you saw, and then you can leave! Our backup is really strong, and you don't want to fight them!"

That sounded good.

"All right, then," said Soma testily.

The agent called… Walrus? Dolphin? Porpoise? Seal stood up. "All we need is a statement, and you're free to go. What are your names?"

Don't do it, warned Killer Clown.

Why not?

How are you going to explain how you got up there in the first place? Killer Clown pointed out. She thinks you've been camping, but there's no tent. If you were hiking, why are you hiking at night?

He's drunk. It's a universal excuse, said a Ghost Dancer

No, it's not, said a Zombie Soldier. One, he barely had any. Two, even if they believed you were drunk enough to climb a mountain at ten at night, you're too clean. A drunk would have tripped and gotten dirty. Three, I forget three, but four, if you're interrogated separately, the story's bound to crack.

Crap, you're right, said Soma. Peeping Eye, get ready.

Aye-aye, captain!

Soma squeezed his eyes shut, switched the souls, and opened them. Using the Peeping Eye for was like taking off a pair of half-melted prescription sunglasses that belonged to an old, cat-loving grandmother. While there was a sensory overload problem, it was also great for night vision, even if random details kept on screaming for attention, like how one of the Agents was wearing a hilarious shirt, or how the ghost of his best friend was staring at him, or how the vines on that tree was poisono—

He blinked. A blonde, pale knight was observing the battlefield, muttering inaudibly with his hand on his chin. When their eyes met, the knight gave him a look of surprise, pointed at him, and said something that Soma couldn't hear. When Soma pointed at his ears and shook his head, the knight shook his head, shrugged, and then pointed at Julius, then down a path.

Soma had no idea what this meant, but he could always come back later.

Does anyone know who that is?

There was a discussion.

We think it is best for all of us if you hear it from him, not us, said Alura Une gently.

He means you no harm, added White Dragon.

Don't stop for him! We need to get out of here! Waiter Skeleton screamed.

"Are you all right, buddy?" asked Agent Seal. "You look—aaah!"

With one fluid motion, Soma swept Kazuya off his feet and into his arms, bridal style, and sprinted down an animal trail in the direction the ghost pointed.

"What the hell, S—what the hell are you doing?!"

"The drunk hiking excuse falls apart after any serious questioning," said Soma, activating the Black Panther Soul, which allowed him to run faster. "It's better that our names stay off the records. Besides, it's not like they got a good look at our faces in the dark."

"What about—"

"My friend can take care of himself," said Soma. "Remember how I said there was one person I couldn't keep up with? That was him."

This seemed to appease Kazuya. For what seemed like hours, there was nothing but the rush of wind, the smell of greenery, the taste of wet fog—

And then the ground turned to liquid.

X

With a second cast of Traport, Aoi popped into the waiting room. It looked almost exactly the same as it was an hour ago, except Agent Dragon was now reading a nature photography magazine and Mr. Adams was reading manga.

"Good evening, Mr. Adams," she said in English.

"Good evening, Madam Pain," he said back in Japanese. "Doctor five minutes before finish Cowboy."

"Horrorshow," said Aoi, and she plopped herself onto a folding chair and picked a magazine at random. It turned out to be an Ayakashi Monthly, the magazine with a reporter who apparently looked a lot like Aoi. She began to read. Most of it was rubbish with a handful of pearls of wisdom, not unusual in a field with no fact checking capabilities. It was full of articles like DIY Exorcisms, 5 signs that your neighbor is possessed by a cat, The difference between Episcopalian and Pentecostal exorcisms, The one-headed Cerberus, the—

That last one piqued Aoi's interest.

Cerberus was a three-headed dog that guarded the Greek Underworld. Everyone knew that. Everyone except for Aoi. To her, Cerberus was a one-headed white-blue lion-dog with a snake for a tail, who loved belly rubs and was named Pascal. She'd been on the receiving end of too many condescending lectures on Greek mythology from people who couldn't tell the Cocytus from the Styx.

According to the article, Cerberus could have any number of heads, and was sometimes a raven demon… Nebiros? The necromancer?

And the writer's name was Jyoji Hijiri. Interesting.

A tiny bell on a string rang in the operating room, signaling the end of an operation. The doctor wheeled Agent Cowboy into the waiting room in a swivel chair. "Done. Do doctor magic now," said the doctor in halting Japanese.

This was the cue for Agent Dragon to cast her strange brand of healing magic on Agent Cowboy. His leg healed completely, but he did not respond.

"He's still in shock," said the doctor in English. "Be careful with him; I think he's still in the cleric cooldown."

"Be careful," said Mr. Adams. "He will not work. He has… cleric cooldown."

"I can speak for myself, thank you very much," grumbled Agent Cowboy. "I'm in shock, and I have Rapid-Regen Syndrome. I'll be fine, but I can't put any weight on my left leg right now."

This was one of the many complications of healing magic, also called the Dia Bends. If the body recovered too quickly from a severe injury with magic, it did not immediately acknowledge that there was no longer any need to repair the body. It was rarely life-threatening, but it could put someone not used to healing magic out of commission for a while.

"We can take him from here," said Agent Lily. "All we—"

Vmmmm! Vmmm!

"Go go Phoenix Rangers!"

"Baby we were born to ruunn…!"

A swell of music timed with rhythmic gunshots.

"Wo ai ni, ni ai wo, wo men shi ge kuai le jia…"

Five phones rang in unison.

"Huh," said Agent Lily, checking a text. "Looks like the others need backup."

"Finally!" said Agent Dragon, standing up. "Cowboy, you stay here."

Agent Cowboy gave a melodramatic, offended gasp, and said in a sarcastic tone, "No, don't leave me, I can still fight." He turned to Mr. Adams and said in English, "I'm going to call a cab. Could you please help me get into it?"

"How are you going to get out?" said Mr. Adams.

"Worry not, there will be people to help me when I get there."

"So you're good?" said Agent Reaper. When Agent Cowboy nodded, he and the other Agents left.

The doctor eyed Aoi. "What is it this time, Madam?"

"I healed myself without my rib," said Aoi, holding it out.

The doctor sighed. "Only you, Madam. Only you."

The doors burst open, and three women and one man burst into the room, carrying a second man. "Mr. Ochre was shot!"

The doctor stood up and examined the body. "Yes, he was definitely shot, all right. He looks saveable. Hey, Adams, could you give me a hand with this one? It's… ooh, hollow point bullet, someone's going to jail tonight."

Aoi sighed. This was going to be a long night.

X

"Why did you just stand there?!" shouted Agent Tiger as Agent Wolf checked her for broken bones. "They were right there—two of them weren't even moving!"

"B—because…" Agent Peony said, shrinking. "I just couldn't shoot them!"

Agent Ninja sighed. "In our line of work, it's kill or be killed. Why can't you comprehend something as sim—"

"Agent Peony is right," said Agent Seal suddenly. "I mean, even though they attacked us, they weren't carrying any weapons."

"Ahem," said Agent Wolf.

"Nothing with a blade, and nothing even close to a firearm," said Agent Seal. "They weren't malicious, they weren't supernatural, they were just a bunch of drunk kids in the wrong place at the wrong time. That's not worth shooting anyone over. Besides, our star team is in pursuit."

There was another long pause as they tried to forget how easily the drunken foreigner had evaded their grasp. All four of them—minus Peony—had struck at once, from all directions, but he simply jumped, dipped, and tripped his way to freedom, bounding into the wilderness like they were as insubstantial as mist.

"What made you think they'd surrender, anyways?" Agent Ninja grumbled at Peony.

Agent Peony turned red. "I… I just thought everything could be resolved without violence… You know how much I hate violence."

Agent Tiger gestured at her injured arm, the bump on Agent Ninja's head, the scrapes on Agent Seal's face, and Agent Wolf's shattered glasses.

"I'm sorry I'm so useless…"

"Come on, guys!" said Agent Seal, clapping. "Don't sweat the past. We can still check out the crime scene!"

That cheered up the rest of the squad. While none of them enjoyed detective work, it meant they were Getting Stuff Done instead of moping around. After a while, they concluded from the footsteps that there were two people (or multiple people with the same two kinds of shoe, which was deemed unlikely but still possible), at least one of whom used lightning or fire magic (judging by the scorch marks on the other trees), and one of whom made that hole. Careful counting of the bullets and cartridges had shown that all the bullets had hit something in the clearing, but bounced off.

"So we've got a bulletproof person—or something that can fly or float," concluded Agent Peony. "Maybe they made up and flew away?"

"That's ridiculous," said Agent Tiger.

"Actually, that makes sense," said Agent Seal. "There aren't any tracks leading away from this spot, so after getting blood spilled everywhere, and—"

Agent Tiger cursed and stood up. "We did get blood samples, right?!"

The ground was practically mud at this point. What blood hadn't sunk into the ground had been rolled into someone's clothing (and still rendered useless by a thick layer of mud), or diluted with whatever that foreigner had in those jars.

"I—I…"

"What?!" snapped Agent Tiger.

"I already took them…" Agent Peony said in a small voice, holding up a few small vials.

X

Mina burst into the 24-hour doughnut shop, panting. "One chocolate doughnut with Bavarian cream filling and bacon on top, please," she said.

"Coming right up."

Mina dug change out of her bag, hands shaking. Of course there would be Agents; she already knew they were in town.

Her hands went to her phone, but she stopped in the middle of unlocking it. If they were holed up in the darkness somewhere, a call would give away their position instantly. The thought made her stomach turn with worry, but she would have to wait until tomorrow.

She sighed. It's not like I can do anything about it—

No. That kind of thinking leads to damselhood. Let's think positive.

Don't worry about what I can't control. Worry about what I can. The others can take care of themselves. Just focus on keeping yourself alive.

"Your doughnut."

"Thank you." Mina took two bites before she realized that she couldn't taste a thing, wrapped it in napkins, and put it in her purse. She was tired and wanted a hot bath and a soft bed, but she couldn't afford to make a mistake.

Think. How has the stupid party member messed up the chase?

Led the chasers right where the others were hiding. In my case, right where I live.

So go somewhere with a lot of people, preferably away from campus. If I can't lose them in the crowd—

Then they're probably using some esoteric magic trick that I won't be able to figure out from here. Don't worry about it, just find a busy spot.

What kind of a place is busy this late at night?

If I'm being followed, wouldn't it be simpler to just mug me for my ID? They are the magic police, after all.

If it's that simple, there's probably no elaborate ruse to allow me to show them where I live. Still would be safest to lose them at the nearest busy spot…

"Excuse me, but are there any bars open this late?" Mina asked the cashier.

The cashier gave her a Look, but pointed down the street. "Try the Inebriated Walrus, it's two blocks down, then take a left, down five blocks, and to your right."

Mina thanked him, and left.

Walking home alone at night with no superpowers is not a pleasant experience, but knowing there was someone after you just made it worse. The usual advice of keeping to places with lots of people her age didn't help in an empty part of town. Well lit streets were supposed to be safer, but she'd be spotted a mile off by anyone looking for her, so she ducked into as many alleyways as possible, scrambling as silently as she could through cardboard boxes and dumpst—

"Umph!"

Her leg caught something soft. What she thought was a bag of trash was a person, curled on their side.

"I'm so sorr—"

"It's all right," said the girl. "Spare some change, Mis—?"

Urgent footsteps rang from the street.

"Hide me!" Mina hissed, and the girl gestured towards a large, convenient cardboard box.

It shouldn't have worked, but Mina didn't have a choice. She crawled under it.

And then the girl sat on the box. She wasn't heavy, but Mina almost choked in surprise.

"Excuse me, but have you seen someone run past here?"

Mina stifled a choke. Yoko?

"Maybe I did," said the girl. "It'll cost you… say, 2,000 yen?"

There was a quiet rubbing noise accompanied by jingles, and then the girl said, "She went right down this way. What did she do, ro—?"

"Thank you," said Yoko, except the sound moved from in front of Mina to over her, and then to behind her, so it sounded like, "Thank yooouu." A series of metallic thuds and rustling garbage bags behind her signaled that Yoko was parkour-ing past her.

"Coast's clear," the girl whispered, easing off of the box. She was slight, wearing a middle school sailor uniform that was a size or two too big. "Sorry about crushing you, but you can never be too safe."

Mina breathed. "I can't thank you enough," she said, opening her purse—

"Don't worry about it; you've had a bad enough day already, being chased and all," said the girl, handing her back the case with her hama-yumi. "Besides, I already got money. Wouldn't say no if you have any candy in there, though."

"Er…" Mina reached into her bag for the doughnut, but stopped when she realized it was rude to offer half-eaten food.

"It's all right if you've taken a bite," said the girl, as if reading her mind. "It's better than the dumpster."

Mina gave her the doughnut. "Do you like chocolate?" said Mina, pressing a handful of cheap assorted chocolate into the girl's bony hands.

The girl's face lit up. "Thanks! You're one of those college girls, aren't you?"

Mina opened her mouth, but realized it might not be safe to say.

"Don't have to say nothing if you don't want to, but if you were one, there's a bus stop with a map right that way," said the girl. "Takes you to the center of the city. You can shake them off in one of those clubs or somewhere with a lot of college kids." She stood up. "Come on, I'll take you."

The girl took Mina by the hand, and together they traversed the winding streets and alleyways, before stopping in front of another alleyway mouth. Mina tried to join the other people waiting at the bus stop, but the girl dragged her back.

"Go when the bus stops, or else they'll see you faster, if they're still out there," the girl hissed.

The bus took an agonizingly long time to arrive. Under normal circumstances, the cold January air and the stench of damp garbage would have been the most of her worries, but it was eclipsed by fear.

Yoko was a professional mercenary. Mina hadn't even taken down a single monster with her bow. Yoko fought and investigated for a living. Mina only trained in her free time. Yoko had braved Castlevania. Mina cowered in the entrance.

If anything hurt more than fear, it was shame. By running, Mina was betraying her trust. Yoko had risked her job, and her client's trust, to tell her that she was in the area, precisely so that they wouldn't panic and do anything stupid. And what had they done? They'd attacked the Agency and ran, and hid from the one person who tried to help them.

The bus arrived. Mina stood up, but the girl stayed behind.

"Aren't you coming?"

The girl shook her head. "Nah. The boss'll kill me I ran. Besides, you're the one in hot water as is. Now go!"

Mina boarded the bus, but not before giving a passing glance at the homeless girl. The girl flashed her a grin was she waved goodbye.

X

Naoki was alone when he arrived at the dorm. This was good for him, because he could change Magatama without anyone noticing.

Let's see… other than Masakados, there's nothing good against both ice and electricity…

How about I change to Misama? It's not like I have to be immune to electricity, I just can't be weak to it.

Yeah, but then I can't stand the heat.

So? I can just take cold showers.

Yeah, but the dorm gets warm, too, and Soma and Kazuya can't take the cold like I can.

Does that really matter? I can just take a lightning immunity and wear more clothes.

Or I can just change to Adama when we meet up, and change back to Wadatsumi when I return.

We go to the same school. We're bound to run into each other at some point.

Does it really matter? We're allies now. I shouldn't have to worry if she'll zap me again.

What if it's an elaborate ruse to—

No, she could have attacked me down any time.

No, she couldn't have. She knows I can kill her.

But I'm not bulletproof. She could—

Shoot me ten thousand times? From where? Without anyone noticing?

Come to think of it, it didn't just hurt, she stunned me. I'll take a lightning immunity just to be safe.

In the end, Naoki changed to Adama (which nullified electricity and was only a problem on windy days), and resolved to wear more clothes from then on. He took a hot shower, brushed his teeth, and plopped into bed.

Come to think of it, why aren't Soma and Kazuya back yet?

Probably partying. What kind of people go out and party on a weeknight?

No, I'd say the same thing if they went out on a weekend.

Am I jealous that they're having fun?

Probably.

Am I not having enough fun?

Maybe?

Should I ask Aoi out?

Wait, what?

This is like the start of a romance in an action movie. The hero and the heroine always get together in the end.

Yeah, but this isn't a movie.

Remember when the world turned inside out?

That's different. That isn't a popular movie tr—

Crap, I didn't do my physics homework!

Naoki sat up, stock still.

…Oh yeah, I did it before I left.

…I still want to know what kind of fun Soma and Kazuya are up to.

X

To explain how Agents Dragon, Lily, and Reaper found Soma and Kazuya so quickly, one must understand something called Resonance. Resonance is a little known perk of being a Persona user; basically, Persona users can sense when someone else uses their Persona. The range of this ability is short enough to have not alerted up the Agents every time Soma made curry for a midnight snack, but not so short that they couldn't just squint to see if someone had a glowing avatar behind them. 

While Soma is not a Persona user, he uses the power of his soul. Well, other peoples' souls. Which is close enough; he technically qualifies as a Wild Card. He cannot sense Resonance, but his power is close enough to send a weird tingle down the spine of passing Persona users. With a good sense of direction and a steady, receptive mind, it was possible to extrapolate the target's general path and set up a wall of ambushes.

It is also important to note that passive abilities do not set off Resonance (even if they were something as obviously magical as walking on water or jumping in midair), or else Soma would have been caught ages ago.

Now back to your irregularly scheduled fanfiction.

X

Agent Dragon and Agent Reaper were earth and water elemental Persona users, respectively. As hard as they bickered, they were platonic childhood friends and comrades in arms. They had come up with this quicksand trap ages ago, as one of the many nonlethal techniques used to incapacitate the Masked Circle.

The fleeing suspect turned out to be two people, one carrying the other. An arm computer dangled from the left arm of the person being carried. All three Agents took note of this COMP, but not enough for them to ignore their job.

The three Agents advanced on the trapped duo. "We got you now, cul—"

The carrier spun his companion onto into a Fireman's carry. His left arm free, he shot a jet of orange flame towards the ground, rocketing them both into the air, his charge shouting something incoherent in a tone reserved for cursing.

"Give me a boost," said Agent Lily. Agents Dragon and Reaper knelt down, picked up a leg each, and flung Agent Lily skyward. "Chronos!"

The winged god of time and harvest caught Agent Lily in midair, and blasted a gust of wind at the falling duo, guiding them into the next quicksand trap—

And then a bunch of things happened at once. This was not an exaggeration, because it all occurred in a single moment of frozen time.

If there was an order to any of this, for the sake of grammar, time stopped. Agent Dragon froze, Agent Reaper froze, even the fallen leaves strewn up by the sudden gale froze. The only ones who did not freeze were Agent Lily and the carrier suspect. Their eyes met.

Agent Lily threw one of his sharpened daffodils at the suspect, who dodged by blasting another jet of fire, landing in the sea of trees. Agent Lily dove to pursue, flinging daffodil after daffodil, but it was too late. The carrier had vanished into the darkness.

Time resumed.

Agent Dragon and Agent Reaper, who had the culprits in their sights and ready to launch water-boosted rocks, looked around, confused. "What the hell was that?!"

Agent Lily floated down to the ground before releasing Chronos. "He stopped time," said Agent Lily flatly.

"Stopping time and fire, eh?" said Agent Reaper. "Sounds like T—"

"No, the build was wrong," said Agent Lily, rubbing his temples. "Too wiry."

Agent Reaper backed off. "Sheesh, it's just a comparison."

A tingle of Resonance ran down the spines of the three Agents. As one, they sprinted towards it.

However, they ran into a few problems. First, while they knew where the targets were, getting from Point A to Point B was a lot more difficult. Namely, all the rocks and trees in the way. The swift Agent Dragon could sense the shape of the earth and stone from her earth-elemental Persona Venus, but not the trees. Agent Reaper could see in the dark from his water and dark-elemental Persona Hades, but wasn't agile enough to run down a steep goat trail. And while the agile Agent Lily could avoid all other obstacles by flying with Chronos, keeping his Persona out for too long was exhausting.

By the time they reached the parking lot at the foot of the mountain, the suspects were nowhere in sight, and the Resonance was gone.

"That was no ordinary Persona user," said Agent Lily grimly.

Agent Dragon looked around. "Do you think he felt more like the Reverse Persona users, or our Shadows?"

Agent Lily shook his head. "Neither. Those were twisted, but they still felt like Personas. His was still wrong, but it felt more like something cobbled in the… shape of a Persona."

"How do we know it's even a Persona user we're looking at?" said Reaper.

"How could we feel Resonance, if he wasn't a Persona user?" retorted Dragon.

There was a pause.

One other detail lingered in the minds of the three Agents: the COMP. All three of them had seen something similar in the past. In fact, it resembled a device owned by an ally, a device used for summoning demons, owned by a certain Tamaki Uchida.

In one universe, this detail would have gone completely unnoticed.

In another universe, Tamaki had never summoned demons in front of them using that device, leading them to believe that it was just fancy wrist armor.

And in yet another universe, Tamaki had successfully negotiated for her teacher's laptop.

In this one, however, all three of them recognized the device as something similar to Tamaki's computer.

Reaper saw the device, and thought, Hey, it's been a while since we saw Tamaki. I wonder how she's doing?

Dragon saw the device, and thought, Cr—I mean, Aiyah, I forgot about Tamaki! She has to know that demon summoning is illegal!

Lily saw the device, and thought, That computer looks a lot like the one Tamaki uses to summon demons. I thought those had gone out of style ages ago.

Fortunately for the suspect, while they all knew that it was the same kind of COMP that Tamaki used to summon demons, and they heavily associated wearable tech with demon summoning, they also knew that computers could be used for more than just summoning demons. In fact, all three of them were wondering why anyone would mount a keyboard on their arm, if it meant that they could only type with one hand.

"Let's split up," said Agent Lily. "They couldn't have gone far."

None of them noticed the storefront for the antique furniture store, or the reflections of two teenage boys.

X

To Julius Belmont, exploring mountains and wilderness was just like taking a stroll in his own backyard. Well, the Belmont family hideout/manor #2 was hidden deep in the mountains of Romania and his backyard did in fact stretch into a thick forest, and Julius had scarce memories of getting lost on boyhood romps through those backyard woods with his cousins, but regardless of how overgrown his backyard was, Julius was good at mountain survival.

He was also good at hiding from the police. In fact, he was hidden safely in a tree lining the path up to the power plant, comfortably listening to every word the Agents said.

"…team, you said," said a voice that was distinctly Yoko's. "Adding you to our lineup would just screw up our teamwork, you said."

"L—look, I'm not saying that you're bad, it's just—" said a blustering male voice.

"And you couldn't catch someone carrying someone else?" Yoko retorted.

"…I don't see you with a prisoner," said a cold male voice.

"Yes, because I didn't have any backup!" snapped Yoko.

"And look who it is, our star Agents," said Agent Tiger smugly. "Back with our invisible prisoners?"

"Now, now, even the best of us make mistakes," said Agent Seal soothingly. "What have you learned about our escapees?"

"One can stop time and use fire magic," said the cold Agent. "We didn't get a read on the other, but we think they like older technology."

Julius's blood turned cold. He could imagine Yoko's throat clenching at the news.

"One was blonde, and the other was…" the brash Agent paused. "His hair wasn't light and it wasn't dark."

"What color?" asked Agent Peony.

"No color in dark vision," said the brash Agent. "You know how when you go to the paint store, there's dark blue, light blue, and blue? His hair was blue. But, you know, I don't know if it was blue, or if it was just brown."

"Which gets us absolutely nowhere," said Agent Tiger, sighing dramatically. "Want to hear what we found out?"

"Yes, of course," said Yoko tersely. Julius knew that tone of voice.

Julius only made phone contacts for other members of the Belmont family, because there were so many scattered around the world that it was impossible to keep track of them all. Everyone else went into a small journal he kept on him at all times, from Yoko's cell to the takeout number for that great German Korean place (that sold Korean food in Germany).

There were only three numbers he committed to memory (not counting emergency numbers, numbers he didn't mean to memorize, and his own number): Alucard's, Soma's, and the one for his contact in the Portuguese Mafia. By eschewing caller ID, Julius disguised those three numbers in a sea of random numbers, if his phone were ever stolen and unlocked. Julius had wondered if it would be more suspicious to find three numbers that weren't in the journal or three numbers in the journal with no context, but decided that it didn't matter, because the former would be harder to discover than the latter.

It was too dark to read this journal, so Julius only texted Soma.

'Yoko knows you were there last night. Tell everyone else who was there. We need to make a plan.'

After a pause, he added, 'That is to say, Yoko knows that Soma was there, but not anyone else specifically'.

Then he sat and listened to what the Agents gleaned from the crime scene.

X

As a demon summoner, Kazuya did not like losing control of the situation. Well, nobody likes that, but especially not someone whose life depended on being in control.

Now that they were out of immediate danger, he could see that Soma was right. Kazuya was another face in the crowd, in a city with competent law enforcement. If only the former or (or xor, haha) latter were true, then it would have been fine; back when he was another wanderer in a lawless land, he could skip town without a care, and back when he was a famous former revolutionary in Tokyo Millennium, no one was brave enough to try to take him in (but eventually someone was brave enough to take him out).

His rational mind told him that Soma absolutely was in the right by stopping him from screwing up and being arrested. It still bothered him, having someone else make decisions for him.

Soma laid Kazuya out on a soft surface, more like a couch than a bed. "We're safe here," he said, not even breathing heavily.

Kazuya blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light. "Where the hell did you privodeet me to now?" he said in a weak voice. The alcohol was bad enough without the motion sickness.

'Here' was superficially a large room that oozed the implication of dusty brown. Nothing in it was that shade of brown; the walls were a creamy off-white, golden mirrors adorned all four walls, and everything was illuminated with stark, industrial light from the streetlamps outside. What gave the impression of sheer dust was the furniture. Hardwood chairs and tables and velvet cushioned ottomans and sofas alone did not make a room look this dreary; it was the cramped arrangement of pseudo-parlors and attempted cheer with baubles and fake flower vases.

'Here' would have been more useful not in the context of what 'here' looked like, but with the words 'how we got' appended to the front. The last clear(ish) thing Kazuya saw was that cop's face before Soma yanked him away. After that, it was just darkness and a few lines of light, then blindingly bright industrial light, and now brown. And for some reason, Soma had yellow flowers stuck all over his sweater.

Soma seemed to understand his drunk mutterings, because he said, "We're in a parallel world called the Mirror World. I can use it with my metal powers because metal is shiny, but I can enter it from any reflective surface. This was just the closest entrance." He tugged at one of the yellow flowers, and winced.

"What's with all the stoolies?" demanded Kazuya. "Are we in a shop?"

"…We're in a furniture store because we were out on the street and came in through a window," said Soma uncertainly. "If I try to enter using a transparent surface like glass or water, and there's space, I come out on the other side. I'm not sure why." He opened the door, which jingled. "As far as I know, there's no one else here. Well, there are mirror—I mean, I know mirror monsters exist, but I've never encountered one here."

"And you're sure the bruiseboys can't viddy us while we're in here?" asked Kazuya. His sense of danger was as finely tuned as a microscope aimed at an atom. As anyone who has ever handled sensitive lab equipment will tell you, a finely tuned microscope is notoriously hard to recalibrate after a stiff breeze.

"As long as we stay away from mirrors and windows, we're fine," said Soma. "Or if there's a lot of people. I use it all the time." He chuckled. "I haven't had to pay for a train ticket for ages, and the baths are never crowded for me. You can even take back some of the stuff you find here, but keep in mind that they don't show up in mirrors. The safest thing is food, and even then I think you end up with invisible waste. Haven't checked, though."

"Like… vampire pischa?"

Soma flinched.

"No… vampire food?" Kazuya groaned. The last time he felt this sick, he'd been camping out near what turned out to be an irradiated lake.

Soma's shoulders unclenched. "Never mind, I get it. Yeah, I guess you could say that it's howthehelldidyougetinhere?"

This was directed at a rather ugly velvet ottoman.

Soma held up a hand, and said, "Wait, I can't hear you. Let me try something…"

Kazuya stared and said nothing. He began to drool on the ugly floral print.

"…Wait, what?" For some reason, this was said in English.

Pause.

"If you definitively assert that the level of your comprehension is adequate, we shall converse in the tongue that I am using to communicate with thee," said Soma in Japanese.

Silence.

"If you couldn't understand that, then don't trouble yourself on my account," said Soma, switching to English again.

An inexplicable, and yet pleasant, absence of noise.

"You're welcome, now who are you and why are you here?"

Then Soma said something in a language that Kazuya didn't even recognize. This was no mean feat, considering that he was a demon summoner who had to pronounce every demon's name correctly. It sounded vaguely Germanic, but it wasn't German.

Soma took a step back, eyes wide, and said something else.

This went on for a little while before Soma held up a palm, and turned towards Kazuya. "Je sai—" he stopped, and switched to Japanese. "I know it looks wei—"

"Dook," said Kazuya simply.

"Dook?" repeated Soma.

"Ghost."

Soma blinked. "You can see him?"

"No."

Most ghosts were visible to pretty much everyone, but there were a handful that Kazuya just wasn't psychic enough to see. Demons were, though, along with Gaian monks, Messian exorcists, and randomly gifted people. Cerberus was especially good at sniffing out spirits. Kazuya's 'belief' in these ghosts was well known, resulting in more than a few scams; one common technique was stopping in the middle of a conversation and pointing out a ghost, just like Soma had (although one person turned out to not be a conman at all, just schizophrenic). Still, enough of those people were genuine that Kazuya could not always write it off as a scam, and Kazuya did not think he had anything that Soma would want enough to con him for (maybe the COMP and the Demon Summoning Program, but that was password-protected and he doubted that Soma could guess the names of his eight biological children in order of birth month).

Turning this into coherent words, however, was currently beyond him. "I'll give you the four one one later. I'm sure you and your choodessny droog are having a lovely chat, but I'm right fashed and in need of a cheest, and I'm sure you are, too."

Soma nodded, a tad uncertainly, and turned towards the ottoman. "You're not bound to anything, right? It's late, and my friend needs help. Could this wait until tomorrow? Wait for us on the roof, okay?"

The ghost seemed to accept, because Soma turned towards Kazuya and said, "We're the only ones in the Mirror World, so we won't get caught as long as we avoid mirrors and windows, but that also means there's no buses. If you don't want to be seen, we can find a good route and walk back, or we can return to the normal world and—"

Kazuya typed in his password without even looking. Pascal appeared, and licked his face. It smelled like sulphur.

"…I'll spot you the fare."

X

The doctor's office had blankets and pillows for a reason. Mr. Addams had a mattress behind the desk for these late nights, and they always had a few gurneys to spare for patients (they were good about cleaning out the bloodstains).

Mr. Ochre was stable and probably going to live, and was sleeping off the anesthesia in the spare room. His associates had bailed the moment they realized that threatening someone who was busy trying to save their comrade's life was counterproductive, especially since the doctor only knew the Japanese words for 'cut' and 'kill', rendering the rest of their normally intimidating vocabulary useless. Sarcasm, dramatic irony, and metaphors were lost on someone who still had to read the Japanese version of Dick and Jane out loud.

The doctor strolled into the waiting room. He looked at the sleeping form of Mr. Addams, and sighed. "Madam Pain?"

Madam Pain did not stir.

"Madam Pain?"

"Owie?"

Madam Pain's eyes opened. She sat up and rubbed them, muttering something in Japanese.

"We're ready for you in the exam room."

"Aren't you going to put me under and send me to the bleedin' Sandman anyways?" grumbled Aoi.

"If you like sleeping so much, then you'll love going back to sleep," retorted the doctor.

"Really, Doctor Dude?"

"Of course not," said Doctor Dude. "I didn't want you to wake up from the pain and shank me again."

"Shock?"

"Shank: stabbing with an improvised weapon." Doctor Dude sighed. "It would have been fine if it was a scalpel, but the tissue forceps? Really?"

"I don't remember, but—"

"Don't apologize," said Doctor Dude sharply. "It's not your fault if you weren't awake for it. Now, which rib?"

X

The bus had in fact gone straight to campus, but Mina got off a few stops early and spent a few minutes at the library (which was full of students), before jumping out the ground floor window. Then she went into one of the halls that had an underground tunnel to a hall that was closer to her dorm, where she took a quick shower and then dove into bed.

Phone in hand, Mina wondered if it was more stupid to message Soma to tell him that she was all right (potentially giving away his position if he was hiding) or to not message him (which might cause a tragic series of miscommunications leading to someone dying). Mina concluded that while the latter scenario was less likely, Soma and Kazuya together would have probably escaped faster than she could, so they were probably fine. She sent Soma the message (and asked for Kazuya's contact information, just in case).

Yoko and the Agents wrapped up their investigation for the night, handing off their intel to the day shift. Yoko could not sleep.

Julius had slunk away from the Agents with relative ease, and climbed into his hotel room through the window. Some well-meaning busybody had called the police on him, so he had to groggily answer the door and prove that nothing was stolen.

After Cerberus told Kazuya that there was indeed a ghost, Soma, Kazuya, and the ghost rode him back to the dorm, jumping from rooftop to rooftop to avoid street-level windows. Soma would have preferred Marchioness Marchosias, but Cerberus explained that Kazuya didn't trust anyone but him to obey him while drunk.

Upon arrival, Soma persuaded Kazuya to return Cerberus, and placed him in bed in a position where he wasn't likely to choke on his own vomit, before going off to heal his wounds. He wasn't sure why that cop threw flowers at him or how they were hard and sharp enough to pierce flesh, but at least the entry wounds were clearly marked (although he had to use the Ghost soul to temporarily leave his body so he could find all the ones on his back). After washing the blood out of his sweater, he was a chair away from healing thanks to the Ouija Table, which healed him when sitting on chairs, and then a bath.

Then he realized that they were still in the Mirror World, so he picked Kazuya up, carried him to the bathroom, returned to the real world, and put him back into bed. Kazuya just snored and gurgled vaguely. Around that time, he got the text from Mina, who was fine, and he texted her back saying that they were fine, along with Kazuya's number.

Aoi had a successful surgery, and stayed the night at Doctor Dude and Mr. Adam's office.

Dawn came, and vanquished the night.

Mina woke up well rested despite the previous night's worries. This good mood lasted all of five minutes, when she read the headline news. She sent the news to Soma, and asked when they should meet up.

The Agents and Yoko had a lie-in and a late breakfast, due to their night shift. They ate eggs and sausages for breakfast, and drank coffee while doing paperwork.

Julius slept in late as well, because the police had woken him up. Besides, sleeping in safety was a luxury greater than anything else the hotel offered, from its central heating to its complementary swimming pool.

Aoi woke up in the doctor's office, and found Doctor Dude eating bagels and tea. He gave her some for the road.

The murderer and the accomplice went out to watch the sun rise, and then got cat food from the convenience store. They spent some time there looking for a new brand, because Selina didn't like the cheaper kind.

Soma was a night owl, so Kazuya had to shake him awake.

"Stanley, get off of my foot—"

"Wake up, Soma."

Even with Soma's blurry vision, Kazuya looked terrible. There were dark circles underneath his eyes, he reeked of sweat and alcohol, and his shaking hand was clenched tightly around Soma's bedpost in a manner that suggested that a tiny, localized earthquake was erupting underneath him. There was vomit on the floor in the spot where one of the shared trash cans used to be.

"I wanted to apologize about last night," said Kazuya, trying to rub one of his eyes but somehow missing it and pushing on his eyebrow. "Attacking those people was stupid, reckless, and completely unnecessary, and it put us all in danger."

Soma just blinked. "Don't worry about it," he said automatically.

"No, if it wasn't for me—"

"Kazuya, it's fine," said Soma, this time will full sincerity. If he didn't believe this, he couldn't go on living. "If you weren't in your right mind, I can't blame you for anything."

Kazuya shook his head. "Blame is shirking responsibility. An apology is a promise to accept it."

"In that case, I'm also sorry, because we all went together and you don't need to shoulder the responsibility alone," said Soma. He turned to look at his alarm clock. 7:12 am. "Now can we go back to sleep? You could have told me at lunch or after class."

"I know that," said Kazuya. "The apology could have waited. This can't." He swiveled his computer around to show Soma. Soma squinted as he tried to read the dim screen, but his vision sharpened quickly enough. It was a local news site.

Headless Corpse Found on Mountainside!

The only words Soma could say were, "…So, if the apology could wait, why didn't you show me this first?"

"What do you think it would look like if I showed you the graz I was in and then begged for your forgiveness?"

"…True."

Soma took out his phone. Mina had sent him the same headline, along with a request to text her as soon as he got the message, so he assured her that he and Kazuya were all right, and moved on to Julius's message.

If the headline news was a punch to the gut, Julius's text was a kick in the balls. Soma let out a strangled yelp. "Yoko knows I was there last night."

Kazuya just stared at him with bleary, pursed eyes. "…Who?"

Soma stared. "Yoko Belnades? Elemental witch merce—wait, I never told you her name." He paused to collect his thoughts. "She's the one who was chasing the one who was evil in the castle."

"And that's bad?"

"That's terrible!" Soma shuddered.

Kazuya winced at Soma's shout. "Is she stronger than you?" Kazuya's hand was already at his COMP.

Soma looked as if he were about to strangle Kazuya. "That's not the problem. She's my friend."

Kazuya stiffened. "Do you think she'll let you off?"

"No way. She's working for the Agency right now. Even if she lets us off, they won't."

Kazuya nodded grimly. "You didn't cut off anyone's head, did you?"

"Of course not!"

"Then we find the real culprit, turn them in, and get the millicents off our back," said Kazuya curtly. "She's happy, we're happy, and no one has to know we were ever there."

"Would you tell her if you were the one whose head was on the chopping block?" snapped Soma.

"If it means having a chance to explain myself, yes!"

There was a long pause. Kazuya shut his eyes tight, as if regretting this outburst. Not for the first time, Soma wondered what Kazuya didn't tell him.

"…All right, I'll do it," said Soma. If he forced the story out now, he'd lose Kazuya's trust forever. Besides, it wasn't like Soma was completely up front with his situation, either. "But we still need to get our story straight. How did we get there, why were we there, what were we drinking, what was the name of the—"

"Why?" asked Kazuya.

"Because they'll be suspicious if our stories don't match up," said Soma. "Haven't you heard that story about the professor who asked 'Which tire'?"

Kazuya stared blankly.

"…Some students missed an exam because they were up late partying, and the next morning gave the excuse that their tire was flat, so the professor said they could retake a special version of the exam, but it just said, 'Which tire'?"

"Did that really happen?"

"Of course not! It's an urban legend!"

"We were camp—"

"No tent."

"Hiking?"

"At night?"

"We were drunk?"

"How did we get halfway up a mountain without tripping once?"

"…I got nothing."

Soma sighed. "And that's why we should all…" He froze. "…Wait, are you sure that Naoki is sleeping?"

"Too late," said Naoki, pulling off the covers and crossing his arms. "So, where were you two last night?"

TO BE CONTINUED!

OMAKE #1: Too easy

"So you can talk to ghosts?" said Kazuya.

"Yes," said Soma.

"And ghosts are self-aware, retain memories, and usually spawn from people who died violent deaths?"

"Yes."

"And we can assume that the kidnappers are actually murderers who are very good at corpse disposal?"

"I guess so?"

"And you are acquaintanced with another ghost who was a hero in life?"

"Yes."

"Then what are we waiting for?"

A reasonable amount of time later…

"All right, that plan's a bust," said Soma. "My ghost friend looked everywhere, and he hadn't found a single victim."

Kazuya shrugged. "I guess they really are just kidnappers, then."

Meanwhile…

"The ghosts of your victims have been sent to their eternal reward," said the exorcist who specialized in this sort of thing. "That will be 200,000 yen."

The accomplice handed the exorcist a small paper bag smelling of takeout. "Pleasure doing business with you."

"No, no, the pleasure is mine," said the shady exorcist. His eyes widened as he took a step back. "Curses! I missed one!"

The accomplice glared at him, arms crossed. "There's nothing there."

"No, really! It's the spirit of a… a… college boy, with spiky hair and ridiculously long sideburns and—"

"Cut the crap right now, or I will eviscerate you and turn your small intestine into a handbag."

The shady exorcist fell silent.

"Seriously. I am a serial killer. What part of any of this made you think that extortion was a good idea?"

"I thought you were only the accomplice."

"I have bad days too!"

Omake #2: 'Master' is so cliché

"What do your demons call you?" asked Maya Amano the journalist, a pad and pencil at the ready.

"Anything they want," said Soma. "I've stolen their freedom, so letting them have that is the least they can do. Unless they're swearing at me."

"I ask them to call me Sir, but Boss and Master are acceptable," said Kazuya. "If they just called me anything, they wouldn't acknowledge my authority. And if they don't acknowledge my authority, how could I command them? I do make an exception for Pascal, of course."

(I put this here because he doesn't have the context and he'd never admit it: Kazuya is stricter than later characters with his demons because as one of the first summoners in his timeline (as far as he knows), he has less faith in the efficacy of the Demon Summoning Program. Unlike most protagonists, he doesn't have a generation of predecessors who successfully proved that demons can be tamed; he is one of the predecessors. He made all the mistakes, pushed all the buttons, and did everything the book tells you not to do because he wrote the book from experience).

"My name," said Aleph. "Why would they call me anything else?"

"You didn't forget about me, did you?" said Tamaki Uchida. "It was always some variant of Uchida, unless we were really close. It is a professional relationship, after all."

"Aniki, Boss, Bro, Chief, just Naoki, stuff like that," said Naoki. "I don't really have contracts with them, so I'm really just their toughest guy who tells them what to do. We're kind of casual, though. Boss is the best word for what I am."

"Just Flynn," said Flynn. "I grew up as a Casualry and a peasant. Only elders, healers, and teachers receive honorifics, and I do not think I am worthy of those titles."

"I prefer Miss Isabeau, or Isabeau-san, but just Isabeau is fine," said Isabeau. "Anyone who calls me Lady or Madam sounds like a sycophant."

"Sir is the proper term for a Samurai, so I am Sir Jonathan," said the Jonathan whose last name was not Morris (and might not even have had a last name).

"Aniki and Boss," said Walter. "It feels good being in charge of something for once."

"I have insisted on being called Lord Navarre, and yet not a single one of my lackeys has used it," Narvarre sighed dramatically.

"…Do you need to ask?" said Sir Gaston the Magnificent.

"All demons employed by members of the Hunters' Association are required to use the Hunter's registered name while in combat," said Nanashi. "If they didn't, we'd have a dozen demons all screaming 'Master' and 'Boss' and whatever in the middle of a firefight, and no one can tell who said what and whose demon it was. I saw that happen a few times to the Ashura-Kai and the Samurai. I don't know enough Gaeans with demons to know how they handle it, though."

"That's why all Hunter names are unique," said Asahi. "Unless it's your real name. You can still use your real name even if you have a different Hunter name, but you're not supposed to work with anyone with the same name as you unless it's an emergency. People started giving their kids unique names a couple years after I was born so they wouldn't run into that problem."

"You can still shorten your real or Hunter name, as long as it's longer than one syllable," said Nozomi. "While it's not forbidden to have them call you something else when you're off the clock, it's frowned upon. Honorifics are strictly prohibited."

"Unless you're former CDF," said Akira from Blasted Tokyo. "There weren't enough of us for it to be a problem back then, and it got grandfather claused in for us. My demons called me Akira-san. Only one person could use a given prefix honorific at a time, though; Kenji got to be called King after winning an arm-wrestling tournament with half the men, and I had to step in when Kiyoharu and Hiroshi's prank war over who got to be called Don became a sanitary concern. The title of Marchioness was retired after the discovery of the demon Marchosias."

"Same with me, until I founded Mikado," said Akira who founded the Eastern Kingdom of Mikado, aka King Aquila. "My samurai could make their demons call them whatever they wanted, since there weren't enough of us for there to be a problem. My full title was King Aquila of Mikado, Lord of Shinjuku, Protector of the Peace of Pie, Conqueror of—"

"We'll be here for a while," said Akira from Infernal Tokyo. "I can't summon anymore, but now I'm just Akira to my Demonoid subordinates."

"Do I count?" said Hallelujah. "Because Chiro is my only demon, and he just chirps and I understand him. I… guess I'm—" (Halleujah made his best impression of a fox's chirp) "to him, and it is a unique combination that refers to me, but it doesn't sound like my name."

OMAKE #3: This also explains King Aquila's legendary feats

"Hey, Isabeau?" said Hallelujah. "Mikado is nice and all, but why is it… Western?"

"I do not understand the question," said Isabeau. "This is the Eastern Kingdom of Mikado."

"No, like, the buildings and clothes and your names and stuff are what we here in Tokyo call Western style," said Hallelujah. "I mean, aren't your ancestors from Tokyo?"

"I was wondering that, too," said Nanashi. "I get that you don't use Japanese style clothes and buildings; your ancestors didn't take any books with them, and it's not like everyone knows how to design a shrine or kimono. But if your ancestors couldn't make Japanese clothes and buildings, how did they know how to make Western clothes and buildings? I thought you'd make your own styles."

"Yeah, and why do you use the English alphabet?" said Asahi.

"Roman," said Nanashi.

"Whatever it's called," said Asahi. "Everyone knows how to read and write, so why bother switching to Romaji?"

"That is curious," said Isabeau. "We call your language the Mystic Script, and only a few of us can read it. The shift was probably deliberate."

"What I want to know is how we can still understand each other," said Nozomi. "My aunt once said that five hundred years ago, people spoke almost a completely different language from today. You've been up here for over around times that long."

"And what's with your names?" said Hallelujah.

"Your name means 'Praise Allah' in Hebrew," said Toki.

"My mom really liked Leonard Cohen, okay?" lied Hallelujah. "Besides, I've never met anyone else with the same name as me." He paused. "Actually, that's my point. Even in Tokyo, you get weird names like mine or Nanashi's; the only one I found in Mikado that even sounds Japanese was the dead king's name, Ahazuya. Are Japanese names illegal or something? And where did you get several thousand genuine Western names?"

"And you know the names of everyone in the country?" asked Navarre, ghostly eyebrow raised.

"I skimmed the pay ledgers back in the chapel," said Hallelujah. "It's just monks, Samurai, and castle staff, but that's a good cross-section. A Samurai named Fecundity is embezzling from the librarians' retirement fund, by the way."

"And yet your soldiers are Samurai, your underground is Naraku, and your country is Mikado," said Toki. "All Japanese words."

Isabeau sighed. "Unfortunately, the angels burned most of the historical texts. The answers to your questions may be lost to time."

There was a collective groan from the rest of the group, except from Asahi, who asked, "What language were they written in?"

ONE THOUSAND FOUR HUNDRED AND NINETY-SIX (or almost exactly twenty) YEARS AGO, THREE YEARS (or two weeks and four days) AFTER THE FOUNDING OF THE EASTERN KINGDOM OF MIKADO

King Akira surveyed the crowd gathering in the courtyard of the newly completed Mikado Castle.

"Say, Reiko, do you remember when you asked me why I wanted to build a castle?" he said to his wife.

"You still haven't given me a real answer," said Reiko.

"And remember how I said that it was because the Middle Ages was when humanity was at its most pious, and it would please the Archangels?"

"And remember how I said that it was actually the Renaissance, and that I knew you were lying to appease them?" retorted Reiko.

"And remember how I told you that it was because we needed a large, sturdy structure with small gates so that we could keep people from destroying the entrance to Naraku, we had to station soldiers around it so demons don't get out, that it was a good landmark and cultural center, and emergency shelters in case of bad weather?"

"And remember how I told you that we could have just built some barracks and a series of watchtowers?"

Akira nodded. "Well, today's the day you're going to find out." He walked outside and unfurled the massive banner emblazoned First Annual Mikado Game Day and Renaissance Festival.

Reiko sighed. "Really?"

"Really," said Akira, and he turned to address his people. "Citizens of Mikado! We are gathered here for three things: free food, free booze, and a whole week of games!"

The crowd cheered.

"Well, not you, Hotarou, you're just too tall." Akira laughed. "I'm just kidding. We will be playing football, basketball, volleyball, and even sports that don't have balls! And for those of you with a more adventurous bent, we will having the first annual LARP event, where we shall journey into the enchanted castle and slay the evil Black Knight that holds it in thrall! I myself will be joining you, as the grumpy Paladin Aquila!"

There was more cheering.

"Signup sheets are in the Great Hall through that door, and for those of you without costumes, we have plenty of free clothes through those doors! You can even take one home for yourself!"

The crowd cheered King Akira's name again.

"Let the games… BEGIN!"

The crowd cheered for one last time, and then began to disperse.

Queen Reiko crossed her arms. "You built this entire castle," she said, making a wide sweeping gesture, "just so you could throw a LARP event?"

Akira grinned. "Secret's out."

Queen Reiko smirked. "You know what? We could make a dungeon, so next year we could do something like 'escape the evil sorcerer's lair'."

"Ooh, and we'd have to hide from the guards, or convince some of them to join our side," said Akira.

"Yes, and they can send us back to prison if they catch us, but if a free person reaches jail, they can free everyone!"

The royal couple chatted happily, blissfully unaware of how this day would go down in history.

(Queen Reiko is unrelated to the SMT IF… character Reiko Akanezawa.)

Chapter Text

"It is impossible to fully predict the actions of another, especially someone you do not know. Dropping hints, bargaining from a position you are merely feigning to hold, and bribery can be effective, but many times can lead to the opposite effect. And if you know someone well enough to manipulate them, then why would you betray them?!"

-Diary of Leon Belmont. It is believed that the incident alluded to in the last line was when his older brother locked him in a room filled with frogs under the pretext that it was a bakery

Naoki was a light sleeper. The ability to quickly respond to any threat was of great importance in a world where murdering random bystanders was an easy way to gain status; killing was good enough for the Mantra, and Nihilo prided themselves on sneakily catching people unawares.

This skill was also a hinderance in college life, when sleep was almost as coveted as Magatsuhi; the only difference as far as Naoki could tell was that he'd never seen a student murder another student to steal their sleep (but they'd all heard that urban legend of _(name of celebrity) murdering _(name of celebrity) because the latter would not stop _(verb ending in -ing) when the former was trying to sleep, and how _(adjective) it was of them).

Naoki had heard Soma and Kazuya's entire conversation, and it was obvious that they were hiding something. He already had the gist of it; they had climbed partway up a mountain, then Kazuya attacked some people (which was bad for them), they did not cut anyone's head off, and Yoko Belnades from the Agency knew that they were there. Also, Soma was friends with Yoko?

Say, Aoi, what was that you said about the underground community? It didn't exist, you said?

Soma looked like a deer caught in headli… No, his eyes were dilated (and a little baggy around the edges) and his heart was racing, but he had the vacant, dumb expression of someone who was thinking too hard to look dignified.

Kazuya's face turned into a wall of stone (metaphorically, not metamorphically). Technically, he had a pretty good poker face; not even Naoki could read his expression when he locked it up. Except he only used this face when he had something to hide, so it was a dead giveaway whenever Naoki asked who used his soap or ate his chocolate fudge cake.

Naoki's eye flitted to Soma's alarm clock. "…We've been sitting here for five minutes. You do know that staring at me isn't going to make me go away?"

Kazuya glared at him. "Give us one good reason why we should tell you what we were doing."

"I have the ear of the Agency," said Naoki airily. If there was anything he learned from dealing with Mantra, Nihilo, Manikins, and all those tiny clubs of demons who dreamt of one day being a real faction, it was that name-dropping could backfire if he explicitly stated allegiance. "And I know where to find Yoko Belnades." Come on, ask me to prove it…

This did not have the desired effect on Soma. "Okay, but do you know why she knows me?" he asked, barely keeping the nervous crack out of his voice.

Naoki shook his head. Waste of a business card. "All right, I don't know that. But I know who she is, and I know what the Agency is." He took in a deep breath. "I already know demons are real. You don't need to hide from me."

Soma and Kazuya exchanged a look. Then they both spoke at the same time.

"In our third year of high school, I—"

"You do realize that we're not hiding this from you because of demons, right?"

Then Soma and Kazuya looked at each other again. "I thought we were sharing again," said Soma.

Kazuya crossed his arms. "Tell him your story if you want, but I told you mine in confidence." He turned to Naoki. "So you know about demons. Good, now we don't have to pretend they don't exist around you. Again, why should we tell you what we did last night?"

Naoki opened his mouth, and was smacked with a sudden revelation.

One of the worst feelings in the world is the knowing that the person you look down upon thinks just as little of you. Nothing gets to a dictator like the mockery of the proletariat, the refusal of unwanted advice infuriates blowhards, and many a queen bee is driven to incandescent rage by the very idea that the outcast girls might not want to be in her posse. Naoki was at the top of the food chain, the Demi-Fiend who bested gods and rose above all others in a ruined world, and yet these two humans had the gall to refuse his help?

Because these two dabblers don't see the Demi-Fiend. They think they're the pros, and I'm the naïve rookie thrown in with them to compare how far they've come.

Then I'll show them. Lift the bed with one hand, using the bedpost. Humans my size can't do that.

No. What does that get me? I'd know more about some stupid shenanigans, but they'd know I'm a demon. They're just going to see me as a monster or a tool. He paused. I mean, not like an idiot, someone they can use.

That can be an idiot.

Since when was I afraid of what other people thought of me? This is exactly what Aradia was talking about! I was fine when the ghosts and Manikins thought I was a monster!

No, I wasn't. Aradia's question was if I could walk my own path without fear of ridicule. I am afraid, but I could endure their hatred because I knew I was doing the right thing. Is it really worth it to break the peace between roommates just out of idle curiosity?

And jealousy.

I'm not jealous!

If I truly didn't care about mockery, I'd tell them. This isn't peace; we just don't argue because we don't talk.

No. That's how I think someone who isn't afraid of mockery would behave, not what I think.

On the other hand, would they tell me even if they knew how strong I was?

Then Naoki looked at Soma's slightly guilty expression, and realized the more immediately pertinent reason: If I were them, I wouldn't tell the guy who bragged about his cop connections about how I assaulted a bunch of people last night.

"Never mind," said Naoki. "It's none of my business."

A look of surprise flitted across Kazuya's face. Soma just looked relieved.

"You know, I figured you'd threaten us," said Soma.

Naoki swallowed.

Sheathe the claws, show the belly. You can't win this one with strength, Naoki; weakness is the best weapon against their guilt and shame. Naoki tried his best to shrink and look harmless.

Soma blinked, flustered. "I mean, not that I think you'd try to kill us," he said, gesturing to Naoki's tiny frame. "But… um…"

Kazuya crossed his arms. "I would be lying if I said I wasn't expecting a 'because my plasma sword says so'," he finished flatly.

"Exactly." Soma blinked and stared at Kazuya. "You had plasma swords? I thought it was more of a…" Kazuya glared at him. "Shutting up now."

"Tell that to the robots," grumbled Kazuya.

"…Now you're just messing with me."

"Not as much as the psychic did with…" Kazuya's throat clenched for a moment, "the political prisoners."

Soma gave Kazuya an odd look, but Kazuya said nothing else, so Soma turned back to Naoki. "Anyways, if he's not telling you anything, I will. Back in our third year of hi—"

Naoki's back stiffened. "No, don't!" Naoki yelped. Soma blinked at the sudden volume, and Naoki shrunk back. "I… I really don't want to talk about how I found out that demons were real."

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to?" said Soma, brow slightly furrowed.

Kazuya stared at Naoki intensely, as if the answers to next week's math test were written on his forehead. "You don't want to owe him," he said in a voice so certain it sounded like a bluff.

He's right, though.

Naoki nodded silently.

Wait, something feels familiar about this…

Soma nodded. "No pressure. We're here if you're ever ready."

Naoki slumped with relief.

"But if you ever do anything to betray our trust, remember that I know where you sleep," said Kazuya curtly.

"Kazuya!" snapped Soma.

Kazuya crossed his arms and did not apologize.

An awkward silence fell, broken only by the sound of rain.

"So, uh… want to come investigate the headless body case with us?" offered Soma. Kazuya shot Soma a glare, which he ignored. "I mean, we're still not telling you what we were doing, but I swear we didn't kill anyone."

Kazuya shook his head. "If he joins, I'm out."

"Come on, he's—"

"Remember the discussion Mina and I had last night?" said Kazuya icily. He and Soma held eye contact for a few moments, as if there was some kind of eye-based telepathy going on.

Who's Mina, again?

One of their girlfriends, I think.

"…Right," said Soma in a quiet voice. He turned back to Naoki. "I'm sorry, but we can't bring you along."

"It's fine," said Naoki. It's for the best; I have secrets of my ow— "I'll drop the subject for 652 yen."

The words were out before Naoki could take them away.

"Done," said Kazuya, dropping three two-hundred pieces, one fifty-piece, and two one-pieces into Naoki's waiting hand.

Soma just cocked his head and said, "Why?"

All right, now I have lunch money. Why did I do that aga…?

Wait. This feels familiar. What did Aoi say last night?

No, she's not the only one who's done… this…

A negotiation with threats as currency. Bribery as a normal and accepted part of the routine. Treating the little demon with pity, but ready to pounce if it attacks.

"…Holy cow, you're a demon summoner."

Naoki had to admit, Kazuya was good. His face barely even changed. Soma, on the other hand, had a face that would give away anything… if Naoki could tell if his guess was right on the money, or if was simply shocked at the audacity of the accusation.

"If you give me a Life Stone, I'll never bring it up again," said Naoki quickly.

Kazuya's hand twitched. "I don't have any Life Stones," he said in a tone so carefully level you could have built a skyscraper on it. Cold anger burned in his eyes… no, not anger, but annoyance that could easily turn into anger if Naoki said the wrong thing…

There were many roads of demon negotiation, and all had dangerous pitfalls if the road chosen did not match the demon's personality, current mood, level of strength, hobbies, relationships, alignment, allegiances, etc. But if anything was worse than striding confidently onto the wrong path, it was attempting to hop between paths midwalk. A sudden shift in attitude indicated that the negotiator was attempting to charm the demon with a fake personality, which was often punishable by death (and while the Nihilo liked trickery, they despised incompetent tricksters even more than meatheads).

I am the tiny, naïve apprentice in over his head, eager to court these strong veterans and quick to appease their anger. Naoki thought to himself. I am a squirrel seeking the aid of hawks. I am a mouse amusing cats. I am…

"I don't mind telling you this, though," said Naoki. Quick, quick, something harmless… "I used to be a demon summoner, too."

Naoki mentally patted himself on the back. A demon that commands other demons, that's scary. But a human summoner without his summons, well, we've all played Final Fantasy. Nothing's more harmless than a black mage out of spell slots after a long grind. What can I do, throw stuffed animals at them?

Soma blinked. "Used to be a demon summoner?" he repeated. "How do you stop being one?" He turned to Kazuya. "Can you break contracts? I mean, without losing your soul for breach of contract."

Naoki shook his head. "No, contracts are still there, just…" Naoki paused. "I ran out of Magatsuhi, and I don't know how to make more."

The first part wasn't a lie. Magatsuhi was plentiful in the Vortex World. The very air was saturated with it; there wasn't so much that the Reason factions hadn't hatched schemes to acquire more, but there was always enough for the bottom rung of demons to subsist upon indefinitely, and stronger demons could eat the weaker ones. In this world, however, most of the Magatsuhi had been consumed in the process of Creation, which left the Amala Network (tampering with the debug room of reality was not something to try at home), stockpiles left by cults (of which he had only found one), and humans (no). Naoki wasn't sure why he alone didn't need any Magatsuhi to live, but he was grateful that he hadn't needed to steal any.

Kazuya raised one eyebrow. "What is Magatsuhi?"

Naoki blinked. "You know, Magatsuhi, the source of a demon's powers. You need it to form their bodies, or else they turn into Slimes?"

"Ah. We call it Magnetite," said Kazuya. He raised an eyebrow. "Do you truly not know how Magnetite is produced, or are you simply afraid to tell us?"

"Why would I be afraid?" asked Naoki in a forced, airheaded voice of confusion.

Kazuya's whole body unstiffened, in a way that suggested a martial artist loosening for a strike rather than real relaxation. "Magnetite is harvested from dead bodies."

Naoki choked as the memory of wet clay, cold stone, and blood filled his nostrils. "You killed people for it?"

The atmosphere in the room warmed about ten degrees (Celsius). All three roommates spoke at once.

"I mean, the general you, I'm not accusing you you of mur—" Naoki began.

"I refuse to speak another word," said Kazuya sharply.

"Are you telling me there's another way?" said Soma.

Another awkward pause, broken by thunder crashing in the distance.

Soma sighed, and muttered something in Spanish. "All right, let's talk this one out before we murder each other in our sleep. Naoki, Kazuya got his Magnetite by killing other demons instead of huma—wow, that sounds racist now that I say that out loud." He cleared his throat. "The point is, it wasn't a 'kidnapping virgins and sacrificing them to the Dark Lord on an altar' kind of deal. His Magnetite came from demons that he killed in self-defense."

Ah. That, Naoki could deal with. You couldn't survive in the Vortex World without being a little okay with killing. Naoki liked to think that his conscience was still intact, but it still had patches of duct tape with labels such as 'unless it's self-defense' and 'only if they went too far' scrawled in marker.

Soma tilted his head to the side. "And I assume that you have some idea of how to make it, otherwise you wouldn't have known that nobody died for your version. Is this a 'I know the math behind a radio but not how to make one' kind of deal, or do you not want to tell us because it's something horrific and you don't want us to try?"

Locks and chains, mirage in the mirrors, the spoon of the condemned, fear and pain, fear and pain, fearandpainfearandpainand—

Soma nodded sympathetically. "You don't have to say anything if you don't want to."

"And how did you acquire yours?" asked Kazuya sharply. Soma shot Kazuya a nasty look.

Naoki froze. "…I stole it from another summoner," he lied. "He's dead now."

Silence filled the room, a yearning, aching silence just begging for a real excu—

Soma looked Naoki in the eye, and nodded. "Then we won't ask."

Naoki could have hugged Soma.

And of course, Kazuya had to ruin the moment. "Unless it's an emergency, I won't lend you any Magnetite. Other than corpses, the only other way to summon is to—"

Naoki choked. "There's another way?"

Kazuya blinked. "Yes. The only other way I know of is allowing the demon to drain your life force," he said. "It doesn't cause any permanent damage, but it will incapacitate you for a while, so it's only useful if you don't intend on doing anything else that day. Have you tried it?"

Naoki shook his head, shudders returning. Life force draining. He's figured out the difficult part; what if he decides he's too important to be drained?

"Anyways, if you can accept that I am a demon summoner, then I have no objections to having you on the team," said Kazuya. He extended his hand. "Welcome aboard."

Naoki blinked, but did not take it. "That's it? I thought the big secret would be something like you secretly being the Demon King or kicking puppies for fun."

Soma and Kazuya looked at each other, as if Naoki had innocently emailed the professor about the date of the exam, only to discover that it would end in twelve minutes. "How well do you know the Agency, again?" asked Soma.

Naoki said nothing.

Soma shrugged. "Long story short, the Agency never got past the 'virgin chained to rocks' phase of demon summoning."

"Meaning?"

"They still think demon summoning requires human sacrifice, so if you can summon a demon, you just signed your name on a smoking gun," said Kazuya, crossing his arms.

Naoki blinked. "But if you proved that you don't need human sacrifice, wouldn't you get off on lack of evidence?"

"We could," said Kazuya in an aggressively toneless voice. "I just don't trust the system."

"That seems like a flimsy excuse," said Naoki.

"You've obviously never been to prison," grumbled Kazuya.

Naoki decided not to tell him about the time he was arrested and sentenced to death by trial by combat for trespassing.

"And even if we trusted The Man not to kill him immediately, we'd have a hell of a time trying to prove it, especially since there aren't that many places we can find and legally kill demons," said Soma. "Plus, legal fees."

"Aren't you a law major?" said Naoki.

"Aren't you a physics major?" said Soma, crossing his arms. "Can you make me a particle accelerator?"

Naoki flicked an eraser at him in response.

"…All right, I walked into that one," said Soma. He raised an eyebrow at Kazuya. "Any other questions?"

"None," said Kazuya.

Soma turned back to Naoki. "And you?"

Naoki shook his head.

"In that case, if it's all the same to you, I'm going back to sleep," said Soma, flopping onto his bed and snuggling his pillow.

Kazuya sighed wearily. "Soma. We still need to discuss the ne—"

And then the alarm on Kazuya's phone went off. "…All right, we'll do this after class."

"Have fun in physics," grumbled Soma, waving vaguely.

"Will do," said Kazuya, picking up his toothbrush and toothpaste. "I have a break at 11:30. We can coordinate a meetup later." He strode out the door, presumably to the communal bathroom.

"Oh, right," grumbled Soma, picking up his phone. "Gotta tell Mina we're okay."

He pulled the covers over him again, leaving Naoki to sit, stare at the rain, and push back the creeping wave of shame and hypocrisy.

I hated being in the dark. What gives me the right to hide the truth? If I were in their place, I would—

No. It's not the same. It wasn't not knowing that I hated, it was that everyone around me was taking advantage of my ignorance. Besides, my life doesn't concern them. I'm not endangering them by keeping mum; it's not like I have any more enemies that can show up out of nowhere and hold them hostage.

Wait, what if they were in the same mountain as me and Aoi?

If I hurt them, then they'd have a right to know.

Could they already know, and they're just waiting for me to blink? Naoki shuddered at the thought.

While it would be foolish to dismiss the theory, it would be even more foolish to assume it to be true and allow it to cloud my judgement. After all, paranoia only hu—

"Aren't you two in the same class?" said Soma from atop his bunk.

Naoki froze. "…Thanks," he said, gathering his backpack and checking if his homework was still there (it was).

X

Soma lay in bed, waiting for sleep to take him into its embrace. His souls were given strict instructions to not interrupt his sleep unless it was an emergency, and they mingled somewhere outside the range of awareness.

Still, he couldn't calm his own soul by just yelling at it to knock it off and stop thinking. Naoki, a summoner? It was all just so hard to process. It hadn't taken long for him to deal with the whole soul-devo—soul-absorbing thing (eating souls implied digesting and destroying them, and Soma's souls were still alive and kicking, thank you very much), which was rather suspicious in hindsight, and the whole Dracula thing was just… well, sure, it was a gut-wrenching ball of anxiety, but at least he'd understood it right away. Kazuya, too, made some amount of sense. He had only known his roommate for a little less than a year, but as far as he could tell, Kazuya had the sort of cold, stubborn, aloof personality that came naturally to dark magic users. All he needed was a black longcoat and a sword (Soma wasn't sure where he got that idea, but he blamed video games).

Naoki, on the other hand, was the opposite of an evil wizard. Some college freshmen (the American term was so much more descriptive than just 'first-year') had entered the gates of Haruhata University looking like the adults playing college students in low budget frat boy movies, but most still looked like they were still in high school. Naoki had the dubious honor of still looking like a high school freshman (which in Japan was a third-year middle school student).

Not that height was the be-all and end-all; as the tallest person in almost any given room, Soma knew better than anyone that you didn't need to be taller than someone to be intimidating. But Naoki didn't just have a small stature, he had a small… no, small implied petty. Small personalities sniped and whined; Naoki's was more of an affable background type who'd rather roll over than face a problem. Soma had lost count of the times where he'd had to stand up to Daisuke for him.

Soma paused. Was that really weakness? Sure, Naoki let himself be pushed around by Daisuke, but he'd never seemed particularly upset by it. Soma was never very good at talking to people, but he could usually get a good read on them. Most people who let themselves be pushed around by bullies were upset about it, even if they tried to convince themselves that they were fine; the way Naoki treated Daisuke's demands was less like the bootboy scrambling to please his master and more like a man watching television letting his cat sit on his head.

I guess that after whatever happened to him, it just didn't matter, he thought to himself. He rolled over and squished against the wall. On the other hand, he obviously did something shady to get his hands on Magnetite. Maybe he's letting Daisuke punish him for it?

Oh well. Speculation's fine, but no conclusions yet.

Soma rolled over again. Poor guy. Probably for the best that he didn't come along.

Soma added another blanket, snuggled against his pillow, and—

Then he sat up. "The ghost!"

Last night, with the ghost…

The ghost was a knight from the late eleventh century, by the make of his armor. The knight was quite handsome, and it struck him that the ghost looked around the same age as him, if not younger. This took Soma slightly aback; intellectually, he knew that skilled squires could be knighted around eighteen, but he'd always imagined knights to be older than him. It was a lot like how he'd spent most of his childhood thinking that he would have adventures like Harry Potter when he was older, until he rewatched Prisoner of Azkaban and realized that he had passed that age long ago (and his adventures in magic castles weren't nearly as fun). Or when he realized that every female villain in children's anime who complained whenever the heroes called her an old lady (or oba-san instead of onee-san) really wasn't that old; the infamous Doronjo was only 24, and at 19 years old, Soma was closer to Maddy's age (Ms. Madd? Iroya Madoi?) than Lan Hikari and friends.

At first glance, the ghost could have been taken for a teenage cosplayer, but the more Soma saw, the more certain he was that this was the genuine article. It wasn't so much the accuracy of armor as much as how he wore it; cosplayers poured hours and hours of painstaking work into their costumes, and the ones Soma knew quite understandably treated their costumes like they were made of sugar glass. This knight seemed completely at ease in the heavy, thick armor; he was perched cross-legged on an ugly Ottoman (why did he think there was a joke there?), sword at his hip, elbows on knees, and chin resting on his palm. He was not without dignity or care; rather, it was like he knew he was wearing a quality piece of armor that wouldn't break or stain just by sitting on a soft cushion.

Apparent age aside, Soma knew that he'd never seen a ghost as old as him before; the ghosts in Castlevania (at least, the ones that retained their shapes) only went back as far as the fifteenth century, the ones in Celia's castle dated back to the seventeenth, and Soma had never seen any ghosts outside of those castles.

So why did Soma's chest feel like it was going to burst at the sight of him?

The ghost spoke, but no sound came out.

"Wait, I can't hear you," said Soma, holding up a hand. "Let me try something…"

Maybe I can hear him if I'm a little more ghostly. Soma switched from Paranoia (why was a mirror demon called Paranoia, anyway?) to Ghost, but to no avail. Maybe I should try actively channeling your power?

What does that mean?

Casting one of your spells.

Go for it!

No, suddenly fainting would alarm Kazuya and I'd rather not summon a spirit that keeps breaking things. Something like a passive ability… Ghost Dancer? He switched Peeping Eye out for Ghost Dancer.

The lights dimmed, but the ghost was still there. The ghost's color had faded, leaving a glowing silhouette of white and blue. Soma nodded to the ghost, and the ghost's lips moved, but this time with sou—

"Howdy! How're y'all doin' on this very fine evenin'?"

Soma blinked. And stared.

If there was anything that got on Soma's nerves, it was people making assumptions about where he was from and what language he spoke. Yes, he was six foot six (or 198 cm) and had white hair, but that didn't mean he couldn't understand what the old men and women on the bus muttered about tourists. Yes, he took after his Japanese mother, but that didn't mean that the principal could ask him how he was liking America (although to be fair, he was a freshman, it was October, and that was the week with the Japanese exchange students), or that he couldn't get an effortless A in Spanish.

So it shouldn't have been a problem that this medieval knight, with his shiny armor and floor-length embroidered surcoat (A/N the cloth worn over armor), spoke English like a rustic but charming Texas farmhand from an old Western.

Because obviously, real knights from the 11th century didn't speak English as anyone without a degree in history or linguistics would recognize, and weren't knights basically cowboys? And the one-size-fits-all RP accent was just as unrealistic as any other dialect that English could spit out, especially since this knight was French, and everyone knew how much the English and French hated each other.

"Wait, what?" Soma said back in English.

The knight tilted his head to the side. "If I spoke Japanese, would you be happy?" he said slowly.

Despite being impossible, a medieval knight speaking any dialect of Japanese was less disorienting than the Texan dialect of English. Perhaps it was because it broke the suspension of disbelief so hard it made sense; in, say, a mafia movie, it would be jarring to see the Italian Don speak English in a Japanese accent, but if he and everyone else spoke Japanese, it just meant that the movie was dubbed in Japanese.

But he spoke just a little too slowly not to check. "If you definitively assert that the level of your comprehension is adequate, we shall converse in the tongue that I am using to communicate with thee."

When Leon took too long, Soma shook his head. "If you couldn't understand that, don't trouble yourself on my account," he said in English.

The ghost knight sighed in relief. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," said Soma. "Now who are you and why are you here?"

The ghost knight looked surprised for a moment, but sighed. "Ah guess you jus' can't recall. It's a damn shame, but Lord knows what you've been through." He cocked his head to the side, and said, "Under the current circumstances, do you or do you not understand the essence of the vocalizations I am currently enunci—"

"Just get to the point, Leon," snapped Soma.

Leon smiled. "I see you're not completely gone then, Mathias. This tongue was last spoken in the lands of the Franks seven hundred years ago."

Soma froze. Then he remembered that Kazuya was there. "I kn—I know it looks wei—"

"Dook," said Kazuya.

"Dook?" Soma repeated.

"Ghost."

Soma blinked. "You can see him?"

"No," said Kazuya. His head drooped some more. "I'll give you the four one one later. I'm sure you and your choodessny droog are having a lovely chat, but I'm right fashed and in need of a cheest, and I'm sure you are, too."

Soma thought he got this gist of this, and said to the ghost in English, "You're not bound to anything, right? It's late, and my friend needs help. Could this wait until tomorrow? I live in a dorm, so could you please wait for me on the roof?"

The ghost knight nodded. "Meet me when you're free. I can wait a little longer."

X

The rain had stopped, but its earthy scent was still drifting on the morning winds. The ghost floated at the edge of the roof, staring out at the city beyond.

"I'm sorry I'm late," said Soma in English, pushing open the door to the roof. The knot of emotion was gone, leaving behind a nagging emptiness.

The ghost turned to face him, and to Soma's surprise, he looked at least ten years older. He'd grown a short, scruffy beard, swapped his knightly armor for a cloak and tunic that looked like it had started expensive until it was patched over and over with rags, and sported a necklace of what looked like dulled monster teeth and claws. He was as colorless as ever, but Soma could make out spectral tears on his cheeks. "Do you know me?" he asked softly in Old French.

Soma stared. Do any of you kn—?

NO!

Every soul shouted the word at once, making Soma jump.

What we mean is, you need to figure this one out yourself, said a Succubus more gently, worry seeping into her voice like a china shop owner with one eye on the elephant.

Trust us on this one. You'd never forgive us if we interfered, said a Quetzalcoatl.

The rest of his souls bobbed vaguely in agreement, leaving Soma to stare at the ghost and sort out his oddly painless heart.

"I… I have seen you before," Soma began in English. "Somewhere. I wouldn't have been be this upset if I didn't. But I don't know where I know you from or why I felt that way." He took a deep breath. "I don't know you. I'm sorry."

The ghost looked at him slightly askance, and let out a sigh of relief. "In that case, some introductions are in order," he said with a slightly strained smile. "My name is Leon Belmont. What's yours?"

"Soma Cruz," said Soma, and then he stopped. "Wait, Belmont?" He backflipped to the top of the roof access enclosure (the thing that covers the stairs) and dropped into a crouch. Bat Company, get ready.

The flock of bat souls chirped their affirmative.

Leon merely shook his head. "Peace, friend. I'm not here to fight. I know who you were, and I do not…" he choked on the words. "You are no longer my…"

Soma cocked his head to the side. "Did… did I do something? If I did, I'm so sor—"

Leon held up a hand. "You have nothing to apologize for." His tone was trying to be final, but he couldn't quite stifle the sorrow in his voice.

Soma dropped from the enclosure and walked closer to Leon. "…Do you want to talk about it?" asked Soma gently.

Leon stepped back. "I… I cannot," he said.

"But you want to," said Soma.

Leon nodded.

"Why can't you?"

Leon sat down. "My connection to your past life is… deep," he said. "It would not be wise to stir up those memories."

Soma nodded. "I suppose that's for the best," he said, sitting down with him, avoiding the puddles. "But you're not all right, are you?"

Leon said nothing. He didn't need to.

"No one else can see or hear you, can they?" said Soma. "Not our miko, not your descendant. Even I couldn't see you until I had ghost souls on me."

"Miko?" repeated Leon.

"Female pagan priest, and don't avoid the question," said Soma. "You bothered to learn English and Japanese for a reason."

The wind blew, casting ripples on the puddles.

"…Yes," admitted Leon at last. "The gift of true second sight is uncommon, and most of its bearers err on the side of zealous caution. You are the first person I've met in well over a hundred years who didn't try to attack me on sight."

Leon stood up. "That said, I must be going. I cannot sacrifice the world for my selfishness, old friend. Goodbye, and may God show you mercy."

With a running leap, Leon bounded over the fence, dropping out of sight.

"Leon!" Soma ran to the edge of the roof, but it was too late. Leon had vanished.

"…Why didn't he just walk through the fence?" he said to himself dumbly. "I mean, he's a ghost, isn't he?"

Oh well. If he doesn't want to talk, I can't force him. Might as well sleep this off.

Soma knelt down to switch his outdoor shoes for his slippers, sodden coat slapping the tiled ground like a rat's tail. He'd have to wring it out later, but for now, it could hang over an empty trash can while he slept. If it still wasn't dry by his first class, he could always layer his second-favorite jackets.

It never occurred to him that he'd only gone outside after the rain had stopped.

X

"I got the results back from the police," said Agent Wolf. "No records of this mystery person."

Agent Cowboy's grip on his stress ball tightened. "How is that even possible?"

"Because the government doesn't file the DNA of every single person in the country," said Agent Lily, dipping another teabag into his mug. "It's hard enough getting them to pay taxes."

"Or they've just never been caught," said Agent Ninja darkly, staring at her soda ominously.

"Eh, could be that, too," said Agent Dragon.

"What I'm interested in is that glowing stuff," said Agent Seal. He stood up. "We should take another look at it."

Agent Peony stood up. "N—no!" she yelped. "We have to follow proper lab protocol! What if it's another evil alien symbiote, or venom from the Spirit Platypus, or—or—it could be radioactive waste!"

Agent Dragon sighed. "Yeah, yeah, I know, but the Mysterious Glowing Liquid Safety Capsule™ takes up half the room."

They all shot dirty looks at the MGLSC™, which was about the size of a minivan flipped on its side.

"So… go check out the scene of the crime?"

X

Deserted places were hard to come by on a college campus. Everyone had their own little spot to study, play mobile games, or smoke surreptitiously. Rooftops, the park, the bell tower, and the common rooms were all terrible places to hold secret meetings.

So it was odd, but not unpleasant, to know that their dorm's basement was usually deserted.

"All right," said Mina, slamming a thick notebook at on the table. "We need to get our story straight by five tonight."

The call they had been dreading came at nine. Yoko had called Soma, as they expected, and arranged a meeting with him. Of course Mina was going to back him up, and Kazuya wasn't about to leave him out to dry after digging him into a hole. And while Julius was mostly blameless, he was coming because he wanted to know what was going on.

"Why do you have 'book plot' written on the cover?" asked Soma.

"Emergency plausible deniability," said Mina. "Anyone who reads this will think I'm writing a story, not blowing the cover on a massive conspiracy. Now then, we were drinking in this spot… where did you get the alcohol, Kazuya?"

Kazuya shrugged idly. "That shouldn't matter. If I were a real drunk teenager, I wouldn't sell out my vehina man."

"…I'm going to pretend that made sense," said Mina. "So, we got drunk, and it made sense for us at the time to climb a mountain. There's a route between here and here… just in case she can tap our internet history, let's say we already knew the route…"

X

The headless body wasn't even buried. It was just left to rot in the open air.

One of the less appreciated points of contention between the Cult of Gaia and the Order of Messiah regarded the treatment of the dead. The Gaians, in their pursuit of harmony between humanity and demonkind, proposed that after observing the rites of the deceased's choosing, whatever remained would be given to demons for consumption. The Messians found this sacrilegious; they buried their dead. Originally, they put them in graves as they were, but after too many incidents with zombies and scavenger demons, they cremated corpses and then buried the evidently unappetizing ashes in jars. The Gaians had mocked the dainty Messian sensibility at first, until a few skirmishes and executed prisoners later, when they discovered that desecrating corpses against their wishes was a good way to earn yourself vengeful ghosts.

Aoi had always paid her respects to the dead, even before she was born into the Messians. Back when she was the rebel leader, when she had thought of the Messians as some weird cult who sold stuff out of an admittedly well-decorated broom closet in the mall, she insisted that the bodies of the soldiers be given some sort of dues. Of course, this got her into a few arguments with Kazuya, who had demons to feed and a very Gaian outlook on corpses. The Aoi of back then hadn't been happy about his demons devouring the dead, but they were often too desperate.

In other words, it would have been… not fine, but at least understandable if the corpse were eaten, used as fertilizer, or reanimated as a zombie.

Both the Agents and the regular police were on the scene. Aoi could handle the Agents; most knew her by (fake) name, and they had gotten along well ever since they teamed up to fight flying robot sharks. Heck, her gang had even attended a few celebratory meals. But they didn't do so well with cops.

Which was why Aoi was a block away from the grassy hillside where the murderer had chosen to dump the body, safely perched under a tarp on top of a roof access enclosure (or whatever you called the shed that covered the staircase on a roof), wearing binoculars and testing out her lip-reading skills. At least, that was the plan, but she gave up after deciding that they wouldn't be talking about lobster eyes or suspicious cement mixers.

The fire escape rattled behind her. She silently uncoiled her jump rope in anticipation.

Beside her, on the rooftop proper, someone else had decided to spy. Rooftop maintenance people did not wear motorcycle helmets to work, and they did things like twiddle with the television aerials, not lie on their stomachs holding radios.

"Did you bug them?"

The person in the helmet jumped. "Who are you?"

"Someone ready blow both of our covers if you try anything," said Aoi.

"And I'm someone who is trying to listen, so please shut up."

Aoi gave him a thumbs-up, and continued to spy. Just because she couldn't hear anything didn't mean she couldn't understand what was going on. Yoko, the mercenary from last night, was lecturing some of the other agents, judging by the notes Agents Seal, Peony, and Cowboy were taking. Agent Lily had once again been selected to speak to the cops, as one of the more genial rookie agents. Agent Fireball was watching him, interjecting when necessary.

In short, everything was going more or less the way she predicted, and unless something significant happened in the next five minutes, this would have been a waste of time.

"Hey," said the person with the helmet. Aoi turned around. "I'll give you a copy of the recording if you lend me your binoculars."

"Deal," said Aoi, handing them over.

X

Magic is a lot like imaginary numbers. Most of math works just fine without it, and you can go your whole life without needing to use them, but once you shoehorn them into a problem, there's a whole new dimension of work.

Forensics did a good job, but the report was littered with 'as far as we could tell's and 'from what we could see's, like a witness trying very hard to avoid perjury. They couldn't find any obvious causes of death on the body, so they concluded that it was some kind of physical trauma on the head or neck—unless the Avada Kedavra curse was real. Several of them even asked if you could make someone's head explode with magic, to which Yoko said yes—but unless they found a wall or street littered with skull fragments and bits of brain but no gunpowder, that probably wasn't it.

She was on much firmer ground with the Agents, who were at ease with the idea of magic, and more importantly, appreciated that magic was a difficult art with so many conditions and preparations that spells could be traced with just knowledge and common sense.

"What can you tell us about this, Yoko?" asked Agent Seal, eyeing the unfortunate former Futsuo Suzuki.

"In terms of what?" said Yoko.

Agent Seal shrugged. "I don't know, what can you do with a severed head?"

Yoko shrugged. "Shrink it, put it on display, try to make a bowl out of the skull, anything. You can't rule out the crazed serial killer, or the delusional Satanist, or a cult that doesn't know what it's doing."

"Oh, we know what bored thrillseekers are doing," stretched Agent Cowboy. He leaned in closer, and whispered, "Half the Japanese-language ritual spells you find on the net are harmless placebos written by our plants. Most of them insist that magic prefers the sacrifice of something sentimental but nonliving, and if they found the ones that involves human sacrifice, the body would still have its head."

Yoko stiffened. "You told people on the internet how to kill someone?" she said, aghast.

Agent Cowboy shook his head. "If some psycho was going to kill someone for a magic ritual, they're not waiting for our permission. It's not entrapment; making them go on wild goose chases and telling them they can only kill their victims with an overly complicated stabbing motion while singing loudly in bad Latin just makes them easier to catch."

Yoko accepted this.

"Do you think Queen Bee is behind this?" asked Agent Seal.

Agent Peony's brow furrowed. "If it's uh… Queen Bee, why is it only the head this time?" she asked in a high, nervous voice. "Is it like homeopathy? Just the head works better than the whole thing?"

Yoko shook her head. "The head does contain the largest portion of the human body's magic. But a plurality is not necessarily a majority, and leaving the rest to rot is like only eating the eyes of a lobster. Whoever did this only needed the head."

"Are there any real magic rituals that only require the head?" asked Agent Seal. "Like, necromancy?"

Yoko paused. "I've heard of necromancy rituals that work with just the skull. But necromancers rarely kill for… materials."

"Why not?"

"Murder attracts attention, and dark magicians know to cover their asses better than anyone else," said Yoko. "A summoner might need a fresh sacrifice, but a necromancer can just dig up a grave and be done with it. Not legal, but less illegal than murder. Of course, once necromancers are on firm ground, they can just go marauding around the countryside with their hordes of undead, but if that were the case, we'd be staggering under coordinated attacks."

Agent Peony looked confused for a moment, and then she blinked. "But aren't most graves filled with ashes, not bones?" he said.

Yoko blinked. "Oh. Right. Japan. Cremation isn't as ubiquitous overseas."

"So whoever did this had no choice but to kill," concluded Agent Peony.

Agent Cowboy slapped her on the back. "Think, idiot! Where else can you find skeletons?"

Agent Peony's eyes began to water at the edges. "…Doctor's offices?" she said, lip trembling.

Agent Cowboy buried his face in his hands. "Try again."

"The Museum of Natural History?" suggested Agent Seal.

"We're talking about the recently dead," said Agent Cowboy.

"…The bottom of the river?" hazarded Yoko.

"…Possibly, but unless you've seen a suspicious cement mixer, the best place to find a real, recent skeleton is a funeral home or crematorium," said Agent Cowboy.

Agent Seal shook his head. "I don't know, the crematorium's been ramping up security ever since some idiot stole those ashes."

Agent Peony wiped her eyes, and then blinked. "Hey, wait, what if this was a targeted killing?"

"Like, the culprit needed information or something?" said Agent Cowboy.

Yoko shook her head. "Necromancy can force the spirit to give up their secrets, but if you want information from a living person, killing them and summoning their spirit is inefficient. If I wanted information, I'd either bribe them or pull the old Black Van maneuver."

"And that is?" said Agent Cowboy.

"Kidnap them, tie them to a chair, and hit them with a wrench until they talk," said Yoko. It was an old favorite of her grandmother.

Agent Peony shook her head. "No, not information. If necromancy enslaves ghosts, do you think this could be an angry person torturing someone by ruining their afterlife?"

"That's possible," said Yoko.

"Huh," said Agent Cowboy, putting his hand on his chin. "Yeah, that'd work better than just kidnapping and torturing someone. Saves money on table scraps, and you don't have to worry about escape or waking the neighbors with screams."

Everyone turned to stare at him.

"What?" said Agent Cowboy defensively. "It's just a theory!"

"What's a theory?" Agent Dragon had broken away from Agent Fireball, Agent Lily, and the forensics officers.

"It's a structured hypothesis that may or may not have undergone rigorous scientific scrutiny, but that's not important right now," grumbled Agent Cowboy.

"We think the kidnapper is dabbling in necromancy," said Agent Seal.

"I wouldn't draw any conclusions yet," said Yoko levelly. "Do you have any news?"

"We misidentified the body," said Agent Dragon. "Turns out the wallet in his jacket was stolen from the real Futsuo Suzuki."

"And how do you know that?" asked Agent Cowboy.

"Officer Hirano called to tell his husband the bad news," said Agent Dragon. "Apparently, Sho Suzuki told him that Futsuo Suzuki was in the chair next to him, in the police station, waiting for Officer Matsui to file a report for a robbery."

"Was it for the wallet?" asked Agent Seal.

"It was for the wallet," sighed Agent Dragon. "And since it's now evidence, they're all arguing over who has to pay for Futsuo Suzuki's new driver's license."

"Oh," said Yoko, not really sure how to respond to that.

"Any luck on the necromancy front?" asked Dragon.

"Nothing certain," said Yoko. "Necromancy is possible, but there's no reason for it. And there's always the chance that it's just one part of the whole. I don't think it was a targeted killing for information, but we can't rule it out entirely."

"Guess we'll just have to wait for more crimes," said Agent Dragon bitterly.

"Ritual reconstructions are annoying," agreed Yoko, sitting down on a convenient bench. "It's like trying to guess someone's dinner from their grocery receipt."

Agent Peony blinked. "Um… this is going to sound stupid, but…"

"Then don't say it," grumbled Agent Cowboy.

"Anything you say is fine; go ahead," said Agent Seal encouragingly.

"Well, you know how the killer has to run away?" said Peony. "What if the killer can't run while carrying a whole body? I can't."

The Agents looked at each other.

"So… you're saying that even if it's more efficient to kill a few people and steal their corpses, it might be easier to kill lots of people and just take their heads?" said Agent Seal.

Agent Peony nodded. "Yeah! Heads only weigh five kilos! That's what I would do."

Yoko nodded grimly. If the killer had gone for the head out of convenience instead of a real ritual, that brought them all back to square one. Detective novels and the like were a lot like road trips; if clues were roads, it might not be immediately obvious which road led to The Truth, but at least the author was nice enough to stick to the highways and not bombard the reader with side roads, parkways, and cul-de-sacs. A real investigation was more like sailing using the classic 'go in a straight line until we bump into something' technique. These Agents could attest; they were like explorers who went out searching for silver, and instead found pineapples, cinnamon, and smallpox along the way.

And of course Soma had set off a flare gun over the red herring labeled 'Dracula'. He had better have a good reason for that.

X

Aoi checked her watch. 11:43. Not cutting it close enough to necessitate roof-hopping practice, but not enough time to stop for a coffee and bun.

"Listen, I have to go," she said, crawling down the shed roof. "Can I please have the binoculars back?"

The person in the biker helmet handed them to her. "I'll give you a flash drive tomorrow," he said. "Can you meet me here at three-thirty in the afternoon?"

"Does four work?"

The person nodded. "Four is fine. Just get ready to be disappointed."

"Didn't have much to say?" said Aoi.

The person nodded.

Aoi shrugged. "You always know something about the case, even if it doesn't seem to be worth mentioning. Do you think it's a coincidence that we can see the body from here?"

The person turned to face her. "You think it was deliberate?"

"Of course," said Aoi. She pointed at the mountain. "The whole mountain's covered in forest, and the body's left on the grass? Someone wanted us to see this."

"I see what you mean," said the person, tilting his head. "We're next to a river. Body dumps should be easy."

Aoi shrugged. "I can see that as a temporary solution, but dead bodies float after a week." She scanned the skies for flying demons, while he watched the waves for swimmers. He yelped a warning, and she had charged her fingertips with lightning, but that dark patch in the water hadn't been surfacing demons ready to attack…

Electricity surged through her nerves, the same way normal people felt chills.

"Which would give the murderer plenty of time to skip town," said the person, jolting Aoi out of her memories.

"We can continue this discussion later," said Aoi, gracefully dropping down to the fire escape. "You have a name, by any chance?"

The person shook his head without looking back. "I can't tell you my real name, but you can call me Hawk."

"Madam Pain."

Hawk turned around; she didn't need to see his face to know he had a raised eyebrow. "Madam Pain?" he repeated.

"It wasn't my idea."

"Neither was Hawk," said Hawk.

"At least hawks are noble birds of prey."

"At least Madam is a real honorific," said Hawk. "Hawk is the surname network executives would give to the 'cool' and 'radical' alien-fighting teenager in an 80's tv show."

(In actuality, Hawk did not say this, because that connotation does not exist in Japanese. Instead, he compared the name Hawk to a random English word that Japanese network executives would name the token American member of a Sentai, like Antidifferentiation Washington or Fecundity McNinja).

"Network executives use Hawk because it brings to mind a majestic animal. Madam Pain brings to mind a…" Aoi trailed off. Hawk's face and voice were muffled by the helmet, so she couldn't tell how old he was.

"A buxom, whip-wielding sorceress who is the right-hand woman of Big Bad Evil Guy in that same 80s tv show?" said Hawk.

(This is more or less what Hawk had actually described).

"Yes," lied Aoi.

"Well, as long as you don't actually have a whip," said Hawk.

"And as long as you've never fought space aliens," said Aoi, her hand brushing against her belt. She checked her watch. "…And, I have to go."

She made it to class on time, although she had to get in a bit more roof-hopping practice than any proper lady should have been seen doing in a dress.

X

The accomplice had stopped shaking.

"Are you feeling better?" asked the murderer gently.

The accomplice slowly nodded, pulse racing and breaths a little too sharp, but some semblance of lucidity returning. Cold, clammy hands dipped themselves into steaming water, and slapped two sweaty cheeks.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" the murderer added. "More hot water? Another blanket?"

"…Stay," said the accomplice, gripping the pillow tighter. "Talk to me."

"About what?"

"Sunshine. Butterflies. Television. Anything."

The murderer paused. "I found a new crepe place just around the corner. It serves sweet and savory crepes."

"Describe it."

"It has a wood floor and blue plaster wa—"

"Describe the crepes," insisted the accomplice.

"They're… they're made fresh, and they're rolled in layers, from the center up. I had a chocolate banana crepe. The top layer is just banana, chocolate sauce, and crisp, well, crepe, but as you get closer to the center, they add whipped cream, yogurt, chocolate pastry cream, little chocolate chips, and chopped nuts. But it's so wet that by the time you get there, it all turns into a mush, like pea soup."

"Soup. Describe your favorite soup."

"My favorite soup… that's a tough one. I know it sounds strange, but it's like eating a swamp. A thick, warm swamp rich with vegetation, so thick it's halfway stew, but the meat is just there to flavor the vegetables. Green, leafy spinach, little round okra seeds that squish—"

The accomplice raised a hand. "Thank you. I feel better." The accomplice stood up, opened the curtains, and plopped right down in a patch of sunlight. "Ah… Can you see the rainbow?"

The murderer looked at where the accomplice was staring, but could see no rainbow.

"I suppose I owe you an explanation for all that," said the accomplice, drinking the piping hot tea the murderer had set out earlier.

"Rest a moment. Whatever that was, it—"

The accomplice waved off the murderer's sympathy. "I'm in shock, [REDACTED]. My brain is already wiping my memories from my conscious mind and shoving them all into my nightmares," The accomplice smirked mirthlessly. "Not that I have nightmares anymore."

"…I guess I am a little curious," said the murderer.

The accomplice tapped the floor, much like Selina testing her claws on the walls. "It… there was something scary. And evil."

"Scary and evil," repeated the murderer.

The accomplice nodded. "And… that felt wrong."

"Evil is wrong, you know," said the murderer.

"Don't patronize me. What's that thing you always say?"

The murderer decided that the usual witticism of 'Do you want leftovers or takeout for dinner' would be ill-advised. "Evil only exists in the hearts of men?" the murderer hazarded.

"Exactly. It didn't feel… sentient enough to be evil." The accomplice took another sip. "Anger, hatred, vengeance; those are unpleasant, but natural. Acting on those feelings are instinct. Evil's when you know they're wrong, but you do it anyway."

The murderer and the accomplice sat in silence as they contemplated their respective occupations.

"So what made you think it was evil?" said the murderer, breaking the silence.

"…Because it felt evil?" said the accomplice uncertainly.

"And what about it felt evil?"

The accomplice blinked. "Yeah, that is weird. It's… I just knew it was evil. Like… a TV show where you just know that the man in spiky black armor who laughs too much is evil."

"So… cartoonish supervillainy?"

"Without the villainy," said the accomplice, fluffing a pillow. "It's like when the film producers forget to make the evil empire do anything evil, or… you've read Ender's Game, right? Remember when Ender wins a match by capturing the objective before defeating the other team? That thing was as evil as that match was a victory."

The murderer shrugged. "Or just the shell of being evil without actually being evil."

"Yes. That. Exactly." The accomplice fumbled around for the sugar bowl, but knocked it over. "I think? Yes, I… no. I've lost it."

The murderer nodded solemnly. "Take it easy today. Do you want anything from the store?"

"Can I come with you?"

"Sure."

X

Naoki breathed again at last. The test passed. The last, pesky bug had been ironed out. Hours upon hours of laboring upon the sacrificial altar known as the Serpent had come to an end, and while the sun had hid behind the mountains in fear of the winter chill, there was time aplenty before the convenience store closed.

Selection sort was complete.

Naoki stood up and stretched. Time for some more diggi—

Is this really going to work?

Naoki stopped.

Talking to everyone worked in the Vortex World because it was a small world, after all. The factions moved in the open, any human was worthy of attention and rumor, and if anyone got in his way, he could just hit them until they talked. But he tried that here, he'd have the cops on his head faster than he could say 'Free Doughnuts'; while he had no doubt in his mind that he could kill them all with a single tap, murdering lots of people was not exactly conducive to the 'normal life' he had been craving so much.

If only I had someone who knew how to sear—

As if drawn by a garish neon sign on a foggy night, his eyes fell upon The Number. He shook his head immediately. No. Not him. I can't do that to him.

The Number wasn't written; that would be too obvious. He'd promised to himself that he'd never call, never hurt him in his selfishness, but the survivor in him couldn't let go. In every book he owned longer than a hundred pages (not the textbooks; those were rented), he dabbed a marking in the corners, made to look like an idle doodle. Space Ninjas from Canada was open on the thirty-first page, meaning the third number in the sequence was one, and if he flipped just—

He slammed the book shut. I shouldn't need to bother him for something like this.

And yet strength hasn't gotten me any closer.

He opened his laptop, typed in his password, and then searched for the school directory. Then he opened his email.

"Dear Aoi Miyama," he began. "I want to join your gang."

X

"Oh, hey? My number? You do realize that there aren't any cell phone towers anymore?"

"…"

"There's no going back to normal, kid. This is our life now."

"…! …"

"…I guess so. You're risking your butt out there while I'm in this nice cool room."

"…"

"No, no, it's all right. I know you've been thinking it."

"…"

"Hope's not the best thing to cling to at a time like this, but we all need something to keep us going. I know a bar we can go to once this is all over. My treat."

"…!"

"After all you've been through, kid, you deserve a drink."

"…"

"All right, you can have sushi. My number is…"

X

When Soma and J first met, neither of them liked each other. In retrospect, it made sense that Dracula would be wary of the man who killed him, and it was his fault that Julius Belmont lost his memory. But at the time, Soma wasn't sure what bothered him about this middle-aged man with the coat almost as nice as his. J, on the other hand, had not thought much about why he disliked this boy; he instinctively disliked dark magic, after all.

Soma had liked Yoko, though. Well, 'like' was a bit of a strong word, but 'dislike' was even stronger. To be honest, it was nice to see a friendly face in a castle full of monsters that wanted to flay him alive, but he didn't know her well enough to form an opinion of her.

In other words, when Yoko had looked him in the eye and gestured to the seat in front of her, Julius's nod was a clear sign that he had his back, but what should have been a reassuring gesture only served to throw him further off balance (much like cheerleaders distracting the quarterback during Homecoming).

"That's everyone?" asked Yoko, arms crossed. Mina nodded. "What the hell were you thinking?"

X

The rain had returned.

Leon had been a ghost for around nine hundred years, and had been alone for almost that long. Now and then, he'd met the odd fellow who could see him, and more importantly had the sense to not panic at the sight of him, but none of them lasted.

Speaking with his old friend after so long was like a warm hearth after a long winter's walk. Leon closed his eyes, and tried to picture the snowswept fields and valleys of his youth. He could almost taste the fresh, clean air, the tiny bites of snowflakes, mist rising in the distance, the rustle of migrating deer…

Oh, right. Whenever he'd stop for the night at whatever house, inn, or camp that would welcome him, the meager warmth of the indoors (or the very edge of the fire) would seem unbearable at first, until he'd start to shiver and shiver. He'd edge closer and closer to the hearth, embracing the blessed heat, until someone got sick of this vagrant hogging the precious space and would shove him to the back. Or someone would open the door. Or the wind would blow the fire out. And as the icy chill bit into him once more, only then would he realize that he'd been freezing all along…

And now that last bit of warmth had been snatched away, leaving him out in the cold, with no indifference to insulate him.

A crash of thunder broke him out of his thoughts. Leon looked up, if only to avoid what lay beneath.

It had taken him a while to realize that he had died; he'd been rather scatterbrained in his twilight years, and it wasn't unusual for him to wake up and wander around a village where people liked to pretend that vagrants like him and his family didn't exist. He would have liked to remember that he'd only discovered the truth after he found a panicking grandchild running through the streets crying for help, or a sobbing son or daughter bent double above his corpse. But life wasn't always that pretty.

He hadn't thought much of it when his son-in-law didn't respond when he called to him; his voice was weak, even to his deafened ears. There was little to suspect when those village children ran past him instead of going around; when children played, nothing could distract them. And there was nothing strange about not stumbling over loose cobblestones, when he had been sure-footed almost all his adult life.

It was only after a fresh autumn rain sprung from the east, the scent of crinkling leaves wafting on the mild breeze, did Leon look down on his hands, and find that the raindrops simply passed through him.

His thoughts were one again interrupted by a flap of red cloth blocking his view of the sky. He blinked, and looked around.

A tall figure in a raincoat was holding the umbrella over Leon's head. In the other hand was a cell phone; even with the speaker held to the figure's ear, Leon could see that the screen was cracked and dead. "Hello."

"Howdy," said Leon, a smile breaking over his face.

TO BE CONTINUED!

OMAKE #1: Summoners who aren't fighters

"Summoners, what is your opinion on summoners who don't fight themselves?" asked Maya, pen at the ready.

"Good for them, I guess," said Soma. "Take any advantage you have. Just make sure that whatever demon you have is actually loyal and not just conning you into selling your soul."

"Their cowardice is idiocy," said Kazuya. "Demons don't follow the weak. If you're not willing to go into battle, they'll just see a whimpering source of Magnetite they'll turn on the moment you're no longer fun."

"I do not have an opinion," said Aleph.

"I'm almost one," said Tamaki. "Back when I had all my demons, I was on the front lines all the time. You can't die in Makai, and I had Guardians helping me out. I pretty much quit after that, because the Persona users could handle things, and they were a lot less squishy than I was. At least, until Kyoji Kuzunoha took me in. Turns out fighting is a requirement for their summoners, so I'm training again."

"I only met one, but I didn't kill him because of that," said Naoki. "In theory, at least, I respect their decision and wish them luck. Humans are fragile, so don't think you're a coward just because you don't want to charge that dragon with a rebar spear. Yeah, I have friends who did stuff like that, but they know thousands of others who didn't make it. Still, if you have guns or arrows, there's no excuse not to use those."

"There are civilian summoners everywhere," said Nanashi. "Unless you're talking about Hunters who only arm themselves with demons. Those guys are idiots. Yeah, you can send your demons out to fight, but who's keeping you safe? Nothing wrong with civilian summoners who keep a strong one on the side for a little protection, though."

OMAKE #2: As good an explanation as any

"So if you were there when Dracula became a vampire, do you know how he pulled off Dominance?" asked Soma.

"Dominance?" repeated Leon.

Soma blinked. "You know, the power to absorb the souls of monsters and… you have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

Leon shook his head. "The Crimson Stone gave Mathias power over Death… the Reaper, not the concept. I've never heard of it granting any additional powers, though…"

"Hm…" said Soma. "I have Death's soul, but he doesn't talk to me. I guess we'll never know, then."

FLASHBACK

It was another bright, sunny summer night in northern Scandinavia, and Dracula and Death were waiting out the sun indoors with yet another round of ring-toss. They had exhausted their other options; chess was no fun when a grandmaster played someone who forgot how the knights moved, knucklebones was unfair when the bones just bounced off of Death's bony hand, it was difficult to mold snow without body heat, and Go Fish had not been invented yet.

"Say, Dracula," Death said at last. "Do you want to learn how to reap souls?"

"Eh, okay," said Dracula.

Chapter Text

"Communication is vital to any collaboration. Too many operations have gone catastrophically wrong because an aggressively moral individual stormed off in protest, someone overheard a snippet of a conversation and ran off before clarification, or a faction representative going through difficult times had failed to find a meeting replacement while they bemoaned their circumstances. However, smoothing out incidents like these will not necessarily ensure clear communication. The most common impediment towards communication is secret-keeping. While it is understandable that everyone has a few Spartoi in their closet they want to hold close to their chest, and some of them might not seem relevant at the time, it is no less frustrating when a catastrophe could have been averted had the secretary admitted that he had once been arrested for a DUI."

Lightning Strike, Memoirs of Aoi Genesis, Governor of Valhalla. The initials DUI had been the subject of much debate over the years, with speculations such as Demonic Underground Incursion, until her husband Kazuya in his twilight years clarified that it meant Driving (a motorized vehicle) Under (the) Influence (of alcohol, not demons)

Not for the first time, Kazuya wished that Aoi was with him.

Aoi was always better at negotiating with humans. They had decided very early in their relationship that she'd do the talking; if he remembered correctly, it was shortly before going through a security checkpoint (was it Gotou's?). It had seemed like the natural choice at the time; from what little he could remember about his childhood, he never had any friends, only fellow nerds in the computer club whom he occasionally rubber ducked, and his social skills only got worse after the nukes. Manners were the last thing on anyone's mind in the human settlements, and years of learning the complexities of demon etiquette were useless in the face of people who thought that pointing a gun at someone and tapping the trigger menacingly was impolite.

It had taken him too long to relearn the basic level of politeness required to function in society. Diplomacy? He could shout and threaten, roll over and beg, or point a finger and run away. That was it.

Normally, sitting at a negotiation table with only a stranger for an ally would be a nightmare. But for now, it just meant that he didn't have to talk until Soma and Mina arrived.

The meeting spot had to be somewhere where the Agency wouldn't see them. After all, Yoko meeting with all four of the highly suspicious characters who just assaulted them would be problematic, to say the least. After some debate, they concluded that the best place was the Mirror World. Of course, since the point was that the Agency wouldn't see all of them in one place, Soma had to ferry each of them to the Mirror World individually. He'd brought Yoko through a puddle in a back alleyway, picked up Julius in his hotel room, sent Kazuya through their dorm bathroom, and was last seen heading over to one of the math building's maintenance closets for Mina.

The only problem with the Mirror World was that anyone inside could still be seen on reflective surfaces. To rectify this, Julius had wanted to meet on a tall rooftop, away from windows, but Soma pointed out that not all of them were parkour masters like him, and even if they were, their reflections would still catch on the windows. So they ended up meeting in a windowless lecture hall, the kind that always had a projector handy and could double as a movie theater.

The three of them sat on the stage floor, a plastic Tupperware container full of double chocolate muffins on the podium. Julius had baked them; they were tasty and moist, but Julius hadn't accounted for the total lack of ambient sound in the Mirror World. It was bad enough sitting in awkward silence, breathing manually and a little too aware of their heartbeats, without the sound of chewing and digesting getting in the mix. Kazuya had eaten two before even he realized that bodily functions here was worse than farting in church (Aoi dragged him to a few Messian services for PR purposes. Gaian ceremonies were more fun; their marriage was Gaian, and the druid discreetly gave them some herbs and choice advice afterwards).

Earlier, Julius had tried to start a conversation with Yoko in a language that sounded sort of like Latin, but Yoko had rebuffed him in that same language. Kazuya guessed that this was a good sign for him; it wasn't going to be the adults ganging up on the kids.

A loud thump made them jump. Kazuya instinctively grabbed his belt for his sword, only to find a disappointingly short kitchen knife in its place (albeit the longest one he could buy without raising eyebrows).

His worries were unfounded when Soma and Mina came in through the fire exit. Mina took her seat right next to Kazuya, as if trying to show that she wasn't afraid of him, and Soma plopped down next to her. Together, the five of them formed a small circle.

Mina was barely an acquaintance, and the best he could say about his relationship with Soma up until the night before was that they lived in the same space for almost a year without incident. A poor substitute for the eloquent love of his life. But they did not abandon him, which was more than what he could say of most of his comrades.

He glanced at both of them. You want to be a lawyer, Soma? Prove it here. You spoke up when you confronted me, Mina. Do it again. I'm of no help on this battlefield.

Kazuya ground his teeth at the thought. You couldn't be a demon summoner, or the only non-caster on a team, without being a little okay with the idea of playing second fiddle to someone else. And yet you couldn't point the middle finger at everyone for making terrible decisions and run off to make your own side without being at least a little hardheaded.

"That's everyone?" said Yoko. Mina nodded. "What the hell were you thinking?"

Soma's head twitched in Kazuya's direction, but he said nothing.

"I'm waiting," said Yoko, arms crossed.

"…We were drunk," Soma admitted.

"I gathered," said Yoko, tapping her foot. She turned to Kazuya. "Do you realize what you've gotten yourself into?"

Kazuya was silent.

"Do you have any idea what you've done?" continued Yoko. "Do you know who those people were?"

Soma raised both of his hands. "Hang on," said Soma. "Are you telling us that we've accidentally triggered a massive catastrophe, or are you just asking if we blew the cover on magic to a civilian? Because if it's the second one, he already knew."

The tension in Yoko's posture lessened, but did not fade entirely. "Good. That'll make everything much easier."

Soma blinked. "…We didn't trigger a massive calamity, did we?"

"No, but you've just gotten yourselves into a mess that might turn into a catastrophe," said Yoko.

"…Is a catastrophe worse than a calamity?" said Soma.

"Calamities are worse," said Yoko.

"How do you quantify that?" asked Mina.

"I'm sure that there's a proper ranking written down somewhere, but I personally think of calamities as worse than catastrophes, and you're changing the subject," said Yoko. She sighed. "I should have known that you wouldn't have listened, Soma, but you too, Mina?"

Mina said nothing.

"Anyways, I—yes, Julius?"

Julius put down his hand. "I'm sorry, but could I get a little background here?" he said. "You know, who's he, why are you in town, what's going on…"

"Yeah, what is going on?" said Soma. He looked to Mina and Yoko. "Come on, we're all thinking it. What are you doing here, Julius?"

"What are you doing here?" retorted Julius.

"I go to school here," said Soma, flashing his student ID.

Julius looked to Yoko for confirmation. She nodded. "…Oh," said Julius. "In my defense, you were the ones who thought it was safer if we didn't know."

"So what are you doing here?" asked Yoko.

"Well, I…" Julius trailed off, and gestured towards Kazuya. "Before we get into that, who is this guy, and why is he here?"

Who am I? There was no easy answer to that question. Who truly knew themselves? Kazuya had been of the opinion that anyone who professed to truly know themselves were either ignorant, delusional, or wise. He had on several occasions espoused a pseudo-philosophical theory about the nature of mankind, strings, and soup, but he didn't believe it any more than he believed in anything he ever wrote for a literary analysis essay. Who was he, but the sum of his parts? If he took away an aspect, was the gestalt ruined, or—?

"He's my roommate, and he supplied the alcohol," said Soma, interrupting Kazuya's thoughts.

Yoko held out a hand. "Yoko Belnades, freelance magician," she said. Kazuya stared at her outstretched hand, wondering if he was supposed to shake it or kneel and kiss it, before she seemed to realize that handshakes were uncommon in Japan. She handed him a business card instead.

"Julius Belmont, vampire hunter," said Julius.

Ah. They were asking about his job. "Kazuya Kawamoto, first-year computer science major," said Kazuya.

Yoko blinked. "First-year computer science major?" she repeated.

Kazuya nodded.

"And how do you know about the supernatural?"

Kazuya opened his mouth, then closed it. "It's a long story."

"We have time."

"No, seriously, it's a long story," interrupted Soma. He turned to Kazuya. "Do you mind if I summarize?"

Kazuya nodded. "Go ahead."

"He's from a parallel universe that went to hell after—"

Julius raised his hand. "Parallel universe?" he repeated.

Yoko tapped him on the shoulder, and they had a short exchange in that same Latin-esque language.

"Ah," said Julius.

"Huh," said Kazuya. He'd been so used to foreigners speaking fluent Japanese in Tokyo Millennium (even the Indian guys who ran the closet Code Breaker casinos spoke and understood Japanese perfectly well, and played up their 'fun foreigner' role for customers) that he'd forgotten that it wasn't a very common second language. "Your Japanese is excellent."

"Kazuya!" snapped Soma. "That's rude."

Kazuya blinked. "Is it?"

"It is?" said Julius, looking back and forth. "Is this some cultural thing that everybody takes for granted and nobody bothers to tell foreigners?"

"Yes, is it?" asked Mina, crossing her arms.

"…Wait, no, not for him," said Soma, sitting back down. "I get that too much."

"Tell me about it," grumbled Yoko.

"What's wrong with compliments?" asked Julius.

Soma sighed. "No, nothing's wrong, just… trials of being half-white in Japan. Or half-Asian in America and Spain."

"Oh," said Julius.

Mina tilted her head. "Come to think of it, why do you know Japanese?" asked Mina. "I mean, I'd get it if you knew the basic phrases, but you're fluent up to 'parallel dimension'."

"Well, after I lost my memory, it turned out that I—"

Yoko crossed her arms. "Are you trying to stall?"

"…No?" said Mina.

Yoko sighed. "Well, it almost worked. We can talk about our pasts later. Do you realize what you've done?"

When no one answered, she continued. "The Agency is in town because of the serial killer on the news."

Mina muttered something under her breath that sounded like, "Called it!"

"What I hadn't realized is that they've stationed a training group with no leads, one that chases anything that moves," said Yoko. "And I believe you just landed in their sights."

Kazuya bristled at the attention, but her eyes lingered on Soma. Curious.

"So you're asking us to lie low?" said Soma.

"Ideally, yes," said Yoko. "But we both know that you're not going to listen. And judging by the fact that you two are here," she gestured at Kazuya and Mina, "you're going to be dragged into this. And Julius… I have no idea what you're doing here."

"I'm not going to stay indoors until you call the all clear, if that's what you're wondering," said Julius.

Yoko shrugged. "It doesn't matter why you're here. I'm not going to turn you in."

At this, the tension in both Soma and Mina's shoulders diminished.

"Really?" said Soma.

Yoko crossed her arms. "Can all of you promise me that you can stay out of the Agency's way until they catch their quarry?" she said. "Would you swear, on your life, that you'd step aside and let the killer roam free?"

Kazuya said nothing. There was always the chance that he'd run into danger tomorrow, but he wasn't going to be the first person to say no.

Neither was anyone else, apparently. The room was silent.

"I thought not," said Yoko. "I gathered you here so we can work together."

Soma blinked. "You're serious?"

Yoko nodded. "If you're going to go off gallivanting again, I'd like to keep you in arm's reach."

Mina let out a sigh. "Thank you," she said.

"Of course," said Yoko.

Julius raised his hand. "I don't think I can help you this time," he said. "I'm here on business, and I don't know how long I'll be in town."

"That's fine," said Yoko. "I'm not asking you to go investigate on my behalf. All I'm asking is that we share whatever clues we discover."

"That's it?" said Mina. "I mean… not that we don't appreciate your help, but is it possible for you to keep us out of the Agency's way?"

Yoko shook her head. "I'm sorry. What do you think it would look like if I were caught leaking my employers' patrol routes? I'd never work again."

"Good point," said Mina.

You put your job over your friends?

"I can still tell you when we'll be investigating somewhere for a while," said Yoko. "If I were you, I'd avoid the hill where we found the headless corpse."

Mina nodded shakily. "Do they think we did that?"

Yoko shook her head. "The evidence is circumstantial. They want you in for questioning, not for interrogation. Still, it's lucky that none of them got a clear look at you." Yoko paused. "The laser on the mountain, though. That wasn't you, was it?"

"Not us," said Soma. "It was like that when we got there. Did you see who did it, Julius?"

Julius shook his head.

"Then I suppose it's a mystery for another day," said Yoko.

Something was wrong. If Yoko is already working with the Agency, couldn't she just go to them and explain?

And then Kazuya realized that he could just ask. "If you're already working with the Agency, couldn't you just go to them and explain?"

Yoko paused a moment before speaking. "I'm not the one who has to worry about them," she said carefully.

Is that a threat?

"…That might have sounded like a threat. It wasn't." Yoko tapped the floor absently; it was not any recognizable Morse code phrase. "Let's just say that not all of us are on the Agency's good side," she said finally. "It's not my place to say more."

Kazuya could respect that. Not that it stopped him from wondering which one. Soma knows too little about their policies; if I were him, I'd try to find out as much as I could. Mina does. But she's a bit too orthodox. Julius, by process of elimination, but that's not proof.

"So what are you after?" asked Mina. "I mean, we know it's the serial killer, but what's so special about them that they had to hire you?"

Yoko sighed. "The first thing you have to know is that the Agency is in the middle of… not quite crises, but two situations that, while nonvolatile, are taking up a lot of their time. I'm not supposed to know about this, but I have a friend in the Agency who likes to grumble with me over drinks. Remember when the Prime Minister had a breakdown on live television after the Phantom Thieves claimed to steal his heart?"

"…Yes?" said Mina.

Kazuya wondered if he should have paid more attention to local politics. It wasn't his fault they were boring. Not nearly as interesting as the new silicon-germanium-xenon molecule that would supposedly make transistors five percent faster.

"That's the less pressing concern," said Yoko. "All I know about the other one is that it's both top secret and not dangerous."

Soma blinked. "How can something be top secret not be dangerous?"

"High government official having an affair?" suggested Mina. "Then again, that's not occult enough for the Agency. They cloned a high government official?"

"They discovered Atlantis?" guessed Julius.

"They're refurbishing Area 51?" said Soma.

"Area 51?" repeated Kazuya.

"Old American joke," explained Soma. "It's a secret government property that everyone knows exists, but not what's in it, so people say it has aliens."

"How can a secret government property be public knowledge?" said Mina.

"You know how in Fallout 3, there's a secret government facility called Raven Rock?" said Soma. "That's a real place."

Yoko shrugged. "Whatever it is, he didn't say. If it's dangerous, he'd tell me."

"He doesn't tell me anything," grumbled Soma.

"Like I said, he'd tell me," said Yoko. "Anyways, the point is that the Agency is overworked right now, so they're willing to put up with a mercenary."

"Ah," said Mina. "But didn't they send him to fight Celia back in December?"

"They did," said Yoko. "One Agent and his four buddies, against an entire cult. Not that we saw most of them, but you get what I mean."

Kazuya made a note to ask about that later.

"The other problem is that…" Yoko broke off. "Do you trust Kazuya?"

"Yes," said Soma.

"With your lives?"

Neither of them were forthcoming.

"Can you at least trust him to keep a secret?"

"Definitely," said Mina.

"Then you should see this." Yoko fiddled with her phone, and handed it to Mina. It was a video, cobbled together from low-resolution security cameras.

Kazuya's blood ran cold.

Fleurty giving a bun to a beggar. Fleurety robbing the supermarket. Fleurety brewing a pot of jambalaya.

"The Agency called me in after they discovered something that nobody wants to fight," said Yoko. "We have a demon summoner on our hands."

X

Naoki ate fried rice for dinner. It was a simple dish, made with only eggs, cooled rice, frozen vegetables, and leftover takeout meats, all cooked in one frying pan and eaten out of a saucepan.

He wouldn't have another physics homework out until Tuesday, which worked well for him. For now, he could watch videos, play pirated video games, and generally relax.

Except he couldn't relax, not when Daisuke's murderer was still out there. And yet, he couldn't do anything about it, at least not until Aoi responded to his email.

Naoki played a pirated Final Fantasy XVII fitfully, not quite able to drop the anxiety building in his chest.

X

Yoko explained why demon summoners were a problem. Soma could barely hear her. Mina had already said the Agency thought they were murderers. Kazuya had proven them wrong, but…

There's no way Kazuya could be behind the murders… could he?

No. He begged for peace before he knew that I could fight. If he were the murderer, it would be much easier to kill us than to keep us quiet.

I doubt it, said Quetzalcoatl. The boss insisted upon the good treatment of civilians. Put a stop to the Lotteries, even after they promised him a cut. And I would like to reiterate that even though I am an Aztec god, I oppose human sacrifice.

Yeah, but it's not like there weren't any other sources of Magnetite, said a Succubus.

Do you disagree? Quetzalcoatl said with a raised eyebrow.

No, I'm just saying your argument is incomplete, said the Succubus. The boss didn't summon us frivolously.

Except for Cerberus, said Arachne.

…Except for Cerberus, admitted the Succubus. My point is that if he's living a normal college life, he shouldn't be using so much Magnetite that he'd resort to killing civilians. And if he did get involved in something so dangerous that he'd need demons, it's probably something that would get lots of people killed, and he's never been shy about scavenging.

Didn't he used to make Fleurety clean his house? said Arachne.

Twas not frivolty. Our former summoner doth dwelt in what was at once a mansion and orphanage, said Kali.

Too big for one person to clean, and human servants have a distressing habit of turning out to be assassins and taking children hostage, agreed the Succubus.

Wait, mansion? Soma blinked. Kazuya never seemed like the type to want a big house. Well, he was pretty sure that everyone fantasized about living in a palace, but going out and buying one was a different story. Especially in what had sounded like a postapocalyptic hellscape.

You used to… dwell in a castle, a Skeleton pointed out.

Yes, but that castle was the source of Dracula's powers. Soma paused. Not that I remember livi—dwelling in it.

His wife was governor, and it came with the job, said a Harpy. The incumbent built it, and it was a waste to destroy it.

Soma blinked. Kazuya was married?

And then he paused again. Wait, if you knew he was your summoner all along, why didn't you tell me?

It doth not suffice to wear the same face and name, Kali said softly. I had mistaken him to be a reincarnation of our former summoner. Twas not worth mentioning; many times have I witnessed a great man reincarnate into a fool, to my shame.

I'm Dracula's reincarnation, and look where that got me, Soma pointed out.

Aye, and yet last I saw Bhima's reincarnation, he was a child psychologist with a manner as meek as a suckling kitten, retorted Kali. I have borne witness to dastards returning charitable, the craven courageous, and the mighty weak. Thou hast retained much from Dracula, but before, thou wert an affable Flemish farmer by the name of Gabriel. Neither thee nor Dracula inherited his love of onions, nor his talent for woodcarving.

Yeah, but same name, looks, and personality? Soma parried.

Infinity isn't just a word, you know, said a Witch. It would be remarkable if there weren't any repeats.

"…And yes, Soma, this is worse than you think," continued Yoko.

Soma blinked, roused from his thoughts. "How so?"

"The worst part about summoners is that they can kill without being anywhere near the crime scene," said Yoko. "Your experience with Celia is the exception, not the rule; she showed herself because she was trying to lure you."

"She could teleport, too," added Julius. "People with escape routes handy are always more reckless. Except for people whose escape routes are blocked." He paused. "That is, people who always have escape routes are more likely to cause trouble, but people who feel like they have nothing to lose are the most dangerous."

Kazuya and Yoko nodded sagely.

Soma nodded. "Do you have a plan to find them?"

Yoko shook her head, worry etched in her face. "I don't have enough information. There's just so much stuff going on, none of us can tell what's relevant. I'll tell you when there's a breakthrough."

It took all of Soma's strength to not let joy show on his face.

"All that randomness might work in our favor, though," continued Yoko. "Do you know the first rule of fighting a demon summoner?"

"Go for them instead of their demons?" suggested Mina.

"Don't break the seals that bind their demons, because the seals also weaken the demon, so you'll have to fight an even stronger demon?" said Julius.

"Look for any grimoire-like objects around in case there's a returning ritual in there?" added Soma.

"Bring a machine gun so you can hit the summoner and the demons without aiming?" said Kazuya.

"All good ideas, but they're not the first rule," said Yoko. "The first rule is simple: never let them know that you're onto them. Otherwise, they can skip town."

Unless they want to keep studying computer science.

"The chaos in the streets is a blessing in disguise, then," said Mina, in a conclusive voice that only highlighted her uncertainty. "The culprit can watch the investigators, thinking they're going nowhere when they're right on their tail."

Yoko smiled. "Exactly. As long as you don't let the summoner know you're after them, you should be able to investigate as much as you like."

What if we pretended that we alerted the summoner, and he ran away? suggested Lilim. Yoko's nice. She'll forgive you.

If we do that, the Agency will leave, and then they'll never find the real culprit, said Soma. Besides, we've already gotten Yoko into enough trouble. If we screw this up, she could lose her job.

But Stepdaddy will—

Kazuya's smart, said Soma, vaguely aware that he didn't know Soma well enough to make that judgement call. He won't get caught so easily. He paused. Wait, you call Kazuya Stepdaddy?!

Mommy said she married him in a past life, before she had us.

"Now, there is the matter of payment."

Mina blinked. "Oh, no, you don't have to—"

"I'm asking you to do my job for me, so yes, I do," said Yoko. "And before you say that you can't take money from friends, I can't exploit my friends either."

There was an awkward pause.

"How about you buy us dinner?" said Soma. "Takeout, say, and I can pick it up through the Mirror World." And we'll always need to eat. Give us money, and we'll either resent you for underpaying us, or feel guilty for being overpaid. Give us food, and we'll be grateful for covering a necessary expense.

"Sounds good," said Yoko. "For the four of you, I'd say… once a week for someplace decent but cheap, or once a month for something expensive?"

"Cheap," said Julius.

"I vote cheap," said Kazuya.

"How cheap and how decent?" asked Mina. "I mean, gift horse and all, but are you talking about chain fast food, or cheap balanced meal?"

Yoko shrugged. "Cheap balanced meal." She took a menu out of her purse; Soma recognized it from a Chinese place that padded its takeout boxes with rice and vegetables, but added just enough meat to be worth it. "I can find a few more menus if you want."

"Sounds good to me, then," said Mina.

"…Not that it matters, but I also vote cheap," said Soma.

"Does anyone have any more questions?" asked Yoko.

Too many.

"Then that's all I have to say," said Yoko. She turned to Julius. "That's why I'm here. What are you doing here?"

"Well, that's because…" Julius gave a wary glance at Kazuya. "Do you know about the Belmont family?"

Kazuya shook his head.

"The short version is that we're a clan of vampire hunters. The long version is…" Julius paused. "Let me think about how to say this."

Julius took out a notebook and began to write. Soma looked over his shoulder, but looking at Julius's writing made his head hurt (and not because Julius had bad handwriting; for some reason, he wrote in impressive copperplate).

Why can't I read this? Dracula was Romanian, right?

Well, 'Romanian' didn't quite exist as a nationality back then, began a Werewolf. As a language, it was—

He was Swedish, actually, said a Valkyrie.

Soma blinked. Really? Never would have guessed.

She nodded. Not that it's relevant. He did know the precursors to the modern form of the language.

Your difficulties are because of linguistic drift, Master, said Stolas promptly. When you were Dracula, you learned several versions of the Romanian language over the centuries. Due to your… jumbled recollection of his memories, you are unable to distinguish between these dialects, and so you are attempting to translate his writing using several simultaneous, incorrect frames of reference. I could translate, if you wish.

That's all right. I just wanted to see if I could read it. Soma paused. So why don't I get headaches when I listen to Romanian?

The pronunciation is too different to recognize. You have listened to several Korean popcorn songs without noticing that some of the lyrics were English.

I don't think pop is short for popcorn, Stolas, said Balor.

Yeah, I think it's short for popery, said a Harpy.

"I am the head of the Belmont clan, a family of vampire hunters," said Julius at last. "Our family… logistics are complicated, but we have branches all over the world." He paused. "That makes us sound like an insurance company."

"How about, 'I have relatives in other countries'?" suggested Yoko.

"Better, and technically correct, but doesn't quite capture the same… what's the word… context?"

"Connotations?" suggested Soma.

Yoko translated the word into Romanian, and Julius nodded. "Yes. Connotations. The other thing you need to know about my family is that we're… there's a lot of us. We're… um…"

"They're basically the Romanian mafia," interrupted Yoko. "The Belmonts have this whole isolated ninja compound where they train, and if anyone tries to leave, they have to promise to keep training their children as a lesser branch of the family. If they don't, they're no longer Belmonts."

"That's…" Mina's eyes widened.

"They're still family," protested Julius. "It's not like we disown them." He took a deep breath. "When I say we're a clan of vampire hunters, we're not exactly a family and we're not a company, either. Everyone in the clan is family, and everyone in the clan is trained as a vampire hunter, but not everyone in the family is a hunter."

Mina blinked. "So… if you have a son who wants to be a painter, he'll be something Belmont, but not a Belmont?"

Julius paused with his mouth open. "Not exactly," he said at last. "It's not that we all have to be vampire hunters as much as we have to be trained as vampire hunters. So if I had a son who trained in childhood but grew up to be a painter, he could still…" he paused again. "Let me back up a bit. None of us use Belmont as a surname. Otherwise, cults could just look us up in the phone book. I get to call myself Julius Belmont since it's tradition for the head to call him or herself that, but I have a different legal surname."

Soma knew better than to ask.

"So my hypothetical son could say he is Something Whatever, of the Belmont clan, and he would be a Belmont, but if he didn't train, he can't call himself one," said Julius.

"Ah," said Mina. "More like a family business, then?"

"Close enough," said Yoko.

"Anyways, you wanted to know why I'm here?" said Julius. He drew the Vampire Killer, and Soma couldn't help but flinch at the sight of the whip that had killed him so many times before. "This is the Vampire Killer, a weapon that's been in my family for almost a thousand years."

"That's not a very imaginative name," said Kazuya.

"It sounds more impressive in Old French," assured Julius. "Don't ask me to pronounce it. Anyways, it goes to the best hunter in the clan. Or at least, whoever was the best hunter when the last wielder retired. Whoever wields it is the head of the clan."

Mina blinked. "What, like the sword in the stone? Whoever can wield the Vampire Killer is worthy of being the head?"

"Arthur could draw the sword in the stone because he was the king's son, not because he was worthy," said Kazuya. "The strongest fighter is not necessarily the best leader."

Yup, there's definitely a story there.

Five bucks he's talking about himself? suggested Agni.

You don't even have money.

Ah, but I do know this one bank account that nobody's looking at…

"Right, so Julius is the watery tart?" said Mina.

"Depends on if the Belmonts are an anarcho-syndicalist commune," said Kazuya dryly.

Soma smirked, and Yoko groaned. Julius looked confused, until Yoko said something in Romanian, and then he also groaned.

You know, you could just take a rock hammer and break up that boulder, said an Alastor. You don't need to keep swinging the Sword Still in the Stone.

"Being the head of a family isn't like being a king," said Julius. "It's prestigious, yes, but it just means that I get the most dangerous jobs."

"Just?" repeated Yoko. "You get the best room in the hideout, sit at the head of the feast hall, delegate all the other jobs, and since you're the only one required to be a full-time hunter, everyone else has to support you if you're out of work."

"…All right, fine, there are enough perks that people want it, but it's not so much responsibility that someone who only knows how to fight can ruin the family," said Julius. "I can't order people around, I can't take someone else's room, and my relatives are only obligated to support me if I can't find any work at all, whether it's hunting or normal work."

He coughed. "But the perks aren't important. What's important is that there is always a Belmont to wield the Vampire Killer against the forces of darkness." Julius was very deliberately not looking at Soma. "My last obligation is to teach the next generation. I'm not so old that everyone has to stop their lives and have a year-long tournament like last time, I have to test each candidate individually. No matter who they may be. No matter where they might live."

Soma's blood froze. "Does this mean…?"

Julius nodded. "There is a Belmont in Haruhata."

X

Aoi had soup for dinner. She'd made a big pot of it a few days before, and ate (drank?) it for dinner until it was used up. Her essay on comparative judicial systems was incomplete, but she had a comfortable buffer between now and next Tuesday, and persisting after several nonstop hours would do more harm than good. Better to let the engine rest.

Now was the time to watch her students train.

They called themselves vigilantes. It was really just a group of kids with lots of drive and no… well, they certainly had direction. The problem was that they had no one to guide them through the rocky, mist-haunted mountain trail that was the path to demon slaying. Worse, it was a trail that most people didn't realize existed. And yet they threw themselves at that trail, even if everyone they met doubted their sanity.

Not that that was a bad thing. Channeling stubbornness—no, this was sheer bloody-mindedness tempered by frustration and confusion—turned it into the kind of red-hot passion that kept starving artists painting in the face of foreclosures, led religious fanatics to charge through the streets without the use of recreational drugs, and drove the engines of anyone who would dare to give up comfort and glory for passion. Much better than the knights she trained in the early years of the settlement, many of whom only joined up for the prestige, long breaks, or to escape the law.

Unfortunately, they also had lives of their own, and Aoi could only see them a few times a week, on evenings. So they compromised by sending her weekly videos of them training.

Today, it was business as usual. Sei was starting to remember to move instead of attacking like a rabid dog, a strategy that Aoi would have disdained even if Sei hadn't been a slender waif. You could always hear a good BAM from Lu when he hit the punching bag, but he had a tendency to freeze when fighting for real. Haya still had trouble sneaking under high-stress situations, and was investing in knife-training; Aoi made a note to teach him how to conceal. Rei knew that she neglected her strength in favor of movement, and sent a video full of strikes and slashes; Aoi would congratulate her, and then add that she shouldn't neglect her strengths, either.

Aoi closed the laptop. After the other night's thrashing, it would be best to avoid the streets, lest her charges attack recklessly out of wounded pride. Satisfy them with training until their confidence is restored, and their level heads with it. Best to meet as soon as possible.

X

Kazuya was terrible at catching lies. It wasn't just because he had trouble reading facial expressions; most people can't detect lies by expression alone. No, Kazuya's problem was that his bullsh—bullskepticism meter was broken.

'Credulous' and 'open-minded' are not two sides of the same coin, they are the same side of the same coin. That coin is a nickel, which could be hated for not being the quarter needed for the laundromat or vending machine, or loved for being the exact amount needed to keep the meter happy while running into the drugstore to pick up a prescription and some candy.

When Kazuya opened an email saying that demons had invaded the world, that little attachment in the corner saved him. That crazy man with the knife screaming at everyone to get away from him was right about the Preta that ripped his throat out. Echo Building indeed had strange and mysterious happenings, Roppongi was full of zombies (and technically peaceful), and someone did try to clone him and Aoi.

In other words, experience taught Kazuya to never waste time saying, 'that's impossible' when confronted with the abnormal. A clan of hidden vampire hunters? Completely plausible in a world where two weird cults took over Japan. His roommate had strange magical powers? Maybe his magic was normal, and the magic Kazuya knew was an aberration.

Kazuya was also terrible at reading the emotions of other humans. It came with spending too much time trying to read demons; the tells for humans and most demons varied so much that trying to analyze humans using a demon's frame of reference gave out some off conclusions.

But Kazuya was no fool. He might not be able to dismiss claims out of hand, but he could see contradictions.

"And why is this important?"

Everyone was too busy talking over each other to notice him. Only Julius was speaking slowly and clearly.

"You know the rules; you can't know and they can't know," said Julius. "Yes, I know. No, they don't. That was in response to your question, Mina. I mean, my answer to Mina is yes, and my answer to your first and second questions, Soma, was probably, of course, and Yoko, Dacă puteți citi acest lucru, aveți prea mult timp pe mâini—"

This went on for a while. The whole conversation was full of euphemisms, significant raised eyebrows and strange gestures, scattered with random Romanian sentences, until they seemed to remember that Kazuya was here.

"Is it all right if we discuss this in private?" said Mina. "I think that we—"

"No, he has a right to know," said Soma. His hands trembled. "I… I haven't been completely honest with you, Kazuya. I told you that my powers were fire and metal? That… that wasn't completely true."

Everyone looked at Soma. Yoko's mouth was open.

"I…" Soma gulped. "My real power is to absorb magic. Permanently." He held up his hand, and a femur appeared in his hand. "Mirrors aren't really on theme, are they? I…" He paused again. "I… um… remember how I was trapped in the castle of an evil wizard? I… I absorbed dark magic from that castle. And the problem with dark magic is that it almost always comes from killing or suffering, so even though I didn't hurt anyone, anyone who can sense it thinks I did, so…"

Ah. "You're the one who can't go to the Agency," said Kazuya. "If the Agency caught you, they'd think you were behind the kidnappings. It's circumstantial evidence at best, but if they don't find the real culprit in time, they'll arrest you so they won't lose face."

"…You don't have a lot of faith in the justice system, do you?" said Mina.

"No."

And what did Mina say? You of all people should know that the Agency doesn't arrest people for magic. You, of all people.

The tension lifted. Soma nodded. "Yes. That's it."

Then why didn't you tell me yesterday?

…Would that be a good move? It could have come across as a lie to get me to sympathize with you. And let my guard down.

…Oh god, that's what Naoki did.

"Prove it."

Soma blinked. "Prove what?"

"Prove that you have dark magic."

Soma blinked. "All right, but… give me a minute; I have a lot of these… got it. I'll need some of your blood. Not much. Is that all right?"

Kazuya nodded.

He took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and turned out his pockets. "See? Empty."

"…Are you going to pull a rabbit out of them?" said Kazuya.

"Nope," said Soma, pulling a cat out of Mina's purse. It meowed before vanishing. "What's this?" He motioned towards Kazuya's head, but stopped when Kazuya flinched. "All right then. Mina? What's this behind your ear?" He drew a red handkerchief the size of a towel.

"…Wait a minute, does 'dark magic' not mean what I think it does?" said Julius.

"No, I just didn't want to get blood everywhere," said Soma. He reached into his coat and pulled out a knife. With one smooth motion, he cut his palm and bled into the red cloth.

"What are you doing?!" shouted Kazuya.

"Don't worry, it's—"

"Palms are sensitive! If you need to draw blood, cut your shoulder!" 

"…As I was saying, I'll heal. Now I'm going to bite your shoulder."

"What?"

"You wanted a demonstration, right? Look at my teeth." Soma opened his mouth wide, and then closed it (no staining, healthy gums). Then he opened them again, and—

Those were fangs.

Before a second thought could reach him, Kazuya grabbed the kitchen knife and drove it into Soma's chest. Soma, however, was much faster than he expected, and leapt backwards, turning a fatal stab into a glancing blow.

Not that Kazuya didn't move, either. Stab, retreat. When you're a fragile human, dodging is more important than getting in a good hit.

Only a knife, no gun, no demons. Exit's right there, but he's between us, so make a run for the stairs—

What the hell am I doing?!

"STOP IT!"

Mina stood up—but her outburst wasn't directed towards Kazuya. He looked around. Julius had drawn his whip, and Yoko had produced several nasty-looking icicles, all trained on him. Kazuya had expected her to stand in their way, but she was standing sensibly to the side.

Instead, Soma took the honor of covering Kazuya, standing right in front of Yoko and Julius, facing them with arms spread wide. "It's all right," he said. "We're all friends here."

Friends. Kazuya knew that he should have felt some warm and fuzzy feeling. Instead, shame and bitter anger welled up from his gut.

Stop it. Yoshio dived in front of Nebiros knowing that he was going to kill me. Soma knows his allies won't hurt him. That's not the same thing at all.

"I'm sorry," said Kazuya, dropping the knife.

"No, it's my fault," said Soma. "I should have been clearer." He made his way to one of the benches and plopped himself down. The gash in his chest knitted itself back together, and so did his shirt for some reason. Soma held up his palm. "See? Healed."

"Couldn't you have done that instead of taking my blood?" said Kazuya.

"Yes, but you wanted to see dark magic," said Soma. Mina shot him a glare. "…Although I guess I could have just shown you the fangs. But hey, look! American pennies!"

Soma thrust his hand into his pockets and pulled out a fistful of copper. "…Yeah, it's kind of useless. If we were in America, I could at least dump it in a tip jar."

"Copper is one of the more useful metals," said Kazuya firmly. "Microbes die faster on it, so we can melt it down for medical tools." Then Kazuya remembered that he wasn't in postapocalyptic Japan anymore. "…If we ran out, somehow."

"Pennies mostly zinc, you know," said Yoko. "They're only plated with a little bit of copper."

Mina stared at her. "And how do you know that?"

"I sometimes use coins to aim lightning, and it's good to know how conductive they are."

"Plated zinc is even better," said Kazuya. "With alternating layers of copper and zinc, we can make a Voltaic Pile battery. Small amounts of free electricity, right there for the tak—"

Soma tossed a penny in the air, and shot a bolt of lightning at it.

"…I think Voltaic piles can hold charge, too."

"So you believe me now?" said Soma.

Oh, right. Dark magic. "Yes. No wonder Julius's family is after you." He tilted his head. "Are you a vampire, or can you just turn into one?"

"No, it's just a bit of transformation magic," said Soma.

Note to self. Ask Soma if there's any danger of absorbing magic from the Demon Summoning Program. Also, grill Naoki about summoning.

Soma sat back down. "Long story short, Julius and Yoko understand that I'm not evil, but we're not sure what the Belmonts and Belnades clans would think of me. So they promised to hide my powers, at least until we can figure out how to tell their families."

Kazuya blinked. "Wouldn't it be easier to confess? If they knew, that's one red herring out of their way, and one vampire hunter out of yours."

Soma shook his head. "No, it's seriously almost impossible to prove that I didn't kill anyone for these powers."

"And the word of the head of the clan isn't enough?"

"No," said Julius bluntly. "I told you, it's not like being a king. There's… politics."

"Kings still have to deal with politics," said Mina.

"You know what I mean," said Julius. He sighed. "It's more complicated that I care to discuss right now. My relative doesn't know who you are, and to protect their identity, I cannot tell you who they are. I don't know if they suspect that you're in town, but I also can't ask without arousing suspicion. Let's just leave it at that."

"But—"

"I have nothing else to say," said Julius firmly.

There was silence.

"Can I ask a different question?" said Mina.

"Go ahead. You won't know if I'll answer unless I ask."

"So, uh… how do you know Japanese?" said Mina.

"That, I can answer," said Julius. "After I lost my memory in 1999…" He turned to Kazuya. "Do you know of Castlevania?"

"The fortress of forests?" translated Kazuya. 

"…No, but I see where you're coming from," said Julius. "Fortress from Castle, Forest from Sylvania?"

Kazuya nodded.

"It's the name of the castle of the evil wizard," explained Soma.

Yoko blinked. "Evil wizard?"

Soma shrugged. "It's accurate. He was evil and a wizard."

"Yes, but I would think that most people would have started with 'vampire'," said Yoko.

"…A vampire who was also an evil wizard?" said Kazuya. "Isn't that just a lich with flavor text?"

Mina snorted. "…Sorry. Just… thinking of Dio Brando as Voldemort."

Soma blinked. "I mean, that's legit, but… why not Bela Lugosi or Christopher Lee as Saruman?" He paused. "Wait, Christopher Lee was Saruman."

"I would have gone for Leslie Neilsen," said Yoko. When everyone stared at her, she said, "Leslie Neilsen? The doctor from Airplane? Don't call me Shirley? Come on. None of you have seen his movies?"

"I know who he is, I just… really? Leslie Neilsen?" said Soma. "Is it the hair?"

"And what does this have to do with knowing Japanese?" said Mina quickly.

Julius sighed. "In 1999, I fought the evil vampire wizard, and… nope, I can't take it seriously. Can we just put a name to him?"

Kazuya raised his palms. "Let me guess. Strigoi? Kudlak? Imported Vetala? Something I've never heard of?"

"I… we're not sure what he is, other than vampire sorcerer," said Yoko. "But I do believe you've heard his name."

"I doubt it," said Kazuya.

"His name is Dracula."

"…Of course he's real," said Kazuya. That is, Vlad the Impaler was a real historical figure who—

"And no, he's not Vlad the Impaler," said Yoko. 

"How did—"

"Common misconception," sighed Yoko. "I've had to correct a lot of people. And yes, we have proof. Vlad III gave medals to two of our ancestors for slaying Dracula." She jerked her head towards Julius. "Personally, though, I blame pop culture. That's where it really comes from."

"It's our fault, too," said Julius. "We opened up some gaping plot holes."

Kazuya looked back and forth. "…You're going to have to elaborate," said Kazuya.

"Have you read the book?" asked Yoko.

"No."

"I'll give you the summary later," volunteered Mina. "The book really happened. Mostly. Bram Stoker was a friend of one of the survivors, he had writer's block, his friend told him the story, and then with the permission of the other survivors, he turned it into a book. The book isn't completely accurate, but that's mostly because Stoker had to extrapolate from bad or incomplete information. The survivors lent him their diaries, but Stoker couldn't read Dutch, so there's hardly anything from Van Helsing, and Quincey Morris's family seized his possessions after death, so the only thing Stoker got out of him was a handful of telegrams."

"Stoker also had to cut out some sensitive information about the Belmonts," said Julius. "Like how Quincey Morris was descended from the Belmonts, and he killed Dracula with this whip instead of a knife."

"Not to mention all those scenes at the end where the protagonists randomly inherit large amounts of money," said Yoko. "He figured it would be best not to mention the magic candles that just dropped money when you blew them out."

"The journals were edited, too, but mostly to make them novel-worthy," said Mina. "Almost all the dialogue is Stoker's work. Otherwise, it'd just be lots of 'he said, I said, she said.'"

Kazuya looked at Soma. "What? I haven't read it either," said Soma.

"You're not even curious?" said Kazuya.

"…I've seen a little too much of the real thing," said Soma delicately. "Anyways, Japanese?"

Julius nodded. "To make a long story short, Dracula is the ancient enemy of the Belmonts." Yoko coughed. "And the Belnades. He rises every century, and in 1999, it was my turn to slay him." He gestured towards Mina. "With the help of the Hakuba clan, we sealed the castle away into the eclipse, which allowed us to… um… let's just say it helped, and leave it at that. I don't want to get into the mechanics."

"Understandable," said Mina.

"The battle with Dracula was long and hard, but I ultimately emerged victorious. However, I…" Julius's hands began to shake. "I lost my memory in the battle. I woke up alone in a hospital bed, without any idea of how I got there. The only keys to my past were these relics," he held up some crosses and a copy of the bottle he threw at the Agents last night, "my fear of Dracula, and the fact that I was multilingual. I didn't forget that I was Romanian, and it wasn't surprising that I knew English, but one day, I discovered that I could read Japanese. Naturally, I thought that Japan held a vital clue to my past, so I spent years learning the language so that I could one day return and rediscover my past."

Julius sagged. "Of course, since I had no passport, I had to hitchhike my way here. And searching an entire country didn't help at all, especially when I'd never been there. It was a miracle I found your shrine in time for the eclipse."

"So you learned Japanese from Mina's family?" said Kazuya.

Julius shook his head. "Of course not. I only knew them for a few weeks. It turned out that I really liked manga when I was your age, so I tried to learn Japanese so that I could read more of it."

Kazuya continued to stare at him.

Julius blinked. "…That might sound like sarcasm. It isn't."

"No, that makes sense," said Kazuya.

"Can I ask another question?" said Soma. Julius nodded. "How did they lose you? You had all that backup, and Arikado was there, too."

Julius sighed. "It's a… stupid story. All of us did what we thought was the right thing, but I got screwed over by bad luck. Just because I didn't carry my wallet into battle…"

"Who carries their wallet into battle?" said Mina.

Everyone but Julius and Mina raised their hands.

"A badge and ID card makes it much easier to explain things to police," said Yoko.

"I lived as a nomad for a while, so there's not many options there," said Kazuya.

"Where else am I going to put all the money?" said Soma.

"Not the bags of money. Your wallet," said Mina. "Didn't you leave it with me back in Castlevania?"

"Well, yes. It isn't easy to replace an American driver's license in Japan."

"There you go," grumbled Julius. "I told them, where there's room for a wallet, there's room for a cross, and that cross saved my life." His fist tightened. "When the castle crumbled—yes, it does that every time Dracula is killed—it scattered the survivors across the countryside. Not far; we estimated a five kilometer radius, but it dropped my comatose ass in a river, where a farmer found me. Good old Mr. Moraru." He sighed. "Fished me out and put me in the only bed in the house. And when some highly suspicious characters showed up on his doorstep, obviously criminals or government, he was brave enough to lie to them. Then he brought me to the hospital as his nephew Stefan."

"And they didn't even check the hospitals?" said Mina incredulously.

"Of course they did," said Julius. "Except since patient confidentiality is a thing and they only looked like government, all they could do was go to the front desk and ask for Julius Belmont, which didn't work because, well, Stefan Moraru. Once I woke up, Mr. Moraru told me what had happened, and urged me to leave the country as soon as possible. So I hopped on a boat to…" Julius paused. "What is Japanese for Turcia?"

"Turkey," said Yoko. "He went to Turkey."

"Yes, there," said Julius. "After I was sure that I'd dodged the KGB, I lived as a vagabond for about twenty years, until I made the jump to Japan. And the rest is history." He stretched. "Now, what about you?"

It took Kazuya a while to realize that Julius was talking to him. "What about me?"

"Where are you from? Where did you learn to fight?"

Total silence reigned as Kazuya sorted out his thoughts.

"Can I answer for him?" said Soma at last. "It's not a secret. No offense, but you're a little long-winded."

"Go ahead," said Kazuya.

Soma nodded. "Kazuya is from an alternate timeline that split off at the latest in 1999." Julius stiffened. "And as far as we know, there's no evidence that this has anything to do with you fighting Dracula."

"I didn't know he was real until today," said Kazuya.

"Exactly," said Soma. "Long story short, his world's version of Stephen Hawking built a teleporter network. Somehow, it malfunctioned, and broke the barrier between this world and the world of demons… worlds of demons?"

"Worlds," said Mina.

"Worlds," said Yoko.

"Worlds," said Kazuya.

"Worlds, then," said Soma. "Demons started flooding in, the military panicked, and the whole country turned into some kind of postapocalyptic hellscape. That's where Kazuya learned to fight."

There was more silence.

"And that's it?" said Julius.

"No, but it would take too long to explain everything, and I don't know what's relevant," said Soma.

"And how did you come to this world?" said Yoko.

"I have no idea," said Kazuya.

"So how did you apply to college, with no legal identity?"

Kazuya blinked. "Never mind, I misunderstood the question. One day, I woke up in the body of the Kazuya of this timeline." He shuddered. "I know there's a moral dilemma here. The Kazuya of this world might be dead, and I killed him."

"…I understand," said Yoko. "As long as you didn't do it on purpose."

"Does…" Soma broke off. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to, but… does your family know?"

You do realize that not answering is the same as saying no?

Kazuya nodded. He couldn't deceive his mother. She'd lost her only son, and pretending to fill that gap in her life would only make things worse. Many tears were shed that night. In the end, she'd said that whatever world he was from, he was still her son, and she loved him.

He was still trying to figure out how to break the whole demon thing to her.

"One last question," said Yoko. "Do you think that what happened in your timeline could happen here?"

Kazuya shook his head. "My world was destroyed because of several highly volatile circumstances. The specific events that led to a nuclear disaster are…you didn't mention the nukes, did you?"

Soma shook his head.

"Well, there were nukes."

"North Korean?" asked Yoko.

"American," said Kazuya.

Yoko sputtered. "I'm sorry, America nuked Japan?!"

Kazuya nodded. "With their troops still stationed in Tokyo. I'm willing to chalk it up to the launch codes being given to a terrible ambassador rather than it being the collective decision of the whole country. For some reason, the ambassador was Thor, Norse god of thunder."

Mina blinked. "How is that even possible? Did he replace the real ambassador?"

"I don't know. Most people don't keep track of ambassadors. Do you know the name of the current American ambassador?"

"Suzume Imai is the ambassador from Japan to America, and Elliot Fitzherbert is the ambassador from America to Japan," said Soma promptly. [A/N None of them are real people].

"…All right. But most people don't know the names of ambassadors off the top of their—"

"Lavinia Stoica." said Julius.

"…Seriously?"

Julius shrugged. "To be fair, I've been to the embassy."

Kazuya blinked. Should I know this? Is it normal in this new wor—

"No, ambassadors aren't common knowledge," said Soma. "But you should at least know who the last Prime Minister was. And no, I'm not talking about the one who had the breakdown."

"…I never did thank you for that," said Kazuya.

"Any time," said Soma.

"Anyways, America isn't nearly as nuke-happy as it was in 1999," said Kazuya. "The Cold War and mutual nuclear annihilation was still fresh in everyone's minds." [5]

"Eight years seems a little excessive, though," said Mina.

Yoko shrugged. "Eight years of peace doesn't cancel out fifty years of everyone expecting America to nuke the USSR."

"Does forty?" said Kazuya.

There was silence.

"If it makes you feel any better, I think Cold War paranoia is over," said Mina. "They'd nuke us for new paranoia."

"Fair enough," said Kazuya. "I don't think things would get to that point, either. Most of the panic was less about… it was less about invaders and more about the fear of the unknown. There's a difference between being invaded by… say, Canada, and being invaded by space aliens. Either way, we wouldn't be happy about it, but with Canada… no, with the space aliens, we'd be panicking over space diseases, the prospect of aliens enslaving us, what strange powers and technologies they have, what else is out there, etc. Even if demons aren't common knowledge, you at least have the Agency. The government in my world had no idea what to do."

Yoko nodded. "Knowledge versus fear. A tale as old as spies."

"It's much easier to face a demon when you know they're not immune to bullets," said Kazuya.

"…I was going to tell you this story about how two of my ancestors rallied a city of civilians against hordes of monsters and armed them with just salt and holy water, but that's even better," said Yoko.

"The last piece of the puzzle is Stephen Hawking," said Kazuya.

"Isn't he dead?" said Mina.

"He is, but that's not the point," said Kazuya. "I didn't know much about my world's Stephen Hawking, but what I do know is that mine was more of an engineer and a programmer than a theoretical physicist. I don't know if someone could use your Hawking's notes to make the teleporter, but that's because I don't remember what he did in my world, and I don't understand what he did in this one."

"Let me check the internet," said Soma, taking out his phone. "Black holes, singularities, quantum space properties… oh, and he appeared on Star Trek and the Simpsons."

"Wait, how are you getting internet?" said Mina.

Soma shrugged. "Magic. It doesn't have to make sense."

"People can see us in mirrors, right?" said Kazuya. "And we can see other people? That means that light can move between worlds. And since light is (technically) an electromagnetic wave, radio waves like wi-fi can move through mirrors, too."

Soma looked around the room frantically. "There aren't any around here, are they?"

Kazuya pointed at the projector. "There's a few in the lens. And I think the lights use reflective metal in the housing, to make them seem brighter." At this, Soma sagged.

"But if light passes through a mirror rather than reflecting, wouldn't that change the image?" said Mina. "Unless it somehow inducts new waves instead."

"Wouldn't induction cause the parent wave to lose energy?" said Kazuya.

Mina shrugged. "Maybe the mirror magic takes that into account? Unless it only applies to mirrors that are close to us when we're inside. Or, since perfectly reflective white bodies don't exist, maybe the absorbed light already passes into the mirror world and we don't notice because it's part of established science?"

"But wouldn't we still detect energy lost through heat?" said Kazuya.

"Depends on how accurately we can measure heat and light," said Mina.

Soma coughed. "We can experiment later. Do you think anyone could use your Stephen Hawking's work to make a teleporter?"

"Um…"

Nobody answered.

"In that case, I guess we can mark that one off the list," said Soma. He paused. "I think we should have started with that."

"No, it's good to know that people like us make a difference," said Yoko.

Mina looked around. "Does anyone else have any questions?"

"Can we take these home?" asked Soma, pointing to the muffins.

"Go ahead. I can always make more," said Julius.

Soma nodded. "I have more plastic containers at my dorm," he said. "So I take Kazuya back to the dorm, pick them up, come back here, and split the rest five ways. How many muffins does everyone want?"

After some debate, they all came to a reasonable split.

"Any other questions?" said Mina.

Nobody said anything.

"In that case, Yoko, Julius, can we talk?" said Mina. She turned and nodded at both Kazuya and Soma. "In private?"

"Sure," said Soma. "I'm taking Kazuya first anyways."

"I'm not doing anything tonight," said Julius.

"I have to be back by eight," said Yoko. She paused. "Does time move differently in this world?"

"It doesn't," said Soma. "I would have warned you if it moved faster, and if it moved slower, I'd be in here all the time. Let's see…" He checked his phone. "It's 6:14. How much time do you need?"

"Is thirty minutes okay, Yoko?" said Mina.

"Fine by me," said Yoko.

"In that case, let's sync our timers for twenty-five," said Mina. "And just so we're on the same page, you enter the Mirror World when the timer's up."

Kazuya blinked. Why is she avoiding Soma?

"All right, twenty-five minutes starts in three, two, one…" Soma stood up and put his phone in his pocket. "Shall we?"

And why doesn't he care?

X

[A/N I give up. I can't write a Texan accent. Let's just say that Leon has a Texas drawl that doesn't extend to his vocabulary]

"…And that was when my eighth great-grandchild learned that she had a talent for blacksmithing," said Leon.

"I thought women couldn't be blacksmiths back then," said Doctor Dude.

Leon shook his head. "If their husbands died, they could take up the trade." He paused. "Am I boring you?"

"No, no, go on," said Doctor Dude, pulling skewers of sliced bread out of the campfire. The park was closed that day due to police inquiries, so they made do with the fire pit in the apartment. Talking to thin air in front of a fire had drawn stares from the other residents, but his partner had explained it as a Christian ritual. Only one person had the gall to accuse the Westerners of being wrong about their own religion, but Mr. Addams had somehow managed to convince her that it was a reenactment of the Binding of Isaac. Or at least, she realized that neither of them knew the other's language well enough to have a proper debate, and gave up.

"I don't suppose you'd like to hear about how my descendants moved to Japan?" said Leon.

"No, go ahead," said Doctor Dude.

"Alrighty then," said Leon. "This was long before the Iron Curtain fell, around… when was that war? Ah, yes, the one with the Axis powers…"

Doctor Dude had taken Leon for a young man at first sight, possibly an international student at the local university. His gentle insistence that he was a knight from the Middle Ages had seemed like a way to cope with his tragic death, something that the doctor had seen too many times. It was inevitable in his line of business.

But once Doctor Dude got him to talk about his family, Leon changed. His golden hair silvered and thinned, his calloused hands gnarled into bony sticks, and his polished armor and surcoat turned into a thick, woolen tunic and oiled cloak. Still, the most dramatic change of all was the beaming smile that stretched across his wrinkled face, basking in the glow of secondhand pride.

"So, uh… awkward question, but why do you have that accent?" said Doctor Dude.

"Accent?"

"Why do you sound like you're from Texas?"

"Oh, yes," said Leon. "I learned English from my descendants in Texas."

Doctor Dude nodded, and generously buttered two slices of toast. He placed one on a paper plate, another on a metal plate, and sprinkled cinnamon sugar on both. "Cinnamon sugar toast. The second-best way to enjoy cinnamon." Then he dropped the paper plate into the fire.

"Hm. How does this work?" said Leon.

"You've seen grave offerings, haven't you?" said Doctor Dude, watching the butter bubble. "When objects die, they leave behind ghosts. They don't have enough will to last long, unless another ghost claims them."

"Yes, but I doubt that's the only way to destroy it," said Leon.

Doctor Dude shrugged. "How else? Is a jenga tower dead when you knock it over? If you make a spaceship with Lego and take it apart, where did the spaceship go? Does a rusty sword cease to be a sword? No, if you want something dead, you burn it." He paused. "I suppose you could let it rot, but if you don't catch it right when it stops being food and starts being mold, it'll go to food heaven. And I guess you could dissolve it in acid, but hydrochloric acid isn't something you can just buy at the supermarket."

Doctor Dude poured himself a cup of water. "Sorry I can't do anything to drink," said Doctor Dude. "Most liquids don't burn well, even with paper bowls and cups. I'd try alcohol, but Mr. Addams is on the wagon, and I'd rather not tempt him."

Leon's brow creased. "What wagon?"

Doctor Dude paused. "It means he used to be a drunk, but now he's avoiding alcohol," he explained.

"Good for him," said Leon.

Doctor Dude poked the charred bread. "I think it's done," said Doctor Dude. "I'd grab it for you, but I don't have ghost tongs, and I'd rather not start tomorrow with first degree burns all over my hands."

Leon gingerly picked up the toast, and bit. Pearly tears moistened his eyes.

"Are you alright?"

Leon nodded. "It's delicious. Just… I haven't eaten anything in centuries. It's… too much."

Doctor Dude nodded. "Then let's start with something blander. Toast or bread? Butter or no butter?"

"Bread, no butter," said Leon. "Although, there is one thing I'm confused about."

"Oh?"

"If you used fire to sacrifice the bread so I could eat it, but you also used fire to toast the bread, why didn't I get untoasted bread?" said Leon. "For that matter, wasn't bread cooked in fire? Why don't I get raw dough?"

"That's… a good question," said Doctor Dude. "Want to try?"

They experimented. It turned out that the ghost of the object passed on in the state it was in immediately before it met the sacrificial fire, so they could pass Leon toast, raw dough, and bread.

X

Soma led Kazuya through the campus maintenance tunnels. Even though Soma took care to find a route without any mirrors or glass, there was still the danger of being seen by someone carrying their phones. Soma's solution was… novel, to say the least.

"You're sure this is going to work?" said Kazuya, adjusting the hood of the dark, billowing cloak. It brushed the floor as he walked with a ragged edge that Kazuya was sure had been carefully cut with the pair of Goodbye Puppy™ safety scissors that he kept on his desk.

"We'll only know if something goes wrong," said Soma, fiddling with the plague doctor mask he'd improvised with toilet paper rolls, dental floss, and black paint. He had about a foot on Kazuya, so his cloak didn't drag nearly as much. "But yeah, this ought to spook the onlookers."

"What about phone cameras?" said Kazuya.

"We don't show up on camera for some reason," said Soma. "Mina and I checked."

"I feel like every villain from Scooby Doo," muttered Kazuya.

Soma shrugged. "If a few people think our school is haunted, that's still better than them recognizing us."

They walked in silence, until they reached the History building.

"Soma."

"Yes?"

"Your power is to absorb magic," said Kazuya. "Is there any danger of absorbing my demon summoning ability by accident?"

"No," said Soma immediately.

"Why?"

"I can only absorb magic from something that's been alive," said Soma. "Demons, yes. Plants, yes. The undead, yes. Buildings… well, the consensus is that Castlevania is practically alive. Machines, no. I can't absorb magic from your computer."

"Then what about Naoki?"

Soma stopped walking. "No," he said. "I can't do it by accident, and even if I did, I never know what I'm going to get."

"I see," said Kazuya. "And why don't your friends want you listening?"

Soma turned around to face him. "That's a rather personal question, isn't it?" said Soma sharply.

"I'm still asking," said Kazuya, unimpressed. He'd endured far worse than scorn from friends.

"…It's not that they don't trust me, it's that they don't trust anybody," said Soma at last. "All of them, they're descended from ancient clans of vampire hunters, shrine clergy, magicians. They have secrets they've sworn not to tell outsiders. I'm not so arrogant that I'd ask them to spill for me."

"Even if it's important?"

"They'd tell me if it's important," said Soma firmly.

They walked in silence again, until they emerged from the History building.

"You trust your friends," said Kazuya. It wasn't a question.

"With my life," said Soma.

"I'm not sure if I envy or pity you," said Kazuya.

The air blazed with heat. No flames appeared, but the stagnant air took on the odor of hellfire: burning oil with a pinch of sulfur. Soma stopped in his tracks and glared at Kazuya.

"All right, I've just had about enough this," he snapped. "What are you trying to get at? If you want to tell me something, just say it! If you can't tell me anything, let me know! Don't just drop cryptic hints and expect me to take it as an answer!"

Something stirred in Kazuya's sea of memory. Before he could snuff it, the little spark bubbled to the surface, igniting the dead brush of forgotten memory, memories he'd locked away and—

It made sense, on some level, that Takeshi's blood smelled like worm. He'd stolen what was at the time Kazuya's strongest demon, and didn't care that it was a larger version of a creature sadistic children would pick out of the dirt and squish.

It also made sense that the carpet, formerly bright blue, was now a dirty red. The Gaians deliberately desecrated the halls with the blood of their enemies, partially out of symbolism and partially out of spite.

The distant, clinical part of him recalled something called shock. Not like electric shock, which was more like paralysis, but medical shock, when the brain shuts down and leaves everything to autopilot. It was a common sight in this war-torn land; widows and widowers, orphans, and those who lost their children would wander in a daze, with people taking care that they wouldn't wander too far.

What a strange thing to remember. After all, there was nobody around except for him, Aoi, and his demons. And obviously, there was nothing in his arms. Cradling absolutely nothing…

"Kazuya… Kazuya… KAZUYA!"

Kazuya blinked. The bloodied, polished walls of the Basilica vanished, replaced with the soundless stretch of grass between buildings. Soma's anger had evaporated, leaving only concern. "Are you all right?" He'd retrieved a paper bag and a water bottle from somewhere in his pockets. "Here, take these."

Something must have shown on Kazuya's face, because instead of moving towards him and handing him the bag and water, Soma held them out and motioned for him to come.

Kazuya gingerly plucked the bottle from Soma's hands and drank. "…I had friends once," he said quietly. "Friends I trusted with my life. We were all we had left." He swallowed the water without tasting it. "It wasn't quite a betrayal," he whispered, his words like a roar in the silent world. "We decided our values were more important than our friendship. They joined the factions, killed anyone who got in their way. I had to stop them, so I…I…"

I killed them. The unsaid words hung heavy in the air. -

Soma's worry turned to horror. "I… I'm sorry."

They said nothing more for the whole journey.

When they got back to the dorm, Kazuya went straight to the basement. Intellectually, he knew that nobody would judge or blame him. But the part of him that kept him alive, the part that snapped at him that he couldn't let his guard down for a minute, and to never, ever show weakness, drove him to seek isolation. He motioned to summon Pascal, but stopped. Comfort wasn't what he needed right now.

For the first time in decades, he cried for Takeshi Fudou.

X

Yoko could lose her job.

The words echoed in Mina's mind.

How could I have been so selfish? I wasn't trying to help, I wasn't trying to save anyone, I just went because I was curious. What's best for her, and all of us, is to lie low and—

Mina stopped. Be reasonable, Mina. Pessimism and realism aren't the same thing. The disappearances are probably supernatural, so the cops can't handle this. The Agency's been here for ages, and they haven't had any luck yet. And since they think Kazuya's the culprit, they'll be distracted by his trail, so it's up to us to find the real killer.

"…Mina? Mina."

Mina blinked. Yoko had been calling her name for a while. "…Are they gone?" said Mina at last.

"I think so," said Yoko. "Is there something bothering you?"

Mina nodded.

"Look, I know I said that you'd know that I'm not after Soma because Julius isn't, here, but—"

Mina shook her head. "I'm not worried about that," she said. "If you really were after Soma, you wouldn't have used Julius's absence as a proof, and Julius wouldn't have shown himself so easily."

"Oh. Good," said Yoko. "But seriously, are you okay?"

Mina nodded. "Nothing's upsetting me right now," she said, choosing not to spill her anxieties. "But I do have a question that's been bothering me. And since it's about Dracula, I couldn't ask Soma."

Julius nodded. "Well, you're talking to the experts."

"Good." Mina took in a deep breath. "What makes Dracula… special?"

Yoko blinked. "What do you mean by special?"

"It's… I guess what I want to ask is how he became so powerful, but that's still not quite it," said Mina. "It's more like… have you ever played Final Fantasy IX?"

Julius nodded, but Yoko shook her head.

"There's a boss named Beatrix, and she's supposed to be the strongest knight on the continent," continued Mina. "She does live up to her reputation, and she wipes out the party when they first meet."

Yoko and Julius waited patiently for her to continue.

"I…" Mina took a deep breath sorted out her thoughts. "What always bothered me about Beatrix is that I never saw a reason for her to be as strong as she is. She lives in the starting part of the map, where the monsters are weakest, and the other knights in her kingdom are pathetic. Since nobody's even close to her level, she can't improve by sparring, so she can only train with practice swings. I'd understand if she were a war hero, like General Leo or Sephiroth, because they'd have to fight enemy soldiers all the time. But her kingdom hadn't been to war in her lifetime. It just felt like I was missing something.

"That's what's bothering me about Dracula. There are tons of other vampires out there, but why is Dracula the only one I've ever heard of? Why is he alone so powerful? Why haven't we seen any other magical castles of doom that regenerate every century? Why is he the only one who can tap into Chaos? What makes him the Dark Lord?"

Was that a stupid question? Mina cringed.

There was a long pause.

"Ah," said Yoko. "I see what you mean. You're asking two different questions here, and we only know the answer to one. We know why he has the reputation he has, but not why he's strong."

"Aren't those the same thing?" said Mina. "I mean, isn't he famous for being strong?"

"Not quite," said Yoko. "He's mostly known for what he did, but he couldn't have done it without being strong. It's… it doesn't mater how strong he was, only that he was strong enough."

"That's just quibbling," said Mina.

"Not entirely," said Yoko. "Do you know why Dracula is famous?"

"Um… there was something about the book being placed in the public domain in America, which made it cheap to adapt to the stage—" She stopped when she saw Yoko's expression.

"…I admit I could have worded that a little better," said Yoko. "Disregarding pop culture, why did Sypha, Trevor, Grant, and Alucard kill Dracula six hundred years ago?"

"Because he tried to kill everyone in Wallachia," said Mina automatically. Then she realized what she had said. "Which is completely out of character for a vampire. Vampires kill some people, but they need human blood to survive, so killing everyone would be counterproductive. Dracula was mad with grief, and didn't care, but no other vampire would even try."

"Exactly," said Yoko.

Mina crossed her arms. "So he's more famous than any other vampire because he did the most damage. That does make sense, but what made him stronger than the rest in the first place?"

Julius coughed. "That's a good question, but let's clear something up first. Vampires aren't as strong as you think."

Easy for you to say.

"And no, that's not just because I'm a professional," said Julius. "It's more of…" He and Yoko exchanged some words.

"Have you ever heard of survivor bias?" said Yoko.

Mina nodded. "It's when a trend appears to be bigger than it really is because we don't see the failures. Like how music and movies weren't necessarily better back in the day; they used to produce about the same amount of garbage as we do today, but we only record and remember the hits."

"Like that," said Julius. "You only hear about vampires who make trouble, or at least the ones who are strong enough to be worth mentioning. Vampirism does make someone stronger, but not so much stronger that they can overpower more than one person at a time. Most vampires these days don't live by the first and sword."

Mina tilted her head. "So you're saying that 'stronger than most vampires' doesn't mean much?"

"You said that Beatrix was the strongest knight in Alexandria?" said Julius. "This is like calling her the strongest person in Alexandria."

"All right, fair enough," said Mina. "But that still doesn't answer my question."

"It wasn't supposed to, but I had to give you context," said Julius. "Dracula is the strongest opponent the Belmonts have ever faced, and he was a vampire. But it was not his vampirism that made him formidable. It was his magic." He turned to Yoko. "Do you mind explaining this one?"

Yoko nodded. "The short version is that few of Dracula's powers stem from vampirism, and nobody knows for sure where he got them or how they work. The Belnades and Belmonts have been studying him longer than anyone else, and we barely know what's going on. I think it's safe to say that this is why nobody else has become as powerful as him. At least, not through his methods."

"Celia's cult tried to make a new Dark Lord," countered Mina.

"Celia got herself killed trying to raise a Dark Lord, Dmitri lost control of his copied power and died, and we believe the rest of the cultists were only there to be fleeced," said Yoko. "I think it's safe to say that they didn't know what they were doing."

"What happened to Dario?"

"Booked it the moment Soma stole Agni's soul. Never thought he'd be the smartest person in the whole cult." Yoko took out another sheet of paper. "Here's what little we do know about Dracula's powers."

At the top of the page, she drew two columns, one labelled 'Powers' and the other labelled 'Why?'. Under 'Powers', she wrote aloud, "Mass summoning of monsters. Repeated resurrections. Chaos. Whatever the hell it means to be the Dark Lord. Castlevania. We have seen eldritch locations before, but we don't know how to make them. We know what he can do, but not why."

"Wait, vampires don't usually come back to life?" said Mina.

"Not if you finish them off properly," said Julius. "And yes, we've tried something new every time."

"Castlevania doesn't just revive Dracula," clarified Yoko. "It resurrects everything in the castle. We used to think that he summoned new demons every time, but Christopher Belmont had the misfortune of braving Castlevania twice. Many of the monsters he'd slain were rather verbose in their desire for revenge."

"Huh. I think Soma said something about that once," said Mina.

Yoko continued her notes. "Here's what little we know about where he got his powers." Under 'Why', she wrote 'Red Rock', 'Dominance', and 'Chaos'. "Julius, do you mind telling Mina about the legend of the Red Rock?"

"Red Rock?" repeated Mina incredulously.

"Do the words coccumque bis tinctum lapis mean anything to you?" said Julius. 

"Red Rock it is, then," said Mina.

"One of our oldest legends says that there were two ancient magic artifacts that granted power to vampires," said Julius. "There was one called the Black Rock, which made it always night around a certain forest, without killing any of the plants. Dracula has the Red Rock, which lets him command Death. The reaper, not dying," he clarified.

"There is one theory that Death brings him back, but it doesn't explain the hundred-year cycle, or why he let him come back as Soma," said Yoko.

"And it still doesn't explain how you can kill Death," said Mina.

Yoko tapped 'Dominance'. "Then there's Dominance. We don't know where he got that power or why he's the only one who has it, or even why Soma inherited it. Since we only knew the basics and we didn't have a test subject, it was easy to blame it for everything. Dracula blighted crops? Stole the soul of a plague demon. Raised the dead? A necromancer, or just a bunch of zombies." She sighed. "And then Soma came along and ruined half our theories." She muttered darkly in Romanian.

"Yoko?" said Mina.

Yoko blinked. "Right. And then there's Chaos. We know absolutely nothing about it," said Yoko. "Apparently, it's the malice in human hearts." She clicked her pen and wrote, saying out loud, "What does that mean? Why does it need a host? Why did it choose Dracula? Does the Dark Lord need to be chosen by Chaos? Why is the Dark Lord the opposite of God? Who was the Dark Lord before Dracula? We don't know any of these things."

She sighed again. "That's the best we can do, I'm afraid. Does that answer your question?"

Mina nodded shakily. "I think it did. Thank you."

They sat in silence.

"So… do you want to play Go Fish?" said Julius, taking out a deck of cards.

"Sure," said Yoko.

"All right," said Mina.

They played.

"So, uh… one last question," said Mina. "You didn't tell us your legal surname because Soma was here, right?"

Julius cracked a smile. "My name is Julius Velthomer," he said with visible relish. [7] It sounded a little stilted, as if he'd had to practice in front of a mirror.

"If it's all right with you, I'll be returning first," said Yoko.

"Go ahead," said Mina. She turned to Julius. "You can go ahead of me. I'm not doing anything else."

"No, you have school," said Julius. "I have nothing else to do and a deck of cards to do it with."

They played until the timer went off. Soma returned shortly afterwards, cloak and mask in hand, and as agreed, picked up Yoko. When Mina's turn came, she waved goodbye to Julius.

Once they left the building, Mina stopped him. "We need to plan our next move. All three of us."

X

Whenever a new Agent is recruited, the first question they are asked (well, besides 'what is your name', 'how do you write your name', and 'how many nipples have you got, laddie') is what they think is the Agency's most important job. Most say that it is fighting monsters or protecting the innocent. Those who suspect a trick question say that it is maintaining harmony between the natural and supernatural. Others say it's maintaining the lie that the world is normal. All grand goals, but not jobs.

In Agent Fireball's opinion, their most important job was sorting the wheat from the chaff. Not just chaff like ordinary criminals dressed up as monsters, but wheat where the bank robber was a latent magician who thought their newfound powers made them invincible, or the drug dealer who didn't miraculously never get shot, they were just a zombie who could ignore pain. At least, that's what he told himself whenever his coworkers or bosses asked him to look over their reports, or take overtime and look at a crime scene. He'd been a cop before the Agency picked him up; he hadn't been a forensics officer when he started, but he was just as good as one now.

He finished signing the memo on the arson, and stared at his newest trouble.

On the surface, it was nothing new. Mysterious death, decapitation, body dumped on a hillside. He'd seen every one of these details before, but not together. It was like assembling a jigsaw puzzle after your toddler niece tossed in half the pieces from the other ten sets and choked on a few for good measure.

Agent Fireball sighed, and flipped to the autopsy.

Every Agent fell into one of two traps at the start of their career. The first was forgetting that they were occult police, trying to solve the crime on purely mundane terms, and shutting down the moment they encountered something they'd been raised to think was impossible. Agent Fireball had been one of those rookies. The second, more common trap was fixating a little too much on the occult aspect, to the point where the sheer variety of magic paralyzed them. A murder where the victim was found caked in glowing mud could be a sea spirit made from bioluminescent plankton, a ghost that sprayed ectoplasm all over the place, or an elaborate hoax involving green glow-in-the-dark powder and a very strong flashlight. An effective Agent had to climb out of those traps and teeter somewhere in between.

Not even supernatural criminals could hide every trace of their crimes. In fact, supernatural criminals tended to leave more behind, since they assumed that the police would simply stare goggle-eyed at their handiwork and give up. That was why Agent Fireball had signed a request for info on recent gasoline robberies. Whether the spark comes from a lighter or from a contract with the spirits, fire needs fuel, and very few fire wizards are powerful enough to burn down a modern metal-and-concrete building with magic alone. And in the event that there was something that didn't leave any mundane traces, it would leave plenty of magical ones, and Fireball could easily pass the problem down to an expert.

The autopsy revealed that the victim had died between two and four in the morning, after both the flash of light (12:21 am) and the drunks (1:16 am). The heavy rains had washed away most of the blood, but the police had traced the murder to a nearby alleyway. It couldn't have been a better spot for a crime; a bend made it invisible from the street, and the surrounding buildings were a bakery, a clothing store, a garage, and a bookstore, all businesses that close for the night.

Agents Reaper, Lily, and Dragon passed by the site of the dump at 1:41 am, and there was no body then. They had (unsuccessfully) chased the drunks down a rocky goat trail, and on their way back, decided that it wasn't necessary to brave the climb, and instead went around the long way to the normal hiking trail. This walk took them around the hillside, and Agent Reaper should have spotted it with his night vision. While Agent Fireball knew that most people didn't pay attention to their surroundings, they'd also added that they were keeping an eye out in case the drunks were hiding.

An early morning jogger discovered the body at 4:32 am. He had mistaken the corpse for a drunk, and ran over to help before this poor soul contracted hypothermia. Then the jogger realized that the stranger was not only missing a pulse, but a head. He called the cops immediately.

Agent Fireball doubted that the drunks were responsible. Anyone who willingly returned to the scene of the crime to dispose of evidence of a second crime would be incredibly stupid. Granted, they were drunk, but even a panicked drunk would do something stupid in their haste to get away, not return.

He moved on to the part that described the victim. No signs of a struggle, no marks on the body that could have plausibly killed him. The decapitation was messily done, which was no surprise. While he had little firsthand experience, he read somewhere that the guillotine was invented because execution by axe or sword required multiple agonizing strikes. The decapitation likely took place after death; adrenaline in the face of certain death made the body surprisingly strong even in the face of a gaping neck wound, and if the victim hadn't fought back, there would at least be some kind of injury from running away.

Fireball suspected that the victim's neck was cut with a sword or knife (that wasn't a cleaver). It was hard to explain to amateur cops or people who didn't work in butcher shops or kitchens, but the neck looked like it had been sawn with a non-serrated blade (Agent Fireball always kept stomach tablets and plastic bags to crime scenes).

That was the how. The why could be anything.

A murder with no sign of injury. Ominous enough; it's much easier to kill someone through the body than try to hit something squishy on the skull. Something was special about the head. It sent a message, just one that Fireball didn't recognize.

A decapitation that took place after death. Without the head, identifying the body would be much more difficult. Not impossible, but more time and resources than the average crook would be expected to have.

A body dump on an open field, a field right next to the woods, no less. Usually implies that the killer wanted the body to be found. A classic gang tactic. And yet, no head. What was the point of showing off a body if nobody could tell who it was?

Of course, there were always the standard excuses for inexplicable phenomena. Crimes of passion. Elaborate misdirection. And as always, occult reasons.

Occult reasons were Agent Fireball's greatest weakness. He had plenty of experience with mundane crime, and he'd been on the receiving end of several occult methods. But reasons… it could be sacrifices to a dark god, a cruel but necessary ritual the ensure that the world doesn't end, or even because of a convincing fake spell found off the internet. Too many possibilities for his liking.

Normally, he would call in one of his colleagues. But head office had been swamped with the fallout from the Phantom Thieves and the… Situation (you could always hear the pause and the capital S); half the agents were working overtime on those, and the other half was trying to fill the gap. Training groups weren't supposed to be one person managing twenty, and Agent Fireball was sure that his colleagues were faring no better.

None of Agent Fireball's charges had any idea what was going on. To their credit, they had asked Yoko and done some independent research, but none came up with anything more substantial than 'one head is lighter than a whole body, so the summoner could have used it instead'. That was true, but getting away with multiple murders is usually more difficult even if you only had to carry a couple dozen pounds at a time.

Well, Yoko was an expert in real magic. Fireball had shallow but broad knowledge, but he too dealt with real magic too often, and lost sight of…well, not reality. He and Yoko were so immersed in reality, they lost track of fantasy, an affliction that affects far too many people. At times like these, you needed an expert who knew not how magic worked, but how people thought magic worked.

Like every good cop, he had informants. "Hi, Hijiri. Remember how you asked for weird murders? Well…"

X

Mina didn't like swimming in the ocean. Oh, it wasn't because she was a bad swimmer; she used to race 200-meter butterflies in high school (she usually came in close to last, but anyone who can swim 200 solid meters of butterfly was worthy of respect). And she didn't mind frolicking along the shoreline or treading water, either. She just didn't like swimming the racing strokes in the ocean.

Most of the beaches Mina visited had cloudy, sandy water. Even with goggles, you couldn't see the bottom. The waves could be carrying sharks, stinging jellyfish, or any kind of trash. The lifeguard could be screaming at you to get out of a riptide, and you'd never notice them. Of course, Mina's rational mind told her there was nothing to worry about, and yet she worried all the same.

Being in the Mirror World was just like swimming in the ocean, sans sand and sharks. She had that same feeling, claustrophobic and agoraphobic at the same time, that there was something lurking just out of sight. It didn't help that the Mirror World sometimes reflected changes in the real world, so huge trees would sway soundlessly in the wind, and the crossing lights would flash on and off without the familiar beeps.

It would have been unbearable without someone else around.

After Mina admitted this to Soma (who said he didn't mind the atmosphere), he said he'd ask his other roommates to let her stay in his room while he dropped off Julius.

Unfortunately, Soma's other roommate spotted them before they could warn him. He fell out of his chair, but Soma quickly removed his mask and waved frantically. The roommate calmed down, but he shot a dirty look at the ceiling for some reason.

"Mina, this is Naoki, my roommate," said Soma after they crossed over. "Naoki, this is Mina, my friend."

"Pleased to meet you," said Naoki cordially. He had a low, quiet voice.

"Likewise," said Mina.

"Just as a heads up, Naoki already knows that Kazuya's a summoner, but he promised not to turn him in," said Soma. He looked around. "Where is Kazuya, anyways?"

Naoki shook his head. "I don't know. His coats are all here, so he's still in the building," he added.

"It's alright, I can text him," said Soma.

Naoki nodded silently.

"I'm off, then," said Soma, and he flashed into the mirror. Mina waved him goodbye.

Naoki went back to whatever he was doing on his computer, but he kept glancing at Mina as if she were about to pounce.

"So," said Mina, sitting down on the ladder for one of the bunk beds. "How did you get mixed up in all this?"

Naoki took out his earbuds. "I don't want to talk about it," said Naoki, in a tone that was too casual to not be forced.

"Okay," said Mina.

There was an awkward pause.

"I'm sorry, that was rude," said Naoki. "It's… I don't mind demons or magic or ghosts, and I'm fine with talking about what I know, but I… I've been through a lot, and I don't want to talk about how I know it."

Mina nodded. "Actually, I've been wondering if you could help me with something."

Naoki stiffened.

"I… I think I'm going to be in a lot of dangerous situations from now on," Mina continued. "I'm not going to go looking for trouble, but I think I need to learn how to protect myself against monsters. I'm a miko, and I've got my bow, but that's not really a self-defense weapon."

"I… don't think my skills are applicable," said Naoki nervously. "Why don't you ask Soma or Kazuya?"

"Kazuya's a summoner, and I don't think they do a lot in the way of physical combat," said Mina. "And Soma… he's, um…" Mina raised a hand above her head. "He's over a foot taller than me and weighs something like two hundred pounds. What works for him might not work for me."

"Then I don't think I can help you, either," said Naoki. "I used to be a demon summoner."

"Oh," said Mina. It was incredible how quickly you could get used to something like this. "Do you know anyone else, then?"

Naoki shook his head. "The best I can say is that running can save your life. Get a good pair of shoes, take them everywhere."

There was more silence, but less awkward this time. They had said everything they needed to say, and now they could move on with their lives. Naoki had returned to his game, Mina started playing on her phone, and neither of them as much as glanced at the other until Soma returned.

X

"Who is Celia?"

Kazuya had been crying. It didn't show on his dead expression, but his face was red and swollen. Soma decided not to press the issue, and answered his question.

"Another illegal demon summoner, one who actually killed people for Magnetite," said Soma. "She tried to lure me for my powers back in December. Ended up getting killed by something she summoned." Which was true; after all, 'summon' could also mean something as mundane as 'call someone to court' or 'telephone a friend and ask them to enter your evil castle of doom'.

Kazuya nodded. "And what did you call us here for?" he asked Mina.

"The murders," said Mina. "You heard Yoko. They think you're responsible."

"I heard," said Kazuya. There was a pause. "You don't think I did it, do you?"

"No," said Soma. "You tried to talk us down when you could have sent Cerberus at us, long before you know I had powers. If you were the murderer, it would have been easier to just kill us and feed us to your demons."

Kazuya shook his head. "No, it wouldn't have. I'm your roommate, and I'd be the last person who saw you. The bruiseboys would have my Gulliver in a knapsack in an instant."

There was an awkward pause.

"That demon, though, was that you?" said Soma, as if Kazuya hadn't said anything.

Kazuya nodded. "I told you I used a demon to get my money back from that scammer."

"And your plan involved robbing a grocery store?"

"No. I pay a flat rate per summon, so I made him do my chores, too."

Mina coughed. "Could we get back on topic, please?"

Kazuya nodded. "Go ahead."

"Before we can proceed, I need to ask you something, Kazuya." Mina took in a deep breath. "Let me be blunt here. We know that it's not a summoner committing these murders—well, at least, it's not you—and it's our responsibility as good citizens to warn the Agency that they're on the wrong track. Now, are you so good of a citizen that you'd throw yourself on the Agency's mercy by telling them false alarm, you're the summoner?"

Kazuya glared. "No."

Mina nodded. "I didn't think so. And we're not such good citizens, either. If we can't testify, then it's our responsibility to search for the killer in their place. Are you in?"

Soma nodded. We should have been on this case from the start.

Kazuya crossed his arms. "I'll do it, on one condition," he said. "When we catch the real culprit, we pin my crimes on them. Are you okay with falsifying evidence?"

"…Is anything I say going to change your mind?" said Mina.

"No," said Kazuya bluntly.

Mina shrugged. "They're killing people anyways, and that's what's illegal." She paused. "Then again, we don't have any proof that they're not just kidnappers. What if it turns out that they never killed anyone?"

"We'll burn that bridge when we cross it," said Kazuya. "There's got to be at least one murderer we can blame."

"Then it's settled," said Mina. "Now… when are you free?"

"I have lab on Wednesdays," said Kazuya.

"I have a paper due next Tuesday," said Soma.

The rest of the conversation was scheduling, which need not concern us.

X

Meanwhile, the murderer and the accomplice were sitting in their apartment, eating (drinking?) soup.

"Wow, you're right," said the accomplice. "This is like eating a swamp. But… a spicy, savory swamp." The accomplice took another slurp. "I never thought I'd eat a meal where the vegetables taste better than the meat."

"I'm glad you like it," said the murderer, scooping out a dumpling and chewing. Both of them had rolled and shaped the dumplings before boiling them in the soup; this one was shaped like a canoe. "I always found the potatoes strange."

The accomplice grunted. "I like potatoes."

"In soup?"

"Have you ever had garlic-potato soup?" said the accomplice.

"That's different. That soup is made from potatoes. This soup is made from vegetables, and the potatoes were added for carbs. Potatoes in garlic-potato soup give it a smooth, thick texture. Potatoes added to soup are gritty and somehow un-potato-like."

"If you don't want them, I'll eat them."

"Go ahead," said the murderer, scooping out the potatoes and dropping them into the accomplice's bowl.

X

By the time the three of them figured out a time that would work for all of them, it was late. Soma walked Mina home, this time through realspace. The Mirror World was creepy enough when it was light out; it was terrifying in the dark.

When Soma returned, Kazuya had left a bowl of hot pumpkin soup on his desk. It was delicious, even though Kazuya seemed to think that boiled Coltunasi was a good replacement for dumplings. [8] He took a shower and crawled into bed.

Soma stared off at the ceiling.

All of you, he said to his souls. How do you feel about serving me?

There was a lot of background chatter.

Why are you only asking us now? Erinys asked warily.

Soma shrugged. I haven't met a demon summoner until last night. A decent one, I mean.

And you want to feel like you're the bigger man, don't you? Werejaguar growled.

When Soma said nothing, a Student Witch jumped in. We're here because we wanted to be, she said reassuringly. You're not strong enough to steal our souls, just accept them.

Soma blinked. But…this is your soul we're talking about, I—

You'll understand one day, said a Witch. I sold my soul long before you or Dracula came along. My world was just a tiny village in the middle of nowhere where everyone hated me. You'd do it too, if it meant freedom.

When you slew me, you gave me a choice between two prisons, and your mind was more palatable than the seal, said Agni. I don't get very many chances to see the world. Dario only showed me the castle, and my last two hosts both died before they could see much of anything.

We've been stuck in that damn castle for so long, anything else is welcome, said the Skeleton Farmer.

Going with you was a valid way to leave our contracts, said a Succubus. Celia was… not unskilled, but she was a terrible summoner. She summoned most of us because she wanted rooms full of monsters, not because she needed our skills. You wanted us, you appreciate us, and you listen to us. That might not seem like much to you, but it's everything to us.

Whether you believe it or not, you are Lord Dracula, said the Waiter Skeleton. I am your loyal servant, milord.

I'm not, grumbled a Valkyrie. I came to pick up some warrior souls, and the castle's magic trapped me. You're pretty much my ticket back to Valhalla. If you die as Soma Cruz, I can go back to Valhalla. If you go back to being Dracula, that's just back to square one.

Dmitri left, said Soma. He paused. Come to think of it, there is something bothering me about Dmitri, thought Soma. What did he say, again? Something about Ari—

Soma froze. His eyes shone with an eerie red light. Raw magical energy surged from within, twisting itself into a complex spell—

And then it stopped. Soma blinked brown eyes. Come to think of it, how did Dmitri escape from my hold?

I believe that he duplicated the Ghost's power to separate soul from body, said Stolas as if nothing had happened. All of the souls were used to this. Any attempt to call attention to it was futile, since another spell would erase those memories.

Huh, said Soma. Good to know. After a long, hard moment, longer than he would care to admit, he asked, Hey, you guys? If any of you want to go free, Yoko's in town. She can free you.

Let me think about it, said Valkyrie.

Soma blinked. Why? Don't you want to go home?

I do, but… a tingle of shame ran down the Valkyrie's spine. Home's not the best place to be right now. From what I've heard through the grapevine (yes, I can still get news), Odin's gearing up to reclaim a new world.

And you don't want to fight?

The Valkyrie shuddered. Not on this battlefield. Demons like me can die, but we always come back to life eventually. This time, we're facing someone who can claim the souls of anyone who dies on his territory. Human, demon, god, if they die there, poof, instant mind wipe, and they're his.

And how is this any different?

Dracula let us keep our personalities and will. We couldn't leave, but at least he had the decency to let us hate it. The Valkyrie sighed. I want to keep being me. Don't get me wrong, I want to go home eventually. But right now, this isn't safe. Maybe I'll take you up on this offer one day.

If you say so… anyone else?

There was a faint murmuring.

In that case, good night.

TO BE CONTINUED!

OMAKE #1 Julius's alternate backstory

"So, Julius, how did you go missing for over thirty years, if Arikado is so competent?" asked Soma.

Julius sighed. "All right, on the night before the raid on Dracula's castle, Arikado and I had a talk…"

FLASHBACK

"It's just…weird, you know?" said Julius Belmont, nineteen years old. "This… literally my entire life has been leading up to this day."

"Are you nervous?" asked Alucard.

Julius shook his head. "Well, of course I am; I'm not stupid enough to not be afraid. But I'm just scared of what's next."

"What do you mean?"

Julius went silent for a moment, drinking his soda. "Who am I, if I'm not the Belmont heir? Who are the Belmonts, if we're not the warriors who slay Dracula? What am I going to do with my life? Is this going to be the most important thing I'm going to do with my life, and it's all going to be downhill from here?"

Alucard put a hand on Julius's back. "I had those same questions, long ago," he said. "After I slew my father, I thought there was nothing left for me but eternal slumber."

Julius blinked. "I said I was scared, not suicidal."

"Apprehension is normal," said Alucard as if Julius hadn't said anything. "I suggest you go see the world for yourself after the battle ends. I will explain to your family."

Julius stared. "Are you saying that I should go find myself or something? But I have—"

"The Belmont family can take care of themselves. No one will blame you if you take a vacation." Alucard slipped Julius some money. "Take this. If you run out, I'm sure that a strong young man such as yourself will have no trouble finding a job."

Julius's face lit up. "I won't forget this, Alucard."

FLASHBACK END

"Arikado never forgave himself for that," said Julius.

Soma stared. "…No wonder he always wants to know where I am."

Chapter Text

“Leon tends to overexplain every aspect of life he encounters. For every page about an exciting battle with a pack of werewolves at the edge of a mighty cliff, there are ten more detailing what kind of rock the cliff was made of or a study of how pack dynamics between true wolves, werewolves, and humans differ. While this is certainly of great historical value and would be a veritable gold mine for certain professors, it is also very frustrating for those who just want an adventure story. To this, I say: ‘If I had to suffer through this, you do, too.’”

-Translator’s note on the Diary of Leon Belmont. Julius admitted to writing this after spending several days on a passage dedicated entirely to the construction of shoes in a remote Finnish village, which later turned out to contain vital clue in the Mystery of the Cat that Turned Out Not to be a Cat After All.

Time passed, as it always does.

Aoi handed in her essay, Hawk handed her the recordings, Kazuya attended his lab, Mina took a test, Naoki handed in his physics homework and received a second one, Soma handed in his paper, and the Agents opened and closed a few cases. The sun rose and set, the weather inched (or millimetered) towards the positive end of Celsius, and another person was reported missing (a Fumiko Ishikawa, aged 47). The last night of January dropped deluge upon deluge of freezing rain, leaving February 1^st to deal with the slick, icy mess.

Agent Fireball, however, enjoyed the wee hours of his Sunday cozy underneath three blankets, blissfully unaware of the elbow fracture that awaited him.

Then at exactly 6:12 am, his cell phone rang.

“How long are you going to deny this, you fake?!”

Agent Fireball crooned his best impression of whale song in response.

“Laugh while you can. You don’t belong in this world and you know it. You don’t even care who sacrificed their lives for your tepid existence. Not even that girl you loved so much.”

Agent Fireball serenaded his mysterious caller with a rendition of The Joker’s iconic laugh (the Mark Hamill version) while he changed out of his pajamas and into his work clothes.

“Aye, for the golden sun and azure skies have abandoned you forevermore, and through a cage of steel the other you watched in vain as he could do nothing, absolutely nothing, to stop the coming end—”

“Merrily the butterfly skipped over the wide ocean waves, unaware of the golden scepter that awaited him in the dark, distant lands of Candyland the musical,” Agent Fireball sang at random.

“You’re just a clone, created from the stupid wish of some lonely chil—”

Agent Fireball mimicked the noise of a cell phone beep as he hung up. The strange mark on his arm tingled, but he ignored it. He was in the mood for a meaty breakfast today, maybe bacon and eggs—

His protégés were standing outside his bedroom door. He blinked. They stared.

“Um… what was that all about?” said Agent Dragon, staring at Agent Fireball as if he’d not only grown a second head, but started to brush its teeth as well.

Agent Fireball sighed, reentered his room, and handed her a laminated card. “Read this out loud for the class.”

“On the first day of every month, at exactly 6:12 a.m., a strange man calls me from an untraceable number,” Agent Dragon recited. “Yes, I have tried changing my number. No, he doesn’t call if I don’t sleep next to my phone, but a minor inconvenience is not worth sleeping through an emergency call. Yes, we have looked into it, but we couldn’t find anything. No, the time does not match whatever time zone I’m in; it’s always 6:12 a.m. in Japan. No, we do not know the significance of these numbers.”

“And the whale song?” asked Agent Reaper.

“Fun and catharsis,” said Agent Fireball, yawning. “Sometimes I shout and curse, sometimes I babble, but most of the time I make noises until he shuts up. Now, is this time-sensitive, or can we talk over breakfast?”

Everyone all started talking at once.

Agent Fireball sighed. “Agent Cowboy, you go.”

X

Meanwhile…

Julius slammed his head into the pillow. Birds chirped outside the hotel room window, a lovely treat for people who wake up before dawn, but a mocking reminder of lost time for night owls and insomniacs.

Before he could resign himself to Morpheus’s embrace, he’d have to fix his schedule. He texted Apprentice #149 in Romanian, ‘Training is cancelled today, for reasons that you are no doubt aware’.

Julius burrowed under the covers and tried to sort out what the hell he saw last night.

X

Also Meanwhile…

Mina woke to Proto Man’s Blues Whistle. She sat up, trying to find the source.

“Here,” said an unfamiliar voice. Mina stared blearily in the voice’s general direction, until she remembered how Kazuya summoned a succubus named Edith to walk her home.

Mina took the phone gingerly, mouthing a ‘thank you’ before diving beneath the covers. “What do you want, Soma?” she hissed.

“Hi Mina,” said Soma through the phone. “We, uh… crap, how do I say this?”

“Ask her if she has hydrogen peroxide,” Kazuya said in the background.

“Yes, I do. Did you seriously call me at…” she glanced at her alarm clock, “six in the morning just because you wanted peroxide?” Mina rubbed her eyes. “What the hell do you need it for?”

“The same reason you have it,” said Kazuya.

“Kazuya, running out of hair dye is not an emergency.”

“No, not that. Didn’t… your mother must have shown you how to use it. It’s for that.”

“Cleaning toilets is not an emergency, either. Go pee in the bushes if you have to.”

Kazuya sighed. “Hydrogen peroxide is an effective way of cleaning blood out of most types of cloth.”

“What kind of life do you think I’m living? Whose blood am—oh,” said Mina. “You’re talking about discount virgin’s blood. Does that really help?”

“Take it from me, it does,” said Kazuya.

Soma coughed. “This is cool and all, but look, we’re got jelly doughnuts with corn syrup and whipped cream in the basement, and you’d better get them while they’re fresh.”

“Edith might like some, too,” Kazuya added.

It took Mina a moment to remember the code. “Be right there.”

“Bring something to eat, too,” said Soma. “We… you’ll see.”

“Don’t forget my jacket!” Kazuya called right before she hung up.  

X

But before we can hear about the events of last night, we must first start with the events of the day.

X

(Saturday, January 31^st, 1:27 a.m.)

One hundred milliamps. Barely enough current to charge your phone. Probably just noise on some oscilloscopes. Plug it into the average incandescent light bulb, get a feeble glow like the embers of the campfire long after the last s’mores have been eaten.

One hundred milliamps is just enough current to kill a man.

The murderer faced three men in an alley. The fourth was lying on the ground, writhing in what looked like agony, but was in fact his nerves screaming as five amps of current surged through his lifeless body. His buddies ignored him, thinking that he’d just been punched hard in the stomach, not tazed so far beyond the legal limit that his eyeballs were melting in their sockets. To them, the smell of sewage was the stench of a filthy alleyway, not their friend’s bowels releasing their load with no dignity left to salvage.

The leader shouted at his buddy to get up, and when the body failed to miraculously rise from the dead, spat on him. He brandished his knife in what he thought was a threatening manner (amateurs, thought the murderer, you don’t brandish that kind of knife, you conceal), and the other two lackeys followed suit.

The murderer might have run if they were Yakuza. Making an enemy out of organized crime is never a good idea, no matter how powerful you are. But they weren’t Yakuza; the Yakuza had more profitable things to do than rob people in alleyways.

The murderer might have forgiven them if they were kids. Oh, they’d be thrashed within an inch of their lives, but just as a lesson, so they’d know to get out of this dirty business. But these weren’t kids; judging by their faces, builds, and expensive suits, these were full-grown men.

The murderer might have spared them if they were drunk. The murderer knew perfectly well how alcohol affects inhibitions, and how it unshackles the beast within. But judging by their surefooted strides and absence of alcohol on their breath, they couldn’t have been past the ‘have a drink to ask Suzie Jenkins on a date’ stage; anything they did now, they would have wanted to do sober.

By then, one of the lackeys noticed that something was wrong. He nudged the fallen member with his foot, then knelt to shake him. No response. No pulse.

Now or never.

The murderer pounced.

X

(10:17 a.m.)

Naoki was now a member of Aoi’s gang. Somehow, he had a vague feeling that this should have been harder; like he should have paid member’s dues or mud-wrestled a lion or something. But no, all he had to do was read a brochure and meet up with them whenever he could.

Even the meetings were weird. Naoki had expected to sneak off to the docks or a warehouse, or even the power plant like before, to sit on barrels and talk about beating people up. And when Aoi picked him up from the convenience store for his first meeting, they did pass by quite a few abandoned factories on their way to the real meetup spot—an apartment building.

“You live here?” said Naoki when she unlocked the basement door.

Aoi nodded, and handed him the key. “Take it. I have copies.”

Naoki put it on his keychain. “I’m not complaining, but is that legal?”

“My… landlady is in the gang. She understands.”

Naoki suddenly imagined a middle-aged woman in glasses and an apron running around with Aoi’s band of teenagers.

“…How?” Naoki managed.

“It’s a long story, and you probably won’t see her today,” said Aoi. “I won’t say why, because I respect her privacy, but she doesn’t practice in the room we’re using today.”

Naoki nodded.  

Aoi opened the door.

It is said that it takes six seconds to make a first impression, and six years to undo one. Most public buildings are fortunate in this regard, as they are given two chances to make first impressions: the façade and the lobby. As it is less expensive to maintain the interior than the exterior, the lobby tends to be the fanciest room in the building, with the possible exception of the executive suite. Most apartment complexes Naoki had entered, both residential and professional, had stone floors so shiny that you could make out the ceiling pattern (but not so shiny that ladies couldn’t wear skirts), chandeliers that cast scattered rainbows across gold-threaded furniture, and wide glass walls and doors that allowed an unobstructed view from the street (saving costs on the façade was well). But once you entered the metal-walled elevator, you’d find that the upper floors consisted of cramped hallways walled with white plaster and floored with the kind of industrial carpet that you knew was scratchy because it was the same kind you used to play on as a child.

Naoki was surprised to find that this apartment building didn’t follow this model.

“This is a basement?” he said in awe. He’d expected a concrete tunnel, lined with mysterious pipes and slightly cracked walls. Not polished marble walls lined with paintings, nor wine-red carpet that tickled his ankles as he walked, like an underwater stroll through red kelp. “It’s like…”

An opera house?

A bordello?

That episode of the Simpsons where Homer joins the not-Stonemasons and gets to drive though a secret tunnel to work?

“The Moscow Metro,” Naoki concluded.

Aoi looked up. “Not nearly enough chandeliers.”

“But you know what I mean, right?” said Naoki, waving his hand vaguely. “I thought Choo Choo Chums Centennially was running an ad for an art museum at first.” He flicked the light switch, but nothing happened.

“The electricity got cut off years ago,” explained Aoi, handing him an electric lantern from a line next to the door. “Same with internet. The only reason why we still pay for running water is hygiene.” Lightning arced between her fingertips, and she tapped each of the lanterns in turn. “It’s not for everyone, but it’s not so bad if you can do magic.”

“…You’re cheap, aren’t you?” said Naoki.

“Thrift is a virtue,” said Aoi stiffly.

Naoki decided not to pursue that line of inquiry. He untied his outdoor shoes. “So what’s the point of all this?” He gestured towards the luxurious paintings.

“Some cult funded it,” said Aoi, taking off her outdoor shoes. “You know, the standard deal; worship your god, prosperity and good fortune tend your days, human sacrifice on the last full moon of the year or else the sun doesn’t come up.”

“And you live here why?” said Naoki, taking out his indoor slippers.

“Landlady doesn’t charge me rent,” said Aoi, slipping on her indoor slippers.

Naoki stopped to consider this. Would I live with an evil cult if it meant free board?

Scratch that, would I live with an evil cult for free board if I weren’t an indestructible demon?

“Is that worth a Satanic cult as neighbors?”

Aoi shook her head. “No, they weren’t Satanic. Their iconography did not correspond with any known form of Abrah—”

“You know what I mean,” said Naoki.

The edges of Aoi’s mouth twitched upwards. “I didn’t know about the cult when I moved in.”

“And yet you didn’t move out,” said Naoki.

Aoi shrugged. “It’s not a problem anymore. I killed them all.”

Naoki choked. “You what?”

“They tried to sacrifice me and the other residents,” said Aoi, arms crossed. “Naturally, I objected.”

Naoki swallowed. That’s…better. Not good, but understandable. “And you never got caught?”

Aoi stared off into space. “I got lucky. They kept their sacrificial altar in a hidden room, so the only surviving witnesses were the other would-be sacrifices, none of whom were willing to implicate their rescuer. Most of the cultists created fake alibis, so the police were looking elsewhere when they went missing. And…” Aoi grimaced. “I don’t want to talk about what happened to the bodies.”

“Understandable,” said Naoki. He tilted his head. “How long ago was this?”

“If you’re asking if they had anything to do with the disappearances, this was just after I started college, so… wow, almost four years ago,” said Aoi.

Naoki nodded. “Anyways, you still haven’t answered my question. Why is this basement so fancy?”

Aoi dusted a picture frame absently. “I didn’t recognize whatever god or demon they were courting, but from what I’ve heard, the rule is that you get out what you put in.” She paused. “Think of this building as a shrine or a cathedral.”

“A what?” Naoki had never heard that English word before.

“It’s a special kind of church,” said Aoi. “If you ask a dictionary, it says that a cathedral is a church with a bishop, but most people think of them as fancy stone castles. Anyways,” she twirled something in her hands. “The point is that this whole building was built to satisfy a god. The more money spent on the building, the more the residents prosper.” She scowled. “And the wealthier the sacrifices, the more generous the god. You can see that it’s a fancy apartment in a rough neighborhood? It wasn’t just gentrification; they used to abduct residents and blame it on the local thugs.”

“And you still live here because you want the residual blessing?” Naoki deduced.

“No, that’s been gone for a while,” said Aoi. She sighed. “I’m just that cheap, okay?”

Naoki looked at the paintings. The duck holding a bag in the graveyard probably symbolized something, but he mostly liked how it was a cheerful shade of brown against dark and gloomy grays. He was on firmer ground with the one of a nude athlete dropping his laurel crown into a pot of soup; maybe it represented the ephemeral nature of glory and how it can’t feed you unless you sell out. “Not that I’m complaining, but wouldn’t it be easier to build a real basement and fill it with gold statues and treasure chests?”

Aoi shrugged. “Like I said, the whole building is supposed to be a shrine, and spending money for the greater glory of their god counts as a sacrifice.” She stopped to straighten a frame, realized that it was already straight, and put it back. “If you can reel back your money, it’s not a sacrifice, is it? Gold, silver, and things made from precious materials can be melted down and sold. Art, land, and the building itself are all illiquid assets, so it’s more difficult to steal them from your god.”

“Couldn’t you just steal a painting and sell it?” said Naoki. “How is that different from selling gold?”

Aoi shrugged. “I don’t know. It could be because the time, hard work, and imagination the artist put into their creation is the sacrifice, and the painting itself is just a shell. It could be because you can’t put a price on art. Or it could just be because fine art is an illiquid asset, which has something to do with dealers, auctions, and the fact that you’re almost guaranteed to lose money if you try to resell. Take your pick.”

“So was all this commissioned?” said Naoki.

Aoi paused. “No, and I don’t see how you came to that conclusion.”

“Wouldn’t the ‘hard work as sacrifice’ thing only apply to artwork they commissioned?” said Naoki. “I mean, yeah, all art is made from work, but does the work transfer when you buy a painting?”

“Why wouldn’t the work transfer?” said Aoi. “Does the effort vanish when… no, we can talk about this later. We’re getting off track. My point is that an empty Moscow Metro is better than a Washington Metro full of buried treasure.”

“I like brutalism,” muttered Naoki, shamelessly parroting the author’s tastes.

“If you were a god, which would you prefer?” countered Aoi.

“If I were a god of wealth, I’d probably throw my lot into industry, so a brutalist temple would be more symbolic,” parried Naoki.

Let’s see, it would be shaped like my holy symbol, and several stories high, terraced. We’re going for minimalist here, so I only get one decoration, and that’s my statue, obviously made of concrete and reinforced with a steel skeleton. Every terrace has a window, and maybe a skylight right above the statue. If my holy symbol is a tessellation, those alcove thingies could be in that shape instead of rounded rectangles. We could plant my sacred plants on the terraces, and maybe a pool if it fits my theme. Canals and moats and bridges are cool, so maybe they can be filled with holy water—

Aoi shrugged. “Horrorshow. But as far as I could tell, this was a god of exchange and sacrifice rather than production. So more of a banker or merchant than an industrialist.”

“Then why not go full rococo?” said Naoki. “I can see it now. The chandelier can use synthetic diamonds instead of glass, and if there’s some sacred number n, there could be a pillar every n meters—”

“Rococo is tacky,” said Aoi flatly. “If you’re going to invest into something expensive, try something functional. Rose windows and stained glass, given the one-way mirror treatment. It’ll be as good as an opaque wall from the outside, and you can actually see what you’re doing inside. Rituals by candlelight may sound romantic, but long robes and poorly mounted candlesticks are an accident waiting to happen.”

Naoki whistled. “Never would have figured you for the Gothic type.”

Now, Soma is definitely the Gothic type. I can see him lurking in the upper levels of a cathedral, writing poetry or something.

“I would have figured the cult for Gothic as well,” said Aoi. “But Gothic is practically synonymous with horror, and I suppose they were aiming for something more…” She paused. “Not avant-garde; that implies taste. Have you ever read a book where the author tries to sound smart by using big words, but they don’t know how to use them, so it just sounds like they’re hitting you over the head with a thesaurus? Or do you know any new parents who give their children special and unique names without realizing how much of a popinjay they sound?”

“Like naming your child Prince or Princess, or spelling their name in stupid ways?” said Naoki.

(This is not what Naoki literally said, as both are commonly used in Japanese. There are several lovely Japanese names that use Hime, or Princess. And almost every Japanese name can be written with different kanji; according to the internet, the name ‘Naoki’ can be written with at least 74 different combinations. But pretentious names can be found in every culture.)

“Like that,” said Aoi. “Speaking of names…” She coughed. “I think they wanted to name their cult Brotherhood of Evil, except in an exotic language. But since none of them spoke English, they picked synonyms at random, so it came out as…”

“As?”

Aoi coughed again. “…The Fraternity of Naughtiness.”

Naoki stared blankly. The only word he understood was of.

“It technically still means ‘Brotherhood of Evil’, but the connotation in English is something closer to ‘The college dorm where young men engage in hijinks and japery, often sexual in nature,’” translated Aoi.

“You got that with just three words?” said Naoki. He whistled. “English is incredible.”

At last, they stopped at a small picture of a man kneeling on a cliff, holding up a large red crystal. Next to it was a small hole cut into the wall, from which Aoi withdrew a clear red ring on a chain. She pressed it against the crystal in the picture, and a door behind them vwooshed open.

“It’s supposed to only work with those special rings, but any transparent red material works,” said Aoi, returning the ring to the hole. She dug into her purse and withdrew a smaller bag. “Take one of these.”

Naoki could recognize that sound anywhere. “Dice?”

Aoi handed him a d12. As promised, it was red and clear, with gold lettering. Naoki pocketed it.

“Why the secret passageway?” asked Naoki.

“It’s the altar room. People like to worship dark gods in private.”

“And why are we going into a room that’s obviously cursed?”

“We’re training there today.”

Naoki froze. “You train in a place where people tried to kill you?”

Aoi sighed. “Naoki, if I refused to enter every room where someone tried to kill me, I’d have to build a new house every two weeks.”

Naoki tilted his head. “Really?”

“On average. I did the math. Just another consequence of being a public figure.”

I don’t think most public figures have to deal with assassinations.

Wait, no, that tracks.

 Naoki decided to drop it. “So why the altar room? There’s no multipurpose or exercise room in this entire building?”

“Not one that I’d feel comfortable sparring you in,” said Aoi. “We train in the multipurpose room most of the time, but it has this huge window that’s practically a wall, so we can’t use magic in it.”

“Have you ever heard of this incredible invention called a ‘curtain’?”

“Have you ever heard of the term ‘friendly fire’?” Aoi sighed. “The problem isn’t that people can see… well, it isn’t just that. If I try to strike my opponent with lightning and miss, I hit the wall instead. It’s better to dent a stone wall than break a glass window.” She paused. “That said, please don’t shoot lasers out of your eyes today. I fear for the building’s structural integrity.”

I’ve been shooting lasers for ages and haven’t broken any buildings.

Yeah, but maybe there’s something weird about stuff made in the Vortex World? It’s all the Magatsuhi in the world, concentrated in a space the size of Tokyo. Stuff’s probably more durable there.

“Agreed.”

Aoi cleared her throat. “This is your last chance.”

“To back out?”

“No, to ask any questions you don’t want to ask in front of my crew.”

Naoki looked back at the hallway. “That was a very long hallway,” he said.

“It spirals,” said Aoi.

Naoki paused. “Just so I don’t spill the beans on you by accident, what do they already know? Demons are real? You’re from the future?”

“They know everything you know, except for my name,” said Aoi. “But that does remind me. How are you going to explain your abilities?”

“Um…”

Aliens?

Vampires?

The truth?

“You don’t have to tell them the truth if you don’t want to, but don’t lie,” said Aoi. “We all have secrets. If all you say is that you have superhuman abilities, then they’re just going to have to accept it.”

“I’ll go with that, then.”

Aoi nudged past him.

“One last thing,” said Aoi as she led him down the spiral staircase. “None of us use our real names. Call me ‘Boss’ from now on.”

“No,” said Naoki.

Aoi stopped, the expression on her face unreadable.

“I won’t use your real name if you don’t want me to, but I’m not calling you Boss,” Naoki clarified quickly.

Aoi’s face unfroze. “Because Boss implies authority, and you’re working with me, not for me?”

Naoki nodded.

“In that case, would ‘Madam’ be acceptable?” said Aoi. 

“Madam is acceptable,” said Naoki. “What should I call myself?”

Not Demi-Fiend. That would attract all kinds of the wrong attention.

But wouldn’t it draw out some of the scum? Might help if my name is out there. 

Any smart criminal who knows who I am would run.

“A good place to start is your own name,” said Aoi, noticing Naoki’s lapse. “My advice is to take a character or syllable from your own name. That way, even if you’re not used to the nickname, you’ll still react if someone tries to get your attention.”

“Fair enough,” said Naoki. He traced his name in the air. “Ka-Shi-Ma-Nao-Ki. Nao would be too obvious, and Ka and Ma makes me sound like someone’s mother. That leaves Shi and Ki.”

Shi means death, and Ki is another reading for oni. How’s that for pretentious symbolism?

“If you want my opinion, you’re not intimidating enough to call yourself Death,” said Aoi. “While you are certainly strong enough to deserve the nickname, nobody can see it just by looking at you. To them, you’re a skinny teenager who thinks he’s the bee’s knees just because he can push around the other kids in his skolliwoll.”

“Ki it is, then,” said Naoki.

The staircase emptied into a vast room dimly lit by a hodgepodge of electric lights. Multicolored strings of Christmas lights marked the borders of the room, while their white-gold counterparts snaked around pillars. From these pillars hung lanterns, bare bulbs, and even what looked like a repurposed desk lamp.

“Hi guys,” said Aoi, opening her arms as if preparing the hug the air. Twin bolts of lightning shot from her fingertips, and the room brightened.

Naoki gaped.

It should have worked. He should have been impressed. All the components were there: superfluous carved pillars, an elevated mural depicting mighty deeds ringing the circumference of the room, even an ominous altar in the back. Hell, the tiled floor was so dark and shiny that it mirrored the cheerful lighting into a ghostly glow. This should have been an awe-inspiring monument to the might of the Great God [REDACTED].

Naoki looked up at the mural, down at the tiled floor, and pointed at the space between. “Okay, I may not be an expert on home design, but I think I speak for everyone when I say that no self-respecting Satanic temple should have neon green wallpaper with gold polka dots.”

“Paint, actually,” said one of the gang members. “We would have taken it down already if it were wallpaper.”

“And you haven’t painted over it because…?”

“No ventilation,” said another, pointing up.  

Naoki had once stared down a hallway of twisted space. He ran through a real-life Wile E. Coyote cartoon, complete with painted-on doors and impossible dimensions. Hell, he used to go on training excursions in… well, Hell. But this eye-watering shade of leaky highlighter on what should have been a pleasant shine of gold hurt his eyes like nothing he'd ever seen before.

“See what I mean?” said Aoi. She cleared her throat. “This is Ki. He’ll be joining us from now on.”

There was a chorus of hellos. The gang members introduced themselves one by one, so rapidly that Naoki wasn’t sure if he’d remember them all.

“Hi,” said Naoki. “Sorry for beating you guys up.”

“It’s fine,” said Lu automatically. Then he paused. “Wait…”

There was an awkward pause as the rest of the gang stared at Naoki more closely. Naoki shrank at their gazes.

“Aaah!” shouted Rei, drawing her sword.

“It’s you!” screamed Haya, ducking behind a pillar.

“…Wait, I think that was the week I was sick,” said Ta. “Who are you?”

“I’m N—”

“He’s Ki,” Aoi interrupted loudly.

“Thanks,” said Naoki. He turned to Ta. “I, uh… I went looking for a guy I knew who went missing, and I tried… well, I tried getting information out of you guys.”

“And he beat us up,” said Lu. “Not Madam, though. She kicked his ass.”

Aoi shrugged. “We ended up sparring again. He won.”

“I… yeah, that happened,” said Naoki. He coughed. “So… uh, what do you guys do here?”

Lu shrugged. “Train, mostly,” he said. He eyed Naoki carefully. “…Let’s be honest, you don’t need it.”

“Poppycock,” said Aoi firmly. “Think of it as practice, not training.”

“I guess…,” said Lu. “But I’m not sparring you. I’d rather not get punched into a wall today.”

Even if it’s not a glass one.

“I’ll try my best,” said Naoki.

Aoi stared at him from head to toe. “Still, Lu’s right. I think you should stick to sparring with me for now.”

“But Boss—” Rei protested.

Naoki stepped back. “But—your ribs—”

 “We spar with buffs. After eight Rakukajas and four Taundas, not even you can do that much damage.” [1] Aoi turned towards Rei. “That said, he learned to fight from real battles rather than through formal training. Let him get used to friendly bouts first.”

“Oh.” Naoki whistled. “You thought of everything.”

“Not even going to argue?”

“No, I know what you mean.” Naoki shuddered as he remembered all those times buffs saved his life. Then he paused. “Wait, I never told you I’m self-taught.”

“You didn’t, but I can see it in your footwork,” said Aoi. “That’s not to say that you’re bad; your stance looks… natural. It’s what felt right at the time, not something drilled into you, right? I haven’t known a single serious martial arts school that didn’t teach the students footwork before sparring.”

School gym class didn’t teach us stances.

Yeah, but she said serious martial arts schools, not a control freak of an English teacher trying to relive her glory days by hitting untrained students.

Naoki let Lu hose him down with a drowsy spray of Tarunda, while Haya cast the same spell on Aoi. Attack debuffs were weird; they didn’t make him slower or more tired, and he could still lift just as much with a full debuff on. But whenever he struck his opponent, a layer of magic would cushion the blow. An identical cushion appeared with the Rakukaja defense buff.

“So what’s your story?” asked Lu.

“I… um… I don’t want to talk about it,” said Naoki.

Lu nodded. “I get that.”

“Could you at least tell us what you can do?” asked Rei, from her perch atop a pillar.

“But Rei—”

“You know, for safety,” said Rei, arms crossed. “I’m all for keeping the past private, but if you have a habit of giving people frostbite when pinned, I’d like to know in advance.”

Lu and Rei had a silent staring match. Yup, there was definitely something there.

“I have superhuman strength,” interrupted Naoki. “And I’m mostly invulnerable.”

“Mostly?” repeated Rei. “Does that mean that if we can kill you if we find your soul in the eye a needle inside of a duck inside of a hare inside of a—”

Naoki shook his head. “As far as I can tell, my soul is still here. What I mean is that anything that can hurt someone hurts me, just less.” He held out his arm. “Try freezing me.”

Lu flinched, pulling his hand back. “What? No!”

“A—I mean, Madam electrocuted me at least fifty times the other night. I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” said Lu, hands held close to his chest.

“So when do you go out and look for stuff?” asked Naoki.

“Stuff?” said Lu.

“Clues. Investigations. You know.”

Rei crossed her arms. “Only when the Boss is around. She grounded us after we attacked the Brotherhood of Beelzebub without her. After we thwarted their plans!”

“After we broke into a building with no recon, plan, or backup,” said Lu. “You seriously didn’t think Madam wouldn’t get upset?”

“You came with me!”

“What was I going to do, let you tackle a cult alone? After you tripped their alarm?”

Naoki coughed. “You still haven’t answered my question. When do you investigate?”

“Like Rei said, only when Madam is free,” said Lu. “Could mean tomorrow. Could mean next month. She’s been busy lately.”

“But the killer could be out there, right now!”

X

“Rice pudding is delicious,” said the accomplice.

“I know, right?” said the murderer.

X

Lu shook his head. “Trust me, even the most murder-happy maniacs need breaks. Killing people every day just becomes a job, you know?”

“…Do you?”

Lu cast another Tarunda without looking Naoki in the eye. “There. That should do it.”

“I’m done,” Haya called.

“So am I,” said Lu.

Rei hopped down from her perch to apply Rakukajas on Naoki, while Ta did the same for Aoi.

“Do you know any buffs?” asked Rei.

“I know debuffs,” said Naoki. “I’m a bit out of practice, though.” [2]

“Can you heal?”

“Not well,” admitted Naoki. “I don’t mind topping you off, but I’m no good during emergencies.”

“What kind of combat magic do you know?”

“Mostly—” Naoki cut himself off. “Are you making conversation, or interrogating me?”

Rei shrugged.

“Come on, lay off him,” said Lu.

“No, it’s fine,” said Naoki. “I’ve never bothered to learn combat magic.”

“I have one last question,” said Rei. “Does the phrase ‘All the mirrors of you are the scales that make me’ mean anything to you?”

Naoki blinked. “…No?”

“Good, you’re not a Gestalt spy,” said Rei.

She was much more cordial to him after that.

After Ta finished applying the Rakukajas, Aoi put on a set of hockey pads, complete with helmet. Something about that bothered him. “Do you need any?” she asked.

Naoki shook his head. “I fight shirtless. I know, it’s weird, but I feel more comfortable that way.”

Aoi cocked her head. “Better range of motion. I know how that feels. But why?”

“Lost my shirt in the hospital,” said Naoki. “Tried looking for clothes, but I couldn’t find a gift shop or even any hospital gowns. The only things I could find were off of dead people.”

“And you couldn’t steal from the dead, even if it meant survival?” asked Ta.

“No, because their ghosts were right there. I felt bad taking the only things they had left.”

“Oh,” said Ta. He turned to Aoi. “Ghosts are real?”

“Yes.”

Then Naoki realized what was bothering him. “Why weren’t you wearing armor the other night?”

“What?”

“You knew that I could punch you into a wall. Why weren’t you wearing any kind of armor?”

Aoi sighed. “Due to circumstances outside of my control, I no longer have access to good armor. Humans aren’t supposed to be tanks, you know.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“That’s not important right now,” said Aoi. She pounded her chest. “Hit me.”

“But you just said—”

“You’re afraid of hurting me, and I’m afraid of being hurt,” said Aoi, arms crossed. “Neither of us are going to perform well under these conditions.” She rubbed her rib. “You already punched me with no armor and no buffs, and I lived. We’ve seen the worse-case scenario; what’s there to be afraid of?”

She’s right.

Naoki took in a deep breath. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

Naoki struck. Aoi recoiled, but managed to stay standing. “Not bad,” she said. “Very relaxed. Didn’t pull your punch, but you didn’t hit as hard as you could, either.”

Naoki nodded. “How do you feel?”

“Like a trained boxer of your height and build hit me as hard as they could,” said Aoi, rubbing her solar plexus. She smiled. “I can work with that.”

A grin split Naoki’s face. Suddenly, for the first time since his return, the world wasn’t spun from sugar glass. “Shall we, then?”

Sparring with Aoi was… fun. He’d never had a fight purely for the sake of fighting; every battle in the Vortex World was either for survival or to establish dominance over his demons. Fighting weak demons was no fun because there was no challenge, and the thrill of fighting strong demons was too often tainted with the fear of death.  

Every few rounds, Aoi would switch to a different weapon. She’d started with a one-handed sword, then a two-handed one, and then a spear, a hunting knife, two hunting knives at once, then back to the one-handed sword, then the whip, a pair of tonfa, a three-section staff, a regular staff, back to the whip, a halberd, and finally those throwing knives. He wasn’t sure why she used those; she wasn’t very good and they didn’t hit as hard as bullets, but she threw them hard and vaguely in his direction. Her students dashed out the room the minute she reached for them.

It would be an oversimplification to say that Aoi was faster than him. She was, but her weapons slowed her down. Naoki had abandoned the idea of improvised weapons three minutes after being shocked through a metal pipe, forty-one seconds after losing his grip on a folding chair, and two seconds after slicing his hand open on a scalpel. Demons who used weapons usually only had one. In other words, he didn’t have enough firsthand experience to see that you couldn’t just swing a sword as fast as you could.

Short weapons like non-throwing knives and tonfa were like extensions of Aoi’s hands, and they flashed around her arms almost as quick as her lightning. Naoki had a hard time adjusting to the knife fight; at first, he made the mistake of treating the knife fight like a fistfight with a slightly larger range. He hadn’t realized that the extra range was longer than just by the knife; her whole body twisted and lunged into stabs and slashes in ways that would rob a punch of its power. Then he started thinking of them as claws, which worked until she demonstrated the reverse grip. In the end, he resorted to his most useful, and yet least favorite technique: letting her stab something nonvital and hitting her before she ducked out of range. 

The spear and staff were harder than Naoki had thought. Conventional wisdom was to move in, get close, and rob the blows of their torque, a technique that worked well in the past. Unfortunately, Aoi was just as aware of the conventional wisdom as he was, and worked around this by either moving back or sliding to the side, or dropping her weapon and grappling. Naoki had tried blocking then grabbing her polearm and tossing it away, but that also left him open to counterattacks.

The swords weren’t much to speak of. Not because she was bad, but because Naoki had fought a lot of sword experts, and they all kind of blended in his head.

The whip fight was the best of all. Aoi was right when she said that whips were unpredictable. With most weapons, you could watch someone’s hands and the weapons would usually follow; not only did Naoki have to watch for motions he didn’t have enough experience to decipher, he also had to know where the whip already was.

He did try to disable the whip, once by grabbing and once by intentionally tangling his left arm and pulling, but it turned out that trying to grab a moving chain was a good way to get friction burns, and that Aoi’s counter for tangling was to snap a wave down the chain that would have dislocated his arm if he weren’t a demon.

“All right, that’s enough,” said Lu, walking onto the padded mats.

“I can still keep going,” said Aoi, sweat pouring down her beaming face.

“So can I,” said Naoki.

Lu pointed at a novelty Goodbye Puppy™ laser clock. “You’ve been sparring for over an hour. At least drink some water.”

Aoi rubbed her forehead. “Cal, you’re right,” she said.

“Was there a point to this, or were you just trying to assure yourself that you could have beaten me?” said Naoki. There was something refreshing about talking to Aoi. He didn’t have to hide his strength or keep any peace.

“I’m assuring myself that I might be able to beat you next time,” said Aoi. “Don’t you look over your homework to see what you’ve done wrong?”

“I should,” admitted Naoki.

“Besides, you can learn a lot about someone by the way they fight,” said Aoi. “Do you want to know what I learned about you?”

“What, are you going to psychoanalyze me?” said Naoki. “The way I drop my fist after striking is because of a childhood heartbreak? I’m trying to be more honorable than I really am by not striking vital areas?”

“Are you not interested?”

“…I am.” Naoki sat down, bracing himself for a long conversation.

Aoi cocked her head. “Would you consider yourself someone who… not works better, but someone whose skills shine only when placed on a team? Like a medic or a strategist?”

Naoki paused. “I probably can’t reach my full potential without buffs and healers, but I think I know what you mean. My style doesn’t change much without them. Why do you ask?”

“I’ve been wrong before about people before, especially if I miss something I don’t see during spars,” said Aoi. “I am biased towards single combat, so I might miss a skill that only manifests with groups. I knew someone whose strength was commanding and coordinating his teammates, but if you fought in one-on-one, he just looks like a boring but careful fighter.”

“Doesn’t that show up a lot in books?” said Naoki. “The soldier/warrior split?”

Aoi shrugged. “I’m not sure if we’re on the same page, but it seems like we’re still in the same chapter. Anyways…” Aoi drew a baton. “The impression I get from you is that you don’t recklessly put yourself in harm’s way. Rather, you carefully analyze the situation before putting yourself in harm’s way.”

“How so?”

“Whenever you couldn’t get past my defenses, you’d create openings for yourself by allowing me to injure you,” she said, pointing to his most injured spots. “You don’t do this recklessly; you’re right-handed and you always sacrifice your left arm before anything else. You’re fully capable of dodging; you just don’t. There’s the assumption that you’ll survive every hit, and someone will always be there to heal you.”

She turned to her students. “Don’t try this. Ki here is quite probably the most durable being I have ever fought. You’re not.

“Your punches are self-taught; I could tell that much by our first meeting,” said Aoi. “I had thought that you’d do well to learn how to punch properly, but now, I’m not so sure.”

“Why?” said Naoki, pushing down the shame of criticism.

“Your reaction times are incredibly fast,” said Aoi. “If you had to relearn how to punch, you’d hesitate, try to remember all the steps. Your flow would be ruined. Either that, or you’d revert to your original technique in the heat of combat, which would make it pointless.”

Naoki nodded, but said nothing.

“That said, you should try to use your left hand more. I noticed several points where a left hook would have been more effective than a right, but you still shifted your stance for a right punch anyways.” She tilted her head. “Do you know how to kick? Because I think you’d be very good at it.”

“The only time I kick is when I shoot lasers out of my feet,” said Naoki.

Ta laughed, but stopped when he saw that no one else did.

Aoi nodded sagely. “I will take your word for it, and humbly request that you do not demonstrate.”

“Well, I can do this,” said Naoki, forming his laser sword. Ta cursed loudly.

“That’s… very nice,” said Aoi politely. “Please put it away.”

Naoki obliged.

“My overall impression of your style is that it’s simple, sensible, and completely impractical for anyone but you,” said Aoi. She crossed her arms. “That’s not a bad thing. You know your strengths and play to them; you know your defenses will hold, so you use them to improve your offense, ending the fight earlier with less damage. It helps that you don’t tax your defenses unduly. There’s…” Aoi paused. “All my training has told me that yours is a bad style, but that’s because it assumes that humans are fragile. It could be better, but it doesn’t need to be.”

“Thanks, I…guess?” said Naoki.

Aoi sat down. “I’ll just watch for the rest of today,” she said to the group. “That was… intense.” She looked at Naoki and smiled. “I look forward to sparring with you again.”

“Ha!” shouted Rei. “Looks like you’re already one of us!” Rei gave Naoki a hearty slap on the back…

X

Four minutes later, all six of them were sitting in Doctor Dude’s office. Rei was holding a cold pack to her arm while Naoki spewed apologies. Mr. Adams was engrossed in the exciting adventures of Taro and Hanako visiting the zoo, occasionally stuttering over the names of the animals. Lu and Haya were reading an Ayakashi Monthly together, while Ta flipped through a tourism magazine. The fifth and eighth volumes of Choo Choo Chums Centennially were being used to prop up some tables (Aoi wasn’t usually one to judge, but that was a stupid business model). Aoi had once asked Mr. Adams why they bought magazines in a language they could barely read, and Mr. Adams had said that the magazines they bought for themselves focused on photography and so did not require literacy. The others were stolen from recycling bins on trash day.

It was too early for the Agency, which was probably good, because the Yakuza was here. A doctor’s office like this was neutral territory, but Aoi had been around enough war zones to know that in the books of career fanatics, ‘neutral’ was about as dirty a word as ‘heretic’. Or ‘blasphemer’. Or ‘feculent’. Unlike the Agents, the Yakuza footsoldiers didn’t give out their (code)names, but Aoi had a good memory for faces, and one of them was missing, the tall one who was trying to grow a moustache and hogged the nature photography magazines.

Aoi had just finished texting Sei where they had gone and why (and asked her to walk Lu’s dog in his absence), and had moved on to an animal photography magazine.

The beast on the cover was called an axolotl. It was smiling at her. Animals were fascinating creatures; demons had eaten most of them in the future, and so the notion of living beings that weren’t plants and didn’t eat humans was new to her. Even now, she remembered being confused when Kazuya explained to her what a dog was and why he kept one in his house. At Sei’s advice, Aoi kept a fish named Nihilism, and resolved to get more pets once she was used to this one.

Doctor Dude emerged from the operating room, face grim.

“Madam,” said Doctor Dude.

“Doctor,” said Aoi.

“Could you please translate something for me?” he said. “Tactfully?”

Ah. Aoi already knew where this was going.

Doctor Dude gestured for her and the two Yakuza to follow him, but instead they pushed past in a mad dash for the operating room.

By the time Aoi and Dr. Dude caught up, the floor was wet with tears. The one with the gold earring was on his knees, trembling, while the one who always wore Digimon neckties had draped herself over the man’s corpse.

Aoi felt a pang of sympathy, which she felt was way too little for the loss of a human being.

Doctor Dude cleared his throat. “Your friend is dead.”

Aoi repeated that in Japanese.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

Aoi had to check with Doctor Dude if he meant that he was apologizing because couldn’t save him, or if he was merely expressing his sympathy. Doctor Dude said it was both, and Aoi repeated it.

“I understand that he was important to you and that you need to mourn, but organs don’t stay fresh for long. Please get off my table.”

Well, there was no tactful way of saying that in any language. Aoi translated. That would have gotten Dr. Dude stabbed, if Aoi hadn’t tackled and disarmed the one with the Digimon necktie. When you were married to someone who regularly got himself jumped in the middle of conversations, you had to develop certain instincts.

X

(10:56 am)

A café is a wonderful place to talk about murder. Not only are the other customers too absorbed in their own work to pay attention, there’s also coffee and snacks.

 “I’m not complaining, but why are we here?” said Kazuya. To Mina’s complete lack of surprise, Kazuya had a membership card. He ordered a coffee with cream and no sugar, a hot apple cider, a chocolate muffin, and a chicken panini. “Shouldn’t we be checking out the crime scene?”

“I find that it helps to have an idea of what we should be looking for first,” said Mina. “My anatomy professor always tells us to come up with question before attending dissections, or else we’d be too disgusted to think.”

Kazuya nodded. “Programmers do that, too. Minus the dissection.” 

“It’s a required skill for lawyers, too,” said Soma.

“I’ll start,” said Mina, notebook and pen at the ready. She’d disguised the previous pages with notes about the book she wanted to write. “What do we already know, how do we know it, and what questions does this bring up?”

“From the article, we know where the body was dumped and when it was found, but not who it was,” said Soma. He took out a printed map of the city, where he marked a big X in the park.

“Do you think they were killed there, or the body was moved?” asked Mina.

Kazuya shrugged. “Decapitation is bloody. We’d know if we saw.”

“It was raining pretty hard the day after,” said Mina. “The rain would have washed the blood away.”

“Then the police or newspapers would know, since they got there before it started raining,” said Kazuya.

“Would they report that?” said Mina.

Soma shook his head. “I don’t think he was killed on site,” said Soma. “The Agency was right there. They should have noticed a struggle.”

“Should have doesn’t mean that they did,” said Kazuya.

“Maybe so, but it makes it less likely,” said Soma.

There was a pause.

“I’ll put that down as, ‘probably not killed on site, but not impossible’,” said Mina.

Kazuya sighed. “What I want to know is why the body was dumped in the park, when we’re right next to a river.”

“Maybe wherever they were murdered would be an even worse place to leave the body, like in the street or in a public building,” said Mina.

“But why the park and not the river?” pressed Kazuya.

“Park was closer?” Mina pointed to the map. “Yes, the city is next to a river, but unless you killed someone right next to it, you’d have to carry a full-grown man the whole way without anyone noticing or caring.”

“Or they could have a car,” said Soma.

Mina nodded. “If they had a car, they’d use the river. They must have died somewhere closer to the park than the river.” She drew a line between the park’s edge and the riverside. She paused. “Wait, do dead bodies float?”

“After a few days,” said Kazuya. “It’s not ideal, but it would give the killer time to leave before anyone found out.” He shuddered. “Please don’t ask me how I know this.”

Soma and Mina nodded respectfully.

“Anyways, you make a good point,” said Kazuya. “But why a grassy hill and not the woods?”

Soma and Mina stared. “The woods? At night?” said Mina. “Kazuya, I’ve been climbing the mountains back home at night my whole life, and I still get lost now and then.”

“And what were you doing climbing the mountains at night?” asked Kazuya.

“Miko stuff,” said Mina.

“Sounds more like a yamabushi thing,” said Kazuya.

Mina opened her mouth, and then closed it. “Do you want to hear my shrine’s history, rituals, and interpretation of the story of Amaterasu, or do you want to know why it’s a bad idea to navigate a forest at night?” she said. She cocked her head. “I’d be surprised if you’d never done it before. Evil rituals in the forest at night sounds like a… a witch thing,” she substituted at the last second.

“Nuclear wastelands are not exactly conducive to forest growth,” said Kazuya, arms crossed. “I’ve been through a lot of terrain. Forested mountains are not one of them.”

A surge of pride swelled in Mina’s heart. He hasn’t seen everything. I know something he doesn’t.  

Am I so petty that this makes me proud?

“Didn’t you two get down the mountain just fine?” said Kazuya. He pointed at Soma. “You carried me.”

“Magic,” said Soma. He tapped his cheekbone. “I used a spell for night vision.”

“I was descending a mountain without a dead body, which is different from climbing a mountain with one,” said Mina. “I’m also a bit more experienced with night climbing than the average person, went slowly and carefully, and was running on entirely on adrenaline. Take your pick.”

“All right, so dumping a body deep in the woods is a bad idea,” said Kazuya. “Still doesn’t explain why you can’t just walk fifteen feet into the brush and drop the body where people passing by can’t see.”

“…I concede your point,” said Mina.

“A desecrated body on display is a statement,” said Soma flatly. “A warning, a threat, or even a boast.”

“A statement to whom?” asked Mina.

Soma paused. “…Enemies?” he managed awkwardly.

“I’d be lying if I didn’t immediately think, ‘Yakuza’,” said Mina.

“This seems too public for Yakuza,” said Soma.

Kazuya snorted. “Really?”

Soma blinked. “…Why are you laughing?”

Kazuya stared back. “Come on, it’s not like you’ve never met a member of the Yakuza.”

“…No?” said Mina.

“You have?” said Soma.

Kazuya paused. “Right, I’m from Tokyo,” he said.

“No, wait,” said Mina, unlocking her phone. “When did the timeline split for you, again?”

“1999.”

“Ah. I see,” said Mina. “The Yakuza declined since then. They’re still there, but not nearly as public.”

“Huh,” said Kazuya. “Is it still normal for them to have knives?”

“No idea,” said Soma.

“Wear suits, but badly?”

“How should I know?” said Mina.

“Cut off pinkies?”

“It’s not something I look for,” said Soma.

“Have offices in public buildings, such as the Shinjuku Underground Mall?”

“Come on, there’s no way—”

“I got into the boss’s office once,” said Kazuya. “He probably would have cut off my fingers if he weren’t busy with the demon invasion.”

“…What were you doing in the boss’s office?” asked Soma warily.

“I was lost.”

“Oh, come on!”

“No, really,” said Kazuya. “The mall was a pain to navigate back then. And it’s not like they had ‘Yakuza Boss’ on the door. They were brazen, but they weren’t that brazen.”

Soma took a sip of his tea. “We’re getting off topic,” he said. “Do you think it was Yakuza? Do we even have Yakuza here?”

“Who else would publicly display a dead body as a threat?”

“The Phantom Thieves of Hearts did something like that,” said Mina. “Didn’t they scatter flyers all over… was it Shinjuku?”

“Shibuya,” said Kazuya. “I picked one off the street. It’s still in my drawer.”

“The Phantom Thieves aren’t murderers,” said Soma, in that rare, quiet voice that suggested that he was about to get violent.

Ah. Right. “I know,” said Mina quickly. “It’s just an example.” She looked at Kazuya and mouthed, ‘Drop it.’

Kazuya didn’t seem to take the hint. “What makes you so certain?” asked Kazuya.

Soma clutched his tea, as if preparing to throw it in Kazuya’s face. “I know that it would be incredibly stupid if this came between us and eroded our trust,” Soma said through gritted teeth. “But what’s between me and the Phantom Thieves is private. Drop it.”

“…I understand,” said Kazuya, eyes on Soma’s hands.

“Good.” Soma released his grip on his tea. “If it helped our investigation, I’d tell you. But it’s not relevant. All that matters is that they also publicly sent a message to a single person.”

“Hell of a public message,” said Kazuya. He sipped his coffee, but this time with his left hand. “Still doesn’t explain why a showoff would hide the head. Not even the newspapers knew who he was.”

“Maybe the dead man was already missing, and the body just confirms it,” said Mina.

“Like in The Godfather?” said Soma. “Luca Brasi sleeps with the fishes?” When Kazuya stared back at him blankly, he added, “You’ve never seen The Godfather?”

“I did. In 1997,” said Kazuya, arms crossed. “Explain.”

“Luca Brasi was a hitman for the Corleone family,” said Soma. “He went missing during the mob war with the… Tattaglia family? Doesn’t matter; the point is that the Corleones didn’t know if he defected or died, until someone sent them a fish wrapped in his bulletproof suit. In mafia language, it meant that he was dead, and that his body was dumped in the river. Hence, Luca Brasi sleeps with the fishes.”

Kazuya nodded. “I see what you mean, but that still doesn’t answer my question.” He stretched. “If it’s a message to one specific person, why don’t they want the victim identified?”

“So the murderer won’t be implicated,” said Mina. “I read somewhere that you’re more likely to be killed by someone you know. Maybe they were killed by… I don’t know, estranged family, coworker who hated them, someone’s jealous ex. Someone the police would suspect. I can’t think of any other reason why the head would be missing.”

“I can think of one,” said Soma. “It sounded to me like the body is deliberately being desecrated. I mean, no head, left to rot in the woods? What kind of angry ghost would that make?”

“Like an inugami?” said Mina.

“…I know that means ‘dog god,’ but I also know that’s not what you mean,” said Soma.

Kazuya’s tea stirrer snapped in his hands. “Inugami are proof that pure evil exists in this world,” growled Kazuya. “Sorcerers torture innocent dogs to death, cut off their heads, and desecrate their remains until they become furious ghosts. Then they enshrine them as kami to turn them into familiars.” Kazuya’s fists were clenched. Mina was now very thankful that she did not have the nerve to attack his hellhound the other day.

“And you think it’s possible to do that to a person?” said Soma.

“I don’t know, but if there are people willing to do that to a dog, there’s someone, somewhere, who would do that to a human.”

Soma shuddered.

Mina shook her head. “Humans ghosts are harder to control than dog ghosts,” said Mina. “If you tortured a human to death, you can’t give them offerings and a shrine and expect them to do your bidding. They’ll still remember who you are and what you did. The best you can expect from them is that they’ll stop cursing you.”

Both Soma and Kazuya stared at her.

“I’m not speaking from experience!” said Mina. “You’ve heard of Tenjin, right?”

“The scholar god?” said Soma.

Mina traced the kanji ‘Sky God’ in the air. “He wasn’t always the patron deity of students and scholars. The story is that he was a government official who was framed for… something, I can’t remember what. It doesn’t matter. He was exiled, died in disgrace, the whole package. So his vengeful ghost sent thunderstorms to the Imperial Court. Several nobles died, so the survivors appeased his spirit by posthumously restoring his offices and then enshrining him.” [3]

Kazuya nodded. “I remember that. Worship of Tenjin back then was essentially them begging him not to send storms at people.”

“…That’s a bit crude, but accurate,” said Mina. “My point is that it takes a lot to satisfy a human ghost, and even though there’s precedent for a vengeful ghost becoming a helpful kami, it took centuries.”

“And even then, they can backslide,” said Kazuya. He fiddled with his cider. “I suppose it’s too easy to forget that even though he’s supposed to protect the city, Taira no Masakado can and will absolutely curse Tokyo if his shrine isn’t maintained properly.” He paused. “I should probably return his stuff one of these days.”

“…You do realize that those are national treasures, right?” said Mina.

“He entrusted me with his sword and armor in the defense of Tokyo,” said Kazuya, arms crossed. “I did not steal them.”

“Unless Tokyo still needs defending, you should return them,” said Mina.

“How?” said Kazuya. “It’s not like I can go back to the Imperial Palace and say, ‘This is the sword of Taira no Masakado; please ignore the bloodstains.’”

“His tomb still accepts offerings,” said Mina.

“…Cal, you’re right… no, that wouldn’t work.”

“You think someone else would steal them?” asked Mina.  

“No, it’s because I’m not from this world, and these aren’t the arms of this world’s Masakado,” said Kazuya.

“I’m sure he’d appreciate it anyways,” said Mina doubtfully. “What do you think, Soma?”

Soma blinked. “What?” He dropped his bun. “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. Still thinking about Tenjin. Enshrinement changed him that much?”

Oh, right. Mina had forgotten about Dracula. “Enshrinement appeased him,” said Mina. “The people who believed in him changed him.” She sipped her coffee. “You’re asking about the Hakuba shrine, right?”

Soma nodded.

“Remember what I said about Amaterasu and eclipses?”

“Yeah, I was wondering about that, too,” said Soma. “Especially the part where—”

Kazuya cleared his throat. “I’d like to be part of this conversation, too.”

Mina took in a deep breath. “First of all, please don’t accuse me of getting the story wrong, because there’s no one true version, and this is the one my shrine recorded.”

Kazuya nodded. “I’ve met several demons whose existences contradicted one another. I can accept contradictory accounts.”

“Good,” said Mina. “You’ve heard the story of Amaterasu and the cave, haven’t you?”

“Of course,” said Kazuya.

“Say it for me.”

Kazuya cleared his throat and started reciting the Kojiki, word-perfect.

“That’s very impressive, but I also want to go to class today,” said Mina.

“Amaterasu’s brother Susano’o goes on a rampage for reasons that vary from myth to myth; either he’s a sore winner or a sore loser,” Kazuya began. “He throws a flayed pony into Amaterasu’s weaving hall, possibly killing one of her hand maidens, so she goes to sulk in a cave. Since she’s the sun, this means that the world goes dark, so the other gods try to get her out. The only one to succeed is Ame-no-Uzume, by simultaneously inventing the sacred dance and the striptease.”

Mina nodded. “What happened to Susano’o?”

“He was punished, banished to earth, and—”

“Before that,” said Mina. “Why did he stop his rampage?”

“…The story doesn’t say, but I’m assuming that he realized how badly he screwed everything up once the sun went out,” said Kazuya.

“And the sun going out is a bad thing, right?” said Mina.

“Of course it is!”

“Our shrine sees it differently,” said Mina. “To us, what’s important is that Susano’o stopped when Amaterasu hid. Susano’o was so powerful, he couldn’t be stopped by anyone but himself. By hiding herself away, Amaterasu sealed Susano’o’s anger, allowing the gods to subdue and punish him.”

“And what about the world being plunged into a never-ending night?” said Kazuya. “Isn’t that worse than someone using rice paddies as a toilet?”

“Ritual purity is extremely important to gods,” said Mina.

“Yes, but so is having the sun,” said Kazuya.

“…All right, so maybe that became a problem, but the point is that Susano’o mellowed out considerably from then on,” said Mina.

“He repeatedly tried to kill his son-in-law Okuninushi,” said Kazuya.

“But he accepted him in the end!” Mina took in a deep breath. “Let’s not argue about this anymore. Like I said, this is the story we passed on.”

“Agreed.”

“So does the Hakuba shrine, like… enshrine Susano’o?” said Soma.

“Sort of… do you know what a Mitama is?” asked Mina.

“They’re the four sub-souls in a soul, right?” said Soma. “Ara Mitama, Nigi Mitama, Saki Mitama, and… Kushi Mitama. They’re supposed to be where certain emotions come from.”

“Kami have Mitama as well,” said Mina. “Some places enshrine a kami’s Mitama rather than their… whole selves, for lack of a better word. The Hakuba shrine isn’t dedicated to him, but we have a smaller shrine to the Ara Mitama of Susano’o, or his passion and aggression.” [4]

Although in our case, it’s a seal, too.

X

“Young man, may I offer some advice?”

“Of course.”

“Should you ever go to the Hakuba Shrine, do not go near the miniature shrine next to the fountain. That is where our fury is sealed. Should it unite with us, I cannot predict how we will react.”

“…That is a very specific piece of advice and I have no idea how it’s relevant, but it explains a lot and I have no doubts that it is useful. Thank you.”

X

“So enshrinement is a common way to pacify vengeful ghosts, not get them to listen to you,” said Soma. “What if the killer skipped the enshrinement and just had the ghost kill indiscriminately?”

“Wouldn’t the ghost come after the killer?” said Kazuya.

“Not if they’re a good enough exorcist,” said Mina. “If they can defend against the ghost for long enough, it’ll lose patience and start attacking other… people… oh no.” Mina cursed. “If you’re right, this could be a disaster.”

“A disaster, a catastrophe, or a calamity?” said Soma.

“Soma, not now,” said Mina, teeth clenched.

“Then we just need to find the caster, take down their barrier, and let the ghost take their revenge,” said Kazuya, arms crossed.

Mina stared. “I… think you’re skipping a few steps.”

“And I think you’re jumping to conclusions too fast,” said Kazuya flatly. He raised two fingers. “The body doesn’t have a head. It was found on the hillside. That’s it. That’s all we know. I’m not saying that they’re not making an onryo, but that’s too much to assume given what we know.”

 “…You have a point,” said Mina carefully. “That won’t stop me from worrying.”

Kazuya averted his eyes. “…I guess not,” said Kazuya.

Soma cleared his throat. “We still think he was killed close to the park, right?”

“That’s all we can narrow it down to,” said Kazuya.

“Not quite,” said Mina, taking a worn brochure out of her purse. “Remember this?”

“Dangers of Haruhata?” Soma read aloud.

“They handed these out during orientation,” said Mina.

“I skipped orientation,” said Soma.

“So did I,” said Kazuya.

Mina unfolded the map. “It ranks the districts by violent crime rate,” she said, jealous that they didn’t need to know this. “What are the most dangerous places near the park?”

“Here and here,” said Soma, marking it on his own map.

“You’d still need to pass through some relatively safe zones to get to the park,” said Mina.

“Crime rates are low, but never zero,” said Kazuya. “Besides, statistics are misleading. Sometimes the most dangerous places report no crimes because nobody trusts the police.” He took a bite out of his panini. “You’re also assuming that high violent crime rates means that no one’s going to care if they see someone carrying a dead body. The line between mugger and murderer is thicker than you think.”

“…I don’t know enough about crime to contest that,” said Soma. “But we don’t have any other leads, so let’s go there.”

Kazuya shrugged. “Fine.” He paused. “Aren’t you studying to be a lawyer? Shouldn’t you know more about crime than me?”

“None of my courses so far have taught us anything like you just said,” said Soma.

“…I don’t know enough about prelaw to contest that, either,” said Kazuya. He looked back. “Is there anything else?”

“Just out of curiosity, how hard is it to kill someone by decapitating them?” asked Mina.

Soma choked on his drink. “Why are you asking me?!” he said, red in the face.

“It’s incredibly difficult but not impossible,” said Kazuya at the same time. “If you’re asking about decapitation without bolstering the neck with a post or backstop, then yes, you could pull off with a sharp blade, but only if you’re fast, skilled, and lucky. I’ve only ever done it by accident. Of course, you could always cheat by slitting their throat, stabbing them in the brain, or cutting their spinal cord, and then decapitating them postmortem.”

Soma and Mina stared.

“You… you cut off someone’s head?” said Mina.

“In self-defense,” said Kazuya icily.

“I… that’s… I mean, I get that, but… don’t you have demons to fight for you?” said Mina.

“You didn’t think I knew how to fight?” said Kazuya indignantly.

“Well…”

“Demons don’t obey if they think you’re weaker than them,” said Kazuya. “What did you think this was, Pokémon?”

“The last demon summoner I knew didn’t seem to know how to fight,” said Soma. He paused. “Then again, she didn’t seem to need to. She just called up a bunch of demons, stuck them in a castle, and waited for them to attack me.”

Kazuya muttered something that sounded like, “Amateur,” under his breath. “You said she was killed by something she summoned, right?”

“Yes,” said Soma. Mina knew better.

“That’s the other reason why,” said Kazuya, arms crossed. “You’ve heard what they say, ‘do not call up what you cannot put down?’ What kind of an idiot tries to summon a duke of Hell without a backup plan?”

“Celia Fortner, apparently,” said Soma, shrugging.

“Hold on, did you say that you’re stronger than your demons, or you tricked them into thinking you’re stronger?” asked Mina.

Kazuya paused before answering. “I didn’t trick them into thinking anything,” he said carefully. “If you’re asking if I am physically stronger than all of my demons, no. If you are asking if I am capable of defeating them in one-on-one combat… also no.” He fiddled with the broken tea stirrer. “There’s more than one way to show strength…no. Maybe strength isn’t the right word. Respect? Authority? Dominance?”

Soma flinched, but Kazuya didn’t seem to notice.

“Respect. That’s it,” said Kazuya. “It’s not that I’m physically stronger than them; it’s that under my leadership, I can get them to work together and kill demons that would have squashed them alone. Most of why I can get demons to join me is reputation. My team killed a lot of powerful demons and they know that, so they follow me.” He pried open the top of his cider and started eating the whipped cream. “They’ll forgive me for not exceeding the limits of the human body. That said, if I don’t attack from the front lines with the rest of them, they’ll think I’m too cowardly to lead, no matter how sharp my tactics.”

Can you teach me how to fight? The words were on Mina’s lips, but now seemed like a bad time.

“Any other questions?” she said instead.

“Have you had any strange dreams lately?” asked Kazuya.

Soma and Mina looked at each other. “There was something about the Men in Black replacing trees with secret elevators,” said Mina. “And I think my aunt’s dog was lying about teakettles sold in convenience stores?”

“I had the turnip dream again,” said Soma.

“Anything different?” asked Mina.

“There were dancing fire alarms in the background this time.”

“You dream about turnips?” said Kazuya.

Soma nodded. “I have a recurring dream where Death makes me a bowl of roasted turnips, telling me that it’s the secret to immortality. Why do you ask?”

“Right before the demons came, I dreamt of people I met during the invasion,” said Kazuya. “I even knew their names. All three of us had the same dream.”

“Oh,” said Soma. “Huh. Prophetic dreams? Never had one.”

“If turnips made people immortal, you’d think we’d know by now,” said Mina, making a mental note to ask if he was lying later.

“Dream logic is weird,” said Kazuya, shrugging.

“If it’s a metaphor, what does the turnip symbolize?” said Mina.

“Being a bad substitute for a potato?” suggested Kazuya.

“Turnips are… heart-shaped, right? So maybe love?” said Mina. “Or am I thinking of parsnips? No, radishes.”

“Turnips are round, radishes are heart-shaped, and parsnips are like carrots,” said Soma.

“I would think that Death would be more important than the turnips,” said Kazuya. “Skeleton in a black cloak with a scythe?”

“The vanilla Grim Reaper. Is there more than one?”

“Did he have a horse?”

“Why would he have a horse?”

“Death is supposed to ride on a horse during the Apocalypse,” said Mina.

Kazuya nodded. “The Pale Rider. I fought him once.” He shuddered. “One more time that I should have.”

“I feel that.”

The two of them shuddered in unison.

“Mina, have you ever had a prophetic dream?”

“I’ve had a few, but those were sent by my shrine’s kami,” said Mina. “I might be a bit far from the shrine. What about you? What did you dream about last night?”

Kazuya opened a small diary, the kind that came with a little lock and key. He picked the lock with a paperclip. “I was in an amusement park that was also a zoo, and for some reason there were slides that went straight into the elephant enclosure. Also, the power lines were way too close to the water slide.”

“…Even if that’s relevant, I don’t see how we can apply that knowledge,” said Mina.

“I guess it means we should avoid elephants?” said Soma.

“And waterslides,” said Kazuya.

The three of them started at the notebook.

“Well, I think we got a lot done,” said Mina.

“But we still need to see what’s going on for ourselves,” said Kazuya. “I’m free after three. Can you meet tonight?”

“I have a thing due at six, but I should be done then,” said Soma.

“Yes, I…” Mina blinked.

They’re not leaving me behind.

We’re going into danger, and they’re not holding me back for my own safety.

“Mina?” said Soma.

Mina coughed. “I’m free after four-thirty,” she said quickly.  

“So six-thirty sounds good?” said Soma.

There were nods all around.

“We should eat beforehand,” said Mina. “That way, we won’t have to carry around leftovers.”

“Soma, you need to do something about your hair,” said Kazuya.

“…I’m going to assume that there’s a point to this and you’re not telling me to dye it to fit in,” said Soma, glaring. Mina knew too well how many teachers had yelled at him for dyeing his hair white, even though it was his natural color.

“If we’re going to be hanging around a crime scene, bright white hair is going to stand out,” Kazuya continued. “Do you have anything that can cover it, like a hat or a hood?”

“Oh,” said Soma, shoulders relaxing. “That I can do.”

Kazuya turned to Mina. “Mina, is archery the only martial art you know?”

“Yes,” said Mina, unable to keep the defensiveness out of her voice.

“Do you plan on carrying your bow everywhere for your whole life?”

“I don’t know, do you carry a sword everywhere?”

Kazuya held up the arm with his portable computer. “The Demon Summoning Program also has a storage function. I have tons of weapons on here. I can help you with that.”

“So what, you’re going to upload the Demon Summoning Program onto my phone?” said Mina.

“What? No,” said Kazuya. “I don’t know how modern phone operating systems work.” He took out a green circuit about the size of a credit card, encased in a plastic container that made it about as thick as her pinky. “This is a raspberry pie.”

Mina stared. “Do I… like… eat it? Is it one of those cakes disguised as other things?”

Kazuya blinked. “Right. This is a Raspberry Pi, spelled like the Greek letter. It’s a miniature computer. Just one of these can run the program.” He fiddled with one of the switches. “I set this one up as an emergency cache. If you get one, I can add the program. With the summoning code removed, of course; incriminating evidence and all that.”

Mina tapped it. “How much can it hold?”

“Enough that you won’t need to worry,” said Kazuya.

“…Could you be a bit more concrete? I don’t want to assume I’ll never run out.”

Kazuya paused. “When this COMP was built, it used 1 GB of storage,” he said. “It could hold the program itself, ten demons, and… it’s a bit hard to tell how much stuff I had at once, but I remember arming a small militia.”

“So I’ll be fine,” said Mina.

“You’d better have some spare bows, though,” said Kazuya.

“…Do you have any idea how expensive a yumi is?” asked Mina.

“No.”

Mina told him.

Kazuya’s face betrayed absolutely no hint of emotion as he said, “…Do you want to learn how to swordfight?”

“Please.”

“Wait, why are you teaching Mina?” said Soma. “I’m good with weapons.”

“Actually…” Mina sighed. “Soma, I know you’re strong, but you’re six foot six, can jump twice your height, and have all that crazy magic. What works for you won’t work for me.”

“I guess…” conceded Soma. “But how do you know he’d be any better?”

Kazuya shrugged. “It’s not important right now. It’ll take a while to get good.”

He stood up. “That’s everything on my end. Let’s meet in the basement at six-thirty.”

X

(12:35 pm)

Thanks to the doctor, the tearful goodbye escalated first into an enraged shouting match, a full-on fistfight, and then into threats of being knifed or buckshot (buckshotted?) to death (courtesy of Mr. Adams), until it finally achieved evolutionary stasis in the form of a standoff/hostage situation.

Aoi was firmly removed from the room after they brought in someone else who could speak English, but she could still hear them shouting from the waiting room.

“What are they saying, anyways?” asked Haya.

Aoi cleared her throat. “If you’re not happy, you can go to the doctors who don’t wait until you’re dead to steal your vital organs,” she translated in a low voice.

“You stole my appendix!” she said again in a lower voice.

“The appendix is not a vital organ.”

“Doesn’t removing the appendix for no reason cause problems?” said Ta.

“I guess that explains the fever after he took mine,” grumbled Rei. She rubbed the arm Naoki had broken.

Since Doctor Dude would most likely be preoccupied for the rest of the day, Aoi set Rei’s broken arm. With the help of Lu’s ice magic, some medical texts from Mr. Adams, an X-ray machine quietly wheeled out of the operating room, and careful applications of Dia, she repaired the arm. She’d have to keep an eye on Rei until she was sure the arm healed right; in the meantime, Rei wouldn’t be allowed to spar.

Naoki looked at Aoi, and then at the Yakuza arguing in the next room. “I can’t believe I’m the one saying this, but… shouldn’t you at least be coming up with a plan to get out?”

“This is our plan,” said Aoi. “Sit here. Wait.”

“You’re not even going to try to fight your way out?” said Naoki. “You’re strong. You can take them.”

Aoi shook her head. “Strong has nothing to do with it. If we can get out of here without making an enemy of an entire criminal organization, that’s a win in my book.”

“I’m not afraid of them.”

“Neither am I. But you saw what happened after the Yakuza with the gold earring grabbed the doctor.”

“I see that American medical schools require their doctors to graduate with a mean left hook,” said Naoki, gesturing to the unconscious man lying on the ground. Aoi knew from basic first aid to first check for spinal injuries, and prop him on his side if she found none.

“Yes, but my point is that his partner body-slammed him.” She leaned in closer. “Yes, I fear their vengeance. But it’s not me I’m afraid for. Whether demon or human, pack hunters strike when their prey is alone.”

Thor bombed Tokyo after I backed him into a corner. Could Tokyo have been salvaged if only I hadn’t provoked him? [5]

Aoi brushed aside the thought. Now was not the time to nurse old regrets. “Look at them. They have no idea what to do with us.”

“We’re hostages,” said Rei flatly.

“Not really,” said Lu. “They’re just showing off to Doctor Dude. It’s like they’re saying, ‘hey, we have hostages, take us seriously’. They haven’t even cut off our ears.”

“Is that a thing the Yakuza does?” asked Ta.

“Yes.”

“Lu’s right,” said Aoi. “Well, not about the ears.” (“I’m telling you, they do that,” Lu protested) “All they’ve done is lock us in a room with no supervision. Hell, they’re not even bothering to keep their voices down.” She paused.

“We’re all made of meat,” Doctor Dude called from the next room over. “The body is but a vessel for the soul. What’s the point in keeping the body intact if the soul has moved on to the next stage in the cycle of karma?”

“I see that Doctor Dude is going for the existentialist argument,” said Haya after Aoi translated.

“Doesn’t seem to have gone over too well,” Rei commented over the sound of metal tools being swept to the floor.

Aoi took advantage of the commotion to whisper, “Do not mistake my caution for cowardice. Should they attempt to separate us, I will destroy them.”

Naoki accepted this. “So… what now?”

“Take a nap? Read magazines?” suggested Rei.

“Guess I’m not getting any homework done today,” moaned Ta.

Lu suddenly cursed. “I left Shiro at home!”

“Don’t worry, I asked Sei to take him for a walk,” said Aoi.

“He’s going to worry about me,” fretted Lu.

“His dog is super cute,” Rei whispered to Naoki.

“What kind of dog?” Naoki asked.

“Shiba inu.”

“Those are cute. Do you have pictures?”

“I don’t have a phone,” said Lu.

“Really?” said Naoki.

“I do,” said Rei, and she showed Naoki the dog. Naoki made appreciative noises.

Mr. Adams poked his head into the waiting room. “You all will… be here… um… Madam, help. You’ll be waiting here a long time.”

Aoi translated for him.

“You want food? I can buy food. Don’t…not be happy about money.”

“Don’t worry about money?”

Mr. Adams nodded.

“All right, order up.”

X

(3:41 pm)

“Well, that was an intense couple of days,” said Agent Peryton.

“I know, right?” said Agent Tiger. “I never imagined that anyone could shoot rainbow dragons from their hands.”

“Nor could I imagine that the rainbow dragons shot lasers from their eyes,” said Agent Seal.

“At least we know that rainbow dragons are vulnerable to icicles,” said Yoko, rubbing her wrists. She’d shattered the handcuffs by rapidly heating and cooling the metal; luckily for her, fire she generated herself wouldn’t harm her, even if the heat was transferred to a different medium.

“Who would have known that the cat was actually ten mice stacked on top of each other?” said Agent Peony.

“Wearing snowshoes, no less?” said Agent Ninja.

“Attention!” shouted Agent Fireball. The agents turned to look at him, but did not get up. “Since we believe the arsonist will strike again tonight, for tonight’s patrol, every squad will have someone who can use an element that can put out fires. Yes, Agent Seal, today’s forecast calls for freezing rain, so you should be able to use your powers.”

“Why would the arsonist strike during freezing rain?” asked Agent Seal.

“And why do you think the arsonist is going to strike?” asked Agent Peony.

“They’re a showoff,” Agent Cowboy muttered. “If you cross-reference the arsons and the weather reports, apparently this guy only strikes when it’s raining.”

“Maybe they’re deconstructing the oxygen and hydrogen in the water to create an explosive?” suggested Agent Wolf.

“Perhaps,” said Agent Fireball. “I know this means double shifts for those of you with water, ice, or earth powers, so please, try to get some sleep now.”

X

(7:01 pm)

What am I doing here?

Mina looked at her two companions. Soma, a magic user who could use more spells than the average wizard learned in a lifetime. Kazuya, a demon summoner, who most people would rather chew off their own arms than fight. Planning was over. What could someone like Mina possibly contribute to this team?

Kazuya had taken the lead. They’d gone as close to the hillside as possible without pushing through the gawkers and police tape, and then he’d walked off in the opposite direction.

He’d have a whole network of people, Mina thought. Spies and informants, maybe some demons to keep an eye out.

At last, they came to a tough-looking man glowering at passerby. He was holding a sheathed knife in one hand and one of those insulated lunch boxes in the other.

Kazuya walked right up to him. “Tell me everything you know about the disappearances.”

“Up yours, brat!” said the man, waving the knife in his face.

“I know you know something,” continued Kazuya, unimpressed. “Tell me.”

The man glared at him. “Even if I did know something, what makes you think I’d tell a snot-nosed brat like you?”

“Then I’ll just have to beat it out of you.”

Luckily, Soma had excellent reflexes, and tackled Kazuya before he could strike.

X

(7:12 pm)

It took half a dozen more Yakuza showing up to rough up the doctor before they realized that having witnesses might not be the best idea. They kicked out the gang, shoving and shouting obscenities but otherwise not hurting them.

Just to be safe, Aoi walked everyone home. This carried the risk of the Yakuza learning where they lived; if she had been more worried about that, she would have had everyone but her walk home in a big group, and then hung back so she could see who was following them. But this wasn’t Tokyo, the gang wasn’t the Resistance, and there was no one after them.

By the time she got to her apartment, it was just her, Lu (who lived with her), Rei (who shouldn’t stray too far from Aoi until she was certain her arm was fine), and Naoki (who wanted to talk to her about something).

“You can come in if you want,” said Aoi, unlocking the door. All the locks in the building were mechanical, so they didn’t need to change them after the building lost power. “I—”

A window above them slammed open. “Thank God you’re back,” called Sei. “Shiro won’t let me walk him!”

“Is he with you?” Lu called.

“Yeah, he’s—”

“Just throw him down! I’ll catch him!”

“What?!”

“Trust me, I know what I’m—”

Alas, Shiro made the decision for them by jumping out the window. He landed right into Lu’s arms, nuzzling him affectionately.

“I missed you too, buddy,” said Lu, ruffling his fur right back.

The dog yipped. Naoki flinched.

“Fine, I’ll take you for a walk,” said Lu, scooping up Shiro into his arms.

Sei dropped the leash and harness out the window. The dog squirmed as Lu buckled the harness on. “Come on, you know the rules. They won’t let you run around without one.”

“Can I come?” asked Rei, looking at Shiro adoringly.

“I can’t stop you,” said Lu.

“As long as you don’t move that arm,” said Aoi.

“If you’re going out, pick up some sugar on the way back!” Sei called from the window.

“We wouldn’t be out of sugar if you didn’t use it all on whipped cream!” Lu called back.

“You can’t just whip cream without sugar!”

“Cream is sweet enough on its own!”

“Like you didn’t enjoy the strawberry roll!”

“While I do agree with Lu, the fact remains that we do not have any more sugar,” said Aoi levelly. “I was planning to make muffins later.”

“We’re also out of flour!” called Sei.

“If you’re going, you might as well get more vegetables,” said Aoi.

“And meat!”

Lu glanced at Rei’s arm before calling to Sei, “If you want groceries, come with us! Help us carry!”

“Fine, I’m coming,” said Sei. She disappeared into the building.

“I’ll catch up with you later,” said Aoi. “Would you like to come, Naoki?”

“I… sure, I guess,” said Naoki.

“Great,” said Rei. “We could use someone with super strength.”

Naoki shook his head. “It doesn’t help, really. Bulk is the problem, not weight. And if you try packing everything into one bag, it just tears the bag.”

Sei emerged from the building, carrying some tattered reusable shopping bags. “We might as well—who are you?”

“I’m… Ki,” said Naoki. “I’ve been standing right here this whole time.”

“Oh, right, our newest recruit,” said Sei. “I’m Sei, Madam’s first student.”

Technically, Sei was only the first student from this world; Aoi had taught many others in her original world.

“It’s nice to meet you,” said Naoki politely. “So, uh… why didn’t I see you earlier?”

Sei scowled, trying to hide a shudder. “I don’t go into that… place.”

“I can imagine why.”

“No, you can’t.”

“…What?”

“I said—”

Before Aoi could defuse the conversation, Shiro yipped loudly, yanking on his leash.

“Shiro’s getting bored,” said Lu. “You guys can talk later.”

They said their goodbyes, and the three of them left.

“Madam, can we talk inside?” said Naoki once the others were out of earshot.

“Sure,” said Aoi, and they entered. The apartment’s hallways were quiet as always. “So what was it you wanted to tell me?”

Naoki looked her straight in the eye. “Aoi, please go out with me.”

Aoi blinked. There was no trace of uncertainty in Naoki’s voice. This would be difficult. “Why do you like me?”

“You’re the only person in the world I can talk to,” said Naoki. He sighed. “Ever since I got back from the Vortex World, I’ve been afraid. I’ve been afraid that someone’s going to find out about… well, everything. Hell, I’ve even stopped talking to my—” Naoki cut himself off. “I… with you, you already know that I’m a demon. I’m no longer afraid of the worst. There’s no need to hold back.”

Aoi’s shoulders untensed. “So it’s not me you like, it’s that you need someone to talk to.”

Naoki’s face reddened. “When you put it like that…”

“It’s fine,” said Aoi, raising her hands. “I know how you feel. The world changed for you, but for everyone else, it’s always been the same. You lost something in the other world. Your innocence. Your friends. Your faith in humanity. And you can’t tell anyone about it, or else they’ll think you’re insane. So you bottle it all up, pretend that nothing’s wrong. But you can’t pretend that it never happened.”

Aoi was still facing Naoki, but her eyes weren’t looking at him.

“You finally find someone you can talk to, someone who knows… and you can’t stand to lose them. You don’t see the person; you see a reflection of your lost sanity.

“And that’s fine. As one survivor to another, I’d be happy to help you. But one-sided support is a poor foundation for a romantic relationship.” She tilted her head. “Honestly, it sounds to me that you want a friend, not a girlfriend. Do you really like me, or are you just asking me like this because it’s somehow more socially acceptable to ask someone to be your girlfriend than it is to ask to be your friend?”

Naoki paused. “…Do… do you always do this?”

“Do what?”

“Overexplain out loud.”

“Am I wrong?”

“…No, you’re right,” said Naoki. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” said Aoi.

Naoki tilted his head. “Now that you say that out loud, one-sided support doesn’t sound like much of a foundation for a friendship, either. Are you really looking out for me, or are you just making an excuse not to go out with me?”

Damn.

“…Fine,” said Aoi. “It’s because I’m married.”

“…I forgot about that,” said Naoki. “You could have started with that.”

Aoi shrugged. “My husband is… not dead, but he might as well be. The last time I saw him was in my own timeline, before I died.”

“I’m sorry,” said Naoki.

“It’s fine,” said Aoi. “Some might consider me a widow, and therefore single, so I try to dissuade them first.” She stretched. “That’s not to say that I don’t want to be your friend.”

“That’s more than I could expect,” said Naoki.

Aoi allowed herself to relax. “In that case, let’s go grocery shopping.”

X

(7:41 pm)

“Really?” said Soma, once they were at a safe distance. “That was your plan?”

“You seriously thought you could just walk up to someone and demand information?” said Mina, leaning on the alley wall and breathing hard.

“It works,” said Kazuya.

“No, it didn’t!” said Mina.

“In general, it does.”

Mina blinked. “You… you don’t know what you’re doing, do you?”

“No.”

Mina expected at least some bluster.

“Talking to demons is my specialty,” Kazuya continued. “And I’m not afraid to go up to people and ask them for things. That doesn’t mean I’m good at it.”

“Then—

“Someone had to do it,” said Kazuya, arms folded.

“How about we do the talking from now on?” said Soma.

“Then what good am I?” said Kazuya.

“Another head,” said Mina.

“You have enough nerve to just go out and talk to people,” said Soma.

“That too,” said Mina. She looked up. “There’s got to be someone else who’s willing to talk. I mean, it’s not like—”

The alley mouth was closed off by a group of men holding knives. All five of them wore their suits poorly.

“The boss don’t look too kindly on people who ask too many questions on his turf.”

They all looked at each other.

“Run?”

“Run.”

X

(7:56 pm)

Naoki and Aoi reached the grocery store before Lu, Rei, and Sei; they’d tried going to the park next to the mountains, but it was still closed, so they’d let Shiro romp around in a smaller park farther away. Naoki had eaten a lot of food on Mr. Adam’s dime, but he still craved his daily sandwich, so he bought more bread and cold cuts. Learning his lesson, he decided to buy a cheap bread knife, but Aoi had offered to ‘sell’ (read: gift, but exchange a coin to avoid the superstition around knife gifts) him a better knife the next time they met.

He made good on his promise to carry groceries back to Aoi’s apartment; since he was strongest, he hefted the sacks of rice and flour over his shoulder. It had started to rain along the way; Lu had looked distressed at the prospect of getting wet, so Naoki lent him his hoodie despite his insistence that he wasn’t cold.

Nobody was home when he got back to his dorm, which suited him just fine. He sat at his desk, turned on music, and made himself some sandwiches.

“Does that kid know that his dog is a demon?” he said to himself.

X

(8:04 pm)

“Guys, stop!”

Soma stopped immediately, but Kazuya kept running.

“Did you notice something?” asked Soma.

“Are you tired?” said Kazuya, opening up his COMP. “Because I—”

“No, it’s not that,” said Mina. She looked around. “No one else is running.”

“That guy is,” said Soma.

“I think he’s a jogger,” said Mina. “My point is that they can pick us out of a crowd because we’re a group of three people running together.”

“So what, are you saying that we should split up?” said Soma.

“No, that would make it easier for them to pick us off,” said Mina. “What we need to do is walk. Lose them in a crowded place. Change our clothes.” Mina looked at Soma and Kazuya. “Maybe we can swap. Does that sound like a plan?”

“I’ve got you covered,” said Kazuya, typing something into his arm keyboard. “Let’s change over there,” he said, jerking his head towards a convenient alley.  

They ducked into the alleyway, walking as they spoke.

Kazuya fiddled with his arm computer and produced a neon-striped jacket. “Huh. This was Mikoto’s.” He handed it to Mina. “It should fit you, Mi—”

“Who’s there?!”

Click.

A bright, warm light filled the alleyway. Mina blinked and let her eyes adjust.

The light was from an emergency candle, the click from a cigarette lighter. A girl peeked out of a crude lean-to, wrapped in a threadbare blanket.

“Oh, it’s you,” said the girl, getting to her feet. “I see you got home all right.”

Mina relaxed. “Guys, this is the girl who helped me the other night,” she said. She stepped forward. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but is it okay if—”

Kazuya pulled her back. “Why—”

“Stay back,” growled Kazuya, his eyes not leaving the girl. “Why would anyone, let alone a little girl, willingly reveal themselves to a group of strangers in the middle of the night, when everyone knows that there’s a killer on the loose?”

“You wouldn’t happen to have any money, would you?” the girl asked hopefully.

Mina opened her purse, but Kazuya blocked her. “Say that again.”

“Why should I?” said the girl testily.

Kazuya tapped the ground. “Your breath doesn’t fog when you talk.”

The girl cursed. Then she laughed. It was a low, wild laugh; she didn’t even pause to inhale, instead gasping like the snort of a feral hog. “Two weeks,” she said at last, a grin splitting her face. True to Kazuya’s word, her breath did not fog. “Two weeks, five days, and eight hours I’ve been sitting in this dump. You’re the first person to even question why I’m here.”

Soma stepped back. “And why is that?” he said with forced calm, pulling his hand to the inside of his jacket.

“Isn’t it obvious?” she said, still smiling. “I’m the murderer.”

OMAKE #1: Hidden in plain sight

(This is canon, but I hadn’t found a good place to put it).

“How do you guys hide your weapons?” asked Naoki

“Come on, boss, show him your purse,” said Rei.

“All right, then,” said Aoi. She held her purse out at arm’s length. “Notice anything?”

The bag itself was sewn from undyed brown cloth, dangling from two long chains and closed with what appeared to be a weak magnet rather than a zipper or clasp.

“It’s, um… very nice,” said Naoki, who did not have much experience in this field. “Very big. And I guess since the straps are metal chains, robbers can’t cut them?”

“Close,” said Aoi, slinging it back onto her right shoulder, letting it hang straight. “They’re rather thick chains, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yeah,” said Naoki. “Don’t they dig into your shoulder?”

Aoi tapped her shoulder. “Not if you wear the right padding. Anyways, watch this!” Aoi slipped her hand into the main pocket, and something clicked. The body of the purse swung forwards, and her arm flew backwards, a stream of silver following her hand. Her empty bag plopped to the ground, leaving Aoi holding a long chain whip.

“Huh,” said Naoki. “Where did the handle come from?” 

Aoi flicked it. “The handle is hidden on the inside, along with most of the chain,” she said. “Good for walking around places where I can’t be visibly armed, bad for actual security checkpoints.”

“Then why did you use a jump rope on me?”

“Speed, surprise, and I don’t take this purse everywhere,” said Aoi. She rubbed her shoulder. “The pads wear down, and since most of the space in the bag is taken up by chains, it’s not very good as a real purse.”

OMAKE #2: Kuzuno-who?

(I remembered too late that the Kuzunoha clan have been summoning demons and working closely with the government for centuries.)

“Oh yeah, Tamaki, one more thing,” said Kyouji Kuzunoha to his apprentice. “Demon summoning’s illegal, so don’t go around showing it off where people can see. Especially foreigners.”

“Why?” asked Tamaki Uchida.

Kyouji shrugged. “International treaty. Long story short, the UN is convinced that you need human sacrifices to summon demons.”

“Can’t we prove that we don’t?” said Tamaki. She focused her Magnetite into the palm of her hand, just as he taught her. “Look, I’m doing it right here.”

Kyouji sighed. “See, that’s the thing. We wanted to convince the West all the way back in the Meiji era, when Japan was westernizing, but we had to wait in the shadows until Japan had enough clout on the world stage. Otherwise, they’d call it the ‘barbaric custom of backwater savages.’” He scowled. “Then World War Two happened. We got called to fight. A single summoner couldn’t supply Magnetite for more than one or two demons at a time, commanders asked us for more, so we…” He stared at the floor. “We fed enemy soldiers to our demons. Sometimes alive.”

Tamaki nodded silently. She’d been forced to make that same choice before.

“By the time the war ended, everyone knew,” Kyouji continued. “The government couldn’t support the Kuzunoha clan, not even unofficially, so we went underground.” He sighed. “That said, there aren’t any reliable records about the war. I don’t know for sure if this was our predecessors’ only crime or the only one they would admit to, and none of the elders will tell me. I do know that we got scapegoated for what other supernatural clans did, but I don’t know which clans or which crimes.” He scratched his head. “I guess they thought summoners were doomed anyways…”

“Boss?”

“Oh, right. We have a list of shrines and temples that we know will support summoners, but you should avoid ones that aren’t on our list just in case.”

(So now if demon summoning is illegal by international treaty, that brings up the question of why Bethel has summoners on their payroll. My handwave is that since Bethel is led by gods and angels, they don’t think the laws of man apply to them. They also know that you don’t need to kill people to summon, so the human members wouldn’t have any moral objections. Of course, they’re still aware of the law; they’re not stupid enough to summon where people can see.

Would Bethel have enough pull with world governments to make summoning legal again? Maybe, but only if they all wanted it and worked together, which they don’t. The impression I get is:

Abdiel couldn’t get the Abrahamic religions to accept summoning even if she wanted them to, since making pacts with demons is almost universally agreed to be heresy and not even an angel can overturn that ruling. She allows the other members to summon because they need power and she needs the alliance, but she personally disdains summoning and considers it too dangerous to leave Bethel hands.

Koshimizu wants to make summoning legal, but his position is too precarious to try. For the reasons Kyouji gave above, Japan shouldn’t initiate the legislation to make summoning legal again; heck, Mina shows that not even other Japanese supernatural clans like summoners. Public opinion aside, while being the Japanese PM gives him a better position, it also makes him more vulnerable. The other leaders have to influence government leaders while Koshimizu can just sign things directly, but he has to keep his hands clean or else he’ll get scandaled out of office. It wouldn’t be hard to find dirt, given that he leads a cult of illegal summoners.

Odin wants to keep his monopoly on summoners.

Shiva doesn’t care either way.

Zeus thinks it would be great to have more summoners, but not if he’s going to be the only one working for it.

Khonsu doesn’t want just anyone to be able to summon his followers.

And all this aside, the angels don’t want the gods to interfere too much with the lives of humans; overturning international law on their behalf is too much. Koshimizu’s a borderline case since he’s not using actual divine intervention, but he’s on thin ice.)

OMAKE #3: Cowboy

(And now, for the characters you barely remember and don’t care about… let’s give it up for the Agents! Again, it’s fine if you can’t tell the apart; it’s just a fun extra).

“You ever wonder what you’d be doing if the Agency hadn’t picked you up?” said Agent Ninja.

“College, probably,” said Agent Lily.

“I wonder what Haruhata University is like?” said Agent Peony.

“We might have to go there undercover,” said Agent Seal. “Maybe we can slip into a lecture or two?”

“Won’t they notice?”

“I went to college as part of my training in the Japanese equivalent of the Navy SEALS,” said Agent Seal. “Most classes don’t take attendance, especially the biggest ones. Sometimes you get people who only show up on exam days and the like; if nobody recognizes you, they’re more likely to assume you’re one of them.”

“I’d be taking over the family business,” said Agent Tiger. “We make sake.”

“Mine is the manufacture of Archeo-Artifical-Magitekial—” Agent Wolf paused. “I mean, we have a farm.”

“My family’s been in the textile business since the Edo period,” said Agent Peony.

The others piped up about school, jobs, road trips, and homelessness, until Agent Peony asked, “What about you, Cowboy?”

“It’s not worth mentioning,” said Cowboy.

“Come on,” said Agent Seal encouragingly. “You did get—”

“Shut it, Seal.”

“But Cowboy—”

Agent Cowboy took a sip of his tea. “Have you ever wondered what it would be like to go to Hogwarts?”

“And what does that have to do with anything?” said Agent Tiger.

“Bear with me,” said Agent Cowboy. “Let’s say that you could go, right now. Go back to being eleven. No more adult responsibilities. Be a wizard, learn magic, fly on a broomstick, make friends with every canon character you ever liked.”

“And of course, there’s a catch,” asked Agent Lily.

“You’re eleven years old again,” said Agent Cowboy. He sighed. “I know, this might sound like a dream to some of you. But if you think about it, there’s two ways this can go.

“One, you lose your memories. You’re a child on the inside and outside. Everything you’ve ever done, everything you ever learned, everything you’ve ever worked for, that’s gone. Are you going to be you anymore?”

Agent Lily shuddered.

“Two, you’re still however old you are on the inside. You keep your memories, your experiences, your emotional maturity. But what’s the point? How’s your shiny high school education going to help you learn magic? You’d get a head start on Arithmacy at best. And don’t get me started on how ‘practical application of physics and chemistry’ will make you so much smarter than everyone else, because we don’t know how magic works in that universe.

“Besides, we’re not children anymore. How do you think you’re going to handle being treated like a child again? Not allowed to go out at night, or even leave the castle grounds except for a few weekends out of the year. Being talked down to all the time because adults are always right. Hell, your only friends are going to be little kids. You’re not their friend, you’re their babysitter.”

At this point, everyone was staring at Agent Cowboy. He sighed. “That’s not to say that it’ll all be terrible. You’re learning magic, for God’s sake. Isn’t that what we’ve wanted since we were kids?”

“…You didn’t answer my question. What would you be doing if you didn’t join the Agency?” said Agent Tiger.

“College.”

“Really?”

That note of incredulity was the last straw. Agent Cowboy stormed out of the room.

He wasn’t sure where he was going, but the park seemed as good a place as any to stew.

Agent Cowboy opened his phone, and turned to the first picture in his gallery. He’d taken the picture with his previous phone, an expensive but fragile piece of work that had to be replaced with a more durable model for his new job. Nobody but him had ever seen this picture; Cowboy knew that they’d pity him, or worse, think that he was pitying himself. No, he kept this picture as a reminder of why he became an Agent.

It was his acceptance letter to Tokyo University.

X

The boy who would become Agent Cowboy was a genius, and he worked damn hard for it. Other students slackened their pace when they got into a good high school; the boy hit the ground running and never stopped. He wasn’t like them. He didn’t go out drinking or clubbing. He didn’t waste time flirting with vapid girls. He didn’t watch mind-numbing TV or boring sports games. He didn’t care about idols or celebrities. He didn’t need friends.

He'd tackled college entrance exams at full speed, and came out swinging. He knew he’d done well; he looked back on his answers and knew he got a perfect score on the math section. He’d celebrated with cake from an expensive bakery, then he… he…

What now?

He should have been happy. There was no need to study anymore. He should have binged on video games, on manga, something he liked. He should have explored the city he’d never had the time to see. Instead, he sat in his room, slept until well after noon, read sordid posts about people on the internet, and mindlessly accumulated daily gems on mobile games.

The boy took to aimless wandering, anything to wake out of his stupor.

One unseasonably warm February evening, the boy happened to walk past a construction site, whereupon Agent Seal crash-landed into him.

Agent Seal had just recovered a powerful artifact known as the Heart of Fire from the Black Diamond Conspiracy. He was rushing to the extraction point when a troll ambushed him. His ice powers were useless against it, and in his haste to flee, did not notice the boy. He fell, tripped, and dropped the Heart of Fire.

The boy, being a good citizen, tried to put the shiny red gemstone back into its container, not noticing that Seal was wearing gloves on an otherwise warm night. The Heart fused with his left hand, granting him immense magical power and allowing him to defeat the troll.

Not knowing what else to do, Agent Seal brought him to the extraction point. His superiors understood that it was an accident and that no one was at fault. It would have been a simple matter to remove the Heart of Fire from the boy’s hand, but Agent Fireball stopped them.

This boy had demonstrated great talent in handling the Heart’s power. Recruitment into a secret organization was stagnant; everyone was required to have prior knowledge of the supernatural, which ruled out many otherwise competent candidates. It would be a waste to let him go.

Agent Fireball asked the boy if he wanted to join them in their fight to keep the world safe; if he refused, they would erase his memory of the event, and he could go back to his normal life. Fireball gave him one week to give his answer.

At that moment, everything the boy had ever worked for was pointless. The endless parade of normal school, cram school, and summer school. The long nights studying in his room. The tea ceremony club presidency that had looked so good on his resume. None of that would matter when fighting monsters or saving the world. He could have just slacked off and partied every night, and he still would have been offered this job.

The boy tarried, asking to know the results of his exams before making a final decision. Fireball granted him an extension.

His acceptance letter arrived the next day. Tokyo University, the most prestigious university in Japan. The dream of every overachieving high school student (and their parents). A promise of a good life.

The boy laid his letter on the table and took a picture. Right before he sent it to his family, he stopped.

He looked at the gemstone embedded in his left hand. Everything he’d ever dreamed of since he was a kid. Fight evil, do magic, meet interesting people.

He looked at the letter on his right. Good, stable future. College, job, marriage, retirement.

The life he always worked for versus the life he always dreamed of.

But what was it all for? What did he want to do with his life? Was this what he wanted or what was expected of him? Did he really want to be a doctor, or did he just not want to endure the shame of not going to college? Did anything really interest him? Did he have any ambitions beyond ‘have job, don’t starve’?

The boy spent all night wondering what to tell his family.

The next morning, he returned to the Agency safehouse. Nobody had expected him to return that early, but they swore him in, gave him a uniform, and embraced their newest member.

“Welcome to the Agency, Ryota Kisaragi.”

(I’m going to do one of these for every chapter from now on, either for the Agents or Aoi’s gang. Again, you don’t need to remember any of the OCs; it’s just a fun extra. I gave them personalities and backstories after I realized how hard it was to keep a recurring cast of bland extras.

Every OC Agent is based on a stock character, but with a twist somewhere. Agent Cowboy was conceived as the shonen hero who’s kind of a jerk but has a good heart deep down.

With Cowboy’s backstory, I wanted to deconstruct the wish fulfillment aspects of shonen and other children’s/young adult fiction without insulting the genre. Too many writers conflate ‘realistic’ and ‘full of sex, gore, and pessimism’, with an undercurrent of ‘anyone who likes children’s media is childish and needs to grow up’. The shonen/Hogwarts fantasy isn’t going to be perfect, but it’s not a soul-crushing nightmare to which mundane reality is preferable. Agent Cowboy loves his job; it’s going to be painful and boring at times, but that’s just life. The real cost is what you give up.

The inspiration was the same thing Agent Cowboy asked his teammates: would you give up everything you built after the age of eleven, just for magic? I asked myself that question soon after entering college, long before Harry Potter’s name was dragged through the mud.

Spider Man Homecoming is my favorite Marvel movie because it shows the costs and strain of being a high school superhero. Peter had to quit marching band because he didn’t have time to do that and be a superhero, and the scene where he gives up playing in the pool with his teammates is more heartbreaking than leaving the girl he likes.)  

Chapter Text

Midnight tolled over the vast plains of Makai, announcing to all of Lucifer’s subjects the start of Halloween. A time of joy and merriment, from the raucous pranks and parties held in the mortal world, to the simple pleasures of not having to do any work. In short, a pleasant holiday for all.

At least, all save for a certain clan that dwelled in the Valley of Insight.

A solemn procession drifted across the Forest; the Forest needed no name, for it was all forests where humans feared the dark. Swaying, flickering lights bobbed in the early morning mist, mirroring the stars above. Bright as they were, they illuminated little of the woods; the light they cast merely revealed the shadows rather than banish them. Many an unwary traveler had perished following lights like these, but tonight, they were to mourn a death, not cause it. Slowly, like flame-colored leaves drifting down a stream, the bobbing lights emerged from the foliage.

At the center of a small clearing stood a stone gateway, its doors constructed from iron lace. Rusted, moss-ridden, and aged by rain and wind, the gate would have seemed quite ordinary, save for the four figures carved in the stone. These four figures alone remained pristine in the ancient stone; one glowered with a face contorted with rage, one raised both its arms in the air with joy, one crumpled to the ground in despair, and the last lied sleeping on a pillow of stone.  

It was at this gateway that the silent procession met its end. For a moment that seemed like an age, there was no sound save for the wind rustling through the falling leaves.

“It’s not too late to turn back,” said a low, quiet voice, the kind that only wasn’t crying because there were no tears left to be shed. “You don’t have to do this.”

A firm, authoritative voice this time, one that thought volume could chase away fear. “I’ve lived a good, long life. If I die now, for a good cause, I’ll die happy.”

Murmurs.

“You’ll be wiped from existence.”

“You’ll forget.”

 “There’ll be no more you. What pride, what joy will you have, if you no longer know who you are?”

The same loud bark, firmer than teak. “You, then, will be my legacy. All of you.”

“But what if we die?”

“Then the world I save is my legacy.”

A pause.

“Be proud for me, my friends, for soon I will not be able to feel. And cry for me, for I will not be able to cry for myself.”

X

Soma woke to the lovely tones of the Theme of Final Fantasy. Moaning, he fumbled to hit the power button on Papa’s phone, and groggily stared at the time. 5:30. That’s fine. I still have a few hours before school…

Oh, right. Soma dislodged the pillow on his head, letting the last of the afternoon light leak into the fort. He grinned. Time to go trick-or-treating.

He’d had it all planned out. He’d finished all his homework during school, part of it during lunch, but he’d also snuck some in during class; either Ms. Doherty didn’t notice, or she didn’t mind him leaning beneath his desk and penciling in the answers. Then once he got home, he dove straight into his blanket fort for a nap so he’d have the energy to go trick-or-treating all night.

Soma slid down the banister, landing gracefully next to the coffee table, where his costume lay crumpled into a heap of black cloth. It took a few shakes to get the wrinkles out, but nobody would notice a few wrinkles in black at night.

When he got to the front door, his father was waiting for him. Or rather, waiting for the trick-or-treaters; he’d dragged an armchair and a side table from the living room, so that he could enjoy a book and a mug of hot horchata while handing out candy. He looked up. “Going out, Soma?”

“Yes, Papa,” said Soma, putting his arms through the longcoat his parents sewed for him. They’d already taken the pictures and cooed over how cute he was last Sunday, when the costume was finished. “Kaa-san’s already gone to work?”

Mr. Cruz nodded. “She’ll stopping by the grocery store afterwards, so we’re getting eggs.”

Eggs meant Soma could finally make popovers again. “Yay, popovers!”

“Be sure to thank your mother when she gets back,” said Mr. Cruz, before returning to his book, History of Locks and Lockpicking.

“I will!” said Soma, putting on his shoes. He glanced upwards. His father was preoccupied, muttering something about his grandmother’s best steel hairpin, so Soma surreptitiously stuck his hand in the mixing bowl on the ledge—

Soma’s hand closed around paper.

In addition to candy, Mr. Cruz handed out little cards with fun spooky facts. It had taken some convincing from Mrs. Kurusu to removes the cards with facts like ‘According to urban legend, human flesh tastes like pork’ or ‘Mummies were ground up and used for paint’, and instead replace them with cheerier ones like, ‘Sir Melion, one of King Arthur’s knights, was a werewolf,’ or ‘Witches played the bagpipes when partying with the Devil.’

“I’m not a fool, Soma,” said his father, without looking up from his book. “You’ll have to earn that candy. Go out and get some exercise; it’ll do you good.”

“All right,” Soma grumbled half-seriously, stepping out into the foggy, wet autumn air. Behind him, his father’s smile inclined just the tiniest bit.

Soma looked at the card anyways.

 ‘Vampires are compelled to count anything thrown on the ground. So if a vampire attacks you tonight, throw your candy on the ground and run. Better yet, if you have Nerds, open the pack and throw those on the ground.’

Soma would not learn the word ‘foreshadowing’ for a few years, but at that moment, even he felt that this was lazy on God’s part.

X

American school holidays are annoying inconsistent. It’s not enough to say that they’re built for the needs of adults rather than children; this might explain, say, Christmas and Election Day, but not why President’s Day necessitates a long weekend, nor why the day after Election Day requires approximately half the country to stop crying and get back to work.

Halloween is the polar opposite of President’s Day; almost everyone celebrates it, especially children, and yet to school the children go. To some extent, this makes sense; it’s a chance for children to see their friends in their costumes, and Halloween festivities traditionally take place at night. But at the same time, few can focus on schoolwork or learning on a day when all they can think about is costumes, candy, and monsters.

A few of the teachers put up a valiant effort in the battle for Education; Mrs. Wean handed out the kind of math worksheet in which solving all the problems would decode a spooky phrase, while Ms. Doherty lit jelly beans on fire with Bunsen burners to show how calories worked. Some clung to normalcy; Mrs. Hammerschlag proceeded with her lessons as if nothing had changed, while Mr. Tepper straight up bribed his class with candy if they’d just sat still and didn’t talk too loudly. Others embraced the holiday spirit; Mr. Baker challenged the students to create chiaroscuro paintings by using white paint on black paper, which was fun, but not as much fun as Mrs. Porter’s lesson.

Mrs. Porter taught English. For today’s class, she passed out packets to the class; on the first two pages was a story, and the next few pages were questions. Simple enough, but the next step was the kind that you either hated or loved: arranging the class into the circle, then having each child read a single sentence before passing the next line to their neighbor. Soma, personally, liked it, because it meant he got to inject drama into the room every time he spoke.  

Mrs. Porter cleared her throat, and began the story.

Once upon a time, there was a blacksmith known as Stingy Jack. Jack was lazy, but he was also very clever. He often tricked people into doing his work for him.

The Devil was interested in Jack, and one night he went to Jack and offered anything he wanted in exchange for his soul. Now, there are many versions of what Jack did next.

In one story, Jack told the Devil that he wanted apples from a tree down the lane. When the Devil climbed the tree, he carved a cross on the trunk so the Devil could not come back down.

In another story, Jack wanted to eat at a restaurant in town, and asked the Devil to pay for his food by turning into a silver coin. Jack put the coin in his pocket, next to a cross, so the Devil could not escape.

Yet another story says that Jack was a thief who was being chased by the villagers he robbed, and he met the Devil on the road while running away. Jack persuaded the Devil to turn into a silver coin to pay for the goods he stole, so that when the coin vanished, the villagers would fight over who stole it. The Devil thought this was a wicked plan and agreed. Once again, Jack put the Devil in his pocket with the cross, and the Devil could not escape.

In all versions, Jack told the Devil that he would only let him go if the Devil promised to never take his soul. No matter how many evil deeds Jack did, the Devil could not take him to Hell. [1]

Jack lived a long life, playing mean tricks on people wherever he went, until at last it was his time to die. But when he knocked on the gates of Heaven, they did not open for him, because Jack was not good enough to enter Heaven. And when Jack tried to go to Hell, the Devil himself locked the gates.

Jack pounded and pounded on the gates, begging the Devil to let him in and give him shelter. But the Devil made a promise, and would not let Jack in.

Even though Jack made a fool of him, the Devil felt sorry for Jack. The Devil also liked tricking people, so he knew what it was like to have a trick fail. So the Devil gave Jack a single ember from the fires of Hell to light his way.

The fiery ember burned Jack’s hands, so he carved a pumpkin into a lantern and put the ember in the pumpkin. Stingy Jack became known as Jack of the Lantern, or Jack-o’-Lantern.

Unable to go to Heaven or Hell, Jack-o’-Lantern wandered the earth for—

Soma cut off.

“Forever,” Stella Hall helpfully provided.

“I know what forever means!” Soma hissed back. He looked back at the page. ‘Unable to go to Heaven or Hell, Jack-o’-Lantern wandered the earth forever, playing tricks wherever he went.’ There. All words he knew. All words he’d said before.

Why can’t I say it?

The stares began, and soon, they would evolve into trading knowing looks. From there, there was nowhere to go but titters, and perhaps true mockery. Soma took in a deep breath. There. If he didn’t say it, he’d always be known as the weird, foreign kid who didn’t speak English.

In a hollow voice devoid of all the plomb he had delivered up until then, Soma recited, “Unable to go to Heaven or Hell, Jack-o’-Lantern wandered the earth forever, playing tricks wherever he went.”

Mrs. Porter nodded. “Three, two, one, and…”

“THE END,” the children chanted as one.

But it wasn’t. Not for Jack. That’s what forever meant, wasn’t it? Doing the same things over and over while the world changed around you. You start seeing the same faces over and over, but never the same person twice. Those icy blue eyes watch you forever…

The bottom fell out of Soma’s stomach, but he forced himself to sit still.

X

Soma went trick-or-treating alone. This might have shocked many parents in this neighborhood, but kids much younger than Soma could run around on their own all the time back home in Japan, and Soma’s parents hadn’t seen fit to change that. Besides, Soma didn’t really get along with the other kids. Too loud, too foreign, too—

Soma shook his head. No. Not tonight. Tonight, he was Robin, hero of Fire Emblem Awakening and Soma’s main in Smash Bros. And everyone liked Robin, right?

Well, not the scores of people handing out candy who’d thought he was Jotaro Kujo. Or Setzer from Final Fantasy VI. Or someone from Kingdom Hearts. Or—

Oh well, they still liked the costume, Soma thought as he sat on someone’s steps, munching his way through a pack of malted milk balls.

You’d think that grownups would be worried about a boy all on his own, but his mother told him that most adults only saw what they expected to see.

“People aren’t sheep,” she’d said just a few days ago. “Anyone who tries to tell you that either thinks too highly of themselves, or is trying to trick you. People aren’t dumb, either. At least, people being dumb doesn’t account for everything in the world. But the most important thing to know when you want to break the rules is that people are preoccupied.”

“Preoccupied?” Soma didn’t know that word.  

Soma’s mother rearranged her words in her head. “Grown-ups always have something on their minds. Maybe they need to remember to get flour from the store, maybe they’re trying to solve a particularly difficult problem at work, or maybe they have an appointment that they can’t be late for. Even if they notice you doing something you shouldn’t, most of the time, they won’t bother to stop you. They think they have more important things to do.”

“You stop me from doing things all the time,” Soma protested.

Mrs. Kurusu nodded. “That’s because I’m your mother, and that’s my job. If someone thinks it’s their job to stop you, they will. But that also means that if someone thinks it’s someone else’s job, they’ll assume that it’ll be taken care of.” She sighed. “That said, if you do something that’s too dangerous, like try to climb on a roof, any responsible adult will stop you.”

Then she’d given him the usual safety lecture on not talking to strangers, only going for houses with lights on, and making sure that there were always other kids around—especially since it would look more suspicious if he were the only one around.

Soma had taken her lessons to heart. It hadn’t taken him long to notice that most adults were too busy wrangling their own kids to pay attention to him, and the ones handing out candy wouldn’t think anything was strange as long as he looked like he was hurrying after a larger group.

He’d gotten a pretty good haul so far; his pillowcase was full of chocolate, fruit gummies, and nerds. Soma didn’t particularly like nerds except when he just wanted sugar, but if vampires were real, there wasn’t any harm in throwing nerds at them. But it wasn’t really about the candy; it was about the primal urge to run around outside on a chilly autumn night, shouting away the little death of nature.  

Soma rounded a corner, candy sack in one hand and cardboard sword in the other—

Simon Newell was there, flanked by his friends and someone’s parents.

Soma ducked into the nearest backyard before any of them saw him. Not because Simon was a bully, because he wasn’t. There wasn’t a hint of malice in him. He just… knew what was best. For everyone. He’d scolded Soma on his first day for eating his cookie before his sandwich, told the teachers when kids started waving sticks at each other when pretending to be wizards, and stopped people from crossing the street on red lights even when there weren’t any cars around. Soma knew Simon was a decent kid, but that didn’t mean he had to like him.

If Simon saw Soma going out at night all alone, he’d insist that he’d come with him, to stay safe, and of course the two grown-ups would agree, and Soma would be herded along with kids he barely knew and didn’t like, plodding along in preset paths instead of wandering the night, leaping through shadowy yards and fields, free as a…

Soma was lost.

Okay, maybe slipping through the night like a wraith sounded more fun in my head.

To his right were more houses, but to the left was a dark expanse of trees and foliage, visible only by the distant lights of houses on the other side. Soma could hear the faint gurgle of water, possibly a stream.

Everything everyone ever told Soma told him to follow the path with the houses (especially Mina’s mother, who climbed mountains at night to do miko things, and knew better than everyone else what dangers lied in dark forests). On the other…

When am I ever going to get a chance like this?

Soma’s cardboard Levin Sword had a working flashlight for a handle, so he’d still be able to see where he was going. And his neighborhood was bounded on most sides by major roads, and on the last side was the town, so he could find his way home just by walking in one direction until he bumped into something he recognized.  

Soma stepped forward, and the dark green expanse welcomed him.

X

It was not strictly necessary to leave through the third-storey window. Window exits carried risks of their own; besides detection, suspicion, and the fact that windows don’t lock from the outside, popular consensus is that falling three storeys is not anyone’s idea of a fun time. But drama ran in this family, and what escape was more dramatic than a window exit?

Well, maybe crashing through the front doors on a stolen motorcycle, cops and hounds in hot pursuit. But while that was dramatic, it wasn’t fun.

The thief’s clothes, designed not to drape or drag, were stuffed full of ill-gotten gains. Had anyone informed her of this, she would have protested; all of her gains were gotten through skill and talent! The jewels were artfully swiped from the soil of a potted Sand Pear plant, without disturbing the little tree in the slightest. The corporate secrets, copied to a miniature hard drive concealed in her wristwatch. And the cursed medallion with a half million-dollar bounty… well, she had to admit that one was legally purchased from a thrift shop with the contents of her change purse.

The only piece of loot the thief wasn’t proud of was the small memory stick at her breast pocket. It was chock full of secrets that governments would kill for—no, governments already killed people* for stupider reasons**. Secrets that governments would accept slightly less favorable trade conditions for.

*See: War, Warfare.

**See: Jenkins’ Ear, War of.

Treachery always looked like easy money, but the real cost would always be more than what a mere thief could afford. She crushed the drive.

Pockets full of loot, Mrs. Kurusu leapt from the open windowsill.

X

Soma was shivering, but he did not care. This was an adventure, a lark, a new space to explore, or to simply exist in. When he’d first moved to these American suburbs, he’d been excited to see that no matter where he looked, the horizon was laced with trees. At the time, he’d took it to mean that his neighborhood was surrounded by a massive forest, and he’d find it if he walked far enough in the right direction. Several miles and one highway overpass later, he’d realized that there was no forest, just lots of house plots with trees. Which was… pleasant, he supposed, but disappointing.

Still, there were little pockets of wood here and there, parks and fields, or simply spaces between houses too small for a new plot. Not nearly the same as the mountains he’d climbed with Mina and his family back at home, but a break from the endless parade of houses upon houses.

This little wood was bigger than Soma had guessed; those house lights in the distance had seemed at most like a block away, but he still hadn’t—

The glowing rectangles began to move, and with a crushing sense of dread, Soma realized that those weren’t house lights.

Soma looked behind him. Tiny balls of fire hanging in midair like candle flames. When he looked forwards again, the square and rectangular house lights had relaxed into familiar shapeless fire. He was surrounded.

Soma hefted his cardboard sword. As an afterthought, he opened a pack of nerds and scattered them all over the forest floor. Nothing happened.

“Who are you?” he said in a quavering voice. Despising his shaky voice, he roared, “What do you want?!” with more courage than he felt.

The largest of the lights, which Soma had taken for two windows and a door, widened into two semicircular eyes and a carved, crooked smile. In a flash of fire, the previously unseen lantern it carried ignited, and Soma could finally perceive its true form.

A Jack-o’-Lantern hovered at eye level, carrying a glass lantern. Someone had seen fit to drape a tiny cloak over it and crown it with a shoddy witch’s hat, which struck Soma as a fire hazard. Its wedged eyes narrowed as it saw Soma.

Soma held his ground. How do you react when magic turned out to be real? He wasn’t scared, but… Do you jump for joy? Deny that it’s real?

And then the Jack-o’-Lantern yelled something in a language he couldn’t understand, and hurled one of the fireballs at Soma, barely missing his face.

Well, I guess that solves that problem, said a tiny voice in Soma’s head, one that wasn’t screaming in terror.

Soma ran. He scrambled over rocks made slick with wet leaves, tripped over knobby tree branches that he might have seen if the sun were still out, and doused his ankles once or twice in foul-smelling mud. The world’s evilest Halloween decoration floated lazily in pursuit, shooting fireballs and yelling what might have been insults if Soma had any idea what it was saying.

There is no victory in retreat, another part of Soma quoted. Retreat is a sacrifice to the Adversary; while it may seem acceptable, maybe even palatable at first glance, it will come at a heavy cost one day. Even the mildest, most painful victory is preferable to the most meager of concessions; the difference is who is in whose power, and that power makes all the difference. Retreat is gilded loss; little good will come of it.

Where did I get that from?

Probably manga.

Good advice. Don’t be a coward.

But all I have to do is keep running! I’ll run into the sidewalk and the houses eventually, and then I’ll be—

Safe? Will this thing stop chasing me if it sees other people? It’s not like it’s a—

When Soma tripped over what felt like the fiftieth rock that night, he had enough. He yanked the largest rock he could lift out of the ground (one that had seemed the size of his head, but was in fact closer to both of his fists put together), and charged at the demon pumpkin.

“Leave me alone!” he roared, swinging his new favorite rock in an upwards arc, slamming it against the grinning face—

The rock struck true and hard, smashing the pumpkin like an egg used to break another egg. Chunks of orange flew everywhere like projective vomit after too much candy corn. The hat, cloak, and lantern toppled to the ground, leaving only the flame---

No, not a flame. No flame would be a perfect sphere, nor would it burn so bright and red, shimmering in the fading sunlight as if carved from a ruby.

Come…

Return to me…

Time slowed down. The world paled in the face of that shimmering ruby light; what could be more important than this? After all, Soma had been waiting his entire life for this. After years of wallowing in apathy, he could finally, finally, be whole agai—

“No.”

The voice was Soma’s. It was undeniably Soma’s. But Soma had never spoken with such certainty, such authority…

“A clever trap,” the voice continued. “A shame I’m never far away.”

With a whisper rather than a bellow, Count Dracula returned to the world.

X

Across the ocean, in a place that was technically tomorrow, Aoi Miyama froze. Her spoon full of pumpkin soup slipped back in the bowl.

“What is it, Ao—”

Aoi grabbed her father and shouted, “Something terrible is happening!”

X

One of the first signs of demon possession is vocal change. Not a simple change in accent, nor the use of uncharacteristic growls or screams, but pitch, tone, pace, rhythm… the whole quality of the voice changes. While one might think that using the same vocal chords makes it easier to imitate the host’s voice, the opposite is true. It’s hard enough to mimic the voice of another using your own vocal chords; trying to adjust for a stranger’s increases the difficulty tenfold.

When Dracula spoke, the vocabulary was his, but the voice was Soma’s.

“I am no innocent,” Dracula said to the flickering light softly. “But the boy is. Do not have him suffer on account of my crimes. Go back to your mires, Stingy Jack, and tell your other selves to leave him alone.”

The soul hissed like a teakettle.

“You felt it too, did you not?” said Dracula. “He is dead. You do not have much time until his works on this world are undone. Perhaps this is the last year you can attempt this.”

The hissing faltered.

“Go home. Enjoy your freedom. I will not pursue. Your revenge will remain unsatisfied, but you leave with your… sanity.” It would not be wise to use the word he intended.

The soul did not move.

Dracula sighed. “It’s just as well that you attacked me on this night of all nights,” he said, ruffling his hair. “The night where Dracula is but a costume, a tale, a sham man on an electric screen. A ghost story you tell children to frighten them, not the monster you desperately hide to ward them from fear. A night where my name does not belong to me, a night when anonymity sets me free.”

Dracula held up his hand. “But Dominance… Dominance is always my power. Leave.”

Dracula pointed towards the glimmering red soul. It took a mere push to send this soul back to the Forest; after all, they were both standing in one of its branches. A mere twig with a single leaf, but a branch nonetheless.

In the meantime, what shall I do on this night of freedom?

Dracula gazed sadly at the rising moon, and began to walk towards home. “My other self is still but a child. His sense of self has yet to grow, and my presence weighs heavy on his psyche. Although I am free on this night of all nights, I cannot have him suffer on my account. I suppose I should—”

Dracula fell into the creek. He picked himself up with as much dignity as he could muster. “I suppose I should learn how to operate a washing machine,” he muttered.

X

Aoi removed her blindfold, and looked down at her newest ink painting. On the right edge, a tree in full bloom scattered its petals. In the center, a field laid fallow, weeds poking up in the dust. And on the left, the top half of a rabbit poked its head at the falling petals. Its lower half was missing.

“I think that’s a cherry blossom tree,” said her father.

“Could mean the ephemeral nature of life,” said her mother.

“Or how you can’t have cherries right now,” said her little brother. “Cherries in summer, flowers in spring.” He blinked. “Hey, maybe it’s spring in that picture!”

“A fallow field in spring,” said Aoi. “A lost chance, death where there should be rebirth.”

“Or something needs to stay dead for a while longer?” said her mother.

“And the rabbit,” said her father. “A sacrifice?”

“One half a rabbit, and the back half taken away,” said Aoi. “It can’t poop, I see.”

They all stared at the painting.

“It’s… cryptic,” said Aoi’s mother. “But you haven’t been wrong yet. We’ll figure it out.”

Aoi shivered. “We don’t have a lot of time, I—” She bolted straight up. “It’s gone. I can’t sense it anymore.”

“You think it fled?” said Aoi’s father.

“No, it’s almost as if it… resolved itself?” said Aoi. “But why?”

“Something else must have got to it first,” said her mother. “Speaking of which, you two had better get to school.” [2]

X

Soma woke to the lovely tones of the Theme of Final Fantasy. Moaning, he fumbled to hit the power button on Papa’s phone, and groggily stared at the time. 7:00. Ugh, school. Just five more minutes…

Oh, right. Soma dislodged the pillow on his head, letting a tiny beam of moonlight into the fort. He grinned. Time to go trick-or-treating.

He’d had it all planned out. He’d finished all his homework during school, part of it during lunch, but he’d also snuck some in during class; either Ms. Doherty didn’t notice, or she didn’t mind him leaning beneath his desk and penciling in the answers. Then once he got home, he dove straight into his blanket fort for a nap so he’d have the energy to go trick-or-treating all night.

Soma slid down the banister, landing gracefully next to the coffee table, where his costume was neatly folded. Soma grabbed the warm, black cloth and breathed in the aroma of freshly dried clothes.

When he got to the front door, his father was waiting for him. Or rather, waiting for the trick-or-treaters; he’d dragged an armchair and a side table from the living room, so that he could enjoy a book and a mug of hot horchata while handing out candy. He looked up. “Going out, Soma?”

“Yes, Papa,” said Soma, putting his arms through the longcoat his parents sewed for him. They’d already taken the pictures and cooed over how cute he was last Sunday, when the costume was finished. “Kaa-san’s already gone to work?”

Mr. Cruz nodded. “She’ll stopping by the grocery store afterwards, so we’re getting eggs.”

Eggs meant Soma could finally make popovers again. “Yay, popovers!”

“Be sure to thank your mother when she gets back,” said Mr. Cruz, before returning to his book, Burglary and You: How to Defend your Home from Thieves.

“I will!” said Soma, putting on his shoes. He glanced upwards. His father was preoccupied, so Soma surreptitiously stuck his hand in the mixing bowl on the ledge—

Soma’s hand closed around paper.

In addition to candy, Mr. Cruz handed out little cards with fun spooky facts. It had taken some convincing from Mrs. Kurusu to removes the cards with facts like ‘Accused witches were forced to confess under torture, and then repeat their confession while not under torture’ or ‘Ghosts wear white sheets because those are their burial shrouds’, and instead replace them with cheerier ones like, ‘There is a cowboy in the novel Dracula’ or ‘Old Nick is a nickname for the Devil, while Old Saint Nick is a nickname for Santa Claus.’

“I’m not a fool, Soma,” said his father, without looking up from his book. “You’ll have to earn that candy. Go out and get some exercise; it’ll do you good.”

“All right,” Soma grumbled half-seriously, stepping out into foggy chill. Had he been a little less eager in his quest for candy, he might have noticed the dazed look in his father’s eyes, or perhaps the bandage on his hand.

Blissfully ignorant, Soma read the card anyways. ‘Jack-o’-lanterns were originally carved from turnips.’

He put the card down. Who cares about turnips? He’s going to get candy!

TO BE CONTINUED!

OMAKE: Candy

Eight minutes to seven.

Dracula hugged his knees atop the mattress that served as the foundation for his blanket fort, and took a deep breath. “Costume is washed, dried, and folded on the coffee table. Alarm is set. I showered off the mud. All I need to do is implant a suggestion to go to the north side of town rather than the west, so that nobody thinks I came to the same house twice. After all, I…”

Dracula’s gaze fell upon the improvised candy sack. “What do I do with all this candy?”

Put it with the candy to give away? Hide candy among candy. But his later self would notice that the candy bowl was full of candy that his parents did not purchase.

Hide it somewhere in the house, in the hopes that his later self would find it months later and assume he forgot a hidden stash? Too risky. It assumed his later self would not poke around for several months.

Eat the evidence? Wrappers and such can be hidden in someone else’s garbage. But too much sugar would make him sick.

Dracula sighed. His later self was still only a child. He didn’t know when too much was too much.

Still, so much sugar in one bag. A treasure scarcely recognized in this strange world of now. Dracula’s instincts yearned to hoard it like his namesake, but could he not indulge in his wealth?

Dracula tore open a tiny kitkat packet and took a bite…

THE NEXT MORNING

“Kaa-san, my stomach hurts!”

“Well, Soma-kun, you shouldn’t have eaten so much candy!”

“But I didn’t! I only have a few pieces, like you said!”

OMAKE: The Sabbath

(An excerpt from a plot I plan to write far in the future, after I conclude the current storyline)

“I’m back.”

Gas Mask had returned, plastic shopping bags dangling from his arms, looking for all the world like a child who had come back from a tour with the Golden Ticket (that is, a child who didn’t suffer any kind of ironic punishment for their hubris). “I’ve got mochi, eel onigiri, tonkatsu bento, Pocky, those coconut buns you like so much—”

“Gimme!” said Cat Man, dislodging a radish and some cereal on his way to the melon mochi.

“Miscellaneous savory breads, some sweet ones, and of course, rice, seeds, water, flour, cream, sugar, and that other stuff you asked me for,” finished Gas Mask. “Take your pick, Soma.”

“Um…” Soma gingerly reached into the bag and picked a curry bread at random. He took a wary bite. Rich, spicy chicken met his drooling mouth, hot but not too oily, balanced nicely by the soft, sweet bread.

“You like it,” said Gas Mask. It wasn’t a question.

“You know, this is the second-best thing I’ve eaten during a kidnapping,” said Soma.

Cat Man stared back at him. “You’ve… you’ve been kidnapped before?” he said with… genuine worry?

“How is this the second-best thing?” said Gas Mask, arms crossed.

“Well…”

FLASHBACK

Flames licked the stone walls of the desecrated church, casting dancing shadows across the remains of the hall. Soma lay on his back, lashed to what was once the altar.

“Now,” called the head cultist. “Bring forth the sacrifices!

Howls and cheers erupted from the black-clad crowd, uncannily similar to the ordinary sort of howls and cheers one might find at a sports bar or a pep rally.

“I have brought the heart of a virgin, unsullied by the touch of woman!” called one cultist. “Our Dread Lord shall surely be satisfied with such a meal!”

Whoops of joy split the air, reminding Soma uncomfortably of a tie being broken in the home team’s favor.

“I have stolen a wafer of Communion,” announced a second cultist. “The Body of Jesus Christ shall serve Our Wicked Master!”

Soma winced as the cultists screeched their glee, all too similar to excited teenaged girls attending a boy band concert.

“And I brought challah.”

Silence fell.

The head cultist rubbed her forehead. “Brother… oh, Brother Brimstone…” she said, the quiet patience in her voice giving way to a moan. “This is a Sabbath.”

“And this is challah,” said Brother Brimstone, on the edge of indignance. “Look, Mother Maximus, if you wanted a disgusting orgy where Sister Sulfur plays the bagpipes while we eat toads and snakes without salt—lovely rendition of Night on Bald Mountain, by the way—then tell us that we’re having a Black Sabbath, or a Witch’s Sabbath. But if you send everyone a mass text saying, ‘sabbath on Friday,’ I’m going to assume that we’re celebrating the Jewish holy day of rest. Hence, challah.”

“Why would we celebrate the Jewish holy day of rest? This is Japan!”

“I don’t know, why are we celebrating the European Black Sabbath? Besides, we’re not even that good at it.” Brother Brimstone pointed to the organist, Brother Revelation, who was milking as much panache as he could out of an organ that hadn’t been tuned (or cleaned) for decades. “Don’t you recognize Iron Man? Just because the sheet music had Black Sabbath on it doesn’t mean it’s supposed to be played at a Black Sabbath.”

Brother Revelation stopped playing, and Soma imagined him to be red in the face underneath the mask.

FLASHBACK END

“…And Brother Brimstone ended up dunking the whole thing in the dark chocolate fountain, so it would be black challah,” said Soma. “It was pretty good.”

Gas Mask looked back at the bag of storebought treats. “…All right, I can’t compete with fresh bread.”

Cat Man stood up. “Screw that, I’m making eclairs!”

(Fun fact: During the Early Modern Period at least, witches were accused of stealing Communion for use in dark spells. And yes, bagpipes featured in Witch’s Sabbaths, along with witches eating toads and lizards without salt.)

Chapter Text

“My dear Mattea, do not worry about your lack of progress. I have many stories to tell not because I am a vampire hunter, but because I am an old man. For every night I spent staking vampires through the heart, I spent twenty more sleeping under the stars or quietly whittling wooden figurines in front of a fire. Not every moment of a hunt is worthy of a tale.”

Part of a correspondence between Leon Belmont and his granddaughter Mattea

8:21 p.m.

Naoki stretched. He was all alone in his dorm. This was not an uncommon occurrence, nor was it an unwelcome one. He… well, ‘like’ was a strong word for how he felt about Soma and Kazuya, but ‘dislike’ was even stronger. They left him alone, didn’t pressure him into anything, and kept their messes away from him, which was in Naoki’s book the hallmarks of a good roommate. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be around them, he just didn’t want to be around anyone right now.

But that’s just Soma and Kazuya, not Daisuke.

Daisuke Higawa… well, that was a piece of work right there. Naoki supposed that he—

Am I happier with him gone?

“Forget it,” Naoki muttered to himself. “My life might be more convenient without him around, but acknowledging that doesn’t make me a bad person. I didn’t kill him, and I never wanted him dead.”

He yawned. No other people, no expectations, no worrying that you’re somehow bothering them. Just what he needed after being locked in a room with almost total strangers for hours.

8:23 p.m.

Naoki considered whether it would be a good idea to use Magma Axis to make a panini.

8:23 p.m.

Naoki decided that it would not be a good idea to use Magma Axis indoors.

8:24 p.m.

Naoki bit the first sandwich.

8:30 p.m.

Naoki finished the first sandwich.

8:41 p.m.

Naoki went into the hallway to fill his mug with water from the water fountain. While he was there, he drank some water. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was until he started drinking, so he drank more.

8:56 p.m.

Naoki rubbed his left eyebrow.

8:57 p.m.

Naoki scratched his nose.

9:23 p.m.

Naoki doodled two dogs eating a football.

9:41 p.m.

Naoki sneezed.

9:47 p.m.

Naoki opened the article he was required to read for his history class. Satisfied with this effort, he then opened a completely new tab to watch cat videos.

9:57 p.m.

Naoki got out his notebook and pen, then started to read the article.

10:03 p.m.

Naoki ran to the bathroom.

10:07 p.m.

Naoki exited the bathroom.

10:14 p.m.

Naoki read a page of the article, summarized the relevant points, and then returned to that other tab to watch a video on the history of pottery glaze.

10:22 p.m.

Naoki went to the communal bathroom to take a shower.

10:47 p.m.

Naoki exited the shower.

10:50 p.m.

Naoki brushed his teeth. He did not floss.

10:51 p.m.

It was another freezing night in Aoi’s apartment building*. This did not surprise any of the residents; soul-sucking chills in the winter and blistering heat in the summer were only to be expected in a poorly insulated building without power.

*[Well, a stack of complicated legal paperwork the size of a Brandon Sanderson novel said it was Sei’s, and spiritually, it belonged to The Golden-Eyed King Who Rules the Endless Fields Beyond the Stars, but Sei let Aoi live in it and The Golden-Eyed King didn’t seem to mind, either].

The residents had long since learned to pick their battles in mankind’s endless skirmish with nature. Currently, three of them barricaded themselves in one of the parlors, their fortress walled with couch cushions, floored with scratchy but vibrantly colorful carpet, and bolstered with strategically crammed blankets, coats, and pillows. Atop their stout citadel, a curtain crowned the plush walls. But this was not any curtain, nay, this was a curtain that once stretched from wall to floor, a curtain liberated from a ballroom that would never again see nouveau-riche cultists chug fine wine and poorly waltz to a canned rendition of Beethoven’s Sixth. For now, it was content to protect three of its charges from the wrath of the weather.

Well, two and a half of its charges; Lu was content enough to poke his head and arms into the fort, leaving the rest of him to lie half-naked on the tiled floor. Thermal mages are weird like that.

Fine, Rei was a guest, not a resident, so it was really just Sei.

Did I mention that Shiro was—

Ahem.

It was a pretty good blanket fort, all things considered. Books, both for school and fun, lay scattered across the blanketed floor, along with a tray of freshly baked almond cookies. Each person had a mug of steaming tea next to them; ginger with lemon and honey for Lu, green tea for Sei, and a milky sweet black tea for Rei.

Perhaps it would have been warmer to cram into one of the smaller kitchens and turn on the oven, but not nearly as cozy. Besides, Lu was almost like an oven himself; now and then he’d suck the heat from his side of the room so he could shove it into the fort, as a crude Maxwell’s Demon.

Sei and Rei kept their distance from Lu, sipping their teas on the opposite side of the fort. After all, an oven wasn’t a furnace; an oven’s purpose was to heat a small space a lot, while furnaces were designed to heat a large space a little (comparatively speaking). The only one who could go near Lu when he was in this state was Shiro, who lay fast asleep atop Lu’s back.

“Hey, Lu, Sei?” said Rei.

Lu and Sei perked up from their books. “Yes?” said Sei.

“Why did the Boss stop talking funny all of a sudden?” said Rei.

There was a pause.

“… You know what, I don’t know,” said Lu.

“And why did we stop?” said Rei. “I mean, I fell out of the habit since I only talk to her in person once a week or so, but you’ve been living with the Boss for years, Sei.”

“Yeah, you’re right, that’s weird,” said Sei. “Madam’s kept up the habit for years, but then she just… stopped.”

“I was just copying you guys,” said Lu.

“Didn’t I have an accent?” said Leon. “Yes, that’s right… for perhaps ten sentences, I spoke with a Texan accent. Now I feel as though someone is writing my lines with a vaguely RP English accent.”

Lu turned around. “Who the hell are you and how did you get in here?”

“Um…”

11:13 pm

Naoki then fell asleep in his bed, conveniently missing everything else that happened in his room that night.

TO BE CONTINUED.

Chapter Text

A Waltz in the Dark: the Belmont Chapter

“Vampires appear to believe that Hell is located in the sun. I suppose this makes sense; the gentlest sunbeam scorching the flesh of a vampire is not dissimilar to the furnace that refused to burn the righteous. Many who hear this scoff and say that sunlight is harmless (obviously, they never campaigned in the desert), but this is only what we mortals have deemed normal. If becoming a vampire is a sin against God, then sunlight is their Hellfire; daytime, their Lake of Sulfur.”

-Diary of Leon Belmont

What makes the Belmont family special? How have they lasted so long through the eras, when so few families stayed together?

The easy answer is that the Vampire Killer only deigns to be wielded by descendants of her love Leon Belmont. There’s more incentive to stick together when your prized weapon can only be passed on to relatives. More cynically, the Vampire Killer can only be used by one person a generation, which both simplifies and complicates the succession crisis.  

A slightly more complicated answer is luck. Or rather, chance; the former is the probability that your shot hits the target, and the latter is the number of arrows in your quiver. Everyone’s luck runs out someday, but family extinction is much harder when someone meticulously records cousins, in-laws, and twice- and third-removeds (whatever that means) in other countries (Trevor Belmont was extremely unlucky to be the last of his line). Belmont women also have a persistent habit of passing their surname to their children, which has the side effect of combating the Galton-Watson process of surname extinction.

If you asked the Belmonts, they would say that what sets them apart is their training, how they pass their technique on to the next generation. Belmonts start training their charges young, don’t tax their bodies unduly, and make sure to teach strategy and creative thinking in addition to building strength and agility. This answer is not incorrect, but neither is it informative; indeed, it is not dissimilar to a master chef’s ‘secret’ being patience and a good oven.

More than a few people look at these reasons and try to pick them apart and find the real secret. It can’t possibly be that simple; if it was, then why are there so few famous monster hunting families out there?

The truth is that all of these are correct. There is no one secret, just the cumulation of many small things working in tandem. Sometimes, all you really do need is patience and a good oven. Of course, this patience is also the patience to keep practicing with your good oven. The Belmonts maybe have been lucky a long time ago, but they worked hard to make that luck count.

(10:44 am)

“I’m sorry,” said the doctor.

The man on the table was dead. His ghost had been floating next to the body for the past hour; Leon had spent that time holding the man’s spectral hand, assuring him that his ghost popping out wasn’t a death sentence. This was where near-death experiences came from, after all, and any minute now his heart was going to restart, his lungs would inflate through their own power rather than through a shoddy machine, and then he could go back to a real sleep. He’d wake up to his friends crying and shouting how they’d thought he was a goner, they’d promise to treat him to steaks and shochu and beer while the doctor would scold them (via his partner or Madam Pain) and say that he should be put on a low-sugar, non-fried diet, knowing full well that they’d carry him arm-over-shoulder to the Korean barbecue three doors down as soon as he’d be discharged…

“You said I’d live,” said the man petulantly. Not that Leon could blame him; everyone was entitled to a little spite after they passed. “You promised.”

The doctor shook his head. “I gave you blood, stitched you up, kept you breathing the whole time. There’s nothing more I could have done.”

“But…”

“Easy,” said Leon. Conveniently enough, ghosts could talk to each other regardless of language. “It’s all right,” he whispered. “Nobody can hurt you anymore.”

Well, there were lots of things that could hurt ghosts, but he didn’t need to know that right now.

The man stared at him, then threw himself to the corner of the room, wailing all the while. It took time for the newly departed to process that they could no longer return to their bodies, so he wouldn’t be leaving any time soon.

“I had thought that it would make it easier on you,” said Leon through the din.

“What would?” asked the doctor.

“Being able to see ghosts,” said Leon. “Knowing for sure that an afterlife awaits. Knowing that even should you let a life under your care slip away, your patients are never truly lost.”

The doctor shook his head. “That’s just the conceit of the living,” he said sharply. “If the idea of heaven made me feel any better, I’d just let them die.” He crossed his arms. “Have you ever been to a funeral for a little girl where everyone keeps saying ‘she’s with God now?’ If I believed them, I’d start killing children before they’re old enough to sin. I’d stop bothering with penicillin and go straight to cyanide.”

“That’s… I suppose that’s heartening to hear,” said Leon, who had to help bury quite a few children, some of them his own. “I can tell it bothers you, though, having to speak with your deceased patients.”

The doctor shrugged. “That part’s not so bad. Normal doctors might not hear their patients bitching at them from beyond the grave, but they already get a lot of that from everyone else,” said the doctor. He sighed. “Speaking of bitching, I have to tell his coworkers.” He cleared his throat, and twitched his head in the direction of the dead man. “Do you mind looking after him for a bit? I can’t deal with them and help him along at the same time.”

“All right,” said Leon.

“Great,” said the doctor.

“But… are you not unprotected?”

The doctor shook his head. “You don’t need to worry about me. My house is warded against ghosts. Nothing against you, just… I’ve had to barricade myself against more than a few angry patients.”

“I see,” said Leon.

“It’s hard to eat dinner when someone’s screaming at you for murdering them,” said the doctor.

Leon nodded in sympathy. “I used to have to kill people twice.”

The doctor blinked.

“I had something called the seven-day rule. First someone would call me to deal with a band of bandits raiding their village, then the ghosts of the bandits would start coming back to haunt them.” Leon sighed. “Alas, too many villagers suspected that the hauntings were a scam, so I often had to battle the ghosts in secret. I was almost never paid.”

“…You’ve lived a very interesting life, haven’t you, Leon?” said the doctor.

“Long, rich, and fulfilling,” sighed Leon. “Survived by… I don’t know how many descendants I have today. Perhaps you are one of them?”

“Probably,” said the doctor.

“That was fast.”

The doctor shrugged. “You’re what, about a thousand? Statistically, if you have any descendants, you’re either going to be an ancestor to everyone or no one. Of course, sociologically, there’s a lot of populations that your descendants couldn’t have reached, but that’s like… well, Japan, not Ireland.”

“I have Japanese descendants,” said Leon mildly. “That’s why I’m here. To visit.”

The doctor said nothing. Leon’s head drooped.

“…I should go,” said the doctor. “Could you swing by the office at… maybe midnight? I should have a last meal ready for him by then.”

“Can do,” said Leon.

X

(8:37 pm)

“All right, 149,” said Julius in Romanian. “Tonight, we’re going to play Keep-Away.”

Apprentice #149 nodded.

As distasteful as it was to a man who had lost his name, Julius had no choice but to refer to every candidate by number. Names would have to wait for the second, third, or even fourth round of cuts.

Julius been out of contact with his family for… well, almost his entire adult life, and while this made him impartial on the test front (family infighting gets exponentially nastier when every last one of them knows how to use deadly weapons), he quickly realized it was going to be impossible to remember everyone’s name. Learning the names of almost two hundred different people would be bad enough without the repeats. It was one thing to have multiple Johans and Marias, but ever since his ‘death’, the Belmonts had exploded with Julias, Julians, and Juleses (but never another Julius. Some names were off-limits). It took five variants on his name before Julius realized that he couldn’t remember which one figured out that weird trick with the axe.

Of course, 149 wasn’t the 149^th person he’d tested, just the 149^th person on the list. But almost everyone else on the list was busy with school or work at this time of year, and as a Japanese college student, 149 had nothing better to do.

Julius retrieved a gadget from his pocket. “Take this. I’ll try to steal it from you, and if I succeed, you’ll have to try to steal it back.”

149 turned it over. “A clamshell cell phone?” she said. “I didn’t know they still made those.”

“They don’t,” said Julius. “We found it somewhere in a drawer back at the mansion. It’s not very good as a phone anymore, but the timer still works. It’s how we’re scoring tonight’s game. May I?” 149 handed it back to him.

Julius flicked it open and navigated to the timer. “It’s not enough for you to have the phone by the end of the game; we need to know how long it stays in your possession.”

“I see,” said 149. “So while I have the phone, the clock is running, and if you steal it, you pause it.”

If, not when. Julius made a note to write that down later. He shook his head. “It’s the other way around. The clock runs when I have it, and you pause it.”

“But why? Wouldn’t that make it easier to chea… oh. I see.” 149 smiled. “It’s a trap. A lower time would be better for me, so an unscrupulous apprentice could try to reset the timer. But you’re expecting that, so you have some way of knowing if I tried.”

“Okay, now you’re just showing off.”

“But am I wrong?” pressed 149, unchastised.

“Confirming or denying would be a violation of test protocol,” said Julius firmly.

149 nodded. “In that case, can I ask why we’re using a phone instead of, say, an actual timer?”

“It’s a clamshell Nokia,” said Julius. When 149 responded with a blank stare, he added, “We do so much falling and striking that it’s easy to break the timer by accident. Nokias are… well, not indestructible, but more resilient than a cheap supermarket timer.”

“And the clamshell?”

“So we don’t press any buttons by accident. That happens sometimes. Spare change and loose coats don’t always mix. Here, let me show you how to turn the timer on and off.”

Julius fiddled with it and let 149 mess around with the buttons. “And for how long will we be doing this?” she asked.

“Until I say it ends.”

149 nodded. “Indefinitely. A test of pace as well as skill.”

“And before you think of any clever solutions, keep in mind that this is a test of your skill, not of your ability to find loopholes,” said Julius sharply.

149 cocked her head. “Define ‘clever solution.’ Is dirty fighting not family tradition?”

Julius shook his head. “Those qualify as skill. Traps, feints, low blows, they’re all genuine… no, that’s not quite right, either. The clever solutions I mean are still clever, but… it’s hard to put it into words. Or all in one category.”

“Could you give some examples?”

Julius took in a deep breath. “One of your cousins pretended that he broke his leg on a fire escape, and when I came over to help, he shoved me off.”

“Luring demons closer by feigning weakness or injury is a legitimate technique. Why was it wrong for him to use it here?”

Didn’t even bother pretending to be appalled.

Julius knew what she was getting at. “If you’re so smart, you tell me.”

149 paused. “The distinction is similar to that which exists between strategy and perfidy. A demon would draw near with the intent to cause harm, but we both know your concern is genuine. It’s an abuse of the safety buffer inherent in the testing framework, as well as your trust. Taking advantage of an enemy’s weakness is strategy, but taking advantage of their mercy is a war crime.”  

A tad verbose, but not wrong. “But that’s not all. One of your nieces hid the timer in a wall instead of keeping it on her person, which I didn’t realize until I caught her. I don’t deny that was clever, but she had to do the whole exercise over again.”

149 nodded. “Keep in mind the intent of the test, not merely the given objectives,” she said. “This is a test of how to hunt and evade, not how to hide an artifact. Whether it would have worked in real life is irrelevant; the problem was that your ability to measure her skill was compromised.”

“And someone who shall not be named hid the timer in her bra,” grumbled Julius. “And before you ask, once I realized that it wasn’t in any of her pockets, I told her to take it out or she’d be disqualified.”

“Ah. That’s just common decency.”

“Indeed.” Julius stretched. “Any questions?”

“Just one,” said 149. “Is magic allowed? Is it treated as part of the skill, or does it violate the intent?”

Julius sighed. “No magic tonight, or on any other preliminary test exercise. You wouldn’t believe how long we had to debate that point.”

149 sighed. “They’re my family too, Uncle. I can imagine.”

“Almost five hundred years.”

“…I will admit I did not expect that,” conceded 149.

Julius shrugged. “We can trace it back to Trevor trying to figure out which of his children should inherit the Vampire Killer. Admittedly, Trevor only had five children to choose from rather than the hundreds we have today.” He stretched. “Like I said, the problem is finding the balance between fairness and cunning. Is it unfair to deny mages their natural advantage? Or is it unfair to pit non-mages against mages? What do you think?”

149 paused. “Give me a moment,” she said.

“Don’t look for the answer I want,” said Julius sharply. “Tell me the answer you think. Say it in Japanese, if it’s easier,” he added in Japanese. Less time to translate, less time to dress up in pretty words. Will you try to assert your own magical skill? Or try to downplay it in hopes of seeming more egalitarian?

“They’re both unfair, perhaps in unequal amounts, but even if you could find the side that was less unfair, the unfairness wouldn’t cancel out,” babbled 149. She paused. “That… might not have been grammatically correct.”

“…Not the answer I was expecting,” admitted Julius. “The rationale for the current compromise is that magic is a supplement to your arsenal, not a replacement. It doesn’t matter if you can call the sun from the heavens; if you can’t jump or dodge, you shouldn’t be testing.”

“And it evens out in the final cuts?” said 149.

Julius shrugged. “Too many factors at work. Just do your best and remember the rules.”

What Julius didn’t say was, ‘the next heir isn’t necessarily the best fighter.’ Not in the sense of ‘strength is obsolete in the modern day;’ the clan head was still expected to be a warrior first and a politician second (or third, or even not at all). No, once you sorted out skill, you had to see who had enough heart. The words tasted cliché in his mouth, but there was no getting around it.

Julius wasn’t just picking an heir; he was training one. Training a weak or clumsy student was difficult, but doable. Training an unreliable or unmotivated student, on the other hand, was beyond even him. If they couldn’t motivate themselves, if they couldn’t stomach dirty work, well, no amount of talent could save them. His current pet peeve was vicarious living; too many candidates had decent to excellent skills but were only in the running because their parents told them to sign up.

Besides, the ages of the candidates ranged from fifteen to thirty; it wouldn’t be fair if the students who could only train after school had to compete with the career hunters.

“Like you said earlier, the point isn’t to show that you can hide the timer from me,” said Julius.

“Fair enough,” shrugged 149.

“On the other hand…” He withdrew a flask from his pack. “Three doses of potion. I will not judge on how many you have left at the end of the test.”

149 took the bottle gratefully. “If you knew my cousin had this, then how did he trick you?”

“Always better to err on the side of caution,” said Julius brusquely. When someone needs help, you don’t stop to think. For someone as strong as Julius, it was better to be gullible and led into a trap, than to be cynical and leave an innocent to die. Wounds healed, his conscience didn’t. “Any more questions?”

“I have none,” said 149.

Julius passed her the timer. “In that case… let us begin. You get a one-minute head start.”

X

(8:44 pm)

“…And that’s when I had come to terms with the death of my cat,” said the ghost of the Yakuza.

“I see,” said Leon. The ghost of the Yakuza had led him to the closest place where he felt safe, which was the public park. Even Yakuza liked playing on swing sets, apparently.

“Of course, I never could replace him,” continued the ghost. “A life is unique, even the life of an animal. Which is probably why when I was in eighth grade, I saw this bear cub, and…”

X

(9:25 pm)

Julius had to admit that 149 was good. The test had been running for over half an hour, and he still hadn’t caught her.

Within the first five minutes of the test, she had confronted him head-on. Julius had taken this for simple impatience and responded to her weak strikes with a vicious series of lashes, until he realized that he was breathing much harder than she was. She’d then dropped her token resistance and ran, leaving Julius to follow with leaden arms.

Julius grinned. This was the kind of trickery he could get behind.

She’d lured him to the old part of town, where alleyways ran crooked and windows were barred and shuttered. Julius dropped into the maze of alleyways, scanning for hiding spots. 149 should be here somewhere; now, would she ambush him out of paranoia, or hide in one place? He couldn’t judge which option would be objectively better; only the execution matt—

“Help! Uncle, please help!”

Little girls did not approach strange men in the middle of the night, especially not strange foreign men. Not unless this was an emergency.

“My big brother, he… he’s not waking up!”

Wouldn’t it be easier to call an ambulance?

Yes, but I’m here, and the ambulance isn’t.

“All right,” he said. “Lead the way.”

Julius let the girl lead him further into the alleyway, his hand not leaving his whip. If he discovered that 149 had asked or, God forbid, hired this girl to distract him, that would be grounds for instant elimination. Cheating would be bad enough, but involving an ordinary person was against the rules.

Soon enough, though, he found that the girl wasn’t lying about her brother. She had laid him out on his side on top of a bundle of flattened cardboard boxes, cocooned in what looked like a whole rack of clothes lifted from the flea market. Julius quietly approved; the ground was a heat sink, and even a sheet of cardboard could protect you from losing valuable body heat.

“Let me see,” he said, and knelt. “…Kazuya?”

Indeed, it was Soma and Mina’s new friend, looking battered and feeling cold to the touch. Unwrapping the cocoon revealed soaked and towel-dried hair, as well as—

“Where are his clothes?” said Julius. He wasn’t completely naked; a pair of wet boxers protected his modesty, although not much else.

“Soaked,” said Kazuya’s sister. “I took them off so he wouldn’t get tei taion-shou.”

“Tei taion-shou?” repeated Julius. The Japanese phrasebooks he’d used had only taught him common medical phrases like, ‘I have a cold,’ ‘My bones hurt,’ and, ‘I do not have Coronavirus.’ “What does that mean?”

“It’s…” the girl paused. “When you’re so cold your body doesn’t work right.”

“Ah,” said Julius. “Hypothermia,” he said in Romanian.

“Yes, hypothermia,” she repeated. “Tei taion-shou. Can you help him?”

Julius examined him closer. No visible injuries. Breathing and pulse were steady, which was unusual for an unconscious hypothermia patient, but still a good sign. He was shivering, which was also a good sign, but…

“Does he really have hypothermia?” Julius said to himself. Well, it’s not like treating him for hypothermia would hurt. He placed heating packs around his chest.

“What happened?” said Julius.

The girl flinched.

“You’re not in trouble,” said Julius gently. “I’m not going to tell the police anything. But I need to know what hurt him. I can’t help him unless I know what I need to do.”

“…He got caught in the rain,” admitted the girl. “He was jogging, felt hot, and took off his clothes. Then it started raining, and he was already exhausted from running, so… he passed out.”

Oh no.

Well, as my grandmother always used to say, you can’t go wrong with a potion.

Julius reached into his pack for the healing salve. Salves were slower and less efficient than potions because they were applied topically rather than orally, but since you can’t choke on them, they were perfect for treating the unconscious. Most solo hunters didn’t bother with them, but they came in handy for training.

Kazuya groaned, but didn’t wake up.

Julius started rummaging through his bag. “Come on, what else do I have… Antivenom, anti-curse… ah.”

One of the first things any Belmont or Belnades learned in magic class* was that magical energy was the same as life force. Casting spells wasn’t dangerous as long as you only skimmed off the excess; if you felt tired, stop immediately. In most cases, you’d knock yourself out before you’d kill yourself, but that distinction was moot in real life; after all, falling unconscious in the middle of the battle was usually a prelude to death.

*[But not the first thing, which was usually to call your teacher sir or ma’am instead of Uncle or Auntie, or in some dreaded cases, Mom or Dad].

In other words, using a mana potion was a valid (but expensive) way of quickly restoring someone’s stamina. Julius dutifully poured a potion of concentrated magic onto a rag, and started to rub the boy at vital nodes. It was hard to tell in this light, but he seemed to look better.

“Is he going to be okay?” said the girl.

“Should be,” said Julius. “Are you?”

“Eh?”

“You’re soaked, too,” said Julius. He took off his jacket and placed it around her shoulders. “You’re a great sister, looking after your big brother like that, but you have to take care of yourself, too.”

The girl gingerly accepted Julius’s long coat. She was so small, Julius guessed that it would trail the ground as she walked.  

“Don’t worry about getting it dirty; it’s been through worse,” said Julius.

She zipped it up, looking vaguely like a chess pawn. “You want this back, right?”

“Leave it on the roof of his dorm,” said Julius. “I’ll pick it up tomorrow.”

He looked around. Best not to let 149 meet Soma’s friends. “I’m going to call an ambulance. Can you help me carry him to the street?”

X

(10:01 pm)

After that distraction, Julius didn’t expect to find 149 so soon. But he did; she was waiting for him atop a high building.

“Not a bad plan, making me climb,” said Julius.

149 cocked her head. “What happened to your jacket?”

“Used it to make a decoy,” Julius lied. “But you didn’t even see it. I’ll get it back later.”

“If you say so,” said 149, drawing her whip.

“A lesson,” said Julius, drawing his. “You lured me here to tire me. Did you realize the limited space?”

“Of course I did,” said 149. “Which is why—Wait, do you smell smoke?”

“This had better not be a trick.”

“Who would admit to that?” said 149. She stowed her whip and looked around. “I was going to jump off and force you to follow. But this takes priority.”

Indeed, Julius could smell something burning. Normally, he’d think this was just another consequence of living in a city; people burned things all the time. But the overpowering smell shouldn’t have reached this high up…

Julius squinted. “I see smoke.”

“I’m going in,” said 149.

“Wait, wh—”

But 149 had already leapt from the building.

X

(10:15 pm)

“Which was, of course, when I realized that I really liked hurting people,” said the Yakuza.

“I will admit that I understand that feeling,” said Leon. “Although do you derive satisfaction from successfully performing an attack, or watching another in pain?”

The ghost was silent.

X

(10:20 pm)

For all her talk, 149 didn’t run very fast. Even tired, Julius caught up to her within a block of the burning apartment.

“You do realize that we could just leave this to the fire department, right?” said Julius. “There’s no need to perform a daring fire rescue.”

“I suppose not,” said 149, unwrapping the rain-dampened cloth around her face.

Julius sighed, and turned his back on her. “You know what, you get another one-minute head start. It’s not going to count towards your total score.”

“I see.”

Julius paused. “Shouldn’t you be, you know, running?”

“Nothing wrong with using my head start as a break, is there?”

“I suppose not.”

Julius sat down next to her and peered into the night. Things seemed to be under control. The fire trucks were already spraying water through the broken windows, and the usual crowd of onlookers and evacuees were standing or sitting behind the line. Apron-clad workers from the convenience store were passing out blankets and hot drinks to the evacuees, and there didn’t seem to be anyone left in the—

“Help!” A man was leaning out a window on the highest floor of the building, too high for the trampoline to be effective. “Help!”

149 stood up. “I think that’s a—”

“No, wait.” Julius gaped. “Dario Bossi?!”

“…Should I know who that is?” said 149.

Julius stood up, making sure his bottle of holy water was in place. “International serial arsonist,” he explained. “What most people don’t know is that he inherited pyrokinetic powers from Dracula. I fought him once.”

“What’s he doing here?”

“No idea,” said Julius. What could he possibly want? All that’s here is…

Soma. Mina. Yoko. Me.

“We’re putting this exercise on hold,” said Julius, preparing to spring. “Give me that cloth. Stay here. I’ll face him.”

“Wait!” cried 149.

“I fought him once, and I can fight him again,” said Julius brusquely. “Don’t stop me.”

“No, not that,” said 149. “Look.”

A team of firefighters was marching into the building.

Julius’s blood ran cold. “Oh no…”

“We need to stop them,” said 149. “Do you have a plan?”

“Get him before they find him,” said Julius.

“But if they don’t find him, they’ll keep looking,” said 149.

“Do you have any better ideas?”

“…You’re not going to like it.”

“Humor me.”

“I make the fire worse,” said 149. “Emergency services are supposed to give up if the risk is too great.”

“But you’ll never know if someone’s going to try to be a hero,” Julius pointed out. “And what if their communication equipment fails, and they never get the order to leave? If they die, then—”

“I told you, you weren’t going to like it,” said 149 meekly.

Julius looked around. “We don’t have time to debate,” said Julius. “Stay here. I’m going in.”

X

(10:29 pm)

Doctor Dude and Mr. Addams hadn’t lived in Japan for very long, and the smallest things still surprised them. Reusable tableware in takeout, for instance. Annyeong Barbecue delivered their takeout in ceramic bowls, along with metal chopsticks and the expectation that they were to be returned at earliest convenience. The plating was also much nicer than they’d expected; colorful vegetables nestled around thin, fried slices of beef, the whole bowl crowned with a fried egg that the doctor knew would be just runny enough in the middle.

All this attention to detail and concern for the environment was certainly appreciated, but this bowl couldn’t be eaten as it was. At least, not by the intended audience.

The doctor slid the back of a wide spoon beneath the perfectly fried egg, then transferred it to a clean plate. One by one, he then plucked the beef slices with the chopsticks and set them down next to the egg. The vegetables followed suit, in the best imitation the doctor could make of the original pattern, until all that remained was the bed of rice (lightly soaked in the beef’s juices). After fetching the paper bowl, the doctor lifted the takeout bowl to scrape the rice into it, paused halfway through, and put it back down. He scooped it out instead; it would have been nice to say that he hadn’t left a single grain of rice behind in the ceramic bowl, but some of the rice clung to the spoon and when he tried to scrape it off with the chopsticks, it stuck to the chopsticks instead. He eventually gave up on the rice and turned his attention to carefully replating the vegetables, the beef, and finally the egg. The result was messier than the original; he knew he had poor plating skills, but that was no reason to get sloppy. A lack of skill was acceptable; a lack of care was not.

The doctor picked up the filled paper bowl with both hands and laid it on top of a thick clay tray he’d bought just for this purpose. Two napkins and a pre-snapped pair of disposable chopsticks were pulled from a drawer, then laid at its side.

“Here’s to you, sir,” he said aloud.

The whole meal, utensils and all, was then set ablaze, until there was nothing left but spirit and ash. The spirit he laid on the altar in the corner; the ashes he would throw away when cooled.

Mr. Addams whistled from the doorway. “I’m impressed,” he said.

Doctor Dude shook his head. “Please. My plating isn’t that good.”

“Not that. I’m impressed that you didn’t eat any of it,” said Mr. Addams.

“What, are you hungry?” said Doctor Dude.

“I’m not, but you should be,” said Mr. Addams. “You hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast.” He paused. “You did eat breakfast, right?”

“…Was it bacon and eggs?”

Mr. Addams sighed. “I can’t eat bacon, remember?”

“Right. Kosher. Sorry.”

“I thought you were going to get dinner there,” said Mr. Addams. “Why didn’t you?”

“I couldn’t order for myself,” said Dr. Dude.

“According to what rule?” said the assistant.

The doctor shrugged. “I don’t know. Felt like it would have been insulting if I’d left his last meal as an afterthought. Buying two bulgogi bibimbap bowls and giving him one isn’t the same as buying one and giving it to him.”

Mr. Addams paused. “That’s… arbitrary.”

“If it feels right, it feels right,” said the doctor.

“If you say so,” said Mr. Addams dubiously. He withdrew a takeout menu from his inside jacket pocket. “So… I’m getting Chinese. What would you like?”

X

(10:32 pm)

…five, six, seven… there!

Julius kicked down the door. “Dario Bossi!” he roared.

Dario threw his hands up and cursed in Italian. “And now you’re here!” he added in English.  

Now, it is worth noting that Julius does not speak English particularly well. Other than his native Romanian, Julius had only studied two languages in earnest: Russian and Japanese. While Julius had picked up some English on his travels, it was mostly things like, “Where is the train station,” “How much is this meal,” and, “I demand to speak to a lawyer!”

“Why you in… um… Japonia?” Julius managed, drawing the Vampire Killer.

“Che palle!” Dario shouted, throwing his hands up in the air. “I [unknown word] to get away from you [unknown word]! You think I wanted [unknown phrase] ever again, after that [unknown phrase] in [unknown word, probably Russia?]?!”

“I… um… fight!” said Julius.

Dario cocked his head. “You don’t speak English, do you?”

Julius stared blankly as he tried to parse the negative in that sentence.

“Madonna,” groaned Dario. “Do you speak Russian?” he asked in Russian. “Of course. You’re old, so Romania would have been part of the USSR when you were born. You have to know Russian.”

Julius blinked. “You speak Russian?” he said in Russian.  

“Of course I speak Russian!” shouted Dario. “I speak seven languages! You think you can be an international serial arsonist if you only know Italian?!”

This was not part of the intel Yoko had given him. Then again, he supposed that when you’re trying to find how effectively a man can kill someone with fire, details like whether they can say ‘pass the salt’ in Russian were unimportant. Dario must have been smarter than anyone had given him credit for. Then again…

Julius cocked his head. “So you didn’t know that the ritual to seal Castlevania originated in Japan.”

“The what?”

“Or that Soma is Japanese.”

“He is?!”

“And that I’m here.”

“I know that now,” Dario whined.

“Of course, there’s no way that you could possible know that—”

Julius threw his knife mid-sentence, which embedded itself in Dario’s arm. Dario responded by shooting a wave of fire at him, which Julius dodged by dashing towards him diagonally, giving him space to lash with his whip—

Dario and Julius had only fought one time before, and Dario had trounced him. But that was when Celia had bound the fire god Agni to Dario’s soul, which Julius considered to be cheating. Shortly afterwards, Soma had stolen Agni from him, dropping him back to normal, whatever that was. While Julius didn’t have much of an idea of how strong Dario was supposed to be, he knew how he fought.

It hadn’t taken long for Julius to figure out that all Dario had going for him was firepower. He’d never needed anything else, not until he fought Soma. Oh, he’d played around with his powers, which was probably why he figured out how to do the flame-teleport trick, but he’d never needed to improve.

Julius had known several people who were like that. When people coasted along on their natural talent, you had to see who they were when they couldn’t. Would frustration overtake them, or would they grit their teeth and try to rise? When he’d told that to Alucard, Alucard had given him a strange look and suggested that he reread the Jackie Chun scenes from Dragon Ball.

Now that Dario wasn’t hopped up on Agni-juice, there were only two factors. The first was whether Julius’s skill and experience would outweigh Dario’s natural firepower. The second was…

“You’re slowing down, old man,” said Dario. “Smoke getting to you?”

“Give up,” coughed Julius. “You haven’t hit me once.”

“Why you—”

Julius sidestepped another blast of fire, which smashed against a wooden cupboard, igniting it. He had to finish this fast. The more he dodged, the more dangerous this room would get; thankfully, there was less fire than before. There had to be, if… everything… was getting so… dark…

“Uncle!”

X

(4:39 am)

… be okay, Julius. Just breathe, and you’ll feel better. Ah! You’re…

Julius woke up. Something plastic was covering his face, and when he turned around, he saw IVs coming out of his arms. 149 was asleep on the bed next to him, looking sooty but otherwise unharmed.

He lifted his right hand. He had felt something pressing on it, as if it were dipped in chilled honey, but the sensation had vanished.

So… what now? Were you supposed to call the doctor if you woke up from a coma? But Julius couldn’t shout, not like this. And there wasn’t a buzzer or anything. So was he supposed to just lie there and—

Heavy footsteps stomped through the hallway. A wave of dread washed over him, screaming at him to—

Run. Get away. Hide.

But he couldn’t.

The door opened, and a man in a lab coat walked in. There wasn’t anything visibly abnormal about him; maybe he was a bit pale, and that face mask meant Julius couldn’t check for fangs, but none of that explained why the sight of him made his heart rate explode—

The man’s eyes widened, and he rushed to Julius’s side, dropping a clipboard in his haste. Nothing he did to Julius was wrong; maybe he was a little too rough when checking his pulse, or he shouldn’t have shouted too loudly next to a patient, but that was just normal negligence. None of that explained the oppressive aura choking the air. It was furious, terrifying… and familiar.

The doctor’s head snapped to his right. “What?” he said in English, apparently to thin air. “What do you—” He continued to argue with something Julius couldn’t see, pointing and sweeping his arms. “…You’re right.” He turned around and left, leaving Julius to breathe again. What was that all about?

Soon after, someone else came in.

“Ko…konichiwa,” he stuttered. “I speak a little Japanese. Do you?”

“Yes. Where am I?”

“Hospital.”

“Rather small and dingy for a hospital,” said Julius.

“Yes. Very small hospital. There is only doctor and there is only me.”

Julius rearranged this information. He was reasonably sure that most textbooks didn’t teach people how to say ‘back-alley doctor,’ ‘illegal clinic,’ or ‘sir I can tell you are clearly a member of the Yakuza.’ But he was sure that everyone spoke the language of ‘too desperate to care.’ “Am I okay?”

“I do not know. I will know.” The man checked the machines, and then examined Julius. “No bad. Hurt? Anywhere body hurt?”

“Nowhere.”

“…I will be here again.”

The man left, and returned with a cartoon poster of the human body and a capped pen. “Where hurt? Up, down, left, right?”

“Nowhere hurts,” said Julius. He paused to arrange his words. “I feel good.”

The man nodded. “Use air,” he said, tapping the oxygen tank connected to Julius’s mask (at least, Julius hoped it was oxygen). “Use lots of air.”

“Yes. How is she?” Julius pointed to 149.

“She is better than you.”

“Good.”

“You want water? Food?”

“Water.”

The man fetched him a paper cup of water, which Julius drank gratefully. “More water.” He fetched him another cup, and Julius drank.

“You must sleep,” said the man. “If you cannot sleep, do you want to watch… um… anime?”

“…Just let me sleep.”

X

(5:41 am)

“I was afraid you wouldn’t make it,” said 149 in Romanian. “It was lucky they had oxygen.”

Julius had fallen asleep, and then woke up to 149 sitting next to his bed, drinking canned corn soup (while Julius wasn’t usually sure whether soup was eaten or drank, he was sure that the kind that came in a soda can was drunk). She’d gotten one for him, which he sipped gratefully.

“Underground clinics tend not to be well supplied,” agreed Julius. “So why did you bring me here?”

“It was closer than the hospital,” said 149.

“And you didn’t think to call an ambulance?”

“…No,” admitted 149.

And you went straight to the fire, without thinking there would be firefighters. You’re not used to being able to rely on public services, are you? In that case…

“What first aid did you perform on me?” asked Julius.

149 blinked. “Other than getting you out of the fire, I applied some healing salve and every anti-poison spell I knew.”

“No CPR?”

“You didn’t need any.”

“Why anti-poison?”

149 shrugged. “Carbon monoxide poisoning is still poison. Poison-cure spells are a universal antidote; if it works on both a scorpion’s sting and a snake’s fangs, why wouldn’t it work on smoke?”

“Good point,” said Julius. “And what happened to Dario?”

“He got away,” said 149. “It was you or him.”

Julius had to agree with that. “What were you doing inside the building, anyways?” asked Julius. Don’t tell me you were trying to rescue me, or you thought you could face Dario al—

“Rescuing the firefighters,” said 149 promptly. “They shouldn’t have been there at all. What would have happened if they had burst into your fight?”

Not… well, not the worst answer. “That was reckless,” he scolded.

“So were you,” said 149.

“You have your whole life ahead of you. Don’t throw it away.”

“And you’re the only person who can pass down the Vampire Killer,” retorted 149. “If you died, the family would go to war with itself.”

“…Fine. All life is valuable, especially your own, so you should take care of it,” droned Julius. I’ll have to think about this when I’m not in a hospital bed.

There was a pause.

“You speak English, right?” said Julius.

149 nodded.

“Tell them I want to get out of here as soon as possible,” said Julius.

149 blinked. “Why? I know it’s not the nicest hospital around, but—”

“Something’s not right about this place,” said Julius. “And I don’t intend to stick around to find out.”

“…All right,” 149 relented. “Even if you’re wrong, you clearly don’t feel safe here, and you can’t rest if you’re afraid. But if you’re going to leave, I’m walking you home.”

Julius stared at her. “…You’re not getting more points for this.”

“…I can’t respond to that without making it sound like I’m angling for more points,” admitted 149.

“How so?” said Julius, and then it hit him. “No, I get it. If you said the points didn’t matter, then it would sound like you’re feigning indifference to seem more heroic and win my approval, and I’d see through that. But you obviously can’t say that you want more points, either.”

149 nodded. “So just buy me lunch tomorrow, and we can forget about all this, okay?”

Julius nodded. There’s something about her and a need to avoid debts. Now, is that a good thing, a bad thing, or just a thing?

“I will, however, tell the doctor,” said 149. “I don’t want to scare him by helping his patient disappear.”

“…Proceed.”

149 left, and Julius heard a long conversation from the next room. She emerged shortly afterwards. “He says he strongly advises you not to leave, but he also says that he can’t actually stop you from doing so,” said 149. “Also, avoid secondhand smoke and excessively hot or cold air, eat lots of vegetables, and make sure to check in on—I mean, he asked me to make sure to check in on you.”

“Good,” said Julius. “Then let’s get out of here.”

X

(6:12 am)

149 made good on her promise. She’d called a cab (a few blocks away from the clinic, at the secretary’s insistence), offered Julius her shoulder on the way out, and shouldered him all the way to his hotel room. There were some whispers and stares directed towards the young woman escorting a possibly drunk foreign man to his hotel room, but Julius ignored them. There were more important things to deal with.

Julius slammed his head into the pillow. Birds chirped outside the hotel room window, a lovely treat for people who wake up before dawn, but a mocking reminder of lost time for night owls and insomniacs.

Before he could resign himself to Morpheus’s embrace, he’d have to make sure his schedule was fixed. He texted 149 in Romanian, Training is cancelled today, for reasons that you are no doubt aware.

Julius burrowed under the covers and tried to sort out what the hell he saw in that clinic.

X

(7:33 am)

“He must really mean a lot to you,” said the doctor.

The doctor and the secretary should have gone home hours ago, but they’d stayed late to watch over Julius. Then Mr. Addams fell asleep, so Dr. Dude decided it was easier to stay in the office and wait for him to wake up than it was to lug him all the way back to their apartment.

“How do you mean?” asked Leon.

“Your hands never left his,” said the doctor. “The second you came through the wall, you were on your knees, whispering to him.”

“He’s family.”

“All of them?”

Leon shot him a pointed look. “It’s love. Don’t test me.”

“…All right.”  

They sat there in silence.

“Answer me this, though,” said Leon. “Why was he afraid of you?”

The doctor shrugged defensively. “I have never seen him before in my life.”

“Maybe so… do you have an identical twin brother, by any chance?”

“Well…”

The door opened.

“Someone’s here to see you,” said the secretary, rubbing his eyes.

“Is it the copper babysitter?” said Doctor Dude.

“It’s Agent Fireball, yes,” said Mr. Addams.

“What does he care?” said Doctor Dude. “Nobody uses their real name here anyways. Does it really matter which fake name I use?”

“…We’re not having this discussion again,” said the secretary whose last name was not actually Addams. “Just get out here.”

The doctor stood up. “Who’s hurt this time, anyways? Hotshot? Opera Blue? Get-Off-That’s-Expensive?”

“You… might want to see this for yourself.”

TO BE CONTINUED!

Incidentally, Dario was ranting in English, “I came here to get away from you freaks! You think I wanted to see any of you ever again, after that fiasco in Russia?!”

A note on languages: Soma is fluent in English, Japanese, and Spanish.

The way I interpret things, every conversation in Aria of Sorrow was conducted in Japanese except for the ones with Graham and Hammer; Soma spoke to them in English. I can also see that Mina and Hammer might have tried to talk to each other, but neither are fluent in the other’s language, so it took a lot of miming and drawing. In Dawn, Soma speaks English to the cult and Hammer, and Japanese to the rest of his allies.

Since Dario is supposed to be an idiot, I was wondering if he’d be able to learn English as a second language well enough to argue with Soma. I still liked the idea of him cursing in Italian, so I toyed with the idea of him being American with an Italian grandmother before deciding that a polyglot who’s otherwise a dumbass was funny.

If you noticed, Doctor Dude’s assistant seems to change names a lot. That’s not a mistake; it’s actually spelled Addams, but since nobody but the doctor has seen it written down, their narrations spell it Adams.

Omake 1: Pine

Picture a forest. Bigger. Bigger.

Picture not a cluster of trees, but a land of trees, blanketing the hills and valleys in a tangle of soaring trees and rising shoots. A sprawl of greenery bounded only by the mountains and sea, not hemmed in by roads and buildings. Patches dot the sea of trees, marking the settlements of budding humanity.

The girl who would become Agent Pine (or to Dr. Dude, Get-Off-That’s-Expensive) crept into Auntie’s cave, her face covered in mud. She had been crying, but the mud was too thick for tears alone to dislodge.

“Small Tree!” cried Auntie. “Come in. Have a seat!” Auntie wiped the dirt off a flat stone bench.

Small Tree sat on the bench, and Auntie gave her a steaming cup of soup. It was made from the crushed, dried berries of a nutritious plant, the stalks of which were used as fuel for the fire, along with boiled bones and fruit. Their society had not yet reached a point where they could farm tea.

“The other children teased you again?” said Auntie.

Small Tree nodded, but didn’t say what they said. Her saying it would only make it true. Instead, she drank her soup. “Tell me a story, Auntie.” Auntie’s stories always made her feel better. Auntie used to travel from village to village, trading her special brews and soups. Her bad back prevented her from carrying the pots nowadays, but every day she honed her craft. Small Tree listened to everything, from the time she climbed the mountain where the sun rose to find the end of the world but instead discovered another mountain range on the horizon, to those little songs she hummed to recall the exact proportions of her recipes.

“Today is a special day,” said Auntie. “My secret project is done.”

Small Tree looked up. “Really, Auntie?!”

Auntie nodded. “Come here.”

Auntie led Small Tree to the back of the cave, where a large table covered in a tablecloth sat.

“There’s nothing there,” said Small Tree.

“Nothing on there, but what about underneath?” Auntie swept aside the tablecloth, revealing something that Small Tree had never seen before. It had, in fact, never been seen before in the whole world.

“I call it—Truck.”

Of course, this was not the actual word Auntie used, which was ‘wheeled table’. But it was the first machine in the world to use rotational force to move heavy loads, and if that wasn’t a truck, then what was?

“Wow!” cried Small Tree. “Auntie, you made this?”

Auntie nodded. “We can use it to move things from place to place much faster than carrying,” she said. “Put some jars on it; we’ll take it to the village!”

Small Tree helped Auntie stack pots and jars, some full of alcohol, others empty in anticipation of receiving grain, ginger, and other goods. Normally, she carried these for Auntie by hand; would it all change after today?

While we think of a truck as something to ride, this was little more than a table with wheels in place of legs. Small Tree pulled from the front and Auntie pushed from the back, much like two people carrying a heavy wardrobe.

How could they have expected this? This was the very first truck, the very first thing with wheels that didn’t make pots. Their experience with inertia was largely intuitive, not experimental. The jars were so heavy, there shouldn’t have been a need to secure them to the truck.

Either way, when the pair guided the truck down a slope, a jar slid from the truck and crashed into Small Tree; Auntie immediately let go of the truck so she could run to her niece’s side, allowing the whole load to slip free—

Small Tree was dead before she hit the bottom of the slope.

X

A man was laughing. That was the first thing Small Tree noticed.

She opened her eyes and sat up. A vast field of white flowers stretched in every direction, opening to the starry night sky.

“No, it’s just… I’m sorry, a truck?” said a voice behind her. “The same day you invent the truck, you invent vehicular manslaughter.”

Small Tree turned around. A man around her father’s age was lying on the grass. Clad in garments as white as the flowers around him, garments the villager weaver would not be able to create in ten years’ time, she knew this could not have been an ordinary mortal.

“Are you God?” asked Small Tree warily. While God have been kind to her village, you couldn’t exactly be comfortable around Him.

The man cocked his head. “…Kinda? I’m not supposed to be here, but the answer to the question you’re asking is… probably no.”

“That’s not very helpful.”

“I get that a lot.”

Small Tree lay back down. “I’m dead, then.” Somehow, she felt like she should have been sadder. “Will Auntie be okay?”

“She should be,” said not-God. “Right now, she’s probably bawling her eyes out, but she’s tough. She’ll be okay someday; just not today. But that’s good, isn’t it? She wouldn’t be this distraught if she didn’t love you.”

“That… that really doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“I also get that a lot.”

The pair lay in silence. Small Tree curled up into a ball.

“So…” said Small Tree, to fill the silence. “What was that word you used earlier? Vehi… vehi… something manslaughter.”

“Yup,” said the man. “You’re world’s first victim of vehicular manslaughter.”

“And what does it mean?”

“It means that someone hit you with a truck without meaning to, and now you’re dead,” said not-God.

“Huh,” said Small Tree. “How is there already a word for that?”

“There’s lots of words for things that haven’t happened yet,” said not-God. “I’m waiting for the world’s first death by defenestration.”

“De-what?”

“Being thrown out a window.”

“How can you die from being thrown out a window?” said Small Tree. “They’re not very high.”

“Just wait until you see buildings with multiple floors,” said not-God. “But that’s not the point of me being here. In honor of you being the first person ever to be run over by a truck, let me grant you the traditional reward.”

Small Tree cocked her head. “How can there be a traditional reward if this is the first time it happened?”

The man waved her off. “You’ll see. You know about other worlds, right?”

Small Tree nodded. “Doesn’t everyone? The gods came to this world from another.” She’d often wondered about what lay beyond the forest; what did Auntie see from atop the mountain where the sun rose? It wasn’t enough to simply hear what she had seen.

“Well, I happen to have the power to send you to other worlds,” said not-God. “You’re what? Twelve?”

“Fourteen.”

“Too young to die, is what I’m saying,” he said. “The way I see it, you have two options. Stay here, accept your death, and wait to be reincarnated. Or I can send you off to another world to live out the rest of your life however you want.”

That alone sounded like everything Small Tree ever dreamed of. But… “Wasn’t… wasn’t the original world of the gods ravaged by disaster?” The thought made Small Tree shudder.

“…You could say that,” said not-God. “But it’s also impossible to visit that world. And not even I would dump a child in the middle of a warzone.”

“A what?”

Not-God stared. “…You’re lucky,” he said. “So, how about it? A world beyond anything you’ve ever seen awaits.”

Excitement swelled in Small Tree’s heart. “I accept.”

“Then come,” said not-God. “You have everything you need.”

“I… I do?” said Small Tree. “I know you’re not talking about the things I was carrying, so are you talking about my talents? I’m good at climbing trees, and I can read faster than the other children my age, but how’s that going to help?”

The man’s only response was to laugh. He laughed and laughed, as a bright white light blurred Small Tree’s vision. Suddenly, she felt as if—

X

Small Tree threw up.

It was night. The ground was as hard as stone and twice as rough, and yet it was as flat as a sandy beach after a wave.  

Small Tree walked around. Even though it was nighttime, she could see perfectly well. Tall, thin trees glowed in the dark, illuminating a land of cut stone. Rounded sheets of ice sat on walls, ice that she couldn’t see through, but instead reflected everything perfectly. Behind walls that seemed to be carved from a single tan stone, she could see houses taller than any she had ever seen before.

She looked up, and shuddered. Where were the stars? The moons? All she could see were a scattering of faint pinpricks, and a tiny crescent peering over a cloud.

“Did they steal light from the sky?” she said to herself. Part of her marveled at the ingenuity of this world, but another feared it. Who would dare steal light from the world, light that shone upon man and god alike? Light that—

Small Tree stopped. Different world, different gods. This was not light spawned from the noble sacrifice of a dead goddess.

She looked down at the hard, rough ground, and up at the smooth, bright trees. This earth wasn’t hers. Neither were the trees. The rain here would merely be water falling from above, not a reunion between the brothers of water and weather. She shuddered again. Ancestor’s tears… if it rained here.

She was the only one who carried the blood of her ancestors.

Small Tree fell to her knees, as she realized that she was now completely alone.

But… houses meant people. Were they humans just like her? Or were they people with strange features, people who could do incredible things like walk on air or—

Something rumbled. Small Tree looked around, then scurried up the nearest tree.

A monster with huge glowing eyes growled down the path where Small Tree had been walking. It stopped about ten feet from where she was hiding.

“Looks like my talent for tree-climbing did come in handy,” she said to herself. “Is that what not-God meant when he said I already have everything I need?”

Then she summoned a spear of ice and shot it at the glowing monster.

X

Let us skip forward a bit. The driver’s insurance technically covered being speared by a gigantic icicle, but gigantic icicles were not exactly common roadside hazards in subtropical Kyushu. The driver pursued the claim with photographic evidence, the insurance company assumed it was an elaborate scam, and the Agency picked up on the situation. Upon investigating, they found a homeless girl walking from town to town, one who roasted birds and small mammals. While this alone was not particularly unusual, her peculiar way of hunting without spear, sling, or arrow certainly was.

Once they got the report, it only took them around a week to find her. After all, this was before the… Situation stole all their time and resources.

“You really don’t have people who can do this?” said Small Tree, picking at a bowl of katsu-don with chopsticks of ice. Technically, police weren’t supposed to give people food during interrogations, but it wasn’t really an interrogation, and she just looked so small and hungry… “Your world is weird.”

“We do,” said Agent Fireball. “Not many, though. How many people can summon ice like you?”

“About half the people in my village,” said Small Tree. “The other half can use fire.”

“Why?”

Small Tree shrugged. “Genetics are weird. The god who made my ancestors could do both, but apparently not even he knew why it split like that.” She cocked her head. “What about the god who made yours?”

“No god made us,” said Agent Fireball. “We just kind of… appeared.” Despite the evidence of gods, Agent Fireball still believed in evolution. That said, there wasn’t a Japanese myth that explained where humans came from.

“Huh,” said Small Tree. “How does that work?”

Agent Fireball did his best to explain the theory of evolution to a girl who claimed to be from a world that by her description was probably somewhere in its stone age.

She stared back at him, fascinated. “That’s incredible!” she said.

“Do you understand what I just said?” asked Fireball.

Small Tree nodded. “Whenever something reproduces, there’s a tiny chance that their children will have a gene that’s different from their parents. With a lot of things over a lot of time, you might get an animal that evolves into a human.”

Something struck Agent Fireball as odd. “How do you know what genes are?”

“Grandfather taught me.”

“And who taught your grandfather?”

“…God?” said Small Tree.

Seeing as this would go nowhere, Agent Fireball switched tactics. “What do you know about genetics?”

“Everyone’s made of these tiny things called cells, and they tell each other how to make you,” said Small Tree. “When two people have sex, their children’s cells are a mix of their parents’. But if two people are too closely related, their children’s cells turn out wrong and they might be born deformed.”

Agent Fireball sighed. “Let me get this straight,” said Agent Fireball. “You don’t know what mirrors are, you just saw the invention of the cart, but you understand cell theory and genetics.”

“…Yes?” said Small Tree.

Fireball sighed. “Let me ask you some questions. What color is my shirt?”

“Blue.”

“And what color is that plant?”

“Green.”

“Can you read and write?” he asked.

Small Tree nodded.

“Could you write the answers to my questions on here, please?” he said, passing her a large white leaf and a stick.

The man called Fireball asked her more questions, none of which made sense. Well, she knew what he was saying and how to answer his questions, but not why he asked them.

When they were finished, Fireball simply looked at the paper and frowned.

“Do you have any questions for me?” asked Fireball.

“What is vehicular manslaughter?”

Fireball stared. “It’s when someone is driving a vehicle in a manner that is somehow illegal, hits someone else by accident, and they die.”

“Huh,” said Small Tree. “And defini… defene…defenistriton?”

“Defenestration?”

Small Tree nodded.

“It’s when you’re thrown out of a window.”

“And can you die from that?”

“If you’re high enough, yes,” said Fireball.

“What is the highest window you have ever seen?”

“That would probably be the Tokyo Skytree, so… I don’t know how tall that is off the top of my head,” admitted Fireball. “It’s as tall as some mountains, I know that.”

“Who would put windows on a tree?”

“It’s… it’s not a literal tree,” said Fireball. “It’s just a very tall… house. How do you know those words, anyways?”

“That guy I met who wasn’t God told me that I was the first ever victim of vehicular manslaughter. You know, the one who sent me to this world?”

“…I don’t know how to respond to that.”

“And I don’t know how to respond to that, either,” said Small Tree.

There was an awkward pause.

“Do you mind waiting here?” said Fireball. “I need to talk to my partner.”

Agent Fireball slipped outside the room, and into the next. His coworker and sometimes-partner Agent Mist was waiting, having heard the whole conversation via one-way cell phone call.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” said Agent Fireball, sitting down. “I don’t think she’s lying, but…”

“You don’t believe her,” said Agent Mist. “Why not? I understand that you recently took in another young woman who claimed to be from another world.”

“Wolf didn’t speak Japanese,” said Agent Fireball. “This kid, she didn’t just speak perfect modern Japanese, she knew loanwords. She knew colors, cell theory, all kinds of things that shouldn’t have existed. Look at this.” He showed Agent Mist her answer sheet. “She says she was run over by the first cart, but look how many kanji use the radical for ‘cart.’”

Agent Mist examined the paper. He was right.

“There’s something not right about this,” said Fireball. “Where could she have come from? Why did she come here?”

“Does it matter?” said Agent Mist.

“What?”

“Does it matter if she’s from another world, or if she simply believes so?” he said. “A child with strange powers appeared under unusual circumstances, with no apparent family. She has nowhere to stay, and nowhere to go. Is it not more important to help her than to deny her words?”

“…Good point,” said Fireball. He stared back at the door. “What are our options?”

Mist paused. “We cannot remove her memories of the supernatural. If she truly is from a village where everyone knows magic, there would be nothing left.”

“And we don’t know where she comes from, so we can’t send her back,” said Fireball. He sighed. “She knows too much, she can’t go back, and she has nowhere else to go. Normally, this would be the point where I’d try to recruit her, but she’s fourteen years old.”

“You gave your card to that boy with Yuki-Onna’s blood,” said Mist.

“That’s different,” said Fireball. “I told him to give me a call when he’s eighteen.”

“He has a home where he can wait,” said Mist. “She does not.”

“Mist, I’m not going to browbeat a child into our organization just because we find her existence inconvenient!” said Fireball. “She has her whole life ahead of her; we can’t just decide her future for her!”

“Then bring her here. Ask what she wants.”

“…Fine.”

The agents stood up, and they returned to the room with Small Tree. But she was gone.

X

Small Tree wandered Japan, righting wrongs and making friends, all while staying one step ahead of the Agency. For some reason, her adventures were neatly divided into weekly increments, and almost all the inciting events began on Sunday mornings.

Agent Mist the shapeshifter pursued her across the land. Despite his stoic appearance, he was a braggart; why else would he boast about how he tracked her down by her muddy footsteps, by the way she stood out in a crowd, by the rumors that spread about her ice powers? Once she heard him brag, she would never make that mistake again. Occasionally, there would be some drastic world-threatening event that would require her to team up with him, and there might be a temporary truce, but by the end of the week he’d go right back to chasing.

One cloudy morning in Nagano, something was different this time.

“You’re new,” said Small Tree.

“No, it’s me,” said the man. “Fireball? I’m the one who asked all those weird questions.”

“…I don’t remember.”

“I’m not surprised,” said Fireball. “It’s been a few years. You’d be sixteen right about now, wouldn’t you?”

“Seventeen. I was born in the ninth month, so the first day of the month is my birthday.”

“Ninth month?” said Fireball. “Out of how many?”

“Twelve.”

“And the new year starts in?”

“The middle of winter.”

Fireball threw his hands up in the air. “Your world has seven moons! Why do you have the same calendar system as us!?”

“Oh, now I remember you!” she cocked her head. “Where’s Mist, anyways?”

“He said he had to go do something important, and asked me to cover for him,” said Fireball. He sighed. “And he knows I’ve been waiting to watch the eclipse for ages.” He looked around. “Let’s have a truce. This is the first solar eclipse of the century—I mean, the first total solar eclipse that takes place in Japan.”

“Really?” said Small Tree. “You’ve over a third of the way into the century, and it took you this long?”

“Right, seven moons,” said Fireball.

“And yours is tiny,” said Small Tree.

Fireball sighed. “Anyways, truce until… let’s say noon. The eclipse is supposed to peak around ten, and I’m going to go watch.”

Then he turned around and left, leaving Small Tree to stare after him.

X

In preparation for the eclipse, Small Tree had climbed the east side of a mountain until she could see the sun, then climbed a tree so she could see even higher.

Eclipses weren’t uncommon back home, for the reasons Fireball had suggested. She remembered crying at her first solar eclipse, because it was nighttime when it shouldn’t have been, but Auntie had told her that even though the light of the sun was gone, the other six moons were watching over her (well, there had only been four, because the water moon hadn’t risen yet and the plant moon was also a new moon, but she got the idea).

Small Tree shuddered. All these years, and she still thought of her world as home.

And where would the other six moons be? It’s not enough that the sun’s gone, but—

Footsteps interrupted her thoughts. She looked down, and saw Agent Fireball holding several grocery bags. In accordance with the laws of cinematography, either a baguette or a daikon radish should have been sticking out of one, and since Fireball always obeyed the law, there was a baguette in one and a daikon in another. He looked just as surprised to see her as she did him.

“…I’m not following you,” said Fireball. “I just like watching things like this away from other people.” He sat down at the foot of a tree and started to unpack what appeared to be an early lunch. “The truce is still in place. I’m not going after you until noon.”

“…Okay,” said Small Tree.

They sat in silence as the sky darkened.

“…You’re shaking,” observed Fireball. “Are you okay?”

“…The goddess of light can’t see us,” muttered Small Tree.

“What?”

“Her eyes are gone.”

“I would have thought that you knew what eclipses are,” said Fireball. “They’re when the moon passes between the earth and the sun.”

“I know, but… it’s more than that,” said Small Tree in a small voice. “The gods of my world aren’t here. They never were. I’m all there is of my world. I’m… I’m alone.”

Agent Fireball had never been particularly religious, but he knew that it could be a comfort for people who were. “Tell me about them, then,” he said. “Spread a bit of your world into ours.”

Small Tree looked down at him. “You’ll listen?”

“Of course.”

Small Tree nodded. “Long ago, eight gods came to this world, fleeing a disaster,” she recited. “Nobody knows what it was. However, although they were safe from the disaster, this new universe was empty. There was no light, no earth, neither water nor wave. Just an empty night sky, stretching forever and ever. Without food or water, the eight gods would surely starve to death.

“Two of the eight were brother and sister. The sister could not bear to see her little brother starve, and so she killed herself so he could eat from her flesh.”

Fireball dropped his chopsticks in shock. “He ate her?”

“There was nothing left,” said Small Tree. “He would surely die without her sacrifice.”

“I… I mean I guess I can understand that,” said Fireball. He loved his brother, although he had never given serious thought on whether he would die for him. But something was bothering him about the story, even more than the cannibalism aspect…

“Naturally, her little brother was devastated,” said Small Tree. “His big sister had just died in front of him, for his—”

“Stop!”

Small Tree looked down. “Are you okay?”

Agent Fireball was shaking. “Yes,” he said. “Just… please. Give me a moment.” He took a swig out of his thermos, not tasting any of the boiling hot tea. “I’m… I’m fine. Continue.”

Small Tree decided to skip the part that described how he hugged her corpse in silence, unable to cry. “Her brother took her soul, and turned it into light for the new world,” she said. “Her spirit permeates the whole world, so all light is part of her.”

“That’s… oddly romantic,” he said. Then he paused. “As in, in the spirit of the romanticism movement, not as in romance romance.”

“The sun shines upon us during the day, and the moons and stars watch over us at night,” said Small Tree. “Even during an eclipse, the other six moons shed their light.” She curled into a ball. “But she’s not here. Your light has none of hers. I’m all there is of my world.”

Agent Fireball looked down. She wouldn’t appreciate the tea, not at the temperature he drank it, and certainly not after he put his mouth to it. “…Do you want some of my dango?”

“…Please.” She dropped down from the tree and accepted a stick.

They sat in silence as they watched the daytime sky darken and darken, until a black sun shone upon the land. Fireball and Small Tree watched in awe, until the sun was freed from the moon’s shadow.

“Feeling better?” asked Fireball when the sky lightened to blue once more.

“Much,” said Small Tree. “Are you?”

Fireball nodded. “I might never see that again.”

Small Tree looked back at the sky. “I see what you’re trying to say. I may have left my world behind forever, but I have my memories. I have myself, I am myself, and that’s not going to change.”

“…I didn’t mean any of that, but good for you,” said Fireball.

“You know, I would never have been able to talk like this to Mist,” said Small Tree.

Fireball shrugged. “Agent Mist is not the best conversationalist.”

“You can say that again.”

They ate in silence.

“Why are you chasing me, anyways?” said Small Tree.

“Why are you running?”

Small Tree shrugged. “There’s a whole world out there, and I want to see it. Everywhere I go, I see people who stay in their hometowns their whole lives. I don’t want to be like that. I was like that when I lived in my world, and look where that got me.”

“You could see the world with us,” said Fireball. “If you joined the Agency, you could see… well, maybe not the world, but Japan.”

“And what would you have done two years ago?” retorted Small Tree. “Would you have locked me away in a school?”

Agent Fireball said nothing.

“Nothing to say to that, then?”

“No, you’re right,” said Fireball. “…Kind of. Even if you had stayed, we had no idea what to do with you.” He sighed. “You had no idea what was normal, so you couldn’t go to school without blowing your cover. We couldn’t recruit you because you were too young; even without child labor laws, I’d just feel bad deciding your career path for the rest of your life.”

“I would have been a farmer if I hadn’t come to this world,” said Small Tree. “Does that bother you?”

“…It wouldn’t have been in my hands,” said Fireball. “Then there was the possibility that someone could teach you how to function in modern society. But who could do that? I work full-time, and so do Mist and my wife. The Agency can’t legally require its employees to adopt someone, and they wouldn’t teach you for free. There really wasn’t any good way to help you.”

“Then why didn’t you just let me go?” said Small Tree. “I’m fine on my own.”

“You couldn’t keep your powers a secret,” said Fireball. “Part of our job is to keep magic a secret, and if you couldn’t hide on your own, we couldn’t leave you alone.”

Small Tree shrugged. “I haven’t used ice in front of other people in years,” she said. “Not since Mist pointed out how conspicuous it made me.”

Fireball blinked. “He told you that?”

Small Tree nodded. “He kept saying how he tracked me by listening for rumors of an ice witch. So I stopped.”

“…No. He didn’t. He couldn’t have…”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” said Fireball. He stood up. “You’ve fought Agent Mist before, right? But every time, you’ve managed to get away.”

Small Tree nodded. “That’s right. He’s easy to distract.”

 “How often?”

“Maybe I’d see him one day a week, or two if it’s particularly strange,” said Small Tree.

Fireball froze. “He reports monthly encounters.”

Small Tree stared. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Fireball looked around. “Let’s find somewhere less flammable. I want to spar with you.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I’m starting to suspect Mist’s intentions.”

X

The park had a decorative fountain pool, which had been drained for the winter. Full of black grime that would be cleaned before spring, it was the perfect cover for Fireball’s magic.

“A fire talent, are you?” said Small Tree.

“If that’s the word for it,” said Fireball.

Small Tree smirked. Mist’s powers were hard to counter because they were unfamiliar, but fire? She’d played with fire talents as a child; heck, her favorite game was Melt, in which an ice talent would make a chunk of ice and reinforce it while a fire talent would try to melt it. There’s no way she would lose to someone who—

Five minutes later, Fireball had her pinned to the ground in a side four corner hold. Small Tree tried to blast him with ice, but his fire canceled out her cold.

“Do you yield?” said Fireball.

“I yield,” said Small Tree. Fireball released her. “But let’s try that again.”

Fireball stretched. “All right.”

This time, it only took him four minutes to grapple her. After that, it was three, three, and two.

“That’s enough,” said Small Tree. “I know when I’ve been beaten.” She dusted herself off. “I didn’t realize you were that much stronger than Mist.”

Fireball released her, and shook his head. “Mist is much stronger than me.”

“What?”

“You’re not bad,” said Fireball. “You’re good for your age, but only that. The only reason why Mist might not have been able to take you down faster than me is that he’s not trained in nonlethal takedowns, and he wasn’t interested in hurting you. But he had time. Much more time than I had.” Fireball sat down. “If my suspicions are correct, Mist was holding back. He never intended to catch you.”

“But… why?”

Fireball shrugged. “I have no idea what goes through his head. Let’s go ask him.”

X

To make a long story short, Fireball was such a good detective that they found him by the next day. He had holed up in a hotel in the next town over; it was well into the afternoon, but he had still buried himself underneath the covers.

“What do you want?” he muttered from underneath his den of blankets and pillows.

“Have a good break?” said Fireball.

“Just let me sleep,” groaned Mist.

“Answer my questions first,” said Fireball.

Mist sat up, rubbing his eyes. He hadn’t even bothered to remove his clothes. “I see you brought our runaway as well.”

“Nice to see you, too,” said Small Tree, crossing her arms. “Is what he said true? Have you been letting me go?”

Mist’s face turned to look at Fireball, but his eyes hadn’t yet adjusted. “What are the terms?”

“I let you go back to sleep.”

“Not enough,” said Mist, collapsing into bed.

Fireball raised three fingers. “Threefold. I won’t ask why you needed me to cover so bad, I won’t tell a soul that you ditched work, and I’ll even help you write the report.”

“…Fine,” said Mist, sitting back up. “What do you want to know?”

“Were you letting me win?” said Small Tree. “This whole time, could you have captured me?”

Mist nodded.

“Why?”

“To teach you,” said Mist.

“Teach her what?” said Fireball suspiciously.

“Exactly what you teach your students,” said Mist. “How to stand on her own in this world.” He stared back at Fireball. “The Agency only pursues those who cannot hide their own secrets. You wanted her to be able to choose between a normal life and one with the Agency. She couldn’t two years ago because she knew nothing of this world. Now she does.”

Fireball made a strangled choking noise. “So this was your solution?” he said, aghast. “It was too inconvenient to take her in normally, so you made her a runaway for two years?!”

Small Tree shook her head. “I made myself a runaway. If anything, he enabled me.”

“How is that any different?!”

“Free will.”

“…Fine,” said Fireball. He glared at Mist. “That still means you wasted Agency time and resources.”

“The Agency has enough time and resources,” said Mist fate-temptingly. “If it’s to train someone lost in the world, they can spare a single agent.”

“…I think I remember why I don’t like working with you.”

“I’m right.”

“That’s not what I said.”

Mist turned to Small Tree. “Now that you know the truth, what do you want? If you leave, I can simply say that the trail has gone cold, and you can live the rest of your life as you want.”

“I…”

What did Small Tree want? Her life had been a lot of fun these past two years. It had been a good run, and people had been kind to her. But you couldn’t live like this forever. People had taken her in because she was a lost child, but would they extend the same courtesy to an adult woman? She didn’t fear the cold, so she had little need for clothes and blankets, but everyone needed food and water, and it was getting harder to beg.

Besides, Mist had started to interrupt a lot of her job prospects; she used to be able to get money for odd jobs, but recently he had…

Wait, she could just ask him. He was right there. “Why did you start blocking me from getting jobs?”

Fireball glared at Mist, but Mist shook his head. “Do you know what sex is?”

“It’s what people do if they want a child,” said Small Tree. “Or for fun.”

“…Oh,” said Fireball. “I see.” He backed off.

“You see what?” said Small Tree.

“And do you know what prostitution is?” asked Mist.

Small Tree shook her head. “Is it another way of killing people?”

“…For now, let us say that I had reason to suspect that many of those people had ill intentions towards you,” said Mist. “And there would be many others.”

So she couldn’t stay on the road like this.

But she didn’t want to settle, either. Throughout her travels, she had seen so many people unhappy with where they were, but unable to leave. And that was even when they had what they called an education, which she heard was like torture from the other kids her age. She didn’t have one, she might not have been able to get one, so would she be stuck on the bottom rung of society for the rest of her life? She might as well keep wandering; she might not have money, but she’d still be free.

But then…

“Tell me… what does the Agency have to offer?”

X

It all worked out in the end. Somehow.

Small Tree agreed to join the Agency, and due to her circumstances, became the youngest person ever to join their training program, beating out the future Agent Seal by almost a year.

In the meantime, she’d need a legal identity. Agent Fireball had arranged for one; he and his wife agreed to adopt her, although since they both worked full-time, they didn’t have time to raise her. That was fine by her; she’d been living on her own for so long that she couldn’t remember what it was like to be raised.

“Now is the question of your name,” said Fireball. He wrote her name down on a piece of paper. “This is how you write your name, yes?”

‘Small’ and ‘Tree’. “Yes.”

“In Japan, this is your personal name. But you also need a family name. Would you like to use mine?”

Small Tree shook her head. “I have a family. They’re not here, and I may never see them again, but they’re still my family.”

“I see,” said Fireball. “What name would you use to describe them?”

Small Tree paused. “I am from the village that dwells in the forest.”

Fireball wrote that down. “Lastly, your codename. This is the name you will use for Agency operations.”

“Like what?” asked Small Tree.

“Like Mist, or Colt, or Fireball…You didn’t think Fireball was my real name, did you?”

“…I did.”

Fireball sighed, and opened something on his computer. “Whatever you pick has to be short, it can’t be the name of a preexisting agent, and it also can’t be a curse word or a… a grammar word. I also reserve the right to veto any name even if none of these rules apply.”

“Did someone try to be Agent Who?”

“Worse. Agent The.”

Small Tree's thoughts flashed to the trees whose bark kept her fed even on the loneliest of nights, trees that grew green even in winter.

“Pine. Call me Agent Pine,” said Small Tree.

“Pine is a good name.” Agent Fireball wrote it down. “Forest-Inside is your family name, Small Tree is your personal name, and your codename is Pine. Is that correct?”

Small Tree nodded.

“Then welcome to the Agency, Saki Moriuchi.”

Incidentally, the driver never got his insurance claim.

Notes:

Moriuchi means ‘inside the forest’, and you can get Saki from ‘small’ and ‘tree’ (although there’s over a hundred kanji combinations for that name). Throughout the story, even though the narration (and her aunt) referred to her as Small Tree, it would still have been pronounced Saki.

Agent Mist is Arikado, but I couldn’t think of a good way to make it explicit. For some reason, I find it difficult to write Alucard’s dialogue. That’s why he hasn’t appeared in the story yet; it’s not that I dislike him, it’s that I can’t figure out his voice. I think the best fanfic characterization of Alucard is from EmeraldTrash666’s Vampire Richter AU, where he is just Some Guy who’s trying to get by like everyone else.

Agent Pine is one of two agents who were reverse isekai’d, the other being Agent Wolf. Originally, Wolf was the only one, but then I came up with another world for a reverse isekai that didn’t work with my idea for Wolf (which is why Pine hasn’t appeared until this chapter).

The inspiration for Pine was children’s adventure anime where the heroes fall into another world and explore; I was thinking of Digimon, Mӓr, and other anime from before the isekai boom. They seemed to focus on how weird and beautiful these new worlds were, and I wanted a character who saw our world the same way. Then I straight up turned her into the heroine of a Saturday morning anime (well, Sunday in Japan), complete with bumbling pursuer.

A lot changed while I was writing this. Originally, Fireball was supposed to adopt Pine at the start, but then I realized that my inner child would have hated that. I would have wanted to see an anime where the heroine had an adventure and wandered the land, not one where she’s immediately shoved into school and everyday life. Then I figured that Fireball and Mist/Arikado would make good bumbling antagonists, but I wasn’t happy with making them completely incompetent just to satisfy the narrative, so I had Arikado stealth mentor her by pretending to be incompetent.

Worldbuilding Pine’s original world was fun. Can you guess where it comes from? If so, at what point did you figure it out?

Omake 2: Blood and Sacrifice

Although Fireball’s detective skills were good enough to track down Agent Mist within a few hours, he was still in the next town over. So there he was, in his car, with Saki in the passenger seat.

“So,” said Fireball. “Did that story just end there?”

“Which story?” said Saki.

“The one about how light came to the world,” said Fireball. “What happened to the other gods?”

Saki took a deep breath. “After the creation of light, Light’s brother realized that he had all he needed to fill this empty void. So he turned upon the other six gods.

“First, he slew the woman who would become the goddess of plants in her sleep. The man who would become weather witnessed this crime and cried out, so Light’s brother killed him, too. But it was too late; the last four had risen.

“Weather’s brother, who would become water, fought bravely to avenge him, but fell to Light’s brother. The woman who would become earth cast spells and charms to protect the last two, who were the youngest, but she too was slain. Then he—”

“Stop!” said Fireball. He took another sip of boiling hot tea. “I’m sorry, but… continue.”

 “…I’ll skip ahead, then,” said Saki. “Light’s brother took the souls of the seven and created the universe. From the first, he had already drawn light, so all would be guided by his sister’s gentle hand. With the second he drew earth, stone, and metal, and from it he formed the land. With the third he drew water, and created all the great oceans, rivers, and springs that nourish the land. With the fourth he drew weather and wind, to move and drive the water and earth; it is said that since weather is the older brother of water, they are reunited in rain. With the fifth he drew plant life, to spread a carpet of green across the land. With the six he drew all manner of beast, bird, and fish, to populate the world.

“But before Light’s brother could draw upon the seventh soul, whom he had loved above all else save for perhaps his sister, he realized he was all alone in the world. So he wept, and begging forgiveness, resurrected him.”

“So he resurrected him, but not his sister,” said Fireball.

Small Tree shrugged. “Everyone asks that. Auntie said that even if he had revived his sister, they’d still die anyways without food or water.”

“True, true,” said Fireball.

“When the last god came back to life, he was not happy. For seven days, his fury boiled the seas to nothing, scorched the forests to deserts, and then melted the deserts to glass. For seven nights, his sorrow froze all the water in the skies, chilled the lifeblood of all beasts to ice, and turned the oceans into vast waves of wandering snow.

“For all this time Light’s brother groveled, a day and a night for every death, before the last god was appeased. Calm once more, the last god begat humanity.”

Saki stretched. “Light’s brother is known as the Creator, because he made the world, but he is also simply God. The last god is called the Ancestor, because all of humanity are his children.” She turned to face Fireball. “Well, you aren’t, but I am. It’s also acceptable to call him The Father or Mother, or the Progenitor if you really want to sound fancy.”

“And that’s how the world was made?” said Fireball.

Saki nodded. “Grandmother used to say that all that’s bad in the world is because God murdered the other six. Six dead gods make up the whole world; they were all good people, so everything in the world can be used to help people. But five of the six died bitter deaths, and that grudge stays in all things that hurt. The earth crushes, water drowns, weather destroys, plants poison, and animals maul. The only exception is light; since the goddess of light died selflessly and without bitterness, light can never harm us.”

“Hm,” said Fireball. “Does evil stem from the weight of God’s sin, or the grudge of dead gods?”  

“Sorry?” said Saki.

“It’s nothing,” said Fireball. “You should probably write these down. So… any other stories?”

“Well, Auntie had a song so she could remember how to make her special brew,” began Saki. “First, boil a hand’s worth of water…”

Chapter Text

“Your breath doesn’t fog when you talk.”

Wow, his eyes are good.

You can do better, said the Peeping Eye soul, a tad petulantly.

Oh, right, said Soma, and he switched over. He blinked to let his eyes adjust, and the dark alleyway blossomed to life.

To call the girl thin and pale would be correct, but not accurate. Thin and pale insinuates a romantic Gothic heroine of sorts, the kind that wears doll-like, frilly black dresses, with just enough tuberculosis to show a striking complexion while her languid form reclines in bed.

This girl looked like she had enough tuberculosis to have worms crawling beneath her skin. Her bony form suggested that she subsisted on a diet of floor scraps; hell, she probably fought the dog for scraps and lost. Romantic poets might compare fair skin to moonlight or snow; the best comparison Soma could make was ash. Instead of the complexion of a noblewoman, she had the pallor of a corpse.

Now, in the real world, Soma might have taken this as a sign that she was severely ill and starving. Even her breath not condensing might be a symptom of… hypothermia or something (tis not, sire, Bifrons whispered helpfully). Soma might have pitied her, if the Peeping Eye soul didn’t allow him to detect (but not see through) illusions. And something about those eyes didn’t seem real…

Undead.

Chapter Text

“You will be wrong, and you will fail. That is inevitable. Avoiding failure is not nearly as important as being able to handle the consequences.”

-Guidebook to Agency Operations

(4:45 pm)

“We found the dead man’s head.”

 Agent Fireball passed around empty bowls before showing the next slide. The dead man’s skull had been smashed open and scooped clean, not unlike the Baked Alaska served at his nephew’s seventh birthday party. That is, if the carefully browned meringue had been viciously bludgeoned with a hammer rather than cracked open with a tablespoon, and some cruel prankster willing to inflict kuru upon children had replaced the cinnamon ice cream with brains.

“Pine and Wolf found it deeper in the woods, displayed atop this tree stump.”

Agent Ninja stared at the picture. “How does the killer sleep at night?”

X

That morning

The murderer woke up early, saw that the accomplice was snuggling in the futon beside them, and smiled. Selina had curled up on top of the mountain of blankets that swaddled the accomplice, dozing peacefully.

 Carefully, the murderer shed their blankets, changed out of their pajamas, and sidled through the door, which was cracked just a sliver so the morning sun wouldn’t fall upon Selina’s eyes (the accomplice’s head was buried underneath the blankets).

The murderer then put a full kettle on to boil; some of it would go to their morning coffee, but most of it would be to replenish the accomplice’s hot water bottles.

Then something wonderful happened. Selina walked into the kitchen and rubbed her head against the murderer’s leg. The murderer smiled, and extended a hand; Selia rubbed her face against that and meowed.

White sunlight, filtered through mild rainclouds, streaming through the window. The smell of mint wafting from potted plants. And a kitten with all the love she could offer, batting her paws at the murderer’s leg.

This, indeed, was heaven.

X

As his rookies murmured their disgust (and Agent Tiger vomited into a bowl), Fireball watched his charges keenly. Who here is paying attention? Who here is looking at the crime scene, and not just their own distaste? He was sure that Yoko would have her insights, so he had asked her to give his students a chance before sharing her own conclusions.

Peony raised her hand. “Um… I’m confused,” she said. “Why is this so different from the other crime scenes?”

Spot on, Peony, thought Fireball.

Cowboy, naturally, groaned. “Come on, Peony!” he said. “We just found a lead!”

“But… but… I don’t understand!” she wailed. “Why would the killer work so hard to hide the other bodies, and then just leave this one here?!”

“Ahem,” said Wolf. “We didn’t just ‘find’ it; Pine had to sniff it out.”

“Still don’t know how you couldn’t,” said Pine. Fireball was still looking into that; an affinity for ice magic was one thing, but the ability to track human remains by scent was even more curious. Especially since she hadn’t shown the same ability with the corpses of animals.

“No, wait,” said Seal. “Exactly where did you find this head?”

Pine paused. “Let’s see… Wolf and I climbed the trail with the yellow marking, then there was a stream maybe thirty meters away—”

“I included the coordinates in my report,” interrupted Wolf, opening her phone.

“No need; I have them here,” said Fireball, flipping a few slides ahead. This one showed a topographical map of the area. “Here, marked in red, are the locations of the head and the body.”

“I see,” said Seal. “Not readily visible from the trail, but not far from it, either.” He turned around. “If the disposal was this sloppy, then I think Peony had a point. This is a completely different killer.”

At this, Cowboy groaned. “Then why are we wasting our time on them? The real killer is still out there!”

Fireball cleared his throat. “Hold, Cowboy,” he said. “Copycat killer this may be, but that doesn’t make them any less a murderer. No matter which one we catch, we’re still saving lives.”

“…All right,” said Cowboy, mollified.

“But what does it mean?” said Lily. “We can see that it’s a different killer, but why remove the head like this?”

“It could be human sacrifice,” said Peryton. “Removing the head, separating it from the body, and then putting it on display in the middle of a forest? It reeks of ceremony.”

“And what happened to the brains?” said Dragon. “Something must have eaten them.”

“Part of the ritual, presumably,” said Chimera.

“So, like… a sacrifice to a zombie god?” said Reaper. “Are there zombie gods?”

“Baron Samedi,” suggested Seal.

“Haitian zombies don’t eat brains,” said Lily. “And I don’t believe that Vodun accepts human sacrifices.”

“There’s always garden-variety devil worshipers,” suggested Ninja.

At the mention of devil worshipers, a wave of annoyance washed across the group. “Not another cult,” grumbled Cowboy.

“It doesn’t have to be a cult,” said Peryton hopefully. “It could be our demon summoner!”

“But… wouldn’t that mean that the first killer isn’t a summoner?” said Peony.

“Not necessarily,” said Seal. “There could be two summoners, one dumber than the other.”

“I don’t think this is the work of a summoner,” said Yoko.

“And why not?” asked Chimera.

“Summoners don’t usually leave behind human remains,” explained Yoko. “If they killed someone to summon a demon, the demon would eat the sacrifice. That’s part of why they’re difficult to investigate.”

Cowboy sighed. “Who are we kidding,” he grumbled. “It’s a cult. It’s always a cult.”

“And have any of you ever heard of a cult performing a sacrifice like this before?” said Yoko.

There was a pause as the rookie agents tried to recall.

“That’s not a trick question; I haven’t, either,” Yoko added.

Fireball cleared his throat. It was one thing to let his students brainstorm, but he didn’t expect them to know esoteric details offhand. “I personally do not recall anything like this, but there might be something in the database.”

“If nobody’s seen this before, then I might have an idea,” said Yoko. “Are there any defunct or disbanded cults in this area with no history of human sacrifice?”

It took a moment for that to sink in.

“Cults that don’t sacrifice people?” said Dragon. “Isn’t… isn’t that the opposite of what we’re looking at right now?”

“No, I think I understand,” said Lily. “You’re looking for cults that haven’t been caught practicing human sacrifice.”

Yoko nodded.

“But… isn’t that also the opposite of what we’re looking at, too?” said Peony. “Whoever did this didn’t clean up after themselves.”

“And why are you asking about inactive cults?” said Seal. “Two wrongs don’t always make a right.”

“In a sense, they do,” said Yoko. “As you can see—”

“Pardon me, Ms. Belnades,” said Agent Fireball. “But I’d like to give my students a little more time to think about your question first.”

“Very well, then,” said Yoko. “And do you know the answer?”

Fireball smiled and shrugged. “I have an answer, but who knows if it’s yours?” In fact, he needed a moment to think about it as well.

There was another pause.

“You want to find cults that have never been caught for murder, but were dismantled anyways,” said Lily. “Does this have anything to do with the other crimes they committed?”

“What kinds of crimes can bust a cult?” said Tiger.

“Tax evasion,” said Cowboy.

“Grand larceny?” said Chimera.

“Human trafficking?” said Peryton.

“Wouldn’t that be a little too close to human sacrifice?” said Wolf.

“Yes, but it’s not murder,” said Peryton.

“Perhaps the cult itself was never convicted of a crime, but the arrest of key members on unrelated charges rendered it unable to function,” said Lily.

“Or they achieved their goal,” said Chimera darkly. “Their plans bore fruit, leaving us none the wiser, and they disbanded shortly afterward.”

Tiger scoffed. “Doubt it,” she said. “If they got what they wanted, why are they doing it all over again?”

“And what do you think?” said Yoko asked Fireball.

“You’re trying to find remnants,” said Fireball. “Members of cults that had practiced human sacrifice in the past, but did not—hold on, let me reword that.” He paused to remove the ambiguity. “If I understand you correctly, you think there was a cult that practiced human sacrifice, and successfully hid the evidence. This cult no longer exists, for reasons not currently relevant. You’re looking for former members of this cult who witnessed these sacrifices in the past but did not perform them, because you believe they are currently trying to recreate these sacrifices.” Fireball shuddered at his own words. He didn’t usually assemble theories that fast. So where had this one come from?

“A tad wordy, but correct,” said Yoko. “I believe our culprits—or culprit—are people who know how these sacrifices are performed, but lack the cult’s capability to clean up after themselves.”

“Interesting theory,” said Lily.

“I’m confused,” whined Peony. “It’s too complicated; I don’t get it!”

“Yeah, I mean, even in a place like this, what are the chances we’ll find a cult like that?” said Reaper, whose cheerful tone edged into nervousness.

“Who knows,” said Chimera darkly. “It’s happened before.”

“Yes, but what are the chances it’ll happen twice?” said Dragon. “Besides, separation by para—”

“Hold it,” said Lily. “Ms. Belnades isn’t authorized to hear about this.”

There was another pause as the agents remembered that Yoko wasn’t a new member, but in fact a contractor hired to assist them. She was in no way supposed to hear about the… Situation.

Fireball cleared his throat again. “Is there anything else to discuss?”

There was some minutia here and there regarding team formations, specific legalities, and meetups, but nothing else important.

“The murders aside, we still need to be worried about the arsonist,” Fireball continued. “Tonight, every team should have someone who can extinguish fires. Ms. Belnades, can you extinguish fires with your ice powers?”

Yoko nodded. “It’s not one of its primary applications, but I can manage.”

“Then arrange yourself into teams,” said Fireball. “The Agents on leave for tonight are myself and Agent Wolf. Dismissed!”

As his students paired themselves up, debating and swapping as needed, Yoko approached him. “I would like to attempt an investigation into the local cults,” she said. “Do I have permission to access the database?”

Fireball shook his head. “I do not have the authority to permit this,” he said. “However, I can send you the relevant files, if you specify what you need. Disbanded with no history of human sacrifice, you said?”

Yoko nodded. “If possible.”

“I can get you the files, but I have several issues I must attend to first,” said Fireball. For a start, he had a backlog of paperwork. “Go on patrol, and I’ll message you if I find anything.”

Yoko nodded, thanked him, and returned to the rookie agents, leaving Fireball to wonder, not for the first time, why so many things seemed to happen in this city all at once.

X

(5:31 pm)

Wolf sat on the roof alone, staring out at the city skyline. The last glow of twilight cast its dying rays, unable to pierce the swollen rainclouds.

Normally, Wolf would have a take-away meal in her lap, or perhaps a bento assembled from leftovers; tonight, however, was her night off, and she would be celebrating by actually going to a real restaurant.

Pine opened the door, carrying a thermos of tea in one hand and a bottle of frozen aloe juice in the other. “Remember anything?” she said by way of greeting, passing Wolf the thermos.

Wolf stretched. “The Second War of the Bikyu’o Succession,” she said. “A mere footnote in history. Mandatory study, of course, for its effects on the Vaopli herd population in the northeastern seas, but everyone wants to hear about why so many homes have cooling spells, not the delicate political framework from which they came.”

And then she proceeded to explain the Houses of the Sacred Constellations, their duties and rites, their vast palaces and estates, the kind of animals they kept, how their tables were set, what kind of foods were served at what times, and the taste of that sweet-savory pastry Wolf was sure she’d never see again. An enchanted typewriter sitting beside her recorded her words. Phonetically, of course; she would edit it later with the correct spellings. After all, nobody but her could spell Klaadfyafdis on the first try.

“And you, Pine?” said Wolf, taking a sip of the tea.

“Well, I think I remember how houses were built,” said Pine. “See, some of us like the cold, and the rest like the heat, so we usually end up making separate buildings…”

And then she described the techniques for insulating houses, the plants used in their construction and what their leaves looked and tasted like, why it was a bad idea to make a bonfire indoors without a chimney, the kinds of fish smoked with those bonfires, and how those fish were gutted and the bonfires assembled.

“I’m sure this sounds so dull compared to yours,” said Pine.

“No, not at all,” said Wolf. “I just remember what things looked like or how they tasted; I didn’t know how most things worked for most of my life.” She sat back. “And now I never will.”

“You’re smart,” said Pine. “You can figure it out.”

Wolf laughed bitterly. “I once spent a year trying to recreate a curse talisman. Do you know why I had to scrap my research?”

“Lack of materials?”

“Not even. Because the bookbindings here aren’t the same as back home.” She buried her head in her arms. “Can you believe it? Bookbindings! And I knew that you didn’t have Uvennure here, so why did I assume that it would work the same?”

Pine cocked her head. “…Because it’s just something so everyday and basic that you don’t even consciously acknowledge it?”

“That was a rhetorical question, Pine,” said Wolf.

“…I’m so used to people asking questions when they want answers that I don’t consciously acknowledge rhetorical questions?”

Wolf laughed. “Never change, Pine.”

They sat together on the rooftop, watching the reflection of the city lights scatter beneath the rain-drenched streets.

“…Sometimes, I want to make a movie about all this,” said Wolf. “Can’t think of a plot, no idea about the characters, but… I just want to see the lights of my hometown again, not just talk about them.”

“You could become an animator.”

Wolf snorted. “God-Emperor, like it’s that easy. Have you seen me paint?”

“With enough practice, I’m sure you can do anything,” said Pine. She gestured towards the typewriter. “You made that!”

“I suppose.”

Pine twisted to face Wolf. “…I guess it’s not enough for you to just write it all down.”

Wolf turned away. “I’ve been on this earth for twenty-five years, Pine,” she said. “I have birth parents, a hometown, baby pictures. How do I know that my previous life wasn’t just an elaborate fever dream brought on by a childhood coma?”

“Well, you introduced a form of magic that not even Agent Mist recognized,” said Pine.

 “Whereas you showed up out of nowhere at the age of fourteen, with no birth records and tolerance for cold on par with that of a harp seal,” continued Wolf. “You know you couldn’t have come from anywhere else.” She rolled over. “Do you remember what you said to me when you learned that I was from a different world?”

“Well, I first said, ‘so am I!’ and then asked if we were from the same world—”

“After that,” said Wolf. “Do you remember what you said when you suggested these chats?”

“Of course,” said Pine. “I was telling you about how much it helped when I told Fireball about my aunt’s stories.”

“‘It’s all there in my head, but it’s not real until I say it,’” said Wolf. “That’s what you said.”

 Pine cocked her head. “Is that it, Wolf? You need more people to listen?”

“I… I don’t know.” Wolf shook her head. “It’s been decades, Pine. All I have left of my world is memories, and even those are fading.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

Wolf sighed. “I… I need time to think about this. Go on your patrol, Pine; I’ll be here when you’re done.”

X

(5:42 pm)

“Here,” said Fireball, passing Yoko a file. “I reviewed the database, and I found one cult that fit your criteria.”

Patrol didn’t start until after nightfall, but Fireball had called in Lily and Yoko early. This took Yoko by surprise; she was going to get dinner before her patrol. The weekly cut-price pizza was all well and good, but sometimes she wanted something with vegetables.

“Just one?” said Lily.

“Technically, I found three, but I doubt you’re looking for seventeenth century Japanese Christians who met in secret to avoid persecution,” said Fireball.

“Two of them?” said Yoko. “Were they different denominations?”

“Apparently, they were both Catholic,” said Fireball. “They were just so secret that nobody else realized they existed, not even the other sect. But that’s not important right now. Take a look at this.”

“The… Furaterunichi o Natinesu?” Yoko read aloud.

“As far as I can tell, they were trying to say, pardon my poor English, Fraternity of Naughtiness,” said Fireball.

“No, your pronunciation was excellent,” said Yoko. Then she paused. “Wait, did you just say Fraternity of Naughtiness? What was this, a drunk student organization?”

“To some extent, yes,” said Fireball. “Most of the records show that they were a group of rich people who caused trouble and threw around money to make it go away. There’s plenty of petty traffic violations and disturbance of the peace; hardly any serious crimes. But it hailed the founder as a holy woman who could commune with the gods; even if they were lying, that’s still a cult.”

“I am familiar with the type, yes,” said Yoko.

Yoko’s grandmother’s feelings about those types of cults were not dissimilar to those of a paramedic who had received a tearful call from a patient about to die an agonizing death, only to discover they were simply a hypochondriac who forgot to drink water. Yoko’s feelings, however, were closer to a doctor who had been paid millions under the table to remove the Glorious Leader’s brain tumor, only to discover that the migraines were simply from dehydration.

“With all due respect, sir, isn’t this a job for the regular police?” said Lily. “Unless they were secretly trying to manifest Khorne the Blood God, I don’t see why we need to get involved.”

Fireball sighed. “While I would normally be happy to debate that point, Lily, I do not need to. I wouldn’t have called you here if I didn’t find something strange.” He flipped a page and pointed at two pictures: a girl in a school uniform, and a large group of people in formal dress standing in a ballroom. “This cult didn’t disband. They disappeared. All but one member: Kiyone Miura, the founder’s daughter.”

Lily looked closer. “She looks familiar.”

Fireball nodded. “She’s one of Madam Pain’s protégés. She owns the cult’s former commune, where her gang meets.”

“So you suspect that they’re a successor to the Fra… this cult?” said Yoko. Try as she might, she could not take that name seriously.

Fireball shrugged. “I thought you might,” he began. “This is what you were looking for, weren’t you? A low-ranking member of a dismantled cult attempting to rebuild it.”

“She would seem to fit the pattern,” said Yoko, picking up the memo to skim. According to the cult’s own propaganda, the founder was a homeless woman who attracted the attention of a god of wealth and fortune, who blessed her with money and implored her to find followers for him. “Sounds like it could be a demon in disguise,” said Yoko. “Human sacrifice and human greed, all at once.”

“We may associate wealth with greed, but there are many tales of benevolent gods and angels showering the virtuous with riches,” said Fireball. “How is this different?”

“Benevolent gods and angels don’t advertise,” said Yoko. “Not like that, at least. In most of these stories, the point is that the recipients perform good deeds with no expectation of reward. A prayer being instantly answered with wealth sounds more like a demon’s contract than pennies from heaven.”

“And how is that different from a prayer for business prosperity?” said Fireball.

“That’s… it’s more of a prayer for luck, isn’t it?” said Yoko. “Asking the gods for help with what you can’t do yourself. You can beg the gods all you want for rain, but you still have to plant the damn seeds.”

“True, true,” said Fireball. “What do you think, Lily?”

“Man works to live, and money is proof of that work,” said Lily, staring into space. “Does man desire wealth to escape work?”

“An interesting insight,” said Fireball, but Lily continued.

“A wish to never work again, to never do anything you don’t want to ever again… why did so many people want that?” said Lily. “To lose sight of reality, to wallow in apathy… that was the cost.”

The air felt heavy, as if they were sitting at the bottom of a well.

“Agent Lily?” said Fireball.

Agent Lily was shaking now. “Hunger. Bit by bit, your wishes are granted, and your reality is eaten away. All that’s left are dreams, and those fade once you wake, unless you never do. You never see that you’re being eaten alive…”

The air was lighter now, and the loose papers on Fireball’s desk began to flutter. Something about that looked wrong, though, as if they were moving too fast and too slow at the same time.

“Agent Lily!” shouted Fireball. For some reason, he wasn’t looking straight at Lily, but at a spot directly above him.

“You don’t need to sell your soul to damn yourself,” said Lily, whose eyes didn’t seem to be looking at anything on this plane. “The price isn’t what you give up, it’s what you’ve been given…”

“Mr. Kurosu!”

Lily jolted awake. “Apologies,” he said. “I was… lost in thought.”

“Nothing wrong with thinking more,” said Fireball.

“What was that all about?” said Yoko.

Lily shook his head. “It’s classified.”

“I see,” said Yoko.

“And we should probably reset the times on our phones,” said Lily, taking his out. “I might have… distorted the flow of time around me.”

“Powerful magic indeed,” said Yoko. “Any side effects?”

“Your sleep schedule might be off, and we may have to reset a few clocks, but it’s not a problem otherwise,” said Lily. “Try turning your phone off and on again.”

Yoko and Fireball did so. It was now 6:03.

“I’ll go change the times on the clocks,” said Lily.

“No, this shouldn’t wait,” said Fireball. “While I was looking into this cult, I found something unusual.” He showed them a spreadsheet.

“…I have no idea what any of these numbers are supposed to mean,” said Yoko.

“I suppose not, but I needed to back my claim with something,” said Fireball. “According to the public tax records, the cult was deep in the red in the months prior to the disappearances.”

“Wait, they paid taxes?” said Yoko. “Aren’t religious groups exempt from income tax?”

“Only if registered with the government, which they were not,” said Fireball.

“And if they were magically making large amounts of money appear with dark magic, shouldn’t that have gotten them audited?” said Lily.

“Apparently not,” said Fireball.

Lily cocked his head. “That… that sounds like they faked their deaths to run away from debt.”

“I would have thought so, if teenage Kiyone hadn’t paid off all known creditors in full mere days after her mother’s disappearance,” said Fireball.

“Ah,” said Lily.

“So you think that Kiyone sacrificed the rest of the cult for money,” said Yoko.

“That is my hypothesis, yes,” said Fireball.

“And the newest murder is her trying again.”

Fireball nodded.

“Why now?” said Yoko. “If she was capable of committing murder years ago, why is she only starting again now?”

Fireball shrugged. “For a start, she’s not yet eighteen years old. Crimes committed by a minor are punished more leniently.”

“That might explain why she’s doing it now, but not why she hasn’t before,” said Yoko.

“I did find that she hasn’t paid her electricity bill in years,” said Fireball mildly.

“Maybe she’s planning on going to college, and needs to settle her student debt while she still can?” suggested Lily.

“I suppose… wait.” Yoko looked around. “Shouldn’t she know who you are? Why would anyone kill people in such an obviously occult manner if they know the supernatural police is investigating the city?”

“She knows we’re overworked,” said Lily.

“She’s heard you complain about being overworked, but everyone complains about that,” said Fireball.

“The illusion of transparency, yes, I know that,” said Lily.

Fireball sighed. “All that said, this is worth an investigation, not an arrest,” he said. “As suspicious as these circumstances may appear, we don’t know if she’s guilty. Try to keep this from the others; some of them can get rather zealous in their search for the truth, and I’d rather not traumatize a child if I’m wrong.”

“Then why tell me, and not your students?” said Yoko.

“And why me?” said Lily.

“Because I’m going to question her myself, and I need backup,” said Fireball. “Lily, you and your friends are the strongest fighters in your cohort, but I need Dragon and Reaper on firefighting duty. As soon as we reset the clocks, we’re going out.”

“But sir, isn’t it your night off?” said Lily.

Fireball shrugged. “It is best to strike while the iron is hot. Besides, my night off starts at seven; how long can this possibly take?”

X

(6:11 pm)

“I love pho,” Agent Wolf said to no one in particular.

You could try to preserve it, save it for laver, or even deconstruct the components for later assembly, but there was nothing like a bowl of freshly made noodle soup. This was why Wolf had selected pho for her night off meal; of all her favorite foods, noodle soups lost the most when eaten as takeout.

Long, thin, slippery noodles accompanied by rich broth, with slices of fatty beef and rubbery tripe. The crunch of bean sprouts, the startling burn of sliced jalapeno…

Wolf was in heaven.

X

(6:37 pm)

Yoko had seen many cult hideouts in her time as a mercenary. Some were impressive mansions cresting lonely hills, ringed with spiked iron fences and laced with dead trees. More often, though, they were either squat concrete compounds in the middle of nowhere or rented rooms that also housed fretwork classes and support group meetings (thanks to a scheduling mixup, an undercover Yoko now knew more than she ever needed to know about different types of wood).

This hideout seemed to lean closer to the latter. From the outside, little seemed to distinguish it from the other apartment complexes surrounding it, save for perhaps the unlit windows.

Lily approached the main entrance, then paused. “…How are we going to get her attention if the intercom doesn’t work?”

“Knock?” suggested Yoko.

Lily knocked dubiously.

Fireball looked up. “I see light,” he said. “Five floors up, to the left. Can either of you throw something on the window?”

“What are we, lovesick teenagers?” said Yoko.

“I can knock on it, if that’s what you’re asking,” said Lily. “Chronos.”

A strange incantation, but effective; a girl emerged from the window. Lily waved at her. She disappeared into the building, and opened the door shortly afterwards.

“Hello, Sei,” said Lily.

Sei scowled. “What do you want, Lily?”

“Kiyone Miura,” said Fireball, stepping forwards. “I believe your friends call you Sei, am I correct?”

Sei glared at him. “Not like I can deny it. Who are you?”

“This is my boss, Agent Fireball,” said Lily.

Fireball nodded. “We’d like to ask you a few questions about the cult that used to reside here.”

At that, Sei froze. She stared blankly ahead, as if too terrified to speak.

“Ms. Miura?” said Fireball.

“Come back with a warrant,” said Sei in a dull voice.

“Pardon?”

“Come back with a warrant,” Sei repeated, this time more firmly. “Unless you have probable cause to believe that I have committed a crime, you cannot arrest me without a warrant.”

“…You’re right,” said Fireball. “We can’t.” He turned around and began to walk away. “Come on. We’re going back.”

Sei blinked. “You’re… you’re not taking me in for questioning?”

Fireball turned his head to face her. “You’ve already decided you’re not going to tell us anything. There’s no point in detaining you.” He waved her goodbye. “Have a good night, Ms. Miura.”

At that, Sei slammed the door shut.

“Well, we’d better get back,” Fireball said to Lily and Yoko. Then he whispered, “Walk a little farther with me. Keep your eyes on the street. Don’t look up. We’re being watched.”

“I can look without anyone seeing, but I’ll need to lean on someone,” Lily whispered back.

Yoko held out her arm, and Lily grabbed it and closed his eyes. “It’s… a dog? Leaning out a window.”

“Dogs do that sometimes,” Yoko whispered back.

Lily waited until they walked farther before responding. “No, this isn’t a normal dog. It’s raining, but its fur isn’t wet.”

“A familiar spirit, perhaps?” suggested Yoko.

“Is that a kind of demon?” asked Lily.

“Not always,” said Yoko. “But it’s gathering intelligence for its master. Someone else is taking an interest in this cult.”

“Or an interest in us,” said Lily darkly.

The three of them continued into the road and around a corner before Fireball spoke again. “She looked terrified. As if she wanted to cry, but couldn’t.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t try to comfort her,” said Lily.

Fireball shook his head. “The best thing I could do for her is leave. To her, I’m her interrogator, the source of her anxieties. Any attempt to calm her down would be insincere; after all, I can’t have my questions answered if she’s too upset to speak.”

“But what is she afraid of?” said Lily. “Of us? Of her own guilty conscience? Or is something forcing her to stay quiet?”

Fireball sighed. “That’s the trouble with cases like these. We don’t know. And it’s too easy to lose yourself in your own assumptions.”

He proceeded down the road before adding, “However, those ten seconds of silence were worth the trip. She knows something, she’s scared of something, and she refuses to speak to us about it.”

“How do you know she just doesn’t want to speak to the police?” said Yoko. “We’ve all heard the horror stories of innocent people being forced into false confessions.”

Lily shrugged. “It’s always a possibility, but I’ve spoken to her before. Never about cults, but she doesn’t seem to be afraid of us just for being police. That might change, though.”

“All we can do right now is wait and see what happens next,” said Fireball. He turned around. “I want you two to keep an eye on the building. If anything strange happens, log it and send it to me. Like I said, try to keep this from the others. And don’t confront the gang directly.”

“And if they catch us?” asked Yoko.

“Use your discretion, but try to defuse the situation if you can,” said Fireball.

“Can we call for backup if it’s an emergency?” asked Yoko.

“Only if it’s an emergency,” said Fireball. “Oh, and if you need to pursue, don’t split up. While I trust you to be professional, Ms. Belnades, there’s a bit of a liability issue when it comes to mercenaries.”

“I get that,” said Yoko.

Fireball nodded. “Good.” He stretched. “Well, after seven is my night off. I’m going to bed.”

X

(8:05 pm)

Ping. Ping.

Agent Dragon spun around on the concrete sidewalk. “I felt something,” she said, pointing in the direction where she felt the pulses. “Resonance, two hits.”

“Is it close?” asked Cowboy, taking out his phone and unlocking it with a press of his left thumb. They’d practiced this before in case the mystery assailant from the other night came back.

“No.”

“Ignore the first thirty meters, then.” Cowboy pulled up a map on his phone, double-checked Dragon’s position, and drew a thick line on the map. “You can stop pointing now.”

Dragon peered at the map. The line cut through a few buildings, mostly offices, although there was a community center and a library. “They were standing on the ground,” she added.

“Right, earth affinity,” said Cowboy, sending the map to the group chat. He cocked his head. “I was wondering about that. If they’re indoors, would that mean the ground floor or just the basement?”

“Both, for some reason.”

“But why?”

Dragon sighed. “Let’s not get started on this. If people think it’s ground, it’s ground. That includes basements and any floor where you can walk through a door onto solid ground.”

“Okay, but how does that make any—”

“Why do sidewalks count but not statues if they’re both made of concrete?” snapped Dragon. “Why can I feel people wearing shoes? Riding bicycles? Why does snow stop me but not ice? It doesn’t make any sense, Cowboy, and complaining to me won’t change that!”

“…All right,” said Cowboy.

There was a pause.

“…My guess is that he’s either in the library or the community center,” said Dragon. “I’ll take the library, you take the community center, and we meet here when we’re done.” She tapped an alleyway on the line.  

“Just scream if you find him,” said Cowboy.

“Oh, you’ll hear screams, all right,” said Dragon.

X

(8:07 pm)

The best part about being hired to spy on someone is that you get paid by the hour. The second best part is that you can get reimbursed for any coffee or snacks consumed during the stakeout. The third best part is that if you sit down in an awkward position for too long, your legs fall asleep. The fourth best part is having to dress in layers and keep putting them on and taking them off without making a sound, the fifth is having to constantly snap yourself out of boredom so you can properly pay attention and stop ignoring the obvious, and the list continues all the way down to the absolute worst: the boredom itself.

Yoko and Lily set themselves up on the roof of a neighboring building, watching Madam Pain’s apartment building. Not much had happened so far. Madam Pain and her gang arrived around quarter past seven; the newest kid had a conversation with Madam Pain that Lily and Yoko were too far away to hear, but it looked like a love confession that the Madam politely rejected. Then they all left somewhere together; Lily and Yoko had followed them eagerly, until it turned out that they were just going to the park and the grocery store.

The only noteworthy intel was that the dog familiar belonged to the now second-newest member, the one with dyed hair whose name Lily said was Lu. The dog had jumped out the window to meet him.

After that, though, the only other thing that happened was the discussion over whether to move closer, risking discovery at the cost of not being able to hear, or to stay where they were (they stayed hidden where they were).

“How long should we be doing this?” Yoko whispered to Lily. “Is this all night, or until we see something interesting?”

“Bored?” said Lily.

“I get paid by the hour, so it’s your loss,” said Yoko. “Do wait until daybreak, or until we reasonably assume that they’ve gone to bed? And do we keep doing this during the day?”

“Until our shift ends,” said Lily. “After that, though, that’s up to Fireball.” He sighed. “In my experience, something will either happen right away or in a few years. There’s not much in between.”

The door to the compound roof opened. A figure dressed all in black emerged, wearing a backpack. “Right on cue,” said Lily, aiming his binoculars. “That’s… Madam Pain. What is she up to?”

“Should we pursue?” said Yoko as Madam Pain ran towards a rooftop and leapt.

“I’m not sure,” said Lily. “On one hand, she’s their leader, but on the other, this would mean leaving the building unattended, and I would suspect she’s acting as a decoy, except… and now she’s decided for us.” He closed his eyes. “My eye in the sky can’t see her anymore. Too dark.”

Yoko looked around. “All right, if Sei comes out, we pursue, agreed?”

“Or the kid with the dog,” said Lily.

“Or the kid with the familiar.”

X

(8:34 pm)

Dragon pushed open the back door of the library, where Cowboy was waiting.

“Didn’t find anything?” he said, pulling himself from the alley wall.

“Nothing,” said Dragon through gritted teeth. She began to walk down the alley, and Cowboy followed.

“No more pulses, either?”

“No.”

“It’s been almost half an hour since you sensed him,” said Cowboy. “He’s probably long gone.”

“What can we do, stop?” snapped Dragon.

“And actually finish our patrol on time?” said Cowboy.

“This is our patrol,” said Dragon. “We’re out looking for trouble, wherever it goes. What, do we not investigate if it’s too far from our route?”

“Yeah, yeah,” grumbled Cowboy. “Ooh, look, Dragon! It’s a whole lot of nothing!”

Dragon instinctively glanced in the direction of his vague flourish, and stopped. “I wouldn’t call that nothing, Cowboy.” Dragon shined her light on the wall. “Rather thick spiderweb design, wouldn’t you say?”

 “…Shit, you’re right,” said Cowboy.

Technically, the spiderweb design was what Dragon would call nothing. That is to say, the thick, curved lines were visible by the absence of splattered mud, as if someone had applied a stencil and then spray-painted the wall with filth.

“Kinda looks like graffiti, doesn’t it?” said Cowboy.

Dragon crept closer. “Mud splatter lines are angled, all facing the same direction,” she said. “Sort of what you’d get if you drove a motorcycle through a puddle.”

“What kind of idiot would drive a motorcycle through a crooked alley?” said Cowboy.

“Nobody, idiot,” said Dragon. “I meant it looks like something came through fast enough to spray water on the walls, like a motorcycle.”

“And since there’s no sign of anyone crashing, it’s probably magic,” said Cowboy. “You said he used his powers twice, right? Maybe the spiderweb was one, and this was the other.”

“That would explain the two pulses,” said Dragon.

“Which only leaves the question of what he was doing, why he was doing it, and where he went.”

The two Agents stared at the wall.

“…Yeah, I got nothing,” said Cowboy.

“Me neither,” sighed Dragon.

“And you can’t sense when he’s just running around,” said Cowboy.

“Nope,” sighed Dragon. “Only when he’s casting.”

“Even when he’s blatantly using magical speed and strength to run away.”

“Yup. Can’t feel passive magical effects.”

“That’s stupid,” said Cowboy. “What’s the difference?”

“One affects the world around them, the other affects only themselves,” said Dragon.

“But the body is part of the world, so why is that any different?” said Cowboy.

Dragon turned around to face him. “…We’re really doing this now?” said Dragon. “Cowboy, this is an active murder investigation!”

“If it helps, it helps,” said Cowboy.

“All right, fine,” grumbled Dragon. “The way Lily puts it, humans are like bubbles floating around in a sea of souls, what we call the Collective Unconscious. That’s where our power comes from.”

“So what, your power comes from dreams?” said Cowboy.

“I’m getting to that,” said Dragon. “If you think of the sea of souls as a literal ocean, it’s like the water’s made of magic. Whenever I call my Persona, it’s like I’m draining some of the water around me and spitting it back out into the real world. And before you ask, this isn’t the source of all magic, just some of it. Also, it won’t ever run out. Don’t ask why.”

“And we’re all floating around in magic, but can’t feel it,” said Cowboy. “Is this aether all over again?”

“Listen, do you want to know how my powers work, or do you want to keep interrupting me?” snapped Dragon. “You’re the one who asked!”

“…Fine, I’ll shut up,” said Cowboy.

“Good,” said Dragon. “On some level, I can always feel the ocean. If someone nearby summons their Persona, I can feel the water drain in their direction. The closer they are or the more water they drain, the stronger the pull. That’s Resonance.”

Cowboy made a ‘go on’ gesture.

“The thing is, I can only see the ocean, not the other bubbles,” Dragon continued. “No matter how weird or magical someone’s bubble might be, it doesn’t affect the ocean, I can’t feel it.”

“And what kind of weird or magical things happen inside of these bubbles?”

Dragon paused. “If you really want to know, ask Lily, but if I remember correctly, he says that everyone has a little bit of water in their bubbles. When we got our Personas, it was like the water inside of us changed shape, and that gave us weird traits and powers.”

“Such as?”

“Lily can throw a dandelion through sheet metal, Reaper can see in the dark, and I can do a flying side-kick through concrete even though I’ve never taken a karate class in my life.”

“Wait, you’re telling me that you’ve been cheating this whole time?”

“You skipped through years of fire magic training because of a magical gem in your arm. How is this any different?”

“…Fine. Continue.”

“The point is that even though all these traits are clearly magical, and the cause is the same magic soul water, I can’t feel the water inside their bubbles because it doesn’t affect the medium I use to sense magic.” Dragon stretched. “Get it now?”

“Got it.”

There was a pause.

“…That still doesn’t really help us find him,” said Cowboy.

Dragon threw her hands up. “You’re impossible.”

Cowboy ignored her, and continued along the alley. “Eh, you go tell the others what we saw. I’ll keep…huh?”

His light fell upon a small lean-to constructed from tarp and pipes.

“Something’s wrong.”

Dragon looked up from her phone. “What now?”

“Who would abandon their shelter on a night like this?” said Cowboy. “Unless… no. That bastard…”

“What’s wrong?”

“Look, Dragon. Only a child could fit inside.” He removed his gloves and stuck his hand inside. “Dry, but not warm. Whoever lives here has been gone for a while.” He spun around. “We need to leave now.”

“Just a sec.”

“This is no time to be looking at your phone!”

“You think I don’t care?” snapped Dragon. “If we really want to help, the best place we can be is right here. Unless we know exactly where this guy went, running off will only get us farther away. Raging at the world won’t make things go faster.”

“But we can’t just do nothing!”

“We’re not,” said Dragon. “We’re—hey, what’s this?” She peered closer at her phone. “Looks like I missed this earlier. It’s from Peony.”

X

(8:37 pm)

Peony liked Seal most out of all the other Agents, so it was a shame that they were rarely paired up. Peony’s healing magic was best spent on less careful fighters like Cowboy, and since Seal’s Yuki-Onna heritage gave him the power to control but not create ice, he usually needed Pine, who could. So Peony treasured what little time she could spend with the coworker who listened to her the most.

On a night like this, there was ice everywhere, so they could finally work together again.

“A camera, eh?” said Seal.

Peony nodded. “We might not be able to catch them this time, but the next for sure!”

“Sensible,” said Seal. “But what would we regret more? If we didn’t take the opportunity to stop the killer now? Or if we let them slip away with no means to find them later?”

Peony froze. “I…”

Seal froze back. “I… sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t trying to be passive-aggressive. That was a genuine question.”

Peony unfroze. “I… yes, I see what you mean,” she said.

Seal was about to respond, when a shout echoed across the winter sky. “You—you understand?! I ate his brains!”

Seal and Peony stopped. “You hear that?” said Seal.

Peony pointed. “It came from over there.”

“There is no innocent explanation for that,” said Seal.

“A particularly enthusiastic set of actors doing a midnight outdoor rehearsal?” suggested Peony.

“Still worth checking out,” said Seal.

“Fair enough.”

They hurried to the source, as a new voice broke through the rain.

“Stop!” cried the second voice. “This is slavery and you know it.”

“You still think that’s an actor?” said Seal.

Peony didn’t respond. She just took out her phone and hit the button that sent ‘We found something; gather at my location’, as well as the location itself, to everyone in the group chat.

It was embarrassing, really; where other peoples’ suggestions during meetings were things like elaborate attack maneuvers or better training methods, Peony’s contributions were things like adding a function for prewritten text messages and encouraging everyone to carry disposable cameras.

More voices, too low to hear. Seal signaled Peony to climb a nearby fire escape while he circled around.

“Don’t you realize what you’re doing!?” The second voice again. “This is your freedom!”

From her vantage point, Peony could spot three figures on a wide, flat rooftop. A girl in a middle school uniform stood among an array of heating units, swatting the arm of a grey-clad hooded figure twice her size. Then she turned to face a second, shorter hooded figure in brown, who fell to their knees in apparent pain.

I… I have no idea what I’m looking at. Who’s attacking who?

Peony took out her camera anyways and started to focus the lens. But before she could take the shot, Seal struck.

X

(8:38 pm)

“It’s from Peony,” said Dragon. “She found something.”

“Where?” asked Cowboy, anger cooled.

“She sent the location in the group chat; check your phone,” said Dragon. “They’ve probably already engaged, so we’d better hurry.”

While Cowboy took out his phone, Dragon examined the map for the fastest route. After all, most GPS systems didn’t include rooftop parkour routes—

A tingle of magic ran down Dragon’s spine, rooting her to the ground. “What the—”

“Who’s there!?” cried Cowboy.

An invisible force yanked the phone from their hands, tossing them to the top of a fire escape. Dragon cursed in Cantonese.

“Now what are we supposed to do?!” said Cowboy.

“Wait for it to wear off, then beat the crap out of whoever did this to us!” snapped Dragon.

“For once, we agree!”

X

(8:41 pm)

The tall figure in grey leapt over Seal’s wave of ice, but the wave crashed full force into his companion in brown, who crumpled. But before Seal could celebrate his victory, Tall Grey threw fireballs in every direction. Seal responded by curling his wave around him in a protective shell. It held up nicely against the fire, extinguishing the flames on contact.

“Put your hands up!” shouted Seal. “This is the police! Get away from that girl!”

Tall Grey paused for a moment, but instead of surrendering, responded with a second wave of fireballs.

Seal lashed at the fireballs with his whips of ice. Honestly, once you got through the initial shock of having a fireball thrown at you, they were so slow he could just let the rain extinguish—

 “Freeze.”

Seal’s limbs locked up, and his arcs of ice collapsed. His eyes scanned the rooftop for the source of the voice, and found none other than the girl, who was holding her brown-clad tormentor in her lap.

“Forgot about me, did you?” said the girl. But she wasn’t speaking to him; Tall Grey dropped next to her, and they started a low conversation that Seal was too far to hear.

Seal’s eyes flickered to Peony’s hiding spot. He bit back the instinct to yell at her to get away; all that would do was blow her cover. Silently, he watched as Tall Grey peeled their companion from the girl’s arms, pulling them into a shoulder carry.

A flash of light, from the other side of the roof. Peony, the damn fool, had taken the shot.

“Peony, run!” Seal screamed, but it was too late.

Still carrying Short Brown, Tall Grey had already leapt towards her with unnatural speed and grace, cornering her on the fire escape. It was hard to tell from this angle, but Peony appeared to kick Tall Grey between the legs, and took the moment of distraction to—

And suddenly Tall Grey was standing on the roof again. They said something to the girl, picked her up along with Short Brown, and ran off into the drizzling night.

“Peony!” shouted Seal. “Are you okay?!”

Peony turned around, then looked down. “What… what just happened? Oh!” She ran towards Seal, hopping carefully from the fire escape to the roof. “Are you hurt?” she asked, relieving him of the paralysis spell.

“That’s my line,” said Seal.

“They broke my phone and camera,” she said, pointing to the fire escape. “I couldn’t get a good look at their face, though.”

“Never mind about their face, did they hurt you?!”

“He… didn’t even touch me,” she said. “But why?”

“Who knows?” said Seal. He took out his phone. “He went that way, right? I’m going to tell the others.”

Two suspects: Tall wearing Grey and Short wearing Brown, menacing a middle school girl, he wrote. Ran away with supernatural speed and strength.

“But they ran away together,” said Peony. “If they were menacing her, why would she go with them?”

“I suspect a kidnapping,” said Seal. “And even if she did run, where would she go? With us? They wiped us out in seconds, Peony; she’s not going to be safe with us.”

“I… I guess,” said Peony uncertainly.

“Besides, it’s not a total loss,” said Seal. “We might not have caught them, but now the others know!” He stretched. “If anything, this proves you’re right, Peony.”

“About this not being a kidnapping?” said Peony hopefully.

“No, what we were talking about earlier,” said Seal. “What’s better, using this chance to try to take them down now, or make it easier for our comrades to take them down later?”

“Ah. That.”

“Two people alone weren’t strong enough to take them down, but we’re not just two people,” said Seal. “We’re a team. And we help each other.”

X

(8:58 pm)

Dragon punched the wall. “Show yourself!” she shouted.

“Can’t you sense footsteps?” said Cowboy. As soon as the paralysis spell wore off, he lit a small ball of fire to warm himself. Of course, since this was Cowboy, a small fire quickly became a big one, which Dragon had to smother with dirt.

“Cowboy, if I could sense footsteps, I’d go deaf.”

“That doesn’t—”

“Not now, Cowboy!”

Cowboy took the hint. He walked away and knelt at the makeshift shelter. “Whatever that was, it only attacked us when we took out our phones,” said Cowboy. “Somebody doesn’t want us reporting our findings.”

Their phone cases were cracked, and they’d been sitting out in the rain for longer than either of them would have liked, but the phones themselves still appeared functional. 

Dragon cocked her head. “You think there’s something else here?”

“There has to be,” said Cowboy.

“And now who’s the one wasting patrol time?” said Dragon.

“Zip it, Dragon.”

“And how do you know it’s the phones?” said Dragon. “It could be a decoy to stop us from patrolling.”

“Do you actually believe that, or do you just want to argue?”

“Do you want to solve this case, or do you just want to be right?”

The two agents glared at each other.

Dragon turned away. “We shouldn’t be working together.”

“Good. One of us had to say it.”

“I’m serious, Cowboy. You need someone who can hold you back, not fight you down.”

Cowboy growled. “You think you know me?”

“Because I’m the same way.” Dragon turned around. “Let’s split up. You look for clues, and I’ll patrol. I’ll be back in an hour, to make sure you haven’t cocked it up.”

X

(9:37 pm)

The projector was supposed to be used for Agency business only, but Agent Fireball saw nothing wrong with repurposing it for recreational use.

“Reginald, you need to be honest!” declared Traff.  

Reginald shook his head. “I… I can’t,” he said. “What if this ruins everything between us?”

“And what if it doesn’t?” said Traff. “Nothing’s going to change if you don’t say anything.”

“And what if that’s what I want!?” cried Reginald. “What if I don’t want things to change?!”

Agent Wolf walked by with a large matcha cream crepe, saw that the image on the wall wasn’t just another slideshow, and paused. “Okay, what’s that?”

“It’s a show called Comrades,” said Fireball. “The rich-looking dude on the left is Lord Reginald Eugenia Jeanette Felix du Urfit, Count of Urfit. That’s Traff Flicker on the right; she used to be an actuary until she was busted for insurance fraud last season, and the court ruled that she had to become a nun.”

“I… see,” said Wolf. “Is that how nuns work?”

“No.”

Just then, Evvy walked in!

“And who’s that?” said Wolf.

“That’s Dr. Evvy Surrate, a mob surgeon and Reginald’s best friend despite the vast difference in social standing,” said Reginald.

“Oh, h-hello there, Evvy,” said Reginald.

“Reginald here has something to confess,” said Traff, arms crossed.

“Evvy, dear, I… I…”

“He’s going to say it!” said Fireball, vibrating in excitement.

“I worship Szuul, the Soul-Devouring Serpent God of Death!”

Agent Fireball lay back in his seat smugly. “Called it.”

“I worship Szuul, and I’ve been sacrificing people upon his unholy altar for years!” cried Reginald. “So… so if you have a problem with that, I…”

“Reginald…” said Evvy.

“I’d… I’d… I’d have to kill you and eat your heart!”

“Reginald, it’s fine. I also worship Szuul,” said Evvy. “In fact, I’m the High Priestess of her cult in the next town over!”

“Really?!” said Reginald.

“Wait, I thought you just had a crush on Evvy!” cried Traff.

“Well, yes, that too,” said Reginald. He got down on one knee. “Evvy, will you marry me?”

“Yes, of course!” said Evvy. “And we have everything we need to hold the ceremony right here!”

Evvy then proceeded to strangle Traff, and then she and Reginald ritually carved out her heart and ate it together.

“What the hell just happened?” said Wolf.

Fireball paused the video. “Okay, so at the time of production, Traff’s actress was also filming Lilies Strewn Across the Waves, so killed her character off so she had time to shoot. But my wife says she’s in the current season, so maybe she comes back as a ghost? Anyways, Reginald rarely appears onscreen at night, and when he does, he’s usually busy, so I figured that he was probably—”

X

(9:51 pm)

Dragon dropped down to the alleyway where her partner was waiting. “Finished the first round,” she said. “So what did you find? The murder weapon? A handwritten confession?”

“…Not now, Dragon,” said Cowboy. His tone was somber, enough to make Dragon pause.

“Are… are you all right?” she asked.

“Of course not!” shouted Cowboy. “Look at this!” He pointed at the inside of the tent.

“That’s… a toothbrush?” said Dragon.

“There was a child, living on the streets, doing the best they could with nothing,” said Cowboy. “And because we couldn’t make it in time, that child is gone! Taken to God knows where, and we couldn’t help!”

There were tears in his eyes.

Dragon looked away. “…I can’t comfort you,” she said. “If you need someone to talk to, I can’t be that person. And if you need someone to yell at, I won’t be that person.”

“…Fair enough,” said Cowboy. He punched the ground. “It’s just… why? What’s the point in having these powers if we can’t save the—”

A streak of sour light rushed across Dragon’s consciousness. “It’s him!”

“Who—”

“The guy who attacked us on the hill!” said Dragon. “The guy who was here earlier! I feel him!”

“More Resonance?” said Cowboy. “Where did you feel it?”

“It’s… still going?” said Dragon. “And… he’s not touching the ground?”

Cowboy got out his phone map. “All right, let’s see what he’s up to.”

X

(10:01 pm)

Yoko and Lily watched with envy as Madam Pain’s gang assembled a blanket fort in their large, dry apartment building. Their rain jackets kept out the cold, dripping rain, but water was beginning to pool around their hiding spot.

“Can I ask you something, Yoko?” said Lily suddenly.

“As long as you keep it down, sure.”

“Why do you let me take the lead?” said Lily. “You’ve been in this field longer than I have. Is it not frustrating, deferring to a junior agent?”

Yoko looked around. “Mostly, it’s legal reasons,” she began. “You may be a rookie, but you still have the Agency’s authority. I don’t. I can’t legally act in the Agency’s name without an agent’s explicit permission; that’s why my contract says I’m only assisting you in your duties.” She sighed. “Suffice to say, it took a ton of lawyers to get that approved.”

“That doesn’t sound particularly… viable, not as a legal defense,” said Lily. “What if I lie and claim that you defied orders?”

“I take precautions,” said Yoko breezily. “I mentioned the lawyers, didn’t I?”

“And what guarantee do I get that you won’t lie and screw me over?”

“Technically, none,” said Yoko. “But if I earn a reputation for screwing people over, I’ll never work again.”

“…I understand.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.” Lily did not hesitate.

“There’s a story there, isn’t there?”

“Yes.” Lily did not elaborate.

“…I won’t pry.”

The rain continued to fall.

X

(10:39 pm)

“I’ve got eyes on the fire,” said Ninja from atop her rooftop perch.

Towering plumes of smoke rose from the apartment, mingling with the rainclouds above. Tongues of orange flame licked the windows, as if screaming defiance at the frozen rain. Firefighters were already on the scene, and the streets were full of people huddling together under blankets.

Reaper whistled. “That’s some fire. Maybe we should—”

BOOM.

A boulder-sized lump shot out of a window, glass shards glittering in the firelight. Reaper raised his arms, but before he could do anything, the lump vanished in a flash of fire.

A split second later, another flash of fire appeared on a neighboring rooftop, revealing a large man with dark (but not black) hair. He doubled over, clutching his bleeding arm.

“Now, let’s not jump to any—”

The man shouted something in a language Reaper didn’t recognize, and shot fire at the building.

“If that’s not the arsonist, I didn’t eat my pet dog,” said Ninja. “Going ahead with the plan.”

“Got it,” said Reaper.

Ninja hid behind an HVAC, phone out. We found something; gather at my location. Then she added, arsonist.

“Hey!” shouted Reaper. “Hey, you!”

The man turned around and shot fire at him, which Reaper easily deflected with water. “Please go away!” the man roared at Reaper, throwing a pillar of fire at him. “You are inconveniencing me terribly and I humbly ask you to leave!”

Reaper goggled.

Then he got a closer look at the man’s face. Ah. Foreigner. And don’t most Japanese textbooks for foreigners start with polite, formal language?

“You’re under arrest!” Reaper shouted back. “Please tell me you understand that,” he muttered.

“Forgive my impertinence, but I must decline!” the arsonist screamed at him, throwing more fire at him.

Reaper called upon Hades, and a deluge of water fell upon the rooftop. “You’re no match for me!” he cried. “You really think it’s a good idea to fight a water wizard in the rain?”

The arsonist growled at him. He pointed to the side and hurled several bolts of fire in quick succession.

“Missed me,” said Reaper.

“I implore you to take a closer look,” smirked the arsonist.

There was a scream. Reaper spun around; flames burst from a nearby window.

“Tonight is a wet and cold night,” said the arsonist. “But gentleman and ladies like their houses warm and dry.” And then he laughed, throwing another wave of bolts at a different window. The first shot shattered the frozen window with temperature shock, allowing the next few shots to hit the interior.

“Shit!” cried Reaper, sending a wave of water through the broken window.

“I advise you to attend to these houses,” cackled the arsonist, shooting more fire at another building.

“Not likely!” shouted Ninja, jumping out of her hiding spot, her hands full of knives. “Steel Hell of the Ninth Chamb—”

The arsonist shot fire at her, but she dodged and threw her knives. But the movement was enough to spoil her aim; by the time she skidded to a halt, he had already teleported one rooftop away.

“You put out the fires, and I’ll skin that bastard!” shouted Ninja. “The ghosts of my past will not forgive me unless I shed his blood!”

“No, wait!” shouted Reaper. “You’re not fireproof, Ninja!”

“…Damnit, you’re right,” said Ninja. She took out her phone. “You keep putting out the fires; I’ll tell the others which way he went.”

X

(10:45 pm)

It took Dragon’s senses, Cowboy’s careful mapping, and a lot of triangulation, but the two agents finally managed to figure out that the Mystery Assailant was headed in a straight line towards the edge of the city.

“And he’ll have to pass by this baseball field!” said Cowboy, tapping second base with his foot. “Perfect spot for an ambush.”

“Perfect?” said Dragon. “Cowboy, there’s no cover.”

“And there’s nothing flammable, either,” said Cowboy. “Metal fence, steel benches, and lots of wet sand.”

“And we’re surrounded by grass,” said Dragon.

“Wet grass,” said Cowboy.

“Wet grass that will dry if—”

pingpingpingPingPingPingPi—

“He’s coming!” shouted Dragon, running towards the source of the Resonance.

PingPingPINGPINGPINGPINGPINGPINGPINGPINGPingPingpingpingping—

“He’s getting away!” Cowboy shouted back.

“Shut up and run!”

They didn’t have far to run, as it turned out. Mystery Assailant halted at the edge of the park, looking down at them from atop one of the warehouses. From the glow of the industrial lamps, they could see that he was tall, and wore grey.

“Same guy Seal warned us about,” said Dragon. “But where’re his—”

Cowboy didn’t seem to be listening. He rushed forward and shot a fireball at Tall Grey, shouting, “It’s over!”

Tall Grey slid out of the way, sauntering gently around the next dozen fireballs he threw.

“Watch and learn, idiot,” said Dragon, summoning her Persona and hurling a rock at Tall Grey. Tall Grey rolled out of the way, but she was prepared for that; she aimed a second, a third, a fourth, and a fifth rock where he was about to be. All evaded, but more sloppily than before.

Good; keep up the pressure, said Venus. Wear them down. It’s fine if you miss, you’re already killing their stamina.

Tall Grey stood up to their full height, silhouetted against the dark sky. Power surged through them; Dragon recognized a powerful spell, and braced for impact—

Then he vanished.

“The hell?!” shouted Cowboy.

A piercing whistle broke the silence, and Dragon and Cowboy whirled around. Tall Grey was perched atop one of the park’s streetlights.

“He’s toying with us,” said Cowboy. “NOBODY TOYS WITH ME!” he shouted, hurling another fireball, which was (predictably) dodged; Tall Grey dropped to the ground, feet-first.

Another surge of power. Another whistle, this time back on the roof.

“You can feel when he does that, right?” said Cowboy.

“I can tell where he leaves, but not where he arrives,” said Dragon through gritted teeth.

“Close enough,” said Cowboy. “Let’s go!”

X

(11:27 pm)

But then, there was a knock at the front door! It was Robin Yu! “Guys!” they said. “I know who the murderer is.”

“And how do you know that?” said Evvy.

The room filled with spooky purple light. “Because I was murdered last night!”

Cue credits.

“And I think that’s enough for one night,” said Fireball, stretching.

“But why did the laser fail at the last second?” said Wolf.

“You forget that the Grand Lars Senner was a stage magician,” said Fireball.

“And the alignment of the stars going wrong?” said Wolf.

“The prophecy was given in a different hemisphere,” explained Fireball.

“And Dr. Irving Sub-Influenza catching the inconsistencies in the tax reports?”

“His doctorate is in accounting,” said Fireball.

“Huh,” said Wolf.

Fireball yawned. “I’m going to bed. Good night, Agent Wolf.”

X

(12:45 am)

One of the apartment doors opened, stirring Yoko out of her boredom-induced stupor. The boy with dyed hair stomped out, his arms full of Shiba Inu. He was not wearing a shirt.

“He looks angry,” said Lily, staring through his binoculars. “And that dog again. Madam Pain, I get, but what’s he—hide!”

The dog familiar squirmed and yipped, and Lu looked up. Yoko and Lily ducked, but it was too late—Lu had already started running.

“Are we chasing him?” asked Yoko.

“Yes,” said Lily, leaping after him.

It took almost no time at all for them to corner him in a nearby alley; Lu wasn’t a particularly fast runner, and he was carrying a medium sized dog.

“Leave me alone!” he shouted. The dog curled around his neck like a scarf, something Shiba Inu were not known to do.

“Lu, was it?” said Lily. “We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“I’m not telling you shit,” growled Lu. “There’s only so much that—” Midsentence, he threw something at the ground with both hands, and the alleyway filled with blisteringly cold mist.

Instinctively, Yoko shielded herself and Lily with fire, creating a thick, wet haze where it met the mist. A door creaked open, then slammed shut.

“I’m going to disperse the mist,” said Lily. “Keep your fire up; I need warm air to neutralize it.”

“Got it,” said Yoko.

“Chronos!” called Lily. A gentle breeze fanned Yoko’s flames into a towering blaze, then ripped them apart into red-hot streamers. “That should be enough,” he said once the temperature reached something resembling the inside of a fridge rather than a flash freezer.

“Neat trick,” said Yoko, dispelling her fire.

“Can’t blow it away with people around, and there’s not enough space to scatter it safely,” said Lily. “Neutralizing it is the only option.”

“You’ve done this before?” said Yoko.

“The trick with the fire, you mean?” said Lily. “Yes. It’s not the most efficient way of heating a room, but if you’re in a hurry, it works.”

“With whom?” said Yoko. “Cowboy doesn’t the control, and Fireball doesn’t have the firepower. Who did you do this with?”

“…I’d rather not say,” said Lily.

Even though she didn’t see which door Lu used, she could hear it; she tried the same doorknob, only to find it was frozen solid. Her wet hand stuck to it; when she heated her hand to release it, the metal cracked. She twisted the broken doorknob again, and found that Lu didn’t bother to lock the door behind him.

Then when she opened the door, she found that he didn’t need to.

Yoko knew ice. She’d sculpted its form since childhood, making little crystals grow into sparkling shapes. Now that she was older, throwing javelins of ice was her favorite attack.

Yoko knew cold. She’d spent winters in the mountains of Romania, playing in the forests with her Belmont cousins.

This wasn’t ice. This wasn’t cold. This was an endless void, quiet and patient, slowly devouring every scrap of warmth in the world.

Yoko blasted fire into the hungry maw of primordial winter, but it was like trying to stop an avalanche with a toaster oven. Crystals of delicate frost began to spiderweb along the wall and ground; only by Lily’s cry did she avoid getting stuck to the ground.

“Don’t follow me,” Lu’s voice echoed from the open door, his voice distorted unnaturally low in the cold. “I’m warning you. If you get too close, you will freeze to death.”