It was dark, so dark. Darker than the darkest black. It absorbed the light around it, writhing and squirming like a living thing. Its nebulous, roiling form was terrifyingly hideous and primal, out of place in the modern streets of Japan.
But as soon as the shadow in its riding suit grabbed the thing, it began to blend into the scenery with an eerie awfulness.
The object in the shadow’s hands was a dark, sunken hole in the midst of the night, an unmistakable symbol of death to anyone who saw it.
It was an enormous, double-sided scythe, nearly as long as the shadow was tall.
✦ ✦ ✦
✦ ✦ ✦
—KANRA HAS ENTERED THE CHAT—
<I got disconnected. I dunno, my connection’s been crap all day, so I’m just gonna go to bed.>
[Night.]
{What about the rest of the story? And who’s Dotachin…?}
<I’ll tell you later. Heh, oh, but one last thing.>
✦ ✦ ✦
The thug was truly trapped now.
There was no escape from the interior of the parking garage.
He didn’t know what happened to the leader. He was not a bold enough man to stand around sussing out the details in a situation like that after what he’d just witnessed. On the other hand, he didn’t see that giant scythe anymore. It occurred to him that it might’ve been nothing more than an illusion, but the answer was irrelevant to his circumstances at the moment, and he pushed the thought from his mind.
✦ ✦ ✦
A powerful kick caught him on the neck. It sounded like something snapped, but there didn’t appear to be anything wrong with the bone. Instead, the pain of a terrible stiff shoulder, concentrated into one acute spot, throbbed at the base of his neck.
But at this point, that detail mattered very little to the thug.
“Um, um, hang on, please, ple…please…p-p-puh-please, just hang on a second.” The polite, pathetic stammering of one who is already beaten.
He knew what was happening to him. His senses were still unnerved and uneven, as though trapped in a dream, but the base, instinctual fear kept his mind locked into place and aware.
What he didn’t understand was the reason. What was this shadow? What had he done to deserve this experience?
The most likely answer had to do with the job. Danger was an occupational fact of life, and enemies were a natural result. But those enemies were usually the police or mobsters or perhaps the targets of the job: illegal immigrants and runaway kids.
He knew the risks, and he conducted his job with the proper attention to potential danger. But the shadow in the riding suit was completely outside the realm of expectations, and he had no idea how to react. He’d quickly lost the best and safest option—retreat—and was now trapped on all sides.
The only options he could think of were going down in flames or surrendering, but neither was a real choice as long as he could not grasp the enemy’s intentions. Desperate for any means of survival, the thug wheedled and begged in his most pitiful whine. Perhaps using his voice was the only way to avoid being overtaken by fear entirely.
“P-please…spare me, you got the wrong guy, I didn’t do nothin’, forgive me, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”
He bowed and scraped, covered in goose bumps, as though faced by a yakuza with his gun drawn. In contrast, the shadow simply stood silently as the thug shattered the illusion of his menacing appearance. It seemed to be searching for something—then abruptly turned its back on the thug and walked toward a van in the middle of the garage.
It was the kind of vehicle that often drove past Ikebukuro Station in the dead of night, rear windows tinted black, contents completely inscrutable to the outside.
The shadow walked straight for the van with unmistakable purpose, apparently seeing right through the black mirror.
Huh? Wha?! Oh, shit!
It was their “work” van. He still didn’t know what the shadow wanted, but this made it clear the thing was after them. There were plenty of other vehicles in the garage, but it was heading straight for their car.
Wait! No, not that! Anything but that!
The thug’s brain froze cold at the shadow’s unpredictable actions. He’d been filled with a kind of primal fear at the presence of the shadow, but there was an entirely different kind of fear welling up in him now.
Aaaah, aaah, aaah! Wait, wait, waitwaitwait! You can’t look in that van—we’ll be done for! Shit, man, what do I do? What do I do? Shitshitshitshitshit—what is that? What is that thing?!
Two opposing fears wrestled for space in his conscious mind—the terror of the unreal sight and a much more grounded, realistic kind of fear.
If someone sees into that car, forget the police. I’ll get buried!
His legs trembled even harder at the thought of his murdered corpse being disposed of in the forests at the foot of Mount Fuji.
There’s gotta be something. Something I can use to murder that Kamen Rider freak…
The thug desperately searched for a way out of his situation now that he had ironically conquered his momentary fear of the shadow. What caught his eye was what he’d driven to the garage to report for work—his convertible.