He stepped to the side. Behind him, a white round table appeared. Sayaka smelled the sweet aroma of fragrant wood on the night breezes.
“I built these gardens for my wife, who came from a country of mountains and forests. Because, aside from a few touches of blue and green, the kingdom I ruled was known more for its vast deserts and wastelands.”
There were the unique resonances of a long-ago loss in the mask’s voice.
“You mean the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. That would make you Nebu—”
Sayaka closed her mouth before saying the rest of the name. Because the golden mask had held out a silver chalice in front of her eyes.
The aromatic scent assaulted her nostrils and burned a numbing path into the center of her brain. Sayaka took the chalice and raised it to her lips. The cool liquid slid down her throat.
“That is your favorite drink. Though this time the ingredients are slightly different.”
Sayaka felt a keen sense of surprise. But not one that connected that shock with “danger.”
“You should return.” The implacable voice of the mask seemed to come from far away. “Return to the you I know best. Remember. Remember the reason I came here. The reason I chose Demon City.”
Sayaka collapsed to the floor. The golden mask quickly moved closer to hold her up, then laid her down on the purple divan next to the table.
“And so the first step has been taken,” he said to no one. “Now we wait.”
Kyoya slipped out of the hall. From the effusive chatter, the guests had already put the death match behind them. He scanned the silent hallway but couldn’t see Sayaka anywhere.
“I guess I’d better give it a shot,” he muttered to himself.
The shadow that crossed his face reflected his confidence and determination. He closed his eyes tightly. The air around him froze in place. If anybody had come within a yard of him at this time, they’d have been hit with the equivalent of an electric shock, be knocked unconscious, and likely bodily thrown backwards.
Such was the state of his terrific mental concentration.
In this state of no-mind, Kyoya gripped Asura and stabbed it into the floor. The tip of the wooden sword buried itself in the marble. The sword didn’t chip or splinter.
“Nenpo lost shadow,” Kyoya murmured, and pulled out the sword.
No crack or fissure marred the floor. A shadow shaped like a willow leaf affixed itself there, outlining the tapered edge of the blade. Kyoya opened his eyes. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He didn’t pause to wipe it off, but reached into the pocket of his shirt and took out a single strand of hair.
“Sayaka’s. Lost shadow, find its owner.”
He brushed the strand of hair against the “willow leaf.” The shadow absorbed it and shot across the floor at high speed.
Kyoya gave it a three foot head start, then took off after it. This “nenpo lost shadow” was definitely headed where the man in the golden mask had last taken Sayaka. The shadow of Asura, having been imbued with Kyoya’s nen and assimilated a part of Sayaka, now turned into some kind of predatory animal.
Down a corridor lined with enormous statues—past a lake, the wind rippling the surface—where Sayaka had gone they went too. After running for five minutes, a wide long staircase rose up before Kyoya and the “lost shadow.”
They’d come to the foot of the staircase leading to the moon viewing terrace.
“Stop,” Kyoya told the lost shadow.
He stopped himself to collect his breath. In any other time or place, he would hardly be winded by a five-minute dash. His ragged fatigue was the result of creating the lost shadow. The focus and concentration required to animate even a two-dimensional object with pseudo-being and give it the ability to accomplish its purpose drew deeply on his mental and physical reserves.
Compared to that, the straightforward business of crossing swords with a demon knight was far and away less draining.
He took two and then three deep breaths, and was about to set off once again when a huge mass moved in front of him. In a flash, Kyoya jumped back ten feet, drawing Asura as he landed.
The staircase rose up in front of him. It was an imposing mass as well. But it wasn’t moving. Kyoya understood. It wasn’t the staircase, but an enemy at the top. A monster? No, not exactly. An evil presence, to be sure, but lacking that sense of living vitality that even a monster possessed.
Then what?
Kyoya focused his gaze. The flight of stairs rose fifteen feet above him. The very top rapidly warped and swayed. Something white struck the steps below, coursing down with terrific force.
Water.
He couldn’t have known at that instant, but the top of the stairs had become a wide pool. Water now poured down it. The raging currents had reached the middle of the flight of stairs, kicking up spray on each step, when a mountain of water welled up at the very top and plunged down at Kyoya.
It was water to be sure, but with this much force and speed behind it, even a heavyweight wrestler would have been reduced to all fours, scrambling like a baby before being swept away.
The crest of the wave rose up several feet above him. Asura sprang forth.
The blade tore through the wall of water. That rent traveled back up the stairs to its source, the parted waves turning at angles away from Kyoya’s head. The spray from the waves crashing to the floor around him stung his cheeks.
With a martial cry, like a canvas sail tearing in two, Kyoya swung Asura at the mass at the top of the stairs. He felt the swing connect. The massive thing reeled. And then that sense of presence winked out.
Kyoya brought Asura back to the en garde position, but the tip of the sword dropped down, becoming a crutch to prop himself up. The lost shadow and the battle that followed had used up his reserves of mental energy.
For a while, the formless enemy didn’t move. But were a new enemy with similar powers to come at him—
Kyoya held his breath, steeled himself against the vertigo that came from the lack of oxygen, and reinforced his nen.
He held it for five seconds more. Hardly sufficient, but it’d have to do for the time being. Leave the rest for later, and time should take care of it.
The water spilling down the stairs spread out in broad streams. Kyoya stomped through the puddles and set off running.