Morning came soon enough, as did the inevitable night. During that time, Setsura’s investigations led him nowhere fast.
Galeen Nuvenberg, not to mention her employer, Tosuke Kokonori of the Shinjuku Restoration Society, were nowhere to be found. Their homes and offices were shuttered, with not a hint of life within. Proof of how fearsome an opponent Setsura could be.
Given enough time, he could ferret them out. But with only sixteen hours to work with, he was fighting a rising tide. He’d tracked down several of Kokonori’s underlings, but threats and intimidation notwithstanding, they didn’t know a thing either.
Nuvenberg’s incredible qi shielded her from even supernatural manhunting measures.
Yasukuni Avenue was as still as death. Nobody passed this way at night. The rain stopped. The moon came out. Though it too hardly seemed the same, the moonlight swirling around in a smoky specter. As if it was riding on the wind itself.
Which was entirely possible in Demon City.
As were the three mismatched figures standing next to the altar in front of the entrance to Hanazono Shrine, not far from the station.
The first was a naked woman, around five-foot seven. The second was a ten-foot-tall giant with an unnaturally small head. The third was a young man wearing an Inverness topcoat.
The woman’s right hand was secured to one of the columns. She wasn’t moving at all, secured there as if by some invisible power. Another naked woman lay at her feet. Her vacant eyes and incoherent mumblings identified her at a glance as a crazy person.
Fresh steel bound the woman’s wrists to the columns. Add to that the altar, the crazy woman—this all had the stench of some abominable black magic.
Not to mention the remaining two, Siegfried sporting Yamada’s head, and Gento Roran.
“He coming?” Siegfried asked. All the more surprising was his clear articulation. He had on a pair of jeans, but was naked from the waist up.
“Don’t know,” Gento said. “Perhaps tormenting this woman some more will make the time pass faster?”
The words had hardly left his mouth when Azusa writhed in wordless agony, the pain inflicted by the devil wires binding her. She groaned and arched her back, bending so far back as to expose the undersides of her arms, her breasts shaking.
The means invisible to the vacant eye, a crease dented the skin around her left nipple.
“Is Setsura going to show?” Gento said, not looking at her. “Yes?” Blood erupted around the nipple. “Or no?”
The nipple tore away and dropped to her feet. Crimson streaks lined her skin. Gento picked it up and pressed it against her mouth.
“This is yours. Good for nothing but a man’s pacifier. Suck on it yourself.”
Azusa clamped her mouth shut. But soon threw her head back, gasping for air. With a cruel and pitiless determination, Gento shoved in the severed nipple. His white fingers closed over her lips as she tried to spit it out. A trickle of red saliva dribbled from the corners of her mouth.
This was Gento Roran. The same somehow sorrowful young man who had seized Azusa and laid her on the mound and told her to speak with the earth. Growing up for him meant becoming a merciless demon.
Tears spilled from the corners of her eyes.
“Stop it,” came an unexpected voice from above him. Yamada’s head peered down, colored by unbridled disgust.
“Why should I?”
“Rather than tormenting the girl, consider why Setsura might not have arrived at this time. In five minutes, it will be eleven o’clock. And five or six minutes until it shows up. If Setsura doesn’t come, we will be in its sights.”
“Relax. Two servings should be enough.”
“You intend to leave her here?” asked the giant.
Gento glanced up at him with a puzzled expression.
“The woman is still good for something. Take her with you.”
“Hoh. So now you’re the one giving the orders?”
The two stared at each other. Ghastly currents flowed between them, ready to draw fresh blood at the slightest touch.
Gento whirled around. “He showed. I’m not the only naive one out tonight.”
Out of the darkness at the back of Yasukuni Avenue, reaching towards Kabuki-cho, the man casually strode through haunted moonlight, the black slicker as cool as a dream.
“How nice of you to show up,” Gento said, stepping away from Azusa.
Restrained by his accursed wires, the nipple remained in her mouth. Blood stained the underside of her left breast.
His field of vision taking in the entirety of the scene, the expressionless Setsura said, “Let the girl go.”
He was speaking as him.
“Out of the question. I can’t walk away empty-handed.”
“Mayumi-san took flight. From the seventh floor, no less.”
“How about that.”
“Do you think I am lying?”
“No. But if that is indeed the case, I can’t very well return her. A deal is a deal.”
Azusa screamed. The unearthly cry unleashed as her right nipple severed and the drizzle of blood again rained down onto the pavement.
“Move and it’ll be the eyes next. Or maybe even if you don’t. Just watch and don’t raise a fuss.”
“Stop it!” Azusa shouted in a near frenzy.
“Siegfried,” Gento said sharply. “Get to it.”
The giant moved. Toward Azusa. His hands traced a peculiar pattern in the air. Yamada’s Dimensional Blade severed the devil wires. Azusa collapsed to the ground.
“Son of a bitch.”
“Please. I am only doing what you want.”
The giant picked up Azusa and placed her on the altar. Setsura observed this unexpected turn of events without comment.
The giant slowly turned around. The wall of muscle, that enormous mass, swept towards him. A body like that imagined by the ancient Greek sculptors, marred by not a single scar.
The destructive power of the Dimensional Blade, that had twice pushed even Gento Roran to the limits, went without saying. This time, facing off against him and Gento might actually give Setsura the fight of his life.
But then—a shadow passed across the ground, a dark warp in the moonlight. Forgetting their mutual wager with life and death, they raised their heads and looked into the sky.
From somewhere far away a dog howled.
The moonlight swirled like a whirlpool. From within the outlines of the brilliant white orb arose the shape of a large bird, looming ever larger as it streaked toward the ground.
A pair of radiant red eyes, a hooked beak, the fierce beating of its wings reaching thirty feet across. A falcon.
For tonight was the night of the falcon.