The Psyche Diver Trilogy: Demon Hunters (33 page)

“We have already lost two Psyche Divers to Kukai,” Kurogosho said, presumably for Hosuke’s benefit; his eyes remained fixed on the mummy.

“Oh yeah?”

“The first was a man called Tamura,” Enoh continued.

“The man you dove into.”

“The guy they found collapsed outside the burial chamber, right?”

“The same.”

“What happened to him?”

“Psyche Divers are able to generate a weak link between their mind and another, even without the use of a Psyche Converter.”

“Sure.”

“That was the task we had assigned Tamura outside the chamber. To test Kukai for mental activity.”

Hosuke nodded.

“According to the others with him, the accident occurred the moment Tamura began to forge this connection.”

“The accident?”

“Tamura began to scream, collapsing just moments later.”

Tamura’s scream. The scream that woke Jichi’ei the night of his death at Hanko’s hands.

“What happened to him?”

“We don’t know. His heart had stopped before he hit the ground. A monk appeared to have noticed the screams and was making his way over, so the men turned their focus to obtaining Kukai--after removing anything identifiable from Tamura, of course. Mt. Koya resuscitated him and you performed a dive into his mind.”

“You said there was another dead, another Diver.”

“Yes.”

“What happened then?”

“It was after we brought Kukai here. This time it was the moment we switched on the Psyche Converter to commence the dive.”

Hosuke raised an eyebrow.

“As before, the Diver screamed. He convulsed for a while, then stopped.”

“Did he die?”

“He survived for two days, finally dying on the third. I dare say that you may have ended up in his place had you had taken the job when you met Iba in Tateyama.” Enoh gave him a crooked grin.

“But, is it even possible to dive into Kukai like this?”

“We cannot say. What we do know is that we hooked him to the machine as we would a living human, and that all this occurred the instant we ordered the dive to commence.” Enoh turned to Kukai, grinning now.

“Okay. Would you mind if I try talking for a moment?”

“Talking?”

“Yeah.”

“With who?”

“I thought that’d be obvious. With Kukai.” Hosuke flashed an impudent smile.

“Kukai?”

“Yeah. Listen, just do me a favor, open that door and step outside. I need to be alone. I mean, it needs to be just the two of us; me and Kukai.”

6

Hosuke settled himself down so that he sat upright, back to the wall, mirroring Kukai’s position

Keeping his eyes on the figure, Hosuke began the process of concealing his own unique aura by first slowing the rate of his breathing. He watched a flourish of smoke appear, to the corners of his eyes, undulating through misty formations. The patterns were not there in any real way, not for his eyes to see. They were signals picked up by his mind, increasing as his physical mass fall away; his mind in turn translated the signals through his visual cortex, overlaying patterns on the room before him. At the core of the vortex was Kukai. As he completed the final stage of concealing his physical energy, the mist-like forms suddenly accelerated, probing as they rushed towards him. The sensation was indescribably foul. The light in the room began to phase in and out, breathing. The quantities of photons falling on his retina, however, remained the same. The fluctuations were a direct result of his visual cortex responding to the changing energy levels of the room.

Hosuke attempted to reconnect his floating consciousness with his body, keeping his eyes open as he did. In the same instant a deluge of phantasms appeared inside the room, like those he had seen previously. Black, creature-like knots of human hair floated in the air. Some floated intertwined, others crawled over the walls and ceiling. In the center of the room was a face that resembled a monkey’s; the thing’s red mouth gaped open as it brandished its teeth. Leech-like creatures squirmed over the floor, their insect feelers in restless motion. A few of the creatures attached themselves to him and began to burrow into his flesh. Hosuke gently hardened the sense of his physical form, expelling them as a black puss.

A carnivorous mouth materialized directly in front of him. He knew it would attack the moment he showed even the slightest sense of fear. Which meant, conversely, that it was harmless if he revealed none.

He extended a part of his mind, sending tentative feelers in Kukai’s direction. It was impossible to know how Kukai might respond. Even as he sent the strands of his mind out, Hosuke had to be ready to sever them from his core consciousness at a moment’s notice. It was one of the hardest techniques a Psyche Diver could master. He closed his eyes, readying himself for the complexity of the task ahead of him.

He was attempting to interface with another entity’s consciousness without the aid of a Psyche Converter. If he failed to synchronize his mind with the other in the exact moment the connection was made, he would simply bounce off. Such a state was impossible to maintain over any significant period of time. He thought he could manage two, maybe three seconds at most. He had to maintain a knife-edge link to his own mind while keeping it utterly transparent.

Then, just as the tips of his consciousness were ready breach Kukai’s exterior, he felt something stir within the great priest: a black mass, the size of a mountain, like a giant beast slumbering in the depths of a dark ocean, waking in response to a tiny ship on the surface. It flew towards him, attacking with the speed of a cobra. The shockwave was overpowering.

Devour!

Devour!

Devour!

This, the creature’s sole resonance, hit him with the force of a rock in his face. It was like the world had flashed black, momentarily robbing him of all visual feedback. Hosuke sprung backwards, hurling himself through the darkness as he slammed his mind shut. He accomplished this in the split second it took for his body to catch up; he screamed. His eyes shot open, he found himself standing. It took a moment for him register the fact that he was, in fact, on his feet. The room was the same as before; Kukai was still wizened and shrunken, occupying the same space. The thing had consumed almost all of Hosuke’s feelers. He was covered in a hot sheen of sweat. Kukai’s withered body seemed much larger.

“That was incredible...” Hosuke’s voice wavered under an intolerable excitement, his body only recalling the visceral fear it had just experienced after the words left his mouth. He felt the hairs on his body bristle, one by one. The whole time he stood there with an enormous grin on his face.

7

At the same time, a stunningly tall woman stood before a building with the letters ‘L.L.S.’ emblazoned on the entrance.

She turned up to look at the only room on the third floor with its lights on. There was a chilling smile on her lips.

Seventeen

The Lion’s Resurrection

1

A small metallic noise sounded in the darkness, the sound of a key being delicately inserted into a lock.

The doorknob turned and the door began to open, creaking slightly. Light flooded in from the corridor outside, revealing the entrance to the room. Someone stepped in. A woman. She closed the door behind her and the entrance fell back into darkness. There was a sound as she flicked the switch to light the corridor.

She was in a light summer dress, fastened around the center by a loose-fitting leather belt that accentuated the line of her waist. The simplicity of the dress showed off the style, and cost, of the belt. Even then the effect was restrained, far from being ostentatious. Her hair fell over her shoulders in gentle waves, her looks sharp and well-defined. She wore a thin layer of make-up, but only inasmuch as it highlighted the natural tones of her skin. The woman understood how to look her best and was clearly accustomed to being the center of attention.

The light filled the room’s lowered entrance. She took off her shoes and stepped up to floor-level, showing off her shapely legs. There was a bouquet of flowers in her left hand. Scarlet roses. She opened the door to the living room and stepped inside. The light switch was on the wall to her right, just beyond the door; she reached out and flicked it on, already facing into the room. When the lights turned on her eyes widened with a look of surprised terror. A giant of a man towered before her.

The first thing she registered was the thick swelling of his chest under the fabric of his shirt. It was as though a huge, boulder-like wall of muscle had just appeared before her. She felt sure he hadn’t been there when she opened the room’s door. He had been hiding in the room and used the momentary distraction of her turning on the light to show himself. He hadn’t made a sound, despite his herculean size. The floor was carpeted, but for a man of his size to move that quickly, there would at least be a displacement of air, some vibration in the ground.
Nothing
. She concluded that the man had mastered the skills needed to move as lightly as a tiger on the hunt.

He clamped a giant hand over her mouth before she could even take in his features, stopping her scream halfway down her throat. His hand was unbelievably huge, gloved. It covered half of her face. The woman made a weak, muffled noise. The man moved his fingers slightly, creating a gap for her. The woman sucked a desperate gasp of air through her nose. She looked up, directly into the man’s face.

“Don’t make a sound,” he growled, dark eyes regarding her from above.

His tone was eerily devoid of emotion. The words were still in her ears when he opened his mouth to speak again.

“Natsuyo Kuwabara, yes?”

She nodded, the man’s hold only allowing for a fractional movement of her jaw. She looked terrified. The man, Senkichi Fuminari, stretched his lips into a smile that stopped short of his eyes. Through their half-embrace, he could feel Natsuyo’s body begin to tremble. She was temptation itself. Fan or not, the singer certainly knew how to incite a man’s lust. She dropped the roses as though she had only just remembered she was holding them. Fuminari drew his mouth next to her ear and whispered.

“I have no wish to harm you. My business is with Shutaro Toyama. I’ll let go of you if you promise not to make a sound.”

Natsuyo nodded.

“Good. But let me just demonstrate something to you first, something you might find useful to know.”

The bones in Natsuyo’s cheeks made tiny popping sounds as he spoke; he had increased the pressure of his grip. He pulled her by the face, over to the center of the room, to a table with a ceramic vase and a plate of fruit. He reached down with his gloved left hand and palmed an apple. He positioned it between his thumb, fore and middle fingers and held it up for Natsuyo to see.

“Watch.”

The moment he said the word his fingers gouged noisily into the apple, it exploded into a messy pulp of flesh and juice that dribbled onto the carpet. Some of the flesh had flown outwards, hitting her in the face. It was clear that Fuminari had expended zero effort in doing this. It had been as easy to him as crushing a soft boiled egg. He reached down again with his now empty left hand and this time picked up the vase, tossing it into the air. He breathed a sharp whistle of air as his left hand flashed towards the falling object. Natsuyo expected the vase to explode, but instead it stopped in mid-fall. She had heard a dry pop, nothing else. Fuminari’s index finger had punched a hole in the surface of the vase. Fuminari waved the vase through the air, held up by his finger. She heard a rattling, ceramic sound, the fragment knocked out by his finger. She knew that she had witnessed incredible prowess, even for someone accomplished in karate. The feat necessitated a perfect balance of power, speed and timing. Fuminari had accomplished it with ease, even as his other hand was still clamped over Natsuyo’s face.

“Have I made myself clear?” Fuminari said. “If you raise the alarm it would be very easy for this finger to rip out your vocal chords; you’d never speak again.”

Natsuyo used her chin to nod understanding from beneath his hand. Fuminari carefully withdrew his hold of her. She was silent apart from her heavy breathing as she struggled to refill her lungs with oxygen. Keeping one eye on her, Fuminari put the vase back on the table. He picked up the roses she had brought and arranged them inside it.

“Who are you?” Natsuyo asked.

Her voice was husky, even more alluring than it seemed through the filter of a TV. Natsuyo Kuwabara was a professional singer of traditional Japanese
Enka
. She had debuted in her teens, enjoying a career where she had been constantly the center of the media’s attention for her numerous affairs with TV producers and other male singers. She turned thirty-four this year--the same woman that the lowlife private detective Yoshio Ozaki had photographed during a secret meeting with the cabinet minister Shutaro Toyama a few years ago.

Fuminari refrained from answering the question. “That doesn’t matter,” he said.

“Okay, but what do you want with Toyama?”

“Just some minor business, nothing that concerns you.”

“And yet you put me through all that regardless.” She was frightened, but the woman had spunk, much braver than a lot of men he knew.

“I’m afraid it can’t wait. I need to discuss something with him without risking any outside interference. Figured your room was about the only place I’d be able to do that. It’s unlikely he brings his bodyguards in here, so I took the liberty of letting myself in. This is the day he comes to see you, right?”

“How
did
you get in?”

“A single wire’s enough for locks like yours. You should probably upgrade to digital.”

Natsuyo glanced at his feet before giving him a sharp glare.

“Can’t be helped, I like to hold onto my shoes during break-ins. Easier to make a quick getaway.”

“Well? What am I supposed to do now?”

“I’d like you to take off all your clothes.”

“Take off my clothes!?”

“Yeah, get naked.”

Natsuyo took a step backwards. “I thought I had nothing to do with this.”

“That’s exactly why I want you to strip, to keep you quiet. It’ll be enough to give you pause before calling for help, perhaps trying to slip outside while I’m not paying attention.”

She took another step away.

“I can do it for you if I must, but your clothes wouldn’t be good for much afterwards.” Fuminari kept his voice quiet, but his tone made it clear he was no longer accepting questions. There was no violence in his eyes. He was not threatening her, but it was clear he was ready to do anything he said he would.

Something shifted in Natsuyo’s eyes as she let go of her fight. “Fine.” She slid her belt open and let her dress fall to the ground. She stood there in her bra and underwear.

“Yeah, those too.”

She gave him a defiant look but complied, taking off her last two items of clothing. Her skin was young, not that of someone in their mid-thirties. Her body was curved, with a hint of extra weight that only increased the eroticism of her flesh. Fuminari knew that many men had been privy to the joys of her body, but none of it showed. She was stunning.

2

Fuminari sat in the center of Natsuyo’s three-person sofa, leaning forward with his arms folded.

He made sure not to relax, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice. The sofa sagged heavily under his weight, like it might break if he moved too much. It was the type of furniture that put appearances first, but it was well-built. Fuminari was just too big. There was no need for a sofa that could stand up to the weight of a two-meter man that weighed 154-kilograms in a single woman’s flat.

Arms folded, he gazed distantly at Natsuyo who had sat down across from him, still naked. Her skin was pale, soft and devastatingly sexy. She had crossed her legs, draping a gown over them to cover herself to the waist. She looked composed even stripped naked as she was, perhaps to be expected from someone accustomed to the stage.

But Fuminari hardly saw her. He was, instead, focused on the empty darkness that had spread through him. Gone was the burning passion Hanko had kindled, the hatred that had seared through him and threatened to drive him mad. It had become a lone flame that burned black. Close, muddy, it felt like tar. Deeper still, he saw the image of Hanko from that night, mute and staring. The beast was watching Fuminari through the darkness, exactly as he had before. Fuminari looked inside himself, returning the beast’s challenge.

Behind Hanko was an organization of fearsome power. A diabolical cult that staged orgies in the mountains, whose members drank blood and devoured the flesh of the women they sacrificed.
Panshigaru
. They had killed Munakata, the man Fuminari had employed to dig up information on them, and carved his head into a vessel they called a
kapala.
He remembered how that bitch Renobo had drunk from it, lavishing as it overflowed with blood. Then there was Enoh. And behind them all, an old man they called Kurogosho.

There was no way he could take them on by himself. But he had chosen his fight, helpless as it was. Still, the fight against Panshigaru meant nothing to him. His target was but one, Hanko. He had no interest in Kukai, or in Biku and his attempts to steal the religious symbol back from them. Although, he had come to develop something of a special connection with the man, not interest, something closer to hatred.

When Biku had run over Shimizu’s head, his pretty face failed to show even a trace of emotion. Fuminari could still hear the noise of the man’s skull being crushed under the tires, traveling up his spine as a vibration. The horrific sound was enough to make the hairs on his back bristle, even now. It existed as more than just a sound, it felt like a snake crawling up his buttocks, winding up his spine until, finally, it reached his ears.

He understood that Biku had made the correct decision.
But even so
. He could still feel the weight of it inside him, like someone had packed his intestines with stone. He felt like a child compared to Biku, recalling how he had held back from killing Kumiko so that he could escape that night he met Hanko. And he suspected that particular trait of emotional weakness had become even more pronounced since Hanko took his fingers.

Fuminari layered Biku’s features over Natsuyo’s pale, naked form. He felt the familiar intense pain in his left hand. More than Hanko, it was the thought of Biku that brought on spasms of pain these days. Biku was his opposite, made in such a way that he could not feel pain. The change had come after Fuminari had learned of this fact.

He unfolded his arms and massaged his glove over the gaps where his fingers were missing. If he massaged them enough, it would usually ease the pain.

The door rang. Natsuyo looked up.
“It’s me! I’ll let myself in.”
A male voice. Fuminari recognized it from the TV and radio, it was Shutaro Toyama.

“Put your gown on and bring him here,” Fuminari said quietly.

He cracked his fingers and stood up. He walked soundlessly to the living room door, positioning himself to its side so that he would be concealed in its shadow when Natsuyo opened it. Toyama appeared to have his own key, Fuminari heard the sound of the front door opening. The door closed again, followed by the sound of someone locking it from inside. Natsuyo was already in her gown, standing in front of the living room door. She had gone white.

“Don’t try anything stupid,” Fuminari hissed.

Natsuyo said nothing, she opened the door to the living room. Shutaro Toyama was on the other side, wearing a light summer suit. He had a pair of dark sunglasses over his eyes.

“You look good,” he said, his voice a little hoarse. He walked into the room and rested a hand on Natsuyo’s shoulder. Just as Natsuyo was about to open her mouth to say something, the door slammed shut behind him. He spun around to see Fuminari standing there, terrifying.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” Fuminari growled, twisting his face into a one-sided grin. The words were delivered with such force that Toyama recoiled backwards.