The Psyche Diver Trilogy: Demon Hunters (48 page)

“Hmm,” Kurogosho smiled faintly, enjoying himself.

“If there must be killing, I would rather keep him for last.”

“You’re a blast, Enoh,” Hosuke said, grinning. He licked the thick fingers of his right hand before turning back to Kurogosho. “Anyway, my question. Immortality. Your thoughts.”

“Immortality, indeed.”

“I bet you’re into Tachikawa, Sendo’s bedroom arts and all that shit. But Heruka’s Sadhana, that Secret Rite of Heruka’s Descent…does that shit do anything? For immortality, I mean? It didn’t
look
like it would do much, I have to say.”

Hosuke was asking Kurogosho about the ritual in the Tanzawa mountains. Kurogosho smiled, partially taken aback by the directness of Hosuke’s question.

“All that…is simply a means to an end.”

“A lie?”

“No, not a lie. When an organization reaches a certain size, it becomes important to maintain a sense of plausibility.

“This is not to say that the rituals are a sham. It is quite possible—with a certain level of expertise—to reap benefits from them all; Tachikawa, Sendo, and the Rite of Heruka’s Descent.”

“Using your balls to siphon energy from a woman’s groin?”

“Indeed. Through these practices one can maintain youth and even achieve a form of rejuvenation. You have already seen the results on a woman, up close in fact.”

“Renobo, huh?”

“Exactly. How old would you say she appears to be?”

“From what I hear, she’s getting on a bit…”

“Just so. The fact is, she is hardly younger than Enoh or myself.”

Hosuke whistled, then cocked his head as though he was listening for something. “Miwa Ishibashi!” he exclaimed.

“Correct,” Kurogosho nodded. “She went to India, a long time ago, looking for material for her book.”

“The Hidden Sangha of India, right?”

“Yes. During that time she was attacked by a pack of thieves near Pakistan.”

“The phansigars.”

“You are surprisingly well informed, Mr. Kumon. The phansigars do not kill women outright; they take them captive and use them to extend their line, only feasting on their flesh if they fail to cooperate. Miwa Ishibashi—Renobo, that is—was captured in this manner. She spent five years living among them. The term
phansigars
may sound exotic, but the truth is that most of the time these people
are normal village folk.

“Renobo came to learn of the rite of Heruka during her years in their village. Then, during her fifth year she managed to escape. She wandered the desert for a week until she was picked up by a party of good-natured merchants.”

“Huh. Hard to imagine
that woman
as being so old. So…if you already know how to maintain youth like that, why go and steal Kukai’s
sokushinbutsu
?”

“Alas, things are not so simple. Appropriating energy from sex does prolong youth, the process is flawed.”

“Huh.”

“In the beginning, one must only need perform the act every three months. After two or three years, however, the gap shortens to every two months. After five years, this becomes one month. After ten years, one must partake in the act every ten days to maintain the same age. Renobo has now reached the stage where she must have sex every two days, maybe even daily. If she fails to do this, she will at once regress back to her true
age.

“She is kind enough to abstain when we need Miwa Ishibashi. Each time, it takes a month and a half of fucking to return to her younger age. This is not immortality. It may prolong life, but there is an upper limit of twenty or so years.”

“Hence, Kukai.”

“Indeed.”

“But would you want to live like
that
?”

“That is the difficult part. It is your job, Mr. Kumon, to ascertain Kukai’s true nature. To discover if it is possible to acquire eternal life without suffering the consequences we see before us.”

“And you can’t just buy immortality?”

“Unfortunately not. Money affords a decade at most.”

“You really don’t want to die, huh?”

“The answer to that is both yes, and no.”

“What!?”

“How many things would you consider to be beyond the power of money, Mr. Kumon? One can buy a person’s life. One can buy politics. Buying politics, in turn, is equal to buying a country.

“Mr. Kumon, it is quite unbearable for me to exist with the knowledge that there are things in this world that are beyond my reach. That is the main drive behind my wish to achieve immortality. And, if it helps me to achieve this goal, I am fully prepared to die.” Kurogosho’s eyes were deep pools, staring at Hosuke. “Quite the contradiction, wouldn’t you say?”

Hosuke said nothing, only staring at Kurogosho as the man addressed him. “You’re a crazy fucking romantic, old man,” he said. He picked up some more food and chucked it into his mouth. He swallowed. “So, I should believe all this?”

The question was for Enoh.

“Believe what, exactly?” Enoh asked him.

“The spiel from this old bleeding-heart.”

“Expect there to be a modicum of truth, much as with our previous
entertainment
,” Enoh said, grinning. He was referring to when Hanko had killed Iba.

“Killing a guy for a
modicum of truth
, that’s fucked up.”

You’re a dead man, a fucking dead man!
Then Iba’s reply, inside Renobo as she gyrated her hips madly.
Yeah, I’ll fucking die…
Hosuke could still see the man’s expression, demonic as he shot his load. Mere days had passed since. He could still see Hanko’s right hand, holding up Iba’s bloodied face for display. Iba, staring at him now like he was making an appeal—despite being nothing more than an image in Hosuke’s head.

“All this reminds me,” Hosuke said, changing the subject. “As we’re talking about Renobo—she’s still with Biku and Fuminari, right?”

“Yes,” Kurogosho answered. For the first time, something like raw emotion flashed over the man’s face.

“And Akio Ishibashi, he’s dead?”

“Yes,” Kurogosho answered again, keeping his tone flat.

“I imagine it won’t be too long before they approach you with a proposal for a trade, Kukai for Renobo—Miwa Ishibashi.”

“They have already done so, in fact.”

“Hah, as I’d thought. And you gave them an answer?”

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“They will be here, regardless. And that is when we plan to settle things. You must remember, this battle is underground. They cannot make this public.”

“Because Mt. Koya’s afraid the truth of Kukai will get out,” Hosuke said.

“I believe it safe to assume as much.”

Kurogosho’s eyes bore into Hosuke, the gaze seemed to reach through his insides. One of the haunts had been creeping over Kurogosho’s forehead for a while—it was dark, clammy and the size of a hand.

“Pray tell me, Mr. Kumon, who is this Fuminari?”

The question came without warning.

“I don’t know. I don’t take too much interest in others.”

“Is that so?” Kurogosho replied, his deep voice bristling with threat.

“I thought all that was for
after
Kukai. So, what, you’ve decided to torture me for the information?” Hosuke gave the man a cocky smile.

There was silence. The two men locked gazes, each glaring at the other. There was a powerful energy in Kurogosho’s eyes. A power not unlike magnetism. They were the eyes of someone that could command with a glance, someone used to bending people to his will. Deep like a bottomless abyss, Hosuke half expected some monstrous creature to lash out from hiding behind them. The authority coming from Kurogosho just sitting there was equal to—perhaps even greater than—that of Fuminari’s immense bulk.

“No, you are right Mr. Kumon,” Kurogosho finally said, eyes still locked on Hosuke.

“I thought as much,” Hosuke replied, holding the gaze.

“Once we’re done with Kukai, then.”

“Once it’s done,” Hosuke said.

The tension between them dissipated like mist. Kurogosho relaxed and the force seemed to drain away from his eyes. Hosuke regarded him coolly. Kurogosho mirrored the expression.

“You are an enigma, Mr. Kumon,” Kurogosho said, still observing him. “Watching you just now, the whole time it felt like I was staring at myself. The pressure relaxed the moment I softened my gaze.”

“That so?” Hosuke smiled.

“Which reminds me, we have yet to decide on an amount. Your compensation, for diving into Kukai.”

“I’m pretty sure I made it clear. I’m doing this for Yuko’s life.”

“This we have
yet to decide on.”

“Huh, okay. Can we decide now then?”

“How about your own life, Mr. Kumon?”

“Could I push for that, too?”

“Say I were to guarantee that you would both live, would you believe me?”

There was a brief silence before Hosuke answered.

“On balance, probably not.”

The two men sneered at each other. Then Hosuke’s expression became something altogether more childlike.

“How about joining me when I dive into Kukai?”

“Is such a thing possible? Even though I am not a Diver?”

“Sure, you can dive without training. There’s a chance you’ll just drown, but hey.”

“So you are telling me it is
not
possible?”

“Not really. Just that you’ll need a guide.”

“I see.”

“A skilled Diver, like me.” It sounded like he was issuing a challenge. “Come on old man, don’t tell me you wouldn’t want to look on Kukai’s immortality with your own eyes!?”

“I have no intention of becoming another Tamura or Geshin. I was under the impression there was something dangerous in there.”

“I’m not asking you to dive from the outset. It’s gonna take more than a few attempts to get this done. I go first. I’m good, not so much that I can babysit you the first time I go in. So I go first, check it’s safe. After that you’re welcome to come too. Still, if you’d rather not…”

Hosuke had finally said it, the plan he had put together over the last few days.

His wager.

Twenty-five

Fangs of the Beast

1

Three days later, at noon, Hosuke initiated his dive into Kukai.

At first, there was only emptiness, a void. It lacked darkness, the place was without even transparency. If anything, the quality was that of a hole, but the term was too vague. It was vacuum, an empty mind.

Sometime ago Hosuke had, at Biku’s request, dived into the mind of a Diver found unconscious outside Kukai’s burial chamber—a man named Tamura. The man’s mind had been hollow, as though something had torn it to pieces and devoured it. The emptiness he had seen had been like a hole. Behind the transparency of the darkness there had remained an imprint, an impression of Tamura’s mind. What he was experiencing now was something entirely different. Kukai’s mind lacked even the outline of a hole, that tenuous sense of framework that Tamura’s mind had managed to hold on to. It felt like a vacuum, although the description was again lacking something.

A void, a place bereft of even Kukai himself.

Hosuke saw nothing.

Sight enables the recognition of a black darkness where nothing can be seen, yet that is not darkness as seen by the blind. What Hosuke was seeing—
trying to see
—was closer to that of what a blind person might during an attempt to recall the properties of darkness or transparency.

There was only the void.

There are words such as existence and non-existence, but each predicates an observable state—existence as a qualification of something that is evident, non-existence as that of something absent. The
void was lacking even absence. It was only a void
.

The essential meaning of this was that Kukai was dead. It is by no means impossible to dive into a dead person’s mind. If death is recent, the cells of the brain may still persist—not if death is defined as the true death of the brain, but semantics aside it is possible to dive while the brain’s cells remain active. Entirely different, however, is the process of diving into a mind where the cells have already died.

It was possible, Hosuke thought, that what he was seeing now was true death. Then again, it might have simply been nothing at all. If he was able to dive further into the void, that would be evidence of the presence of consciousness. What he had seen so far was more or less in line with what he had imagined. He stopped
looking
and began to
observe
.

He was not ready to allow direct contact with Kukai’s mind—if such a thing existed. That path had been the downfall of Tamura, and the Diver after him. Regardless of how things appeared, Hosuke knew for a fact that something was lurking within Kukai.

To allow direct contact would be like jumping naked into a bath full of what appeared to be water, but was in fact something that, with the slightest provocation, might come to life, or transform into concentrated sulfuric acid. Even entering feet first, a millimeter in five minutes, even then a tiny disturbance could be lethal. It was not enough.

Hosuke remained still. If such a thing as Kukai continued to exist, he had just aligned himself to exist parallel to it. This way, he could dive further into Kukai’s mind without having to consider direction. He had not come into direct contact with Kukai, but there was no longer anything between them. Even so, the thing might attack the moment he decided to dive—seizing that instant of contact. And there was nothing around to make a Psyche Suit with.

The Psyche Suit was one way of maintaining a barrier between the Diver and the host mind, a method whereby the Diver takes elements of surface consciousness to build a layer of protection against the shallower parts of the host mind, the parts less receptive to pain. Without any surface consciousness to speak of, the technique was unavailable.

Hosuke could use part of his own mind to make one, but he could only guess at the type of fabric he would need. First, then, was to get a feeling for that. He continued to observe, keeping his aura concealed. Everything he was doing was based on the premise that Kukai was out there. He had to observe in a way that was deeper than just looking. He would have to form a psychic bridge. He let his consciousness grow transparent.

To an inexperienced onlooker it would appear as though Hosuke and Kukai had merged. Hosuke let part of his consciousness spread outwards, stretching it as thin as he could. The degree to which Hosuke could do this was limited only by the objects he could create in his mind—a toothpick, a needle, a tiny hair, a strand from a spider’s web. He imagined a strand of such web, then split it in two. Then he focused on one of the strands and split that in two. He continued, repeating the process. An average Diver would be able to split the web once at best. He could assume the Diver that had gone in after Tamura to have done that much.

Hosuke split the web a total of four times, then he built a series of knots into the feeler he had created. If something attacked, all he had to do was sever one of the knots. The damage sustained would be no greater than that of soft hair grazing his skin. He extended the feeler slowly outwards, away from his mind’s body. He felt the needle-point penetrate something.

There you are!

He felt an overwhelming surge of excitement. That the feeler had pushed through something meant that there was a mental configuration, something close to a mind. Hosuke was suddenly able to observe distance. It was vast. It felt like gazing towards an empty, starless universe. The longer he stared, the more the scale expanded. It was making him dizzy.

Holy crap…

It felt like his heart might burst out from his chest.

His field of vision continued to blow open, hitting light speed. He saw more, but there was still nothing to see. The void had taken on the form of a tunnel. An empty passageway extending in every direction; above, below, out to the side. Something was pulling at him, towards the direction of the incredibly thin feeler. Hosuke began to inch his consciousness towards the edge. He untied the first knot and let his mind glide into the first block. Once filled, he closed the knot and untied the next one. In this way, he let his consciousness flow into the second block.

It was a laborious process, like using a spoon to move water from a large pool. Hosuke could not allow even a moment’s lapse of concentration. He knew he would grow accustomed to the repetition, that it would become easier to go through the motions. Once that happened, the concurrent fatigue would be limited. He had yet to sense that desperate hunger. It might have been hiding in the empty space, lying in wait for Hosuke to submerge himself fully. Although, whatever it was, Hosuke doubted it was possessed of such patience.

Super REM Sleep.

That was the term Katsuragi had given to Kukai’s condition. Maybe he had hit the nail on the head. Still, there was nothing to suggest that he was actually diving in Kukai’s mind. There was, however, a feeling like he was entering a new dimension, somewhere he had no previous experience of. Katsuragi had said the reading of Kukai’s brainwaves had remained the same wherever the electrodes had been attached. Hosuke thought he had a pretty good idea why.

To a Psyche Diver, the brain consists of more than the matter inside the head. The entire body is the brain. The hands, feet, nails, genitals, bones—these are all considered, by Divers, to be differentiated parts of the brain. Stimulating a person’s hand or foot is the same as stimulating their brain. Inside of Kukai’s withered frame, there seemed to exist some constant, alternate dimension. If Kukai was in Super REM Sleep, it was possible the monster was sleeping too.

After sending in nearly half of his consciousness, Hosuke began to cover it with a secondary layer from his own mind. The process was like that of creating a Psyche Suit, but without using elements of the host mind. It was a form of armor, a Psyche Protector.

Hosuke recalled a dream. He had been afloat within an endless darkness, somewhere like space. A dream from his first night after being brought to the residence. He had seen a black coiling shape wrapped around an amber globe. It had been howling, revealing a terrible hunger that had burned through the darkness like fire. The darkness of the dream had been different to that which he saw now. But the sense of something eternal had been the same. Now, he was fully submerged inside this bizarre realm.

He felt a wave, like the beating of a heart. It felt like the rhythm was coming from the void itself, but it could have belonged to something else. Something like him. He saw nothing.
Which way to go?
Hosuke asked himself. He was surrounded by a vast, uniform space.
All paths are correct.
The
answer came to him.

But how would he get back? Around him was a limitless void. He would have to be careful if he moved around—fail in this and he would lose track of the way out. He kept his aura invisible the whole time he considered these questions. What might happen, he wondered, if his consciousness chanced into whatever else was out there with him? Without a Psyche Suit, he would be detected the moment contact was made.

He decided to leave a sign. He would sever an element from his mind’s body, leaving it as a crumb. Just as there are parts of the body—hair, or nails—that can be cut off without harm, so are there similar parts of the mind. He sorted through the vast jumble of his memories and extracted an image of Yuko from when he had first met her at Biku’s apartment.

He remembered her hand, reaching for his groin while he dithered whether or not to sleep with her.

Really? Even with this?

The image was of the cherubic smile she had given him, even as she chided. Here, it would face him regardless of the direction he looked from. He decided to let the image out without altering it. It would be a marker, at the same time it was an experiment.

Hosuke wanted to know what would happen if he let it into the void unaltered, it was only a fraction of his mind. He would release it, a conspicuous fragment of consciousness to see how the void would react. He felt a thrill, like he had just pulled out some meat to toss into water potentially swarming with piranha.

He let her face float outwards, beyond his boundary. It hung in the emptiness. Then it was gone—erased from existence. A darkness had appeared from the empty void. It was like watching interstellar matter, suddenly congealing. The source of the wave-like beat had appeared, a terrifyingly huge twisting entity, a spiraling tornado with Hosuke at its center. In interstellar terms it had resembled a spinning nebula, stretching across tens of thousands of light-years. Suddenly, the void was filled with a terrible, drumming pulse. The coiling force brushed over Hosuke’s Psyche Protector.
It noticed him
.

The void became a thunderous roar. The war cry of the starved creature hit him not as a sound or a voice, but as an almighty stream of intent
.
The coil rushed inwards, constricting. Hosuke felt a sudden, unbearable horror—there was no way to fight anything on a scale like this. The outlandish force crashed into him with a deafening clap; then the animal’s jaws were there, ready to feed.

They clamped over him in the exact moment of his escape.

He opened his eyes, screaming.

He was on the table in front of the Psyche Converter—his body jerked upright, eyes fixed before him. It was only when his eyes registered Kurogosho and Katsuragi that he realized where he was.

Sweat came, soaking his dry skin. He had
felt
the beast’s fangs. They had pierced his Psyche Protecter like it was foil. Without that extra layer…what would have happened then?

“What happened!?” Katsuragi asked.

Hosuke had come to a whole hour ahead of schedule. The room was suddenly full of haunts creeping over the floor and walls.

“Get this shirt off of me,” Hosuke shouted.

He pulled the electrode-studded helmet from his head and stood up to reveal the back of his shirt. It was drenched with sweat, mixed with something that stained the fabric red. Hosuke ripped the front open as Katsuragi peeled it off from behind.

“What the!?” Katsuragi was staring at Hosuke’s back, his expression tightening.

Four red lines ran from Hosuke’s shoulders to his waist, each where a thin layer of skin had been stripped off. There was no doubt about it—they were bite marks.

2

Fuminari lay on the bed, hands locked under his head as he stared at the ceiling.

A small light provided illumination from the bedside. His thick chest rose and fell in quiet waves. He looked like a fallen boulder, one breathing in a slow rhythm. Ryoko Kitano lay there too, the left side of her face resting on the undulating rock. Her right arm was pale over his chest, curved at the elbow and not quite reaching the other side. Her breasts were pushed flat against his right flank. Her eyes were closed in an expression that had a childlike quality to it—natural, perhaps, for a woman to appear this way after giving herself to the rise and fall of a man’s chest. A sheet covered them to their waists, bunched up where their legs locked underneath. Ryoko shifted hers, seeming to enjoy the sensation of Fuminari’s legs.