Demon City Shinjuku: The Complete Edition Page 3

  “So, what happened?” asked Kyoya, intrigued.

  “Nothing. The espers and their telekinesis, the cyborgs and their particle guns—none of their weapons made a dent. The Master, though, with no more than a flick of a finger, rendered them all unconscious, knocked them over like tenpins. Then he declared that their enemy possessed even more power than that. The powers of the Demon Realm are not beholden to the physical laws of this world. Physical attacks are pointless.”

  “I see. So it comes down to nenpo.”

  “I don’t really know how, but with sufficient training, human thought can elevate ordinary physical energy to spiritual power and perform what are commonly called miracles. Nenpo transforms that ability into a martial art that can destroy sorcery and the demons it summons. I’m only repeating what the Master said. You will be compensated in any case. But the clock is ticking even as we sit here. So the question still stands—will you help us?”

  He bowed his head. Kyoya flashed a thin smile. This wasn’t an act. His was a request from the heart, a matter of the utmost urgency.

  “No thanks,” said Kyoya. “Any way I look at this, it ain’t a sword I want to pull out of the stone. It’s up to more responsible people than me to save the world. Besides, there’s no guarantee I’ve got what it takes to grab this big bad sorcerer. Can somebody here resurrect me if he turns the tables?”

  Yamashina didn’t answer.

  “Sorry. It’s not like I’m wanting to screw with you on purpose, but I gotta speak my mind. I hope you don’t think any worse of me for it. First of all, I’m generally up to no good, or I’m simply not trying. I’ve given this nenpo business short shrift. I’d rather party hardy and hit on girls, not spend all day at the dojo. You know the advice my dad left to me in his will? Live free. What the hell, you know? I wasn’t exactly the apple of his eye.”

  “I do not happen to think so,” said a low, calm voice behind him.

  “Shit!”

  Kyoya jumped even more than Section Chief Yamashina. Up to that very moment, he hadn’t detected any other presence in the room. The owner of the voice had appeared in the room in an instant.

  He whirled around. A small old man clothed in white stood there. He was wearing a turban that looked like a squashed vase. Only his face, framed by the high collar of his jacket, was dark—as if deeply tanned by the sun—and wrinkled. His white beard reached his chest, further suggesting an advanced age.

  Even so, his eyes were as clear as a baby’s, and his frame radiated a vigor that pushed Kyoya back like a gust of wind.

  “Master Rai!” Yamashina jumped up from the couch and ran over to him. “W-when did you arrive? I would have arranged a welcome if you’d only let me know. Please, this way.”

  The otherwise straight-laced section chief smothered the small man—who stood no higher than his chest—with unctuous courtesies, enough to make Kyoya want to gag.

  “Enough already! Leave the geezer alone. Don’t matter if he’s standing or sitting. There’s no way he’d leave the president alone for this long anyway.”

  Kyoya’s right hand twitched. The straw flew through the air, pierced the Master’s face, and thudded into the wall.

  “A doppelganger. The real thing is in New York as we speak.”

  A doppelganger was an alter ego that could surmount time and space, recreating a copy of the self anywhere and any time of a person’s choosing. Only those deeply immersed in the secret mysteries of yoga could ever hope to achieve such a feat.

  The old man’s smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “You are a discerning young man. What I would expect from the son of Genichiro Izayoi. It seems all your practice has amounted to something, after all.”

  “Yeah, right. We just went through all this—”

  “I know.” The Master sat down on the facing couch, shushing Kyoya with a nod. “You are still an inexperienced practitioner of nenpo. But that is not all I know. I know your character and qualities. With Kyoya Izayoi, the son has outdone the parent, so much so that I would like to take you on as a pupil. Genichiro understood that as well, and so trained you from the time you were in diapers.”

  Kyoya grimaced. “You know what? Sometimes flattery won’t get you anywhere. I’ve got no opinion about how great and wonderful my dad supposedly was. Anyway, I really don’t think this is one of those like-father, like-son things.” He got up from the sofa and waved his hand. “I’m leaving, if you don’t mind. Thanks for the drinks.”

  “Wait.”

  “Fine.”

  With one word from the Master, Kyoya returned to the sofa. He didn’t feel compelled in the least. More like being gently turned at the shoulders.

  “Genichiro apparently didn’t explain his reasons for developing his nenpo techniques.”

  “Not in the slightest.” Kyoya shook his head.

  The memories of the harsh training on Mt. Daisetsu came alive in his thoughts. The purification rituals, concentrating the mind under a pounding waterfall; kneeling under a freezing night sky in Zen meditation in order to become one with the spiritual energy of the universe; training with his fists and the sword until his body throbbed and he coughed up blood.

  Why his father went to such lengths—why he drove him so hard—as far back as he could remember, his father refused to respond to any questions or doubts. One of the reasons Kyoya eventually rebelled.

  “Your father and the sorcerer Rebi Ra, the mastermind behind this latest incident, were both my disciples. They both trained under me.”

  The Master’s quiet voice yanked Kyoya back to reality, and back to the reality of what he’d just said. “What the hell!”

  “What did you just say?” This was obviously news to Section Chief Yamashina as well.

  “Thirty-seven years ago, two young men came to Tibet, to my hermitage in the mountains, to pursue their studies of yoga’s mysterious powers. They were both twenty-five at the time. Despite their quite different nationalities—Japanese and Egyptian—they both possessed the burning desire and qualities necessary to conquer the heights of spiritual power. With this in mind, I took them on as disciples. As expected, they progressed at an amazing rate. What had taken me a decade in my younger years they mastered in three. At that pace, they would surely achieve that desired oneness with the cosmic mind, at the extreme boundaries of the yoga art. But two years after that, the two left the mountain.”

  A touch of bitterness colored the Master’s voice. Beneath the backdrop of this incident was a buried and dark history. Kyoya and Yamashina leaned forward and listened with rapt attention.

  “Because Rebi Ra had tasted the raptures of the Demon Realm. An undiscovered country at the borders of this one, where the wicked lie in wait to corrupt the virtuous and add them to their growing number, promising to turn loathing and hatred to joy, and fashion reason out of fear and hopelessness. How many capable acolytes have I seen fall into their poisonous grasp? They should have shrugged them off and steeled their wills to reach higher states of self-enlightenment—treat these temptations as a phase of their training to be risen above, just as Buddha was tempted beneath the banyan tree and Christ was tested by the devil in the wilderness.”

  The Master sadly shook his head. “But Ra succumbed. While tempering his body, his spirit chose the pleasures of the Demon Realm over the joys of the spirit. One day he abruptly departed. As a disciple of the Demon Realm, he could not enjoy even a single day of peace or calm, and he left to make use of the skills he had acquired thus far. I should not have let him return to the ordinary world. At the time, I could not imagine he had fallen as far as it turns out he had. For a while, I heard rumors of a warlock who possessed powers unheard of in times past or present, and regretted my decision. And then this incident. I take the blame for what has happened. Defeating Ra is my responsibility. But I cannot move. So it falls to the one person who equals him in strength and ability, the son to whom Genichiro taught everything he knew.”

  That son broke the air of tension in the room
with rolled eyes and a shrug. His father’s past meant nothing to him. And even if it did and he agreed, it was hard to say what he could accomplish with that kind of attitude. Yamashina breathed a dejected sigh.

  “I get it about the bad guy. But why did my father leave?”

  A faraway look came to the Master’s eyes. “Two days after Ra left the mountain, Genichiro followed him. It seemed he had an idea about what Ra was up to, and he was the only one who could stop him. Perhaps he even knew that a day like today was coming, and that his son would be the one facing off against him. Otherwise, he would have trained himself and engaged the battle. Genichiro possessed powers of precognition that neither Ra nor I possessed. During our telepathic interactions, he foresaw the future with a certainty I could not match. Even Ra was impressed on more than one occasion.”

  “I don’t want to hear it!” Kyoya said, his voice rising to a shout. “You think you’re gonna pull the wool over my eyes spinning yarns like that? You think I’m going to do a one-eighty on my life based on a bunch of conjecture? So tell me why my dad didn’t say squat about why he was putting me through all that training? If he’d been straight up with me, you know, I might have actually gone along for the ride. And if he did have some sort of reason, then what’s with this live free crap?”

  Kyoya folded his arms across his chest and turned away with a huff. “This sucks. None of this was my idea, remember. If I say I ain’t going, then I ain’t going! Hey, she’s cute!”

  Startled by the sudden commotion, the section chief cast a surprised glance at the door behind him. The door leading to the adjacent room closed, and standing next to it was a young woman.

  She possessed a translucent kind of beauty. Her glimmering black hair reached her waist, accentuating the striking clarity of her skin. Her light-blue two-piece dress was plainly tailor-made, and simply by being worn by her seemed to glow of its own accord. She bowed silently and with elegant steps crossed the room and sat down next to the Master.

  “This is the president’s daughter, Sayaka-san. I will formally introduce you later.” The Master asked in an affectionate voice, “Have you heard our conversation thus far?”

  The girl—Sayaka Rama—nodded. She was sixteen, a freshman at a high school in New York. Knowing that there was someone in Japan who could help, she’d come directly here, with no idea whether he would listen to her or not. The Master had told her everything in New York. The section chief had left her in the guest suite, not wanting to burden her should his negotiations with Kyoya fail. Out of concern for her father’s welfare, Sayaka had snuck into the adjoining room and listened through the door.

  “You are our only hope,” Sayaka said earnestly.

  Kyoya just stared back at her. There was none of the lecher in this gaze, such was the young woman’s refined character. Not counting the ones at his own school, this martial arts maven would need the fingers of both hands to count the girlfriends he was stringing along. But he’d never reacted like this before, no matter how beautiful the woman in his sights.

  “Please save my father. Right now he is fighting for his life in a hospital bed far away. He is all I have right now.”

  Sayaka’s mother had died shortly after her birth. That reason alone explained her deep and abiding love for him. Kyoya felt a gentle sensation in his chest. Some old man wasn’t asking for his help on behalf of world peace and the like—but a daughter on behalf of her beloved father.

  He took note of his softening heart and deliberately put on a bad attitude. “Sure. On one condition. Lend an ear.”

  She did as requested. Sayaka’s face suddenly flushed bright red. “Ah!” said the section chief. But faster than he could interfere, the sound of a lively slap echoed around the room.

  “Ouch!” Kyoya pressed his hand against his cheek with an exaggerated frown.

  Sayaka examined her own palm with an equally surprised expression. “I—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done such a thing.”

  “Aw, forget it. My face is just as happy getting slapped by a babe.” Kyoya shot her a wink. No harm, no foul. He could tell she wasn’t sorry just because she’d hauled off and smacked the man who could save her father. It was an honest response. She wasn’t trying to play him.

  “So will you help me?”

  “Naw, this is one thing and that is another.”

  “So you are angry then,” she said, the forlorn look on her face that of a young woman lost in the depths of despair.

  Kyoya hastily added, “No, um, to cut to the chase here—”

  “You are our only hope,” said the Master, repeating the same words as Sayaka, albeit in more severe tones. “For Sayaka-san’s father, for the planet. This is not something I could say to any other person. The way I see things developing, Ra’s goal is more than causing a brief spree of chaos. He seeks ruin on a much grander and deeper scale. Put bluntly, to destroy the soul of the world.”

  The section chief furrowed his brow. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “The demon lodged in the president’s throat—the hand print of the Nidom assassin summoned forth from the Demon Realm—using chiromancy techniques, I traced back Ra’s intentions and designs. In one way or another, it seems he is attempting to call forth from the depths of creation an evil of unmatched dimensions.”

  Kyoya’s eyes glittered. Yamashina stammered, “Y-you mean, Satan?”

  “I do not know if he will go that far, but should this being appear but once, the world would be steeped in fear and despair. The darkness of the damned would reign instead. Men would be bound together only by hate and murder in a twilight struggle for life. Love and hope and joy lost, civilization as we know it would rot away. This would become another Demon Realm.”

  For a long moment, silence filled the room. Then Kyoya said nonchalantly, “I see. He’s supposed to be a ritual sa—”

  He cut off the rest of the sentence. In a faint voice, Sayaka finished it for him. “A ritual sacrifice.”

  The Master looked at her, compassion showing in his eyes. “Yes. Having paid the necessary tribute in the form of a man of such high virtue, it will appear when the president draws his last breath. Ra’s previous efforts failed because the offering was lacking.”

  “You telling me the bastard has tried this before?”

  “Yes. And we are now at the scene of the crime.”

  “Where? When?”

  The Master said softly, “Early in the twenty-first century. In Japan.”

  Kyoya searched his memories. Then bolted from the sofa. “Son of a bitch! That’s where you were gonna send me? You’re nothing but a pair of double-dealing con men!”

  “Nobody is forcing you to do anything. What is your answer?”

  “Hmph.” Kyoya again huffed and turned away. “This stinks to high heaven. But—let me get this straight—in that case, the earthquake was because of it showing up, but this Ra chap couldn’t seal the deal?”

  The Master nodded. “As Ra summoned it from deep within the earth, their streams of demonic energy failed to converge, and were redirected instead into the earth’s crust and caused the damage we still see today, all in complete contradiction to the known laws of science.”

  Kyoya found himself at a loss for words. Section Chief Yamashina and Sayaka were also rendered speechless, their faces wan. That earthquake?

  “I must return shortly,” said the Master’s doppelganger. “I cannot easily perform the incantations for the president and converse with you at the same time. If nothing else, please remember this: Kyoya Izayoi, the peace of the world rests upon your shoulders. The future—and soul—of the world. Won’t you yield and accept this duty?”

  The Master’s form faded. Before disappearing entirely, his low but demanding voice said, “A true hero cannot overlook the suffering of others. My disciple was a true hero. I believe the same of his son.”

  Caught in the steady gaze of the young woman and the middle-aged man, Kyoya Izayoi averted his eyes.

  Part Two


  The darkness was omnipresent and oppressive, like an expanding slick of heavy black oil. In its very center, the smothering silence suddenly broke.

  “Kaki, you there?” asked an inorganic voice, utterly devoid of human emotion.

  A point of light glowed in the empty space. No brighter than a cigarette lighter, it steadily expanded in height and width, sprouted arms and legs, until it took on human dimensions. And yet did not disturb the density of the darkness in the slightest. A fire that shared its light with nothing—the fire of the Demon Realm.

  “You’re here,” said the same voice. “Doki and Suiki should be arriving soon.” He meant the demons of earth and water. “Don’t let your powers slacken. The enemy draws near.”

  The fire wavered. The portion forming its face bent into a sneer. A sprite that manipulated the fires of this world—that was Kaki.

  A burning right hand stretched out toward the speaker, collided with something and deflected, the column of flame bursting apart like an overripe tomato, the streamers curling around and headed at the target.

  “Stop it!” the voice barked.

  The lines of fire reversed course and merged into one and became an arm again. At the same time, the lights came on. The speaker had switched on a miniature nuclear lamp. The strange, concrete-enclosed space emerged in the blue-white radioactive glow. An old desk and chair in the center; a laboratory bench lined with rows of beakers and test tubes; bookshelves filled with worn leather-bound books of spells and magic.

  And far on the other side, an incongruous collection of electrical machinery and what appeared to be automated surgical equipment. Considering its size and the height of the vaulted ceiling, what looked at first like an ordinary room could be more appropriately described as a large underground plaza.

  This was one room in the secret headquarters of the sorcerer Rebi Ra and his three Demon Realm bodyguards. The evil odors bubbling out of the noxious fluids in the test tubes and beakers, mingled with the ghostly aura emitted by the inhabitants of the room, together with the cool air—a combination that no normal human could stand for more than a minute.