The Psyche Diver Trilogy: Demon Hunters (14 page)

“So you’re Fuminari Senkichi,” he said stiffly.

“Ah, I know that voice.”

“My name is Shimada. We spoke on the phone,” Tsushima said.

“Obviously. Mind if I borrow you for a while?” Fuminari increased the pressure on his arm. Beads of sweat formed on the man’s forehead.

“That’s exactly what I wanted to ask of you.”

“Hmm...” Fuminari’s lips edged up to one side, but the smile was void of his trademark charm. It was the ferocious smile of a monster, the smile of a lion brandishing its fangs to an enemy. “...so let’s talk.” Fuminari jerked the man’s arm and started to walk.

The man followed in silence. Fuminari knew he could not afford to be complacent. He might be a lion, but this man was a wolf. If he relaxed his grip, even for an instant, the wolf would bury its fangs in his throat. Fuminari led the man down a narrow alley away from the main road. The cramped space was lined with high walls on either side, a blind spot in the city at night, leading to a dead end.

“Now we’ve got plenty of time to catch up,” Fuminari said, pushing the man into the alley. He had his back to the entrance.

“Plenty, indeed,” the man whispered. His tone had changed. Fuminari felt a menacing surge of energy focused on his back. Without a moment’s pause Fuminari pulled the man into him, switching their places in one quick motion. Fuminari stood with his back to the alley, the man his shield. Four men stood at the entrance.

“Fuck!” Fuminari ground his teeth angrily; frustrated that his trap had been outdone. The enemy obviously had brains of their own.

The man hurled his right elbow toward Fuminari’s temple with incredible speed. Fuminari ducked, avoiding the attack. The man’s left arm made a nasty cracking sound. Fuminari felt the vibrations of the crunch reverberate through his hand. The man had forced his body into an impossible position and dislocated his shoulder in the process; he had attacked knowing it would happen. The man attacked again, this time sending his heel toward Fuminari’s groin. Fuminari let the man’s arm go and leaped backward.

The four men stood waiting, each with a knife in hand. It was obvious from their posture that fighting was everyday stuff for them.

“Come quietly if you don’t want to be hurt,” the man said. His left arm hung uselessly.

“Fuck off,” Fuminari shouted back. Imaginary pain sliced through his missing fingers as his face contorted, demonic. He could feel the cells in his body begin to combust, popping one by one, as he was overcome by a sudden and intense thirst for violence. He began to roar. The wild, animalistic cry vibrated through the night air. The men blurred into motion, as though drawn in by the noise, and charged at him. His right leg flew up, cutting through the dark. The edge of his foot impacted the jaw of the first man. The man smacked into the alley wall with a dull thud; bloody teeth flew out as his jawbone splintered. It was like a dog attacking a lion.

Fuminari rammed the side of his hand into the next man’s wrist. The bones between the man’s elbow and wrist snapped as the knife that had been aiming for Fuminari pirouetted toward the ground. The shattered bone tore through the man’s muscle, piercing his flesh.

Fuminari swept through the men with tornado-like speed. In the blink of an eye, three of them were sprawled on the ground. The only one still standing was glaring at his broken arm, incredulous. The man rolled to the floor and began to wail.

“Don’t fucking run,” Fuminari barked at Tsushima, still rooted in the same spot, his arm dislocated. As he spoke, Fuminari felt an odd surge of energy, again originating from the entrance of the alley. It was the same as the force he had felt on his back moments earlier. A small, wizened figure stood at the entrance; the source of the sinister energy.

“You, big guy,” the figure said dryly, “you’re pretty good!” It was Enoh; an odd smile played over his lips.

“Who...what the fuck are you?” Fuminari mustered all the energy at his disposal and let it loose on the old man like a fireball. It manifested as a packet of burning air, an infernal storm. The man stood his ground, letting it brush past him as though it were a light breeze, grinning with huge teeth.

“Just an old man.” Enoh began to walk toward Fuminari as though he had not a care in the world.

3

Fuminari felt a rush of elation.

The feeling was still there; his fists were torn and splayed with blood, his flesh and bones ached. A numbness snaked down from his neck, tracing along his spine as he remembered the exhilaration of using his body to destroy another. It was almost sexual. For the first time in a long while Fuminari felt alive, his body flush with drunken excitement. Fuminari’s nostrils flared wide as he reveled in the scent of blood.

Four men were sprawled on the ground around him. One was groaning, the other three lay completely motionless. Fuminari stood, legs solidly apart, in the center of the alley; he inched his right foot forward a fraction as he fixed a burning gaze on the old man strolling leisurely toward him.

This diminutive old man, Enoh, appeared completely unfazed by the herculean force before him. The ferocity of Fuminari’s gaze alone was enough to send any normal person running, but the old man treated it as he would a soft breeze lapping against his face. The man’s aura was difficult to gauge, it was hard to tell if he was readying to attack or simply exhibiting curiosity. His energy was transparent like air.

Fuminari’s body quaked as ripples of tension ran through him. He flexed his muscles with fearsome strength. A bubble of high-pressure energy enveloped his giant frame, almost setting fire to the air around him.

Enoh came to an abrupt halt exactly one step from Fuminari’s combat range. A single step further and Fuminari would have exploded, at once releasing the energy tightly coiled throughout his body. The man’s opening gambit had simply been to provoke.

The old man had come to a standstill, but his oddly oppressive energy continued unimpeded, sweeping forward as though cut free from Enoh’s body. The wave scattered just as it was about to envelop Fuminari. It coalesced into the air like mist, fog brushing over a white-hot iron ball.

“Impressive,” Enoh said in a low voice. It could have been a reference to Fuminari’s dispersion of the energy wave; equally, it could have been a reflection of his quick work of the four men sprawled around them.

“It was a struggle not to kill them.” Fuminari’s strong lips snarled upward, baring his teeth. One of the men was still groaning; Fuminari spat on his back.

“Evidently.” A smile crossed Enoh’s wrinkled face. It appeared to contain a measure of affection.

At 2 meters tall, Fuminari was huge; his arms were tight against his short sleeve polo shirt, muscles almost tearing through. In contrast, the old man was wiry, hardly 160 centimeters tall; he looked to have less than a third of Fuminari’s bulk. His limbs protruded from his robes like dry twigs. The air felt like it might buckle under the incredible tension between the two men as they faced up.

“Who the fuck are you?” Fuminari growled.

“My question exactly. Tell me, why would a giant such as yourself persist in nosing around other people’s business?”

“So, you’re Panshigaru
.
” Enoh’s grin vanished.

“How much have you worked out?” He took a casual half-step forward, lessening the distance between them. Fuminari held his ground. Tsushima, the man that had called himself Shimada, pulled himself up and shuffled across to stand behind Enoh to his right. His dislocated arm hung uselessly.

“What did you do to Munakata?” Fuminari said, grinding his teeth.

“Would you care to guess?” Enoh’s cold smile returned; it made Fuminari’s skin crawl.

“You killed him.” Enoh didn’t reply. He took another step forward. His eyes were half closed as though he were nodding off. Fuminari felt his back break out in a cold sweat.

“You know, I have a particular weakness for strong men,” Enoh said.

“You’re not my type.” Fuminari bent his legs slightly, straightening his back; the stance would allow him to dodge an attack from any direction.

“Please, don’t misunderstand me. To clarify, I enjoy
killing
strong men.” The words were all the more powerful for the casual tone with which he said them.

“That’s a fucked-up hobby for an old fruit.” Fuminari could feel blood racing through his veins, beginning to boil.

“Hah!”

“I’ve got a strange pastime of my own, you know,” Fuminari said, keeping his voice low.

“Oh?”

“Helping senile old men find peace--” Fuminari’s massive frame was in motion before he finished the sentence, closing the final step between them. One of his legs flew up with explosive speed as he released the energy coiled throughout his body. His leg, thick as a log, audibly cut the air as it raced toward the old man’s upper-body.

Enoh sprang up, pirouetting diagonally in midair. He flew like a monkey toward the left wall, collapsing his arms and legs into a ball. Fuminari gave chase, launching his gigantic frame into the air. The speed of his reaction meant he had already anticipated Enoh’s play.

Just as the two bodies were about to collide Enoh screeched and kicked off the wall to his side. Fuminari’s deadly attack missed, slicing thin air. Enoh bounded up, to Fuminari’s right, striving for even greater height. The man’s agility was incredible. Fuminari lost his balance and hit the concrete on all fours. Enoh called out again, this time kicking off the next wall so that he flew in toward Fuminari. Fuminari tumbled to one side, avoiding the attack. He rolled into something--one of the unconscious men still lying on the ground.

Fuminari was getting up when Enoh raced in with arachnid speed. Fuminari wheeled to his feet, pulling one of the fallen men with him. Enoh’s hand flashed in with astounding velocity; Fuminari used the man’s body to parry the attack.

There was the sound of a hand being plunged into slushy mud. An uncomfortably warm liquid jetted over Fuminari’s face, followed by the sudden whiff of blood. Enoh had buried his right hand in the man’s throat; he left it there, impaled to the base of his thumb. The man’s body convulsed in Fuminari’s grip before all movement subsided. The sensation was horrifying. He glared at Enoh from over the man’s shoulders, eyes framed with sticky clots of blood. Enoh returned the stare with a cold grin. Only a few seconds had passed since Fuminari’s first attack.

“What the fuck, old man?” Fuminari shouted. The old man’s level of skill meant that he would have had no trouble halting his attack midway. Even if he had connected, he could have at least avoided delivering a fatal blow, but he had not even tried. Without uttering a word, the old man made it clear that using his own men against him was futile, that the tactic would not slow him for even a moment. Enoh had displayed the extent of his resolve. Realizing this, Fuminari shouted out in disbelief.

“Ah, you got the message?” the old man growled, withdrawing his hand. Blood spurted from the gaping wound and the man’s mouth. Fuminari howled as he felt every cell in his body balloon, explode. He let the man crumple into a puddle of his own blood, collapsing like a doll.

“Come on then, old man!” Fuminari widened his stance so that he stood defenseless, fixed on a spot with his feet set apart. Enoh pounced, like a black wind. Fuminari felt a sharp pain stab through his abdomen. “Ugh!”

In that moment Fuminari brought the sides of his hands down, cutting the air like knives. There was a dull impact. Enoh tumbled backward, rolling a number of times before launching himself upward, kicking off a wall in mid-air to land behind Fuminari. He was clutching his right arm.

Fuminari had used his body as a distraction as he slammed the side of his hand into the old man’s arm. If Fuminari’s muscles had been any less conditioned, the old man’s attack would have cut through to his insides. The old man’s ability to slice through flesh with his bare hands was terrifying.

He’s not going to go straight for the kill.
The knowledge had allowed Fuminari to leave himself open to Enoh’s attack, an invitation of sorts.

Fuminari did not give Enoh a moment’s rest. He sprinted in with all the power of a storm. He sent the tip of his foot hurtling toward Enoh’s jaw. As he did, he felt an agonizing jolt of pain rush through his abdomen where Enoh struck. The pain slowed Fuminari’s attack by the most infinitesimal of degrees.

Enoh leaped up, his movement matching the speed of Fuminari’s kick. He brought his hands in, blocking the attack the moment before it impacted his jaw. Enoh appended the momentum of Fuminari’s attack to the spring of his own jump to vault further upward. He whirled almost lazily through the air, continuing up until he finally came to rest on one of the walls. He stopped there, somehow adhered to the vertical concrete.

The wall was punctuated with a number of vertical slats, each a few centimeters wide and only a few millimeters deep. Enoh lodged his fingers in the grooves and was using them to support his full weight; it was it was difficult to conceive of the strength he would need to accomplish the feat. His fingers would have to be uncannily strong. Of course, no-one could pierce human flesh with their bare hands unless they already possessed abnormal strength in the first place.

The old man began to ascend like a black spider, his arms and legs moving in eccentric patterns. Fuminari was sure he had connected a blow to the man’s right arm, but the man’s climb betrayed nothing of it. Enoh climbed beyond Fuminari’s reach. Fuminari whistled in awe.

So this is what I’m up against; a motley crew of outrageous creatures, first that monster, now this old man.
Shadows of pain bristled across his missing fingers. Dark flames burned his insides. Enoh came to a stop. “Gonna run away then, old man?” Fuminari roared.

“Fuminari,” Enoh said, looking back down, “it appears that our altercation has not gone unnoticed. The police will be here soon.” The words were tinged with regret.

“So you’re afraid of the police?” Fuminari snarled, baring his teeth.

“I’m quite sure you wouldn’t welcome them yourself.”

“Huh.” Fuminari glanced around, making sure not to drop his guard. Tsushima was next to the dead man. Two of the other men had come to and were already getting up. They would not be able to hide the blood, but, at this stage, they could still dress the scene to look like it had been a regular argument.