The Psyche Diver Trilogy: Demon Hunters (39 page)

“Look, cut it with the threats. You don’t want to fuck with my resolution, do you?”

“You have made your decision?”

“Sure, I’ll dive. Into Geshin, for now.”

“Geshin!?”

“Right. Kukai comes afterwards.”

Hosuke got up, hoisting Yuko into his arms. Then he began to stroll towards the main building.

3

Three hours had passed since then.

Hosuke looked down from the darkened ceiling, over his abdomen. One of the hair creatures was crawling over his belly, exposed where the sheets had slid away, the ponderous creeping motion bringing it ever closer to Hosuke’s head.
Fuminari, huh.
As he thought of the man, Hosuke saw a face ripple out from the middle of the clump; a bent, floating rendition of Fuminari. The haunt was reflecting his thoughts. It drifted closer until it was a scratch away from his face, then it fizzled into darkness.

Fuminari and Biku had set something in motion. He had heard nothing of them since they had parted ways that night in the Tanzawa mountains. But he knew them well enough to know that the possibility existed that they would trace down his location, show up somehow. He wanted to dive into Kukai before that happened.
But Geshin comes first.
He corrected himself—Geshin had been the first to demonstrate a psychic connection with Kukai’s
sokushinbutsu.

The monk Geshin, a genius in his own right, had felt Kukai’s call. He had entered the forbidden realm of the burial chamber. Something had happened inside to cause him to lose his mind. He had been excommunicated, banished from the Mountain. But what
had happened?

“O-Daishi, he attacked me. His face was horrific, distorted.”

That was all Geshin had said when Hosuke had questioned him just the day before. As Hosuke continued, asking the man if he could still hear the voice that had called out to him, the man’s face transformed; his eyes rolled into his skull as he began to thrash in a wild frenzy. Whatever it had been, it had been overwhelmingly powerful.

Hosuke would dive into the man’s mind and smell it out. When that was done, he would dive into Kukai. He was gripped by an electric wave of excitement. His penis was half erect in Yuko’s hand. He had hardly noticed her hand gliding over the shaft.

Tonight would be their last chance to sleep together, Enoh had said as much before leaving. Yuko knew it too.
“Until you finish the job,”
Enoh had said. But there was no way to know what might happen when his work was done. They might be killed—if so this was their last chance to be together. Exactly why Yuko had already given herself to the rapturous frenzy of sex and fallen asleep directly afterwards.

“You’re getting hard again.” Her voice cracked slightly as she whispered the words.

“Oh, yeah.” Hosuke nodded.

Her hand picked up speed, her breathing quickened. Now and then she would cup his balls, playing with them as her hand came down. A slender finger skimmed over his anus.

“
Mmm,
” she moaned, pressing her body into him. “Hurry up and
fuck me
, Hosuke.”

She curled her teeth into his shoulder and bit down hard. Then she lifted her head to place her soft lips against his, hand still in motion. Her small, keen tongue slid into his mouth. Hosuke reached down with his left hand and grabbed one of her breasts. He pincered in on the nipple and squeezed. Then he turned towards her, putting his right hand over her hips. They were lying on their sides and facing each other. He slid his hand over her waist and hooked it around her buttocks to pull her closer. Yuko wrapped her top leg over his, trapping it between her thighs. His finger probed, tracing over the split of her buttocks until it found a hot viscosity; he pushed it in from behind. Her hips responded with subtle increments of movement. The flesh between her legs was soaking wet.

Hosuke slipped his finger out, gently carrying the moisture towards her anus. Each time he brushed over her he felt it contract, then open again. Their lips parted; Yuko was moaning softly. Hosuke brought his fingers around and pushed in from the front. She widened her legs, making it easier for him to move. A second finger delved into the girl still not in her twenties. Her hips bucked harder. Hosuke brushed the underside of his thumb over her pearl of a clitoris, an almost non-existent touch that sent her moaning up a pitch. He had brought her to orgasm.

“Feel good?”

Yuko’s head rocked, nodding and moaning higher still as he whispered into her ear.

“
Yes, yes!!
”

She arched her head backwards as he pressed his lips against her pale throat, maneuvering her onto her back before bringing himself up so that his torso rested half over her. The whole time she refused to let go of him. His lips moved down from her throat, tracing a slow line. He flicked his tongue over her nipples, taking his time before he continued down.

He pivoted downwards and pushed his face between her legs. His arms came down as he used his elbows to push her legs outwards, parting them like an eagle’s wings. Hosuke regretted not having turned on the lights. His tongue chased unrestricted over her, a finger still probing her anus from behind. He pursed her clitoris between his lips, dabbing with the tip of his tongue. His cock was in Yuko’s mouth. Her head bobbed up and down as she let out muffled groans of pleasure. Her tongue grafted around the tip, dipping into the ridges.

“Can I put on the light?” Hosuke asked, lifting his head.

Yuko nodded without letting him out of her mouth. He reached up and flicked the switch on the wall. The lights came on.

“Look at me, take me all in!” Yuko half bawled, pulling momentarily clear. “Tell me you’ll never forget, that you’ll never forget how you saw me.”

She was stunning, there were no signs of the many times she had been raped. There they were—the petals of her flesh, wet with honey. Hosuke feasted his eyes then kissed her again. He pivoted around once more, then slowly penetrated her. Her hips pushed upwards, welcoming him as her eyes closed, tears collecting in the corners. Then they opened and she gazed up at Hosuke.

“I love you.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his face to hers. His stubbled cheeks pressed over her. She grazed her head into his, over and over, as though trying to forever imprint the memory of the sensation in her mind.

“When you came for me… I was so happy to see you.” The words were almost incoherent. “Show me your face.” She held Hosuke’s face up to see.

“I’m fucking ugly, you know,” Hosuke muttered.

She shook her head, telling him not to be silly as she brought him closer again. Hosuke raised his upper body, lifting Yuko up. He crossed his legs and pulled her hips in. He used both hands to pull her waist up and down, chasing his tongue over her breasts. Her hips began to accelerate, faster than the movement of his hands. The girl’s pale and slender frame danced, fully naked in his embrace.

“Promise me you’ll be with me,” Yuko said. “Together…”

Her voice was wet, a tactile knot of bliss. Her hips bucked into him as she forced her lips onto his.

No one is gonna kill this fucking girl!
He was already coming inside her.

Twenty

Death Brawls

1

At the same time, two people faced off in the grounds of Miwa Ishibashi’s Hachioji residence.

One was tall and youthful, with the delicate features of a girl. The other was short, an old man standing in the grass, wearing black with long, white hair that caught the wind. The two men were Biku and Enoh. Biku had dived through the window of Akio Ishibashi’s escape, ready to give chase through the night, only to find the old man waiting there for him. Drenched in the light of the crescent moon, Enoh’s frame resembled a bodiless spirit, lambent against the powder-blue darkness. Keen eyes shone out from the man’s elderly, wrinkled face.

A wave of razor-like energy burst from the his body like a sudden wind. Sharp as a blade, it bore outwards with the force of a drill. Biku just stood there, indifferent, allowing the energy to wash over him. A feat only possible because of his unique inability to feel pain. His crimson, feminine lips curled into a smooth grin. It was the same perfectly innocent, inhuman smile that had smashed through Iba’s resolve.

“As I suspected,” Enoh muttered. He gave Biku a sly, one-sided grin. The expression was of a boundless joy being forcefully kept in check.

“Enoh,” Biku said, straightening up.

Enoh said nothing in reply, only nodding instead; he repeated the motion a few times. “I’ve heard all about you. About the monk-child, Biku.”

“Just as I have heard of a facetious old-man that is fond of murder.”

“And here, we finally meet.”

“So it would seem,” Biku nodded.

This was more than simple dialogue. The two men were sizing each other up, probing for weakness. Neither acknowledged the buckling pressures of energy searing around them.

“I arrived to find the Shinmeikai scattered over the place. I feared I might have missed you, but it appears I was on time after all.”

“Unfortunately so.”

“Iba told me, you know,” Enoh said, his voice a hushed grunt.

“About?”

“Your disposition; that you don’t feel pain.”

“Iba did quite like to talk. So much more than his appearance suggested.”

“Indeed. A personality trait that resulted in us taking his head.”

“His head?”

“Ripped off, courtesy of Hanko.”

“Oh dear. I feel I should offer my condolences, I had come to know him quite well,” Biku replied levelly, his expression unchanging.

Enoh’s lips leaked a muffled staccato, he was laughing. “First Fuminari, then Hosuke Kumon. I’ve come to appreciate the great reserves of talent lurking in the wilds.”

Enoh was closer now, having closed some of the distance between them without any outward sign of movement. Biku widened his stance a fraction, relaxing his arms at either side and almost imperceptibly lowering his center of gravity. He moved in perfect tandem with Enoh’s approach.

“And how is Hosuke?”

“I just met with him, actually.”

“What was he up to?”

“Lying with a girl, watching the moon.”

“Sounds like him,” Biku laughed.

Branches stretched over their heads, from planted trees lined up to each side. Enoh stepped forward, moving with the casual spontaneity of a man noticing an acquaintance across the road. Just as their bodies were about to meet, his right hand blinked forward, a flash converging on Biku’s throat. Biku arched his head backwards and the attack sailed over him. It was fast enough to leave burn marks on his throat. Enoh’s left hand followed, rushing in from the side, again towards Biku’s throat. The attack was even faster than the first. Biku swung deeper, translating the movement into a backwards roll. Yet no distance opened between them. Enoh had moved forward as Biku dodged.

A red line wormed over Biku’s throat, the tip of Enoh’s left hand had grazed the top layer of his skin. Enoh kept moving. Biku felt a sudden burst of wind-like pressure impact the side of his face. He reeled back, as though he had taken a sharp slap to the face. He tumbled again, rolling twice before pushing off the ground to vault into the air. He soared lightly upwards and grabbed one of the branches, swinging to land on it. Enoh was nowhere below him. A branch rustled to Biku’s side, revealing Enoh to be standing there.

“You know I chose the ‘En’ in my name for its meaning—
monkey
. You’ve got guts, choosing to take me on in the trees.”

He stood upright, causing the branch to slump; then, without using his hands for support, he charged directly at Biku. The movement was just like that of an ape.

“Kyaa!”

Biku vaulted from the branch, burden gone it sprang upwards. Enoh launched himself in response, bearing towards Biku, readying to attack from above as Biku landed. His timing was flawless. Biku flipped in mid-air so that he was falling headfirst towards the grass below. But instead of landing on his head he slammed both hands into the ground, pushing them down as cushions and using his elbows to kill the speed of his fall. Even then, the speed of his fall was enough to force his forehead into the ground. Holding himself upright, Biku pulled his knees inwards and curled into a ball.

Enoh continued to plummet towards him, but it was Biku’s turn to attack. Reworking his entire frame into a spring he jerked his arms straight, taking flight as he kicked both legs upwards. Enoh judged the attack and reacted, meeting Biku’s feet with his own before rebounding, dancing lightly upwards as he converted the force of the attack into fuel. They stood off again—Biku on the ground, Enoh up in the trees. Of the branches rustling in the wind, one moved in a heavy yaw. Enoh was standing on it, both legs crouched low towards the center. His balance was astonishing, almost superhuman. He had harmonized himself with the swaying of the branch using nothing more than his knees and the curve of his back-without even grabbing at anything. The man’s dexterity was even greater
than a monkey’s.

Blood dripped from Biku’s forehead as he looked up, his skin cut from when he had used his head and arms to break his fall. But he was smiling, apparently oblivious of the fact. A ghoulish laughter descended from the cover of the darkly weaving branches. It began as a small, rhythmic noise, then grew in volume. It was the laugh of someone having too much fun to hold it in. Enoh was cackling, his mouth wide open. The branch Enoh rested on swung deeper, accelerating as the man’s laughter picked up. Enoh was using his weight to rock it.

“You’re fascinating, Biku,” he said. “First Fuminari, and now you; it’s been a long time since I’ve had as much fun. I’d like nothing more than to fight all of you to sunrise.”

It was like the ecstatic call of some nightmarish ghoul that had taken form in the wind-rustled branches. Biku took a careful step backwards, keeping his eyes on the branch.
Too dangerous to fight among trees
. He thought of Ishibashi, gone now. Of Fuminari and Hanko, probably still inside the building. Even if Ishibashi was a lost cause, he wanted to avoid giving up on Renobo.

Just then an ear-splitting crash came from the inside the residence. Enoh seized on Biku’s distraction, flaring into the air like a black ghost.

2

A gigantic, disfigured shadow appeared in the doorway.

Fuminari unleashed a storm of energy towards it, deadly like a blast from a furnace. The instinct to fight seared through him as his cells burst into flame, almost vaporizing from the intensity of the stimulation. He gathered everything he had into the attack, accompanied by a roar loud enough to dislodge boulders. The walls of the room shook with the force; any papers would have spontaneously combusted, burnt to ash.

Hanko roared in response, taking the strike head on as his body lashed out with a baleful wave of equally powerful energy. The fiery breath of a lion swept over Fuminari’s face like a physical blow, the beast’s jaw stretched wide before him.

Each had thrown an almost physical wave of energy at the other. The energy sparked with crazed intensity, flashing like invisible fireworks that clashed in the space between them. Fuminari’s nostrils registered the carbon tang of burning air. Perhaps the sensation was in his mind, but it seemed to fit the brutality that had erupted between them. If anything, he felt surprised that their clothes were yet to erupt in red flame. A powerful sensation ran over Fuminari’s spine, something between horror and ecstasy.

This was the moment he had been waiting for, dreaming of. Impotent or not, he felt ready to ejaculate; he could hardly contain himself. There was an abject terror that threatened to rip out his spine and sweep his legs from under him. And with it, a peerless euphoria. Into the mix came hatred and something that could have been love. It all came together, smoldering in a heady barbecue of fire.

That night in the mountains of Tanzawa, Hanko had taken Jakou’in and left Fuminari alone—seemingly oblivious to his presence—but now he was responding, issuing a challenge with his entire frame. Fuminari knew the time had come for the fulfillment of his long-held, warped affections.

Hanko was an onyx rock, it stood hunched forwards yet still matched Fuminari’s two-meter height. Its physical mass was greater than even Fuminari’s 145 kilograms of bulk. The beast was a mammoth-sized abomination. But Fuminari’s impressive build was in no way inferior.

Hanko flew into motion, hurling its deadliest weapon—its giant frame—directly at Fuminari. The doorway was too small for them. It would enforce limits on any attack, becoming a disadvantage to whoever came through it first. Hanko had known this and bluffed, suddenly launching an unexpected strike. Fuminari thrust his right elbow out, pushing his left up to protect his heart, arm angled upwards to cover his throat while his hand shielded his face and eyes. His stomach muscles hardened as he twisted his lower body to protect his groin. Nothing less than front-on blow from a samurai sword could punch through his tensed abdomen. Anything else would stop short of a fatal strike, fail to stab deep enough. Protecting himself this way he had made it impossible for an unarmed human to deliver a single, lethal blow.

Bones crunched as the two heavy bodies of flesh collided, shredding the carpet under Fuminari’s feet. He slid backwards as the carpet split. Hanko’s forehead slammed over his with a blunt thud. Their eyes met for an instant, centimeters apart. Hanko’s were yellow and burning with horrific power.

As their bodies collided they each launched a rapid series of attacks. Fuminari jerked his right knee up to crash into Hanko’s, in the same moment forming the fingers of the hand covering his face into a v-shape. He sent them flying towards the beast’s eyes. He knew Hanko would never fall for a simple bluff, that there was no time for artistry. His only plan was to make each attack potentially lethal and compensate with volume.

Hanko took the blow to his knee, stopping Fuminari’s attack dead as the beast dipped its head towards Fuminari’s attacking fingers. His gloved hand crashed into the beast’s forehead. In the next moment Hanko’s left hand was hurtling in from the side, a blur heading for Fuminari’s throat. Fuminari raised his right shoulder to absorb the blow. His joint made a deep sound, followed immediately by a rush of heat and the sound of cloth tearing as Fuminari’s shirt tore around the shoulder, exposing flesh beneath. There were two bloody lines where his flesh had been gouged out and the skin hung loose; the flesh underneath was pink and moist. Tiny beads of blood spread over the surface of the wound.

The two bodies came apart, falling back. In the brief seconds of attack they had expended half a day’s worth of energy. But to relax for even a moment would mean annihilation. A thin line of red snaked from Fuminari’s hairline and trickled down his forehead. Blood. Broken skin, from when their foreheads had smashed together. The blood flowed a straight line to the bridge of his nose, then angled towards his right eye.

The aura radiating from Hanko’s body was perfectly animal. A heatwave that was both hellish and otherworldly.
How could a human aura get so distorted?
The creature was a work of art, testament to the extraordinary drive and talent of Enoh—the beast’s master and creator. It fought without reference to any school of martial arts. It fought, fundamentally, as an animal would. Like a rabid tiger fighting on its hind legs. But Hanko’s style—
his very existence
—was beyond the realm of metaphor. Hanko was unique, a creature without antecedent, neither beast nor human.
What kind of artistry could give rise to such a creature?

There was a table and some wooden chairs to Fuminari’s left. Behind him was the bed Ishibashi and Renobo had been fucking on only minutes ago. The air was still thick with the heavy stench of blood. Renobo lay sprawled across to one corner of the room, naked and bound with climbing rope. She was unconscious after having cracked her head when Fuminari had hurled her to the ground.

Hanko and Fuminari stood still, holding each other’s gaze for a couple of breaths. Then, just as the blood from Fuminari’s forehead began to trickle from his eye towards his mouth, they exploded into combat again. A raging battle ensued. Fuminari could not let his guard lapse, even for a moment. There was no time to let pain distract him. The fight unfurled with an intensity that would have buried a normal person in ten seconds, their head crushed in five, maybe six. Either that or they would just collapse, hysterical from stress. Fuminari’s body was on fire. There was carbon deep in his nose. He sucked in blood. He was a wild animal in his own right, launching an attack for each he took.