Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Under normal circumstances, this Adonis and that Venus would have been drawn together by a taut thread of murderous intent. But when it came to the Demon Princess, though the knife-edge of tension was very much there, the keen will to murder was not.

“If Kanan-san has become a vampire, I shall destroy you in return. If humanity still resides in her, then I shall destroy you to make her whole. That is something I can do.”

“I understand, Setsura-I-know and Setsura-I-do-not.” She licked her lips with the tip of her red tongue. “To be sure, she has not completely become my servant. But if you do anything funny, Setsura, not being completely immortal, one word from me and she will tear out her own heart.”

“Why did you not take all of her blood?” Setsura asked.

A strange question. As bait to manipulate him, it seemed obvious to him that Princess would need to present to him the normal Takako. Setsura’s doubts sprang from imagining her suffering before being brought here. Whatever induced her to turn Takako must have proved quite a threat even for Demon City.

And then to leave a piece of the human intact and choose this harder road instead—to what end?

The Demon Princess said, “Because I knew it would annoy you all the more. We weep over the dead for a time and then move on. But mourning and anguishing alongside the dying goes on and on and on. At the beginning, that woman was useless flesh. I did not care what became of her. I turned her into live bait to lure you here. Do you really want to know what she was about to become before I made her mine? Let her tell you in her own words.”

Takako’s mouth opened. The lamentations that flowed forth would make a hardened criminal want to cover his ears. “Help me—Setsura-san—my throat is burning—my body—crawls with slime and insects—the cold makes me shake—please—give me your—”

Her face was calm and impassive, like she was asleep. She didn’t move in the slightest. And yet there was no denying the pain and suffering in the sounds bleating out of her.

The Demon Princess quietly backed away, an almost unconscious action. And she took note of her own surprise. “Hoh. I am retreating. Because of a mere man. But a mere man won’t save her. I didn’t make you men wait while I frittered about in my wardrobe. That damned Kikiou. It’s times like this that I’m in the mood for a good fuck and he goes AWOL.”

She calmly opened her arms wide. “Go ahead,” she said defiantly. “Take off my head. Give it your best shot.” She paused. “What? You can’t? Afraid of what will happen next? Then I will show you. Either way, the man I so mercilessly wounded should receive his just rewards.”

Princess raised her right hand and brought it to her chest. The hand stopped, like something had bound it. She wasn’t stymied, but moved the hand again. Setsura undid the threads wrapped around her wrist. Otherwise they would sever her arm. He knew the effect on her would be minimal. The problem was the effect on Takako.

Princess reached up with her other hand and undid the collar of her robe, exposing her bountiful breasts. The pale mounds swayed and glimmered in the blue light like living things jutting out of the ocean depths. Five lines of red flashed across their contours. She gouged horizontal lines across both breasts with her fingers.

A scream—not from Princess, but from the casket. Setsura turned. Takako’s chest was covered with red. Five lines across each breast, exactly the same as Princess.

“I feel no pain. The same cannot be said for her. Do you want to try it with my neck? I’ll die just to prove my point.”

Princess smiled brightly. The smile just as quickly faded. Setsura looked back at her as if he were the incarnation of Rakshasa.

“Do you have any intent to kill me? What did you come here for?” Not spoken in fear, but in admiration, as could be expected from the Demon Princess.

“Let’s give it a rest for now,” Setsura said.

“Get out!” Princess pointed at the door with her bloody hand. “Go wherever suits you. No matter where, I will know. If you wish to destroy this house and this world, enjoy yourself. But you will regret it afterwards, and at length. I will drag your soul back here through the mud and make you my slave.”

Halfway down the hallway, Mephisto came to a halt. Ahead of him, Yakou peered over his shoulder. “What?”

There was a door in the wall on Mephisto’s right. “This door bears the scars of some strange substance being expelled from it.”

Yakou nodded. Damaged by Setsura’s devil wires, Kikiou’s laboratory had spat out the “darkness.”

“Whose room is this?”

“Sir Kikiou’s private room.”

“And laboratory?”

“Yes.” Yakou glanced at Mephisto and then at the door. “Do you wish to go in?”

“Would that be all right?”

“If you can put up with a bit of unsightliness.”

“It is all the same to me.”

“Then let us inquire within.” Yakou walked up to the door and knocked softly.

The reply came a long minute later, as if spoken by a patient on his deathbed. “What do you want?”

“It is Yakou. I’ve brought along a guest.” There was a touch of glee in Yakou’s voice. He truly loved giving Kikiou a hard time.

“Go away.”

“A very special guest.”

“Who?”

“Doctor Mephisto.”

“Oh!” the old man said excitedly. The greatest warlock of the centuries was momentarily at a loss for words. “I’m somewhat indisposed at the moment, but if you do not mind, please come in.” For good or ill, this wasn’t a guest he could readily refuse.

Yakou opened the door and ushered in Mephisto. The room was in good order. The antique table, laboratory instruments—everything preserved in its condition from the day they were made.

Mephisto glanced around the room and made a curious observation. “Terrible and amazing things occur when he wears that face. A man who cannot help but destroy the world with a single strand. He belongs to Demon City.”

“Indeed,” Yakou said gravely. He too knew something of those “terrible and amazing” things.

“Sir Mephisto—” came Kikiou’s voice from somewhere.

“Where are you?” Mephisto’s gaze focused on a corner of the far wall.

“There is a cord there—pull on it.”

Mephisto tugged on the cord. The hidden door slid open, welcoming him inside. At the rear of the forest of arms and legs, Kikiou was lying in front of a floor cabinet. Limbs were scattered all about. The strange scene was suggestive of Kikiou transforming into a ghoul.

Though a ghoul without arms or legs. The unmoving torso didn’t even have a head attached.

“What a strange reception this is,” Mephisto murmured.

As if in response, “I am in the cabinet. Open the door.”

“I will—” Yakou quickly stepped forward. And just as quickly stopped. The hands lying around him reached out and grabbed at his feet and clothing.

“Allow me,” Mephisto said.

This time the waving stalks of the hands and legs cleared a path before him, so neatly done it could almost be called pretty. Mephisto leaned over and pulled open the door.

“Thank you,” came Kikiou’s voice from the black interior of the cabinet. His head seemed to sprout out of the bottom shelf.

“You look tired,” Mephisto said softly. He wasn’t poking fun.

“An acquaintance of yours did this to me. Every time we run into each other, he sends a chill down my spine. I finally hid myself away in here. Please excuse my greeting you in such an unsightly manner.” He cast a cold look at Yakou. “You may leave.”

But the erstwhile English exchange student feigned deafness. Kikiou glared at him some more, then directed his attention to the bottom of the cabinet, at an arm lying there.

“I managed to use that to toss myself into the cabinet, but the effort wore me out. If Doctor Mephisto could literally lend me a hand—”

“What would you like me to do?” Mephisto really did seem to be volunteering to save Kikiou.

“It should be simple for the good Doctor.” A shadow fell across the old man’s face. “I would like you to retrieve the torso from the other room and attach the arms, legs and this head. The part inserted into the torso still remains. I cannot install a new one.”

“That is indeed problematic. I would like to say I agree, but—”

“But it cannot be done?”

“That would be correct. I could strip away the damaged parts. New limbs may prove difficult, though.”

“Why would that be?”

Kikiou glowered at the doctor’s handsome countenance. The animosity soon dissipated. Such was the power of his beauty.

“You do not understand?”

“Not at all.”

“Yakou, show him.”

“Yes,” Yakou said, with a slight nod—a slight smile—on his noble face.

He took a step backwards and spread out a black wing, just his left one, like a fan. Its fifteen foot wingspan was proof of his ancestry. He lazily flapped it once. A small gale gusted through the room. The writhing arms and legs separated from the elbows and knees and dropped to the floor.

“What in the world!” gasped Kikiou.

“Whomever you may have fought before, your opponent this time was Setsura Aki,” Mephisto said, rather like a proud parent. “Now you understand what I meant? What he takes apart, nobody can put back together. Not even me.”

“Then I have a request to make,” Kikiou said in a hoarse voice. “If there are no limbs, then they must be made. Is that not something the name of Doctor Mephisto is good for?”

Kikiou could hardly even bat an eyelash. He had thrown himself in here in a last, desperate effort, stifling his breath in order to pass undetected. If a murderous intent seized Doctor Mephisto at this moment, the brains behind this band of vampires would be utterly without recourse.

“Make limbs for the infamous warlock,” Doctor Mephisto mused in a heartfelt manner. “I understand. However, you must leave all the details to me.”

“I would greatly appreciate it.” The old man’s head nodded forward on what little there was left of his neck.

Mephisto plucked up the head and carried it against his left hip as he strode to the door. “Get that, would you?” he said to Yakou.

Yakou hauled up the torso and tucked it under his arm like a sack of flour and followed him back to the laboratory.

“You can use the tools and instruments here,” said Kikiou.

“Unfortunately, no,” answered Mephisto.

“And why is that?”

“This is why.” Mephisto raised his hand. A light sound clattered forth from the floor. The faint oscillations traveled along the floor and through the walls and ceiling.

The table split apart, as did the chair, the flasks and test tubes and distillation equipment, parchments bearing the figures of chemical formulas, bottles and vials. The cut ends that fell to the floor had scarily smooth edges.

Silence flowed back into the room. Then Kikiou’s hair-raising voice rose from the depths of his soul and filled the laboratory. “Of all the people in the world, my opponent had to be Setsura Aki—the horror of that knowledge is now seared into my being.”