Chapter Two

Chapter Two

The body that stole away the souls of emperors and kings. And not only them. Exposed to the full light of day, it could even have robbed the gods of their senses.

Her neck, shoulders, breasts, waist, ass and thighs, down to her ankles and toes, were all the more beautiful than before, none of them lacking the true essence of beauty in the slightest way. Her skin glimmered as if baptized in the secret fragrant oils of eternal youth, cloaking her in unmarred brilliance.

The sensuality and lasciviousness that encompassed her body like a flowing rainbow, together with the mesmerizing movements of her limbs, brought to mind an expression of divinity conquered by devilishness.

Setsura and Yakou exchanged glances of blank amazement. Princess laughed again.

She hid nothing, Everything—from her breasts to her armpits to her rich, black bush—was on display. And yet, not only was nothing about her touched with bawdiness, but her presence left an almost cool and refreshing feeling of white clouds streaming across an endless blue sky above a deep green countryside.

This wasn’t simple beauty, nor was it ordinary voluptuousness. The flawless beauty of this woman—who had destroyed nations, entranced kings and slaughtered their subjects—was the incarnation of evil, the perfect reflection of a soul loyal only to her own desires.

“Feast your eyes on this, Setsura,” she called out, as if to throw not only her voice but herself at him. “And fall into my arms.” She spread those arms wide and waited.

And Setsura—perched on the big limb—Setsura blinked two, three times, and took a casual step towards her. That monster of jealousy, Yakou, had a crush on her down to the marrow of his bones, and even now his intoxicated expression didn’t waver.

“Yakou! Go!”

As if struck by an electric shock, the man in the black three-piece suit took off for the manor house. A glistening trail chased after him, only to disintegrate in another burst of intense vibration.

“How about I stay here?” Setsura said, watching Yakou’s back. Princess’s reprimand seemed to have brought him back to his normal self.

“And leave you behind? Idiot,” Princess said with a smile. “I have at least plumbed the depths of your mind. The kind of mind who would go out of his way to hide a dead body while starting a world war. I could get to like you.”

“What a nuisance.” Setsura frowned. “Let’s get down to brass tacks, shall we? I don’t exactly have a lot of time.”

“As far as your wire-wielding friend is concerned, I have no worries. He has certainly arrived at where you wished him to go. The question is what happens after that. Kikiou is in the manor house. You haven’t seen them for yourself, but his private army is there too. Besides, there’s no telling if that doctor you trust so much can do what you’re counting on.”

“I believe he can.” Setsura believed in the man he casually called a quack.

“You say with such cheek,” Princess scoffed. And then she said something rather strange. “But how will it turn out? Let’s find ourselves a seat and watch the show.”

“What? You’re not going to do it yourself?”

Princess wordlessly raised her hand and pointed in the direction of the manor house. Her hand seemed to absorb the light of the sun, scattering the light across her chest.

The manor house bustled with forces mustered to meet these unexpected intruders. The black-clad figure burst into the hall. A swarm of lizard creatures flew at him. In a flash they were sliced to pieces.

“You’d better come out or the same thing just might happen to you.”

“You are in awfully good spirits,” said the doctor in white, descending the staircase from the second floor. Three of the supporting pillars had been severed. The sections anchored to the ceiling leaned at a dangerous angle. When no answer was forthcoming, he said, “What, cat got your tongue?”

Instead of nodding, “Setsura” opened his mouth. Mephisto peered in. “Hoh,” he said. A patient and a doctor who could both say a lot with a little. Setsura shut his mouth and Mephisto said in a strangely soft voice, as if a shadow had suddenly shrouded the world, “So I take it you are not Setsura?”

Setsura folded his arms, drew his brows, and with a confused expression on his face—nodded—as if to say, no, but in fact, yes.

“Hmm. You can’t say for certain yourself. You do seem the real thing.” Mephisto silently inspected the black-clad man. He swept back his cape. “Had you presented yourself to me in such a form, you should have received your just dues. But seeing as you have come for treatment, you are my patient, and I will do what I can. Come along.”

So this Setsura wasn’t Setsura after all. He’d donned the mask carved by the Dancing Fiend and wrapped the black cloak around him—this was none other than Prime Minister Kongodai.

But why had he returned to this world after leaving it? “Setsura” had convinced him—the Setsura who was not Setsura but was in fact the prime minister. Restoring his voice required the skills of the Demon Physician secluded in Princess’s mansion. Having drilled that into his head, Setsura sent him on an outward trajectory. Then while he set up a diversion with the Dancing Fiend, the prime minister was to sneak into the manor house.

But the prime minister had taken a detour on his way there to save Setsura after Princess bound him to the tree. His current consciousness told the prime minister that he couldn’t abandon himself when he was in danger. His ambiguous reaction when revealing his true identity to Mephisto was a consequence of the same.

One of the Dancing Fiend’s skills was that a mask imbued the wearer with the characteristics of the person represented. Mephisto had seen through the facade soon enough. There might have even been the touch of a smile in his voice as he made the invitation.

The two of them entered a room on the second floor. The room—a cross between a laboratory and a doctor’s office—was stocked with tools and mechanisms that were all a curious fusion of the ancient and the ultra-modern. In the center of the room was an examination table, already occupied by a pale body. Setsura’s expression shifted.

“As you can see, I am currently treating a patient,” Mephisto said, as if to convince Takako Kanan of the fact as well.

Restore the half-vampire human to fully human without destroying the sire. The Demon Physician had taken up the gauntlet of slicing through a Gordian knot no one had ever cut before. Setsura/Kongodai was equally intrigued by the challenge before him.

“Humans don’t turn into vampires because of a poison, but because of a curse occasioned by their behavior itself.” Mephisto’s voice was the crystallization of a dark winter’s night. “The breaking of such a curse is not the province of science. But she shall be treated.”

He said it would and so it must be possible. This was Mephisto, after all.

“And when will that occur? Does not your face and soul pose the question, wearer of Setsura’s face?” When the black-robed man nodded, Mephisto said, “Then let us tell the real Setsura, my client who requested this treatment.”

He did a half-turn and stared intently at Setsura’s face, who retreated a step without realizing it. Mephisto grasped his hand. “To tell the truth, were you to insist that you were you, even I would harbor doubts. I do not charge my patients, but for the crime of reproducing his face, I shall demand a fee.”

A countenance inhumanly handsome approached one of otherworldly beauty. Anybody could have imagined what would come next. But an unexpected interruption occurred just before those two faces melded together.

“Sir Mephisto,” called out an older man.

The urgency in the voice made Mephisto turn around. The great warlock was no longer only a head. Four “legs” jutting from his thick tube of a body raised him five feet off the ground. The joints of the “pelvis” and “knees” and “ankles” flexed and bent with an impressive dexterity as he scampered up to Mephisto.

“What do you intend to do with him? However irreplaceable you may be, Setsura Aki remains our sworn enemy, our unlucky star. Do not forget that. A friendly reception is the last thing he deserves. Stand aside and I shall deliver the coup de grâce.”

“This man is my patient,” Mephisto replied, meeting the blood-red loathing in Kikiou’s eyes with cool resolve. “No matter the shape or form, he who seeks the help of Doctor Mephisto shall remain in my care until a complete recovery has been achieved.”

The great warlock fell silent. The desire to sally into battle burned brightly, and such a contest would have created a most interesting spectacle, but he turned his thoughts in a different direction.

“Forgive me. This old man is cursed with a short temper.” The half-human bowed his head.

Mephisto answered with a silent bow of his own, then said to Setsura, “Have a seat over there.” He indicated a chair in the corner of the room. “Make a tongue? Or swap voice boxes? It won’t hurt. The former will take a tad more time. The faster the better, I presume? Though it will take a bit of time getting used to.”

Setsura bobbed his head.

“A fake, but the substance is the same. I don’t know whose handiwork this is, but there are many frightening people in this world.”

Mephisto seized Setsura’s jaw, the light of pure intrigue shining in his eyes. For a moment, a what-the-hell look flashed in his eyes. Then he obediently raised his head, exposing his pale throat.

Mephisto was a vampire. Only one thing could follow. Except that it didn’t. All that trailed down the skin was a white finger. Setsura hunched his shoulder. Because it tickled.

“You must suffer, unable to speak on your own.” Any sense of danger vanished from Mephisto’s expression and tone of voice. This was the Doctor Mephisto that always appeared before a patient.

His finger stopped on Setsura’s throat. Without the slightest sign of tension on the skin, the finger sank down to the second joint. Anybody would have started with surprise, but the finger withdrew before he could blink.

Examining the throat and finding not even the hint of a scar there, Mephisto asked, “How do you feel?”

“Hey, watch where you put your hands.”

“Good.”

As Setsura put his hand to his own throat as if making fine adjustments, Mephisto stepped back and said to Kikiou, “The treatment is complete.”

“That was impressive.”

The old man’s gaze was wrapped with icy bands of destruction. No matter what the realm, Kikiou now defined himself by his desire to destroy Setsura. He said, as if unable to wait any longer, “And now he isn’t your patient?”

“He is as you say.”

“Then hand him over to me.”

“I will do nothing of the sort. That is a topic you must take up with him.”

The white cape whirled as he turned his back to them and returned to the operating table where Takako Kanan lay. The sense that this was not the real Setsura was strong within him.

“Shall we do it here?” said Kikiou, still unaware that he was addressing Prime Minister Kongodai.

“Suit yourself,” said the prime minister, still unable to convincingly say that he wasn’t Setsura. “But how did you end up in such a sad state?”

Faced with eyes filled with honest sympathy, the veins stood up on Kikiou’s head. The only part of him right now that had any veins. The sight of him simultaneously sent a chill down the spine and tempted the observer to break out laughing. If the space allowed, adding a few more legs to the tube beneath the head would be even funnier—a caricature of robots from centuries ago.

After the body that Mephisto had previously fashioned for Kikiou had been destroyed on the bus, he’d had to make do with a temporary body he made himself. Which was bad enough, but facing off against the man who’d robbed him of his original inflamed his rage all the more.

“This is the Doctor’s sanctuary. Setsura, let us step outside.”

“Sure.”

Having become Setsura down to his thoughts and memories, Kongodai was no less confident. The assurance that he was the prime minister, kindled inside him with a single word from Mephisto, was now blown to the wind. Any uncertainty in his lucid face vanished. He accepted the challenge.

Supposing he was Setsura—if he was Setsura—he would certainly be aware of the gravity of the situation. In less than an hour, Shinjuku would be consumed in flames. A person closely connected with the dangerous state faced by Demon City would be having a stroke instead.

“Where are we going?” Setsura asked.

“Just shut up and follow me.”

Clanking and humming and buzzing, Kikiou exited into the hallway. Mephisto saw them off with a glance, and without another word, bent over Takako.