Chapter Four

Chapter Four

The two of them seem to freeze in the air—in reality, only a split second elapsed—in a kind of embrace. Then a red flower blossomed across the back of her white gown.

A moment later, their two bodies thumped down into the casket like two sides of beef.

“You—and—that—fucking—Doctor Mephisto—” She spat out the curses as she reached for Yakou’s throat with her claw-like hands.

Yuen’s iron lance—sending the spasms of her death throes through the gossamer-clad body—finally brought that action to a halt. With a single blow, it nailed her torso to the bottom of the casket and to the marble platform below it.

Roaring with the ferocity of a wounded beast, she grasped the steel bar with both hands and tried to pull it out. The metal seared her palms. The incandescent energy pierced her hands. It combined with the lifeforce pouring from the hole in her chest and raced through her body, shattering her nervous system and freezing her frame in a tattered rigor mortis. The lance didn’t budge.

“Hiii—” A fountain of black blood followed the high-pitched scream that burst from her mouth. A heavy sound struck the bottom of the casket. All other sounds ceased except for the breathing of her assassins, who otherwise had no need to breathe.

They looked with emotion down at the tattered clothing and gray residue in the casket. “Envious?” Yakou asked.

“A little,” Yuen answered.

Zhang said solemnly, “We long for death but lack the courage to die. I have to believe that one day the Reaper will come for us, too.”

“Let’s go.”

The three turned toward the door. A black silhouette stood before them. It was Kikiou.

“Dying once wasn’t enough?” Yuen asked, no hint of surprise in his voice.

“Do you know how many times we have died?” Kikiou said breezily. He was the same size as before, his voice the same, but the fierceness of the qi surging from his entire being induced in Yuen and Zhang waves of unease.

“Look.” With his staff, Kikiou pointed behind them.

After exchanging glances, the three assassins turned to see. A woman was standing next to the casket. The elegance that defined the meaning of “princess” graced her features. On her face was a bewitching smile.

“A pretender,” Yakou muttered.

“Exactly. The real Princess was otherwise engaged this evening.” He laughed. “As you don’t have long to live, there’s no sense in denying you the truth. She is visiting the girl whose blood she took at Mephisto Hospital. Takako Kanan.”

A touch of color rose to Yakou’s refined face. His subordinates had taken Takako from the hospital and were now guarding her. They were the best of the breed. But they couldn’t be expected to stand in the way of someone who had so easily killed his grandfather.

“Yes, it is as you fear,” Kikiou said, as if reading his mind. He smiled derisively. “None of our enemies has ever prevented a visit from her. A man surrounded himself by a thousand warriors. A man buried himself in a cave deep underground. They sought the sanctuary of priests and popes, of princes and kings. All that stood in her way died.”

“And what became of them?”

“Some are spared. The remainder die ordinary deaths. Not everyone who gives Princess his blood meets with her approval. In the bowels of the earth or at the bottom of the sea, they await her visit—never knowing the outcome—dreaming dreams from which they never wake. From among their number only two have been chosen.”

“Ryuuki and Shuuran.”

“Oh? You know them?”

“Where are they now? I don’t sense them here.”

“If you desire an introduction, I’ll leave a note. He departed to confront Setsura Aki. As I haven’t heard from him since, he has undoubtedly blundered again. But not to worry. The assassin of all assassins accompanies Princess. Once Setsura has been drawn out by the bait that is Miss Takako, the outcome I desire will finally be realized.”

“Not if I can help it.”

Yakou’s two subordinates took up their positions to the right and to the left. Into the blue, bottomless darkness seeped a bloodlust as pointed as the merciless cold of the Arctic Ocean.

That night, Doctor Mephisto canceled all of his appointments and holed up in his underground laboratory. Though that was what he called it, the hospital staff and patients alike referred to it as the “Resurrection Room.”

Most of the miracle drugs that saved their lives—that earned Mephisto Hospital the moniker of the “Devil’s ER”—emerged from behind this steel door that no one else had seen.

But there was something off about Mephisto this night. His countenance was as comely as ever. His manner as elegant as ever. And yet something wasn’t quite right.

He was just about to open the door when he glanced behind him. That demonic gleam in his eyes meant that the laboratory was a dangerous place indeed this night.

No record existed of what was kept in that room.

Mephisto only had one objective in mind. Ignoring the potted plants, the bottles filled with specimens, he crossed the room and headed for one particular corner. He reached inside his cape and took out a large key. The gleaming black skeleton key must certainly match some old lock that secured the most abominable of secrets.

No keyhole was visible. Instead, Mephisto pressed the key against a point in the “wall” and turned it to the right. A portion of the wall silently slid up, approximately six feet wide. It rose up and up until it was lost in the darkness.

The “door” revolved smoothly, exposing the glass-walled interior. If the glass shelves had been any more transparent, the mountain of bottles stacked on them would appear to be floating in the air.

Mephisto remained still for several long minutes. The Demon Physician hesitated before the immense rows of glass shelves, along the surface of which ran a series of “X” marks. Inscribed on two crossed bronze panels was the following statement:

In joy and dread, I seal away these medicines. A curse on he who violates my will.

(signed)

– Doctor Mephisto

To be continued.