Flickering Enigma

Kobe City, Japan.

In the back of a vast, rectangular room stood a wall of tinted glass. It offered a panoramic, slightly darkened view of the city skyline.

Reflected on it appeared the back of a man. He was seated at a polished, unorganized black stone desk, his hands steepled before him under the dim light.

In disarray, a variety of brooding paintings hung across the disordered room. Some were solemn portraits, while some carried profound messages. In the corners, the flags of Japan and Italy stood stiffly, side by side.

Knock. Knock. The sound came from the entrance.

“Enter.” The man’s lips twitched.

A guard entered the room in steady, measured steps.

“Mr. Scarnetti, this letter was sent to you,” said the guard. 

Scarnetti removed his gold-rimmed glasses. He rubbed his sleep-deprived eyes and said in a flat voice, “Leave it here.” 

Thump. The guard closed the door after departing with a sharp nod.

Scarnetti curiously picked up the envelope.  

Kazu Ryuji? From Osaka? His sharp eyes narrowed. A faint crease appeared between his brows as his confusion grew.

He slit the envelope open and pulled out a single sheet of parchment.

It was a white parchment with no writing at all. Yet, what it contained seemed to shift his confusion into something entirely different. 

Inside the letter, a strange symbol was drawn in a deep maroon. It was a stylized, segmented tail curling up to a sharp, menacing stinger.

It was like nothing he had ever seen, yet it struck him with visceral familiarity.

The man froze with the parchment tightly held in his hand. As the air around him thickened, the ceiling lights began to flicker eerily above him.

“Haha…” A breathy laugh sounded lowly.

He placed the parchment on his desk, swept his dark blue hair back, and gazed up at the stifling ceiling. 

Suddenly, thin cracks crawled all across his features. Colors bled, merging into a familiar combination of red, yellow, and white. It painted the man's entire face.

It was the face of a clown.

“It seems…” The corners of his mouth curled up. “You have finally awoken." The clown stared at the white parchment, his smile widening.

The lights died completely, and shadows coiled as the room sank into darkness.

The clown’s wide smile couldn't be brighter.

…

Surrounded by smothering waves of mist, Sarai found himself lost in the tenebrous haze. 

The fogs began to shape into figures and objects, the environment changed, and a scene was formed.

It was a gloomy warehouse, its old walls corroding, and its filthy ground had shattered glass and blood covering the majority of it. Cars and wooden crates were scattered all around, and dim moonlight extended from the dirty windows.

He felt imprisoned in his body and couldn't move. As if playing the role of a spectator only.

Before him stood a huge pile of hideous dead bodies, those of armed men. 

Sarai, who couldn't move, gazed all around. His eyes eventually met his own shadow on the ground, a peculiar shadow.

Behind his back seemed an extending shape, just like a tail; its look was deeply familiar, but he couldn't recall it.

“Wake up.”

“Wake up.”

A distant voice echoed weakly. Indifferently, Sarai's eyes were locked at the scene before him.

“I said, wake up. You brat!”

PA!

A sickening crunch invaded his sensation, and the waves of mist returned, engulfed Sarai, and kicked him back to consciousness.

Sarai opened his eyes in a state of numbness.

W-Was that a dream… Where… Oh! I got kidnapped! After a moment of dizziness, he grew back aware of his situation and surroundings.

He was seated on a cold wooden chair, his hands tied with thick, black iron chains that seemed to have a peculiar effect on his body.

Using such a thick chain on a kid? Seriously?

“Brats like you only work when beaten.” A tall muscular man stood before him. 

His thin face had enraged eyes, his hair appeared like that of a thug, and his clenched fist’s knuckles were covered in blood.

Did he punch me? This… It's the same warehouse from the dream. After having observed his surroundings, Sarai came to this conclusion. His previous dream and current reality were identical.

Have I been here before… This thought flashed in his mind, his heartbeats quickened, and cold sweat drenched him.

It can't be. It's just a coincidence. Otherwise I must have some sort of personality disorder. For now, let's get out of this somehow...

There is a whole team here... What the hell? Behind the muscular man stood a group of others; next to them were two black cars.

The muscular man’s companions were dressed differently, and a number of them carried guns and swords.

Why would they kidnap me? Is it because I’m Faithful now? They don't seem to be from the military, though. I still have this pendulum from the cave. A burglar would steal even my clothes, so I doubt that's what these guys are. Sarai's gaze went unfocused as he plunged into deep thinking.

“Who are you? And why would you kidnap me?” He couldn't help but question.

“You think this is a joke?” The muscular man grabbed Sarai’s face and pressed violently. 

“Brat, you think you can murder an entire team of our gang and escape with it?” he said loudly.

“What? I think you’ve caught the wrong person. I have no clue what you're talking about,” Sarai frankly responded. He had gone through worse than this; his tone was stable and honest.

PA! The man furiously landed a punch on Sarai's left cheek. It bled as the tied Sarai spat blood on the filthy ground.

“On top of all of this, you killed one of our high-ranking members! After having used him like a pawn!” The man's words turned into cries of fury.

“I don't even know who you’re talking about! Are you retarded?!” Sarai screamed back, his sharp eyes glinting with a spark of malice.

“I am talking about the third crew’s Captain of the Jashin Mafia, Kazu Ryuji!” yelled the muscular man proudly.

…

“Who the fuck?” 

PA!

PA!

PA!

And Sarai vomited a handful of blood repeatedly, for a while.

Mafia, Military, Police… Seriously? Fuck people, they're all the same. With his nerves snapping from pain, he barely managed to think.

Amidst the punching and blood-dripping noise, the muscular man’s companions were playing cards indifferently, while some of them got inside the cars to take a nap.

“Speak up, who sent you?” The muscular man began wiping his hands of the tied young man’s blood.

“I t-told you…” Sarai spat blood and coughed. “I have… No memory… Of what you're talking about… Cough, cough."

“You might have mistaken me for someone else,” he added in a low tone, struggling to breathe.

“Then how do you explain this?” The muscular man pulled a paper and showed it to Sarai.

“W-What…” The picture showed a figure standing near the entrance of the warehouse. The man in the image looked exactly the same as Sarai.

“Same hair, same clothes. It's you, cut it out. You really thought there would be no cameras, just ‘cause it's abandoned? It's under our control.”

The muscular man pointed at Sarai’s neck. “The sigils on your neck—you’re a Faithful Sorcerer, aren’t you? No wonder our dead men were done dirty,” he added.

Sorcerer, you say... Sarai was unfamiliar with the word.

I don't understand… The figure in the image looks exactly the same as me... Does this have anything to do with my new nature? Sarai was in disbelief, his eyes were as wide as they could be.

“Either way, we're going to dismember you and sell you to underground Lunatics. They should be able to use you in rituals or artifacts,” the man added, peculiarly calmly. 

This…

“...Sure, do whatever. I have nowhere to go anyway. I might as well just die," sighed Sarai.

At this moment, he had given up looking for answers and pessimistically accepted his situation.

“Killing dozens of men alone, you must be hella strong, huh? What's your Faith? What are you bound to?” The muscular man’s eyes narrowed curiously.

My Faith…

“It's… The Scorpion,” whispered Sarai.

“The what? Fuck is a Scorpi–”

Knock. Knock.

Its source being the steel entrance door, a series of knocking sounds echoed in the abandoned warehouse.

“Kraus, did you call for backup?” One of the men at the front asked the muscular man, Kraus.

“No. Nobody should be able to find this place…” Cold sweat beaded on Kraus's brow.

Knock. Knock.

“Can you please open the door?” A soft male voice sounded from behind the entrance door.

“Stay silent,” whispered Kraus to his comrades.

Knock. Knock.

“No?”

“In that case…” 

Wooosh!

BOOM! 

A wave of wild flames bulged the corrugated steel door like a blister. Orange melting shrapnel flew, filling the room with the hazy breeze of fire.

“I suppose I'll just let myself in, hehe.” An orange-haired man stepped inside, his hazel eyes glowing like a sacred flame!