Imamimi Notanobu - X

The man enters. His footsteps ring against the enclosed space. A faint sense of claustrophobia creeps into my body, and makes the space feel that much smaller. In our current position, we can't see the man, but neither can he, leaving it a matter of sound, smell and instinct.

I wait.

Nothing happens.

I wait a bit longer.

Still nothing.

My wings flutter. They brush against my winter coat with quick, quiet bursts.

What’s he waiting for? Does he know we’re here? That we’re on the stairs just above him, waiting for a moment to leave? Or is his stillness all too unrelated—the byproduct of something unrelated—a moment of peace, a moment of quiet—a moment of absolutely damn all?

I see the door on the floor above open. A sunglasses-wearing woman begins to walk through it. Long blonde hair. Pale. Hands in her double-breasted frock coat. I also notice an unfamiliar bulge against her coat’s pocket—too big to be a phone—too small to be a key.

I don’t take my chances. I take out my baton and approach. She has the faintest look of surprise on her face; it’s not enough. Much too little of a reaction for someone who’s on the receiving end of unparalleled violence.

The woman moves forward. Within a half-second, she has in her hand a stun gun. And within another, she’s about to use it.

Lightning connects its two metal prongs. Bzzt.

As she takes her first step down the stairs, I make a mad dash forward. I swipe at her kneecap. She dodges it with a step back, and prepares to take another. I grab her right leg mid-motion, and tug.

The woman loses her balance and hits her head with a rough thud. I go for the finishing blow, and swing again. She sits upwards, and grabs my wrist before it can connect.

I struggle.

Her nails dig into my flesh with an iron-vice grip, and before long, blood’s pouring from the marks.

I can’t budge my wrist. Not even with my whole body behind it. When I find the strength to push back, it's only because she lets me, enjoying the back and forth like a proper sadist.

The woman bares her teeth.

A pair of canine fangs sits at the top.

Too sharp.

Too long.

Too noticeable for any ordinary pair of teeth.

As her sunglasses slide past the bridge of her nose, I notice two red eyes greet me in turn.

This woman’s a vampire! The Chinese have vampires!

“Disappointed?” she says, in abject mockery.

“Pleased, actually.” I reach into my coat pocket. “It means I can hurt you without feeling nearly as bad.” I flick my antique lighter with my free left hand. “Will, set her ablaze!”

A white spark blazes into a ball of brilliant fire, hurling itself straight at the vampire. Familiar fear ignites in her eyes. William smothers her face in a blanket of white, and the woman catches fire, throat, hair, and clothes burning in a concerto of muffled cries.

The vampire makes one desperate lunge with her taser.

I grab her wrist, and shove her down the stairs. She collides straight into the man climbing up… and he catches her without a hint of fear. Reaching into his jacket, he retrieves a set of yellow talisman paper.

One’s with a series of black, esoteric text, and patterns.

One’s with the ‘水’ Kanji.

That of water.

He makes a gesture with his free hand. “Běi Yuè Dìjūn.” His voice goes slow and flat, as if invoking a prayer. “Héngshā Míngmén shǒuhù shén. Kuài lái bāng wǒ, bǎ zhè huǒ miè le.”

His feet trace a strange zig-zag pattern, like the one on his talisman. Meanwhile, the paper’s Kanji glows with a blue outline. A sense of moisture permeates the area, and the air begins to feel thick and heavy, dragging with every movement of my body. For a moment, I feel the undeniable presence of something. A god. A demon. A spirit. I don’t know. But, working its way through the paper and the man’s incantation, that’s for sure.

I understand now.

This gang’s speciality is Taoist fulu.

Focused around the manipulation of the five Chinese elements, and summoning things associated with them.

Fire for Zhang.

Water for this guy.

And the rest for who knows who else.

Worst of all, is that the paper’s laminated, meaning it won’t get wet and crumple either. Fuck me. Talk about the convenience of modern technology, haha.

Will begins to flicker and fade, becoming specks of dancing white.

“Come back, Will,” I say apologetically, and watch him disappear.

I’m in a bad position, and I try to scour my mind for any potential weaknesses in their magic. It’s not terribly helpful.

I don't know too much about the Chinese understanding of Five Elements, beyond the fact that they all feed and destroy one another respectively. Such as water beating fire, and metal beating wood, for some reason.

As I stop to consider it some more, the realisation that I'm short on time dawns on me.

Above, the sound of opening doors and footsteps ring, while in front, the vampire’s charred head heals. Muscles and tissue reconstructing with dozens of little strands by the millisecond.

I look nervously at my baton and realise the sheen of sweat coating my hand. A drop of the same salty liquid rolls down my forehead into my eye.

I inhale.

“Time to make history.”

The vampire works her way up. Friend on her tail.

With a last-moment exhort, I take Yuura’s hand and go up the stairs. Two guys greet us on the platform above.

Mr. Emo, and Mr. Generic. Black eyeliner for one, and black shaved hair for the other.

The latter charges me. With momentum behind him, he slams me into the nearby wall and punches me in the side.

Breath leaves me. I grit my teeth.

“Nobu!”

Yuura takes her drum and bashes the guy over his head. He recoils for a moment, just in time for me to slam the back of my baton into his neck.

I hear the breath escape his throat, a sudden wheeze of shock and pain.

The other man takes out a stun gun. Yuura catches on and whacks him in the face, too.

A dribble of blood falls down his right nostril.

I push against the man grappling me, and turn him towards the stairs below. He loses his footing and stumbles on the first step down. I kick him for good measure. Straight to the mid-section. Mr. Generic goes rolling.

My focus changes. I’m back to Mr. Emo. It’s not looking good. Yuura’s down on the ground, and I can tell she won’t be getting back up. She’s just stuck, convulsing in place, big black eyes watching me with unenviable sadness.

The guy grips his stun gun with a smug self-satisfaction before flipping his stupid emo hair in my general direction.

Something heavy rings in my ear. It's a deeper instinct. It tells me one thing.

I want to hurt this man. I want to tear him apart. I want to rip out his stupid black eyes and stuff them down his throat.

Then my thoughts change.

Shit.

I wasn’t fast enough. I wasn’t fast enough. I wasn’t fast enough!

My temper wears thin. Before I realise it, I’m charging the man, without thought for anything else. Mr. Emo chuckles loudly, as if amused by this display of sudden violence. At about half a metre in, he snaps his right leg forward. It cuts the air with impressive speed.

I block the side kick with my right arm, and spend the next second wishing I didn’t. Two seconds later, Mr. Emo lands another, and by then, all sensation in my right arm dies.

I try to raise my baton and manage a limp lift.

“That it?” says the man quietly.

I don’t answer.

He pivots on his right foot, and his body spins in a blur of black. Mr. Emo’s left foot connects with my chest in a roundhouse kick, and I feel all semblance of balance leave me, as I’m sent flying to the nearest wall.

Pain detonates in my chest—like a—like a—

Somewhere between my next thought comes another jolt of pain. Mr. Generic, having made his way up the stairs, wails on me in a flurry of blows. Mr. Emo, feeling rather sympathetic towards his friend's lonesome venture, decides to join him.

I, on the receiving end of their friendly reunion, just suffer. Hit after hit. Groin. Stomach. Side. Everything gets completely and thoroughly beaten, and then—darkness starts to seep in, and I realise man, I am tired.