Making a Mess of the Place

Mamoru stood solemnly in front of the garage door to the warehouse. From the outside, it looked like nothing special, just another abandoned warehouse of many in No Go, but an odd red ribbon, the same shade of red which Suba used for its company colors, hanging from the gutter—the sort that seemed to be some trash that just got caught in the wind—told him it was the right place. Anyone who wanted to find Fetamayuku knew that was the sign and freely gave up the information. They didn’t care about the consequences, because there were none—that is there weren’t any before Mamoru decided to declare war.

Are you sure this is the place? Hikari asked. Her ghostly form seemed useless as she floated outside the door with Yamiko and him. He considered that the princess was unable to phase through the wall, since he himself couldn’t see through it either. An interesting thing to note, but it was unclear if he was accurate.

“Like, are you sure this is the place?” Having one of the girls not be able to hear the other made things a little difficult at times.

“I am sure, they move places, but the ribbon is their callsign.”

Mamoru gestured to the ribbon, then to a ladder on the side of the building. He ascended with ease and poked his head back over to check on the purple hair girl. Yamiko carefully scanned the rungs of the ladder and shook her head. She floated up the side and reached a hand out to Mamoru. If she was trying to indicate anything to him, it was lost, but eventually she grabbed the arm of his black jacket and pulled herself over the building.

“Couldn’t you have just floated over?” Mamoru grunted.

“Do you, like, not know anything about magic?”

“I wasn’t even sure it was real or not until about a couple days ago.”

The purple haired girl’s red eyes were wide, and her mouth formed an ‘O’. She seemed for a minute to question everything before closing her eyes and sighing.

“You were totally not surprised by my zombies or anything, so I thought you might be a practicing mage, but I, like, see that I was mistaken. With that sword, though…. I am just surprised.”

Mamoru wasn’t sure what she was on about, and the night hours were burning away by the second. He was about to shut what looked like an explanation down, but Hikari—probably reading his thoughts—butted in.

Hold on, I would like to hear the witch’s explanation.

“So, like, magic over the last couple hundred years at least, has been on a decline. The wind attack you used with your sword is probably a technique that hasn’t been seen for a hundred at least. It would require at least three chants onto the blade, and possibly a fourth just to keep your hands from exploding, and most modern mages can only manage two chants on an item at a time. You still look confused.”

Mamoru was undoubtably confused by the jargon but was upset, his face seemed to be showing it. Hikari looked interested and muttered to herself.

“In short,” Mamoru said after collecting some thoughts, “you mean to say you can’t do two tricks at once? So hovering is one thing, and propelling is another, and they can’t be stacked?”

“A fair enough summary. I certainly cannot, and my specialty isn’t even like in the air element. I am a spiritist after all. If you want an exorcism, or dead animated, I’m like the best girl for the job though!”

Mamoru had thought she’d be a bit more of a fighter when he brought her along, but that illusion was dissipating in place of cold reality. The warning signs were there, when he easily beat her, but he figured it was a fluke of some sort—perhaps he was a paper when she was a rock sort of arrangement—and Yamiko was better prepared for the task at hand.

He shook his head and pulled the sword free from his kendo bag. Hoisting it over his shoulder he stared up at the moon—the only bright light the cities LED spectacle couldn’t drown out. At least not for now.

“Regardless of magic, we have a job to do. You will stay on the rooftop and provide support, and I’ll get close.” The red-haired boy didn’t wait for a reply, though she made some comment that he missed as he walked away.

The top of the warehouse had a glass sky window, which Mamoru kneeled by the edge of to peak in. Yamiko shuffled to his side and matched him, muttering something else that he wasn’t paying attention to either.

Below was an active hive. Men dressed in all manners of dark and rough clothes were shoveling items from crates into briefcases and loading them onto a nearby table. Soon carriers would arrive and take the briefcases around the city to spread their contents, but Mamoru planned to jump in before that.

“Yikes, they look like some nasty people!” Yamiko chimed in, “Are you sure it’s safe to get involved with them like that?”

Mamoru pulled his black mask over his face.

“It’s very much not safe, but I will do what has to be done.”

He walked across the glass of the sky window until he floated above the table of briefcases. One wind slash of the sword shattered it all and he dropped with glass shards in on unsuspecting men. Some shouted, some grunted, and some fell back. A swish of his blade and the majority crashed against the back wall without any trouble.

Mamoru turned to check behind. One of the opponents had pulled a gun, but a white-haired man smashed his elbow into the gunman’s head. The high school boy didn’t have much time to wonder about that, as three more bullheaded opponents charged.

They were easily beaten with the gust. It made his swordplay almost useless, but it was effective.

Soon all visible men were lying on their backs and groaning in pain. The whitehaired one had completely vanished, and along with him, several briefcases.

They weren’t much, I wouldn’t even say they are worth stomping on them to finish the job. Hikari said.

“Hey now. Hey now.” A new voice came from the back of the warehouse where an office door had been swung open. A new man, someone different from the others, stepped out with arms outstretched. He didn’t seem that all alarmed, just peeved. Unlike the men in various dark clothes of no uniformity, this man wore a white uniform. It was something between a suit and military attire, with a button up that flowed diagonally across his chest and an odd belt that looked more at home in a steampunk setting than modern life. The man dropped his arms and glared at Mamoru. He spoke with a lazy, uninterested tone—holding the o’s longer than need be—that didn’t match his expression.

“I go and take a nap, and some idiot with a sword is making a mess of the place.”