Imamimi Notanobu - XV

Saying that to the woods behind me, I’m forced to turn on my heel. Up there, in the trees, is a figure. Hong. I didn’t hear him, nor feel his presence at all. But has he been here this entire time? Keeping pace with her driving?

I can’t catch his expression. Just his unwavering stillness. Like a statue rooted to the ground.

“What’s the matter, brat? I said I had something to do. Want to explain why you followed me out here?”

His tone is cold. “I believe the Daoshi requested to keep the young man alive.”

Instead of deference, however, the woman replies with double the confidence. “Oh yeah? Well, as luck would have it, I have something to tell you, brat. The Daoshi isn’t who he is. He’s been tattle-talling on the Ejingbang. We think he’s a rat.”

“Whether the Daoshi bears semblance to a rodent or not, is not the concern of a mere undergraduate such as yourself.”

“I think my boss would disagree. Oh, but not the Daoshi, you know, my boss. From the other branch of the Ejingbang who sent me here.”

“The other branch.”

He steps forth, face lit by a damp, white glow. His soft, pretty features are contorted into something empty. Like a doll with its strings cut, and its muscles all slack and unmoving.

“That’s right,” says the woman. “I am giving you a chance here. You are the Daoshi’s correspondent, yes? Contact the man, and have him come in person to explain himself. A mage such as you, would be very useful to the Ejingbang. So, consider it a chance to redeem yourself in their eyes.”

“What proof do you have for your claims?”

As if prepared for his question. As if waiting for this precise moment, she reaches into her pocket, and retrieves an innocent-looking wrapper. There’s a whale-shaped confectionery inside.

She tosses the thing across fourty metres with a casual flick of her hand. Hong catches it. He opens the wrapper and breaks the snack in two, pulling out a crumpled note inside. The thing is small and yellow. It’s too far to distinguish all too well, but I imagine the boy is reading something like the text on it.

“Even an undergraduate, such as yourself, must understand this, yes?”

At long last, a wry grin takes his face. “But of course,” says the boy, with all the irony of one in on a joke. “A letter of certification from the Ejingbang itself. Crafted with their signature script and a red stamp to match. I remember it like it was yesterday.”

Right after his comment, Iolanda yells. “Then you know what you should do, yes?”

He plops the confectionery into his mouth, chewing slowly. There’s no sign he wants to say anything. Or will.

“Hong. Refusing to heed the Ejingbang will do more harm than good. If he at least entertains the request and explains himself, there’s a chance he’ll be absolved of any greater wrongdoing.”

Silence.

He seems to be in rather deep thought. “Mm, ignoring the fact that I know the Ejingbang’s leader, everything you say does have reason. That much is true. Though, if I may deign to ask, for what use did you bring innocent Nobu-san here?”

She watches him for a moment, mouth twisting into a grin. “We already traced your boss’s information. There were records of him collaborating with this Nobu, you’re so fond of. Photos. Videos. The usual. We think we can use him to draw the boss out. And if not…” she shrugs. “I’ve received permission to tie up this loose end.”

I should run. I should get out of here and get away. But I don’t.

“So, as I understand. I have been given two choices. Ask the Daoshi to present himself wholesale in a trap of superior make, or forego that, and watch as you slaughter this young gentleman before me. Correct?”

“Guess so.”

His smile widens into a grin. “I see. Then please, allow me a moment of repose.”

He reaches into his long robe, shuffling about, with a tongue out. Then, he takes out his hand and puts it next to his ear.

“Ling ling ling!” he says into his hand, pink y and thumb extended into the shape of a phone. “BEEP! Ah, moshi, moshi, daoshi? Sorry to disturb you at this hour! But this no-good harlot really wanted to heed your audience!” He pauses. “Eh, really? You’re too busy, even now?!” Yanghua feigns disbelief, falling to both knees. “No way. Well, I guess I’ll ju—”

“Are you done?” asks the woman. Eerily calm for someone like her.

“Yeah. I called to ask, and it seems the daoshi will be showing up after all.”

He takes a step forward. He lands from a fall of twenty metres, without so much as a flinch.

“How about it, Iolanda? If you can beat the Daoshi before you, then he’ll tell you all there needs to be said.”

The daoshi before her.

So.

So..

Yanghua.

Yanghua is the daoshi before her.

Yanghua is the boss of the Eight-Virtue Sect.

A feeling of dry anticipation holds my body. I can’t say I’m surprised. With the benefit of hindsight, I can say he’s been dropping clues with all the subtlety of a nuclear bomb this whole time.

Despite that. Knowing it is enough to make me feel weird. As if I’d been violated with a breadth of feelings so strange and obscure that I lack the understanding to put it into words.

Iolanda looks almost impressed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah!” repeats Yanghua. “I thought it was pretty obvious. I’m one of the only two guys who talk to the Daoshi. I keep cooping up with the one guy whom the Daoshi also contacted. And for the sprinkle on top—you’ve never even seen me fight before, meaning my abilities are thus unknown!”

He laughs. A long, innocent-sounding laugh, despite the context of it all.

“Just look at Nobu-san!” says the boy. “He gets it! He understands! But you, with all your backups, your moles, your lies, couldn’t grasp a iota of the truth!”

She looks amused. “So. Did you kill the Daoshi and take his place?”

“Nope. I just took a while to hatch my plans, you see. I was still busy writing my manifesto and thesis at the time.”

“Hah. And your manifesto. It involves telling the world about the people you killed?”

He takes a few steps forward. “That’s between Nobu-san and me, you see. I’m afraid your involvement in my martyrdom ends here, Iolanda.” Yanghua looks to the side, eyes peeled on something distant. “Did you really think I wouldn’t sense the sniper you had positioned here?”

“Does it matter?”

“Do you think a title such as mine was ceremonial?”

“Boy,” she says in a low voice, now frightfully cool. “Think over your decision… carefully.”

He smiles, and his tail wags behind him, swaying to and fro. “I already have.”

Yanghua steps forth, putting himself to my right. Something shoots through the air with wind and whistles. It impacts against his open palm and drops down in succession. I see what they are. Low-calibre bullets, crumpled against his skin.

A sudden jolt pulls on my arm. Yanghua holds my right hand in his left and spins around, using the sudden momentum to raise himself high, and kick Iolanda. The impact sends her flying a dozen metres, crashing into a nearby tree. A pained grunt leaves her throat.

“Bastard!”

She whirs with a speed beyond anything I’ve seen before, immersed in the full-moon glow. Her nails are long and curved, tainted the colour of old blood.

Immediately, I understand what’s happening. The last time we fought was in the daytime, when vampires are sluggish and slow. With the backing of a night-time backdrop and the full-moon itself, there’s no saying just how much stronger she is.

She runs forward, becoming a flickering, black blur. Yanghua meets her halfway. A half-dozen─or twenty attacks come from her hand. They aim for his neck and wrists, aiming to draw blood.

He’s forced on the defensive. With each slicing claw, he backsteps, and with each backstep, Iolanda grows faster, lunging like a frenzied beast.

A trail of dark red forms where Iolanda struck. She smiles with instant pleasure. Something like a bad realisation comes across her face, however. I don’t get what it is at first. All I see is a thin line of steam forming on her blood-soaked nails, and the woman flinching at that.

Yanghua flicks his palmed bullets. Two hit the vampiress in the eyes. One catches her in the throat, and chokes out a pained breath.

“Yobaniy nasos!”

A desperate bid for violence comes. Her right hand swings forth in a wild motion. Yanghua catches it, and does a wristlock of sorts, turning her hand, and putting himself behind her. Resting his foot on her back, the boy uses it as leverage of sorts and twists the wrist.

Her hand bends into an unnatural shape. There’s a sound of bones breaking, and an even greater yelp of pain.

His speed. His power. His technique. They’re all incredible. Being able to keep up with a vampire, even a fledgling like this, is no small feat. Much less, without the use of his Sect’s signature fulu magic.

Iolanda looks askance, with a cock of her head. “How—”

“How am I strong?” answers the boy, before shooting me a glance. “What do you think, Nobu-san?”

I can’t answer. Or rather, I could, but that’d involve listing out every method available in a textbook fashion. A simple if not overly long process of elimination.

“Fulu are simply a means of summoning great powers. Spirits. Demons. Gods. They're an extension of another being—a limb for them to reach and act from.”

The sound of breaking bone and tearing flesh comes from Iolanda’s hand. Breaking his wrist lock by ripping her own limb free, the vampiress turns on her heel and goes for a sudden lunge.

Yanghua looks at her with all the amusement of an adult at a child's tantrum. He doesn't say anything. Without a word. Without anything but the raise of his right hand, he ends the fight right then and there.

Iolanda catches fire. It starts from her nails. Upon the point of contact between her and Yanghua. A white flame travels upward, covering her in a layer of the material.

“Gaaaargh?!”

Her throat catches mid-scream, before giving way to the sound of suffocation. The oxygen burned out of her lungs, the woman has no choice but to fall to the ground, and thrash. Rolling from side to side to dispel the fire around her.

I take in the scene with a dull sensation. It's like I'm not quite there. It's horrifying in a vacuum, but I don't feel bad for her. She would've killed me otherwise. Yes. That's the truth. So why should I extend any token of sympathy?

The flames continue to writhe and burn. The smell of seared meat fills the air. I continue watching the unfolding spectacle when I realise Yanghua has a camcorder in his hand.

“Come take a look.”

I approach. The scene on the protruding camcorder scene is fixed on Iolanda in grotesque detail. I can see the stitching muscle beneath the flames, strands upon strands. I can also see something stranger.

Little teeth. Little metal teeth. Biting and chewing. Or rather—the flames have taken the shape of teeth, and are simultaneously biting, and burning Iolanda.

“Pay close attention, Nobu-san. Look closely. When the time comes for you to make a video on the Tearer, all this will be very important information.”