Xúmat (Eschaton), Part I

Down the shaft into the crypt, some twenty or thirty feet deep, it suddenly began to rain a black, pungent snow. This landed on the barrier above the heads of Jotaro Niiro and his mages, speckling and tainting the violet membrane, obscuring the light casting down from the stars and the moon. But, though Niiro could no longer see these mages, he could certainly hear them. One of them, a man with a deeper voice, took up a mantra chant, which cascaded downwards and echoed in his ears and the ears of all in the chamber.

Om Shuchiri Kyararoha Unken Sowaka…

Om Shuchiri Kyararoha Unken Sowaka…

Om Shuchiri Kyararoha Unken Sowaka…

Sachiko’s ears perked up, recognizing the voice of her brother. And, catching sight of the black snow, she knew full well what was coming. She cupped her ears and took a step back.

“Hey, General!” shouted Justo over Shunji’s steady drone. “This look familiar to ya? It’s the same stuff you planted on Hiromasa Ohtomo’s body! Black powder—one of the first things us alchemists learn to make! Merry, hit it!”

* * *

From the point-of-view of Petro Shimura, captain of the Kokura City Police Department whom Justo Ijyuin had affectionately referred to as “Pork-Chop”, the status of any of the gang of youths accompanying his team as “federal agents” beggared belief. Three of them were clearly in high school, even, including Justo himself.

Justo, wearing a baggy shirt and pants, sunglasses (at night!), and rocking all the facial hair a sixteen-year-old could muster, gave off anything but the clean, straight-edge image most feds had. But, when Shimura complained to the department about what he presumed was a phony government ID, rather than receiving a warrant to arrest, he got a stand-down order from the mayor of Kokura himself.

Then there were the two high-school girls accompanying this kid. One, though she had a soft, innocent face and youthful blonde pixie cut, was dragging around a bona-fide samurai sword. What exactly she intended to do with it against at least one armed man was beyond his guess. The other was a bit rougher-looking. Though she was dressed in…something resembling a nun’s habit, she made no attempt to cover the many piercings she had on both ears. Completely unarmed.

There were, as a sign of slight relief, two adults in their group as well. One, a woman with bright-red hair, was unarmed and dressed at least somewhat sensibly, though daisy dukes might not be the best outfit for handling a hostage situation. The other, a man with long white hair and green eyes, was not even Satsuman but clearly Japanese, wearing robes resembling something Shimura had seen in images of Shinto shrines and paintings of the Tenno’s court. This was the one who was chanting now, as Justo sprinkled black powder down the shaft and into the crypt.

This was similar to what these kids had done the first time, when they blew the shaft itself open, though then the black powder had been carried down by some white vines or roots the chanting man had spawned from a fuda slip he had lain on the ground. And now, if Shimura’s guess was correct, the redheaded lady was about to shoot fire again to ignite the powder and cause another explosion. He shouted at his men to put in noise protection, if they hadn’t already.

The redheaded lady stuck a single finger out to the crypt down below, and let a stream of flames issue forth from it.

BOOOOOOM!

The blast rocked the ground yet again, and, this time, as it had mostly hit open air, sent smoke billowing stories high.

KIRIKU!

The chanting man, as if answering the explosion’s roar, ended his drone with a shout, and a flash of white, even brighter than that the ignited black powder had given off, enveloped Shimura and his men. When the captain opened his eyes again, the five youths were nowhere to be seen.

* * *

Five bodies came careening through the clouds of smoke like hawks plunging in for the kill. Fortunately, though, Shunji Godoh’s Hachimon Tonko, which had the attribute of Wood-under-Metal, had trimmed the distance between them and Jotaro Niiro significantly, dropping them no more than a foot above the barrier. While Niiro and his men were disoriented once again from the explosion, the Knights got to work. Leonor was already on top of one of the hooded mages, putting him in a choke-hold before rolling on her back and wrapping her legs around him.

This mage, likely ill-experienced in close-quarters combat, attempted to push himself off the girl, but quickly found that this was futile. Instead, he took one gloved hand and made the glove glow red-hot before applying it directly to Leonor’s side. Leonor recoiled in pain, gnashed her teeth, but she did not give up her grip; if anything, the burns made her squeeze all the harder. She tightened her core, brought her hands past her shoulders, and let her legs pincer the mage’s hips. The harder she squeezed, the weaker the man’s breathing became, and the cooler his hand. After no more than twenty seconds the mage was unconscious, his hands no longer a threat. Leonor continued to squeeze regardless.

Merry nabbed the cloak of another mage who was down and, in similar fashion to what the last one had done to Leonor, ignited his cloak. It took a moment for this mage, whose ears were likely still ringing from the blast, to realize what she had done, but when he did he began screaming and rolling around on the stone floor. This did little to extinguish the flames. Merry winced at the sight.

Fortunately, though, this mage managed to produce a fuda slip from under his cloak without burning it and applied it to himself. A cloud of mist suddenly appeared about him, which condensed and finally doused his clothes. Now fully enraged, seeing red where he should have seen spells, the mage let out a shout and rushed Merry, closed fist above his head waiting to smite her. But he never got the chance; Leonor, having had enough with her last prey, stepped in-between the two and placed a high-kick square on his exposed chin. The mage crumpled to the ground.

“Nice assist, Leonor!” exclaimed Merry.

Noe, meanwhile, was slow in getting up, as was to be expected, but fortunately for her she had landed on Sachiko’s side of the crypt, right next to the onmyoji herself.

“N—Numasaki?!” Sachiko exclaimed in surprise. “You’re not even a mage! What are you doing—”

“I can fight,” interrupted Noe. She gripped Byakko-maru’s hilt with as much strength as she could muster. “I can fight!”

In spite of her stance and her attitude, however, she took not a single step forward. She was frozen stiff, and evidently waiting for her onryo to un-stiffen her.

“Come on…” she whispered. “Come on, Chigadaira, just this once…”

While she watched the battle unfold, Justo and Shunji took on two more of the rogue mages’ ranks. One, facing Justo and wielding a gohei wand, whirled it in a circle before him while chanting some mantra or another; in the area he traced, stones and pebbles began to gather from the floor of the crypt, and even some bones, bundling in midair. One-by-one he began firing them off at Justo.

The alchemist took the full brunt of a couple of these shots, but quickly stomped on the ground, tipping up a whole sheet of rock and using this as cover. Then he sprinted around and ducked down, letting his fist make contact with the floor—no, phase through the floor. When he was in range of the enemy mage, he brought this fist back up, covered by an inch of solid stone. His uppercut climbed, smashing through the mage’s arsenal; climbed, smashing the mage directly in the face and sending him sprawling backwards, his face a bloody mess.

To seal the deal, Justo picked up the gohei wand and let it turn pale, and then black, between his fingers.

“Nigredo,” he whispered, as a pile of putrified biomass splattered on the floor.

Shunji’s mark, who was even more sturdily built than the onmyoji himself, tried a similar trick to Justo, reaching both hands into the wall and fashioning two gloves of stone around his fists. He bashed them together, in an attempt to intimidate Shunji, but this failed completely and utterly. Calmly Shunji reached into his robes and produced a fuda slip of his own, bringing it together between open palms. He chanted a short mantra, and then showed his hands to the enemy.

Vines sprouted forth, almost blindingly fast, and locked themselves around the enemy mage’s arms. They began to constrict his elbows, his shoulders; they pressed down on his improvised gloves and fissured them. Then, Shunji gave a great cry as he flung the mage off his feet, sending him soaring and crashing into a wall of bones.

Amidst this chaos, Niiro attempted to rein in his command.

“Damn!” he hissed out, before turning to the old man who was keeping the membrane of energy up around this whole room. “Shin’ichi! Condense the barrier!”

“Y—Yes, Master!” answered Shin’ichi. He rushed to the ossuary, opposite Niiro, and began to chant harder, so deep in his self-induced trance that he let himself double over on the ossuary.

The edges of the barrier slowly crept inward, centering on Niiro and the ossuary. Those mages who were not engaged with one of the Knights or incapacitated took this as a sign to likewise rush over to the ossuary themselves. Six were left to crowd around the general, including Karen, who came right to Niiro’s side.

Niiro laid a hand on her and forced her out. Another layer came over the membrane, reaching from the apex down, blocking out Niiro and the other mages almost completely. Karen rushed over, and hammered on the barrier with her fists while screaming.

“MASTER! MASTER! LET ME IN, MASTER!” she cried. “My device is toast! I don’t have any more spells to use!”

“If you have no more magic,” came Niiro’s voice through the cloudy, milky violet, serene once again, “then all you can do for me is fight.”

“No… No, DON’T MAKE ME—”

A shadow cast itself over the barrier. Karen turned around, trembling with fright. It was Sachiko Godoh, a woman whose face she was all too familiar with seeing now. That stupid, perfect face. Barely even thinking, she opened her palms. Flames sprouted out from them.

“No,” she muttered. “That’s right… I still have…my latent magic… HRAAAAAAAAAH!!!”

Her face kneaded with rage, she thrust her arms out at Sachiko. But she was caught off-guard when Sachiko met them with her own. The flames enveloped Sachiko’s hands, but she cared not.

“So…do…I!” she strained, before giving one last push. “Earth-over-Water!”

Karen’s flames sputtered out. Her palms turned white. All sensation in them went numb. The whiteness spread, all the way down to her forearms, as her hands became increasingly cold against Sachiko’s own.

And, much like her arms, Karen’s face—no, her whole body—was petrified. She keeled over to the right, and collapsed to the floor.

“Kill me…” she muttered. “Kill me… Kill me…”

Sachiko paid her no heed.

Meanwhile, as Justo let the last of the gohei wand fall out of his hands, he turned to the barrier, took note of all the mages huddled within.

“Well, damn,” he exclaimed. “Guess we took care of all their fighters, huh?”

Just then, he felt a twinge on the back of his neck, a shock which ran all the way down through his shoulders and arms. He twisted, leapt backward, and as he did so he witnessed a glimmering whip come down and strike the ground before him with a ringing CRACK!

One more mage remained. He held in his hands something that was not quite a sword, but certainly no whip that Justo knew of. It had a leatherbound hilt, like a sword, and a blade of steel, but it bent and contorted in ways Justo had not thought possible before. The bearer of this weapon doffed his cloak, revealing a burly, musclebound physique covered by a deep tan. Neither shirt nor hair over this, save for the close-cropped cut on his head. He raised the sword above him, preparing to bear it straight down on an unarmed, wincing Justo. Then he launched.

TING!!!

Steel struck steel. Justo opened his eyes. There before him was Noe’s back, and Byakko-maru just beyond. The whip-sword had deflected off of this, and rested once again on the stone floor. Unable to see her face, he called out to her.

“Hey! Noe! Gimme the sword! I don’t care if I get burnt or whatever, but I can handle—”

“NO!” came Noe’s voice, though in a tone Noe herself had never issued forth from her mouth before. “Fly, you fool! Do not dare to disrupt a fight between two warriors!”

Given the pause to do so, Noe extended Byakko-maru out in her right hand and addressed the mage before her directly.

“You! Give your name!”

The mage gave a soft chuckle, not unlike Jotaro Niiro’s own laugh. “I am Caspar Niiro,” he said, “son of the general standing behind you, and an alchemist. This sword was crafted by my own hand, enchanted with water and mercury. And you are?”

“I am Chigadaira Torajiro Yoshitaka!” Noe bellowed defiantly as she bared her teeth. “Samurai of the Satsuma Domain and student of the Jigen-ryu under the grandmaster Togo Tobei Chui! I was burned at the stake for refusing to convert to my lord’s newfound religion, but my soul lingers here still, craving vengeance against the namban-jin and the glory of battle once again!

“And my sword, Byakko-maru, was cursed by your kind with fire and brimstone—it would seem we are an even match. Do not disappoint me, young one!”

This time, Caspar swung his sword up from the ground, while Noe and Chigadaira brought their sword up above their head and sent it crashing down. Caspar’s sword, much to his opponent’s surprise, did not break, even as it struck the stone floor with a mighty crack, leaving fissures in its wake. Caspar slid the sword out from underneath and drew it up now, winding up for a diagonal downward slash. Chigadaira spurred Noe on to turn Byakko-maru around in time, parrying Caspar handily.

Then Noe righted Byakko-maru and, with its hilt at her gut, lunged forward in a thrust. Caspar displayed more skillful reflexes than he let on, avoiding most of the sword’s path. Most. As Noe and Chigadaira pivoted to face him, they saw blood trickling down and steam rising up his left flank. He winced in pain. An opening.

Chigadaira compelled Noe to take Byakko-maru, down now at her left side, reverse its grip, and let rip with a powerful sideways slash. Caspar brought his own blade up to guard, but—

KTINK!

Due to the momentum from sidestepping to dodge Noe’s thrust, his sword leaned to his right side, which was the side which Noe now swung at. And, holding it straight up to block, the blade doubled in on itself. A great deal of supernatural pressure from Byakko-maru, and the blade snapped cleanly in two.

Chigadaira painted a wicked grin upon Noe’s face. Caspar raised the stub of his sword to block once again, but it would not be enough now. Byakko-maru climbed well above Noe’s head, towering taller than Caspar, even, and—

CHESUTOOOOOOOOO!!!

Justo could only look on helplessly as Chigadaira made Noe rend Caspar Niiro into a pile of blood and bones, gleefully cackling all the while. And before long, he could not even bear to look.