The DARWIN Wisp

“Hey, Coach Blues, if I’m not just here as a translator… Does that mean I’m meant to fight the phantom? Isn’t this one a pretty big deal?” I sort through my stack of ofuda anxiously as we approach the haunt site.

He casually skips along the road, hopping from street signs to ATMs to small brick walls to fire hydrants, the overhanging sleeves of his oversized hoodie swinging about. “Oh, yes. It’s a very big deal, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s strong. You can take it on… probably.”

I snap my head to the jolly coach. “Probably!? What if I slip up?”

“Hey,” he chuckled like a cat that had a little too much nip. “That’s what I’m here for, right? Plus, I promised Coach Pierce that I’d return you safely back to New York, and you know, I keep my promises.” He pauses for a brief yet concerning moment. “Most of them.”

I sigh, resigning myself to trusting Coach Blues’ consistent track record as a strong and reliable numacist. He changes the topic to something more lighthearted once more, though at my expense. “So… Do you ever get mistaken for a CVA in training? You know, walking around in that goofy outfit all the time?”

I purse my lips. “I’m wearing a set of traditional Japanese joue, sir. It helps me channel my numa better.”

He laughs again. “Yeah, no, I get that, but a teenager in such a formal set of clothing just walking around on the streets isn’t something you see even here in Japan. What kind of looks do you get walking around wearing that in New York City…” He seems genuinely amused. “And how do you keep it so clean?”

“I maintain a light numa aura around the clothes, and I, uh, I don’t. I don’t walk around New York… in this… I only wear it on exorcism jobs.”

The numa master snaps his head to me in shock. “You mean you don’t just wear that in everyday life?”

“N-no? Don’t look so surprised!”

“Then why are you wearing it now?”

“Because we’re on our way to perform an exorcism?”

“Why don’t you just conjure all your tools during the exorcisms?”

We exchange a look of confusion for a moment before we make a simultaneous revelation.

“Coach Pierce hasn’t taught you basic conjuration numatics?!”

“I can do that!?”

“Dear, oh dear, you’re going to have to remind me to teach you that after we’re done with this job.”

I let out an exasperated sigh and wonder what else Coach Pierce has neglected to teach me. While I’m still with the cool coach, I try to change the topic to pop culture instead. “Well, speaking of CVAs, did you see Vantasand’s bout with Kinesiac in Chicago the other day?”

“Ah, yeah. Sure did! I have to say though, that villain monologue Kinesiac gave? One of the best in recent times, frankly.” His index finger can be seen through his baggy sleeves as he wags his hand. “I know we’re still pretty early into the year, but it’s a strong contender for villain monologue of the year in my opinion.”

“Oh, yeah. It’s been everywhere online.” A smirk sits on my face as I try to recall other notable villain monologues this year. “While I do think it’s a worthy contender for villain monologue of the year, I still think Catfish’s passionate rant about the ‘vulnerabilities’ of modern heroes will forever be a legendary villain monologue.”

Coach Blues laughs as I remind him of Catfish’s public self-humiliation. “True, true! Very true!”

“I mean, the whole…” He repeats the quote with me with the same dramatic vigor. “…‘exhausting, excessive, exploitable’ line has practically been integrated into modern vernacular.”

“Dear, oh dear, what a contribution to modern-day culture. I literally can’t stop using that line now, and it’s only been what? Three months since he blessed the world with that masterpiece?”

“Yeah…” I wipe tears from my eyes as my laugh settles. “It was back in January or something.”

“You know, I wanted to ask. Did you ever want to be a CVA before you became a numacist?” He throws another tough question at me, knowing I’ll only have an embarrassing time trying to answer a question like that.

I cringe, thinking about my past with that. “I mean… Okay, to be fair, which kid didn’t, right? Everyone wanted to be a superhero when they grew up!”

“Yeah, the hero industry is pretty good at marketing to children after all. So much so that these children carry their childhood into their adulthood.” He looks at me from the side of his eyes, a sure indication of nothing good. “So you’re glad you ended up as a numacist in the end, right? Right?”

“Yeah, sure…” I try to humor Coach Blues’s imaginary rivalry between CVAs and numacists. “Though to be honest, it’s not as though becoming a numacist is really a decision most numacists make by choice anyway.”

He only nods in response to that comment. “Well, they do say that, ‘Every numacist has a tale of woe.’ We try our best to make sure our little club’s membership number doesn’t get too high too fast, but there’s only so much we can do…”

His expression turns stern as usual when we pass by a poster of Day Crusader. The poster promotes his newest movie as it displays the popular CVA standing in his classic pose with one hand shading his eyes from the Sun and another pointing out to the future, a confident gaze and smile staring off into the distance. “Unfortunately, it’s only made more difficult with some of us deciding to ditch the organization to live the life of a CVA.”

“Y-yeah…” I can only agree with mild-mannered compliance as the Coach once again begrudges the ex-numacist who abandoned the organization to become a CVA, not to mention using his numatics to prop himself up as the world’s strongest and most popular CVA at the moment.

He hops off onto the ground and stops, one arm pointing into a dark alleyway. “Oh, well. Looks like we’re here.”

I focus my senses on the dark alleyway and indeed sense a disturbing presence. Lighting an incense for dim light, I gulp and enter the alleyway. The coach calls out to me from outside the dark alleyway under broad daylight, giving me two thumbs up from under his sleeves. “Good luck! You got this! Go get 'em!”

I sigh, placing two ofuda on both ends of the alleyway, and placing ofuda along the walls as I enter deeper and deeper into the alley, I periodically light more incenses and place them on the floor. Seeing as the phantom haunting this alley is still unwilling to show itself, I assume a seiza and concentrate my numa into a divine wellspring and send it into the ground as it surges from incense to incense and ofuda to ofuda.

With my scorching energies spread out all throughout the floor and walls of the alley, the phantom finally shows itself approximately two meters away from me. Much to my surprise, the energy it exudes indicates it is only a minor phantom even though the coach said this would be an important mission. The phantom takes the form of a decaying chimpanzee with the head of a raven. Its beady eyes seem to be receded into its skull, and it displays its full set of human teeth as it caws in pain. Wings sprout from its back, and visible bodily tissue stretches and rips as it moves.

It charges at me as I concentrate on it, drawing my wooden sword and slashing at it the instant it moves in my direction as my numa flows into the red oak. The sword melts into my numa, taking on an energy form and becoming one with my aura, supernaturally expanding in reach with my cut. Leaving my foe in two dissolving pieces, I ritualistically follow through on my form, performing the motions of sheathing away the sword as it returns to red oak from its energy form despite not carrying a sheath for it.

Having finished the job, I turn around to face the coach only to find six more of the same crow-headed minor phantom in my face and already in motion to strike me. I instinctively reach for a warding omamori, though I shut my eyes realizing it’s already too late to respond to such an onslaught of attacks. After a moment, I open one eye to find all six phantoms frozen in place just short of their attack. Coach Blues enter the alleyway, casually brushing each of the minor phantoms aside with his arm as each phantom brushed away disappears in more and more absurd fashions: popping like a balloon, disintegrating into dandelion seeds, scattering like a ray of light, bursting into blots of paint, shattering like a mirror, and simply fading into nothingness.

I bow to the coach, once again reminded of his position as the strongest numacist in the organization. “Thank you for saving me, Coach.”

He just shrugs in response. “A numacist of your level should’ve easily been able to defeat that horde of minor phantoms, but your technique focuses too much on dueling a single foe.”

I maintain my bow. “I’m sorry, Coach.”

The coach laughs at my formality. “No need to be so stiff. That’s just the Pierce style of numatics for you. Anyway, I’ll take it from here.”

I turn to Coach Blues as he walks past me. “So what are we actually here for?”

He closes his eyes, relying on his numa sense instead to dowse the surroundings. “We’ve finally found where the last remaining DARWIN wisp is hiding.”

I gasp as the coach reveals the true significance of the mission. “The last DARWIN wisp?! It’s just been in the middle of Tokyo all these years?!”

“Not quite, but you’re close.” He finishes his dowsing as he points down to the ground. I gaze to the location he’s pointing to, finding… nothing.

“Um, Coach…”

“Yes, I know I’m not pointing to anything. See, it’s not just right here in Tokyo. It’s in the middle of the Earth, right at the core. This is only the path it took to get there, making it the path of least resistance when pulling it back out.” The coach swings his extended arm around like a conductor directing a mighty orchestra as his numa shoots into the ground.

I tilt my head at the coach's elaboration, only more confused. “How did the wisp get there? Doesn’t it only afflict herkahumans?”

“That’s correct.”

“Then…”

“C’mon, you’ve got this.” The coach plays around with me, withholding information and getting a kick out of my confusion even while he draws the wisp to the surface.

“Someone must’ve fallen into a sinkhole!”

He slowly turns to me, raising an eyebrow at that answer, though quickly replacing it with his usual jolly demeanor. “Yeah, you got it, spot on!”

I look away in shame for that answer. “I-I see… So what is it actually?”

“Of course, it’s not that someone fell into a sinkhole all the way into the core of the Earth.”

“Right. Of course, Coach. That was a ridiculous answer.”

“Yes, it was. What actually happened is that somebody just sunk into the Earth’s core, no hole needed.”

“What?”

“What?”

“That’s not funny, Coach.”

“And I’m not joking.” With a flourish of his arms, he pulls a translucent man out from the ground onto the surface. The incorporeal man looks to be a Japanese man somewhere in his forties, though he has a pale complexion even for being completely transparent. He has rough, untreated, mid-length hair, and on his face lies an uneven stubble. After a few blinks, he slowly opens his eyes.

“A ghost!” I exclaimed, drawing the only logical conclusion at the sight of this man.

“Wrong! A man.” The coach corrects me.

“Th-the ghost of a man?”

“No. A living human person, or more specifically… the Ghost of Nemuro.”