“Everybody freeze!”
Nagora Ibuse charged forth from the beyond, gun in both hands. His detective’s intuition had been spot-on. Right at the centre of all this was Rinkaku Harigane himself; he’d recognise that black mop anywhere. One glance at this chaotic landscape told him all he needed to. From the boy’s eidetic profiling of JPRO’s henchman, Ibuse recognised the taller, bloodied combatant instantly: Meguru Yoha—CEO Gus Ishimatsu’s left-hand man.
He’d spent a fair few hours yesterday combing through JPRO employment records, but no dice. It made sense. The moment you let your nefarious supernatural underbelly onto your books, people started asking questions. Ibuse had far too many. His encounter with Hakana had only left him with more.
That didn’t matter. He had finally arrived at the right place, at the right time.
“I’m with the police. Put your hands where I can see them, both of you!” Ibuse narrowed his eyes, training his aim on Meguru. “I’m authorised to shoot if needed.”
Meguru, not bothering to remove both hands from his pockets, cast a sly glance behind him. The Architect had his glare trained solely on the officer, lip curled in irritation.
This was an opportunity.
Still facing away, Meguru kicked backwards off the floor. Reducing the consequence of friction underfoot, he slid backwards with incredible velocity towards the Architect. It would only take one Disaster Strike to be fatal. A sharp prod to the back of the neck would instantly puncture the brain-stem. Fatality.
> Open The Door
>
> 開門 Kaimon
Someone seized Meguru by the back of the neck. The man slowly turned his head, mortified.
“I said, freeze.” A vein twitched in Nagora Ibuse’s forehead. His voice dropped half an octave, and his Kansai drawl came back in full force. “The police force exists to keep the peace. When an officer gives you an order, you are expected to comply. Got that?”
“How the hell did you—”
Ibuse pistol-whipped him across the face with a crack, sending him sprawling across the floor. Psychic energy arced along the man’s arms as he took a few steps forward. “Smarts, don’t it, punk?” He cast a glance behind him. Harigane hadn’t yet said anything. The boy’s head was tilted down, face in shadow.
“Sorry I’m late, kid.” It felt strange to say, given his capabilities. “Got here as quick as I could.” He finished loading the final bullet into the chamber of his New Nambu M60—standard police issue, double-action revolver. “I’ll take it from here.”
The Architect couldn’t believe he’d missed it. Nagora Ibuse had seemingly teleported across the park. This was no ordinary movement. His eyesight was trained to the slightest movement, enhanced by a continual stimulating flow of psychic energy through his optic nerve and muscle fibres. He had seen Meguru Yoha’s approach, fast as it had been, but not the detective’s. There was no teleportation, either. He could perceive the shifting fields of psychic energy all around, and there was no telltale disturbance that would have been left by a teleportation technique.
His brow furrowed. The Architect had been alerted to the nature of Ibuse’s flow from the first instant. It had been very slight back then, perhaps a result of recent awakening, but, reading it again now: its tranquil, unilateral distribution made it identical to Meguru Yoha’s. Not only that, Ibuse’s heightened reactions to the boy’s attacks back during their first encounter had given away more than simply enhanced reaction speed. Moreover, his psychic signature reminded the Architect of another he despised.
Nagora Ibuse had been blessed by the Phenomenon of Time.
“I’ve seen your face around, haven’t I?” Meguru Yoha had risen to his feet, cradling his jawbone. “Yeah, you’re that Ibuse guy—City Police. Hakana told us to keep an eye out.”
“Did he now?” Ibuse deadpanned. “Might want to keep what he said to yourself. Anything you say from this point forward can and will be used against you in a court of law.”
He kept his gun pointed below the waist. His rational mind screamed danger to anyone who’d listen: what on earth was he thinking? Here he was, holding a handgun, facing off against a psychic terrorist who—for all he knew—could make his balls explode at any moment and or turn his skull inside out with a flick of a wrist. He was just a regular police detective. This wasn’t his fight!
No. He couldn’t think that way. That was how cowards thought.
His duties as a regular police detective had ceased the moment Toshina had injected the unfathomable truth of the universe into his tiny human mind, and blessed him with a grander purpose. He was meant to be here—to do what he felt was right. Right now, helping Harigane in this fight was the right thing to do. He couldn’t rationalise it, but he didn’t need to. Logic had only got him as far as college. The rest of his life, and all he had to be grateful for, he had his Intuition to thank. The only time he’d ever reneged on it since, was his single most significant cause of regret to date.
He was here now, in the right place at the right time. Ibuse didn’t know what was going on, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to find out. For the past week, he’d been stuck playing catch-up. Now that he had the power to travel the corridor, the power of Correct Progression (匡歴 Ourekki), those days were over.
“So,” Meguru taunted, “what’s a cop doing so far away from the doughnut shop? You come here about the tax evasion? Or it is about that parking ticket from last week? Either way, I’m not paying.”
“Joke all you want, but once I’ve reached the bottom of this case, I bet you won’t look nearly so smug. You’ve kept a very low profile on the public records, haven’t you?” His brow furrowed. “Meguru Yoha, 26; high school grad from Yokohama North, no formal history of work. The Yoha name raised a few flags. Yakuza, I take it? Not for a while now: nearly forty years since that operation went under. I doubt you’re related to any of that, but it doesn’t help your case. I wonder what JPRO’s kept under wraps all this time, don’t you? If my sources are at all reliable, several lifetime’s worth of jail time just from association alone won’t even be scratching the surface.”
“Really done your research, huh?” Meguru let out a low whistle. “Good for you, nerd.”
“It’s my job.”
“Sounds like a lot of work. Why’d you bother?”
Ibuse cringed. “Oh, you sad, strange little man.”
A muscle tightened in Meguru’s jaw. “Again with the judgement? I thought that was the court’s job.”
“They’re the one whose word carries weight. Though, from the sounds of it, my opinion matters a great deal to you as well.”
Meguru barked a laugh. “Like hell.” His remaining hand darted into his pocket.
“No sudden movements!” Ibuse yelled, and fired two warning shots at Meguru’s thigh. Instantly, Ibuse slowed his own perception just enough to see the trajectory of his bullets grazing harmlessly right past Meguru’s leg. What on earth?
The sun glinted in the coin resting in the crook of Meguru’s finger. That same glint reflected in the man’s eye. Ibuse reacted on instinct, and not a moment too soon.
> Open The Door
>
> 開門 Kaimon
Time stopped. The golden screen doors opened behind him. Ibuse realised he didn’t even have to go through the door when he opened it. Just like it had done on the highway, the flow of time ceased for everything save for Ibuse’s sphere of influence on the moment of activation. How long this period of stopped time lasted, he wasn’t sure. The longer he kept the door open, however, the heavier the door became. The moment he impacted something else, taking his proverbial hands off the door, it would slam shut. Those were his limitations.
In the span of time it had taken the door to open, the spinning brass coin had already crossed half the distance between them, aimed straight at his forehead. Ibuse took care to move out of the way. A direct impact from that would’ve put a hole in his skull—likely more damage than his own bullets.
The detective approached, slowly, deliberately. The shots he fired at Meguru Yoha earlier had not missed. They hadn’t been blocked, either. Rather, the bullets had been deflected the moment they touched him, as though the man had evaded the very consequence of being shot. Was that it? One thing he’d picked up on regarding this whole psychic business was that everyone seemed to have a gimmick. It hadn’t taken him very long to spot a pattern. His was Time; Harigane had his Frames; the Amibari girl had her Threads. Hell, the short girl with the bob just had a damn Gun. It would make the most sense if people’s unique skillsets were all centred around a key idea. Then, what about this man? Was consequence his whole schtick? If so, he was up against someone incredibly dangerous. Not only in terms of being able to void anything coming his way, but Ibuse was willing to put money that it worked in the opposite way as well: increasing the consequence of your own attacks, to the point where the slightest nudge could explode someone.
Speaking of money, he’d had enough time to think. He couldn’t hurt Meguru while the door was open, but at least now he had a better idea of what he was up against. Before he made himself vulnerable again, Ibuse unlocked the chamber of his revolver and emptied the bullets into his hand, before reloading. He had four shots left, and no spare ammo. He never carried any—it was very rare he ever needed to use his gun, if at all. He’d better make these four shots count.
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The man stepped back, and pinched the coin Meguru had shot at him between his thumb and forefinger. “Close the door.”
Time resumed.
Meguru’s face fell. From his perspective, Ibuse had teleported two feet to the left, and seized the coin between his fingers. “Damn, showoff much? You’ve got some moves, old man.”
“Resisting arrest, assaulting a police officer,” Ibuse noted out-loud, pocketing the coin. “The law’s going to have a field day with this one.”
“The law can kiss my ass. You don’t even have a warrant.”
Ibuse didn’t need one. Without warning, he shot twice at Meguru’s hip. Like before, the bullet curved around the man’s backside and dug up a tuft of grass some way behind. Meguru was quick enough to see the shots coming. It hadn’t been just a lucky guess. Good to know. Only two bullets left.
Meguru grinned. “Are all you cops such bad shots?”
Ibuse didn’t rise, darting off to the right. He circled the man at a run, stopping abruptly to train his barrel on the man’s shoulder. Meguru saw this coming, and swiped a large handful of loose dirt and sand from the ground. “Think fast!” He tossed it at Ibuse, amplifying the consequence of impact from each particle. The harmless distraction quickly turned into a storm of miniature razors. The detective winced as the sand tore up his face. Every bit of dirt sent ripples of impact through his body like stones ten times the size. Even so, he kept his aim, and fired.
> Open The Door
>
> 開門 Kaimon
The bullet deflected off Meguru’s cheek. The man smirked. “How many bullets are you going to waste already?” He waited for the dust to clear before continuing to gloat, but Ibuse had disappeared. “Where’d you—”
Bang.
Another bullet struck Meguru square in the back.
Ibuse had worked it out. What if Meguru could only minimise consequence for actions he could see? The dirt cloud, though painful, had been a blessing in disguise. Meguru had obscured own view long enough for Ibuse to Open The Door and reposition to the man’s blindspot. The first had been a risky decoy, a ploy to line up his final shot.
He’d taken a definite risk. Gunshot to the spine could paralyse from the waist down if he’d lined up the shot well enough. Discharging his firearm was always a last resort in any confrontation—there’d be mountains of paperwork to deal with once he got back—but these were extraordinary circumstances. Ibuse was prepared deal with whatever civil ramifications followed from this impromptu arrest.
Whatever the case, he needed these JPRO lunatics off the streets before more innocents got caught in the crossfire.
In the seconds of silence that followed the shot, Meguru Yoha still stood upright.
Ibuse’s gun clicked empty.
Shit.
“You really still think bullets can hurt me? Oh buddy, you’re cooked.” Meguru brushed away the brass end of the nine millimetre round that had crushed itself into the back of his torn suit. “From the sounds of it, you’re out of rounds too.” He turned around. “Then, guess it’s my turn?”
It would’ve been, had Ibuse not teleported directly in front of Meguru, clocking him in the temple with the butt of his revolver. The impact sent the man stumbling. Meguru roared in pain, and clutched the side of his head.
“Oi, oi, oi! What the hell was that? Again?” He pointed, accusing. “What the hell are you playing at? How the hell are you hitting me so hard?”
Ibuse tucked the gun back into his waistband, then rolled up his sleeves. He’d done it once before without realising, the first time. The moment before impact, he’d felt a shift. It felt like flicking back through the frames of an old film. He didn’t move, but the world around him did. Just for that instant, he moved himself further back in time. It wasn’t by much, maybe a fraction of a second, but it was enough.
The final shot had been the key. Meguru Yoha’s consequence manipulation wasn’t just limited to what he could see. Ibuse had been watching carefully through the lens of dilated time, ever since his first bullets had been deflected. The moment before impact, there came the slightest shift in the Meguru psychic energy: a conscious activation of an ability. It didn’t last long, however, just long enough to nullify the consequence of the bullet’s impact, and nothing more. There had to be a reason. Otherwise, why would it only occur at the moment before impact, and not be constantly activated?
Ibuse had an inkling.
Just like how him holding the Door open for too long started to take a serious tax on his stamina, perhaps Meguru’s Specialty worked in the same way. The man maintained the flow of diminished consequence for only as long as necessary, to be efficient with his usage of psychic energy. Such skill and mastery hidden under such a well-woven disguise of carelessness. Any respect such a feat earned the man was instantly extinguished by his character, however.
Not only was Meguru able to perceive a gun being fired, but he was able to figure out exactly when the bullet would hit. Ibuse was starting to relate. Minute disturbances in the surrounding field of ambient psychic energy rippled through the ether; he felt it, like supernatural radar. Their flows were so similar, Ibuse knew Meguru had the same feat. The man was able to perceive incoming threats no matter the direction, and selectively nullify the consequence that same instant.
Unfortunately, that strategy just made Ibuse’s counterplay that much more effective.
“You know, I was a boxer once—back in high school. A lightweight, sure, but I was all set to go pro; until I went and broke my own wrist.” He shook his left hand. “Damn thing’s never been the same again, but the hours I spent haven’t gone to waste. I was such a little idiot back then, but I guess it all worked out for the best.” Ibuse squared his shoulders and made his approach, head tilted down but gaze still locked. “Figured it out yet?”
“Hell no.” Meguru’s confident smirk had been shattered. “You come out of nowhere, start teleporting all over the place, and then you—” Comprehension abruptly dawned on the man’s face, just as Ibuse broke into a run.
“Not giving you time to finish that thought.” The man threw a sparking left cross. Meguru raised his arms to block, but the blow struck before he could even reach half way. The instant before the punch was due to land, the instant before Meguru’s defence kicked in, Nagora Ibuse shifted a few milliseconds into the past.
> Back Beat
>
> 前毆 Zenku
Knuckles met cheek; a crack echoed around the fractured island. Ibuse wasn’t done. Weaving to the right—dodging the counterjab on the outside—he drove a solid right hook into the man’s jaw.
> Back Beat
>
> 前毆 Zenku
Ibuse quickstepped back, narrowly avoiding a wild swing. There was nothing special about his punches beyond their psychic energy reinforcement. The only difference, compared to literally everything else, was that every single punch bypassed Meguru’s shield of diminished consequence, and struck true. Ibuse feinted forward, ducking down, before delivering a right-hand undercut into the man’s throat!
> Back Beat
>
> 前毆 Zenku
Meguru’s head snapped back, spit flying. A quick left jab at the solar plexus, and the man doubled over. This left him in prime position for the haymaker Ibuse then drove into his nose.
> Back Beat
>
> 前毆 Zenku
The force of the seasoned blow knocking some of the light from his eyes, sending Meguru crashing to the floor. At last, Ibuse relented. His left wrist screamed cease, and the knuckles on his right hand oozed trickles of blood doing his fingers.
Meguru Yoha didn’t stay down for long. Brushing the dirt from his torn suit, he swore and spat at the ground, smearing the blood from his split lip. Blood leaked in a thick stream from a freshly broken nose. “Man, you’re something else.”
“Had enough yet?” Ibuse took a pair of cuffs from the inside pocket of his coat. “Or am I going to have to take you in the hard way?”
“Man, fuck that. Fuck everything about that.” Meguru turned on his heel. “I didn’t sign up for this shit, damn it. Ain’t no way I’m fighting you. I’m outta here.”
Ibuse made to follow, but Meguru swept his hand wide, unleashing a momentary gale that halted his approach. The JPRO agent ran into an amplified leap, soaring through the air until he’d passed beyond the former distortion’s misty confines. Ibuse was just about to Open The Door and pursue, when—
“Don’t bother.”
A deep voice Ibuse didn’t recognise made him falter. Harigane stood still, arms folded, shadowed expression warped in deep distaste. He’d been so lost in confrontation, that he had only just realised that, instead of helping, Harigane had simply stood there the entire time. That was unlike him.
“What are you talking about?” Ibuse’s brow furrowed. “You told me that man was dangerous.”
“You have already meddled enough. Stand aside.”
“What’s that tone for, Harigane? I came to help you out.”
The Architect raised his head.
That cruel, regal glare made Ibuse’s blood run cold. “Hang on— You’re not Harigane.”
“I had intended to slay Inka’s chosen to make an example to them all.” The Architect conjured a series of complex frames. Behind him, the outline of a fearsome spectral temple began to construct itself in real time. “However, Toshina’s will more than suffice.”
“Hey…” Ibuse took a few steps back, and raised his hands. “I’m on your side!”
“I pity you, detective.” The Architect’s psychic energy flared, and the temple took more defined shape. “You did not choose this fate, but I will enact it. Your desecration will serve as a warning to that fickle puppetmaster who has deluded you with the guise of power.”
Ibuse took up a stance, ready to open the door.
“I will make an example out of you.”
The Architect raised his hands, and opened his mouth once more, then froze. The man’s right eye twitched, before his head snapped violently to the side. The Architect’s looming palace shimmered, before each foundational columns splintered. Rinkaku Harigane’s youthful face flickered momentarily into view.
“That’s enough, Architect.”
Ibuse blinked, and the apparition faded. A tug of war ensued. The Architect, eyes bulging, seized back control. “Stay in the box.”
“No!”
“Stay in the box!”
“No!” Rin wrenched both his hands from the Architect’s control and tore desperately into his own cheeks. “Get out of my skin!”
Nails clawed bloodied grooves down his face. The boy’s body shuddered, pulled in two different directions with enough force to break it in two. Rin’s legs flailed, frantic. He flung himself to the ground, twisting and turning as he dug his fingers deeper into the raw, open wounds, as though trying to remove his own face. He let out a roar, a two-tone howl which soon faded to one—Rin’s. The screaming abruptly. The pupils vanished from his eyes, and his body fell limp to one side.
Nagora Ibuse had only three words.
“What the fuck.”