Gus Ishimatsu was more than used to events not going his way. He had lived a life defined by that fact alone. Expecting something to go a certain way through no effort of one’s own and refusing to adapt otherwise is, to him, the ultimate weakness.
Sarahiro’s little ploy to try and intimidate him had been amusing—a lamb trying to bare a claw by sharpening its hoof on a flint—but it ultimately left a sour taste in his mouth. The order had been signed off by all three parties. JPRO had been given official ministerial permission to proceed, with support of the military police. However, Gus couldn’t help but feel irked at the bullish man’s pathetic whining all through the process. Sarahiro’s shaking hand moved pen across paper, knowingly signing away thousands of his citizens to a fate beyond death, and still he gave little quibbles of protest. Tears leaked from crinkly eyes, and his bottom lip trembled like an infant. The (now former) prime minister had sacrificed his values, his morals and his integrity, for the sake of his own life. All traces of gusto and fight had shattered the moment his paperthin plan to reassert his fleeting delusion of control was torn to shreds.
Sarahiro had served his purpose; Gus felt absolutely no remorse in snapping the man’s neck like a twig between his fingers.
Mokuzo had deposited her mannequin in the hotseat afterwards, clad in the guise of his corpse—a more than fitting replacement. At least the mannequin had an actual backbone.
Nowhere’s elevators all functioned fine, but today, Gus chose to walk.
A gigantic spiral staircase pierced the centre of the labyrinthine tower. Fifteen feet wide, the glittering stained glass and obsidian cobbles crunched under his boot with every step into the endless climb. The stairs encircled a marbled pillar. There were no gaudy ornaments, no ostentatious displays of wealth. Gold did not line the bannisters, and no faux-crystal chandeliers served little purpose in their hanging. That preformative showboating was as pathetic as it was cowardly. Gus had no need for any of it; while intensely egotistical, he was not vain.
Gus had been climbing these stairs for close to two hours. He was in no rush. His energy each day was limited enough, and any overexertion strengthened the Tyrant’s un easing grip. He would not give the vengeful spirit any kind of repose. However, Gus refused to take the easy route. He would triumph over these stairs. He would not succumb to the weakness of being carried, save by his own two feet.
Nowhere stood tall, but that height was finite. Before too much longer, Gus finally emerged on the penultimate floor. Coming to a standstill, he took laboured breaths, but endeavoured to keep his back straight and head held high. Breathing became difficult the higher one ascended. In the material world, the air became thinner at higher altitudes. Though there was technically no air in the cognitive world, the perception of that “height” emulated the same effect in the world beyond. The CEO’s lip curled. Ashinaga’s blight had only intensified over this space after his humiliation in the skies above Tokyo Tower. Gus reasoned the phenomenon’s ire toward him in particular had since become a lot more personal.
The stairs continued upwards one cycle more, but Gus would not peak just yet. He deviated right down a stony corridor, his purposeful stride rumbling the surrounding walls. At the far end, a heavy door impeded his charge. Gus stopped, and his expression softened. Gently, he slid back the bolt, and pushed inward. A single, mournful creak from the hinges, and the door of reinforced steel swung against the wall.
“Katsuro.”
The researcher sat on his chair at the far end of the room. Emaciated and weary, his thick, straggly hair had taken on a greyer shade. A few tufts had fallen from the sides of his head, and his cheeks had sunk an inch into the skin. His stubble had lengthened into a patchy beard. The slit of a third eye had carved itself into his forehead. His bare forearms and ankles were unbound, but the scars of metal were forever etched into the skin, scars from manacles that were no longer necessary.
The cell bore a single large window, barred, overlooking the depths of space beyond the tower. The room itself was comfortable and wooden; sparsely furnished, yet functional. The bed, chairs, tables and bookcase were all in good nick, and a lack of dust showed the furniture’s regular use, making the lacquer gleam. A warm candle turned the stonework slightly brown, and flickered. The inconsistent lights cast singeing shadows across the walls, as though the memory of this place, too, was burning.
The eerie shadow of a woman lurked in the corner. Long, stringy black hair clung to the sides of a thin face. Her features were indistinguishable, blurry and constantly shifting. All detail had been rendered null and void. She stood up like a lamp, static, her hands by her sides. The only indication of any life at all was the occasional electric twitching in her fingers. That, and the haunting tune that left her lips in a breathless hum.
“Katsuro,” Gus repeated, a little clearer, and took steps forward.
The once great researcher looked up from the floor with childishly fresh eyes, and mumbled something unrecognisable.
“Do you remember me?” Gus took out another chair, diminutive by comparison, and perched on the seat. His voice rumbled from the chest, but oddly softened.
It took a few seconds, before eventually…
“Gus,” Katsuro stared through his old friend like a windowpane. “Gus,” he repeated, as though trying to affirm himself. “It’s been forever since you came to stay. Oh, I just made dinner.” He gestured to the painfully empty table with a smile. He sung on a whimsical note. “This is… my room, isn’t it?” His eyes then dropped. “We don’t have many days left, do we?”
Gus’ face tilted into mournful shadow. He shuffled closer on his chair, placing a hand just barely on the man’s crumbling shoulder. “How are you feeling?”
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Katsuro raised a hand up to the candlelight. His mouth opened and closed, gumming on air. His voice faded to a whisper. “I can’t see my skin… anymore.”
Gus retracted his hand, and hung his head. “I’m sorry.”
In sync with the candle, Katsuro’s pupils flickered in and out of focus. “There is no going back, Gus.” He sharply clamped his hand on the man’s shoulder. “You’ve done this to me, you did all of this to accomplish your goal. I warned you… I warned you…”
“Yes?” Gus blinked, his eyes softening as he leaned forward, attentive and earnest. “What did you warn me of? Do you remember, Katsuro?”
“I warned that you would die a fool. A fool who has lost. A fool who has not heeded the words…”
“Your son still lives.” Gus clenched his hands together. “Your son still fights. He is strong.”
The man resumed his staring into the middle distance. “Rinkaku…” His face did not move, but a tear leaked from the corner of one crinkled eye.
“I still need his fragment of the Ascension Blade to complete my dream. The dream I told you about, all those years ago: the very dream you scorned me for.” Gus spoke slowly, as though to a child. “But he is being hidden by someone. They awakened psychic powers in the same way you did. I expect she awakened to her powers because of you, Katsuro. You know, don’t you?” His question fell on abject silence, and his jaw clenched.
“She never liked you.” Katsuro drew both legs up to his chest. “When we were first seeing one another, she didn’t say anything. From the moment she first set eyes, I knew mother didn’t like you.”
Gus closed his eyes. His fists clenched on his knees. “She never did.”
“She didn’t like us.”
“She never did.” Gus leaned forward. “In the end, is that why you scorned me so, Katsuro?”
The man stared into his lap, head tilted as though he were a disused windup toy. “You approached me, interested in my research,” his voice momentarily regained clarity, a slight edge returning albeit only briefly. “You were interested; you believed in the tomb’s existence; you weren’t like the others; you— Never did I realise you had such dangerous intentions until it was too late.” His tone faded, crackled, and broke. “I admired you, Gus. We were partners for so long. Everyone else laughed, but you believed in me. I was inspired, Gus. Your courage, your strength of will… It…” The memory faded, and a little more colour drained from his eyes. “But when you said those things, I couldn’t—” His voice broke a little, a warble trembling in the back of his throat. “For years, the warnings rang around my head. You were a bad influence, that you were dangerous, so when you bared everything to me, I—”
“You couldn’t abide, I remember.” Gus’ lip trembled. “You shouted, you called me a madman. You, who shared my ideals and my dreams; you, who stayed with me when no one else did. You turned your back on me, and I—” He faltered with a slight tremor, before. “I cried for you, Katsuro. I hated you for so long, but it was never truly your fault. I see that now. That is your single biggest weakness. Your mother. You let her poison your mind, turn you against me, straying off the path we were both destined to walk.”
Katsuro’s head dipped; his shoulders trembled. His voice lowered to a distant whisper. “For years, she told me you were dangerous… That you would destroy everything, and I… don’t remember. I…”
“You let her drive us apart,” Gus’ tone hardened, before a shaky deep sigh. Then, it softened, almost pleading. “You condemned me, Katsuro, but the world I wanted—the world I still want—was for us both. A world where the strong of mind, the strong of heart can thrive without scorn, without ridicule. I wanted to show you—” He halted, bit his lip, and stood abruptly. “I don’t know why I truly came. I felt… a compulsion.”
Katsuro didn’t respond.
“Was it to absolve my guilt?” Gus continued. “You said it yourself: the die is cast. I cannot turn back, nor can you.” A shaky breath wracked his chest. “That woman has poisoned you with her thorn, and now she stands in the way of our world, Katsuro. That woman is an shackle. She has shackled you; soon, she will do the same to your son. I cannot stand to see her impede anyone else. I suppose I came to warn you.”
He turned towards the door.
“Soon, I will permanently remove this shackle from the world. If you can still hear me, if you can still remember, then curse me with all your might, and all the heart you have left. I will continue down the path I have chosen ‘till my end. Only it will be a shame to no longer have you by my side.”
Gus closed his eyes, and took one deep breath.
“For how I have treated you, I am truly sorry. I acted out of pure spite, out of weakness. I wanted you to suffer as I had. However, I did it in the hopes that you would resist her; that you would survive, endure this torment, emerge stronger; that you would rise again to show me the error of my ways!” His diaphragm shook. Gus gave Katsuro another glance, dark eyes glimmering with desperate hope to see some kind of rebellion, some of that fire, that determination.
But there was none, not anymore.
Katsuro had folded inwards, limp. Blank, unseeing eyes stared into the floor. His fingers did not twitch. The man barely breathed. His lips moved soundlessly, whispering exhales of decay.
“You were strong, Katsuro,” Gus lamented. “When you pursued your dream, you were strong. When you conspired against me, you were strong. When you resisted me in that cell, you were strong. However, when I set her upon you—the chrysalis of my scorn, incarnated into the void of seething flesh—I saw all that strength leave your eyes. I saw your spirit crushed by the weight of your own failure. You folded, and you gave up. Instead of resisting, you succumbed. Once again, I find myself bitterly disappointed. This is where we part. Whoever you are, you are no longer the Katsuro Harigane I once loved.”
With hardened eyes, and a jaw of cast iron, he strode away. The metal door clanged shut behind him, followed by the steady thud of footsteps. He left his regrets in that cell, and all remorse along with. With or without him, he would accomplish their dream.
The blurred woman drifted airily across the floor, toenails scraping across the stone, and let out a sallow hiss, followed by the inexorable roar of hunger. Her featureless face split along the middle, revealing myriad rows of rotating, jagged teeth. A hand, fingers splitting into ravenous claws, seized Katsuro by the throat. The claws sunk freely into his skin, hooking into flesh. The man winced, and struggled, but could not resist. She lifted him into her arms.
The demon then wrapped her arms around her husband, and locked him in a passionate kiss, swallowing the screams therein.