Demon City Shinjuku: The Complete Edition (31 page)

But more startling than the style of his arrival was the face rising out of the metallic gown. The man was wearing a golden mask.

Slits in the mask revealed the eyes and mouth. The eyes inside, clear and dark and cold, sent a shiver down the spine. The crowd composed itself and fell silent.

“Welcome to my home,” spoke that same, undeniable voice. “First of all, I would like to thank you again. All those invited are, according to their
stated
names, here in attendance. Those assembled here today shall experience the kind of joys that can be known in the world below. However,
only
those I have actually invited.”

An agitated ripple ran through the people. The masked man raised his hands and quelled the uproar, hands that looked altogether human.

“Unfortunately, those whom I would have otherwise held in affection and esteem have not only forged their names, but altered their appearances and injected a criminal element into these celebrations. I shall only open the door of my beloved home to those whom I love.”

No sooner had he finished speaking than came the flapping of wings overhead. A woman screamed. A black silhouette descended and took a firm hold of her shoulders. The wings beat the air again, and another noise arose, that of several bodies being borne aloft.

The problem was not so much what was being dragged, but what was doing the dragging. A blue beast with gray wings, a smaller member of the species that was known in the old fairy tales as a gremlin. The yard-long creatures picked up full-grown adults and took off for the distant ceiling.

Though there weren't that many gremlins, they were efficient porters and their uncanny strength was more than enough. The number of people in attendance diminished in a flash.

“Rest assured,” the masked man said blithely. “They will be returned unharmed to the ground. I have no need for pretenders here. To those who remain I will reveal the wonders of my home. Come. The party begins.”

The several dozen left—the stand-ins and pretenders and guards having been whisked away—swayed back and forth. The floor beneath their feet was moving. However it looked like granite, it was a flowing substance like that ribbon of light stretched out beneath them. Like a moving sidewalk, only infinitely more pleasant.

“Where are we going?” asked Sayaka.

“I guess to the party,” Kyoya answered blandly. He was ready to leave now. Some guy in a mask and his weird mansion didn't much pique his interest. He'd rather be home munching on
senbei
and reading manga.

Moving between a giant stone pillar and a statue, the sidewalk brought them to another hall. They passed through an open gate without any doors. A ripple ran through the throng.

They were definitely in a banquet hall. Countless tables piled with strange delicacies, foods that none of them had seen before. And standing at attention around them, hostesses in revealing dresses and waiters wearing tuxedos and sparkling smiles, so pretty and handsome that a passerby would want to stop and hug them.

But what drew exclamations of wonder from the mouths of the guests was the great basin in the middle of the hall. It was fifteen feet deep, the bottom covered with bare earth. The oval of at least four hundred square yards looked like a small sports arena.

“Well, everybody, let us begin with a light repast,” said the masked lord of the mansion, having at some point already arrived. “Three hundred became a thousand, and then a mere fifty. Disappointing, yes, but a hundred fakes cannot equal one real diamond. Besides—”

He glanced over the assembled group, his eyes focusing on Kyoya and Sayaka. Sayaka felt a cold chill down her spine—as if the eyes of the masked man were boring into her heart.

The enigmatic look soon turned away. As if calming the concerns of all those assembled, the masked man said in a dignified voice, “My wishes will soon be fulfilled. In the meantime, please, eat and enjoy.”

The dinner began. The cuisine could be described as nothing short of miraculous.

“What ingredients is he using?” a world-famous food critic wondered out loud. “I can't help feeling envious.”

“No idea. How does he bring out such flavors? The seasoning? The oil? What era does this cooking come from?” That was the chef at a five-star hotel, combing his fingers through his white hair.

“It tastes
so
good,” Sayaka practically squealed.

Watching her with a disinterested expression, Kyoya scanned their surroundings, his eyes lighting up as he saw the masked man approaching.

“It is so nice to see you here,” he said with a polite bow. The greeting did not come across as the usual condescension to their youth, but as true courtesy.

“Thanks,” Kyoya grinned.

Sayaka nodded her head respectfully. “We appreciate being invited to such a splendid banquet.”

“If I had my druthers, I would have invited only you.”

“Um—” Sayaka responded, her cheeks flushing.

Alarmed by the possibility that Sayaka might unexpectedly have a thing for middle-aged guys, Kyoya put on a warning expression.

“But,” she continued, “why did you invite me and the others in the first place?”

All at once, she cut to the heart of the matter.

“All the relevant reasons will come to light later.” The eyes deep within the mask seemed to smile.

He'd ducked the question, leaving Kyoya all the more put out.

“Kyoya Izayoi-kun?”

“Yeah.”

“The rumors have reached even this newcomer's ears that you are a practitioner of the rare talents of
nenpo
.”

“Well, ah, sure.”

The masked man directed his attention to Kyoya's right hand. “And that is Asura. Could I?”

“Go ahead.”

A strong hand reached out—and stopped.

“What?”

He let his hand fall to his side instead, and turned away from the sword. “It seems not to have an affinity for me. Unfortunately.”

“Sure,” said Kyoya, though his voice communicated that he had no idea. “By the way, is the reason you invited me still a mystery?”

“No.” The masked man looked at Kyoya and spoke quietly. The kind of voice that made Sayaka turn a bit pale. A commotion behind them caught their attention. “Ah, the show begins,” he said, turning around. “Please enjoy yourself. Till we meet again.”

The begowned man slipped back into the crowds.

“That guy gives me the creeps,” Kyoya said.

“How's that?” Sayaka said, her breathing a bit rough.

Kyoya switched Asura to his left hand and shook his right. “Feeling's gone right out of it, from that guy only getting his hand close. If he'd actually touched it, might have been a lot worse.”

He glanced over at the basin. Men in armor were standing in the middle of the oval. Kyoya could make out one person to the left and three to the right. They were about the same size, though they carried different weapons. The three on the right had long swords. The one on the left, a lance. The swordsmen wore black armor. The lancer's was dark blue.

They had appeared at some point and would be putting on some sort of performance.

“So this is the entertainment. Interesting,” said Kyoya, massaging his right hand with his left. He was obviously looking forward to it.

“But it's a sword fight,” Sayaka observed darkly.

“Aw, relax. It's a show. I'm sure they've taken the edge of those weapons off. The lance too—”

The rest of the sentence stuck in his throat, as he noticed that the armored knight facing the other three was the one who'd dueled with Mephisto and then picked a fight with him.

“Now then, everybody!” The masked lord's voice spilled out of the air. “The first act begins, more exciting and thrilling than anything you will ever witness in the world below.”

The guests had already ascertained the nature of the performance and pushed to the edge of the basin. Kyoya and Sayaka tagged along as well.

“One way or another, not your regular sporting event,” said Kyoya.

Ten feet separated the four. Based on the length of the weapons alone, the lancer would have the advantage. But considering number and size, the swordsmen were hardly lacking.

“Man, this is giving me the shivers,” said a well-known business writer, his face flushed with anticipation. “For a bunch of robots, they're really selling the emotion.”

“They really are,” agreed a voluptuous actress, famous mostly for her physical assets. “It's like—like that ancient Roman thingy.”

“The Coliseum.”

“Yeah, that's it!” She licked her lips.

A cruel air enshrouded them. The tension and curiosity rose to a fevered pitch.

The black knights suddenly moved, fanning out around the dark blue knight. One lunged at him from the right. With a
whoosh
of wind, the swing of his sword swept out a radius of no less than six feet.

Without even looking at him, the blue knight swung his lance. The lateral blow made contact. The right-handed knight had switched the weapon to his left hand.

The altogether strange sound of steel against steel, like a mallet striking a drum, rang out from the black knight's abdomen. Like a doll tossed through the air, the black knight flew a good twenty yards and struck its head against the rim of the basin.

“What the—!”

“That is—!”

“Blood!” a woman screamed.

From the cracks in the armor—fallen in a heap like a grotesque mannequin, dripped a red liquid that moved out in a spreading stain. This was anything but a fight among robots.

Above the heads of the spectators, his presence forgotten in the spectacle before them, a voice said, “Relax. That blood is artificial. Those you see fighting before you are nothing more than synthetic life forms built here in my home.”

A collective sigh of relief dissolved the building tension. As if to rend that apart, the black knight on the left jumped up. At the same time, the third brandished his sword and charged straight on.

The blue knight met the simultaneous attacks from the ground and air with a single turn of the lance. The terrible ferocity of the arc repelled the descending sword and slammed against the head of the knight on the ground.

Somebody screamed as the head sailed into the air like a comet. It was still in mid-flight when the blue knight spun the demonic lance again and speared the knight through the chest as it tumbled to the ground.

The mouths of the guests opened in a silent shout. A second later, the blue knight had hoisted the body into the air in an atrocious boast of his victory.

The spectators turned away their faces.

The blue knight shook the lance, digging it deeper into the black knight, who writhed on the end of the spike like the impaled meal of a butcher bird. Even a synthetic life form could feel pain.

“Stop it!”

A stern and angry voice rippled through the perverse atmosphere. They all gulped as a young man jumped from the stands and down into the pit.

“Quit clowning around, you homicidal maniac!” came the coolly condescending command.

The blue knight just as calmly turned his attention to Kyoya Izayoi. The demonic lance faced off against Asura.

In a place unseen murmured a voice unheard, “And now the second act begins, in which the interloper is obliterated.”

The dark blue knight was enormous. The grotesque combination of horse and armor only amplified the impression.

Right now, facing off against him fifteen feet away, in the eyes of onlookers intoxicated by food and wine and the atrocious smell of blood, Kyoya Izayoi looked positively diminutive. One stomp of the mad stallion's hooves would send him flying.

Any rational person would say the same. Nobody noticed the knight and horse taking a small step back. This wasn't the horse's initiative. The knight had tugged on the reins. Perhaps without realizing it himself.

He alone knew the hidden skills of this seemingly insignificant high school student. The
nenpo
of Kyoya Izayoi.

As if coming to his senses, the knight brandished the lance in his right hand and whipped it around. The synthetic soldier skewered on the end flew off and landed next to Kyoya. Its twitching death throes continued for a spell, then ceased.

“Freakazoid psycho killer,” said Kyoya, fearlessly returning the cold gaze peering down at him through the slits in the helmet, then turning away.

“Wait!” The loud voice filling the hall stopped the crowd's expressions of relief and Kyoya in his tracks. It was none other than the lord of this magical palace, the masked lord of the manor. “What a wonderful performance! Absolutely wonderful. The courage to face that knight alone is commendable. And a chivalrous spirit unable to abide such atrocities, even if committed by androids, makes it all the more so.”

It took an unscrupulous kind of cowardice to say such a thing, when he himself must have ordered the atrocities in the first place.

“Reckless courage, however, is foolish courage. You surely did not venture where angels fear to tread without being assured of victory. How about it? Why not put your true talents on display for our guests here?” A murmur shot through the crowd. A moment later, “What about it, everybody?”

A thunderous burst of applause followed. Ordinarily, caught between a rock and a hard place, Kyoya would have jumped into the fray. Though given the hackneyed and conniving nature of the proposal, would he nevertheless rise to the bait?

Kyoya smiled. To be sure, a little flattery worked wonders on him, but in a situation like this, raising his hand and flashing a V sign was a bit too much. Even Sayaka shot him a
you've got to be kidding
look.

“Rest assured,” said the masked man. “It's all part of the show. I'm sure he will pull his punches where appropriate. If there's a little slip-up here and there, it will be duly compensated.”

Laughter and cheers arose, and then died away.