The Psyche Diver Trilogy: Demon Hunters (12 page)

Hosuke swam through the warm, fleshy interior.

The humid atmosphere had almost returned to a standard level of mental pressure. The corridor of flesh he was passing through, the entrance of which had been female genitalia, seemed to be relatively untouched by whatever had happened. Hosuke had not been particularly surprised to discover that the entrance had been a woman’s vagina. It suggested that the corridor led toward the man’s instinct or to a room near it. The black creatures would not be able to penetrate directly into the instinct.

He wondered what would be waiting for him. Hosuke had fashioned a number of weapons in preparation. One of them, not particularly inspired but potentially useful inside the membrane, was a collection of the black creatures from outside.

The mental pressure gradually increased, and the thick, sweet-perfumed soup of the air became progressively more viscous.

Here we are.
He came into an area bathed in crimson light, a womb. There was a baby of about two years drifting toward the center. It had curled its arms and legs into a ball, knees bunched to its head. The cavern was tinged with a husky, dark-red light. The mucous-like air was the amniotic fluid.

Hosuke advanced toward the baby. Visually, it appeared to be almost double Hosuke’s size. The image was grotesquely real, its pure white body was spattered with thick globs of blood; it was a pale, blood-soaked baby. The globules were sections of atmosphere that had penetrated through the entrance and congealed on its skin like blood; they were gradually being absorbed into it. The corridor that Hosuke had come through was, for all intents and purposes, an umbilical chord. The baby was hugging a curious object to it, something like a stone the size of its head. The baby was asleep, breathing gently as it clutched the object to its belly.

As I’d suspected.
There was a crystalline field around the stone made from the same energy as the suit Hosuke was wearing. The difference was while Hosuke’s suit was his protection against the outside, the other had become a jail for whatever was inside. Instead of protecting the object, it was holding it captive.

Hosuke took a ball wrapped in surface consciousness from his pocket. It was one of the black creatures. As Hosuke removed the barrier from the ball it began to wriggle, morphing into a black, rat-sized maggot. It squirmed through the air, heading toward the baby before glomming onto its back. One of the red globules began to shrink from around it as the creature appeared to begin feeding on the blood that had clotted on the baby’s white skin.

The maggot shrieked. At the same time a horrific scream reverberated throughout the womb. The baby’s face had become disfigured with pain; the inside of its gaping mouth was a blood-like crimson. Its lips tore a line up to its ears. Dark-purple blood poured from the fresh wound. The baby opened bloodshot eyes. They were those of an adult.

The stone tumbled from its arms. Hosuke pulled the maggot from the baby and floated toward the stone. He began to massage it. Over the course of a few minutes the stone started changing, gradually morphing into a cloudy, mist-like substance. It assumed a human shape. The transformation continued to a point, then stopped. Whoever it was, he was unable to form a clear image like Hosuke.

Yukio Kagawa?
Hosuke asked. His thought waves would reach the man directly. The man-shaped fog flickered one way, then the other. Hosuke was unable to tell if the man had nodded or shaken his head.

Yukio Kagawa, right?
Hosuke continued to massage the form with his hands. Eventually, a face began to resolve inside the mist; the man’s hair hung over his forehead, but his cheeks were too long, his eyes twisted out of position. The flaws were subtle, but they were enough to give the face a shockingly alien appearance.

Kagawa, right?
The face nodded, unable to issue a voice. His eyes shifted back to a more normal position.

The stone
, Kagawa said, the sound issuing in gusts from his throat,
I was making a stone.

What happened?

It got me.

What did?

That thing.
Kagawa looked across to the baby. Its eyes were closed again. It had curled into a tighter ball than before.

The last part of the man’s self,
Hosuke said. Kagawa took hold of one of the black balls containing the maggots.

These things. They got to the baby. It wasn’t even a baby when I found it, just the last few bits of his self. They must have joined together.
Kagawa tossed the ball back to Hosuke.
I saved it from these bastards, but look at me now. I messed up. The man turned out to be...

A Diver, right?

You knew?
Kagawa’s face took on a surprised expression. It lost coherence for a moment before reforming. Only
because he’d covered you in a psyche suit.

That’s right, completely out of the blue. I fucked up, let him trap me in the suit. After that, there was nothing I could do. I knew I’d lose my mind if I was left like that. Hell, it’s already started, just listen to me complaining!

So you became the stone?

That’s right.

You couldn’t have escaped?

Maybe, if I tried.

So why didn’t you?

I found something pretty interesting, and I would have had to use it up in order to escape. I knew there’d be another Diver coming, that was the promise if anything went wrong. So I waited, keeping the information intact. I waited for you to come... waited...wait...till you came...waited...wai...ted...wait...wai...wa...wa...w...w...

Kagawa’s eyes, nose, and mouth started to warp out of position. His body convulsed. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as his body jerked in cramped spasms. Hosuke used both hands to steady him. His face was pale by the time he finally returned to normal.

How many days have I been inside?

Almost two weeks.

Kagawa’s cheeks stiffened, this time a true reflection of his emotions. When a Diver assumes human form, emotions reveal themselves normally. He had realized that his time as a Diver would be up.

I’d planned an escape if no-one came in three days but...why?
Kagawa said, his mind elsewhere.

You’re not A-class,
Hosuke said quietly.

I had to lie. It was the only way to get the job.

Okay, it doesn’t matter.

Where is this, anyway?

Probably the instinct, wherever that happens to be.
Instinct is present in all people, in all living things; it exists independent of learning and experience. Apart from a few rare cases where the subjects are burned under intolerable levels of stress it never fully disappears, not while the subject lives. It inhabits areas of the mind far deeper than the attributes of memory and character, and, even if it is somehow destroyed, as long as a person’s cells remain intact it is the first element of consciousness to rebuild itself. While the facets of knowledge and emotion belong to higher-level mammals, instinct is far more primal; the proto state of all organisms. It exists at the deepest levels and is by far the most resilient aspect of the mind.

Do you know what the strongest part of instinct is?
Hosuke asked. Kagawa was silent.
The will for self-preservation. This baby was so full of fear it retreated into a mother of its own making. That’s an extension of the desire to return to the womb. He built a vagina as the entrance, and this is the uterus. That’s why he chose the form of a baby.

People often curl into a fetal position when faced with immediate danger. The black creatures had been attacking the remains of the man’s self, and Kagawa had helped it. It would have latched itself to Kagawa. The situation was not unlike a drowning man clutching at his savior, bringing them both down.

Desperate not to be deprived of this final element of hope the man had drawn on a skill already known to him and wrapped Kagawa in a psyche suit, then fled through the nearest doorway toward the instinct. Kagawa’s undoing had resulted from two factors: that the man had been a Diver, and that he had chosen to escape into instinct. Kagawa had sought to protect himself by taking the form of a stone, but the self had already breached his defenses.

So that’s it for me, I won’t be able to dive professionally anymore. It’s a shame that I had to burden another Diver.
Kagawa drew out a green string, dotted with tiny red particles.

What’s that?

I told you I’d found something of interest. Here it is..here itsss...iss..is...
Kagawa’s body warped. His face collapsed. Hosuke used his hands to steady the man until he returned to his original form.
It feels like I’m losing my mind.

I think it’s time to get you out of here. Show me that first.

Here, try eating it.

Hosuke took the thread and ate it.
Wow
, he muttered as he absorbed its flavor.

In that moment the two men were struck by a powerful shock wave. It was as though they had plummeted from one to hundreds of meters in depth, the force of cognitive pressure increased exponentially. A deep wail rumbled around them. It was the sound of instinct howling.

Look!
Hosuke shouted. The baby that had been curled straightened up and was glaring directly at the two Divers.

What’s going on?

Hosuke’s mental form experienced a powerful and inexpressible sense of displacement. It felt as though the man’s consciousness had solidified. He had experienced the feeling before, back when he had been working on Captain Jones and the Converter malfunctioned. It had been exactly the same.

Their minds were falling out of alignment. The subject would be experiencing inordinate levels of cognitive pain, as though two pebbles had suddenly materialized inside him. If the man was unable to resynchronize he would lose his mind and probably never recover. Hosuke and Kagawa were in similar danger.

The baby began to grow, buckling out of shape. The two Divers watched as it mutated into adult form, clumps of hair sprouting over its body. Teeth pushed out from the mouth, puncturing its lips. It began to flay at its chest as claws grew from its fingertips, lacerating through the flesh. The wounds dripped purple blood.

The baby completed its transformation into a half-human monster.

Hosuke grabbed the still immobilized Kagawa as the beast reared its blood-drenched head in agony. Something had gone wrong outside. He desperately searched for the exit. Any damage they suffered here would take an equal physical toll. Kagawa blurred red as he screamed. The demon charged at the two Divers, a torrent of blue flame.

Six

Renobo: Forbidden Flesh

1

The Japanese-style room was 12.5 tatami mats square, as was the ceiling, which was further sectioned into 25 squares like a checkered Go board.

Each square was half of a tatami mat and contained a single painting. The paintings were of the same couple in sexual union, a different position for each square. Each was unique and explicit in the depiction of the sex. In the center was a square containing an image of the Hindu god Heruka pleasuring the Goddess Varahi. It was the same as on the scroll in the tearoom, separate from this main house.

A man and a woman laid on a futon spread across the center of the room. There was a single, dim lamp set on the tatami next to the pillow. There were no bulbs on the ceiling. The light was too dark for reading, but perfect for the appreciation of human flesh.

The man was old. He was cross-legged in the center of the futon, completely naked. He sat with a heavy composure, his skin was taut and displayed none of the sagging that came with old age. The man was not young, but he exuded an air of strength. Faint strands of white hair reached around the sides of his impressively bald head. His skin was dark and healthy. His eyes flashed with an almost reptilian intensity. In one hand, he held a white vessel.

The vessel looked like an oversized rice bowl and was filled to the brim with a blackish-red liquid. The old man brought it to his mouth, slurping the liquid with noisy relish. When he pulled the vessel away, his lips were utterly red. He lapped the liquid from his lips with a red tongue. Dots of red stuck in the spaces between his white teeth.

He glanced to his lap, where a woman’s head bobbed up and down between his legs. She had his cock in her mouth and was busily attending to it with her tongue. She was stark naked. The old man’s gaze traced a line from her curved hips to her well-formed buttocks, pointed up in the air. Her skin was almost inhumanly pale; white, but not any normal shade of the color. It was the white of a cave-dwelling invertebrate, a creature that thrived in darkness and had never seen the light of day.

Her long straight hair parted halfway down her back, draping over the futon in dark curtains. The obsidian black of the hair only emphasized the intense whiteness of her skin. The color was incredibly evocative under the dim light.

“Renobo,” the old man said to her.

She looked gently up. The old man’s erect penis slid into view from between her glistening, red lips. It pointed to the ceiling like that of a man still in his 20’s. As Renobo looked up, her lips lingered over the tip. Her eyes were shockingly narrow. They carried a nearly demonic, otherworldly luster.

“Yes, Master Kurogosho.” Her lips brushed softly over his erection. She had wrapped her fine, white fingers around the base. Her other hand slid gently up and down its length.

“You should try some too.” The old man held out the bowl.

“Yoichi Munakata’s
kapala
?”

“Indeed.”

Renobo’s lips swelled perversely into a faint smile as the old man nodded. She sat up, exposing her generous, firm breasts. Her skin was pale to the point of being transparent, as though it were possible to see the blood underneath. Her nipples were swollen and thick, like the tip of a little finger, red as though they were coated with blood. She looked unbearably carnal. The light from the stand cast deep shadows across her cleavage, undeniably impressive. Her attractiveness was worlds apart from the effortless allure of models, transcending mere sexual energy. The woman was the veritable embodiment of eroticism; every pore in her body exuded sex.

The room was pregnant with a heavy scent of incense. It was a powerful aphrodisiac, enough to drive a desire in anyone to orgasm repeatedly until completely drained.

Renobo cupped the white bowl in her hands, the white of the bowl matching the white of her flesh. Instead of being round, the bowl was a slightly elongated ellipse. It was cold and slightly moist. It felt like it was not there at all. The black-red liquid it held was thick and soupy. Renobo put her lips to the edge and closed her eyes as she sipped its contents.

“It’s so cold.” She ran her eyes over the vessel.

“And the taste?”

“Exquisite.”

“It took some effort to keep the blood from congealing.”

“From this afternoon?”

“Indeed, I had them reserve the blood Enoh extracted.”

“It’s amazing to think this is that man’s skull,” Renobo mused.

“I had them hurry the preparation. I thought it would make a good accompaniment to our lovemaking tonight.”

“It’s still coated with grease.”

“Grease and regret. Integral to the taste,” said the old man. Renobo let her syrupy gaze crawl over the vessel in her hands. Her eyes glistened with mounting fever.

The vessel had been fashioned from the skull of Yoichi Munakata, the man that had died under Enoh’s hand earlier that afternoon. It was filled with his blood. In ancient India, worshipers of the god Heruka called bowls fashioned in this manner
kapala
. They were sacred tools used in the ceremony of Samvara.

Renobo placed the
kapala
on the tatami at the head of the futon. She reached between the old man’s legs, keeping her eyes focused on his. “We have Kukai now. At some point we are going to have to hold discussions with the Fuki, no doubt,” he said.

“Naturally.”

“And Kyofu Shirai of the Shinmeikai, we need to bring him under our control.”

“Indeed,” Renobo nodded again.

“I will release tonight,” the old man said.

“It will be my honor to receive,” Renobo answered, her eyes lit up as she placed her lips over the tip of his erection. She took it deeper into her mouth and began to rock her head.

The old man straightened his knees, groaning quietly. Renobo slid her legs back, snake-like, covering him with her own naked flesh, all the while maintaining the up and down motion of her head. She massaged her breasts into his thighs as she rubbed her upper body back and forth. The events of the afternoon had left her visibly excited. She straddled one of his knees with her hot, wide-open groin and began to gyrate her hips. A sound like fine silk came from deep inside her throat, the old man still in her mouth.

There was a special meaning to the phrase the old man had used: ‘I will release tonight.’ He had not simply told her that he would ejaculate; it was a declaration that he would not be following the bedroom arts as proscribed by the Sendo Sect. The Sendo Sect uses a method where the man abstains from ejaculation in order to absorb energy from the woman’s body into his own. By not releasing, the man is able to store his own energy, allowing for a form of rejuvenation. In the Tachikawa School, the same technique is referred to as the Kansei Method. The old man had told Renobo that he was ready to indulge himself, meaning that he was not going to employ the techniques of the Kansei Method.

Renobo was in exactly the same frame of mind. She turned her body around, keeping her mouth as a fulcrum, and spread her knees so that she sat over the old man’s face. He extended his tongue to the flesh before him. Renobo clenched her white buttocks and started to move her hips. The motion further incited the old man’s lust. The girl moaned, the sound still muffled by the appendage in her mouth.

His tongue parted the woman’s warm, moistened lips and flicked across the surface of her clitoris. Renobo’s groaning went up a pitch. She stood up when she could no longer bear it, pulling away before coming to sit astride him once again. They were now face to face. She took hold of his shaft, still impossibly hard for an old man, and pushed the tip against her soaked vagina. She closed her narrow eyes and began to moan as she teased it around. She finally brought it to the center and sank her hips into him. Now it was the old man’s turn to groan. He thrust his hips up to meet her.

Renobo’s motion picked up speed. Her breasts swung under his hands as he massaged them. Her nipples danced against his palms. She moved quicker still, violently grinding her pelvis into his. Her sharp, red tongue slithered around inside her half-open mouth like a snake attempting to divine pleasure from the air itself. Her breath reeked of blood.

“Yes, yes! It won’t be long before we finally achieve immortality and the arts of the Kido. Where Toten failed, I will succeed.”

“Please, please!” Renobo gave a sudden cry, her voice a sharp object as she arched backward. The old man thrust upward in response, ejaculating repeatedly.

After a while a deep voice called from the corridor outside the sliding doors; someone had been biding his time until things were quiet. “Master Kurogosho,” the voice was monotone, expressionless.

“What is it?” the old man replied, still caressing Renobo’s chest.

“We received a call from Iba regarding today’s outcome.”

“Who took the call, Toyama?”

“Yes.”

“Bring him here.”

“Now, sir?”

“Immediately. It’s fine,” the old man answered. He gathered himself up from the futon.

2

Toyama bustled into the corridor wearing the same suit as earlier in the day.

Four men in black suits lined the walls, their ranks perfectly equidistant; the same four men that had surrounded Yoichi Munakata that afternoon. They were the old man’s personal bodyguards. They never spoke, and they never left his side.

No matter how often he saw them, Toyama had never been able to feel at ease. It was the smell, a stench of death that clung to them. They were more than mere assassins. There was something far more chilling about them. They would all have had experience killing, and not just killing one or two people. The old man would not employ anyone as his bodyguard unless they were already fully accustomed with death.

When a person is put in a situation where they need to kill for the first time, they are subjected to immense levels of stress. In many cases, the stress leads to a moment of indecision that causes a delay in reaction time. Sometimes, because of that a would-be killer ends up being the victim of their target. There was no chance that Master Kurogosho would employ such people as his bodyguards. His bodyguards would kill whenever necessary and with ruthless efficiency. They were the kind that could force a knife into someone’s throat without blinking an eye, and Toyama had no guarantee that their knives would not, one day, be turned toward him.

Toyama was unable to quiet his nerves. He had been ordered by the old man to report as soon as Iba called in with news. He knew that delaying a report out of respect for the old man during his periods of intercourse could, conversely, anger him. That had certainly been the pattern so far. This time he had made sure to notify him of the communication, even though he knew the old man was with Renobo. Still, there was nothing he could do to hide his tension. He let the guards search him, then kneeled on the floor and called into the room.

“I am here, Master.” His voice was shaky.

“Enter.” The old man’s voice came in reply.

“As you request.” Toyama slid the shoji aside and entered the room. The old man stood on the futon, buck naked, while Renobo was dabbing at his crotch with a wet towel. She, too, was completely undressed. The air in the dimly lit room was impregnated with an intoxicating scent: a mixture of sex and the suffocating odor of blood.

“We have just heard from Iba.” Toyama sat in formal
seiza,
his legs folded under his knees on the tatami mat.

“What did he say?” the old man inquired, making no attempt to conceal himself. Toyama caught sight of the blood-filled
kapala
by the bedside and hurriedly looked away.

“He reported that everything has gone according to plan.”

“Meaning Tamura’s been dealt with?”

“Yes.” Toyama bowed. Renobo got up and started to cover the old man with his disregarded robe. The old man gestured for her to stop and sat, crossing his legs.

“Not yet, we’ve only just started.” His cock was already half erect, despite having just ejaculated. Renobo gave him a smile. She knelt down and buried her head between his legs.

“He’s also captured a woman it seems,” Toyama continued, unsure of where to look.

“A woman?” the old man asked, clearly entertained by Toyama’s discomfort.

“A woman that’s been visiting Biku’s place.”

“Ahh.”

“He has put her forward as a candidate for the ceremony, once we’ve finished questioning her.”

“The ceremony is all well and good, but we don’t want the police on us.”

“She has no fixed residence. She appears to be a drifter, wandering from place to place. There are no witnesses, so we shouldn’t expect any complications once we have disposed of the body.”

“I see,” the old man muttered. Renobo looked up. The old man’s shaft was impressively vertical. She straddled him, bringing her buttocks slowly down until the old man penetrated her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and began pitching with her tight, white buttocks.

“Can we assume now that Kumon Hosuke is free to assist us?” the old man asked.

“Pardon me, Master?”

“I believe he was being retained by Mt. Koya to dive into Tamura. Now that Tamura is dead, Kumon Hosuke should be a free agent again.”