The Psyche Diver Trilogy: Demon Hunters (3 page)

He was no coward,
But this feeling
--
just call it fear
, he thought. Fuminari thought of himself as an animal. He respected fear. When pursued, animals naturally become acutely aware of their hunter. If an animal were to doubt its instincts, that would be its end, no different than suicide. Wild animals do not commit suicide.

Who
was tracking them? Perhaps someone had found the body, but even if that were the case how could they be able to track them? It was the middle of the night. Tracking footprints would be too slow, even with flashlights they would continue to fall further behind. But whatever was following them now, he was sure, was maintaining the same distance. If anything, it was slowly lessening the gap.
Dogs?
Fuminari had taken the knife from the man’s throat and brought it with him. The dogs would have no scent to track, that was unlikely.

What
was tracking them? If human, it could only be one, maybe two people, not a large group. A group of people, unless fully-trained professionals, would make enough noise for the sound to reach him. There was no sound. He could only discern the
presence
of something giving chase across the darkness. Someone, or some
thing
, had discovered the body. It had made a rapid assessment of the situation and decided to give chase. It was clearly not an opponent to take lightly. Two things were clear from the fact that it had started after them: it understood there was no time to tell its people and, moreover, it judged itself capable of handling the situation alone. If so, its talents would be formidable. Then there was the fact it had managed to track them this far.

Fuminari charged up over the hillside. Heading down would not only limit their escape routes but also expose them to other dangers. The rule was always the same when you got lost in the mountains: head upward.

They reached the ridgeline. The land below was covered by a dense forest of beech trees. The undergrowth had transitioned from bushes and weeds to long bamboo grass. His awareness of something was still there.

“Can you sense it?” Fuminari asked Kumiko, pushing the grass aside.

Kumiko halted, looking puzzled.

“Okay. It’s probably better that way,” Fuminari muttered, speeding up. They had hardly spoken since the clearing. Kumiko seemed to have left the situation in Fuminari’s hands.

What the hell was all that anyway?
Fuminari remembered what they had seen earlier. It had been horrific. The sutra-like chanting, the woman’s screams--the sound still rang in his ears. And the smell, the crowds of men and women writhing in the torchlight, the woman’s raw, severed head, the old man’s face as he feasted on her heart. For some reason, Fuminari felt he had seen that face before. The man’s features were grotesque. Could a human face become so distorted? Was he a monster? More like a demon, he had been at the very least partially human. Fuminari had also not forgotten the surge of nausea and the extraordinary thrill that had taken hold of him. If he had watched long enough, he would not have been surprised to have actually ejaculated. Fuminari reminded himself of the powerful urge he felt to run over and join them. Perhaps whatever followed them now was that shadow of himself--of the darkness that had awoken deep in his own consciousness and possessed him.

Kumiko was already out of breath. She was exhausted, gasping for air, pace slowing.
Should I leave her?
Alone, Fuminari felt confident of his chances of escaping, but leaving her would mean having to silence her. He had to make his decision.
Either deal with her now or lay in wait and take this thing on.
The sound of a river drafted up from below. The water was fast and loud. It sounded as though there might be a verge nearby.

“Hey,” Fuminari called out. He had already started to head down from the ridge. “We’re being followed.”

Kumiko looked up.

“It knows what it’s doing.”

Kumiko held her breath for a moment. “I thought so.”

“So you knew.”

“You gave it away.”

“Okay. We’re gonna ambush the fucker.”

After a short while they came upon an area where the hillside began to level out. There was an open clearing roughly the size of a house--traces of moonlight spilled downward casting a teal haze over the bamboo grass. There was a large beech tree at the other end of the clearing. Fuminari walked over to it and stopped.

“This is the place.” He put his rucksack down and told Kumiko to find cover. “Give me the shovel.” Fuminari took it from her.

“What should I do?”

“Wait here. I’ll take care of this.” Fights were easier without the good intentions of others, especially against an opponent like the one chasing them through the dark.

Fuminari took a wad of cash from the rucksack and stuffed it into his pocket. If the fight went bad there was a chance they might have to run. If that happened the hefty wad of notes would be a liability. He hid the rucksack with the rest of the cash in the bushes nearby. He extended the folding shovel and stuck it into the ground at his feet.

“Any minute now. Don’t make a sound, got it?”

There would be one or two of them, Fuminari thought, three at the most. A single flash of his knife would be enough if it was a single opponent. If there were three of them...well, he would find a way. Whatever happened, he would take one of them down. He would make the first move while he still had reserves of strength, better than taking them on after a chase. Fuminari was not ready to die, no matter how tough his hunters turned out to be, not with the 100 million yen he had risked his life for in hand.
Maybe I’m getting weak,
he thought. The logical move would have been to dispose of Kumiko and get the hell away, but he had decided to step onto a rickety bridge with full knowledge of the danger before him.
I’ve fallen for her
. A thin smile spread across his features as he came to the realization.

There was one other thing that Fuminari was aware of: an increasing fascination with their hunter, the source of that abnormally strong aura. He had wanted to steer clear of any foolish, avoidable conflicts, but things were what they were, and he was enjoying the anticipation born of the situation.
Ah well, that’s just me.
The sides of Fuminari’s mouth curled up. It looked like a smile. He heard rustling.

This is it!

Fuminari readied the knife. The presence halted just before the clearing. It had sensed Fuminari and purposefully held back from exposing itself to the moonlight. A black aura seemed to billow from the shadows.
It knows I’m here.
A powerful, murderous intent radiated from the depths of the blackness. The sensation was so intense it seemed to manifest as a bluish-white aura.

Fuminari roared, mustering all his strength, concentrating his energy until every cell in his body burned, unleashing it in the direction of the shadow. The knife sliced through the air.

There was no response.

It had vanished; it was as though the knife, hurled with such murderous aggression, had simply been absorbed into the darkness. If he had missed, the knife would have impaled a tree or fallen into the grass, either way there would have been a sound. But there was only silence. The only remaining possibility was that whatever was hiding in the shadows had caught the lethal blade in mid-flight.

In daylight, Fuminari could have done the same. Even in the dark, he probably could have used something to deflect the attack. But this thing had just plucked it out of the air. It was then that Fuminari realized he was facing a beast, an opponent of a completely different class than any he had faced before.

Fuminari felt a sudden surge of aggression from the darkness. Something soared across the clearing, flashing sharply in the moonlight. Fuminari ducked, instinct taking over. The piercing light sliced the air above his head. The knife he had just thrown moments ago impaled the trunk of a tree behind him, only the hilt was visible. The shadow rushed in leaving no time for Fuminari to retrieve the blade. Fuminari grabbed the shovel and launched his own attack. The two terrible forces collided in mid-air. There was a crack as the handle of the shovel snapped cleanly across the middle.

The thing appeared human, but its form was massively distorted. Its back was hunched at an odd angle; its arms and legs were bent out of shape. Fuminari could not make out any more detail in the dim moonlight. It stood poised on two legs ready to fight. The pose was unconventional, not from any particular school of martial arts. It had naturally taken the stance after springing back from the airborne clash. Fuminari stood facing the creature at the center of the clearing. It was immense. Even though its back was half bent, it was almost the same height as Fuminari.

Fuminari felt himself trembling. He had brought the shovel down hard, aiming for the thing’s head, but had no idea where it impacted. And not just that, the creature had accepted the blow and, at the same time, launched two powerful kicks. Fuminari had only barely managed to avoid them. He felt lucky. He had the advantage with the reach of the shovel, yet the beast’s legs had skimmed across his flank like a black hurricane covered with an ice-cold sweat. Fuminari was not afraid; he felt only a burning sense of joy. He had found an opponent that he would have to fight with all his might, all his energy.
I will kill it,
he thought.
Whatever happens, I am going to kill this abomination. I have to kill it.

He had an erection.

He hurled the shovel’s handle at the creature. It dodged, leaving a slight opening for Fuminari to unleash a powerful roundhouse kick that connected hard. The power behind the kick would have been enough to instantly kill an untrained opponent, but the creature deflected it with unbelievable force, in the same moment sending a black mass hurtling toward Fuminari’s head: the thing’s fist. Fuminari raised both arms to block. To his terror, the blow knocked his upper body backward. The creature flowed gracefully into the air, the black outline of its body seemed to swell double its original size. Fuminari let himself fall back into the grass and flipped straight back to his feet. He had taken a shallow blow to the shoulder, but it had been enough to make it numb. The creature’s strength was unreal. It would be easier to go hand-to-hand with a bear. The creature let out an animal howl. It was no human sound. It was the sound of the gatekeeper hounds of Hades tearing free from their chains.

The nightmarish battle commenced. During its course Fuminari became convinced his opponent was the devil itself. The creature did not slow, even when he landed a heavy blow to the body, its thickly knotted muscles casually absorbed the force of the attack. The creature did not use its fists as weapons, it used its nails. They lacerated Fuminari’s back and tore into his chest. If the creature gained decent purchase, its nails would easily claw out huge chunks of flesh. It had bottomless reserves of energy.

There’s no fucking way I’m gonna let this thing kill me.
Fuminari felt himself weakening; he bit down on his lips, marshaling his strength. He was covered in blood. His shirt was soaked red and torn to shreds.

He went for its eyes. He was willing to sacrifice a leg in exchange for the eyes. He desperately searched for an opening. This was no hooligan’s squabble, a normal man would have lost his sanity by now. This was a fight to death against an outlandish monster, a relentless onslaught of intolerable physical and mental tension. It was enough that he was still conscious. The only thing that spurred him on now, barely, was the burning obsession he had developed with this monster.

There would only be one chance and Fuminari was going to have to force it. He raised a bloodcurdling scream and launched himself into the air. His left leg burned in agony as his attack connected. Fuminari ignored it. As soon as he landed he fired his left hand upward, putting his full weight behind it, slamming it into the monster’s face. He felt hot chunks of flesh being torn apart. Fuminari landed and vaulted backward. His hand burned, it felt like he had plunged it into a pool of molten lava.

Unable to bear anymore, Kumiko turned on her torch. The beam flowed over the monster’s face resolving its features. She let out a high-pitched scream. The flashlight tumbled away. In that instant, Fuminari and Kumiko had both seen what was in its mouth. They had seen part of a bloodied human hand.

Fuminari’s left hand was missing a couple of fingers. The sound of dried twigs snapping echoed, repellent across the darkness. The creature was chewing on his fingers. Fuminari heard a horrific scream emerge from his mouth. The scream was filled at once with fear, anger, and a dizzying hatred. Then Kumiko was at his side, mountain knife in her hand. She had pulled it from the tree. She tugged at his arm and started to run. He was still screaming as he blundered after her, left leg dragging behind, half deranged from anger. His body had long become numb to the pain. The leg seemed broken along with two...maybe three ribs. His whole body felt like it was on fire.

The beech trees receded from view. There was a snap of cold wind as the sound of water blustered up from the darkness below them. They had reached a small opening at the edge of a cliff. There was nowhere left to run. The monster lumbered slowly into view. The knife was still in Kumiko’s hand, the same knife she had used to slit Muto’s throat. The monster moved to attack. Fuminari had stopped screaming; he watched Kumiko’s back, listless as though his soul had been sucked clean away, only partially realizing that she had positioned herself between him and the beast.

She charged at it.

The creature flicked its left hand across her head. Something flew into the air, smacking into a nearby tree with a damp thud; flesh, from Kumiko’s cheek. The single attack had sent her crumpling to the ground.

Fuminari desperately sought to gather his senses. Almost collapsing, he used his left hand to retrieve the knife from Kumiko’s motionless hand. He pulled himself back up and threw himself into the creature’s chest as it charged at him, arms spread. The creature wrapped its arms around him in a bear hug together with the knife in his hand. The stench was repulsive. Fuminari could not breathe, he heard another rib snap. Wielding the knife in his trapped left hand, he stabbed frantically at the monster’s abdomen, but the creature’s hold was relentless, crushing. He twisted his wrist sideways and sliced the impaled knife along its stomach, driving it back and forth. His hand was soaked in blood, but he had no clue if it was the creature’s or his own. He was beginning to lose consciousness.