Like both parent series, you will find scenes with excessive gore
below. Consider yourself warned. I've tried to make this accessible to
fans of either series, so ignore references you don't understand. It
pretty much ignores continuity, but do tell me if there's something so
horribly inconsistent you can't live with it.
  
  As always, any and all comments are appreciated (thark@swipnet.se),
and "http://nabiki.newberry.edu/thark/fanfic/" for my other crap.
  
  Enough ranting. Here goes...
  
                       The Path Through Darkness
  
  Fog shrouded the night, and the moon was nowhere to be seen. A
perfect night for criminals to go about their business - which was
just what they were doing.
  
  The car slid smoothly to a halt outside the building, and officers
Smith and Johnson cautiously stepped out. While not exactly slum, this
was certainly not one of Washington's finest quarters, either. Most
houses were comparatively low, averaging two or three stories, and
this one, at two, was no exception. It was in size somewhat larger
than the average family villa, but with a flat roof. Grafitti obscured
the gray concrete walls, and though the few windows were all intact,
most of them were cracked.
  
  "Antiquaries," a faded sign proclaimed, above a wooden door. The
door in question, about as run-down as the rest of the house, had a
small window, and most importantly, it was slightly open.
  
  Johnson was a tall man - almost 6'6" - with short, blonde hair
neatly slimmed backwards. His muscular limbs were obvious even through
the uniform. "Stay outside in case he makes a run for it," he quietly
whispered to his partner, unholstering his gun.
  
  Smith nodded, doing likewise. While no bad specimen, he was a lot
less impressive than his partner, though almost as tall. A neatly
trimmed moustache partially covered his facial features and a pony-
tail hung from his neck.
  
  Slowly pushing the door fully open, he peeked into the building.
Dark, even more so with windows far-between and not even a moon to
light the place up. He took out his flashlight, and it snapped on with
a soft crackle.
  
  Despite still being in business, the word that best describe the
store was "dusty". Various items of a supposedly antique nature
occupied a number of tables and shelves. Bronze statues, old books,
wooden masks, and a myriad of other things, in no detectable order.
  
  He could now hear a soft noise, perhaps footsteps, suddenly followed
by a loud crunching sound that made him hurry his steps, and a faint
light could be detected under a door, probably leading to some sort of
store room. He proceeded onwards with slow, catious steps, gun held
ready and primed.
  
  The door opened inwards, and Johnson pushed it open with his left
hand, standing with his back against the wall on its right side. This
provoked no violent response, but he could hear a soft voice from
within, muttering some inaudiable word - probably swearing.
  
  He decided he could risk it, and quickly turned around, stepping
into the opening. "Police, Freeze!" He pointed the gun at where he
presumed the perpetrator would be.
  
  The storage room was quite large, though most of that space was left
unoccupied. More items were stacked on shelves against the sides, and
there were a few open crates scattered about the floor. A lightbulb
hanging from the ceiling near the center of the room lit it dimly,
creating an eerie atmosphere.
  
  Almost in the center of the light stood the man Johnson had heard -
the *boy* Johnson had heard. He didn't have time to do any detail-
studying, but noted that the boy was most likely of Asian descent, and
in his late teens, wearing jeans and a black leather jacket. A dark
red headband covered his forehead and held up his thick hair. As the
police-man entered, the boy was just stepping away from a body on the
floor.
  
  The body ... corpse ... was ... Oh god. Johnson quickly willed
himself to look up from it, concentrating hard not to think of the
horrible sight. He aimed the gun properly at the boy, who edged
towards a window at increasing speed. "I said freeze, motherfucker!"
  
  As the boy seemed not to notice, or care, he sent off a shot. The
loud bang of the weapon broke the omnious silence, but simply whizzed
by, not stopping the boy from turning to run.
  
  Johnson fired again, and, as, the boy gained momentum, again. This
time, he didn't miss. The bullet tore through the suspect's right leg
and into the concrete wall on the other side. Blood cascaded from the
wound, painting the filthy tile floor crimson red, but the boy didn't
stop, and the fourth bullet impacted heavily with the back of his
chest, causing him to cough up a gout of blood just as he broke
through the window, the crashing of the glass further increasing the
noise and chaos.
  
  As the boy landed on the grass on the other side and, judging by the
sound, sprinted off, it took Johnson a few moments to bring himself
fully back to his senses again, and when he reached the window, it was
already too late. A trail of blood was the only trace that remained of
the criminal.
  
  He turned back towards the room, and couldn't avoid seeing it, the
corpse, again. This time, with no distractions, all he could do was to
bend down to the floor, his throat hurriedly pushing out what had once
been a jelly donut.
  
  The vomit mixed with the blood in an unhealthy red-greenish pool.
  
                                 * * *
  
  Scully brushed a hand through her thick, neck-long red hair as she
entered the dimly lit office. She noted her colleague slowly paging
through a magazine. His short hair did not seem to agree on which
direction to point in, a grey shadow easily visible on the nether half
of his face even in the dim light indicated he was long overdue for a
shaving, and the purple coloring beneath his eyes betrayed that he
really should get some more sleep. In other words, everything was as
usual.
  
  He had a slight smile on his lips as he skimmed the glassy
publication, stopping every now and then to read an article that
caught his attention.
  
  "What are you reading, Mulder?" she asked, her voice betraying that
she wasn't *really* curious.
  
  He folded the magazine and threw it across the desk so she could see
the title. "Yogekisha," he said, and a flashy logo indicated that such
was indeed its name. On the shiny red cover was pictured some sort of
strange monster, or alien, or whatever, vaguely kangaroo-like, with
large, staring blue eyes, and a long snout, a short tongue hanging out
at the end. Headlines indicated a tabloid content - "Bug-eyed Monster"
... "Woman's Ghost in Tokyo" ... "UFO Landing in Northern Russia".
  
  Scully frowned. "Never heard of it," she told him, voice
disinterested.
  
  "I'm not surprised." He smiled warmly. "It's published by a small
company in Hong Kong, with the same name. I've been told it means
something along the lines of 'Monster Hunters'. Mostly, it's just as
bad as you think, but there are a few articles worth reading,
especially those written by a certain Yakumo Fujii."
  
  This caused her to raise a curious eyebrow as she sat down in the
simple chair opposite him. "How so?"
  
  The answer would have disappointed her, were she not already used to
this. Still, she let out a sigh, as if wondering whether her partner
would ever grow up. "Well, he's certainly no experienced journalist.
The language is sloppy even after being processed by a translator.
Some of his observations somehow feel very *real*, though, and I
wouldn't be surprised if most of them really are true. Take this one
for example." Reaching for the magazine, he opened it, pointing to an
article. "Winged Cat-Demon. Sounds silly, but there's something about
it I just can't put my finger on - you'd have to read the article to
understand. The guy has terribly bad luck." Mulder grinned at this.
"Shame about the fuzzy photo, though."
  
  He seemed to sink into the magazine again, studying the blurry black-
and-white representation of what was supposedly a monster, but jerked
up when he realized what he was doing. "Anyway, what's the matter?"
  
  She put a folder down on the desk, rotating it so that he could read
properly. Mulder immediately opened it, encountering a gruesome photo
of a thin afro-american man lying on a tile floor, his limbs twisted
in unnatural angles, blood splattered all over the place. His torso
was torn open by three deep, parallel cuts, extending to the floor
beside the body, and most of the man's entrails had floated out
through them. Not much remained of the head that made it possible to
identify it as one, brain and skull smashed into the floor. "This is
the matter."
  
                                 * * *
  
  The Japanese boy cautiously peeked in through the glass doors of the
not-quite-aptly named "Hotel Grand". It could have been a lot better,
but it could also have been a lot worse. The dark hall was more or
less dust-free, and though not expensive-looking, the brown wallpaper
was at least firmly attached to the walls. It wasn't as if they
couldn't afford better, anyway; a cheap hotel was easier to sneak in
and out of at night.
  
  The only visible light came from the reception; a soft lamp on the
worn wooden desk lit up the pages of the book in which the night clerk
- a small, black-haired man, with an almost uncomfortable rat-like
look - was currently deeply engrossed.
  
  The boy pushed the door open slowly, to avoid giving off sound, and
sneaked inside, crouched almost to the floor. Luckily, his dark hair
and jacket concealed him well and he only had to concentrate on
treading carefully.
  
  Painfully slowly, he finally, undetected, reached the shoddy stairs
leading to the second floor. Standing upright, the boy winced
slightly, still feeling some pain in his right leg. It wasn't enough
to really bother him, though, and he carefully ascended to the first
step.
  
  He'd gotten a lot better at this sort of things during the last few
years, but the gun wound would be bothering him for a while yet, and
the fact that the aged stairs weren't helping much made itself obvious
as a loud *creak* broke the silence almost visually about halfway up.
  
  The boy froze for a few seconds, his heart pondering whether the
throat would be a nice place to reside at.
  
  Silence, interrupted only by the occasional turning of a page,
descended again, and the boy had to stop himself from breathing out
audibly as he turned his head to see the rat-like man still sunk into
the book, oblivious of anyone's presence. He really wanted to avoid
uncomfortable questions, especially as he was quite aware that his
English left a lot to be desired.
  
  He continued up the stairs, managing to avoid any further
interruptions, and continued down the dark hallway somewhat less
cautiously than before, relieved now that he was hopefully out of
earshot.
  
  His eyes quickly adapted to the near-total darkness present in the
hallway when no moonlight seeped in through the window in its far end,
and he soon found the right door, softly knocking three times in quick
succession.
  
  Hurried footsteps scrambled from within, and only a moment later it
was opened, as expected, by a girl about his age. Though different,
she too was obviously Asian in origin. Her dark brown hair descended
in a thick ponytail down her back, and two thinner strands just before
the ears. There was something cute - cuddly - over her features,
accentuated by the pair of light blue pajamas she worse. Her large,
friendly eyes showed deep concern.
  
  "<I->" she began, but he hushed her with a finger to his lips as he
entered the room. "<People are sleeping.>"
  
  The room was about average-sized, and there was nothing notable
about its features. A simple lamp, lit, hung from the ceiling, the
wallpaper was the same brown variety as in the rest of the building,
and a rag-rug hid part of the wall-to-wall carpet, which was clean but
nothing else. Two sturdy beds with plain white bedcloth occupied
corners of the room; one of them had, judging by the slight
disarrangement, recently been sat it.
  
  "<You shouldn't have waited up,>" the boy told her, comfortably
speaking in his native Japanese, as he walked across the room to his
bed.
  
  The girl, however, didn't listen much, noticing only all to well his
slight limp and the dark stain on his jeans. "<Oh, Yakumo,>" she said,
her voice near tears as she hugged him tight. "<What happen?">
  
  "<Oh, err...>" Yakumo scratched the back of his head, clearly
uncomfortable with the situation, though he didn't mind her affection.
"<It's nothing, Pai.>"
  
  That comforted her somewhat, until she noticed the black leather
jacket he folded on the bed beside him, or rather, until she noticed a
large, round hole, edged by a dark red substance that could only be
dried blood. "<Wha- What happen?>" she asked, her eyes large and
scared.
  
  "<Well,>" he told her, in his most reassuring voice, "<This cop
arrived just as I was checking whether the other guy had made off with
the thingy, and he managed to hit me twice before...>" Yakumo trailed
off as he noticed her eyes widening even further. He scratched the
back off his head embarassedly. "<Guess I better start at the
beginning.>"
  
                                 * * *
  
  After letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, Yakumo took a few
moments to memorize the layout of the place, just in case. Shelves.
Table. Front desk. Stairs. Storeroom door. Windows. Since neither him
nor Pai had found it when they visited the store earlier, the compass-
thing Mrs. Huang had sent them to get was probably in the back room.
  
  He'd been surprised to find the front door already open, and even
more so now that he could detect a faint light seeping out beneath the
(closed) doorway leading to the storage area he had intended to
search.
  
  Fearing that there was no time to loose, he quickly approached the
door, and sent it open with a fierce kick.
  
  Time froze for a few moments.
  
  Inside the room was not only crates and shelves, but also two men.
Both had dark, almost black skin, and despite thin limbs, they were
frighteningly tall, especially compared to the short Yakumo. With dark
green coats and shaved heads, even identical tatooes, four vertical
white lines, adorning their foreheads, the only thing to tell them
apart was a cloth-covered package one of them held. Though not sure of
what, he could sense there was more of them than met the eye.
  
  Unlike him, neither of them seemed surprised, and the other man
turned to face Yakumo just as the one with the package began calmly
walking towards the room's only window.
  
  Yakumo hesitated for a short moment, and the man seemed to
concentrate hard, eyes clothes, his forehead wrinkling. Just as the
boy was about to spring forward, intending to catch the man with the
package, he relaxed again, opening his eyes. His tatoo, and a spot on
each forearm Yakumo could only presume held a similar marking, burst.
Skin and cloth was pushed aside, splattering a few drops of blood on
the dusty floor, leaving room for long, two inches thick tentaceles to
wriggle out, if "wriggle" can be used to describe something that is
almost instantaneous.
  
  The new limbs glistened with a thin coat of blood and goo, and
short, sharp metallic claws snapped at their ends, above what had to
be mouths. Despite almost two yards in length, they swayed above the
ground without problems, in a disturbing, unnatural way, giving the
impression of a boxer circling his opponent, waiting for an opening.
The man, or whatever he was, smiled calmly, his shallow, grey eyes not
betraying any emotion.
  
  Time now growing even more precious, Yakumo launched himself at the
obstacle, aiming for the man's - monster's - head with a flying kick
that would kill any normal man, just as the other one quietly, as if
nothing at all was going on, unlatched the window and opened it.
  
  The kick never got through, as two of the slimy appendages snapped
taut, one of them wrapping around the out-streched leg and the other
taking hold around Yakumo's leg. He was thrown to the side, his
momentum turning against him as he crashed into the concrete wall, his
back miraculously surviving the impact.
  
  "Kuso!" the Japanese boy grunted as he slid down the wall to assume
a fighting stance, this time waiting for his opponent to make the
first move. "<That hurt, motherfucker!>"
  
  If the monster heard him, it didn't in any way reveal that, just
continued to eye him for a few moments, tentacles once again swirling.
Then, taking a few swift steps towards its opponent, one of them drew
back ... and lashed out towards Yakumo's gut with blinding speed.
  
  They boy, though, hadn't spent most of the last four years honing
his strength, skills and reactions for naught, and he sidestepped the
"punch", grabbing the extended limb in a vice-like grip. He yanked it
hard, throwing the unprepared monster towards him, and struck out with
his other fist, hitting the thing's face.
  
  The combined, opposite forces produced a satisfying, crunching
sound, and blood trickled from the abomination's nose as the impact
reversed the direction of its flight. It crashed into one of the open
crates, causing it to fall over, and the sound of glass breaking
reverberated through the room as a stream of irreplacable old hand-
mirrors fell out.
  
  Despite its fragile exterior, though, the thing obviously wasn't
beaten yet, as it used the tentacles to push itself to its feet again,
not showing any signs of being affected by the fight beyond the blood
slowly dripping from the broken nose.
  
  Yakumo crackled his knuckles, noting that the one with the package
had not only gotten away, but also for some reason closed the window
it had climbed out through. The remaining monster grunted illegibly,
the first sound it had made during the entire encounter.
  
  It sent all three appendages towards him, intending to grab the boy,
but he evaded them all by rolling forwards, rising again just in front
of the monster. Dangerously close if he gave it time to send the
tentacles back again, making an easy target for a crushing hug - but
he didn't, as a powerful uppercut once again sent the thing flying
backwards, crashing through a shelf full of bronze statues, some of
which fell to the floor, bending or shattering.
  
  It landed in the middle of the room, but this time, he didn't give
it time to rise. "<COME FORTH, TOUCHAU!>"
  
  At his shout, the floor-tiles were split apart at three separate
places as invisible claws cut through the body of the unfortunate
monster, spilling its guts into the dim lamp-light.
  
  Yakumo stepped up to the lifeless body, a sight that would have
turned his stomach if he hadn't been forced to see it far too many
times already. The tentacles had somehow mysteriously disappeared, and
no evidence remained that they had ever existed, other than the holes
they had created in the dark green coat the monster wore.
  
  _Gotta check if the thing's still around,_ he thought, and turned
towards the nearest crate. Too soon, it turned out, as the remains of
the monster didn't seem to agree that the fight was over. A soft,
almost inaudible, wail emerged from the thing's lips as one of its
arms moved to grab for Yakumo's ankle.
  
  The boy sighed, not liking what he had to do. He raised his leg ...
and pushed it down, hard, crushing the man's head under his sturdy
boot. Blood and brains stained the black leather.
  
  He was interrupted in his musings as the door crashed open again.
"Kuso," he swore, just as a shape appeared in the dark doorway.
"Freeze, Police!"
  
  Realising that the situation could prove difficult to explain
satisfactorily, Yakumo decided not to stay around.
  
                                 * * *
  
  The daylight made obvious how bad the mess really was. Not only had
blood splashed all over the storage area, porridge-like grey brain-
substance disgustingly mixing with it near where the body had been,
but glass fragments were scattered in a wide radius around the over-
turned crate, and bronze statues (which appeared to be of Scandinavian
origin) had rolled across floor near the shelf with the body-sized
hole. Someone had even impacted with one of the concrete walls heavily
enough to leave permanent marks in the white painting.
  
  "Over here, Scully." Mulder was currently hunched down right below
the lamp, a frown on his face as he appeared to poke his fingers into
the worst mess. The body, thankfully, had been removed.
  
  "Ewww." Despite her medical experience, she had to briefly turn her
head away from the grey-red mix. The stench didn't help, either. "What
is it?"
  
  "Well, nevermind that we haven't found any weapon around here, and
officer Johnson said the suspect was empty-handed." He ran his finger
briefly along the length of one of the three deep cuts. "Not only does
this cut - which is surprisingly wide - go through the floor-tiles, it
also extends almost over an inch into the concrete below. No matter
what tool used, that would require enourmous strength."
  
  Scully nodded, noting that her partner was hinting at something but
not quite catching what. "Yeah?"
  
  "According to the officer, though, the person he saw was a short,
Asian boy in his upper teens."
  
  "I'm sure there's a good explanation. This guy might've been killed
long before the officer arrived on scene; we'll have to wait for the
forensic report."
  
  Unconvinced, Mulder scratched his chin, mentally noting that he was
in need of shaving, badly. "There's something familiar about this.
I'll have to check it up when we return to the office."
  
  Scully shrugged. "Whatever. Let's talk to the owner first."
  
                                 * * *
  
  The man behind the counter was Chinese, judging by his appearance
and the accent that he still carried, despite many years in the
states. He was old, frail, and a white beard with only faint traces of
grey reached about a feet below his chin. A hanging moustache,
unsurprisingly, was the only other hair on his head. In a way, Scully
found it irritatingly cliche, though it seemed to amuse Mulder for
some bizarre reason.
  
  The male agent pulled out a notepad, tapping it with a pen a few
times. "So, Mr. Lee," he began, "Has anything been stolen?"
  
  The aged owner bowed apologetically. "Sorry. I have very bad order.
Nothing here, I think, but it's hard to be sure. In the store room, no
idea."
  
  Not surprised, Mulder nodded. "I understand. What about the boy?"
  
  "Boy?"
  
  "A Japanese boy, in his upper teens, probably wearing a leather
jacket and a dark red headband. Have you seen anyone like that
recently?"
  
  The man scratched his chin as he pondered this. "Yes, I think so,"
he said, finally. "He was in here yesterday. I remember since he had a
young Chinese girl with him, about the same age, and they both spoke
very halting English."
  
  "Oh?" The agent perked up. "What were they looking for?"
  
  "Well, the girl asked something about a compass." The old man paused
for a moment, as if lost in thought. "I didn't remember it then, but
now I think I have it. I'd have to go through the everything to see if
it's missing, though."
  
  Mulder raised a curious eyebrow. "Can you tell me more about this
compass?"
  
  "Let me think." The man scratched his chin again. "It's quite large,
made out of copper. Known in Japanese legends as the Akkishishin, if I
remember correctly."
  
  "Akkishishin?" A legendary magical item was something sure to catch
Mulder's interest and curiousity, and Scully sighed tiredly.
  
  "I'm sorry, that's all I know." The old man performed another slight
apologetic bow. "I'm Chinese, not Japanese. "
  
  "That's all right," Scully assured him, grateful that they could get
on with the investigation instead of listening to old legends. She
took a card from the inner pocket of her coat. "Give us a call if you
think of anything else."
  
                                 * * *
  
  "So, what was it you wanted to show?" Scully asked, as she wearily
sat down in her chair - the one that would have been used for visitors
in most offices, as she was only too well aware of.
  
  Mulder didn't give any indication of listening, having already dived
into one of his many file cabinets. He had the bottom drawer fully out
and was busily paging through the papers. "This one?" He took
something up, looked at it, and threw it away, continuing his search.
"No." The object flew a bit haphazardly through the air, and landed
beside the desk. From her position, Scully could see that it was
another issue of the magazine he had been reading earlier that day.
  
  Finally, Mulder rose, smiling like a Sherlock Holmes that had just
found the murderer that had eluded him for months. "Tada!" He held a
magazine up proudly. Yet another issue of Yogekisha. This one looked
somewhat older than the earlier ones, the paper quality lower. The
large spider depicted on the blue cover was a lot less well-drown than
the later illustrations.
  
  'Great,' the female agent thought to herself.
  
  Satisfied with his find, Mulder sat down opposite her, on the side
of the desk were the work was *supposed* to be done. He placed the
magazine before him, and quickly skimmed through it until he found
what he sought.
  
  "There!" He placed an index finger firmly on a picture, and turned
it around so his partner could see.
  
  The photo was very crisp and clear, not at all like the one in the
other article. A fine parquet floor, blood smeared all over it ... and
three long, deep cuts, just like the ones they'd recently seen.
  
  "The photo is taken after the body was removed," Mulder spoke up, in
matter-of-fact tone, "but judging by the description in the article,
it was every bit as messy. In this case though, the injured one
actually recovered, and in fact, Mrs. Huang Song Li later went on to
become a major owner of Yogekisha. This article tells about how a
demon was excorcised from her mansion; I guess she felt grateful."
  
  "Written by that Fujii guy?" Scully asked dryly.
  
  "Actually, no, the article indicates he was there, but this is a few
months before he started writing for the magazine. It wasn't too well
known back then. I wouldn't have given this much credit previously,
but now..."
  
  "Sure." Scully nodded - she couldn't deny that these were the same
kind of cuts. "So, how does this help us? I presume we aren't going to
have the antiquary exorcised?"
  
  Mulder smiled warmly. "Of course not. I guess this doesn't really
help us at all, just an interesting observation. I'll have to check up
this Akkishishin thing."
  
  "OK." Scully nodded affirmatively and left the office, grabbing her
coat on the way out.
  
                                 * * *
  
  The thick moisture in the air could almost be touched, and the quiet
tap when a drop of water touched the table regularly interrupted the
silence that otherwise reigned. The landing drops floated randomly
along the highly polished mahogny, collecting in tiny, tiny puddles of
tainted, brownish liquid.
  
  A sharp lamp, its light kept well-confined by a plain shade, lit a
circle on the table surface, and the highlights where its beams
reflected off the dark wood were in sharp contrast to the total
blackness in the rest of the room.
  
  The man shook his head to clear away the long, stripy strands of
long, black hair that partially obscured his vision, ignoring the
humid, rotting stench that constantly assaulted his nostrils.
  
  Though his eyes could neither confirm nor deny it, he knew that The
Boss was on the other side of the table. Whether he sat or stood did
not matter, and nobody would ever know, but The Boss had a presence so
strong it could be felt, so strong it would have scared off any weak-
minded person.
  
  "So, tell me." The deep rasta-voice spoke out, piercing through the
near-silence in a way that could just as well have been physical. The
Boss knew, of course, but he seemed to take some kind of pleasure in
hearing it; and why not?
  
  "We have it." The man used a humble tone, contradicting his raspy
voice. "They met someone, as you said. He killed one of them." A short
message, but more than enough to confirm the knowledge he knew The
Boss already had.
  
  Something came flying through the room. A card, as the man knew it
would be. Rotating a few times during its flight, it landed on the
dark wood of the table, somehow miraculously avoiding the puddles of
water. A second one followed shortly, almost immediately, after, and
landed with hair-fine precision right next to the previous card.
  
  The first depicted three open eyes forming a triangular pattern. It
could not be found in such a deck, but the style of drawing otherwise
suggesteed Tarot. Not much could be said of the second one, its
surface every bit as black as the surrounding darkness.
  
  "A three-eyed zombie?" The Boss spoke again, somehow managing to
convey uncertainity without changing tone in the least. A third card
landed next to the two already present; a bolt of lightning struck a
tree, splitting it in two. "Interesting." The voice betrayed none of
the curiousity implied as two more cards followed in quick succession;
a large, dirty gray rat, and a house built in medieval style, with an
indecipherable sign above the door. "Hotel Grand. Bring him here.
Three of the Brothers will help you, a suitable numver."
  
  The man bowed, under the circumstances a totally unecessary gesture.
"I will, Boss."
  
  The master's confident bass voice resounded in his ears as he left
the room again. "Yes, you will."
  
                                 * * *
  
  The house Mulder sought lay in the Chinatown area of the city, where
hand-crafted signs hung above the doors of the tight-packed, low
buildings. Most of the people who wandered its relatively narrow
streets and stopped to purchase from the occasional food-vendors were
of Asian origin, unsurprisingly.
  
  He parked the car a short distance from his goal and walked the rest
of the way, enjoying the different sights and smell this part of town
presented.
  
  A few minutes later, he stood on the front steps of a wooden
buliding mostly identical to those surrounding it, except for the sign
above the door, which proclaimed, in exotic lettering, "Dragon of
Wisdom".
  
  He was just about to clap the door-knocker to announce his entrance,
when the door opened from within. A short man, or possibly a young or
old one, bustled out and pushed past him, muttering something
indecipherable in an apologetic tone. The man wore wide black trousers
and an equally dark sweater. Judging by his bowed down head, he was
eaither ashamed or oddly fascinated by the ground, his thick black
hair helping the angle obscure his head from view for the few moments
before he passed Mulder by.
  
  The FBI-agent watched the man's hurriedly leaving back for a few
seconds before he turned back to the now open doorway and stepped in.
  
  He hung off his trenchcoat on the rack in the small hall he entered,
absent-mindedly noting that the man had forgot a leather-jacket; it
was too late now to shout, so hopefully the man would remember it
himself.
  
  Smiling, he patted the head of the demonic dog-statue that "guarded"
the entrance to the store proper, and remember to kick off his shoes
before stepping in through the finely brodiered drapery.
  
  "Dragon of Wisdom" was a small but definitely not too small
bookstore, and Mulder knew the owner well since many years. Various
books lined its many shelves, and a couple of magazines, most of them
cheap-looking and with Japanese characters on the covers, lay on the
counter in the poorly lit innermost edge of the room.
  
  Behind it, Mr. Chami smiled in greeting and recognition. Despite
sixty years of age, his hair still not only retained its black color,
but also showed no tendency of leaving the head in any noticeable
amount. The store-owner had chosen not to grow beard or moustache, and
his well-shaved chin added further to the sense of relative youth.
  
  "Hello, Mat," the agent greeted him.
  
  "But hello, Mr. Mulder. You came by at just the right time." The man
bent down, disappearing momentarily beneath the counter, but soon
popped up again, now holding a copy of the glassy magazine known as
"Yogekisha".
  
  This surprised his costumer. "A new one already?"
  
  "Yes, a representative of theirs is in America right now, and he
brought me some copies, since he knows how long the delivery time is
otherwise. But tell me, Mulder, why did you come?"
  
  "Well..." The agent hesitated, but only for a short moment. "Do you
know of an object callet the Akkishishin?"
  
  "Tbe devil's compass?" Judging by his voice, Mr. Chami recognized
the name. "Let me think."
  
  He stepped out from behind the counter and approached one of the
book-shelves, scanning the titles from left to right before he stopped
somewhere at the middle of the shelf and pulled out one of the books.
Holding the rather thick volume he returned to the counter where the
FBI-agent waited patiently, and opened the rather non-descript dark-
green cover, skimming the book. Backwards, or so it seemd to Mulder.
  
  Finally, he appeared to have found what he sought, and pointed at an
illustration depicting two circular bands set at a sharp angle, with
an arrow-like pointing pin in the middle. On the whole, it looked
somewhat like an ornamentary sundial one might have in the front lawn.
The writing surrounding the picture was, as might be expected, in
Japanese.
  
  "This is it," Mr. Chami confirmed. "The Akkishishin."
  
  Mulder nodded. "So, what does it do?"
  
  "Let us see." The store-owner followed with a finger as he read,
column by column from right to left. "It's believed to have been
originally constructed by demon-hunting monks long ago, and can point
out large concentrations of demonic or spiritual energy; supposedly
the owner can use his will to further specify what he's looking for.
The text doesn't go into too much details since this is based on
legends, but the reason for the two rings is that the compass, when
activated, floats in the air, and rotates to point in a three-
dimensional direction, if you understand?"
  
  The FBI-agent scratched his stubble. "Yes, I think so. Anything
else?"
  
  "No, I'm afraid not." Mr. Chami closed the book.
  
  Mulder shrugged. "I guess a lot of people could be interested in
such an item. I guess you don't know anything about tall, black-
skinned men with four vertical lines tatooed on each forearm?"
  
  The store-owner shook his head. "The boy who was here before you
asked the same thing. I'm afraid I've never heard of something like
that."
  
  "Boy? The..." Mulder paused in mid-speech, suddenly realising
something, and swore inwardly at his stupidity. He rushed into the
hall again and quickly retrieved the leather jacket, returning back
into the store as he searched its pockets. A quick glance confirmed
that there was indeed a bullet hole in mid-back. "Do you know who the
boy is?" he asked.
  
  The owner nodded. "I think you do, too."
  
  "Oh?" Mulder raised his eyebrows.
  
  "Is the name 'Fujii' familiar?"
  
  The FBI-agent nearly jumped out of his socks, just as he found
something in one of the inner pockets; a key-ring, and an attached
plate indicated the the small key controlled the door of a room in a
"Hotel Grand".
  
  Realising that there was no time to lose, he left hurriedly,
withdrawing the cell-phone from his coat pocket on the way out.
  
                                 * * *
  
  "Mulder?" Scully held on to her seat firmly as they sped through the
streets of Washington at a speed somewhat above what was recommended.
A slight nervous edge crept into her voice, but she managed to keep in
fairly calm and neutral. "Where are we going, and why the hurry?"
  
  "I know where the boy is staying." He tossed her the keyring without
looking up from the wheel. "Unfortunately, he might know that I know,
and he also seemed to be in an awful hurry. Anyway, what did you find
out?"
  
  Deciding not to press him further, she answered the question. "The
man died only shortly before officer Johnson arrived on the scene,
half an hour at most. Cause of death - I don't think I need to answer
that. There were some minor scars, barely healed, surrounding the
tatoos, suggesting several razor cuts. I also noted that his skeleton
was very robust, especially considering his stretched body
proportions. I beliveve..."
  
  Mulder interrupted her, bringing the car to a sharp halt as its
tires screeched in vain protest. "Here we are..." His eyes widened as
he trailed off, throwing himself out the door, now in an even greater
hurry.
  
                                 * * *
  
  Yakumo burst in through the glass doors in a pace that could that
didn't require much good will to define as running, ignoring the
frantic protests of the clerk as he took the stairs in a minimum
number of leaps, and proceeded up to the room door without slowing
down, not bothering with details like unlocking as he tore the door
open using a strength no-one would have believed the boy possessed.
  
  Pai, who sat in her bed, absently reading a book, now dressed in a
fine gray shirt and accompanying skirt, startled, jumping to the
floor. Her worried features settled into relief when she saw who it
was, about to return to reading, but he didn't let her.
  
  Now that he knew, Yakumo could sense them, feel them draw closer by
the second. Below, the clerk let loose a shriek of utter terror. Even
before it had died out in a guttural, gurgling sound, he had taken the
girl into his arms, holding her tight as he leapt, crashing out
through the window and falling through the air.
  
  He rolled a few times upon landing, making sure to keep his body
between Pai and the ground all the time, and took off running without
losing even the slightest bit of kinetic energy, as rain started
falling from the sky, first just drizzling slowly, then pouring down
faster and faster.
  
                                 * * *
  
  Mulder stared in shock at the terrifying scene before him. Despite
the thick curtain of rain falling from above, it was all-too visible,
etching itself firmly into his mind.
  
  Only the outer edges of the glass door remained, the rest lying in
shards on the ground, and wet, dirty footprints led inside. All four
men wore dark-green vests, and the short, pudgy man, dark, stripy hair
descending halfway down his back, discussed something with two of the
others, casually, as if nothing inordinary at all was going on.
  
  What drew attention was the fourth lanky black man. He had turned
away from the others, as if to ask the clerk something, but three
long, slimy tentacles extended from his forehead and arms, and two of
these held the poor attendant in a vise-like grip, one of them holding
him up by the waist and the other crushing his neck.
  
  The man's head was slowly coming loose as the tentacle encircled his
throath tighter and tighter, and blood ran downwards, drenching his
cheap, grey suit.
  
  Finally, the creature released its grip, and the body slumped to the
ground, utterly lifeless. As it hit the floor, some blood splashed up
from the large pool that had formed, and a tentacle absently wiped it
off from the creature's coat as it turned back to face the others.
  
  Out of the corner of his eye, the FBI-agent noticed his colleague
slowly raising her gun, and motioned for her to put it back down just
as the four men began walking up the stairs, their steps heavy and
determined. "Better not attract their attention," he whispered, his
voice hoarse.
  
  He reached to call for backup, but the four men, if men they were,
soon came down again, leaving the shoddy hotel as if nothing had
happened and dispersing in two groups with brisk steps.
  
  "Let's check the room," Mulder said, as indecisiveness soon made it
too late to follow. "It went to fast for them to have been there."
  
  Scully nodded, bringing up her cell phone to call for medical
assistance, even though she knew it was far too late.
  
                                 * * *
  
  The two agents entered the hotel room just as they could begin to
hear sirens approaching in the distance. A quick glance made it
obvious that there wasn't much to the room; both beds had been neatly
made, though one of them was slightly disarranged. Scully peeked down
into the waste basket only to find it empty, except for a singled
crumpled paper towel, stained by blood.
  
  Mulder bent down to check under the beds, and smiled as he retrieved
a black leather suitcase. "They must've been in a hurry," he noted as
he began fiddling with the combination lock. "Not that I blame them."
  
  Only a moment later, just as he was about to give up, the lock
clicked, and the suitcase fell open. "Must be my lucky day," Mulder
grinned, resuming a serious face when he recalled what had just
happened. "Light travellers. Let's see what they've got in here."
  
  "Shirt." A grey piece of cloth came flying through the air and
landed at Scully's feet. "Jeans." Mulder was about to toss the second
item too, but stopped himself to dive into a pocket, bringing up a
square piece of paper; a business card.
  
  "Randolph Carter, Psychic," he announced. "Just in case, we better
get going right away. You can check the rest of the stuff while I
drive."
  
                                 * * *
  
  Though his English left a lot of room for improvement, it was soon
clear to Yakumo that they had been wise to leave Ling-Ling's "contact"
as a last resort.
  
  The smell of incense hung heavily in the large room, lit dimly by a
number of candles. Blue drapes embroidered with golden-like glyphs
covered the windows and stopped what little sun there was on this
dreary day from shining in. A bookcase held a few thick tomes, and the
crystal ball on the single small table, adorned with a blue cloth
similar to the drapes, completed the all-too-perfect image of a
mysticians residence that no one with any real skills would have
bothered to create.
  
  In this regard, Carter himself was no disappointment. He wore a
long, flowery black robe, hood pulled up to cover his face in shadows,
and wether the long red beard was genuine or not was anyone's guess.
  
  From what the two Asians could understand, though, he did indeed
know something of the mysterious black men, but his long-winded and
complicated speech made it hard to tell just what, and his constant
wild gesturing served more to confuse than anything else.
  
  The boy was almost thankful for the contemplatory pause when his
host excused himself to answer a knock on the door, though he
instantly regretted it when Carter entered again, followed by an
untidy man and a red-haired woman, the former brandishing what he
assumed was a police-badge.
  
  The man smiled at him. "Special agents Mulder and Scully, with the
Federal Bureu of Investigations. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Fujii."
  
  Acting on instinct, Yakumo grabbed Pai and headed for the nearest
window, as seemed to have become a habit recently. They crashed
through, leaving the drapes fluttering through the opening, and Mulder
could only curse silently as he watched the pair quickly disappearing
into the rain.
  
  Hoping to salvage something of the situation, he turned back to the
supposed psychic. "Do you know anything about..."
  
  "...black men suddenly sprouted tentacles?" The lack of surprise on
Mulder's face, disappointed Carter, but he continued undaunted at the
other's nod. "Yes, my previous visitors were curious on the same
topic, but alas, they seem to have left in haste." He gestured towards
the window, some rain slowly falling in through it, a feigned look of
sadness on his face. "I can indeed tell you something of these vile,
man-like creatures..."
  
                                 * * *
  
  Yakumo cursed, then cursed again, as they huddled together in the
slight shelter of the abandoned warehouse. An uncomfortable darkness
surrounded the pair, and he felt cold and tired, certain that Pai felt
the same way too.
  
  That had been their last lead, and he cursed once more for good
measure. He didn't have any idea at all what to do, admittedly not
being the smartest of fellows, and the fact that the cops were
obviously in close pursuit didn't help much; he doubted they'd believe
the man he'd killed was some sort of tentacled demon, even if he
managed to explain.
  
  Had he known exactly how he would be saved from making any decision,
he might have preferred to think about it somewhat longer, but as it
was, he didn't get any input, and just barely registered being lifted
into the air before everything went black.
  
                                 * * *
  
  "This is it?" Scully enquired.
  
  "Should be, yeah." Mulder nodded as the car came to a sharp stop.
  
  The absence of number-sign on the house came as no great surprise,
considering the abandoned state of most buildings in the area. This
one was no exception; the windows - some of them boarded shut - had
been without glass for a long time, and the door barely covered the
entrance, connected to only one hinge.
  
  An omnious creeking sounded in the background as they entered, and
Mulder lit his flashlight to reveal what had once been the main
hallway of an apartment building. Several doors, most of them in a
state similar to the one they had entered through, led to unoccupied
flats, and a somewhat risky-looking stairway rose to the next floor,
but neither interested the agents.
  
  Sending the small beam of light exploring, their eyes soon fell on
the other set of stairs, descending to a cellar - or something else...
  
  "Maybe we should wait for backup," Scully suggested, clearly not
comfortable with the omnious darkness, made worse by water slowly
dripping from above, but her partner shook his head.
  
  "It'll take them a fair while," he noted, somewhat more eager to
explore, though he wasn't quite able to shrug off the ghastly mood.
  
  The slightly slimy stair almost disappointed them in not giving off
any sound, and other than being slippery, it was surprisingly stable.
  
  Total darkness greeted them below, forcing Scully to light her
flashlight as well. Water splashed under their feet, the thin layer
just barely enough to penetrate their shoes, as they peered into a
long corridor, continuing beyond the reach of the light. The walls had
been built with dark stone, and heavy metallic doors, covered by rust,
branched off to the sides at irregular intervals, most fo them for
some reason on the right side.
  
  As they pressed on, not quite certain where to go, another set of
splashing footsteps greeted them from beyond, and they just barely had
time to unholster their weapons before their light fell upon the
approaching figure.
  
  Wether the tall dark man belonged to the group they had met earlier
was impossible to tell, but down here, he had not bothered to hide his
tentacles, and a soft growling escaped the creature's lips as it
spotted the pair.
  
  As it quickened its pace towards them, neither agent hesitated, and
their guns barked repeatedly, bullet after bullet tearing into the
seemingly unfazed monster.
  
  Finally, just as it was about to come into reach with its tentacles,
Mulder raised his gun for what he knew had to be his last shot, and
the bullet impacted with the insanely grinning face, sending the
creature to the ground. Water splashed up at the landing, then once
again as the monster spasmed for a last time. The tentacles were now
gone, but neither agent bothered to look, both staring grimly into the
darkness ahead. Mulder reloaded, grateful that he had chosen this day
to carry a spare clip; his female partner was not as lucky.
  
  Before they had time to discuess a course of action, a soft, moaning
sound could be heard, this time clearly of human origin, and an
instant later, the pair was on the move again, the instinct to save
life overriding their fear. Water splashed rhythmically under their
feet as they ran through the dark, moist corridor.
  
  The sound grew somewhat louder as they pressed on, finally stopping
outside one of the rusty iron doors, definitely no longer below the
abandoned house. The door was slightly ajar, and as Scully pushed it
slowly open, they were greeted by a scene that, though unpleasant, was
only all too real and tangible.
  
  A large stone slab had been placed in the middle of a red pentagram
that could be seen only faintly beneath the water, black candles at
the edges somehow miraculously staying lit despite the constantly
dripping water, providing the room with just enough light to make the
scene visible.
  
  The Japanese boy kneeled in front of the altar, his head being
firmly kept grounded into the basalt block by a heavy boot on his back
that also locked his arms in place. The small black man cackled
insanely as he raised the meat-cleaver into the air, dried blood
lining the dull edge.
  
  Mulder raised his gun to fire, but it was too late. The cleaver
descended again, metal striking against stone. Yakumo's head screamed
in pain, screamed without lungs at it flew through the air, landing at
the agents' feet in a cascade of blood and muddy water that stained
their coats and covered their faces.
  
  The man smiled, satisfied, as a fountain of blood erupted from the
neatly severed neck, and he removed his foot, not expecting the body
to rise from the ground in the same motion that it sent a fist heavily
into his massive gut, just as a final stream of blood poured from the
stump.
  
  The pudgy man dropped the meat cleaver, but did not give up just
yet, responding with a punch of his own that sent the body sprawling
backward, stumbling over the slab of stone.
  
  "No... No see..." The screaming had stopped now, and the croaking
voice broke Scully from her shock as she sank to her knees, realizing
what the boy meant. She grabbed the decapitated head in her hands and
rose slowly, pointing it towards the fight with obvious distaste, not
quite able to look at the grisly object.
  
  The man had grabbed the meat-cleaver again, and Yakumo saw him raise
to strike his prone body just in time to grab the man's wrist as it
descended. He clutched the man's neck in his other hand, and in a
single, powerful motion, he tore it off, throwing the head to the side
as the lifeless body slumped down, the polluted liquid on the floor
now consisting more of blood than of water.
  
  The two FBI-agents could only stare in shock as the headless boy
stumbled towards them, his steps falling heavily into the sea of
blood. They had seen much, but never quite as up-close and personal as
this.
  
  It streatched out its arms towards Scully, and the head croaked
again, untelligibly this time. The fact that the lack of lungs was at
last affecting his speaking abilities was little comfort to the female
agent as she set down the head, trembling.
  
  Yakumo placed the head on the stump where it had recently been
attached, and held it there firmly. Instantly, with a bright flash of
light, it fused back again, and soon, only a slight scar running
around the base of his neck indicated the boy had recently been
decapacitated.
  
  He smile weakly at the stunned pair, a hand instinctively seeking to
hide behind his head. "Pai..." he began, obviously struggling for the
next word. "Rescue..."
  
  "Normally," Scully whispered, leaning towards her partner, "I'd
suggest we arrest him, but if his gilrfriend is in a similar
situation..."
  
  Her colleague nodded. "I have a feeling we couldn't detain him if we
tried." He turned towards the boy. "Do you know where she's being
held?"
  
  Understanding at least the basic meaning of the question, Yakumo
nodded, and he touched a few fingers to his forehead, closing his eyes
as he concentrated. A few seconds later, he opened them again, and
left the room wordlessly, his steps quick and determined. The agents
followed close behind, somewhat more uncertain, Mulder with his gun
held ready and Scully lighting the way with her flashlight.
  
                                 * * *
  
  They continued through the dark, fetid halls for several minutes,
occasionally entering one of the rusty doors only to find themselves
in another identical corridor. Both agents soon lost track, and only
Yakumo, if even he, knew where they were and how to get back. They met
no-one on their way, the dripping water the only noise that could be
heard, until Yakumo finally stopped outside a door, and they could
hear low, muted chanting from within.
  
  As he forced the door open with a fierce kick, they soon realized
that this room was larger than the other one. They could see neither
opposite walls nor, even more disturbing, ceiling. Here, too, a number
of black candles provided light, set in a ring on the floor, and in
the blood-red circle had been enscribed an eight-armed star. Two of
the dark men stood at the far end, their slimy tentacles swaying in a
non-existant wind, flanking ... something ... an enourmous, dark,
hairy spider, perhaps ten yards in length, a human upper body where
its head should have been.
  
  It was the spider-demon that chanted, its deep bass voice almost
making the air tremble, and Yakumo let out a sharp cry as he spotted
the unconcious figure in the center of the ring. "PAI!" The young girl
had been tied by arms and legs to a set of steel rungs in the floor.
  
  Snarling with rage, Yakumo ran towards the demon. The dark men
rushed to meet him, but he crouched down, rolling beneath their
fumbling tentacles to rise facing the enourmous spider.
  
  One of the creatures threw itself at him, but the boy stepped to the
side, grabbing the thing as it flew through the air and smashing it
against the demonic spider just as it raised a frontal leg to strike
him. The hairy limb tore through its chest like had it been a sheet of
paper, and with an irritated snarl, the demon threw the limb body to
the side, greenish blood following it in an arc trough the air.
  
  Meanwhile, the agents tried to free the girl, Scully crouching as
she frenetically tried to undo one of the knots, grateful for the
chance to concentrate on something different than the situation at
hand.
  
  The remaining creature approached them, and Mulder raised his gun to
fire off a bullet, and then another one, but he missed, shaking with
fear, and it continued relentlessly, striking out with a tentacle that
broke the jaw of the female againt with an audible crack and sent her
flying away from the body just as she managed to get the first knot
untied.
  
  Mulder sensed an opening, and rushed up to the creature, putting the
barrel of his gun to its chin as he pushed the trigger, again, and
again, and again, until it produced nothing but a clicking sound, and
the thing lay motionless on the floor, little but a bloody lump of
meat remaining of its head, the agent himself covered in gray-green
gore.
  
  Yakumo panted heavily, clutching his now useless left arm to his
side as he stared defiantly into the the demon's eyes, striking out
with a powerful roundhouse kick that impacted forcefully with its head
... but it merely laughed, a taunting, hoarse laugh, as it shrugged of
the attack, knocking the boy backwards with a crushing punch.
  
  "STOP!" The commanding voice resounded through the room, and all
eyes focused on the girl that uttered the word. The same instant that
Mulder got the last knot open, a third eye had opened up on her
forehead, and she now hovered a few inches into the air, focusing her
eyes on the spider-demon, contempt and hatred glowing from the deep
black wells.
  
  Suddenly, energy flashed from the third eye, and a ball of white
light slowly formed as the girl chanted something barely audible in a
language long forgotten, her other two eyes still firmly focused on
the demon. Just as it was about to leap forward and tear into her, she
let out a single sharp cry, and the sphere reshaped into a thinly
focused ray, a stream of pure force that struck the spider-demon head
on.
  
  The power pushed the girl backwards and she strained as if
struggling to hang on ... and then, the demon exploded, all the energy
that had been poured into it tearing free at the same time, and an
instant later, all that remained was a thin red paste that covered
everything in sight, everything except the girl, who fell to the
ground, unconcious, as the third eye closed heavily.
  
                                 * * *
  
  Mulder looked suspiciously at the young girl. No trace of anything
inordinary remained. Well, except that she was currently in the
process of wolfing down yet *another* slice of cake. "Pai *love*
American food!" she exclaimed happily, seemingly without a care in the
world.
  
  The boy sighed tiredly as he told her something in Japanese, and
they both laughed, as if sharing some private joke - which, of course,
they probably were. He turned back towards the agent. "So, you let us
go?"
  
  "Yeah," Mulder nodded. "I doubt my superiors would belive the story
if I told them, anyway." He sighed. "Yet another case for the X-files,
I guess."
  
                                 * * *
  
  AUTHOR'S NOTES
  --------------
  
  My heartfelt respect to Takada Yuzo, for creating the marvellous
manga 3x3 Eyes that manages to instantly switch between �ber-cuddly-
kawaii and fountains of blood, and Chris Carter and everyone else
involved in making X-files the great series that it if not is then at
least was in the early seasons.
  
  Thanks also to all who have commented on this in its various
incarnations.

  FIC STATUS: Maybe I'll get another episode of Not Even You out soon;
otherwise, my next planned project is "Shadows On The Wall", a tale of
cosmic horror in HP Lovecraft tradition starring the Ranma crew, but
that might be a fair while off.

---
Ronny Hedin, thark@swipnet.se, http://nabiki.newberry.edu/thark/
KotTF   -><-  "Momomoto, Famous Japanese, can swallow his nose."