[FFML] [yyh][ry][xover] Youtou Shinnoken Chapter 28: Tactics (Part 3)

[Abdiel]

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Youtou Shinnoken
A Rurouni Kenshin/Yuyu Hakusho Crossover Fan Fiction
By Chester Castañeda
chester.castaneda at gmail.com
gabriel_gabdiel at yahoo.com
http://www.fanfiction.net/u/223441/
Original concept by Chad Yang
chadjill at ms3.hinet.net
http://www.fanfiction.net/u/56473/

One of the three questions that Daiji was asked in the last chapter was
directly lifted from Lewis Carroll's "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland".
All rights reserved.


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Chapter 28: Tactics (Part 3)

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"Lo and behold, the Blue Meanie has arrived. It took you long enough."

Daiji's one-eight-ten marking on his chest that was carved by the man in
front of him flared as though it were set on fire by the mere sight of
Itsumi's murderer.

"You're the one who got away, aren't you? Have a seat, Detective," the
One-Eight-Ten Killer prompted, motioning towards the chair in front of
him.

"Oh shit. Did he just call you 'Detective'? Dammit, Matsudaira-kun, you
got to get out of there! Abort the mission! Over!" Inspector Taniguchi's
voice crackled over Daiji's ear, but the policeman ignored his
superior's orders.

Daiji flinched at the One-Eight-Ten Killer's insinuation of him being
the sole survivor of the latter's murder spree. So much for the sting
operation. Nevertheless, the detective did as he was told, setting his
briefcase of cash aside as his eyes wandered over the walls that were
decorated by pinned butterflies of different species and colors.

He fidgeted; he could've sworn that some of the displayed insects were
still alive, wriggling underneath pins that held them into place. It
must've been his imagination.

Contrary to Daiji's instinctive expectations, the raven-haired tuxedoed
man didn't hand him or the One-Eight-Ten Killer any menus or did any
other waiter-related duty; he berated himself for thinking so, since the
Kamurocho nightclub presently had a "hospital theme" going for it, and
the server he had earlier was a girl in a nurse's outfit. 'She seemed
rather familiar to me, though.'

Instead, the masked stranger remained on standby, guarding the Kanji
Killer and the undercover cop by sitting at a nearby table with one leg
resting over his other leg and his arms crossed.

The detective focused his attention back to his original target; he
didn't expect _him_ to be the one to personally greet him as a
representative of the mysterious Earth Club. His fingers tingled as he
waited for the murderer to make his move.

"Relax. Do you not like what you see? You're too tense," said the man in
fluent although accented Japanese as he took a cigar from his coat
pocket and had his emaciated cohort or subordinate light it for him.

The strange speech pattern made Daiji conclude that the reports
regarding the murderer being a Chinese national were all true. "I'm
unarmed. Let's talk for a little while. It's been four years since we
last met. We have a lot of catching up to do."

Upon hearing the claim that the One-Eight-Ten Killer is unarmed, the
Shinjuku Inspector warned Daiji, "I don't know what's going on there,
Matsudaira-kun, but be careful. You've already blown your cover, so stay
alert. Remember, we have the entire area surrounded. Just say the word,
and we'll come storming right in."

Meanwhile, Daiji kept in mind that he had a gun holstered inside his
coat and a wiretap within his person. Even though the sting operation
was essentially rendered null and void because the perpetrator already
knew who he was, he decided that he would complete this mission one way
or another.

"How precious. You actually thought you're fooling anyone with that load
of cash of yours and that monkey suit? I bet you're armed and wiretapped
as well, right?" the Chinese man sneered while rubbing his lantern jaw.
"It's too bad that your little sting operation failed. Do you have any
idea how to salvage your mission without making it look like a case of
entrapment, Detective?"

"So this _is_ a trap. You intentionally told Shimamura Houjo-kun to give
me the keycard to the Earth Club if ever he was found guilty of his
crimes and interrogated in regards to your criminal organization," Daiji
surmised as he straightened his coat and waited for the perfect
opportunity to signal his cohorts to surround Kamurocho.

"Bravo! As expected of a master detective! You sure are quick on the
uptake!" The East Asian man of indefinite origin clapped his hands in a
slow, deliberate manner. "What else have you figured out about me?
Please, don't disappoint. You've been hot on my trail since 1991, so you
should have all sorts of dirt on me by now," he further mocked.

"What else can I say? You're nothing but a second-rate, trying-hard
copycat. You called me a Blue Meanie because you were quoting one of
the letters of the Zodiac Killer. Every one of your confirmed murders
are based on the Zodiac Killer's serial killings more than twenty years
ago. Someone else must have taught or used against you that kanji-based
sword style... probably the original Kanji Killer whom you used to hide
your murders. In the end, you began committing the rest of your crimes
by creating or manipulating your own copycats in order to cover your
tracks, hence the birth of the Earth Club."

"Ah. Much better. Brilliant deduction. Now tell me something you've
realized just now after meeting me face-to-face," the man goaded while
licking his lips and showing off his significant underbite.

Daiji frowned at how flippantly the Chinese immigrant talked while
somehow taking over their entire conversation by asking all sorts of
probing questions about himself without divulging anything that could
implicate him to any crime. "It figures that you're operating within
Shinjuku's Kabukicho, whose sangokujin population exploded way back in
1950." By sangokujin, the detective meant Taiwanese and Korean
colonials.

"It's not a stretch to say that you're a member of some sort of
organized crime syndicate, like the Chinese Mafia, because going
underground serves as your best protection against the police. Then
again, I'm guessing your Triad bosses don't even know about your little
side project. Judging by your accent, your native tongue is probably
Mandarin, so you may have come from Taiwan or Mainland China as opposed
to Hong Kong, which has Cantonese as its vernacular."

Daiji spread his arms wide. "You're likely using this nightclub as your
base of operations for designing hard-to-solve murders for rich clients.
You may even be its owner. Finally, the butterfly motif of this room
symbolizes the stolen 'souls' of your victims after you've made them
your 'slaves', which is just like what the Zodiac claimed to do way back
when."

Of course, it didn't escape Daiji's notice that the one other immigrant
from China and transfer student who helped him with the case... Natsuki
Shinkai... was probably linked to this man as well. It must have been a
personal connection, judging by how much she knew about him.

"Amazing! Most of your theories are quite accurate! I am from Taiwan. I
am a member of the Triad. I am an immigrant."

"You weren't always a Triad member, were you?" prodded Daiji.

The burly East Asian man shrugged. "I change identities the same way
people change clothes. You've been stalking me all this time. You
should know that by now."

The Chinese man then chortled, producing thick plumes of tobacco smoke
after every chuckle. "Now, without quoting serial killers, tell me who I
think I am underneath all the copycat MO." He winked. "You sound like a
competent criminal profiler. Even if it's not in your job description,
humor me. Profile me."

"You're an arrogant son of a bitch who thinks yourself as some sort of
superior being who can expose the hypocrisies of the world because you
believe that you're above everyone else. You think yourself as a mirror
that can reflect the awfulness of humanity while you stay atop your own
pedestal, free from judgment because you consider yourself a judge
that's beyond reproach. You deem yourself as an improved version of the
Zodiac Killer and even the real Kanji Killer even though all you do is
copy them. In other words, you're a hypocrite through and through."

"You have me all figured out. I'm so proud of my little caterpillar.
Even though you're still in your larval stage, you've shown signs of
greatness and hints of who you really are," the One-Eight-Ten Killer
marveled while his bony bodyguard choked back his own laughter.

"Caterpillar," Daiji mouthed as the murderer's muscles flexed while he
took hold of the table's edge and leaned forward, his bulging, lidless
eyes staring straight into the policeman's narrowed blue ones. "Now, can
you tell me something I don't know?"

For once, Daiji couldn't answer straightaway, and before he could open
his mouth, the One-Eight-Ten Killer already cut him off.

"I guess not. Now it's my turn. No, I won't answer any of your
questions, because you'll probably ask me boring ones like 'How long
have you been using the Earth Club to mastermind your murders' and so
forth. I'll instead tell things you don't know. Things beyond your ken.
Things that, hopefully, will wake you up from dreaming that you're a man
so that you'll realize you're a butterfly... or about to become a
butterfly... after all."

Taking Daiji's silence after hearing the Kafka paraphrase as assent, the
One-Eight-Ten Killer pontificated, "I _am_ beyond humans now. Thanks to
all the slaves I've accumulated through the years, I was able to raise
my stock and become one of the most powerful, non-hybrid humans around.
Just this year, I've reached what the Spirit World considers as
S-Level or a being with superpowers far too great for them to scale.

"Only two other pure humans in this century ever achieved this level,
and both of them did so by mastering a skill considered by the ancients
as powers from the Servants of God themselves, the Angels. In turn, I've
mastered a power Christians would've sworn came from the Devil himself."

This time, Daiji truly was at a loss for words, his mouth slackened and
his entire body stock-still. "You're crazy. Are you suffering from some
sort of psychotic episode? Are you mocking me? Are you taking me for
some sort of fool? Shouldn't you be taking your meds by now?"

"Negative energy is a power considered by many as 'evil', but is instead
a natural destructive force of nature that allows the universe to exist;
the 'yang' to spirit energy's 'yin'. Thanks to the suffering of my
victims and the sins of Chikyusei's disciples, I was able to do what no
other demon or human was able to accomplish within the Chojin's army:
Produce my own supply of jaki. My slaves have made me strong. If heaven
is a state of mind, then I truly am in paradise right now!"

Daiji rested his face over his palm. "I didn't realize that your
delusion ran this deep. You think killing innocent people who can't
fight back makes you some sort of god? It's amazing how someone so
diabolically brilliant as yourself could be this out of touch with
reality."

"Flattery will get you nowhere... and your reality and logic are the
very things that limit you." The One-Eight-Ten Killer shook and
shivered, as though suffering from the side effects of whatever drugs
he'd been taking all that time. "Besides, you and I are more alike than
you think."

Daiji wiped his hand over his face and raised an eyebrow at the brute.
"Are you really going to go that route? 'You and I are more alike than
you think'? You must've been watching too many action movies before this
meeting."

"I admit that the line is a bit hackneyed, but given the circumstances,
it's quite appropriate. Let me explain. Don't you remember what happened
four years ago that fateful summer night when we first met? How you were
able to survive my attack when none of my other victims ever did? As you
said, I wanted to be an _improved_ Zodiac Killer who left no witnesses
behind. Yet, like Michael Renault Mageau, you managed to live. Did you
really think I _intentionally_ did that to follow the Zodiac killings to
the letter?"

"The thought crossed my mind that maybe you didn't," Daiji admitted.
"Maybe you committed the same mistake the Zodiac did and left me for
dead."

"Do you remember how you got away and survived?" the One-Eight-Ten
Killer queried again, smiling from ear to ear.

"Adrenalin rush. Like with Mageau, I was able to fight you off before
you slashed me apart. I may have even broken your sword because of my
rage and survival instincts. You're just too arrogant to admit that you
made a mistake there, like the Zodiac did."

"It's fascinating how you can casually describe the events leading to
your wife's demise and your 'rage' against me as though you were reading
the morning newspaper. I find it doubly intriguing how you're comparing
Mageau to what happened to you even though the only thing that allowed
him to survive back then was luck and the Zodiac overestimating his
injuries."

Daiji harrumphed before saying, "The charade is over. Thank you for
confirming your identity as the One-Eight-Ten Killer. It's time." The
"It's time" phrase was his signal for the undercover coppers to swarm
Kamurocho and arrest the serial killer. He then drew his Colt Python out
of its holster and aimed it at the head of his wife's killer.

The fact that Daiji wasn't able to make the Triad member admit to the
Chikyusei killings and the other fact that he'd broken his promise to
the Inspector in regards to treating the sting operation as a mission
separate from the Kanji Killer case gnawed within him, but he wasn't
about to let an opportunity like this pass him by.

The One-Eight-Ten Killer stared back and forth Daiji and the cold barrel
of the gun aimed at him. "Was that your signal for your cohorts to
arrive? It's useless. The Gatekeeper won't let them pass."

"You're under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you
say or do can be held against you in a court of law," recited Daiji. He
grinded his teeth together after a whole five minutes passed without the
presence of his fellow officers. What was taking them so long? Did they
honestly have trouble subduing the womanly bouncer in front of the
nightclub?

Daiji glared at the One-Eight-Ten Killer's masked bodyguard as he stood
up from his seat, but then relaxed when he saw him raise both his hands
in surrender. His ears subsequently grew warm as his wiretap crackled
with gasps and exclamations of surprise.

"Eh? I've been here earlier. How the hell did I get here? Oh look, a
soapland," said one policeman that Daiji recognized as Officer Uye.

"This is Detective Tsunemoto. I've ended up somewhere in the middle
of Kabukicho, in front of the Koma Theater Complex. I don't know what
happened, I was waiting in the wings all this time. Over," came the
sheepish yet professional drawl of Daiji's compatriot, Aiko.

For one reason or another, all the officers gathered to support Daiji's
attempt at ensnaring the One-Eight-Ten Killer ended up lost within the
maze of Kabukicho, so none of them even made it to the entrance of the
targeted establishment.

"What the hell are you bumbling idiots doing? Matsudaira-kun has the
Kanji Killer right where we want him, and you're screwing up the
mission! He even had him confess his crimes, for Buddha's sake! Over!"
screamed Inspector Taniguchi to the point of ruining the audio of
Daiji's wiretap.

"Let me guess. Your backup has ended up lost all over Kabukicho, hasn't
it? I'd explain to you how that occurred, but you'll probably call me
a crazy drug addict again." The serial murderer stood and pushed his
forehead right onto the tip of the Colt Python. "So I guess you've truly
forgotten what happened that July night. Let me refresh your memory," he
said as he cocked a beefy fist at the officer and swung.

The widower pulled the trigger and fired his gun off at pointblank range
as memories of his fading, white-as-a-sheet wife haunted him in a flash.
A spray of the One-Eight-Ten Killer's blood showered the table, his eyes
rolled back so far into his head only the sclera were visible. However,
his irises quickly returned and focused their attention on the
detective.

"I want you to remember who you really are so that I can achieve power
even beyond that of Class-S. I want to be able to beat that bastard
Tenro and his supposed elite corps, the Dai Shin Kan. I'm not yet the
most powerful Shin Ju around, but once I force you into your pupal stage
and have you emerge from your chrysalis as a beautiful butterfly, I will
have power to rival that of Tenro or the Chojin!"

Did his shot lobotomize the One-Eight-Ten Killer? He was spouting even
more delusional gibberish at the moment. Instead of falling, the
bloodied fugitive mocked, "I wish you'd died back then. I would've had
my way with your dying wife. I bet she had the prettiest lips down
there."

Although he didn't scream or let his tears fall, Daiji nevertheless
poured lead all over the Triad member's vital points and emptied all six
of his magnum rounds. The last thing he wanted to happen was for the
Taiwanese national to pull a Mageau on him and survive. Damn the
consequences. He didn't care if he was jailed or kicked off the force
for preemptively shooting an unarmed man. It was worth it.

Just as Daiji backed away, reloaded his pistol, and took aim at the
twitching mass of giblets and blood before him, the One-Eight-Ten
Killer's svelte bodyguard chose that instance to act, leaping towards
the detective and grabbing hold of his weapon. By instinct and by
training, the police officer aimed and shot at the tuxedoed and masked
man right at his covered mouth, but his Colt Python chose that
inopportune moment to blow up in his face.

The room spun. In Daiji's mind, he idly noted that his well-maintained
gun made of high-grade steel wasn't supposed to produce an explosive
impact of a worst-case scenario shotgun misfire that was strong enough
to hurl him across the room and into the one-way glass windows that kept
that section of the restaurant shielded from inquisitive eyes.
Nevertheless, that was what happened. 'This is ridiculous.'

The next thing Daiji knew, he was back outside the main lobby of the
Kamurocho nightclub, his eyesight a mere blur. Several nurse-costumed
waitresses screamed at his unexpected entrance while bits of glass
ripped through his two-piece business suit and ruined the reception of
his wiretap. "Matsudaira-kun... to you? Are... Was that... explosion?
Help is on... Answer me! Ma..." came the barely coherent mumbo jumbo of
Inspector Taniguchi.

Daiji gasped and hissed as the "Hei" wound on his chest bled underneath
his collared shirt like a freshly burned cattle brand. Did the glass rip
the scar apart? Did his scar tissue tear itself open because of the
impact of his sudden unceremonious trip care of the Tuxedo Man Express?
He didn't know what to expect anymore.

As his vision cleared, he was helped up by a familiar face. "A-Are you
okay, Mister...? YOU! You're the guy who was looking for the boss
earlier!" the buxom beauty whose name Daiji had forgotten at that point
exclaimed as she gulped and massaged her neck. "Goodness! You're
bleeding! Help! Someone call a doctor!"

Daiji stood upright upon seeing the reed-thin tuxedoed man sashay out of
the nightclub's decimated VIP room, his shoes crushing the broken grass
underneath his feet. He afterwards took off his strange face mask with
crab-leg-like straps, inhaling air so quickly it condensed into fog
around his mouth.

"There are no ten righteous people within this place. There probably
aren't within the whole city. It's time for the filth to be cleansed
with the vengeance of eternal fire. Take care, Lot, and don't look
back." Afterwards, the tuxedoed bodyguard's black, straight hair turned
curly and blond in a couple of eye blinks while his skin glowed like
sunlight.

'Am I really seeing this? What am I looking at?' Daiji mused to himself,
wondering if the waitress beside him slipped in drugs in his glass of
water earlier. Perhaps everything that had happened up until he met the
waiter-looking bodyguard was all an acid trip of some sort.

If everything that had happened so far were true, was the One-Eight-Ten
Killer dead? Did the detective succeed in his revenge, only to be
avenged by a now-unemployed bodyguard?

It was at that moment that Detective-Specialist Tsunemoto arrived at the
scene with several other plainclothes officers. "Freeze! This is the
Shinjuku Police! Put your hands up, dirt bag!"

'Tell them to get out,' a voice inside Daiji ordered. 'That man is about
to explode like a bomb.' What did he mean by that? Was the Tuxedo Man
with self-bleaching hair about to go on a rampage? Was he going to self-
combust instead? At any rate, what the voice in his head couldn't
explain through words, Detective Matsudaira understood through instinct.

The policeman afterwards screamed, "Tsunemoto-kun! Everyone! Get out!
This man is a suicide bomber!" before tackling the waitress beside him
to the ground and shielding her from the oncoming blast.

"What? Oh shit... MOVE OUT!" came Detective Tsunemoto's double-take
before she holstered her gun and ushered away the handful of dumbstruck
undercover cops with her before the cackling and maniacal Tuxedo Man
erupted into a great ball of fire that flung the bodies and body parts
of waitresses in nurse outfits, businessmen, and salarymen all over the
Kamurocho building.


===


"Wake up. You can't die now," were the words Daiji expected the voice in
his head to say. Or perhaps the ghost of Itsumi could've said that. Or
an apparition of Likka, Aiko, Natsuki, Inspector Taniguchi, or even that
waitress he saved.

It was probably something Officer Uye would never say, though. All the
same, those encouraging words were instead spoken by the last man he
wanted to hear them from. "I don't want you to be an ordinary slave. I
let you live for a reason. Stand up and fight."

The numb and trembling Daiji pushed himself off of the pale and sickly
nurse-costumed waitress below him, turned, landed on his posterior,
and witnessed something straight out of a science fiction movie,
nightmare, or acid trip: The One-Eight-Ten Killer emerging from the
flames produced by the Tuxedo Man's suicide bombing, his naked body
covered with black and purple fire that dimmed the bright light produced
by the conflagration.

In response to the ridiculous sight, the one-eight-ten scars on
Detective Matsudaira's chest flared anew. "You're supposed to be dead. I
shot you six times. Then your bodyguard used himself as a human bomb.
Why are you still alive?" Daiji queried, the only evidence of his shock
were his saucer-wide blue eyes.

"Death is psychosomatic. What's more, I knew it was a great idea for me
to steal the Onmyouji's shikigami technique and Tenro's jaki flames. I
can do almost anything with a familiar," rambled the One-Eight-Ten
Killer as the tendrils of black and purple flames swallowed the
surrounding inferno created by his lackey's explosive end.

"How is this possible? How are you doing this? Did you drug me? _Us_?
Everyone? Is this room filled with hallucinogens?"

"Ah, I guess it's my turn to flatter _you_. You're one of the most
brilliant minds I've ever encountered in the world of law enforcement,
but when faced with the idea of the supernatural, your brain couldn't
process it at all. You're limited by the constraints of what your brain
considers as 'reality'."

Daiji shook his head as if to clear it. "No more nonsense. The waitress
and I are getting out of here," he beckoned towards the paling girl that
flirted with him earlier, but stopped dead on his tracks after he
remembered her name. "...M-Mitsuko."

"You shouldn't have saved me. You should've saved yourself, handsome,"
the waitress smiled with lips as pale and white as her skin.

Daiji recognized who she was. She was one of the suspected victims of
the One-Eight-Ten Killer and the analog of Zodiac victim Cheri Jo Bates:
Mitsuko Nai. More importantly, this was the same Mitsuko who died back
in October 30, 1986; now alive seven years later. 'She is _alive_, isn't
she?'

"That sounds like a familiar name, doesn't it? Does she not look
familiar to you? Maybe this will jog your memory."

With a snap of his fiery fingers, the One-Eight-Ten Killer made good on
his promise. The waitress's head was soon quickly removed from her
pallid body with a clean cut over her neck by an unknowable force while
the oh-so-familiar copycat markings of the Kanji Killer etched
themselves across her abdomen by a seemingly invisible blade.

Daiji resisted the urge to vomit. The postmortem pictures of Mitsuko Nai
featured all the major injuries that this doppelganger of hers
exhibited, right down to the decapitation. He was sick and tired of
asking what was going on, so he didn't bother. However, nothing made
sense to him at that moment.

The One-Eight-Ten Killer's black flames traveled towards Mitsuko's body,
instantly turning her form into an ashen silhouette on the ground.
Meanwhile, the bullet wounds on his forehead, chest, temple, and other
parts of his body closed up after absorbing his "slave" back into his
person.

"My name is Xinhai Feng. Remember it," the One-Eight-Ten Killer revealed
from behind the shivering detective.

"Why are you giving me your identity now of all times? Do you intend to
finish me off now?" demanded Daiji. "I won't go down easily. Once my
comrades retrieve this wiretap recording with your name on it, the
entire Shinjuku Police will be hot on your trail."

Xinhai guffawed as he turned his back on the injured police officer.
"Let them. I don't give a damn. There's nothing they can do to me that I
fear. Xinhai Feng is but another identity of many. I expect you to find
me using only that name and what you've discovered about me so far. I'll
be wearing this mask till we meet again."

"Why won't you kill me now? What's the point of this trap?" Daiji spat
and coughed, the creaking beams and the crackling conflagration
converging upon him while the One-Eight-Ten Killer walked into the
nimbus of smog, the kanji scar on his back flaring red as plumes of his
jaki fire roared over the normal flames.

"Will you sink or swim, Detective Matsudaira? I want to know, even if I
have to force you into your pupal stage. Let your hate and anger turn
you into the butterfly I know you'll become. I'll catch you later."

"Pupal stage...? What are you blathering about? Come back here and face
me, XINHAI!" Just then, as he stumbled blindly into the tongues of
fire and the thickening blanket of gray, a rabble of luminescent Blue
Triangle Butterflies caught his attention. Without thinking, he followed
the insects' trail... half-wondering whether or not he'd gone over the
edge in delirium and despair... which had him end up at Kamurocho's main
entrance.

The next thing Daiji knew, he'd stumbled back outside the nightclub, his
raw and bleeding hand holding onto the Chikyusei card that brought him
head-to-head against his personal white whale in a nightmarish place
filled with bugs, fire, and blood.

A second before he returned into... well, reality, for lack of a better
word... he passed out in the arms of Detective Tsunemoto, the distant
siren whines of police cars and fire trucks drowning out his confused
thoughts.


===


Several whispers from four distinct voices inside Daiji's mind woke the
detective from his dreamless slumber. His head pulsated as a vision of
blue butterflies ushered him out of the Kamurocho hellhole after the
flaming naked One-Eight-Ten Killer left him for dead... just like
before... filled his mind's eye.

'That must've been the point where the fumes of the burning building got
to me. Am I alive? Did I make it out in time? Am I dead? Have I gone
mad?'

'Don't you realize who you truly are?' said his other voice... his other
self. From there, he remembered the rest of what had happened way back
that summer night when his wife and unborn child died, on the twentieth
anniversary of the Zodiac Killer's attack in Blue Rock Springs Park in
Vallejo, California.

As soon as he saw that damnable stranger stab his wife in the chest with
his sword and fling her out of the car like a rag doll, her glasses
clattering across the asphalt, Daiji flung himself at the heavyset
murderer, the mind-crumbling pain of his car-related injuries numbed by
a cocktail of adrenalin, stupidity, panic, and endorphins.

"Get away from my wife!"

The last time he remembered himself getting so physical was during basic
training at the National Police Agency. Thank the gods for the
classroom-heavy method of the NPA when compared to the more balanced
approach of Western Police Academies.

Nevertheless, there he went... or rather, flew... at the lanky height
of six feet two inches and at the weight of one hundred fifty-four
pounds soaking wet against a man he gathered was the same height as him
yet outweighed him by eighteen pounds or so.

He expected his head to fly off a second too late after leaping at his
wife's assailant, only to see his body perform a martial arts move he
couldn't identify. He managed to avoid the four feet blade aimed at his
throat by its short hairs by bending backwards and sliding onto his
knees before delivering a stinging uppercut at the behemoth's jaw by
pure instinct.

He heard the man grunt something about bloomers or something, which he
later on realized was him calling the rookie a Blue Meanie.

"It-chan!" From that awkward angle, Daiji saw Itsumi's chest create a
fountain of blood that blossomed like a flower and sprayed itself all
over her body like dancing petals in the wind. Their attacker must've
hit an artery. She needed him. He had to get her to the hospital, even
if it cost him his life.

"Get out of my way. I have to save my wife's life," hissed the policeman
while pummeling the swordsman with his fists and feet for good measure.

"Who are you supposed to be? A superhero? Her savior? You won't survive
like your counterpart," pledged the man Daiji would later know by the
names of the Kanji Killer, the One-Eight-Ten Killer, and Feng Xinhai.

After recovering from the shock of the blows and countering with a sword
swing, Xinhai discovered that his weapon's tip was broken off by the
rookie cop. "WHAT THE HELL...?"

Officer Matsudaira didn't have time to ponder what his attacker meant by
"counterpart". By reflexes and instincts he never knew he possessed, the
policeman used the shard of broken metal he took from the serial killer
to run him through in every which way and at every possible angle before
dashing straight towards his injured significant other.

...Or he would've done so had the serial killer not pierced his foot
with the broken nodachi to trip him up and force him to the ground.

The rookie clenched his chipped teeth together as his throat went ragged
over the guttural scraping sound it made from withholding his scream.
Meanwhile, although the spray of blood had already subsided, Itsumi had
begun swimming in her own blood, her mouth gasping for air like a fish
out of water.

The officer fought tooth and nail in the most literal of senses... part
of his fingernails went missing and a couple of his teeth were
chipped... as he wrestled against the gigantic bear of a man who wielded
a longsword.

Bit by bit, the beefy assailant carved Daiji up. A flat slice just below
his clavicle. A crucifix-like marking on his chest. A pair of converging
slices on his pectorals. Soon, Matsudaira's body convulsed with its own
red geyser.

"JIJI-CHAN!" shouted the raspy Itsumi while covered in liquid crimson.

"IT-CHAN!" he rasped, his body prone as he held out his free hand
towards the blur he presumed was his wife before the criminal stomped
on it and kicked his ribs so hard he flipped to his side and lay on his
back, the kanji on his chest reminding him of a more fatal version of
Zorro's mark.

"I don't know who the hell you're supposed to be, but I won't let you
get in the way of my fun, you Blue Meanie!" That was the first time
Daiji heard the weird moniker clearly enough to understand it, the
pronunciation of the English word mangled by the man's accented
Japanese. "Goodbye, Officer Matsudaira."

"OKASHIRA! Watch out!" a voice unfamiliar to Daiji shouted, and before
he knew it, several gashes from a three-clawed weapon dug deep into the
growling One-Eight-Ten Killer's already scarred body. The detective
couldn't believe his eyes; the already strange situation became even
stranger.

In a matter of minutes, he saw a rotund golem who breathed fire, a
short dwarf who spewed darts that may or may not be poisonous, a
strongman who could compete against the One-Eight-Ten Killer in a
bodybuilding contest, and a thin man who sported a hannya mask, striped
sleeves, and three claws on each hand arrive and pounce on the monster
that stabbed his wife.

"Okashira...? Who the hell are you freaks of nature?" the serial killer
demanded as he shrugged off the quartet's combined attacks and stabbed at
anyone within his range.

"Everyone! Hold that bastard off while the Okashira escapes!" Daiji's
eyesight cleared in time to see the nodachi-wielding muscleman
surrounded by the dwarf, the human flamethrower, the wrestler, and the
masked acrobat with three-pronged claws on either fist.

"Who are these circus performers? Why are they so intent on saving my
life?"

The memory Daiji had forgotten or otherwise waved off as a fever dream
the first few times he remembered it had at last resurfaced to haunt
him anew.

This was also the moment when the _present-day_ Daiji realized that his
past self's survival was nothing like what had happened to Michael
Renault Mageau at all. The One-Eight-Ten Killer told the truth; he
planned none of this.

Although his memory remained blurry for the most part, Daiji did recall
several things: The quartet's acrobatic perfection, great teamwork, and
spellbinding cadence that would've left him breathless even without the
fact that he was bleeding to death; a demonic dance from youkai that
emerged from the pits of Makai itself.

The other three followed the lead of the slender man with the horned Noh
mask, striped sleeves, and swimmer's build who used his martial arts
expertise to keep the serial killer from cleaving him and his
compatriots into ribbons, blocking every wild strike with precision and,
from time to time, stabbing his three-pronged claws at the villain's
bulging muscles.

He was a noble demon straight out of a folktale. For one reason or
another, the One-Eight-Ten Killer couldn't find the right range to
strike the thinner man down even though he had the reach advantage with
his nodachi.

'His name is Hannya,' a voice inside Daiji said.

Just behind the demon-masked (or perhaps masked demon) Hannya was the
dwarf or imp with beady eyes, a hooked nose, a widow's peak, and
anesthetic/sleeping/poison darts that the muscular assaulter did his
best to deflect or avoid after being hit by one.

'His name is Beshimi,' Daiji's inner voice supplied, to which the
detective replied, 'They're inordinately fond of Noh masks, aren't
they?' referring to the way both Hannya and Beshimi were named after Noh
masks.

'They're spies. They don't have real names or identities. Then and now,
all they knew was how to fight...' trailed off the voice.

"My rasen-byo isn't affecting him at all!" the dwarf complained to
Hannya. "And you better be careful! I might hit you instead!"

"It is affecting him. That's why he doesn't want to get hit by them
anymore! Keep on throwing those darts. Don't worry about me. I can
dodge them all day," the clawed one reassured Beshimi.

With the impact of a Mack truck or perhaps even a freight train, the
One-Eight-Ten Killer abandoned his sloppy strikes (which, in hindsight,
Daiji realized as the murderer's attempts to emulate the real Kanji
Killer's fighting style) in favor of one that produced a strong gust of
wind that sprayed the pooling blood beneath the detective all over him
and also knocked both the clawed Hannya and the dart-throwing Beshimi
back, their clothes torn and the ground filled with deep ruts for some
reason.

However, before the copycat killer could follow through his strike, he
got burned by the cloud of flames emanating from a fire-breathing, buck-
toothed monstrosity. No, wait. This plump human flamethrower wasn't a
monster; he was only a man.

Furthermore, he wasn't breathing fire either; he blew it through his
mouth like a flamethrower thanks to a combination of a hidden fuel
source inside him (the smell of oil was everywhere) and his flint-like
teeth that acted like igniters.

'His name is Hyotoko, for obvious reasons,' Daiji's other self informed
while the round "Fireman" spewed fireball after fireball with his
flaming mouth.

"I'll hold this bastard off with my Kaentoiki Technique as long as I
can! Go make sure that the Okashira is still okay!" the gargantuan blob
of a man declared while literally spewing fire at the One-Eight-Ten
Killer. Alas, with one swing of the broken nodachi, the flames split and
a cut appeared on the giant's face and belly.

'Am I seeing things? That bastard cut the overweight man apart without
his sword making contact with him at all!' Daiji thought while waiting
for the voice in his head to explain what was going on; all he got was
an unsatisfactory confirmation of, 'That man is using a kamaitachi-based
move.'

The only times the police officer heard the word "kamaitachi" was when
it was used to describe weasel-like, fairytale creatures with sharp
claws that rode the wind or special moves from little boy's comics.

The serial killer raised his sword until its broken tip touched his
back. "I don't know who the hell you people are, but fun time's over.
TOBI...!"

"You seem to be forgetting something. _Me_." A heavily scarred
bodybuilder who at the time was even more cut and well-defined than the
less beefy One-Eight-Ten Killer came up from behind the murderer,
grabbed him by his waist, lifted him up, and then fell backwards while
bridging his legs and back to form an arc.

'He did a German Suplex!' Daiji noted, before correcting himself and
thinking, 'A _Release_ German Suplex,' because the muscleman let go of
his opponent in the middle of the move.

'That's Shikijo. I'm the person responsible for his scars. They are the
Oniwabanshu,' proclaimed Daiji's inner voice as the four fighters
gathered together while their designated nemesis skidded to his feet
and stood, his back turned from Daiji, his matching "Hei" scar glowing
bright red in the dimly lit part of the off-road patch of land.

Daiji winced. He'd been so busy observing the action that he realized
too late the drizzle that turned into a midsummer rain, his stinging
wounds reminding him of the oft-remembered part of his recollections.
His memories stopped at that point; he'd already seen what'd happened
next, and he had relived those nightmares countless times before.

'Oniwabanshu...? You mean _the_ Oniwabanshu? The Oniwabanshu we've read
about in history books?' asked Daiji as time froze; the silhouettes of
the government spies and the exiting One-Eight-Ten Killer burned in his
retinas while, just past his line of sight, his bleeding wife lay
motionless in a pool of mud and blood.

'Just who the hell are you? Who are they? What are Tokugawa Yoshimune's
shogunate-employed ninja doing in this present time? Why are they
protecting me?' Daiji probed the voice in his mind. Everything then
blurred and faded to black.

Afterwards, amidst pitch blackness save for light with no source that
illuminated him and one other person, Daiji came face-to-face with a
trench-coated, longer haired, and more athletic version of himself.

'I am the Last Okashira of the Oniwabanshu after bakufu rule ceased to
be. I am the leader of the men who saved your life back in 1989. I am
Shinomori Aoshi. You are my reincarnation in the twentieth century."


===


At the Matsumoto Hospital in Shinjuku; on Saturday, March 20, 1993...

Natsuki Shinkai sat up as soon as she felt the presence of someone
walk at the foot of her bed. She relaxed her guard after recognizing
who had come to visit her. "Oh, it's you, Minamino-kun."

Kurama... also known as Shuichi Minamino... raised an eyebrow at the
half-Chinese girl. "Didn't I tell you my name is Kurama? You should call
me that."

Natsuki shrugged. "As if I would buy into your farfetched fantasy of
being some sort of half-kitsune hybrid. You can call yourself whatever
you want, but your 'human' birth certificate still lists your name as
Minamino Shuichi."

Kurama smirked as he offered a plate of carved apples to the bedridden
Natsuki. "You still haven't come to terms with having an 'other self'
reside in you?"

"He's obviously a hallucination I had after losing so much blood a few
days ago. Has it already been a week?" she asked as she accepted
Kurama's offering and took tentative bites out of the fruit.

"No. Three days. But I can understand why you'd think it's been a week.
You almost bled to death and you were even electrocuted to boot. You
were lucky to survive," Kurama corrected Natsuki as he took a knife and
began peeling a second apple.

Right after the Quintuplet Murder Case that Natsuki and her friend,
Likka, helped Detective Matsudaira solve, she went forth to investigate
yet another alleged Kanji Killer murder... that of Akio Oogata, who was
a witness to the case who was under the protection of Shinjuku's Officer
Takumi Hamada at the time of his murder.

Her suspicions were confirmed later on as Officer Hamada offered her a
ride back home to her apartment in the Shinjuku Skyscraper District. He
revealed himself to be an imposter with twin swords stashed inside
Officer Hamada's motorcycle. More importantly, she discovered him to be
the infamous Kanji Killer himself, or at least the scrawny version of
the serial killer who proved to be even more elusive than the One-Eight-
Ten Killer.

To make a long story short, Natsuki almost died battling the serial
killer, but with the help of the mysterious Shuichi Minamino, his bubbly
blue-haired girlfriend named Botan, and a redheaded swordswoman named
after the great Daimyo of the Echigo Province, Kenshin Uesugi, they
forced the monster to retreat. She would've defeated the Kanji Killer
too had his hidden comrade not blindsided her with a taser or some
other electroshock weapon at the last minute.

She harrumphed. Although she'd been hunting down the Kanji Killer for
most of her preteen to teenage life, the Kanji Killer she ended up
confronting wasn't the one she was looking for in the first place. 'But
I was close. He knew him. He confirmed that he was around Shinjuku, at
least. I'll find him soon enough.'

"Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to tell you my human name... but I
guess I had no choice, since I had to register _something_ at the
reception desk while getting you to this hospital," Kurama mused,
remembering how worried his mother was when she found out that he had to
send a sixteen-year-old girl to the hospital, fearing the worst. 'I
can't believe mother thought she was going to be a grandmother.'

"I told you, you didn't have to! I would've footed the bill myself,"
Natsuki protested as she took bigger bites of the apple slices, but
winced as her injured and bandaged stomach grumbled. 'Ah, that goddamned
stab wound still hurts.'

"You're going to pay with what? You're a Chinese immigrant who's staying
at an apartment, and as far as I can tell, you're going to school and
have no job to support yourself," Kurama pointed out while throwing the
peeled skin to the nearest trashcan.

"_Half_-Chinese." The petulant Natsuki pouted. "I have a savings account
from an international bank. I'll pay you back. I can take care of
myself. Really."

"The fact that you _have_ an international savings account in your name
that helps you pay rent for an apartment at one of the most expensive
districts in Shinjuku raises even more questions than it answers,"
Kurama observed, to which Natsuki answered with a shrug of her shoulders
and a blithe, "It's really none of your business."

The injured Natsuki pushed away her plate of half-eaten sliced apples on
the table beside her, for some reason remembering a vague memory of
Kurama's companion, Botan, holding up a fruit and looking conflicted
about eating it or not.

"Besides which, it's you and your people who have a lot of explaining to
do. I'll repeat the questions you weren't able to answer yesterday. Who
are you? Why were you looking for the Kanji Killer? What's your
connection with him?"

Kurama cleared his throat and looked towards the window, its rays of
light reminding him of the glow of intoxicating power that Kenshin's
Youtou Shinnoken gave him. "Let's make a deal. I'll answer your
questions if you'll answer mine."

Natsuki crossed her arms over her petite chest. "Are you going to give
me the same crazy talk the Kanji Killer spouted out in regards to a
Spirit World, a Demon World, a Human World, and a super-being bent on
conquering all three worlds? Because let me tell you right now, I have
no time for that bullshit."

"Yes, but I have a feeling that despite your disbelief, you'll still
take my deal. I suppose it'll take some time for a detective wannabe
like yourself to come into terms with the existences of demons and
ghosts," said Kurama as he pulled a chair and moved it backrest-first
in front of Natsuki so that he could have something to lean on while
they talked.

"The reason why you and your sempai had a hard time hunting down the
Kanji Killer is because you're unable to accept that there are forces at
work beyond what you call reality. The sooner that you and your sempai
accept the supernatural, the faster you'll find what you're both looking
for."

"Wait, were you _stalking_ us all this time? How did...?" Natsuki's eyes
widened as though they wanted to jump out of her sockets. "You
wiretapped the entire Shinjuku Police Station, didn't you? You've been
spying on us all this time!" she deduced.

"Does that count as your first question?" Kurama queried.

"No, no! My first question is... What's your connection with the Kanji
Killer?" she asked.

Kurama nodded with a chuckle. That was a good question, because in order
for him to answer that, he'd also have to answer who he, Kenshin, and
Botan were and hint on why they were looking for the Kanji Killer in one
fell swoop. So he filled her in.

"Bullshit," she predictably retorted after hearing some of the "tall
tales" Kurama told her. "A grim reaper, a centuries-old demon, and a
ghostly guardian of a cursed sword who existed back in the nineteenth
century? Are you writing some sort of screenplay or drawing a kid's
comic book? At least with the Kanji Killer, he had his _insanity_ as an
excuse for believing such drivel!"

"Was it 'drivel' that led you to see hallucinations that we three also
saw? Or are you claiming that Kenshin was a magician who could disappear
and reappear at will? Do you want to see the 'magic trick' of me turning
a rose into a whip again?" Kurama inquired.

"Did those count as your questions?" Natsuki shot back in a tongue-in-
cheek tone. "Okay. Let's suppose I believe you and the Kanji Killer
really is using powers that cannot be explained by science... then how
do I or sempai stand a chance against him? Or... the One-Eight-Ten
Killer?" she asked, presuming that Kurama overheard enough about the
case to know who the One-Eight-Ten Killer was.

"I thought it was my turn to ask questions," Kurama joked before saying
with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, "I don't know. Normally,
if you were a civilian who's in over your head, I would've wiped your
memories out with a special brainwashing plant. However, I have a
feeling you too have a deep connection with one of the Chojin's heralds.
You're not an ordinary human either."

Natsuki suddenly found the tiled hospital floor fascinating for a
second. "After I ate that fruit Botan handed me, I began to remember
memories that aren't mine. Every time I sleep, I remember him. He claims
to have met the One-Eight-Ten Killer once before too." She rubbed her
right forearm. "He did something to his forearm as well."

"Both Kenshin and Botan... well, Botan's other self... long story...
recognized who that person within you is. He's an old friend of theirs
back in the nineteenth century." At that moment, Kurama asked his first
question. "Who taught you how to fight with that cane? I know it wasn't
your past self, because he used kendo instead."

"My father did. He taught me everything I know about fencing," Natsuki
confessed after a minute of hesitation. Afterwards, before she could
continue, the door to her room swung open and out stood an out-of-breath
Likka Ikumi.

"WAH! I finally found you, Tsuki-chan! I was so worried when you weren't
able to attend classes for two days! You should've left a message to the
guard at your apartment too, he was also worried sick!" Likka prattled
as she grabbed hold of the bandaged young woman with the pageboy
haircut, her long ponytail nearly hitting Kurama had he not deftly
ducked at the last second.

"I only woke up yesterday! Stop crushing my lungs! It hurts! I was
stabbed, you know! I don't want to die yet, Likka-tan!" protested
Natsuki as she did her best to escape her amorous best friend's death
grip.

"I'm sorry! I thought you were deported or something! I can't help but
worry!" the tie-dye-shirt-wearing Likka sniffled, her outfit serving as
life support to a fashion trend that should've died as soon as the
eighties ended. "By the way, who's the hot redhead? OW! What was that
for?"

The sheepish Kurama bowed at the new arrival. "I'm... Minamino Shuichi."
He sighed. "I was the one who brought Miss Shinkai to this hospital
after she... was attacked by a maniac three days ago."

Natsuki interjected, "What are you doing here anyway? How did you find
me?" She was then taken aback as, for the second time, her friend's eyes
welled up.

Likka sniffled, "Oh my gosh, it's terrible, Tsuki-chan! Uncle Jiji is in
the ICU right now! He's the sole survivor of a suicide bombing at
Kabukicho during a sting operation last Thursday! He's two floors below
your room!"


===


On the same date as Daiji Matsudaira's momentous confrontation with his
wife's killer, right past knocked-out security guards that the detective
spared earlier because he took another route to enter the establishment,
two figures raced across the steps of the Shinjuku Hisashi Building
stairs.

"Any idea why so many people are milling out of the building?"

"It might have something to do with the people we're about to confront."

"Dammit, I can't believe he'd leave the hospital just like that! What was
sempai thinking? How'd he figure out where to go anyway or who the One-
Eight-Ten Killer is?"

"He probably did it in his sleep, like a master detective would."

"The bombing at Kabukicho was done by a suicide bomber, right? What did
he use? A C-4 explosive? Or was it a truck bomb, like in the World Trade
Center bombing last January?"

"I have a feeling he used none of those. What's more, I'm fairly sure
he's still alive."

"What? Alive? What part of 'suicide bombing' don't you understand?"

"The part where exploding is enough to lead to suicide, apparently."


===


Back to the relative present; on March 24, 1993; at the forty-fourth
floor of the Shinjuku Hisashi Building...

Detective Matsudaira took a knee as he favored the cut through his side.
The vacuum wave that caused his wound hit the windows behind him,
showering him with hundreds of glassy chunks. Luckily, because the
state-of-the-art structure was fitted with tempered safety glass, he
only had to deal with granules of glass instead of an explosion of
sharpened shards.

Feng Xinhai took a minute to admire his handiwork. "I'm no Nikaido
Heiho expert, but when it comes to my original technique... the Shinko
Ryu... I can pretty much do whatever I want. I dare you to attack me
again with that water-like movement of yours or even your precious
martial arts. My killing sword can even cut through liquids, if need
be!"

Gingerly, Daiji got up to his feet. "Unlike with Kurogasa's Nikaido
Heiho, your Shinko Ryu only has three moves. Close range, ground-based,
and aerial. I can counter them all."

"You're in no position to be arrogant, Detective," the One-Eight-Ten
Killer grumbled as he leaped towards the thinner man before screaming,
"Join your wife in the afterlife! IZUNA!"

Daiji blocked the slash by picking up a tile and letting it crumble from
the air pressure. He then followed through by unsheathing his other
kodachi and blocking Xinhai's second attempt at a slash. Although the
detective's counterstrike slash was narrowly avoided by Feng's recoil-
assisted dodge, the Triad Dragon Head's mountainous body couldn't avoid
the follow-up elbow to his gut.

"Jissen Kenbu!"

Even while winded, Xinhai deployed a punch to the lankier man's temple
because there was too little leverage for his longsword to swing a full
arc. However, Daiji's blank expression hardly even flinched or
registered the blow while he pounded and sliced the criminal in close
quarters. 'Shit, the bastard is controlling my attacking range!'

"I've heard of you," Daiji intoned as Aoshi's decades-old memories
flooded his psyche. "While I was training for my rematch with Battousai,
you were defeated by him. You're the man who claimed to train under the
rules of the killing sword, yet you were exposed by Himura as nothing
more than a pretender with an unwarranted sense of self-importance."

A headbutt allowed the Triad leader enough legroom and breathing space
to deliver several, "MATOI IZUNA!" at the policeman, which the latter
countered via his signature move, the Ryusui no Ugoki or Water Flow
Movement. But Xinhai didn't intend to hit him with the Matoi Izuna
anyway; he only wanted to increase the space between them so that he
could unleash the "TOBI IZUNA!"

"And you're the so-called Last Okashira of the Oniwabanshu that was
defeated not once, but twice by the vagabond version of Battousai! As
far as I'm concerned, you're worse off than me in terms of our records
against the Strongest Hitokiri!" Xinhai boasted, his muscles flexing
as his collared shirt's buttons popped out from the swelling mass of
his ripped and buff body.

"Moreover, I did my research on you. I knew you were Shinomori the
moment those lackeys of yours rescued you from getting killed by my
hand. There's nothing in your arsenal that I fear. I can overwhelm them
all with my might!"

Instead of leapfrogging above the aerial vacuum slash... which would've
left him open for another midair strike or leg-slicing Matoi Izuna as
soon as he landed... Daiji opted to utilize his Ryusui no Ugoki to
sidestep the slash and step outside Xinhai's field of vision.

"You can't run forever. Go ahead and do the Spiral Sword Dance! I've
already defeated it earlier on, and I can do it again!"

"Kaiten Kenbu Rokuren."

"TOBI IZUNA!"

Both the combatants actually lied when they delivered their respective
battle cries. The only reason the aerial "kamaitachi" wave worked
earlier was because Xinhai forced the detective to do the technique in
midair thanks to countless Matoi Izuna.

Because Daiji elected to attack the killer from behind like a _real_
shinobi would, Xinhai countered with an iron-cleaving Izuna that
would've ripped the recently awakened Aoshi to shreds before he even
completed the three turns required for the move.

Nevertheless, Daiji didn't do a Kaiten Kenbu either. Instead, he blocked
the air-cutting blade in mid-arc with his faster kodachi before it could
gain enough momentum, strength, and leverage to slice steel.

Afterwards, in one fluid motion, the Okashira-possessed detective struck
his first kodachi with his second kodachi in order to let the first one
go through the tank-like One-Eight-Ten Killer. The Onmyou Kousa's
counterstriking abilities ensured a clean hit few opponents could see
coming.

"Like I said, you only know three moves," Daiji snorted as he kicked a
screaming Feng on the chest while pulling the shortsword that landed
mere inches away from the man's jugular. "I thought you were able to
research _everything_ about Shinomori Aoshi, yet you weren't even able
to figure out when I pretended to do a Kaiten Kenbu. You've failed."

Through ragged breaths, the One-Eight-Ten Killer noticed how apathetic
Daiji remained even though this was the first time he landed a
significant blow. "I see. You've fully awakened into the Okashira.
Magnificent. It would've never occurred to the naive detective to lie,
much less attack from behind."

Daiji flinched as, to his chagrin, the Triad serial killer got right up,
shrugging off the stab wound near his heart. "Welcome back to the
world of the living, Shinomori Aoshi! I'm glad you've finally emerged
from your pupal stage and molted out of that shell of a man, Matsudaira
Daiji! I never thought you'd actually become one of my slaves! The more
you awaken to your true power, the stronger I'll become! Soon, not even
the Dai Shin Kan's Tenro can stand against me in becoming the Chojin's
top general and undisputed leader of the Shin Ju!"

Another memory flashed inside Daiji's... or rather, Aoshi's... mind
after hearing the words "Shin Ju" emerge from the over-muscled
criminal's spittle-filled mouth.

"This is no coincidence. All of the important people who were in contact
with Battousai during the Meiji Period are now awakening in this new
century. I want to know why. I want to know where Battousai is right now
and what had happened to him. He's the reason why we've all ended up
during this time period."

"Ha! So which personality of yours was able to deduce _that_? The
Detective or the Okashira?" Xinhai raised his sword over his head in
anticipation of the reincarnated Oniwabanshu's eventual attack.

"I'm impressed. I truly am. You're the kind of warrior I emulated back
when I was Isurugi Raijuta. Unfortunately, then and now, you've been
rendered obsolete. You were a man abandoned and betrayed by your
master, Tokugawa Yoshinobu. You didn't belong back in the Meiji Era, and
you most certainly don't belong in today's Heisei Era either."

"What makes you think an evil monster like yourself belongs in this era
or any other era?" Daiji spat with a sneer that would've never had any
place on the detached Oniwabanshu Okashira's face. "I will not be
defeated by someone who relies on bullying innocent civilians who cannot
defend themselves. I for one can actually fire back."


===


To Be Continued...

Next: Slaves in paradise.

On an unrelated note, Let me just say that Disney's 1951 Alice in
Wonderland is an underrated classic despite ol' perfectionist
Walt's claims to the contrary. "Has no heart" indeed! Also, the
line, "You're nothing but a second-rate, trying-hard copycat," was
directly lifted from Philippine cinema's 1985 hit "Bituing Walang
Ningning" (A Star Without Shine).

Disclaimer: Yuyu Hakusho is the rightful property of Yoshihiro
Togashi, Shueisha, Fuji TV, and St. Pierrot. Rurouni Kenshin is
the rightful property of Nobuhiro Watsuki, Shueisha, Shonen Jump,
Viz, Sony Studios, Fuji TV, Studio Gallop, Studio Deen, and ADV.
This disclaimer also covers all the other copyrighted material
that are far too many to mention here. Don't sue me please, I'm
very poor.

Hindi ko papayag na maghari ang kasamaan sa daigdig!
Abdiel