Part VIII.
VIII
When Kirihara awoke, the water had run cold. His fingers trembled as he pulled himself out of the bath, drawn and wrinkled with water, foreign, as if it were not his own body. It was hours later, and nobody had come to get him. It was as if he were dead to the world.
He hadn't thought about Marui in years.
Having not thought far enough to bring a towel, Kirihara simply stepped back into his jumper and pulled the rest over; it could dry outside. He was about ready to leave when his hand crunched against his pants, and he remembered the piece of paper he had found on the ground when he had left the housing chambers. Kirihara glanced down at the paper-- whether it was for him or his roommates or even just litter somebody had disposed of instead of following the proper incinerary procedures, he might as well get it over with first, as thinking coming a lot easier with doing-- and unfolded it.
"...Damn."
He only had to read it over once to memorize what it said. It was a familiar scrap of paper, the same one shared by him and his teammates not so long ago. Only two things were new this time: the creases where it was neatly folded into quarters, stained with blood (Kite's, or Fuji's? His own? …) that pooled and soaked through, rust branching up from where he held it in his hands. And there at the bottom, in neat penmanship: Try Again.
Individual mission statements were issued only by Yukimura. He had no idea how or when the captain got his hands on it, or whether he had let go of it, or if he were the one in possession at the end of that, at all. But Kirihara was not surprised if it were the original. Yukimura would not let him forget so easily; that was how he operated. A low moan escaped before he could stop himself, but there was no one around to hear. Try Again. In a desperate grasp for consolation, at least it was a solo mission this time around... There would be no one else to let die but himself.
The paper crumpled easily in his fist, skin staining red with old blood made damp with perspiration. He left the room quickly, stuck his head outside before walking down the empty hallway towards the suiting station. It was a homing instinct that kept his feet moving down the familiar paths, activated by each new assignment received no matter where he was around base. He quickened his pace, walking with purpose and resolve that masked the frantic pace of his mind his feet were not allowed to betray. Because fuck, what was he supposed to do?
For a moment, he allowed himself the wild spark of hope that the assignment meant Yukimura still needed him. But there was no 'try again' when it came to past missions; the target would have moved or defenses bolstered; life wasn't a video game where the last checkpoint could be loaded and the boss battle repeated. There weren't a dozen save states in case of failure; there was just one save, your life, the file was corrupted in that there was no pause, and failure meant a system crash in death. That he got out of the last mission alive was nothing but a fluke; he could have gone down the same way Fuji and Kite fell-- he had felt nothing for them, he thought miserably, thinking of again of Marui and his manic grins and glassy eyes-- if it weren't for the (mercy?) (pity?) whatever it was Yanagi had thought a good idea to impose upon himself by sending him back. He wasn't meant to face this one. Yukimura only sent it to test his foolhardiness, to see whether he was stupid enough to actually walk to his death so willingly, or maybe whether he held enough loyalty still to do just that.
"And if he told you to jump off a bridge, you would do that too?"
"..." How had he answered then? "...Yukimura knows best."
And then there was: 'Find out what is going on.' The last words of a dying man. Yukimura would know what he had done and this time it wouldn't be just confinement. He almost wished the former Hyoutei were here to help him, but he already did all he could for him. There was only one man left he could think of. Someone who knew practically everything, all that went on in the world. Yukimura may believe it were himself, but the fact still stood: one thing he didn't foresee was this man's departure. Yanagi Renji. The one who stood by Yukimura's side all these years, sharing his secrets, getting into his head... or perhaps it was the other way around, in the end. The first one to take him in, the one that kicked him out, send him back. But it was the only lead that Kirihara had. He had to find out what was going on, because he wasn't safe here, not anymore. Yukimura knew, and once he knew, there was no escape from the hunt. Nothing left but the game.
He had to get to Yanagi. That was the only way he could know for sure, and if that meant infiltrating Hyoutei, he would do it. Kirihara looked back down at the paper, smoothing it out over his thigh. Infiltrating was always hard. He rarely moved without a team, and even if he were just backtracking his steps from before, it was less two people's help that he had this time, less three from his usual squad number he was assigned to, and in his agitation he was bound to make more mistakes than he could afford. But he had done it once and he would do it again. He had to.
Kirihara ducked into the changing room and lost weight in metal. Sterilized and steam-dried like laundry prematurely pulled out of the wash, he pulled on his combat suit, left foot and then the right, uncomfortably light compared to his years in infantry. His hands found the issued rifle where it was kept for quick deployment, fully loaded and properly maintained at all times so a soldier could just grab and go. The rifle he took, but he forewent the helmet and its face shield of night green, needing to travel as quickly as possible and if that meant sacrificing defense for speed, then he would just have to move fast enough not to be detected.
This he wasn't as confident at as he should have been, as he headed towards the shaft that would bring him Underground. Rikkai and Hyoutei were far too close for comfort, boundaries shifting from day to day as either side lost and gained ground by a single step. Soldiers from both sides crowded at the edge, making it easy for Kirihara to blend in, but difficult if he were to cross the border. But there was always a way into the stronghold, the Underground being a literal anthill of a maze, as he had always thought about it. The tunnels dug around seemingly without direction, modeled after the natural organic structure of the earth, and it was very easy to get lost down there if one made a single wrong turn. Traps were abundant, some man-made but others natural, clumped here and there where everyone stayed clear of even through there might be an easy path right through the center, and scattered all around and constantly changing as the earth gave way and piled atop of another.
There were those like Fuji and Kite of the Special Forces who knew the Tunnels like the back of their hands, as their work involved moving in and out, infiltrating and striking where it was least expected. They could navigate in the dark, and if an enemy soldier ever got on their tail, it was only a matter of moments before they were able to shake off the pest, leading them in circles until it was their opponent who was lost in the dark. Or worse, there were rooms of low-laying gas one does not notice until they are too far down the path, the oxygen content in their blood plummeting dramatically with each breath they gasped. Parts of the tunnels he knew were detonated, some by touch, some by time, some by remote, so a safe path one day would be blocked the next, or come tumbling down on your head as you try to make your way through it. Ground water flowed through the tunnels as well, so it wasn't uncommon to find a previous tunnel flooded through-- no one swam through these, not because of the weight of their armor or their ability to swim, but because the rust corroded through the metal and ate through to their skin in the matter of minutes, and, remembering the green slime that infused the walls of the Hyoutei complex, Kirihara always suspected that this 'water' was a precursor. The only person who might know the entire layout of the Underground was its architect, but the earth was alive and shifted from day to day; down here, sometimes your enemy was uneven footing and a cavern down to the center of the earth, more than it was bullets fired upon you by stationed guards too afraid to move from their posts lest they drop off the face of the planet as well.
Kirihara's skill was no in memorizing paths. That was why he counted his steps, why he needed to fight in a group instead of going off by himself. But his powers at concentration were unparalleled, and once he committed something to memory, he rarely let himself forget. The main layout was known to all new recruits, one of the first things they were made to commit to memory, as the trunk was well worn and established, branches being where peril and salvation lay. It wasn't so long after the initial infiltration mission that the tunnels would have shifted too much that he couldn't retrace the same path, but he was also unafraid of taking another; there was always more than one way to anywhere. He had always had particularly good luck in these things, and if there were any time he needed luck, it was now, hopping between branches as the best cover he could think of to shake off any tailing Hyoutei's from his back, especially now that he did not have Fuji or Kite to cover for him.
It wasn't long before Kirihara realized he was ill equipped for the Underground. It was dark and damp, he couldn't see very far in front of him and his sides were almost always blocked off by the narrow sides of dirt. He was constantly looking behind him, afraid of somebody sneaking up on him when he wasn't looking, but then he thought maybe somebody would be in front while he was busy looking back, and at the end had taken to pressing his back against the wall as he crab walked, slow going but it was better to keep everything in his peripheral vision. The rifle he kept grasped in his hands in case he needed to use it, but like he had suspected, the tunnel he had chosen to follow was devoid of any presence, both now and however long since it had been established, the soft dirt uneven with dripping water and mice but not of footprints. Twice the ground crumbled from beneath his feet, but with the lack of anything to grab onto, he simply tucked his chin and waited for the drop to end. He had probably gone too far down and not far enough forwards, with the chances of structural collapse mounting each time he was forced to go under. But he was getting close. He knew because he could hear sounds-- not voices but breathing and fidgeting he was familiar with-- and that meant he was getting closer to the Hyoutei borders and once he was under Hyoutei he could rest assured that the stretch of dirt and rock over his head would not come crashing down upon him: unlike Rikkai, Hyoutei was built almost entirely above the ground, and their foundation was solid.
He was primarily a combat soldier. His place was above ground where he could shoot knowing somebody else had his back. He specialized in long range but was proficient in hand-to-hand. What he was not suited for was mud. While not exactly a clean-freak in his own right, there couldn't be anybody in the world that was comfortable wading through ankle deep goo, the strong rich earthy smell that clung do your clothes and clogged your nose that after a while you'd swear you could even taste it. His footsteps sunk and were reclaimed into the ground, but far from masking his path, it only served to bring out the little curses and cries of frustration that escaped his mouth as he clasped both hands under the crook of his knee and yanked his leg out of what he suspected might have been quicksand (this deep underground?) at every step.
"--!"
Kirihara froze, one foot on rock the other trailing in the shallows of wet sand behind him. He heard it again: "I think I heard something! --No, Okazaki was stationed over-- Just come with me and check it out-- we can't be too careful, or Yanagi would have our heads." At that name, Kirihara wrenched his foot out from the ground's grasp and fled, feet pounding against the ground without it mattering anymore how much noise he made: there was no chance he was going to be able to sneak his way through where he was at the disadvantage of familiarity.
He had barely gone several meters when the first shot rang out and a slice of fire ran through his cheek-- he poked his tongue over and felt that his teeth were still intact, the flesh wound a miracle when a headshot missed for how he staggered through the tunnels. Kirihara lifted his gun from its holder and sent a blast backwards from underneath his armpit, but did not turn to properly engage his opponents, trusting the blast of fire to hold them off the split second he needed to make the turn. Even behind him, his shot was accurate, a yell of pain but not of agony telling him he had hit maybe a leg or an arm, but nowhere life-threatening-- he knew the sounds men make as they die-- and was relived in his panic that he had not hit the ceiling or wall and caused a cave-in that would close off his pursuers but also trap him in as well. Without a second to waste, he vaulted himself over the boulders of foundation in the way, the thin gloves on his hands tearing at the palms and leaving a smear of red that betrayed the way he fled, but before he could worry about that, up ahead was another obstacle: a fork in the path-- he was so close to Hyoutei now, but Kirihara had no idea which one was the right path to take. But neither did they. 'Right!' he thought to himself as he threw himself that direction, 'For all the choices I am going to make from now on.'
It was the wrong choice.
For the first time since he got up from the bath, Kirihara stopped short. Before him was a huge lake, murky green with what he hoped was water and not what he knew it to be. Behind him, footsteps of two-- more than two-- were catching up. Without a second thought, he tossed the rifle into the water-- it would do him no good, and less for every extra weapon that was in his enemy's' hands-- where it bubbled and caged in brown as it sank. He took a deep breath, pressed his hands together as if in prayer, and dove.
Water clapped over his ears as he pulled himself deeper and deeper and further, afraid to open his eyes for the corrosion of sight, sharp thin currents that must be bullets trailing beside him. He knew they wouldn't be able to hit him if he stayed low as long as he could hold his breath or stand the burn against his skin. Whatever liquid it was he was swimming in, he knew it was too murky outside to make his form out at this depth, and by the way his arms dragged heavily, it was dense enough that...
"The Snell-Descartes law states that the angle of incidence and the angle of incidence-- of refraction. States that the angle of... Snell's Law states... Phase velocities between the two media... ratio of... Uggh." Kirihara buried his face into the textbook. If people like Snell were making laws, it was no wonder they were broken all the time, for being so incredibly mindboggling. His eyes lifted up at the same line he had been trying to read over and over again for the past half hour, but he didn't know half the words and wasn't even sure anymore what this law was trying to prove. He backtracked a paragraph, and couldn’t remember what that was about either. He looked up at the chapter title for some context. Nope. Letting out the millionth sigh of frustration, he threw his hands above his head and gave up on the book, slouching down on the chair as far as he could go so that his head was nearly resting on the seat, legs outstretched underneath the table. He had spent the last two hours reading the words, but not reading the words. Which was stupid, because it was the exact same thing so why couldn't he just absorb all the information by simply looking at the characters, that's what Yanagi did.
Speaking of Yanagi, there he was. Kirihara could see him approach from the corner of his eye, but before he could open his mouth in greeting, Yanagi picked up the abandoned book, held it over his face, and made to drop it. "ASDFLKHJ!!" Kirihara spluttered, starting so badly that his head slipped sideways off the seat and slammed on the table leg. "Owwwwwww," he groaned, sitting up halfway before his forehead collided with the underside of the table, sending him back down. He lay there on his back, clutching his head against the cold tile.
"Are you awake now, Akaya?" Yanagi crouched down underneath the table, the book resting on top of his knees. Of course he wouldn't have dropped it.
"Now I am," Kirihara complained sitting up slowly so he wouldn’t crack his skull open on the table a third time. But he couldn’t help but grin at Yanagi. It wasn't every day that the other man came and specifically sought him out, and it was always fun when he did. "Did'ya need something?"
"How would you like to go to shooting practice with me?"
"Yeah!!" Kirihara's face lit like fireworks as he made to stand, forgetting in his excitement that he was sitting under a table. Yanagi ducked out before the piece of furniture could collapse on the two of them. "Fuck-- I mean ouch." Kirihara crawled out after him, recovering quickly. "Can we really though? It's not the practice or recreation period yet."
Yanagi nodded, holding up the offending book. "The Snell-Descartes law is an important concept," he said simply, as he started off towards the pitch. Kirihara hastily shoved the rest of his things-- pens and papers and all-- into his book bag and scrambled to catch up to him. He doubted what Yanagi meant was that they were going to take shots at the book, but even though it was his first few weeks at the Rikkai, he had learned Yanagi was one person he could trust to do what was best for him.
They passed by the weaponry shed and Kirihara went in to pick it his air rifle. He wasn't allowed to handle actual firearms yet until he had more training, but the non-lethal rounds of copper coated steel pellets still hurt; he had fractured his toe on the second meeting and had it cast even until now. Meeting Yanagi outside, held in his "What are we going to do?" and "Where are we going?"s as the two walked past the target ranges and further inside the facilities, where Kirihara didn't spend a lot of time because it was where older trainees hung out. It was a pool that they stopped in front of, small enough that it only fit two people. Kirihara looked over at Yanagi, wondering if they were going to sit in the water of if Yanagi was going to ask one of those cryptic questions like "Do book float?" in which he would be tempted to say yes because he had also dropped one of those on his toes and know how much they weighed, but at the same time a book was made of paper which came from trees, and wood comes from trees and they floated so why shouldn't a book? He was almost always wrong though, so he kept quiet this time and let Yanagi do what he wanted to do.
What Yanagi did was take a coin from his pocket and flip it into the pool, where it sank into the water face down. "Have you ever shot at something through the water?"
There it was, the cryptic question. But it was one that Kirihara could answer with certainty for once: "No." He could barely shoot through the air without toppling over with the recoil, though his aim was getting better and better by the day. "Doesn't look to hard, but we wouldn't train like that anyways, right?" he asked, cocking his head in thought. "Some of the training modules include water to simulate field conditions, but I'd just wait for the targets to come up and then take a snipe at them."
"Why don't you try?" Yanagi suggested, stepping aside for Kirihara to have a clear view of the pool. "Step back five meters; you should still be able to see the coin from over the edge. See if you can hit it within ten shots."
Kirihara grinned, backpedaling until he could just see the coin, like Yanagi had said. "What'll you give me if I can?" he asked, shouldering the rifle and peering through the crosshair.
"You won't."
He couldn't help but laugh-- this was the sort of confidence Kirihara strove to break; one day, he was going to surpass Yanagi's data. But he told himself to calm down, and let the veil of concentration relax his muscles and even his breathing, the crosshair steady as he centered it on the coin, braced his legs against the recoil, and fired with the deadly accuracy he had been practicing all week. The metal ball hit the water and slid past the coin; not even the currents moved it. "Uh--" he frowned, looking over at Yanagi in confusion.
"Nine more shots," Yanagi replied, seemingly unconcerned as he stood to the side, the book flipped open in his hands. That might have been the only reason he brought it along, to pass the time, but as Kirihara turned back to the pool trying to figure out how his shot went wrong, Yanagi continued to monitor him through narrowed eyes. The nine shots passed just as he predicted: none of them hit its mark. The effort Kirihara put into it was as expect as well: he took his time adjusting the angle and position between each shot, trying to compensate for how off he was during the previous ones, but it was also clear the frustration was getting to him every time he inched nearer but never quite made it. It was a small target, but not impossible to hit. He walked over and motioned for Kirihara to give him the rifle before he put a knee through it. The boy handed it over, understandably irritated, but there was that spark of curiosity and healthy disbelief that he Yanagi liked as he walked over to where the other's shoes had scuffed the tile, aimed, adjusted and shot.
The coin jumped out of the water with a crack, tracing an arch in the air before landing outside the side of the pool with a wet clink.
Kirihara gaped. "No way!" he shouted, incredulous. He ran over to pick up the coin, turning it over in between his fingers as if it couldn't possibly be real. He threw it back into the water, where it sliced through the surface and slid across the bottom. "Oh," he mumbled, leaning over and adjust the coin so it lay at the center again how Yanagi had it before. Drawing his arm back out wet, he bounded over to Yanagi's side and stood close. "Do it again," he prompted, studying Yanagi's face and hands to see what he was doing so differently. Yanagi complied, shot and hit the target a second time, and then four more by Kirihara's request until he was satisfied.
"Snell's law??" Kirihara asked, mimicking a crude protractor with his two fingers at the coin in the water and the barrel of his rifle. He swore on his life that nowhere in that book were they talking about shooting guns-- he might have actually been interested then!
"Snell's law," Yanagi confirmed with a nod, flipping open the book again. Kirihara could recognize that dreaded paragraph anywhere, even if he still had no idea what it said. Yanagi explained that sight existed by light, which was a wave and therefore under the rule of Snell's law. Air and water were of two different materials, so light travelled at different speeds and therefore angles through them. In that manner, it would be impossible to hit a target under the water by aiming directly at it like Kirihara had been doing, his body constantly overcompensating as it struggled against his mind, which knew only what it saw and what it saw was apparent off-target. The way Yanagi was able to hit it was by knowing the intrinsic properties of each material and accurately estimating the distances. After that, it was pure and simple math. But it didn't matter whether or not Kirihara could regurgitate definitions and numbers; Yanagi made sure he understood the implications. The target and the marksman were interchangeable. If he ever found himself in a situation where he was being shot at while underwater, he would be fine so long the water was dense enough that...
The bullets couldn’t touch him. The men on the other side were ill-equipped to handle an underwater target, assuming to shoot the moment he emerged from the surface. Kirihara's hand brushed metal, and his finger found the trigger. He flipped easily on his back, waited for the bubbles from the movement to clear away, and then opened his eyes for the briefest of seconds-- the image imprinted on his mind immediately, a murky acid green, but dark shapes hovering the edge: two, three and four. He shot four times, turned, and swam on as dark red filtered through from above.
His lungs burned with desperation as the tip of his toes finally found ground, and he pushed up the slope through the water to resurface, chest heaving in stale air and sour fumes. The rifle snapped from under his weight as he tried to lean on it, and he slipped back into the water, clumps of sodden rust creating a halo all around him. Behind, blossoms of red stained the far edge, three men slumped over on the ground and the last floating face first in the water where his wounds poured.
It was quiet all around. Kirihara didn't stop to count his blessings that the commotion hadn't attracted further attention. He pressed the extra water off his clothes and hair as he stumbled forwards, keeping to the ways and eyes that stung-- bloodshot-- darting this way and that, always aware. He was close. He knew by the stone and the metal sheeted across the ground that made his footsteps apparent and breathing jumping back into his ears where there was no soil to absorb sound. Why was there no people? The cavern opened up in the distance, and he stepped through to find himself facing the Hyoutei confines, bleach white and blue.
There was the hole in the wall. It had been left untouched, the stone charred black where it wasn't covered with a transparent film of the fluid that had since stopped seeping out of the walls and had taken to crusting around the foundation maw.
Retrieve or Kill. Time, place, location. Target undisclosed.
He stepped inside, the familiar corridor stretching out before him. Here, at least, they had cleaned. There was no indication two men had died at this location, save for the sharp chemical bite in the air that brought to mind the prison cell and Hiyoshi and the bath and why he was here. He was here to--
--retrieve or kill--
'--find out what's going on--'Fight." Kirihara drew in a deep breath and walked to the door, left ajar as if expecting him. Inside, somebody was.
"Hello," Yanagi said softly, painfully reminiscent. "How are you, Akaya?"
"..." Kirihara's fists silently balled at his sides; he didn't trust them not to tremble if he kept them lax. The warm smile, the kind face, the person he most wanted to see... As if he knew. "Did you send the note?" Kirihara asked slowly, raw skin pulling taut as his hands clenched and unclenched.
"What note?" It was a neutral enough question, but there was something in Yanagi's voice that suggested that he knew. Of course he knew. He always knew. "It is easy enough to guess," Yanagi said as he continued walking past Kirihara to pull the door closed behind them, though with the bolt blown to pieces there was little more privacy to be gained. "Despite your missions favoring above-grown attack, this location is most recent in your mind. Given a reason to, you would surely return here."
If he could be read so easily, it was not inconceivable that the rest of Hyoutei already knew of his presence. He frowned. Clench. Yanagi stood between him and the way back, effectively trapping him in until backup arrived to finish the job. Kirihara regarded Yanagi closely, as he did him. It would have been so easy for Yanagi to kill him here; he was more than capable. So why hasn't he yet? Unclench. Kirihara didn't want to believe that Yanagi would harm him, but he was in enemy territory and before him was an enemy.
And as if he knew (he did, he always knew), "Are you going to fight me?" Yanagi asked softly, arms at his sides, tone cold and dangerous. He hadn’t always been like that. Something had changed him, and perhaps not here.
Kirihara's hands hung loosely past his hips as well, clenching and unclenching as the muscles flexed. "Let me though," he warned, testing the waters.
"If you can get past me."
"I don't want to hurt you," Kirihara gave the second warning, discomfort starting to seep into his voice. There was no point of hiding it, or anything, in front of Yanagi.
"Then don't. ...You came here for a reason, Akaya." Yanagi looked down at Kirihara's bare hands. Kirihara couldn't help a glance down where the other was looking, but at that exact moment, he was passed again in his blind spot and Yanagi was already at the opposite door, into the Hyoutei stronghold.
"Wait!" Kirihara cried, but it was already too late. The door swung open and half a dozen men stormed into the room. He had nary a second to take in his opponents before he had to duck and avoid the blast of fire and heat that followed. In such a tiny room, they couldn't try firearms a second time, and foot soldiers meant their armor was light or nonexistent. Like electricity flowed through his very veins, Kirihara's movements were sure, but erratic; Hyoutei soldiers, with their formations and battle plans, were ill equipped to adapt and handle something constantly moving, their own men used as shields more often than targets. Kirihara had learned from better soldiers, had learned how to disarm, how to kill, how to handle multiple opponents at one time. For Rikkai, with its lack in numbers, it was an essential skill. Hyoutei, overpopulated with willing recruits, lacked practice and experience and well-seasoned veterans. They lacked the means to win.
Someone was laughing but who could laugh at a time like this? Then Kirihara realized it was him.
It was a game. And it was a game Kirihara was good at. The movements and timing were already engrained into his body; he needed no more effort than to let his mind take the backseat and watch the scene before him play out, always with frightening detachment.
Arms, long and thin, break easily. Earlobes rip off with little to no resistance. And no man, no matter how strong, was immune to the pain of a finger through each eyeball. How fragile the human body is, sustained only by blood and mind. Two hands are all it takes to rob a person of breath. One knee, and shattered ribs puncture the hearts and lungs. Four minutes without breath, less three liters of blood, or even just shock so severe that both the heart and mind give out. Blood, that which sustains life, and yet is so horrible to see outside of the body, splattered across the floor at your feet and sticking drenched cloth to your skin.
And then observing all of that: it's my body that just dropped an elbow down on that man's skull-- look how easily it caves in, like Styrofoam façade-- but it's my body; that's not me. Eyes unseeing, only observing and reacting, until the only person left standing in the room other than himself was Yanagi.
Enemy. Kill.
They were beautiful fingers he held in his, long and slender and something in the back of Kirihara's mind thought of what a wonderful sound it would be to hear them snap cleanly in half, all he had to he was close his fists. He felt his grip tighten, and for the first time, Kirihara felt a different sort of electricity travel simultaneously down his spine and up the base of his skull. It was panic.
What am I doing?
It was like watching a dream unfold horribly wrong, and despite being aware, unable to achieve lucidness. Something popped from in between his palms, and pain sparked in his head. Pain gripped the base of his stomach and the breath was knocked out of him, vision clouding white with dense air that refused to enter his lungs. He lay, doubled over on the floor, gasping for breath.
"Cool your head," came Yanagi's calm voice through the dissipating fog, and Kirihara heard the heavy clank of metal being kicked to the side and clanging against the ground as it jumped and rolled. Kirihara closed his eyes, but he could not think for the stench all around him, of blood and vomit not washed away by the spray. There were groans throughout the room, adding to his. They were still alive, or at least some were, he couldn't tell. He couldn't tell because it was a sound unfamiliar to him: he was supposed to have left no survivors.
"What a mess," Yanagi murmured to himself, stepping carefully so that he wouldn't slip, until he got to Kirihara's side and was lifting him up at the armpit. "Come," he encouraged. "Removal of the fire extinguisher sets off the security system. The medical team will be here soon as well. I called in advance."
So it was him. For all the disarmed instead of killed, it was Kirihara's loss. And it was a large one. Why had he come back?
"Yanagi-sempai--"
Yanagi shushed him, and he allowed himself to be dragged onto his feet and out the door.
Yanagi didn't have to tell him where they were going for him to know. Despite spending his battles outside instead of in, he had studied countless surveillance footages of bases from both sides of the war in his years as a soldier. A hall was no more than a trench, and ceilings, far from constraining, could be effectively utilized in both worlds if one knew how. And when it comes to Hyoutei, the king's room always had gold trimmed red carpeting down the path, the entrance embellished with roses whose only indication of the war waging outside were tiny thorns lining each stem, a warning to look but not touch.
White and gold. He hadn't thought he'd see it again so soon, but inside Hyoutei, the white sparkled and the gold gave easily when Kirihara pressed a nail into it as he trailed Yanagi up the stairwell. It was impeccably clean, just as Rikkai was, but of a fake sort. The air smelt unnaturally of flowers, as if masking stench and grime beneath the surface instead of wiping it out completely, and Kirihara was reminded of the white wall separating the kitchen and living room back home-- back when he had a home-- he had once taken a crayon to because it was just so... clean. He couldn't help it, just as he couldn’t help but touch all the white, before Yanagi reached back and led him by the wrist, a little boy again.
Part IX... to be released when I can salvage enough that I'm proud of :P
When Kirihara awoke, the water had run cold. His fingers trembled as he pulled himself out of the bath, drawn and wrinkled with water, foreign, as if it were not his own body. It was hours later, and nobody had come to get him. It was as if he were dead to the world.
He hadn't thought about Marui in years.
Having not thought far enough to bring a towel, Kirihara simply stepped back into his jumper and pulled the rest over; it could dry outside. He was about ready to leave when his hand crunched against his pants, and he remembered the piece of paper he had found on the ground when he had left the housing chambers. Kirihara glanced down at the paper-- whether it was for him or his roommates or even just litter somebody had disposed of instead of following the proper incinerary procedures, he might as well get it over with first, as thinking coming a lot easier with doing-- and unfolded it.
"...Damn."
He only had to read it over once to memorize what it said. It was a familiar scrap of paper, the same one shared by him and his teammates not so long ago. Only two things were new this time: the creases where it was neatly folded into quarters, stained with blood (Kite's, or Fuji's? His own? …) that pooled and soaked through, rust branching up from where he held it in his hands. And there at the bottom, in neat penmanship: Try Again.
Individual mission statements were issued only by Yukimura. He had no idea how or when the captain got his hands on it, or whether he had let go of it, or if he were the one in possession at the end of that, at all. But Kirihara was not surprised if it were the original. Yukimura would not let him forget so easily; that was how he operated. A low moan escaped before he could stop himself, but there was no one around to hear. Try Again. In a desperate grasp for consolation, at least it was a solo mission this time around... There would be no one else to let die but himself.
The paper crumpled easily in his fist, skin staining red with old blood made damp with perspiration. He left the room quickly, stuck his head outside before walking down the empty hallway towards the suiting station. It was a homing instinct that kept his feet moving down the familiar paths, activated by each new assignment received no matter where he was around base. He quickened his pace, walking with purpose and resolve that masked the frantic pace of his mind his feet were not allowed to betray. Because fuck, what was he supposed to do?
For a moment, he allowed himself the wild spark of hope that the assignment meant Yukimura still needed him. But there was no 'try again' when it came to past missions; the target would have moved or defenses bolstered; life wasn't a video game where the last checkpoint could be loaded and the boss battle repeated. There weren't a dozen save states in case of failure; there was just one save, your life, the file was corrupted in that there was no pause, and failure meant a system crash in death. That he got out of the last mission alive was nothing but a fluke; he could have gone down the same way Fuji and Kite fell-- he had felt nothing for them, he thought miserably, thinking of again of Marui and his manic grins and glassy eyes-- if it weren't for the (mercy?) (pity?) whatever it was Yanagi had thought a good idea to impose upon himself by sending him back. He wasn't meant to face this one. Yukimura only sent it to test his foolhardiness, to see whether he was stupid enough to actually walk to his death so willingly, or maybe whether he held enough loyalty still to do just that.
"And if he told you to jump off a bridge, you would do that too?"
"..." How had he answered then? "...Yukimura knows best."
And then there was: 'Find out what is going on.' The last words of a dying man. Yukimura would know what he had done and this time it wouldn't be just confinement. He almost wished the former Hyoutei were here to help him, but he already did all he could for him. There was only one man left he could think of. Someone who knew practically everything, all that went on in the world. Yukimura may believe it were himself, but the fact still stood: one thing he didn't foresee was this man's departure. Yanagi Renji. The one who stood by Yukimura's side all these years, sharing his secrets, getting into his head... or perhaps it was the other way around, in the end. The first one to take him in, the one that kicked him out, send him back. But it was the only lead that Kirihara had. He had to find out what was going on, because he wasn't safe here, not anymore. Yukimura knew, and once he knew, there was no escape from the hunt. Nothing left but the game.
He had to get to Yanagi. That was the only way he could know for sure, and if that meant infiltrating Hyoutei, he would do it. Kirihara looked back down at the paper, smoothing it out over his thigh. Infiltrating was always hard. He rarely moved without a team, and even if he were just backtracking his steps from before, it was less two people's help that he had this time, less three from his usual squad number he was assigned to, and in his agitation he was bound to make more mistakes than he could afford. But he had done it once and he would do it again. He had to.
Kirihara ducked into the changing room and lost weight in metal. Sterilized and steam-dried like laundry prematurely pulled out of the wash, he pulled on his combat suit, left foot and then the right, uncomfortably light compared to his years in infantry. His hands found the issued rifle where it was kept for quick deployment, fully loaded and properly maintained at all times so a soldier could just grab and go. The rifle he took, but he forewent the helmet and its face shield of night green, needing to travel as quickly as possible and if that meant sacrificing defense for speed, then he would just have to move fast enough not to be detected.
This he wasn't as confident at as he should have been, as he headed towards the shaft that would bring him Underground. Rikkai and Hyoutei were far too close for comfort, boundaries shifting from day to day as either side lost and gained ground by a single step. Soldiers from both sides crowded at the edge, making it easy for Kirihara to blend in, but difficult if he were to cross the border. But there was always a way into the stronghold, the Underground being a literal anthill of a maze, as he had always thought about it. The tunnels dug around seemingly without direction, modeled after the natural organic structure of the earth, and it was very easy to get lost down there if one made a single wrong turn. Traps were abundant, some man-made but others natural, clumped here and there where everyone stayed clear of even through there might be an easy path right through the center, and scattered all around and constantly changing as the earth gave way and piled atop of another.
There were those like Fuji and Kite of the Special Forces who knew the Tunnels like the back of their hands, as their work involved moving in and out, infiltrating and striking where it was least expected. They could navigate in the dark, and if an enemy soldier ever got on their tail, it was only a matter of moments before they were able to shake off the pest, leading them in circles until it was their opponent who was lost in the dark. Or worse, there were rooms of low-laying gas one does not notice until they are too far down the path, the oxygen content in their blood plummeting dramatically with each breath they gasped. Parts of the tunnels he knew were detonated, some by touch, some by time, some by remote, so a safe path one day would be blocked the next, or come tumbling down on your head as you try to make your way through it. Ground water flowed through the tunnels as well, so it wasn't uncommon to find a previous tunnel flooded through-- no one swam through these, not because of the weight of their armor or their ability to swim, but because the rust corroded through the metal and ate through to their skin in the matter of minutes, and, remembering the green slime that infused the walls of the Hyoutei complex, Kirihara always suspected that this 'water' was a precursor. The only person who might know the entire layout of the Underground was its architect, but the earth was alive and shifted from day to day; down here, sometimes your enemy was uneven footing and a cavern down to the center of the earth, more than it was bullets fired upon you by stationed guards too afraid to move from their posts lest they drop off the face of the planet as well.
Kirihara's skill was no in memorizing paths. That was why he counted his steps, why he needed to fight in a group instead of going off by himself. But his powers at concentration were unparalleled, and once he committed something to memory, he rarely let himself forget. The main layout was known to all new recruits, one of the first things they were made to commit to memory, as the trunk was well worn and established, branches being where peril and salvation lay. It wasn't so long after the initial infiltration mission that the tunnels would have shifted too much that he couldn't retrace the same path, but he was also unafraid of taking another; there was always more than one way to anywhere. He had always had particularly good luck in these things, and if there were any time he needed luck, it was now, hopping between branches as the best cover he could think of to shake off any tailing Hyoutei's from his back, especially now that he did not have Fuji or Kite to cover for him.
It wasn't long before Kirihara realized he was ill equipped for the Underground. It was dark and damp, he couldn't see very far in front of him and his sides were almost always blocked off by the narrow sides of dirt. He was constantly looking behind him, afraid of somebody sneaking up on him when he wasn't looking, but then he thought maybe somebody would be in front while he was busy looking back, and at the end had taken to pressing his back against the wall as he crab walked, slow going but it was better to keep everything in his peripheral vision. The rifle he kept grasped in his hands in case he needed to use it, but like he had suspected, the tunnel he had chosen to follow was devoid of any presence, both now and however long since it had been established, the soft dirt uneven with dripping water and mice but not of footprints. Twice the ground crumbled from beneath his feet, but with the lack of anything to grab onto, he simply tucked his chin and waited for the drop to end. He had probably gone too far down and not far enough forwards, with the chances of structural collapse mounting each time he was forced to go under. But he was getting close. He knew because he could hear sounds-- not voices but breathing and fidgeting he was familiar with-- and that meant he was getting closer to the Hyoutei borders and once he was under Hyoutei he could rest assured that the stretch of dirt and rock over his head would not come crashing down upon him: unlike Rikkai, Hyoutei was built almost entirely above the ground, and their foundation was solid.
He was primarily a combat soldier. His place was above ground where he could shoot knowing somebody else had his back. He specialized in long range but was proficient in hand-to-hand. What he was not suited for was mud. While not exactly a clean-freak in his own right, there couldn't be anybody in the world that was comfortable wading through ankle deep goo, the strong rich earthy smell that clung do your clothes and clogged your nose that after a while you'd swear you could even taste it. His footsteps sunk and were reclaimed into the ground, but far from masking his path, it only served to bring out the little curses and cries of frustration that escaped his mouth as he clasped both hands under the crook of his knee and yanked his leg out of what he suspected might have been quicksand (this deep underground?) at every step.
"--!"
Kirihara froze, one foot on rock the other trailing in the shallows of wet sand behind him. He heard it again: "I think I heard something! --No, Okazaki was stationed over-- Just come with me and check it out-- we can't be too careful, or Yanagi would have our heads." At that name, Kirihara wrenched his foot out from the ground's grasp and fled, feet pounding against the ground without it mattering anymore how much noise he made: there was no chance he was going to be able to sneak his way through where he was at the disadvantage of familiarity.
He had barely gone several meters when the first shot rang out and a slice of fire ran through his cheek-- he poked his tongue over and felt that his teeth were still intact, the flesh wound a miracle when a headshot missed for how he staggered through the tunnels. Kirihara lifted his gun from its holder and sent a blast backwards from underneath his armpit, but did not turn to properly engage his opponents, trusting the blast of fire to hold them off the split second he needed to make the turn. Even behind him, his shot was accurate, a yell of pain but not of agony telling him he had hit maybe a leg or an arm, but nowhere life-threatening-- he knew the sounds men make as they die-- and was relived in his panic that he had not hit the ceiling or wall and caused a cave-in that would close off his pursuers but also trap him in as well. Without a second to waste, he vaulted himself over the boulders of foundation in the way, the thin gloves on his hands tearing at the palms and leaving a smear of red that betrayed the way he fled, but before he could worry about that, up ahead was another obstacle: a fork in the path-- he was so close to Hyoutei now, but Kirihara had no idea which one was the right path to take. But neither did they. 'Right!' he thought to himself as he threw himself that direction, 'For all the choices I am going to make from now on.'
It was the wrong choice.
For the first time since he got up from the bath, Kirihara stopped short. Before him was a huge lake, murky green with what he hoped was water and not what he knew it to be. Behind him, footsteps of two-- more than two-- were catching up. Without a second thought, he tossed the rifle into the water-- it would do him no good, and less for every extra weapon that was in his enemy's' hands-- where it bubbled and caged in brown as it sank. He took a deep breath, pressed his hands together as if in prayer, and dove.
Water clapped over his ears as he pulled himself deeper and deeper and further, afraid to open his eyes for the corrosion of sight, sharp thin currents that must be bullets trailing beside him. He knew they wouldn't be able to hit him if he stayed low as long as he could hold his breath or stand the burn against his skin. Whatever liquid it was he was swimming in, he knew it was too murky outside to make his form out at this depth, and by the way his arms dragged heavily, it was dense enough that...
"The Snell-Descartes law states that the angle of incidence and the angle of incidence-- of refraction. States that the angle of... Snell's Law states... Phase velocities between the two media... ratio of... Uggh." Kirihara buried his face into the textbook. If people like Snell were making laws, it was no wonder they were broken all the time, for being so incredibly mindboggling. His eyes lifted up at the same line he had been trying to read over and over again for the past half hour, but he didn't know half the words and wasn't even sure anymore what this law was trying to prove. He backtracked a paragraph, and couldn’t remember what that was about either. He looked up at the chapter title for some context. Nope. Letting out the millionth sigh of frustration, he threw his hands above his head and gave up on the book, slouching down on the chair as far as he could go so that his head was nearly resting on the seat, legs outstretched underneath the table. He had spent the last two hours reading the words, but not reading the words. Which was stupid, because it was the exact same thing so why couldn't he just absorb all the information by simply looking at the characters, that's what Yanagi did.
Speaking of Yanagi, there he was. Kirihara could see him approach from the corner of his eye, but before he could open his mouth in greeting, Yanagi picked up the abandoned book, held it over his face, and made to drop it. "ASDFLKHJ!!" Kirihara spluttered, starting so badly that his head slipped sideways off the seat and slammed on the table leg. "Owwwwwww," he groaned, sitting up halfway before his forehead collided with the underside of the table, sending him back down. He lay there on his back, clutching his head against the cold tile.
"Are you awake now, Akaya?" Yanagi crouched down underneath the table, the book resting on top of his knees. Of course he wouldn't have dropped it.
"Now I am," Kirihara complained sitting up slowly so he wouldn’t crack his skull open on the table a third time. But he couldn’t help but grin at Yanagi. It wasn't every day that the other man came and specifically sought him out, and it was always fun when he did. "Did'ya need something?"
"How would you like to go to shooting practice with me?"
"Yeah!!" Kirihara's face lit like fireworks as he made to stand, forgetting in his excitement that he was sitting under a table. Yanagi ducked out before the piece of furniture could collapse on the two of them. "Fuck-- I mean ouch." Kirihara crawled out after him, recovering quickly. "Can we really though? It's not the practice or recreation period yet."
Yanagi nodded, holding up the offending book. "The Snell-Descartes law is an important concept," he said simply, as he started off towards the pitch. Kirihara hastily shoved the rest of his things-- pens and papers and all-- into his book bag and scrambled to catch up to him. He doubted what Yanagi meant was that they were going to take shots at the book, but even though it was his first few weeks at the Rikkai, he had learned Yanagi was one person he could trust to do what was best for him.
They passed by the weaponry shed and Kirihara went in to pick it his air rifle. He wasn't allowed to handle actual firearms yet until he had more training, but the non-lethal rounds of copper coated steel pellets still hurt; he had fractured his toe on the second meeting and had it cast even until now. Meeting Yanagi outside, held in his "What are we going to do?" and "Where are we going?"s as the two walked past the target ranges and further inside the facilities, where Kirihara didn't spend a lot of time because it was where older trainees hung out. It was a pool that they stopped in front of, small enough that it only fit two people. Kirihara looked over at Yanagi, wondering if they were going to sit in the water of if Yanagi was going to ask one of those cryptic questions like "Do book float?" in which he would be tempted to say yes because he had also dropped one of those on his toes and know how much they weighed, but at the same time a book was made of paper which came from trees, and wood comes from trees and they floated so why shouldn't a book? He was almost always wrong though, so he kept quiet this time and let Yanagi do what he wanted to do.
What Yanagi did was take a coin from his pocket and flip it into the pool, where it sank into the water face down. "Have you ever shot at something through the water?"
There it was, the cryptic question. But it was one that Kirihara could answer with certainty for once: "No." He could barely shoot through the air without toppling over with the recoil, though his aim was getting better and better by the day. "Doesn't look to hard, but we wouldn't train like that anyways, right?" he asked, cocking his head in thought. "Some of the training modules include water to simulate field conditions, but I'd just wait for the targets to come up and then take a snipe at them."
"Why don't you try?" Yanagi suggested, stepping aside for Kirihara to have a clear view of the pool. "Step back five meters; you should still be able to see the coin from over the edge. See if you can hit it within ten shots."
Kirihara grinned, backpedaling until he could just see the coin, like Yanagi had said. "What'll you give me if I can?" he asked, shouldering the rifle and peering through the crosshair.
"You won't."
He couldn't help but laugh-- this was the sort of confidence Kirihara strove to break; one day, he was going to surpass Yanagi's data. But he told himself to calm down, and let the veil of concentration relax his muscles and even his breathing, the crosshair steady as he centered it on the coin, braced his legs against the recoil, and fired with the deadly accuracy he had been practicing all week. The metal ball hit the water and slid past the coin; not even the currents moved it. "Uh--" he frowned, looking over at Yanagi in confusion.
"Nine more shots," Yanagi replied, seemingly unconcerned as he stood to the side, the book flipped open in his hands. That might have been the only reason he brought it along, to pass the time, but as Kirihara turned back to the pool trying to figure out how his shot went wrong, Yanagi continued to monitor him through narrowed eyes. The nine shots passed just as he predicted: none of them hit its mark. The effort Kirihara put into it was as expect as well: he took his time adjusting the angle and position between each shot, trying to compensate for how off he was during the previous ones, but it was also clear the frustration was getting to him every time he inched nearer but never quite made it. It was a small target, but not impossible to hit. He walked over and motioned for Kirihara to give him the rifle before he put a knee through it. The boy handed it over, understandably irritated, but there was that spark of curiosity and healthy disbelief that he Yanagi liked as he walked over to where the other's shoes had scuffed the tile, aimed, adjusted and shot.
The coin jumped out of the water with a crack, tracing an arch in the air before landing outside the side of the pool with a wet clink.
Kirihara gaped. "No way!" he shouted, incredulous. He ran over to pick up the coin, turning it over in between his fingers as if it couldn't possibly be real. He threw it back into the water, where it sliced through the surface and slid across the bottom. "Oh," he mumbled, leaning over and adjust the coin so it lay at the center again how Yanagi had it before. Drawing his arm back out wet, he bounded over to Yanagi's side and stood close. "Do it again," he prompted, studying Yanagi's face and hands to see what he was doing so differently. Yanagi complied, shot and hit the target a second time, and then four more by Kirihara's request until he was satisfied.
"Snell's law??" Kirihara asked, mimicking a crude protractor with his two fingers at the coin in the water and the barrel of his rifle. He swore on his life that nowhere in that book were they talking about shooting guns-- he might have actually been interested then!
"Snell's law," Yanagi confirmed with a nod, flipping open the book again. Kirihara could recognize that dreaded paragraph anywhere, even if he still had no idea what it said. Yanagi explained that sight existed by light, which was a wave and therefore under the rule of Snell's law. Air and water were of two different materials, so light travelled at different speeds and therefore angles through them. In that manner, it would be impossible to hit a target under the water by aiming directly at it like Kirihara had been doing, his body constantly overcompensating as it struggled against his mind, which knew only what it saw and what it saw was apparent off-target. The way Yanagi was able to hit it was by knowing the intrinsic properties of each material and accurately estimating the distances. After that, it was pure and simple math. But it didn't matter whether or not Kirihara could regurgitate definitions and numbers; Yanagi made sure he understood the implications. The target and the marksman were interchangeable. If he ever found himself in a situation where he was being shot at while underwater, he would be fine so long the water was dense enough that...
The bullets couldn’t touch him. The men on the other side were ill-equipped to handle an underwater target, assuming to shoot the moment he emerged from the surface. Kirihara's hand brushed metal, and his finger found the trigger. He flipped easily on his back, waited for the bubbles from the movement to clear away, and then opened his eyes for the briefest of seconds-- the image imprinted on his mind immediately, a murky acid green, but dark shapes hovering the edge: two, three and four. He shot four times, turned, and swam on as dark red filtered through from above.
His lungs burned with desperation as the tip of his toes finally found ground, and he pushed up the slope through the water to resurface, chest heaving in stale air and sour fumes. The rifle snapped from under his weight as he tried to lean on it, and he slipped back into the water, clumps of sodden rust creating a halo all around him. Behind, blossoms of red stained the far edge, three men slumped over on the ground and the last floating face first in the water where his wounds poured.
It was quiet all around. Kirihara didn't stop to count his blessings that the commotion hadn't attracted further attention. He pressed the extra water off his clothes and hair as he stumbled forwards, keeping to the ways and eyes that stung-- bloodshot-- darting this way and that, always aware. He was close. He knew by the stone and the metal sheeted across the ground that made his footsteps apparent and breathing jumping back into his ears where there was no soil to absorb sound. Why was there no people? The cavern opened up in the distance, and he stepped through to find himself facing the Hyoutei confines, bleach white and blue.
There was the hole in the wall. It had been left untouched, the stone charred black where it wasn't covered with a transparent film of the fluid that had since stopped seeping out of the walls and had taken to crusting around the foundation maw.
Retrieve or Kill. Time, place, location. Target undisclosed.
He stepped inside, the familiar corridor stretching out before him. Here, at least, they had cleaned. There was no indication two men had died at this location, save for the sharp chemical bite in the air that brought to mind the prison cell and Hiyoshi and the bath and why he was here. He was here to--
--retrieve or kill--
'--find out what's going on--'Fight." Kirihara drew in a deep breath and walked to the door, left ajar as if expecting him. Inside, somebody was.
"Hello," Yanagi said softly, painfully reminiscent. "How are you, Akaya?"
"..." Kirihara's fists silently balled at his sides; he didn't trust them not to tremble if he kept them lax. The warm smile, the kind face, the person he most wanted to see... As if he knew. "Did you send the note?" Kirihara asked slowly, raw skin pulling taut as his hands clenched and unclenched.
"What note?" It was a neutral enough question, but there was something in Yanagi's voice that suggested that he knew. Of course he knew. He always knew. "It is easy enough to guess," Yanagi said as he continued walking past Kirihara to pull the door closed behind them, though with the bolt blown to pieces there was little more privacy to be gained. "Despite your missions favoring above-grown attack, this location is most recent in your mind. Given a reason to, you would surely return here."
If he could be read so easily, it was not inconceivable that the rest of Hyoutei already knew of his presence. He frowned. Clench. Yanagi stood between him and the way back, effectively trapping him in until backup arrived to finish the job. Kirihara regarded Yanagi closely, as he did him. It would have been so easy for Yanagi to kill him here; he was more than capable. So why hasn't he yet? Unclench. Kirihara didn't want to believe that Yanagi would harm him, but he was in enemy territory and before him was an enemy.
And as if he knew (he did, he always knew), "Are you going to fight me?" Yanagi asked softly, arms at his sides, tone cold and dangerous. He hadn’t always been like that. Something had changed him, and perhaps not here.
Kirihara's hands hung loosely past his hips as well, clenching and unclenching as the muscles flexed. "Let me though," he warned, testing the waters.
"If you can get past me."
"I don't want to hurt you," Kirihara gave the second warning, discomfort starting to seep into his voice. There was no point of hiding it, or anything, in front of Yanagi.
"Then don't. ...You came here for a reason, Akaya." Yanagi looked down at Kirihara's bare hands. Kirihara couldn't help a glance down where the other was looking, but at that exact moment, he was passed again in his blind spot and Yanagi was already at the opposite door, into the Hyoutei stronghold.
"Wait!" Kirihara cried, but it was already too late. The door swung open and half a dozen men stormed into the room. He had nary a second to take in his opponents before he had to duck and avoid the blast of fire and heat that followed. In such a tiny room, they couldn't try firearms a second time, and foot soldiers meant their armor was light or nonexistent. Like electricity flowed through his very veins, Kirihara's movements were sure, but erratic; Hyoutei soldiers, with their formations and battle plans, were ill equipped to adapt and handle something constantly moving, their own men used as shields more often than targets. Kirihara had learned from better soldiers, had learned how to disarm, how to kill, how to handle multiple opponents at one time. For Rikkai, with its lack in numbers, it was an essential skill. Hyoutei, overpopulated with willing recruits, lacked practice and experience and well-seasoned veterans. They lacked the means to win.
Someone was laughing but who could laugh at a time like this? Then Kirihara realized it was him.
It was a game. And it was a game Kirihara was good at. The movements and timing were already engrained into his body; he needed no more effort than to let his mind take the backseat and watch the scene before him play out, always with frightening detachment.
Arms, long and thin, break easily. Earlobes rip off with little to no resistance. And no man, no matter how strong, was immune to the pain of a finger through each eyeball. How fragile the human body is, sustained only by blood and mind. Two hands are all it takes to rob a person of breath. One knee, and shattered ribs puncture the hearts and lungs. Four minutes without breath, less three liters of blood, or even just shock so severe that both the heart and mind give out. Blood, that which sustains life, and yet is so horrible to see outside of the body, splattered across the floor at your feet and sticking drenched cloth to your skin.
And then observing all of that: it's my body that just dropped an elbow down on that man's skull-- look how easily it caves in, like Styrofoam façade-- but it's my body; that's not me. Eyes unseeing, only observing and reacting, until the only person left standing in the room other than himself was Yanagi.
Enemy. Kill.
They were beautiful fingers he held in his, long and slender and something in the back of Kirihara's mind thought of what a wonderful sound it would be to hear them snap cleanly in half, all he had to he was close his fists. He felt his grip tighten, and for the first time, Kirihara felt a different sort of electricity travel simultaneously down his spine and up the base of his skull. It was panic.
What am I doing?
It was like watching a dream unfold horribly wrong, and despite being aware, unable to achieve lucidness. Something popped from in between his palms, and pain sparked in his head. Pain gripped the base of his stomach and the breath was knocked out of him, vision clouding white with dense air that refused to enter his lungs. He lay, doubled over on the floor, gasping for breath.
"Cool your head," came Yanagi's calm voice through the dissipating fog, and Kirihara heard the heavy clank of metal being kicked to the side and clanging against the ground as it jumped and rolled. Kirihara closed his eyes, but he could not think for the stench all around him, of blood and vomit not washed away by the spray. There were groans throughout the room, adding to his. They were still alive, or at least some were, he couldn't tell. He couldn't tell because it was a sound unfamiliar to him: he was supposed to have left no survivors.
"What a mess," Yanagi murmured to himself, stepping carefully so that he wouldn't slip, until he got to Kirihara's side and was lifting him up at the armpit. "Come," he encouraged. "Removal of the fire extinguisher sets off the security system. The medical team will be here soon as well. I called in advance."
So it was him. For all the disarmed instead of killed, it was Kirihara's loss. And it was a large one. Why had he come back?
"Yanagi-sempai--"
Yanagi shushed him, and he allowed himself to be dragged onto his feet and out the door.
Yanagi didn't have to tell him where they were going for him to know. Despite spending his battles outside instead of in, he had studied countless surveillance footages of bases from both sides of the war in his years as a soldier. A hall was no more than a trench, and ceilings, far from constraining, could be effectively utilized in both worlds if one knew how. And when it comes to Hyoutei, the king's room always had gold trimmed red carpeting down the path, the entrance embellished with roses whose only indication of the war waging outside were tiny thorns lining each stem, a warning to look but not touch.
White and gold. He hadn't thought he'd see it again so soon, but inside Hyoutei, the white sparkled and the gold gave easily when Kirihara pressed a nail into it as he trailed Yanagi up the stairwell. It was impeccably clean, just as Rikkai was, but of a fake sort. The air smelt unnaturally of flowers, as if masking stench and grime beneath the surface instead of wiping it out completely, and Kirihara was reminded of the white wall separating the kitchen and living room back home-- back when he had a home-- he had once taken a crayon to because it was just so... clean. He couldn't help it, just as he couldn’t help but touch all the white, before Yanagi reached back and led him by the wrist, a little boy again.
Part IX... to be released when I can salvage enough that I'm proud of :P