Darkness Within

Disclaimer: None of the characters, save the members of the Unsidhe Court and Gekkashu, were in any way created by myself, nor by any individual known to me. They are the property of their respective creators, owners, and license-holders. Thank you, and God Bless.

The Unsidhe Court members and Gekkashu, however, are mine!

Warning: Lemon fanfic, dealing with those ever-popular tentacles, elves, and assorted other fetishes. Do not read if Lemon material offends you, or if you are underage for viewing such material in your area. Also, should your community, be it township, city, or nation, disapprove of your viewing such material, don't come cryin' to me if you get in trouble.

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Duke-Marshal Banduin’s words sounded as cold as a hag’s breast, even to him. “Why have we not located the manasili yet? Days have passed, the stars and moon have wheeled above us, and still, there remains not a hair nor nail nor mortal trace of it. What in the name of the Lover’s is occurring within our ranks?”

Lord Mansar stepped forth to answer. “Duke-Marshal, the crows have but only two eyes each. And a raven may fly only so far...”

As the Duke-Marshal’s lips peeled away from his teeth, Lord Mansar ground to a halt. The Duke-Marshal knew all eyes were riveted to his mouth. The elegant, gleaming fangs there thrilled and chilled the blood of any fae who gazed upon them. And the Duke-Marshal knew this as well, and used it to his advantage.

“Ravens? Crows? We rely in witnessing from graveyard fowl to gain wisdom to this beast? We are hindered by the flight of feathered creatures of the mortal world? Tell me, Lord, are we fae, the heirs to the Good and Rightful Empire? Or perchance we are addled children, running amuck and crafting mudpies in the dirt? Speak, fool! For that is what you are; a fool, the courtly fool of our Lady.”

Lord Mansar refused to comment. Not that his incompliance was not understandable. Duke-Marshal Banduin’s fangs did that to many.

But the Duke-Marshal did not wait for any answer. Instead he whirled behind him to confront his bookshelf. With a furious hand, he ripped away three volumes in quick succession, throwing them down on the table.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! The assembled officers jumped at each impact. The Duke-Marshal tried not to smile at their reactions. His face remained stony under his control, daring his officers to say anything.

Time passed. Duke-Marshal Banduin watched the expressions on their faces grow from fearful to wondering. Then curiosity turned to boredom. Then boredom to annoyance. “Come and read the authors of these tomes,” he invited finally, delighting in the way the officers reacted to his command.

One, Captain Lenfearn, did step forward and heft all three books in his hands. “Sun Tzu,” said he, dropping the first book back on the table. “Caesar,” and a second joined the first. “Musashi.” All books rested on the table again.

“I do not understand,” Lenfearn stated, eyes rising to meet the Duke-Marshal’s.

“There is more in these pages,” pronounced Duke-Marshal Banduin, “than in all the heads in these chambers. These books were penned by mortal hands, by those in the Court of Man! How is it that we, the pride of the Lady, we of the Unsidhe Court, the Just Heirs, have less wisdom of the arts of war than three mortals who lived less than a century? We have stood astride the Hiasin! Carthage shuddered at our name! Is this what we have fallen too? Relying upon BIRDS!?

“Find that ‘felashak’! I want the manasili’s head on a spike! And be smart about it, fools! Deal not with grave fowl, but with traps and snares. Make that felashak manasili come to us!”

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Lenfearn arched his back, popping out the ache that was put there by the Duke-Marshal’s dressing down of him and the other officers. The meeting with old Stone Tooth had lasted long into the night, and hardly was a pleasant experience for anyone involved. Stone Tooth shouted himself hoarse. As for those he berated, even now, Lenfearn’s skin itched, making him look himself over and over again to ensure he still owned a skin.

Perhaps, earlier in the week, if Lenfearn walked down these self-same halls at this hour of night, not a soul would be there to hear him. In those time, the castle was safe and calm at nights, the servants and men-at-arms could sleep in their own beds. Even those in the dungeons would keep their peace, except perhaps the very fresh prisoners.

Now though, the castle bustled at all times of day and night. Lenfearn himself had to dodge a maid scurrying past, loaded down with bundles of wood. The wood, Lenfearn supposed, went on to make arrow shafts, or perhaps the handles to war hammers. The castle was settling in for a siege. As though the night with Stone Tooth failed to ram that into the captain’s head sufficiently.

The door to his chambers he opened with utmost caution. The hinges began to squeak if he pushed the portal open further than halfway, so he was forced to slither in sideways. Only a single candle stood lit in the candelabra. Lenfearn smiled at Enfythyn’s thoughtfulness.

Using the lone candle to guide him to around the partition between door and bed, Lenfearn stepped from his boots, taking care they didn’t fall noisily to the floor. The covered bed shown gold under the candlelight, and Lenfearn ghosted across the carpet towards it. His only ambition now was to catch a few hours sleep, with Enfythyn by his side.

Placing the candle on the night-stand, Lenfearn bent to blow it out. But a hand snaked out from behind the bed curtains, catching his wrist. “Let it be, beloved,” purred Enfythyn’s voice. “There exist more tapers in the castle. And I have been lonely.”

Lenfearn’s tiredness did not vanish, per se, but it did become a much less pressing concern. He pushed aside the curtain, revealing his smiling love. Shadows danced across her face, highlighting her cheeks, and making her eyes that much more alluring. He leaned fore to taste her, finding her eager and waiting for his kiss. Her lips pressed against his hungrily, seeking to devour him right then and there.

He all but bounded onto the bed, still drinking deep of the kiss. Her tongue pressed into him, and he gobbled it up, moaning at the flavor. It tasted of sandalwood and myrrh, with the barest hint of nightshade. Drinking deeper of her, Lenfearn pressed his own tongue against hers, beginning a delicious duel.

As hungry as he was for her, she seemed doubly so of him. Enfythyn’s hands graced his cheeks, then turned further back to grip his hair. Her honeyed thighs wrapped about his waist. Their most carnal parts came together, coarse canvas and soft satin crushed between.

She released him from the kiss, trailing her tongue down to his neck, nibbling and licking at the soft flesh she found there. Lenfearn groaned at the feel of her teeth and lips, enveloping her in his arms. Heady, intoxicating scents floated to him from her hair.

His hands found her breasts. Cooing laughter escaped her, his hands cupping and supporting their weight. The nipples at their tips crinkled hard into his palm. Pliable, yet firm and resilient, they never failed to enliven his hunger. And his hands did the same to her, it seemed, as she plunged her tongue further into his mouth.

Breaking the kiss, Lenfearn moved to sample the taste of his lover’s flesh.

Flavor exploded in his mouth. Salty and sweet, they tasted like strawberries cleaned in seawater. Save that they were warm and pulsing. Stilling his desire, he placed an ear against the center of her chest. Slow, steady poundings from her heart reached him. He smiled.

But she was not to be denied, and in her hunger, reached brazenly for him. Pants shucked, his manhood emerged out into the candlelight. She inhaled his scent, finding it pleasing. And her mouth took him.

Delicious! How delicious, how exquisite, it was to be devoured thus! Lenfearn could not contain himself, but gripped at the sheets lest he tear out his lover’s hair. Lightly would taste him, swallowing and disgorging him time and again, nibbling at the tip before swallowing him once more. Rude sounds of slurping filled the room. Lenfearn felt he was on the verge of being gobbled alive.

And he loved every instant of it.

She stopped her feasting on him. Now she surged forward, again plunging her questing tongue into his mouth. As disappointed as he might be for the end to her delicious ministrations, he still found delight in Enfythyn’s sandalwood-and-myrrh kiss. Her body molded itself to him, nearly surrounding him in her succulent flesh. So exquisite was this, he almost did not notice when she moved her hips. But he did notice when he was being devoured by any entirely different mouth.

Their most carnal parts now mated together, Lenfearn could hold back no longer. His hands seized about his lover’s hips, gripping her tight. Coiled muscles flexed, and her scrumptious form was heaved up into the air. The muscles relaxed, and she came down again, sending delectable sensations through them both.

Again and again he was swallowed up by her, drawing a groan from him each time. How warm she was, and how moist. And when he could stand it no longer, he exploded into her. His body shuddered underneath her, and her fingers dug in as she reached her own reward.

She collapsed against him, panting to catch her breath.

“Your heart was not in it tonight,” Enfythyn told him, after regaining her breath. Looking down, Lenfearn found her eyes staring up at him in concern.

Whistling through his teeth, Lenfearn gazed back up at the ceiling. “Old Stone Tooth gave us a true chewing out this night. The Duke-Marshal’s tongue is worse than a lash!”

Enfythyn chuckled to herself. “Mayhap I should send my grievances to him, then. ‘How is a young wife to receive the attention and love she needs if you go about emasculating her husband at every turn!’ What are your thoughts on my idea?”

“It wouldn’t hardly work, I warrant,” Lenfearn sniggered. “Stone Tooth knows not what his serpent is for.” They both enjoyed a laugh.

When their mirth died away, Enfythyn grew silent, drawing endless circles around the muscles on his chest.

“What troubles you, beloved?” wondered Lenfearn.

There was a pause before she asked. “Where did the Duke-Marshal get his fangs?”

“Did the rumors not reach your ears?” he asked right back at her, a jesting tone in his voice.

“I have heard the rumors of maids and groundskeepers,” her tone held no jest. “I wish to know the rumors of soldiers.”

Lenfearn couldn’t help but smile, even in the face of her ire. “The footmen say he is a gift from the Court of Man sent to bedevil us. The officers claim he bit away his own mother’s tit while suckling.”

“Ah!” she exclaimed, smiling now, “speak not such words before me. I am a woman; such crude language makes me faint!”

“You have a set of your own. How can it make you faint?” Enfythyn bit him on the shoulder.

Warm laughter floated down the hallway. An unusual sound in the palaces of the Unsidhe Court.
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Yota stared up at the ceiling from his bed, a pen endlessly tapping against the bed post. The continual tattoo drowned away the world in its simple rhythm. Had Yota been more musically inclined, he might notice that his tapping was as regular as a metronome’s ticking. He also might notice that the sound of the pen against the wood was making the exact same tone, repeating again and again. But Yota was not a man of music, and so the regularity of the striking was lost to his ears.

‘Moemi’

A smiling face rose up from memory. Cute little button nose residing between smooth cheeks. And eyes! Endless, bottomless brown eyes. Lips he once so yearned to taste. That he still wanted to taste.

With a mental blasphemy, Yota rolled over onto his side. Scrunching his face, he did his damnest to banish thoughts of that girl. It wasn’t right.

He lost his virginity in an orgy on the train. What a fucked up story to tell the grandkids.

His phone rang. Sitting up on his elbows, Yota grabbed the receiver.

“You are a hard man to find, Moteuchi-san,” graveled the voice on the other end. Aged and crackled, it was hard to tell as belonging to a woman at all.

The boy frowned into space. “Who are you?”

“My name is Gekkashu. And if you want to save your new lady friend, I suggest you do as I say.”

Something black and cold bubbled up from deep in Yota’s stomach. “Are you threatening me? How did you even know who I am? What am I to you?”

“This is not a threat,” stated the voice, “but a warning. If you wish to save Kanzaki-san and yourself, you must come to the Korean bistro near the Red Gate Bridge in Mito.”

“Mito!? That’s two hours away!”

“Take the express train. Please, do not be late Moteuchi-san.” The buzz of a dead line sounded. Taking the receiver down from his ear, Yota stared at it in defiance.

“I oughta just fucking ignore it,” he stated. Minutes passed as he held a glaring contest with an inanimate object. With a final curse, he slammed the receiver back in its cradle and went for his shirt.

All the walk to the station, he called himself ever kind of fool he could think of. He even made up some on the spot. None of this changed the fact he was giving into the demands of some looney. He got to the station, still grumbling and cursing himself. Yota bought his ticket and stood behind the yellow line like a good little boy.

It wasn’t that long of a wait for the train to come. ‘Hopefully, there won’t be any orgies on this one,’ he mused inwardly while getting on.

The train was crowded about like what he expected for a Saturday. He’d be forced to stand, maybe all the way to Mito. Yota sighed.

“Yota?”

The voice was coming from right behind him. Yota turned at the calling of his name. And he breath caught.

Barely contained life laughed in two eyes, one the deepest amber, the other the even-deeper sea.

“Urumi?”

Her traveling companions stiffened when he said her name. One in particular, the guy with the glasses, looked like his eyes might bug out of his head. They all shifted glances between Urumi and Yota. A few mouthed the name a few times, as though they’d never heard her be called by her first name. Yota got the impression he must have embarrassed her somehow.

Urumi for her part glared down at the others. “Yes, that’s right. He calls me by my first name. Anyone got a problem with that?”

The one with the glasses opened his mouth. “Kanzaki, is this... er, is he...”

Urumi turned up the glare even further. “Yes, Kikuchi?” Yota felt sorry for this Kikuchi. He’d been on the receiving end of one of Urumi’s glares. The arctic-cold tone of her voice made it even worse. Kikuchi shut up.

Urumi’s steps toward him brought Yota’s attention back to her. A frankly boring school uniform somehow looked quite good on her. Maybe it was the yellow blazer and blue skirt, drawing notice to her most distinctive features. Whatever it may have been, it took his breath away.

“How are you doing, Yota?” Urumi asked, piercing into his woolgathering.

‘Nothing could ever be better, as long as you are with me, my love.’ That’s the thought that came to mind, anyway. Perhaps for the best, Yota decided that was too geeky. He managed out “Fine. How about you?” instead.

“Not too bad. Though I didn’t know I was this famous.”

Yota’s eyebrows rose. “What? Waddaya mean?”

Flipping a strand of hair over her shoulder, Urumi gave a dismissive shrug. “Some woman calling herself ‘Gekkashu.’ Said she wanted to meet with me. Probably just someone working for the Ministry of Education.”

The icy black thing returned to Yota’s stomach. “Gekkashu?” he asked, suspicion in his voice evident even to him. “Talks like the old women in the anime?”

A question in her eyes, Urumi nodded silently. Yota gazed at her face for a long time before answering. “She called me, too. She said...”

The cityscape blowing past outside was suddenly very interesting. Urumi wasn’t about to let him off that easy, however. “She said...?”

“That if I wanted to keep you safe, I’d come to the Korean bistro near the Red Gate Bridge in Mito.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I see. Well, we’ll just have to meet with Mrs. Gekkashu and find out for ourselves.” Despite shivering at her tone, Yota had to agree.

Time passed, and their train ground to a stop at Mito station. The blond biker-type, Onizuka-sensei, got off first. Yota let Kanzaki proceed him, with the others bringing up the rear. It seemed almost like... a battle formation.

The thought made Yota shiver. They were going to war; off to do battle with this Gekkashu.

Sekijou Road ran past the Red Gate Bridge, along the river front. They walked to the Red Gate itself, going in the direction toward the sea. Cars flew down the road to their side, not that anyone really noticed. Instead the group continued along the sidewalk, eyes straight ahead, minds fixed on the immanent meeting.

A small, innocuous building rose on their left, seated prominently at the junction of three streets. ‘Kim Suk’ stood emblazoned across the front in roman script.

“This looks like the place.” Much nodding accompanied Onizuka-sensei’s announcement.

The inside of Kim Suk was clean, but utterly unremarkable. The lack of decoration made Yota wonder if the management even cared what their place looked like. Most of the flair that was in existence claimed to be architectural, rather than superfluous.

“Welcome to Kim Suk,” announced a perky waitress, in the whining tone of voice that all waitresses seemed to have. One that never failed to set Yota’s teeth to grating. “A table for six?”

“Excuse me, we were supposed to meet someone here. She might or might not already have arrived. Maybe calling herself ‘Gekkashu’?”

Yota watched the waitress’s smile tighten. His eyes flashed to Urumi, and he could tell she saw it, too.

After the briefest of moments, the waitress answered in a short, clipped affirmative. With minimal of talking, she led them to a corner table in the back of the dining area.

Gekkashu turned out to be a woman with a face as gnarled as her voice, and a body to match. Yota stood there, eyes boring holes into the woman, for nearly an hour. But the aged crone refused to burst into flame or transmogrify into a frog. This only made him want to deck her. Hard.

Snorting, Yota pulled out a chair and sat down directly across from the old crone. He was surprised to find he had been the first to do so, but retreated back into the comforting rage.

It was a good thing Urumi spoke first. “We’re here. Now what is this all about?” “Yes, you are here. That’s good.” The old woman’s voice sounded even more cracked than over the phonelines. A question of the exact age of this woman floated through Yota’s mind.

Kikuchi spoke up. “Are you going to tell us why you wanted us here, or are we going to have to call the police?”

“There will be no need for that,” graveled the old woman. “But before we begin in earnest, there is something I need to do.” With that, Gekkashu picked up a small amulet resting before her on the table. It rotated about, the gem inside sending dancing sparkles across the room. And she began to chant; harsh syllables that hurt Yota’s ears and prickled his skin.

Something was twisting. Like being on the merry-go-round when he was a kid. The world might be spinning or it might just be him that was moving. Yota felt like his body was bending and shifting, pulled along by some unseen river.

“Yota! Yota!”

The sound of Urumi calling his name snapped Yota out of it. Shaking his head to dispel the dizziness, he looked around him again. The restaurant was still there, but it looked older, grimier. They were utterly alone. Only their table had anyone at it at all. No waitresses bustled about, no chefs standing ready by the fires. The cash register was an ancient and rusted heap by the door.

Yota felt a horrifying loneliness seep into his bones.

“Where are we?”

Urumi and her friends looked at him as one. “What are you talking about? We’re in the restaurant,” supplied Urumi.

“No,” Gekkashu broke in, “he is right. We are somewhere else. Feel free to look out the window, if you don’t believe me. But be sure not to wander too far from the restaurant.”

Seeing the defiance in Urumi’s eyes, Yota was not surprised when she stood up. Still with an air of rebellion, his lover marched to the window, and thrust aside the curtain. And stood stock still.

It was impossible to say how much time passed as the girl stared out the window, looking at something only she saw.

“Uh, Kanzaki,” began Onizuka-sensei, “are you alright?”

The girl dropped the curtain, and made the slow, painful way back to the table. Yota cringed upon seeing her wooden, trance-like gait. She all but dropped dead into the seat beside him. Her hand sought out and clasped tightly his. Yota returned the squeeze, hoping beyond hope it would reassure her.

“I’m a believer,” she stated in a voice soft as a feather.

“Alright, fine,” allowed Kikuchi, “we’re ‘somewhere else.’ But where is here?”

The old woman inched her face to the boy. “It is the Hiasin. But in the language of the Courts of Man, it is called the spirit world.”

“Yeah right you old bat,” Onizuka-sensei drawled. “We just crossed right over the Sanzu River and are having tea just outside King Enma’s palace.” He discarded the sarcasm. “Next you’ll be telling us that werewolves are infesting the city.”

“I offered for you to look out the window if you didn’t believe.”

“Onizuka-sensei,” Kikuchi began, “I’ve never seen Kanzaki like that.” He pointed to the girl. “And she isn’t the kind to believe these claims without good reason.”

The crass teacher thought about that statement for a moment. “I guess you’re right.” He rounded on Gekkashu. “But you still owe us an explanation, you old hag!”

Smiling, the aged woman swept her gaze over the assembled group. “I thought you’d never let me start.

“I brought you here in the hopes of impressing on all of you the gravity of what is happening. Called the Consumption Spiral by some, if allowed to proceed unchecked, the world will be devoured.”

“Consumption Spiral?” wondered Kikuchi. “Just what are you talking about?”

“There is a very good reason why the spirit world and that of the flesh have always been segregated. For you see, the difficulties of crossing back and forth between the Hiasin and the human world are numerous, for humans and spirits. A spirit amongst humans finds itself with little power to affect the world around it. And a human in the Hiasin is just as weak.

“Such limitations do not apply to creatures of both worlds. If a union of metaphysical and physical sinews is attained, then both worlds are open to the creature. They could step between the Hiasin and the human world as easily as you and I step sideways. It would be within their power to effect either world just as much as the other. This is the beginning of the Consumption Spiral.

“But as the creature walks between the worlds more and more, the border that separates the worlds wears away. For the mongrel beast is not sifting through holes in the veil, or passing through the gates, but tearing its way past the veil itself. The veil begins to unravel, and things that should never meet, do.”

“So in short, a hybrid creature could unwittingly destroy this ‘veil’ you’re talking about,” surmised Kikuchi. “What would happen were this veil to vanish?”

Gekkashu stared quite hard into the boy’s eyes. “The end of all mankind.

“Humans are woefully unprepared to weather the dangers of the Hiasin. That is why the mages and shamans of old outlawed passage to the other side. Truth, their decision was influenced by the loss of the Oberon cabal. Nevertheless, the wisdom remains that humans, even particularly powerful ones, find themselves lost on unforgiving seas in the Hiasin.

“Were the hostile forces of beyond to begin their work here, in this world, then humankind would not survive as it is now. The Laoun-Garru would drive men to madness, destroying everything in an orgy of insanity. The Drakkir would lure the lustful to their lairs, and slaughter sinners wholesale. And if the daughters of Eve were to meet up against the Goukan-o, then death at the hands of Laoun-Garru would be a mercy.”

“Indeed, we should pray for the Laoun-Garru or the Drakkir. For it is the Goukan-o who wish to tear down all that stands between the Hiasin and the human world.”

Swallowing loudly, Onizuka spoke. “I take it these Goukan-o guys aren’t exactly nice.”

“Their name is written with the characters for ‘rape’ and ‘king,’” Gekkashu told him with a tone that brooked no denial. “No, they are not exactly nice. They revel in the defilement and conquest of all things female. They even feed through this heinous act. Although,” Yota quailed as the old hag fixed him with a terrible gaze, “the pure of heart are like rancid meat to them. They will avoid such purity. At all costs.”

“I get the feeling this isn’t a public service announcement,” stated Murai. “There’s something you want us to do, isn’t there?”

The crone’s face broke out into a spidery smile. “Yes, Murai Kunio, there is something I would like you to do. By now, the gravity of the danger has no doubt been impressed into you. That is good. Take this threat seriously and we shall live.

“In Hinata ward of Tokyo lives a man named Urashima Keitaro. If you find him on the street, invite him into your home. Clothe him, bathe him, feed him. Tell him nothing of why, or what you know of the Hiasin, or any mention of myself. Offer only silent companionship. Do as I say, and Keitaro will choose the correct path. Do not, and Urashima shall raise himself up as a devil king, a beast without a soul.”

“If he’s that dangerous, why not,” Kikuchi heaved a deep sigh, “kill him when we find him?”

“He is not easy to kill. And even if you succeed, then you will still have the Devil King to contend with. I assure you, Urashima Keitaro is much easier to survive.”

Gekkashu retrieved the amulet from where it had lain all through the discussion. “And that, I believe, is that.”

Before anyone could object, the world shifted again. Yota re-experienced the perverse merry-go-round sensation of motion without perspective. Loneliness leeched out of him. Even before the shifting stopped, Yota knew. They were home.

Yota looked about him, still holding tight to Urumi’s hand. The water stains on the walls were gone, as was the omnipresent dust. The cash register gleamed new. “We’re back,” he sighed.

“Yeah,” agreed Kikuchi while pointing to Gekkashu’s seat. “But it looks like she stayed behind.”

Fujiyoshi hung his head, resting his face in one hand. “Man, this is so fucked up. This morning all I had to worry ‘bout was not flunkin’ the high school entrance exams. Now some walkin’ prune tells me I gotta do my part to save the world!”

“Doesn’t help any that it’s pretty hard to argue with what she did,” moaned Murai. “I just don’t see how she could have pulled that off without it being real magic.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the waitress. She was not smiling. “I’m very sorry, but could you please leave?”

Various questions from all around. The waitress went on. “Please. We really would rather not associate with friends of Gekkashu’s any more than we have to. Please leave.”

“Aw, come on,” Onizuka-sensei grumbled, obviously trying to deal with the whole situation. “You can’t just kick us out. How ‘bout we pay for something?”

“No, I’m afraid that’s not possible. Now please leave, before we’re forced to call the police.”

They left, Yota trying to deal with the utterly insane happenings. They were on the train back to Tokyo before he broke the silence. “This is crazy. People don’t just get sucked into other dimensions. We’re in real life, here!”

“You were the first one saying we were somewhere else,” pointed out Murai, staring out at the passing landscape.

“Yeah, but...”

“Believe it, Yota,” murmured Urumi, still watching her hands. “That window...” She shivered violently, painful memories evident on her face. “It wasn’t nice. Just please, believe her story. As crazy and as stupid and as unbelievable as it all is, just take it at face value.”

Yota looked at his lover. The fiery glint, the iron confidence that surrounded her when they first met was gone. Instead, there stood a scared little girl, desperate to find comfort after having all her illusions shattered. Yota’s shoulders slumped.

“All right,” he said, “I believe.”

Fujiyoshi leaned in. “So now what do we do guys?”

From where he sat, Kikuchi hummed. “I suppose we don’t have much choice but to do as Gekkashu asks.”

“So we just run around doing errands for that old bat?” groused Onizuka-sensei.

“We don’t have any information to contradict her,” noted Kikuchi. “For now, all we can do is assume she’s telling us the truth. Naturally, we watch ourselves around this ‘Urashima’ person, but let’s just go along with things for now.”

Yota admitted Kikuchi’s plan made sense. He went back to watching the scenery pass by, mind a thousand miles away.

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Author's Notes: Yes, Mito is a real city in Japan, it really does have the Red Gate Bridge, and it really is two hours away from Tokyo by car. i chose Mito because it is the only Japanese city other than Tokyo i have had the pleasure of visiting. Theoretically, the action could have stayed in Tokyo, but i felt too much was happening there already. From rampaging monsters to lunatic martial artists to rabid bikers to flying hotel managers, those poor people never get a break. Let some weirdness happen outside the Kanto area for a change!