Chapter 3
Out of the Darkness

“How soon will you start showing some progress? I want that red soul stripped out of that shell now. You’ve had all this time to figure out a way to do it, so what’s the problem?” Chryarnth spat onto the end of the phone in his one hand while trying to rub life back into a stiff right shoulder that suddenly began to ache with the other.

The person on the other line was silent for a moment as though composing his scattered thoughts into a well written answer before he spoke. “We’ve run into a few bumps, but we’re confident we’ve found a way to do it.”

“What sort of ‘bumps’ are you having issues with?”

“Nothing too serious but enough to slow things down. These flames aren’t easily extinguished. They just spring back to life. It’s odd.”

“Yes, very odd,” Chryarnth frowned. “Perhaps I will have to come by the lab to see to things myself.”

“That shouldn’t be necessary, sir. I will call again later today with an update.”

“Fine,” he said. “If you do not succeed by then, you can consider yourself relieved of duty, Maximnair. I’m tired of waiting.”

“Yes, sir.”

Chryarnth set the receiver end of the phone back onto its base and sat for a still moment in his seat, allowing the dark shadows to comfort him. His aching shoulder annoyed him and reminded him of the human form—mortal—form in which he took now. He would be glad for the day he would be able to cast off this guise and come forward as himself, his new self—a whole god, complete and invincible.

Dr. Maximnair was a cold yet intelligent scientist in the various Human Research facilities in Tokyo. Although he preferred to work out of the offices there, he found himself carried off to an isolated hospital in the snowy mountains of northern Japan. It was a relatively low-tech hospital compared to the main offices and labs he was used to. At first he felt insulted at the forceful relocation; he saw it as a demotion rather than an honor to work on such a top secret mystery. A mystery, that’s all it really was. Something that other idiot scientists couldn’t figure out, a mystery that only he was to discover the secret to unravel. He would be the one man responsible for shattering this secret and grasping a firm hold on the hidden truth within. That is what interested him. He wanted that glory, the glory of the one who would help revive a god…and make him famous in the process. Even more, it wasn’t just a god, but the god, the one creation myths across the globe; the legend of the Golden Dragon.

But the path to glory is dark and not easily seen. The one path ahead lie with the mysteries enshrouding a young man, a battered and barely alive young man. Maximnair didn’t ask for the details of the man’s extensive injuries and he figured he wouldn’t be given the details even if he asked, but he couldn’t help wondering what happened to him. Just as his curiosity flared, his interest in the matter faded just as quickly. Whatever lay in the past did not concern him. He was only there to discover what may or may not be locked within the crumpled form that lay on a cold and sterile operating table in front of him.

“What would you like us to do, sir?” said a male nurse to his left, his bushy black hair poking out of the white operating cap on his head. Three others in white garb stood around the table, waiting for orders.

“Shut up,” Maximnair said, his fists shaking. “I’m trying to think.”

Nearly two and a half months had passed since they received the boy into the hospital. Those first few weeks were some of the longest and most exhausting weeks he could remember. The boy was pretty much dead by the time they first had a look at him, that is, before he spontaneously combusted right there on the operating table. Five of the emergency workers—five of Maximnair’s finest—took the full blast of the explosion that engulfed around the boy, were treated but later died from severe burns and other related complications. And to their disbelief, the flames seemed to have no effect whatsoever to the dying boy. In fact, the cuts and huge gaping wounds all over his body seemed to be closing, to be healing, and they would have completely healed if the flames continued to burn. But like a wanderer with no energy to take another step forward, the flames flickered weakly and eventually died away altogether. The boy was alive but still very near death.

What Maximnair couldn’t understand was the origin of those flames. If he believed in magic, he wouldn’t have a problem in drawing a conclusion right there, but he was a man of science. He believed there was an explanation for everything, no matter how mysterious or unbelievable. This boy simply possessed a knowledge that he did not have, and it angered him. He might not have understood, but he’d be damned if he couldn’t shatter the lock and uncover the truth about the boy. He’d see to it.

Maximnair side-stepped two other nurses in his way to the boy’s chart which listed every drug that was given to him, every reaction good or bad, every odd happening right there all in one chart. He picked up the chart, which was pinned on a clipboard, and looked up to the beeping green and white display to the right side of the operating table. The boy’s vitals were stable yet still a little unpredictable. They would be at normal, peek levels one moment and then plummet to dangerous levels the next as though he were having cardiac arrest. Nothing seemed to connect with these strange dips either, so he simply called them “dips” and hoped that one wouldn’t last long enough that the boy couldn’t recover from, at least not before Maximnair could crack his secrets.

Finally deciding upon a coarse of action, Maximnair set the chart back down and cracked his knuckles loudly, saying, “We’re not going make any progress if we continue on like we have. We’ll just have to hurry up and complete as many tests as possible before he experiences one too many dips and gives out before we can finish our work.”

“What do you suggest we do?” a young woman with purple eyes to Maximnair’s left said in a soft voice.

Maximnair said nothing but walked over to a small table of tools and picked up what looked like a syringe with a needle about two and a half to three feet long on one end and another instrument with two round circles on the end like an odd pair of scissors. Looking at the instruments a moment, he set his eyes on the boy lying on the table. “There isn’t much we can do but rush forward and hope for the best,” he said dryly.

With the odd syringe in one hand and the other calmly resting on the side of the table next to the boy’s stomach, Maximnair began to sink the long wire-needle into the boy’s stomach, pushing it deeper and deeper. The boy winced weakly but could hardly retaliate much more than a sharp gasp. There was nothing he could do.

As Maximnair dug the wire in deeper, the boy’s eyes opened, tears rolling sideways across his face as he lie on the operating table, and he whispered, “…why?”

For the past three hours Chryarnth sat darkly in his office, hardly moving an inch. He felt something click inside of him, a feeling that made him feel like things were slowly coming together, that he would soon grasp a hold of his most desired wish. Soon. But soon wasn’t soon enough, and all he could do was sit and wait while a doctor worked his magic miles away in the frigged snows of the north.

All he could do was sit and wait.

The office space was relatively dark, as was Chryarnth’s mind and thoughts, the way he liked it. He normally kept at least one or two faint lights on in the room, enough to see and carry out bits and pieces of work that needed to be done. The light coming from a light fixture on the wall was bright enough to read and write but dark enough to shade several corners of the room. Both corners of the room on either side of Chryarnth’s desk were shrouded in darkness. But as the shadows covered these areas, a faint glint of purple flickered in what appeared to be a round ball to the right and slightly behind where Chryarnth sat. At first the flicker of light was hardly bright enough to pierce through the darkness surrounding it, but with each passing second it grew stronger and stronger, strong enough for Chryarnth to raise his head and casually glance behind him.

Curious, he thought, as he stared at the staff he created to house the two captured souls of a god. The staff itself was rather nondescript, just a mere stretch of dark metal iron with a round crystal at the top. Inside the crystal were two glowing circles of light, one golden and the other a dark purple, the purple light wildly bouncing from side to side within its crystal cage. Intrigued, Chryarnth spun his chair around and rose to his feet. The souls within the crystal were nothing but bits of energy. They shouldn’t be able to do much more than glitter and look pretty. But the one dancing around as though looking for a way out puzzled him. Was it possible for a soul to break free of its bonds? They are neither living nor dead and yet the assimilate life with the greatest of ease. How? Why? For what purpose? Why did this soul dance about while its cellmate remained still and lifeless?

Then it happened. The room filled with the most eerie purple light for but three seconds, so bright that Chryarnth could scarcely see a thing but purple. When the darkness returned, a strange noise hit Chryarnth’s ears as he stumbled backward into his chair. That sound was that of a voice, a very dark, adamant voice, one that struck fear into the darkest of hearts, even Chryarnth’s own.

“Stupid idiot,” the voice said. “If only you knew what you captured you wouldn’t have locked me away so hastily.”

Chryarnth could only sit and stare into the darkness, wishing for once that he had more light in this puny office, if just for once to see who this stranger was who appeared out of nowhere in a blink of the eye.

Step by step, Chryarnth could hear the owner of the voice step softly across the room, so softly that he imagined the figure wore no shoes, and stepped into the partial light against the other wall, near the door. The figure, with its back facing Chryarnth, was completely naked. The shape of his body was extremely muscular and his stature had a way of inducing fear at a mere glance. His hair was short and spiky, just long enough to tickle the nape of the neck. The room was too dark to tell for sure, but Chryarnth imagined the figure’s hair to be a tone of red.

Then, turning around, the figure grinned, his eyes a deep, piercing red. “Hello, brother. My name’s Akuma.”

“You,” Chryarnth began. “I… I know you, don’t I?” he said, squinting at the man, trying to piece things together.

“Of course you do, moron. I didn’t call you “brother” for nothing, now did I?”

“Brother? I have no brother,” Chryarnth said plainly.

The naked man standing in the darkness before Chryarnth appeared anything but amused. His red eyes flickered as though he had little patience to waste. Then, taking a few steps closer to Chryarnth behind the desk, the man explained, “Like I said, my name is Akuma. I am your brother, or at least part of him.”

“I told you,” Chryarnth interrupted, his own anger rising, “I have no brother.”

The man spat, the last of his patience gone, “Who are you here to find? Who is it you were fighting with all those years ago? Who was it that stole whatever bit of glory you could have had for himself? Who thought he was better than even the Mother to reject his own duty, his destiny? Who? Who? Is not that one your brother?”

“How… how would you know about him?”

“You are stupider than I gave you credit for. You are a fool. Don’t you recognize my face?”

Chryarnth probably wouldn’t have been able to see the resemblance in his state of shock if Akuma hadn’t pointed it out. But now that he had, Chryarnth couldn’t help but take a jolting step backward, everything finally making sense.

“It was you the soul of fire fought in his dreams… You are the soul of darkness.”

“Yes,” Akuma said, rolling his eyes as though embarrassed. “I was close to destroying him but that fool Mukashi thought he could lend a hand and be useful.” The man laughed as he glanced back at the magical staff with a small golden light within it.

“You… wanted to destroy him? Why?”

“Why not? It was his own mistake to think that he could run from his own destiny. You know, he is a first, which is somewhat of an accomplishment, but it’s not one without consequences.”

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with the Arena Battles, would it?”

If he had a chair, he would have sunk deep into it, but instead, Akuma sighed on his feet and rubbed his face in his hands. “What do I have to say? Do I have to explain every detail for you? Oh, that’s right, you’re hardly perfect yourself, aren’t you? I forgot.” Akuma chuckled. When Chryarnth opened his mouth to speak again, Akuma raised a hand and spoke again. “You wouldn’t happen to have any clothing in this dump, would you?”

Chryarnth frowned but nodded. He stepped near to a small coat rack that held his black cloak and tossed the cloth to the man.

“Ah, just the right color, too. Now,” Akuma said, drawing up another chair to the front of the desk, sitting down, “I’m curious. Even though you know enough about him to scrounge up the remaining souls scattered who knows where, you claim to know nothing more?”

“My only task is to finish what was started. I was cursed to finish this battle no matter what, and I intend on doing so.”

“And you have no way of finishing this battle when the opponent is in five separate pieces, is that correct?” Chryarnth nodded. “How ironic. You want to revive a god in order to kill him. Very well, I will help you.”

“Excuse me?”

“I will help you. I want him dead just as much as you do.”

“But let me get this straight: you are the soul of darkness, right? If you kill him, wouldn’t that be the same as killing yourself?”

Akuma only answered with a wicked smile. “When do I start?”

Returning to her small apartment in central Tokyo, Kaori didn’t know quite what to do. It felt as though she were stepping into someone else’s apartment, not hers. She couldn’t help but remember the last time she had been here, that day when she showed Hisoka an ancient book with all kinds of sketches in it not to mention one that resembled him almost to the last detail.

Xein stepped into the hallway behind Kaori and coughed. “Dear god, girl, don’t you ever clean?”

The apartment was clean except for the fact that it hadn’t been lived in for such a long time. “It’s nothing opening a window won’t fix,” Kaori said, kicking off her shoes and stepped up the one step into the main hallway. She walked to the other end of the hallway, turning left and out of sight.

“I guess I’ll just make myself at home then,” Xein said, scratching his head. Kaori had been working for years with a highly technical group of scientists and she couldn’t afford more than a 1-2 room apartment? Xein blinked away his surprise and walked down the hallway. He didn’t bother with his shoes.

“You know I was just kidding about the size thing,” he said to Kaori hiding somewhere. He looked around the main living room, but she wasn’t there. He looked down another short hallway and saw a light on.

“Yeah? I wasn’t,” he heard her laugh from a small room on the right further down the hall. Then, turning off the light, she came walking back towards him. “Um, what size thing were we talking about again?” she smiled and stuffed an old book into his hands as she continued on to open another window.

Xein flashed an angry eye on Kaori as she giggled and opened the window but said nothing more. Turning his attention back on the book in his hands, he said, “And what’s this?”

“That,” Kaori said, walking back into the room toward Xein, “is one of the oldest books in this city. It’s from a place called Springbrook. Ever heard of it?”

Xein shook his head, his white-gray hair shaking messily against the high cheekbones of his face. “Not that I know of. What’s so special about it?”

“Well, the book is special because of the memories it has within its pages. Just take a look,” she encouraged him to open and browse through the book. Walking over to the sofa, she plopped down and kicked up her feet on the coffee table. “As for Springbrook, that’s easy. That is the exact spot where a certain god fell from heaven.”

He looked over at Kaori, whose back was turned toward him. He couldn’t see the grin spreading across her face. “A certain god?”

“Uh-huh. Springbrook is the place a god fell from heaven, of course that was many, many years ago.”

“You can’t be serious,” Xein said, walking past the sofa to look Kaori in the eye. “Why do we care about a legend all of a sudden? I thought we were looking for my sister.”

“We are, Xein. I haven’t forgotten about her,” Kaori’s smile faded into an apologetic grin. “Turn to page 331. There’s a picture there I want you to remember.”

Clueless, Xein flipped through the pages until he came across a page marked 331. Most of the other pages he flipped through were similar to journal entries, but pages 331 and on seemed to be art sketches of people, places and things, but mostly they were drawings of one particular person, a young man about the age of nineteen or twenty.

“That one right there,” Kaori pointed a close-up sketch of the man. He had short, wispy hair and eyes that seemed to be looking far beyond where Xein now stood, holding the book. “Don’t forget that face.”

“But…”

“I know. Looks like Hisoka, doesn’t it? Just like the photos in the news.”

“But how? If this book was written a thousand years ago, how could he be—”

Sitting straight up, Kaori breathed in deeply and said, “—because it’s not really Hisoka. Listen, if Hisoka really is dead, then maybe I’m wrong about this, but if I’m right, the one in this book is the actual Dragon God that fell to earth all those years ago, the same Dragon God in the creation myth.”

“But that’s just a myth! It’s not true. It’s just another one of those stupid made-up gods people dream up to worship. It’s not real.”

“I think this one is,” she nodded. “And I think I’m not the only one who knows who god is.”

“Knows who god is? What the hell are you talking about? What does any of this have to do with Hisoka?”

“I don’t really know,” Kaori said, turning her face away. “But I can think of only two things right now: either Hisoka is the Dragon God of legend or he is the carrier of the god’s soul. I don’t know which it is but either way, I think he’s still alive out there, somewhere…”

“And that’s why Hisoka was “murdered”?” he said dramatically, using his hands to illustrate the quotation marks as he spoke. “Because somebody wants god dead?”

“Yes, I think so,” she nodded again.

Xein tossed the book down on the sofa beside Kaori. “Can you hear what you’re saying? This is insane!”

“Listen, Xein, I know this is really hard to understand and I probably should have said something about this before but… I was just worked up about the news and trying to find a lead and…”

“I know I don’t know the kid, but he can’t be any different than you or me or anybody else on this stupid planet. Besides, I didn’t think gods could die.”

“Neither did I…”

Xein laughed, taking a few angry steps away. “You know what? I don’t care. I don’t. I don’t even know this kid you’re looking for, but he doesn’t concern me. I am looking for my sister. My sister. She is the only one I care about and I mean to find her.”

“Oh, I get it,” Kaori said, scowling. “She is the only one you care about. Who cares about me or about a god who just so happened created the very earth you stand on not to mention everything else? But who cares? Who cares if god is being hunted right now or being tortured, who cares if god dies and takes the rest of the world with him, who cares if…”

Xein sighed and sat down beside Kaori, who looked away. “You know that’s not what I meant. Now, c’mon. Look at me.” He gently took her chin in his hand and made her look at him. “You’re right. You should have said something about all this before… and you’re gonna have to make more sense of this for me sometime. But for now,” he said, taking her hands. “can’t we relax? Just a little?” He leaned over toward her, but she pushed him back, a smile back on her face.

“I’m up for that, but you’re taking your shoes off first,” she laughed and grabbed one of his booted feet with her own and slid it off, revealing his furry wolfish feet.

“Ahh,” he feigned a scream, “not the shoes! No!”

A musty stench wafted up from Xein’s boots and feet. “Oh god, and you were complaining about the air in here?” Kaori covered her nose with a hand. “Don’t you ever take those things off?”

“Not really,” he said. “But I’m sure if you had feet like me, you’d hide them just the same.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right.”

“You don’t have to agree with me!” Xein said, laughing. “I could turn into a beast right now and eat you up, you know.” He pounced playfully on Kaori, knocking her on her back taking little nibbles on her neck.

She put her arms around him and said, “Honey, I think you were a beast long before they made you one.”

Just as the sun began to set, Kataki returned to the PCM building to speak with Chryarnth. He had been in a sort of hiding, trying to keep a low profile and letting those who knew him believe he were dead. That is the way it must be. He had to become someone new, reclaim a new life with his new body. He felt the strength in his new limbs but something about them frightened him. Just the fact that these people were able to make such mechanical limbs was frightening enough. He couldn’t help but wonder what else they could do.

Then as he turned the final corner toward Chryarnth’s office, he ran into a man dressed in solely an odd, black robe. Kataki had never seen the man before but something about him seemed familiar, something about his face or—

“So, we meet again, old friend,” the man said, toying with a black and red mask in his hands.

“I’m sorry, I—” Kataki began.

“What? Don’t you remember me? I remember you, and that look in your eyes when you were about to fall.” He sighed, his eyes closing just as his mouth opened as though he could taste something delicious in the air. “It was beautiful.” The man’s eyes glowed a dark red and then Kataki knew. This was the demon on Mt. Sakuba. This is the one he had seen… but, was this man not Hisoka?

Kataki bared his teeth, his courage returning once again. “Who the hell are you?”

“Ah, I’m glad. You do remember me,” Akuma grinned. “My name is Akuma. I’m pleased to meet you again, boy. And this time it appears we are even on the same side.” Akuma raised a robed arm and held out his hand. “Truce?”

“Truce? Like hell I’m shaking your hand, you demon. What the fuck are you doing here? I thought Hisoka was dead.”

His eyes flashing red, Akuma lowered his arm. “He is none of your concern, boy. But let me assure you of one thing. Never associate me with that weakling, do you understand?”

“No, I don’t understand. Who are you?”

Losing all patience with the human, Akuma grabbed a hold of the neckline of Kataki’s shirt and shook him. “You are in no position to ask questions. But since I enjoy seeing the fear in your eyes when you look at me, I will tell you just one thing more. I am not Hisoka. Therefore, the owner of those red eyes back at Sakuba were not Hisoka’s but mine. I’m the one who let you fall. I’m the one who wanted to see your twisted corpse at the bottom of the mountain, but like a fool, Hisoka would have nothing of it and decided to save you.” Akuma gave one last squeeze to Kataki’s shirt and pushed him backward, laughing. “Isn’t that funny? For all these years you’ve hated him, even plotted to murder him with your mob friends and yet he was the one who saved your life. Ha, ha, ha, ha! I do love a sense of irony.” With that, Akuma said no more. He brushed against Kataki’s shoulder in his passing and continued on down the hallway, never looking back.

He was the one who saved your life.

No, he must have been lying. Kataki had seen the look on Hisoka’s face, his eyes flashing red just as Akuma’s had. But how could that be possible? If Hisoka and Akuma were two totally different people, then how could they both have existed in the same body at the same time?

“Something is not right here,” Kataki said to himself as he held out a hand and opened Chryarnth’s office door.

The room was dark as usual and Chryarnth sat talking on his phone behind the desk.

“That’s all right. I’ve sent someone to assist you. He will be taking over operations until we’ve found the other souls. You will take your orders from him. There will be no need to keep calling me, do you understand? You will know who he is when you see him. Good day.” He hung up the phone.

“Chryarnth,” Kataki started right away. “Who was that man who just left here? The one in black?”

Hardly taking his eyes from the paperwork on his desk, Chryarnth answered, “That was Akuma. He said he was going to introduce himself to you. Didn’t he?”

“Well, yeah, I just ran into him on the way here.”

“Ah, good.”

“But… who is he?”

Chryarnth finally looked up, locking his eyes fully onto Kataki. A small grin curled across his face as he spoke. “He is one of the five souls of god. I would imagine you’ve met him before today, haven’t you?”

Then it was true. Kataki had met this person before but, how did Chryarnth know…? Suddenly Kataki felt like he were being washed down a raging river, carried away by some outside force. He was no longer in control. All he could do was sit by and let the current take him wherever it pleased. He was already too far involved to escape the waters now.

“You look confused,” Chryarnth said. Kataki didn’t need to answer, Chryarnth knew the answer just by the look in his eyes. “You’ve believed that Hisoka was the one who tried to kill you at Sakuba, right? I know—” Just as Kataki opened his mouth to say something, Chryarnth raised a hand and stopped him. “—No, you do not need to know how I know what I know, just that I do. The one you know as Hisoka, the one you fought to the death with is not exactly who you think he is. For one, he is not the same as Akuma, the one in black who just left here. They are not the same and yet they are.

“Think of a prism,” Chryarnth continued, taking a small crystal out of nowhere and using it as an example. “Its beautiful white glass reflects light, splitting the one color into many different colors. But what happens when the prism breaks?” At that moment, Chryarnth threw the crystal hard to the floor, the glass shattering into thousands of pieces. “It’s white light is gone and all that is left are the fragmented pieces of color. This is what I can only assume has happened to my brother.”

“Your brother…?”

“Yes, my brother. Aurien, the god of fire and light.”