Prologue
Tokyo, Japan
'This is the part where it gets really interesting.'
The words echoed through Omi's mind, the smirk of a challenge smacking in each syllable and he gripped the spear in his hand, wondering where the others were and fearing for their safety as he drew ever deeper into the darkness. Kritiker was empty, desks toppled and papers littering the floor, the slow turn of a ceiling fan the only sound, a steady whum-whum that grates across his nerves, obscuring the noises he needs to hear. He skittered across the floor, a crouching crab like run that took him as far as the next desk, closing his eyes briefly at the body sprawled on the floor beside him, throat torn and head askew at an unnatural angle. He vaguely remembered the woman, an employee he'd never gotten the chance to know, found himself regretting that even those small pleasures were being taken away, common courtesy subsumed in Takatori Mamoru's ever expanding presence. Mamoru didn't have time for underlings beyond the most perfunctory of dealings, too busy with his glittering world of politics and behind the scenes intrigue to give a damn about the picture on the desk next to him, the woman and her husband grinning as they held aloft a new baby, sloe-eyed with sleep.
Mamoru had gotten him into this mess and now it was up to Omi to extricate himself.
He needed to find a way out of the building, quickly before his assailants grew tired of toying with him and decided to finish the job they'd begun with the night staff. Had any of them escaped or were they all like the woman laying dead beside him, dead, eyes blank with surprised horror, blood puddling around a gaping hole where her jugular had once been? He couldn't say, couldn't even afford the luxury of worrying about them, knowing only that he had to get out before he ended up like them, another corpse waiting to be outlined in chalk.
A sound dropped behind him, a simple shimmying whish and he didn't hesitate, a simple pivot-thrust of his spear and a gasp as it slid between flesh and ribs out the back of a long-haired male. Omi shoved harder, making sure the metal tip went through so that only the wood remained where the heart should be. The bastards were hard to kill but they weren't invulnerable. Wide yellow eyes sought his, spitting an obscenity in the air between them and then the body broke, a smatter of exploding ash.
He ran then, wasting no time in sprinting across the room, aware that he'd blown his cover, that it was only a question of how fast he could run and how careless they were. They weren't infallible for all their preternatural strength and speed and the cunning they possessed though animalistic was still hampered by the limitations of human intelligence. In that aspect, the playing ground was far more level, Omi having spent so much of his life as a predator, a hunter in his own right, he knew the score and reacted accordingly.
There were no rules in this game, except survival. And he had no intention of dying now.
Omi spared a quick glance at his watch as he ran for the stairwell, the power to the building cut and the emergency lights lit along the floor as a separate generator attempted to kick in and compensate for the first. 4:30 a.m. Two hours 'til sunrise. If he could make it until then he'd be rewarded the respite of a few hours -- a few hours to plan and scatter his subordinates before he went underground. But that was two hours and a world of possibilities away. The only thing he could do now was focus on getting through the next five minutes and then the next and pray that it all added up in the end.
The first thing he had to do though was get out of the damn building with his skin intact.
The door to the stairwell swung backward, a minor amount of resistance enough to make his screaming nerves completely shot, the slow backward closure of his escape route maddening. He wasted no time, spear in one hand and using the other to tug himself along, jumping a few steps at the time. It was dark here, save for the crimson glow of the exit sign for each floor, the air stuffy and oppressive here, thick as a blanket and sweating. Or maybe he was sweating, a chilly stab of panic pushing him onward. He listened to that fear, used it for his own purposes instead of letting it rule him, letting it add a bit more speed and stealth to his step, careful not to trip, to do anything that would waste a second because all those seconds were now running out.
They were waiting for him at the bottom.
His heart clenched, eyes widening as he saw the welcoming committee waiting for him at the bottom of the staircase, yellow eyes glistening, glowing in the split dimness. He couldn't stop, they'd be on him in a second if he did. They were on him anyway. There was nothing to do but rush forward, a cry wanting so badly to yank itself from his teeth. A jolt ran up his arm as he reached the first, the spear striking and catching as another creature started for him. No, not creature. These bastards had a name and it was time he stopped trying to kid himself and face what was before him.
Vampire. They were vampires.
The spear stuck and Omi did the only thing he could, dropped to a roll and barreled into the approaching vampire's feet, using the momentum to prise the weapon free. It hadn't sunk far enough in to kill the first creature but he wouldn't be going anywhere, dropping heavily to the floor and clutching his chest. Hands clawed at him, at his back and hair but he lashed out, never still, never allowing them enough time to get purchase and he cursed the enclosed space. As bad as this was though, the elevator, had it been running, would have been far worse. They could have stopped the carriage and just dropped in, a plague more destructive than locusts, swarming him and he would have had no chance then. At least here he had a hope in hell, slim as it was.
It unnerved him, how quiet they were being, far too used to his opponents taking time to spout off their own megalomaniacal agenda before trying to kill him. In this case, the time for grandstanding was over, taken care of when the gauntlet had first been thrown. These --things were only following orders as he once had, their master probably off gloating in some dark corner somewhere, waiting for them to bring back some trophy of their kill. The fact that they'd gotten to feed, to eat some of the people who worked for him, who were supposed to be under his protection... Well, that was probably just an added bonus.
If he lived through this, he was going to ground long enough to regroup and then he was going to kill the son of a bitch.
The parking garage lay just beyond, visible in tantalizing glimpses over his assailants shoulder's, open and well-lit, the power for that section of the building still working at least. If he could get beyond that, to his car, the one he kept despite his grandfather's insistence about safety and it being beneath him to drive himself, then he could get out of here. Or at the very least, have another weapon at his disposal. Omi doubted very seriously that even a vampire could get up and saunter off with impunity after being plowed over by a car.
But he was getting ahead of himself again. He needed to get to his car first and that was starting to look a little iffy.
At least the old legends concerning wood and vampires had proven true, even if he'd only discovered that by fortunate happenstance. The spear in his hand was an old one, moldering for years as a wall decoration, a gift from his grandfather and a not so subtle reminder of tradition -- Takatori family tradition. He couldn't help but wonder if the old man hadn't given it to him for just this reason, fearing that one day still more of the family's skeletons would come back to haunt him. Only these skeletons were still skulking about, lethal and starved as razor sharp teeth were bared, a low sibilant hiss filling the air as another one, this one female, threw herself at him. She was faster than the one before, a wicked scar over one cheek, eye socket sealed and ugly purple, speaking of many fights. This one knew what she was doing and he struggled to keep up, eyes focused on the sway of her movements.
That turned out to be a mistake, the vampire he'd already laid low, having somehow pulled himself forward, the gaping wound in his chest spurting as he grabbed Omi's ankle, fingers viselike as he attempted to throw him to the ground. Omi stumbled and clawed fingernails raked across his cheek, stinging as they drew blood and tore flesh and he bit back a shriek, the spear flailing and smacking the female in the head. She wavered but rushed forward again, this time, her hands aimed for somewhere around his throat while the other holding him down began trying to twist his leg off. A split second and he made his decision, jamming the butt of the spear backward through the prone vampire's body as he hunkered down. The woman slammed into him but the force was enough to send his weapon home, an angry howl the only warning he had before that anchor of flesh dissolved, the man exploding into a cloud of dust. They fell, the spear knocked out of numbed fingers, a mouth far too close to his neck for comfort and he shoved back, trying to ignore the throb of his head as it connected with the wall. He didn't have time for injuries and he sure as hell didn’t have time for distractions.
And through it all, the woman said nothing, just hissing and salivating, her one eye glowing with an insane hunger and being this close, Omi realized she was nothing like the other one, the one who pulled all their strings. There was no mind at work here, just sheer animal cunning and a raging need to feed propelling her onward. In a way, it was far more terrifying to behold, this pseudo-human with all the urbanity and polish of civilization ripped away, little better than a beast. Terrifying and pathetic.
But it did make it easier to kill her, releasing her long enough to allow his hands to find purchase around her neck and he twisted--
The sound was ugly, a loud snicker crack that he'd heard so many times in the past, the memory of Yohji's garrote snapping when Balinese had tugged just a little too hard. It didn’t kill her but she did fall backward, hands rising to her chin, attempting to right the now awkward angle of broken bones. Omi shifted, finding the spear and twisting quickly, before she could act, burying it deep in her chest, rising to his knees to pin her against the floor, body twitching as he worked to complete his task. It was harder at this angle, gravity working in his favor but he could feel the weapon trying to catch against bone as he went for the heart.
She rose up, fingers clawing, trying to reach him and in doing so, inadvertently aided his task, wood finding heart and she disintegrated, leaving him to fall forward, face and hands covered in ash. Omi spat, choking as he accidentally sucked it up, clogging his lungs and sick at the thought of what he was breathing in. He wanted to sit, to wipe his face but he lurched to his feet, ready for the next one.
But the room was empty, the door to the outer garage now unblocked. He frowned, lifting his weapon cautiously as he took slow steps, eyes searching. There had been another one, he was certain he'd seen three vampires, not two. 'So where did you go?' Omi asked silently, throwing himself against the wall to the right of the propped door, using the angle to see outside. Nothing to the left but for the right... He worried his lip, closing his eyes briefly and then charged.
Nothing attacked him as he barreled through the door, skittering to a halt a few feet just outside it, momentarily dazzled by the change in lighting. He didn't ponder it too long, patting his jacket and finding his keys, sliding fingers through the key ring, eyes darting to and fro as he ran. He wanted to wince, the macadam echoing with each footfall, his stride heavier than it should have been, out of practice and too obvious. Then again, he wasn't even attempting to hide at this point, wanting only to get out, blood from the gash across his cheek trickling down his chin, a right home beacon for these fuckers to follow.
The BMW was just ahead, a muted midnight blue that almost seemed to glow at him welcomingly, a ring of light from the overhead surrounding it, banishing some of the darker shadows. He picked up the pace, jogging and feeling himself growing winded and angry at himself for that. Barely a year had passed since he'd laid down the life of an assassin and he was badly out of shape. But then not all of that could be put down to laziness, genetics betraying him far more than his body ever would. Still, his condition would have to be remedied and quickly before the next death squad found its way to his doorstep.
His relief was sharp, almost painful as his shaking fingers shoved the key in the lock, a hard turn unlocking the cab and he yanked at the door handle, the door popping outward. Omi learned forward, laying his spear against the seat and --
A hand closed around his neck from behind and jerked him backward, fingers torn from keys, weaponless as fingers dug into the nape of his neck. 'Shit,' he lashed out, heavy breathing in his ear turning to grunts as his elbow struck again, and again, until he felt bone crack but still the creature held fast, no breath but the feeling of lips grazing his throat frightening him. Omi changed tactics, hands at awkward angles, fingers searching until he found his attacker's eyes and started pushing against the soft, mushy tissue. A human being would have screamed, let him go and rubbed at the injury. This thing whined, high pitched and unhappy but holding fast, even when Omi's thumbs pushed completely inward, bile rising hot and fast in his throat at the sticky feel of eye tissue breaking and oozing around them. A scrape of teeth against his flesh and he couldn't stop the scream tearing out of his throat, damning everything, and throwing himself forward, against the flow holding him, fighting again and again with everything in him. Hooking a foot around the vampire's ankle, Omi sent them both tumbling to the floor, crawling as soon as he hit, and near leaping into the car, the creature close on his heels. He scrambled to shut the door, mindful that the keys were in the outside lock still but it caught the spear propping it open, a hand inserting itself as a face tried to push itself inward, wounded eyes bleeding tears. Backing up, he lifted his foot and kicked, smashing his foot against the thing's face, mindful of the crunching break of flesh beneath his heel. Kicking again and then again, he managed to exert enough force behind it to shove the vampire backward, careening into the body of the car next to his, the sound of a window smashing with the impact. The creature wasted no time but then neither did he, spear up and sliding home as his attacker ran blindly toward him. Mouth opening in a silent O, fingers still reaching, almost grazing his face, the body disappeared, a pile of dust littering the floor.
Omi sat, panting, wanting nothing more than to fall back into the cushions and not move again but he made himself move, leaning out and snagging the keys out of the still open door and reeling the spear in and laying it across his lap as he shut the car door. His hands shook, punching the automatic lock and knowing that it would do him little good beyond the psychological feeling of safety it gave him. The engine revved to life as he turned the ignition and he shifted gears, throwing the vehicle into a spinning tear, speeding out of his parking space and toward the gated exit, willing the automatic gate to lift before he broke through it. It did, although it was a close call, enough of pause to steel himself for the possibility of a collision. He turned out into the half-empty streets, slowing down enough to prevent himself from being pulled over by the police. It was still dark, after all and the streets were too open, too visible.
Using the back of his hand, he wiped at his cheek, wincing as pain shot up his eyes, furrows of torn skin oozing in response. He lowered his hand, fingers patting, tracking over his neck, cursing as he found skinned flesh, not quite broken by the vampire's teeth but raised and itching. Another reason he didn't need to be pulled over -- he was carrying a spear and he was scratched to high hell. No matter who he was, that wasn't going to look good especially not when they searched the building.
'But officer, I can assure you I had nothing to do with the dead bodies littering the office. The killers? Well, no, I don't think you need to worry about catching them unless you brought a vacuum cleaner,' Omi snorted. Yeah, that would go over so well. He'd be tried for his sanity if not for homicide and he doubted that even his family's power would be able to get him off for both. Prison would make him too accessible and was likely to get even more people killed, those who had no idea what they were up against. A trip to the psych ward would only get him doped up and then he'd have no means of defending himself when they came again and they would be back.
He briefly thought about going home but what was the point? There was nothing left for him there--they'd seen to that already. His throat burned, thick and angry as he swallowed, trying not to think of his grandfather, throat slit and sitting in his chair waiting for Omi... No, Mamoru to come home and find him. Everything perfect and natural, no blood, only a thin line across his neck, limbs arranged peacefully. He'd thought the old man sleeping until he'd stepped closer, intent on helping him to bed. Just a light touch on that emaciated shoulder had sent him toppling, the cause easily discerned when Mamoru turned him over. As if on cue, the phone had rang and rang and rang, Mamoru too stunned, too grief-stricken to do anything but stare in horrified shock at the corpse, running gentle hands along lax features, once strong and now nothing at all. Then the answering machine had picked up.
'This is the part where it gets really interesting.'
Nothing else, just that but Mamoru recognized the voice, understood the message as soon as he'd heard it and damn him if hadn't done exactly as predicted and run to Kritiker. Not called the police and waited for them to get there, not gone through proper channels but skittering off to take the law into his hands, intent on sending out the troops so to speak.
But they had proved as ineffectual as he had and all his arrival at the building had done was draw attention to the people working there.
He'd been in his office when they attacked, making phone calls, the screams drawing him out, but not before he'd finally wise up to put disbelief aside and stop trying to kid himself, grabbing the ornamental spear off the wall. That was the only thing that had saved his life from the ensuing bloodbath even if it hadn't done a damn thing for anyone else.
So what now? Drive around 'til sunrise and hope to God he could find another safe house and prepare for the next attack? Try to orchestrate a counter attack using all of Kritiker's resources to combat this threat? No, he'd tried that and it hadn't worked and he couldn't just hide and hope that his luck continued to hold. The only thing to do was to go on the offensive, yes but Omi could cut down the numbers of casualties.
Still, he was going to need help. There was no question about that. He couldn't do this alone and he needed someone he could trust at his back. Nagi? He had no idea where the telekinetic was, having disappeared a few months back, without a word just as mysteriously as he'd come into Mamoru's life. Ken? No, Ken was out of the question, happily in prison paying off his debt to society and organizing an intramural soccer team there the last he heard. He had no right to come barging in and dropping his troubles there, not when Siberian was trying so hard to find a middle ground again. Nor could he turn to Yohji, the man still bereft of his memory and living quietly in Hokkaido with Asuka.
So that left only one person... The one person who couldn't and probably hadn't forgiven him in the intervening year since he'd last seen him.
Aya.
***End of Prologue