January 19th, 2044
2:00 PM
Sin Ward
Decadence District
Nanbu Naoya
The Ryūketsu was a towering pagoda that reached one hundred-and-eight floors. The brutalist architecture of the spire had smooth walls made of slick black rock that converged into sharp edges with bronze rails and reflective windows that shined beneath the pointed ceiling of the pyramid. Kurodaiya, like the handful of imitators across Sin Ward, had the inside of its environmental shelter alter the lighting and the atmosphere of the concealed neighborhood to make it appear as though it was eternally night. Beneath the artificial night sky was an aurora of shifting colors gently flowed among the other jet-black buildings that sat beneath the pyramid. Every building around the Ryūketsu shared its same harsh texture and monotone color, but the inside of the pagoda was different.
The inside of the Ryūketsu was decorated in bright colors: the walls were scarlet with gold designs and polished hardwood floors. Rather than having its interior divided into entirely separate floors, the interior of the Ryūketsu had a series of landings and an endless set of stairs that coiled their way up and down from the ground floor to the ceiling. Each of the landings was large enough for half a dozen tables, some of them arranged around small kitchens, while others appeared to be private booths suspended over the floor, but the spiraling stairways and raised platforms were all arranged to create a vacant space through the center of the pagoda from the bottom to the top.
Over the sound of endless conversations, laughter, the clatter of metal tools and searing meat, there was a buzzing sound produced by an endless fleet of drones. The flying cameras had bodies built like dragonflies with black segmented tails and four buzzing wings behind a bulbous head that housed a multitude of sensors. The drones alternated between using their many lenses to either film the Ryūketsu’s environs and using thin beams of light to form holographic projections for the viewing pleasure of the patrons.
Men and women dressed in fine clothing walked up and down the stairs or sat at tables in front of the grills while chefs and waiters dressed in red hurried to serve their eager clients. Talented chefs prepared world-class meals directly in front of the clientele who gluttonously gulped down their expensive food, but the true delicacy was being served on the bottom floor. Far below the hungry, eager eyes of the Den’s customers was the main attraction: a life and death battle happening in their midst. At the bottom of the building was a fighting pit with a floor of weathered steel and translucent walls of shatter-proof glass. Around the outside of the see-through walls were more customers, all of whom eagerly pressed together to watch the bloodshed happening behind the barrier. Glancing at the countless faces protected by only a few inches of glass, Naoya idly wondered if the audience closest to the bloodsport were more fortunate or less.
Naoya stood within the transparent dome, peering at the debauchery through Slate’s goggles, keenly feeling the eyes of a hundred spectators looking back at him. The drones flitting through the building created countless digital displays which reflected his own face back at him several dozen times, each one larger than life. Beneath Naoya’s image were the odds placed on him along with a scrolling list of transactions as the audience bet on his ability to stay alive. But Naoya wasn’t the only one wagering his life; he shared the arena with three men.
Naoya didn’t know any of the other men’s names, so he just associated them with the color of their clothing. Yellow wore a jersey of the same color, and he was a tall man with ruddy skin, a confident smile, and a heavy metal pipe slung over his shoulder. The next contestant was a man with a green bandana and a bare chest that showed the scars of many old wounds who wore a pair of oversized metal knuckles that he slammed together, eager for the fight to begin. The third man was shorter than his colleagues, and he was dressed in a light blue suit with a sapphire button up shirt beneath. Compared to his allies, Blue had a very relaxed disposition; he gently ran a hand over his windswept hair while his other hand was tucked into his pocket.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” the voice of an unseen announcer boomed through the building. “Please direct your attention to the stove! We’ve already had a quite a visual feast tonight, but the next course is still to come!”
The drones hovering overhead flew in formation, combining their rays to form a massive screen of light. The display revealed a split screen, showing a live image of Naoya in the ring alongside another camera which showed Amon seated in a private booth high above with his android companion sitting next to him. Behind the crime lord, Naoya could vaguely make out Yamato and Ichinose accompanying him, though they were mostly cut off by the camera.
“Our guest cuisine chef, Amon, has brought us a very special serving tonight,” the announcer continued to build up the tension. “This man, Nanbu Naoya, is the main ingredient of tonight’s full course meal, but our host has singularly failed to bring the heat and serve him up. Will our patron’s handpicked trio of culinary technicians be enough to finally bring this feast to its finish?”
The live feed of the arena changed, and Naoya and Amon were removed from the screen. In their place, portraits of the three men facing Naoya were put onscreen, though their pictures were short and squat, as the live feed of another booth took up most of the display. The rest of the screen was fixated on a short man who stood at the end of a private booth and stared down at the arena.
The man was dressed in ash-grey suit with a pink button-up shirt that was left open to reveal a lean muscular chest. He had a strip of jet-black hair across the top of his head, but the sides were shaved down to the skin to make room for nanite sculptures of skyscrapers that wrapped around his skull. The man that Naoya assumed was Yakiyama had his hands in his pockets, but he glared down at the arena with a quiet, but palpable fury. From somewhere above him, Naoya felt the other man’s intense stare like a hot needle boring into the back of his neck.
While the drones were fixated on the gang leader, Naoya could see the silhouettes of a dozen or so women forced to stand behind his vacant seat. Though they were out of focus, and they were standing mostly out of the view of the camera, Naoya recognized a couple of them as being Ichinose’s soapgirls. Among the troupe of captive women, Naoya spotted a slim dark-haired young woman wearing a dark purple qipao fearfully leaning on another woman.
“Sakura’s here, too,” Naoya decided to take her presence as a good sign. “As long as she’s here, I can know she’s alright.”
“Honored guests, the time has come to raise the stakes!” as the announcer addressed the crowd, the projections changed again, switching to Naoya and Yakiyama’s trio of fighters. The list of bets appeared again, which began to scroll with speed as a fiery graphic licked the corner of the monitor. Cheers and whistles began to echo from the floors above, and soon, the entire building was cheering in anticipation of imminent bloodshed.
“These men are betting their lives for your entertainment!” the announcer called out over the roar of the spectators. “Ladies and gentlemen! Will you do any less? Let the high of this life-or-death spectacle encourage you to do the same! Lay your lives down in this ring, just as these men are doing!”
The rattling sound of a drum roll filled the Ryūketsu, and the monitors overhead switched back to Yakiyama alone. Still staring unblinking down into the arena, Yakiyama raised his right hand overhead and held it there for several seconds. The first couple of times he’d seen this spectacle, Naoya had kept his eyes fixated on the screen, eagerly anticipating the moment the gangster lowered his hand, but he’d done this nearly half a dozen times within the last hour. Instead, he kept his eyes on his enemies.
Yellow had lowered his pipe and held it in both hands, his confident smile betrayed by lines of sweat running down his face. Green was pacing back and forth, clearly getting himself worked up while he gestured at Naoya, taunting him with words Naoya couldn’t hear over the sound of the drums. Blue tried to casually brush a few fingers across his jawline, but it was clear that he was restless with adrenaline, as well. The drumbeat dragged on for what felt like thirty seconds, but Naoya didn’t let the forced anticipation get to him.
Finally, Yakiyama let his hand drop.
“Begin!” the announcer cried.
Blue moved first: the slender man with the spiky black hair placed his hands together, touching all ten fingertips to one another, and sparks flashed. Slowly spreading his hands apart, white bolts of electricity sparked between his fingers. A confident grin split Blue’s face and he bent down, slamming his hands down against the steel ring beneath their feet.
The electrical current flooded through the metal, turning the battered and blood-stained floor red-hot as the energy streamed through floor. Naoya felt the electric discharge hit him, causing every hair on his body to stand on end. As the heat washed over him, Naoya felt a lingering numbness in his limbs when the electrical attack ended.
“That’s it?” Naoya looked at Blue, watching as the man in the suit straightened with a satisfied smile on his face. “This doesn’t even compare to what Suzu can do.”
Almost automatically, the monster inside Naoya let the negativity inside him flow out through invisible fractures in his skin and the numbness faded almost instantly. At the back of his mind, Naoya acknowledged that he didn’t really need to use that power; whatever Blue had hoped to accomplish with his electrical ambush was doomed to fail. His enemies, however, didn’t seem to realize that fact.
Yellow charged first, swinging his heavy pipe like a pinch-hitter aiming for a homerun. The bat swung towards the left side of Naoya’s face, and he raised his arm up to intercept it, again, acting on instinct. The blunt object bent around Naoya’s forearm when solid metal proved itself inferior to his superhuman durability. Yellow’s eyes went wide, though Naoya didn’t know if he was surprised that his weapon was entirely useless, or if he hadn’t expected Naoya to be able to move at all.
The monster released the golden fractures through his arm where it touched the pipe, and countless luminescent micro-fractures snaked through the chunk of metal in Yellow’s hands. The pipe fell to pieces as Yellow tried to pull it away, broken as thoroughly as a porcelain plate that had an anvil dropped on it. Yellow’s eyes went wider and he took a step backward, involuntarily retreating when his animal instincts took over.
Too late.
Naoya raised his right hand and punched Yellow in the face, spraying blood and dislodged teeth into the air. Yellow was flung backward and he slammed into the steel floor with a thunder clang before he bounced into the glass wall that caged the fighters in. The shatter-proof glass shuddered and rattled in emulation of the prior drum roll, and Yellow slid to the ground, leaving a smear of blood on the translucent barrier. The audience roared with joy at the swift and brutal defeat, but Naoya didn’t share the sentiment.
“Don’t kill anyone, Naoya,” he reprimanded himself as he stared at the collapsed Yellow, trying to discern whether or not his opponent was still alive. However, Naoya wasn’t given the luxury of showing concern for his fallen foe because Green thundered across the metal floor in his direction.
The man in the green bandana snarled, revealing a mouthful of metal teeth as he swung his right hand towards Naoya’s face. Reflex took over again and Naoya shifted his position just slightly, letting the heavy hand and the metal knuckles around it slide past his cheek. He evaded the blow not because he feared any physical pain, but because Green’s hands shined with an esoteric light.
Green continued to advance, throwing a flurry of blows as he pursued Naoya, who slipped away from each and every blow. The light shining from the other man’s hands rippled and flowed, appearing to come from his flesh and blood rather than the heavy metal knuckles he was wearing. For that reason, Naoya surmised that the other man was a Human Calamity wielding a power beyond conventional reason, just like he did.
As Green continued his onslaught, Naoya remained on the defensive. The man’s boxing stance was familiar to him, not least because of his own knack for using the same style in battle. However, to his own surprise, Naoya felt a sense of disdain for it growing in his mind. Boxing, martial arts, grappling; they were pedestrian concepts of battle. Human concepts. A Human Calamity shouldn’t fight like that.
Naoya knew that if he unleashed his full strength, he could punch the other man’s head off. He could tear Green in half like a piece of paper, and no fighting style could stop that. If he wanted to, he could unleash the power inside himself and crack Green into a million little—
No. Naoya brought that train of thought to a halt. He recognized the bloodthirsty thoughts of the monster mingling with his own and struggle to disassociate with the beast of his violent instincts. Reluctantly, Naoya raised his own hands as he settled into a boxing stance of his own; obeying the part of him that still wanted to be human.
To avoid the mistake he’d made with Yellow, Naoya called out the darkness inside him, wrapping his fists in oozing black particles. He smothered his own strength, restraining himself to avoid killing his opponent. His speed, however, remained the same, as Green was about to find out.
Perhaps it was because he was untalented, or because he was cocky, or because he was a Human Calamity, but Naoya couldn’t help but notice that Green left his guard open repeatedly as he tried to land a hit on Naoya. It was a rookie mistake, whatever the justification, and Naoya had no intention of ignoring it. Green smiled as Naoya raised his hands to defend himself, thinking that the real fight was about to begin when Naoya only thought about ending it.
Green raised his right hand, every muscle in his arm tensing as he twisted his hips—
Jab.
Naoya’s right hand shot forward past the speed of sound, striking with a loud crack like a whip. His knuckles struck Green across the left cheekbone and the man’s head whipped backward, a thick welt already growing below his eye. He blinked, clearly caught off guard by the blow. Green shook his head, his vacant expression filling up with fury as he prepared to continue his assault.
Green stood up straighter, bouncing on the balls of his feet, both hands fully up and his right side tilted towards Naoya. Green’s right hand shot forward in an exploratory jab to test Naoya’s defenses.
Jab.
Naoya’s arms were longer, his hands were heavier, and his reflexes a thousand times faster. The right-handed jab caught Green directly on the nose this time and the thug stumbled backward, blood spewing from his nostrils. Overcome by the pain, Green turned to his right and bent double, clutching his face. Naoya hoped that might be the end of it. Instead, Green pulled himself upright, glaring murder in Naoya’s direction while ignoring his obviously bent nose and the blood pouring out of it.
Holding both hands up again, Green kept his fists close to his face, determined to maintain a solid defense. He bounced back and forth on his feet again, trying to force Naoya to guess which direction he was going to move in. Green shifted his weight onto his right foot and raised his right hand, but then quickly swapped back in the other direction, feinting into a left hook—
Jab. Jab. Jab.
The three blows were so fast they seemed almost simultaneous. Blood, sweat, and saliva combined into a filthy rain as each blow landed and Green stumbled backward. His face was a mass of bruises, and his mouth was painted red by the constant flow of blood coming from his broken nose. Defense, offense, footwork; the would-be boxer lost all notion of such things beneath the rapid flurry of punches. Green stumbled across the floor, beaten in every way, but held up only by his spirit. Naoya pursued him, unleashing a relentless series of lightning-fast jabs whenever Green stood on his own two feet, pausing only when the other man fell to his knees.
“Come on, man, just lay down,” Naoya silently implored his opponent as he watched Green sway in a fugue state, trying to rise despite the severe concussion he’d likely endured. “Maybe I’m holding back a little too much.”
When Green managed to get one foot under him, Naoya raised a bloody hand to put him down for good. Before he could finish the fight, a blinding light overtook his vision and static filled his ears. Instinct took over and Naoya turned on his left foot, throwing a spinning backhand. Blue ducked under the blow, his own hands still smoking from his attempt at electrocuting Naoya.
Green forgotten, Naoya pursued Blue across the arena, his every footstep pounding off the metal floor like a war drum. Unlike Green, Blue was fast enough to evade Naoya’s punches, diving and dipping around the larger man’s offense. Slipping beneath a jab, Blue thrust his sparking hands towards Naoya’s chest and sent another current into his torso. Naoya felt an involuntary spasm in his muscles, and his heart fluttered, but he ignored it. He punished Blue for his attempt at a counterattack by kicking the smaller man in the stomach, sending him flying into the invisible barrier around the ring.
Bracing himself against the transparent border, Blue tried to duck away to his left, but Naoya caught him by his shirt collar and dragged him back, slamming him back into the glass. Shifting his grip, Naoya took hold of the side of the man’s head and rammed him into the shatter-proof material that hemmed them in, determined to test its quality. In response, the audience on the ground floor crowded around the other side of barrier, eager to get as close to the carnage as possible. While the audience hurled insults at them, Naoya beat Blue’s head against the cage over and over, while the man in the blue suit clung to his arm, sending volts of electricity through his limb. Losing sensation in his right arm, Naoya took hold of Blue by the throat with his left and he hoisted the man into the air.
Spinning around, Naoya slammed Blue headfirst into the steel floor, creating a thunderous clamor. Blue bounced once and then rolled across the floor, laying on his back. Naoya stepped over him, and stared down at his ruined face, which was a mask of shredded skin and blood. Blue coughed and wheezed through his brutalized features, and Naoya lifted one heavy boot to smash the man’s skull in.
It took Naoya several seconds of struggling to reign in the monster and spare the man’s life, but he eventually let his foot sink back to the ground and Blue kept breathing. Naoya stood over Blue, trying to make sure his self-control was firmly in place again. A thunderous roar echoed from the audience, but Naoya realized that the cheers weren’t for his apparent victory.
Green had climbed to his feet again, sliding off his heavy metal knuckles to thump against the floor of the arena. His face still swollen and bleeding, Green somehow managed to smile at Naoya who returned an impassive look from across the ring. Green held up his fists, still shining with a strange light, but instead of approaching Naoya, Green turned his hands on himself.
Green punched himself across the face with his left hand and pummeled his forehead with his right. In seconds, Green’s hands were coated in his own blood while Naoya watched, confused and stunned by the sight. When the vicious pummeling ended, Green lowered his hands, his face even more of a grotesque ruin, but his eyes were alive with the same esoteric light that flashed in his hands.
Immediately, Green charged across the arena, a roar escaping his lips as he closed on Naoya. Naoya immediately held up his own hands, ready to teach Green another lesson, but the rabid thug didn’t seem remotely anxious. Green raised his bloody left hand, and Naoya immediately jabbed.
Naoya’s right hand struck Green across the cheek again, and his knuckles split open the other man’s swollen face, spilling more blood. However, Green hardly seemed to notice the pain this time, and he swung his left hand down in defiance of the blow. Naoya ducked the wild swing and had to scramble backwards as Green continued to lunge after him, blood and saliva drooling from his mouth. Green attacked like a berserker, wildly swinging and clawing at Naoya while soaking up each and every blow thrown his way.
“He’s completely lost in his rage,” Naoya realized as the other man continued to pursue him. “He’s not going to stop until he kills me, or I kill him.”
He understood the mentality of his enemy, but he didn’t want to play by his rules. Instead, Naoya reached for the power of the monster within.
Green continued to charge and Naoya let the golden fractures flow down his left leg and into the floor. Steel split apart beneath Green’s feet and the berserker stumbled off balance, but that was only the start. The golden fractures traveled into Green’s right foot and up to his knee, splitting apart flesh and bone. Blood sprayed and Green flailed, still trying to fight, but Naoya caught him across the left side of the head with a roundhouse kick.
Green was sent to the ground, toppling onto the cold, bloodstained steel. He struggled to rise with his shredded right leg and Naoya advanced, determined not to give him the opportunity. Balling his left hand into a fist, Naoya slammed it down into the middle of Green’s back, and the golden lines flashed again. Microfractures spread throughout the fallen man’s spine, and Green lost the use of his legs. Beaten beyond recognition and crippled, Green continued to flail, but Naoya turned his back. The man in the green bandana might never walk again, to say nothing of the rest of the trauma he’d received, but Naoya considered that outcome better than being dead.
As Naoya stood over his defeated enemies, he felt it was finally safe to take a long breath. Though it was a small thing, the audience watching seemed to take to weary exhalation as a proud declaration of victory. The breathless audience roared at the sight of Naoya standing tall, surrounded by the broken bloody bodies of his opponents. The acclaim was far from universal, however; the screens above Naoya showing panning shots of the Den’s guests, nearly a third of whom were clearly upset by the outcome. Red faces of anger shot glares of hatred into the ring, while men dressed in finery threw tantrums like children, tearing up the receipts of their wagers in despair as the battle came to its decisive close. When the overhead display finished polling the expressions of the crowd, it switched back to a split-screen.
Yakiyama and Amon were once more in view, perfectly encapsulating the divide in the emotions of the crowd. When the camera panned over Amon, he held up his glass of wine towards the camera while flashing a beautiful smile as his eyes faded from white to luminescent blue. On the other side of the screen was Yakiyama, who continued to stare down into the arena with unblinking intensity, and Naoya wondered if the other man had even moved.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please give a round of applause for the festivities tonight!” the announcer sounded almost breathlessly excited, struggling to give his oration. “Amon has served us up a true full course of brutality par excellence! That makes a whopping total of seven warriors our challenger has defeated in a row! In the blink of an eye, fortunes have been won and lost, and lives have been changed forever! But is this the end of tonight’s delicacies?
“Our challenger has walked into the Ryūketsu and thrown down the gauntlet,” the announcer continued on, a hint of mischief in his voice. “Will we simply allow him to walk out unscathed? Somehow, I don’t think that our head chef has such an amiable resolution in mind!”
Naoya felt the floor beneath his feet rumble, and the transparent glass dome retreated into the ground. Men in red uniforms trotted out, hurriedly acting to drag the defeated thugs from the arena. The employees of the Ryūketsu didn’t show even a second of sympathy or care for the fallen men, crudely dragging the beaten and unconscious men onto stretchers to shuttle them from the fighting pit. Green continued to struggle in the throes of his punch-drunk madness, but his crippled body made it nearly impossible for him to resist being carted off to parts unknown.
“Who will be the next contestant to brave this infernal kitchen and stand tall over Amon’s prized fighter?” as the announcer called out to the crowd, the monitors overhead changed again, this time showing three separate men that Naoya had never seen before. One of them was a bald white man built like an Olympian athlete whose powerful framed was enhanced by ostentatious mechanical implants that extended throughout his back and shoulders. Another man on the monitor was short and thin, and covered head to toe in scars, and he idly flicked a knife with a wide smile on his face. The third man was muscular but paunchy, and he carried an oversized metal hammer over one shoulder shaped like a meat tenderizer.
“How much longer is this going to go on?” In contrast to the excitement of the arena, Naoya could only feel a sense of weary impatience. Amon had made the proceedings sound very quick and simple, but the plan as told to Naoya clearly hadn’t happened. When Naoya and Amon arrived in the building, it was clear to see that Yakiyama saw it as a challenge, but it wasn’t one the gangster was willing to meet head-on.
Instead of picking up the gauntlet that Amon had thrown down, Yakiyama had remained in his lofty perch, throwing fighter after fighter at Naoya instead. Had Amon misread the situation? Or was something else holding Yakiyama back from stepping into the ring? Was he frightened? No, that couldn’t be it; Amon had said that Yakiyama was on another level compared to his two subordinates, and the fighters Yakiyama had sent into the ring with him were a step below even that. Whatever it was that dragged the festivities out, Naoya was sick of it, and he decided to change things up a little.
Using his nanite goggles, Naoya looked upward into the web of platforms suspended above him, using the AI within to locate Yakiyama’s booth. Yakiyama was over a hundred feet upward, near the top of the building, which Naoya supposed was a fitting seat of honor for the “head chef” of this ridiculous establishment. Mirroring the actions of a pro-wrestler, Naoya silently and slowly raised a hand, extending a finger to point accusingly up at Yakiyama.
Nothing needed to be said; the challenge was clear and universally understood. Silence fell for a moment as the crowd watched Naoya with awe and then, the attitude in the room changed. The sea of spectators that had been cheering for Naoya for the better part of an hour began to hiss and boo him, creating an overwhelming din.
“Oh, but what’s this?” the announcer cried out in surprise. “Our challenger has raised his hand towards the founder of the feast! Such inhospitable behavior! But who will teach this barbarian a lesson in proper etiquette?”
Underneath the boos, cheers began to slowly rise up, and the crowd soon found itself divided.
“YA-KI-YA-MA! YA-KI-YA-MA! YA-KI-YA-MA!”
The bloodthirsty spectators began to call out for the Tower to make his debut, sounding out every syllable in his name. The cheers continued to build, eventually drowning out the cries of discontent of the other spectators. In moments, the entire arena thundered as one for the grand finale. Whether or not they wanted to see him win or die trying, it didn’t matter to Naoya: all he cared about was bringing the evening to an end.
Yakiyama stood at the edge of his balcony, still peering down at Naoya far below. He didn’t move at all, nor did his expression even flicker. For a brief moment, Naoya wondered if Yakiyama was simply going to wait out the crowd and refuse the challenge, but then, he disappeared. Before he could even comprehend that Yakiyama had moved, the gangster had stepped off the side of his balcony and free fell the hundred-foot drop to the floor. Naoya took a step forward, ordinary human instincts telling him to try and catch the man to save him from appeared to be a suicidal act, but reason regained control a moment later, and he allowed the spectacle to see its completion.
Yakiya landed at the other end of the metal circle from Naoya with grace that cats could only envy. He touched the ground as gently as though he was stepping off a staircase, an act that looked surreal in Naoya’s eyes, and the gangster didn’t even pause for a second before he started towards Naoya. Yakiyama sauntered with a confident swagger, a scowl on his features, and his hands in his pockets. While he made no hurry to cross the distance, Naoya tensed up, uncertain exactly what the other man intended.
Looking at him, Yakiyama was at least a foot shorter than Naoya and over a hundred pounds lighter. However, casting aside everything he knew about Yakiyama including his place in the Tokyo Towers, his status as a Human Calamity, and Amon’s warnings, Naoya could still sense an indisputable “presence” about the other man. Yakiyama embodied “danger” and no size difference between the two of them could change that.
Yakiyama stopped two feet away from Naoya and looked up at him, his frown never so much as twitching. Trails of smoke poured out of his nostrils and a fiery light flashed in his throat and chest, allowing Naoya to see the bones in his torso. Waves of heat seemed to roll off the smaller man; heat and murderous rage barely kept under control. Naoya stared back at him through the lenses of the goggles, but neither man said anything, as the crowd’s cheers became utterly deafening. Yakiyama allowed the audience to voice their opinion for several more seconds until he raised his right hand and held it up. The spectators seemed to understand the signal, and the cheers quickly faded away.
“I have to hand it to you,” Yakiyama pinched his small black goatee with his right hand, speaking in a quiet rasping voice that Naoya immediately recognized. “You really have a special talent for pissing me the fuck off. First, you and Amon cuck me on that deal with Nishijima, now you two roll up into my club, on my turf, and have the front to call me out? I have to wonder; did God perfectly handcraft you to cut my dick or what?”
“I only came here for the girls,” Naoya glowered down at the other man, refusing to show the slightest hint of weakness. “You let them go and all this ends here and now.”
“No, no, no!” Yakiyama shook his head and snarled, spewing sparks from his mouth. “It’s way too fucking late to play the ‘good guy’ card. You came here with Amon to do exactly whatever he told you to do, and he doesn’t give a single fuck about those bitches.”
“Amon was just a means to get my foot in the door,” Naoya scowled back. “But I’m not here to do his dirty work. You let the girls go and I walk away and you never see me again.”
“So, what?” Yakiyama demanded, a note of incredulity in his voice. “You’re telling me that you’re gonna double cross Amon now, too? Because I’m guessing that pretty boy bot-fucker brought you here for a reason, and not to rescue a gaggle of soapland whores. You want both of us out for your blood? You must be really fucking stupid.”
“Whatever’s going on between you and Amon had nothing to do with me,” Naoya felt his voice grower louder and more defiant, even though his reason tried to reel his anger in. “As far as I’m concerned, my part in all of this can end right here and now, and the two of you can go back to warring among yourselves. I didn’t know about you, or Amon, or anything about what was really happening with Nishijima until today. I still don’t know the whole picture! But’s Amon’s made enough money tonight and once the girls are free, I’m gone.”
“Amon’s made ‘enough money?’” Yakiyama barked out a hoarse chuckle and returned to grooming his goatee. “Tell me, tough guy, what makes you think he’s been betting on you this whole time?”
Yakiyama smiled conspiratorially and he glanced up and to his left, and Naoya followed. High above, Amon could be seen sitting in his booth, though it was too far away for Naoya to see his expression.
“Just because you came here with him doesn’t mean he owes you any loyalty,” Yakiyama and his dark eyes returned to Naoya. “You’re a complete nobody; a meathead off the street with no rep, and he drags you into my fucking kitchen. Why? You think that asshole’s really got your best interests at heart?
“Amon brought you here to piss in my drink, that’s all,” Yakiyama sneered, revealing a mouthful of blackened teeth. “I doubt he expected you to make it past the first round, or the second, for that matter. The smart money was always against you, and if Amon put any cash at your back, it was safe money; chump change that he could win or lose without thinking about it twice. The shit happening right now is nothing more than a powerplay on his part; he’s telling me he can walking into my fucking house and own the room. You die, and he makes a tidy profit on your death. You win, and he loses a little money, but he looks good for having you rep him in the ring. Either way, he looks brave for walking into my territory unannounced.”
“All the more reason for me to cut ties with him, then,” Naoya concluded, his voice sharp and defensive; he’d had misgivings getting into bed with another member of the Towers, but Yakiyama’s portrayal of the situation definitely put him on edge. “However things shake out, you and Amon should have made a fortune off of all this. This place is packed, and there’s no way a bet goes down in this building that you don’t take a cut from. Whatever you stood to earn from Nishijima, you had to have made up for already. And if all this still hasn’t covered your losses, then I’ll work off the rest. Just let the girls go.”
“That sounds like a great idea,” Yakiyama gestured in Naoya’s direction with an open hand, contempt written on his face. “I’m sure you’ll do whatever I ask just as long as it takes for you to find some bullshit reason to go back on your word.”
“I won’t do that!” Naoya insisted, but Yakiyama scoffed.
“You just admitted that you’re willing to double-cross Amon,” Yakiyama cut to the quick. “Why should I trust anything you have to say? Your word ain’t worth dogshit.”
“I—,” Naoya struggled to object.
“All that business with Nishijima,” Yakiyama looked away, considering something. “Yeah, it cost me a lot of money, and, yeah, I earned it back. But Nishijima had some things that I wanted that weren’t for sale, and you cost me that. There are some things in this world you can’t buy. Honesty is one of them. Respect is another. Bitches like you and Amon have neither; that’s why I hate you.”
“See, the thing about Amon is he’ll say two things and mean one and not the other,” Yakiyama raised a finger to wag in Naoya’s face. “He’s a duplicitous, lying, cheating, two-faced son of a bitch. The universe has a way of humbling douchebags like him, and I’ve elected myself as his personal shit-kicker. You, though, Nanbu; you’re different.
“You can say two things and not mean either of them,” Yakiyama jabbed Naoya in the chest with his finger to emphasize him point. “That’s because you don’t know what you’re even about. You don’t know what you’re fighting for, or why, or who your friends are. You can’t tell when someone’s lying to your face, and you can’t be honest enough to stick to your word when you’ve given it. Nothing about you is honest, and you lie to everyone, even yourself. Forget everything about Nishijima, and Amon, and all that shit over the past week; even if none of that happened, I’d still want to kick your ass.”
“You don’t know a single thing about me,” Naoya snapped back, a cold rage taking hold of him.
“Oh really?” Yakiyama chuckled darkly again and tugged at his goatee. “Then tell me: why are you here? After all the shit you’ve been through, are you really just going to walk away if I gave you the chance? I had a bounty put out on your ass, had your friend’s shop burned down, and those women I took? Those bitches are going to work their mouths, pussies, and assholes raw until I say otherwise.
“You didn’t come here to bargain, Nanbu,” Yakiyama’s continued his endless accusations, glaring at Naoya with his dark eyes. “You’re not here to play hero, either. Even you can’t think you could just waltz in here and call me out in front of all these people and I would just overlook that. So, tell me, Nanbu: what are you here to do?”
Yakiyama inclined his left ear towards Naoya and tapped it with his finger, encouraging him to answer truthfully.
“I’m here to kill you.”
The answer surprised Naoya almost as much as it shocked him when he realized how strongly he meant it. Yakiyama was a vicious psychopath who didn’t care who got hurt; not him, not Hideki, not Ichinose, and definitely not Sakura. Sakura was an innocent victim in the whole affair, and the soapgirls from Ichinose’s bathhouse had likely seen more than enough of the abuse the sex trade in Yōgai-shima could dole out, but that didn’t matter to Yakiyama. All those reasons and more flashed through Naoya’s mind, but something cold and rational in his brain told him that those were ad hoc justifications; excuses he made up after the fact to rationalize the intensity of his hatred. None of them were the root cause of Naoya’s feelings but merely branches sprouting from deeper level.
Naoya hated Yakiyama on a primal level. Naoya hated bullies, he hated being bullied, and he hated being made to feel small. He hated feeling like he was being penned in and he hated being chased. He hated other people telling him who he was, and he hated people who declared that they alone knew what truth and principles were. He hated everything about Yakiyama from his shitty haircut to the clothes on his back, and, somehow, the realization that Yakiyama hated him with the same intensity was comforting.
“That’s the first thing you said that I believe,” Yakiyama flashed a malevolent grin, letting smoke billow from the corners of his mouth.
Taking hold of his jacket by the lapels, Yakiyama whipped it off and threw it into the air, letting it fall outside the boundary that divided the beaten metal floor of the arena, and the wooden floor where the spectators gathered to watch. Beneath his jacket, Yakiyama’s upper body was made of tight, lean muscle with minimal body fat. From the back of his shoulders and down across his arms, Yakiyama wore an intricate nanite-sculp worked into his skin which portrayed an intricate city skyline rendered in dark concrete and metal. Turning away from Naoya, Yakiyama strutted across the arena, holding up his arms, showing the sleeves of iron, glass, and cement fused to his skin to the audience. The spectators cheered at the sight and Yakiyama strode around the ring, basking in the adoration of his crowd.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re in for a rare treat tonight!” the announcer cried out, his voice cracking with excitement. “The head chef himself has decided to step into the ring! Our brave challenger has finally stepped on the dragon’s tail, and now this brick of meat is going to be served well done!”
The cries of the crowd pounded like thunder, the chorus of a thousand voices joined by the percussion of stamping feet and clapping hands. The drones overhead buzzed above the crowd, showing Naoya and Yakiyama’s pictures side by side. He imagined that the odds weren’t in his favor for this match, but that didn’t matter.
Yakiyama turned to face Naoya and kicked off his leather shoes, reaching down pick them up and cast them from the arena. A moment later, Naoya felt the anticipatory shudder in the floor beneath him that augured the rise of the shatterproof dome to divide the combatants from the spectators. Both men stared each other down with fifteen feet of iron floor between them.
“Thirty more seconds, ladies and gentlemen!” the announcer’s voice called out as the drones raced about in a frenzy. “In half a minute, the first round of betting will end! Can the challenger last even five minutes in the frying pan with our seasoned host, or will he be burnt black in a matter of moments? Don’t be shy! This is the main course of the evening, the highlight of tonight’s festivities! Don’t let it pass you by without partaking in the thrill!”
“Hope you don’t mind if I keep my clothes on,” Naoya informed his opponent, who he noted was now half-naked.
“You embarrassed of your own skin, baby-boy?” Yakiyama sneered and flexed his sculpted arms, puffing out a mouthful of smoke. “Real men don’t have anything to be ashamed of.”
“You don’t have the right to say anything to me about ‘real men’ until you finish puberty,” Naoya closed one eye and raised a hand as if to measure his opponent’s height and shook his head in disdain, earning a vicious growl from Yakiyama.
“Fifteen more seconds!” the announcer continued to press the crowd, trying to extract every single yen he could.
Naoya spread his feet apart and shifted his stance, presenting his left side to his opponent, preparing for the fight to begin. He kept his right hand tightly balled into a fist and held it close to his collar while he held out his left hand, keeping his fingers spread and loose. He resisted the urge to dip into a boxing stance, instead choosing a form that was better prepared for both striking and grappling.
Yakiyama, by contrast, bounced on the balls of his feet, moving to his left and right while he let his arms hang. The gangster kept his stance fast and loose, radiating confidence and heat in equal measure. Flames danced in Yakiyama’s chest, and his mouth twisted into a cruel smile, clearly eager to begin.
“Honored guests!” the announcer called out with palpable anticipation. “The first round of betting has closed! Please, direct your eyes to the ring and join me in giving thanks for this once-in-a-lifetime dish!”
The adrenaline flowing through Naoya made the next few seconds seem to slow down, and he took a moment to really consider his surroundings. Though Yakiyama, his opponent, remained entirely in the center of his vision, Naoya could see the ostentatious décor of the Ryūketsu out of the corner of his eyes, along with the faces of the spectators on the ground floor as they cast aside reason and fought with one another to press their faces against the glass, ready to consume the violent spectacle. The transient moment felt so surreal to Naoya that he believed he was going to wake up in his bed the next time he blinked.
Life had changed so starkly from the week before, and Naoya had a tough time even wrapping his head around it. Not too long ago, the Tokyo Towers were something Naoya had learned to be afraid of; they were the largest gang on the island, after all. He’d gone out of his way to avoid trouble with them for as long as he could remember, and the very idea that he’d ever find himself in this situation, sitting in the middle of an underground fight club, squaring off with an officer in the Towers would have been just as ridiculous as it was frightening. He didn’t feel afraid anymore, though.
It wasn’t just his circumstances that had changed in the past few days; Naoya had changed, too. Everything that happened after his run in with Nishijima had changed him, strengthened him, although it didn’t feel that way in the moment. He’d come to accept the bizarre power that he’d hid away inside himself and become more capable than he’d ever imagined. The fear, self-doubt, and anxiety he’d worn for years had sloughed away like shed skin, forcing him to wonder why he’d let them have so much power over him for as long as they did. The Naoya of yesterday was gone, and the new man standing in his place wasn’t sure precisely who or what he was, but that was a question to be answered tomorrow. Today, he was eager for the fight ahead of him.
He felt his muscles tense and his blood boil as he returned to Yakiyama, but some part of his wasn’t invested in the fight. It surprised him, that realization, but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. It wasn’t fear or caution holding him back, but disinterest: he was ready for this whole chapter to be shut, and to move onto something else. Something greater.
In his mind’s eye, he was placing his foot down on a rock in the middle of a river, and before he’d even secured his foothold, he was eagerly leaping to another perch. There was a lesson in the mental imagery, Naoya admitted, but he couldn’t change the course of his own thoughts. Everything came to a head tonight, and Naoya was just as anxious to begin the fight as he was to go back to living his life the next day.
“I’m stepping over you, Yakiyama,” Naoya silently warned the other man. “I’ll be the one who lives to see tomorrow.”
Though he said nothing, something in Naoya’s gaze or his body language seemed to communicate his thoughts to his opponent. Yakiyama’s smile vanished and his eyes flashed dangerously. The gangster’s thoughts mirrored his own and Naoya’s challenge was accepted.
“Begin!”
The two warriors started forward. Naoya advanced, quickly but cautiously, knowing that Yakiyama had the privilege of watching him fight, while he had no idea what the Tower was capable of. Yakiyama moved with incredible speed, backing away as Naoya approached, strafing to his right. The gangster retreated only for a split second before he decided to advance and commence his attack.
Yakiyama started forward and lashed out with a right leg roundhouse kick. Naoya took a half-step backward and shifted his position, holding up his left arm to soak up the hit. He could have backstepped away from the kick entirely, but the fire in him didn’t want to retreat. That and he wanted to gauge how strong Yakiyama really was. The blow struck Naoya across his left forearm and bicep, but it failed to produce even the pins and needles of a harsh slap. For all the warnings he’d been given, Yakiyama seemed no stronger than he had appeared.
“Disappointing,” Naoya wasn’t sure whether or not that thought came from himself, or the monster inside, but the feeling was keen, regardless.
Yakiyama tried to follow up his first strike with another kick, but Naoya decided that he wasn’t going to humor the gangster any longer. He wrapped his left arm around the man’s extended leg as it came towards him, and twisted around, lifting the smaller man off his feet before throwing him through the air. To his surprise, Yakiyama spun around as he sailed towards the edge of the arena and hit the translucent glass feet first.
The gangster sprang from the side of the cage with all his might, transferring all his force into a flying punch across Naoya’s jaw. The blow caused little more harm than the kick, but it caught Naoya off guard. Yakiyama seamlessly transitioned back to his feet as he landed the punch and took advantage of his momentary surprise by unleashing a series of blast punches that traveled up Naoya’s stomach to his chest, capping off the flurry with another strike to the jaw. With each blow he received, Naoya could hear the excitement of the audience building.
Feeling like a bull elephant being harassed by the world’s angriest mosquito, Naoya fed his frustration into a counterattack. He kicked Yakiyama in the stomach with a heavy boot, sending the gangster falling backwards. Cocking back his right arm, Naoya lunged after his opponent, seeking to splatter him against the metal floor. To his surprise, Yakiyama rolled backward, channeling the momentum of the initial kick to smoothly roll back to his feet and dart away from Naoya’s follow up.
Naoya’s right hand struck the ground with explosive force and the entire building shook. Chunks of iron burst from the metal floor and shot in all directions, digging into the shatterproof glass. Where people had been fighting to press their faces against the transparent border moments prior, the iron shrapnel encouraged a panicked retreat, and the spectators threatened to trample one another to put distance between themselves and their entertainment. The enormous tremor made the lights flicker, and screams of excitement turned to momentary shrieks of terror. Naoya put all of it out of his mind, choosing instead to focus solely on his opponent.
Switching back to a more familiar boxing stance, Naoya decided to meet Yakiyama’s penchant for speed with a rush of his own. He led with his left hand, probing with jabs while he kept his right-hand tense and ready for a haymaker the moment he found a weakness. Yakiyama stood his ground, deflecting Naoya’s punches while he threw jabs and punches of his own, mixing in a sharp elbow or two. Seeing that Yakiyama’s defense was on point, Naoya slipped in a low kick with his left leg, but the gangster seemed to anticipate that.
Yakiyama leapt over the kick and delivered a kick of his own directly into Naoya’s face. The gangster used the momentum to backflip and land on his feet, his acrobatics earning another roar of applause from the crowd. It was clear to him that the gangster’s theatrics were all a means to work up the audience, but Naoya decided that the other man’s showboating would make the moment he finally landed a square hit all the sweeter.
Yakiyama sprinted forward and leapt into a front flip, delivering another kick square to Naoya’s chest. The force of the blow made Naoya slide back across the metal disc beneath him, but he barely felt the strike. Yakiyama was already on the attack again when his feet touched the ground, launching another flurry of blast punches, but it was Naoya who was ready, this time.
He slapped aside a left-handed jab and caught Yakiyama’s right arm by the wrist before he’d even fully extended it. With both hands holding onto Yakiyama’s wrist, Naoya turned to his right, raising the other man’s arm over his shoulder. He felt Yakiyama try and pull away, instinctively looking to escape the hip toss coming his way, but Naoya was too much stronger and heavier for that to ever work. Naoya bent nearly double, pulling Yakiyama onto his back and then rolled him off his shoulder as he twisted his hips to slam him into the metal floor.
However, Yakiyama continued to put his athleticism on full display, extending his feet to touch the floor before the throw was completed. Bent over backward, Yakiyama was nonetheless able to catch himself, and almost before Naoya could process it, Yakiyama was standing upright again. Yakiyama hastily pried at Naoya’s fingers to slip from his grasp, but Naoya was determined not to let him get away again.
In a split second, Yakiyama had peeled away Naoya’s left hand and started working on the fingers of his right. Instinctively, Naoya reached out with his freehand to try and seek a handhold on Yakiyama’s right shoulder, but the gangster countered, thrusting his left hand into Naoya’s jaw, forcing his head up at an angle. Naoya wrapped his right hand around Yakiyama’s left forearm, and the two men were forced into a dance, their arms interlocked and fighting for control.
Unable to overpower Naoya, Yakiyama leapt into the air again and kicked Naoya’s chest with both feet. The force sent both men pushing in different directions and Naoya felt his grip on Yakiyama’s left arm slip as the other man flipped in the air, but Naoya refused to release his other limb. Yakiyama landed his flip as gracefully as anyone could manage with one arm still being grappled while Naoya stumbled and nearly lost his footing. As Naoya tried to regain his balance, he could feel Yakiyama prying his fingers away one by one.
“Just take his arm,” a thought occurred to Naoya, one instigated by the impatient monster within. If he couldn’t keep his grip on Yakiyama, he’d do the next best thing and unleash the power inside himself. He reached for his Crisis, the power to break and fracture whatever he touched, and golden lines shot down from Naoya’s shoulder, passing through his arm and towards his hand in the fraction of a second, but Yakiyama was faster on the draw.
Yakiyama inhaled air and breathed out a jet of fire where Naoya’s hand still clung to his wrist. Primal instincts ingrained into his consciousness reacted instantly to the presence of the flame, and Naoya let go. The moment that followed seemed to stretch itself out.
Yakiyama was pulling backward, a stream of smoke and embers trailing from his mouth, his lips contorted into a triumphant grin. Naoya was standing up and leaning forward even as he drew back his left hand protectively. Then, Naoya saw it, and Yakiyama’s expression changed as he came to the same realization at the exact same instant.
Yakiyama was falling: he’d been pulling away from Naoya with all his strength up until the very last second, and his own momentum made him stumble when Naoya let him go. The sudden release had caused the gangster’s naked right foot to slip out from under him, leaving him to balance on his left foot, only the heel of which was still touching the ground. There was no hope for him to regain his balance from his current position, so the only hope to quickly regain his footing was to roll backwards again as soon as he touched the ground and come back up to a standing position, but there was just one problem.
Naoya hovered Yakiyama like a mountain. For this moment, which would last less than a second, Yakiyama couldn’t flip, duck, or slide. He was entirely at the cruel mercy of gravity and all he could do was fall backwards. This was the opportunity Naoya had been waiting for, and he’d been right about his earlier prediction.
It was sweet.
Naoya’s right hand swept through the air and collided with the left side of the gangster’s mouth. A perverse thrill filled Naoya as his knuckles ran up against Yakiyama’s skin and the visceral sensation traveled up his arm. He felt the shape of the gangster’s jaw and cheekbone as his right hook twisted Yakiyama’s head. Blood, smoke, and embers poured from Yakiyama’s mangled mouth, making Naoya feel as though he’d punched the devil himself.
Yakiyama struck the floor with far more force than he planned on, and he bounced away from the metal surface and across the arena to slam into the glass dome caging them in. The gangster hit the wall with satisfying force, making the glass rattle, but Naoya’s surprise, Yakiyama somehow came up on his feet. Though he had to brace himself against the translucent wall with both hands, Yakiyama remained standing.
Remembering the blow the struck the arena, Naoya decided that he hadn’t put any less force into the fist that just crossed Yakiyama’s jaw. How the gangster was still conscious, or even alive, after such a blow baffled Naoya, but he decided not to dwell on it. Whether it was poor positioning on his part, or Yakiyama somehow rolled with the punch enough to keep his head on, it didn’t matter. The momentum was firmly in his corner now.
“I guess the smart money’s on me tonight,” Naoya flashed a confident smile in Yakiyama’s direction as the gangster stumbled forward on shaking legs.
Yakiyama didn’t say anything: instead, he let his mouth warp into a truly demonic snarl, baring his teeth as blood, ash, and sulfur ran down his bottom lip and across his chin. Fire blossomed in his chest and Yakiyama threw his head back, unleashing a jet of flame into the air. When the flame petered out, Yakiyama remained standing, every muscle in his body taut, smoke billowing from his nostrils, while he panted and grunted like a rapid animal. The momentary weakness had passed and Yakiyama stood in the midst of a rapturous rage, seething like a demon.
A horn blasted from the speakers above and Yakiyama looked up towards the top of the dome, wiping blood from the bottom of his lip with the back of his hand.
“First blood! First blood!” the announcer cried out in shock, reporting the outcome of the fight to the stunned and silent audience. “First blood goes to the challenger! Amazing! This man has walked into the Ryūketsu to deliver a beast of legend a busted lip! No one could have expected this!”
The gangster in question snarled upward at the drones flying about the arena, evidently upset with the commentary, but the announcer didn’t seem to take notice.
“That’s the end of the first round, and what a round it was!” the commentator continued his jubilant recap of events, unable to contain his excitement. “For the first time tonight, a brutal war has been raged in the arena that has last through the first five minutes! Our challenger has been knocking down some of our best fighters like bowling pins, but has he finally met his match? Our head chef is no less ruthless and across a hundred death matches, not a single competitor has lasted this long! We’re looking at two men who have a history of steam rolling over the competition, but it seems like neither has the decisive edge over the other. Is the proverbial irresistible force colliding with an immovable object right before our very eyes?
“Ladies and gentlemen, the second round of betting has begun!” the drones began buzzing about overhead again, displaying Naoya and Yakiyama’s pictures again. “As you can imagine, the odds have suffered quite a shakeup! Will you place your monetary faith in your chosen champion, or have the countless miracles in the arena moved you to put your trust in another hero? Whatever course you’ve chosen, don’t be shy! Give your money as tribute to the demigods battling for your amusement!”
Since the bell had rung, neither Naoya nor Yakiyama had moved from their spot. Naoya had only partially lowered his hands, keeping them hovering at stomach level. Yakiyama fumed, panting out mouthfuls of smoke as he returned to bouncing on the balls of his feet, shaking and stretching his arms. Naoya hadn’t wanted to stop the fight; he didn’t care about the arena or the audience’s enjoyment, but the part of him that wanted to beat Yakiyama wanted to do it on the gangster’s terms. The victory, he decided, would be more satisfying if he beat Yakiyama in his own house while playing by his rules.
“The second round of betting is halfway over,” the announcer’s voice continued to be broadcast from the swarm of dragonfly drones flying overhead. “Get your bets in before—!”
Yakiyama, still glaring at Naoya, raised his left hand and pointed upward towards the ceiling with a single finger. Immediately, the entire crowd let out a collective gasp, and then the room exploded with applause.
“Oh my! Is he—? Yes!” the announcer seemed to be on the verge of leaping out of his chair, wherever he was. “Our head chef has given the signal that he wants to turn up the heat! This brutal battle to the death has taken a dire turn for our challenger! Nothing is truly off limits now!”
Accompanying the announcer’s proclamation was the sound of sirens wailing through the building and red strobing lights flashed up and down the Ryūketsu. The speakers in the booths above began to play a loud dirty guitar riff and pyrotechnics were launched into the air, raining down sparks on the crowd. The drones projected holographic dragons sculpted from flame which danced through the air. As Naoya glanced around at the sudden celebration in confusion, the world shook beneath him.
Naoya spread his arms out, trying to keep his balance as the arena lifted itself out of the floor. Perched on a massive mechanical arm, the arena was pushed up from the ground floor and through the Ryūketsu, ascending higher and higher. The arena squeezed through the gaps in the hanging balconies and landings throughout the skyscraper as it pushed itself towards the ceiling, allowing Naoya to see the numerous VIPS sitting in the seats of honor through the glass barrier that separated them.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Amon and Ichinose. Amon had an amused smile on his face, and he winked at Naoya when he looked in his direction, while Ichinose stood at his elbow, clearly looking anxious. A moment later and the balcony had passed, taking the pair of men out of sight.
“Ladies and gentlemen, at this time we must ask you all to relocate to our world-class emergency shelters,” as the announcer continued to broadcast, Naoya noticed that the booths that the arena was passing by were gradually emptying. “In a battle this hot, there’s no telling what could happen, and we here at the Ryūketsu want to prioritize the safety of our guests. Though you won’t be able to watch this spectacle with the naked eye, be assured: the fight will continue under constant surveillance while you watch from behind the finest protections money can afford.”
As the arena neared the apex of ascent, Naoya spotted Yakiyama’s booth and saw the group of women left standing there being herded away by men in red coats. Naoya caught sight of Sakura amongst the group, and he gave her a solemn nod, lacking any more decisive course of action. He wasn’t certain whether or not she saw him, but the brief sighting of her and the other captive women reminded Naoya of what he was fighting for.
As the arena made the final push towards the ceiling, the roof broke apart above them, and panels slid open to allow the arena to push through the now open hole in the building. The arena emerged onto the rooftop, neatly fitting into the gap in the top floor. The glass dome retracted into the building, allowing Naoya to look and feel the open air around him.
The wind blew, whistling against the rooftop, and a sky full of twinkling stars shined above a cityscape of tall black stone towers. For a brief moment, the illusion worked, and Naoya forgot that he was inside an environmental dome. In the dark city around them, red lights flashed in the night, mirroring the alarms inside the arena. The top of the Ryūketsu was flat with a smooth concrete roof. Up over the east side of the building rose a black iron tower with a metal scaffold wrapped around it, and a blinking red light flashed at the top, marking it as the building’s relay tower.
The wail of sirens began to blare from the streets below, and a buzzing sound came from above. Naoya looked up just as a series of drones began shining bright search lights down on the pair of men. Above the roof, dozens of black dragonflies swarmed, some of them racing away into the rest of the city while others circled, keeping the two fighters in view. Hovering about in coordinated formations, the drones combined their projectors to form large rectangular screens floating in the sky, which showed the two men standing across the rooftop from one another. Up and down Kurodaiya, drones replicated the screen, filling the air with countless screens that each showed the confrontation on the rooftop from different angles.
“What happens now?” Naoya looked up to his right, meeting his own eyes as he stared into a larger-than-life digital recreation of his own face.
“Now the real fight begins!” Yakiyama breathed out a stream of flame into the air to enunciate his statement. “And this entire city is our battlefield! Every man and woman under the black sky will get to see me kill you!”
Yakiyama took a deep breath, and his entire body seemed to be filled with fire, turning him into a bright shining torch that was painful to look at. Naoya raised a hand in front of his face to try and blot out the harsh light while his nanite goggles fought to adjust to the sudden flare. Heat radiated across the rooftop as though it had been transformed into a furnace, and the vision of hell in front of Naoya made it clear what was going to happen next.
Yakiyama roared, unleashing a wave of bright orange flame taller than Naoya and over five times wider. Blinded by the rushing torrent of surging heat, Naoya leapt to his left on instinct. He landed on the northwest side of the rooftop, carried out of the path of the raging flames by the strength of his legs. Not yet finished, Yakiyama simply twisted his head, raking the stream of flame across the rooftop to catch Naoya. Naoya sprinted east across the rooftop to stay ahead of the fire, but running wasn’t enough to save himself. Rather than wait to be overwhelmed, Naoya darted back south, heading back towards the center of roof where Yakiyama stood.
Naoya lunged again, trying to reach the gangster before he could finish turning his head and bathe him in flame. Naoya thrust his right hand, aiming to crush the Tower’s glowing windpipe and cut the inferno off at the source, but Yakiyama spun away, evading the blow. The hot metal arena that took up the center of rooftop burned bright orange beneath their feet, but neither competitor seemed to care.
Yakiyama crouched low and placed his bare feet wide apart, his skin sizzling on the hot metal. Orange flames danced behind his ribs and tongues of fire flickered at the corners of his mouth and his lips twisted into a smile. With his outstretched left hand, Yakiyama beckoned for Naoya to continue his attack, which he was all too eager to oblige.
With his heavy left boot, Naoya stomped down on the metal plate beneath them, and he channeled his Crisis into the iron beneath him. The force of Naoya’s foot deformed the red-hot metal and the golden fractures that flowed from his boot broke the metal floor into pieces. Small chunks of molten metal were thrown into the air from Naoya’s stomp and Naoya struck out with his right hand, sending the superheated piece of metal flying towards Yakiyama’s head.
The gangster deflected the fiery dart with a backhand, spraying sparks and embers in all directions, and he did the same with the second and third projectile Naoya sent his way. Pushing into close range, Naoya and Yakiyama returned to trading blows on the melting metal slab below them. Yakiyama greeted Naoya with a roundhouse kick to his right side which he blocked with his right arm. The force of the strike surprised Naoya; it left a stinging sensation lingering in Naoya’s skin, and while it wasn’t truly painful, it left more impact than the blows Yakiyama landed in the first round.
Pushing through Yakiyama’s kick, Naoya snapped a left jab towards his face, which Yakiyama desperately tried to evade by twisting his head. The knuckles of Naoya’s left fist ran across the gangster’s right cheek and tore through his skin, spilling blood down his face. The red blood bubbled in the heat as the two fighters traded blows and flames continued to dance around them.
With two more jabs, Naoya forced Yakiyama to dart backwards, but that was only a means to distract him. When Yakiyama ducked and weaved between the strikes, Naoya changed tactics, throwing a low left kick that connected with the side of Yakiyama’s right knee. Over the roaring of the flame, Naoya heard cartilage crunch and bones crack as Yakiyama’s leg bent and he nearly toppled.
Galvanized, Naoya moved in to steamroll his wounded opponent, but the moment Naoya loomed over the smaller fighter, Yakiyama turned his head to look up at him and breathed out a blast of flame into his face. The sudden flash of light blinded him, and Naoya felt the fire dance across skin. Reflexively, Naoya raised his hands to protect his face, leaving himself exposed to a counterattack.
Naoya’s goggles protected his eyes from the fire, and he quickly regained his composure, but not fast enough to stop Yakiyama from launching his own attack. Balancing on his left foot, Yakiyama extended his twisted right leg into the air. Showing no regard for his own wounds, Yakiyama spit a stream of flame onto his right foot, setting it alight. Kicking off the ground with his left leg, Yakiyama leapt into the air and spun around, weaving a trail of fire around himself. He brought his flaming leg down across Naoya’s left shoulder and the powerful blow forced Naoya to his knees while Yakiyama landed against the metal floor with both hands.
The force of the kick, combined with the heat of the flame and damage already done to the arena, caused the metal floor to begin to collapse. The metal arm that suspended through the Ryūketsu buckled, and the burning metal disc tilted as it began to collapse. Instinct made Naoya climb to his feet and leap away, and he landed on the roof, putting his back to the iron relay tower. Yakiyama disappeared for a moment as the metal arena fully collapsed back into the building, but he quickly followed Naoya onto solid ground when he leapt back into view and landed on the roof, facing Naoya.
Instead of immediately going on the attack, Yakiyama took a moment to regain his bearings, though he didn’t take his eyes off Naoya for even a second. Planting the toes of his right foot on the roof, Yakiyama rolled his leg in a clockwise motion, and the bones and cartilage of his limb straightened themselves out. He brushed the caramelized blood from the side of his cheek and began to step forward, the burned skin on his hands and feet flaking away to reveal a new epidermal layer as he walked.
“Guess I can’t hope for a battle of attrition,” Naoya watched as Yakiyama approached and raised his hands, reconsidering his strategy.
Yakiyama crossed half the distance between the two of them before he shifted from a casual walk into a charge in a fraction of a second. Imaginary fractures tore through Yakiyama’s body and Naoya witnessed white particles shine through the gaps in his skin. With greater speed and fervor, Yakiyama pressed his assault, his fists a blur as they flew at Naoya.
The flurry sorely pressed Naoya, who was caught off-guard by the sudden increase in Yakiyama’s speed. Each blow hit Naoya with more force than Yakiyama had before, but he refused to allow himself to be overpowered. He called out the darkness in his own body as he raised an elbow to deflect a punch, letting the oily particles smother the brightness in Yakiyama’s punch. The darkness and light met, and the greater flow of darkness won out. The light shining in Yakiyama’s body dimmed for a moment, and Yakiyama’s defeat was compounded by another right cross.
This time, Yakiyama managed to roll with the punch, though Naoya’s knuckles ran against the left side of his chin. Yakiyama managed to keep to his feet and he stumbled backward, ducking a follow up punch. Before Yakiyama could regain his footing, Naoya sent his Crisis through the roof, causing the concrete beneath Yakiyama’s feet to crumble. The gangster stumbled and Naoya took the opportunity to hit the Tower with a left uppercut.
Yakiyama rolled across the rooftop, pushed back towards the opening in the roof. He came up on his hands and knees, glaring up at Naoya with fresh blood streaming on his lips. Before he could rise, Naoya pressed his advantage, but Yakiyama once more managed to turn the tables.
As Naoya charged in, Yakiyama held up his left hand and breathed a stream of fire into his palm. Naoya bore down on the kneeling gangster even as Yakiyama surged to his feet, wrapping his fingers around the flame in his hand. Yakiyama tilted his head to the right, letting Naoya’s punch slip past his face while he slammed his flaming fist into Naoya’s chest. When Yakiyama’s fist made contact with his chest, the heat and intensity surged like an explosion.
Blinding flames and blistering heat swallowed up Naoya as though he’d been struck with a star. He was thrown into the air and hurled across the rooftop, tumbling in blind panic. He feared being thrown from the side of the building, but his flight was arrested when he collided with an obstacle. His impact created the clamor of shattering concrete and bending metal, and he looked upward. Through the stars in his eyes, Naoya could see the relay tower waving above him.
Naoya’s impact shattered the foundation of the metal tower and torn the moorings that held it fast to the side of the structure. The tower wobbled as it tried to balance on its broken foundation and then it tipped forward, falling on top of Naoya. Casting aside reason, Naoya reached up as the scaffolding of iron fell onto him and took hold of the collapsing metal object. Thousands of pounds of metal fell on Naoya’s shoulders, but he was able to bear every ounce of the weight in violation of all natural law. The metal tower shrieked as Naoya held to up and away from the rooftop, but in the moment, he’d lost sight of his true enemy.
Another flare of burning light and sweltering heat, and Yakiyama became another human shaped beacon. Another torrent of flame spewed forth from the gangster’s lips, swallowing up the rooftop, the collapsing relay tower, and Naoya in a roiling blanket of hellfire. The curtain of flame reduced the metal scaffolding that Naoya held above his head to molten orange liquid in the space of five seconds, drenching him liquefied steel. Naoya disappeared into the sea of flames beneath a glowing sheet.
Momentarily lost in the blinding burning currents of roaring fire, Naoya felt the strangest sensation of burning without actually being on fire. Thousands of degrees radiated through Naoya’s body, enough to turn a normal human being into charcoal, but his skin and hair refused to ignite, as though Naoya’s flesh wasn’t really human at all. Fire filled every part of Naoya’s being, filling him with pain and urging him to action.
Moments after he vanished into the flame, Naoya leapt from the fires, howling with pain and fury. He lunged at Yakiyama, using the pain as a source of strength as he swung wildly at Yakiyama. The smaller man didn’t seem surprised as the larger man tore through the sea of flames in his direction, though the tight grimace on his features spoke of disappointment.
By the time Naoya reached Yakiyama, the monster inside him had assumed full control, galvanized by the pain and fear of fire inherent to all humans. Naoya abandoned all thoughts of defense, throwing wild, powerful haymakers. Forced to retreat from the blistering offense, Yakiyama tried to counterpunch, but Naoya instinctively channeled his Crisis through his body, causing the gangster’s knuckles to split each time Naoya made contact. Forced onto the backfoot, Yakiyama once more breathed a bright flame into his enemy’s face.
So committed to overpowering Yakiyama, Naoya was barely able to turn his face in time, letting flames flash across the right side of his face. Though he wasn’t blinded by the light, the momentary distraction was enough for Yakiyama to change the momentum. The light flowing through the imaginary cracks in Yakiyama’s body regained its brightness and the gangster blew out another short blast of flame, which he then ran both hands through.
With his burning fists, Yakiyama unleashed another series of fiery blast punches into Naoya’s chest, hitting him over a dozen times within a second. Naoya staggered backward beneath the burning assault, thrown off balance but not beaten. Before Naoya could recover, Yakiyama stepped forward with his right leg, shifting his weight as he leaned into a right-handed palm thrust. At the very same moment his hand stabbed into Naoya’s diaphragm, Yakiyama breathed out a stream of flame that spread across his shoulder and coiled down his arm to his hand, exploding in tandem with the palm strike.
The blow hit Naoya like a wrecking ball, knocking all the air from his lungs and launching him from the rooftop. Naoya sailed through the air and this time there was nothing to catch him. He felt his insides whip around inside his chest cavity as he soared uncontrollably, desperately reaching out with his hands as he sought an invisible purchase in the artificial night sky. Launched off the roof of the Ryūketsu, Naoya watched as the building with the burning rooftop grew smaller and smaller until his view was interrupted when he crashed into something he couldn’t see.
Concrete crumbled and metal shrieked as Naoya plowed through another building like an artillery strike. Naoya struck the floor and rolled across it, managing to wrest enough control of his momentum to come up on one knee. His goggles were clouded with concrete dust, forcing Naoya to hurriedly rub them with the back of his sleeve in an attempt to clear them. When he could see through the lenses again, Naoya could finally see where he was.
He was in a large dark room lit by a variety of alternating strobing lights of distinct colors. Naoya knelt on a polished glass floorspace with white lights that shined up through them surrounded by tables with a bar taking up the wall to his right. A balcony circled the room’s upper half, from which a number of startled men and women dressed in party clothes stared down at him.
Listening to the sound of music thumping in his ears, Naoya realized that he was in a night club. All around him, partygoers stood in stunned silence, staring at the intruder who’d smashed through the walls of their private revelry. Naoya slowly stood up, brushing concrete from his jacket while the alarmed customers continued to gape at him. A flash of fiery light caught everyone’s attention when it shined through the broken hole in the side of the building.
Naoya’s head snapped up in alarm as Yakiyama rode in through the broken wall on a jet of flame. The moment he landed on the illuminated dance floor everyone seemed to recognize him. As though a switch had been flipped, the frozen patrons of the dance club began to scream and panic, quickly surging together into a stampede of fright. The raw terror brought a smile to Yakiyama’s face and fires danced inside his body.
The gangster raised his arms, theatrically taking a deep breath. As his chest expanded the flames in his chest changed from a hellish red to a radiant blue. Yakiyama glowed like a small blue star and hellish heat radiated outward from his body, causing the concrete, glass, and metal that made up the building around him start to melt, but Naoya knew that was only a prelude to the destruction coming his way.
“No! Wait!” Naoya raised a hand, trying to signal to Yakiyama to withhold his fiery blast which threatened the dozens of innocent men and women around them, but Naoya’s words were lost in the torrent of azure flame that poured from Yakiyama’s lips. Naoya dove to his left, feeling the heat of perdition’s flame wash over his body as the jet of fire surged past him. Whatever the blue flame touched vanished as the fire instantly consumed it. No traces of its victims could be seen beneath the shimmering curtain of azure light, save for the lingering sound of screams that outlived their owners.
Yakiyama raked the floors and walls, trying to catch Naoya in the path of his intensified flames, heedless of collateral damage and innocent lives. In the confined space, Naoya knew that he had limited time to turn the situation around before Yakiyama pinned him down, a timeline further hampered by his desire to get the fight away from the people still trying to flee the room. The lives of the dancers took a higher priority than Naoya’s own safety in the moment and his mind seized on a dangerous ploy.
Naoya reached into himself, taking hold of the oozing darkness that lurked beneath the surface. A power as mysterious as his Crisis and about as well understood, Naoya nonetheless needed it. The dark particles spread up and down Naoya’s body and, in the moment, he decided that they should shield him from the hellish flames of Yakiyama, and they did. Naoya waited for Yakiyama to twist his head in his direction, letting the flame wash over him before he sprang into motion. Hidden under the curtain of fire, Naoya advanced on his foe, shielded from the heat by the dark particles, but only partially.
In the two seconds that Naoya was swallowed up by the stream of fire, he could feel patches of skin on his face catching fire and his ears shriveled in the heat. Heat radiated through every joint in his body and every beat of his heart channeled boiling blood through his arteries. Whatever protection he had against the orange flames was useless now that Yakiyama had turned up the heat, even while supplemented by the dark power Naoya found inside himself.
In the moment of transitory agony, Naoya remembered his battle with a man clad in ice. Wracked with pain, Naoya’s brain refused to conjure up a name and a face to go along with the recollection, but in his mind, he recalled that man had used the same dark power to make his frozen armor entirely unbreakable; couldn’t he do the same with fire? Feeling the dark particles surging inside his body, Naoya wondered if he could use more.
“More,” an instinctual thought, the monster’s though, agreed.
Blinded by the intense light of his own flames, Yakiyama had no way to see Naoya until the other man emerged through the stream of hellfire, standing directly in front of him. Before the gangster could react, Naoya threw a right-handed uppercut, slamming Yakiyama’s mouth closed with his fist and lifting the smaller man off the ground.
Yakiyama was shot into the air like a rocket and sent smashing through the ceiling. Chunks of concrete rained down like deadly hail as Yakiyama was sent soaring through the building, smashing through three floors more floors before he emerged through the roof. Naoya leapt upward, chasing the man outside, eager to leave the burning dance floor behind.
Naoya burst through the passage Yakiyama had left behind in a single leap, but in the briefest moment that they were separated, the gangster had regained his footing. As Naoya emerged from the opening in the roof, he was greeted by a blast of heat and light. Blinded, Naoya dove away as a fireball surged past him and flew across city.
The azure orb trailed across Kurodaiya and struck the side of a thin black building with force of a missile. The fireball blasted and dissolved the side of the building at the same time, sending melting glass and steel down into the streets. Before the first fireball had even finished its deadly course, Yakiyama was taking another breath, ready to fire a second blast.
The gangster unleashed a barrage of fireballs, one after the other, trying to pin Naoya down as the concrete rooftop melted beneath their feet. Naoya ducked and dived between the individual shots of the fiery cannonade, unable to advance as the flaming missiles poured on and on without stopping. Each shot that missed arced into the night, striking the sides of a dozen buildings, transforming the cityscape into a vision of hell. Several blasts soar over the tops of the buildings around them and struck the roof of the environmental building above them, disrupting the illusion of the night sky as they blew holes in the side of the barrier dividing Kurodaiya from the rest of the city.
Desperate, Naoya leapt from the edge of the roof behind him, plunging into the open sky. Falling towards a high-rise on his left, Naoya struck it feet first, using his momentum to begin running along the side of the building. Behind him, Yakiyama pursued, leaping into the air after him. Breathing out a trail of flame, Yakiyama used the fire to launch himself through the air and land against the side of building in parallel to Naoya, mimicking him by running against the vertical surface.
The corner of the building fast approached and Naoya was forced to leap into the air again, kicking off the building to leap over the street beneath him to the building on his right. Yakiyama lunged into the air as well, intercepting Naoya’s flight. The two men collided in the above the ground, struggling against each other as they began to fall.
“What the hell are you doing!?” Naoya demanded as he struggled to free himself from the gangster. “You’ll burn the whole city down!”
“Fuck the city!” Yakiyama snarled with palpable rage. “And fuck everyone in it! I’ll burn the world down to kill you!”
Yakiyama took hold Naoya by his shoulders and took a deep breath, filling himself with azure light, intending to breathe his hellish flame onto Naoya at point blank range. Desperate, Naoya clutched at Yakiyama’s wrists, channeling the mad power of the monster inside him. He felt the gangster’s wrists break as his fingers squeezed down on them, but Yakiyama didn’t allow the pain to deter him. Prying away Yakiyama’s hands, Naoya was able to slide his left leg up between them and then kick Yakiyama in the stomach.
The kick forced the two men apart and sent them both spinning in opposite directions. Yakiyama flew across the street and struck the third floor of an apartment building, spraying dust and rubble in all directions as he vanished from sight. Meanwhile, Naoya hit the earth like a meteorite, collapsing the street beneath him as he raked across it.
Naoya sat on his hands and knees for a moment, struggling to rise. He wasn’t tired or even in pain, but heat radiated through his body as though his innards were on fire. In his mind’s eye, the world around him was beginning to break, looking like a jumble of burning glass. The monster inside Naoya was close to tugging the reins completely away from him and he struggled to remain centered to prevent that from happening.
Before he finished climbing to his feet, Yakiyama burst from the side of the apartment and landed in the street thirty feet away. The gangster was covered in concrete that blended with the illusory skyline across his arms. The gangster had a wide vicious smile though Naoya could only tell by the flames that danced in his mouth, highlighting his black teeth.
Another blast of flame soon followed, this one aimed at the street beneath the gangster’s feet. Walls of flame expanded in every direction, racing down every street and alleyway as licked against the sides of the buildings around them. The force of the fiery stream launched Yakiyama into the air and he raced upward, ascending towards the peak of an eight-story building. Naoya followed, leaping into the air to avoid the flood of blue flame heading in his direction. He soared upward over a hundred feet and took hold of the edge of an office building to clamber onto it.
As he stood, he surveyed the city around him, feeling a deep sense of remorse settling into his gut. Tongues of flames dozens of feet high spread through the city streets, dancing with infernal abandon, casting hellish shadows against false night. The fake sky flickered, unable to maintain its illusion while smoke billowed up to the roof, trapped inside the pyramid’s walls. Standing high over the city, the Ryūketsu’s roof continued to burn with orange light like an oversized beacon.
“I wanted this fight,” Naoya reminded himself, castigating his own reckless behavior. “I never even considered that things could get this bad.”
As his eyes scanned the skyline, his vision fixated on a burning figure standing at the edge of roof that stretched several floors above Naoya’s perch. Though Naoya couldn’t see his face, he somehow knew that Yakiyama was smiling triumphantly down at him.
“Getting cold feet?” Yakiyama demanded, sensing Naoya’s regret. “Don’t worry; it’s time to put an end to our little show!”
Yakiyama held up both hands, beckoning hundreds of drones to orbit around him from the sky. Innumerable lights were cast on Yakiyama as the cameras rotated around him like a celestial body as he soaked in all their attention.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” Yakiyama raised his hoarse voice, barking his words out with demonic intonation. “Are you ready? Are you ready to watch this man die!?”
In response to his question, the drones began casting holographic screens in the air around Yakiyama, forming a wall of live videos multiple layers deep. In each of the red-bordered windows, countless men and women mugged the screens, screaming their approval. The air was filled with a thousand incomprehensible voices screaming in unison, half crying out with wordless screams, the rest chanting for Naoya’s blood.
“How can anyone still be watching this?” Naoya looked at the burning cityscape around him one more time, wondering if perhaps he was trapped in a deranged dream again. “This can’t really be happening, can it?”
“Hear that?” Yakiyama placed his hands into the sea of digital projections and spread them apart, and the holographic windows parted. “The people want you dead.”
Yakiyama placed his feet on the fringe of the roof, taking a wide stance. He took in a deep breath and blue light flashed against his innards as every muscle in his body seemed to constrict. He tilted his head back, his mouth a wide grimace of agony and smoke poured from between his lips. He extended his hands out to his sides and balled his hands into tight fists, then he flexed his arms, dragging them down to his knees as Yakiyama appeared to vomit a trail of fire.
Bright azure flame poured from between Yakiyama’s teeth, which fell towards the edge of the roof between his feet. The tongue of flame moved slowly, in sharp contrast to the overwhelming blasts of flame he’d launched before. Before it reached the edge of the roof, the fiery tongue sharply turned upward, moving against gravity as it continued to grow. The burning tendril spiraled through the air, wrapping around Yakiyama almost protectively.
From the burning whip, four flaming talons sprouted, which clutched at the air while a pair of fiery horns burst from the head of the hellish serpent. A mouth of blue fangs opened beneath the branching antlers, and the effigy of a dragon unleashed a howl like the roar of flame. The tip of its tail still clenched between Yakiyama’s teeth, the dragon began to coil, wind, and undulate through the air, its flaming head oriented in Naoya’s direction.
The dragon lunged across the rooftop with the speed of striking viper, moving so quickly that it nearly caught Naoya off-guard. He leapt to his left as the dragon smashed through the office building, raking the concrete with its burning jaws, sending up clouds of dust and smoke. The structure shuddered with the force of the vicious mauling, and Naoya hastily leapt away, landing atop a wide squat hotel rooftop which featured a flashing neon sign to his right. Naoya hit the ground running, not knowing where he was going, but acting only on instinct.
Out of the cloud of smoke behind him, the flaming dragon surged forth like a bullet, chasing Naoya across the city. The dragon came up on Naoya’s right with the hotel’s neon sign between them, moving so quickly that it overtook him, reaching the other end of the building before he did. The dragon turned about, reorienting to attack Naoya again and as it did so, its flaming body melted the neon sign and its steel scaffolding through sheer heat. The dragon lunged forward again, spreading its jaws wide enough to fit his entire body into its mouth, and Naoya vaulted over it, feeling the blistering heat as it passed under him.
Naoya struck the roof and rolled to one knee as the dragon whipped around to face him again. Plunging his hands into the melting concrete beneath him, Naoya instinctively used his Crisis to break off a chunk of shrapnel, which he launched through the air towards the dragon’s face. The concrete projectile vaporized the moment that it made contact with the beast’s face, causing no harm.
The dragon was a construct entirely formed from fire; it could harm Naoya, but it couldn’t be harmed, a fact that quickly became clear. Faced with such an opponent, Naoya struggled to produce an idea for a counterattack as the dragon lifted itself up over him, preparing to launch its next attack. As its coiled body undulated, Naoya could see that the tail of the beast still extended far behind it, draped over the building behind it.
“Yakiyama!” though he couldn’t see the gangster beyond the blinding radiance of the serpent, Naoya knew that the gangster must still be standing on his perch directing his beast. Before Naoya could act on the revelation, the dragon lunged again.
Striking downward like a viper, the dragon plunged its head into the rooftop and Naoya only just narrowly evaded it by darting backwards. The dragon moved through concrete and iron as easily as air, and it dove downward through the building, carving a burning tunnel through the structure. Before the dragon could pull itself upward and resume its attack, Naoya turned and leapt into the air again, this time leaping over the street full of crackling flames in order to reach Yakiyama’s side of the road. The gangster was still rooted to the side of the rooftop, blue flames pouring from his mouth, and another building stood between Naoya and the gangster.
Seeing Yakiyama still standing on the lip of the building, Naoya sprang into motion, charging across the building beneath him to reach his enemy. He vaulted over the alleyway that separated the first building from the second and continued to run. Yakiyama’s perch was several stories higher than the nearest building, and Naoya needed to leap up the side of the building to reach him. As Naoya gathered his strength for the final leap, he felt the building shudder beneath his feet. He jumped into the air and less than a second later, the rooftop burst apart into a fiery conflagration as the dragon burst through the building below Naoya. He turned about in the air, his eyes wide, realizing that he’d been caught.
The dragon wrapped its jaws around Naoya’s left foreleg and sank its flaming teeth in. Agony surged through Naoya’s body, and he screamed as he finally began to burn in earnest. He reached down to grapple the flaming teeth, feeling his fingers burn as they touched the dragon’s mouth. Screaming through his teeth, Naoya desperately tried to free himself, but the dragon resisted him.
The azure dragon raised its fiery body up through the street, burning and melting every structure it had burrowed under for the sake of its surprise attack. Swinging itself about through the air, the dragon whipped itself downward, slamming Naoya directly through the building beneath them. Like a fiery wrecking ball, the dragon smashed Naoya through every floor down to the ground, bringing down the entire structure in a heap of melting rubble. Not satisfied, Yakiyama’s draconic tongue raised Naoya back into the air and whipped him around. Extending several hundred feet, the wrathful dragon whipped around in circle, devastating the entire city block around the building that Yakiyama was standing on as the dragon’s burning body toppled every obstacle in its path.
Seemingly satisfied with the unnecessary devastation, Yakiyama’s dragon began to retract, wrapping its flaming coils around Naoya’s body. The burning serpentine burned through Naoya’s clothes and flesh, causing him to cry out in maddening pain. Tightly bound up in its grip, Naoya was helpless to save himself when the dragon turned about and slammed itself down onto the rooftop where Yakiyama stood waiting.
Naoya found himself lying on the rooftop, face down. He had burns up and down his body, fusing parts of his clothes to his blackened skin. The rest of the rooftop fared little better: everything was burning or melting beneath the walls of blue flames.
“Looks like you’re finally feeling the heat,” Yakiyama stood tall over the fallen Naoya, appearing to be a shadow among the dancing flames. “Now, it’s time to watch you burn.”
Yakiyama held out his right hand, and he breathed a plume of blue flame into his palm. He squeezed his fingers together, and the fire wormed through the gaps in his digits, setting his entire hand alight while white particles flowed through Yakiyama’s arm, surging into his flaming hand. The ball of flame wrapped around Yakiyama’s fist burned brighter and brighter, becoming a blinding white sphere that was so intense that it appeared as though the Tower was clutching a small star. The white light reflected in Yakiyama’s eyes, and a mad smile split his features.
Staring up at Yakiyama, Naoya knew that he had only moments to try and turn the tables, but what could he do? He struggled to climb to his feet, but the pain was overwhelming, and he was barely able to make it to his knees. He looked up at the white particles that flowed through Yakiyama’s and the beast inside took control, summoning the darkness of negativity out of his own body.
Naoya raised his left hand, which cracked and overflowed with dark particles, and thrust it into the path of Yakiyama’s burning fist. Just before they made contact, Naoya could see the gangster’s expression change from one of certain victory to surprise. Naoya felt Yakiyama’s burning knuckles touch his palm, and then, equal light and darkness met.
An explosion shook the rooftop. Blinding white particles and oily darkness shot in all directions like an explosion of static. The roar of the blast was deafening, but transient, and when the disturbance passed, the fire was gone, leaving the rooftop scorched and melted.
Pain surged through Naoya’s left hand and he looked down to see that he’d been maimed by the blast. From the middle of his forearm to his fingers, his left hand was gone, looking like it had been neatly severed by a blade rather than being blown apart. Blood quickly began pouring from the stump and Naoya clutched at his wounded arm, clenching his teeth together to avoid screaming.
“You’re one stupid son of a bitch, aren’t you?” Naoya looked up to see Yakiyama, who was far from untouched. The Tower’s right arm was gone from the elbow down and blood spilled in all directions. “Didn’t think you were dumb enough to try and kill the both of us.”
It was at that moment that Yakiyama made a mistake. Rather than press his attack to regain his momentum, Yakiyama looked down at his bloody arm, and he breathed a stream of fire from his mouth, cauterizing the wound. It was only a split second of divided attention, but Naoya knew he couldn’t afford to let Yakiyama take control again.
In that brief moment, Naoya surged to his feet and lunged, punching Yakiyama across the face with his right hand. Blood and black teeth flew into the air, and the gangster stumbled backward. Naoya stomped on Yakiyama’s right foot with his left boot, pinning it to the ground and preventing Yakiyama from falling backwards over the side of the building. Naoya followed up the punch with another punch to the stomach, and Yakiyama bent double, spewing ash and smoke.
As Yakiyama straightened, fires burned in his chest, and anger flashed in his eyes. The gangster was a split second away from unleashing his flames again at point blank range and Naoya knew he had to intercept the attack. He thrust his fingers towards Yakiyama’s throat, and the gangster caught hold of him by the wrist with his one good hand, however, he wasn’t strong enough to stop Naoya from pressing his fingertips against the side of his throat.
Fires rose into Yakiyama’s neck, and blue light peeked out from between his teeth, but before he could unleash the onslaught of fire, Naoya unleashed his own power before Yakiyama could stop him. The gangster twisted Naoya’s hand away, but it was too late; golden cracks flowed through Yakiyama’s throat and the gangster’s eyes widened in surprise. Fire exploded out from the new hole in his neck, shooting out to the left. The blast of flame petered out, leaving Naoya untouched.
“It’s over!” Naoya looked at Yakiyama, whose throat was a blackened mess with caramelized blood all down his chest. “Give up!”
Though he was unable to speak, Naoya imagined the gangster had some colorful words in mind, when he looked back at him with outrage written on his face. With his left foot, Yakiyama kicked Naoya in the chest, sending the larger man stumbling backward and freeing his other foot. For a moment, Yakiyama clutched his wounded throat, and then, he fixed his eyes on Naoya and stepped backward off the rooftop and fell out of sight.
Abandoning reason again, Naoya threw himself off the roof after Yakiyama. The other man wouldn’t surrender, and he would kill himself, either. For that reason, Naoya knew he couldn’t allow the gangster even a moment to recover.
Yakiyama fell towards the ground with his eyes closed, his left hand held over his chest in a silent prayer. Naoya plunged through the air, his one good hand raised, ready to unleash the final blow before they hit the ground. Closer and closer, Naoya gained on Yakiyama; in moments, the man would be within striking distance. Anxious to end the fight, time seemed to slow, if only to spite Naoya.
It was two seconds before they hit the ground, and a microsecond before Naoya was able to throw his punch that he noticed something. The white particles flowed through Yakiyama’s body again, running through every inch of skin before coalescing in his wounded throat. It was then that Naoya realized he’d made a mistake of his own.
The burnt flesh on Yakiyama’s throat knitted itself together and his eyes shot open. Looking up at Naoya, Yakiyama opened his mouth and white light poured out. At the back of his throat, a symbol shined: “勝.”
“KATSU!”
Yakiyama’s roar of victory birthed a plume of white flame that swallowed Naoya. Everything burned; every inch of skin seemed to be on fire; his chest, his nose, his mouth, his eyes. Darkness followed, and then, a sensationless void overwhelmed. For a brief moment, he thought he was dead.
Then, he felt something. All across his body, a stinging sensation poked at him, as though he was being repeatedly stabbed with a thousand needles. It was the same sensation of nerves waking up after having been caught completely off from blood. Then, the needles disappeared, and he felt a frigid wind touching his skin, and then, the sound of shrieking wind. Finally, light reappeared in Naoya’s eyes and he blinked, examining his surroundings. To his surprise, he wasn’t in the dark city anymore.
He was in the sky. As he looked around, he could see the dark grey clouds of Hurricane Izumi all around him. He was floating in a hole that had been punched in the cloud cover high above the city. The void in the storm was large enough to swallow an entire city block, but the swirling clouds were rapidly pressing back together. It was a surreal view, but Naoya only had a few moments to savor it before he began to fall.
Beneath Naoya, the city of Yōgai-shima stretched out, a thousand feet below. Directly below him, a cloud of smoke rose into the air, marking the explosion of flame that had launched him skyward. He fell towards the ground and, fixing his eyes on the cloud, Naoya straightened to plunge back into the fight like a missile.
He shot through the rising smoke cloud and smashed through the ceiling of the dark district without stopping. He hit the street below like a meteorite, and the city shook from the force. Yakiyama had his back to Naoya, having been walking away, confident in his victory, and he could only turn to gape when Naoya slammed into the street.
Naoya stood tall. Though his clothes had been reduced to burnt tatters, the many wounds he’d suffered had vanished. The burns were gone without a trace, and even his left arm was whole and intact. By contrast, Yakiyama was still missing an arm, and his throat was blackened and scorched. Seeing Naoya, Yakiyama bared his teeth and fire flashed in his throat again, but that was as far as he got.
Naoya didn’t think anymore. Instead, he moved entirely on animal instinct. Before Yakiyama’s neurons could even finish firing, Naoya crossed the distance and punched him in the face with his regrown left arm. Yakiyama was thrown across the city, flames spewing from his mouth and nose as he bounced down the street like a rock skipped across a pond. Each bounce shattered the street, but Yakiyama’s momentum carried him all the way back to the Ryūketsu, where he slammed into the lower half of the building. Glass and concrete exploded in all directions as the gangster flew through it like a human bullet.
After pausing for a moment to watch the destruction, Naoya gave chase. The city blurred by as he moved, crossing the several hundred foot journey Yakiyama had made in less than a second. Rather than follow Yakiyama through the hole his crude entry had made, Naoya burst through the walls of the building to make his own entrance to stand among the ruins of the arena.
In contrast to how it had been moments before, the Ryūketsu was mercifully silent. The numerous well-dressed patrons had all vanished into the ether, and the fiery kitchens were absent their chefs, who left pieces of meat to blacken and sizzle unattended. The mechanical arm that had lifted the arena into the ceiling was tilted, having fallen over from the damage from the battle above and the partially melted metal arena floor had broken off and fallen into one of the balconies. Through the gap in the roof where the arena once was, embers from the raging fire on the roof fell into the building.
In the middle of the metal arm that protruded from the floor, was Yakiyama, his impact having dented the steel cylinder inward. The gangster remained dented into the structure while blood poured from his broken jaw, and a number of broken bones punched through his skin. As Naoya strode closer, Yakiyama stared back at him with hate, but it was truly and utterly impotent.
Seeing his enemy broken and beaten, Naoya felt an irrepressible urge build up inside him. Golden fractures spread across his skin, and power surged through him. Unable to stop it, Naoya threw back his head and screamed in animal fury, the force of his voice challenging Izumi’s thunder.
The Ryūketsu fell away, ripped apart from the inside out as Naoya loosed his terrible cry. The force of his scream tore the concrete from its steel infrastructure and pulverized the metal into dust. A wave of devastation followed as the echoing shriek spread to the buildings nearby, bowling them over and splintering them into pieces.
As the torrent of power flowed out of him, golden fractures spiderwebbed through the street beneath his feet, spreading across Kurodaiya. The world shook violently, and everything the golden fractures touched fell apart. Buildings came apart, collapsing into heaps of rubble, filling the air with dust. Great slabs of concrete and rebar began to fall into the street as the golden fractures spread up into the roof above. At the back of his mind, Naoya vaguely realized that he was destroying the city around him, much as he had done at Hideki’s auto shop, but knowing what was happening and being able to stop it were two different things. He was fully in the grip of his animal rage, now.
When Naoya finally reached a state of relative calm, his scream cut off and the luminescent fractures ceased to spread. Devastation spread in all directions, but Naoya couldn’t consciously process any of that. He stood panting and snarling like a rabid animal until a glimmer of light caught his attention.
Surrounded by devastation, Naoya spotted Yakiyama still lying among the rubble on the street in front of him, partially obscured by a cloud of dust floating through the air. The cracks in his flesh shined with white light, telling Naoya that the gangster was trying to heal himself. The sight of it provoked Naoya’s instinctual mind, reminding him that his enemy was still in front of him.
He stepped towards his fallen foe, and he immediately felt something push against him. He paid it no mind and continued to push forward, but the feeling intensified. He reached a hand out, blind to what was ailing him, only to find his arm struggled to obey him. In the dim light of the flickering streetlights, Naoya saw the obstacle: a net of impossibly small wires was wrapped around his arm. Realizing that he was bound, Naoya groped at his bonds with both hands, trying to struggle free. However, the cords all around his body only got tighter and tighter as he struggled.
“Now, now, Nanbu-kun,” a familiar voice spoke in his ear. “Let’s not get carried away.”
Something tied itself around Naoya’s throat and began to strangle him. He struggled all the more viciously, but he felt his strength begin to leave him, as though the bonds were draining all his power away. His resistance flagged, and despite his desire to keep fighting, darkness crowded out his vision, and he knew no more.
Dossier
Subject Name: Yakiyama Kichiji (焼山 吉字)
Subject Status: Human Calamity (Survivor)
Yakiyama Kichiji is a ranking officer in the Tokyo Towers working directly for the Nishi-Shinjuku branch, which serves as the central command structure of the organization. The subject has been subject to surveillance by the Bureau for the past five years, though he’d been under scrutiny from the Civil Services for longer than that. The man known as Yakiyama Kichiji was among the initial cadre of unskilled labor brought to Yōgai-shima shortly before the Downfall. After the destruction of Tokyo and the construction of the island’s residential areas, Yakiyama would find himself out of a job when drone-based construction took over the lion’s share of the labor.
Like many of his fellows, he would find himself joining the island’s early gangs in order to find a place to belong when the work ran out and would subsequently be swept into the Towers syndicate when the organization formed in 2037. Yakiyama is believed to have become a Human Calamity during his “pilgrimage” across the quarantine zone into the ruins of Tokyo, a rite of passage for members of the gang. If Yakiyama gained his Fire Crisis during that episode, he would be one of the last known “Children of Tokyo” within the Bureau’s records.
Yakiyama has displayed aptitude for using his Crisis, his Karma, and notable skill in managing his subordinates. Though he’s known to possess a violent temper, recent analysis suggests potential for recruitment. However, Yakiyama’s connection to the Towers and his rank within the organization means that the Bureau has decided to avoid apprehension for the short term.
Crisis Abilities
Smoke Inhalation Emergency, “The Dragon Within”
Yakiyama possesses the ability to breathe fire. While this ability seems very mundane, it remains incredibly destructive, and Yakiyama is very capable of using his Crisis in a variety of ways. Surveillance has shown Yakiyama combining this ability with his proficiency in close-quarters combat, in addition to more novel uses, such as using his Crisis as a means of propulsion.
Crisis Ability: “The Dragon Pursues”
Through the use of a Transaction, Yakiyama is able to shape his fire-breath into the form of dragon. The dragon can move freely through the air at Yakiyama’s direction and can extend a minimum of several hundred feet, though its full limitations are unknown.
Transaction Conditions: In order to use this ability, Yakiyama must remain immobile and he must remain entirely focused on manipulating the dragon, meaning that he cannot defend himself. If Yakiyama moves, then the dragon will disperse.
Crisis Ability: “Draconic Roar of Victory”
An extremely rare ability that Yakiyama has only been observed to use twice to date. Raising his hands in a prayer position, Yakiyama recites a silent petition and then cries out “katsu” or “victory.” At the same time, Yakiyama breathes out an intense breath of white flame, the heat of which rivals a lightning bolt.
Transaction Conditions: Yakiyama must take a prayer stance and speak a single word in order activate this ability.
Parameters
Exigency: 7.5
Though not the strongest, Yakiyama possesses respectable power among Human Calamities.
Runaway: 7
After remaining in Exigency for an extended period of time, Yakiyama’s strength and speed increases. However, Yakiyama’s Runaway manifests in the rapidly increasing heat of his Crisis, which continually increases.
Forecasting: 4 (?)
Yakiyama has shown surpassing agility and evasiveness in battle, but the extent of his precognition remains unknown.
Account: 125%
Surveillance of Yakiyama has shown that he possesses an above average amount of Hazard Energy inside his body, though less than a Senior Inspector.
Precision: 4
Yakiyama’s Crisis possesses the capacity for widespread destruction, which only becomes more dangerous the longer he remains in Exigency.
Karma: 6
Yakiyama’s Karma is tilted in the favor of Positivity.
Soon, the World Will End 