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Chapter Thirty One
Augury
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“Poof. Just like an old lightbulb.”
Hawk slowly descended, folding his hands behind his back once more as he grinned at the flaming wreck of the helicopter. “I’m not solely to credit for the warm reception, you know. But… Well, you seem to be doing alright. Think we can talk this out over some marshmallows?”
Oisim walked out of the wreckage, patting down flames which had sprung across his dress shirt. “You will be ground into dust. Your ashes will be ripped from you and scattered on the wind. You cannot hope to contend with the power of this mask.”
“Allow me to be the judge of that.” Hawk hissed, bolting forward at blinding speed and slamming his fist into Oisim’s stomach at full force. Another fist immediately followed, then another, and another, and in a matter of seconds Hawk was slamming his knuckles into Oisim’s torso with the speed of a jackhammer, with the force of each fist recoiling only serving to power the approach of its opposite. The steam that rippled across his body was violently forced away by the strength of each strike.
As the onslaught picked up speed with no indication of a possible limit, Oisim stepped forwards, slowly forcing the constantly attacking Hawk further and further back. A desperate punch sent at the patriarch’s chin was caught in his open palm, and with a furious expression setting his perpetual scowl even more deeply into his skull, Oisim pulled the Pangolin into a punch of his own, aimed directly at the wooden mask he wore.
“I am surprised by your mask’s durability.” Oisim snarled, following up the staggering attack by gripping Hawk by the collar and slamming him into the ground. “But I am confident I can break it.” He relinquished his grip on the Pangolin and moved his fingers towards the hooked mask he wore.
Hawk immediately retaliated, flying forwards and catching Oisim by the waist before rocketing up along the side of the building, smashing him through multiple floors of concrete, glass, and steel. The amount of debris made retaliating close to impossible, yet Oisim’s pose remained unaffected, his shirt getting torn to ribbons and the skin underneath remaining perfectly unharmed. As the pair ascended, Oisim reached out and caught hold of the floor of one of the rooms, resisting the force which Hawk moved at and breaking him free from his immovable grip.
Flung into the open room, Oisim’s feet slid to a stop, scraping into the floor as he went. Several people with drinks were occupying the room, and at his sudden and violent arrival many of them began screaming and trying to get past him to the door. His scowl was enough to repel them long enough for Hawk to circle back around and slam him through the doorway, taking a good amount of the door with him.
Oisim sent a right hook into the chin of his attacker once they entered the hall, knocking him into a light fixture which burst in a colorful display of sparks upon impact. Hawk flew backwards for a brief moment and then rocketed into Oisim’s legs, catching him by the ankles and slinging him down the hall with enough force to smash him through the wall on the opposite side. Hawk’s approach was halted by a powerful strike to the stomach, which he took advantage of by throwing both arms around Oisim’s waist and hauling him directly upwards, leaving the frightened guests of the hotel to cautiously exit their rooms alone.
As the pair reached the roof, Oisim twisted about, wrenching his waist out from Hawk’s grip. He spun about in midair, aiming towards the edge of the roof just past what his head had destroyed, but Hawk swung back around and hooked an arm around his waist again, shooting towards the edge of the roof at blinding speed.
Oisim gently set his heel against the edge of the roof as the pair passed it, pulling him out from Hawk’s grip as it collided and dropping him into freefall. Hawk descended alongside him, grinning as he went, and suddenly veering away he slammed into Oisim with full force, arcing back around and slamming into one of the large glass windows built into the hotel rooms. The shining smile embedded in his features waned as the force which Oisim had been moving at suddenly ceased, slinging the Pangolin forward and into his open grip as Oisim’s feet remained effortlessly planted against the unbroken glass.
Reeling back, Oisim’s fist tore through completely static air, exerting a tremendous amount of friction and igniting the oxygen around it as the mask under his skin resisted the air’s desire to move out of the way. Hawk barely had time to throw his arms over his face before the flaming fist made contact, and a glance over his shoulder told him an unfortunate reunion with the ground was imminent. Tearing back skywards, Oisim’s flaming fist continued to smash into Hawk’s forearms as he swung around the building and flew through the large gash he had created with the excellent sculpting tool of Oisim’s bald head.
The elevator had begun to descend. Hawk spun about to eat the impact of the glass elevator shaft with his back to prevent Oisim from resisting it. At the end of the hall, Hawk abruptly stopped both his spin and his momentum as his throat buckled backwards out of the immovable hand that held it.
—
The old man slowly lifted himself up off the ground.
Darkness covered his vision in all directions. The rough ground beneath him tore at his elbows in the fall, and they smarted heavily. Feeling about in the darkness, a sharp fragment of glass poked into his finger, and gripping the piece revealed it to be roughly the size of his thumb.
Turning over, he held the glass close to his eye and blinked repeatedly, looking up at the figure which now towered over him. “You’re the one they call Race.”
“You’re the one they call Kureli.” Race’s eyes looked like they were about to completely close out of utter disinterest. “Formerly jun rikui Kureli Kahn of the JSDF, distinguished with the dai gō bōei kinen akira for service in the indian ocean. One of the most talented snipers in the world. What some people would call a hero.”
“There is no hero left.” Kureli breathed, trying to determine by Race’s body language if she intended to strike him again. “Just a rotten old man with nothing to live for, no reason to keep on going.”
“Are you sure?”
Kureli’s eyes fell from hers. “You’re too young to know what it’s like. All the sight I have left is now between my fingers. I have no family, no relatives outside of a nephew whom I have never met. And a flute with no audience is a flute unheard. I don’t even have my comforts now.”
Race glanced down at the high caliber rifle ammunition she held in her hand, more than enough rounds present to put a bullet in the head of every Wild Mask. “There are options besides killing people, you know.”
“Guns weren’t made for hugging.” His chest heaved. “I barely made ends meet with the Pangolins, even with these glasses they kept calling a mask. And now my dedication to master Rikuto and master Odgu is repaid with Koi Blood’s betrayal. So much time wasted bringing Makuei in and accommodating everybody.”
“But I’ve wasted enough.” He slowly lowered the glass from his eye. “You known what you have to do. This country was due for a palette cleanse, anyhow.”
“We’re tolerant of bad tastes.” Race slipped her hands into her pockets after a long pause. “We’re not opposed to Kahns, either.”
“I mean it.” The glass was slowly returned to his eye as he glared up at Race. “I suspect this building is high enough to do the job, if you won’t.”
Race’s eyes started to betray the anger she was fighting to keep at bay, her fingers feeling over the slide of the gun. After a moment she reached past it, pulling out a loose piece of paper from her pocket and dexterously folding it with one hand. “Don’t give up what you have, even if it seems irrelevant.”
“Ah.” Kureli chuckled softly, shaking his head as he glanced about the rooftop. “I suspected as much. Ren went and told you, did he?”
“He didn’t.”
His eyes shot upwards to view the space she used to occupy, tracking the origami mask as it softly fell. The question in his mind went unanswered by the cold night air, as what stars could be seen through the glass shone down on him as he continued to lay on his side, staring up at the glittering darkness.
—
Corey felt the length of his hair. Yes, perhaps he was getting close to needing a haircut. Although if he were to say anything about it, Ren would correct him and affirm it was anywhere between a month and two years overdue.
A hushed word was shared behind a door, and through the same door strode a very bulky man, his close-set beady eyes constantly filled with rage. There was an interesting conflict of fat and muscle across his body, and despite his puffy cheeks and sausage fingers it was impossible to tell if he was more fat or more muscle, and the suit he wore was a tight fit for both reasons. A samurai-style topknot held what remained of his hair, secured in place by a single sai, and his thin moustache was almost fully grey, matching the occasional streak present in his topknot.
“I believe you know what the mask does.” Corey interrupted, both hands still pressed against the back of his head. “I had devised a plan to get into that room, but it couldn’t have worked unless one of these men was killed.”
“The mask’s there,” He gestured with his head towards one of the men, who held the sleek mask in his hands. “I don’t have a lot of time, so whatever decision you’re going to make, please make it now.”
The fellow eyed him for a moment, his twisted brow angled sharply downwards to frame his ferocious eyes. Another hushed whisper was exchanged, and all ten men in the hall departed, heading to the elevator and returning Corey’s mask to him as they left. He slowly stood up off his knees and followed a gesture from the last of the Kin Gin Rin to enter the room behind him.
“What’s your name, sir?” Corey looked up at him, paying less attention to the fancy red interior and ornate desk at the end of the room and more to the hateful pupils which suddenly turned towards him in response to his inquiry.
“…Goshiki.” He finally replied after a significant pause, his gravely snarl implying both a propensity to smoke the most foul and heavy of substances and the thick set of vocal chords hiding underneath the muscle and fat which layered his neck.
“Nice to meet you, sir.” Corey extended a hand towards him, which Goshiki very hesitantly accepted, his body language making it clear he did not enjoy the casual air whatsoever. “I’ve come to see the Demon mask. I know it’s being held here, so if it’s alright with you-”
“No.” Goshiki huffed, folding his arms as he tried to formulate how his intended sentence would work in English. “There is no good. The mask is not here. The mask is away.”
“Was it in that box?” Corey pointed to a cardboard box sitting on the desk. Goshiki gave an extremely curt nod in reply. “You know this out of the room. The mask tell you. The mask tell you what I say. You know what I say before I say.”
Corey eyed the red carpeting, waiting for the sound of the elevator door closing as the noise in the room seemed to creep in all around him, his voice finally cutting it off from its approach. “Tone once said that power used with no limits leads to finding excuses to use it again. If I tried to guess what you might say, I don’t know that I could stop.”
His eyes slowly looked upwards to lock with Goshiki’s, the beady orbs inside the intimidating figure’s skull reflecting off of the glassy ones Corey possessed. “Some things are always out of my control. I have to be okay with that.”
Before Goshiki could reply, a terrible screeching noise sounded from the hallway, and turning about he jumped into a grappling stance, throwing his arms around the rapidly approaching Oisim and smashing through the window at the end of the room, the momentum carrying the pair off towards the open water.
“It’s a cold night for a swim, but I won’t judge.” Hawk smiled, stepping through the doorway with a silent chuckle. “Looks like you’re slightly more sensible, however. Let’s see that Demon mask.”
Corey pointed to the box. With no hesitation Hawk crossed the room and opened it, revealing nothing at all. “That’s a cute gag, but I see nothing here. I’ll give you one more chance to tell me where it is before I take that mask from you and find out myself.”
“Tone must really hate you.” He breathed, causing Corey to pause halfway from putting the mask back on his face. “I mean, after what he did, twice, he still won’t tell you?”
“I know you aren’t that naive.” Hawk slowly turned about, staring Corey dead in the eyes with his socket glowing as violently as before. “You know what I allude to. Or if you don’t, then it’s going to be a fantastic surprise, I bet. Put that little fortune teller mask on and find out.”*
Corey’s expression slowly changed from hesitant to incredulous. “I thought you said you knew how this mask works. You must’ve forgotten, I’ve already seen everything that’s going to happen.”
No sooner had Corey replaced the mask on the bridge of his nose than the displeasure on his face immediately melted away, replaced by a cold shock that parted his lips and drove the color from his face. His fingertips lightly slid off the mask as his ribs shook, his silent breath beginning to rattle. A lone tear worked its way out from underneath the mask and quickly ran down his neck.
“…Tone?”
A different set of fingertips cracked through the mask. They were cold, powerful.
—
The floors above him creaked.
“We have to get out of here.” Ren panted, looking down at the severed mechanical head he held by the peculiar remnants of its neck. “I don’t know where Shou disappeared to, but we need somebody to move the car before it gets damaged.”
Race’s eyes locked onto Tone, still facing the bonsai at the base of the stairs in silence. “I’ll need the keys.”
“No.” Ren grunted, feeling the wounds in his leg. “I need you to find Corey. Whether or not he’s got what he’s looking for, we need to get the heck out of here. These steel supports are making me nervous.”
With a nod the fastest member of the Wild Masks suddenly disappeared, the door to the stairs clattering against the wall. “Tone, I need you to move the car. Take it anywhere, but please hurry. We can’t afford to let it get traced to us.”
With a loud snap the power in the building suddenly turned off, the fire sprinklers having died out a long time ago. Tone quietly turned around, breaking into a jog as he exited through the ruined glass doors. For a brief moment silence reigned in the hotel, but as Ren slowly felt his accelerated heart rate normalize, the decapitated head held in his hand suddenly lifted into the air, its gaze drawn directly behind him.
“Don’t swap.” The silhouette spoke, gently floating down on top of a substantial pile of rubble. There was another silhouette suspended by his hand. “I’d hate to think what would happen if he hit the ground now.”
The distant emergency lights in the ceiling slowly turned on, basking the room in an ominous glow. By its presence Ren could perceive Hawk’s shining grin, the limp body of Corey in his grip, and the noticeable discoloration around the back of his neck, vividly purple and black poking through from underneath the tensed thumb which held it.
“Isn’t it a shame?” Hawk breathed. “All this effort on so many people’s parts, and I still got to have my fun. But I’m not done playing yet.”
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