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Chapter Thirty Eight
Skin Game
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Ren slowly stepped out of the elevator.
The funeral had been a consistent ordeal. Oisim had formally disbanded Koi Blood, going so far as to hold a press conference at the same time the funeral took place, flanked by private security outside of his infamous yakuza gang. Despite his notoriety, the cult status of the yakuza as a whole and the imposing stature he carried gave law enforcement second thoughts about trying to apprehend him in public. And, much to Ren’s chagrin, he had confirmed reports about a group of vigilantes in masks running about and getting into violent fights with both the yakuza and other mask-wearing domestic terrorists.
And yet, he knew it couldn’t be helped. There were too many witnesses to Rook’s defense of the subway, in addition to the security footage from the hotel, which now floated in the unknown aether of potential dangers alongside Oisim’s public announcement, which stripped them of any potential Koi Blood security at the funeral itself. The same private security that flanked the yakuza boss also accompanied them through the entire affair, as only a select amount of people were allowed to attend.
Open casket. Black tie only.
Corey’s burial suit had cost more than the one Ren purchased before his death, and despite his covering medical costs and security costs, Oisim would not lift a finger to help take the burden of any expenditures the funeral generated. Any connection between the two groups, he said, would only serve to ‘make Wild suffer through the same pains as I.’
Which all added up to a very tired and very stressed Ren fumbling with the key and barely reacting to it clattering loudly on the floor. With a slow blink he stooped down and pried it up with his fingernails, slowly climbing back to full height and scraping it against the wall until the key slipped into the slot.
The door slowly drew itself to one side, and as Ren returned the key to his pockets and trudged inwards, his tired eyes snapped the rest of his body upwards as a familiar mask sat in the middle of the room, suspended on its foul cloud and nibbling on an ornate Japanese pipe with its massive ivory teeth.
“𝐼’𝓋𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔, 𝐼 𝓃𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝑔𝑜𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝒞𝑜𝓇𝑒𝓎.” Its empty eyes turned to face Ren, the whole mask tipping to emulate an air of mischief. “𝐹𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼’𝓋𝑒 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝒹, 𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒶 𝓈𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓉, 𝒶𝒹𝑜𝓇𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝒷𝑜𝓎.”
“Where. Have. You. Been.” Ren could feel his teeth grinding together as he stepped through the portal, slowly closing the distance between himself and the loathsome mask to which he spoke.
“𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓉’𝓈 𝓃𝑜 𝓌𝒶𝓎 𝓉𝑜 𝒶𝒹𝒹𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓈𝑒𝓃𝒾𝑜𝓇, 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝒶𝓃.” The Demon mask seemed unaffected by Ren’s words. “𝐿𝑒𝓉’𝓈 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝒷𝓎 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝑒 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝓅𝒶𝓉𝓇𝒾𝑜𝓉𝓈 𝒶𝓇𝑒. 𝒟𝒾𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒶𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝓊𝓃𝑒𝓇𝒶𝓁 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊?”
“I don’t have to tell you anything!” Ren barked, swinging his hand out as he spoke and clipping the ornate pipe, knocking it across the room. “You decided to duck out after you got stolen, and your not staying put got Corey killed! You’re what he was looking for in there, weren’t you?” Ren stepped forward, bringing himself inches away from touching the leaf-like miasma holding the mask aloft. “If you didn’t run away he’d still be alive.”
“𝒪𝓇 𝐼 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒷𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒫𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑜𝓁𝒾𝓃𝓈 𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓁𝓁.” The mask hardly seemed irritated by Ren’s anger, looking almost directly down at him from its position in the room. “𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒹𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝒾𝒻 𝐻𝒶𝓌𝓀 𝒸𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝓅𝑜𝓈𝓈𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓀, 𝒽𝓂? 𝒟𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝒶𝓃𝓎𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓀 𝒹𝑜𝑒𝓈, 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒹𝑜, 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝒸𝒶𝓅𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝑜𝒻? 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝑜𝓌𝑒𝓇 𝐼 𝓌𝒾𝑒𝓁𝒹?”
“𝒪𝒻 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒹𝑜𝓃’𝓉. 𝐼𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝒸𝓁𝓊𝑒, 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓃𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝒶𝒹𝒹𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓂𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓈𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝒶 𝒸𝒶𝓋𝒶𝓁𝒾𝑒𝓇 𝒻𝒶𝓈𝒽𝒾𝑜𝓃.” The mask’s voice took on a sneering aspect as it continued. “𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒷𝑒 𝒷𝑜𝓌𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒾𝓃 𝓇𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝓉 𝓂𝓎 𝓂𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒾𝓃𝓈𝓉𝑒𝒶𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓂𝒶𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓎 𝐼 𝒾𝓃𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉 𝓊𝓅𝑜𝓃.”
“You’re going to apologize right now.” Ren’s eyes almost glowed with rage. “About killing Corey, about your failure to stay put, and for disrespecting me. Or you’re not getting the eye.”
The mask was silent for a moment before a soft chuckle escaped from between its teeth. “𝒜𝓁𝓁 𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉, 𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓁𝒹. 𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝑜 𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓈𝓉𝓇𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒹𝑒𝒶𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈.” It descended, the miasma lessening as the mask bowed itself to the ground, backing up to ensure it did not collide with Ren as it did so.
“𝒪𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒶𝓈 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝒻𝑜𝓊𝓇, 𝐼, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇, 𝒹𝑜 𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝒽𝓊𝓂𝒷𝓁𝓎 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓇𝑒𝓅𝓇𝑜𝒶𝒸𝒽 𝒶𝒸𝒸𝑒𝓅𝓉 𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓅𝑜𝓃𝓈𝒾𝒷𝒾𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓎 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝒶𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽 𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓈𝓅𝒾𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝑜𝓃 𝑜𝓇 𝒶𝓇𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝒾𝑜𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑜𝓇𝓅𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝒞𝑜𝓇𝑒𝓎 𝓂𝑒𝓉 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒹𝑒𝓂𝒾𝓈𝑒.” Despite the spiteful selection of words, the mask spoke with a buttery sweetness that made the poison glide like silk into Ren’s ear. “𝒲𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝐼 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑜𝓅𝓅𝑜𝓇𝓉𝓊𝓃𝒾𝓉𝓎 𝓉𝑜- 𝐻𝓂𝓂. 𝒲𝑒𝓁𝓁, 𝓂𝓎 𝓇𝑒𝑔𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓈 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓊𝓃𝒻𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝒹, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝒹𝑜 𝒶𝓅𝑜𝓁𝑜𝑔𝒾𝓏𝑒 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓁𝓎 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓂𝓎 𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓈𝑔𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃.”
“Why’d you hesitate?” Ren tried to force some of the anger back into his voice in the hopes it would help his presence seem more commanding.
“𝐹𝑜𝓇𝒸𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒽𝒶𝒷𝒾𝓉.” The Demon mask lifted itself back up just high enough to force Ren to look up at it. “𝐼𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓅𝒶𝓈𝓉, 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓌𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓌𝒽𝑜 𝓌𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓈𝑜 𝓅𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒𝒹 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒾𝒹𝑒𝒶 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝑒𝒹𝒹𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒾𝓃 𝒽𝓊𝓂𝒶𝓃 𝒶𝒻𝒻𝒶𝒾𝓇𝓈. 𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝑒𝒹 𝓂𝓎𝓈𝑒𝓁𝒻 𝓉𝑜 𝒶𝓋𝑜𝒾𝒹 𝓁𝒶𝓃𝑔𝓊𝒶𝑔𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓂𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒶𝓁𝑒𝓇𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓂 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝓎 𝒶𝒸𝓉𝒾𝓋𝒾𝓉𝒾𝑒𝓈.”
“They’d know you’re here from just a word?”
“𝒞𝒽𝒾𝓁𝒹, 𝒾𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽 𝒾𝓈 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝒹. 𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝑔𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒶𝓉𝓉𝓊𝓃𝑒𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓈𝑜𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌𝓃, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝒯𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝓉𝑜𝓁𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒟𝑒𝓂𝑜𝓃 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒. 𝐼 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁 𝒾𝓉 𝒷𝑒𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓈𝓅𝑜𝓀𝑒𝓃, 𝐼 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓅𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝓌𝒽𝑜 𝓈𝓅𝑜𝓀𝑒 𝒾𝓉.” The mask’s words grew less and less focused, as if Tone’s mentioning its existence was some holy rite to be awed by.
“𝐵𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝑒𝓃𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝑒𝓍𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈.” It suddenly recollected itself, glaring at Ren with an air of having said too much. “𝐿𝑒𝓉’𝓈 𝓈𝑒𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑒𝓎𝑒.”
With some hesitance, Ren reached into his shirt pocket and removed an amber eye, slightly larger than one of his own. The large pupil it possessed seemed to descend inwards to a limitless degree, and staring at it for too long started to pull at the edges of his psyche. Forcing the thought out of his mind, he lifted the eye into the air.
“Geh-”
The eye dramatically flew from his grip, looping around the mask before slotting into place behind one of its empty eye sockets. An unbearable silence stretched for several seconds as Ren’s heart refused to descend from his throat.
“𝒪𝒻 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈𝑒.” The mask spat, its words far harsher than those it had spoken before. “𝒴𝑒𝓉 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝐼 𝓂𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒶𝓈𝓈𝓊𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓀 𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝒻𝒶𝓋𝑜𝓇 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝑜𝓃𝒸𝑒.”
“I thought there would be some kind of, y’know…” Ren swirled his hand in the air as if he could draw the words closer to him. “Mid-stage form or something? Now that there’s one eye?”
“𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝐼𝒮 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓂.” The eye rotated around its pupil, slowly feeling the slightest of inconsistencies in the wooden mask which held it. “𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝑜𝓁𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝑜𝓁 𝓌𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓃𝑜 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓇𝑒𝓊𝓃𝒾𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑒𝓎𝑒𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓀 𝒶𝓈 𝓈𝑜𝑜𝓃 𝒶𝓈 𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝑜𝓈𝓈𝑒𝓈𝓈𝑒𝒹 𝒾𝓉. 𝐵𝓊𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝒸𝒶𝓈𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝒻𝓊𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃,” The mask suddenly loomed, the lone eye catching Ren’s gaze. “𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓀 𝒾𝓈 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓈𝓉𝓇𝓊𝒸𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒶𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝓂𝓎 𝓋𝒾𝓈𝒶𝑔𝑒. 𝐼𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝒩𝒪𝒯 𝓂𝑒. 𝐼 𝓇𝑒𝓈𝒾𝒹𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑒𝓎𝑒𝓈 𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑒.”
“But you need both eyes to come back.”
“𝐼𝓃𝒹𝑒𝑒𝒹.” The mask slowly turned from Ren, moving across the room and descending to the pipe, which had landed at the base of the wall. “𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒹𝑒𝒸𝑒𝒾𝓋𝑒𝒹 𝒷𝓎 𝒶 𝓇𝒶𝓉-𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝒻𝑒𝓁𝓁𝑜𝓌 𝒾𝓃 𝒶𝓃𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝑒𝓇𝒶, 𝒶𝓃 𝓊𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝓂𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒷𝒶𝓃𝓀 𝓌𝒽𝑜-”
“A what?” Ren sighed, gently pushing the mask out of the way and retrieving the pipe for it.
“…𝒜 𝒹𝑒𝒸𝑒𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓇.” It accepted the pipe with an offended air. “𝐻𝑒 𝒾𝓃𝓋𝑒𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒶 𝒸𝓁𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓅 𝓉𝑜 𝒾𝓂𝓅𝓇𝒾𝓈𝑜𝓃 𝓂𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝓃𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓈𝑒 𝑒𝓎𝑒𝓈, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝑜 𝒹𝒾𝓋𝒾𝒹𝑒 𝓂𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝓌𝑜 𝒾𝓃𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓂𝓈. 𝐵𝓊𝓉 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓅𝓁𝑜𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑜𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑒𝓃𝒹.”
“𝐼 𝓈𝑒𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝑒𝓎𝑒𝓈, 𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓁𝒹. 𝐵𝓊𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝓂𝑒 𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓁𝒾𝒷𝑒𝓇𝓉𝓎 𝓉𝑜𝒹𝒶𝓎. 𝒲𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝓅𝒶𝓉𝓇𝒾𝑜𝓉𝓈?”
“Race was the only one who could attend.” Ren leaned against the wall with his hands slowly finding their way to his pockets. “Tone and Rook couldn’t come because of the… The masks. Kohaku couldn’t be there either; Oisim’s very protective of her at this point.”
“𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒾𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑒𝓃𝒹.” The Demon mask threatened to jab the pipe into Ren’s face to bring his gaze up from the floor. “𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓂𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝓌𝒽𝑜 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓈𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 ‘𝑅𝑜𝑜𝓀’, 𝒶𝓈 𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓈 𝒽𝒾𝓂𝓈𝑒𝓁𝒻. 𝐻𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒷𝑒 𝓉𝒶𝓇𝑔𝑒𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒾𝒻 𝒽𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝒻𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃. 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓂𝒶𝓃 𝓌𝒽𝑜 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑔𝑒𝒹 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒸𝓇𝒶𝒹𝓁𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑜𝒷𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝒶𝓃𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒾𝓂𝓂𝑒𝒹𝒾𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓎. 𝐼 𝒻𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝑒𝓁𝓈𝑒 𝓈𝑒𝑒𝓀𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝑒𝒸𝑜𝓃𝒹 𝑒𝓎𝑒.”
“𝒜𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒽𝑒𝓈𝒾𝓉𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒶𝓈𝓀.” The mask grumbled, its eye trying and failing to simulate a long blink. “𝒟𝑜 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒 𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒. 𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝒾𝓇𝑒?”
“I want to change the deal.”
The Demon mask roared. The air pressure in the room suddenly changed, and Ren crouched down as his eardrums strained. But the bellowing of the mask quickly revealed itself to be an extremely violent laugh, which dimmed the lights with each blast of sound that reverberated into the walls.
“𝐼 𝓂𝒾𝓈𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒𝓈 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝐼 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓁𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝒶𝓈 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝑒 𝒶𝓈 𝐼 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝒾𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝑜…” The mask looked down at Ren from the bottom of its eye socket with a familiar air of whimsy. “𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒿𝑒𝓈𝓉! 𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒷𝑜𝓃 𝓂𝑜𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈 𝒾𝓈 𝒶𝓉 𝒶 𝒹𝒶𝓇𝓀 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒. 𝐼 𝒹𝒾𝒹 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒽𝓊𝓂𝑜𝓇 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓈𝑜 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝓂𝒾𝓉𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔.”
“I’m not joking.” Ren clenched his jaw, staring death into the golden orb. “I want to change the deal. These terms are inadequate for what I had to sacrifice to get your eye back.”
“𝒜𝒶𝒶𝒽…” The mask’s jaw opened in time with its pleased adumbration. “𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓉’𝓈 𝒶 𝒻𝒶𝓂𝒾𝓁𝒾𝒶𝓇 𝓉𝑒𝓃𝑜𝓇. 𝒮𝑜 𝓂𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝒹𝑒𝓂𝒶𝓃𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝓇𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓃𝓆𝓊𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝓇𝒾𝒸𝑒 𝐼 𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝒾𝓇𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝑒𝓇𝓋𝒾𝒸𝑒𝓈, 𝓎𝑒𝓉 𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝒻𝑒𝓌 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝑜 𝑒𝓃𝒶𝒸𝓉 𝑀𝒴 𝑒𝓃𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝒶𝓇𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝒷𝑒𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒻𝓊𝓁𝒻𝒾𝓁𝓁𝑒𝒹.”
“𝒱𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝓌𝑒𝓁𝓁, 𝐼’𝓂 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉𝑒𝒹.” The mask nibbled away at its pipe with a playful spring in its voice. “𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝑒𝓍𝒶𝒸𝓉𝓁𝓎 𝒹𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝓉𝑜 𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓃𝒹?”
“I want Corey brought back to life.”
There was a low squeal that slowly crept from all the edges of the walls, like a bass teapot about to explode. The lights in the room slowly dimmed until they flickered off, the air pressure in the room once again lowering. A few nearly indiscernible waves of blue light started sneaking up the walls, dancing about in delicate patterns like winter lights. The orange eye glowed.
“𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒’𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒾𝓇𝓇𝒾𝓉𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝒽𝓊𝓂𝒶𝓃 𝓈𝓅𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓉 𝐼 𝓀𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉.” The mask hardly moved as it spoke. “𝒜𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝒶𝓂𝑒, 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔, 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝒹𝑒𝓂𝒶𝓃𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑜𝒻 𝒾𝓉𝓈 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑜𝓇𝓈. ‘𝒢𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈, 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉, 𝐼’𝓁𝓁 𝒻𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑒𝓃𝒹 𝒾𝒻 𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝑜’. 𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓉’𝓈 𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝓇𝒾𝒸𝓀𝑒𝒹 𝓂𝑒, 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒸𝓊𝓃𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒹𝑒𝓋𝒾𝓁𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝓅𝓁𝑜𝓉𝓈.” It lowered itself above Ren’s head once more, bearing down on the leader of the Wild Masks with an unrelenting pressure smashing into his mind.
“𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑜𝒻𝒻𝑒𝓇 𝓂𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓊𝓇𝓃, 𝒽𝓂𝓂? 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒶𝓁𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝓎 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓃 𝓂𝑒 𝒞𝑜𝓇𝑒𝓎, 𝓈𝒶𝒸𝓇𝒾𝒻𝒾𝒸𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝒾𝓂 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑔𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉 𝒶𝓁𝓉𝒶𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓈𝒶𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃. 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓁𝑒𝒻𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝑜𝒻𝒻𝑒𝓇. 𝒟𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀 𝐼 𝓃𝑒𝑒𝒹 𝒴𝒪𝒰 𝓉𝑜 𝒸𝑜𝓁𝓁𝑒𝒸𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑒𝓎𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓂𝑒?” The lights along the walls took the shape of the miasma’s edge, which now fanned across the floor and threatened to engulf Ren from all sides. “𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝓈𝓊𝓇𝓇𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝒹 𝒷𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓈𝓊𝓂𝑒𝒹 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓅𝑒𝓉𝓉𝓎 𝓋𝒾𝒸𝑒, 𝒾𝑔𝓃𝑜𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝓇𝓂 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝒾𝓇𝑒 𝑜𝓃 𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝓈. 𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓅𝓁𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓎 𝑜𝒻 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔.”
“No there aren’t.” Ren snarled, standing up from his partially collapsed posture and staring down the golden orb which hovered above him. “You’re a giant floating mask who’s attracted hitmen and yakuza who want to kill anyone in between them and your eyes. Find someone who wants to put up with all that, or amend the deal.”
“𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝒽𝒾𝓂 𝒷𝒶𝒸𝓀, 𝒹𝑜𝓃’𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊?”
“I will do anything to get him back.” Ren’s jaw could not lock any tighter. “Even if I have to go through you.”
“𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝑒𝓁𝓈𝑒 𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒶𝓁𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝓎 𝒽𝑜𝓁𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝑜.” The Demon’s presence in the room diminished until all that remained was his glowing amber eye. “𝒱𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝓌𝑒𝓁𝓁, 𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓁𝒹; 𝐼 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒷𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒞𝑜𝓇𝑒𝓎 𝒷𝒶𝒸𝓀 𝒶𝓈 𝓌𝑒𝓁𝓁. 𝐵𝓊𝓉 𝐼 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝓈𝑒𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓇𝑜𝒶𝒹 𝒶𝒽𝑒𝒶𝒹… 𝒜𝓇𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒹𝑜 𝒶𝓃𝓎𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔?”
“If I’m dealing with you,” Ren felt his lungs puffing up as his mind found no more pressure from the mask’s presence. “How much worse can there be?”
The laugh was noticeably subdued. “𝒲𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓈𝑒𝑒, 𝐻𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓈𝓁𝒾𝒸𝑒… 𝒲𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓈𝑒𝑒.”
—
A sleek black headstone sat in an empty graveyard surrounded by armed men.
Three men lowered their eyes to its inscription. The tallest wears a black hat to partially hide his tattoos. The shortest wore a mask made of metal, hiding the tears that slipped underneath.
The third man had no face at all.
Nestled in the open hand of the shorter man, he and his associates all silently stared at the black obelisk until the tallest finally gave the slightest of gestures, and the trio softly departed across the wet grass.
The inscription was left alone, the name Corey Partanen chiseled into the otherwise untouched surface. There was a message on the hearts of all the men at the graveyard, from those inside it to those who tactfully guarded its perimeter, one too delicate to put to words.
The fourth man watched.
—