A heavy gust of night wind tore through the physical branches of the ancient sakura in Ueno Park, and small leaves, dust, and unripe fruits were torn from the crown and rained onto the grass and the paths. Each year the fruits grew already dry and fell dead from the branches. The Sakura wasn't meant to feed the living, be it animal or prey.
Spreading branches quivered, releasing more black husks that nourished nothing. Dark fruits that fell in the world of the living and dissipated in the world of the dead. Tiny, cherry-shaped fragments of darkness no longer large enough to taint a spirit forever, trapped in husks that fell in different years, in different ages — to keep the torn spirits from reuniting — on soil that was now covered in grass...
...and had been covered in blood the year the Sakura had come to Tokyo. Harada had been the Sakurazukamori back then. Hot-headed San-chan, who had fought for the Tokugawa in Kyoto and relocated the Sakura when it became obvious that the capital was going to move. As part of the Shogitai he had stood against the Imperial troops when they stormed the hill...
The Tree's crown shivered, releasing spiritual blossoms after the very physical fruits earlier.
San-chan's battle had raged all around it, drenching the soil in blood. The blood had been heady, exhilarating... and deadly; it had allowed the fallen fruits to unite that year and once-defeated enemies had risen on the battlefield.
Tradition demanded that whoever killed a Sakurazukamori took his position when there was no trained successor. At twenty-eight, San-chan had still been young. But a cannon loaded by several men had been fired at hundreds, and shrapnel had torn a blood vessel by accident...
...and countless reunited enemy spirits howling around the Sakura's trunk had kept it from reaching out to its guardian. San-chan's Mori had offered it one out of their ranks afterwards...
...and the world had become grey.
The Tree's branches rustled in the cool night air. For fourteen hundred years, it had had Sakurazukamori. Some for a few months, some for almost the entire lifespan of a human being. For over a hundred years it had allowed puppets to take their place, until a stubborn fifteen-year-old had strolled up to its site, demanding answers his teachers denied him.
The fifteen-year-old was a grown man now, and together they were still seeking answers.
Ueno-Sakuragi-cho, Tokyo
April 13, 2000
Late Thursday morning. The kitchen was filled with the leafy scent of fresh-pressed starfruit juice and orange-flavored rice. Faint music played on the radio. Subaru took another section of orange while covertly trying to assess Seishiro's condition.
Opposite him, Seishiro was studying the morning paper. Since they shared a bed, Subaru knew that he hadn't been feverish in the last two nights, and given the sweet miso soup he'd made to go with today's breakfast rice, he seemed to be doing better. Still...
Seishiro opened a page and folded the paper in the middle, placing it next to the dish to read while eating.
Subaru raised his cup and enjoyed the strong, slightly bitter leaf aroma of green tea spreading over his tongue. He'd canceled several appointments this week, allowing Seishiro to sleep off his fever, and answered the following inquiry from the main house with a caustic comment about still being strained from his unexpected trip to Kyoto. At least, that hadn't been a complete lie, though it had sparked another visit from Omi yesterday.
Seishiro, sipping from his coffee, turned the folded paper over and began reading the second half of the page. Underneath the table his socked foot rested lightly on Subaru's instep, toes wriggling against his ankle. The slight touch felt more comforting than Subaru was willing to admit, despite Seishiro being focused on his paper. Entirely focused. The wriggling stopped.
"Excuse me." Seishiro tossed his napkin onto the paper, pushed back his chair and left the room.
Curious, Subaru reached for the paper. He stopped at one of the smaller headlines near the bottom of the page: ~MYSTERIOUS MURDER IN MINATO: Serial killer on the loose?~
The article itself was brief — it wasn't yet front page news — but it spoke of the murder of a tourist guide down in Minato-ku. The woman had been stabbed through the heart, apparently by an unusually thick blunt object. The body had been found littered with sakura blossoms.
Like the one in Ueno on Sunday. Was there a mutilated spirit lost in Minato now? Possibly, if the scene hadn't been cleared properly. He should call the police and inquire about that. He stopped at the next paragraph.
~This is the third murder of that kind. The 'Sakurazukamori' had already killed in Ueno, Shinjuku and Minato. Sources within the police told Asahi Shimbun that the investigating detectives secretly named the murderer after an ancient folktale about...~
~:~:~:~:~
Seishiro was in the middle of getting dressed, when Subaru appeared in the bedroom door. Buttoning his shirt, he glanced over his shoulder. "Seeing something you like?"
"Yes," Subaru returned. "Though I'd like it even better if you removed that shirt."
"Too bad I don't have time for that." He stuffed the shirt into his pants, zipped up and closed his belt. Choosing a pair of gold cufflinks engraved with pentagrams from the jewelry drawer, he noticed how loose the collar sat; he'd better use a firm collar pin to secure it.
"You're worried about the article, aren't you?" Subaru finally left the doorway, coming into the room. "About a 'Sakurazukamori' going around in Tokyo."
"Worried is the wrong word." Seishiro slung a dark-red tie around his neck and knotted it in a self-releasing cross-Kelvin. A plain gold clip secured it to the front of the shirt, before he shrugged into his jacket and readjusted the collar pin. "It means trouble."
"You're going to hunt him down," Subaru stated flatly.
"No." Seishiro unlocked the weapons compartment and clipped a narrow Beretta to his belt in the middle of the back, closing the jacket over it. "I'm going to sue him for copyright infringement. The NPSC will love the court statements." He checked the line of his suit in the full-size mirror and replaced the cognac-colored indoor glasses with almost opaque black ones before heading for the door. "If somebody from the Ministry of Home Affairs calls, tell them I'm already on it."
Subaru's hand closed around his wrist when he reached for his keys on the hallway table. "Be careful. There's a powerful practitioner behind this."
"Noted." Seishiro freed his hand with a sharp twist and slipped his keys into the pocket.
"Where are you going?"
"Kasumigaseki, public relations come first." He headed down the stairs and stepped into his shoes, throwing the light coat around his shoulders. "Don't wait for me. This may take a while."
"But you—" The door fell into its lock, into Subaru's words.
Outside, thin high clouds feathered over the sky. Their white haze seemed to intensify the painful glare of the sun on the stones. Seishiro squinted despite his dark glasses. His temples began to throb on his way down to the Kototoi. Normally, he would cross through the park to his car, paying the Tree a visit along the way, but today he'd better catch a train at Uguisudani to save his strength. The fever had depleted his resources more than he liked to admit. Still, the offender had to be tracked down and eliminated immediately. Neither Mori nor NPSC would be happy about the publicity. He pushed his way into a train. It was well past morning rush hour, but the advertisement-plastered cars of the Yamanote were still crowded with people.
One station. And then out of this tin can.
Seishiro drew a deep breath when he headed off the platform at Ueno Station, walking down towards the car park. He checked his wards, finding them untampered. Only a cat had passed through his lot two days ago, chasing a rat. Seishiro unlocked the car, tossed his coat onto the backseat and got behind the wheel. Checking the instruments, he sighed. He'd have to stop for gas on his way to Chiyoda.
~:~:~:~:~
Subaru cleared the kitchen table and started the dishwasher before he fetched his case files from the storage room next to the genkan. He'd have to find a place for a filing cabinet of his own soon; the cardboard box was becoming unfeasibly heavy. He heaved it on to a kitchen chair and put his writing case on the table. A desk would be good, too. He went to check for new faxes, noting, relieved, that there had been no new messages since yesterday. Seishiro's casual clothes were still scattered across the unmade bed. Dark suit, pastel colored shirt, conservative tie, and discreet jewelry. Seishiro had 'dressed to kill'. Literally. But he wasn't well yet. If something happened...
Subaru sighed. There was nothing he could do about it. Returning to the kitchen, he unbound the tassels securing his writing case and looked through his files. He'd given some of the easier cases this week to Omi yesterday and requested Naoko's help with a seemingly possessed imported birchwood table. As citizens of Yokohama, her branch of the family had more knowledge of the Western culture that might be involved.
Of the two remaining cases, the one at the Metropolitan Government was the more urgent; the other was about apparitions spotted at the reconstruction site of the Sunshine 60 building in Ikebukuro. He was inclined to write the latter off as superstitions.
Sunshine 60 had been built on the site of the former Sugamo prison , which people believed haunted ever since the executions of war criminals there. Tales of Tojo Hideki wandering the grounds with the rope still around his neck had been frequent in those days, but Subaru's grandmother had exorcised the site in 1971 before the construction of the original Sunshine 60 started and the kekkai formed by the building itself would have banished any lingering spirit long before it fell in 1999.
No, the reappearance of Tojo Hideki was likely due to an overactive imagination rather than an actual manifestation. Still, superstition or not, Subaru would have to confirm that. He looked through his calendar. Probably on the way to the Metropolitan Government. And he still had to inquire about the spiritual clearance at the crime scene in Minato; he couldn't rely on Seishiro for that. He had to have Kono's number somewhere...
It took ten minutes for Subaru to find the grimy card near the bottom of his pile of business cards. Taking it to the bedroom, he was about to pick up the phone when it rang.
"Yes?"
=Sumeragi-san?= A quiet, slightly husky voice asked.
"On the line. Who's speaking?"
=You don't know me. I am — was — no, am a yumemi. I—=
A yumemi? "How did you get this number?" Subaru asked warily.
=I was a Dragon of Earth last year.=
Would they have this number? Subaru didn't think so. Seishiro treated his phone number like a state secret; it probably was one. "That doesn't answer my question. I'm sorry, but if you are indeed—"
=Listen!= The caller snapped. =I loved your sister. It's fine by me if her murderer bites the dust. But she died to ensure your happiness and unfortunately, that happiness requires him! I don't want her death to be in vain. So go! Find him. Death is meeting his death today!= The sharp click of a cut connection followed, then the sound of an empty line.
Subaru's thoughts raced. The Earth dreamseer was a force to be reckoned with; his predictions had ruined most of their plans last year. If it really had been him, then the warning was serious... but who could have given him— Subaru dialed without thinking twice.
=Imonoyama residence.=
"Takamura-san? This is Sumeragi Subaru. May I speak with Imonoyama-san, please?"
=Wait a moment, please.= He was put on hold. Faint music played, a slow, ascending, eerily familiar tune, Subaru couldn't quite n— =Imonoyama. To what do I owe this surprise?=
"I'm sorry for disturbing you, but did you happen to give anybody this phone number?"
=No, Sumeragi-san. We both know that your... landlord wouldn't permit that.=
Then how—?
=But I relayed a call from the former dreamseer of the Dragons of Earth a few minutes ago.=
Go. Find him. Death is meeting his death today.
The phone cluttered on the tabletop. Subaru grabbed keys and coat and threw the door shut behind him.
Kasumigaseki, Seishiro had said. There was a direct line to Chiyoda from Nishi Nippori station. Subaru squeezed himself through the overgrown iron gate onto the Yanaka cemetery. The graveyard was almost deserted at this time on a workday. Pale stones, engraved with black and gold, gleamed in the sun. It was hot and shadows were scarce. The foliage of the trees was still thin. Birds seemed strangely absent. I was in love with your sister, the Earth dreamseer had claimed. How had he met her? When? Where? Why hadn't Hokuto-chan mentioned him? He'd thought they shared everything, but now—
She died for your happiness.
Subaru balled his fist; his pace quickened until he was nearly running. Running on a graveyard. His grandmother would exorcise him. To save the murderer of his sister. Exorcise him twice. But Hokuto was dead and Seishiro was alive. Had to be alive. Had to—
~:~:~:~:~
Kasumigaseki, Chiyoda-ku, Tokyo
Seishiro pulled onto the small parking lot opposite the Sakuradamon. Three of its dozen slots were reserved for 'Sakura Enterprises'; the others belonged to the office of the Supreme Public Prosecutor and the Ministry of Justice next door. He parked his car in the middle space — the one that didn't face a tree in the narrow flower bed separating it from the Uchibori-dori — and turned off the engine. It was midday by now. The sun was blindingly bright on the concrete; the rhododendron in front of his car was a vague silhouette in its glare. By now, the headaches were making their comeback with a vengeance. Normally, he wouldn't go anywhere near the office in such a condition, but—
"The investigating detectives secretly named the murderer 'the Sakurazukamori'."
Not secret enough, Seishiro thought grimly, throwing a dark glare towards the Metropolitan Police Department as he got out of his car. The air smelled of azaleas, exhaust fumes and the dank banks of the moat on the other side of the street. The mingling scents reminded him strangely of decaying corpses.
"Sakurazuka-san."
Seishiro raised his head at the unwelcome voice. For a moment the sun blinded him despite his glasses. "Romiro." He acknowledged his chief operations officer with a brief nod.
"It's fortunate we meet here; the current unpleasant situation is better discussed outside of walls which might have ears."
"In the midday heat and in plain sight of the MPD?" Seishiro closed the door of his car with force. "I think not."
Romiro squinted against the sun in his eyes. Seishiro tensed. Something was off, something he couldn't quite— "Let's take this inside and—"
—white-hot pain pierced his back.
"You shouldn't have broken the rules, Sei-kun," Romiro said in the dark behind him.
~:~:~:~:~
Chiyoda-ku, Tokyo
Chiyoda Subway Line
12:15
=Next station Nijubashimae. Thank you for riding Chiyoda-sen. Please be careful not to leave anything behind when you exit at Nijubashimae. Thank you for—=
The electronic voice was drowned out when a sudden wave of foul fog gushed through the subway car, throwing Subaru against the grab pole beside him. It stank of corpses. He couldn't breathe, couldn't— The sigil scars on his hands flashed violently, almost burning his skin with icy blue light, then—
—nothing. The train rattled on. Three girls in school uniforms eyed him warily before moving into the next car. The old woman with a shopping bag between her feet next to him grabbed her umbrella more tightly. Ashamed, he avoided her eyes. A spiritual event; he'd been the only one to notice it. But if he had caught it, then Seishiro—
He reached for his marks, sought the reassurance of Seishiro's presence in the distance, and pain raced through his back, pierced his chest. There was blood in his mouth, his throat. He was drowning in it. Feathers swished in the air above his head. The beating of strong wings. A hawk's cry for battle. The caw of a crow. He—
—slammed his shields shut. For a few moments he just clung to the pole pressing into his shoulder, catching his breath. Late. He was late. And close. The train was leaving the station, was gaining speed...
=Next station Hibiya. Thank you for—=
Two more minutes. Let me be in time, he prayed. Amaterasu-kami-sama, I beg you, let me be in time.
He leaped out of the train the moment the doors opened. Hurrying over the crowded platform, he pushed towards the exit, past frowning clerks and office ladies. An official called out a warning about public safety in subway stations. Subaru ignored it, racing up the escalator to the rhythm of =Please stand within the yellow-marked safety zone on the step. Don't lean over the handrails. Don't run—=. Subaru, squeezing past an overweight employee in shirt-sleeves, did just that. Run.
Hibiya Park and the sidewalk of the Uchibori-dori towards Kasumigaseki were full of people: employees and government officials using the midday hour for a stroll in the sun. Subaru pushed ruthlessly through them. Sweat was running down his back. His hands still burned from the initial flash, but it was becoming difficult to follow the sensation without lowering his shields. The Metropolitan Police Department rose high in front of him on the other side of a broad street as he stopped, panting, searching, concentrating...
The marks were close, very close. To the left. But there was only a flower bed with azaleas, and a deserted parking lot beyond. The building to which it belonged— No, that was too far already. He gave up, held his breath against the fog and queried the marks. Something flashed in thin air over the empty concrete.
Seishiro was on the hunt. Nothing was as it seemed.
Subaru took an ofuda and a ballpoint pen from his pocket. The shikigami that obeyed the sign for clairvoyance was a stark white light, illuminating fog and illusion alike, revealing the truth underneath: the parking lot lying quietly in bright sunlight; Seishiro's blue sedan standing less than three paces away on the other side of the flower bed; blood spreading on the concrete, bright crimson in the harsh midday sun, glistening on the steel handle of the knife that nailed a black ofuda to Seishiro's back.
Deep red azaleas crushed under Subaru's boots as he forced his way through the flower bed into the illusion — an imperfect illusion of an empty parking lot smelling of blood, corpses, death, and rhododendron. He counted his steps, crouched, searched... found Seishiro, his shoulder, his back, the knife, the flutter of a heartbeat against his palm. Blood flowed over his hands as he raised him up. Seishiro's breath was a lessening whisper...
Subaru coughed. The fog was thickest here, seemed to pour out of Seishiro's wound into the world of the living. Whoever was clouding the spirit world had evoked the spell on Seishiro's back, fueling it with his blood. Why hadn't the Sakura ended this? Why hadn't Seishiro reached for—? Another violent coughing fit; this close, the fog was suffocating; and in the spirit world— Subaru froze.
In dark onmyojutsu you got what you saw, and if you saw nothing—
The accidental pentagram of CLAMP campus had hidden Seishiro even from the Kamui.
According to the paper, the 'Sakurazukamori' had already killed in Ueno, Minato, and Shinjuku. There had to be two more, with a mutilated spirit at each location, giving a pentagram the size of inner Tokyo, drawn with corpses in the world of the living and with torn spirits in the world of the dead.
A pentagram to cut the Sakura off from its guardian until his blood ran out.
He had to reach the Sakura before that happened, but the spirit fog blinded him as well, and the pentagram containing it was too large to be erased in time. Fog dissolved in the sun's warmth; Amaterasu's purifying flames would clear it in the spirit world. But in the center of a pentagram, his powers were blocked. Except—
If he looked towards Ueno, he was looking towards a tip, seeing a pentacle although the figure was intended as a pentagram. In white onmyojutsu a pentacle intended as a pentagram was a pentagram...
...but in dark onmyojutsu, intention didn't matter.
If he used dark onmyojutsu to call the Sun, then Amaterasu's power would enter the pentacle he was seeing, not the pentagram it was intended to be. But only one dark goddess carried the Sun within her. And calling his family kami with onmyojutsu as dark as that...
Subaru drew a deep breath. Resting Seishiro against him, he focused left-handed, with four fingers instead of one; fingers coated in blood that wasn't his own. Four was the number associated with death. Death was... Kali.
°°°Om Klim Kalika-yei Namaha°°°
She was the goddess of death and truth — Seishiro was dying in his arms underneath the illusion.
°°°Om Klim Kalika-yei Namaha°°°
She was the ultimate reality — his hands were covered with blood.
°°°Om Klim Kalika-yei Namaha°°°
She carried the Sun in her right eye — Amaterasu's flames ignited the fog, covering the spirit world in ash flakes, raining like petals, becoming petals... Sakura petals gushed around them, shining white when washing over Subaru's cheeks, crimson red when touching the blood on his hands, palest pink when whispering over Seishiro.
Subaru almost choked in relief. "Help him," he said hoarsely, his fingers trailing blood over Seishiro's pale cheek. "He needs you."
...He shouldn't need anyone... the Tree answered.
"But that's not what you want, is it?" Subaru returned, tightening his hold.
...True... The Sakura's branches swished. A blossom-cushioned twig whispered around Subaru's neck, dipped into his collar. ...Kali is an intoxicating perfume for the likes of you... The Sakura had fully manifested now. ...What makes you think I won't take you instead?...
The concrete underneath was gone; Subaru was kneeling on earth wet from blood, but he didn't care. He still felt Seishiro's blood soaking his sweater. So much blood, too much blood. "Because you'd lose him."
A twig danced along his cheek. ...So wise now... The fall of petals thickened; twigs and branches cushioned by thick pads of flowers reached for Seishiro, feeling for the pulse, for the injury. The dense crown shook while shoots curled around the knife, countless blossoms absorbed the blood. A twig supported Seishiro's head while branches wound around shoulders and thighs, taking him from Subaru. The Tree's magic pulsed against his shields in the rhythm of a pumping heart. Crimson sap beaded from soft green shoots between slightly parted lips as the Tree enclosed its guardian...
...while Subaru stood. Blood glued his sweater to his skin, had soaked into his pants, his underwear. He was cold. And angry. His right hand formed into a trembling fist and two sets of sigil scars — beneath blood and bark — flared to life. A twig curled sharply around his wrist.
...Where are you going?... the Sakura demanded to know.
"Making sure it won't happen again," Subaru said flatly.
The twig around his wrist tightened. The rough bark broke his skin, drawing blood that was greedily absorbed. ...He will be fine soon...
"Good." Subaru pulled his wrist free. The parking lot rematerialized under him. Without Seishiro.
Subaru closed his coat over the blood as he walked towards the house.
The lobby wasn't more than two elevators framed by a staircase. The glass doors on the second floor held a company logo: a round, stylized sakura flower overlaid with five swords pointing at the tips of a pentagram. Subaru pushed through them, walking straight past the startled receptionist. She hurried after him, tried to block his path. He didn't even look at her when he tossed the ofuda binding her on the spot. The room at the end of the corridor was a large, airy office with a pretty view of the Sakuradamon and the Kokyo Gaien park on the other side of the street.
And of the parking lot marked with blood lying in the sun.
Seishiro's blood.
The office was empty; Subaru turned on his heel. The conference room was on the other side of the lobby; an odd part of him wondered how he knew. A red light above the door marked it sealed and in use. He closed his hand around the door knob. The lock clicked...
The room was dark except for the flicker of four monitors on the opposite wall. A tall man in a dark suit sat at a desk with his back to the door. A camera pointed at him. The screens showed similar desks in dimmed rooms in front of dark wooden doors like the one through which Subaru had just come, but the center of the desks was blurred, obscuring the people behind them.
"—most certainly dead by now. I am maintaining the illusion from afar while we speak. Kasumigaseki is sealed for—"
=Not for a Seal, Honshu-san,= the shadow on the screen labeled 'Shikoku' said. =Greetings, Sumeragi-san. It's certainly been—=
Seishiro's enemy whipped around, struck—
Subaru was faster. Five ofuda thrown; five shiki slammed against a hastily erected spirit shield, their points of impact marking a pentacle burning with Amaterasu's unfettered flames, hot enough to appear white. His opponent was thrown over his desk into the unblurred focus of the camera.
Subaru calmly closed the door under the silent watch of the four blurred figures on the screens. "I've come for the one responsible for the clouding of the spirit world. Is that you?"
A carrion crow manifested, dived, its black beak aiming for Subaru's eyes, only to shatter against a pentacle screen.
Subaru brushed a couple of singed paper scraps off his sleeve. "I'll take that as a 'yes'."
The answering blast was raw power, unaimed, unfocused, meant to blind him while it scattered off his spirit shield. Subaru barely dodged the dozen wind sickles that followed; one came close enough to cut strands of his hair and slash across the side of his throat. A few centimeters more and it would have cut his carotid. He touched two fingers to the slash. They came away wet and crimson; his blood over Seishiro's.
The crow's master was on his feet now, cold grey eyes trained on Subaru. "As you see, I don't indulge my predecessor's transgressions. I'd rather see you dead than in my bed." The sigils on Subaru's hands flared at his words. The room filled with an overwhelming scent of sakura and blood, rotting corpses and azalea.
"...Transgression isn't for you to define..." Subaru heard himself saying in a voice he barely recognized as his own. "...That right wasn't given to your position..."
"Who are y—?" A sudden whirl of petals wrought itself solidly around the crow master's throat, silencing him.
"...I am the one who defines transgression..." The voice was ancient, and filled with the same cold anger Subaru felt. "...I am the one who judges..." The stream of petals began to abrade skin. "...Sei-chan is the one who insists on swift and neat kills. But you don't like his ways, do you, Romiro? You like to play...." Petals whirled, cutting deeper, turning blood red as they danced along twitching muscles that were no longer covered by skin. "... Just like me..."
A skinless hand, tendons visible as pale streaks in the red flesh, reached for Subaru. Intoxicating blood dripped on the expensive light grey carpet. A silent begging for mercy after throat and vocal cords were long gone. Subaru dug his nails into his palms. There was no mercy. There was only wrath, and the heady blood that evaporated from the writhing remains in front of his feet, tempting him to dance on them. It took all his strength not to take the first step, not to sway to the arousing music of torn breath and breaking bones. He didn't turn away until after the corpse had dissipated in a gust of petals.
The screens were still lit, the shadows behind their desks silent witnesses when Subaru left the room, allowing the corridor light to illuminate the stain where the blood of Seishiro's enemy had soaked into the carpet. He took the binding off the office lady when he crossed the lobby and headed down the stairs, out of the building.
Clouds had taken the sky outside as if fog and turmoil in the world of the dead had begun to spill over into the world of the living. Bloody footprints ran over the parking lot into the building. Seishiro's blood. Subaru's boots. Kali's heat.
Subaru's lips were dry; he licked them. The rising wind was cool on his tongue, smelling of ash and sex— He shivered. The blood was burning on his skin, speaking of promises better left unkept.
He couldn't get on a train like this — the closeness, the bodies... Instead he walked all the way to Ueno in blood-soaked clothes sticking to his skin. It began to rain when he reached the southern edge of the park. He was soaking wet when he touched the Sakura. Burning with fever. Burning with heat. He pressed himself to the rough bark, to the body underneath, to Seishiro...
Seishiro...
Kali wanted Seishiro. He wanted Seishiro. Ferociously. Now. Subaru moved against him, against the rough bark, relentless in his need, his demand. A tremor ran through the tall body. Blossoms the color of fresh blood cushioned the trunk. There was a low, aggressive growl; Subaru realized it was his own. He bit down, tasted blood, clawed into wet cloth, tore, tangled. Skin...
He undid the belt, pulled at the pants, reached for...
He wanted him, needed him, needed to sheathe himself in him.
He had no lubrication; he didn't care; he—
—pumped burning seed into the receiving body—
—was entered, spread—
—screamed, bled—
—and remained completely still for a couple of breaths before collapsing. He didn't mind the spilled seed between them or the rough bark of the branch between his thighs scraping his skin when it kept him from sliding to the ground. He felt heavy, sated... surreal with two hearts beating in synch in his chest, two breaths. Blood and sap. Seed and sakura. If this was illusion...
"Please, be real..." he whispered desperately, "be alive..."
Something cold touched his face, his waist.
Cushions of withering petals.
A hand ran in light caress through his hair. A hush of air touched his temple.
Someone whispered, "Shway hao, xiao zi."
Then there was only the dark.
And the Sakura.
to be continued in
Family Matters 16 - SumeraMori 2
Notes:
Harada Sanosuke (*1840 - July 6, 1868) was the 10th unit captain of the Shinsengumi, a special police force for the Tokugawa regime. He joined the Shogitai in Spring 1868 and died on July 6 1868 at the age of 28 from injuries received during the Battle of Ueno.
Battle of Ueno. On July 4th 1868 (the first year of the Meiji era) the "Battle of Ueno" took place between 2000 Shogitai and the new Imperial army. The Shogitai, a group of samurai loyal to the Tokugawa shogunate, protected the last Shogun, Togukawa Yoshinobu, in his self-imposed confinement at Kan'eiji temple on Ueno Hill. The Imperial troops, armed with modern weaponry, bloodily ended the last upraisal of Shogunate forces in Edo (soon to be Tokyo) within a day.
Sugamo Prison was used by the American occupation forces to incarcerate some of the convicted Japanese war criminals, and was the site of the execution of those sentenced to death, including high profile prisoners.
°°°Aum Klim Kalika-yei Namaha°°° A mantra to Kali (or Kalika), which is said to bring relief or escape from difficult situations, but sometimes in drastic fashion. Kali is known as one of the fiercest aspects of Divinity; she destroys all negativity to make way for the positive. In Tantra her role is extended to be the "Ultimate Reality".
"Shway hao, xiao zi" - literally: "Sleep well, little one." in Chinese.