Takeshi surveyed the sweeping horseshoe-shaped bowl of Tokyo Bay with a Searching. Nothing moved over the ocean’s surface, not boat, nor barge, nor buoy. The busy port cities of Yokohama and Kawasaki, Tokyo and Chiba, had ordered all ships to port, moored them, then waved off any inbound vessels to less dangerous waters. Along the shore, deserted derricks lined ghostly wharves, the empty warehouses beyond filling with dust and forsaken cargo. No dockhands worked the wharves this night, and no crewmen remained aboard ship.
Farther inland, the normally thriving cities around the bay stood equally still, their streets a darkened tangle of abandoned concrete and asphalt. Only gleaming towers and the litter of civilization gave testament to those who had once lived there – that and the mournful flashing of old, damaged neon signs or the occasional bleat of a forgotten radio.
Even so, Takeshi felt the anticipatory pall clinging to the air, almost as though some remnant of Tokyo’s spirit lingered long after he’d shepherded its people into the Boundary.
The evacuation had taken less than two days – less than two days to turn one of the most densely populated areas on the planet into a ghost town. It was a monumental achievement – one born not of desperation or fear, but of a nation taught from infancy how to respond when called.
In Tokyo, where the threat was the greatest, his disciples had moved through the streets like lightning, searching house to house, building to building. Those who remained – foreigners mostly – offered the only resistance. Takeshi’s forces systematically herded them to the nearest shelter along with the rest, their protests and demands all but ignored. The once-effervescent city became so desolate, so lifeless, that not even the sunbeams cresting the eastern horizon dispelled the fatalistic gloom hanging over it. This was where the sorrow began, here in what had once been the immense volcano home of Vissyus Sar Furcan, Lord of Fire.
Vissyus returned to his fortress after a brief assault on a number of worlds, some with Kami, some without, all now dust. That should have bothered him, but whenever he thought of the magnificent fires, he lost focus. Light and heat, twisting together in bright, burning beacons always set his soul ablaze. What was the world beside such purity? It cleansed and illuminated. All life contained a piece of it – all creation – a dormant spark, a hope in waiting.
He turned his attention to the Boundary. The Weakening called him back with the promise of freedom. More sparks lay beyond its wall, more souls needing release. He grinned at the thought, but, as he savored it, his mind shifted. A strong and powerful emotion overtook him. Was the Teacher out there? Was she waiting for him?
He had to find out.
Reforming his shield, he crafted flaming spears from the fires about him and studied the Boundary walls. A moment earlier he’d glimpsed a small change in a section ninety degrees above his castle’s courtyard, a trace of smooth surface in the otherwise rippling fabric. He peered closer, adding power to his gaze. There. He saw it again, and this time, he was sure the calm came from an alignment of weakened layers. Clear blue sky peeked through the constantly moving Boundary, a peaceful swatch, an eye. A target.
Breath held, he launched his spears with a thought and waited through the eternal seconds. The barrage arced across the boiling sky, his calculations impeccable, his aim perfect. The first strike sent long, spindly cracks spiderwebbing from horizon to horizon. The second deepened the initial damage, and the third blew the whole ruined mass apart.
A thought ripped the once-eternal sky open; another sent his blazing shield through. Fiyorok pulled up to his left, Akuan to his right, and together they stared upon the world. Vissyus marveled at how much had changed. More water covered the surface, for one thing, and even if the liquid looked duller than he remembered, incredibly, most felt more flammable.
His gaze slid toward a small island chain in the southwest. That was new, but then so was the large, horseshoe-shaped bay beneath him. Once, his volcano rose from this spot, connecting Seirin’s oceans to Aeryk’s skies. He wondered where the great peak had gone, then remembered shattering the caldera and sinking the whole mountain into the sea.
He scowled disapprovingly. These were his lands, and they looked so strikingly different than they should have, even after all this time. You’ll just have to remake them, he said to himself. Change them back to how they used to be. Melt and remold them. Nodding, he flicked a finger, and huge solar flares broke from his shield, rocketed over the water, and climbed above the land like a rising star. Rock liquefied and water boiled, and Vissyus used the vapor to douse the earth the way a smith cooled a new blade.
Satisfied with his work, he spun his shield to the west and regarded the gleaming towers surrounding the unfamiliar bay. They were so many. How should he handle them? Precise strikes lengthened the fun and tested both skill and accuracy. A massive explosion, while lacking duration, was no less enjoyable, often more so. Which to choose… He shrugged and pushed his shield forward. A decision would come to him.
Fiyorok remained at his side. Smoke and fire flickered from its nostrils. Neck craning, it lifted its head to the skies and bellowed. He looked to his left, and Akuan took up the call, ice and fog rising to join Fiyorok’s triumphal cry.
Water vaporized beneath his shield. The tall cranes along the wharves melted into twisted shards of glowing metal, fuel tanks in docked boats and abandoned vehicles ignited, and heavy machinery disappeared beneath inky clouds. The firestorm raced inland, but before the first orange tongues touched the city gates, his flames, so unstoppably perfect, sputtered and fizzled.
Glistening surfaces resisted him, the cloying dampness leaving nothing to burn. He blinked. Could it be? Mouth dry, he fired stakes of flaming energy across the ground. The more intense, blue-white flames caught this time, producing vast clouds of billowing smoke, thicker and blacker than a moonless midnight. None lasted more than a minute, though. Their intensity burned them out before they spread farther than a few thousand feet. The surviving fire met liquid power and quickly died.
His pulse quickened. She was here! Enraptured, he closed his eyes, let his body sway. She was here… the Teacher. She’d come to meet him. The burning city faded. Another fire seized his soul, one he couldn’t control. His Searching exploded over the islands, toppling buildings, shredding storms, and igniting fires as he hurled his mind inland.
The loud tolling of hammers against iron bells followed him through the city. Shields erupted in the alarm’s wake, opaque domes of spiritual energy cast to protect weak shelters from his fury. Vissyus smiled sadly and released firebombs into the protected sanctuaries.
Smoke and the stench of slaughter filled the air. Vissyus barely noticed the carnage; his mind was somewhere else, lost in an ancient dream that ended at a distant volcano’s summit, a place so incredibly appropriate, so perfect, that he almost believed he was sleeping. Only he wasn’t. Up he gazed, up the volcano’s nearly perfect neck and past the snow-topped cone. There he found her, eight hundred feet above the crater, a vision to overwhelm his senses, a dream to devour. Tall, beautiful, and impossibly strong, Seirin floated unshielded in a clear blue sky. She held a hand over her head, palm tilted toward the heavens, a rainbow bursting from its center toward him, beckoning him to her.
“Teacher.” The words were a whispered breath, his tone at once chaste and achingly perverse. “Is that really you?” He blinked, afraid his Searching had tricked him.
Seirin extinguished the light, lowered her hand, and smiled at him. “Vissyus.” Her deep, musical voice made his name sound holy. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”
With a thought, he snuffed out his shield. The corona of reds streaked with yellow and tinted orange unraveled in the wind. Silently, he held up a hand and motioned his guardians to stop where they were. He advanced, looking at neither, seeing nothing but her.
“Teacher.” He shook his head, his heart bursting. “You haven’t forgotten me, after all this time.”
“I’d never forget you,” she said. “We’ve been through so much together.”
Her words triggered a memory – the two of them dancing beneath a shimmering sky. Those were happy times. He frowned. Something wasn’t right? If he’d been so happy, then why did the memory feel so… horrible?