#anaari

Hakuchō doesn’t entirely know what it is she’s supposed to be seeing. Broken glass crunches under the foot of the Service instance, yellow eyes carefully taking in her surroundings.

Even under the cover of night she can see the building ever so clearly, the rotted out husk of a carcass it was. Beams of wood and steel form jagged teeth that surrounded the building. Tendrils like vines hang in between, blossoming fetid flowers that bloom in eerie colors. The petals are pretty, to be certain, but the thorns underneath are sharper than any glass shard could ever be. If they had to search anywhere, it might as well be here.

Perfect place for it, really. This part of Tokyo was nothing but empty buildings and dirty streets, home only to the downtrodden and roaming vagabond. Concrete streets cracking like porcelain as thick roots curl through like the organs of a body even if there isn’t a tree around here for miles. The most they’ve seen for plantlife was the foliage that grew around this place, and even then they knew better than to touch it.

There’s an anomaly here, and it’s hidden very well.

Osoi is agitated enough just being around this place, she can see it. The Slow instance that had been assigned to accompany her had almost been the same one assigned the recon team that had been sent here less than a week prior - the same one they were searching for now.

It’s almost a shame it took them this long to know what was going on. Word of potential anomalies and rogue Douji came by the dozens every day, and each and every one of them had a scout sent to verify whether it not it was serious enough to really need dealing with. Most of them were Avaro instances, copies of copies that could be safely dispersed and then recalled from a bundle without any issue. Even he couldn’t be bothered to keep track of how many clones came and went.

A half dozen could easily go unnoticed. Any more than that was often sure to attract attention, whether it was a Douji snatching them up in an attempt to garner power or something else attempting to feed. So a recon team had been dispatched, Yarrow’s team to be precise. The Paresse instance was very much like his counterparts, stringent and strict as a result of his military training under his former master Michel Dubois. They might not have been Red Sun or Bloodline or anything, but if a Paresse was in charge you knew they were damn good at their job.

The last time that Yarrow’s team had contacted them was the day of their departure. A day of missed connections could often be a result of extradimensional interference, something incredibly common no matter how they tried to fix it.

But no contact had been established at all. It was as if the entire team had gone up in smoke. An inspection of where their camp was to be located revealed nothing but more questions. Supply crates broken into with human hands, bags rifled through without any issue. An ambush could have happened, but there wasn’t any sign of a struggle. No blood or oil, no scratches in the concrete.

Nothing.

It’s been so long since she’s seen her own timeline, lost to the destruction of a rogue Douji. But she doesn’t need it to remember where Sparrow Manor was or what it looked like - at least, what it shouldhave looked like.

Hot chance that this decrepit thing was likely it, and even more so than the anomaly inside might be a Vice instance. It’s not her first rodeo going up against one of them, but that didn’t make it any less dangerous. Vice instances were nothing if not unpredictable, though it was strange that he had yet to make himself known. Mother help her if it happened to be a fusion.

Doesn’t stop her from stepping over the tendril roots, hand bracing against a beam as she searched for the best way inside the building. That action alone seemed to put her partner on edge.

“Chō, I think we’ve inspected enough,” Osoi scolded in a harsh whisper. The claws of his gauntlet unfurl, a sign of his agitation.

“Just a moment, I want to check something out.”

“We’ve got confirmation of the death of Yarrow’s team, we have no more reason to be here.”

Her head turned to look over her shoulder, yellow eyes staring at him. “There isn’t any blood or body. We don’t have it.”

Osoi scoffed in exasperation. “This is the most obvious sign of an anomaly I’ve ever seen,” he grumbled, pointing to the building. “No bodies and a possibly dangerous anomaly that, if you need reminding, we have no idea of. That sounds like a pretty damn good confirmation to me.”

Still, Hakuchō didn’t turn back, bracing against a steel rod as she leveraged herself up. Rockets might be too loud, and she’s limber enough anyway. “I’m only gonna be a minute.”

“What are you even doing?? Why are you still crawling up there?”

The Douji turned to face him, gesturing with her gauntlet. “Look,” she said, “Do you see any damn stairs?”

When Osoi shook his head, she continued. “Any pathway into the building had been blocked off by so much debris that removing it’s gonna be impossible to move without causing a lot of noise, and I mean a lot. If there is an anomaly here, how is it getting in and out?”

Visibly, she can see the gears beginning to click in his head. “It’s coming from the top.”

“Yeah, and anomalies don’t do that, unless-“

“Unless they’ve got something to hide,” he finished, dark eyes staring at her.

The Douji nodded her head. “Exactly. There’s too much shit to see properly through this stuff, and if the bodies are still here, chances are somewhere inside.”

The look of understanding on his face twists to stunned again, as if he can’t believe what she said. “So you want to go down into the damn den, are you insane? What if it comes back?”

Hakuchō smiled. “Well, that’s what you’re here for, aren’t you?”

“I am not protecting your ass from whatever the hell this thing might be.”

“And I’m not asking you to. If something happens to me, get back to the Facility and relay what you know.” Turning her attention back to the matter at hand, she scans for the easiest footholds to finish her ascent to the top.

What she doesn’t expect, however, is the Douji that’s quickly following up behind her. There’s a look of annoyance in his eyes, but she doesn’t bother poking fun at his sudden change of heart.

Sure enough, at the top of the incline was a decently sized hole, just enough for them to quietly slide down into. Strangely enough the inside of the building was relatively unharmed, save for the absolute jungle of metal and vine that adhered itself to the walls and floor. Even down here flowers bloomed, peonies and rhododendrons that blossomed despite the lack of proper light. Still no sign of any of the scouts or Yarrow and his team, but if the pieces of broken gauntlets they found were any indication, it meant they were on the right track.

Empty hallways led to vacant apartments, dwellings that had long since been abandoned by their caretakers. Whatever vermin seemed to have found themselves content to feast on whatever remained, few as they might have been. From the corner of her eye she sees a tiny mouse approach a flower, sniffing curiously at it. Both she and Osoi pay no mind to it, though try as they might they cannot forget the little shriek it gives when their backs are turned, and both the mouse and the flower are gone when they look again.

To any other person, this might have been the best time to go back out the way they came, and Osoi is giving her the look that he very much would like to do just that.

She doesn’t, and so she presses on. 

The average apartment in Japan typically held the stairs leading to each floor outside the building, and Sparrow Manor had been no exception. Seemed the anomaly had decided of its own accord to fix that, another small hole had been broken through the floor at the end of the hallway. The floor down is very much the same as the first, even if a bit darker. And the third is no different, save for one thing.

Sparrow Manor never had a fourth floor, and yet there’s still a hole at the end. By all rights they should be on ground level by now.

It’s not the only thing different. Something glimmers on the edge of the hole, so faint it could have been mistaken for a trick of the mind. But as the duo approach, they can make out a dim yellow glow, a surefire sign that, beneath the foundation of Sparrow Manor, something was illuminated.

Hakuchō stifled her gasp when she peered inside, immediately being greeted with the vacant gaze of Ikiri. It was terrible enough to confirm that the Kiyose instance had been killed, but to see her disembodied head was something else. All she could hope for was that it was quick.

Ikiri wasn’t the only one. Stepping down inside the duo finally spotted what had become of the recon team. Yarrow, Phoebe, and Trinity. All viciously ripped open and mutilated, their corpses entwined between rod and root. It’s so haunting to see the body of oneself disemboweled and eyes gouged out, yellow coreopsis blossoming where Trinity’s eyes once had been. Sakura isn’t accounted for, though she likely didn’t need to guess what happened to her.

Somewhere along the way, Hakuchō had determined the possibility of this anomaly perhaps being more Paresse influenced than Vice. Sure, Sparrow Manor may have been convenient for the ultimate evil, but the constant presence of plants indicated otherwise.

She nearly jolts out of her mainframe when Osoi touches her arm. This is more than enough confirmation they needed, and it was well past the time of backing out now.

As they’re getting ready to make their way back out, she hears something. A whimper, the break in a voice. A human voice, and it was coming from further down the tunnel. Sakura, maybe?

Was there a chance that the Makoto instance was still alive somehow? 

There’s a pleading look in Osoi’s eyes, and his gauntlet only curls tighter around her own. They both know that, despite the power of his Noh, they were damn lucky to have even been able to venture this far without any issue whatsoever; to continue on would very likely be detrimental to them both. Scummy as it was to possibly abandon a colleague in such a terrifying situation, they can’t risk getting caught.

And Hakuchō could never do that.

Osoi nearly stumbles when she yanks her gauntlet out of his, making her way as quickly and quietly down the hall as she can. It’ll be quick, she’ll be so quick about it. Just be fast and quiet, get Sakura and get ou-

There’s a room at the end of the hallway, neat and clean and illuminated by the lamps that have been dragged down here. Tatami mats spread across the dirt like a makeshift floor, articles of clothing in messy piles all around. Remnants of plastic and styrofoam takeout containers sit in a wooden box, stained by the grease. A dingy mattress sits in a corner, a litany of soft plush toys and pillows and blankets piled high upon its surface. But the sight of the room isn’t what’s stopped her.

It’s the hole in the dirt wall, carved away by Douji claws and covered in a cloth. She isn’t entirely sure how deep it goes, but the depth hardly matters. A leg hangs off the edge, flesh bruised and cut far too deep for any mortal to handle. She doesn’t need to pull back the curtain to know what’s inside - Sakura’s eyeless face is staring back at her, jaw slack in her silent scream. A Douji’s eye never falters, and she doesn’t have to physically see the broken edges to know that’s not her clothing she sees. She’s seen what Douji teeth can do.

The same whimpering sound starts again, shocking the duo. Automatically their eyes draw back to the room, away from the half-eaten carcass of their colleague. The pile of blankets has begun to shift and move, eventually falling away to reveal stringy dark hair that might have once been curls.

It’s a Kia instance, and she’s not looking okay. Bloody bandages completely cover parts of her face and throat, extending down what they can see of her arms. Hakuchō isn’t sure if what she smells is from the corpse or the possibility of infection, but the state of the girl doesn’t bode well in any regard. Dried tear tracks tread down from the one eye they can see, staining the flesh of her face. Pain must have woken her from her slumber. She’s endured so much, likely at the hands of the anomaly that’s kept her here.

And the Douji very well couldn’t just leave her behind to suffer the same fate.

Silent as they are standing there, their presence seemed to have attracted her attention. The Kia instance goes shock still, her hazel eye growing wide as she stares at them.

If she’s gonna make a move, she might as well do it now. The Douji began to approach, keeping her voice as calm as she could. “Kia Naito, my name is-“

The moment the first foot falls Kia began to scream. A dreadful rasping sound, as if her voice had been distorted by sickness. Her fright seemed to have finally spurred her into action, quickly approaching the poor girl. “Miss Kia, please, we don’t mean to harm you!”

However, rather than let the Douji touch her, Kia tried to scramble away. She can’t get very far, not with how small the den is. She can’t even make out what she’s saying, voice croaking and words slurring in her fright. Hakuchō’s reassurances earn nothing but her vitriol, hands clawing out to strike her away if she gets too close.

A quick pop snaps her out of it, when the yellow of the lamps begin to move. Yellow eyes stare, watching the rhythmic way the bulbs flickered and danced, like candles in a wind.

Like lightning in a storm.

Kia isn’t reacting anymore, arms around her head and curling down into as tight a ball as she could. Her frightened panic had subsided from what it was before, leaving her a heaving breathing mess.

But she can’t worry about that, now now. She can sense the anomaly before it’s even there, can feel the rancid aura that presses down on her like a mountain, holding her in a vice grip. Osoi has already backed well away from the entrance of the room, bracing for what will likely be the fight of their life (however long that might last). Oh, how she was a fool for not even considering the possibility.

The lamps flicker like strobe lights at a rave, spreading ice in her gut as the anomaly slowly began to reveal itself. Temporary stills like photographs pictures, knowing there isn’t a damn thing she can do to stop its progression from one frame to the next.

Blackened claws curl around the frame of the room, splintering through wood and carving deep into the earth. Cloven feet that look like claws, sinew dripping to the floor fresh from its hunt. A body is dropped, the corpse of a stag laying limp upon the ground, blood seeping between the tatami and soaking the earth. Blood drenched claws find their grip as well, current of electric energy like sin-stained gold dancing along the plates. Eyes of emerald and pine and azure stare at them, straight down into the very essence of their souls.

She was fool enough to not consider the likelihood of a dual fusion Douji, that alone was folly enough.

But to not even consider the possibility of a trifusion, especially one of the three most dangerous Douji on record?

Her body shudders at the hiss it makes, deep and guttural and primal, echoing in a resounding knock like wood upon bone. An open maw reveals rows of jagged teeth, blackened tongue sifting out like a leech. Electricity dances alone the lean shape of its body, muscles and tendons shifting as it readies to lunge. A burst of plasma pops and sends the room into pitch, darker than anything she’s ever seen. She hears it hiss one more time.