Frenzy

Empty hallway hums

My sandwich judges my soul

Tuesday refuses

“Uh…” A bespectacled man with slicked-back hair and a flashy purple suit paused, squinting at me in confusion. “Is this supposed to be a poem?”

“Of course! Are you unfamiliar with the eastern tradition of Hayku? ” The Supreme President replied matter-of-factly.

“It’s Haiku , sir. And you forgot the Kigo.”

“Keygo?”

“The seasonal word.”

“Ah, then I should replace Tuesday with Autumn.”

“That doesn’t fix anything. What does this even mean, anyway”

“Well, I was a tad bored yesterday. Lots of empty halls here in the Holy Land. Wanting to ease my boredom, I made myself a sandwich. It was so good I felt compelled to immortalize the experience through poetry. Real tasty, that sandwich.”

“...”

How does the poem even convey any of that? Marauder thought, not wanting to engage any further in the discussion.

“Well…that’s nice, sir,” he said, placing the disgrace to artistic expression on the coffee table. “But why am I here? I believe you asked for my assistance on a matter?”

Skadhi guffawed. “Yes, yes! I did say that! You’re a real special talent, you know that, Junn baby?”

I’m not sure how I feel about that nickname, but I’ll choose to ignore it, he thought.

“Thank you, sir.”

“C’mon! Don’t be so stiff! We’re buddies, aren’t we?” The Supreme President wrapped his arm around Junn Marauder, a gesture utterly inappropriate for their relationship.

“Right…” Junn replied.

In truth, this was only the second time they had seen each other in person, and the first time they had personally talked without a middle man. Even within this private enclosure in the Holy Kingdom, the President was the same man he had always been.

Loud. Boisterous. Strange.

Performative?

No. Performative wasn’t the appropriate term here. Perhaps it was the least appropriate term possible to describe the man known as Skadi Bhattacharya—A complete antonym.

Every action he performed, every word that came from his mouth, was so sickeningly honest that it was unbearable to deal with. He had no qualms about flaunting himself, even when his expressions were utterly embarrassing.

Junn Marauder would have to tread carefully. There was no guarantee that he would come out alive from this encounter, considering what happened to the Chief of Police.

Competence, he said to himself. Portray confidence. Masculinity!

The President rubbed his brow. “See, I’ve been meaning to contact you personally for some time now. When was the last time we talked again?”

“It’s been about a month.”

“Really? Why, time really does fly during times of crisis. But never mind that. I need you for somethin’ reeeeal important, get me?”

“I get you alright, but what could a radio host provide the Supreme President?”

Skadhi snapped. “Your voice, what else?”

“May I ask for elaboration?”

“Go ahead.”

Junn Marauder cleared his throat, cleaned his glasses with a soft cloth, and looked his superior in the eyes. “Are you going to use your Uniqueness on the inhabitants of Yana?”

“Bingo!” President Skadhi flashed his signature smile.

“...Am I to take that response seriously?”

“Of course.”

“Do you understand what will happen to the people if you did?”

“Yes. I am not a fool, Marauder.”

“Haha…” Junn Marauder let out a nervous laugh, cold sweat pooling on his brow. “You’re fucking insane.”

“I suppose any ordinary person would see my actions as absurd, but I have no intention of conforming to their logic. The laws of this world are but fetters that bind me by my heels. I, no, we will break these chains. You understand that better than any other, Head of State Propaganda .”

Junn avoided the man’s gaze, hanging his head in shame. “Right…I’m not exactly in a position to criticize, but even I have limits.”

“Junn.” The President’s expression dropped, revealing a cold, callous gaze that could freeze a man in an instant. “Remember. Those who cannot bleed have no place within the Superorganism. Notions of common sense have no place within Urr. If I say bark, they bark. If I say bow, they bow. You don’t need to think any further.”

“Ah…” The President’s visage appeared as oscillating waves before Junn Marauder. It was similar to a distortion of perception, to intoxication, to mania. He knew this ability, this Uniqueness, all too well, and with that information came a wave of despair.

It was an ability unparalleled in its sensory distortion. Once caught in its web, none could escape, no matter the difference in strength or ability. The conversation had ended, or perhaps the conversation had never begun. It was all but a comedy, a farce orchestrated by Skadhi Bhattarcharya, Supreme President of Urr.

“So,” Skadhi asked, returning to his jovial expression. “What are you going to do?”

“I…I’m going to…organize a broadcast in Yana.”

“And what will transpire after said broadcast?”

“...Massacre.”

“Good! See? You’re already getting a hang of things!” President Skadhi Bhattacharya got up and patted the half-conscious Junn on the back. “Now go get me what I want.”

“...Yes…s-sir…” The broadcaster stumbled out of the room, his eyes devoid of life.

———

If I, Ereth of the Eternal Twilight, could not describe myself as a warrior, then perhaps the label of ‘artist’ would suffice.

The gifts of this world knew no end. Novels of vivid characters drew into alien worlds. Xìqǔ(戏曲) of Zhōngtǔ filled me with childlike wonder.

However, there was but a single craft that confounded me, left me little clue of its inner workings.

Music. Rhythmic Melody. I could hardly understand such a thing.

It was an expression of the soul, an intangible anima that carried with it sheer volatility. Many a lay brought me joy as dirges did tears. How could rhythmic tunes appeal to the inner being? How could one recreate such a melody?

As a warrior and soldier of Wisteria, I rarely had time to indulge in such matters. My training came first, and nothing would change that. However, if I were granted a second life, I was sure that I’d devote myself to the art of music.

That was precisely why something seemed strange today.

I heard alien music playing from the northeast. Five, no, five-and-a-half miles away? Maybe six? And the music was loud, extremely loud, at least from my perspective as an automata. Human ears couldn’t hear with the same level of acuity I could.

Was it an event? A ritual? Did Urr have rituals? Well, I couldn’t know for sure what it was, but it was certainly a large gathering.

Part of me thought it was merely a holiday, a way to uplift citizens during times of war, but something seemed amiss about the situation. They were getting louder, less consistent in rhythm. This wasn’t an army. No. Their steps were far too light, too uncoordinated to be mechanized soldiers or infantrymen.

These were ordinary people. Civilians.

They ran on all fours like rabid dogs, mouths frothing with feral violence. Any semblance of decency had been lost under the rhythm’s influence.

“Disgusting…” I uttered under my breath. “Is this the Superorganism you wish to protect?”

Freed from rationality, the feral Shura decimated everything in their path towards Grausheim. Their intentions, though frenzied, were plain as day. They wished to devour every last human in our ranks.

From my periphery, a familiar figure emerged. “Looks like Skadhi’s making his move,” said Athene Noctua. “Using civilians as bait, eh? Real dirty move. Seems we’re dealing with a professional here.”

“What are you talking about?” I said, expression souring.

“You can see it too, right? A Wonderboy with a body like yours should see it—hear it—clearly.”

“The music?”

“Nah, not that. I mean their voices .”

“...”

Part of me wondered how he, an ordinary Hominid, could hear and see from such a distance, but now wasn’t the time for such meaningless inquiries. I looked towards Yana, examining the source of the noise.

I saw four, no, five, familiar faces. The first four were Ichi, Ni, San, and Shi of the Calico Rhythmic group. They were performing a song, presumably one of their own, with Raigen D plucking away at his guitar strings. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Perhaps I was wasting my time with all this.

No. That couldn’t be right. Let’s reexamine the situation.

First, their expressions. Though normal on the surface, there appeared to be a great flaw. Their eyes were all bloodshot, veins visibly bulging beneath skin. Perhaps they were simply tired, but I suspected more.

On their foreheads were a small, dark-blue serpent. The symbol was strange, not only because of its garish design, but because it clashed with the red costumes they wore for the occasion. It was small, nearly imperceptible, but I saw it nonetheless.

The symbols were leaking Mang.

“Hehehe!” Athene giggled. “Now you’re seeing it kid. Ain’t no mistaking it; they’re under the effects of a Uniqueness. Likely not there’s.”

“Skadhi’s?” I asked.

The old general shrugged. “Can’t say for sure, but it seems like they’re all under some sort of trance, and they’re headed this way.”

He chuckled, his eyes upturned like sharp crescent moons. “So, wonder boy. What should we do about this little conundrum? Wanna spare ‘em? Get ‘em a Christmas gift, while we’re at it?”

“Do you take every moment out of your spare time to mock me?” I spouted.

“Gotta choose Wonderboy. We both know that whatever festival their throwin' ain’t gonna land us in hot water. We gotta rush over to Grausheim as fast as possible. Don’t have time to waste.”

“So what exactly are you suggesting?” I inquired. “Can’t you just send Keresaspa their way and be done with it?”

I wasn’t exactly eager at the prospect of this kill, this massacre, but if it were ever deemed necessary, I knew I could trust Keresaspa with such a task.

Her criteria was different. Her violence was different. Armed or disarmed; it made little difference. Those who approached her would be devoured in the inescapable maelstrom.

Athene smirked at the suggestion, but waved his hand in rejection of the idea. “Nah, not worth our time. That lady’s fun, no doubt, but I wanna have my fill as well. She’s just too greedy!”

My face soured at the expression.

“Kehe…Kehehehehe!” He let out a sickly cackle, armed raised at the ready. “Alright, then! Plan ain’t changed a bit!”

“...!”

Waves of colorless Mang emanated from his being. Its volume was nothing special. In fact, it was below average compared to the other Generals, and its depth wasn’t anything to write home about. This was a power generated by an ordinary man, just as any other.

So why did I feel such revulsion at the mere sight of its emanation?

“This Skadhi fellow piqued my interest. Not interested in this slowburn marching bullshit, so let’s take the bait and wage some war, eh?”

It was something akin to flavor, to scent, to pheromones, that triggered an instinctual panic within me. Its quality was rotten, morphed, and disturbed beyond belief. Such power could only come to a demon king, a God of Death.

“ Invocation—Release! ”