Visual Kei

Tsurara’s hands were warm and gentle when his fingertips brushed my thigh. I flinched as the light touch brushed the edges of the bleeding bullet hole. His icy blue eyes, almond and severe, flicked up to catch a glimpse of the pain that flashed across my features before he rested his palms on either side of my leg. In silence, his face was expressionless save for the concentration he was giving the wound. I looked over at Kiiro, who nodded solemnly in assurance that Tsurara would be able to help.

Before my eyes, the blood coagulated, scabbing and flaking away as the new flesh knitted together and forced the bullet out of the muscle. It fell onto the table and rolled onto the floor, still encased in half-coagulated blood. In its place, a pale, circular scar had formed, looking rather like a celestial sun. Before I could thank him, a migraine began to throb behind my eyes and eardrums. It attacked me suddenly, nearly making my eyes water. It was worse than being shot—I was blinded by this pain. A strangulated gasp escaped the tightness in my throat and I clutched my head with one hand. Tsurara rolled up the sheer mesh shirt so that it revealed the second bullet wound. He splayed his fingers around the tract frosted over with pale scar tissue. That wound closed up cleanly, also, although there was a small indentation in my waist from where the injury once was. I hadn’t thought it possible, but the migraine became worse. The pain was constant. It no longer throbbed. It was constantly lurking in my skull and I wanted to scream. I closed my eyes to the light around me and ducked my head and drew my knees up. Nausea made the back of my throat water threateningly.

Tsurara didn’t even look at the bullet that rolled on the floor. I managed to look up into his face gratefully, and it was some amazing achievement to me. I couldn’t bring myself to speak, and even if I could, I don’t think he would have acknowledged it, anyway. Without saying a word, he nodded curtly and strode away, as if unable to remain in my company any longer. I held my head and squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the pain. Did he know about Ray, too? I wanted to curl into myself, to hide from everyone and everything. Or to die. Any of those would have been preferable to that horrible headache and heartache. I had hurt Kiiro and made Tsurara hate me. The others had to know. And perhaps they hated me, too. I felt so stupid. I felt like I’d just been the brunt of a huge joke that everyone was in on. The sliding of a door made me look up from my dismay.

“A few aches and pains are normal,” Chino said, sliding into a wheeled chair. He pushed off the ground with both hands gripping the edge of the seat between his legs, gliding toward me. The noise made by the wheels nearly sent me into a coma. It hurt so badly, it almost felt good.

“I—It’s n—not a regular headache,” I managed feebly, trying to hold on to coherent thoughts through the agony. “It’s going to kill me, I think.”

Chino smiled, but tried not to laugh. Is this better, Drama Queen? I nodded minimally. Any other movement would jostle my brain and that would undoubtedly be akin to playing hot potato with a hand grenade. When he channeled straight into my mind, I could focus on what he was saying rather than the pain. It was a welcome diversion. What kind of pain is it?

Pain pain! I don’t know how to describe this shit!

His hand rested on my forearm. Calm down, Alice. I’m trying to help you.

I know you are, Chino… I’m sorry… it just—it hurts. It hurts so bad…

On a scale of one to ten—

It’s a fucking twenty-seven.

This only happened after Tsurara healed you, didn’t it? he asked, deep in thought. I might have been suspicious or curious as to his thoughts at any other time, but I could hardly keep myself from curling into the fetal position and sobbing, much less ask questions. When he stood to leave the room for a while, I extended a hand, desperate for him to stay. I wanted to protest but was unable to do more than let out a frenzied groan. He rushed back to my side, his hand curling around my face, cupping it gently. Alice? Alice, you need to hold onto your mind.

It hurts, Chino! Please… please make it stop! Please! I whimpered, both in my mind and with my voice. His soothing words were lost as something inside me seemed to break and release the pain. It fell from an unbearable level to distracting as if a dam had been opened to flood outlying atmosphere with the anguish. Chino’s eyes scrunched up as he clutched his head in agony.

“Kamisama… I understand, now,” he gasped, his breathing labored. “T—Take it back, Alice. I can’t deal with this again.”

“Again?” I asked, reluctantly bracing myself to re-receive the torment I’d shared with Chino. When it pierced me, though, I still wasn’t ready. I gasped and struggled not to lose my balance. “Wh—What do you mean?”

“The only time I’ve ever felt like that was when I came into my power,” he said, panting heavily as sweat trickled down his cheek. “You must be gaining another piece of your divinity.”

“But why didn’t I feel this when I got the other power, or when I unlocked my inhuman strength?”

“I don’t know. Maybe your divine heritage influences the ‘growing pains’ in different ways than it does for the rest of us. Or maybe…” he broke off, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

“Tell me, Chino,” I hissed, finally becoming accustomed to the constant presence of intense agony. It was growing more bearable, and I began to forget how it felt not to have constant immense pressure inside my head. “It might be important.”

He nodded, looking down as if trying to find the courage to speak. “I came up with a theory. It would explain why your power came so late, and it might explain the situation with your parents.” He let it sink in a little before continuing. “Your mother could be the goddess Amaterasu, and your father could be another of the nonhuman supernatural. That would explain the power you have now and how inconsistent the growth and development of it has been.”

“Mom could be Amaterasu,” I repeated, trying to remember her. As soon as I tried, however, everything I could once recall easily slipped away. It could have been thanks to the brain-bursting migraine, or it could have been… something else.

“What can you recall about your mother? Do you remember her face? What did she do for a living? How long was she with your father? How did they meet?”

“I… can’t remember.” I blinked, feeling panic festering in my heart. “Chino… I can’t remember my own mother!”

“If she were Amaterasu, she could have used her divine power to hide in plain sight and tampered with the memories of those around her. Anyone else who may have seen her would not see her true form. Only other divine beings would have.”

“What are you saying?”

“The only other gods known to inhabit the earth right now are the Shinigami. Therefore, unless she allowed any humans to see her as she truly was, they would be the only ones to know. You said that she disappeared on your family suddenly, right? It would make sense. She may have been kidnapped by Shinigami. Or perhaps she simply returned to the place where the gods live.”

“How would she do that?”

“It’s called ascension. All gods have to descend to live here, in the world of mortals and preternatural, and in order to return, they must ascend. It is said in legend that they are only able to do so every 1,000 years. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but according to the myths, only two gods are allowed to walk the mortal realm at once. Any more than that, and it is an omen that the heavens will open and all the gods will fall to earth. They will war until the world is decimated.”

“Legends? Myths? What legends are you talking about? I’ve never heard anything like that… and why would the deities want to descend to this world?”

“Folklore is everywhere and there are heroes that never have the chance to be recognized for their actions. There is a particular myth that has preserved and repeated throughout the centuries. It is of the splitting of the heavens, in which the gods tumble down into the earth and battle each other for dominance. Some desired to protect our world’s inhabitants while others sought to enslave them. A hero rose up beside the benevolent gods and helped kill the malevolent ones, thus releasing their souls back into the world of gods. I have seen this story though, myself, twice. The first I heard of was a man who the Japanese called Hakumi—White Eyes—and the second was Hideto Matsumoto.”

“Hide saved the world?”

“Yes, he did.” Chino smiled. “We were friends before he became the world’s savior, but he disappeared shortly afterwards.” His smile disappeared. “When he reappeared, it wasn’t until decades later, and by then, he’d become famous with X Japan. He didn’t want anyone close, but being in a band like X Japan was the only way to hide what he really was. And then he disappeared when the fame peaked.” Chino looked away, silent for a long moment. “I don’t think he ever expected the band to get so popular.”

“I thought he killed himself?”

“He may have, but it doesn’t seem to be something he would do. He may have simply disappeared to avoid being a hero again. He sacrificed a lot, you know, to save the world.”

“All heroes do. Why didn’t the world start anew after he saved it? Wouldn’t it have been ravaged by the war? How do people go about now without knowing anything of it? Why isn’t it taught in schools?”

Chino returned my gaze. “The world was… ‘cleansed’ before the remaining gods ascended. They implanted false memories in the minds of the humans, but the preternatural always knew. It may seem unfair, but it actually protected the humans from anarchy.”

“I—I suppose.”

“It happens at least every 1,000 years. The wars, I mean. And sometimes before then, too.” Chino’s eyebrows drew together, as if something had puzzled him. “It’s hard to say for sure, since there are no signs to prove it, but… this may be the precursor to another divine war.”

“Is that even possible?” I asked, slow horror trickling through me. It overshadowed the pain. “I thought Hide saved the world not even a hundred years ago?”

Chino nodded. “But that doesn’t mean that another war won’t happen. As I said, the timing is erratic, but it’s guaranteed every 1,000 years.”

“That’s just what we need,” I said, sighing as I rubbed my temples. It didn’t ease the pain much. “A war on top of being harassed by walking ink blots.”

“The war would keep them preoccupied, I would think,” he replied, looking at me sympathetically. “But even so, I shouldn’t burden you with all this talk of divine war and whatnot. I’m sure your head is in enough pain as it stands.”

Before I could respond, a shudder passed through the floor, jarring the furniture as well as the both of us. It was like an earthquake rippling through the ground. My legs tensed and struggled for balance as the vibrations shook my nerves and confused my body. A low rumble scattered my thoughts as it renewed the ache in my skull. I winced in agony as Chino grabbed my arm and rushed out the door. I opened my pain-blurred eyes to see the guys looking as shocked and stressed as me. Voices from the apartments above and below us were screaming and yelling and we could hear the pounding of feet down the hallway.

No one said anything as they followed Chino, who held me fast by the arm, leading us all away from the apartment and down the stairs. I struggled to focus on taking the stairs at the same ridiculously-fast pace that they were. When we got to the metal door leading to the narrow alley, we found it torn from its hinges, large dents in the steel doorframe. Without asking any questions, he pulled me through it, the noise of his shoes obscured by the earsplitting roar of a tall building being toppled over. We cut through unfamiliar alleys. I had no idea where we were going, but I didn’t question it, I just let myself be led through the thinning crowd of crazed, frightened Japanese people.

I looked back, seeing what at first seemed like a huge, rolling black sea pouring over the tall buildings in central Fukuoka. At a better look, I realized that it was an army of Shinigami, their inky, swirling bodies clustered so closely together that they appeared to mimic ocean waves, crashing over the city and destroying everything in their path. Real fear seized my chest and quickened my stride, and I nearly broke free of Chino before he pushed himself harder, running at my side toward the edge of the city. My only thought was to put as much distance as the main island of Japan would allow between myself and that black ocean.