Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Shadow Realm: Fifteen ❯ Ready For Intercepting ( Chapter 4 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

No matter how hard he tried, Fifteen couldn't sleep. He rolled ceaselessly on the couch-turned-bed until finally part of him gave up and developed an ache, thus driving him to his feet. Surrendering to his insomnia, the Witty Phantom turned on a light and searched for something to do.
He found it in a bookshelf, covering part of the wall. One finger ran along the spines of the books, running past the books of magic that he'd never understand in a thousand lifetimes and the various pulp romances he'd expected to find, given Tessia's nature. Eventually, it stopped on the spine of the Master Collection of Myths and Histories, a favorite of Fifteen's. He took it down, sat back on the bed, and flipped through the pages.
As usual, creation myths were the first chapter. Skipping one that started, "In the beginning came the Gods" - he wasn't interested in Godbanger theology tonight - and the poem that opened with, "From above the sky came the Great Beast" - he'd learned that one by heart - he finally settled on the one he liked, and began to read it.
***
"In the beginning, a wall of light and a pool of darkness faced each other. The light burned at the darkness, and the darkness swallowed the light. Soon, a demon with the face of a skull rose from the pool, and a woman with four feathered wings descended from the wall. The demon threw his black lightning and the woman unleashed her holy fire. So began the war of the Fiends and the Fairies.
"Others came from both sides, and the war waged on. Whenever a fiend or a fairy fell, more rose from their bodies and joined the fray. In the fighting, the wall crumbled, losing its light, and the pool was churned and mixed. Soon, the elements began to form. From the wall came the earth; from the pool came the water; from the first demon's lightning came the wind, and from the woman's holy flames came the fire.
"The demon and the woman ceased their fighting, seeing it was pointless, and mutually turned their attention to crafting a world from the fallen elements. The demon clawed at his own flesh, and a swarm of insects flew from his wounds; from his blood formed reptiles and dinosaurs. The woman kissed the land, and from her kiss came plants; she swirled her hand in the waters, and the fish came into being. Some of the fish drank the demon's blood, and became the sea serpents. Taking earth in her hands, the woman crafted beasts; the demon bled on some, and they gained flight, becoming winged beasts.
"From the remnants of the fallen fiends and fairies, the demon and the winged woman created the warriors and the beast warriors. The two groups set to fighting, and when one died it rose again as a zombie. The demon and woman took some of the warriors aside and taught them the arts of magic, thus creating the spellcasters.
"But then from the skies descended the dragons, both winged and wingless. They sought to destroy that which they felt profaned the world that had sprung up. So another war began, between the dragons and the beings of this new world. And the dragons were forced back, far back.
"And so the line was drawn; the Dragon Territories housed the dragons, and the Shadow Realm was created..."
***
Fifteen reread the passage and realized he hadn't missed anything. There wasn't a word on machines; they were the one thing that the story didn't explain. In fact, no one was sure where the machines had come from; they were relatively new.
Opening a window, the Witty Phantom stared out across the Level Four Spellcaster Living Quarters. It was said that, no matter where you were in the Central Shadow Realm, you could see the Council Quarters; it was in the very center of the Central Shadow Realm. Tonight proved that saying correct, at least from this apartment. Looking up, he saw the lights above the Shadow Council were on, meaning a meeting was in progress. Resting his chin on his hand, Fifteen wondered what it was like up there, in a moment of envy...
***
The Shadow Council met in a gigantic, circular room, with a row of seats and microphones around the edges. At the front of the room was one gigantic chair, wherein sat the erstwhile Head of the Council. Another row of seats sat just before the door; there sat those who had a spot on the agenda, but weren't, in fact, Council members. Tonight, all the member's seats but one was filled; the empty one belonged to Mr. Volcano, Pyro and Thunder representative, who had caught a severe cold while out of his heated quarters.
In the giant's seat at the front, the head of the Council rubbed his eyes with his fingertips. No one had ever challenged his position, and that was because no one dared face his power. For Exodia the Forbidden One was the head of the Council, and had filled that role for time immemorial. He was the deciding vote, as his vote counted quintuple, and he alone determined what would come before the Council or not. And he had developed a hideous migrane over the years. Turning to the stenographer, a Disk Magician who had all of the Council's words on his disk, he asked in his booming voice, "What was last said?"
The Disk Magician answered, and Exodia once again thought that the robot's voice sounded like a rewinding tape reel. "The Summoned Skull was discussing the proliferation of low-leveled Zombies in the Fiend Living Quarters."
"Ah, yes," the Head of the Council replied before turning back to the Council floor. "It is still your floor, Kalvelos."
The skull-faced demon nodded and resumed, "As I was saying before the dinner break, crimes committed by low-level Zombies account for over half of the petty crimes in the Fiend Living Quarters each year. I ask you, Pumpking, why are these creatures even in our district?"
"I do not take responsibility for the actions of those creatures," the King of Ghosts said, raising its form out of its seat. Ectoplasm dribbled dangerously near to the notes of the Beast and Winged Beast representative, who proceeded to yank his papers away. "The Zombie Habitation Quarters being as crowded as it is, doubtless a few will leak out from time to time, but they seem harmless-"
It was cut off by a voice from the back, as a Queen's Double (the Low-Level Monster Advocate) stood on her chair and shouted, "Do you even bother to try to improve their unliving standards?"
"The floor will not recognize the Low-Level Monster Advocate at this time," Exodia said, silencing the room. "Now return to your seat." The Queen's Double did so with a huff. After a moment, a light went back on in front of Pumpking, indicating it was its floor again.
It continued, "As I said, they seem harmless enough. Petty crime will continue to rise regardless of what we do. It is the job of of the police to maintain such order in your district, Kalvelos. Ask them why crime is still rising."
A light flashed on in front of a Frontier Wiseman, the Police Force Representative. Taking his hand off the Request Turn button, he spoke, "Currently, the majority of our efforts are going towards uncovering and apprehending the one responsible for the Blue Nemuriko massacre two days ago. In addition, there are murder cases in several different parts of the Shadow Realm, to say nothing of the apparent turning rogue of one of our own. Our resources are too strained to focus on such small crimes as the ones in the Fiend Living Quarters."
"Explanation accepted," the Summoned Skull said as he shook his head.
Under his breath, Exodia sighed. He was the oldest monster in the room, predating the creation of the Central Shadow Realm itself. He had ruled as an absolute monarch at first, and then as the Head of the Council once it was formed. He had seen the city survive floods, famine, the Second Dragon War, the Coming of the Great Leviathan, the Time of the Spirits, the Day of Zorc, and a thousand other major and minor disasters.
Whether it survived bureacracy was anyone's guess.
"The floor now turns to Escalus," the Disc Magician announced, "for a report on progress in the Blue Nemuriko case."
The Frontier Wiseman nodded and opened his notebook. "Recent discoveries," he said, "have lead us to believe that the Witty Phantom spotted at the crime scene was responsible for several other murders in the past few days. Most recently, an Ogre of the Black Shadow who was known to be in the Blue Nemuriko with him was found slain in his apartment." He sighed, and then continued, "Given that the fiend in question has a history of controlling others - his aura was found at the scene of the police massacre two days ago - and is a suspect in several killings, the Central Shdow Realm Police Force requests that Gaia be released."
The Council gasped as one, and then worried conversation filled the air. The Queen's Double jumped on her podium and yelled, "If it was a Level Five doing the killing, would you jump to Gaia so quickly?!? Would yo-"
"Ophelia!" The interruption had come from Sellick, the Beast and Winged Beast Representative. "Sit down! I know it seems a little drastic to call out the Fierce Knight, but I don't think they have a choice!"
A cackle came from the Legendary Fisherman, who said, "You bet your soul it's drastic! At most, he's got what, ten killings to his record? What good is risking all our necks by calling out the Fierce Knight?"
The room was set to silence when Exodia slammed one mighty fist on his podium. The Forbidden One shouted, "Order! Order! Let us act with dignity!" Sitting down, he continued, "Escalus, I have considered the options... and I have no choice but to concur. Tomorrow evening, I shall release Gaia to hunt down the Witty Phantom in question. What is his aura?"
"15A."
Out of the corner of his eye, Exodia saw the Spellcaster Representative shaking his head.
***
There was an explosion in the Fiend Living Complex. A certain apartment housing a certain Witty Phantom detonated, throwing shards of glass and pieces of flaming concrete as far as the train station.
Down the street, the apartment's erstwhile inhabinant was fleeing for his life. One hand held down his hat, and his jacket fluttered as he ran at top speed from his attacker. Not sure where he was going, the Witty Phantom kept running. Soon he was in the center of the Living Quarters...
And his attacker was standing before him, bouncing a Sword of Deep-Seated on his palm. The blade flashed, and a long red line appeared on the victim's chest.
"Why?" the mortally wounded Witty Phantom muttered, collapsing to the stones. Before he lost consciousness, he heard one sentence.
"You stole my job!"
Confirming that his target was dead, the murderer headed towards a pay phone, his features melting and running together as he walked. Soon, he was a completely different creature - a Crass Clown. One portly hand retrieved the phone, while the other tapped in the emergency number. A high, squeaky voice spoke into the mouthpiece, "I have a murder to report! A Witty Phantom was just killed on Skrell Avenue. The killer was..."
***
Morning broke over the Shadow Realm, causing the Kuribohs to emerge from their nests and set about to scavenging once more. Fifteen had fallen asleep over the book, which was opened to, "The Tale of the Buster Blader". There was a loud thump at the apartment's door, which cause his heartrate to spike before he remembered that Spellcasters had paper delivery. (After a series of unfortunate deaths, paper delivery had ceased in the Fiend Living Complexes.)
After fighting with the latch, he opened the door and picked up the Central Shadow Realm Times, the only newspaper in the Shadow Realm. To his shock, he was on the front page.
The newspaper under one arm, Fifteen, in a daze, opened and raided Naomi and Tessia's refrigerator. Thankfully, neither of them were health food maniacs, and so he managed to find a breakfast bar amid the various food items. Ripping the packaging open with his teeth, he spat out the foil, and then took his hat from the coatrack and slipped it back onto his head. With that, he sat down on the couch/bed and opened the paper.
Two minutes later, Naomi and Tessia both woke up to a loud scream of, "WHAT?!?" This scream was followed by, "HOW?!?", which was followed in turn by a mournful shout of, "WHY?!?" Both Spellcasters were awake and dressed in a matter of a few minutes.
When Tessia entered the main room a few moments later, both the newspaper and the breakfast bar had slipped from Fifteen's hands, and the Witty Phantom was staring at the wall, occasionally muttering the word, "No..." Naomi picked up the paper and started to read:
"'Another monster has fallen victim to the Blue Nemuriko suspect. Witty Phantom 15B, who came into being after Witty Phantom 15A was fired, was killed on Skrell Street in the Fiend Living Complex. While no aura traces were found, a Crass Clown reported that a subject with an aura matching 15A was responsible,'" she read. Then, after whispering, "Oh, my...", she continued: "'This murder took place mere minutes after the Shadow Council decided to activate and release Gaia the Fierce Knight to hunt the suspect down. The release will take place tonight...' Oh, Fifteen..."
The Witty Phantom put his head in his hands and muttered, "I was here all night. I swear it. How the hell did that Crass Clown determine it was me? They're framing me... and now they're letting Gaia out... I'm screwed."
One of Tessia's arms slid around Fifteen's shoulders as she shook her head. "It's not that bad," she tried to say.
"'Not that bad'? The last time they let him out, he came back with his target's head strapped to his horse!"
"Well, if you stay here, he probably won't find you. I don't think they even know where you are..."
***
Aysev punched a wall and shouted, "Where IS he?"
The reason for the Unfriendly Amazon's rage was simple. Once again, there was nothing there. No aura traces whatsoever. Nothing to go on. And now that Gaia was on the hunt, she had even more of a reason to worry - if Gaia caught the perp before she did, her badge was just so much shiny metal. Damn the Shadow Council!
Catching her breath, the detective headed back to where the preserved body of the unfortunate Witty Phantom was laying. Thankfully, the Settle Team had gotten there before the body had shattered, and it was coated in a thin layer of preservative. Fiends had a longer shatter time than most monsters, and the body had just begun to go unstable when the preservative was applied. So she had a corpse to work with, unlike the Ogre of the Black Shadows. Too bad there was nothing resembling an aura on this one.
"Subject: Witty Phantom 15B. Age: 2 days," Geefor was muttering into his recorder. His tongs probed into the fatal wound. "Cause of death: sword slash to the chest. Depth of wound..." Shutting off the recorder, he looked into the wound, and his nonchalance about peering into it caused Aysev to feel nauseous. The recorder switched on. "Depth of wound hard to determine. There seems to be multiple cuts on the way in, as if the murderer carved his way back and forth. But the surface of the wound makes it clear that the fatal wound was delivered with a single hard swipe..."
Something about that rang a bell in Aysev's head. She turned to Geefor and asked, "Do you think it could have been an Equip? I seem to recall a weapon with that sort of characteristics..."
Geefor looked up, those overly large eyes appearing startled, then snapped his fingers and turned the recorder on again. "The wound now makes sense. The fatal blow must have come from a Sword of Deep-Seated - the blade of such a weapon bears serrations on the sides, which would account for the odd cuts on the wound."
Taking out her notebook computer, Aysev powered it up and flipped through the files until she found what she was looking for. "The inventory on what they found in the suspect's apartment shows he had five Sword of Deep-Seated cubes in his closet. My guess is that he took a few with him when he left." Shutting the computer off, the Unfriendly Amazon sighed. "Now if we knew where to look, we'd actually have something."
Her partner had ceased paying attention to her, instead noting, "Oddly, the victim is missing his Phantom Strike cloth..."
***
Raelvion, spokesmen for the Spellcasters on the Central Shadow Realm Council (better known as the Shadow Council), adjusted his hair, and then gently placed his hat on the dummy head next to his mirror. As a Council member, everything rolled on his physical appearance, and being a Dark Magician in particular, he had to take very good care of his clothes or risk being ridiculed. He remembered once when a Sorcerer of Dark Magic appeared before the Council without his hat. It had proven disastrous, and the Sorcerer's petition died right there and then.
"Will you be going out tonight, sir?" The voice was slightly cheery, with a hint of exasperation. Raelvion knew who it was without even checking. A Rogue Doll had served him since as far back as he could remember. This was the seventeenth one to serve him, the others having entered the Graveyards in their time. Her number was M-RD17, but she had served him so well that he had given her a name.
"Not tonight, Tilde, but thank you for asking. Take the night off, if you'd like." He turned to examine her. Yes, she looked like she needed a break. The maid's apron she wore (out of custom) was all but tattered to Hell. Her arms hung limply at her side when she wasn't using them, and the light in her eyes was dimmed over. How much of it was exaggeration he couldn't tell.
"Thank you, sir. I'd like a night off."
"Tilde, out of curiousity, where do you go when you have a night off?" Sliding the shoulder pads out of his robe, he proceeded to shove new ones into place. They tended to wear out every few months.
Tilde would have blushed if dolls could blush. "I... I usually go to the Crashed Hangar, in the Machine Quarter. It's just a better place for my kind than a place like the Blue Nemuriko would be. But I would hardly suggest it to you, sir."
Sitting down, Raelvion sprayed a cloth with polish and began to work a dull spot out of his staff; even being mystical metal, it still tarnished now and then. "Why, because it's too far beneath my lofty station as a Council member?" he teased her.
"No, it's because I'm somewhat convinced that they water down their drinks." Tilde removed and folded her maid's apron.
At this, Raelvion laughed. Tilde had the ability, sometimes, to counter him rather harshly. This was one of those times. Reaching into one of his robe pockets, he tossed a bundle of cash to her. "Take a Labyrinth Tank, it's safer than the night trains."
One long-fingered hand caught the money, and as he'd expected, she seemed much better. "Thank you, sir. Have a pleasant evening." With that, Tilde floated out of the room.
Waiting until she was gone, the Dark Magician pulled a long canvas robe out of one of his dresser drawers. As much as he hated lying to Tilde, he couldn't let her know what he was up to - she would panic.
A Labyrinth Tank left the Council Lower Quarter a minute later. Another one left a few minutes after that.
***
It didn't have a name. Names were liabilities to a creature such as it.
Nor did it have a number. Once, numbers were given to its kind, but they took so many different forms that keeping track of them was an impossibility. Now they were just referred to by the name of their kind.
Currently, it was in the shape of a Celtic Guardian - generic enough not to ask questions, threatening enough to keep people out of its way. And it was area-appropriate, as well. In all, perfect... or so it thought as it wandered down the center street in the Warrior Living Complex.
At exactly ten o' clock, the creature slid into a side alley, one obscured by magic. As it did so, it shifted form again, turning into the one most natural to it... Head like a mirror and fingers like small pendulums, it was unmistakable. Sensing its master in the shadows, the creature spoke. "Copycat reporting, sir."
[Very good], the voice of its master replied. [Have you done as I ordered?]
"The Witty Phantom 15B is dead, sir," the Copycat said. "And as ordered, I retrieved the Phantom Strike cloth." It reached into a pocket of skin and took out a carefully folded piece of cloth, which it set on the stones in front of it. "What are your orders now?"
A snarl came from the shadows, and the cloth was drawn away by the master's other servant... the pet. A flame of jealousy lit in the Copycat's mind. But then the master's words entered his mind: [You are to go to the Level Four Spellcaster Living Complex. Disguise yourself as a Skilled Black Magician and enter apartment 464. Take out the apartment's current owner, and then stay under cover until further notice. Whatever you do, do not make a move against our decoy. Do you understand?]
"Yes, sir," the Copycat said, saluting. Turning back into the Celtic Guardian, it left the alley, mentally cursing. Why, just why did the master insist on letting that worthless Witty Phantom live?
***
The day passed, quietly and swiftly. Fifteen had adapted to being housebound, knowing that if he left the apartment he risked being arrested and/or shot. Tessia had the early shift at the Missing Number (it only closed one hour each day, and that was for cleaning), and Naomi had her job at the Magic Factory. So they had appointed him the apartment sitter, and he had few complaints.
It was about four o'clock in the afternoon when the knock came at the door. Fifteen was busily alphabetizing the bookshelf, and silently cursed the interruption. After checking to make sure his Smoke Grenade of the Thief cube was primed, he answered the door... and promptly had a pamphlet shoved into his hands.
The shover was a Hysteric Angel, one whose glasses were a little askew, and he was shouting, "Hello, sir! My number is H-364, and I was wondering if you were aware that the Gods will return! Please take this pamphlet, and ask yourself if you're read-" The sentence was cut off when the apartment door slammed into the fairy's face, throwing his glasses across the hall.
After cutting off the Godbanger's pitch, Fifteen flipped through the pamphlet. As usual, it was page after page of Godbanger propaganda - the usual "Ra creates, Slifer maintains, Obelisk destroys" cycle garbage, with a section on rumors of the Fourth God - and, of course, a coupon for free entry into one of their churches (normally, a ten-dollar "offering" was required). Fiends have little interest in theology as a whole, being widely considered the damned, so Fifteen tossed the pamphlet into the wastebasket and sighed. All in all, slamming the door on the Hysteric Angel had proven to be the most exciting thing to happen all day.
There was a loud noise from next door. Curiousity piqued, he stepped into the hall.
***
Moving into the apartment was a simple task for the shapeshifter. It had merely knocked on the door, waited three seconds, and then pumped two shots from a silenced Sparks gun into the Skilled Black Magician that had answered. The spellcaster had shattered in mere moments, but to the Copycat's annoyance he had knocked over a table as he fell.
Immediately assuming his shape, it swept the shards into a corner to melt naturally before righting the table. A voice from the door asked, "Are you all right?"
"Yes, I am. Just a minor leg cramp!" it answered cheerfully. The interloper was satisfied with this response, and as he left the Copycat took a look at him.
What a surprise. It was Witty Phantom 15A, the scapegoat. It was just like the master to tell its servant, [Do not make a move], and then dangle such a thing under its nonexistant nose. How the Copycat would have loved to strangle him to death! But it couldn't disobey. Not yet.
The master still had use for this fiend, weak and worthless as he was. The Copycat needed to stay in cover. There would be a right moment. And when that moment came, the Witty Phantom would die...