3. Comeuppance

“Flight 1710 to Tokyo Narita is now boarding. I repeat, Flight 1710 to Tokyo Narita is now boarding. Please present your boarding passes to the border control official and make your way onto the plane.”

The Arabic announcement over the loudspeaker repeated itself in English, then in Japanese.

Katsuro Harigane had understood the first time.

A watched clock never ticked. Even so, he hadn’t been able to stop checking his watch every half minute for the past two agonising hours. Leg bouncing a fury on the linoleum, heart thumping in his throat, he sat frozen in false calm, surrounded by passengers who knew nothing. He prayed none of them ever would.

His neck ached from constantly glancing every which way like an anxiety-ridden meerkat. Not even the air-conditioned Cairo Terminal could stop the torrential sweat from gluing his shirt to his back, or soaking the bleached linen trapped under his arms.

Katsuro clutched the faded satchel to his chest, crammed full of the first armful of belongings he laid eyes on—a framed photo, his research diaries; essentials—before he had practically thrown himself out of the hotel. Thank goodness he always packed light.

Hastily wrapped package under his arm, Katsuro had never run so fast in his life. Fortunately, the Japanese embassy hadn’t been far away. Hurried explanations spilled from dry lips to the poor receptionist before she’d even had time to ask his business. Practically throwing the package at her, he slammed a wad of cash onto the table for the highest possible airmail delivery premium. Bursting out through the embassy doors the next instant, the whirlwind of a man threw himself into the first taxi he could find to the airport. He needed to get out, he needed to get away; if he stayed, they would find him. The hasty replica of the blade he’d made out of a botched papier-mâché from torn pieces of his notebook wouldn’t fool them at all.

He thanked whatever gods still cared that the guards had been too distracted by the alarm to give the inner chamber anything more than a half-glance.

He looked at his boarding pass: Group 1. A weight lifted in Katsuro’s chest, before a firm hand on his shoulder brought it right back down.

“I wouldn’t if I were you, Katsuro Harigane,” drawled a man in Japanese. To his right, a gangster with long ashen hair, a long black trench coat and silver-brimmed fedora glared his way with a malicious gleam out of one singular eye. The hand on his shoulder tightened just as Katsuro opened his mouth to yell.
“This is your only warning. Make a scene, and it’ll get so much worse for you.” The cold metal barrel of a silenced pistol pressed into the flesh of his side, underneath his shirt.

Katsuro’s voice died in his throat. Automatically, he raised his hands. The other passengers had all left their seats and were lining up ready to board. Hands fiddled in pockets, retrieving passports and boarding passes, adjusting headphones and neurotically checking information already confirmed hundredfold.

No-one paid the slightest bit of attention.

Amid such a sea of people, Katsuro had never felt so alone.

“You know well what you took.” The stranger continued, his tone an icy rasp. “Hand it over.”

“I don’t have it.”

The stranger laughed, brittle and hollow. “No… You wouldn’t, would you? Not if you had any sense.”

The gun lifted from his side.

Katsuro sighed but kept his hands still. Any sudden movements, and he had no guarantee the man wouldn’t shoot. The grasp on his shoulder tightened yet again. The stranger brandished a large, glimmering glass marble in front of his eyes.

“Why don’t we take this chat elsewhere? By the end, I’m sure you’ll be dying to tell us.”

No-one noticed when the two men warped from their seats, vanishing into thin air. They all had a plane to catch, after all.

---

How long had he been here?

His mind had been a haze for the past three, four, seven hours.

In truth, he had lost count after fifteenth time his head had been smacked against the stone wall. Lights popped from behind his eyes, his vision flickering in and out the next instant like an old cathode ray. He didn’t know where he was, who the men beating him were, or what day of the week it was anymore; the first two, he could likely guess.

Despite all the punches, his lips were sealed. Full-length cuts, lashes from serrated knifes lacerated his flesh, spattering the walls and floor like paint on canvas. His right eye had swollen so much he could barely keep it open. He no longer had the strength to stand, simply hanging by his restraints: thick steel manacles bolted into the wall. The cuffs dug grooves into his wrists; the muscles in his sides screamed from the strain. Their outcries were drowned out by the screams from every other part of him.

Beaten within an inch of his life, Katsuro no longer bothered to resist. He knew what he had done; they knew what he had done. He refused to tell, and he would not relent. He had made enough mistakes. He knew just how heavy a hand he had played in unleashing such terror on the world.

Even through the constant ringing in his ears, Katsuro picked up a voice from beyond the door—so deep and so loud, he could feel it resonate through his bones.

“Any progress?”

Katsuro shivered, but the room wasn’t cold. The air was dank enough for him to know he was underground; warm enough to know, he was likely still in Egypt. Recognising a voice when in a tough spot usually brings relief, comfort even. All Katsuro felt in that moment, however, was pure, unadulterated dread.

“No. Not yet, sir!” Stammered one guard, the one responsible for bludgeoning Katsuro’s eye. “He’s been incredibly stubborn, but he’ll crack soon, and—”

“Would you like me to speak to him?” It wasn’t a question, but a dare.

“Sir, there’s really no need—” The guard tried to make out, but was cut short.

He had made the wrong choice.

The air filled with static, a distorted crackling. Glass shattered from a gigantic boom that shook the room, as though lightning had struck within the four walls. The thick prison door didn’t stop—or even impede—the wave of resultant force from throwing Katsuro’s limp body back against the wall.

He couldn’t see the aftermath, but didn’t need to.

Whoever the man was, there would be nothing left of him now.

Katsuro strained his empty lungs to hold silence for several seconds more, eyes fixated on that door. The hinges creaked, before the slab of metal slammed out against the stone. Harsh, clinical light flooded his functional eye. He tossed his head from side to side, wincing from fresh pain.

“My dear Katsuro, it’s been too long.” The shadow of a man appeared in the doorway, framed in the light. A crisply pressed suit contorted in places, outlining a formidable stature. He wore an alligator’s grin. “Far, far too long.”

Katsuro hung there from his shackled crippled, cut and bound. He couldn’t see the man’s face, but the voice was a dead giveaway.

“Gus.” The response came through gritted teeth. “I should’ve known it was you.” He forced himself to swallow the pool of bloodied spittle that had been gathering in the lower half of his slacked jaw. The taste of iron on his tongue made him retch. “You were the only one to ever truly believe in my research.”

“You lived the rest of your life thinking you’d never get a chance to prove yourself, didn’t you?” Gus Ishimatsu shook his head. “I always admired your strength of will. You forsook everything for the sake of your research. Your peers laughed at you, the professionals tried to discredit you, and yet you held your ground. You’re still holding it to this day. It really does pain me to see you in such a state.”

Gus stepped forward and, more light filling his cell, Katsuro could make out unfortunately familiar features. The man had a large, square jaw and a uniform white fuzz over his head. On his throat, a black serpent wound its way around an ankh, flanked by two wings and a scarab; a tattoo, the emblem of Apep. A grotesque, vertical third eye gleamed in the middle of the man’s forehead.

“What on earth…” Katsuro hacked up a lung from where his ribcage had been partially caved in. Gus’ third eye glared at Katsuro. The otherworldly presence made the researcher shiver. “What did you do to yourself? Don’t tell me you…”

“I did.” Gus unsheathed a thin blade from a clasp in his jacket. The snaking blade glimmered in the pale half-light, the half-winged hilt and shattered scarab emblem unmistakable. “I knew about it well before you did, not to mention the power it held.”

Katsuro swallowed. “That’s—no. That must be the other half. How do you have it? For how long?”

“Since the beginning.”

“And you never thought to tell me, even back then?”

The monolithic silhouette lost its gleaming row of teeth.

“I had it in my jacket on that day, Katsuro.”

His heart dropped.

“I was going to show you,” said Gus. “Why else do you think I took such fascination in your research?”

Katsuro let his bruised and aching head hang forward.

“This relic is an heirloom.” Gus stroked his knuckle along the edge of the blade, holding the delicate cut and the blood that welled up to the light. “My mother; the last thing she ever gave me. It had been in her family for longer than our own name. I was the only one who believed, and that was my proof. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

“They discredited my research,” said Katsuro. “But you stayed by my side. You were never swayed.”

“And nor were you.” Gus nodded. “Your strength was true.”

“The tomb specifically warned against using the ritual,” said Katsuro. “It would bring about untold devastation; unleash a power no man should ever wield. We knew this, Gus! You knew this!”

“Cautionary tales only deter the weak, the feckless. Sensibilities are only for those feeble enough to fall to the consequences. You should know better than any: I’ve never been one to listen to ‘sense’.”

“Then I was right all along. You’re dangerous.”

Gus paused. “Even now, it pains me to hear those words.”

“But why?” Katsuro tried to shout, but every word took a razor to his throat.

“Why would you do this to yourself?”

“For the same very reason you scorned me over a decade ago,” Gus stowed away his fragment of the Ascension Blade. “I will eliminate the scourge of weakness from society in its entirety. If others refuse to join me, I will do it myself. Of course, I could narrate the entirety of my plan to you right now. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, old friend? Confirm what you’ve already figured out, give you enough exposition to figure out how to stop me.” He leered, crossing his arms. “Your ploy will only deter me for so long.”

Katsuro bit his tongue, and held his stare.

His resolve was all he had left.

“Playing the stoic today, are we?” Gus raised an eyebrow. “No matter. You’ll be talking soon enough.”

Behind Gus, two men crossed the gangway.

Katsuro squinted, picking out any details with his one functional eye. The gangster had returned, hair flowing in the slight draft that swept the corridor. That wide fedora was tilted low over his face, both hands stowed fast in pockets of that overcoat. The second man shared his boss’ titanic stature but traipsed like a slob. He dragged a hand through messy dark hair, tugging on the folds of his baggy sweater and yawning.

Gus looked over his shoulder. “Perfect timing.”

“You called?” The gangster tilted up his hat. His grin made Katsuro’s skin crawl.

“I did. Prepare to leave immediately, Hakana. I trust you gave the briefing to your team.”

“What’s the rush all of a sudden, boss?” asked the layabout, still not removing his hands from the pockets of his tracksuits.

“Weren’t you paying attention, Meguru?” Hakana growled. “Katsuro Harigane caused a breach in containment. The Ascension Blade fragment was stolen, along with the translation records.”

“Oh, he’s the guy?” Meguru peeked over Gus’ shoulder at Katsuro’s body and grinned. “Sheesh. Poor bastard. Y’all really did a number on him, huh. He’s the researcher, yeah?”

Hakana sighed. “Do you listen to anything in my briefings?”

“Is that actually part of the job now?” Meguru groaned. “Give me a break. You’re lucky I even turn up to the meetings.”

Hakana clicked his teeth. “Just do as you’re told.”

“No, Hakana—” Gus interjected— “Blindly following orders is yet more weakness.” His lip curled. “The rush is entirely my fault. I am fed up. The sooner I banish the Tyrant, the better. The men I ordered to get the location out of him have been utterly useless. Who is the director of this facility?”

Hakana hummed. “I think it’s Aziz. I don’t have an org chart to hand; might need to double-check—”

“—I don’t care. Dispose of him.”

Hakana smirked.

“Once again,” said Gus, “Ineptitude never fails to disappoint.” He clenched a fist. “No matter. I’ll do it myself.”

Gus and Katsuro glared at one another. The defiance from below was met with scathing from above.

“One more order for now,” said Gus to his henchmen. “The location isn’t confirmed but I have a suspicion. Tell the scientists back home to ready the latest prototypes for release. This will be the first live test of Hivemind—the Queen will soon have another task force on her hands. Await further instruction.”

“Roger that.” Meguru gave a casual salute and ambled back down the hallway.

Hakana stayed a moment longer. He put a gloved hand on Gus’ shoulder.

“Forgetting something?” In his other hand, he held another small glass orb. The contents were a murky silver, constantly shifting. A person’s silhouette loomed within.

Gus grinned and grasped the orb.

“Yes, I must have forgotten.”

Hakana tipped his hat, then vanished.

Katsuro knew his defiance was futile, but he’d long since resigned to this fate. It was what he deserved.

Gus towered over him, arms tightly clasped behind his back. “This was my error.” His annoyance wasn’t entirely external. “I both over- and underestimated you. I think I had in mind the man you once were, in many respects. I didn’t expect you to see beyond the lenses of your own glasses.” The man chuckled despite himself. “The alarm you caused triggered quite a disturbance, yes, but a replica blade, Katsuro? For something on such short notice, you’ll have to consider me impressed.”

“I’m honoured.”

“Shut up!” The prison walls echoed the roar, before he cleared his throat. “Where is the other half of the Ascension Blade!”

“Bite me.”

Gus kicked Katsuro hard across the face. A connection, a splintering crack, and a broken jawbone. The researcher’s agony painted the walls with a sickly, red coat, dusted with the eerie dust of atomised enamel.

“You’re going to tell me its exact location, or I will make sure you live to regret it.”

“I’m not telling you anything, Gus.”

The man chuckled, raised a hand to chest-height and curled it into a fist. The strange vertical eye in the middle of his forehead glowed again, and that same crackling energy began to collect in the area around them. Katsuro looked around, as every hair on his body stood on end. His mind screamed warnings of imminent danger to a body that would and could not, move. The energy coalesced around Gus’ raised fist, forming a spectral gauntlet. The energy permeated the entire space, humming with untold power. Gus flexed his fingers, the glass orb secure in his other hand.

“I don’t think you understand just how wrong you are.”