The Psyche Diver Trilogy: Demon Hunters

  The Psyche Diver Trilogy

  Baku Yumemakura

  Translated by Jonathan Lloyd-Davies

  Translation support by Thomas Gevantry

  Cover Illustration by Katsuya Terada

  Map Design by Alfred Collazo

  Co-editor Shinichi Murakami

  Co-editor Casey Wilms

  English release coordinated by Bikoo

  Cupertino, CA

  www.bikoo.jp

  Copyright © 2014 by Baku Yumemakura

  ISBN 978-0-9885167-4-8

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations for social media and reviews.

  Contents

  Cover

  Copyright

  Title

  Contents

  Map

  Desires of the Flesh

  The Dark Ritual of Female Flesh

  Bewitching Biku

  The Dark Man

  The Nightmare Hunter

  Kurogosho’s Messenger

  Renobo: Forbidden Flesh

  Hellbent on Revenge

  Vertigo: A Trap

  Savage Fangs

  Into the Den of the Amorous Beast

  The Darkness

  The Secret Cult

  Heruka’s Mandala

  Chaos at the Dark Ritual

  The Demon’s Howl

  The Nightmare Residence

  A Portrait of Kukai

  The Lion’s Resurrection

  Pack Wolves: The Front Lines

  The Demon’s Cry

  The Nightmare Myo’o

  Death Brawls

  Crazed Nightmares: A Covert Insertion

  The Sexual Fiend: Transformation

  Darkness, Butchered

  The Beast’s Quickening

  Fangs of the Beast

  Nirvana and the Demon

  Epilogue

  Character Guide

  One

  The Dark Ritual of Female Flesh

  1

  Wind howled through the darkness.

  There was something ominous in the way it swept up the valley slope, manifesting from the black void. The undergrowth of the copse rustled in its wake, creating a constant whisper.

  Fuminari Senkichi scowled at the stench of damp grass. The flora of the valley had absorbed the day’s heat, and now it was being released into the night, tinged with the essence of the plants. The stench was raw, not unlike blood. Fuminari knew it well; he felt no particular aversion to it.

  Mmm...

  In the dark, Fuminari’s expression shifted into something of a wry smile. The corners of his mouth traced upward in a subtle curve--extremely rare for him. He had been known to grin subconsciously in the middle of a fight, even when there was no apparent reason. There was just something in him, a brutishness, that thrived on tension.

  Now sitting motionless, he glanced beyond the canopy of trees toward the pale-white, star-pricked sky like a predator concealed in the undergrowth. The bluish ellipse of a twisted half-moon hung dimly above. He sat on a hill cast in darkness, the thickly forested valley beyond resembling a huge, dark cave.

  He was almost naked, only an open shirt covered his bare skin. The woman in his arms, Kumiko Nakano, was in a similar state of undress. She was like a child in Fuminari’s embrace, curled up between his crossed legs as they sat in the grass. Of course, far from being a child, she was a fully developed woman, but she appeared tiny next to the extraordinary bulk of the man holding her.

  They were in Nishitanzawa. It was a summer night, but the air at a thousand meters was cold, too cold to be cavorting about without any clothes. Despite this, the woman’s skin was moistened by a thin layer of sweat. Fuminari took her taut, heavy breasts in his hands and scooped them upward. He massaged her nipples and kissed her. Their tongues met, mixing saliva. Satisfied, Fuminari took her hardened nipples into his mouth, each was the size of an infant’s finger; he sucked at them, playing his tongue over them as they became even harder, redder.

  “I wonder if they’ll show,” Kumiko spoke in a voice so light it was almost inaudible. Fuminari pulled his mouth away, continuing to tweak her nipples with his fingers.

  “They’ll be here,” he moved closer and talked into her ear, nibbling her earlobe as he continued to tease his fingertips over her hard, moistened nipples.

  “They’ll know it’s a trap...”

  “And they’ll know this is gonna be their last chance,” as he whispered his response, Fuminari moved his lips down, tracing a line from her ear to the nape of her neck--her fine hairs stood on end. “You fucked Muto, huh?”

  “You knew?”

  “I could see it in his eyes.”

  “It was before I met you, just once.”

  “He’s in love.”

  Kumiko was silent.

  “He’ll be the first to attack.” Fuminari moved his mouth back to Kumiko’s ear. He spoke softly, “definitely Muto,” at the same time reaching down and sliding his hand up the inside of her thighs. She moaned softly; her voice was sweet, already giving into pleasure. Her body felt hot and flush, ripe; she began to sway. Fuminari’s hands teased, tracing lines around the top of her thighs. He swept them around her back, bringing them down her waist to her buttocks. His fingernails scratched gently along the familiar lines of her body. Thick, rugged fingers danced subtle steps across her skin.

  “Stop...stop... You’ll make me horny.” Kumiko tightened her grip around Fuminari’s neck and arched her back, trying to pull away. Fuminari grabbed her firmly, dragging her back toward him. He slid his fingers along the line of her buttocks and pushed one into her. It felt like puncturing a boiled tomato. His finger moved through hot, sticky fluid as it traced out her swollen clitoris. Kumiko swung her hips into him, rubbing herself against Fuminari’s finger.

  “Mmmm.” Her breathing had become rough and heavy.

  “That’s more like it.” Fuminari lowered her to the grass and crouched, keeping an arm under her, thinking it would be a shame for her light skin to get scratched up. She wrapped her legs around his thighs, locking the two of them together. She reached out and grabbed his erection, guiding it toward the hot, splayed out center of her legs. She brushed the tip over her moist opening, relishing the sensation. He was hot and swollen; his dick felt coiled, ready to break free if she loosened her grip even slightly.

  What a great accomplice, Fuminari thought, if the situation were different I’d take my time, build her up...then fuck her until her eyes rolled back.

  He turned her over, face up, spread her pale legs wide, then stuck his cock deep inside her. Kumiko’s hips swung upward as she wrapped her calves eagerly around him. As they sank into the undergrowth together, the sound of the river flowing through the base of the dark valley was replaced by the noisy rustling of leaves.

  Fuminari began to thrust. He had been taken by a strangely violent mood--he wanted to fuck Kumiko hard, to spoil her pure skin with the green sap of the grass. So he took her without restraint, forcing her legs wide, pivoting and twisting her as though he harbored a resentment of the female body. Still inside her, he brought a finger down to her anus; she almost choked. He stuck the finger in to the first knuckle. Kumiko was fast loosing the ability to speak coherently.

  Fuminari’s thrusting picked up speed; Kumiko ground her pinned-down hips into him out of sheer delirium, her juices cascading as he penetrated her. She grabbed at her breasts, writhing under him with an intensity like she were trying to break free--her head jerked back and forth, her stunning features distorted. The pinkness of her tongue danced
with a life of its own in her open mouth as though seeking the source of pleasure in the air. She let out a honeyed moan that was like a physical representation of her joy. At that moment, Fuminari leaned forward and whispered into her ear, “They’re coming. Up there.”

  A shadow moved upslope to Fuminari’s left, surprisingly close. It roared. A thin iron pipe smashed into the ground next to them. Fuminari leaped into the air, away from Kumiko’s side, somersaulting once before rolling into nearby cover. The shadow followed, a series of attacks rained down in succession. Fuminari pitched and rolled, deftly avoiding them. The shadow drew back. It was crouched low and ready, just a few meters away in the darkness--only the sound of heavy breathing permeated the space between them. The attacks had spanned just a few seconds, but the intensity must have drained huge reserves of strength.

  Fuminari drew himself to his feet. He was unbelievably huge, almost impossibly so considering the acrobatics of a moment ago, towering at almost two meters. He was rugged like rock, but his frame was superbly balanced. His features were set deep above a thick neck, charming if he smiled, but at the same time, they hinted at something powerful, demonic. For now, he kept his expression neutral. Even just standing there his massive frame exuded an almost physical force into the air.

  “Muto, right?” Fuminari called out to the shadow. His breathing was perfectly measured.

  “Fell right for it.” Kumiko was up; a grin played across her red lips as she spoke. She was holding a collapsible shovel.

  “Kawaguchi, get out here,” Fuminari shouted into the darkness behind him, his gaze fixed on Muto.

  There was a rustling behind them. Kumiko sprang to Fuminari’s side with panther-like agility, but nothing attacked. The rustling circled around the darkness to their side and a second shadow appeared next to Muto.

  “Traitorous bastard!” the shadow spat the words in anger. The venom was almost palpable as it cut through the night; a weaker opponent might have been forced to look away.

  “Kawaguchi, as suspected,” Fuminari said in flat monotone. He stood with his legs slightly apart, empty hands hanging casually at his sides. He made no attempt to hide himself--his erection was still firm. At first glance, he appeared to be defenseless, yet he still managed to be intimidating. He was completely naked apart from his hiking boots and open shirt. There was something otherworldly about him; his massive body emanated latent energy like a densely coiled steel spring, ready to jump over his own height regardless of the pose. He took a generous step forward. The shadows stumbled backward, overawed.

  “Where’s our money?” Muto shouted; his voice was tense.

  Fuminari said nothing.

  “It’s ours!” Kawaguchi groaned.

  “Hah!” Fuminari shook his head softly, mockingly, “I’d imagine Towa Bank is saying the same thing, after all, we stole it from them.”

  “Shut the fuck up!”

  “The money’s a war chest for the Kokushigun!”

  “I have no interest in your games of revolution.”

  “You lied to us.”

  “Look, it’s a measly 100 million yen. You’re not going to start a revolution with that, but it’s enough to keep me in the high life for a while,” Fuminari flooded his voice with scorn. He was trying to provoke them.

  “Kumiko, did you betray Iwakura too?” Muto yelled. Iwakura was the head of the Kokushigun.

  “I like strong guys, Muto. Guys like Fuminari,” she answered coolly. She made no effort to conceal herself in the darkness; apart from an open shirt, she was completely naked.

  “If he hadn’t been caught, Iwakura would never have let you get away with this.”

  “Iwakura, right.” Fuminari’s lips curled into a grin.

  “It was you? You sold him to the cops?”

  “If I did?”

  “Fucker!” Muto yelled, readying a posture for attack.

  Fuminari crouched, picking something up from his feet. He hurled it casually into the air. “Here, your money...” A package wrapped in a plastic bag thumped to the ground next to Muto and Kawaguchi distracting them for the briefest of moments--Fuminari launched his massive frame into the air.

  “Shit!” Muto swung a steel pipe at Fuminari’s landing place. Fuminari leaned back, easily avoiding the attack. The tip of the pipe whooshed noisily through the air, millimeters away from his nose.

  Light flooded over the scene.

  Kumiko had switched on the torches they had brought with them. The battery-powered light was weak, but it was all Fuminari needed. He saw Muto in front of him wielding the steel pipe, Kawaguchi a mountain knife. They looked like men still in their 20’s. Muto’s face was wide-eyed, contorted with rage. He let out a shrill, birdlike screech; the veins across his temples were swollen, pulsing subtly. Kawaguchi was half-turned, ready to make an escape, but Kumiko had circled around behind him, lithe as a black cat. Kawaguchi rushed to face her. Fuminari and Muto, Kumiko and Kawaguchi--the two pairs squared off.

  Fuminari looked into Muto’s bloodshot eyes and narrowed his own in a smile. “I hear you fucked Kumiko,” he whispered.

  Muto’s face went red. He screamed something nonsensical and brought the steel pipe swinging down. Fuminari made his move. He slid in toward Muto’s chest, casually avoiding the blow; when their faces met, they were less than 20 centimeters apart. Fuminari’s mouth curled into a grin. It was the last image Muto would ever see of the world. Fuminari slammed the side of his hand into the base of Muto’s neck; he crumbled wordlessly to the ground. He convulsed on the floor lying face up, eyes open and staring. Fuminari took the steel pipe. Kawaguchi, still engaged with Kumiko, noticed this and made to run. Kumiko gave chase.

  “Move!” Fuminari shouted.

  Kumiko ducked as Fuminari hurled the pipe. It buzzed through the air, slamming into Kawaguchi’s back with a gruesome crunch. He collapsed forward and stopped moving.

  Kumiko checked that he was dead before confiscating the mountain knife. She walked over to the still-convulsing Muto and crouched over him with the knife in her right hand. She tossed him onto his stomach, straddled his back, then grabbed his hair in her other hand and jerked his head back. She brought the knife around to his throat and slit it open with a single clean motion. Blood fountained out in finger-thick spurts. It flowed out erratically, mirroring the beating of his heart before eventually subsiding to a slow trickle. A tepid circle of blood spread through the grass around the man’s neck. The stench was awful.

  “Impressive girl,” Fuminari commented. Just a few moments earlier she had been underneath him moaning with pleasure, then she held her own in a fight with a man before personally slitting the throat of an ex-lover.

  “You’re upset that I wasn’t killed, huh?”

  “Oh yeah,” Kumiko walked across to the smiling Fuminari and wrapped her arms around him. Something prodded her in the stomach.

  “Mmm...” Kumiko smiled a lecherous smile, taking hold of his cock. It was still fully erect, burning hot. “It appears that a certain something needs taking care of before we clean this up.” She laid down across from Muto’s lifeless body.

  As Fuminari thrust into her, his senses were assaulted by the heady stink of grass and blood. As he pumped away, it struck him just how similar the two were.

  2

  They buried the two bodies in holes dug with the collapsible shovel; by the time they set off it was the middle of the night.

  They planned on hiking to Yamanakako, avoiding any marked trails. There were always a few eccentrics out in the mountains at night come August, and heading to Nakagawa Springs meant the risk of running across more of the Kokushigun. They had reached the slopes west of Azegamaru, leaving Nishitanzawa behind them. The direct route to Yamanakako was just over 15 kilometers. They would walk for 20 at most.

  Two hours into the hike, Kumiko’s breathing became labored. She followed without complaint, but she was clearly fatigued--it was only natural hiking through the night at this pace, and they were avoiding even half-decent
paths. Not many women would be able to match Fuminari’s unchecked pace for so long, he was impressed.

  “Wait,” she finally said.

  “Tired?” Fuminari turned.

  “No. Just there, I saw a light.”

  “What?” Fuminari killed the light of his headlamp. Kumiko followed suit.

  “Over there, look.”

  Fuminari moved closer, trampling through the darkness. He brought his head level with hers, tracing her line of sight. Something flickered below to the left. A light flitted through the leaves, between the dark trunks of the beech trees. It seemed to be firelight. It would have been easy enough to miss, obscured by the shadows of the trees, it had only been visible from Kumiko’s height.

  It was closer than he had expected. They would have passed right by it if they had kept heading down. The terrain was far from suitable for someone to have set up camp. A light breeze rustled through the undergrowth carrying a faint scent up the side of the valley. Fuminari felt a chill crawl up his back.

  “Can you smell that?”

  “Yeah, like some kind of incense.” Kumiko’s voice had become a whisper.

  There was something ominous in the way the yellowish light filtered through the gaps of the darkened grove. And the scent...it seemed to coil around the flesh, kindling sexual desire. Fuminari imagined trying to sleep while inhaling it; he would spend the night feverish with lust, awaking dry and spent like a ragged cloth. If they had not just fucked, he was certain it would be driving them wild by now.

  “Listen, I can hear something.”

  Human voices, more than one--a group of people intoning some kind of chant. The voices drifted in and out of earshot, sounding intermittently on the breeze, the wind carrying the voices over a surprising distance. Fuminari and Kumiko realized that they had probably been in range of both the scent and the chanting for a while now. The chants were a blend of western melody with readings from Buddhist sutra, but they had a deviant quality. They sounded similar to prayer, but they were clearly something darker, more like a hex. If it was prayer, it sounded pretty damn unholy. Fuminari felt a curious sense of foreboding. His hair was standing on end.