Chương 38: Downtown Horror

Kurisu, leading the way into the kitchen, headed for the sink to rinse off the grime of their spar as the boys trailed behind him, dragging the cool April air inside before the sliding glass door rumbled shut. With a towel in hand, he eyed the living room television, the broadcast shifting from a commercial break to an airborne shot of downtown Denver.

On the screen, the intersection was gone, the brickwork replaced by a fissure spanning all four lanes, cracked granite pavers crumbling from its edges down into the dark.

"We have breaking news," the anchor announced.

"A large sinkhole has opened up in the center of downtown Denver, right on the 16th Street Mall near Champa. We have been assured that the National Guard has been dispatched and is already responding to secure the perimeter." Through the walls of the garage, a muffled string of curses drifted into the living room.

"Guess that car he bought Mom's a lemon," Ace muttered. The garage door swung open as Steven stomped into the house with a greasy rag twisted in his hands, stopping short to catch the boys staring at him.

"What?" he asked, and when they turned back to the television without a word, he grumbled under his breath, stepping up beside them.

"You think it's more portals?" Kellevra asked, drying his face with the hem of his shirt. Kurisu frowned at the screen before looking over his shoulder.

"Are these sinkholes overly common in this realm?"

"No, dude. That's a Florida thing," Ace said, perching on the armrest of the couch.

"And even those rarely get big enough to swallow our whole house like that."

"Sinkholes don't just open up in downtown Denver," Steven explained, wiping his fingers.

"There aren't any old mines under 16th Street. Just utility lines and a ton of rock."

"Could be a 'world is ending' thing," Kenji muttered, crossing his arms.

"Take your pick."

"We finally have audio from our chopper over the scene," the anchor continued. Over the wail of sirens, the on-scene reporter's voice broke through the static as the feed zoomed in on the ruined street. Down on the asphalt, police cruisers and a military Humvee had established a hasty blockade on the edge of the collapse.

"First responders have arrived, but reports are coming in that... oh god. Something is moving." The groan of yielding concrete came through the television speakers, overpowering the reporter's voice, and clawing its way into the living room. From the depths of the pit, a black, barbed spear erupted, shooting over the streetlamps before folding downward to drive a dual-pronged claw into the pavement, nearby vehicles bouncing as the curb was shattered into dust.

Behind the first, three more legs emerged with disjointed jerks, hauling the armored cephalothorax over the lip of the asphalt to drag the rest of the nightmare into the sunlight. Eyes locked on the screen, Kurisu swallowed, a cold nausea settling into the pit of his stomach. He knew exactly what this was. An atrocity ripped straight from the fireside stories of his childhood.

Behind the front segment, a pulsating abdomen the size of a merchant's wagon expanded and contracted, its interlocking plates of chitin grinding together. The creature, its shell slick with an oily sheen, hauled its bulk out of the ruined intersection, suspended on eight limbs, coarse bristles scraping against the concrete. Its unnatural, multi-directional joints twitched in ways that made Kurisu's stomach heave.

Atop the creature, a cluster of wet, red eyes remained unblinking, their flat surfaces reflecting the sunlight as they tracked the responders below. He was looking at a Tsuchigumo.

"Oh, sweet Jesus, look at the size of it!" the reporter screamed.

"It's a spider! It's a giant spider!" On the ground, a Browning M2 mounted on the back of a Humvee roared to life, the gunner unleashing a stream of. 50 caliber rounds directly into the monster's face, the bullets bouncing off the glossy carapace to ricochet like gravel thrown against an iron bell. Faster than the camera could track the motion, the front legs smashed a police interceptor parked fifty feet from the Humvee.

The vehicle's frame snapped, metal screaming and glass shattering outward as the car was compressed into scrap no thicker than a manhole cover.

"No, no, no! Pull back!" the reporter shrieked. Ignoring the tracers walking up the side of its body, the monster reared back. Around a mouth wide enough to swallow a man to the waist, its chelicerae, serrated vertical fangs, twitched independently. The beast heaved forward with a wet, guttural retch, shooting a stream of caustic sludge from its throat to coat the Humvee and the three soldiers in a wave of mucus. For a fraction of a second, screaming tore through the speakers before devolving into a choking gurgle.

The slime blistered skin, sloughing it away in steaming strips and melting straight through to the bone. The gunner, clawing frantically at his eyes, slid his fingers effortlessly through his own dissolving face, pulling his jaw loose in a wet slide of meat to collapse through the top of the ruined cab. From the hallway, Charlotte clamped a hand over her mouth.

"Oh my god," she said, rounding the corner to sink onto the sofa. A finger pointing at the television, Kenji glanced at the smoking remains of the Humvee.

"We have to go."

"The fuck you are," Charlotte snapped, standing back up.

"Did you see that? It liquefied them! You four are children with fancy martial arts, not superheroes!"

"If we don't go, who's gonna take that thing out?" Kenji demanded. Stepping away from the kitchen island, Steven moved to block the front door.

"The military. They'll drop a bomb on it. Nobody is leaving this house." Kenji gestured to the screen.

"And what are they supposed to do? Send an F-22 from Buckley to launch a missile at it?"

"F-16s, but yeah, actually, they would," Steven countered.

"Will they really?" Kenji challenged as he narrowed his eyes.

"This isn't some foreign combat zone. That's downtown Denver. How long are they going to hesitate before dropping a bomb on the Wells Fargo Center?"

"And how many people are going to die while they decide?" Ace asked, a shake to his voice.

"What if the bomb doesn't work? The bullets are already bouncing off the shell." If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

"Plus it's a bug," Kellevra pointed out, planting his feet.

"I bet it can't heal itself like that rock monster could, and Kurisu blasted that thing into a million pieces."

"Exactly. If Kurisu can blow up a regenerating rock monster, he can blow that thing up in a single shot," Ace added, looking at his father.

"And how's he supposed to one-shot it when he's rooted to the spot?" Steven asked, looking over the boys' heads. Kurisu, his back pressed against the wall, mouth opening and closing wordlessly around air that refused to enter his lungs, felt the weight of their stares. He shivered as Charlotte hurried across the room to step into his peripheral vision, her hands rubbing his shoulders trying to console him.

"Kill spider… easy," he shook, meeting her eyes. Kenji, ignoring the question, pointed at the TV.

"Weren't you a Marine? How many guardsmen have to die before that jet shows up? Don't you feel for them?"

"I'm a retired Marine," Steven corrected.

"And yes, of course I feel for them." Without a word, Kellevra rushed in to clutch Steven around the waist in a hug, causing the man to stagger back a half-step before placing a hand on Kellevra's shoulder.

"Look, I get it, Dad. You want to keep us safe," he mumbled into his father's chest. Then, lifting Steven without effort, Kellevra stepped toward the kitchen and set his father down clear of the door.

"But you can't physically stop us. We're going to help. You can make sure we get there, or we're going to run there ourselves. And you know what Uncle Ben says. With great power comes..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Steven interrupted, holding up a hand to stall the barrage. He gestured toward the wall.

"But look at him. He can't even stand up, let alone fight." Still pressed against the drywall, Kurisu shook, his shoulders curling inward as he dragged his gaze from the television. He breathed in through his nose, and out through his mouth in an attempt to control himself, flinching—a shadow lunging, fangs glistening in the moonlight—as he fought the tunnel of darkness threatening to swallow his vision.

"Then we'll carry him," Ace said, stepping up beside his brother.

"He just needs a second. Once we get him out there, his training will take over. He's not just going to stand there and let us die. But we're leaving either way."

"Kurisu?" Steven asked, stepping closer. Kurisu, jolting as if struck, opened his eyes wider. He stared past Steven.

"I can't do it!" he gasped.

"I can't!" Kenji froze.

"Wait. Did you just say 'I'?"

"And 'can't,'" Ace muttered, shaking his head.

"He's broken."

"Kurisu, snap out of it," Kellevra said, his voice calm.

"We need you."

"It is wrong," Kurisu whispered. He pointed a shaking finger toward the TV without looking at it.

"The legs. The way they move. Ware hates it. Ware cannot be near it. Ware cannot look at it." Stepping into his line of sight, Kenji caught his gaze.

"Hey. You ok? Can you do this or do you need to sit this one out? We kind of need you, but if you say you can't do it, then we'll stay." Body still shaking. Kurisu thought. Thought of the soldiers, of the innocent people that thing would kill. The level of destruction it might take to eliminate it. If Earth's weapons even could eliminate it. His eyes gaining focus, Kurisu looked from Kenji to the television and back again.

"It must be stopped, you may not have the strength yet, but Ware does."

"Then let's make a deal. We keep it off you. We handle the legs and keep the fangs away, and you just blow the main body to hell. Okay?" With a shuddering breath, Kurisu dug his fingers into his arms, and finally nodded.

"Burn it. Burn all of it." Kenji smiled, extending a hand to pull Kurisu away from the wall before guiding him past Steven and into the entryway, Ace and Kellevra following.

"Steven, no," Charlotte whispered. Steven pulled the truck keys from his pocket, turning to regard his wife.

"Look, they might be right. If I try to get in their way, they're just going to leave. At least this way I can make sure Kurisu is with them." Glancing toward the entryway, he sighed.

"Not that I know he's really going to be much use right now, but I guess it's better than nothing. I'd rather be there to watch it with my own eyes than let them leave and watch it on the news. You stay here." Through his breathing exercises, Kurisu watched Charlotte swing her hand in a wide arc, aiming an open-handed slap at Steven's face. Ace intercepted the blow. The twelve-year-old, clasping his mother's palm, pulled her forward, his arm wrapped around her in a hug.

"Mom, look, I get it," he whispered into her shoulder.

"But we have to do this. It'll be alright." She pulled back just enough to look over his shoulder at Steven, her fists gripping Ace's shirt as her eyes went glassy.

"You bring my babies back," she choked out. With a nod, Steven turned back to the entryway and pulled the front door open.

"Alright. Load up. And Kurisu? Try not to faint in the passenger seat." Behind the others, Kurisu stumbled out the front door. Bare feet planted in the damp sand of the training pavilion, seven-year-old Kurisu shifted his weight, his palms throbbing from the vibrations of repeated clashes. As a wooden blade whistled toward his temple, he locked his stance to block, absorbing the crashing momentum of Takeshi's strike until it drove his own bokuto back into his shoulder and collapsed his posture.

"You're fast, but speed alone falls short of excellence, my son!" Takeshi boomed, the sound echoing off the cedar pillars. Resting his bokuto against his shoulder, the tall man flashed a grin.

"Does your speed somehow make you think you can brace for an incoming blow with brute strength? A foot soldier can rely on force to stop a river because there are many of them. There is only one of you, and a single man can't dream of stopping such a surge. A samurai must guide the current into the earth. When you block my strikes, do not block them, redirect them."" Hai, Chichi-ue," Kurisu breathed, adjusting his grip on the wood.

"My focus wavered."

"Indeed it did," Takeshi laughed, stepping in a circle along the edge of the pavilion.

"What occupies your mind?" On the balls of his feet, Kurisu turned, his bokuto poised in Seigan no kamae.

"During my study of the histories with haha-ue, I read of the Tsuchigumo in the eastern provinces." Tapping the wooden blade against his collarbone, Takeshi scoffed.

"Traitors. During the Emperor's conquest, resistance was scarce, but certain clans refused to kneel. Under the dirt, these political enemies would dig hidden tunnels to wage a coward's war from the shadows. The imperial court branded them Tsuchigumo. Earth spiders. Now, the title belongs to any vermin challenging our rule from the dark." Through his Tanden, Kurisu channeled Ki, pushing the vibration of his Fūki into the air around his blade.

"Oh. I thought the texts spoke of actual beasts."

"Ah." Takeshi, taking a wider stance, tapped his chest to invite the next strike.

"Did you mean the Yokai, then?" With his center of gravity lowered, Kurisu locked his eyes on his father's chest.

"The scrolls did mention spiders the size of large boars."

"Oh yes, they exist," Takeshi confirmed.

"Giant arachnids armed with venom still hunt in the eastern forests, growing far larger than a boar as they age. The court merely borrowed the monster's name for the rebels. Affixing a Yokai's title to a man strips his humanity, making him easier to execute." In a heartbeat, Kurisu closed the distance, refining his Fūki until the wind shrieked, lightning crackling along the wood as the point snapped toward his father's Suigetsu.

Deflected by a nudge from Takeshi's blade, Kurisu let his momentum carry him past his father's hip, driving a second thrust forward after a tight pivot. Turning his palm, Takeshi forced the incoming point to slide down the length of his weapon until it bit into the sand, the heat of the lightning vitrifying the grit into glass. Stepping inside Kurisu's guard, Takeshi trapped the grounded weapon with the flat of his own, leaning his weight forward. Balance broken, Kurisu collapsed backward onto the sand.

Under the morning light, Takeshi held his sword up, the grain catching the sun as he let out a booming laugh.

"Focus your mind on the blade in front of you, Kurisu! Keep the histories inside the archives, and let your body fight out here in the sand!"