Chapter 21: Mania
“ooOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!”
A dreadful shout I could only describe as a mad beast’s roar tore into my eardrums.
The moment I thought what, with a bang! comes a shockwave through the stone floor as if it was struck with a hammer. With the intensity of the reverberations, my hazy conscience came crystal clear.
With a rejuvenated vividity, what entered my field of vision was the sandy stone floor. I guess, obviously I’d be looking at nothing but earth since I’d fallen over.
So turning away from the floor, what now landed on my eyes were but the unsightly black feet of Goma— and also, somehow, a terribly familiar pair of sneakers.
White with red lines, these shoes were the same design as the ones I had on, Shiramine Academy’s 2nd year(11th grade) indoor shoes. The fierce impact assailing the floor wasn’t the head of a steel hammer but apparently, the rubber soles of these shoes.
All put together, right now was the reality that, in front of me stands some classmate of mine.
Well no, not really some classmate, there could be but one.
“Fu, taba…-san…”
I intended to say her name normally, but it came out quite cracked and the volume was off. My throat was stuck. Which can’t really be helped accounting for the nasty taste of ferrous blood spreading all over the inside of the mouth.
Once again retaining the pain all over my body, I look up to confirm the owner of those indoor shoes.
Futaba Meiko. From height, to girth, to bust, to hip, boasting a size greater than the standard in all those aspects, there be but one in the whole of class 2-7. And a girl who had become my ally, the one and only.
That her presence wasn’t some convenient illusion I’m seeing at death’s door, is evidenced by the pain in my body. Above all, that presence of hers standing dauntingly before me, felt increasingly overwhelming.
And, that’s exactly why, I can’t believe it.
That Futaba-san came back. That she jumped right into this horde. And mostly, that she was the one who released that tremendous roar.
My building a team with Futaba-san has been for quite the short time, a shallow relation; but I have an adequate grasp of her frailness, her naivete, her kindness. It’s because I know all that, that I can’t believe it.
And I could only convince myself that this is reality, that the one standing before me is Futaba Meiko herself, was by perceiving her to have undergone an ‘abnormality’.
“KoOOOOOO”
An eerie breath. As she exhaled I undoubtedly saw coming from her mouth, along with her breath, a red mist-like something.
No, looking carefully, that red mist was being exuded from all over her body like steam. Almost as if, the blood in her body was vaporizing out, cladding her in a coat of red fumes; ascribing a ferocity unseen in man.
And strangest of all, was her face.
Eyes bloodshot as if she’d pulled all-nighters 3 days straight, her pupils glowed deeper than blood, yes, they truly dazzled as if LEDs had been jammed in there, eyes of crimson.
The penetrating glow of those eyes glared at the surrounding Goma. Deep creasing above the nose, brows raised to the limit, as if leering at her bitter enemy, it was an look of true rage.
That face was simply too different from the one I’ve come to recognize on Futaba-san. Her eyes had always seemed to be anxious like that of an abandoned pup. Her worried brows made a 八 shape, starting to apologize for the littlest things, and when anything happened, she cried. Her spirit as small as her body big, that kind of, a timid girl. That is anything and everything I know of the one known as Futaba Meiko.
“WoOAAAAAAAAA!”
That crazed shout exited from her own mouth, as if crumbling her image from the very root, turning it on its end and smashing it to pieces.
The utter ferocity startles the surrounding Goma, making them tremble slightly. Adding in myself, I too shivered with a completely different feeling from the one just recently when my life was in danger.
Futaba-san. Just what in the world happened to her— how, in the middle of that thought, she moved.
She raises high a tightly clenched fist. And then swings it down on a Goma, more than a head shorter, standing before her.
“GebU—”
The Goma’s head blew off. Like a tomato, easily bursting into a mess.
With a single stroke of fist, a cranium with size and toughness atleast as much as that of a human, was pulverized. That strike is already beyond a fist. I’m doubting whether even a strongman with a steel sledgehammer can output that kind of force.
“GugeEA—!”
The ones raising a beastly cry this time, were Goma. Brandishing their weapons, all the ones in front simultaneously leapt towards Futaba-san’s large frame that was releasing a red aura.
Facing that with a glare of seething anger, and taking a wide stance, Futaba-san—
“Gaa!”
A clothesline. With her right arm, she mows down the enemy. In just that, the Goma dance in the air like leaves hoisted up by a gust of air. Not just the ones attacking, even the ones nearby biding their time to attack next were carried along as extras.[1]
The ones taking the brunt of her arm had their arms and body broken down as if they’d taken a fullswing from a major league cleanup hitter. What lay ahead as they flew from the impact was a net-like mesh of branches. The lucky ones would avoid colliding head on with the wall, small branches cushioning their arrival, but may they happen upon a branch even slightly too thick, they’d instantly become fresh skewers. A spectacle I could describe as a Mozu’s Morning Sacrifice came to be all to quickly.[2]
“Gugu… uGee…”
The Goma were now clearly wavering. There weren’t any more coming to Futaba-san.
Intelligence aside, this must be their survival instinct working. Having seen how they were shut down with immense power right upon approach, there’s no way they wouldn’t get it.
That being said, their sense of greed wouldn’t allow them to give up on the delicious prey that is humans.
As a result, the Goma froze up. That being at present, a most foolish action. So after that point… it became nothing but, a one-sided massacre.
“VuUUAaAAAAAA!”
With an ear-numbing cry, Futaba-san charges into the troop of Goma.
I suddenly remember a tragic incident that happened a while back where a car drove into a line of commuting gradeschoolers. I’m sure there too the situation was just as gruesome.
The Goma are of the similar height as me, of small build. Those small bodies waltzed into the air, one after the other. The others run over. The unlucky who had fallen down where Futaba-san was stepping, they were made a mess from her 100 kilos(220 pounds) of pure stompage. In her each step, a Goma’s head, or guts, or limbs, all were mercilessly crushed underfoot.
This underfoot splatter wasn’t something intentionally committed by Futaba-san. It was simply a matter of a Goma having fallen at a place where she would step.
So the ones she was looking at, aiming at, were still the ones in front of her, the ones holding weapons.
“Gue, Ee—”
From scattered directions, come attacks from rusted blades. In other words, lunges.
Futaba-san who looks like she’s gone insane with rage, took practically no evasive action. As her body was big, so was their target. When attacked, it would inevitably hit. There would be injuries and even bleeding.
“—GoaAAAAAAAAA!”
But, that had no effect on her. I’d heard of Indian warriors who would keep on attacking even after receiving low calibre bullets; right now, Futaba-san felt just like one of those.[3]
Not even minding the blades thrust at her, she continues swinging her one hit kill arms. The Goma are successively blasted away, bashed down, bursted under foot.
Among them are those grabbed by the foot and swung around.
The weight of a single Goma, deducing from its looks and from the damage I took when they kicked me, I’d wager they’re anywhere from 40 to 60 kilos(~ 90 – 130 pounds). At the least, Futaba-san could single-handedly swing around a thin-ish girl in junior high without breaking a sweat.
Firmly gripping a Goma’s ankle, she swings it wide. Movements much more natural than when she was raising the spear of Fairy Walnut tree.
Immediately after, she bashes it down to the floor. The sound of a wet towel smacked hard against washroom’s tiles— echoed repeatedly.
As if she’s mistaking the Goma for a sturdy club, Futaba-san swings it left and right. The splattering blood at every swing, did it belong to the weapon, or to the ones of the same species being bashed by said weapon?
Quite a few Goma had morphed into crushed gore. The surrounding branches are darkened as if coated with some 10s of litres of red paint.
“Fu, fuh!”
A rough breathing Futaba-san, her shining red eyes searched for scampering prey, but at this point, none of those were left.
There appeared to be a lucky few Goma that escaped the terror of the slaughterhouse, as I heard pitiful screams from the depths of the dim passage. That was the only proof of any living Goma, and the ones remaining at the scene, retained form only as a sea of dirty blood, and chunks of meat.
“Fu, fuU…”
Releasing dense red smoke, Futaba-san draws large breaths. But these deep breaths don’t seem to have any effect in calming her. With hoarse breaths like a hungry beast, her shoulders heave up and down.
She was maintaining that state, when, as if suddenly remembering, she turned around. Slowly, towards me.
“Fuu…u, Aah… Mo, Momoka… -ku…”
She was still spilling red breath, and remained in her stern visage, but right then, she did indeed try to call out my name.
“F-Futaba, -san…”
Half the reason my returning her call was shaky, was because of the damage from the Goma lynching. The utter depth of emotion I felt towards my saviour that is she, dispersing the Goma and coming to my aid consisted— not of the other half.
That half was unfiltered fear. Unending unease. Devastating despair. With those feelings of defeat, my cracking voice and battered body shook.
“Momo, kaWa, -kun“
She calls out to me more distinctly than just before.
Her blazing red pupils shoot straight at me. As if other things, don’t even register in her eyes. Without distraction or diversion, her gaze that falls on me and only me, was unbearably scary.
I mean come on. She really isn’t ok in the head right now.
“Mo, Momo… Ka, aAa…”
“Hii!?”
Like a spirit holding a deep grudge, yet with the rawness of a zombie, she groaned out my name; When she did that and even took a step, I shouldn’t be blamed for taking the natural course of action and frankly screaming.
A person who’s clearly lost her head. I felt like I was facing one of those monstrous killers that appear in American horror flics. And at the present situation, it’s already a fact that Futaba-san carries monstrous powers enough to crush multitudes of Goma.
At her single whim, her single demonstration of power, I too would become one with the sea of blood surrounding us.
“Mo, AaaAAA!”
“UwaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”
Like an elephant charging at full strength, Futaba-san started running towards me, stomping over the blood and meat, creating a duet of objectionable sounds.
With intention, plus instinct, plus intuition, plus every other sense and feeling I had screaming out my quickly approaching certain death, I push over the limits of my body and move it.
I succeeded in moving on the spur of the moment. Even with the jolts of sharp pain and hums of dull pain running their course, somehow, miraculously. With the momentum of having leapt up, I shake off the pain and run— when, she caught up.
“MOaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”
With that exclamation, and having been hugged, tackled from the front, my own scream is erased. Despite her soft, white skin, her beefy, log-like arms grab onto my slender body, putting me in a tight hold which could almost break me.
I’m caught. Ow. It hurts. As those sensations floated to mind, I was again pushed down onto the bloody stone floor.
Futaba-san had leapt at me with all her might. With my less than 50 kilos(110 pounds), I had no means to weaken her momentum as she crashed in. Goes without saying but, no way was I capable of lifting it either.
The shock from falling runs sharply across my back, but that some becomes a minor issue. Above me right now, lay a weight of the 100 kg class. This bulk, this pressure, I wouldn’t go wrong deeming it a new form of torture.
“Ka… Ha, ah…”
A feeling as if all the air in my lungs was instantly driven out. I forget to breathe for a moment.
But luckily, my head atleast was given the grace of avoiding Futaba-san’s enshrouding. Similar to where a parent is holding up a child, which I guess happened because we’d fallen over.
If that warm, soft, yet immensely heavy mass of sensuality I feel downwards from my neck were to reach all the way to my face, I’d surely have lost consciousness from oxygen deficiency long ago. I do not have a masochism great enough to want to literally drown in a sea of flesh.
“Fu, haAAaa… Fu, taba-san! S-top!”
Breathing with more intensity than I’ve ever did in my life, I shout out to the maximum of my potential.
Even if this Futaba-san has somehow lost sanity, reason, composure, soundness of thought, and all the other important stuff, if I can just remind her that I’m a friendly then surely—
“BuaAAAAAAAA!”
As if she was making fun of my convenient plans, no, as if she was using every fibre of her being to absolutely deny them, Futaba-san only answers me in the same manner as a beast.
I was bit. She bit down on me. Sharp pain runs along my neck. And then I felt, as if the starving beast had found satisfaction in its meat, the raw warmth, the lick of her tongue.
My spine was literally in jitters. And, I don’t know how many times it’s been today, but surely this one would be the loudest, I screamed.
“GyaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”
Ah, it’s over, I’m dead. I’m totally done for. I’ll be killed. Just when I thought I was saved, just when I thought, she’d saved me.
This isn’t funny. Yes, I could be eaten by Monsters, and yes, I could also be murdered by other students based on their own self-interest, but what is up with getting killed by an ally gone mental!
It’s way too unfair, way too hateful. A resentment, like dense black smoke, it rises from the very depths of my being; and I voice it.
“A-AaAAAAA… Pl-aA-Plu…. Pl-unge into permanent—”
I wonder what meaning is there in using that.
“Swelter, and…”
I’m probably not resentful of Futaba-san at all.
“Curse—”
Even without meaning, even without hate, still, I had to say it.
“The bodyyyy!”
My last ounce of resistance. My foremost Curse.
“Red, FeveEEEEEEEERRRR!”
A scream that could tear apart my vocal cords, in the end, simply echoes into the empty, blood-soaked passage.
Inducing a light fever. No way would this very symbol of the lameness of the Vocation known as Shaman be able to stop a Futaba-san holding enough power to subjugate hordes of Goma.
That being said, the other Curses would be just as useless in this unsurmountable crisis. ‘Blackhair Bind’ wouldn’t be able to restrain her, and my most reliable counter, ‘Pain Return’, for this current Mad Futaba-san who seems to be ignoring all sense of pain, would prove equally useless. Presently, there lay a mark on her white neck, the same spot as where she bit me, but she doesn’t seem to be minding that at all.
So now, the only thing I can do is use my fleeting strength to pitifully groan and struggle in her arms.
But if I think about it, rather than being tortured to death by Goma, dying in the embrace of a girl could be quite the bless—
“…Ah”
And, as I was engaging in witless musings in a state of fading conscience, I suddenly realized.
“Ah, huh… Futaba, -san?”
Stopped. She stopped moving.
“Huh, eh, no way… No, seriously…”
Faint breathing reaches my ears. And, the pressure on my body is still the same— but, that power akin to a rampaging, mad bull is all but gone, and she simply lay limp. Her body hugging mine feels somewhat warm.
“S-she’s, stopped…”
As I nervously peek at Futaba-san’s face, it didn’t have that expression of anger from the four corners of hell anymore. Her glowing eyes, her eyelids are sealed shut. The crease above her nose gone without a trace, her brows displayed calm. A face sleeping in serenity.
Why, how come Futaba-san’s rampage abruptly came to a halt? How it came to be in the first place is also unknown. Suddenly calming back down is even further indecipherable.
But right now, that doesn’t matter a zilch. The reason, the cause, the form of karma binding her, thinking about all that, I can put off for later.
“Ha, haha… awesome… I was saved…”
Seems, the gears of my fate, will be turning a while longer.
________________________
[1] Clothesline is another wrestling move. I’m not too knowledgeable about the sport so this is the best I can do~
[2] Cleanup hitter’s a baseball thing I guess. Supposed to be the best batter.
Mozu’s Morning Sacrifice (百舌鳥の早贄) a slightly choppy translation, but anyway, the bird sticks prey into branches to eat later. Like a spider?
[3] Indians probably don’t infer to the ones who go Namaste but the ones with the feathers… well I guess Indigenous Americans would be the cool term?
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