Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In the beginning, there was Fear.

Formless. Aimless. Hungry.

It did not know why It existed. To tell the truth, It was not even aware of Its existence within the larger context of this world and beyond. All It knew was hunger – that the terror of creatures from our world were the only thing that could satiate It.

At first, this Fear was simple.

Darkness. Predators. Death.

But as time went on, and the creatures of this world grew more complex, so to did the Fear.

Destruction. Violence. Loneliness. Manipulation.

The Fears continued to gorge Themselves on the terror of this world. And though They could not directly touch our world, They could push at the boundaries. Objects imbued with Their terrible power. Living vessels – Avatars – to spread Their Fear to others.

In the beginning, there was Fear. It has been for as long as living things could experience terror.

But all things that begin must also end.

…

On a surprisingly sunny day in February, on a hill, in a cemetery, overlooking a city, there stood a man. He was an older gentlemen, leaning casually on a fine wood cane. The cold winter wind pushed at his coat, his black and orange hair jostled beneath his hat.

The man looked out at the sprawling city below. The city he built to keep those terrible Entities beyond this world balanced, controlled. Until such as a time as this.

With a heavy sigh, Natsume Soseki sat down on top of a gravestone, settling in to watch the inevitable unfold.

Chapter Text

Statement of Fukuzawa Yukichi, regarding The Great War. Original statement given 1 May 2009 and recorded by Edogawa Ranpo, Head Detective of the ADA, Yokohama. Statement begins.

My decline into violence was not direct, nor was it sudden. Instead, my story begins almost two decades ago, in a dojo with a friend.

Even as a young man, my regard for discipline was absolute. I trained daily so that I might master the katana. My goal in this was not for pride or boredom or narcissistic satisfaction, but rather for equality.

I had grown up in a life of privilege, never wanting for anything. But I quickly realised the exact nature of my position over others. While my family’s house was large and filled with servants, the family who owned the town’s bookstore lived in poverty. Children my own age were forced to work dangerous jobs only to afford their next meal, forgoing an education which might help raise them out of hardship. Basic medicine that was readily available to me at the first sign of illness was nearly impossible for the average man to buy.

So, I searched for ways in which I could promote equality for all people. The answer I found was in the art of the blade. As a master swordsman, I could have the ability to protect those who could not protect themselves. I could ensure that all people were safe to live their lives however they saw fit.

Empowered by my vision of an equal world, I studied the sword.

It was at the age of 15 that we first met. His name was Fukuchi Ochi, but I have always called him Gen’ichiro. He was, like me, a young man of considerable strength and ability. Though he was often less strict with himself, more than willing to steal if it meant putting a smile on someone else’s face. But he too strived for a peaceful world, and was ready to coat his sword in blood for it.

Together we trained, and together we grew stronger until no one in Japan could rival our skills.

Perhaps it was then, as a young man fighting alongside Gen’ichiro, that I first started to feel it: a small but ever-present desire at the back of mind to take justice into my own hands. You see, my idealistic goals for a future Japan where all people are equal slowly disappeared as I grew older and saw reality for what it truly was. No matter my own prowess, there would always be criminals willing to destroy others for their own profit.

And Gen’ichiro was certainly eager to act, often jumping straight into action when witnessing a crime in the streets. A man steals a woman’s bag, and Gen’ichiro renders the criminal unconscious in a matter of seconds, the bag returned. A father hits his child too hard, and Gen’ichiro was there separating the abuser by force.

I am sure this sounds like a good thing. He was carrying out his beliefs, acting on his word to create a peaceful society. But there was always something in his eyes, something darker lurking beneath the good intentions. It was like a switch. The moment a criminal act was carried out, Gen’ichiro became completely focused on hunting down the perpetrator and finding justice. And it would not be until after the criminal was caught that the darkness cleared from his eyes.

When we were 20, our skills were recognised at a national level. There exists, within the government, a group known as the Goken. It consists of the five greatest swordsmen in the nation who, at the behest of our nation’s leaders, execute those tasks which require their particular skills. Violence for the sake of harmony.

Perhaps you have already noted what this appointment coincides with: the beginning of The Great War. My friend, with his eagerness for action and striving for a peaceful world, quickly volunteered to be sent to the front lines. He was made a General and given an entire army to lead. I knew he would be exceptionally effective in this role.

But, when he offered me the chance to follow him, to become a General by his side, I declined. I told him it was because I was not suited for giving orders nor for taking them, but that was a lie. Rather, I did not want to follow him because I could see that same dark desire in his eyes, and it terrified me. At the mention of the War, Gen’ichiro’s pupils would dilate in excitement. The way he spoke of battle, it was as if he were speaking about a beautiful woman – total infatuation. I could not follow him this time, afraid of how the War might change me.

And yet, I still fell victim to the thrill of the Hunt.

I served my country during The Great War by becoming an assassin. I thought I was pursuing my childhood goals in their highest form. Protecting my country by hunting down and killing those who might see it collapse. Bloodying my own hands so that children could live without fear. I believed that my sword was meant to bring peace to the nation.

My descent into violence was slow and steady, spurred on by Gen’ichiro’s influence and justified by my good intentions. Though perhaps that is not entirely true. I remember with perfect clarity the first time I watched the life drain from another man’s eyes after a long and exhilarating chase. Had I been able to see myself from the outside, there is no doubt my smile would have been carnal, and my eyes would have been dark as the pits of hell.

By the end of the War, my katana was dripping in the blood of my victims.

The job which finally cleared the red haze from my mind came at the tail end of the fighting. Peace talks were in their closing stages, the end was in sight. Yet, pro-war bureaucrats were continually halting the Treaty’s progress. And for as long as the Treaty remained unsigned, young men were shipped abroad to die alone, away from their families. It was my job to protect the peace, and so these politicians needed to be silenced.

If I had been thinking clearly, perhaps the situation could have been resolved through words, without bloodshed.

Instead, I took tremendous joy in tracking them all down, one by one. For each victim, I spent an entire day stalking from a distance, watching them leave their homes, go to work, talk with their friends and family. And then, in the dead of night, while they slept soundly in the comfort of their shelters, I slit their throats. Each of them died slowly, eyes widening in terror, unable to make a sound as their blood pooled beneath them, staining the white of their sheets bright red.

It was only as the final politician died, silent pleas for help falling from his lips, that I had a moment a clarity. This was not murder for the sake of my country, this was murder for the sake of the kill.

That night, I shattered my katana blade and threw the hilt into the river.

Of course, that is not the end of my story. No longer filled with the overwhelming urge to hunt, and with the country experiencing peace once again, I was lost. Without a goal or purpose, I drifted aimlessly, alone. I became a bodyguard in the hopes that the act of protecting others might reignite some of my previous passion. Still, it was not enough; I had not realised how blind I had become to my reliance on the Hunt until it was gone. I was just running through the motions, aware enough of my emptiness but too frightened to return to killing.

Until I met Master Natsume Soseki, that is. He was the one who explained to me the true nature of my violent tendencies, opening up my eyes to the reality that our world is influenced by entities of a higher form which seek to torment us and feed off of our fear.

When I asked him why he had chosen to enlighten me, he said “I have great plans in the making – you are a part of them.” I did not think to question him further, content to have found a purpose once more.

It was by Master Natsume’s side that I met Dr Mori Ougai. He was a physician during the War and had returned to Yokohama to provide medicine for the criminal underworld.

I took an instant disliking to the man. Where I sought peace and equality for all, he sought power and influence only for himself. Where I protected innocents, he saved criminals. Mori was always scheming, his true intentions hidden until after his machinations had reached fruition.

And while my past self would have slaughtered the doctor where he stood, I no longer had that wretched blood-soaked katana. And, unfortunately for both of us, Mori had a large role to play in Master Natsume’s plan.

Today, with the founding of the Armed Detective Agency, the second part of the Tripartite System has come to pass. I do not know all of the specific details of Master Natsume’s plan, only that he seeks perfect balance between all of the Fears which haunt our world. To keep them contained. The last part of the system relies on that dreadful doctor. I have no doubt he will be able to gain total control of this city’s underworld, though his plans are always slow to pass. Mori prefers his victims to be unaware that they are trapped, only realising their mistakes as they die.

As for my childhood friend, I cannot say for certain what happened to him during the War, but I can see the consequences whenever he seeks me out, begging for me to join him and his crew of Hunting Dogs. With blood under his finger nails and a wicked grin on his face, he is still finding purpose in the thrill of the chase.

Statement ends.

Sitting in the small room at the back of the Detective Agency, Ranpo Edogawa sits back with a frustrated hum. His shoulders curl in slightly as a shiver racks his frame, the building’s poor insulation managing only to keep the cold February air trapped inside. Ranpo pays it no mind, though, as his thoughts run through all of the known information.

He has had, for the last week or so, something he can really only categorize as a “bad feeling”. Even now, Ranpo shudders at the phrasing. What kind of a Master Detective only goes off of feelings to solve a case? It’s ridiculous! Which is why he’s trying to find evidence.

Actually, that’s not true. The “bad feelings” did start with something specific – Ranpo saw a spider’s web in the corner of his office. Usually, the spiders know to stay away, not even following Dazai over the threshold of the Detective Agency. Yet one was bold enough to spin a web above his office desk.

Since then, Ranpo has been trying to See, to Understand. To unravel the threads of whatever scheme they have unknowingly walked into before the trap is sprung and they’re all eaten alive.

But the Watcher is being completely unhelpful, only pointing him towards old statements without any context! Whatever this case is, it’s… complex. It’s annoying.

God, Ranpo needs a snack. Preferably something dripping in chocolate. And warm. Soft, with parts that crunch, like –

“Ranpo, what are you doing?” A deep voice interrupts his thoughts. Ranpo whips his head around, green eyes widening in surprise.

Standing in the doorway is Fukuzawa himself. His hands are folded in front of his chest in the sleeves of his green yukata. His expression, to anyone else, would seem neutral, though Ranpo could easily see the uptick of his eyebrow that betrayed his amusement.

“Geez, Boss. Ever heard of knocking?” The detective turns in his chair, folding his left leg underneath his right and twisting his back. He rests his chin on his arm and leans casually against the back of the seat.

Fukuzawa smiles, stepping into the room. “I did knock, you just didn’t hear me.”

Ranpo shrugs, eyes tracking the older man as he approaches. He didn’t get any sleep last night. Nightmares from the Everchase, a voice whispers in his mind. Ranpo blinks, removing his glasses and suppressing the overwhelming desire to ask the Boss about his dreams. “You know how I get when I read a statement,” he replies.

“Oh? I didn’t think we had any clients at the moment.” Fukuzawa places a hand on the edge of the desk, leaning slightly over Ranpo’s shoulder. He can see the exact moment the older man realises that the statement is his. “Why are you reading this?”

Ranpo frowns. He knew the question was coming, yet he still doesn’t have a good answer. “The Spiders are planning something,” he starts, tilting his head. “I don’t know what, not yet. I’ve really only just started to unravel the threads. But I can’t solve a case without any evidence, even with help from Beholding.”

Fukuzawa hums, standing up straighter and refolding his arms. “That still does not explain why you’re reading my old statement from nearly fifteen years ago.”

“I just had a feeling there would be answers in here.”

“And?”

Ranpo untangles his limbs, sitting back against the chair with a heavy exhale. He pushes his glasses back on, the familiar metal fitting comfortably into place. He blinks, narrowing his eyes and scanning over the statement once more.

There is something in here. He can feel like an itch in a spot he can’t reach. But without context, it’s impossible to tell what’s important and what’s unnecessary to solving the case. Dollars to donuts Mori is involved somehow. Mmm, donuts.

“I’m not sure.” With a sigh, Ranpo sits back. He closes his eyes, dropping his head to rest against the chair’s back. “Ugh, I don’t know what’s wrong!”

“It’ll be alright, Ranpo. I’m sure you’ll figure it out soon enough.”

“What’s the point of being a vessel for the eldritch horror god of watching and knowing if I can’t always have all of the answers all of the time?” Ranpo whines, pitch rising in petulance.

Above him, Fukuzawa chuckles. “How about we go down to the café for a snack? You always think clearer on a full stomach, yes?”

Perking up at the promise of food, Ranpo jumps to his feet with a wide grin stretching at his lips. He pulls his glasses off of his face, throwing them on to the desk. “As long as you’re paying!” he exclaims, marching towards the exit.

Fukuzawa follows behind, a gentle smile making him look younger than his age. He takes one last glance at the room before turning off the light and closing the door with an audible click.

“You mentioned the Spiders,” Fukuzawa says as he and Ranpo leave the ADA. “Anything I should be concerned about?”

“Nah,” Ranpo dismisses with a wave of his hand. “Like you said, there’s never been a case I couldn’t solve!”

Chapter Text

Statement of Yosano Akiko, regarding immortality. Original statement given 14 October 2012 and recorded by Edogawa Ranpo, Head Detective of the ADA, Yokohama. Statement begins.

I’m… not sure where to start. With the solider? With Dr Mori Ougai? With the bloody battleground fields of the undead? It’s all so much, so overwhelming. Maybe… I’ll just start at the beginning.

I have, for as long as I can remember, been surrounded by death. At first, it came to me in my dreams, filling my childhood nights with visions of gruesome ends.

Those dreams would always start the same way. I would find myself in an unfamiliar place – a street corner, a high rise apartment, a beach. I could take in my surroundings, looking but never touching, never able to move from where I stood. I remember thinking they were strikingly detailed and realistic. Then, as soon as I was comfortable in this new place, something would shift. It would grow colder, darker. I would be consumed by that feeling of absolute wrongness that you can really only feel in your dreams. And as much as I tried, I could never get myself to wake up. I was always helpless to watch their deaths unfold before me, unable to do anything other than take in their agony and fear as they took their last breaths.

The most memorable of those early dreams was an apartment fire. It was the middle of the night in the dead of winter. Snow covered the ground; a few bright stars shown overhead. It was so quiet.

A deep feeling of dread rose the hair on the back of my neck, my only warning.

The fire started on the ground floor. It began as a warm, gentle glow peeking out from between the drawn curtains. But it grew fast. The glass windows cracked and shattered as the heat intensified inside. Smoke billowed out, filling the air with soot. The fire climbed, lighting up to the higher floors. It was mesmerizing to watch, and would have been beautiful had it not been for the screams.

Unless you have been near the dying, you cannot possibly understand the sounds they make. Agony can tear your throat apart.

I stood, stuck in place and unable to move. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t yell. All I could do was watch as every single person in that building burned alive.

Waking up screaming was normal for me. So normal, in fact, my parents would often times ignore me. They tried to take me to have me committed once for my nightmares, but no amount of psychiatry or drugs could make the nightmares go away.

I was eleven when I realised they were not nightmares at all. I went to sleep that night like every night before, but when I found myself in the dream, the setting was not unfamiliar. I was standing in my living room facing the front door. I could see from where I stood my shoes haphazardly lying next to the front door, exactly as I had left them earlier that day; my mother’s green blanket was half on the floor, often too lazy to fix it late at night. Every detail of the house was precisely how it had been before we had gone to sleep.

The front door rattled, loud against the stillness of my home.

A man I could not recognize opened the door with a quiet creak, slowly craning his head through the open space and looking at the empty house before him. I already knew from years of past experience that the people in these dreams could never see me. He must have assumed the house was empty, and so he walked right in.

I’m not sure if he was looking for anything specific, and I never found out why he had chosen our house. Probably just blind, dumb misfortune, on all of our parts.

The man was not experienced, that much was obvious. He made too much noise as he crept through the dark hallways, opening drawers and riffling through our possessions. I stood next to the couch, watching as this stranger looted my mother’s kitchen. He had just found our jar full of change when I saw my parent’s bedroom door open to my right. My father stepped out, body hunched with anticipation and baseball bat held firmly in a tight grip.

I wanted to scream at him to get back, that familiar sense of doom dropping my heart into my stomach. But I was rooted in place, just like always, only able to watch.

My father jumped around the corner, baseball bat raised high above his head. The intruder spun around to meet him, startled. My father charged forward with a yell. He was cut off by a carving knife through his throat.

I have heard the gurgling chokes of someone trying to breathe around too much blood countless times before and countless times since, but whenever I try to recall those other people, the only sounds that come to mind are my father’s.

As he laid slowly dying in the ever growing pool of his blood, my mother, probably thinking it was now safe, emerged from the hallway. She cried out in horror at the sight of my father’s body. She ran from the intruder, across the living room and towards my door. I’m not sure what she was trying to accomplish; maybe she was finally acting on her long dormant motherly instincts.

She was met with a similar fate as the intruder bashed in the back of her head with a steel pan. She was dead before her body hit the ground.

The room was silent once more, except for the sputtering of my father in the kitchen. Cutting someone’s throat can provide such a slow and agonizing end.

Breathing heavy, the intruder dropped the pan on the ground with a hard thud. He blinked, staring up from my mother’s corpse and at the door she had collapsed in front of. My door. With all of the grace of newborn deer, the stranger started walking towards it.

He was going to kill me. If he opened my door and saw my still sleeping body, he was going to kill me. This thought struck me with such clarity, I felt as if I had been struck by lightning.

Have you ever tried to wake up from a nightmare and been unable to, forced to watch until the very end? For the first time that night, I started screaming. My throat burned with the intensity of my fear, and yet I was still rooted in place.

Until, suddenly, I wasn’t. I had never been able to move in these dreams before. My surprise only lasted for a second, though, before I was racing forward. The intruder had his hand on my door, ready to push it open. Ready to kill whoever was inside – ready to kill me.

I rushed towards him, hand outstretched. As soon as my fingers made contact with the man’s back, an ice cold pain rocketed up my arm. It felt as if all of the warmth in the entire world was gone in a single instant. My breath came out in visible puffs of air.

Underneath my hand, the intruder’s back went rigid. He stood frozen in place like a statue, no longer moving, no longer breathing. Then, after a minute of silence, he turned his head towards me. His eyes were completely black, reflecting no soul and no awareness. I knew, somehow, that his heart was no longer beating. And yet, I was not scared. More so, I was shocked that, for the first time ever, someone was looking at me in the dream.

Police sirens wailed outside, the living room coated in neon light. And then I woke up.

Only to be confronted by the exact same nightmare. I could still hear the police sirens outside. A heavy knocking threatened to bust down my front door. Hesitantly, I got out from underneath my sheets and stood up. I approached my own door, afraid of what was awaiting me on the other side.

The intruder was still standing there, eyes black as night, expression twisted in a mask of terror. Before I could reach out for him, though, the front door burst open, and the police entered my home.

The rest of that night went by in a haze. The police tried to ask me questions, doctors examined me, my parents were taken away in body bags, and so was the intruder.

It was several days later, while I was still trapped in a white room in the hospital, that a specialist was sent by the name of Dr Mori Ougai. At first, he claimed to be a child’s psychologist there to help me ‘unpack my trauma’ or some similar bullshit. Like the police and doctors before him, I refused to speak; what sane adult would believe my story anyway? After a few hours of not getting anywhere, he dropped the lie.

He told me the truth, at least partly. As much of the truth that a puppeteer like him can handle. He told me that I had a gift, and that he wanted to help me use it to its fullest potential. I didn’t really care - I was just relieved that he didn’t think I was crazy.

So that’s why I agreed to go with him to the frontlines of the War. As a respected doctor and his new apprentice, we were sent to Tokoyami Island, where a deadly battle was just beginning to take place.

As soon as I stepped foot on that island, I was overwhelmed by the all too familiar presence of Death. Have you ever been to the frontlines of a war? The bombs are loud, but if you close your eyes you can almost pretend they’re fireworks. The constant hail of bullets almost sounds like heavy rain. The stench of blood and mud and decaying bodies is harder to block out, but after a few days you get used to it. The worst part about the war is waiting. The dread of knowing your doom is right around the corner, inevitable and inching ever closer.

Mori’s job as a medic was obviously to heal the wounded. His priority was to save those who could be patched up enough to be sent back out to continue the fighting. The look of relief in the soldier’s eyes when we arrived that morning was almost incomprehensible to me. I was only eleven, and didn’t fully understand the trials that they had been through.

Mori did his job that day, and I helped where I could. Getting bandages, cleaning away blood, comforting the dying. The soldiers all seemed very happy to see me – I guess it was nice to have a distraction.

That night, before I went to sleep, Mori explained to me what he wanted me to do. He told me to reach out for those soldiers who would die during the night, like I had done to the intruder in my house. I told him I had no control of where I went in my dreams, so there was no guarantee I’d end up here. Mori just smiled and wished me sweet dreams.

Annoyingly, the bastard was right. When I opened my eyes, I was standing out in the middle of our temporary sick bay. All around me, wounded soldiers slept. It was peaceful.

Like a magnet, my focus was eventually pulled in the direction of the cot closest to the door. There, a man slept fitfully. He was missing an arm.

I forced myself to move from my spot. Since the death of my parents, it had started to become easier to move in these dreams. It was like walking through a river of molasses, but it wasn’t completely impossible anymore.

I stood over the soldier’s cot, taking in his pained gasping and writhing limbs. Despite the ugly expression on his face, I could tell that he was once very handsome. And then, from one moment to the next, he died.

I reached out the second after he took his last breath. I laid my hand on his forehead, the jolt of cold freezing the blood in my veins. Then, his eyes, previously lifeless and staring ahead, turned a deep colourless black. His head twitched to the side, his neck cracking with the movement. He was looking at me.

“Can you see me?” I whispered as I leaned forward.

“Yes,” he replied. His voice was rough; I supposed it must be difficult to speak if you have no breath.

And then I woke up.

I rushed out of my bed, not even bothering to put on shoes as I raced up the stairs to where I knew the soldier was waiting for me. But when I burst into the sick bay and looked to his cot, the soldier was not there.

The next day, I told Mori about my dream and about the absence of the solider. He just smiled and congratulated me on a job well done.

This pattern continued for a month. Some nights I would only touch one, others I would touch two or three. Slowly, our sick bay emptied. I did not think to ask Mori about where the soldiers were going, about the emptiness of our triage unit, because Mori continued to shower me with compliments. I had never received praise like that before, and I was still so young I couldn’t see the manipulation for what it was. And then, there were no more soldiers in our care at all.

That night, I went to bed, content.

I opened my eyes in the middle of a battle. Explosions lit up the night sky with burning red fire; bullets flew through the air, some hitting their targets but most missing; there was a symphony of shouting and wails.

I was rooted in place, mouth open in awe at the massacre unfolding all around me.

One cold hand clamped down hard on my shoulder, forcing me to spin around. I shouted in surprise, trying to hit whoever was touching me. But I stopped when I recognised who it was – the handsome solider from that first night a month ago.

He looked the exact same as he had that night, eyes dark as voids, expression twisted by agony.

“Help,” he begged, voice just as painfully rough as that first night. “You have to make it stop. It hurts. I just want to die. Why won’t you let me die? Just let me die, it hurts. It hurts. It hurts.”

A bullet tore through the soldier’s head in the middle of his pleas, knocking him to the ground. Yet his begging didn’t stop. From his place in the mud, he just kept asking me to make it stop, to just let him die. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

I screamed. And when I woke up, I didn’t stop screaming.

The aftermath of that nightmare is… unclear to me. The only thing I really remember was Mori trying to speak to me, though I could not make out the words beyond the ringing of my ears. I don’t know how long had passed, but I came to myself in a white padded room, leaned against the wall like a discarded doll.

I spent a few years in that room at least. Doctors came to visit me almost every day, but they never believed my story. I still had dreams at night, in unfamiliar places, standing by as the sole witness of the death of countless strangers. But I never moved, never touched them.

And then you came and offered me sanctuary. The constant gaze of your Eye is disconcerting to say the least, but the relief It provides as It takes in the fear of my dreams for Itself is well worth the paranoia. I’d rather be Seen than left to suffer alone.

Statement ends.

“I need to ask you a question.”

Ranpo stands leaning against the doorframe of the ADA’s small kitchen. He watches as Yosano pours herself a cup of coffee.

She huffs to herself, mixing in a cube of sugar. “You need to ask me a question. What happened to mind reading, oh Great Detective?”

“It’s better if I ask.”

“Fine,” she agrees, still amused. She straightens, turning to look at Ranpo. She jerks a thumb behind her to the still warm coffee machine. “Do you want a cup?”

Ranpo grimaces in disgust. “Gross, no thanks. We don’t have enough sugar to make it how I like.”

He turns around, leading Yosano back through the main office. He glances in as they pass by; Kunikida sits at his desk, diligently typing away at some report while Atsushi tries in vain to get the printer unstuck. Ranpo laughs at the kid’s misfortune as he pushes open the door to the private office at the back of the room, dubbed ‘The Spooky Statement Room’ by Dazai.

Yosano sits down on the room’s sole chair, taking a sip of her still steaming coffee. Ranpo jumps up to sit on the desk, careful to position himself between Yosano and her Statement still laid out. He picks up a lollipop stick, fiddling with it between his fingers.

“I apologize in advance,” he says. Green eyes flicker up from the floor momentarily to meet Yosano’s curious violet. “But I think we’re trapped, and I need all the answers I can get to save us.”

“What –“

“What did Mori say to you before you were taken away from Tokoyami Island?” Ranpo interrupts. He makes sure to pull on the influence of the Watcher, compelling Yosano to answer his question. It’s a low blow, and he’s positive Yosano won’t speak to him for at least a month after this is all over, but he needs answers.

“I don’t know,” comes her dazed reply.

Ranpo groans in frustration. “Yes you do. Maybe not consciously, but you heard his words. You just have to concentrate and tell me.”

Yosano blinks, eyebrows furrowing. She opens her mouth and coughs. Her breath stutters. “He said ‘Don’t worry, dear. You performed exactly as I wanted you to.’ He said ‘I’ll find you again someday. With you by my side, there is nothing I cannot accomplish.’”

Ranpo hums, leaning forward and readjusting his glasses. “So then why didn’t he? Is it because we found you first? Maybe the benefit of having you by his side again wasn’t worth crossing the President – after all, a Hunter as powerful as Fukuzawa, even retired as he claims to be, can easily squash a spider under their boot. Plus, attacking the ADA means toppling Natsume’s Tripartite system, and Mori is one of the three pillars. But Mori doesn’t seem like the kind of person to just let go of an ambition. Without you, he must have found some other way to accomplish his goal. Did he ever tell you what he was planning?”

“No. He wanted control. Power. Influence. He never told me the specifics.”

“Ugh, of course.” Ranpo leans back on his hand. With his other, he pulls of his glasses and throws them on the desk. He pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes closing in frustration. He sighs after a moment, lifting his head. “The Eye can be really useless –“

A harsh slap across Ranpo’s face shuts him up. Standing over him, eyes dark with fury, Yosano snarls. “What the fuck was that?”

“Ow! I’m sorry, but –“

“No,” Yosano cuts him off again. “What the hell gives you the right to compel me like that, and to answer questions about him of all people?”

“I wouldn’t have done it if it wasn’t necessary.”

Yosano lifts her hand, fingers curling into a tight fist. Anger twists her features. Instead of hitting Ranpo like he’s expecting, though, she turns on her heels and slams open the door.

Ranpo is left reeling in the silence of his office. Yosano’s fury is a terrifying thing. He picks up her Statement, skimming over the contents. One step forward and two steps back.

From the doorway, Atsushi sheepishly peaks in his head. “What’s her problem?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ranpo replies with a forced smile. He hops down from the desk, leaving the Statement behind.

Chapter Text

Statement of Kunikida Doppo, regarding a book. Original statement given 23 June 2017 and recorded by Edogawa Ranpo, Head Detective of the ADA, Yokohama. Statement begins.

My life is ruled by order. Every decision I make is based off of a life’s worth of ethical consideration. My ideals give me purpose and structure, something to easily categorise and filter this horrifically chaotic world around us.

Everything had been going according to plan. I was on track for all of my major goals, upholding my tenets and living a perfect life. But, as I’m sure you’re aware, all of that changed about ten months ago when that book first came into my possession.

I was working part time as a mathematics teacher at the public school in my neighbourhood. I was the youngest teacher in the school – in the city, actually. My students all had the highest grades in the district. I was looking for a full time position starting next year. All according to plan.

I live above a bookshop. Frequently, after leaving the school, I’ll go to the bookshop and work at one of their tables. I know all of the staff by name and am a patron often enough that they never mind my presence.

The day I found the book was nothing special. It was a Wednesday. I had entered the bookshop at 4:30, right on schedule. I greeted the staff as I moved to my usual table in the back right corner. When I got there, I saw that the table was not empty as it usually was. There wasn’t anyone sitting there, but there was a book.

My immediate response was irritation. It’s rude to leave books in undesignated areas – is it really so difficult to just replace a book to its correct shelf?

With a huff of anger, I set down my things and picked up the book with the intention of putting it back. But, everything about it caught my attention. It was hardcover. The spine was made of leather, and the front and back covers were made of ivory decorated with intricately detailed carvings. When I unfocused my eyes, they almost seemed to move.

There was no title, no author or description. The only identifying detail was an old label on the interior of the front cover which, while faded, was legible: Property of Shibusawa Tatsuhiko. I opened the book, curious to know what it was. Flipping through the pages, though, I saw that there were no words. It was all blank. On the very last page, however, there was a single sentence written in neat handwriting.

I TAKE MY PAYMENT IN FLESH.

I should have put the book down right then. But, despite the sudden fear that shot through me at those words, I was completely mesmerised by the beauty of the cover. And I had been looking for a new notebook at the time, anyway.

I rationalised to myself that whoever wrote that sentence had been trying to make a joke. So, I placed the book in my bag and continued on with my work.

Later that night, after I had finished cooking and cleaning my apartment, I took out the book to inspect it once more. The details of the ivory cover were almost too great to comprehend. Keeping my eye trained on just one spot, hundreds of new details would come to light every second. It almost made me nauseas.

So instead, I opened the book and started writing. Just a simple account of my day – it is healthy to keep a consistent diary. Then, I put it away and went through my usual nightly routine.

The next day, when I was making breakfast, I noticed something strange. Next to the book sat my water bottle and two pens. The reason this is strange is because at the time, I had been holding my water bottle and I only own one of those pens.

Curious, I sat down at the table and inspected the replica items. The water bottle was the exact same as the original, down to the dent on the rim. The two pens had the same amount of ink, the same impressions from my grip, the same weight and feel. Two perfect replicas.

And then I looked at the book. It was open to the front page, but it was blank. I flipped through the pages trying to find what I had written the previous night, but it was nowhere to be found.

Spurred on by sudden inspiration, I took one of the pens and started writing in the book once more. Just one simple word this time: pen. After a minute of nothing, I watched in awe as the page absorbed the ink as if it was a cloth absorbing water. Then all at once, the page folded in on itself like it was being crumpled up in someone’s hand. But it wasn’t shapeless. No, it was being moulded into the shape of my pen.

The transformation was over in exactly one minute. And by the end, I had another exact replica.

I believe in rules and laws, but I am not so stuck in my ways that I cannot accept a new reality when faced with one. Sitting before me was something I had never encountered before. Something that had me reforming my entire view of the world.

This is a book that can make anything you write inside of it. It can create anything from nothing. How incredible!

Through thoughtful experiment, I quickly learned the limitations of the book. It cannot create anything larger than a single page. It cannot alter reality. It cannot create uncontained liquids, nor can it create living organic objects. But otherwise, the only limit is one’s imagination.

It became a quick addition to my routine to use the book. Often just for small things, like replacing an empty pen or creating a new set of chopsticks when I forgot to pack them with lunch. I would sometimes use it for my students as well, though only in desperate situations (after all, its better that they learn from their mistakes of not bringing a pencil on exam day, for instance).

I had been using the book for a month when I received the first call. It was early in the morning on a Thursday. I was awoken by the piercing ring of my cell phone at 3:32. Heart thundering in my chest, I checked my phone to see who was calling; if it was a friend or colleague calling that early, then it would have had to have been an emergency, and my ideals dictate offering aid when someone is in need. Instead, No Caller ID flashed up at me. I quickly hung up, turning my phone over and lying back down.

I was on the precipice of sleep when the ringing started once more. I hung up again, hoping that whoever was on the other side would get the message. They called again a few minutes later.

It was on their fifth call that I finally answered. The calling was interrupting my sleep, and I need to get seven hours every night.

I told the person on the other line that they had the wrong number and should be ashamed of themselves for calling anyone at such a late hour. Silence and heavy breathing answered me.

They finally spoke when I threatened to hand up; one single word. “Stop.”

I couldn’t tell if they were a man or woman, but they sounded scared. The voice was quiet and out of breath. Like they had been running, or like they were in pain. More concerned now, I asked for their name, but only laboured breathing answered me.

And then, they said my name.

“Kunikida Doppo. You’re killing me.”

Before I could even think to reply, they hung up, and I was left alone in the silence of my room.

I didn’t go back to sleep that night. For obvious reasons. I’m sure anyone who received a call like that in the middle of the night from a complete stranger would be too frightened to sleep. But, in hindsight, I can’t help but think this torment was designed specifically for me.

The central tenet of my ideals is to do no harm to others, to save everyone indiscriminately. I couldn’t get those words out of my head. That I was killing someone. That I was somehow causing harm. It went against everything I stood for.

But, yet again, I rationalised to myself that this was all some kind of elaborate, cruel joke. I work with students after all, and children can be quite ruthless.

That night began the torturous months that have led to my being here with you. The calls continued to come. There was no pattern, no discernible frequency to them. Most nights, nothing would happen at all. But the anticipation of a call would often times force sleep to allude me. Some nights, I would receive an anonymous call just like that first one, always at around 2 or 3 in the morning. And some nights, it was like the calls would never stop.

They all had the same message for me. That I was killing them. That I had to stop. And, as time went on, the messages became more detailed:

“The pain never stops.”

“Where did my eyes go?”

“Its so cold without skin.”

“You’ve taken my bones.”

I’ve tried going to the police about this, but they haven’t been helpful. A few weeks ago, they put a bug in my phone to listen in on the calls. The morning after I had received one, I asked the police if they had managed to trace it. They told me to stop wasting their time.

According to them, I hadn’t received a call at all.

It was a week ago that I finally got definitive proof of what was going on. I was grading homework in my office at the school, my door open for students to enter with questions. I was halfway through marking a problem when my pen ran out of ink. Untroubled, I took out the book and made a request, as had become routine. And, just as expected, the red pen manifested a minute later.

A student screamed in the hallway.

Alarmed, I quickly exited my room to investigate. There was a small crowd of students huddled around something at the end of the hall. I could hear loud sobbing.

I approached the group, demanding the students move out of the way. They moved without question, their eyes still trained on the sight before them. When I saw it, I understood why.

A young girl sat on the ground, sobbing loudly and clutching at her arm. Blood was starting to pool around her, staining her white uniform red. Two of her fingers were missing.

I fell into action, kneeling down next to her. I yelled for someone to call an ambulance and to get me a towel and water. I heard the crowd starting to disperse, but otherwise focused my attention on the girl. I asked her what had happened, grabbing hold of her arm to stop the bleeding.

Through her breathless sobbing, I heard her answer. “Kunikida-sensei, you hurt me! You did this! You did this!”

It was only with her words that I finally realised the truth. This is a book that can make anything you write inside of it. But it follows the same rules as the rest of the universe: nothing can be made from nothing, creation is not spontaneous.

It takes its payment in flesh.

I haven’t been back to the school since that day. I’ve spent every waking moment trying to destroy that damned book, but it just won’t leave me alone. I’ve tried burning it, splitting it in half with an axe, burying it, running it over with my car. It never stays away for long.

And now I’m here, sort of as a last resort. Your agency specialises in investigating the occult, right? Well, this book is pure, supernatural evil. Please, help me destroy it.

I can’t sleep.

Statement Ends

Supplemental

Kunikida Doppo has expressed interest in joining the ADA. Clearly, he views it as some sort of retribution for the damage he has caused with that book.

I don’t see why he can’t join. Maybe having someone in the agency who hasn’t sold their soul to an entity of unimaginable horrors would be good for us. Though, he seems like kind of a buzzkill.

And it might be useful having that book around. Of course, we’ll still try to get rid of it if we can – we’ve had one too many powerful artefacts blow up in our faces to not be cautious around a book that has the ability to remove all of the bones from your body. But, for the foreseeable future, Kunikida will remain as the book’s master, which could be a good asset for us.

I am curious about how the book fell into his possession. Either it was a terrible stroke of bad luck, or something left it on that table for Kunikida to find. Asking the owners of the bookstore proved useless – they didn’t have any recollection of ever seeing the book let alone who brought it in. Seems like yet another a dead end.

End Supplemental

“What?” Ranpo says to himself, head tilting in confusion as he stares at the Statement in his hands.

Why this Statement? The previous two had obvious connections: The War and Mori Ougai. Ranpo, therefore, very logically, was starting to assume that Mori was planning to spring a trap for the ADA. Or maybe that the Hunt or Slaughter were planning a ritual around war. Or, something to that affect.

But Kunikida’s Statement has no mention of Mori Ougai, or the War. It doesn’t have a hint of influence from the spiders at all! So, why did the Eye direct his attention to it?

“Hey, Kunikida?” Ranpo shouts, elongating the vowels of the name. He stands up, shuffling his feet as he walks into the main office. Only Kunikida is present now, everyone else presumably out on assignments.

“Just a moment, Ranpo,” Kunikida’s deep voice replies. Ranpo frowns, dragging a chair over to the other side of Kunikida’s desk and collapsing into it. He drops his head onto the desk, right hand coming up to act as a cushion.

The sounds of Kunikida’s fast typing fill the otherwise quiet office.

After a minute, Kunikida stops, pushing back and turning to face Ranpo directly. He folds his hands in front of him. “How can I help you, Ranpo?”

“Finally!” the detective exclaims, sitting up. “I just have a quick question to ask you.”

“Of course. Does this have anything to do with why Yosano stormed out of here earlier and has yet to return?”

Ranpo just shrugs. “In a way. I’ve started a new investigation which has led me towards some old employee Statements.”

“Ah,” Kunikida says. He lifts his hand to adjust his glasses, the overhead light flaring off of them for just a second. “What did you want to ask me?”

Ranpo smiles, adjusting his own glasses. Green piercing eyes glint with anticipation. “When was the last time you used that book of yours?”

“Two years ago,” comes the fast response, pulled out of the other’s mouth like a dead fish on a fishing line. “It was during Dazai’s entrance exam. He had a plan to catch the killer, but it required the use of a gun from my book. I shot him in the head to make it seem like he had died.”

Ranpo hums, leaning forward with his chin on his palm. “And I assume Dazai getting shot in the head, even though it wasn’t fatal, was enough to satiate the hunger of the book?”

“That’s correct.”

Sighing, Ranpo sits back against his chair, folding his arms beneath his head and staring up at the ceiling with a frown. It’s not like he can really be upset – two doesn’t make a pattern after all, only coincidence. He just hates it when the answer isn’t immediately obvious, when he actually has to work for knowledge instead of it just being delivered to him on a silver platter.

Kunikida’s Statement breaks the trend the previous two had set, sure, but something still has to connect all of them.

“Man, I was hoping this was going to be easy,” Ranpo complains.

“Ranpo,” Kunikida says. The detective lifts his head in question. “I am sure you’ll be able to uncover whatever mystery you seem to think we’re trapped in.” Kunikida pauses, taking a deep breath. Then, his head shoots up, anger painting his face scarlet. “But I have to ask that you refrain from mind-controlling any one else in the office for answers! Calling upon the Fears in such a frivolous manner is unbecoming! No wonder Yosano stormed out of here!”

Ranpo forces the smile to stay off of his face as Kunikida berates him. He takes the time to unwrap a piece of candy and pop it in his mouth. Once it seems the younger man has run out of breath, Ranpo sits forward. Around the candy in his mouth, he says, “It’s for the protection of the Agency, though!”

“Even so, I expected more from someone of your position within this organisation. I thought we only used our abilities to help others.”

“Oh, don’t pull the high and mighty card, Kunikida. Look, I’m sorry I asked, okay?”

Kunikida raises an eyebrow but leans back slightly in his chair. “Apology accepted,” he replies after a moment of consideration.

Ranpo smiles, standing up with a jump. “Great! And you were very helpful. Even if I can’t See it now, every last bit of information helps for untangling the threads of this web.”

“Speaking of webs, where is that lazy waste of bandages anyway? The work day is nearly over, and he hasn’t so much as called in just to be annoying.”

“I thought you’d be happy for some peace and quiet, Kunikida.”

“Of course I am. But look at all of the late paperwork he still has to get through.”

“I don’t know why you complain. He always gets it done eventually, right?”

And before he can be roped into anymore of Kunikida’s grumblings about his yet again absent partner, Ranpo turns on his heel and heads toward the archival room. He’s eager to read the next Statement and whatever information it might bring.

Chapter Text

Statement of Izumi Kyouka, regarding a family heirloom. Original statement given 2 January 2021 and recorded by Edogawa Ranpo, Head Detective of the ADA, Yokohama. Statement begins:

My name is Kyouka, and I have killed 35 people.

I’m an orphan. I like bunny rabbits and boiled tofu. I do not like dogs. And I have killed 35 people in the last six months.

I am haunted by a Demon. It comes to me at night, and whenever I’m alone. Sometimes, I see it out of the corner of my eye as I walk down a busy street. Or when I look into mirrors, its right there behind me, watching me with its empty eyes.

The Demon was not always there. I remember a time before the Demon very clearly. Back when my parents were alive. Before I had ever seen a dead body, or a blade soaked in blood.

My parents were assassins. They were very good at their jobs. But while their daily lives were filled with bloodshed, our life at home together was very peaceful. My dad and I would cook dinner together. My mom and I would take care of the plants in our garden together. All three of us would play games at night and watch movies. Together.

The night they died was just like every other night before. I was helping my mom set the table for dinner. Outside, the sun was setting, bathing the room in a bright fiery orange. My dad was humming a song as he finished cooking for us.

The Demon appeared out of nowhere. Without warning. It did not give my parents enough time to react before it slaughtered them where they stood.

The Demon killed them. I saw it.

First, it went for my dad. It descended on him quick and without mercy. Before I could even comprehend what was happening, its katana was sticking out of his chest. His blood dripped onto the stove, sizzling with the heat. Then, the Demon raised its arm and split him half.

It went after my mom next. Just as fast. Just as brutal.

I looked into my mother’s frightened eyes as that katana cut through the muscle of her neck in one slice. I watched as, from one moment to the next, all awareness and tension drained from her face. Then, her head sloughed off her body and thudded to floor.

And I was left in that house alone with the Demon, covered in my parent’s blood.

But it never attacked. Instead, it just stood there, staring at me. Like it was waiting for something.

It has not left me alone since. It is not always visible, but I can always feel its presence. Lurking in the shadows, bloodlust pouring off of it in waves I could drown in.

Recently, it does more than just stare. More than just follow me.

It kills for me.

I do not control it. I don’t think anything can. But I think it can sense my emotions, because it always attacks those individuals who frighten me. Or anger me. Or make me uncomfortable.

I’ve tried to get rid of them. My emotions. If I don’t feel anything at all, then it can’t kill anymore.

It hasn’t worked yet, though.

My name is Kyouka, I have killed 35 people, and I never want to kill again. Not ever.

Statement Ends

Supplemental

Kyouka wants to join the Agency! While her Demon friend is certainly a liability of sorts, she already offered me some candy, so I think she’ll fit in perfectly. Plus, the new recruit Atsushi is being very insistent that we help her like we helped him. And that is the entire point of the ADA, is it not?

We save people.

The being said, there are a number of… important details that Kyouka did not mention in her Statement which I think are necessary to note.

First, the origins of her Demon. It is not so interesting, I’m afraid. Her parents, whether knowingly or not, made a deal with the Slaughter. Initial research tells me that the Izumi assassins were incredibly skilled at their job. Supernaturally so. The Demon showed up when their debt needed to be paid, and has decided to stick around in an attempt to ensnare another victim.

Side note: the presence of the Slaughter in assassination is worth looking into further, if only because I figured it fell more into the domain of the Hunt. But, I’ve only known one assassin my entire life, and I don’t really care that much to really Look. Just an interesting thought.

Secondly, and more importantly, her current employer is the Port Mafia. She has never worked directly with Mori, which is good, but she has worked with and trained under one of the executives. A woman named Ozaki Kouyou who seems to have a similar and very powerful connection to the Slaughter. Kyouka has also worked with that attack dog with the coat, what’s his name? Akutagawa.

I can’t See any threads attached to her, so it would seem as though her presence here is not a part of some overarching scheme from that so-called Doctor.

No, that’s not true. There is a web… oh, that’s interesting. I See.

A few days ago, Kyouka ran into our resident strategist and took him to the Mafia’s headquarters… Doesn’t look like anything to worry about though. Dazai is just getting information and… ew, gross. Flirting with Fancy Hat.

Anyway, despite her previous connections with the Mafia, I say Kyouka is more than welcome to join! So long as she keeps bringing me sweets. Though, we’ll have to work on getting her to talk more – that Statement was barely a snack!

End Supplemental

Fingers stiff from the cold, Ranpo drops the Statement on to the growing pile on his desk. He shoves his hands under his arms, hunching his shoulders.

Yet another Statement that doesn’t really tell him anything. At least Kyouka has connections to Mafia, but Kunikida’s Statement has directed him away from all theories revolving around Mori.

This is starting to grate on his nerves. Maybe it would be better to just let the trap be sprung and mitigate the consequences. That’s what he’s better at anyways – solving crimes after they happen, not stopping them beforehand.

Ranpo pushes himself up from his chair, cracking his neck as he leaves his office.

“Kyouka, do you – oh.”

The office is empty. Curiosity piqued, the detective looks at the clock on the wall: almost noon. Blinking, he thinks for a minute, trying to recall the day. It’s a Friday. Huh.

Ranpo looks around again, but suddenly stops when he sees that, no, someone else is here. It just so happens to be the one person angry at him and who has the power to literally kill him in his sleep.

He should probably just turn around. Better not to provoke her.

“Where is everyone?” Ranpo asks, pointedly diverting his attention back to the empty office and away from the angry glare of the doctor. His curiosity always wins.

“Why do you want to know? Planning to interrogate more of your co-workers?”

Ranpo sighs, dropping his shoulders dramatically and moving to collapse onto one of the couches. He waits with his eyes closed, trying to build up the courage to apologize.

Ugh.

A minute passes before he hears Yosano take a seat across from him. Another minute passes before he lifts his head and blinks open his eyes. Yosano has her arms crossed against her chest, one eyebrow raised and frown pulling at her cheeks. Her right foot taps on the ground impatiently.

Ugh.

“You know I can’t help it, when I’m on a case,” Ranpo starts.

Yosano tilts her head, eyes narrowing. Oops.

“But obviously that doesn’t excuse my behaviour?”

Her fingers tap against her bicep.

“I’m… sorry.”

“For?”

“Compelling you to answer my questions.”

“And?”

Ugh. “Making you talk about your past with doctor creepy.”

She raises her eyebrows.

“Do you want a slice of cake?”

Yosano uncrosses her arms, setting her hands down on either side of her legs and leaning forward. “I want the whole cake.”

“Fine.”

“And you have to come shopping with me tomorrow.”

Ugh. “Fine.”

“Wonderful! Apology accepted then.”

Ranpo exhales heavily, dropping his head back once more in relief. The loud tapping of Yosano’s heels echo through the empty office as she makes her way to the fridge to claim her prize.

“Can you answer my question now?” Ranpo calls out from his place on the couch. Yosano replies from the kitchen with an affirming hum. “Where is everyone?”

Yosano walks back out into the main office space with a plate and slice of cake in hand. Ranpo pouts, eyes trained on the dessert that is no longer his. The doctor hums around a mouth full of chocolate, moving towards Atsushi’s desk and leaning against it. With her free hand, she rifles through the messy stack of papers.

“Kyouka and Atsushi left to investigate a, let’s see… ‘architectural anomaly’,” Yosano answers. She picks up the paper, eyes trailing over the written words. Ranpo continues to stare at the slice of cake, mouth watering. “Apparently some construction worker walked through a door that wasn’t supposed to be there and ended up stuck in an endless labyrinth of hallways. They left at around nine so, assuming they don’t also get trapped, they should be back soon.”

“Uh-huh. The others?”

“Kunikida took Kenji to follow up on that bug problem uptown. The President just left to get lunch with some government official to talk about something boring. And Dazai has yet again failed to show up to work today.”

“Aw, man,” Ranpo complains, hitting his fists against the couch by his sides. “So boring. What am I supposed to do now?”

“You could always come help me in the infirmary,” Yosano drawls. She smiles wickedly as Ranpo tilts his head in her direction. He tried to suppress a shudder.

“No, thanks,” he responds. He leaps up, lifting his arms above his head in a stretch. “I’ll just go back to reading Statements.”

“You’re no fun. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

“I’d rather keep all my limbs, today, thanks.”

Chapter Text

Statement of Nakajima Atsushi, regarding his childhood in an orphanage… and a tiger. Original statement given 4 December 2020, and recorded by Edogawa Ranpo, Head Detective of the ADA, Yokohama. Statement begins:

I, uh, how is this supposed to go? Do I just tell you about… the Tiger? Describe its appearance, where I’ve seen it? No, that’s stupid. I should give you context.

The Tiger first showed up when I was eight years old. No, wait, I’m sorry. Before the Tiger showed up, I should probably tell you about the orphanage.

It was always freezing, in the orphanage. Even during the summer, those old brick walls somehow managed to keep it miserably cold. I know it probably wasn’t the bricks, but that specific shade of burnt orange is what comes to mind first. Really, it was always cold in the orphanage because it was just so… big. There was so much space in those halls, it felt like you were miles away from anyone else even when they were standing right next to you.

The orphanage was built outside of a small village. It had been standing since the 1700s, I think. Pretty impressive. Thoughts about all of the past generations of children that lived there would keep me entertained when the loneliness got too overwhelming. What had happened to them, I would wonder. Maybe they grew up to become successful business owners or government officials or happy parents.

Sorry, I guess you probably don’t care about that.

Um, this is all to say that the orphanage was pretty lonely. I didn’t have any friends.

You see, the director discouraged it. Every aspect of our lives discouraged it, really. There was this point system that dictated when and what we could eat, when and where we could sleep, if we got access to toys or if we got time to go outside. The director told us the system was in place to keep the peace; I think it was there to keep us all isolated.

If one of the many rules was broken, it was a mad scramble amongst the orphans to place the blame on a convenient victim. Usually it was me.

Punishments varied, depending on the severity of the crime. One or two points taken away for being late to meal time meant a half portion at dinner. 20 points taken away for breaking a window meant a week locked away in isolation.

I spent a lot of time locked away.

The worst part of it all is that I could never figure out why. Why did the director hate me so much? I tried my best to keep my head down, to stay quiet and small. I think maybe it was the night terrors.

For as long as I can remember, the orphanage had a problem with predators getting into our food. We had a chicken coop out back and a vegetable garden, too. But no amount of protection could keep the predators away.

I think that really used to bother me. Maybe it was the threat of having to skip meals for a few days, the fear of the ever-present hunger growing too painful to bare.

So, I would have these terrible reoccurring nightmares. In them, I was a Tiger stalking my prey. The hunger would always follow me into those dreams, so I was always hunting for something to eat. The best dreams were always ones where the Tiger was successful – I could have a meal, satiate the hunger pains, if only for a little while.

The worst dreams were always ones where I was the prey. I could feel the Tiger’s cold and calculating bloodlust as it stalked me from afar. And no matter where I ran or hide, by the end of the dream, the Tiger would always find me. It would pounce on me from behind, teeth tearing into my throat, claws ripping apart my skin.

I would wake up screaming, so loudly everyone in the orphanage could hear.

The director tried all sorts of methods for keeping me quiet. Physical beatings were the most common. He’d come storming into my room, drag me out to the solitary cages, hit me with a belt. That sort of thing. He’d take away my food. Take away my opportunities to go outside.

Whenever I asked him why, he always had the same answers. That I was worthless. Good for nothing. That he was helping me.

I could never understand. I was just so… alone.

When I was twelve, a guest came to the orphanage. He introduced himself as Shibusawa Tatsuhiko. He told us he was a collector of artefacts, and that he had recently been told by a friend that our orphanage held something of interest. He said he would be talking with each of us one on one to gather information.

Then, he took me to a quiet room. In it, there was a single chair. He told me to sit, and then strapped down my arms, legs and head. I tried to ask what he was doing, but he wouldn’t answer.

The first shock of electricity was almost more startling than it was actually painful. I cried out, asking him what he wanted, begging him to stop. But the electricity just kept coming.

Eventually, he did give me an answer. He said he was looking for a Tiger.

The shock of the electricity fried my skin, every nerve in my body was on fire. It was overwhelming. I couldn’t breathe. The last thing I heard before passing out was the familiar growl of a Tiger.

I remember the dream I had very vividly. I was alone in an empty expanse. Nothing but black stretched out all around me. Then, the Tiger came stalking up to me, yellow eyes locked onto my own. I didn’t move away, just stood there watching as it came closer.

This Tiger. It’s massive; almost as tall as I am. It’s fur is white and black, it’s eyes as yellow and piercing as the sun.

It walked right up to me, a low growl emanating from it’s throat the entire time. Just before it could reach me, though, it stopped. But it just kept looking at me, like it was waiting for something.

I reached out to it before I could even consider what I was doing. It lifted it’s head, my hand landing on the bridge of it’s nose. I wasn’t expecting it to be so soft.

Then, all at once, the electricity was coursing through my veins once more. I woke up as a scream ripped through my throat.

But this time, it was different. The Tiger had followed me out of the dream. And it was hungry.

Shibusawa looked thrilled to see the Tiger at first. His eyes lit up with excitement. He obviously had never seen a Tiger ready for a hunt.

The man lifted his hand as if to reach out for the Tiger. That was when it started.

“Don’t… -ding a Statement.”

The Tiger couldn’t be controlled. Not by me, and definitely not by him.

“I need his… important!”

Claws tore through flesh like it was paper. Sinew and muscle pulled away as if it was string.

“Ranpo!”

But the viscera of it all wasn’t even the scary part.

“Ranpo!”

It was that I was trapped, watching as the Tiger which was and was not myself tore apart Shibusawa like he was –

A door slams open, crashing into the wall like a gunshot. Inhaling deeply like he’s never breathed before, Ranpo’s head shoots up and in the direction of the sound.

In the doorway, Atsushi flinches. Green eyes, piercing and all-knowing, bore into his very being, ripping through all of his secrets and laying bare his fears and insecurities. It is always terrifying to be the centre of Ranpo’s attention – nothing can be kept hidden from him. The Eye sees all.

For a tense moment, Atsushi remains frozen in place, unable to move as Ranpo stares at him. And then, the detective exhales, eyes growing duller as he blinks, shoulders dropping.

“Atsushi,” Ranpo says with a forced smile. He leans back in his chair, attempting to look casual. “Just who I wanted to see! Is Kyouka with you? I have some questions for her as well.”

“Yeah, Kyouka is with me. We just –”

“Perfect! Tell her to join us, then.”

“Actually, Ranpo, I wanted to –”

“Could you come back in say… 10 minutes. I need to finish this –”

“Ranpo!” Atsushi shouts, surging forward into the room. The detective in question blinks in surprise. Atsushi almost instantly retreats back a step, body language reverting to something far more submissive. “Sorry, I’m sorry. But, there’s something really important I need to ask you.”

Ranpo tilts his head, eyes scanning the younger man. Then, stretches his arms out and folds them beneath this head as he leans back. “Oh, why didn’t you just say! How can I help, tiger-boy?”

Atsushi hesitates for moment before asking, “Do you know where Dazai is?”

“Sure I do,” Ranpo replies with a chuckle. “He’s off propositioning women for a double suicide, no doubt.”

“Are you sure? Can you check?”

Ranpo’s eyebrows furrow at the nervousness in Atsushi’s voice. He drops his hands, bringing them forward to fold on his desk while he uncrosses his legs. “Why so serious? What happened?”

Atsushi’s pinched expression goes slack as Ranpo’s question washes over him. Compelling him to answer.

“Kyouka and I went to investigate a possible encounter with the Spiral. A man reported going through a door that wasn’t supposed to exist and getting stuck in an infinite maze of corridors. When we arrived on site, the door was still there.

“I know it was stupid of me, but I went through. I couldn’t stop myself – it was like I was being pushed forward, even though I knew what awaited me on the other side. Kyouka remained on the outside. When I went through the door, it was exactly like the man had described. Endless hallways, decorated with brightly coloured wallpaper and tile floors. I started walking, following where my instincts led.

“I could tell that something else was in there. I could feel it watching me. But I wasn’t trying to find it. My instincts were leading me to some other destination. I wasn’t entirely sure what until I found it.

“I turned a corner, and laying discarded in the middle of the hallway was a tan coat. Dazai’s coat. I picked it up, inspecting it for damage or blood. I couldn’t see anything, thankfully, but I couldn’t figure out why it was there. I wanted to call out for Dazai, to see if he was still nearby, but the Tiger growled at me to stay quiet. That Dazai wasn’t there anymore.

“Then, a tremor started to shake the walls. The far end of the hallway was collapsing in on itself. I turned and ran, following the path I took back to the exit. I surged through the door just as the corridor was destroyed, landing back on solid ground. I told Kyouka what had happened, and then we came back here to tell you.”

Ranpo sighs, biting on a fingernail as he processes the story. “Do you still have the coat?”

“Yes. Kyouka has it.”

“Bring it in. I’ll try to find Dazai.”

Atsushi blinks, breathe speeding up as he is released from Beholding’s grasp. “R-right, of course!” He shakes his head as he turns around and sticks his head out of the room. Thirty seconds later, Kyouka enters, Dazai’s coat folded neatly in her hands. Wordlessly, she walks over to Ranpo and places it gently on the desk.

Ranpo readjusts his glasses. He picks up one of the sleeves, rubbing the fabric between two fingers. It certainly feels real. It looks real, too.

Picking up the coat in both hands, Ranpo furrows his eyebrows, concentrating on every little detail. No blood, no large tears. Meaning Dazai went willingly. Meaning this is most likely apart of some bigger plan of his. But he can’t See any connections to the Web. So then Dazai going willingly into the heart of the Spiral isn’t one of his schemes. Hmm. What an interesting mystery.

Ranpo closes his eyes, cocking his head to the side as he concentrates on finding Dazai. Ranpo does not often use this skill – the ability to just Know. He prefers to solve cases on his own, without the help of Beholding. But Dazai is missing, went galivanting off alone into the maw of It-Is-Not-What-It-Is without telling anyone where he was going.

It’s Ranpo’s job to protect his Agency, and that includes idiot bandage-wasting geniuses.

He exhales softly.

Where is Dazai? He asks the Ceaseless Watcher.

He does not get an answer.

Clenching his fists tighter around the coat, Ranpo asks again: Where is Dazai?

Again, no answer.

“Ranpo?” Atsushi asks, voice hesitant and full of hope.

Slowly, the detective blinks his eyes open. He lifts his gaze to his two young co-workers staring back at him expectantly. Ranpo always has the answers. Now will be no different.

“I don’t know,” he says after a minute, soft beneath his shaking breath.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

Ranpo shakes his head. “I mean, I don’t know. I can’t See him. Something is blocking my vision, is blocking the Eye’s vision. I don’t know where Dazai is.”

“How is that possible?” Atsushi asks, panic starting to colour his voice.

Kyouka replies, voice steady as ever: “He could be with the Dark. That is often a blind spot for the Eye, is it not?”

Ranpo shakes his head again. “No, he’s not. This feels different. More intentional. You found this in the hallways of the Spiral?”

“Yes,” Atsushi replies.

“Then we need to go back there. We can get information from whatever Avatar controls those hallways.”

With a look of determination, Atsushi and Kyouka both nod in agreement. Ranpo stands, chair scraping against the floor; he keeps hold of Dazai’s coat.

“Ha! No need for that, my dear detective!” A new voice echoes through the room. The three detectives stop in surprise, turning their heads toward the sound of a door creaking open.

Across the room, next to the window that looks down on the street three stories below, opens a door which does not exist. Stepping over the threshold is a man, wide smile with too many teeth stretching his face. His one visible eye surveys the room; when it lands on Ranpo, that impossible smile grows even longer.

The man gives a flourishing bow, leaning on a cane white as ivory – or maybe it’s bone. With his other hand, he takes hold of a black and white top hat and twirls it off of his head towards his chest. He remains folded at the waist for a handful of tense seconds before straightening all at once.

“You called?”

Chapter Text

“You called?”

There is a tense moment of silence as the four occupants of the room stare at each other, waiting for someone to move.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ranpo watches Atsushi and Kyouka twitch at almost the same second. Atsushi crouches, preparing to pounce; Kyouka’s shoulders shift, her hand moving towards the hidden knife at her side.

“Stop!” Ranpo calls out before the two idiots can act.

Luckily, they’ve listened well enough this past year to do as he says.

Atsushi grimaces, muscles still taught and ready to react at a moment’s notice. His multicoloured eyes are trained on the intruder across the room, who has straightened out of his deep bow and is now leaning on a cane with an amused smile.

“Ranpo?” Atsushi asks, voice barely above a whisper.

“All you’ll manage to do is get trapped in those hallways. Then, I’ll be stuck here all alone with an avatar of the Spiral and no way to protect my snacks!”

Translation: Knock it off. I have a plan.

Kyouka turns her head slightly, shoulders relaxing by an almost imperceptible margin. Reluctantly, Atsushi follows suit.

Hands clap together loudly, drawing everyone’s attention sharply back to the man at the door which should not exist. “Now that’s settled,” he says with a wide grin and cheery tone, “how about we move on to business? Quiz time! What is my name?”

Ranpo rolls his eyes, stifling the urge to yawn in this guy’s face. “Are you trying to figure out if I’m the real deal with such a stupid question? No, don’t answer that. It was rhetorical.”

“Well, it would be quite a shame to have come all this way for nothing!” The man laughs, his voice echoing around the room.

“The ADA only deals in the truth, Gogol.”

At the mention of his name, Nikolai’s impossible smile widens, his one visible eye lighting up. “Ah-ha! Dear detective, that is why I am here.”

Ranpo scoffs, crossing his arms. “You’re here to give a Statement. I didn’t think a creature of the Spiral would be capable of telling the truth.”

Nikolai laughs once more as he begins to walk towards the lone desk. Kyouka and Atsushi immediately tense, eyes and bodies following the intruder. “I’m not here to make a Statement, not exactly,” Nikolai says, stooping down to look closely at crystal paperweight on the edge of the desk.

“Then why are you here?”

“I’m here to provide guidance,” he answers. He straightens his posture, turning on a heel to face Ranpo directly once more. The smile is gone from his face. “I answer your questions, and in return, you help me answer one of mine.”

“Oh, how interesting,” Ranpo says, eyebrows raising.

“Ranpo,” Atsushi interjects with a warning tone. “We don’t have time for this. Dazai is missing, and this is the guy who took him! For all we know, he’s trying to distract us.”

The detective turns his attention away from Nikolai, taking a step towards Atsushi and putting a hand on his shoulder. “I appreciate the input, Atsushi, but you’re wrong.”

“Huh?” Atsushi blinks, relaxing his posture in shock.

Ranpo, meanwhile, takes a few confident steps closer to the intruder. He smiles wide, putting his hands in his pockets and leaning back. “You give me a Statement, and in return, I answer one of your questions. That’s the deal?”

“That’s the deal.”

“And in your Statement, I assume you’ll be providing answers on the whereabouts of our missing colleague?”

Nikolai shrugs. “In a sense.”

Ranpo narrows his eyes, searching the other man’s face with a frown. Then, jovially: “Deal!”

With a flourish, Ranpo moves to the other side of his desk. In one practiced movement, he sits down and opens the top drawer, pulling out a tape recorder. He turns it on with an audible click, the tape whirring inside like a peaceful white noise.

“Ranpo, are you –”

“Shush, Atsushi. Trust me.”

He clears his throat, green eyes shifting up to look at Nikolai still standing tall on the other side of the desk, wide smile plastered back on his face. Across the room, Kyouka and Atsushi remain standing guard. “Ready then?”

“Of course, dear detective!”

“Statement of Nikolai Gogol, regarding…” Ranpo pauses, scrutinising the intruder before continuing, “free will and a choice. Taken direct from subject, 4 February 2022. Statement begins.”

Free will, you say? What is free will, exactly? A lofty question, I’m well aware. Yet, one that has consumed me for as long as I can remember. No, that isn’t true. I can remember the time before I was me, but it is more like a dream than an actual memory.

Nikolai Gogol was born in Ukraine in the 1800s. He had, what could be considered, a normal childhood. Certainly nothing to write home about. A mother; a father; a few childhood friends; a deep-seated ambition and desire for independence. His life did not really begin until he was 20, when he moved to St. Petersburg.

There, he lived as a writer. He wrote many stories and plays, all in a pitiful attempt to gain attention and seek understanding of this chaotic world around us. He had some success, though not nearly as much as he would have liked.

I am afraid his story does not get very interesting. Even how he came to be here is not exactly compelling.

One evening, Nikolai Gogol was walking home alone when he came across a door. One of my doors. Curious, and a bit drunk, he opened the door and walked through. And that should have been the end of it.

No one escapes from my hallways unless I allow it. Or, unless I consume something which does not agree with me. Ah-ha! Like your weretiger friend! It is… unpleasant to have a Hunter prowling about in my halls. Dangerous creatures, those who Hunt.

Anyhow, the door opened and in walked Nikolai Gogol. He spent an amount of time – perhaps a week, maybe a year – trapped, wandering aimlessly through never-ending corridors. Taking four lefts, one after the other, and still ending up in a completely new place. He lost his sanity very quickly. Ha!

But then, the strangest thing happened. Nikolai Gogol found my door. And I do not mean the doors I open to trap new playthings, I mean my door. The door at the heart of my being, where I am.

That might be a bit of a confusing statement. I am me, and I am also Nikolai Gogol, but I was not always Nikolai Gogol. You see, I have always existed, as an extension of my god here in your world. It is my purpose to spread… distrust. To make people question their reality, their very being. And I have been called many things throughout my existence – a Distortion, a Door Which Should Not Exist, and now, Nikolai Gogol.

I don’t know how, but Nikolai somehow stumbled his way through my labyrinth and discovered me at the centre. And when Nikolai walked through that door, he reached out and became me.

Have you ever experienced a change to your being so fundamental that you lost sight of who you were? Ha! Silly question – I know you have, dear detective.

One moment, I was simply me, a pure extension of my god, feeding on the fear and insanity of this world. And the next moment, I was Nikolai Gogol. Well, not entirely Nikolai, it was more like he and I had merged together. I still have my doors, still have my desire to watch this world fall apart, to watch people lose their grasp on reality. But now I also have a more human perspective. I have all of his memories, his ambitions and his doubts and his experiences.

It’s awful.

But you aren’t interested in any of that, are you? You want to know what choices and circumstances have led to my being here, in this office, with all of you.

There were no choices of my own, not really. See, all of this should really be pinned on a good friend of mine!

Ah, that might be the wrong word. Can I really call him a ‘good friend’? Most people, if I recall, name someone their ‘good friend’ if they like them, and spend time with them, and talk with them frequently. I suppose, in a way, I do all of that with him, so yes, I can call him my ‘good friend’ after all!

But this just circles back to my original question of free will! He is my good friend. He has asked me to carry out certain tasks for him which he cannot carry out by himself, and I, as his good friend, was more than happy to oblige. Without question.

So did I really make a choice?

I’m sure you can tell that question has really been bothering me! I mean, of course it has! I used to be completely free. Travelling this world as I pleased, capturing people within my halls and watching them slowly lose their minds. I was free as a bird, and I had a purpose to fulfil that made me happy.

And then I became Nikolai Gogol, and I became aware of the chains that held me down. You know, it’s enough to drive a person mad. Ha!

So. Would you like to know the solution I’ve come up with?

Ha! What a silly question – of course you do! You are a slave to your master, after all, dear detective. Curiosity chains you like prisoner.

I’ve decided to kill him. Oh relax, not your colleague. My good friend.

Not directly. If I just outright kill him, then I’ll never have a reliable answer to my query. But, if I push him into a circumstance which could end in his death, well then that solves all of my problems, right? If he dies, then I will truly be free as a bird once more, unshackled from this world and all of its obligations. If he does not die, then I still have my good friend at my side and all of the time in the world to understand my problem.

This is, of course, where you come in. By telling you that my good friend is the one who has your colleague, I catalyse the sequences for his death. Wonderful, isn’t it?

Now, before you ask, no. I don’t know where they are. And there is no way for you to know either. At least, you can’t rely on Beholding. My good friend is in possession of… an item which blocks the Eye’s vision. He asked me to grab your colleague and transport him to a location, some tall, abandoned building. Even I do not know where they are now.

I am here, telling you this because I want you to stop my good friend. Or at least try to stop him. He has some grand plans, I don’t know the details. But I do know that your colleague is somehow the key to it all.

None of this is particularly helpful to you, I know. You could have figured all of this out yourself given enough time. But you don’t have that much time, I’m afraid. Before I go, I will tell you something that Eye of yours would not be able to figure out. My good friend’s name is Fyodor Dostoyevsky.

Now, tell me my dear detective. At what point in that Statement did I start lying?

“Statement ends.”

Ranpo clicks off the tape recorder with a huff of frustration.

At the far end of the room, Atsushi growls as he launches across the room. With his momentum, he slams Nikolai against the far wall, holding him inches off the floor, one arm braced against his neck and the other shoving at his shoulder.

“Where is Dazai?” he snarls, multicoloured eyes narrowed in anger. “What is Fyodor planning?”

Nikolai’s laugh echoes around the room. “Ha! Dear detective, control your pets. Were you not listening, Hunter? I don’t know where my good friend is now, and I don’t know what he’s planning.”

“You just said you were lying!”

“Atsushi,” Ranpo interjects. With one last push, Atsushi takes a step back, finding himself shoulder to shoulder with Kyouka. Her knife is raised, stance prepared for an attack. Ranpo looks to them both, saying, “He wasn’t lying. He just withheld some stuff.” Ranpo shifts his focus back to the intruder. “Which I could easily force out of you right now if I wanted to.”

“Yes, I know you could. But I already gave you your Statement and pointed you in the right direction. So, I’m afraid it’s time for me to take my leave.” Nikolai’s smile widens to impossible lengths once more as he gives the three detectives a deep bow.

He straightens, and the door behind him opens with a deafening creak. He takes a step over the threshold, melting into the dark shadows of his hallway. “I recommend you start at the beginning,” he says. Then the door closes, and disappears.

“What now?” Kyouka asks after a moment of silence. She still has her blade held loosely in her hand, eyes trained on the wall as if waiting for Nikolai’s return.

When Ranpo doesn’t answer right away, Atsushi speaks up. “Ranpo?”

The detective inhales deeply, looking up and towards the other two. “We need to make some calls.”

Chapter Text

This world is a strange one. Even before he knew about the existence of the cosmic horrors that feed on people’s fears, Ranpo thought it was strange.

At first, he assumed everyone was malicious. Out to get him, specifically. He could never understand why adults didn’t just tell the truth, why they all just ignored the obvious, or why they never took him seriously.

But then, Ranpo learned the truth. Well, part of the truth. That people weren’t malicious. They were just stupid. Idiots. Unobservant.

This, of course, made him feel much better. Instead of something being wrong with him, there was something wrong with everyone else. And it was his job, as the smartest person in existence, to protect all of the world’s idiots.

And then, Ranpo learned the entire truth. That there exists a predator that feasts on every living creature. That Entities exist beyond this physical dimension, and cause fear so profound that most who encounter Them never recover.

More importantly, Ranpo learned that he was chosen by one of these Entities. The Eye. Beholding. The Ceaseless Watcher.

Suddenly, all of Ranpo’s special skills – his intelligence, his abilities of observation – were not fully his, but rather the gifts of some evil, extradimensional being.

If Ranpo were anyone else, this realisation could have been life-ending. No sane person would feel great about being the Chosen One of an evil god. But, Ranpo is a lot of things, and sane is not exactly one of them. Besides, he had already sworn to protect all of the idiots of the world. Learning the truth just revealed more about the enemy.

Of course, keeping his humanity sometimes proved to be a bit difficult. Ranpo was burdened by a near constant hunger – a drive to peer into another’s past and forcibly pull out all of their trauma and heartache and fear. That was what the Eye desired, and Ranpo was Its chosen vessel.

Good thing sweet candies worked as a substitute (of course, not really. Beholding still had It’s hunger for knowledge, but Ranpo found that It was easier to ignore when he was eating chocolate. Yosano had told him once it was like a trained response, almost Pavlovian in nature. Feeling a need to Know about a stranger’s traumatic encounter with the Buried? Just eat candy instead).

Yes, Ranpo was sworn to protect all of the world’s idiots. Usually, that didn’t extend to Dazai, being one of the few people in this world Ranpo didn’t actually consider an idiot. But, he was certainly an idiot right now, getting kidnapped by Fyodor Dostoyevsky of all people.

“What are we going to do?” Atsushi asks, interrupting Ranpo’s thoughts and forcing him back to the present.

Ranpo blinks a few times, clearing his head, and plasters a wide smile on his face. He turns with a flourish to face Atsushi and Kyouka. “I already told you.”

The two younger detectives share a look before Atsushi says, “No, I don’t think you did.”

“Can’t you even try to keep up? Fine, let me explain. I can’t See Dazai or Fyodor because Fyodor has, in his possession, the camera.”

“Camera? What are you talking about?” Kyouka asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“The clown mentioned it in his Statement. The camera is an artifact I’ve come across once or twice in other Statements. Oh! Actually, you might know something about it as well Atsushi!”

Atsushi just stares back at Ranpo blankly, mind racing to recall a memory he definitely does not have. “Huh?”

Ranpo sighs. “I have to explain everything around here. There used to be this guy, called himself a Collector. He went around the world finding artifacts imbued with the powers of the Entities. He had all sorts of freaky objects in his collection, and is a frequent character in a lot of Statements in our archives.”

“A… collector?” Atsushi’s voice is low and airy as his eyes gain a more vacant expression.

“Uh-huh,” Ranpo pushes forward. “You killed him a few years ago. Shibusawa?”

Atsushi’s eyes widen to an almost comical size. The name sends an electrifying chill down his spine. “Huh?!”

“Yup,” Ranpo’s gleeful voice exclaims. “And if my hunch is correct – which it always is – Fyodor and Shibusawa were allies. Most likely, Fyodor wanted to get his hands on the collection, so sent Shibusawa right into the claws of a powerful Hunter. You. And, well, you know how it goes: Shibusawa shows up at your orphanage, you kill him, and Fyodor inherits all of his artifacts. Including a camera that shields its wielder against prying Eyes.”

Ranpo turns around once again with a quick spin, proud smile on his face. Atsushi, he notes, looks one light breeze away from falling over. Oops.

“It’s okay,” Ranpo says, awkwardly patting the younger boy’s shoulder. It’s tense beneath his hand. “Why don’t you sit down to process all of that. You can take a lollipop from my stash.”

With stilted movements, Atsushi walks to the far desk of main room and collapses into the chair, haphazard and sprawling.

Kyouka watches him go before turning her attention back to Ranpo. “So, what does Fyodor want with Dazai?”

“Excellent question,” Ranpo grins. “And one I don’t quite know the answer to yet.”

“Can you read his Statement? Maybe there’s something in there that could help.”

Ranpo shakes his head. “That’s the problem. Dazai did give a Statement when he joined the Agency, just like everyone else. But it’s missing.” Ranpo raises a hand, passing his fingers through his hair. “And, no, I don’t know what was in it either. He wrote it himself, insisted he be given privacy. And I obliged – I wasn’t about to scare away the only semi-intelligent recruit we’d ever had!”

“Oh,” Kyouka responds. “Is that why you called –?”

She is interrupted by the main door of the Agency bursting open. It slams into the wall, probably with enough force to create a dent.

Standing on the other side is two men. The taller one wears a long, black coat; the shorter, a worn hat over bright orange hair. Ranpo’s grin widens.

“Alright, four eyes,” Chuuya says as he makes his way into the room. He looks around with a thinly veiled sneer (and, Ranpo notes, underneath that, thinly veiled concern). “Want to tell us why the hell we’re here? What did that idiot Dazai do this time?”

…

Once brought up to speed, with Atsushi and Akutagawa sitting on opposite sides of the room and unable to stop glaring at one another, Ranpo pulls out a tape recorder and places it on a desk. He looks at the two outsiders from Dazai’s past with cool green eyes, smile still pulling at his lips.

“Who wants to go first?”

Chuuya scoffs. “Why would either of us agree to giving you a Statement? You’re the enemy. Submitting information to you, an Avatar of Beholding, can only have negative consequences for us.”

Ranpo sighs, rolling his eyes. “Well, Fancy Hat, we can go through this entire song and dance, where I slowly but surely convince you to give me a Statement which we both know you’re already willing to give, or we can just skip ahead. If it makes you feel better, I think starting with Akutagawa is the better choice anyway.”

Chuuya scowls, eyes narrowing in on the detective. It only makes Ranpo smile wider.

“I’ll give you my Statement if it means helping Dazai,” Akutagawa says cooly. “But I want that Jinko out of here.”

“What? No way!” Atsushi shouts as he jumps to his feet. “I’m not leaving Ranpo and Kyouka in here alone with two known, dangerous criminals! Uh, sorry, Nakahara, sir.”

“And I am not about to tell my life story with you eavesdropping the entire time. Get. Out.”

“Oh, please, like you have anything worthwhile to say.”

Ranpo sighs, letting their argument wash over him, waiting for the inevitable. His head drops onto his hand, teeth clattering together as he lifts his eyes to the ceiling. On their journey up, though, he notices a glint of light reflecting off of a strand. Quickly, green eyes follow it, noting the way it connects the two arguing boys. A spider web, one end tied to Akutagawa’s wrist, the other to Atsushi’s finger.

Intrigued, Ranpo sits up straighter. His first instinct, as always, is to cut the strand. Nine times out of ten, the Web is up to no good. But Ranpo is not one to act on emotion, so he allows the impulse to pass and logic to take over.

This strand is familiar. They’re all over the agency, tucked into tight corners and between desks. Dazai has been busy, it would seem.

“You have two seconds to leave before my coat swallows you whole, Jinko,” Akutagawa is threatening as Ranpo returns his attention to the argument at hand.

“Atsushi stays,” Ranpo interrupts.

The two boys pause, eyes turning in sync to look at the detective.

Akutagawa hums, saying, “Then I will not give you my Statement.”

“Yes, you will. You will give me a Statement because I need it to figure out why Dazai was taken, which will then tell me where he is and how to get him back alive. Atsushi is staying because he needs to hear it. I won’t spoil too much – god knows Dazai would pitch a fit if I did – but he wants you two to work together. And while I’m sure he has much longer term plans for getting you two to trust each other, we don’t have time anymore. So, Atsushi is going to stay and listen to your Statement. And then, you can go and read his.”

“But –”

“You both trust Dazai, right?”

The two nod, synchronized.

“Well, since he is currently away, I am speaking for him. I’m sure Fancy Hat agrees?”

Chuuya narrows his eyes, looking between the two boys. Ranpo sees it in his expression when he notices Dazai’s web, floating lightly in the space between. Ranpo is sure he could find a similar strand on him. There is a flash of understanding in his blue eyes that quickly gets covered again. Chuuya huffs, “He’s right. Tiger-boy, sit down. Akutagawa, give your Statement.”

“But, sir –”

“Now, Akutagawa. Faster we start, faster we get to leave this shithole.”

Shoulders still tense, Akutagawa lowers himself stiffly into the chair opposite Ranpo. The detective smiles, victorious, and once again places the tape recorder on the desk between them.

It clicks on, whirring gently.

“Statement of Akutagawa Ryuunosuke, regarding a coat. Taken direct from subject, 4 February 2022. Statement begins.”

I grew up on the streets with my younger sister. Other children came and went as well, but it was truly just us against the world. As the eldest, it was my duty and responsibility to ensure her safety. And I took that responsibility quite seriously.

There were very little means I was unwilling to go to in order to achieve my ultimate goal. I suppose that ruthless drive for survival is what originally lead me down the path I still travel.

I am afraid there is not much story to tell about my early childhood. We became quite resourceful, finding food and shelter and money where we could. We became good fighters, too. Most often, the one with the most physical power is the one who reaps the best rewards. And, as I said, there was little I was unwilling to do if it meant my sister and I survived another day.

When I was fifteen, a plague settled in the city where we lived. It started slow, with hardly notable symptoms. Coughing, nausea, fever. But within a week of onset, those symptoms got much worse. Heart arrhythmia, brain haemorrhages, skin necrosis. Within two weeks, a coma, organ failure, and then, at the start of week three, death.

Within two weeks of the first patients, doctors from the Ministry of Health were swarming the city. The government imposed a curfew, no one was allowed outside. Military police stood guard, guns held ready between unwavering hands.

What do you think happens to homeless children in this kind of situation?

Luckily, at the time, we had a relatively secluded shelter all to ourselves. But, with high tensions and too many homeless wanderers, I knew it was only a matter of time before things went south.

So, I decided to look for a way out of the city. I left my sister in our shelter, with all of our supplies and weapons. I told her to stay hidden, and that if I failed to return in two days, that she should secure her own survival.

And then I left.

Escaping proved to be somewhat troublesome, but ultimately not too difficult. Slipping past the guards was easiest right at sunset, when their active numbers were at their lowest.

I had escaped the city limits, travelling along the sole southward road still accessible. As I turned to look back, the setting sun reflected red and orange off of windows and street lamps, it almost appeared as if the city was ablaze. Perhaps, in hindsight, that would have been a better outcome: more merciful.

I travelled alone, keeping a fast pace. I was unwilling to leave my sister by herself in that city for longer than was absolutely necessary.

Well into that first night, surrounded by the familiar darkness of a moonless sky, I stumbled upon an ancient wooden gate, modelled after the Rashomon in Kyoto. It stood tall, despite its obvious decrepit state. I could hardly make out the red of its once sturdy pillars, though that might have been because of the dark rather than the architectural disrepair.

However, one aspect was immediately obvious about this gate. It reeked of death.

I should have just continued past it. But, in my naivety, I had assumed that no place could be worse than the rotting streets of the city behind me. So, I went inside.

The source of the smell became immediately obvious upon entering. Corpses littered the floor, in all states of decay. Some bodies looked fresh, as if they were merely asleep. Others were nothing more than patches of rotting skin on bone. Swarms of insects gorged themselves on the feast.

For a moment, I could do nothing more than stand and stare at the horrors in front of me. When I dream, I can still smell that putrid rot.

I turned to leave, stumbling over shaking legs, but the front doors of the gate slammed shut before I could reach them. I was trapped in complete darkness. Heart racing, I tried to push the doors open, but they would not budge. As I went to call out for help, though, another voice broke the buzzing silence.

“You seek shelter from the Crawling Rot?” the voice asked. It sounded like an old woman, hoarse with age.

Despite my fear, I responded with clarity. “I seek survival for myself and for my sister.”

“Survival? Then we seek the same thing.”

The voice drew closer as it spoke. Where before it seemed to emanate from every corner of the building, now I could pinpoint a direction. My eyes had adjusted completely to the surrounding darkness, so I started to slowly make my way towards the voice.

“But I am afraid,” the voice continued. “Your survival will not be possible in this new world I am creating.”

I continued to move forward. I tried to step around the bodies lining the floor, but with so many, it proved an impossible challenge. I felt bones crack beneath my feet as walked further into the darkness.

“By sacrificing this town to Filth, I usher in a new age ruled by disease and insects and rot.”

When I turned a corner, I saw it. The old woman whom the voice belonged to. Her skin was sagging off of her face, almost as if there was no muscle underneath. Her eyes were grey with blindness. Flies buzzed around her head, landing on her skin, but she showed no reaction. Or perhaps she welcomed it.

What was most horrifying, though, was the throne of corpses she sat on. Bodies piled high, contorted into impossible shapes. With every shift of the woman’s weight, the decaying skin beneath her squelched with the wetness of puss and blood.

I turned, and I ran.

Back into the darkness, familiar and even comforting. I stumbled over bodies, barely keeping my balance as I tripped over heads and legs and flesh and bones.

But the further away from that woman and her throne, and the further into darkness, clarity opened my eyes. I could not run away. Not from this.

At the time, I did not fully understand the context of her words. Looking back now, it is obvious this woman was a vessel for the Corruption, orchestrating a Ritual to tear open a hole and pull her putrid god into our world. I did not know this, but I did understand the threat she posed.

This woman was the cause of the plague running rampant in our city, threatening our survival. If left alive, she would bring about thousands of deaths, including my sisters. Including my own.

If there was one thing I had learned in my short life, it was that ‘any means necessary’ was easily justified. Especially when it came to personal survival. Especially when the other person was far more evil.

As I came to this realisation, I tripped over a body I did not see. I landed on the ground, hard, the palms of my hands burning. When I turned to look, though, I noticed that it was not a body that had gotten in my way, but rather, an old black coat.

It was as dark as the surrounding pitch black of the moonless night.

I knew I had to get up, to go back to that evil woman and kill her on her throne. But I could not move from where I laid. Instead, I pushed myself onto my knees and faced towards the coat. When I reached out a hand, I felt a coldness reach back.

I am unsure how I knew, but this coat was calling out to me. Asking me to wield it. I understood in that moment that the coat would be necessary for defeating the old woman and eradicating the plague.

So, I pushed myself to my feet, bringing the coat with me. As I put it on, I felt myself enter into a contract. By wearing the coat, I would be protected from all harm. Nothing could touch me while I was wearing the coat without my express permission. Likewise, the coat was useless on its own. But, when worn, it could devour anything, an empty black pit of eternal darkness.

I walked back to the room with the old woman. She sat, slouched in her throne of the dead. And when she took a deep breath in, as if to speak, my coat swallowed her whole.

The darkness in the room somehow expanded. The pitch black was more suffocating than the stench of decaying bodies. And the coat, it was like a black hole. It devoured everything, letting nothing escape, not even the light.

When the darkness had its fill, I was left alone. The silence was heavy.

When I returned to the city, coat still loosely hanging from my shoulders, I was met with empty streets. Or, near empty. More corpses, flies buzzing, vultures feasting.

Terrified, I tore through the city looking for my sister. The coat, with it’s infinite hunger and all-encompassing darkness, made that search quite simple. The city was near levelled by the time I was finished. No sign of her.

I ran out into the surrounding woods, calling her name. Frantic. The coat swallowed entire trees in our path.

I found her three days later. She was not alone. With her stood a boy, not much older than us, covered in bandages. His gaze made me shiver. Dazai Osamu.

My sister told me she had met him a few days prior. He had come to the city to learn more about the plague. She said they had left the city when everyone died. I asked how they survived, how they weren’t sick. Dazai had just smiled, and offered no explanation.

Then, he extended a hand to me. He told me he could give me a purpose beyond just survival. Offered me a place in the Port Mafia. Most importantly, he told me he could help me control the coat.

So, I followed him.

He told me the truth about the world. About the Fears, and what it means to be a vessel. He trained me ruthlessly. Day in and out, I learned to control the consuming darkness of the coat. Beyond that, I learned how to use it to my own advantage.

Now, there is nothing in this world that can harm me.

“Statement ends.”

Ranpo exhales slowly, leaning back in his chair. He taps his fingers without rhythm.

Behind him, Atsushi’s chair scrapes heavily against the floor.

“Something to say, Jinko?” Akutagawa asks, venom dripping off his words. The room seems to grow darker.

Ranpo feels more than sees Atsushi walk past him. The Hunter moves to Akutagawa’s side of the desk, then comes to a stop. There is a pregnant pause before he finally speaks. “I’m sorry,” he says plainly.

Akutagawa snarls, standing in a fast motion and reaching out to grab Atsushi’s collar. “Is that pity? If so, it is unwanted. I could never accept something as worthless as sympathy from the likes of you.”

Atsushi, for his part, remains completely calm. “It’s not pity, Akutagawa. And it’s not sympathy, either. It’s understanding. I didn’t see it before, but we’re more similar than I think either of us would like to admit.”

“We’re nothing alike, Jinko,” Akutagawa scoffs. Yet, he releases his hold on the younger boy’s shirt.

“You don’t have to believe me. If it would help, you can read my Statement?”

“Why would I want to do that?”

Atsushi sighs. “Quid pro quo? It’s only fair? I don’t want to feel indebted to you? Take your pick.”

Akutagawa remains quiet for a moment, contemplating, hand on his chin. “The detective already offered me your Statement, as a prize for giving mine. I was going to read it regardless.”

“Fine, whatever. I can grab it for you.”

As Atsushi turns to leave, Ranpo clears his throat. All heads in the room turn towards him.

“Tell me, Akutagawa. This training you did with Dazai, what did it entail?”

“Dazai employed many different techniques to help me control the coat. Most common was leaving me in dark spaces. Since the coat is imbued with the power of the Dark, getting comfortable without light was the first obvious step. Next was getting the coat to attack on command. It is capable of devouring anything in it’s path, but it has a will of its own. Dazai offered himself as a target. This technique had the most obvious effects. He would also assign me to missions on my own, such as to kill or recruit other vessels, all at the Boss’ command, of course.”

Ranpo hums in acknowledgment, green eyes narrowing as he adds this new information to what he already knows.

The room is still and silent as the others watch him. No one wants to move in case that wrecks his concentration and sets them all back to the beginning.

After a few minutes of silence, Ranpo leans forward with a huff. His chair, which had been balanced precariously on two legs, clatters to the floor with a heavy thud. Instantly, Ranpo dives for the desk’s top drawer, pulling out a piece of chocolate and unwrapping it with deft fingers.

Against the far wall, Chuuya scoffs. He readjusts his hat, pushing off of the wall to walk towards the desk. “Have you figured anything out yet, or are you just wasting our time?”

“I have a few theories,” Ranpo replies, mouth full. “Why don’t you sit down and give me your Statement, next.”

Chuuya yanks the chair back, plopping down harshly. Then, he leans forward and points a gloved hand at the detective. “Fine. But if I find out this is all bullshit, I’ll make you wish you had never been born.”

“Yes, yes,” Ranpo says dismissively. He waves a hand, turning his attention back to Akutagawa and Atsushi. “Why don’t you two go find that Statement. Should still be out on my desk in the other room. Kyouka, you go with them. And, try not to destroy anything in there. I know exactly how many pieces of candy there are – you don’t want to know what I’ll do if any go missing.”

Atsushi nods. Then, he grabs Akutagawa by the wrist before he can react and starts dragging him away. Kyouka gives a small bow before turning to follow.

As they leave, Atsushi says, “Just so you know, Akutagawa. This doesn’t change anything. I still hate your guts.”

“The feeling is mutual, Jinko.”

With the others gone, Ranpo turns back towards Chuuya with a smile. Chuuya scowls in return. Between them, the tape recorder clicks on.

Chapter Text

“Statement of Nakahara Chuuya, regarding divinity. Taken direct from subject, 4 February 2022. Statement begins.”

I wasn’t born. I was made.

There was this cult not too far from here. Called themselves Stormbringers. They worshipped the Desolation like It had all of the answers. Like ruin is the only constant in this world.

Sometime in the nineties, the leader of the cult came up with a ritual. He wanted to create a messiah of sorts, someone who could channel the pure destructive power of the Desolation and, in doing so, cause an apocalypse great enough to summon their god into the world.

I think those idiots were doomed from the start.

The ritual itself was pathetically straightforward. A woman volunteered and got pregnant. Over the course of nine months, the cult exposed her to a number of sacrifices, all in their god’s name. When it came time for her to give birth, they tied her up to a post and set her on fire, along with several other sacrifices for good measure.

And then, out the flames, seemingly untouched, came a baby. The cult leader at the time – Pan – named the boy Guivre, after some mythological, malevolent spirit. Their ritual worked. The boy grew up with incredible power and incredible rage.

I’m not exactly sure on the details of how it all went wrong, but someone from the outside intervened. It was enough to show the boy a new path, freedom. That night, he tore the cult leader apart, and then he disappeared.

So, for some godforsaken reason, the cult decided to try again. Their new leader – known only as N – read through Pan’s notes and restarted the ritual. New woman, new sacrifices. And this time, they named their messiah Arahabaki.

I don’t remember much of my childhood. There are bits, occasional memories. I’m sure if I wanted to, I could grab hold of those flashes and force it all to come back. But I don’t want that. And I don’t want your all-seeing Eye in the sky to know either – its better if it stays buried.

The first thing I remember with any sort of clarity was destroying Suribachi City. I remember the raw power I wielded, my single-minded focus on decimating everything in my path. I had the power of a god surging through my body. There was nothing left when I was done, only a smoking crater and ashes of the dead.

After that, I woke up alone on a street corner. I had no idea who I was, where I had come from. But it didn’t really matter. I lived on the streets for a few years, joined a gang of other homeless kids. Life was good.

And then, when I was fifteen, he showed up. That fucking waste of space. Dazai. God, he was such a punk back then. Insufferable know-it-all. From the moment we met, I knew he was up to no good.

He managed to pull me into a mystery the Boss was trying to uncover. Apparently, the old mafia boss had come back to life, and was looking for Arahabaki. For me.

One wild goose chase later, Dazai and I were fighting this acolyte of the Lonely in a warehouse by the river. A guy named Arthur Rimbaud.

I didn’t know it at the time – wouldn’t find out for another year – but Rimbaud was the outsider who had interfered with the cult’s first ritual. It was his influence that managed to free Guivre. And they had spent years together, Rimbaud and that first vessel. Until I killed him.

After the confrontation was done, and my temporary contract with the mafia finished, I tried to go back to my friends. But they betrayed me instead – said that I was the traitor for working with the Port Mafia. Worst part is, I ended up getting saved by that bandage-waster.

I remember that self-righteous smirk on his face when I agreed to his help – it haunts me to this day. Dazai had planned it all, my friend’s betrayal, just so that I would have nowhere else to go but with him back to the mafia.

And that’s exactly what I did. I joined up, trained with Kouyou to better control my abilities, rose up through the ranks fast. A few months in, and I felt like I had finally found a place where I belonged. I was surrounded by people who understood, who treated me like an equal not just a shield or a weapon, who actually seemed to give a shit.

It was really thanks to the Flags. They were my best friends. Took me in as soon as I joined just because they wanted to get to know me. It was so… freeing, having friends like that.

The only thing that sucked was Dazai. And it was, like, his personal mission to piss me off at every possible moment.

But all in all, I loved it there.

So of course, it all had to go up in flames.

I had been in the mafia just around one year. That original vessel I mentioned, Guivre, showed up in Yokohama hellbent on destroying everything in my life. He called himself Paul Verlaine. He called me his little brother. He said everything he was doing was for my own good.

I think he was full of shit.

And that’s just it. When he first showed up, I didn’t believe him. He said he was going to take everything, and I just laughed in his face.

And then, the next day, the Flags were all dead.

No, not just dead. Massacred. They had clearly put up a good fight. But I know first-hand the kind of power Verlaine has. The power to level entire cities in the blink of an eye.

Seeing them dead, the first group of friends I ever had, it was like… I don’t know, part of me died, too.

Do you know what that’s like, detective? To have someone close to you, someone you trust, someone you laugh with? Someone who’s like a buoy to hold on to in the middle of a storm? There one moment and gone the next. No, not gone. Eviscerated.

I didn’t know what to do.

That’s a lie, I did know. Instinctually. I wanted to tear Verlaine apart, slowly, painfully. And I would have, but I was stopped. By Dazai of all people.

He stopped me, just for a moment. Told me to think, instead of just blazing ahead. And for some reason, I actually listened. Dazai came up with one of his stupid, infallible plans. Another friend of mine, Adam, did some investigating. And before I knew it, I was standing at the feet of my creator.

N.

God, what a pretentious asshole. Who the fuck just goes by a single letter?

While I was with him, he told me everything. About the cult, about Verlaine, about myself. He said he made me to be their saviour. Their messiah. That I was going to lead the world into a new age of holy devastation. That, through me, he would stand victorious upon a throne of ash and bones.

Everything came to an end two days later. Dazai managed to orchestrate this whole… confrontation. Verlaine, N, and us, all in one place. N had managed to activate Verlaine’s power, leading to his own idiotic death.

I’ll admit that part made me pretty happy. ‘Throne of ash and bone’, my ass.

And that only left stopping Verlaine. I knew as I approached what I would have to do. That it might kill me in the process. But fully unleashing my own strength as a vessel was the only way to subdue Verlaine in that state.

So, I focused on all of the pain and suffering and loss. My childhood, my friends, the Flags, all gone.

It was surprisingly easy to let go of my control and just submit. Arahabaki is the one constant in my life. Loss is the only thing I had ever been able to count on. And it really pissed me off.

My wrath was boundless in that moment. Verlaine. N. ‘The Messiah of Calamity’. Fucking fine. If that’s what they wanted, that’s what they were getting. Because N made me who I am. Because Verlaine killed my fucking friends.

The ground shattered beneath my feet. Skyscrapers cowered.

This was my fury fully realised. Pure annihilation. I wasn’t even fully aware. The only thing in my head was rage and loss. I was overflowing with it, exploding. It was terrifying.

Then, all at once, it was quiet.

A kind of stillness I had never experienced before. No more rage, no more hunger, no more destruction. No more Arahabaki.

Just quiet.

And at the centre of it all, Dazai. He was just standing there, holding my wrist, eyebrow cocked in that annoying way it always is. It was so incredibly… normal.

That white hot fury was doused by cold hands, and suddenly I felt like I was floating in a calm sea in the dead of night.

I don’t know what happened after that, but when I next woke up, I could feel Arahabaki thrumming through my veins again, and Dazai was gone.

Dazai is the only person who has ever been able to control that thing. Whenever it comes out, destroying everything in its path, Dazai can make it go quiet. I’ve asked him how, a hundred times. He never gives me an answer, just shrugs and smirks and laughs in my face.

I know something is up with him. Known it ever since we met seven years ago. No other Spider-fucker can do what he can. So if he’s caught up in something because of whatever it is that makes him different, I want to help. He might be a massive annoying pain in the ass, but he’s saved my life more times than I care to count.

I never turn my back on people who have helped me. So I’m especially not gonna sit around and do nothing while Dazai is in danger, even if he probably planned the whole the thing himself.

“Statement ends.”

Ranpo scowls, sitting back in his chair with an exaggerated sigh. Across from him, Chuuya blinks, his previous far-away look sharpening.

“What a waste!” Ranpo exclaims.

“Did I say that last part out loud?” Chuuya asks to himself. His face reddens in embarrassment, and then anger as he bolts up, loudly hitting his hands on the desk and leaning over it towards the detective. “I thought I said no mind control!”

Ranpo shrugs, unperturbed. “I don’t remember agreeing to anything like that. Besides, what did you expect? You gave a Statement here of all places. This is the Ceaseless Watcher’s domain, there is no lying here. But don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. Your Statement didn’t really tell me anything I didn’t already know, anyway.”

“Excuse you?”

Ranpo stands, stretching his hands above his head. “I thought you could give me what I needed to figure out where Dazai is. But, really, all you did was confirm why he was taken.”

“You already know?” Chuuya says behind clenched teeth. He curls his hands into fists, eyes narrowed as they follow Ranpo pacing back and forth across the room.

“Hmmm? Oh, yeah, sure. It’s pretty obvious. But I still don’t know where!”

As Ranpo passes near Chuuya once again, he darts out a hand, catching the detective by the wrist and forcing him to stop. “You want to share with the class, asshole?”

“In a bit,” Ranpo replies nonchalantly, slipping his wrist out from Chuuya’s hold. He takes a few more steps, leaning against the side of his desk and pulling his glasses off of his face. Fiddling with them between his hands, Ranpo turns his attention once more to Chuuya. “In the meantime, I need you to do something for me.”

“What makes you think I’ll do anything else for you. I thought this was supposed to be an exchange, not just you getting everything you want without giving anything in return!”

“Oh, relax, Fancy Hat. You’ll get your chance to punch someone in the face soon. But first, I need you to call Mori.”

Chuuya sputters for a moment, annoyance temporarily forgotten at the request. “Why the hell do you want the Boss?”

Ranpo shrugs again. “He has Dazai’s Statement.”

“What? Why would he have that?”

“He took it a while ago. Or maybe Dazai gave it to him. I don’t really know why, and I don’t really care. But I need it, and preferably Mori’s Statement as well.”

Chuuya hesitates for a moment, considering his options. Ranpo can see the mafioso weighing the pros and cons, his eyes narrowing in thought. Then, he straightens with a sigh, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “Whatever. I’ll give the Boss a call. I make no guarantees that he’ll come though.”

Ranpo just smiles in return. “Sure he will! This is Dazai we’re talking about.”

…

The clock on the wall ticks steadily on. And what a day it’s been.

Ranpo sits on top of a desk in the main office, legs dangling off the side. His fingers absently fidget with a marble.

Across the room, Atsushi and Akutagawa argue in hushed tones. They are standing close together, and Ranpo can already sense a change in the usual tension between them. Less overtly hostile, more understanding.

In another corner, Kyouka talks with Kunikida, Kenji and Yosano, catching them up on recent events. Ranpo laughs to himself, replaying Kunikida’s shocked horror at seeing two mafia members in their office upon his return, in stark contrast with Kenji’s excitement at seeing ‘The Man Who Walks on Ceilings’.

Chuuya lounges on one of the couches, hat dipped over his eyes. He is feigning sleep. It is exactly reminiscent of how Dazai frequently spends a slow afternoon. And they claim to not even be friends – a pair of idiots.

A crash from outside startles everyone. Instantly, people are on their feet, crouched and ready to attack. Ranpo unwraps another lollipop.

The door opens with a soft click, swinging to the side to reveal the President. To anyone else, his face would look passive as always. Ranpo is quick to smile at the obvious cold frustration in his eyes. Because just behind him stands the Boss of the Port Mafia.

Chapter Text

Statement of Dazai Osamu, regarding Mori Ougai. Original statement given 10 January 2018, and recorded in private. Statement begins.

Hello, Ranpo!

So, you’re finally curious enough to read my Statement? Once you’re done, you’ll have to tell me. I won’t be mad. It’s just that I made a bet with myself about how long it would take you, and I’d like to know if I was right.

But now you’ve got me curious. I wonder what it was that finally pushed you to read this. Knowing you, it’s probably something to do with an investigation. Is it Mori? Some new organisation trying to pull Fear into the world? Maybe it’s that Rat finally making a move.

You’ll have to tell me what it was. If I don’t already know, that is.

Anyway, I guess that’s enough stalling. Let’s get on with it, shall we, Ranpo?

When I was 14, I died.

In the dead of night, I found the highest bridge in Yokohama, and I jumped. I know you’ve never died before. Never had the pleasure. So, I’ll describe it for you, as a favour.

The water was so cold my skin went numb within seconds. It was dark, and it was so loud it was silent. The current was strong enough to keep me under without me having to try, and it carried me far away.

Of course, after a minute or so, my body naturally started to struggle. The water was in my lungs, burning a hole in my chest and throat. But, my mind remained calm and clear. So I closed my eyes and ignored it – that primal desire to survive, the need to lift my head above the water and breathe.

And that’s when the reverie kicked in. When you’re dying, the real struggle is overcoming the instinct to fight for life. Once you’ve conquered that, dying is as natural as falling asleep. More so, I think. I’ve always had a hard time falling asleep. Dying, on the other hand, was the easiest thing I had ever done.

From one moment to the next, underneath the water and the stars and the moon, I died.

I thought that would be it. I’ve never believed in an afterlife, or reincarnation, or nirvana. I wanted to die because I wanted it all to end. I wanted peace and quiet and nothing. But that is not what I found.

Death, at least for me, was a black void. No temperature, no structure, no people. Just darkness. And consciousness.

Needless to say, I was pretty disappointed. I was tired of the boredom and pointlessness of life. If the afterlife was just an empty, lonely void… well, I was going to have to find a way out. Maybe I could strangle myself with my bandages? Or file down the metal of my belt to make a knife?

I mulled over my options as I walked. I’m not sure how long I walked for, since nothing changed, and no time really passed. It did dawn on me in my meandering that perhaps I was in Hell. After all, if the devil was real, he’d be able to create the perfect eternal torture for every person who ever lived. What better way to punish me for my sins than an endless, pointless, nothing void where my only company was my treacherous mind.

I was so caught up in my misery that I didn’t notice when my surroundings finally did change.

I walked into a bar.

The room I found myself in was long and narrow. The lights were dim, flickering on the brink of going out for good. Booths lined the wall to the left, rubber seats tearing at the seams; to the right, a bar with high top stools. It was empty save for a single figure.

He was tall, with dark brown hair and a tailored black suit. A red scarf hung around his shoulders. Slender fingers mindlessly tapped against a glass of whiskey.

I walked in, taking a tentative seat to the man’s right. He took a drink, stretching out the silence before he turned to look at me. His left eye was wrapped in bandages; his right eye portrayed a depth emptier than the void outside.

“Congratulations,” he said.

I asked what he meant.

“For dying, of course! I know that’s been a goal of yours for some time now, Dazai Osamu.”

I asked how he knew my name, and how he knew what I wanted. He just smiled and shrugged, jostling his red scarf and the ice in his glass.

Disappointed, I asked where I was.

“This place? It’s just my favourite spot in town,” the man replied. Then he huffed with laughter, a small sparkle lighting his dull eye. “Oh, you must mean outside? That’s Death.”

No, I insisted. Death is supposed to be nothing. Like before being born. No awareness, no boredom, just nothing.

“I’d watch what I say, if I were you. I don’t appreciate insults.”

Insults?

“Ah, come on,” he replied with a jovial tone. “You’re smarter than that.”

So I asked: If you’re Death, why do you look like me?

“Oh this?” the Man asked, gesturing to Himself. “This is just a body I’m borrowing. He has nothing to do with you. He died ages ago, in a faraway world.”

Then, Death picked up His drink and downed it in one. He didn’t so much as grimace as the whiskey hit His tongue. Behind Him, a jukebox lightly spurred to life, playing an old song I could probably hum but couldn’t name.

“Well, are you going to ask?” Death had turned to face me completely, a cold smile on His lips.

What do you want with me?

“Hmm,” He hummed with a sinister warmth. “I want to send you back.”

It took me about 1 second to process Death’s words. And then I started yelling. Fourteen years of suffering led to me finally finishing it all, just to be sent back? Absolutely not.

“Its funny, you think you have a choice.”

Its my life. I should get to decide how I live it, if I live it at all! I can’t go back to a meaningless existence!

“Who said it would be meaningless?”

There is no point to this thing people call living. Most are just too idiotic to notice. They go about their days in a rut, pretending to be happy, until one day they’re old, filled with regret and dying alone.

“What a sad little thing you are,” Death replied.

Condescending much?

Death laughed. Around us, the bar shook. “I like you, Dazai Osamu. That is why I am giving you this Gift. I am returning you to the world, and this time around, I think you’ll find the purpose you’re looking for.”

Don’t you dare. I can’t go back.

“I don’t expect to see you any time soon.”

Before I could get another word in, I was yanked backward. It felt like I was suddenly falling at terminal velocity. I caught one more look at Death. He sat at the bar, one arm resting on the seat to his right, the other waving at me as I left.

And then, blessed nothing.

When I woke up, unfortunately alive and aching, I was in an unfamiliar room. It smelled of bleach and blood. The bed underneath me was hard, a thin sheet pulled up to my waist providing no warmth. I sighed in anguish, yearning again for that endless black void.

I was startled from my solitude when Doctor Mori Ougai entered the room. His hair was pulled back. A white coat hung off his shoulders, some blood staining the sleeves. His smile held no warmth, much like Death’s.

From where I laid, I tilted my head in feigned interest.

Mori explained that he found me floating in the river. That as a doctor, it was his duty to help those in need. I could smell the bullshit from a mile away. But, I was too depressed to really care.

A few days later, he tried to kill me. I hadn’t found it odd up until then the number of cobwebs decorating his clinic. I hadn’t found it odd up until then that I had never met his dear ‘Elise-chan’, who he talked to and about almost constantly but who was never around.

Then, Mori trapped me in the basement of his clinic. It was dark, save for some stray light from the grates above. The dank stench of mildew constricted my lungs. I took one step and came face first into a cobweb larger than my head.

In the corner sat a huddled figure. It… almost resembled a person. The shape was more or less correct, but it was not quite convincing enough. The figure’s head-shaped lump turned in stilted movements to face me.

I narrowed my eyes in response, stepping in to get a closer look.

The thing which was not quite a person pushed itself to stand, bent at an awkward angle as if one leg was shorter than the other. I saw it reach out towards me with a fingerless hand. As it took a step forward, the figure collapsed suddenly, disintegrating into a writhing mound of spiders.

They rushed for me in a giant wave. Spiders crawled over one another in their haste to devour me. I could sense their bloodlust and hunger.

I should have been scared. Distantly, I knew I should be panicking. One would think it normal to panic when one is about to be eaten alive by a thousand spiders. But I just… didn’t feel anything. No panic, no fear. Why would I? I had already died, had already conquered that instinct of survival. I had met Death, and I honestly wasn’t all that impressed.

I think the spiders could tell that I wasn’t afraid. They got closer, swarmed all over my body. I could feel them in my hair, crawling on my skin, in my ears and nose. But they weren’t biting, only exploring. Maybe they were waiting for a bigger response from me, but it never came. Even I was surprised that I felt no fear.

After a while, all of the spiders disappeared. They crawled back to their webs, leaving me alone in the middle of the room.

Suffice it to say, Mori was thoroughly surprised when he returned to the clinic later that day and saw me sitting at his desk. He asked me what happened, why I was still alive. I just shrugged. He decided to handcuff me to the leaky pipe next to the window, probably to make sure I wouldn’t leave or try to kill him. Then he went down into that basement to talk with ‘Elise-chan’. A few hours later, he emerged newly invigorated.

Mori said: I have great plans for you.

I said: I don’t care about your stupid plans.

Mori said: Stay with me, and I’ll give your life a purpose.

So, with nothing better to do, I stayed.

When I was fifteen, Mori killed the old Mafia Boss – slit his throat with a scalpel, blood splatter painting the room dark red. I was his witness.

Mori quickly gained control of the Mafia after that. Spread his puppet strings far and wide until every Mafia subordinate was shackled to his will. I stayed quiet, following where he pointed, researching new suicide methods. Until a few months into his reign, Mori sent me to investigate a disturbance in Suribachi City.

That’s when I met Chuuya! He was so teeny tiny I almost didn’t notice him! Imagine that – if we had never met, whose to say how different the world would be now. I’d probably be at least a few inches taller, having never been infected with his gross chibi- diseases.

I knew the instant we met that Chuuya was the most interesting person in the world. So immensely powerful, barely containing the anger of a god in his pint-sized body. So many emotions swirling around his head underneath that bright red hair. Passion, loyalty, hatred, despair.

He’s so human he’s almost too painful to look at sometimes.

When I met Chuuya, it was like something finally clicked. There was a new brightness to the world I had never seen before when I was around him. For the first time in my fifteen years of life, I felt a desire to live.

Chuuya and I became a team after that. Though, it didn’t officially happen until we were sixteen, during the Dragon Head Conflict. Do you remember that? Ugh, what a nightmare.

On the last night of that whole debacle, Chuuya unleashed Arahabaki, the height of his power as the Desolation’s one true vessel. All of our enemies were decimated in under a minute. Buildings were brought to dust, cars incinerated, trees crushed. And at the centre of all that chaos was Chuuya. It really is beautiful, watching Chuuya when he’s like that. It takes my breath away every time.

But, it’s my job to stop him. I’m still not entirely sure what it is about me that stops Arahabaki in its tracks. And it’s not just Chuuya, but every Fear. I have pretty good guess, though.

Ever since I died all those years ago, I haven’t felt afraid. Not when those spiders tried to devour me. Not when facing down the full wrath of a destructive god. Not when Akutagawa’s Rashomon has tried tearing me apart, or when Q’s Doll has tried stealing my mind.

Death’s Gift to me was immunity from the Fears. No Fear can touch me.

I’m guessing my immunity is what makes me so enticing to the Web. It’s definitely why Mori kept me around for all of those years.

After a while, I got arrogant. Every day, I was facing down Avatars of the Fears without ever flinching, while everyone else would always seem to die or run away screaming. I got complacent. So, I didn’t notice Mori’s trap until it was too late.

The one thing that you can never forget about Mori Ougai is that he is out for power. He wants control more than anything else. He is a master manipulator and strategist. If there is something he wants, he will get it, and the trap he devises will only be obvious after it’s sprung, and you’re left bleeding out.

I had this friend, you see. Oda Sakunosuke. Odasaku. He was a low- level grunt, a nobody. He had ties to the End which let him see a few seconds into the future whenever he was about to die. Doesn’t that sound cool?

Maybe I latched on to him because he knew Death like I did. It felt good, after so many years, to be close to someone who was as familiar with dying as I was. Or maybe I latched on to him because he was a genuinely good person. He was a former assassin who had willingly put down his gun, a Mafioso who never killed. He adopted orphans. He would actually sit down and listen to me when I talked, and ask about my day and offer advice when I needed it. His favourite food was this disgustingly hot curry.

And then Mori sent Odasaku on a mission that he knew would end in his death. And I wasn’t smart enough to see the webs until it was too late.

Odasaku died in my arms. His blood coated my hands and soaked my clothes.

The last thing he told me was to leave the Mafia, to be on the side that saves people. He wanted me to join the light, so that’s what I did.

All these years later, I’m still not sure if my leaving was a part of Mori’s plan. But, honestly, I couldn’t care less. Odasaku wanted me to leave, so I did. His death was Mori’s fault, and I couldn’t bear to stay under his control any longer.

When I was young and freshly back from the dead, I was so desperate for a reason to live I willingly let myself be controlled by a known manipulator. I knew Mori was no good, that he was using me for his own advancement. But I didn’t care, because at least I was doing something.

Then I met Chuuya, and I realised maybe there could be more to life than just waiting for death.

And then I met Odasaku, and I realised I could create my own purpose.

So, Ranpo, what do you think? Maybe you have some questions. Eh, you’re definitely observant enough to understand what I’m trying to tell you. But I’ll say it here anyway, for clarity’s sake.

The Web is planning something huge, probably has been for centuries, maybe millennia.

Mori will know more, as one of the Spider’s puppets, but I have a feeling he’s just another cog in a bigger machine. The Web’s machinations are larger than any one person.

I really am sorry I can’t tell you more. I myself am not actually associated with the Spiders. That might come as a surprise – maybe not to you, but definitely to everyone else. Ever since that first meeting with ‘Elise-chan’ at 14, the Spiders have just followed me around. I think they like that I’m not afraid of them. Or maybe they’re just trying to keep tabs on me.

But knowing that I’m not one of the Web’s, doesn’t that make my strategizing all the more impressive? Huh, Ranpo? Make sure to tell me just how impressed you are with me next time we see each other, okay?

Anyway, I probably could have found out more. If I had stuck around, I could have investigated exactly what Mori was trying to accomplish. Maybe I could have killed him and taken his place. But, after Odasaku’s death, I couldn’t stand the thought of spending even another second in that hellscape. So I left.

What I can tell you is that this plan has something to do with Master Natsume Soseki. I’m sure you’ve heard of his Tripartite System – it would be pretty ridiculous if you hadn’t, considering the ADA is one-third of the plan.

Natsume created the System in order to balance the Fears, to control them more easily. The Special Division, the ADA, the Mafia: each perfectly balanced, not one more powerful than the other. And through them, the Fears are each matched as well. The Eye and The Dark. The Web and The Desolation. The Buried and The Vast. By creating the Tripartite System, Natsume made a way to keep every Fear in check.

If I had to hazard a guess, I would assume Mori is planning to seize control of Natsume’s System for himself. And he likely needs my nullifying abilities to do so. I have some guesses about the specifics of his plan. It’s a bit too complicated to just write down here, but I’m sure I’ll tell you if you ask nicely! That is, if you don’t already Know.

Well, that was a doozy. And probably the last time I tell the unadulterated truth, so enjoy it while it lasts.

I think joining the ADA is what Odasaku would want me to do. After all, you guys save people!

Statement Ends

Ranpo comes back to himself sitting alone at his private desk. The cold February evening outside has dropped the temperature even further, making his fingers stiff. On the other side of his door, people are arguing.

With a deep inhale, Ranpo stands. His knees pop when he moves. Slowly, deliberately, he shuffles the papers of Dazai’s Statement so that they are neatly stacked. Then, he trudges over to the door, the metal handle freezing under his already cold hand.

“ – another step and I’ll be forced to take you down.”

“I’d like to see you try, Glasses. No one can win a fight against gravity.”

Ranpo blinks, surveying the room in a quick glance. Next to the exit stands the three Mafia members. Mori stands in the middle, posture relaxed, a fake smile plastered on his face and hands resting in the pockets of his white coat. To his right stands Fancy Hat, legs bent and ready to pounce. To the left, Akutagawa, his shadow moving of its own accord.

The six ADA members stand in an opposing line. The President stands tall, arms tucked into his yukata sleeves. Kunikida stands a few inches closer than the others, cursed notebook clenched tightly in his hands, threatening to be used. Kyouka looks to be standing ramrod straight, though Ranpo can tell she’s ready to attack at a moments notice. Yosano stands slightly behind Fukuzawa, narrowed eyes locked in on Mori and shoulders rigid. Kenji, as usual, rocks back and forth on his feet, smile beaming. And finally, Atsushi, who seems somewhat unsure. His eyes dart between Mori, Kunikida, and Akutagawa, lingering on the latter for just a few seconds too long.

Wow, it did not take him long to change his tune regarding the Mafia’s attack dog. Ranpo almost wants to pity him, except it looks like Akutagawa is having some doubts too.

Ranpo really hopes these two don’t end up as hopelessly idiotic as the other two.

“I’m gone for ten minutes, and suddenly you’re all at each other’s throats. Am I the only person with any common sense in this building?” Ranpo interrupts, stepping fluidly between the two groups.

Kunikida sputters, blinking as he takes a step back. “Ranpo, step back. We were just making these criminals leave.”

At the same time, Chuuya straightens, blue eyes focusing on the detective. “What did you find out? Can you finally tell us where that bastard has disappeared to?”

Naturally, Ranpo ignores both men, turning instead with an exaggerated step to face the Mafia Boss. “Doctor,” he addresses. “I need your Statement.”

“Ah, do you really?” The Boss replies with forced bashfulness. One of his hands reaches up to rub at the back of his neck, his smile growing. “I’m sure Dazai’s Statement was enlightening enough, no?”

Ranpo, in turn, widens his own smile. God, he hates people like this. Only unobservant fools would fall for such thinly veiled manipulation tactics. “Sure it was, but I need the details of whatever Ritual it is you’re planning. It’s the only way to find Dostoyevsky and, in turn, Dazai.”

“And what Ritual would that be?” The doctor replies without missing a beat.

Ranpo curses internally. He didn’t really think it would work, trying to catch him off guard like this. “Ha! Are you trying to tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about? Like I told Fancy Hat Executive earlier, there is no lying here. Not when the Eye is watching.”

“What’s he talking about, Boss?” Chuuya interjects. Probably the only person bold enough in the Mafia to directly question Mori. “What Ritual?”

“Oh, it’s really nothing, Chuuya. I certainly wouldn’t go as far as to label it a Ritual. After all, that implies trying to pull a specific Entity into the world. You know I would never do that.”

“Hmm,” Ranpo hums with a smile. “A specific Entity, you say? Does that mean you’re trying to pull more than one of them here?”

Mori’s eyes sharpen like razors, zeroing in on Ranpo. He resists the urge to shiver at that glare, suddenly envious of Dazai’s inability to feel fear. “Don’t be absurd,” is all Mori replies. Ranpo can hear the strain of his throat as he lies.

“There is no lying here,” Ranpo reminds him. “Don’t worry so much, Doc. Whatever it was you were planning, it’s too late now. Dostoyevsky has likely hijacked your Ritual for his own purposes, and I’m certain we can’t let that happen. So you give me your Statement, we find Dazai, and stop Dostoyevsky before the world ends.”

Mori’s gaze is still sharp as Ranpo speaks. For just a moment, the only sound is his blood rushing in his ears. Then, Mori’s fake smile returns. “Alright. Shall we go back to your little room, then?”

“No. You’ll give your Statement right here. Where everyone can listen. Now tell me, what do want with Dazai Osamu?”

Chapter Text

“Statement of Mori Ougai, regarding Dazai Osamu. Taken direct from subject, 4 February 2022. Statement begins.”

What do I want with Dazai Osamu? Such a broad question. Perhaps I just want what’s best for him. But you wouldn’t believe that, would you?

I can’t for the life me understand why. I’ve known Dazai since he was fourteen – I raised him up from the streets, gave him opportunities beyond what he could have ever hoped to achieve, a path to follow. I fed him, clothed him. I taught him how to lead, how to shoot, how to kill. I nurtured his tactical mind into the fearsome steel-trap it is today. From nothing, I created a Wraith, a Demon.

Ah, maybe that’s why. I have been known to get carried away. Especially when it comes to my young prodigies. Isn’t that right, Yosano, darling?

But you said it yourself. I cannot lie here, under the influence of Beholding, no matter how much it hurts. So that must mean it’s true. I do care for Dazai. I have protected him, shaped him carefully.

Perhaps, then, it would be more accurate to say this: I care for Dazai like an artist cares for their sculptures. Like Michelangelo cared for the Sistine Chapel, or Van Gogh for his Starry Night. From the moment Dazai washed up at my feet, I knew he was to be my masterpiece.

Would you like to know what I have in store for him? What it is exactly that I have been sculpting him for? It is against my nature to tell the truth, to reveal my plans. The Mother of Puppets prefers to spin Her webs in secret, hidden machinations woven subtly into the very fabric of this world. But, I will tell you, if only because I refuse to see a near decade of work so carelessly destroyed by this ‘Russian hijacker’, as you have so aptly named him.

Well, to fully understand, I must first explain the nature of Yokohama, and why it was this place that the Web chose to weave her trap.

There exists, in this world, a Book. It is unlike anything you have ever encountered before. It is not like any book that can be found in a shop or library. Nor is It like any of those possessed books we often run across in our respective lines of work. No, this Book is empty, limitless. It is filled with blank white pages that hold within them infinite worlds.

No one knows where this Book came from, nor has anyone even seen the Book in well over century. It is more like a myth than a treasure. Perhaps It does not even exist at all.

Those who have faith believe the Book is just another show of the Fears’ immense powers. Many have theorized that It was created by an overzealous Avatar hundreds of years ago. Others have said It is a direct extension of Their Being, like the Distortion Nikolai or that dreadful Coffin.

Master Soseki believes the Book has always existed here. That it was the reality-bending powers of Its pages that attracted the Fears to this world in the first place.

Oh? You didn’t know that, detective?

The Fears are not from here, originally. Rather, They forced Their way in after leaving Their own world behind. Perhaps They were written out of Their reality on the pages of a Book much like ours. Or perhaps there was a chasm They were able to escape through. I suppose we’ll never really know, so there’s no use getting curious, is there, detective?

All that matters is that They are here, and so is the Book.

Master Soseki was the first person to understand the implication of this. He buried the Book deep beneath the ground here, and then he built the city above it as an extra measure of protection.

The city was built under his watchful eye. He designed Yokohama to bring balance. To control the Fears, keep Them contained.

Yokohama is temple to all of the Fears in equilibrium. None more powerful than any other.

They are naturally drawn here by the influence of the Book. It acts as a sort of tether for Them. Master Soseki understood this. He knew that, with the Book bringing Them closer, that there would need to be a system in place actively holding Them back.

So he decided to construct the Tripartite System. The Port Mafia to rule the night, the Special Division to rule the day, and the ADA to rule the twilight. All to keep the peace, to keep one Fear from becoming too powerful, to stop the Rituals from destroying the world.

Do you ever wonder why, in the entire history of our world, the Web has never attempted a Ritual? Since humans first became aware of Fear, They have tried to tear Their way through that thin barrier which separates Them from us. All expect for Her, and the End.

The End’s reasoning is easier to explain. A world ruled by Death would simply End. No more Life means no more victims, and therefore no more Fear. In other words, Terminus is more than satisfied with the way things are now.

Perhaps She is satisfied well. Or perhaps She has an even greater plan.

We here have all seen our fair share of failed Rituals. Fukuzawa, dear Yosano, you remember the Great War, do you not? The Slaughter’s attempt to break through and fully exert It’s will over our world. Had the Ritual succeeded, then everything in existence would have broken out into mindless violence. But, of course, that Ritual was stopped by General Fukuchi, a powerful Hunter.

What other Rituals have you heard of? Clearly, my two subordinates have given their Statements.

Chuuya was created as a messiah of the Desolation. He was given a purpose right from birth, to bring about an age of pure destruction and loss. A calamity unlike any the world has experience before. Akutagawa was a victim of the Corruption’s most recent Ritual, a plague painfully slow to kill yet completely unstoppable.

Oh, no matter. That is enough talk of Rituals and Yokohama and Books.

You want to know about Dazai, yes? Well, believe or not, I have told you. Or rather, they have.

Dazai is unique in this world. Everyone is either victims of the Fears or Their harbingers. Dazai, however, is neither victim nor Avatar. He is immune to it all.

I know first-hand about his nullification. When I first found him, washed up on the riverbank near my clinic, I thought him an easy meal for my dear Elise-chan.

You see, after the War but before the Mafia, I owned a clinic. There, I provided treatments for all people, regardless of their organisational loyalties. It was, naturally, just a simple trap to catch prey. You see, Elise-chan is always very hungry, yet she is also quite picky. I needed to set a large enough web to entangle a wide-array of food for her.

Ah, dear Elise! She is just perfect!

When Dazai arrived, I knew he would make a delicious meal for Elise-chan. So I brought him in, and I trapped him in my basement. I thought that would be the end of it.

Well, imagine my surprise when I returned home only to see the boy whole and healthy. When I went down to ask Elise-chan why she didn’t like the food I had caught for her, she told me what really happened. That Dazai was inedible. Not bad-tasting, nor below her usual standards. He was simply impossible for her to consume.

Because Dazai feels no Fear at all.

Suddenly, I had new inspiration.

And so, I began to test him. I sent him after known Avatars, to expose him to all types of Fears. Chuuya, Rimbaud, Verlaine, the Dragon’s Head Conflict. Each time, Dazai went exactly where I pointed. And each time, he came back unscathed. Those empty brown eyes void of any emotion at all. There was no Fear that could touch him.

It was almost five years after I had first met Dazai that I realised it was time for my testing to become more… deliberate.

Which meant, unfortunately, having to let my prodigy go. So I set a simple trap, and I killed his only friend, Oda Sakunosuke. Soon after, Dazai fled. Right to you.

It is the purpose of the ADA to fight the Fears, is it not? You protect victims, and bring them justice. You stop the Fears, confront them head-on. It made you the perfect kiln through which to sharpen my sword. You see, had he stayed with us, I’m afraid his growth would have stagnated. But since joining you, Dazai has experienced much more. And for my Ritual to work, I need him to have experienced it all.

I’m sure you See it all clearly now, detective. The Web has never attempted a Ritual because She knows it is pointless. No Fear can exist on Its own. One cannot be afraid of the Buried without also knowing the Vast, nor can one feel the terror of the Eye without the Dark.

It is impossible to bring forth one Fear without all of the Others. And this the Mother understood.

And so She waited here, in Yokohama, a city built upon the Book. A city meant to keep Her trapped. She waited for something that could help Her escape. And that something is Dazai.

So, what does all of this mean? Now that I’ve been talking, I’m more than happy to tell you.

Dazai is my linchpin. Over the last eight years, he has been exposed to every type of Fear there is. And for that, I must thank you. Without you all so brazenly running into danger, it would have been more difficult to get Dazai to where I needed him to be.

For example, that book of yours, detective Kunikida. I personally find it hard to get the Flesh to do what I want it to, but you went and used that book on Dazai within just a few days of him joining your organisation. I was thrilled when I got the news. Yes, thank you for your help.

You see, Dazai’s nullification is special indeed. What do you think happens, when someone who does not feel Fear interacts with Them on a regular basis?

He has been slowly tearing down that thin barrier, entwining his existence with the Fears beyond our world.

In fact, I just realised, I have another person to thank in all of this. There was only Entity left to expose Dazai to. And I was having trouble finding a suitable situation, if only because Nikolai can be so terribly difficult to track down. But the Distortion found Dazai all on it’s own. It trapped him in those winding, impossible hallways.

So now everything has fallen into place.

Yokohama, a city built to attract the Fears, where the veil of reality is already fragile thanks to the Book. And Dazai, a man gifted with the inability to feel afraid, whose life has been nothing but my manipulation.

There is only one step remaining: kill Dazai, and the barrier breaks. The best part, whoever does it will be crowned king of the apocalypse.

So, what do I want with Dazai Osamu?

I want him to help me rule the world.

“Statement ends”

Chuuya moves before anyone else can recover. He is nothing but a flash of red as he slams the Mafia Boss against the opposite wall, arm pushing against the other man’s chest.

“My, my, Chuuya. What’s this? You know, I had a domain for you to rule all carved out in my new world, but it seems that won’t be of interest.”

“What the hell, Boss? You’ve been planning to end the world this entire time? And you want to kill Dazai to do it!” Chuuya yells, pushing the taller man further, the wall cracking underneath him from the force.

Mori coughs with the pressure, though still maintains his smile. “Yes, that’s exactly right. Come now, you don’t actually care about Dazai, do you? For the last eight years, all you’ve talked about is how much you hate –“

“Shut the fuck up. You know that’s not true. It’s not hate, not exactly.”

Ranpo, finally blinking out of his post-Statement haze, steps forward to place a hand on Chuuya’s shoulder. He is warm beneath Ranpo’s cold fingers, blazing blue eyes shifting their focus at the touch.

If Ranpo was a lesser man, the anger in those eyes would cower him. But, Ranpo is nothing if not confident in himself. “You’re wasting time,” he says.

“What?” Chuuya barks out, turning his head to look at the detective while simultaneously moving his arm up to Mori’s throat. The Mafia Boss coughs in response, fingers twitching somewhat under the force and sudden loss of air.

Ranpo just shrugs, removing his hand. “You heard me. Attacking him won’t just suddenly bring Dazai back, and it won’t suddenly erase the last eight years either.”

“I know that,” Chuuya responds, voice low. “And I know what I’m doing.”

Sighing, Ranpo steps back and looks at the rest of the room. Akutagawa and Atsushi are staring at one another, closer than they need to be and having a silent conversation only two people as close they could have. Fukuzawa has his hands on Yosano’s shoulders, grip soft despite the cold fury in his eyes. Kunikida has dropped his book to the floor, eyes locked on Mori, expression hollow. Kyouka, in contrast, has white knuckles with how tight her fists are held.

Ranpo turns his attention back to Mori and Chuuya just as the doctor slumps to floor, unconscious. Chuuya takes a step back, cracking his neck with a satisfying pop. Then, he turns in a single step and surveys the room. “What? Now he won’t get in the way.”

He is met with a moment of tense silence. Then, Ranpo laughs. “Haha! No wonder Dazai finds you so entertaining!”

“Good thinking, Nakahara,” Fukuzawa praises, stepping away from Yosano to assess his unconscious former partner. Then, he looks up. “Kenji, if you wouldn’t mind helping out with this?”

“Sure thing!” The boy exclaims, hopping over and, in one quick motion, starts dragging the Mafia Boss by the leg into Fukuzawa’s office, who locks the door behind.

“Now that that’s out of the way, we have some things to discuss,” Ranpo says, wiping a tear from his eye.

Akutagawa huffs from his spot next to Atsushi, his chin raised. “That’s certainly one way to put it. But I suppose none of what was said about the Book or Master Soseki really matters at the moment. The Boss mentioned that his Ritual was more-or-less complete by now, so our priority should be finding Dazai before that Russian can follow through with it.”

“Hold on, where did the President go?” Atsushi interjects, sharp eyes rapidly scanning the room.

The answer surfaces in Ranpo’s mind, unbidden: “He’s in the hallway making a call.”

“A call?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ranpo waves a hand. “Besides, your boyfriend is right. We have to go.”

“Go where, exactly?” Akutagawa asks.

At the same time, Atsushi yells at Ranpo, “He’s not my boyfriend!” Then, to Akutagawa, “Hey! Why didn’t you say something?”

Akutagawa raises a thin eyebrow, ignoring the weretiger.

“We’re going to the Tower.” Ranpo is, unsurprisingly, met with confused faces. “This time, I can actually understand your confusion, so I’m not too upset about having to explain.”

Chuuya growls, “Just get on with it.”

“At the centre of Yokohama is a Tower. When Master Soseki built this city, he constructed it in such a way that each of the fourteen Fears would be just as influential as any other, right? Architecturally, how that looks is a big tower at the centre and then fourteen equally spaced sections expanding outwards.”

“Like a panopticon,” Kunikida adds.

“Yes. Or like a spider’s web,” Ranpo refutes. “That’s not to say that Soseki has been working with the Web this entire time. Just that we shouldn’t ever underestimate It’s ability to manipulate people.”

“Hold on,” Yosano speaks up, crossing her arms. “How come I have no idea what tower you’re talking about. If it’s at the centre of the city, wouldn’t it be pretty obvious?”

Ranpo smiles, throwing a piece of candy to her. “Exactly. The tower is purposefully hard to remember. We’ve seen this kind of thing hundreds of times before. In fact, most objects imbued with any sort of power from the Entities tends be hard to see if you’re not actively looking for it, or if it wants to be found. Like Fukuzawa’s old katana, or even Kunikida’s book. That’s what allows most of this stuff to remain relatively unknown from the majority of the populace, despite being so prolific.

“In fact, I used to have this old lighter with a web design on the front. I kept forgetting about it, unless someone else brought it up. So, I threw it away. It’s never a good idea to keep the spiders around!”

“Alright, enough chit-chat. Is Dazai at this Tower-thing?” Chuuya asks, voice gruff and scowl still wrinkling his eyes.

Ranpo tilts his head. “Should be. I don’t think he could be any –“

The earth rumbles. In the kitchen, a plate shatters as it is knocked to the floor by the sudden earthquake. Before anyone can properly react, though, everything stills. Outside, a car alarm blares.

“Should we be worried about that, or was that earthquake just a coincidence?” Kyouka asks.

Ranpo straightens, green eyes blinking open. “No, that’s definitely a bad sign.”

“Then what the fuck are we waiting for?” Chuuya asks, slamming open the ADA’s front door. “Let’s go save the world.”

Chapter Text

Much to Ranpo’s increasing dismay, the earthquakes do not stop. In fact, they seem to be getting worse. And, really, he should have expected this – nothing is ever easy, despite Ranpo’s best efforts.

The streets of Yokohama are unsurprisingly empty. Grey clouds cover the reddening sky, threatening rain. No, probably snow – actually, probably sleet. Below, the river rushes, dark and violent. And up ahead, the Tower looms.

Ranpo stares at it, frown pulling at his lips and nose scrunching. It’s difficult to look at. His eyes keep wanting to slip past it, and no matter how hard he tries, he can’t get his Vision to focus. He must admit, it’s clever. But, now that he’s experienced it, Ranpo has decided that he very much does not like Not Seeing.

He looks forward to this all being done. He’s owed some serious vacation time. And a lifetime supply of free desserts.

“I’ve never seen Yokohama so empty. Where is everyone?” Atsushi asks from somewhere behind.

Ranpo rolls his eyes, sighs, and walks towards the open doors of the Tower. Open doors. Fyodor Dostoyevsky sure is dramatic.

The inside of the Tower… is exactly what Ranpo is expecting. The tall ceiling is held up by marble columns. The walls are black, anchoring the space against the checker-tiled floors. Stained glass windows surround them on all sides, each depicting a gruesome horror. A raging fire, people struggling to escape; a woman trapped under rubble; a deadly pandemic.

In the centre of the room stands a wide spiral staircase. It curls up towards the ceiling and disappears.

“Come on, everyone. They’re at the top.”

Yosano glares at him from the side of her eyes, lips pursing in displeasure. “I’m not walking up all of those stairs. How can you even be sure, I thought you said the Eye couldn’t work in here.”

Ranpo laughs. “It doesn’t. Not with the Camera still on. This is just a common sense deduction. And you think I would come here knowing I’d have to go up a hundred flight of stairs? There’s a lift.”

“Good – that would have been the end of our friendship, otherwise.”

“Taking the stairs is always the healthier option,” Kunikida interjects.

Chuuya scoffs, brushing past the taller man. “Sure, go ahead. You’d only end up being about an hour late to the fight.”

Ranpo laughs at Kunikida’s expression as they enter the lift to find over one hundred floors. The long journey is taken in silence, filled only with the sounds of Kyouka fiddling with her blades, and occasional growls from Atsushi as he holds a silent argument with Akutagawa through glares alone.

The lift shutters as it reaches the top floor, doors creaking open.

They find themselves in a large, open room. The same tiled floor and dark walls greet them. There are no windows here. The room is instead lit by several flaming torches. Another grand staircase leads up to an indoor balcony. From this angle, Ranpo can’t see much of what is up there, expect for part of a table, and a single apple stabbed through with a silver knife.

A cold gust of wind tears through the space, capturing Ranpo’s attention. The tall, Gothic pointed roof is littered with holes. Outside, the dark clouds remain, along with the red sky of a setting sun.

Most impressive about this floor, however, is the clutter. Shelves overfilled with books piled precariously on top of one another; small tables randomly placed around the room, holding objects of various size and shape; free-floating stacks of papers, maps, journals, and boxes.

Ranpo is impressed by the disorganisation. He would also be hard pressed to imagine a time he’s seen so much stuff in one place, let alone so much cursed stuff.

“This,” Kunikida starts, “this is the library of Shibusawa Tatsuhiko?” He clutches his book tighter.

Yosano smirks. “Did you want to make a deposit while we’re here? Looks like you can just throw it anywhere.”

“Woah,” Atsushi mutters from behind, awe colouring his voice. It’s not hard to imagine the look on his face. A picture is painted in Ranpo’s mind, of wide darting eyes and a dropped jaw.

“Close your mouth, Jinko. You’re catching flies.”

Ranpo laughs to himself.

“What a shame. I have been waiting here for quite some time, detective.”

There he is.

With a heavy sigh, Ranpo twirls on the spot, eyes narrowing in on the man leaning casually against the handrail at the top of the grand staircase. Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s black hair silhouettes his face, cruel magenta eyes contrasting the smirk pulling at his lips.

In his hands, he holds the Camera. Ranpo blinks, hard, trying to get rid of the headache formed by being so close to it.

“You’re the one who cheated, forcing me to do all of the work,” Ranpo replies. He raises his hands, cupping his mouth as he shouts upward, voice echoing against the tall, empty walls. “I expect compensation for the trouble, Dazai!”

Fyodor hums, “Why do you assume he’s here?” He takes a few steps down the stairs, fingers tapping against the metal railing.

“I just told you, I did all of the work.”

“Then why do you assume he’s still alive?”

Ranpo scowls. He takes a few steps forward, inching closer to the Russian in kind. Behind him, Kunikida tenses, but he ignores the younger man’s – admittedly well placed – stress in favour of dramatically gesturing to the space around him. “Because. We’re all still here.”

And then, Fyodor has the audacity to laugh. “Ah, almost detective. But not quite.”

Frustration bubbles dangerously in Ranpo’s chest as he clenches his jaw tightly. For a moment, all he can do is watch as Fyodor completes his descent down the stairs. The Russian comes to a stop just a few feet away from the group, leaning slightly on his left leg and clasping his hands behind his back.

He is entirely too relaxed and definitely too arrogant.

Ranpo allows his frustration to simmer for just a second more, before taking a deep breath and pushing it far away. He closes his eyes. A smile pulls at his lips.

“You’re really going to make me say it?” Ranpo says with a gentle sigh.

Fyodor raises his chin in reply.

“Fine. Your ‘master plan’ – or whatever you’d like to call it – isn’t to cause the Apocalypse, like what Mori wants. No, you’re after an even greater goal: the Book. You want to control reality. And most importantly, you want to control the Fears. And the only way for you to do that is to kill Dazai, Their Anchor. You kill Dazai, you bring Them here. And then, you use Atsushi to bring you the Book.”

With sharp green eyes, Ranpo watches Fyodor’s face closely. And, he must admit, the Russian has a very good poker face.

Behind them, Atsushi sputters at the mention of his name. “What? What do I have to –”

A dull thud. Then, “Shut up, Jinko.”

Ranpo and Fyodor remain locked in to one another. The silence is once again suffocating. But Ranpo refuses to back down.

“Hmm,” Fyodor hums. He shifts his weight, finally looking away. He raises an empty hand to gesture casually. “Very good, detective. Impressive work indeed.”

“Great! So can we skip over the fighting and the stress and just go home? Hand Dazai over, come willingly, and then you won’t die.”

Fyodor’s smirk widens. Ranpo has a sudden and inexplicable urge to punch it away.

“While that is an appealing option, I’m afraid I cannot comply.”

“Figures.”

“You see,” Fyodor continues with an airy tone, “there is an important piece of information you’re missing.”

Ranpo’s right eye twitches before he can school his expression. Missing information. Not possible. Ranpo doesn’t miss anything. He sees it all, he Knows it all. “What do you mean?”

“Ah, don’t give me that look. This is of no fault to you or your intelligence, dear detective. It is not information which can be deduced or divined.”

Below, the ground shutters once more. The quaking earth momentarily seizes Ranpo’s attention. He doesn’t miss anything. And yet, there is something here that doesn’t feel right…

“Now you see, don’t you?” Fyodor says. “You know about the Book, what it can do. Held within its pages are an infinity of possibilities. Versions of the world for every different decision that you or I or anyone could have ever made, or ever will make. That includes us.”

The world bucks violently beneath their feet. Ranpo stumbles slightly, taking a wide step to his right in order to remain on his feet. All around them, books fall from their shelves. Shattered crystal echoes.

Fyodor extends both of his arms, raising his chin. “And now we reach the climax. As you have seen, the Book has a way of protecting itself. When more than three people in a given universe within its pages know the true nature of their reality, then that world will destabilise and disappear. Forever.”

He stalks forward, arms still outstretched. His smile is wider than ever. He stops just a few inches away from Ranpo, bending down slightly to look closely into his eyes. He searches for just a breath.

Then, Fyodor straightens. “So, you finally see.” His voice is smooth as honey, expression unguarded in a way only someone confident in their victory can be. “It is not that you cannot stop me. It is that you will not. I will be the liberator who saves this world from all of its rotting evil.”

“Your grand plan,” Ranpo begins, colouring his tone with as much condescension as he is physically capable of, “is to save the world… by destroying it?”

Fyodor shrugs. “Some costs are always necessary for the greater good. This world might be gone, but is that not an acceptable loss to end these Entities and Their reign of horror? They have already proven that They are able to jump worlds. If you stop me, They might move on to terrorize another universe of innocents.”

“Right. And I suppose, in your plan, you somehow still survive?”

“As a reward for my hard work and devotion, of course. But I will carry all of your deaths with me, do not worry.” The Russian turns, walking back towards the staircase. He turns back halfway, glancing over his left shoulder. “I am the only one capable of making this sacrifice.”

“I think we’ve all heard enough!” a new voice calls out. Ranpo turns, head shooting up. The hole in the roof no longer offers access to the sky above. Instead, five figures crouch silhouetted against the red of a setting sun. Beside him, the President inhales sharply.

The Hunting Dogs have arrived.

They jump without a care, each landing with heavy thuds on the balcony at the top of the staircase. They each exude an aura of malice, intimidation and hunger leaking from the expressions on their faces. General Fukuchi stands tall on the first step of the stairs, eyes widened in anticipation of a good hunt.

Ranpo can practically see the drool hanging from their lips. Each of them is zeroed in on their new prey, rapt focus only a predator about to strike can have.

So, none of them notice the new door which was not there before.

“Wait!” Ranpo shouts.

The General leaps first, katana drawn faster than anyone can track. He lands heavy where Fyodor used to be, just as the Russian steps backward. His hands are still clasped behind him, his grip tight on the Camera.

As Fyodor somehow continues to dodge the Hunter’s attacks, the door which was not there before opens as a steel construction beam comes barrelling out faster than a motorcycle on the highway. The young woman Hunter manages to jump out of the way, but the two men next to her are not as lucky, and get sent flying towards the far wall.

Nikolai laughs as he peaks his head through the doorway, a fake expression of confusion contorts his face. “Oh my! I wonder where that came from!”

The woman lunges at him, managing to cut into his chest. Nikolai, however, dances out of the way, light on his feet. “My dear Fyodor, you’ve certainly gotten yourself in a spot of trouble!”

Ranpo chances a glance back at the rest of his friends. Atsushi crouches, claws extended, and pupils narrowed into slits. Akutagawa stands next to him, hand resting on the back of his neck, his black coat rippling in anticipation. Kyouka grips her knives in front of her to Atsushi’s left, ready to move as soon as the older boy pounces. The President has out a katana.

They look more than ready to fight.

The General gives a victorious shout, and Ranpo turns in time to see Fyodor stumble, red blood starting to drip from his shoulder.

Chuuya, it seems, was waiting for just this opportunity. There is a flash of red as he rushes forward. In one quick move, the Executive knocks into Fyodor’s back, forcing him to let go of the Camera. Chuuya wastes no time crushing it in his hands.

Ranpo gasps as the Eye returns to him all at once. He hadn’t fully noticed It’s absence, but the comforting thrum of Knowledge fills the empty gaps of his mind as everything around him grows into sharp focus.

Now, he can See as Chuuya speeds towards him. “Come on,” the Executive says, grabbing Ranpo roughly by the arm. The detective stumbles after him, not nearly fast enough to keep up.

Chuuya shoves him into the lift, forcing the door closed as soon as he’s inside. “It was that Camera that was obscuring your Eye bullshit, yeah? So, out with it now. Where the hell is that bastard?”

Ranpo blinks, searching for the answer. “Not far.”

…

The lift opens to the central spiral staircase. There are several steel doors on this floor, but only one is of interest to them.

“Well?” Chuuya asks, impatient.

Ranpo points to the door opposite them. He snorts to himself as Chuuya practically flies the distance, slamming into the door without a care. It folds under his impact. All it takes to open now is a light push.

Chuuya steps inside, wiping dust off of his jacket and readjusting his hat. He’s trying to seem composed; Ranpo doubts it will work.

The room is spacious enough. A simple desk and chair sit in the corner. A tatami mat is unrolled along the far wall, over which is a stained glass window, depicting a spider’s web.

Fyodor Dostoyevsky sure is dramatic.

And there, sat cross legged on the mat, pretending to doze, is Dazai Osamu. His coat is gone, obviously still sitting in the ADA. Ranpo only now realises that perhaps they should have brought it, or else Dazai will complain about the cold all the way home. His shoes are gone, as well as his bolo tie. Dried blood stains his right forearm and mats his hair. A yellowing bruise colours his temple, and his eye is still partially closed with swelling. A concussion, most likely. His arms rest in his lap, though silver handcuffs are tightly wrapped around them, connecting Dazai in chains to the wall behind him. Similar chains wrap around both ankles.

Ranpo leans against the doorway, allowing Chuuya to rush forward.

“Bastard. What are you still doing in here?” Chuuya glares down, his voice rough with annoyance. He kneels in front of his partner, arms folded yet eyes searching.

“Chuuya!” Dazai replies cheerfully. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Chuuya scoffs, looking away, apparently satisfied with his partner’s condition. “Come on, dumbass. We gotta get moving.”

“Hmm? Can Chuuya not see? My hands are tied – or, handcuffed, to be specific. I couldn’t possibly go anywhere right now!"

Chuuya growls. “Stop fucking around! Not once has handcuffs stopped you.” He pushes himself to standing, hand extended towards Dazai in an offer. “Now, let’s go.”

The light smile fades from Dazai’s face, his dark eyes moving past Chuuya for the first time to look at Ranpo. The detective shoves off from the doorway, taking a few steps into the cell. “Really?” Ranpo levels him with his best glare.

Dazai, in turn, just shrugs. “You know me!”

“Ah, you two!” Chuuya shouts, taking a step to partially face the door. “None of this silent conversation crap. There’s no time for it.”

Ranpo continues to stare at Dazai, eyebrows raised in disappointment. Dazai cracks after a few seconds, sighing as a turns back to Chuuya. Despite his earlier words, the two have a quick, silent conversation of their own.

“No way,” Chuuya says, He tilts his head back in frustration, eyes screwing shut for just a moment. Then, he steps to the wall, crouches down, and shatters Dazai’s chains. They crash to the ground, thudding against the tatami mat quietly.

With that done, Chuuya stands once more, grabbing a tight hold of Dazai’s arm and forcing him upright. Dazai stumbles slightly, legs likely numb from sitting for so long. Chuuya then grabs his other shoulder and jerks Dazai around so that the two of them are directly facing one another.

“I thought you were done with this suicide bullshit, Dazai.”

Dazai tilts his head, an unconvincing smile on his face. “I could never. Suicide is just so fascinating. And this is the perfect opportunity, is it not. I might not be dying with a beautiful woman, but at least I’ll be dying for a purpose.”

“Oh yeah? Did that anaemic jackass happen to mention his entire plan for ‘saving the world’? He wants to destroy us all!”

“I’ll admit its not the best plan, but I think the ends might justify the means for this one.”

Chuuya groans, grip tightening. “What, you don’t think we can come up with something better? Something that doesn’t end with the entire world getting erased from existence?”

Dazai tears away his gaze, eyes once again finding Ranpo. “He had the Camera.”

“You didn’t think we’d come,” Ranpo says.

Dazai nods in response, despite it not really being a question.

“Ye of little faith. I’m still the world’s greatest detective! Honestly, I’m offended. You just doubled your debt to me.”

Chuuya releases one hand, lifting it to grab the side of Dazai’s face and pull his attention back. The touch lingers for a second too long, before he drops his hand back to Dazai’s shoulder. “You really are so stupid sometimes, you know that?”

A joyless laugh escapes from Dazai’s lips as he closes his eyes and drops his head. “That’s awfully hypocritical, coming from someone who couldn’t read until they were 15.”

Chuuya punches him lightly on the shoulder before stepping back. He keeps a hold of Dazai’s uninjured left arm, pulling him along. “Let’s go.”

Ranpo lets the two of them leave the room first, watching as Dazai leans some of his weight on his partner and shuffles onward. He smiles to himself, glad to finally have his friend back. Though, one problem solved only leads to newer, bigger problems, it seems.

This world is ending. And soon, if the increasing intensity of earthquakes was anything to go off. And all because he couldn’t stop himself from investigating a mystery, and couldn’t help but pull everyone else into it, too.

Ranpo drags a hand over his eyes, stepping out of the empty room.

Above, the distant sounds of fighting echo.

Below, the earth trembles.

Chapter Text

Ranpo returns just as Fyodor’s head goes flying.

It is only thanks to his supernatural gifts of observation that he is able to get such a clear view of the scene as it unfolds. Fyodor stands at the top of the grand staircase, slightly suspended, toes scrambling for purchase. Towering behind him is a Demon. She is ethereal, gorgeous beyond human comprehension. Bloodlust leaches out of Her like a raging forest fire.

Through Fyodor’s chest reaches Kyouka’s familiar silver blade, red dripping from the tip down to the marble white steps below.

Ranpo has just enough time to understand the appeal of assassination to the Slaughter. Fyodor’s expression certainly looks surprised at the sudden and unexpected violence that he is enduring.

Then, a streak of black and white flashes up the staircase.

A beat of silence.

An arching spray of cherry red.

A dull thud.

From one second to the next, Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s head is detached from his body.

The Demon has disappeared, replaced by a Tiger. The predator stands, shoulder blades hunched, and head ducked low. Its white paws have been soaked in the blood of its prey. It growls dangerously. Wrapped around it, flowing in tattered whisps, is a void-black coat.

For the first time in many years, Ranpo feels the cold flash of fear. This combination of powers is more deadly than anything Ranpo has seen before. The Hunt and the Dark. An immortal Tiger that can pursue any prey, and a black Coat that can devour any thing.

Fyodor’s head has enough momentum to carry it to the stairs. It rolls, and then it falls. Ranpo watches with eyes wide open as the head slams against each step, until it comes to rest right at his feet.

He nudges it with the toe of his shoe, Fyodor’s black hair sprawled around his head like a twisted halo. His purple eyes are still wide with complete surprise.

Ranpo scoffs. As if I’d ever lead the ADA into a fight they couldn’t win.

“Damn, I missed it?”

Chuuya stops at Ranpo’s right. A sudden pressure in his ears is the only warning Ranpo gets before Fyodor’s head is crushed under extreme gravity.

“Hey! You got blood all over my shoes!” Ranpo exclaims, taking a step backwards and away from the new crater.

“Really, now, Chuuya,” Dazai says as he stops by Ranpo’s left. He raises his left hand in a casual gesture towards the smear of blood. “I thought I trained you better than this. He was already dead.”

“Hypocrite! You were the one who needed to be taught about self-control.” Chuuya turns sharply, rounding on Dazai with overly-dramatic anger.

Ranpo suddenly realises that he’s positioned between the pair.

Talk about a dangerous place to be.

Before he can extricate himself, a new door opens behind them. There is an echoing creak as the door’s master approaches Fyodor’s final resting place.

Dazai tilts his head with a smile. “Congrats, Nikolai! You wanted to kill him from the start, didn’t you?”

The Distortion comes to a halted stop, kneeling down into Fyodor’s blood, soaking his stripped pants. “Yeah,” he says, reaching a hand down. He picks up one of Fyodor’s eyes, cradling it in the palm of his hand. “I certainly did. At the same time… I didn’t.”

Nikolai sits back, bringing his hand up to his chest and ducking his chin down. “Fyodor and I never exchanged many words. However, since meeting him, my life has felt like nothing I did before had the same purpose as after. He was my only friend, the only thing that added any clarity to my world of madness.”

Dazai tilts his head up with a sigh. Chuuya, who hasn’t taken his eyes off of Dazai this entire time, narrows his eyes. “What, no snarky comments today?”

“No.”

Chuuya looks like he’s about to protest, but the moment is interrupted by a shout from the balcony. “Hey, you!”

Four heads snap up as the Hunting Dogs jump from the railing to the floor below. Fukuchi stands tall, flanked on both sides by the rest of his pack. Their eyes glow in the dim light. Even from this distance, Ranpo can see their veins pumping with the thrill of a chase.

“Oh, shit!” Nikolai stands with a flourish of his cape. In one fluid motion he pulls his hat from his head in a deep bow. “I thank you for your participation, gentlemen,” he says. “I’m afraid I have to cut this short.”

Ranpo and Dazai step out of the way as Nikolai passes. His door has remained open, the endless halls twisting and turning beyond. He steps over the threshold, turning on his heel to face them once more. His eyes narrow, his grin stretches.

The door which does not exist closes with a ringing laugh. “Until next time, dear detective.”

Ranpo has enough time to frown at Nikolai’s departure before the five Hunting Dogs rush past. Ranpo gets knocked off balance by the force of their chase, crashing to the ground. The door gets shredded open, chunks of wood flying out in every direction.

“You’re not getting away!” The woman among them shouts as she barrels forward into the Spiral’s domain. The others are quick to follow.

The tear in reality vanishes behind them, the only sounds the hollers of excitement from the Hunters.

Ranpo blinks after them, pushing himself to his elbows. “Good hunting,” he says under his breath.

For a moment, no one remaining moves. The room is silent and still. Outside, thunder rumbles.

“Dazai!” Atsushi breaks the quiet with his shout as he runs down the stairs.

Dazai has just enough time to square his feet before the young man is barrelling into him, arms wrapped tight around Dazai’s chest. For a moment, Dazai stands stunned, arms limp by his sides. Then, he brings one arm up to Atsuhi’s shoulders, and the other comes to rest gently on the boy’s head.

“That was quite impressive work, Atsushi,” Dazai says.

“He said he was going to kill you,” Atsushi replies as he releases his hold, stepping back and looking up.

Dazai smiles, slipping his hands back into the pockets of his pants. “Ah, nothing to worry about there. Even all his strength couldn’t kill me.” Dazai shifts his eyes over Atsushi’s shoulders, raising his chin in acknowledgment. “You did well, too. Akutagawa.”

There is a soft gasp in response, the young man in question dropping his jaw. Atsushi’s eyes widen in alarm as he rushes back to his friend. “Akutagawa? Hey! You have to remember to breath! Are you alive? Akutagawa!”

“Dazai! You bandage wasting machine!” Kunikida yells as he storms his way over to his partner. The taller man grips Dazai’s shoulders in a solid yet gentle hold. His eyes quickly scan his partner, cataloguing his physical wellbeing. “You’re okay?”

Dazai cocks his head to the side with a small grin. “Yeah, of course I –”

He’s cut off before he can finish his sentence as Kunikida’s hold tightens and begins shaking Dazai backward and forward. “You knew this was going to happen, didn’t you? Why the hell didn’t you tell us? You moron!”

Yosano peaks her head out from behind Kunikida, eyebrow raised. “Yeah, you could have saved us a whole lot of trouble.”

Dazai, who has remained passive in Kunikida’s hold, attempts to shrug in response. “Now, now. There’s no need for the blame game. How could I have possibly predicted the moves of a psychopath like Dostoyevsky, hm?”

Kunikida blinks for just a moment, before his incoherent shouting begins again.

Ranpo watches from the sidelines, head ducked. This is nice. To have everyone back, if only for a moment.

“Well done.”

A comforting pressure settles over Ranpo’s shoulders. He blinks, lifting his head to find Fukuzawa standing on his right side, soft smile on his face.

Oh. Ranpo feels his chest constrict. He smiles back.

The ground shakes.

The myriad conversations quiet in an instant as everyone readjusts their footing to stay upright.

“We’re not done yet,” Ranpo says. All eyes turn towards him.

“What do you mean?” Atsushi asks. His voice is tinged with a bit of desperate hope.

Ranpo grimaces, stepping forward. His shoulders feel cold, now that Fukuzawa’s hand has left. He shifts, turning so that he can see everyone gathered around him. “Weren’t any of you paying attention? Fyodor told us, outright. This world – our world – exists within the pages of the Book. He lured us in by kidnapping Dazai, and monologued to make sure we all heard the truth. Fyodor wanted to take down the Fears, and he planned on doing that by erasing our world from existence.”

Yosano folds her arms, shifting her weight to one hip. “Yeah, see, I understand the part about killing Dazai – ”

“Hey!”

“ – because Mori turned him into Their linchpin. Killing Dazai is what needs to happen to summon all of the Fears. But, what I don’t get is how Fyodor planned to erase all of existence.”

Ranpo shivers as the Eye grants him the knowledge to answer her question. He won’t miss this at all, having the Eye as a constant presence in the back of his mind. Just a bit longer, now.

“If more than three people are aware of the Book’s power in a given world within its pages, that world will be destroyed.”

Chuuya scoffs. “Of course. So that’s why the bastard didn’t just kill Dazai as soon as he had him. He needed to wait for us to figure it all out. Dammit!”

“Oi, Dazai. Don’t just stand there,” Kunikida says, rounding on his partner once more. “You got us into this mess, and I’m sure you have plan to get us out!”

Dazai keeps his head lowered, hand coming to rest on his neck.

“Are you seriously asking the suicidal man to come up with a plan to save his own life?” Yosano drawls.

As Kunikida goes to shout at his partner once more, Fukuzawa clears his throat. The effect is instantaneous, stillness once again settling over the group. “We need to remain calm. We should lay out all of our options, and come up with a solution together. So, what our options?”

Ranpo looks to Dazai, whose eyes meet his. Dazai sighs, rubbing the back of his head with a wince. “As far as I can see, there’s only two. First, we continue on with Fyodor’s plan. I die, trapping Them here, and then you all wait for the world to end.”

“And the second option?” Chuuya asks from behind gritted teeth.

“We figure out a way to stop the world from collapsing in on itself.”

Atsushi coughs, raising a hand awkwardly. “Isn’t the only way to stop it for us to die? If no more than three people can know about the nature of the Book in a given world, then we would have to die, right?”

Dazai slinks an arm around his protégé’s shoulders, leaning all of his weight down. “Oh, yes! A dream come true! Even better than a double suicide!”

“Shut up, idiot!” Chuuya hisses.

“Now is not the time for your inappropriate jokes, Dazai,” Yosano says at the same time.

Ranpo smiles despite himself. “No, we don’t have to die.”

“Aww.”

“I said shut up!”

Kyouka, from her spot sitting at the bottom of the staircase, unfolds her arms, resting them gently on her family’s cursed blade. “If we’re not dying, then what are we doing instead?”

“Escaping.”

The earth rumbles once more. A crack crawls up the side of the tower towards the ceiling, loose debris tumbling to the floor.

Akutagawa narrows his eyes. “Escaping? What do you mean?”

Ranpo grins. “Come on, isn’t it obvious? We’ve basically been handed a glowing neon sign with exact instructions! We use the Book, to escape to another universe.”

There is a beat of silence. Then, “Huh?” Atsushi puzzles, scratching his head.

With a heavy sigh, Ranpo explains. “Don’t you remember Mori’s Statement? The Fears aren’t from this world, not originally. They escaped here, from Somewhere Else. It was the power of the Book that attracted them to our world. Fyodor knew that, and was planning on using the Book to escape himself, leaving the Fears trapped behind.”

“That’s great!” Atsushi exclaims in relief.

“But… there’s a catch,” Ranpo amends.

“Of course,” Akutagawa says. Atsushi smacks his shoulder.

For a moment, Ranpo hesitates, unwilling to voice the truth. Its strange, the constriction in his chest. He’s always told the truth, without hesitation or remorse. His entire life has been dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge and fact. And yet, for some reason, he’s found himself unable to say something. Just a few simple words. The reality of their situation.

He just… can’t bring himself to say it.

Dazai steps forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. Ranpo looks up, to see Dazai’s face blank of emotion. He gives a nod.

“We can use the Book to escape this world,” Dazai says for him. “But, we’ll need to split up. Forever.”

“What?”

“What do you mean?”

“Forever?”

Ranpo breaths in deeply. “If we all go together, with the knowledge we have, we’ll just end up dooming that new world to collapse. No more than three can know the truth in any given universe. We have to split up. It’s the only way.”

The protests start up again in the wake of Ranpo’s statement, voices overlapping and individual sentiments undecipherable.

Fukuzawa once again silences the group with a simple sound, though tensions remain high. “Ranpo,” the President says. “Do you have a guarantee that this will work?”

Ranpo nods. “Yes, sir. It’s the only way.”

“Alright, then. I have a question,” Chuuya interjects. He’s been leaning against a column, hovering close to Dazai but faking nonchalance. He pushes off of the column, stepping closer to Dazai and, consequently, Ranpo. “Do you even know what you’re doing. That all sounds fine in theory, but how the hell do we actually jump between worlds?”

“That parts pretty easy. I just need the Book, then I’ll be able to See different possibilities, and write you into a new world.”

“Pretty easy, he says. Well, damn, guess I’m sold. Except, no, hold on,” Chuuya says, stalking forward. He stops just in front of Ranpo, glaring at him for a second. “Where the fuck is the Book?”

Ranpo smiles, straightening up. He lifts a finger, pointing across the room. “Atsushi has it.”

“Huh? No, I don’t!”

Ranpo laughs. “Yes, you do. Or, I guess, you don’t. But your Tiger does.”

“Huh?!” Atsushi exclaims again.

“You are the ultimate Hunter, Atsushi,” Ranpo replies, sidestepping Chuuya and walking to face Atsushi. “That Tiger of yours is capable of tracking down any prey, and that includes the Book. That’s why Shibusawa was so keen on adding you to his collection. So, if you’ll let me, I’ll help you. Oh, and we’ll need Akutagawa as well. That coat is pretty handy, and it’ll cut down on travel time a lot.”

“I still don’t understand. How could I be the one...?”

“Atsushi,” Dazai says, voice firm with authority. The young man perks up from his slouched stance, eyes snapping to his mentor in an instant. Dazai relaxes his shoulders as he turns fully to face Atsushi. His smile is gentle, and perhaps a bit more real than Ranpo has seen it all evening. “There’s no reason for you to doubt yourself. You have everything you need. And even if you didn’t, you could search for a way with the power you had.”

Atsushi stares at Dazai for a few moments too long, his eyes just a bit too glossy to be anything other than tears threatening to spill over. Then, the young Hunter blinks, sniffing once and looking away. When he turns back to the group, his eyes are filled with determination. “Right. Let’s do this.”

…

Getting a hold of the Book takes a bit more effort than Ranpo was expecting.

Finding it is not a problem. The Tiger’s ability is very reliable, and is able to locate the Book much faster than Ranpo would have been able to (the Eye can be so annoying at times, more than willing to fill his head with useless knowledge without prompting, but won’t help him solve mysteries without him first having to collect the necessary facts – seriously, what a pain!).

It is buried deep beneath a tree, on a hill, in a cemetery, overlooking the city.

The problem is more so getting Atsushi and Akutagawa to control their combined abilities without irreparably destroying Yokohama. When fighting Fyodor, they were aided by adrenaline and the will to survive. Plus, their target was much closer, much larger, and much more hardy.

In comparison, cutting a tear through space to retrieve a Book without destroying it is more like threading a string through a needle so small the hole can only be seen with a microscope.

Ranpo guides them as much as he is able. He Knows where they should cut, where to avoid. Dazai keeps a steady hand on both their shoulders, his unnatural calm in the face of Fear a benefit to keeping the younger pair focused.

By the time they have the Book in hand, the sun has long since set, and the cracks in their world have grown dangerously unstable.

The nine of them are now gathered in a circle in the middle of the Tower. They sit on the floor, some on their knees, others with their legs crossed or spread out in front of them. The room is illuminated by torchlight, candles flickering gently and basking them in a warm yet dim light. The Book lays directly in front of Ranpo, who is – for the first time in years – not slouching while he sits, his legs folded.
“I’ll Look through the Book, and I’ll try to send you somewhere you don’t already exist,” he says. His glasses are perched high on his nose.

“What happens if we end up in a world where we do already exist?” Kunikida asks. He is empty handed, his cursed notebook long abandoned in the clutter of Shibusawa’s library.

Dazai looks at him with a serious expression. “Then, you’ll have to kill your doppelganger. Or else you’ll end up unravelling the space-time continuum!”

Kunikida turns to his partner, eyes wide. “Seriously? That sounds dangerous. What does unravelling the spa – ”

“I’m messing with you.”

Kunikida growls. “Dazai!”

“To answer your question, there’s two possibilities,” Ranpo interrupts. “Either you end up in a world where you don’t exist, and you continue on like normal. Or… you end up in a world where you do exist, in which case that version of yourself gains all of your memories instead.”

“And what happens to us, in that case?” Kyouka asks.

Ranpo hesitates for just a moment. “We would cease to exist. Physically, at least.”

“So there’s still a chance I can die today,” Dazai says with cheer.

“Actually, no,” Ranpo says, turning to face the younger man. “Dazai, if you leave, that will bring the Fears crashing into this world, dooming it to an eternity of suffering.”

Dazai’s grin shifts then as he looks down. “Ah, right.”

“How many people know about the Book in this world, except for us?” Fukuzawa asks. “Is it safe, for Dazai to stay?”

Ranpo tilts his head, considering the question. The Eye answers him readily. “At the moment, that would be Mori and Nikolai. Though it seems like Nikolai might not be around for much longer, with five Hunting Dogs chasing him.”

Fukuzawa furrows his brow. “What about Master Soseki? He surely knows.”

“He’s…” Ranpo pauses, as he considers the answer. “He’s already gone.”

“Dead?” Chuuya asks.

Ranpo shakes his head. “No, I would be able to See him if he was dead. He’s just gone.”

“Great. Then that settles that,” Chuuya says. He sits back from kneeling, shifting his legs to the right and leaning on his left arm. He tilts his head to the left, nodding at Dazai, who is sitting beside him. “Dazai and I will stay here.”

Kunikida starts to protest, but Ranpo beats him to speaking. “Are you certain?”

Chuuya scoffs. “Of course I am, you damn detective. You know what will happen if we all leave him unattended. He’d probably end up killing himself by tomorrow, then all of this effort was for nothing!”

“And that effort will have to continue,” Ranpo warns. “One day, Dazai will die. And if he’s still Their linchpin, then the Fears will be summoned. And that will be it. The end of the world. So that means no slacking off, you two! You need to find a way to untether him.”

Dazai finally looks up from his lap, expression once again blank. Ranpo searches his eyes for a moment. There, hidden deep under the lies and the apathy, is just a hint of determination. Dazai, seemingly found what he was looking for as well, turns his attention to Chuuya. A silent conversation passes between the two in a matter of seconds.

Then, Dazai looks back to him with a smile. “Don’t worry about us!” he says. “We’re double black. We always win.”

Ranpo takes a deep breath, a weight lifting from his shoulders.

He regards the rest of the group, one by one. His friends. Family.

He doesn’t want to leave them. He doesn’t want to go. But, here they are, at the end of all things, faced with a choice that isn’t really a choice at all.

“Is everyone in agreement?” Ranpo asks.

They all nod.

“Right then. Who wants to go first?”

…

He sends them off in pairs.

Atsushi and Akutagawa go first. Not before Atsushi gives everyone a long, crushing embrace goodbye. To Ranpo’s surprise, Atsushi doesn’t cry as he leaves.

Next are Kyouka and Yosano. The two women are stoic as they go, holding hands as they walk forward into the unknown.

Then, Kunikida and Fukuzawa. Ranpo will admit, this one hurts. As Fukuzawa holds him in a tight hug, Ranpo feels his throat constrict and warm tears prick at his eyes. He’s been with Fukuzawa since he was fourteen, never parted for more than a few weeks at a time.

He spends an especially long time Looking for a suitable world for them. Fukuzawa deserves somewhere nice.

And finally, Ranpo. It doesn’t take him long to find a Somewhere Else that looks good. He wastes no more time, writing himself into this new world. Before he finishes the final word, though, he takes one last Look. At the ADA, where he spent the last decade of his life solving mysteries and saving lives. At his office, door left open, Statements littering his desk in unorganised piles, a recorder lazily spinning away.

He’s certainly not going to miss the Fear that haunts this world. But everything else… yeah, it was good.

With one final stroke of a pen, Ranpo leaves, the Book closing behind him.