[Kayame]

Shingma set down the two buckets of water she was carrying and sat next to them on a large rock. Her long brown hair fanned around the left side of her face as she looked at her rare bamboo shoes and sighed. She had the same pair of shoes for the last two years and they were falling apart. A side from the normal work she had to do in the day, all these spirits coming to take avenge on those who forgot about their family has worn her and her shoes out. With another sighed she stood up, grabbed the buckets and walked on. She smiled at the little kids that helped their mother in the garden, wishing she could have done that when she was small. Her parents were killed when she was three by some punks who thought it would be fun to mess with the village and they happened to pick their house because their house was the first house in the village when coming in from the Mainstream. Needless to say the village didn’t take that well and beheaded the punks who shot her family. Shingma still has a scar from her shoulder to the edge of her side from where they grabbed her father’s sword and threw it at her when she tried to run and tell someone. Since then she’s been living with the village leader like she was their own child. No one speaks of what happened, but she’ll never forget. She looked down and took a step back just as a small white ball rolled toward her. She looked up to see a little boy ran toward her. She grinned and kicked the ball over to the boy.
“Thank you Shi-Chan,” the boy waved with the ball in the other hand, then ran back to his friends. Shingma grinned and walked up to a small building and walked in. The smell was great, for it was one of their best restaurants in all of Kyoto. Every once in a while the village would all people rom the mainstream to come and eat there. Shingma went into the back room and set down the water, and walked out back out side.
“What to do now.” She looked at the sun, her dark blue eyes glinting slight, and sighed. It was almost that time. Twilight. This was the time the souls started to come out.
“I guess I should get my stuff.” She said softly and walked toward a house that was slightly larger then the others. She walked into her room sat with her knees folded under her. In front of her was a small shrine that she made for her parents. By her left side was a bow and a quiver full of arrows and on her right side was a sword that was in a purple sheath that was about four feet long.
“Mother, Father, please forgive me about not being able to talk to you for so long. I’ve been busy, but of course you know that. It’s almost time again for me to fight and protect, like you tried for me. I promise I will bring more food. I’ll even make your favorites. I love you . . . ” Her tears fell on her white shirt that was tucked into her red kimono pants. She stood slowly her weapons in each hand. She placed the quiver and bow on her back and her sword on her side, higher then the usual katana, so it wouldn’t drag on the ground, since she was so short. She opened the door then ran out into the night. She took the back ways of the village and crossed the imaginary line that separated the village from the Mainstream. After a mile of running she hit the town. Even at night the streets were crowded with those who were looking for a club. She looked up to see cars hovering above her head and that she will never get used to. She sensed so many souls, and it wasn't even O-bon yet. It wasn't going to be for three more days, but now a days the souls have been getting more impatient. With a sigh and walked into a getomono bar; one of the few traditional restaurants that Kyoto, well really, the whole island of Japan, had left. In the bar was a man sitting at a table by himself. Once Shingma walked in the man stood and faced her. His right eye was covered by a black eye patch with an intricate silver design, but Shingma didn’t seem to care.
“Shingma.”
“Maten.”
The tension in the room was as high as can be, each gripping their sword. In a flash both had completely changed position. Both blades were drawn, and crossed over with each other, the tip of the sword pressed against each other’s neck. The owner stood frozen staring at the two, seemingly not to breathe. After a few seconds both the man, Maten, and Shingma smiled then died out laughing. They removed the blade from each other’s neck and sheathed them. Maten waved over the owner, who brought the two some sake. The man grinned and pushed his black bangs from in front of his red eye and sat down across from Shingma.
“So you’re hunting them as well, Shingma. I would think after what happened to your parents you wouldn’t come near the spirits.” Maten sipped his sake slowly.
“What would thugs have to do with the spirits?”
“Thugs? What are you talking about? You parents weren’t . . . oh . . . heh, never mind.” Maten frowned and began to chug down his glass of sake.
“What do you mean they weren’t? They weren’t what? ” Shingma banged her first on the table, basically glaring a hole into Maten’s forehead.
“You can glare at me all you want, I’m not telling anything else. Now come on, we need to go. I can feel a Fushimon near by and I brought some darts filled of the antibodies. We need to get busy, and sorry but since the boss hasn’t been able to make the antibodies stay on a sword, and need to use a gun type of thing.” Maten reached into his long green cloak, moving the electric blue tips of his hair out away and pulled out a gun type of weapon. The gun looked just like a vantage hand gun from 2006 but instead of bullets it’s just a dart with a blue fluid on it.
“I don’t even know how to use a gun, more or less kill a Virus with it.” Shingma took the gun and studied it carefully, her hand trembling at the cold, lifeless steel that seemed to be sucking the life out of her.
“It’s quite simple. You point it like this,” Maten picked up the gun, pointing it at Shingma, “Then you pull this, called the trigger,” He slowly began to pull back the trigger. Shingma’s hair stood on end and she ducked down.
“You didn’t think I was going to shoot you with it. Not like it would do anything to you.” Maten grinned but then changed into a puzzling look.
“You have too many mood changes. Now, how are the souls coming so early, I thought the portal wouldn’t open until the day of O-bon?”
“Well you must understand that souls control the Realm of the souls. They make the rules. Now back when there were monks, they used to be able to keep everything under control, but now, even with Assatishita, there aren’t enough monks to even take this on the day before O-bon.”
“So what are we supposed to do now. Try to get everyone to fight with us, even the Mainstream? No one even knows what O-bon is anymore, what makes you think they can help. Besides they don’t even hold the power to see or sense them any more.”
“Yes, and I doubt anyone would believe us. Not like we could train them in the three days we have, anyway. So what now?” Maten muttered, staring at the table.
“Just knock them out as they come, starting now.” The two stood up and left the bar without paying, but the owner didn’t go after them. They headed into the crowd of people in the biggest Mainstream section of Kyoto. Most people shied away from them, most likely because of Maten’s huge sword that was tied to his back.
“I can’t believe you still have that ratty sword. Lord. Bayon will gladly make a new one for you.” Shingma said staring at the rust spots and chips in the blade.
“There is nothing wrong with Takon. I’ve had this blade since I left Assatishita when I was eighteen. I’ve had it for . . . five years.” Maten stuck his tongue out at Shingma.