CHAPTER 1

Girl hunting -- that was the bait with which I allowed myself to be taken in by Murata. Because of that, after the Obon Festival I wound up at the sea, which was teaming with jellyfish.

Actually, I'm a self-declared pacifist: one doesn't hunt love, its a gift one receives. In the end, the reason I agreed to it wasnt my sixteen years of life without a girlfriend, but rather the prospect of a paid summer job.

"Summer, blue sea, radiant sun!"

"And jellyfish," I added.

"Skimpy swimsuits, fresh air!"

"...and barnacles."

"At the beach, everyone can come across super-cool!"

"Even you, because half of your face is hidden by sunglasses! Are you sure you haven't confused this with skiing?!"

Heading out to refill the vending machines, the two of us ambled in the direction of the parking lot. While the wheels of the handcart fought their way through the sand, I lodged my complaints with Murata in irritation.

"And furthermore -- 'pick up girls or let them pick you up' -- as if! We slave away the whole day long in the beach huts, and then in the evening we still have to help out in the guesthouse. Why don't you let me in on the secret of when exactly we're supposed to have time to flirt with girls with this workload?"

Murata slanted me a sideways glance.

"The time factor is completely overrated. The most important thing ispassion, man!" He easily dismissed my grievances.

Ken Murata -- the glasses type who had been in the same class as me at middle school -- shoved all the physically demanding work off on me and had a cushy job for himself. And it washisrelatives who operated the beach huts and the guesthouse "Family M." Their solid management practice was based on one simple principle: one can hire friends and family and pay them very little. In this case, their choice was the son of a second cousin twice removed, who was in his first year of high school. But the fact that he did nothing but laze around all day surely wasnt what they had in mind!

"You know the two office-worker women staying in the Daisy Room?" asked Murata. "They saw it yesterday when you fell down. No, no, they think you're 'completely sweet!'"

The rooms at the guesthouse all had plant-based names.

"And the three old ladies in the Sugarmelon Room were talking about how they'd caught a peek of you changing clothes. And you got a full 100 point score from the four men in the Mandrake Room!"

"Stop!" I managed to interrupt. "You promised me hoards of girls, all of whom were waiting around for nothing other than to be my girlfriend. You didn't say anything about old women and definitely not about men! And this is all completely aside from the fact that I'm not interested in matters of love right now anyway. I'd rather concentrate fully on having a great vacation job and the potential for a fat wallet at the end of it. Thereisone thing I find extremely odd, though -- how is it that an upstanding worker such as myself earns exactly the same amount as the expert nose-picker, Ken Murata?"

"Oh come on, keep your cool. You'll see, any moment some girls will be coming around the corner, and they'll see us as super-cool high school students."

I had long given up the prospect of an amorous adventure this summer. Girlfriend or no girlfriend, it didn't matter -- as long as I could generate enough money to fund my amateur baseball team. As for the romantic hopes of my buddy here -- that train had long since left the station.

Sure enough, Ken Murata, who trudged along next to me in his beach sandals, had actually bleached his hair. It was his new image for the late summer season, so to speak. His hair was now almost blond, and his eyes were covered by blue contact lenses. He wore a pair of coordinating blue sunglasses with prescription lenses. People who are nearsighted don't have it easy.

"What are you looking at?" he griped. "You know, there are baseball players who dye their hair, too! That Matsui you think is so great, he's blond too!"

I almost answered: Well, that's the point, isn't it?Heis good-looking, that's why he looks good with that hairstyle. But instead I just sighed. Murata isnt actually ugly. He has shrewd and pleasant facial features that accentuate his intelligence and personality. If he had a little more confidence in himself, he could get a girlfriend without bleaching his hair.

"The colored contact lenses are really too much of a good thing, though. And don't forget that you go to an all male school. You'd better be careful that you don't end up with a boyfriend instead of a girlfriend at the end of the summer."

"So what, who cares? In that case, I'll simply go out with a guy! It doesn't matter, I just want to be more popular, cost what it may. But that's something you don't seem able to understand, Mr. Shibuya Yuri, Harajuku Fuuri."

Yeah, it's true. My name is Yuri Shibuya. Literally. That's not even an abbreviation. The amount of trouble it's caused me in my sixteen years of life... But whatever; lately I've been starting to find it very practical.

"And what the heck were you thinking with this ancient plot device, wanting to snag yourself a girlfriend at the beach huts on summer vacation? That doesn't even work any more in shoujo manga. Seriously -- when it comes to women, you are truly the last great dreamer."

"Oh yeah? Well it seems like you think the girls are all standing around in droves on the baseball fields squealing, just becauseyouget all riled up by amateur baseball players! I'll tell you one thing, Shibuya -- when it comes to amateur baseball, youre the one whos the last great dreamer."

"But I never said that girls were squealing on the baseball field!"

"What does it matter, anyway? If you were at home, you'd just be hanging out in front of the TV, taking in the high school baseball tournaments. There's so much more benefit to being here. You're earning money for your team, and you're getting rid of that baseball-jersey tan that bugs you so much. So please quit your complaining."

I opened the door of the vending machine and pulled out a blue can. The sports drink was so cold that I could barely taste its sweetness. Murata pulled the snacks out of the box and stuck them in the vending machine.

He wasn't completely wrong. My baseball tan really wasn't all that chic. From the neck upwards and all the way to my upper arms, I was tanned brown. But the rest of my body was shockingly white. At the pool, Id totally stand out, and not in a good way. Some guys on the baseball team I lead had even gotten the nickname "himohiki" -- like the long white underwear.

But actually, we were in danger of earning ourselves a new design on our bodies. A couple of people had looked over at us and stifled their laughter -- no wonder: we definitely looked comical.

"You can be happy your shoulders and back are finally going to be tan, but your chest, stomach, and the front of your thighs are going to remain chalk white. We look like twodoraemons, practically calico!"

The beach hut uniform was a swimming suit with an apron over the top. A sweet young lady in this outfit would surely be a vision worthy of the gods, but we were definitely no feast for the eyes. Even so, the young female guests were constantly staring at our backsides. It bordered on sexual harassment.

Murata had practically reached fetish levels with his swim thong. For the first apron-display of my life, I'd rather my eyes had something better to take in. On the whole, the effect was more like a disguise than anything. I bet the view would put erotic fantasies into the minds of the ladies, though.

"Well, whatever, it doesn't really matter," declared Murata. "One is only sixteen once, and the summer is short. And even the peacock decks himself out to prepare for a romance."

"Peacocks wear camouflage-colored swim thongs?"

"Dude, what is your problem? Heck,you'vegot a stone necklace bouncing at your neck. Andyou'rerunning around the beach in a baseball cap! No one wears baseball caps any more. How would you like it if I were to start calling you Kyojin-kid or Hanshin-boy, hmm?"

"Yeah, go ahead and laugh. We'll see who laughs last when you've got sunburn on your forehead."

After I'd finished my drink and thrown the bottle into the trash, I fingered the stone hanging on my chest. It was a strong blue -- deeper than the blue of the sky. Under the UV-rays, the stone had heated up a little and looked a touch more washed out than usual. The expectations of the one who'd given it to me and the sad fate of its previous owner disturbed me. The stone was supposed to be a talisman, but I wasn't convinced that a weakling like myself was worthy of it.

"And on top of everything, I have to waste my time here."

"Now wait a minute! What do you mean, waste? The experiences gathered in one's youth are totally important. Who knows how you might make use of them later? There are worse careers."

No thanks. Not interested. I already have a career.

I, Yuri Shibuya -- a baseball boy like you find on every corner -- was at this point in time already the ruler of my own castle and empire. And I wasn't your normal, everyday type of king, either -- I was nothing less than the king of the demons.

Not too long ago, I was flushed away from a pretty unromantic venue into a fantasy world that would have made a great setting for an RPG game. There, I was surrounded by a troupe of unearthly beauties, who dropped the job of Demon King in my lap without further ado. I thought I was dreaming. But it was all real. Starting with my official appointment as King of the Demon Empire, all the way to the mountain of problems that had to be solved because the relationship between humans and demons was well past strained.

There were still moments when I wanted nothing more than to run away from all the responsibility. And I still have a lot of doubts as to whether I'm actually qualified for such an important task. I have only my teammates to thank for the fact that I haven't already failed miserably -- they've always got my back.

"Hello? You guys are from that red guesthouse across the way, right?"

I had let my gaze drift off in distraction, but as I heard this voice, I lifted my head.

I saw two female students walking towards us. They were a little bit older than us; they were holding onto each other tightly and seemed near to tears. Murata's hand, which had been busy refilling the bottles in the vending machine, froze. With a smile he replied to them, "Yes, that's right. Is there a problem? Did one of you get stung by a jellyfish?"

One of the girls was covering her naked breasts with her arms. Between her soft breasts a breathtaking valley coasted downhill. What could have happened?!

"My friend's bikini top washed away. Over there, by the grotto. It got stuck on an outcrop. You can still see it over there, but we can't get to it."

Dark blue with thin red diagonal stripes. And lemon yellow with yellow strings to tie it on. What am I talking about? The color of the bikinis, of course!

The girl with the stripes had wrapped her arm comfortingly around her crying friend. She had a belly-button piercing.

No wonder that bikini top got pulled off, I thought to myself. Anyone who regularly wears underwear that ties on knows how dangerous it is. As weird as it might sound, I'm speaking from firsthand experience there.

"Don't worry, the boys will take care of it," the belly-button-piercing girl consoled her friend.

Aha, so it was as simple as that, was it. The matter had already been decided without even consulting us. Well, okay, so I guess we were employees of the guesthouse and not regular tourists, after all.

Actually, for a patron of the guesthouse, we would surely fight our way through any grotto or the deepest jungle. We were immediately all for it. The fact that these two girls were really cute had nothing to do with it. Likely story!

"Well, then: off to battle!"

"Not quite, Shibuya: off to the grotto!"

The cave was bigger than expected. The dusky lighting inside made it the ideal spot for a cozy rendezvous. At this time of day, the water reached about hip level. To reach the grotto, for better or worse, one had to go through the water. On the other side of the grotto, a lemon-colored thing was hanging on a jagged ledge. There was only one problem: in front of the rocks, a red flag waved cheerfully in the water.

"Swimming is forbidden here. Looks like somebody didn't stick to the rules."

"It looks like about 20 meters. You can swim, right, Shibuya?"

"What, me? But it's forbidden!"

"Oh come on now, don't make a fuss. You know you're already a true expert when it comes to swimming in forbidden places. Have you already forgotten the dolphin pool?"

I had no idea what to say to that.

I dipped a foot into the water. The seawater was colder than I anticipated, and it seeped through my gym shoes. I twisted up my apron. Testing the rocky ground carefully with the soles of my shoes, I set off to rescue the yellow butterfly which had been left behind in the grotto.

"Shibuya, is everything okay?"

As I reached the red flag, the water reached up to my chest. With careful steps I crept nearer the object of my desire. I stuck a hand out towards the yellow fabric. Almost there. My very first contact with a freshly worn bikini. As my fingers finally brushed it, I was overwhelmed by fantasies that I'd rather not put into words here. The slightly warm, moist material clung willingly to my right hand. Wasn't this a good opportunity? Almost deserved as a part of my reward? Just once, to pull it quickly over my head. Who could hold it against me? Okay, okay, better not. Who knows what its owner would do to me after that. But just once, to snuffle at it a bit...

"Shibuya, come back! We want to get back to the guesthouse!" Murata waved his arms about dramatically.

Scraping together the last bits of my self-control, I threw my lemon-yellow prize over my shoulder.

"It's fine, simmer down already! I'm coming al-- urgh..."

As I was about to take my next step, I saw some sea animal right in front of my foot.

"It had to be a crab of all things, didn't it?!"

When one steps on a live crab, the foot gets a hefty punishment. At least, that's what all the Japanese kids learned from the fairy tales.

The enemy began to threaten me with its brown claws, waving them up high. I executed a backwards evasive maneuver, splashed down onto my back, and submerged my entire body in the salty seawater. The bikini top that I'd laid loose over my shoulder floated up and threatened to drift away before my very eyes.

"Damn it, stay here!"

Quickly I stuck my hand out, but I missed it by a hair, and the bikini top sank under the surface of the water. It's not that easy to escape from me, my little friend! I fished my arm around under the water after it. Suddenly I was sucked deeply down into the water.

"Murata! It's a giant squid!"

All three of them were laying on the beach with their heads propped up on their hands. They all took up a "What? I can't hear you!" pose.

Stubborn as I am, I didn't consider for a moment letting go of the bikini top I'd won through my own sweat and effort. I sank deeper and deeper, until the seawater went up my nose and it became impossible to take any more breaths.

Four months ago, I would have inevitably made a great fuss and broken out in complete panic. But today I could maintain some small measure of calm, because I already knew what was happening. It must be the suction from over there. I was being called back to the Demon Empire.

Thanks to my prior experience, I knew that resistance was futile. One simply had to take up as relaxed a posture as possible, breathe deeply in, breathe deeply out -- dang it! A piece of seaweed got in my mouth when I breathed in!

"A question, Father."

"What is it, Yu?"

"Is there maybe somebody in our family who is anti-alcohol?"

"No, your mother and I don't hold ourselves back entirely when it comes to drinking."

"But then why is there so much alcohol-free beer in our refrigerator?"

"It's there for you, of course. Middle school students always feel the need to go behind their parents' backs to try cigarettes and alcohol, isn't that right? After all, kids are full of curiosity at your age. But unfortunately, alcohol and puberty don't go together well at all. It hinders physical development, weakens the brain cells and makes the child lose enthusiasm. That's why Mama and Papa decided to keep only alcohol-free beer in all the places you could find. I know it's cold comfort, but anytime you like, I can describe the taste and effects of real spirits to you with words! So, Yu, pay attention now, here goes:glug, glug, glug. Ask me now, right away -- wow, man is that good!"

In spite of these mean little games of my father's, I remained abstinent. As an athlete, I didn't want to put even a single millimeter of potential body height into jeopardy.

But one fine day, when I have presented myself to the entire world as a baseball player, I'll enjoy a bottle of beer without restraint. Ah, what a glorious image! I wouldn't refuse anyone the right to hose me down with fresh beer! Until it burns my eyes and fills my nostrils, until I can't breathe and have to cough it up... and...

"Gurgle... hmphaaaaah!"

Fluid pressed into my head, not just in my nose but also in my ears. It hurt so much I had to close my eyes. I tried to breathe but I couldn't sense a hint of air anywhere around me. I wanted to struggle, but I found I couldn't stretch my limbs out at all. When I rose up, my head banged against some kind of obstacle. Where the heck was I?! It felt like someone had locked me up inside a beer keg. And it tasted like that too.

Oh my god, could it be that it actuallywasa beer keg?!

I located a paper thin layer of oxygen in the vicinity of the ceiling, pressed my lips against the wooden lid, and breathed. Full of doubts, I kicked against the walls that closed me in. In truth, the thing was very sturdy.

I marshaled all my strength and threw myself to the left. The keg lurched to the side. After it had completed three full rotations on its rim, it tipped over. The violence of impact broke it apart with a crash. I found myself gasping for breath on the ground, in the middle of a lake of beer. I wonder if Momotaro, the peach boy, also felt like this?!

After I had more or less collected myself and was taking in my brightly lit surroundings, a few women immediately caught my eye. They wore ultra-short mini-skirts and blue aprons just like the one I had. They flitted busily here and there between the tables, supporting crockery-filled trays high in the air with both hands. The tables were nearly all occupied. Various shouts came from all around; I couldn't tell whether they were drink orders or sexual harassment.

So I had landed in a bar? That was new. In the middle of the room, a group of people had clasped shoulders and were singing a song at the top of their lungs. In the corners sat men who preferred solitude, nursing their beers alone. Someone at the nearest table pointed at me and shouted, "Hey, look! That waiter broke a beer keg! Look here you, we could have drunk that!"

"Since when does this joint hire male waiters? Hey, what kind of a guy is that, anyway?"

The red-faced drunk guy stared at me. Shoot! I hastily pulled my cap down over my face. In this world, black hair and black eyes had a certain meaning. It could be dangerous to show them around casually.

"Well, son-of-a-gun, boy! That's going a little far, don't you think? Even dyed your hair black! I can understand admiring the king, but you better not let yourself be discovered by his bodyguards looking like that. They're not as understanding as we are."

Luckily for me, they thought I was a fan of the king -- so, as it were, a fan of myself. I was, so to speak, my own fan. This was starting to get pretty comical. But that thing about the bodyguards made me pause. Had some dubious organization been founded without my knowledge while I was gone?

"Your Majesty!"

The wooden door was violently ripped open and a man with crazy, wild hair came storming towards me. I sneaked a quick glance out the door; outside it was the dead of night and a heavy rain thundered down from the sky.

"Your Majesty, I do hope nothing has happened to you?!"

"Hello, Gunter!"

"Oh, what an overpowering joy it is to see you again! But what... how..."

From one moment to the next, his happily glowing countenance reversed itself. He became pale as ash, and blood ran from his nose.

"B..b..but why are you dressed like this?! You are naked! And you're wearing an apron!"

"Naked? Apron? What?! No, damnit! Im wearing swimming trunks!"

"And why are you clutching that brassiere??"

Brassiere? Oh, he meant the bikini-top.

Lord Gunter von Kleist was the competent advisor to the 27th King of the Demon Empire (that's me) and he was the empire's overprotective schoolmaster. And he was, once again, about to break out in tears.

Gunter's appearance was so magnificent that one brief look at him stormily captured the hearts of women. But as soon as I came on the scene, he always drowned in mucus and tears, and his breathtaking beauty went straight down the drain.

The customers at the bar had begun to whisper: "The bodyguards! The bodyguards are making their move!"

"You'rethe one they meant by that, Gunter?!"

At that moment, a small shadow came flying at my chest. "Yuri!"

"Greta! What are you doing here?"

I lifted up the little girl who had, through various circumstances, become my daughter. She had beautiful olive skin, browned by the sun, along with energetic eyebrows and long lashes. Her auburn curls were bound into two braids. I was definitely a smitten father, but she really was extremely cute.

"Man, Greta, you get prettier every day!"

I looked over at the door and saw Lord Weller suddenly standing there. Like always, he was calmness itself. I had never once seen him lose his poise.

"Hey Conrad!"

I expected him to answer me with his refreshing smile, like he usually did -- but instead, the second oldest of the three most dissimilar brothers of all time frowned. He pressed his jacket into my hand and eyed the lower half of my body critically. Then he gave some money to the nearest suitable customer at the bar, who proceeded to pull off his pants.

"Here, put these on."

I hurriedly tugged the pants on without taking off my shoes. They were still warm from their previous owner.

"What's going on, Conrad? Why are you in such a bad mood?" I asked.

Conrad was, so to speak, my parental guardian and bodyguard in one. The blood of humans and demons flowed together in his veins. Maybe that was the reason for his more plain looks. In contrast to his older brother Gwendal and his younger brother Wolfram, with Conrad my inferiority complexes in this respect were held within limits.

But actually it was said that Conrad was more beloved to women than both of his beautiful brothers. He possessed the gift of being able to speak compliments easily, and had a 100% pure smile -- that kind of thing apparently went over very well with women. But at the same time I knew there were moments, even for such a friendly young man as Conrad, when shadows lay over his bright, brown eyes.

Since we'd been speaking quietly, the bar guests had resumed their previous activity: a true reveler had attention only for the glass in front of his nose.

"We have to get you to a safe place as quickly as possible," said Conrad.

"What? Are there problems again already? That's why you brought me here so rushed like this, right?"

"No, Your Majesty," said Gunter with an apologetic tone to his voice. "The reason is this: ...it was not us who called you here."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, yes, it's a little embarrassing for me to have to admit it, but ... wait, don't misunderstand me! Not a single day goes by that I don't long for your return. But..."

"We want assurance that Your Majesty is in a secure location until things have calmed down here. We thought you would be well-protected with your parents," said Conrad.

"Oh, so actually you didn't want me to come here at all?"

"At least for the moment. The situation here is fairly critical."

"This herd of humans -- sorry, among the humans of this nation worrisome things are taking place. From the information gathered by our spies... it is said the humans here have launched an attack against a tremendously dangerous weapon." Here Gunter had to take a deep breath.

"In this world, four objects exist that are not to be tampered with under any circumstances," said Conrad. "The men -- specifically the men of the superpower Simaron -- have managed to bring one of those objects under their control. This particular item is a box namedThe End of the Wind. If it remains in their hands, the humans will open it sooner or later."

"Through the opening of this box, all imaginable manner of calamity would be set free. It would cover the world in treachery, death, and despair," said Gunter.

"If the lid is opened even once, no one will be able to hold it back," Conrad added gravely. "The humans believe they will be able to use the box for their purposes. But they would never be able to control it; they are overestimating themselves immensely."

Lord Weller's silver-sprinkled eyes darkened for a moment. "Gunter, I hear people talking outside who are not from around here. Let's be careful and go out the back way."

"I'll ask the owner if we can disappear through the kitchens."

"Yes, please do."

Conrad turned his attention to me. "Your Majesty, I know you must be exhausted, but we need to get out of here immediately."

"Don't call me 'Your Majesty'! After all, youre the one who named me."

As I spoke that familiar platitude, Conrad seemed to relax a little and seemed a tiny bit relieved. What kind of horrors must he be reckoning with, to show pleasure at such a small thing as that?

"I would like for you to wait in the other world until we have this crisis better under control. The priestesses have already gathered in the temple of the Original King and are making the necessary preparations to send you back to Earth."

"Surely you all aren't planning to start a war while I'm gone?!"

"As far as it is possible, we will try to avoid it."

"That's not good enough for me. Under no circumstances are you to allow a war to begin!"

"Understood. We will try."

Gunter was already in the kitchen and nodding at us. Although the cooks were busy with their pots and pans, they kept an eye on us. From their perspective, we had to look like a pretty weird group.

"Please don't forget your position even while you are on Earth. Always act with caution and be aware of your surroundings. Don't allow yourself to enter any situations where you might be forced to act rashly. When everything is sorted here, we will definitely call you back right away. But at that time I myself will be --" Conrad stopped. He had already opened the back door. The cold air and a heavy gust of rain made the gloomy night even more unwelcoming than it already was. After Greta's hood had been pulled up, we marched out. In this terrible weather, not even a torch or a flashlight would have been of any help. Gunter murmured some phrase, and then the tip of his nose began to glow red. I had to admit, that kind of magic could be very practical!

But it's not exactly the coolest method of providing light. Shouldn't there be some more fashionable alternative?

When we reached the tree where the horses were tied, Conrad swung up and pulled Greta in front of him on the saddle. Gunter and I also shared a horse. I tried to ignore his hot breath on my neck. After all, this was an emergency.

"This path leads to a church. If everything goes according to plan, youll be able to make your return trip from there -- as long as the priestesses can prepare in time," explained Gunter.

A sharp draft of air whizzed past my ear. My wet hair moved very slightly in that direction.

"Your Majesty, watch out!" yelled Conrad, who rode next to us, as he reached his arm out.

In the same moment I heard his voice, I ducked -- trusting my instincts -- to the right. To my left I heard the nasty sound of flesh being split open. The body behind me went cold.

"Gunter?!"

The schoolmaster fell from the horse; muddy water sprayed up in high arcs. The red light from his nose drew a curved line during his fall -- like a lightning bug. The horse reared up and brayed loudly.

"Gunter! My god, this is my fault! Because I dodged out of the way!"

"Yuri, get down right now! Hurry, get down from the horse!"

I managed to jump down in the nick of time, just before the animal galloped away. I could see I was going to break my back on impact with the ground, but Conrad caught me deftly.

"Damn it, whod have thought those guys would make it all the way here... Your Majesty, do you see that light? You must get there as quickly as possible. Don't even turn around! Here, take Greta with you!"

"But what about Gunter?" I staggered a few steps towards the fallen schoolmaster.

"Don't worry about Gunter! Ill take care of him!"

Conrad pulled me back forcefully. I grabbed for Greta's hand and ran for the glinting light. It was probably about 200 meters, but there was only white noise in my head; I lost all track of time and space. Conrad shooed his horse in the opposite direction. After he'd briefly laid his hand against Gunter's neck, he caught up to us again.

The orange lights revealed themselves to be torches mounted on either side of a doorway. The entry area was covered by a roof. We pressed carefully against the door; one of the two double doors gave way, creaking loudly. Greta quickly slipped under my arm, into the interior of the church.

"This is a church?" she asked. "But I don't see any statues of gods, or any old man giving a sermon."

"It's okay, everything's in order here," Conrad assured her.

The inner chamber was bright and warm. Wooden benches stood in rows on the stone floor; several candles flickered in a candelabra. Honestly I couldn't see any difference from a traditional Christian church -- the only thing missing was the cross on the altar. Instead, in their place stood a shallow basin full to the brim with water, and a giant painting. A lavishly furnished chamber was depicted there but it was completely deserted.

"What a beautiful person," murmured Greta next to me, sighing. "Looks like Wolfram."

"Who looks like Wolfram? There isn't anyone in the picture."

Conrad slid a massive locking bolt into place on the door and approached the altar. That reminded me what a dangerous situation we found ourselves in -- and that one of us was missing!

"Im so sorry, Conrad! What are we going to do now? They gunned down Gunter! And it was my fault! I shouldn't have ducked!"

"Calm down, Yuri. They didn't gun down Gunter -- that wasn't a gun."

"But it's... it's..." The words stuck in my throat; there was a lump there and I couldn't get any air.

"Please breathe now, Yuri. Everything's going to be okay. He's not dead. And it's also not your fault. We never expected that the enemy would have penetrated to the interior of the country. They must have an ally who led them here. Otherwise, they would never have been able to sneak through the countryside without significant weapons and cavalry. It was our mistake, Yuri, not yours."

"But..."

"Gunter wasn't hit because you ducked. In the darkness, he was simply the best target. Don't worry, he's not dead. He's just put his body into a state of suspended animation. That's why we could safely leave him back there. No one would go to the trouble of killing a corpse."

"But..."

Finally I managed to swallow the lump in my throat, and I looked into the eyes of my companion. It didn't escape me that the old scar over Conrads right eyebrow trembled just a bit.

"You're not lying to me, are you?"

"No, I am not."

"But youarekeeping something from me. You've been trying desperately the entire time not to let anything show. It must be something horribly important you don't want me to know about, right?!"

"What makes you think that?"

"Oh come on, that's my job!"

The demon stone on my chest became warmer, although it had to be wet from the rain. Hot and heavy, it pressed against my skin. It hurt so much it felt like I was being branded by it.

"The catcher must read the intentions of the pitcher and the defense and then come to a decision. I need to be able to sense the thoughts of not only my own team but everyone, no matter if friend or enemy, like the thoughts of the batter and the runners. I even need to guess the battle plan of the opposing bench in order to give my people the right signs. That's my job, the job of the catcher. It's true that because I'm still pretty inexperienced, I can't guess what everyone's thinking yet, but at least I can sense what's up with the people who are close to me! So are you please going to tell me now, whats wrong?!"

I grabbed hold of Conrad's collar; the corner of his mouth twitched. It wasn't exactly a smile.

"All right, fine, I give up," he sighed.

"Someone's coming!" Greta suddenly cried.

Our faces spun in the direction of the doorway. Under the impact of a powerful strike against it, the locking bolt bent; our fortifications were about to give way. It was not possible for human bodies to have caused that kind of damage.

Conrad let his long sword glide out of its sheath, and he laid the sheath in front of the painting on the altar. Quietly he murmured something that sounded like an oath.

"To nothing and no one but the Original King will my sword return home."

Excuse me?!

"I've entrusted my sheath into the care of His Majesty the Original King. It means that I will not stop fighting until the Original King permits it of me. In return, he is to protect us. It's only a small gesture, to urge myself on, nothing more. Please hide Greta somewhere."

"And what about me? Don't I get any weapon?!"

"Do you see the Original King in the painting?" asked Conrad.

Inside the giant picture frame shone forth only the luxurious chamber of royalty, unchanged.

"What are you talking about? Where? There's no one there!"

"It's a piece of luck -- you can't see him. Tip the water over onto the painting."

"What?! But this is a work of art! I can't do that!"

As an upstanding high school student, I could never vandalize any piece of artwork. But as my glance drifted to the door, which was threatening to burst open at any moment, I came to the decision to trust the word of the expert. After all, Conrad had endured enough battles to know what he was doing.

I carefully sprinkled a few drops of water from the basin onto the picture.

"Yikes! It lit up! What was that? A chemical reaction?"

"Don't be so squeamish with it. Just take the water and tip it over the entire painting."

I gripped the basin with both hands and tossed the water in a big wave over the picture. A pallid light spread throughout the entire interior of the church.

"Awesome!"

"When you jump through the picture, you'll be taken back to Earth!"

"Come again?!"

He wasn't serious, was he?

Bits of metal and wood whirred through the air. The front entrance had broken in. Ten or more attackers stormed the building. They cried out, wild and chaotic, but I couldn't understand a word of it. They all wore the same clothing; the movements of their long limbs made their cape-like coats swirl. Their faces were hidden behind masks painted red and green. Except for the dark green color of their clothing, they reminded me a lot of the lurid monster fromThe Scream.

"Your Majesty, quickly! You must jump through the painting!"

"But there's no way I can leave you alone here! There are way too many of them!"

"You've got to jump! I can't protect you here, Yuri!"

Two of the attackers carried objects under their arms that looked sort of like weapons. Actually they looked like those super-powered dustbuster vacuums you always see on the shopping channels. One of them shook briefly and a fireball came shooting out with crazy fast velocity. It was bigger than a basketball by far.

Okay, so not a dustbuster, then. More like the opposite.

Luckily, the first fireball only hit the wall, but the second one whizzed straight in my direction.

"Damn it!" The power of habit had me a hair's breadth away from trying to catch the thing catcher-style. The smell of burning fabric abruptly reached my nose. The flames were sucked up into the center of the painting. A round, dry surface appeared afterwards and the glow disappeared. I tested the surface carefully with my fingertips, and it felt like your everyday oil painting again.

The other eight attackers kept coming closer and closer.

"Please! Do what I've asked you!" said Lord Weller, who still had his back to me.

"But the picture dried out!"

"Then find more water, quickly!"

Before he had even finished his sentence, the enemy closed in on both sides, and launched their attack with drawn swords. Conrad's sword parried a thrust. Fearing an attack from behind, I reached back to a door behind the altar to the left. It wouldn't open.

"Shit!"

The clanging of metal refused to stop. Again and again at regular intervals I heard the sound of a sword smashing into the stone floor. With the power of desperation, I kicked at the door. A hole broke out in the middle of it.

Outside, the heavy rain roared.

For a couple seconds, I was distracted by the sight of the rain and didn't pay attention to what was going on behind my back. One of the attackers took advantage of this opportunity -- his blade swung towards me. The air moving past it sounded like a shriek. Halfway through its path, it stopped dead. I spun around out of reflex and saw Conrad cross blades with the enemy. Dark red blood was flowing over his throat and ears.

At four points in the room, green heaps lay on the floor. This was the number by which Conrad had decimated the enemy.

"Go, get out of here!"

I wanted to follow Conrad's order and escape through the opening in the door. But my heel caught on some object which felt very strange.

It was an arm.

"Conrad?!"

I couldn't muster the courage to lift my gaze. I stared determinedly at this severed left arm. The fingers were still clenched as if they were holding something tightly. I didn't see a single drop of blood. The arm almost looked like a well-crafted prosthetic.

"Yuri!"

Shocked, I finally jerked my head upwards. Because of the backlighting, I saw my protector's back only as shadows. The left side of his body looked different somehow.

"Hurry, get out of here! It's too late now to travel through the painting!" His voice sounded gravelly and tight.

"Conrad, your arm..."

I couldn't get any further.

"Haven't I told you already, Yuri? For you..."

Although I couldn't actually see it, I knew that at this moment, Conrad had pulled his bloodless cheeks and mouth into a fearless smile.

"...I would give my arm, breast, and life any time."

It wasn't his customary friendly smile, but that of a demon intoxicated with the heat of battle.

I couldnt allow anyone else to be injured. Praying that no one was waiting for me on the other side, I plunged my upper body into the hole in the door. Heavy raindrops splattered in my face.

I pulled the rest of my body outside with my hands propped in the slippery mud. In that very same moment, the ground under my feet broke away. I slid downwards. And nowhere was there a branch in sight that I could have grabbed onto.

I turned around, but before I could call Conrad's name, a blast wave surged out the door, knocking it sideways. Nearly submerged in rainwater and mud, I looked back up. Flames and smoke were shooting out of the back door of the church. Crackling splinters and a fiery rain of sparks glittered and danced from the heavens to the earth. Their reflections were mirrored in the falling raindrops. This effect doubled and tripled their radiance.

Like a firework, I thought, just before my sight and breath were choked out completely by the mud.

Yet someone still whispered a short apology into my ear.