Luffini's Monster
Confiteor Deo Omnipotenti
Beatae Mariae semper Virgini
Beato Michaeli archangelo
The line of Armed Detective Agents moved slowly. Chuuya sung mournfully in Latin at the end, following behind his ex-partner Dazai. The secret underground Oxbridge temple was lit poorly, moss sticking to aged stone pillars and dank walls. It smelt like damp, with no air circulation – dim tiki torches in the hands of each ADA member, Tamaki, and the seven-year-old Great Luffini (Shanks’ nephew). Their faces were angular and shadowed by the ill lighting, Tamaki’s blonde hair fluffed over his brow, blue eyes molten and glazed with sorrow, jaw clenched in seriousness.
The group circled the pentagram drawn on the floor in ketchup, and a bit of mayo when the initial condiment ran out. Long robes swept the stone floor in a static noise, hoods pulled over the faces of all those present. Solemn expressions pasted everyone’s faces.
The young Great Luffini’s magical abilities were still being honed in on as the group circled the pentagram, and for a moment they latched onto Tamaki’s thoughts.
Well, readers, Tamaki thought, I suppose you’re wondering what’s going on here? Why is the glorious King, moi, present at a satanic ritual? Well, dear readers, I suppose to find out why I must tell you a tale from long ago in a far away land – three hours ago, upstairs in Professor Shanks’ office.
As you are all well aware from earlier chapters in this fanfiction posted on this very website many moons ago, Atsushi died, leaving behind a beautiful fur coat and his lonely mentor. Thankfully we found a replacement – Kyoka Izumi – though many agents thought, well…
“She’s a menace! Look at what she did to my Ideal!” Kunikida held up the flimsy notebook – really, it could have done with better binding, perhaps a leather cover, though perhaps as a peasant it was sufficient for his needs. Someone had drawn on a page in red and blue crayon; three stick people of differing lengths and arms as long as their bodies, with the words ‘My Familee’ scrawled unevenly over the clouds.
The beautiful lady Yosano was next to stand and talk, “And the amount of people she’s killed! She keeps on changing the number – it’s all she ever says or talks about! – I’m Kyoka,” Yosano imitated, “And I’ve killed thirty five people!”
“Dazai-san, you NEED a new mentee,” Tanizaki said.
Dazai stood by my side. “I miss Atsushi. Atsushi-kun!”
“Kyoka is annoying,” Kenji said. “We’ll bring Atsushi back!” The peasant adjusted his hat on his dry, straw-like hair desperately thirsty for some TRESemme.
The Great Luffini managed to reel his powers away from Tamaki’s internal thoughts, the seven-year-old using the strength of Chuuya’s constant mourning cry and the welling hatred the group had for Kyoka (or in Tamaki’s case, his sadness for his close friend Dazai). His knees shooketh. Sweat poured down his brow.
And in the middle of the pentagram, in the gushing smoke, a writhing body appeared at the Great Luffini’s summoning – Shu, the thirty-year-old virgin janitor.
“He’s pregnant,” Luffini cried. “Pregnant – with Atsushi.”
“He’s the one who ate Atsushi!” Dazai cried. “He ate my subordinate!”
“It only make sense,” Luffini said, falling to his knees, huffing from the energy exerted for the summoning. “Atsushi – his body – was last in…Shu’s…” Kenji knelt by Luffini, grabbing his shoulder to hold him up, “The pregnancy period – is nine days. Kill him before that, and…there will be no chance…of bringing Atsushi…back.”
Everyone groaned. Chuuya walked up to an unconscious Shu in the middle of the pentagram and kicked him in the head.