Bungo Stray Dogs - Volume 2 Chapter 3 Part 2

Chapter 3 Part 2

Two forces were engaged in a shoot-out in front of the chalky-white shrine: the Mimic soldiers in tattered gray clothes and the Mafia members in black suits and sunglasses. Both were firing the same foreign automatic rifles. Bullets flew across the town square, chipping away at the shrine’s pale- colored pillars like an ice sculpture.
They were battling on the art museum’s front yard. The rectangular building with its alabaster facade rose high into the sky. Square cobble paving stretched endlessly across the yard, evoking a digital, pixelated kind of feel. White columns spaced closely together acted as shields for the gunfire as they came crumbling down one after another.
There were four Mafia members and nine Mimic. Mimic was dominating in quality, quantity, and experience as they backed the Mafia into a corner.
They split up into two groups to pour cross fire through a pincer movement. One of the Mafia men yelled orders while returning fire as they retreated into the art museum. The Mimic soldiers, on the other hand, did not say a word. They simply advanced, chasing their prey in silence. As the first Mimic soldier stepped into the building, something caught his eye, and he quickly looked up.
That, however, ended up being the last move he ever made. “Do you not enjoy art?”
The soldier’s head flew to one side, then bounced off the wall before rolling back to its owner’s feet. It took a moment before fresh blood spurted out from the clean cut severing the soldier’s neck. A dark shadow drifted down to the ground, its black overcoat elegantly billowing in the breeze.

Realizing something was wrong, the following Mimic soldier drew his gun. “How boorish. The artwork here is the manifestation of the human spirit.
Show some respect.”
The shadowy figure twisted his body, gently pivoting his black overcoat. It split into three parts, each transforming into a massless blade before launching forward.
First, the rifle was split in two. Its contents then spilled out, showing a perfectly smooth slice all the way through.
Next, the fingers holding the rifle noiselessly dropped to the ground one by one. Finally, the Mimic soldier’s torso slowly slid forward as his lower half leaned backward before they hit the ground.
The remaining soldiers, who had fortunately been out of range of the dark blades’ slaughter, simultaneously aimed their muzzles at the black overcoat and pulled the trigger.
“Guns are the instruments of fools.”
The shadowy figure in a black overcoat, Ryuunosuke Akutagawa, took another step forward. A split second later, the twelve bullets clashed with what appeared to be silent blades of solidified darkness. Most of the bullets were reflected before even reaching Akutagawa, while the remaining ones crashed into an invisible wall, stopping mere inches away from him. Akutagawa cut through space, creating a shield. He twisted his body, and the murderous shadowy blades sprung forward as if to answer his calls.
One man’s face; another, his body; even one soldier’s legs were all sliced in half. Still, the blades’ wild dance had not ended. They soared through the air like a violent tempest of darkness destroying everything in its path, as if they were living creatures with minds of their own. It was a skill specialized only in destruction and killing—nothing more.
Akutagawa laughed.
It was as if a pitch-black demon were devouring the gray ghosts.
“Retraite!”
The surviving Mimic soldiers’ faces turned sickly pale as they quickly backed away.
“Come back! Fight me!” Akutagawa screamed while chasing after them.
Black spears and bullets clashed violently across the battlefield.
“This is nothing! This barely even counts as a trial! Show me cruelty— show me the sort of brutality that will freeze my very soul!” the boy dressed

in black screamed, an echo of supplication in his voice.
Just then, a Mimic personnel carrier appeared before the art museum containing new soldiers. Like a mad dog, a fiendish smirk played across Akutagawa’s lips.
That was when a signal flare shot into the air from the personnel carrier. The phosphorescence raced straight up, leaving a red trail in the sky and casting a shadow over the earth below.
Immediately, the Mimic soldiers ceased fire. “What—?”
Bewildered, Akutagawa surveyed the battlefield. Not a single enemy was holding up their gun. One after another, they placed their weapons on the ground. Some even had both hands already in the air.
“They’re surrendering?” Akutagawa muttered in disbelief. “Impossible.” With his arms raised, one soldier walked over from the other side of the group. He had handsome features, and both his clothes and hair were a sickly silver-gray hue, as if his soul had been sucked out. The man looked essentially the same as the other Mimic soldiers but was disproportionately taller than the rest. And yet, his footsteps didn’t make a sound; it was as if he were weightless. Decorating the breast of his military fatigues were various medals of honor in all different colors. The soldier’s emotionless eyes locked on Akutagawa. Confused and at a loss, the Mafia members
pointed their guns at the defenseless man as he approached.
“So it’s you… You’re the black-robed skill user they say is immune to bullets,” the tall man said, his lips barely moving. His voice seemed to come from nowhere in particular, like a howling wind.
“Who are you?”
“The commander… Mimic’s leader.”
The moment his words sunk in, the Mafia combatants rushed over in unison before pointing their guns at him. The Mimic leader’s eyes did not even waver.
“Their leader himself has come to surrender? An admirable attitude, but hardly believable… In fact, it disgusts me.”
Akutagawa’s overcoat transformed into several black belts that bound the Mimic leader’s hands and feet together before dragging the man to his knees.
“State your name, leader of Mimic.”

“Gide. André Gide. I came to ask you for…a match.”
The leader’s tone was calm; he didn’t appear to be shaken in the least. “The Mimic leader himself wishes to fight me? What an honor that
would be if I actually believed you. Answering questions you haven’t been asked only makes you less convincing.” Akutagawa shot the man a piercing glare as he spoke. “Leader of Mimic, do you know why I haven’t cut your head off yet?”
“Maybe because…you were disciplined not to?”
Akutagawa punched Gide in the face. With both legs tied together, he was unable to dodge, and a drop of blood spilled from the corner of his mouth.
“The reason I haven’t cut your head off yet is that I heard Mimic’s leader was a skill user.”
Akutagawa swiped the old-fashioned gun from Gide’s waist, then pointed it at him.
“I can’t gain his acceptance no matter how many pea-shooting weaklings I kill. Show me your skill. If it is the real thing, I will give you that match you so desire.”
Gide just stared at Akutagawa and the gun.
“So this is your skill… You can control the black overcoat,” he groaned, staring at the black straps around his arms and legs. “An extraordinary ability, one with no openings. However…it’s lacking. It’s not enough to free our souls from original sin… It appears I expected a little too much from you.”
Akutagawa’s face stiffened as hard as a diamond. His breathing halted, and something in his body snapped. He responded with the flash of his black blade, slashing toward a man who was tied up and unable to move. Without even a hint of nervousness, Gide leaned forward and tilted his head. The blade grazed the side of his face, cutting a few hairs to flutter in the wind. As Gide turned his neck, the tip of his head skimmed the old- fashioned gun Akutagawa had just stolen. As the pistol left Akutagawa’s hand, his finger accidentally pulled the trigger.
One of the belts around Gide reacted by enveloping the bullet and stopping it before it could reach Akutagawa. However, this freed Gide’s left hand…and he was carrying another pistol in his military uniform. He drew the gun with that hand and shot the mafioso next to him before the target

even knew what was going on. The bullet struck him in the shoulder, causing the Mafia member’s automatic rifle to fire three bullets, with one shooting right through Akutagawa’s arm. The other two hit two mafiosi in the chest. The shots were fatal.
“What—?!”
Taken aback at being shot in the arm, Akutagawa reflexively used his skill to block. He cut through space, blocking Gide’s next shot, but in return he ended up undoing the black straps restraining Gide, thus freeing him.
Immediately, Gide picked up his other gun lying on the ground…and that was when the one-sided massacre began.
It wasn’t some sort of mysterious, visible power at work. The bullets weren’t turning and flying in the opposite direction, nor was lightning or fire falling from the skies. No one was suddenly being frozen in place, either. It was simply a repeat of the earlier gunfight with the exception that everything was taking place at extremely close range—that, and the outcome was different.
Gide rolled over the ground while shooting the pistols in both hands. Each bullet pierced straight and true into a Mafia member’s vital organ. Only Akutagawa was able to defend—or rather, he was forced to defend would be a more accurate description.
“What’s going on? Is this…a skill?” Akutagawa uttered.
Gunfire illuminated Gide’s surroundings as he evaded every counterattack, be it bullets or Akutagawa’s black claws. With the slightest of movements, Gide dodged Akutagawa as if he were a mere insect. Before long, one of Gide’s bullets eventually sneaked past Akutagawa’s guard and hit him in the abdomen with enough force that it bent him backward. Coughing up blood, Akutagawa fell back and immediately wrapped his black fabric around the wounds on his arm and stomach to act as makeshift tourniquets. However, the result gave him less fabric to use to attack and defend, which put him at an even bigger disadvantage.
“Impossible… A destructive skill that surpasses mine?”
“I’m jealous, Mafia skill user… I might have asked the same thing.” Gide stood with both pistols drawn. “If you were a little more capable—if you had more experience, then perhaps things would have been different. But right now, you’re nothing more than a little black duckling.”
“Don’t you dare talk down to me!”

Akutagawa’s hair stood on end. His black coat whirled as it started to form spikes, but Gide shot them down right as they were about to launch at the speed of sound.
“You…can read my movements…?!”
“We are Mimic.” Gide aimed his gun at Akutagawa. “We are a squad of ghosts—a fantôme escouade forsaken by God and fallen from grace. We shall continue to march through tainted blood until our true enemy brings us salvation.”
Akutagawa was briefly overwhelmed by Gide’s presence…because he knew Gide was neither acting nor bluffing, but speaking only the truth. He could see it in his eyes.
“…Answer me, leader of Mimic,” Akutagawa said in a quiet voice with a gun to his face. “What are you trying to accomplish by attacking the Mafia’s territory?”
“Nothing,” Gide replied without missing a beat. “Ghosts wish for nothing. All we want is for our souls to cease to exist. Long ago, we turned to the Order of the Clock Tower for that purpose. Now we are here to demand that from you… Any last words, black-robed skill user?”
“Kill me.” Akutagawa closed his eyes, then gave a small smirk. “I— understand your feelings, truly I do. I regret that I couldn’t become the enemy you sought.”
“Farewell.”
Gide pulled the trigger.
But he didn’t fire. Right before he was about to shoot, he reflexively took evasive action. Raising his pistols up, he turned his body to dodge something…but his efforts were in vain. Odasaku’s bullet hit the pistol out of Gide’s hand.