Bungo Stray Dogs - Volume 5 Chapter 5 Part 2

5—2

Skull Fortress pierced the skies of Yokohama, the city of demons. The owner of the tower, Shibusawa, was defenselessly opening his eyes wide on the top floor in Draconia. There was nothing left of his ruler-like behavior as he helplessly watched what was happening in mute dread. A hellish red light radiated as a violent wind gusted from the giant sphere. This wasn’t part of Shibusawa’s plan. He shuddered. That was when Fyodor began to speak up as if he were reciting a fairy tale.
“The ability to fuse and the ability to nullify—two conflicting skills have become one, creating a singularity.”
“…!”
Shibusawa looked over at Fyodor, who sounded like he’d expected this to happen. Or perhaps…this was the outline of Fyodor’s story.
Shibusawa was dumbfounded in mute amazement as Fyodor pulled out a skull. His heels clicked against the ground as he approached the Collector. “Even Dazai’s skill isn’t going to give you what you truly seek… Your
lost memories won’t return.”
“How do you know about that?!”
Shibusawa turned pale, and he instinctively stood back up as Fyodor flashed him a sweet smile.
“Not to worry.” Fyodor’s eyes glowed cruelly. “I will fill those lost memories for you—”
There wasn’t even a moment for Shibusawa to question him, for the smiling Conjurer pulled out a paring knife he’d been keeping hidden and slit Shibusawa’s throat with its silver blade.
“Gah…!”
Shibusawa’s eyes rolled back into his head. All he could see was the red blood spraying out of his neck. Like countless skill crystals shattering—like a beautiful flower blooming—the blood fell like rain. He went into shock due to the intense pain to the point that his nerves couldn’t feel a thing. The scenery before him gradually began to change.
“—with death.”
Shibusawa could see Fyodor smiling on the other side of the blood. “Do you remember anything?” Fyodor asked.
Shibusawa heard a powerful wind roaring in his head. “…I see.” It finally made sense to him. As his body fell to the ground, he thought:
I know…this feeling.
The end of his life was also its brightest moment. It was an uninterrupted combination of hope and despair.
This was death.
The white light of death flooded his vision. The memories of a distant past sprang to life with his demise.

Tatsuhiko Shibusawa saw an illusion in the white light. It was a vision of what really happened six years ago. He was forced to watch these lost memories replay before his eyes. He could hear the old Shibusawa in the vision speak in a soft voice:
“The director appears to misunderstand your skill.”
The Shibusawa of six years ago was standing in a stone-walled cellar. The sole light source came from the window so high up on the wall that only the blue sky was visible. It was as if he were in a prison, unable to set foot in the outside world, nor even be allowed to see it.
Inside the old stone room was a suspicious-looking gauge and a large piece of medical equipment. However, what stood out the most was the boy sitting in the center of the room. His extremely frail arms and legs were bound to a metal chair with metal bands that appeared to be rather sturdy. They didn’t even budge, no matter how much the boy struggled. His filthy shoes miserably tapped against the floor.
“The skill you possess is extraordinarily rare…,” continued the Shibusawa of six years ago while ignoring the boy’s suffering. He seemed to be in a trance. “It’s the only skill envied by skill users the world over. However…” His voice deepened. “Perhaps because of your youth, your skill is tucked deep inside of you—so deep that not even my fog can draw it out.”
The ray of light peeking in through the window did not reach Shibusawa.
“That is why…” His red eyes eerily glowed like a demon’s. “…I’m doing this for your sake.”
His expression brimming with compassion, Shibusawa pressed the switch in his hands, sending a powerful electric shock to the boy’s chair.
The boy screamed. His cries filled the room. His limbs convulsed as he thrashed about, but the metal constraints binding him to the chair didn’t break. The electric shock continued to surge through his body until the excessive voltage turned into violet bolts of electricity. This starving, malnourished twelve-year-old boy could not withstand the pain. His cranial nerves began to fry. His muscle fibers tore, and his blood vessels burst open. The boy’s chin quivered.
“Now…”
Shibusawa gazed at the boy’s face, making his satisfaction and delight no secret.
“…surprise me.”