He stood for a time upon the banks of the Karasu River, contemplating silently some obscure thought. The sun was low on the horizon, its glimmering colors highlighting the patchwork of clouds and staining the river a deep red. The stars had already begun to sparkle in the east and with them came a slow cool breeze that fluttered the edges of the old man's coat. It had been a long day; exams to monitor, staff meetings to attend, homework to grade, however he felt he always could take a break from it all to watch the sunset and remember. He could not, however, tarry long tonight, for there was still much business to be done. The world around him was moving and it was time that he started to move with it.
Some miles down the river, the man came to a small and perhaps somewhat shady waterfront hotel. In barely working neon, the hotel's sign read "Ishijuku," Stone Lodging. The old man couldn't help to contemplate the purpose of such a name, but such things were tangential. He stepped into the bottom floor office, with its yellowing wallpaper and flickering lights, and laid a 2000¥ note on the cigarette burnt desk of the hotel clerk. The clerk, bald, sweaty, and tired looking, simply crumpled the note in one hand and placed a key down with the other. Not a word was exchanged between these two, merely a momentary nod of a pair known only to each other through this repeated transaction. They did not know each others names and did not ask questions, it was bad for business.
Ascending three flights by elevator, the old man came to room 333. Inside, the room was small and spartan, lacking all furnishings but a western style mattress and a small bedside table. The old man, however, was not here to sleep. Locking and dead bolting the door behind him, he pulled a small piece of charcoal from an inner pocket of his jacket and began to inscribe a large circle on the floor. Inside, he meticulously inscribed letters of a number of ancient languages as well as a number of symbols known to few beyond himself. Once the task had been finished to his liking, he sat down cross-legged and heaved a long sigh.
"Serafina, forgive me."
The old man donned a black venetian mask and took a leather-bound book from inside his jacket. Though he had figured out by now that he didn't even need to open it to activate its powers, there was something about the ritual of flipping through its pages that mentally prepped him. Coming upon the right page, the old man whispered.
"Thee I invoke, the Bornless one. Thee, that didst create the Earth and the Heavens:Thee, that didst create the Night and the Day. Thee, that didst create the Darkness and the Light. Thou art Abraxas, whom no man hast ever seen. Hear me, thy prophet, and bind all that you see to me."
Ghastly rifts opened in his palms as a large brilliant red symbol (matching the symbol he sat in) flared to life above his head. With a grotesque squirming, a pair of eyeballs pushed their way through the holes in his hands and floated into the air. As though let loose from a dam, 361 more eyes burst forth from those rifts and joined their duplicates floating around the old man. With a silent, mental command, the eyes moved out towards the cracked open window and exited the room in a steady stream. One by one the eyes dispersed throughout Karakura Town, searching and observing, relaying their sights to the old man in the hotel room.
