They had made their way from the Ministry of Epidemics without incident. Inari, bundled up in the black silk coat with her face hidden, resembled just one more of the hordes of afflicted demonkind, and no one spared them a second glance. By the time they stepped through the double iron doors of the Ministry, it was already close to dark. The band of sickly scarlet light that passed for sunset in Hell ringed the horizon like a migraine, and the storm clouds which continually raced across the skies were tinged with lightning. As they reached the bottom of the immense flight of steps that led down to the square in which the Ministry stood, Inari glanced back and saw a single electric crack of lightning illuminate the Ministry: an iron ziggurat, nine hundred and ninety-nine stories high, almost too vast to be encompassed by any eyes other than those of the wu'ei themselves. The blood-colored banners which flanked each corner of the ziggurat snapped in the rising wind, and Inari's hair was pulled free from the inadequate confines of the demon's coat and unfurled behind her.
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