IV

IV

"Huh. . . Where am I?" It smelled like a hospital. Abel woke up in a pure white room laced with the scents of rubbing alcohol and ether. When he tried to sit up and shake his groggy head, he failed. His hands and feet were tied firmly to the bed.

"Strange. Why am I in a place like this?"

His memory cut off after the unpleasant scene in the dining hall where he'd drank Wendy's tea. In this illuminated room, medicine, rusty scalpels, and other surgical equipment lined the shelves. Mysterious shapes loomed on the edge of his vision.

"Ah, you there! This is ... Eek!" He called out to the shapes waiting in the darkness, but his strained vocal chords made his voice sound hollow.

The silhouettes were of dozens of children—they'd been pickled in formaldehyde and stored inside huge glass bottles. Their bodies weren't normal. They had large surgical scars carved into their bellies and shoulders; small wings sprouted on their backs. Weirdly distorted horns pierced the back of their heads. Sometimes, third eyes peeked out from protruding lumps on their foreheads.

"Wh-what is the world are these? In the first place, this is—ah, oh no!"

Hinges creaked. Abel hurriedly ducked his head. The sound of footsteps moved steadily toward the operating table. Light reflected on a sharp scalpel, grasped by a stranger.

"Old man, are you awake?" The whisper came from a young boy. "Old man, this is no time to sleep. Hurry and wake up!"

Abel quit pretending to be asleep and opened his eyes. "Uh, who are you?"

"Ah, you're awake." The boy sighed in relief as he looked down at Abel's face. "I'm Peter. There's no time. Come with me."

"Huh?"

Peter's voice sounded harsh as he cut Abel's restraints: "Come on, get up quickly! If you don't, we'll be caught!"

Abel wondered if this was another trap. "Who in the world are you?"

"I'll explain later. First, we have to get to the flying machine. Oh, this is yours, isn't it? You dropped it over there." He thrust a handgun into the priest's pocket, and then he forcibly took Abel's hand. He was impatient for the priest to stand up. Seconds later, he led Abel out of the room and into a dark corridor. "This way! This is the road to the beach."

"Road, you say? Wah, amazing! Is this a tunnel? Are we in a military base? No, it's more than that." Abel sighed, looking up at the tunnel's high ceiling. He didn't know how far down this passage was, but clearly it was built with an extraordinary amount of money and effort.

"Who on Earth made a thing like this?"

"Teacher. He made everything—both the school above and this place."

"Teacher? Professor Barrie? Which means the children in that operating room..?"

"Failures. Ones who couldn't convert, like I could," Peter spat out, trudging ahead. His voice—which overflowed with resentment, hostility, and fear—shook faintly. "They're children that Teacher and the other adults did horrible things to: They were given blood transfusions and had strange things planted in their bellies and backs. If Wendy hadn't chased the adults off this island, I might have been stuck in one of those bottles, too."

"Chased off? You mean you chased off Professor Barrie?"

"Yeah, about two weeks ago, during the Tinker Bell experiment.

"Tinker Bell? Experiment?" Abel was so confused. The boy's explanations didn't make any sense, but Abel could guess that something alarming had happened on this island: a rebellion of the experimental subjects, most likely. That was why there were no adults on this island.

Two weeks ago—right after the syndicate's hideout was blown up. So, the one currently controlling this island is . . .

The tunnel's exit was marked by a thick iron door. Luckily, it didn't seem to be locked. The door creaked as it opened. The forest, showered if> moonlight, was silent.

Peter carefully looked at their surroundings; there was no sign of anybody. "This way, old man! Hurry!"

"I-I'm coming. Peter, where is the professor?"

"I don’t know. We killed most of his assistants, but he got away in an airplane, so ..."

"Hm- Hey, wait a minute? You're Wendy's friend, right? So, why are you letting me escape?"

"I want to go outside." The boy, who'd been walking quickly, suddenly stopped. When he turned around, he looked up at the priest with imploring eyes. "I want to go to the outside world; you'll take me with you. We can go outside in that flying machine, right?"

"Yes. But . . . why? Why do you want to go outside?"

"To become an adult."

"Hull?" Abel found Peter's unexpected answer bewildering. He repeated his question to the serious-looking boy: "Why become an adult?"

"So I can become strong, of course." There was no shred of doubt in Peter's expression—as if this logic should be obvious. "Teacher did horrible things to everybody and said a lot of mean words—especially to Wendy; she'd cry from being tormented every day. So, everybody hates adults. They say we'll be tormented again if adults come here. Still, I want to become an adult. However, I love Wendy, so when I become an adult, I won't torment her at all. If a failure like me can become an adult, I can grow strong and protect Wendy, right?"

"Well, um, that is ... that's ...»Abel was at a loss for words. Peter was such an earnest child; he'd believe anything Abel said at that point.

"What are you doing, Peter?" a voice asked.

"Wendy!"

The girl with flowing blonde hair was gazing at the two of them with her sparkling blue eyes. She wasn't alone. Behind her, more than twenty small figures were submerged in the darkness.

Oh, dear. Cold beads of sweat rolled down Abel's temples. Are all these children fairies?

Although they were technically vampires, a fairy's battle strength wasn't that great. Abel should be able to handle a fairy, one on one. Regrettably, there were too many of them for Abel now.

"All these opponents against me? You thought so highly of my skills ..." he joked.

Wendy's expression, which had been as hard as an ice sculpture, suddenly softened. With a smile like the budding of a winter rose, she walked toward Peter. There was no time for Abel to stop the boy from going toward her. He tottered over to her, and she encircled him in her arms.

"Thank you, Peter. I'm very happy. I like you. I like you very much. But—"

"No!" Abel stretched out his hand, but it was already too late. A dull sound rang out between the two embracing figures.

"Peter, I'm tired of you."

"Ah!" A flat-sounding gasp leaked out of Peter's mouth. His expression was full of disbelief as he fell to his knees like a broken doll.

"Peter!" By the time Abel scooped Peter into his arms, the boy's body was twitching in pain. Wendy had stabbed him in the stomach with a dagger.

"Goodbye, Peter. We could have been friends forever, if you hadn't gotten the idea that you wanted to become an adult." Wendy's head drooped with sadness. "This is Never Land, the eternal island. As long as you're here, there's no need to worry about hunger or thirst — or about becoming a hateful adult. I wonder why he thought he wanted to grow up? If he'd been a child forever, I —»

A trembling voice interrupted her soliloquy: "Child? No, he was a splendid adult. Unlike you, he didn't run away from his responsibilities. He would have made a splendid man. I won't let you belittle him."

"That reminds me: You're still here — the priest that loves to use flowery words." Wendy turned her scornful gaze to Abel, who now stood. Her expression was pure evil. "It's been a long time since I tasted human blood. All we've had lately is cow or chicken blood."

The sound of soft materials sliding together echoed through the forest. Thin wings extended from Wendy's back, spreading in the night air. The shadows of the other children also shifted; one after another, they morphed into the distinct shape of the night race.

Sharp fangs burst out of Wendy's small lips. The "Queen of the Fairies" laughed.

"Forgive me, Father. I feel sorry for you, but I can't let an adult who's learned the secret of Never Land return to the outside world!"

The flapping sound of insects' wings grew louder. The terrible children rushed at the tall priest's unguarded back like the winds of a hurricane. Despite their speed, Abel's body vanished before they could make contact.

"Eh?"

The instant before they collided, the priest's figure was gone.

"He disappeared. That’s crazy!"

As Wendy's gaze quickly roamed in search of her target, six gunshots rang out. Three children, wings gouged with silver bullets, fell to the ground, raising up a cloud of dust. They screamed half a second later.

"What?" Wendy cried.

"This cruel fairytale is at an end, Wendy."

Above the beach trees' branches, a shape soared in the moonlight. Blue eyes, like a frosted lake in wintertime, looked down with pity at the three fallen children, who were agonized by the silver bullets—a toxin fatal to vampires. Gun smoke, white as a fang, rose from the barrel of the percussion revolver grasped in the priest's right hand.

No one had seen him jump. Moreover, his superior speed allowed him to evade the fairies; simultaneously, he accurately fired six bullets in one second.

"Who are you?"

"I'm the wandering priest, Abel Nightroad." He waved his hand sharply, and an empty cylinder fell from the gun. It rolled over the sand, trailing a line of thin white smoke. A millisecond later, he loaded a fresh magazine with new bullets.

"My name is also AX Agent Crusnik. Wendy, I'm arresting you all for murder, as well as suspicion of piracy. Please, throw down your weapons and surrender."

"What do you mean 'arrest,' you damned adult?"

With shrill screams, two shadows zoomed at Abel, scattering dust. A large boy and a thin girl simultaneously kicked off the ground. There was no time for Wendy to stop them. They attacked the priest from the front and behind with exquisite timing.

"It's no use," Abel said.

The priest's right hand flipped backward, moving as if it were a separate creature. He shot two bullets into the skinny child's shoulders. The gun muzzle (which now faced front due to the force of the recoil) fired rapidly, blasting the charging boy's wings into pathetic honeycombs.

"Ugh. Curly, use the secret weapon! Gather 'round, everyone!" Wendy gave her orders before the two most recent victims finished falling to the ground. I can't believe we're forced to me our trump card on a single person—but if we're careless, Never Land will be destroyed!

Meanwhile, Abel called to the girl, who was grinding her teeth. "Wendy, I'm begging you, please surrender! I don't want to harm a lady."

"You don't want to harm me? Kind, aren't you, Father? Your worries are needless!"

As her widely spread wings transmitted a silent command, Wendy sneered. In an instant, her wings' standby signal would come back as a vibration that humans couldn't hear.

The priest's gun muzzle slithered to the side like a poisonous snake. It was aimed at Curly, who was hovering close by.

Wendy didn't hesitate. "System Tinker Bell, start!"

"What?" An astonished cry tore from the priest's throat. The bullet that the priest had aimed at Curly's wings went astray, breaking a pine tree instead.

The priest, who narrowly avoided the flash of Curly's sharp claws, aimed his gun muzzle again. His target this time was Wendy herself.

No, wrong! Wendy thought. "He dodged! That's impossible."

However, the instant Abel tried to pull the trigger—

"Ugh!" The priest reeled, holding his shoulder. He'd been stabbed by a dagger. Next, a rock flew at him. Swaying, he managed to dodge it.

Almost as if his opponents were expecting him to do that, a different fairy charged forward.

Abel quickly tried to raise his gun barrel, but a fierce pain shot through his foot: A fairy's claws had gouged his flesh. Involuntarily dropping his handgun, Abel lost his balance. He was tackled hard, falling head first onto the beach.

"Heh heh heh. What's the matter, Father?" Wendy smiled gently at Abel.

The priest barely managed to push himself up; he was being struck fiercely from behind. Around him, the fairies were hovering, moving in a single, unbroken line — like bees protecting their queen. No, they were one machine. They made an exceptionally precise machine.

"Idiot, this kind of synchronized attack is . . ." Abel muttered.

"We can do better, too." Wendy looked up at the school belfry on the hill. Its bell rang. She narrowed her eyes, using her wings to transmit a sound wave that humans couldn't hear.

The Tinker Bell System. This lost technology, built before the Armageddon, was a tactical control system in "master and slave" form. The master chip was embedded in Wendy, who was the control unit, and it transmitted her thoughts to the school. The school's computer transformed her signals into a particular low-frequency wave, sending it to the slave chips inside the fairies. Each slave chip controlled the fairies' thoughts and senses; because of this, the group changed into a single hive-mind colony. They were controlled by Wendy's thoughts.

"That's it now, everyone by me. Do like me!"

As the fairies simultaneously increased their wings' rotation speed — fluttering in perfect unison down to the microsecond — an unusually high-frequency wave was produced. The water molecules in the air bent. The water-wind changed to a white tornado, which struck the priest as he was trying to stand up.

"Ugh!"

"Don't worry, Father. It'll all be over soon."

As Abel shielded his face from the blade of atmospheric pressure, Wendy foretold his death: "Come, I'll blow you apart without leaving a trace!"

"'Blow you apart'? That's my line." A thick, sarcastic voice reached Wendy's ears—followed by an explosion.

"What?" Wendy turned back toward the hill and watched as the belfry lit up. In the middle of those golden flames, the building collapsed pitifully.

"The school!"

Backlit by the flames, a huge man's shadow stood at full height. "I don't know anything about Tinker Bell, but don't underestimate adults, you crappy little kids!"

The girl's eyes opened wide at the demonic sight. "You should be dead!"

The black-haired priest laughed fearlessly. "It takes more than that to destroy me. I merely was killing a little time, waiting for my companion." Leon turned the tip of something he held in his hand toward the hill. The spindle-shaped object resembled a flare gun used to send rescue signals, but its appearance was more rugged. It was extremely misshapen, as if a trigger and simple sight-guide had been slapped onto a thick iron pipe.

"This rocket launcher originally was designed for fighting tanks, but it can blow apart bunkers, too. Just watch!"

"No!"

There was no time to stop him. A dull firing sound rang out and terrible smoke burst from the rocket launcher. A plastic explosive warhead fired at incredible speed, shooting a band of golden light toward the belfry on the hill.

What happened next pierced the fairies' small bodies, as if thunder had displaced pockets of night air. Flames blew apart the belfry; at the same time, the fairies protecting Wendy all fell to the ground.

"Tinker Bell!" Wendy cried.

"Hey, I took care of one nuisance! How long are you going to goof off, Crusnik?" Leon yelled over his shoulder.

Wendy turned around. No, she tried to turn around.

"I'm really sorry, Wendy," said a very sad voice, followed by the sound of a gunshot.

---