I

I

“Our Father, who art in heaven," recited Abel. The traveling priest Abel Nightroad prayed while jumping into the roadway. He could clearly see inside the open mouth of the streetcar driver whom he'd followed that far. "Abbreviate the rest, if you please!" Abel requested. The instant he curled his body into a ball and rolled, machine pistol rounds grazed his cassock, scattering bits of it across the sidewalk behind him. Not a moment had passed when the frame of the streetcar slid between the priest and the sidewalk, making a shrill braking noise.

A young man with wildly flowing bleached brown hair was shouting something from across the sidewalk. "This way, Abel! Now! "Abel's clever companion Antonio undoubtedly had escaped on his own during the shooting.

Half impressed and half dumbfounded by Antonio's shrewdness, Abel quickly stood up.

Cologne, a prominent city in the Germanics Kingdom, was a traditional university city. However, there wasn't too much traffic at night. As the frame of the streetcar passed under the pale moonlight, it left a trail of beautiful sparks.

"Hurry, quickly!" urged Antonio.

"P-please wait, prince. Please don't abandon me!" Abel pleaded.

By the time the streetcar had passed, Abel finally had trudged to the opposite sidewalk. The young man ahead of him had already halfway descended the stairs leading to the subterranean tunnels. When Abel, wearing a frozen smile, turned back toward the sidewalk he had been on three seconds prior, two large men were standing there, both in black coats and soft hats, with faces that made them appear as if they were twins. Both their Bergmann machine gun muzzles were pointed at the priest's forehead.

"E-eek!" shrieked Abel.

If his knees hadn't given way, Abel's body certainly would have been torn to shreds. Countless bullets mowed down the area where his head had just been. Incapable of standing up, the silver-haired priest slid down the steep stairs with the nimbleness of a cockroach being chased. He tumbled to the bottom in one fell swoop, emitting a sustained, shrill scream that would make anyone within earshot wince.

"Are you dead, Abel?" asked Antonio. The young man who'd descended first greeted the priest with great interest as Abel landed on his face. Peering down at his twitching back, Antonio poked Abel with a toe. "If you're going to die, please tell me so, because I'll surrender if my bullet shield is dead."

"Oooh, God, lately my life has too few blessings. S-somehow, I'm alive. Are you all right, prince?" asked Abel.

"Yeah, barely, but . . ." replied Antonio, who uncannily didn't bear a scratch on his carefree face. "My hairstyle is completely ruined. After all, hair is a man's life, right?" Antonio said as he shook his head dramatically.

"Please worry about your real life right now!" Abel replied. As the sound of footsteps emerged from the top of the stairs, he hurriedly jumped up. "Save your worries about your hair for when we've safely rounded up everyone in Neue Vatican. Right now, we have to run!"

When Abel drew his museum-piece percussion revolver, the black coats appeared at the top of the stairs, simultaneously pulling the triggers of their machine guns.