I

I

The bullet had pierced the figure in the black coat's stomach, but that didn't succeed in slowing the figure's charge. With its gas mask flashing, it approached at an otherworldly pace.

"It can't be! I hit it six times!" cried Abel, gripping the familiar percussion revolver in his hand as the former city of Prague and the dry bed of the Moldau River rapidly zoomed through his mind. Under the afternoon sunlight, the giant in the ominous black coat brandished a war hammer as if it didn't feel any pain whatsoever. It was hard to believe that figure, not unlike a deity, had six rounds in its stomach.

This wasn't the only black coat present. The black coat that had been shot through both knees by Tres' M-13 and the one whose shoulder had been broken by Professor's sword cane also were there. All six of the black coats who should've fallen were standing calmly. Abel couldn't see their expressions because they wore their helmets and gas masks low over their eyes, but they looked as though they didn't feel any pain.

"A-are they wearing bulletproof vests or something, Professor Wordsworth?" asked Abel.

"No, they're zombies, Nightroad. Look—watch this," replied Professor. With a twist of his wrist, he used a stick to strike off the nearest gas mask, revealing the face of a dead person beneath it. The eyes and mouth of its waxen face were sewn together with thick thread, and bulky machinery was buried in its head.

Horrified, Abel stammered, "Th-this is...?"

"By treating the corpses with electricity, they seem to have developed battle machines. I've read papers on the plans and the theory behind it. They're called Auto Jagers. However, I didn't think anybody actually would build them," Professor replied.

Seeing a shadow leap over Professor's head and a corpse brandish its weapon, Abel yelled, "P-professor, look out!"

Professor didn't flinch at Abel's hasty warning. The middle-aged man, who looked as though he were going out to a party in his silk hat and morning suit, nimbly raised his stick. Pointing its tip at the Auto Jagers head, he twisted his grip. "Yes, it's utterly deplorable. Misusing science in this kind of way is blasphemous." The flames that shot out of the tip of his stick released power that rivaled a howitzer.

Receiving the ethylene and oxygen mixture more than two thousand times, the corpse—its war hammer still brandished— carbonized from the neck up, fell with a thud, and didn't move again.

"Blow off their heads—they're already corpses. I doubt they'll complain no matter how many times they die," Professor exclaimed.

"That's true. Did you hear, Tres?" asked Abel over his shoulder.

A moment later, Abel's call was answered by frenzied gunfire as the handguns of two young men standing beside a limousine stopped halfway up an embankment roared.

"Positive. Don't leave the car, you two—even if we crush the enemy," ordered Tres. Despite it being early autumn, Father Tres Iqus was wrapped in a thick, long coat down to his heels and wore mirror shades. "It's meaningless if they kill the one we're escorting," he pointed out without showing any emotion.

Two shadows were visible inside the limousine, the engine of which had been shot through the hood. One was a blonde beauty, stylishly attired in a silk blouse and men's trousers, and the other was a skinny boy whose dull, pimply face had been warped by terror. If people from the Vatican had looked at their faces, they might have died of shock.

On this dry, lonely riverbed outside Prague, the two highest-ranking people in the Vatican were accompanied by only three guards. Said guards were protecting Minister of Foreign Affairs Cardinal Caterina Sforza and her half brother, the three hundred ninety-ninth Pope, Alessandro XVIII.

"Wasn't traveling incognito supposed to be top secret?" asked Abel, glancing at the dauntless beauty who didn't seem to notice the enemy closing in and the terrified Pope who clung to his older sister. "Inside information must have been leaked again for us to have been attacked so suddenly like this!"

"Abel—above!" shouted Professor.

Abel shifted his gaze to where Professor had pointed, noticing a floating shadow outlined by the afternoon sun behind it. By the time he confirmed that the shadow was an Auto Jager that had jumped, the corpse was swinging down its weapon over the dazed priest's head.

"Get down, Abel!" Professor yelled as blue light burst forth.

The flames flashed like a demon sword, blowing off the dead soldier's head. The war hammer grazed Abel's head, but it stopped moving after gouging the ground.

"You saved me, Professor!" Abel exclaimed, practically blubbering as he clung to the middle-aged man wielding the stick. "Isn't it amazing? I've got a better opinion of you! You always know such useful things. It's not incomprehensible junk after all!"

"Yes, before the mighty power of science, this was merely manganese dioxide with too much hydrogen peroxide," said Professor, twirling his pipe pretentiously and gazing upward blankly.

"I don't really understand, but it's cool! If it's going to go this well, please get rid of the rest of them, too!" Abel said.

"Fine. This is the power of science!" Professor replied. Gracefully arching one eyebrow, Professor pointed the tip of the stick at the enemy again. "Hmm?" The same eyebrow suddenly lowered. Although he'd pushed the switch, the nozzle remained silent and failed to respond.

"Wh-what's the matter? Something wrong?" asked Abel. "Oh no. It seems to be out of fuel. Now that I think about it, I forgot to replenish the fuel before I left," said Professor. "Wh-what?" Abel exclaimed.

The corpses appeared to have figured out that Professor had lost his means to counterattack, suddenly inching closer after having kept a cautious distance.

"Wah! They're attacking, Professor! Don't you have any other great power of science?" Abel shrieked.

"The science of humanity is powerless before the miracle of the great universe," replied Professor.

"That's not what you said before!" Abel retorted. One after the next, massive shadows danced over the priests' heads, charging toward the car with strength that belied their huge frames.

"O-oh, no — Tres! The enemy's over there!" warned Abel. "Roger," Tres affirmed as both his hands spewed fire. The corpses' heads rapidly disintegrated into clouds of crimson. Like a hunting dog protecting its master from a pack of wolves, Gunslinger let his gun muzzles glide toward one more of the living dead. "Tres, behind you!" cried Abel.

Tres heeded Abel's warning. Using his right hand, he turned his gun muzzle behind him, blowing apart a different zombie that unexpectedly had snuck up on him. The war hammer revolved and struck his right shoulder, causing subcutaneous circulation drugs to burst forth like fresh blood, quickly dying his leather coat red.

The two people inside the car remained the corpse's targets. Without regarding Tres as he staggered, the last corpse swung down its war hammer, aiming at the idle limousine beneath it. If the car took a direct hit, the people inside wouldn't survive.

"Oh no!" Professor shouted, flinging off his silk hat.

As the war hammer thrust downward, it howled like the victory shout of a death god. But the moment the three priests were imagining the two people in the limousine being crushed to a pulp, the war hammer flew off as though it had hit an invisible shield, making a strange noise as it shattered.

"Wh-what happened?" asked Abel, wondering if God's divine protection had descended on the siblings.

It was too soon to give thanks. Knowing that it had lost its weapon, the Auto Jager remained tense, with its fist raised over its head. This time, it probably intended to attack empty-handed; but before it could bring down its fist, its huge body was blown backward. After it fell head over heels and hit the ground, the black coat's chest was gouged deeply as if struck by something. The attack wasn't Tres' doing, nor was it the work of Abel, who was holding his breath—nor was it Professor, frowning suspiciously.

Initially unable to correct its damage, the Auto Jager raised its huge body and jumped violently as if it were performing a bizarre dance; then, it spun and stumbled. But who—or what—had attacked the zombie? Its loglike arms twirled in every direction and shattered, and its gas mask cracked as if it had been torched before breaking apart and scattering. Yet its attacker was still completely invisible.

"It can't be ... Know Faith?" Abel speculated.

As if to provide a response to Abel's excitement, a faint sound of exhalation emanated from the air. A second later, the Auto Jager's head exploded more dramatically than it did after Tres had fired at it.

"God, please have mercy on these people. Their bones are afraid and their souls tremble," said a voice.

It was as though the prayer that echoed from the air had been heard. The torso gushing fresh blood slowly knelt down and fell over in exhaustion. However, everyone's gaze focused not on the fallen corpse but on the man who suddenly appeared amid the shower of blood. Where in the world had he come from? He had a thin, clean-shaven face, and his green eyes were filled with calm, but at the same time, bottomless sadness.

"It was you, Know Faith— Father Vaclav Havel!" Abel exclaimed.

Havel continued his prayer for the dead: "Please regard them with love, and guide their wandering souls to the underworld. Amen. Yeah, it's been about a year, Abel." As soon as he finished lamenting those who died twice, the thin priest — the highest AX agent Know Faith — turned around, smiling serenely.