FANGS OF RUIN

CHAPTER 2

I

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Relief surged into the hearts of both the man and the woman—but it vanished again immediately. Not only did the vehicle show no signs of slowing down, it was actually gaining speed. Fierce vibrations shot through the pair from the soles of their feet all the way to the tops of their heads, and through the window glass the snarling echoes of the wind clawed at their eardrums.

Still hanging onto a hand strap, Rosaria said angrily, “Hey! If we keep zipping along at this speed, won’t we catch up to those murderous friends of yours?”

“We might, I suppose. So what if we do? You thinking about settling a score with ’em?” the bearded man sneered back at her.

“Yeah. I’ll drain every last one of them dry,” Rosaria replied, baring her teeth.

Quinn’s smile disappeared.

Every inch of the young woman was tinged with an air of rage. Pointing a finger at Quinn, Rosaria declared, “Just remember this: you’ll be the last to get it!”

“You don’t say!” Quinn replied, a nasty look on his face. “In that case, there’s no need to wait till we catch up to them. Settle up with me here and now!”

“Oh, that sounds like fun. You think you can handle me without your grubby little hands?”

They weren’t joking, and this wasn’t an act. Murderous intent radiated from every inch of Quinn, and Rosaria’s eyes gave off a red gleam as she stood with her fingers curled like claws in front of her chest. The fight that ensued would be the real deal, and it would be to the death. But it was preempted by the tortured shriek of the brakes. This time, they weren’t braced for it. Both of them went flying forward, slamming into the divider between them and the front seat.

“What the hell? You drive like shit!”

“Yeah! Are you trying to kill us?” they snapped, their deadly battle now forgotten.

But what the Hunter said in a far lower and more tranquil tone silenced them: “This is the wrong way.”

Somehow managing to fight the feeling he was being taunted, Quinn turned to the divider and shouted, “Are you sure you’re really D?”

The skill with which his colleagues had been dispatched gave him the answer to that question. Better yet, Quinn needed only to consider his own two arms.

“Stay there,” they heard D say.

“Hey, open the door!” Quinn ordered Rosaria, who was rubbing her shoulder.

Giving him a look that could kill, the young woman replied, “What gives you the right to order me around like a king? Why don’t you open it yourself?”

“Because I can’t move my arms.”

“Really? In that case, I’ll move them for you!”

“Gaaaah!” Quinn exclaimed, bending backward in pain. A kick from Rosaria had connected with his right elbow. In the narrow confines of the vehicle, there was no way he could’ve avoided it.

Looking down frostily at the man as he writhed in pain, Rosaria spat, “Do you get it now? In this world, the strong survive. And I’ll give a taste of the same to your friends shortly. Just like they did to the villagers.”

And then she opened the door. The first thing that caught her eye was the glowing moon. The disk was nearly full, and its light seemed to exist solely to emphasize the beauty of the young man in black standing beneath it. Perhaps it was that beauty that drew Rosaria out of the vehicle. The air was sweet and fresh—much sweeter and fresher than by day.

Taking in her surroundings, she waited a bit before saying, “Where are we?” She sounded unsettled as she made her query.

At some point, sheer walls a hundred yards high had surrounded them. Their rock surface had a jewel-like luster in the moonlight. They were at the bottom of a ravine, yet it was strangely spacious—the rich black earth must’ve covered at least an acre.

D waited in a spot about fifteen feet from the vehicle, though it was unclear what he was looking at. All the young man had to do was stand in the moonlight with the wind blowing around him—which probably wasn’t the wisest thing to do given their current situation—and he created a scene worthy of a picture scroll. A skilled artist might’ve even been able to depict how the wind swooned when it touched him.

Even Rosaria forgot about their predicament. I just want to stay here like this, she thought so intensely it hurt.

“Go back,” D said.

His cold tone shocked Rosaria back to her senses, planting seeds of anger at the same time. “Why?” she asked, and she was in the process of sidling up to the Hunter when the ground by her feet moved violently.

When her eyes turned down in shock, they spied a black shape pushing its way up out of the sand. The way one end of it appeared first made it look like a submarine.

“Isn’t that—a coffin?”

A black-gloved hand wound around the waist of the dumbfounded Rosaria, and the Hunter dashed with her toward the vehicle. Ahead of them, sand was erupting, and with each burst a black wooden box appeared as if to block their path.

Surveying her surroundings with fear-filled eyes and realizing that the rising black coffins covered the entire bottom of the ravine, Rosaria was horrified.

“What on earth’s going on here, D?”

Though it may come as a strange compliment, she truly was a victim. Her voice didn’t even tremble as she spoke.

“This is where victims make their home.”

“Huh?”

Now wide with surprise, her eyes reflected a new scene. The lids of the coffins opened in unison. Without a second’s delay, those inside sat up. Pale faces with vacant eyes and vermilion lips that looked painted with blood—they were indeed victims of the Nobility. However, there were some among them shriveled more like dead branches than mummies, their eyes, noses, and mouths seemingly buried beneath wrinkles.

Pointing at one of them, Rosaria asked, “What’s the story with that stick figure?”

“That’s a victim from the earliest times,” D said. “They gathered here in this valley to try to lead an existence that was neither life nor death. Victims who don’t turn into Nobility can live without seeking human blood, and they age at a far slower pace than they would ordinarily. Surely that’s one who’s spent all this time in the valley without slaking the thirst for blood.”

“How horrible . . .” Rosaria murmured, her words tinged with sympathy.

“D,” she started to say, the expression on her face announcing she’d come to some sort of decision.

But just then, a hoarse voice laced with cracks said, “There’s a man . . .”

“And a woman,” another voice was heard to say off in the distance.

“Humans have come here. Where is my father?”

“How about my mother?”

“What of my beloved?”

They looked all around them before dejectedly turning their gazes back on the pair.

“There’s no one else here . . . except those two.”

“No one else, eh?”

“No one.”

“In that case—”

“In that case—”

“In that case—”

Their voices called to mind a chorus composed of every trick the wind had ever played.

“In that case—give us blood!”

All extended their arms simultaneously. Slowly, vainly, they curled their fingers, opened their hands, then curled those fingers again as they drew the hands back. They stopped when their hands reached their chests, poised to snatch and rend.

Nearby, someone snarled like a beast. Turning, the girl saw that sharp incisors poked out from the lips the being was licking. A few of them were just shy of turning into Nobility.

Four or five of the closest attacked D and Rosaria with unbelievable speed. Silvery light danced out. Black blood swirled in the wind. The victims fell to the ground, clutching their throats.

With the same blade that’d tapped fountains of blood still in hand, D glanced at the shadowy figures behind the fallen. Poised to latch onto something, the victims staggered back. Their foul aura was being beaten into submission by the Hunter’s air of beauty.

“Get back in the car,” D said, giving Rosaria’s back a shove.

After stumbling forward three or four steps, Rosaria froze in her tracks.

The car was less than ten feet away, but between her and it were a coffin and a person. A woman. Swaying black hair hung down to the waist of her filthy shroud. Though she had the withered face of a crone, on closer inspection she was actually still young.

Rosaria’s legs wouldn’t move. Something hot welled in her eyes.

The woman opened her mouth. It was as empty and black as a cavern. Withered like a dried persimmon, her gums didn’t hold a single tooth. Except for a pair of fangs, that is.

“You . . . you’re . . . I’m . . .”

As the girl groaned, a withered pair of hands reached for her. The pain of those fingers digging into her was horribly acute. A hint of emotion surfaced in the woman’s muddied eyes, and her hands came away from the girl’s shoulders. With fresh blood spraying from her throat like the spouting of a river whale, the woman tumbled backward.

“D—”

Even before Rosaria saw the handsome young man with sword in hand, he’d wrapped a powerful arm around her waist, easily carried her back to the vehicle, opened the door, and then roughly tossed her in like so much baggage. The door was then closed.

Springing back up, she peered out the window. What she saw was the mob of victims pressing closer and D’s back as he faced them.

“This is a freaking nest of victims,” Quinn said, turning a tense face to her. “And nasty ones at that—they’ve all nearly turned into Nobility. Gathered here to lure in humans and drain their blood, I’d say.”

Staring at Rosaria with an expression somewhere between scorn and rage, he continued, “You sure you sickos didn’t already know about these things and just let ’em keep right on doing it?”

“No,” Rosaria said. “They’re not like that . . . Those people—”

“They ain’t people.”

“They are, too!”

Bloodshot eyes met teary ones—and sparks flew in the air. Catching something out of the corners of their eyes, both of them looked out the window in surprise.

“I’ll be damned!” Quinn exclaimed.

Rosaria swallowed hard and couldn’t say anything.

His black coat fluttering out in the moonlight like a cape, D was coming back. His sword had already been returned to its sheath, and there wasn’t a single victim left standing behind him.

Upon seeing the vast number of men and women lying there, Rosaria groaned in a hoarse tone, “That’s horrible!”

D got back into the driver’s seat without even glancing at the pair in the vehicle, and with a ferocious pistoning sound, the car began retracing the route by which it’d come.

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II

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Returning to the highway, D stopped the vehicle, turned to the pair, and said, “Wait here.”

“You’ve gotta be freaking kidding me! I ain’t about to be left here in the middle of the night with a bunch of pseudo-Nobility. I got no use of my arms. And on top of that, those things back there will probably come after us!”

“Who the hell would want to go after a jerk like you?” Rosaria spat at him, and then she turned a wrathful gaze on D. “You know, folks like that might not be human, but they’re not monsters either. So why’d you kill them so horribly?”

“He didn’t kill them.”

“What?” Rosaria said, turning around.

A thin smile surfaced on Quinn’s lips as he put his index finger to his throat. “Slashing victims open here is the best way to keep them off their feet. You’re one of them, and you mean to tell me you didn’t even know that? By now the wounds will have closed and they’ll be bumping around in that murky valley none the worse for wear.”

Rosaria turned to D again, slack jawed.

Quinn resumed his complaint, saying, “Which is why I said I ain’t about to be left here. Why didn’t you just go ahead and wipe ’em all out?”

“There’s no need to do that. Victims will—” Rosaria started to say, but then she held her tongue. Because anything she had to say about the victims would also pertain to herself.

“What’s the problem? Just come out and say it!” Quinn sneered at her while leaning against the back of the driver’s seat. “Victims will drink their own—”

A hard crack reverberated from the man’s jaw.

“D?” Rosaria said, staring at his hand as he pulled it back into the front seat.

“Have you ever heard of them leaving the valley?” D inquired as he got to his feet.

“No.”

“How about travelers going missing?”

“No.”

“They’ve been living in that valley. But there are times when their desire for blood makes them lure passing travelers down there. Bright moonlit nights like tonight, for example.”

Rosaria said nothing, but nodded. Feelings of empathy she didn’t fully comprehend kept her from speaking.

The truth that everyone knew yet none would speak. That something human beings found repulsive was simply one means of survival for victims—drinking their own blood. Or that of their fellow victims.

Though in many cases victims resigned themselves to their fate and awaited their hour of destiny in a quarantine area on the outskirts of their village, more than a few still clung to life and decided to escape. Perhaps it was some sort of supernatural power they gained while being transformed into Nobility that allowed them to meet up with others of their kind. When two of them happened to cross paths and headed off together to find some forsaken place to live, other victims in the same situation would collect there as if blown by the wind, and they would form a community. If the human portion of their mind was strong they might subsist off farming and hunting, but the Noble blood that flowed in their veins wouldn’t allow their hunger to be sated by the blood of animals. They needed the blood of something else. And while this terrific struggle took place between the human and Noble within them, each of them realized the same thing: their own blood remained human. As did that of their compatriots.

And people found that repulsive. It was this practice of feeding on themselves and their neighbors that caused humans to set fire to any community of victims they discovered without preamble. In highlands where the shadow of humanity rarely fell, at the ends of the earth, and on isolated islands, cries rang out from those who stalked the victims, and blood swirled in the winds.

Those victims who’d been relatively unaffected by the Nobility would use special makeup to cover the wounds on their throats and take full advantage of their ability to walk in the light of day by living close to human villages. Instead of shunning contact, they could associate with ordinary people. It was said that on the Frontier alone several hundred communities like this remained. Rosaria’s village had been one of them.

The victims swarming the valley hadn’t, in fact, gone out and attacked human beings. They didn’t seem to be luring travelers in, either. They’d merely stayed there peacefully, living off themselves. And D’s group had only been drawn there by chance.

“What do you intend to do, D?” the girl asked, thinking all the while that it was to no avail. Her tone was so calm she stunned herself.

“I’m going back to your village to get some dynamite,” D replied.

“What?”

“To block off the road into the valley.”

“Really?”

“They’ve been fine up to now,” D said. “But if they lure any travelers in, they’ll end up bringing a mob armed with stakes down on themselves. They should be able to survive with their own kind.”

Rosaria’s eyes quickly began to fill with sparkling tears. “Yes, you’re right about that,” she said, swiftly wiping them away.

Rosaria realized why the shriveled young woman who’d caught hold of her shoulder had then let her go. She’d recognized Rosaria was one of them. And Rosaria had known it, too.

“I’m sure they’ll do fine. They won’t cause the outside world any trouble, so I guess the best thing to do would be to isolate them. D, I’ll wait here. Hurry up and go already.”

The figure in black had gotten onto the cyborg horse standing beside the vehicle. Though Rosaria had been watching him all along, it’d happened with such speed she wasn’t sure exactly how he’d done it.

“Stay right here,” he said, leaving her with just those words on the dark road.

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Almost an hour later, D returned with the echoes of iron-shod hooves. Halting his steed, D surveyed his surroundings. The car was gone. Quiet had returned to the darkness. The only one who might’ve driven the car was Rosaria. What could’ve happened?

“They’re not here,” a hoarse voice remarked from the left hand balled around the reins. “And there’s no sign of those clowns who chased us. Does that mean they just took off on their own? No, I don’t think that girl’s one to go against your instructions. Ordinarily, I’d say someone coming down the highway had carried them away. Heh! It’s been a pretty boring trip up till now, but it’s finally getting interesting. But enough about that—you’ve already noticed, haven’t you?”

Before the hoarse voice had finished, D had wheeled his mount around toward the road into the valley where they’d been earlier, for his nose had caught a faint scent drifting from far down the road. The smell of blood.

“An ordinary person wouldn’t be able to tell, but that’s the mark of a wholesale slaughter. So, what are you gonna do?”

In lieu of a reply to the snide voice from his left hand, D drove his spurs into his horse’s flanks.

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†

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The valley was shrouded in the same stillness as the first time they’d entered it. The only difference was the rows of coffins on the ground. Lying black in the moonlight, they declared that this valley was the kingdom of the false dead. There was no sign of the car. From the back of his horse, D focused his gaze on the row of coffins. His beautiful eyes were filled with a gleam many would describe as ghastly.

It was a call to arms. There was something in the center of the valley. The ground suddenly rose in a mound, and a cloud of dust went up. Like water breaking in waves, the ground flew off to either side as the cloud zipped forward. Something was burrowing underground!

The figure in black flew out into moonlight—D had leapt down. Having been given a kick to the flanks, his horse raced on at a good pace. Now on the ground, D gripped his longsword in his right hand.

The cloud of dust changed direction. Its speed surpassed that of the cyborg horse.

D didn’t move—and a second later, his form was swallowed by the black cloud. A sharp wave passed through the air. Leaving D behind, the cloud of dust raced off toward the entrance to the valley. Soon, it’d been swallowed by the darkness. D sheathed his sword without saying a word.

“That sure was something!” the hoarse voice said. Whether it was referring to D’s display of skill or lauding the underground foe was unclear.

Bright blood gushed from D’s left thigh.

“A quarter inch to the right and it would’ve severed a major artery. But it let out a scream, too. Guess it bit off more than it could chew, eh?”

Not replying, D pressed his left hand to the wound. The bleeding stopped almost miraculously. Walking over to a nearby coffin, he reached for the lid and opened it. It wasn’t locked. In it lay a victim. Vermilion stained the upper body. He could quickly see where the blood, which had already begun to dry, had come from—someone had carved open the chest and cut off the head. Apparently it’d been done with prodigious force, as the head of the victim only had a thin flap of skin still linking it to the body. The next coffin was the same. As was the next, and the one after that. In no time at all, D had confirmed that every last victim was dead.

“There ain’t a single footprint left here. Doesn’t look like this was the work of any human,” the Hunter’s left hand said, its tone, not surprisingly, one of amazement. The foe they’d just faced had been underground. “It’d take twenty people to put down this many victims. But what I don’t get is—”

There the voice halted. D had turned around. His ears had caught a sound that wouldn’t have been perceptible to any ordinary person—the echoes of wagons approaching the entrance to the valley.

“There are five of them—cargo wagons. It’s okay—they rode on past,” the hoarse voice said. It sounded disappointed that nothing had happened. “Must be a late-night express hauling the essentials of life to villages along the highway. But the creaking of their wheels sounds pretty frantic. Wonder if they called on that girl’s village. At any rate, the next matter of business is where those two got off to in that steam-driven car, but that doesn’t interest you anymore, does it?”

“That’s right,” D said, his reply darker and colder than the tense blackness of night.

After the group of wagons had gone, D hit the highway.

“Steady there. If those two have gone on ahead, that group will find them. At least they’re not as heartless as you.”

Ignoring the mocking tone, D broke into a gallop. He quickly caught up to the group of cargo wagons. There were escorts on cyborg horses riding in front and behind them as well as to either side. Beside the drivers sat men armed with pneumatic guns.

Two of the riders broke off from the last wagon to block D’s path. With the old-fashioned rifle mounted on his horse’s neck trained on the new arrival all the while, one took a flashlight in his left hand and flashed it in D’s face. Both men tensed at the gorgeous countenance revealed by that circle of light. At that point, even a child could’ve cut them down.

Recovering his bearings somewhat, the one with a beard stammered, “Wh-who the hell are you?” D’s beauty was so great that the man’s voice was tinged with fright. He had to wonder if this wasn’t some supernatural beast—a creature of the night.

“How about you two?”

The two men looked at each other. The voice of the young man before them was so hoarse it didn’t seem to suit his beauty at all.

“If you’re gonna go around asking folks who they are and what they’re doing, it’s only common courtesy to introduce yourself first.”

“We’re a transport party for the Frontier Commerce and Industry Guild. It’s our job to deliver orders to every village in the region,” said the other man, who had a length of cloth wrapped around his head like a turban. There was the evidence to support the left hand’s inference.

“I’m a Vampire Hunter,” D said. Cold and exquisite as ice, his voice made the men exchange glances again.

The one with the turban said, “A Vampire Hunter? With a face like that . . . you wouldn’t happen to be—”

“—D?” the other groaned in a tone that seemed to dread the very night.

“That’s right,” the hoarse voice replied again, but the two men didn’t have enough presence of mind to find that curious. For those who lived on the Frontier, the name and deeds of the Vampire Hunter of unearthly beauty were nearly legendary.

The one with the beard lowered his light and took his right hand off his gun. “I’m Juke. I’ve heard of you. It’s an honor to make your acquaintance.”

The hesitant man in the turban followed suit, saying, “I’m Gordo.”

“I’m D,” the dashing young man replied.

After some bewilderment, the two men pulled back the hands they’d extended. They didn’t seem to take offense at the lack of a handshake. They knew that on the Frontier, casually offering your sword hand to anyone besides an ordinary citizen was a good way to get killed.

“Didn’t happen to see a steam-driven car, did you?” D inquired.

“Nope.” The pair shook their heads.

“We haven’t run into anybody. The area up ahead’s been flooded and cut off from supplies. That’s why we’re in such a hurry. Maybe it took one of the byroads instead?” Juke replied.

Raising his left hand, D thanked them and said goodbye.

When the Hunter grabbed the reins again, the pair cleared the road for him. Turning back toward the wagons, Gordo shouted, “It’s okay. He’s a Hunter. Let him by!”

D started off at a gallop.

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III

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As the handsome rider in black passed the wagons, men carrying lights and weapons trained their gazes on him.

“Hold up,” someone called to the Hunter just as he was about to pull away.

Halting his steed, D turned and looked. A particularly powerfully built man was leaning out off a wooden footing that encircled one of the wagons. D’s eyes could pick out every single gray hair in his beard.

“I’m in charge of this transport party. Kyle’s the name,” the man called out with one hand cupped by the side of his mouth. “I knew the second I saw your face. You’re D, aren’t you? If so, I’ve a favor to ask of you. Could I hire you to guard us?”

D immediately turned away again.

“Hold up!” Kyle called out, his voice an octave higher. It had a ring of gravity to it. “I know you’re a Vampire Hunter and all. I’d take that into consideration on hiring you. Your pay would be the same as if you were taking on Nobles.”

“The area up ahead doesn’t belong to the Nobility,” D replied.

The mere sound of his words was enough to make the man’s expression stiffen. A human could tell in a flash the voice of a dhampir—someone with the blood of the Nobility.

“With the number of people you’ve got and how well armed they are, you won’t have any problem.”

“The fact of the matter is, before we came out here, I went to a fortuneteller and had a reading done. Three times, mind you, and all of them came out real bad. Not that I necessarily believe in that stuff, but I’d like to be prepared anyway. I could really do with some serious backup.”

Saying nothing, D kept his back to the man.

“You sure you won’t do it?”

“Godspeed to you,” the Hunter said, and then he galloped off into the night.

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After he’d sped along for about an hour, dawn began to sparkle like water in the eastern sky.

“Daybreak. Human time, eh? Still, I wonder what happened to that girl,” a voice from the vicinity of the Hunter’s left hand could be heard to say in the fading darkness. “If we go another three miles, there’s the village of Donellico, but that’s pretty low lying and gets flooded by the river all the time. Being of Noble blood and all, water’s not your element. Better rip through here as fast as we can or take another route.”

Their conversation took place while they raced along.

D didn’t slow down. Presently, the road began to dip. Chunks of rocks and stands of trees joined the scenery to either side, and an overall dense atmosphere swept over them. Up ahead, a silvery band could be seen. The roar that’d been audible for some time was the flow of a river. And it was fairly intense, at that—it bisected the road. The spray that went up some thirty feet away was impenetrable muddy water.

“This ain’t the river. It’s the wake of a flood. There won’t be a village left anywhere around here.”

“What about the stream itself?” D asked.

“It’s about a mile and a quarter from here and runs perpendicular to this flow. Given the force of this sucker, how about taking the long way around? It’s not like we’re in a hurry or anything.”

“Can’t you tell?”

“What?” the hoarse voice exclaimed. It would have knitted its eyebrows, if it’d had any.

Just then, the horse bounded right into the water and plowed straight ahead.

The voice actually sounded rather worshipful as it said, “What—did you sense something? I know sometimes your senses are even sharper than mine.”

For all its grumbling, D had entered the water. In no time at all the muddy water was up to his waist. His steed lurched—the flow was so fierce even a cyborg horse had difficulty keeping its footing. Any ordinary mount and rider would’ve been swept away in the blink of an eye.

“Hmm,” the voice said.

Pushed all the while by the overwhelming force of the water, the cyborg horse swayed its head from side to side to maintain stability and somehow began to ford the flow, partly due to the strength of the horse. However, what kept its gait strong and sure was none other than D’s handling of the reins from its back. When the steed tilted to one side he would slide over to the other, and when his mount was about to give up he gave a kick to its belly to keep it moving. In no time, they’d crossed the roaring torrent to within thirty feet of the opposite shore.

From one end of the muddy stream a black shape flowed along. A coffin.

“Maybe the running water dug that out of a cemetery? But it looks like its occupant is no ordinary character. Where’s the grave?”

To understand what the hoarse voice was talking about, one had only to watch the floating coffin. The muddy torrent flowed noisily past D from right to left, the water rushing downstream. Yet the black coffin was slapped by waves as it pushed its way slowly but most decidedly from left to right—moving upstream.

D halted his steed. Skillfully shifting his center of gravity on the back of a horse that seemed ready to lose its footing, the Hunter managed to maintain his balance as the bizarre coffin sailed right by him.

“What’s the deal with that? D, don’t you wanna have a look at what’s inside?”

“I’m not working for anyone now.”

“So you’d just let it go, then? That’s a crying shame, you know,” it chortled hoarsely. “If it were up to me, I’d make a thorough inspection of what’s inside, then drag whoever it is out into the sunlight and turn him into dust. Well, whatever. At any rate, hurry up and get us back on solid ground. Your horse can’t stand much more of this.”

Suddenly the horse began to move, and less than thirty seconds later it stood in the village. A desolate scene spread before D. The houses, earthen walls, roads, and stands of trees must’ve all been submerged for quite some time. Everything was coated with gray mud. Judging from the way both homes and boles had been knocked flat, the floodwaters had apparently surged over them quickly.

“Don’t do anything stupid. What do you think you’re up to, cutting through this village?”

Paying no mind to the hoarse complaints, D slowly rode down the village’s main street. Due to the furniture and farm implements that were scattered everywhere, his horse was hard pressed to advance. Suddenly, his vista expanded. He’d come to the center of the village—to its square.

“Well, I’ll be!” the hoarse voice exclaimed, its tone conveying rare surprise and curiosity.

What should be sitting there in the middle of the muddy and debris-strewn square but the steam-powered car.

“Sure, it’s built like a tank, but I’m still surprised it could make it through that water. Actually . . .”

It was hard enough to picture that steam engine plowing through the water. Undoubtedly the vehicle had been under someone else’s control.

“Hey, don’t just ride by. Go on over and have a peek inside.”

The voice hadn’t forced him to do it, but D rode his horse over to the steam-powered vehicle and dismounted before grabbing the handle and opening the door.

Just as the shadowy figure that erupted from the car was about to hit him, D dodged with ungodly reflexes, and the figure hit the ground hard. Letting out a cry of pain, he then passed out.

“Well, if it ain’t Quinn! Any sign of the other one?”

The car’s interior was empty. There was no trace of Rosaria.

D crouched down by Quinn’s side and put his left palm against the man’s neck. Fierce spasms rocked Quinn’s body and he awoke. Sitting up quickly, he gasped on noticing D next to him, and then twisted around to scratch at the ground with his hands and feet.

Grabbing hold of him by the collar and hoisting him to his feet, D asked in a low voice, “What happened?”

The man’s only reply was a frantically powerful struggle to move forward and an unexpectedly shrill scream.

“It’s no use. Don’t bother,” the hoarse voice told the Hunter. “Why, he’s lost his mind. Looks like he must’ve been through hell.”

“Can you help him?”

“It’ll be risky. Trying too hard to set him right might destroy his mental functions. He’s under some kind of supernatural pressure. The best thing to do is fix him little by little.”

The left hand caught the still thrashing Quinn by the neck, and his expression of otherworldly terror quickly grew placid. All the strength then fled Quinn’s body, which slumped to the ground.

“What happened?” D asked once again.

A flicker of intelligence spread through the man’s vacant gaze. Quinn’s brain had begun to sift through his memories for a response to the question. After his eyes had lit up several times, he finally said, “General Gaskell was . . .”

“General Gaskell? That monster? Come to think of it, this is pretty close to his territory. But he was supposed to have been turned to dust a long time ago. Hey! Did you really see him?” the hoarse voice asked.

“His face was outside the window . . .” Quinn replied in a ghastly tone. “He was gigantic. Had a number of other guys with him. They were all huge, too. Gaskell rapped on the glass. When I asked who it was, he gave me his name. Said it so prim and proper it made my stomach turn.”

“Why’d you open up?”

“I didn’t intend to at first. There were weapons, so I planned on plugging the bastard through the face or the heart. But before I could—”

There Quinn broke off.

Before it could prompt him for more details, the hoarse voice gasped—Quinn had begun to fade away. His whole outline had grown oddly vague, and the scenery behind him was becoming visible right through him.

“No! Stop, damn it! Wait!” the left hand exclaimed, its fingers finding only empty space now that Quinn was becoming one with the air. Finally just his two eyes were left in midair, and those too quickly vanished.

“You know how General Gaskell died, right?” the palm of the Hunter’s left hand croaked. “Maybe he survived, or maybe this is the work of his vengeful spirit—anyhow, making people physically vanish was the best way he had of terrorizing those under his rule.”