CHAPTER 6

-

I

-

The weird voice had resounded through everyone’s heads. All of them but Toto had leapt out of bed, and when Jan rushed into the recovery room to see what was going on, he’d found Weizmann all over Maria. Maria hadn’t said a word, Jan had gotten a good laugh out of the situation, and Bierce had ignored it, but the young officer’s pride had been sorely wounded, so that he now sat despondently in one corner of the treatment center, hugging his knees. The other three agreed that the voice must’ve come from the “god” D had mentioned, but at some point the Hunter had disappeared, apparently leaving Bierce in charge.

“This floor, those above it, and those below have all been thoroughly destroyed. In other words, it doesn’t matter where we go. Our only choice is to wait here until D gets back,” said the warrior.

And so it was decided that Jan would stand in the corridor as a lookout, while Bierce served as a guard inside the room.

“So, what happens now?” Maria said in the treatment center, heaving a sigh. “What in the world was that Hunter thinking, just strolling into the home of a god the Nobility worshiped? For that matter, what were we thinking when we followed him?”

Bierce, who was leaning back against the wall, gave her a long look and told her, “Get some sleep.”

“Not on your life. I’m not safe with that deviant around.”

Her look of derision fell on Weizmann, who still sat hugging his knees.

Looking up at Maria, he shouted, “Wh—what’s that? That’s a shitty thing to say, you lousy whore. You said you were fine with it!”

“Whatever could you be talking about, you freak? I’ll have you know I used to work in the most popular saloon in Shoala, the biggest city in the whole southern Frontier. Why would I let myself be smooth talked by a little pissant like you?”

“You bitch—you said you wanted fifty dalas, didn’t you? Why, that’s—that’s what a top-grade hooker makes. That’s far too expensive!”

“Now, now,” Bierce said with a wry grin, “is that any way for an official from the Capital to be using funds? You also seem pretty well versed in these matters.”

“D—don’t be ridiculous,” Weizmann stammered. “My record as a public servant is spotless. When I go out to be entertained, it’s always on my own coin. Which reminds me—I’d better be getting a receipt out of you!”

“That’s hardly anything to be bragging about, you idiot,” Maria said, sticking her tongue out at him. “You little government pissant. I’ve never heard of a man asking for a receipt for bedding a lady, you low-down, filthy, twisted fuck!”

“You—you slut!” Weizmann exclaimed, jumping up.

Maria immediately braced herself for action, making it clear she was ready to go at it with him, tooth and nail.

Just as the room filled with the will to fight and kill, there was a hard rap at the door. Both of them froze.

“What is it?” Bierce called, one hand cupped by his mouth. Surprisingly enough, his voice seemed to come from the opposite side of the doorway. By throwing his voice, he’d still be safe if someone tried to shoot him through the door

“It’s me. He’s come back!”

It was Jan’s voice.

Maria and Weizmann stared in disbelief.

Bierce asked, “Who, the suckling?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Let me in, would you?”

The moment Bierce undid the lock, Jan came flying in. Shooting a glance at Bierce, he quickly returned his eyes to the corridor.

“Well, what do you know!” Bierce said, his tone one of mixed emotions.

Jan jumped off to one side, and a thin figure walked in between the two men as if he were some celebrity who knew he wouldn’t be turned away, even though he hadn’t been invited.

“Sorry for all the fuss,” Mr. Stow said, raising one hand in greeting as Maria and Weizmann stared at him in a daze.

“Pardon me,” he said, but before he could take a step forward he found Bierce blocking his way.

As the old man looked up at him sleepily, the warrior asked, “You left with the suckling, didn’t you?” Though his expression was the same as always, none of them had ever heard this icy tone from him before. Was it the voice of a warrior?

The old man’s expression didn’t change. There was something strange about that, but those around him didn’t seem to notice.

“When D left, he gave us instructions to kill the suckling as soon as we saw him. Since you went with him, I wonder what we should do with you?”

“Do you intend to . . . kill me?”

Bierce stood a head taller than the old man. Looking down at him like some overhanging cliff, his eyes seemed to bore right through Mr. Stow. Undoubtedly he was weighing how to deal with this old man in light of his experience as a warrior and all his instincts. His eyes had a fierce glint in them.

The trio watched in shock.

“Sorry,” Bierce said, his hand drawing an arrow from his quiver.

No one was going to stop him. They all found what he was doing perfectly justifiable.

The old man waited, motionless, but without a trace of fear.

“Wait,” Weizmann called out to the warrior, his tone feeble.

Bierce ignored him.

Every one of them could picture the scene a second or two away, when the old man would fall to the floor with an iron arrow through his heart.

Just then, they heard a voice call out, “Dear!”

Jan and Weizmann shut their eyes as if to say, Damn, and a hint of relief skimmed across Maria’s face. An unforeseen player had won the day.

Everyone turned to see Mrs. Stow standing at the entrance to the recovery room. Thanks to the medicine, the fever had left her, but her sickly visage was still haggard.

Raising a hand that was like a withered tree branch, she said, “Dear . . . So, you came back?”

“Honey—I’m right here!”

Before Bierce could stop him, the old man slipped past him to stand before his wife.

Maria looked at Bierce. As husband and wife breathlessly threw their arms around one another, the warrior’s hand aimed its metallic death. Was he going to kill them both?

“Stop it!” the woman shouted in spite of herself, but her cry was shattered by a terrific impact.

All of them were thrown against the wall.

“The Sacred Ancestor’s army is attacking!” Jan shouted. Rather than the back that’d taken the blow, he was clutching his belly.

“That god thingy must’ve bitten the dust after all. So now—”

“If it’d bitten the dust, they wouldn’t have to attack, now would they, pervert?”

As she, too, clutched her stomach, Maria suddenly remembered something. Crying out Toto’s name, she headed for the recovery room.

“There’s an evacuation shelter in the third subbasement,” Bierce said, pointing toward the door. “We’d better move while the elevator still works. We’re relocating immediately. Don’t forget the food and medicine!”

Jan and Weizmann ran over to the container by the wall. When Bierce turned to look for the elderly couple, out of the corner of his eye he caught a pair of figures slipping out the doorway. Clucking his tongue, he followed them.

As soon as the warrior was through the door, he came to a halt. In the middle of the hallway the Stows had frozen in place, still facing the great elevator to the left. About fifty yards ahead of them stood a diminutive figure. In gray apparel that was wrapped like a toga, the figure had a small, girlish face. However, the tight muscles beneath the bronzed skin and heavy lips were those of a man—actually, a boy.

A hard sound and a faint rattling reached Bierce’s ears. The elderly couple was shaking. The noise was that of their teeth chattering as they held each other tight.

“You’re in league with Clulu,” the boy said. His voice was like ice.

Clulu—is that the name of that god? Bierce thought. This punk’s gotta be one of the three assassins I saw earlier.

“We’re not in league with it. It’s just that our skybus crashed and we wound up here through no choice of our own.”

“If you’re here, you’re in league with Clulu,” the boy murmured.

His mouth opened. Every one of his teeth tapered like a fang.

The boy pounced. He sailed slowly through the air toward the elderly couple. But he stopped in front of them, as if he’d been physically struck, and slammed against the wall. Piercing him through the temple and side was a pair of arrows that pinned him to the stone wall.

Bierce didn’t think he’d won yet. He had to slay an assassin specially chosen from the Sacred Ancestor’s army. Would the abilities of a common warrior really count for anything against someone like that?

“Run for it!” the warrior shouted at the still-rooted couple, pointing toward the elevator. The image of the husband and wife clinging to each other and trembling was burned into his retinas.

As the Stows broke into a run, Jan and Maria ran out of the room. Jan had the container of food in one hand and their store of medicine in the other, while Maria carried Toto.

“So, is this the bastard?” Jan shouted on seeing the impaled boy. “I’ll give you a hand with him!”

“Get moving!” Bierce shouted at them as well, pointing to the elevator. This wasn’t someone a mobster could handle.

When the two men broke into a run, a pair of arrows jabbed into the floor by their feet. The sound of them whistling through the air didn’t come until later. Before Bierce noticed that these were the two iron arrows he’d put through the boy, the little form popped up in front of him—landing not three feet away.

“Let’s play,” the boy said, sticking his right hand into the chest of his garment. When it came out again, his little fist held a disproportionately large doll.

The boy’s mouth snapped open as far as it would go, his white fangs glistened, and then he bit down on the right shoulder of the doll. With one bite he took the arm off.

Bierce screamed. Unseen fangs had sunk deep into his right shoulder. He had the sensation of them tearing through flesh and tendon and bone, and then ripping his right arm free with a shake of those jaws. Still, he swung his left arm, and a trio of arrows penetrated the boy between the eyes, through the throat, and through the heart. They were still sticking out of the boy as he smiled broadly.

“It’s almost that time,” the boy said. His fangs jutted from his mouth, sinking into the neck of the doll—and that of Bierce.

At that moment, both their bodies were sent sailing through the air with terrific force. Powerless, the assassin flew down the corridor. The wind that the god’s cries of pain had become—the same unholy two-thousand-mile-per-hour gale that D and his left hand had hidden from in the god’s tentacle—was now blowing through the fortress’s interior.

The rock wall was drawing closer. Though the warrior tried to push away from it with his right hand, the limb wouldn’t move. As he felt the right half of his face being crushed, Bierce lost consciousness.

-

II

-

The road didn’t appear to have an end. A dimension that twisted back on itself, a maze, sprang to mind, but apparently this road was different. All of this was the god’s abode. Nevertheless, D’s pace didn’t slacken, and no hint of fatigue could be seen in his handsome features. Even now, the solitary Hunter pushed ahead.

“What’s this?” the hoarse voice bubbled up.

It’d seen the line that rose obliquely from the stone floor far down the cobblestone road. From the shape of it, it was a longsword.

“Hmm, is that—tell me it’s not what I think it is,” the left hand said in a contemplative tone.

Presently, D stood beside it. Including the portion that was sunken into the stone floor, the longsword had to have been over twice as long and wide as D’s blade. The creature that adorned its hilt and guard was a dragon.

“This is the Sacred Ancestor’s sword,” D said.

“Wow. In that case, this must be . . .”

A sudden wind struck D’s face.

“This was the battlefield—where the Sacred Ancestor and the god fought.” As impossible as it seemed, the left hand, apparently gripped by fear, fell silent. After a pause, it said, “There’s no sign of the god’s corpse.”

“Yes, there is.”

“What?”

Its surprise was out of place in this eternal world, and the wind made a stirring sound.

“It’s under this,” D said, his gaze trained on the paving stones.

After a bit, the hoarse voice said, “Then that means the god was defeated, doesn’t it?”

“At the very least, it can’t move. If it could, the Sacred Ancestor’s army would’ve long since been swept away.”

“This is its grave? And that sword is a headstone?”

“Do you think a god can die?” D asked.

“What?”

“Let’s go,” D said, his eyes already focused far off in the distance.

“Hey, wait just a minute!” the hoarse voice said in an agitated tone. “If the god is under here and it still clings to life, isn’t this a golden opportunity? All you have to do is drive that sword in. The Sacred Ancestor’s sword. It’d be killed for sure, right?”

“I could do that.”

“Th—then why don’t you?” the hoarse voice stammered.

“The god is close.”

“What?”

The soles of the Hunter’s boots trod across the stone pavement.

“But that’s not my job.”

He must’ve been referring to the Sacred Ancestor’s ancient battle, which he was now walking away from.

“There you go, being pigheaded again. Make it easy for yourself—hell, why don’t you make it easy for me?”

The left hand knew there was no use ranting. But it continued its harangue just the same.

“You know, you’re always so—”

The tiny mouth that opened in the palm of the Hunter’s hand was merely getting started, but just then a voice rained down from the heavens.

You’ve done well to come here. This place was supposed to be sealed away, but it would seem you managed to break those seals, didn’t you?

The left hand let out a surprised groan—the voice pouring down on them was that cruel and horrible.

“Are you the god?” D asked, staring up into space. Apparently this young man could see things that weren’t there.

There are those who call me that—or rather, there were.

“Where are you?”

This was D’s sole concern.

Everywhere. Think of your favorite place. I am there.

Nothing from the Hunter.

Why didn’t you drive the sword into me? The truth is just as you said.

“I already answered that. If you aren’t going to come out, I’m leaving.”

Fine. I’ll show myself. But in return, I want you to agree to do something for me.

“No deal.”

Don’t be that way, it said in a voice that carried faint traces of laughter. Knowing that I’ve lost my arm, the enemy intends to attack at full force. They have weapons capable of destroying this shrine. Eliminate them.

“It’s telling you what to do!” the hoarse voice remarked with disgust. “A god that gives orders? You’re used to being pampered, aren’t you?”

If you can do that, I’ll meet with you.

“Oh, that’s an awfully big thing of you to say. Why’d you decide to do that, god? Aaah!”

The cry from D’s left hand was due to the overwhelming malice and rage that had slammed against every inch of the Hunter.

You’re just like him, the god said in a tone of loathing. The one being who came to me—you’re just like him. You realize that, don’t you? However, he couldn’t deal the coup de grâce. Can you?

“That’s why I came here,” D said softly. But amidst the maddened howls of the ever-growing wind, his voice still rang out like pure ice.

The floor shook ever so slightly.

They’ve resumed their attack. The darkness is truly their world. The humans are trying to flee. Scorn entered the god’s voice. I appeared because you didn’t rely on what he had done. We need to settle matters between us. After you stop the attack from outside, that is. Then you should come again.

A second later, darkness pressed in around D. It immediately cleared.

“Where the blazes are we?” asked the hoarse voice.

Crouching down, D tried to assess the situation. A glowing sphere had just passed overhead.

“That’s a recon globe,” the hoarse voice said in the absolute lowest of whispers.

To the Hunter’s right, innumerable figures were milling about above him. And also on his right—the sound of water. It was the river. D was in the gully that the river had carved. In which case, those atop the bank would be the Sacred Ancestor’s army. Since countless lights covered both banks, they threw illumination both on the river’s surface and up toward the sky, while among them flitted several glowing spheres resembling the recon globe that’d just passed by.

“Odd, aren’t they? The Nobility, I mean. Light can cost them their lives, but they’re still obsessed with it. Or is it just that they want to imitate humans? They even worked it into their machines.”

The nocturnal Nobility had no need for light. They could see as well at night as humans could when walking around in broad daylight. Moreover, 99 percent of their forces were synthetic humans. Perfect machines and technologically enhanced bio-men alike needed no light sources to assist their vision. Yet the fact that the Nobles had lights burning everywhere was in keeping with the hoarse voice’s second assertion—that they were imitating humans, as many scholars agreed. Though they regarded human beings as lower than insects and were themselves imbued with all the self-confidence and pride their ageless and immortal form could inspire, the Nobility still kept up this completely unnecessary mimicry of humanity. The solution offered by psychologists studying Nobles and humans was in keeping with the left hand’s opinion: The Nobility had a profound adoration of the human race.

At present, however, that sentimentality was only complicating D’s situation.

Off in the distance, there was a heavy sound like a bell tolling.

“That’s it,” the left hand whispered, but by this point D was already weaving a path through the recon globes and scrambling up the earthen bank. It wasn’t a gentle slope he was climbing, but rather an almost-vertical wall—in fact, he might’ve chosen that overhang to conceal him from the eyes of the enemy.

At the top of the gully, there were rows of countless synthetic combatants, ranging in type from humanoid to fortresslike. Though all were equipped with green eyes, those eyes would never register any emotion at the scenes conveyed to their electronic brains.

Reaching the top of the gully, D began to weave through the robots like the wind. They and the recon globes constantly scanned in all directions. No matter how swift D might be, he could never elude them.

The pendant on D’s chest gave off a blue glow.

At some point, he’d come into the thick of enormous mollusk-like constructs. One of them quaked. An indentation formed about a third of the way up it, a head and four limbs took shape, and in less than two seconds’ time it produced nearly a dozen men. They had no eyes, noses, or mouths, and while their fingers hadn’t formed yet, they did soon enough. The featureless, semitransparent figures joined the rest of the ranks, vanishing into the darkness.

“They’re changing shifts,” the hoarse voice noted.

Unlike robots or cyborgs, these synthesized humans returned to their original state when they weren’t on duty. That was the mollusk-like mountain.

“Are they lookouts or part of an attack? Whatever the case, leave it to the people who could move a planet or two to fall back on old-fashioned methods like sending out wave after wave of bodies to do battle. I just can’t figure those Nobles out.”

The voice flowed on the breeze, and less than a minute later the Hunter was in a position where he could see a colossal dome guarded by several rings of sentries. Lasers and searchlights shone on its gray walls, sliding across its sloping exterior.

“So, there are automatons in addition to the synthetic humans. There’ll be trouble if they find us.”

Not waiting for his left hand to finish speaking, D weaved between the gleaming black mecha men and went straight to the dome. When a squad of synthetic humans came along, he pressed himself up against its wall and became one with the darkness. Even after the guards had passed, D didn’t come back down to the ground, but rather slipped along the curve of the wall.

After running about two hundred yards, he halted.

“Okay, this is good,” the hoarse voice decided. D must’ve found an entrance.

A black-gloved hand touched a spot on the wall. Without a sound, a perfect circle six feet in diameter opened in it.

Climbing down off the wall, D reached for the sword on his back with his right hand, then twisted his upper body around to his right, swinging his blade low.

Split from the head to the chest, tumbling backward, was a synthetic human carrying a stafflike weapon. Two arrows jutted from him, one through his throat, and the other through his heart.

“That you, D?” a voice called out to him, and then Bierce popped from the darkness.

“What are you doing?” D asked, his tone and the look in his eye fit for addressing the enemy. This man wasn’t supposed to be out here.

As he scanned his surroundings, Bierce said, “It’s like this: As soon as the enemy assault started up again, an assassin from the Sacred Ancestor’s army came after us. I couldn’t take him, but at the last minute an incredible wind came through, and we were blown all around. I blacked out after I hit a stone wall, but somehow we managed to escape. Everyone’s in the underground shelter. But if this attack keeps up, the fortress won’t last till morning. So I came out here to destroy their weapons.”

“Alone?”

“That’s right. The rest of ’em wouldn’t be any use.”

“How’d you make it this far?”

“I was kinda worried about that too, but once I started, it was easier than I expected. Thanks to this.”

He stuck out his left wrist and turned it over. What he wore looked like a wristwatch or an ultracompact device for monitoring vital signs.

“It’s a sensor guard. It might not be much to look at, but its performance is top notch. As far as those androids’ eyes are concerned, I’m an invisible man.”

D glanced at the warrior’s wrist, and then turned around. Bierce was about to tell him to wait, but instead he just grinned wryly and followed the Hunter.

-

III

-

After Bierce went through, the circle immediately closed. Discarding the corpse of the synthetic man he’d cut down, D pointed straight ahead. On top of a tremendous ten-foot-high dais, a lone man sat in a chair. Right in front of him loomed a construct that closely resembled a silver jungle gym, and the man wore an exhausted expression as he leaned back in his seat. A hand protruded from one sleeve of his long, dark blue robe, and it gripped a glowing metallic rod.

“What’s he doing?” Bierce couldn’t help but ask.

“You’ll see soon enough. Mind your surroundings.”

Not the least bit angered by D’s curt reply, Bierce looked around. At least this was better than being treated like dead weight. It was at that instant that he sensed a cold presence to his rear. As Bierce turned, an iron arrow flew from his right hand like a red shooting star.

What it penetrated was a pale shadow. The shadow shook just a little, and the arrow jabbed into the wall behind it. The pale shadow had a face and a form. Clad in gleaming black armor, he bared white fangs.

It’s a Noble!

Bierce’s body stiffened with terror. Although he’d lived as a warrior for nearly forty years, this was his first time encountering an actual Noble.

Throwing arrows won’t do any good. The thought filled him with panic and rendered him immobile.

Drawing a longsword from his hip, the pale Noble glided closer. Bierce was certain the blade was genuine. When it swung at the left side of his neck, he closed his eyes and imagined the pain of it slicing clean through the bone.

He heard a chiiiing!

The warrior’s eyes opened. Not only had the blade been parried, it’d positively been batted away, and the pale ghost was reeling backward. The attacker didn’t even have a chance to straighten himself up before D drove his sword straight through his heart.

The Noble grinned.

“That’s a ghost!” Bierce shouted.

“We know,” a hoarse voice replied, making Bierce’s eyes widen.

The Noble came in for another strike. Never before had Bierce witnessed such swordplay. There was no comparing the average warrior to the strength and speed of this opponent. He couldn’t help but think that even the Hunter was outclassed. However, when their blades clanged together for a second time and the combatants switched positions, D made a great leap. Even Bierce could see that the Noble was too slow. As D passed, his weapon poised for a new blow straight to his foe’s heart, the Noble was still frozen in place. Pale blood gushed first not from his chest but from his solar plexus, and then the ghostly Noble was reduced to a collapsing mass of pale blue light.

“You couldn’t cut it at first, so why’d it work this time?”

In reply to Bierce’s query, the same hoarse voice said, “We got into a different frame of mind.”

There were indications of ghosts coming up behind the warrior. When Bierce turned his head, two more were charging toward him. One of them had a sword, but the other carried a great ax with a blade almost three feet long.

“Head to the top,” D said. “That machine is what’s attacking the fortress. Take it out.”

Behind D an iron staircase climbed upward.

Slipping past the warrior, D was ready to meet the approaching enemies.

Bierce ran for the stairs. To his rear, he heard the echoes of blade meeting blade. Grabbing the handrail and taking the steps four or five at a time, he still snuck a look back.

D was squaring off against the one carrying the great ax. A pale blue stain spread at the Hunter’s feet.

Bierce swallowed hard, thinking, He’s already slain one of those Nobles?

The great ax came at D. Moving with ungodly speed, the heavy blade was little more than a gleaming blur in Bierce’s eyes. The single ax appeared to streak for both the opponent’s neck and legs at the same time. Bierce was horrified.

D blocked all of the attacks—it was a battle between gleaming streaks and arcs. D’s blade repelled each of the blows that seemed to be coming simultaneously, the Hunter towering like a black wall, his feet never moving an inch from where he’d first planted them.

For a second, the enemy’s onslaught slackened.

Has he gotten sick of this? Bierce wondered.

The great ax was pulled back. When the expected attack didn’t come, D used the opening to strike with his sword. The second Bierce saw the Hunter’s blade bursting from the back of the ghost, the pale figure collapsed.

D looked at the warrior. Feeling a dread greater than anything the ghosts could inspire, Bierce raced up the stairs.

-

The warrior reached the top of the device.

The man reclining in the chair sat up and looked at the warrior. He had the same pale face as a Noble, the lifeless eyes, sunken cheeks, and fangs poking from his lips—he was indeed a ghost.

Gripping an arrow in his right hand, Bierce grew stiff. A stunning power struck every inch of him. Thrown ten feet, he managed to shield his head as he rolled across the floor, and by then he knew what it’d been.

“A force field, eh?”

“That’s right,” the hoarse voice said overhead.

D moved forward, stopping just shy of where Bierce had been thrown back and striking the unseen wall with his sword. It was knocked back with just as much speed.

“The Nobility’s force fields draw on the power that moves the Milky Way. Only the Sacred Ancestor can break through them!” Bierce blurted out, repeating the information he’d been told by an aged Hunter long ago, but then he realized this young man would already know that. At the same time, a thought occurred to him that filled him with both fear and denial: D will manage something, won’t he?

Up ahead of them, the man in the chair moved. With the metallic rods he held, he delivered a series of blows to the construct before him. Each time he hit it, the construct shook and its shape changed. He was altering the positions of the cylinders that defined its form. What had resembled a child’s jungle gym transformed into a shape reminiscent of a model of a molecule, then into a geometrical pattern that called to mind a spider’s web. All the while, the man kept moving both hands without a moment’s rest. He seemed possessed, like an impassioned conductor.

“The Mysterious Symphony—Movement of Destruction,” the hoarse voice murmured. “This is no good. You’ve gotta stop him before he finishes his directions. If you don’t, the fortress will be—”

The voice never got to finish what it was saying. D held up his left hand.

Bierce felt the air start to flow toward it. The flow became a rustle, which became a breeze, which turned into a gale.

“Grab hold of something.”

Even before D said this, the warrior had run over to the stairway and latched onto the railing with both hands. His body rose into the air. With terrific force he was being drawn toward D—and the left hand he’d extended. His shoulders, his elbows, and his wrists all cried out in unison. Muscle and tendon were stretched to the limit.

What, does he plan on sucking up the force field?

The warrior began to slide. His fingers were slipping. Without even a chance to cry out, Bierce sailed through the air . . . and fell to the ground. His eyes were open.

The Noble in the chair raised both his batons. The deadly music was headed toward its climax. But he was challenged by a streak of black lightning. The batons swung down.

A silvery flash swept out horizontally. Something flew through the air. Hands gripping batons—and a head!

Bierce saw the construct falling to pieces.

“That’s all there was?”

“Just the one,” the hoarse voice replied.

D headed for the stairs. Without halting, he asked Bierce, “Can you stand?”

“I’ll manage,” he replied, but by that point D had already started down the stairs. Bierce didn’t complain. He hadn’t been of any use at all, and they had to hurry up and get out of there before the enemy came. But despite that thought, Bierce couldn’t get to his feet for a long time.

On exiting the dome, the warrior was surprised. Astride a cyborg horse, D handed him the reins to another steed, and then galloped off.

The power of the god opened a path through the defenses and the main gates with ease as the two riders approached.

 

 

The group had taken refuge in the third subbasement. On seeing the pair who now returned, they all cheered.

“Where’d you two meet up?” Jan asked. The others were wondering the same thing. “By the way—did you take care of that god thing?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

The members of the group let out a collective sigh of despair.

“What the hell? Then you mean we can’t get outta here yet? Well, I don’t care; I might just take off on my own. Floating down that underground river should do the trick.”

D turned and looked at Jan, who was grinning like a fool.

Jan threw out his chest with a hearty laugh. “What’s that look for? You think all you’ve gotta do is glare at me and I’ll get all scared, stud?”

But his haughty laughter quickly faded. D was still staring at him.

A little hoarse voice said, “He’s possessed.”

Though the people there looked dubious, the next thing D said would change their expressions.

“The suckling’s dead. Did the old man come back?”

“Yeah,” Maria said with a nod.

“Where is he?”

“Over there—in the bed in the back.”

Just then, the old woman called out, “Dear.” Sitting up in bed, Mrs. Stow clung to her husband’s arm as he got to his feet.

The old man was staring at the group with gleaming eyes. The light that came from them was crimson.

“You shouldn’t have come back,” D said in a low voice, taking a step toward the elderly couple like death in black.

THE CHANGED