LEGEND OF THE SUPERNATURAL TROOPS

CHAPTER 3

—

I

—

The group of four went out into the courtyard. All across the school grounds, which looked like a perfectly cleared section of the plains, children were running around. Looking them over, the director’s eyes came to rest on a certain cluster. Pointing, she said, “The littlest one is Franco.”

It was obvious at a glance that what they were kicking around wasn’t a leather-covered ball. It was bound in a flexible cloth that hardly bounced at all, but still it sailed through the air when the boys kicked it. A bunch of them were running toward it. Just when one of their feet kicked the ball, a little figure flew between them like a gust of wind, stole it away with some exquisite footwork, and kicked it toward a goal fashioned from sticks. Though the keeper made a horizontal dive across the front of the net, there was a gap between his hands and the ball reached the goal. Cheers erupted from the spectators. The victor’s teammates hugged him—and then even the members of the opposing team ran over en masse, clapped the boy with the pearly white grin on the shoulder, and walked off. They were all smiling.

“That’s him?” Beatrice asked.

“Absolutely. You sure you don’t want me to call him over?”

There was no reply. The hirsute giant looked as if he were all alone. His eyes squinting as if blinded by the light, he watched as the diminutive boy kicked the ball again. Everyone chased after it. A cheer went up.

The director began to speak softly, saying, “That boy came to our orphanage in the year his father mentioned to you. He was three at the time. We call that the critical age. How a child’s been treated up until that point will decide the better part of his life.”

“You don’t say,” Beatrice replied, seeming to accept the truth of this. “So, how was it with him?”

“Franco Gilbey’s parents must’ve been exceptional,” said the cold schoolteacher.

The director nodded.

“I won’t bore you with every little detail of his life here. However, I can tell you something that every member of the staff accepts. Franco Gilbey currently looks after the youngest class of children here. Usually he plays right along with them in the mud, and if one of the children does something wrong, he has no qualms about giving him a smack. The same is true when he’s dealing with an older boy. But then he always finds something good about the child and praises him. I’m sure he must’ve been raised in the same manner. While human beings are creatures that don’t forget hatred and loathing and are disposed to make others feel the same things they’ve suffered, at the same time they can also have this wonderful spirit that makes them want to share joy and awe. And I say again: this child was brought up in such a manner.”

“Mrs. Denon is correct,” Miss Manpoole said, taking over the discussion. “If we knew that his parents were alive, we’d find them and ask them to drop whatever they were doing and come teach here.”

D looked at Beatrice.

The giant was silent. After some time, he said, “Well, I’d be opposed to that idea. I mean, we’re talking about someone who abandoned a three-year-old kid. I don’t care what they did before that. They’re a waste of flesh.”

The director of the orphanage and her second in command looked at each other.

“Based on his outstanding scholastic accomplishments, it’s been decided that Franco Gilbey will be going to a special school in the Capital with a few other children,” the director said. “Though he’ll have to pay his own tuition, I’m sure he’ll manage somehow.”

It was Beatrice who suggested they get going.

—

Once the pair who’d seen them off dwindled from view, Beatrice said, “That’s a load off my mind. Thanks.”

He winked at the Hunter, his expression cheerful.

D said, “That’s your boy, isn’t it?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” he spat through his beard. “Me, have a great kid like that? Not a chance! Of course, he’s the son of the sort of parents who’d abandon their kid. Probably won’t amount to much, you know?”

Nothing from the Hunter.

“All that aside, you’re headed for the Florence Highway for this rescue mission, right? I’ll give you the information, as promised. Just take me along with you.”

“You’ll only be in the way.”

“I can give you other info, too. Come on, now, don’t get angry with me. Look—just being on the receiving end of your vibes has the hair on my arms standing on end. But right now, I’m flat broke. I really need the reward money from that rescue mission.”

“Apparently the price has dropped quite a bit.”

“Well, not a hell of a lot can be done about that,” said Beatrice. “But for a plain ol’ warrior, it’s still a heap of money.”

“Fulfill your part of the bargain.”

“Okay—you mean the bit about the vampire castle, right? Hold onto this.”

With that, he pulled a battered notepad from his breast pocket and handed it to D.

“I’ve written down every last thing I can remember from that incident. After I got back from the castle, I was running a fever of a hundred and four for a while. That’s when I wrote all that stuff down. Sad to say, I can’t be sure how accurate it is. Once the fever broke, I lost all memory of what’d happened at the castle. Sorry if there are any mistakes.”

D trained his gaze on the first page of the notepad. Without saying a word, he slipped it into his coat pocket.

“So, it passes muster? Thank you!”

In lieu of a response, D took the reins and cracked them against the neck of his steed.

“W-wait! There’s more,” Beatrice said, his voice swiftly dwindling in the distance.

—

After fifteen minutes of racing down a stretch of road that usually took an hour on horseback, the Hunter could see the buildings of Bossage up ahead. D galloped along on his horse without halting. To people coming and going on Main Street, he might’ve appeared as nothing shy of a black cyclone.

In front of the hotel, he reduced his speed. His left arm went up.

A flesh-colored blob flew from a second-story window. Sticking to the stump of D’s wrist, it completely reattached itself.

“Did it go all right?” the Hunter asked. By then he was already moving at a gallop again.

“Have I ever let you down? That idiot of a mayor still thinks we’re back in the room with girly-name, badmouthing him some more.”

The scornful remarks the mayor had heard through his listening devices had clearly been the result of the left hand’s talent for impersonations. What’s more, it could evidently do two or more voices at the same time.

“How’d things go on your end?”

D only told the hoarse voice about the information Beatrice had given him. Apparently he’d finished reading through the notepad.

The hoarse voice said, “Aren’t you in an all-fired hurry! It’s still not too late to check with somebody else.”

“And hear what would just as likely be lies as the truth,” D replied.

Around him, the wind crumbled away in rapture.

“At any rate, it’s not like you to put complete faith into something before going into action, so I guess it doesn’t matter. But that part where the unholy aura filling the castle picked his pals off one by one sure sounds authentic enough. If the supernatural soldiers from the Florence Highway have come back to life, then that means the grand duke’s aura is back, too.”

Saying nothing, D merely faced straight ahead. No matter what had returned to life, it wouldn’t shake the young man’s stern demeanor.

The horse and rider hit the Florence Highway, also known as Mercenary Road. But at present, it would’ve more accurately been called “Road of the Supernatural Soldiers.”

—

II

—

Four hundred fifty miles long, the highway had been constructed by a Noble for humans to use. It was said that the Noble, known as Grand Duke Dorleac, lived in a spacious mansion with his beloved wife and son, holding splendid parties there every night and using the nearby humans for their blood . . . until one day five thousand years ago, when a grand military force came and covered the road. That night, while the people cowered in fear of war, there was a clamor of voices ringing out, angry shouts and cries of pain, and a cacophony of gunfire and thundering war horses. In the morning, the road was covered with the corpses of soldiers, and not only the Dorleac family but their extensive retinue as well had vanished from the castle. It wasn’t clear what had transpired. But this bizarre occurrence, as if an enormous hand had toppled the soldiers with a deadly gale and carried off the Dorleac clan, made the people cry out in exultation.

However, something remained in the castle. Those who visited it didn’t return, and eventually it fell into disrepair and was left to the flow of time. All around the highway people lived, grew old, and died as five millennia went by. Until now . . .

—

A vermilion hue bled over the edge of the mountains. The final light of the sinking sun timidly illuminated a farmhouse that stood by the side of the road. D got off his horse in front of it.

“According to the map the mayor gave you, this’d be the Cogeyes’ house. They’re a family of five, but since they haven’t come into Bossage, they’re probably done for,” the hoarse voice remarked.

That would mean that a point only seventy-five miles from town marked the border between the world of humanity and the netherworld. No light spilled from the windows, and no smoke from the family’s supper rose from the chimney. Though there was nothing wrong with the house itself, a weirdness clung to the place. D headed for the front door. Grabbing the doorknob, he pulled.

Doors often had something attached to them to announce the arrival of visitors. In this case it was a bell. Though it would chime even when the wind blew, it didn’t make the slightest sound now.

D went inside. The smell of blood he’d already caught now crushed in around him. The living room lay before him. A sofa, table, and chairs were arranged there. People lay on the ground. Even in the feeble gloom, the carpet was stained with vermilion. One step would undoubtedly wring out some of the lifeblood it’d drunk up from the five bodies.

“The parents and three kids—the youngest being a girl who was all of four? Just a terrible thing to do,” the left hand kvetched in a voice D alone heard. “Whoever did this should die by inches. Now, then—”

D’s right hand flashed into action. Tearing through the blue darkness, a gleaming object flew to the right side of the room—making a thud in the kitchen.

“No response? Next, then,” the left hand continued.

The wind whistled. A second wooden needle went through the doorway directly in front of D, vanishing into the room in the back.

“Next.”

The third one was directed into a room where the walls were covered with bookshelves. It was a study. The needle could be heard jabbing into something.

“Nothing here, either?” the hoarse voice said. “That just leaves out back and the second floor.”

D was already headed for the staircase to his left.

“You send a killing lust out with every one of those needles. Even if it didn’t score a hit, it’d freeze the blood of anyone hiding and almost stop his heart. Not even the most cunning predator could keep from leaping out at something like that. I guess there’s no one here after all.”

D went up the stairs without making a sound. Behind him, the floor just in the center of the cluster of corpses stealthily began to rise. It was a man covered with a cloth that was the same color as the floor. He had a shotgun braced by his hip.

“Nope,” the hoarse voice could be heard to say as they were halfway up the stairs. “There is still somebody here!”

As it said this, there was a streak of light.

With a thunderous report, fifteen balls of shot bit into the staircase. As he rose into the air, D swept out with his right hand five times.

Draped in a chameleon sheet—a poncho that could change to blend into any color—the man was already melting back into the floor. However, the instant the needles stitched like white threads through the carpet where he lay, the man let out a choked cry of pain and leapt up from the floor in front of the front door. That was the work of both the needles and D’s murderous air.

Letting out a scream, the man was about to fire a second shot, but before he could do so a sixth needle pierced him through the solar plexus and jabbed out of his back.

Racing over to the man after he’d thudded to the floor, D kicked away the shotgun and pressed the tip of his freshly drawn sword to the man’s throat.

“Get left behind?” asked a hoarse voice that was so different from what the Hunter’s appearance suggested that the waxy-faced man looked up at him. His expression was already a rictus.

D turned his gaze to the man’s abdomen. His shirt was soaked with a larger bloodstain that had nothing to do with the Hunter’s needle. It looked like a stab wound.

“Please . . . you gotta help me . . .” the man pleaded, almost weeping.

“Start talking and we’ll get you a doctor,” the hoarse voice said.

“There was a fight . . . over getting rid of the hostages . . . and our split of the take . . . I said to kill ’em straightaway . . . and get the hell out of here . . . but Zenon . . . wouldn’t listen. So, that being the case . . . I said . . . give me my cut . . . And the next thing I knew . . . he went for me. I didn’t . . . put up much of a fight . . . what with my right arm . . . winding up like this.”

The man’s arm was missing from the elbow down.

“Those bastards . . . left me here . . . with just this sheet . . . and a . . . gun. Told me . . . to slow down . . . anyone chasing ’em . . . Damn them!”

“Where were they going?” D asked.

The man’s muddied eyes opened wide. For all his pain, his rictus gave way to a look of rapture.

“Damned if you aren’t . . . one hell of a stud. Okay . . . I’ll tell you . . . Your looks earn you that much . . . I warrant. They’re headed . . . for Dorleac’s castle . . . Gonna use . . . the weapons there . . . and machines . . . if any pursuers . . .”

The man’s voice suddenly died out. Still, he struggled desperately to keep his eyelids open.

“I’m . . . Scuda. Before I go . . . could you give me . . . your name . . . ?”

“D.”

And saying that, he nailed the murderer’s throat to the floor with his blade.

“He had that coming to him. He could hide, but he couldn’t do anything to disguise his fear or killing lust. We saw that he was blending in with the floor ages ago,” said the hoarse voice.

Sheathing his blade, D raised his left hand. He gazed at his palm. A bizarre face appeared.

“You’d better hurry after ’em . . . At least, that’s what I’d normally tell you, but up ahead it’s swarming with supernatural soldiers. See? You can feel the unearthly air gusting off ’em! Luckily, if the legends are correct, they’ll only be covering the highway and its immediate vicinity. Towns and farms far from it should be safe, but if we collect those four robbers—I guess that’d be three now—and rescue any survivors there may or may not be, getting ’em back alive is gonna be tougher than tough. On your own, you’d probably manage something, but you’ll have all of them for baggage. It’ll be easier for you if there aren’t any survivors. Kill the other three robbers and the grand duke, and that’ll be the end of it. Oof!”

Squeezing his left hand tight, D stepped outside. He believed that after massacring this family, the three outlaws had galloped off toward the highway that was crawling with supernatural soldiers. The question was: Would they live long enough to make it to the ruins—the castle of the vampire Dorleac? On the off chance that they did, they would undoubtedly find something waiting there that was more fearsome than death.

Whatever D’s fate, he would accept it without complaint.

Once he’d mounted his cyborg horse, something white flowed out in front of him. Fog.

“Here they come, at last. Watch yourself,” the hoarse voice advised.

D broke into a gallop. Fog and air brushed his skin, tearing apart and sailing away.

It was through his ultrakeen senses that D realized something was flying at him from up ahead. The longsword glided from his back to meet it. Even in the fog, the silvery streak streamed out—and whatever it hit was struck down with a beautiful ringing sound.

Looking down at what lay on the ground, the hoarse voice muttered, “Blow darts?”

The weapons had conical bodies tipped with needles about eight inches long. Unlike arrows, they didn’t make a sound, meaning they were fearsome weapons of assassination at close range, but D knew that those who’d launched these were far off in the distance.

What about the second volley?

The heels of the Hunter’s boots struck the barrel of his horse, and rider and steed sailed through the air as if they were one. They were so beautiful, even the fog seemed to laud them. The instant they touched back down they broke into a full gallop. All of the blow darts aimed at the cyborg horse had passed right under it.

“If they take out your horse, we’ll be in a world of hurt. Seems the darts used by the mercenaries holding down the Florence Highway are coated with poison. Get off the road!”

Even before the voice told him this, D was tugging the reins to the left. Batting down three batches of blow darts, he got his steed running at a diagonal once they were down onto the plain. However, the fog showed no sign of clearing, leaving his field of view an endless expanse of white. D had nothing to rely on but his instincts. For perhaps thirty minutes he rode parallel to the road.

The fog unexpectedly cleared.

D narrowed his eyes.

“I’ll be damned!” the hoarse voice exclaimed. “What’s all this? They were able to fool you and me both?”

The cyborg horse had galloped up to the front of the same farmhouse they’d just left.

“Seems like being stuck in that fog numbs your sense of direction. Sent us right back where we started, eh?”

“Can you get rid of it?” D asked.

“More or less. Even if I said I couldn’t, you’d make me do it anyway, wouldn’t you? Hey, do you hear that?”

D nodded.

“They’re laughing! Calling you an idiot to fall for that so easily,” the hoarse voice said, and his remark seemed to carry both reproach and encouragement.

The cyborg horse tore at the ground—this time, they didn’t divert to the plains. They headed straight for the highway. The fog surged toward them. Like a sentient being, it took shape, engulfing the horse and rider from all sides. Just as D was about to meld with the whiteness, he looked like a person being caught in a tremendous wave.

It was at this second the incident occurred.

The fog flowed toward a certain spot. The spot moved with the same speed as the galloping cyborg horse, creating a shape like a gigantic funnel. The whirling fog was now being sucked into its own vortex. A minute later, the last of the fog had been consumed—during which time D raced a mile and a quarter, and even now he continued on at breakneck speed.

Countless presences were in motion to either side of him—the source of the blow darts. The ones who’d summoned the perplexing fog. It could be none other than the supernatural soldiers.

“Here they come! Now things are getting interesting,” the hoarse voice said, sounding excited.

More than his eyes, D relied on his hearing, but beyond that he was counting on a sort of sixth sense to locate his foes. The reanimated mercenaries couldn’t have had time to seal off the entire highway yet. Undoubtedly the forces hindering him at present were merely part of a scouting party. If there were military units, there would also have to be a chain of command. D’s intent was to destroy the core of that command structure.

Blow darts rained down on him from either side.

D raised his left hand. The human face that rose to its surface was plastered with an unsettling grin.

Whitish smoke enveloped D and his steed. This new white fog swallowed the blow darts that were aimed precisely at the horse and rider. D knew all the darts that flew into the fog would vanish. Just as the first fog had beguiled D’s sense of direction, the white fog billowing from his left hand was throwing the blow darts off course. It was precisely because of this that D had dared to ride down the middle of the highway.

“What’s this?” the left hand said in a purposeful tone.

D knew just what it was talking about.

Roughly five hundred yards ahead of them sat an object of incredible mass.

“They’re better armed than I thought. They’ve taken up a position there!”

“Can you confuse them?”

“That’ll depend on the opposition, I guess,” the hoarse voice said gravely.

The meaning of this was immediately apparent. A white cloud billowed toward them once again from up ahead. When the other fog collided with their own, it lost its ability to confuse.

Batting down the blow darts flying at him, D made his mount take a great leap. He easily cleared what appeared to be a seven-foot-high barricade looming before him. Constructed of steel pipes strung with iron netting, it was a tried-and-true arrangement.

As soon as they touched back down to earth, the fog vanished. The Hunter’s left hand wasn’t expelling it any longer . . . but not due to any instructions from D. They were simply on the same wavelength.

Figures in gray uniforms ran everywhere, trying to flee. They’d never expected D to break through like that. The attack that followed couldn’t have lasted ten seconds from start to finish. That was all it took to decide the victor.

D didn’t look at the foes around him. His target loomed about ten yards ahead. It called to mind the bridge of an ancient ship haphazardly covered with iron plates. Windows and loopholes for weapons dotted its lumpy surface with complete disregard for matters of physics or aesthetics, and it bristled with guns and cannons that made it look as menacing as a porcupine.

But even before these weapons turned toward him, D was leaping from the back of his horse.

—

III

—

It was more like a fortress than a tank. Still, it was oddly constructed. Not only were there pits and bumps all over it to assist in climbing, but hatches were scattered across its surface.

D drifted back down and was reaching for the handle of the hatch by his feet when the gun beside it swiveled in his direction. The muzzle was nearly three inches across. A direct hit would blow even D to pieces. His left hand grabbed it.

The gun was driven by a motor of several horsepower. But the Hunter easily forced it downward—that was the sort of unnatural strength his left hand possessed.

A shot howled from the gun. Neither the earsplitting roar nor the impact drew so much as a blink from D, but he saw flames and dirt shoot into the air. Using the hem of his coat to bat away the blow darts flying at him from below, the Hunter yanked on the hatch. One after another, the bolts shot free.

Apparently those down below were somewhat prepared. At the same time the heavy hatch was ripped off as if it were paper, a soldier with pistol in hand poked his head out. His bloodless waxwork of a face was as expressionless as a mask.

Before his opponent could take aim, D caught him by the collar. Without time to even draw a breath, the soldier was jerked out and discarded. Arms and legs flapping all the while, he landed some thirty feet away. By then the figure in black had slipped into the fortification.

Gunshots echoed and screams rang out. Soldiers who’d been running through the position in confusion rushed toward the tank. The instant they reached the hatch, a flash of black lightning flew out. In midair it transformed into D, with the hem of his coat spread like a pair of wings. The sword in his right hand glittered as his beauty made the supernatural soldiers look up in a daze.

Before D landed, the great fortress of a tank exploded. The blast and shrapnel mowed through the soldiers and blew away the barricade. After D touched down, the swelling flames surged toward him. His left hand came up.

Just look. Blistering flames of thousands if not tens of thousands of degrees formed a neat little stream that was sucked up by his palm. The speed with which it happened was frightening. The gout of flame that’d closed to within three feet of D ultimately disappeared without ever actually touching him.

Standing there perfectly straight, D surveyed his surroundings. The supernatural soldiers who lay on the ground were fading, one after another. Their shapes crumbled, they became masses of gas, and then the wind scattered them.

“So, even those who’ve died once can die again?” the left hand remarked, letting a belch escape.

Spotting a lone figure writhing some fifteen feet away, D approached him.

Though his basic features were human, it was unsettling the way the soldier’s face remained expressionless despite his obvious pain.

“If something isn’t done, you’re gonna die,” the hoarse voice said. “Answer some questions, and I’ll fix you up. Tell me who brought you jokers back to life, and what they’re after.”

Though the soldier lacked lips, he feebly worked a bare crack of a mouth, saying in a mechanical tone, “So . . . I’m dying?”

“That’s right.”

“I don’t really understand . . . Have I . . . done that . . . before?”

“Yep.”

“I don’t get it . . . I’m not afraid . . . at all . . . Are people normally . . . afraid?”

“You bet.”

“I was brought back . . . to fight . . . So if I can no longer fight . . . nothing remains but to die.”

“Then tell us who brought you back, and what they want. You can keep on living!”

The green, glassy eyes of the soldier reflected D’s handsome visage. Pupils that had lost their vitality suddenly regained their luster.

“You’re . . . beautiful,” he said with a parched mouth. “So lovely . . . I . . . want to live now.”

“Then you’d better talk.”

“Don’t want . . . to die . . . Please . . . save me . . . We were . . . brought back by . . .”

“Yes?” the left hand said, coming closer to his mouth—and then the hand found itself placed on his chest.

The soldier twitched. These were his death throes. In less than two seconds’ time, his body had turned to gas and lent a white tinge to the wind.

“We’re too late,” the hoarse voice said morosely. “It seems your face brought feelings back into him right before the end. Scary what a looker can do, ain’t it? Gaaah!”

Keeping his clenched fist down, D stood up. Nothing about the remnants of the tank or barricade was any different.

“They just threw these together from whatever they could find. But what’s really scary is—”

“Soldiers who’ve forgotten what death is?” D said, his voice casting a pall over the world of carnage.

Apparently the hoarse voice hadn’t learned its lesson.

“That’s right. No use threatening ’em. But maybe if you were to give ’em a kiss—gaaah!”

As he was squeezing his fist twice as tightly as before, D heard something approaching from the rear. It was his cyborg horse.

D quickly became a vision of beauty astride his steed.

“It’s a hard road! Wonder what kind of clowns will be waiting for us next? Scary, ain’t it?”

Naturally, D made a fist for a third time, and then started off on his horse.

—

After the Hunter had continued on for about thirty miles, what appeared to be a factory came into view to the left of the road.

“This is supposed to be an abandoned geoflow power plant. What have we here?”

Black smoke was rising from a rusty chimney on the factory. Even from a few miles away, D’s ears could catch the sounds of activity in the plant.

As D focused his gaze on the objects constructed around the building, the hoarse voice asked him, “You know what those are?”

“Mobile missile launchers.”

“Bingo! That plant’s another one of their posts. But what’s that sound? Why would they put the plant back into operation? Whatever the case, we’ll have to make a detour.”

D didn’t reply. His dark eyes were trained on something else.

From behind the factory, an old-fashioned motorcar resembling some sort of beetle had begun speeding toward him. Just behind it, three identical cars and what appeared to be an armored vehicle were in hot pursuit.

“What’s all this?”

“Doesn’t look to be an internal squabble.”

Even before D spoke, he’d spurred his horse into a gallop. The old-fashioned motorcar’s top speed was just under a hundred miles per hour; D pushed his steed at exactly the same pace. In less than thirty seconds he crossed paths with the car. D went by without stopping.

Out of the corner of his eye he’d caught a glimpse of the driver’s profile through the windshield. It was a girl with golden hair. He could see the faces of the supernatural soldiers in the three small pursuing cars. All looked the same—like mannequins. Each had a glittering longsword in hand as the cars closed on D.

All four of their paths came together at a single point. The three vehicles rolled in rapid succession. Every last soldier had been beheaded.

Challenging the armored vehicle without pausing for a second, D must’ve looked like a mirage as he rode past. A cloud of dust appeared behind him. The armored vehicle had fired its gun.

Just before flames and clouds of sand could envelop them, D and his cyborg horse made a mighty bound. In midair they shifted and flew right at the armored car.

Overhead, they heard a familiar sound. The instant D and his cyborg horse landed, the recognizable whistle became a song of destruction. As D pulled the reins to bring his steed down on one side, shock waves, flames, and death whizzed over his head. The horse stayed still, but D got up and looked back the way he’d just come.

A black speck was approaching from the far reaches of the highway. As he watched, it took the shape of an oversized jeep. It halted beside D, and the man in the driver’s seat grinned.

“Never thought D of all people would try to leave us high and dry.”

It was Strider.

From the passenger’s side, Stanza glared at the Hunter, saying, “You try our faith in you.”

The right side of the jeep had a rocket launcher that looked like an oblong tombstone, while the left side was equipped with a three-shot bazooka. The barrel of said bazooka now smoked from recent shots.

“Oh, the cavalry’s here,” the hoarse voice said sarcastically.

“You’re one to talk, running off without us,” Strider said, banging his fist against the steering wheel. “Didn’t the mayor order you to take us with you? You’re a lousy double-dealer!”

“Then don’t work with the double-dealer,” D said.

Strider snorted at this.

“The two of you should do well together. Go give them hell.”

Stanza’s eyes bulged in their sockets.

“Now just a minute! There’s no reason to go saying things like that. May I remind you that we were the ones who just destroyed that armored car?”

“I never asked you to do that.”

D’s reply put a spark of malice in the warrior woman’s eyes. Her right hand glided toward her hip.

“Knock it off,” Strider said to her. “All that aside, who’s that?”

The eyes of all three focused on the motorcar that was approaching from the rear.

“Came back, did she?” the hoarse voice said.

A sound rained down on them from overhead.

“Run for it! It’s a missile!”

At the same moment Strider stepped on the gas, an explosion occurred just five yards to their right. The jeep rolled onto its side. D had already spun around.

“Help them!” Strider shouted, having been thrown clear of the jeep, along with Stanza. His cries were lost in the succession of explosions.

Catching the shock waves on its underside, the jeep spun once in the air over the warriors’ heads before falling to the ground. They could see countless vehicles raising a cloud of dust as they approached from the factory.

Dismounting, D raced over to the jeep, which was still on its side. Pulling the rocket launcher’s remote control from the vehicle’s dashboard, he stared straight ahead.

“Don’t waste your time with that. Help whoever’s in that car!” Strider shouted angrily.

The jeep’s missiles had to be targeted manually. Eliminating multiple opponents in one fell swoop would clearly be impossible without taking precise aim.

Suddenly, the rocket launcher disgorged flames and white smoke. At least twenty missiles were sent off simultaneously. It was unclear whether they scored direct hits, because the flames from the exploding missiles engulfed every last enemy vehicle. Within this ugly orange fireball, more flames shot up—precisely the same number as the count of enemy cars.

“I don’t believe it—every damn one of ’em . . .” the stunned Strider groaned.

Ignoring him, D fired one last shot.

Leaving a white trail behind it, the missile entered the factory building.

The resulting explosion rocked heaven and earth. A pillar of flame rose into the sky. D, Strider, Stanza, the jeep, and even the motorcar were sent flying. First the jeep and the car landed, followed by the three people and the cyborg horse a good distance away.