WHO GETS TO GO?

CHAPTER 9

—

I

—

Once the door had shut behind Drago, calm immediately filled his heart. Had the Hunter tried to force his way inside, the baronet would’ve been powerless to stop him.

Surrounded by luxurious paintings, sculptures, and carpets, a white coffin sat in the center of the room, and beside it a figure in a green cape was seated in a golden chair.

“So, you’ve come, Drago?” said Grand Duke Dorleac, his green eyes gazing gently on his son. The arm D had taken from him was now restored. It was probably a cyborg limb.

“As you can see,” the baronet replied. “Just now, I ran into someone in the hall. The Great One.”

“Ridiculous. And yet, it’s not completely out of the question. Since my castle returned to life, I’ve constantly felt the Great One’s presence. Even five millennia later, must I still answer to him?”

“Indeed,” said Drago, his expression one of amazement. “It was he who forced you to interfere with me, Father, and later made us adversaries. I don’t hate you for that. However, I can’t forgive the way you handed over Mother, no matter how grand the cause.”

“Those were my orders.”

“Mother never did return, and rumor has it she was used in experiments any Noble would find abhorrent.”

“Enough!”

“You may act as wounded as you like now, but that won’t bring her back! For the sake of my mother, who died in pain and humiliation, I shall slay my father, and then lay waste to the world of man.”

“That runs contrary to his will. I’ll stop you, Drago!”

“I fully expect you to try. One other thing, Father,” Drago said, turning his head ever so slightly toward the corridor. “What I encountered wasn’t an illusion. Nor was it merely his presence.”

“What?”

That stunned instant was precisely what the Nobleman’s son had been waiting for. The grand duke was suddenly enveloped by purple, and the blades that thrust out from all sides pierced his body. Reaching out his hands, the grand duke tried to catch hold of his son. As his arms were sliced off at the elbow and fell to the floor, Dorleac shuddered from head to toe, coughing up bright blood.

“That was quicker than I expected, Father,” Drago said, smiling sadly. “You gave Mother as an offering to the Great One. And he sided with the filthy humans. I want you to understand why I did these things.”

The baronet’s cape opened and returned to its normal shape, while the grand duke’s body collapsed to the floor as if it’d been waiting to do so all along.

Baronet Drago was headed for the door when he halted and turned, saying, “Next, I shall do battle with the Great One. Here’s hoping we meet again in the hereafter at some point. I suspect we’re both going to the same place.”

Heading toward the door again, he turned for a second time.

A green globe had glided into the air.

“Not through yet?” Drago said, meeting the threat head on.

The globe closed on him.

The purple cape spread like gigantic wings.

—

The sound of the great door opening echoed down the corridor. D gazed at the figure revealed by the moonlight.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” the young Nobleman told him.

D’s right hand went for the hilt of his sword. He didn’t inquire how the battle with Dorleac had turned out. The only thing he had to offer the man who’d returned as promised was the fight they’d agreed upon.

Drago spread his cape as if there was nothing that could’ve pleased him more.

“There’s one thing you should know,” the baronet said, purple chaos whirling behind him. “Even if you should slay me in this battle, the mercenaries won’t be destroyed. Each side will fight to the last man, spreading slaughter across the entirety of the Frontier. And no one can stop that.” A smile split his lips, revealing glittering white fangs. “He was a great father.”

D dashed through the moonlight. As he barreled through it, the glittering moonlight changed shape and watched him go, at times like a fog, at times like mica.

A wall of purple met D’s blade. Making a horizontal slash, D poised himself for a thrust. Stark streaks of light flew to the Hunter’s left and to his right, in front of him and behind him. Parrying some and dodging others, D made his thrust. Drago’s heart would lie at the end of it.

The Hunter felt his blade pierce fabric. Drago’s cape was folded, layer upon layer, making a wall to ward off the blow.

“Can you see me?” Drago inquired.

D’s entire field of view was filled by writhing purple fabric.

“I see you.”

“What?” the frozen Nobleman exclaimed, and at the zenith of his astonishment, D bounded. The wall of purple spread before him, and a naked blade shot from it. Not bothering to parry it, D swung his sword home. He could feel only too well as it split his foe’s skull.

As it came drifting down, the purple wall dissolved into the moonlight. The tall figure reeled, like a dancer thrown off balance.

“Well done! I should expect no less from the Great One.”

As he watched the bright blood swiftly soaking his opponent’s face and chest, D said something strange: “That wasn’t my sword.”

As if yanked backward on a line, Drago tumbled against the great door, using it to pull himself upright. His cape sailed up. Beneath it, his chest was gone. In its place, there was a hole the size of his head. The carvings on the great door behind him were visible through the gap. Grand Duke Dorleac’s ball of energy had dealt a critical wound.

The light was swiftly fading from the baronet’s eyes. Reaching out one hand as if seeking something, he said, “Please . . . give me back my mother.”

And with that he collapsed. By the time he hit the floor, he was half dust. It streamed through the blue light like an ashen fog. There must have been a breeze.

As D gazed at the dust, weariness clung to his features like a shadow.

“So, I look like him?” the Hunter said, but it was unclear if the words were intended for the departed or someone else.

D’s gaze fell on the great door. His sword was in his right hand. And the doorway was producing another shadowy figure.

“So, you are here, are you?” Grand Duke Dorleac said with a certain heartfelt emotion. Not a drop of blood remained on the body that’d been so badly perforated. “I sensed something out on the battlefield. Are you the esteemed personage of whom my son spoke?”

“Your son is gone. What will you do?”

“I rose from the dead to guard against my son’s actions. I no longer have any business in this world.”

The Hunter said nothing.

The grand duke’s vermilion lips formed a smile, bringing white fangs into view.

“But being a Noble, there’s something I must do: rule over the humans.”

“Were those your Sacred Ancestor’s orders?”

“No, the Sacred Ancestor forbade even threatening the humans. What I shall do next will run contrary to his lofty intentions.”

“So, you’ve come to pity your son?”

The grand duke’s eyes were ablaze. A fiery ball of death shot from his mouth, streaking toward D. The arc of the Hunter’s sword split it in two. Simultaneously an explosion occurred, and D was physically blown back.

“It’s not just human energy. Didn’t you see my mobile collector that takes in all kinds of life?”

Blue waves of electromagnetism enveloped D’s chest. Or rather, they were chaotic flames of life energy.

Narrowing his eyes, the grand duke looked at D. “Oh, that’s right. You’re injured, aren’t you? It would appear my son took a toll on you.” The Nobleman then donned an expression as if he’d suddenly realized something, continuing, “Ah, but your skill should be far beyond my son’s. I see. You let him do that on purpose, didn’t you?”

D’s knees shook. The grand duke’s attack seemed to be scorching him to the very marrow, and the left hand that could’ve negated it wasn’t there to help him.

“As his parent, I should probably thank you for that, but of course you’re no more than a filthy bounty hunter out to take our lives. I must dismiss my son’s words as mere misgivings before battle.”

The Nobleman’s mouth opened, revealing a deep green glow.

D had his sword at the ready, too. Despite the hopeless agony he was in, he hadn’t lost a whit of his will to fight. The Hunter kicked off the ground.

His features forming a grin that was the picture of malevolence, the grand duke launched the flaming sphere of death at D’s chest. Leaving his still-flaming body exposed to the swelling sphere of fire, D hurled his longsword as if it were a throwing knife.

The grand duke had plenty of time. He launched a second flaming sphere at the blade. The flames welled up, forming an immovable shield.

Piercing this shield, the sword sank into the chest of the still-smiling grand duke. As his body snapped back, he screamed out a death rattle.

“Wh—what strength is this?” Dorleac sputtered. “It can’t be. Tell me it’s not you . . . milord . . .”

His words were heard by the blazing figure in black. The flames then vanished like water seeping into the ground as D’s body absorbed them. A ferocious glow resided in the Hunter’s dark eyes.

“You . . . drank blood . . .”

D’s lips were damp with crimson. Just before hurling his longsword, he’d bitten open the inside of his mouth and drunk the blood. That was why his sword had pierced the deadly fireball.

“But I’m not destroyed yet . . . The power that flows through me is that of the Sacred Ancestor.”

“Why did the Sacred Ancestor bring the two of you back to life?” D asked as black smoke rose from his chest, cuffs, and back.

“Five thousand years ago . . . when my son and I did battle and we both were slain, the Sacred Ancestor was battling a group of Nobles who’d started an insurrection. They had taken my son in and promised to revive him after his death, so he might paint the human world pitch black five millennia later. Learning of this, the Sacred Ancestor told me he would resurrect me at the same time, and ordered me to put an end to my son. You see, I was told that I was responsible for my son’s rebellion.”

“And that meant the two of you had to cross swords again?”

“Enough talk. Face me once more, you who have the power of the Sacred Ancestor!”

Twisting his upper body, Grand Duke Dorleac started to rush forward, the sword still stuck in him. But ahead, a man and a woman appeared from the great corridor to the right. It was Stanza and Strider, the same two warriors who’d been exposed to the unearthly gas that lingered in the torture chamber. While it was unclear where they’d been or what they’d been doing, they wore the expressions of those who gaze upon nothingness.

“Your job is finished, grand duke!” said Strider. It was Strider’s voice, but that’s not who was there. “No other action is called for. Return to the darkness from which the Great One brought you.”

The grand duke laughed, his voice dripping with blood. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. I realize something only now. My son was correct. Crushing the humans underfoot and savoring their blood is the only way for a Noble to live! I intend to follow through on my son’s wishes.”

Perhaps it was the same will that’d allowed him to destroy his own son that made the grand duke gnash his fangs, his rather contemplative visage flushing with an undirected rage. He unleashed a fireball like he was spitting up a gout of blood.

A split second before it could sink into Strider’s forehead, a silver blade appeared to intercept it, with the ball sizzling away like a drop of water on a hot skillet. Lowering the sword he’d held out horizontally, Strider grinned. It was the smile of someone who’d been given unearthly power.

As the grand duke stood rooted like a statue, the warrior charged toward him, the wind swirling in his wake. When Strider was ten paces away, the grand duke’s right hand went for the hilt of the longsword protruding from his chest. The blade was pulled out and hurled in a single motion, but Strider batted it away with ease. It must’ve seemed to him like a feeble act of desperation—but then a ball of fire struck the warrior’s chest. It was a mass of energy that’d been spat out just after D’s sword was thrown. Strider hadn’t noticed that the sword was merely a ruse to camouflage this second attack.

Not even glancing at the warrior he’d transformed into a fiery mass, the grand duke dashed down the corridor. After him ran Strider, trailing flames and black smoke.

“There’s no keeping that man down, is there?” Stanza sneered, watching her compatriot go as if none of this had any bearing on her.

—

II

—

“How long are they going to play hide-and-seek? We’re not the same anymore, you know.”

“You’ve been possessed, haven’t you?” said D.

Tapping a finger against her head, Stanza replied, “Oh, you can tell? There was someone strange back in the torture chamber. Well, not a person, but a kind of presence. I think it was probably left here to wait for this day. For five thousand years.”

D took a step forward.

“Aren’t you still full of fight! Where are you going?”

“My job’s not finished yet.”

“Strider will finish him off. And you’ll have to deal with me,” Stanza said, her right hand slipping into her jacket.

D halted.

“Oh, you finally feel like doing this? Unfortunately, I’m not the same me you used to know.”

“He possesses a woman—and it seems she wants me to consider her him,” the Hunter mused.

“If I didn’t, you’d never fight me. You know, I’m so happy. I finally get to face you as an equal.”

Stanza’s right hand flashed out. The old Stanza always twisted to the left a split second before she hurled darts with her right hand—it was the stance she took to throw them—but now she skipped that movement, hurling her darts as soon as she pulled them out. She no longer had a need for that once-crucial movement.

And D had no longsword to fend off her darts. With dull thuds, her iron projectiles sank into his flesh—into the left arm D was holding over his face.

Though Stanza saw a streak of black light zipping toward her, she couldn’t do anything to stop it. Taking D’s dagger deep in the left side of her chest, she leapt away some ten feet, and then fell to the floor.

D calmly walked over to where his longsword lay on the floor and picked it up.

Stanza was now standing up ahead. She had her right arm raised for a throw.

“How can this be? The way I am now . . . I thought I’d be able to take you . . . But you’re not the same, either . . . are you?” she said, taking odd, dancelike steps as she backed away. The darts fell from her right hand, and then her arm came down as well. As if chasing the echoes of the metallic projectiles hitting the floor, Stanza fell on her side.

As D stood stock still, her final words flowed into his ears.

“But you’re the same . . . as I am . . . now.”

And now that she’d breathed her last, he raced past her with sword in hand, a black whirlwind.

—

Grand Duke Dorleac’s destination was the chemical research facility that’d been constructed underground. The sole fruit of his labors remained there: a tightly sealed golden tank filled with gas. The grand duke’s intent was nothing short of opening the valve and letting the gas spread over the world.

An egregious weakness assailed the Nobleman. The blood loss was affecting his internal organs. Though he somehow managed to muster his will, he couldn’t contain the chaos ravaging his body. The problem wasn’t the wound the sword had dealt him, but rather the power that’d poured into him with it. Just as Drago had said, the young man who called himself D was truly a fiend.

A crushing weight of chills rolled through him from head to toe. Desperately fighting them off, Dorleac took a seat in the control room and said, “It is I. Prepare to release the gas.”

A computerized voice replied, “I cannot comply at present. You will be notified after I’ve run a comparison.”

“Preposterous! I am the master of this house! What kind of comparison do you mean?”

“Baronet Drago alone is authorized for activities involving the gas. All other data has been purged. Only Baronet Drago himself or a blood relative of his may give the command.”

“Drago,” the grand duke began to say, gritting his teeth, “you fool! I’m trying to fulfill your wishes. Run that comparison, and be quick about it!” he shouted back at the voice.

“Very well,” was the response. In two different voices.

Turning, the grand duke found a figure standing before the door with a longsword in hand. However, that alone wouldn’t suffice to make a Noble show this much surprise.

“Are you human? No, I think not—”

“They call me Zenon. I’m a robber by trade. I spotted you as I was wandering down here.”

This couldn’t be. A Noble’s senses never failed to detect a person’s footsteps, their breathing, their very presence. Not if it were a human.

“Nobles are the living dead—and therefore they trump the living. But I wonder how they fare against the dead.”

Despair gripped the grand duke. Even a nearly mortally wounded Noble could knock a mere human opponent flat with one hand. However, this opponent was another matter. A thought suddenly flitted through Dorleac’s mind. The living dead aren’t better than the living because they’re not truly alive. They aren’t better than the dead because they’re not truly dead.

Who’d he hear say that?

A fireball assailed his foe. His arms were up, holding his sword by the side of his head like a bat, but when the fiery sphere scored a direct hit over his heart, it didn’t spread, but rather it vanished. The grand duke was just about to move when Zenon swung his sword at the Nobleman’s neck. At the same moment, Dorleac’s finger pressed a tiny button. There was a good fifteen feet between them. The blade sliced air—but the grand duke’s neck was also cut. As bright blood gushed from Dorleac, Zenon charged toward him, making a precise thrust at his foe’s heart with his steel.

Sheathing his blade again without a word, the outlaw was just walking out the door when the grand duke’s severed head heard the computer say, “The comparison is complete. Now beginning preparations to release the gas.”

The preparations were also completed. But those who might’ve given the order to release it were gone forever.

—

A strange change took place in and around the castle. The number of troops had swelled dramatically, causing small skirmishes and frequently lopsided battles, but once a certain button had been pressed, all of this ceased. The second act Grand Duke Dorleac had lined up to follow the massacre by gas had succeeded. All the soldiers lost any sense of “rivalry” they’d had, leaving their brains filled with the thoughts mobilize and slaughter. And those two thoughts were strongly linked to a third thought: humans.

—

As Zenon made his way down the corridor, there was the sound of light footfalls growing closer. The lithe form didn’t attempt to hide, but rather launched itself at his chest with evident delight.

“So, you’re okay? I’m so glad!” Irene told him, and although anyone could be expected to say such a thing at a time like this, there was genuine emotion behind her words.

Zenon clumsily wrapped his arms around the girl’s back.

“What’s the deal with that hand?”

Before Irene could reply, the palm of the left hand appeared from the neck of her blouse, saying, “Hey, there!”

Zenon grinned. There was almost something wry about his smile. “Looks like a fun place to be,” he said.

“It’s the perfect place to hide,” the hand replied brazenly. It was wedged right between her sizable breasts.

“I slew the Noble. You should probably thank me, you know.”

There was a pause, after which the left hand asked, “You’re the sane one, right?”

“Don’t worry. He disappeared after slaying the Noble. Seems he put his whole heart and soul into it.”

“How do you know he slew him? You’re not supposed to have his memories, right?”

“After putting down the Noble, he was just leaving the room when I came back.”

“Hmm—so, how are you doing?”

“I’ll manage, thanks,” Zenon replied, nodding as he put his hand against his chest.

“Hmph! You’re lucky to have survived this long. Try your best not to blow it now.”

“Okay,” the outlaw replied.

A look of joy suffused Irene’s face.

It was at that moment that a dull shock reverberated through the ceiling.

“Ah, what’s this?” the left hand said, turning upward.

“An explosion?” Irene suggested, her brow furrowed.

Zenon shook his head, saying, “No, something came down. Really close, too.”

The three of them exchanged glances, and then headed for the great staircase they could see in the distance.

—

In less than three hours’ time, Beatrice had achieved satisfactory results. He never did learn where the treasure vault was, but the Nobles’ living rooms and parlors, libraries, and kitchens were all brimming with valuables. The candelabras and ashtrays he found were made of gold, and gem-encrusted knickknacks had been left all over the place. With all the wealth they could ever desire, the Nobility had grown weary of riches, and having no particular interest in them, they didn’t worry that anything might be stolen. Cramming things with one hand into a sack he’d brought along, the giant had finally reached the limit of what he could carry before he was able to convince himself to stop. Though it pained him to think of the victims they’d seen earlier, Beatrice told himself that swiping the Nobles’ property would help even the score.

He didn’t have to worry about making his escape. His notes stated that a single flying machine remained in a hangar out in the rear garden. Being one of the Nobility’s vehicles, it didn’t require a dedicated pilot. Voice commands would suffice. When he’d tried to get it going, the engine had started. Beatrice intended to fly it out of there. The flying machine was waiting even now.

Deciding to pull out, the giant was just leaving one of the living rooms when a terrible jolt reached him. Peering out the window, he saw a kind of airship burning in a corner of the grand garden, which could’ve passed for a city park. The craft was less than five hundred yards away.

“What the hell is this?” Beatrice said, setting down the sack he’d had over his shoulder and staring at the airship intently.

Leaving the loot there in decisive fashion, he headed for the door to the garden.

Next to enter the garden was D. A number of figures were approaching from the direction of the flames. In the lead was a familiar bearded face. He had one child on his back, and another in each arm. A little girl had her arms wrapped around his neck. Behind him was a boy who seemed slightly older than the others, and he too carried one child on his back while leading two others by the hand. Lagging in the rear was a uniformed figure who appeared to be the pilot, dragging one leg behind him. Before D could walk over to them, the group reached him.

“What the hell were you jokers doing?” Beatrice shouted.

The gigantic warrior didn’t seem winded, but the boy beside him set the girl down, braced his hands against the ground, and began gasping for air. His face looked familiar. It was the same boy Beatrice couldn’t take his eyes off back at the orphanage they’d visited at the beginning of the trip—Franco Gilbey.

—

III

—

Led by Beatrice, the group was ushered to the castle’s infirmary—although it would’ve been better to term it a full-scale hospital. The children mostly suffered from minor cuts and scrapes, and while the pilot had sustained burns to his face and the backs of his hands, he was in no danger of dying. Beatrice had learned that the teacher accompanying the children had been killed in the crash.

Just as the pilot was explaining how they’d been flying over the castle when the engines suddenly burst into flames, the sobs of the children who finally seemed to have recovered from their shock began to echo through the vast chamber.

“We’ve got real trouble now,” Beatrice said, and he meant two things. The first was the fact that supernatural soldiers were swarming outside. The second was that the flying machine could carry only five adults, or twice that many children. Either he or D was going to have to stay behind.

“There’s another way out,” D replied, his words cheering Beatrice greatly. D was referring to the passage that’d brought Irene and Zenon there. While they didn’t know how far it ran, it had to be better than remaining in the castle.

“That’s perfect,” said the gigantic warrior. “You should’ve told me about that in the first place!”

Just then, the building trembled once again with a dull vibration. This time it came from underground.

Turning to D, Beatrice said, “I have a really bad feeling about this.”

“Leave it to me,” D said, exiting the infirmary. Due perhaps to his dhampir blood, the wounds in his left arm had already healed halfway.

As D walked down the corridor, he saw changes in the castle around him. Dust billowed across the marble floors, the walls and ceilings decayed, and the terribly peeled paintings fell to the floor. The curtains were also on the floor, now reduced to dust. With the death of its two masters, the castle’s fleeting life was at an end—except for the malevolent will that resided in the subterranean computer room.

Starting down the stairs toward the underground passageway Irene had mentioned, the Hunter heard two pairs of footsteps galloping up from below. It was Irene, and behind her was Zenon.

“D!” Irene said, relief spreading across her face.

“The enemy?” D asked, having a good idea what’d happened.

Irene and Zenon nodded, while the hoarse voice replied, “Soldiers were coming up through the basement, so we had to blow it. You gotta love the Nobles’ castles. The place was rigged with explosives as part of its defenses.”

“This is no time for being smug,” Zenon said with disgust. “We can’t use that escape route anymore. By the way, the soldiers who came pouring in were a mixed band.”

“So, the two armies have joined forces?” asked the Hunter.

“Looks that way. The other me would probably know more about that. He slew Grand Duke Dorleac, but the Noble might’ve changed something before he died.”

“Where was the fight?” D asked Zenon.

“In some sort of research center down below.”

“How do you get there?”

“Go all the way down and take a right. Then it’s a left, and another left.”

“Take these two to the infirmary,” D said, his words directed toward Irene’s chest.

“Roger that!”

Without even waiting for that hoarse reply, D started down the broad staircase.

“I wonder if he’ll be okay,” Irene murmured dreamily, pressing her hand to her heart as her cheeks flushed.

“Let’s get going,” Zenon told her.

—

The Hunter soon found the research center. The automatic door didn’t open. The castle was already dead, and its power was cut off.

“So, that’s twice it’s died?” D murmured, but no one was there to reply.

A glint of moonlight seemed trapped in the blade of the Hunter’s sword. Hauling back his right arm, D gazed at the door—at the line where it met the wall, to be precise. Unleashed without a word, the streak of light slipped into that impossibly narrow gap. His sword buried halfway in the crack, D put all his weight behind it as he shoved to the right. His right arm seemed to bulge with the effort. But the door was slowly opening. Once it was open far enough for him to fit his hand in, D returned his longsword to its sheath and stepped closer to the door.

At that point he halted and turned around. In the distance, he saw Zenon coming down the corridor. Nevertheless, D put his right hand against the door and applied pressure.

A shot rang out. The bullet that struck the edge of the door ricocheted off without even scratching its surface.

D turned around.

Zenon drew his sword.

“Looks like that time has come, D.”

Saying nothing, D drew his own blade. This wasn’t the same simple fighting man he’d seen upstairs. This was a homicidal fiend out for blood. He wasn’t even human.

Madness and an unearthly air coalesced in the darkness. There was the sound of someone running toward them. D’s eyes reflected Irene. And while his attention was ever so briefly diverted, Zenon’s blade flashed into action. Narrowly managing to dash to the right, the figure in black’s right leg dripped bright blood as he dropped to one knee.

“Zenon, don’t!” Irene cried, her mouth open as far as it could go in her sweat-covered face.

“You were warned not to come,” the Zenon who wasn’t Zenon muttered, jabbing his sword straight behind him.

Even after dark blood gushed from her neck, Irene ran another five paces.

“Please . . . stop it . . .”

As her body fell, it sent so much blood out across the floor one had to wonder where it’d all come from.

Zenon didn’t even glance at her. He was looking at D, in accordance with the rules of combat.

“Stupid woman,” the outlaw said in a tone devoid of even an iota of sympathy for the girl at his feet. “She came here to protect you. Not that it would’ve done any good.”

“You’re right,” D replied. “Except the girl came here to protect you. And that wouldn’t have done any good.”

Zenon’s features twisted with madness, and he took the blade he had pointed straight at D and swung it toward the Hunter’s neck. But there was still fifteen feet between them.

D’s blade parried the blow. Unconsciously, Zenon laughed in his heart. His unseen blade wasn’t a physical attack: it was literally deadly intent that he unleashed. It would shatter even the best-forged sword.

No sooner did Zenon feel the blow being stopped than he saw D flying through the air, wearing the face of a Noble with his own blood on his lips. The horrifying face of a vampire. Forgetting to even counter, he stood there like a scarecrow as D’s sword sliced cleanly through him from the top of his head all the way down to his crotch.

As the Hunter fell to one knee between the halves of the bisected body, he heard a voice say, “Thank you . . . I go to my rest . . . as myself.”

It was Zenon’s voice. But which Zenon, no one could say.

“Am I too late?” the hoarse voice said in a vexed tone from D’s feet. It was pointing toward Irene’s corpse. “All of a sudden, that bastard Zenon nailed me to the floor with a dagger, and it was a pain in the ass getting free again. I told the girl not to go, you know.”

Saying nothing, D took Irene’s hands and folded them across her chest.

“While I was patching up Zenon, she was busy as a beaver helping me. Zenon was pretty brusque—but I think there was some empathy there, eh?”

Not replying, D turned toward the door to the research center. Off to the left, there was a commotion and the sound of countless feet coming like a mudslide.

Now reattached to the stump, D’s left hand said, “Did those clowns get the underground passageway open? Look out!”

Something was rolling from the same direction as the footsteps. A silver cylinder—and the instant D saw it, he dashed for the door. The blast and flames slammed him against the door. Though both the explosion and its flames still continued to spread, a heartbeat later they immediately shrank into a tight funnel, streaming into a tiny mouth.

“When I was taking care of Zenon, I drank the water in the storeroom,” said the hoarse voice. “Just now I got a belly full of fire and air. Fire, water, earth, and air—I guess I’ll have to do without the earth.”

D reached for the door. Though it weighed several tons, it glided open. Beneath that black raiment was a body imbued with inhuman strength.

Once the Hunter entered the room, his eyes gave off blood light as they focused on a certain point. The blue light that indicated activity in the machinery was flickering. That was the work of the button Dorleac had pressed as his final act.

“Here we go,” said the Hunter.

“Sure.”

D dashed over to the control panel, pressing his left hand to it above the light. A pale blue glow formed around his hand, and then flames spouted from the control panel.

“That takes care of that!”

As the hoarse voice spoke, D spun around. Figures were pouring through the doorway like smoke. There was a roar like thunder and gunshots, and crimson beams pierced D’s body.

The Hunter carved his way through the shadowy figures. Flesh was sliced, and bone was split. Blood sprayed without end. But no matter what it touched, the blade’s speed never changed. One after another the soldiers fell, and as they did, D steadily made his way back to the corridor that’d brought him there.

On reaching the door, the hoarse voice groaned, “What the hell?”

The vast corridor was packed with green and gray. Even for D, getting through them would be impossible—nearly. It would still take an extremely long time.

“Why haven’t they died? Was that Dorleac’s command?”

“Maybe we were mistaken. This could take a while,” the Hunter said, the icy sweetness of his voice not the least bit shaken.

“That machine was a lousy piece of junk!” D’s left hand groused, and as if stirred by its anger, the soldiers charged forward.

—

IV

—

“Are we in danger? When our ship was coming down, I could see from up there that some weird characters had the whole castle surrounded. What in the blue blazes is going on here?” the pilot asked, his voice quavering.

Finally turning both his attention and his gaze in the man’s direction, Beatrice said, “Stop your yammering. Act like a man and quit blubbering, or I swear I’ll slit your throat long before those clowns get a chance to. Look at that kid. He’s holding together about a thousand times better than you are.”

This was the same Hunter of Nobility who’d once left Stanza in awe. There was an intensity about him that cowed the pilot into silence.

Beatrice returned his gaze to the boy—Franco Gilbey. The boy was looking after the younger children, cheering them up and giving them someone to talk to. He was the ideal head of the group—both a leader and a friend. Their childish instincts picked up on the disquieting atmosphere, and though the children had been reassured time and again, they kept asking if they were going to be okay and if they’d make it back. But Franco never got cross, always telling them they’d be going soon and that they should just trust him. He even turned in Beatrice’s direction, saying, “I mean, doesn’t that guy look really tough? We’ll be fine, because we’ve got him on our side.”

That really struck a nerve with Beatrice, making him rather sheepish.

“Kid, how old are you?” Beatrice asked as he cautiously gazed out the window. About thirty minutes had passed since D had left.

“Thirteen,” the boy said, his reply as brisk as his movements.

“Is that a fact? You sure are a handsome cuss. I bet the girls go crazy over you, don’t they?”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. So, what about you girls? Who’d like to be married to him?”

“Me! Me!” all four girls chanted, causing Beatrice to bug his eyes, then clutch his belly as he laughed.

“See, you’re gonna be a regular home wrecker when you grow up.”

“Huh?”

Beatrice hurriedly amended that, saying, “I mean, a real lady-killer. At any rate, be sure to give ’em hell.”

“Yes, sir,” the boy replied, with a look that said, Just who is this guy?

Coughing, Beatrice asked, “So, er, do you remember what kind of guy your father was?”

“Not at all,” the boy replied flatly.

“Really? How about your mother?”

Looking down, the boy quickly said, “I don’t remember anything about her, either.”

“Oh, sorry I brought it up. I bet your mother was a real beauty. But your father was probably scum.”

“How do you know that?” Franco asked with sudden indignation. “How do you know my father was scum? You don’t even know him.”

“No, son—er, I mean, kid. But we’re talking about a guy who abandoned a great kid like you.”

“How do you know it was my father that gave me up? Maybe it was someone else.”

“Yeah, you have a point there,” Beatrice said, backpedaling. He couldn’t help but smile a little. “Well, then, what kind of guy do you think your father was?”

“A great one.”

“Really?”

“A man who was strong and kind. That’s all that matters. I don’t know anything about my father, but I think he must have been like that.”

“I see,” Beatrice said, folding his arms and shutting his eyes as he nodded pensively. Turning his back to the boy, he continued, “Yeah, I’m sure you’re right. Your father must’ve been a man among men.”

“Franco, I gotta pee!” one of the boys called out, and Franco ran over to him.

It was just then that a strange presence moved beyond the window. A great swarm of mercenaries was surging over the wall at the far end of the garden.

“Everybody, outside! Just stick with Uncle Beatrice!” the warrior shouted, giving the pilot, who was about to faint dead away, a kick in the ass before taking two children by the hand, putting one on his back and having the other cling to his neck.

When they got into the corridor, there were a pair of figures running toward them from the far end. It was D—carrying the lifeless Irene—and Strider.

On seeing the girl, the giant let out a sigh, then glared at Strider and asked, “What the hell took you so long?”

“Got stuck in a maze the grand duke set up to foil intruders. It wasn’t easy getting out again.”

“Sheesh, you’re a complete idiot, aren’t you?” he spat.

“It was thanks to him we were able to get away,” D told the giant.

“Really?”

D didn’t bother to explain that a single roar from Strider while in the thick of the enemy army had allowed them to make their escape. Like Stanza, the warrior had an unearthly air about him that’d left hundreds of soldiers paralyzed.

Beatrice could only take the Hunter at his word, saying, “You don’t say. What about that passage down there?”

“It’s no good,” D replied.

“Then I guess we’re out of options. Follow me,” Beatrice said with resolve, spinning around.

—

The iron door was shut. D put his shoulder up against it. The iron panel had to weigh several tons. When they saw it glide back, Beatrice and the children could only stare in wonder.

Inside, an egg-shaped craft rested on a launch pad.

“What’s your status?” Beatrice inquired.

“All systems normal,” an electronically synthesized voice replied. Stiffening at the sound of it, the children began to cry en masse. It sounded to them like some sort of hobgoblin.

“What are you, an idiot?” the hoarse voice spat at Beatrice.

Though Beatrice glared at D, he quickly turned toward the robotic voice and said in a surly tone, “You got the power to open the launch bay, don’t you?”

“That will be no problem.”

“Look, this thing seats five adults. For kids, it’ll fit twice that many. So in addition to the little ones, there’s room for one adult. We’ve gotta decide who that’ll be.”

“M—me! I’m a pilot, after all!”

Staring coolly at the sputtering man, Beatrice posed a question—not to the pilot, but rather to the flying machine.

“If someone gives you a destination, can you go there without a pilot at the controls?”

“That poses no problem.”

Laughing, the bearded warrior said, “Well, we’re all equal, then. How are we gonna decide?”

Beyond the door, there was the sound of countless people moving around. The soldiers had arrived.

“Better make this fast. First off, who’s staying? Me!” Beatrice said, raising one hand and taking a step back. “The rest of you, settle it between yourselves.”

Franco’s eyes fairly bored through Beatrice as he gazed at the gigantic warrior. If he stayed there, there was no way he could survive.

“Well, what are we gonna do?” Strider said, shrugging his shoulders and staring at D. “You know, I’d like to save everybody. How about we draw straws?”

“Shut the hell up!” the pilot shouted. He was aiming an automatic pistol he’d had stashed in his clothes. He probably carried it for self-defense. “You’re all combat professionals, right? In that case, you stay. I’ll take the brats out of here!”

The pilot’s bloodshot eyes had narrowed sharply and spittle collected at the corners of his lips, making him the very picture of a maniac.

“Okay, okay,” Strider said, nodding. “You know, buddy, that makes one less person we have to worry about.”

There was a thud against the body of the aircraft.

As the pilot was momentarily distracted, a silvery flash zipped to his throat.

“Don’t let the kids see!” Beatrice cried out.

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” replied Strider, who’d banged on the aircraft. Stepping closer to the paralyzed pilot, he grabbed him from behind, pressing down just above the Adam’s apple. The warrior quickly brought the man back behind a row of storage tanks, but returned alone.

“Which one of you is it gonna be? You’ve gotta decide,” Beatrice said, but his words were drowned in the children’s screams. Turning to see what they were looking at, he did a double take.

The door was red hot. Heat rays were being blasted against it from outside.

“That won’t last another five minutes—open the launch bay. Okay, all aboard now!” As Franco stood by the door, helping to get the children into their seats, the giant urged him, “Hurry it up!”

“Mister?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re really great!” the boy said, looking directly at the former Hunter. There wasn’t a man alive who wouldn’t want to be looked at that way.

“How so?” Beatrice said, forcing a frown. He was trying to mask his embarrassment.

“I wanna be like you when I grow up, sir. I’m sure my father was like you, too.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he was,” Beatrice said, slapping a meaty hand down on the boy’s shoulder. He was still skin and bones. But in another five years, he’d have a build to rival that of his father. “I bet your dad was a great man, too. After all, he had a part in bringing you into this world. You know, if I ever had a kid of my own, there was something I always wanted to tell him. But I never have gotten that chance.”

“What is it? Tell me,” Franco said, his eyes glistening.

“No, that’s okay. You don’t need to hear it. It’s like someone already said it to you a long, long time ago.”

“Tell me.”

Saying nothing, Beatrice rubbed the boy’s head. Finally, he told the boy, “Grow up to be a strong, kind man, okay?”

“Yes, sir,” the boy said, his face glowing. For that was how he’d lived. And that was how he’d continue to live.

“Mister?” Franco said, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “Mister, you wouldn’t happen to be—”

“You can’t be serious!” the giant exclaimed, his mouth stretched wide. “Someone like me, being your—? That’s ridiculous, isn’t it, D?”

“That’s right,” D said, gazing at the pair. He was like a gorgeous ice sculpture. And his voice was equally cold. “He’s got a thing for loose women. He’s a gold digger. He can’t see a woman without trying to chat her up—he’s the lowest of the low.”

“Now, that’s just plain uncalled for!” the wide-eyed Beatrice protested.

Ignoring him, D continued, “But now he’s going to stay here with me and fight an army. That’s all you need to remember.”

“Hey!” Beatrice said, eyes wide.

The boy was staring at D. It was the same look he’d given Beatrice.

And then the giant noticed something. As tears streamed down the boy’s face, it glowed.

A smile graced D’s lips. Through all the hardships the boy would endure in the ensuing years, he would think back, and the memory of how he’d put that smile there would keep him on course. It was just such a smile.

“That settles it,” D said to Strider.

“Come on! I can’t let you two have all the glory. I’m staying, too.”

“Are you serious?” D asked.

“Well, on second thought, I wouldn’t feel right sending those kids out all alone. So I guess I’ll be taking you up on that kind offer!”

“That’s for the best,” Beatrice said, reaching for the door. “Okay, get going. See you around, everybody!”

—

Strider got on board, and Franco took a seat.

“To the Capital,” the boy told the machine. The last thing he saw was the two men looking up at him and smiling.

Franco never heard from them again. While he was studying the history of the Nobility at the Capital, he heard that an investigative unit sent by the government to research the highway had entered the castle and found countless withered corpses there, but it was unclear if they’d died in battle or if their time had merely run out.

—

At the age of seventeen, Franco graduated from a specialized high school with highest honors and was accepted to a university of history on a full scholarship. That day, his homeroom teacher called him aside and handed him a bank book. The teacher explained that ever since the boy had come to the school, deposits had continually been made in his name.

“But you didn’t need it. You traveled the path to higher learning all on your own. So, what’ll you do with this?”

The boy replied that the school should use it to help the underclassmen.

As white petals rained down on graduation day, Franco stepped through the school’s gates and was instantly congratulated by teachers and friends who’d come to see him from the orphanage. In the midst of the throng, the boy suddenly turned his eyes toward the school building. At the north end of the grounds there stood a beech tree. Beneath it, he saw something. A man in black astride a white steed, and a hirsute man leaning against a black horse. The boy remembered them. He hadn’t forgotten the pair for a single moment. Taking a deep breath, he was about to walk toward them when the two riders wheeled their respective mounts and galloped off into the white petals.

—

END