Triumphal Hymn of the Nobility

chapter 11

I

“No way in hell!” the boy refused flatly, though his voice quavered. “I hate Nobles, but I hate wannabe Nobles even more. I’m outta here!”

As he kicked off the floor like a scared rabbit, there was a streak of light behind him. However, by that point Pikk’s feet were pounding the floor a good fifteen feet away. Flames shot up around the boy’s feet.

“Wh-what the—?!” he stammered, leaping away, but the next spot around Pikk’s feet also burst into flames.

Now the boy had fallen flat on his ass, and Barry Dawn waggled a longsword that looked to measure more than six and a half feet at him, saying, “This is my magic sword, Flare Soldier. It’s covered with human blood that I can fling around, turning it into a blade a hundred thousand degrees hot—enough to melt iron or slay my foes. Better still, it’s got a range of over thirty feet. Nobody’s ever outrun it. Okay, kid, you’d better throw in the towel and offer me that little pink neck of yours.”

“I ain’t offering you squat. My blood’s primo stuff, better than any wine you’re likely to find. If I was gonna let anyone drink it, it’d be my buddy and nobody else.”

“Your buddy? Who’s that?”

“His name’s D,” Pikk replied. “And he’s a million times better than you!”

“Precisely.”

Barry Dawn heard the countess’s voice above him. The beautiful woman who’d been clinging to the ceiling had already dropped to within six feet of him, the dagger in her right hand just waiting to flash into action. Not even unholy speed could prevent that.

However, perhaps another power made the impossible possible. The blade in the former Hunter’s hands. Flare Soldier shot up, its tip running through the countess’s solar plexus and exiting her back, at which point devilish flames of lotus red spread across her dress.

“Ma’am?!”

Racing over to where the Noblewoman had fallen covered in blood and flames, the boy pried the dagger from her grasp and stood ready with it. Hefting the countess onto his back like a man possessed, Pikk backed away.

As Barry Dawn watched the drama coolly, tension shot into his face. Pikk saw it too. Barry Dawn’s eyes were locked on something to their rear. Could it be—

“D?!”

Pikk whipped around to see and found a figure coming from off in the distance. The boy’s ballooning expectations quickly deflated. The figure had a pair of swords on his back. And the evil aura that gusted from him was unquestionably that of a Noble.

“Oh, one of the four retainers Lord Gillian mentioned—Xeno Braylow, is it? I understand ever since you got the kiss from Lord Gillian, you’ve wielded a pair of swords no one can break or parry. Now we’re on the same side, but even though Lord Gillian’s nixed any scuffles, I simply can’t resist this.”

Barry Dawn had the face of a beautiful maiden, but it became that of a ghastly god of war as he raised Flare Soldier, the enchanted sword he held.

A spark of hope ignited in Pikk’s heart. If the vampires fought among themselves, it would give him an opening to escape.

However, as Braylow approached, he said, “I know not who you are, but that child’s blood will be mine. Or not mine so much as Blue Soldier’s and Gray Soldier’s.”

“That’s too bad,” said the former Hunter. “So, I have a rival now? That only makes my hunger all the stronger. You can have my scraps.”

Two pairs of eyes gave off a reddish glow as they fell on Pikk.

“First, I’m going to cut both your legs off so you can’t run away. This might hurt a little, but try to be a man about it,” Barry Dawn said, adjusting his grip on his longsword.

A harsh sound rang in Pikk’s ears. Braylow’s two swords once again sought blood.

“Cut off his legs,” Braylow said in a vacant tone. “I shall take his arms off.”

“Sounds good,” Barry Dawn said, slowly starting toward Pikk. It was unclear whether it was Blue Soldier or Gray Soldier that Braylow drew.

“Flee,” said the thin voice that crept into the ear of the almost completely despairing Pikk.

“Ma’am, you’re okay?”

“Flee,” the countess repeated. “Quickly.”

In that instant, the weakness and doubt eating away at the boy’s heart were utterly dispelled. “I can’t run when a lady puts it to me like that!”

“Then you shall die for nothing!”

“That ain’t true. I’ll protect you, ma’am. It’s just—well, if I don’t pull it off, I’m sorry.”

Pikk gripped the dagger. He was no longer afraid. To defend a Noblewoman, he would do battle with a true Noble and an imitation. Though it was a somewhat odd sensation, the boy thought to himself, Sure, why not?

Just then a hard sound began to ring out sharply. Braylow’s enchanted swords had descended into madness. At the same time, Barry Dawn spun around.

A black form was bearing down on them from the same direction Pikk and Braylow had come. But how exquisite he was! The wide-brimmed traveler’s hat, the jet-black coat, and the longsword on his back all seemed faintly blurry, no doubt because even the lights were bashful around him. A symphony sprang back to life in Pikk’s head. There was a fanfare that resounded at the dramatic climax—yes, that was what truly suited this young man. Even the two demonic swordsmen had to admit it. Such beauty. It seemed enough to make the fighting spirit of even men such as these melt like lead. This man was entitled to be greeted with symphonies performed by the dead.

“D,” said Xeno Braylow.

“This is D?” Barry Dawn groaned.

Yes—this was D. Not even glancing at Pikk or the countess, the Hunter walked over without fear of the two fiends, an icy sculpture of unearthly beauty. However, his left hand was missing and his complexion was as pale as paraffin. Would D be able to withstand the two unholy swordsmen when they cut loose with the magic swords Flare Soldier, Blue Soldier, and Gray Soldier?

“I’ll take the child,” D told them in a low voice, a sword gleaming in his hand.

That was the call to battle. Kicking off the floor as if he were gliding, Barry Dawn swiped at the Hunter. The blow came from directly overhead, and D’s blade shot up to parry it. No, it was actually an attack. Barry Dawn’s body reeled wildly back, and with it the sword that’d been deflected, while the deadly thrust aimed at the former Hunter’s throat made fresh blood spray from him like a mist. However, the foe with the lovely female face didn’t drop, didn’t decay, but rather he jumped back a good ten feet to escape the Vampire Hunter. D’s thrust probably hadn’t been very deep due to the blood he’d lost along with his left hand.

Making no attempt to pursue Barry Dawn, D turned around. The magic swords of his second foe were no longer rattling together. Holding one blade in each hand, Braylow was slowly raising them high. In his right hand Blue Soldier had its blade slanting to the right, while Gray Soldier in his left dipped out to the left side.

D closed the dozen feet between them in a single stride. One blade came down from overhead intending to cleave him, the other sweeping from the left side in less than the blink of an eye—and both were stopped in the form of an X.

Pushing away, D changed his footing. His blade shifted to a forward position, aimed straight at his opponent. But the Hunter’s stance crumbled. The world had seemed to turn upside down. Along with him, Braylow’s blade leaned to the right. And then to the left—and once again the world spun, and D dropped to one knee. It was a second later that his back burst into flames.

“Take that, Hunter!” Barry Dawn exclaimed. “But as a favor from someone who used to be in the same line of work, I’ll finish you with my blade.”

Flare Soldier had sprayed D with the blood that could even melt iron, and now the blade was being brought down on D’s head with all Barry Dawn’s might. And though the Hunter should’ve dodged, his body was being held in place by the crossed magic swords.

In a second that would determine life or death, Barry Dawn swung his enchanted blade to the right. Though the golden dagger Pikk had thrown was struck down with disappointing ease, this gave D enough time to hurl his blade. For Braylow’s concentration had also been broken.

Whistling as it arced through the air, the stark blade was parried by the pair of crossed swords, but the Hunter’s steel pushed through the scissoring blades to behead Braylow spectacularly.

Off to the left, Barry Dawn had already leapt into the air. D twisted around. A sword was bearing down on him from overhead. It was too late to dodge or to parry. Black cloth ripped. An anguished cry went up. The former Hunter landed again, his blade in the same position from the blow he’d executed. It was not the swung blade that D was beneath, but rather the arms that gripped it.

Making a sound like he was going to vomit, Barry Dawn tumbled forward. And in return, D got to his feet. After adjusting the split brim of his traveler’s hat, D glanced over at Barry Dawn. From his foe’s back, in a spot directly behind the heart, there jutted a wooden needle. Narrowly evading Flare Soldier as it came slicing down at him, D had thrust a rough wooden needle through his foe’s heart. The cry of pain had been Barry Dawn’s.

But how? D hadn’t been holding a needle. Both ends of the wooden needle had been honed and one end of it stuck in the stump of the Hunter’s left arm, transforming it into a deadly weapon.

“That was awesome, D. Just awesome—I really respect you. I swear, someday I’ll be a Hunter just like you!” the boy exclaimed, his body trembling with excitement and intense emotion. Looking down at Braylow’s headless corpse, he said, “But this guy had a really great parry. Looks like it was no match for your power after all. Serves the bastard right!”

Saying nothing, D went over to Braylow and opened the front of the Nobleman’s jacket with the tip of his sword. The right side of his chest was horribly caved in.

“So, he was wounded?” said the boy. “That’s why he wanted blood so bad . . . But this is really something . . . Half his chest is busted in. Ah, it must’ve been that guy!”

“What guy?”

Pikk hurriedly told D all about the “failure” they’d encountered in the engine room. D didn’t say anything, and after hearing all that the boy had to say, he turned his gaze to Countess Genevieve, who was down on the floor staring up at him. Pikk spread his arms wide to protect her.

“No, you can’t kill this lady. She helped me and the little lady a bunch of times. Hell, she even helped your left hand!”

“And where is it?”

“Damned if I know. It was with the little lady, but they weren’t where we were supposed to meet up. There was blood all over the place, and the lady here said it was the left hand’s.”

“Where is the grand duke?” D asked the countess.

“The laboratory. And I won’t tell you where that is. He’s important to me, after all.”

D’s eyes gave off an eerie glow. The countess’s expression changed. Here was a young man so fierce he’d lop off her breasts or split her mouth from ear to ear if that’s what it took to loosen her tongue. However, the terrible light left his eyes all too easily. Perhaps he’d recalled the sight of her laying flowers at the graves.

As D began to quietly walk away, Pikk said, “Wait. I’m going with you!”

D didn’t even look back. Ever since they’d parted company in the desert, he and the boy had been complete strangers.

When the Hunter had advanced about fifty yards, a red delta-wing aircraft appeared from the corridor on the left. On spotting D, it halted about twenty feet off the floor. Protruding from the center of the flying machine was the stocky upper body of a middle-aged man.

“Now this is a surprise,” said the plump man, his eyes going wide. “Who knew any man in the world could be so handsome? I’m afraid just looking at you is making me funny in the head. You’re D, aren’t you? I heard about you from Lord Gillian. They call me the Confessor. Originally the mayor of Krishken hired me to guard his daughter, but then Lord Gillian gave me the kiss, so now I’m in his service. I’m due to meet up with Lord Gillian soon, and now I’ll have a nice souvenir for him. Your head.”

D’s right hand whipped out. Halfway through the arc it limned; a silvery flash zipped against the side of the flying machine, rebounding with a melodic sound. What then imbedded itself in the floor was a steel bolt.

“It’s no use,” said the Confessor. “This craft may be light, but it’s made of one of the Nobility’s supreme alloys. For all your might, not even you can break it. Now, answer my question.”

The jeering laughter the pudgy man unleashed from up high halted unexpectedly. Although the Confessor nervously twisted around to scan in every direction, his gaze soon returned to D, but the shadow clinging to his face hadn’t been wiped away completely. As if to erase it, he began his bizarre “confession,” saying, “My name is D. My parents were—”

Groaning, the Hunter’s airborne foe clutched his chest. Was this due to the strength of D’s psyche? Or had some defensive system guarding his past been activated?

“This is just—?!” The Confessor’s eyes bugged, and his mouth spat up blood. “It . . . it can’t be . . . How could this . . .”

The eyes that peered down at D spoke of horror and astonishment that pushed the man to the brink of lunacy.

“I’m . . . Listen well, humans and Nobles! I . . . I am D, and my parents are . . .”

Perhaps it was coincidence that the long blade was put against the man’s throat. A slight pull to the right and the Confessor’s throat split open, spraying blood wildly. At the same time the flying machine tilted, and all too quickly it crashed against the floor.

As the Confessor stained the pilot’s seat with his blood, D walked over to him.

“It was the scythe . . . His . . . Benelli’s great scythe . . . Benelli . . . means Grim Reaper . . . Said he’d just keep . . . coming . . .”

Judging from his dazed monologue, the Confessor must’ve really been terrified. He’d probably located that flying machine just to escape the fearsome scythe that was coming for him. But the accursed weapon had been riding on the man’s back.

Behind D, Pikk called out his name. The boy had followed after the Hunter. Shooting a quick glance that way and confirming that the countess was with him, D said to the Confessor, “If you don’t want to die, tell me that Noblewoman’s secret. I’ll bring you right to the examination room for treatment.”

The Confessor raised his face. “Help me . . . Please . . .” he said.

“Where is this so-called laboratory?”

The Confessor only glanced once at Genevieve. “My name is . . . Genevieve Vasa. I am the wife of Count Cordon Vasa.”

Pikk had the wind knocked out of him.

“The laboratory . . . is in a secret location. It doesn’t appear in the blueprints or in any layouts . . . It was constructed as a ‘special car’ . . . that the grand duke and myself . . . and only a few other Nobles can enter.”

“How do you reach it?”

D’s tone hadn’t changed at all from the very first question, yet Pikk felt like he’d been dunked headfirst into icy waters.

Less than a minute later, the Confessor breathed his last. Checking the man’s pupils to be sure that this was the case, the Hunter said, “That’ll do.”

D started to walk off. His stride was so firm with resolve, it seemed to slice the very air. And as always, he left Pikk and Genevieve behind.

Harsh fate was bearing down on Xeno Gorshin with its usual stealthy footsteps. After the battle in which they’d lost Benelli, he’d followed Pikk and the others, but he’d lost sight of them. When they’d stopped the train and boarded, Gillian had ordered everyone to split up. Knowing the legend of the Iron Castle, he intended to speak with Grand Duke Drago and make an ally of him, so that he might use the grand duke in his search for Annette. And what a coincidence! The girl was actually on the train. When Gorshin lost sight of her he should’ve sought out Gillian to inform him of such, but he realized his signal whistle would be of no use here. The layout of the train was so vast and complicated the sound would be twisted, reflected, and ultimately absorbed. They were all just children lost in a deep jungle.

Still not knowing how to call up the schematics, Gorshin wandered through the train, walking in silence down corridors so spacious they seemed like halls. And up ahead he saw that man. He was right in the midst of battle. Nearly ten mechanical people surrounded the naked man, some of them blasting him with flames, some hammering him repeatedly with their iron fists, and still others slashing at him with lengthy blades. It looked more like a slaughter than a fight.

However, before Gorshin’s eyes one mechanical person after another was destroyed. The man’s body seemed capable of rendering all their attacks ineffectual. Muscles and organs smashed, shot, and rent wide closed and regenerated in an instant. Gorshin himself witnessed an eyeball that’d been shot out swiftly returning to its original state. The man used chains with blocks of stone attached as his weapons. But those primitive arms truly demonstrated devilish power. He swung them around—that alone left the mechanical people exploding or belching flames. In less than a minute the man had reduced them all to twisted scrap metal.

After the last of them was destroyed, the man began walking in the same direction Gorshin was headed. Instinctively Gorshin tailed him. The Nobleman got the feeling something decisive awaited them.

After he’d advanced more than a hundred yards, the man swung his right arm to the rear. So great was the speed that even a Noble among Nobles like Gorshin wasn’t able to get completely out of the way. The iron chain and block of stone that flew at the Nobleman with supersonic speed took off the right half of his face. Gorshin immediately played dead. Though the Nobleman knew he’d be finished if his foe dealt him a coup de grace, the man just kept on walking. Gorshin of course started following him once again.

After they’d walked another three-quarters of a mile, the door to another car appeared. The man vanished just in front of it. The way he disappeared, it was as if he’d been swallowed up by another dimension. By the time Gorshin had confirmed that the nearby door, walls, and floor contained no hidden passageway, he was ready to drop from pain and despair.

Someone called out his name. Actually, the Nobleman recognized the pair of figures headed his way.

“Lord Gillian—and Resden?!”

The Noble who’d lured out Barry Dawn and his compatriots and turned them into vampires calmly walked over to Gorshin and asked him what had happened. Once Gorshin had told him everything, Gillian’s whole face twisted with delight and he said, “So, D, the Krishken girl, and the grand duke are all here—excellent. I shall rid us of the lot of them.”

The trio went over to the door where the naked man had vanished. Gillian seemed to stroke the space lovingly. After doing so for about a minute, he returned to his normal demeanor. Seeing that sweat was forming on the brow of this Noble among Nobles, Gorshin was shocked. Tremendous mental powers were being called into play.

“We may enter. I’m going in.”

As Gillian pressed forward, first the end of his right foot vanished, followed by his leg, his torso, and then his face.

“Next—you may pass, Quake,” Gillian’s voice said from an area of empty space. It had to have come from the naked man’s vanishing point.

The rotund man was also swallowed up by thin air.

Gorshin stepped forward, staggering all the while, but at that very moment a gleam of light shot from the empty space to pierce his heart. Knocked back by the force of the impact, he fell to the floor with an iron stake sticking out of his chest.

“B-but why, Lord Gillian?”

His stunned query drew a reply from the empty space.

“The man you were following is a being on the level of the grand duke or myself. The reason your face hasn’t returned to normal after all this time, purebred Noble though you are, is because he did that to you. Against a man such as that, you would be no more than a hindrance. Rest well. Someday we shall meet again in the next world.”

A split second before Gorshin turned to dust, the retinas of his decaying eyes were emblazoned with the grinning face of Xeno Gillian poking out of empty space.

II

Unlucky was the only way to describe a person who had twice known fear that reached down to the very pit of their heart. Annette was unquestionably one such person. As the girl was waiting for Pikk and the countess, a gigantic shadow had filled her field of view in a single heartbeat. The next thing she knew, she was back on that same operating table. And the grand duke was looking down at her, just as before. However, this time she had neither Countess Genevieve nor the left hand to aid her.

“What are you doing?” Annette asked, surprising herself with how calmly the query came out. She must’ve had nerves of steel.

“Experiments,” the grand duke replied. Oddly enough, as he looked down at Annette, his eyes were home to a boundless grief.

“I heard about that from Miss Genevieve. She said you performed certain operations here, trying to make a bridge between mankind and the Nobility. But she said they were fearful experiments.”

“Indeed.”

“How long did this go on?”

“Roughly five thousand years. Would you like to hear how many procedures I performed in that time?”

“No. Were you successful?”

“No,” the grand duke responded in a bitter tone.

For no reason in particular Annette felt a sorely missed emotion sweep through her heart. It was compassion.

“As far as I know, there was but a single success. And it wasn’t one of ours.”

“Were your experiments really all that important?” she asked.

“I believed so.”

Annette saw the scalpel that gleamed in the grand duke’s right hand. Sweat poured from every inch of her. Though she thought herself composed, her body trembled faintly. And it seemed unlikely to stop.

“And the great one said so, too. There may well be Nobles who would doubt that. I readily pledged my support. Although I never dreamt it would stretch over so many long, cruel years, I’m fine with that. Someday the great one’s ideal will be realized. The humans subjected to these experiments were glorious stepping stones, I thought.”

Annette let out a scream. His scalpel had flashed into action. Flesh split open and bright blood gushed from a wound that seemed to smile.

“After five thousand years of this, however, I realized that every time I performed an operation I injured myself,” the grand duke said, taking the scalpel away from his gore-spattered throat. “I immediately knew the cause. When it dawned on me that I empathized with the humans, I considered destroying myself. It was Genevieve who stopped me. She told me that if I were to die then, no one would be saved. And so we began again. Believing in tomorrow. Even if it was a tomorrow that might never come.”

“You poor man,” Annette murmured, shocking herself. She actually meant those words. “Your experiments ultimately failed, didn’t they?”

“Correct,” the grand duke said, tightening his fist and his grip on the scalpel, but he quickly shook his head in denial. “Though we failed, next time will be different. Someday our experiments and the hopes of the dead will bear fruit. Toward that end, young lady, I have need of you.”

“Don’t . . .”

The grand duke was changing right before Annette’s eyes. All the color drained from him, and as his eyes filled with an evil gleam they gave off blood light.

“Forgive me, Annette. I apologize to you, and to your family. And I swear that once our aim is accomplished, I will compensate all of you for the fear and grief you suffered by offering up myself to the very next dawn. Forgive me. Please, make me stop, Genevieve.”

In a hand plagued by the past, the scalpel rose. Its blade no longer gleamed. On account of the blood that clung to it.

The grand duke cried out, “Do not interfere, Pomerolo!”

Drago spun around and his scalpel flew, not only piercing the figure who’d just stepped into the room right between the eyes but exploding through the back of his head to imbed itself in the wall behind him.

The man extended his right hand toward the grand duke and muttered something. With his first step the wound to the back of his head closed, and by the second it was gone completely.

“Do you resent me, Pomerolo? There was but one step to go. In your case, we were just one step shy! But being short that one step, it was failure all the same. Curse me. Hate me if it please you. But do not interfere.”

“Ah, but I must interfere,” declared a youthful voice that hadn’t been heard before, echoing through the nightmarish room. Even before the grand duke could turn his eyes to the entrance, the second intruder was primping his copper hair.

“I shall be taking the girl. Grand Duke, feel free to continue this nonsensical contrition for your foolish experiments in the past for so long as you like.”

“And just who are you?” asked the gigantic Noble.

“My apologies—Xeno Gillian is the name. I have returned to this world for the first time in ages.”

“The Xeno clan I am familiar with. As I am with the name of the grand duke’s poor excuse for an heir. What business have you with the girl?”

“A small matter—but one for which there can be no substitute. Might I trouble you to hand her over?”

“Your request is denied. You would do well to remember your station, stripling.”

“If you were an actual Noble I would. However, I owe no niceties to a specter from the past. I am taking the girl. You may remain in the company of this other creature of antiquity.”

As Gillian said that, his right arm swept in the direction of the “failure,” who stood there as if rooted. A dagger flew through the air with searing speed, and the power of a Noble knocked the naked man back a good fifteen feet. Undoubtedly Gillian had taken very clear aim. When the man went flying, the grand duke was directly in his path. The two of them collided with the operating table.

As the grand duke prepared to rise again, a pair of hands clamped down on his shoulders—those of Pomerolo. Lifting the gigantic seven-hundred-pound figure as if he were nothing, Pomerolo hurled the Noble. Gillian was directly in the line of fire.

Gillian was just about to step to the side when something as thick as a tree trunk caught him in the throat. The grand duke’s arm. The younger Nobleman was knocked all the way back to the door, where he slammed into the wall before stopping.

Once he’d swiftly gotten to his feet again, Gillian saw the grand duke draw the sword he wore on his hip. The enchanted sword Blue Blood—the wrath of the dead trapped in its blade would drain the blood and the life from any it touched.

The giant had drawn and struck in a single motion, and Gillian’s blade parried the blow. But the young Nobleman’s eyes went wide. He could sense something within his body being taken from him. Reeling, Gillian leaned against a nearby control console for support. Both his hands and face were red. Blood gushed from his pores. Was it regret at having recklessly challenged a legendary Greater Noble to battle that flickered across his face? No, as beads of blood covered his face, Gillian grinned.

“Quake,” he called over to his servant, “you know what to do, I take it?”

And that being said, he adjusted his grip on his longsword. A second blow from Blue Blood rained down against it. The instant Gillian parried it a bloody mist engulfed both men.

“You bastard—how in hell’s name did you manage that?” groaned the grand duke. For he’d felt all of his own blood being drawn out as well, strange as that seemed.

“Whenever an opponent touches me, not only directly but even with something they hold, their special abilities flow into me. Grand Duke, you’re going to be slain by your own power.”

Gillian’s eyebrow arched as if he’d suddenly thought of something. That was followed by his lips turning up in a grin, and his fangs showing themselves.

He aired his idea, saying, “I shall inherit this train of yours and its experiments. Only the experiments will take on a new form.”

The giant howled. Blue Blood flashed out, and every time Gillian parried it the two of them were clouded in vermilion. After a number of these blocked blows, Gillian was nearly tripping over his own feet. When fighting under identical conditions, the one with the greater strength would prevail in the end. And the grand duke was Gillian’s superior in both energy and brute strength.

Parrying a horizontal slash, Gillian could take no more and backed away, calling out, “Quake!”

The man had been waiting off to one side, and that gigantic meatball body of his became a blur. The weights he wore from the waist up shook wildly. The floor rippled and the ceiling twisted. The ultra-powerful shockwaves Quake Resden gave off could take the flesh off a human’s bones.

The grand duke’s gigantic form was thrown horribly off balance. As Drago spread his arms to either side and planted his feet, Gillian charged straight at his chest. His blade pierced the left side of the grand duke’s chest, poking all the way out of his back.

“Genevieve,” the giant murmured softly, planting his beloved sword in the floor and leaning on it. “Now I will finally be released.”

And then he became a huge mound of ash.

“That settles that,” Gillian said, and as he regained his balance on the still-quaking floor, waves of excitement swept through his body. He pictured himself glowering out from the train as it sped through the world of darkness. He would travel the world on this train. From every land he’d take lovely young women and drink them dry.

“But first—” Gillian began, finally with a chance to recall his initial goal. He turned his eyes to the fallen operating table. “What?!” he gasped.

Aside from the surgical implements scattered around the table, there was nothing to be seen on the floor. No, that wasn’t true. There was one person. Pomerolo was in the process of heading straight for Gillian. A “failure” who lived only for slaughter—was that the shape of the future for humanity and Nobility alike?

Gillian’s sword rose.

Just then the door opened. As they turned to look in that direction, both Gillian and the “failure” froze. The newest intruder was that striking.

“So, you made it all this way, D,” Gillian said with a smile. “It would seem it’s the risen grand duke you seek, but I have slain him. Your usefulness thus at its end, here you shall die, Hunter.”

D’s ears caught a base growl. It was Pomerolo. The man’s expression had changed. His eyes gave off a red glow, and he exposed a pair of hitherto unseen fangs, making clear his murderous intent. But more incredible than anything were the flames of malice that scorched him from head to toe. The unbalanced “failure” had finally found an opponent worth defeating.

“An acquaintance of yours, D?” Gillian inquired, understandably furrowing his brow. Gazing at D, he continued, “No, it would seem not. That being the case, why should he hate you so? Could it be you bear a striking resemblance to a man who did terrible things to him?”

Pomerolo charged forward. Knocking everything out of his path, he closed to fifteen feet, then swung his arms. The chains and their blocks of stone arced through the air like ropes to assail the Hunter from both above and below. And D seemed to glide right between them. Driving his sword through Pomerolo’s heart was actually shockingly easy.

Once D stepped away, Pomerolo staggered, but he quickly stood up straight and strong again. His throat and chest were both free of any trace of wounds.

“An outstanding ‘failure,’ wouldn’t you say, D?” Gillian remarked, his eyes gleaming. “If this is an example of failure, how incredible would a success be, I wonder? I should like to meet one. However, against an opponent who can be run through the heart without dying, your battle will never end. My apologies, D—I’ve decided to aid this creature.”

And as he said that, the Nobleman bounded. Twelve feet high and over twenty feet he sailed. But when he swung his blade low, there was no killing lust behind it.

D didn’t try to evade the blow, but rather parried it. And that was precisely what Gillian had been after. He would absorb all of D’s abilities and use them to slay the Hunter.

“Gaaaah!”

An ear-splitting scream exploded from Gillian’s mouth. As the Nobleman practically pried his blade free, his face was covered with horrible wrinkles.

“Such power . . . The energy is . . .”

He was actually weeping.

“Exactly how much—No, that will be enough. It’s more than I can handle. Let’s settle this, D. Quake!”

The beefy face blurred, and a second shockwave assailed the room. D reeled.

Now! Gillian thought, charging the Hunter. But his foot seemed to catch on something. As the Noble tumbled forward, the Vampire Hunter’s blade flashed down at the base of his unprotected neck.

D turned his eyes not to the head that went flying but to the body that collapsed. His left hand appeared down by the Noble’s foot, skillfully dashing over to D, making a light bound, and sticking to the end of the Hunter’s left arm.

“The grand duke stuck me good, but I played dead and slipped into his pocket. I got Annette out. There’s only one of ’em left, so hurry up and take care of him.”

The instant the hoarse voice said that, a powerful shudder ran through the entire car. When D turned to look at the source of the tremor, the rotund figure who’d looked to be made of big flesh bags had chunks of meat falling off, his bones were crumbling, and in the blink of an eye he’d been reduced to a pile of dust.

When Quake Resden fought Gillian, he’d died once. Perhaps the massive shockwave just now was his way of bidding farewell to the world before setting off on death’s journey with the master who’d granted him a mock life.

A klaxon wailed.

“That ain’t good,” said the hoarse voice. “Seems the reactor’s been nailed. Gotta hightail it out of here, and fast.”

“What about the kid?”

“Oh, worried about him, are you? Relax. I told him how to get to the exit and sent him on ahead. What the—?!”

The last part was a cry of astonishment. How long had D known? Countless figures had gathered around Pomerolo and were staring at the Hunter and his hand. Their skin was pale, their eyes charged with lunacy, their limbs twisted, and their bellies trailing innards.

“Test subjects, I take it,” the left hand groaned. “Did they get out with that last jolt, or are they just phantoms? Doesn’t matter either way, I guess. Just let ’em be. They’ve got their own lives to lead—as the living dead, though. Pee-yew! I smell something burning. Hurry up.”

The eye-popping shockwave had hit the desperately fleeing Pikk and Annette as they were making their way down a corridor. Still without a clue as to what’d happened, Pikk got back to his feet, having only banged his right shoulder on the wall.

“Holy shit!” he exclaimed, and it was a wonder his heart didn’t stop dead.

The countess lay on the floor, and to her left an iron girder about twenty feet long had apparently fallen. The problem was, Annette’s upper body was sticking out from under it.

“A-are you all right?!”

The pain of his shoulder forgotten, the boy raced over, and a pale face smiled up at him.

“Can you pull yourself free?” he asked Annette.

“No, it’s no use. It won’t budge an inch, and my legs are pinned. It hurts!”

The boy grabbed hold of the girder and tugged, but naturally it wouldn’t move at all.

“Hang in there. I’m gonna go get D.”

“By then it will be too late,” said the countess.

“What?”

The boy turned to see the Noblewoman pinned under iron pipes. From the waist down she’d been completely crushed. It was a wonder she was even still alive.

“There, down the corridor. See for yourself.”

Following her gaze, Pikk went pale. Figures beyond numbering were pouring down the passageway. Like a needle, memory pricked at Pikk’s brain.

“Th-th-those are . . .” he stammered.

“They are the ones you glimpsed in the basement. It would seem they escaped with the aid of that shock. These are creatures without an iota of thought, and they live solely to destroy!”

“And it was you guys made ’em that way, wasn’t it?”

The countess fell silent, but she soon continued, “A fine mess this is. I no longer have my strength. At this rate, the girl and I will both be torn to ribbons.”

“What should I do? Damn it all!”

“Run for it, Pikk!” Annette shouted. Her voice was a performance in fear. “If you don’t, you’ll be killed too. Thanks for everything you’ve done for me. You’ve done more than enough. Now you have to think about yourself. Okay?”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me. You expect me to run off like a pansy after coming all this way? No man—hell, nobody human could do that.”

“Please, flee,” the countess said, her words practically an indictment. “Strive as you like, but you will accomplish nothing here. As the young lady said, you’ll meet a pointless death. At least let us see you go free.”

There were approaching footsteps. One person, two—ten, then twenty . . .

Pikk fell silent. He was weighing a thought he had. His face grew pale from the staggering nature of that notion.

“Pikk . . .” Annette said, and she saw the boy look up. Such a sad face he wore, but also such a proud one.

“Nope,” the boy said, giving her a manly smile. “There’s only one way outta this!”

When D arrived on the scene, what he saw there were corpses beyond numbering, with Annette lying in a spot a short distance away.

“What about the other two?” the Hunter asked.

“They left,” Annette replied, tears glistening in her eyes. “He got me out from under that girder and pulled Genevieve from the wreckage, then took care of all those things. They told me if I stayed here you’d be along, and with that they left.”

D looked down the corridor.

The boy had moved a girder to save the girl. There was no way he’d be able to do that. He needed more than human strength. And by her side—there was the Noblewoman. There was something he could do. Only one play.

From the depths of the corridor there flowed a doleful melody. Was it a serenade they played?

Thirty feet away there was an emergency exit. Opening the door, the Hunter found a familiar face smiling sheepishly. It was Hiki. His wiry frame was wrapped in a thin membrane. He was an unlikely person in an unlikely place. It knocked the breath right out of Annette.

“What are you doing?” D inquired.

“Actually, I’ve been trailing the train a good while now. I was looking in through one of the windows, and I just happened to catch the most unbelievable scene. I suppose all my colleagues bit the dust, right? All seems pretty pointless now. I’m throwing in the towel on this one. Grab ahold of my hands. This train’s in a bad way!”

“First things first—it’s convenient you happened to be here,” the hoarse voice said.

Grinning, Hiki replied, “Well, when I poked my head in a little while ago, I happened to run into the little guy. That’s when he told me to come here . . . you know, now he’s a—”

“Go,” D ordered.

Several seconds later, the three of them were down on the ground watching the vehicle race away. It could no longer be described as a black shape. Flames and pale sparks shot from it in a number of places, making it look like a colossal beast covered with wounds.

“I wonder where they’ll go,” Annette murmured as if in a daze, but no one answered her. “Just suppose . . . if the two of them put the fire out, would they live on the train forever?”

“Could be,” the hoarse voice replied. “You know what they say: Home is where you hang your hat. The kid’s got guts. Maybe someday he’ll start some new experiments.”

Now outlined in flames, the train was dwindling on the horizon. Apparently it was headed east. The sky there was beginning to shine with stark light.

“The boy kept his promise,” D said suddenly.

Hiki nodded.

“But I didn’t ask him for—” Annette began, wiping at her tears.

“Not a promise to you. One he made to himself.” After a short pause, the Hunter continued, “He said he wanted to become a Hunter.”

D touched his left hand to the brim of his traveler’s hat as if bidding a gentle farewell. A few minutes later when the morning sun shone sleepily on the spot, the three of them were nowhere to be seen.

the end

Postscript

This Vampire Hunter D novel was a first for me. Before it became a book, it was made available as part of a company’s digital content. It was intended for cell phone users. While it was being serialized I didn’t receive any feedback at all from readers through the person overseeing it, so I had no idea whether or not it was popular as I just kept on writing. It may be because of the medium that it ended up being over five hundred handwritten pages in length.

Time marches on, and now when a book comes out in paper form, an electronic version is sure to be released simultaneously. In the American market, the Vampire Hunter D books are also released in two forms . . . and though I love paper books, unfortunately, the electronic version performs far better. Going down to the bookstore and not only finding the volume you were looking for but also flipping through books and magazines of other genres was a pleasant way to while away the time . . . but I suppose that era has passed. Press a single key on your PC, and whatever you want will arrive the next day . . . compared to the convenience of that, a round trip to the bookstore may seem bothersome and irrational, but I kind of miss it.

Due to the way it was produced, D—Throng of Heretics put me into a different flow of writing. Tracing back through my faint memories, I recall that the set number of lines each time wasn’t that great, of course. However, I wrote every single day, without a break, until I finally had it done. I would send them a few days’ work at a time, during which time I’d work on other writing, but since the volume wasn’t all that great I’d quickly forget about the next batch. And then the next few days would fly by. Normally I just write a new book from start to finish, so some days I can do dozens of pages, and other times I’ll go ten days and only get a single page done, but it doesn’t matter as long as I make the deadline. However, when every day was a deadline, there were times I’d realize I had only an hour left. And depending on my physical condition or my mood that day the book could be completely different, since I was in a position where I absolutely had to write a few pages every day.

While writing D—Throng of Heretics, I felt like something was chasing after me. As I recall, I somehow managed to finish on schedule. I suppose I should’ve shouted, Hurray! I haven’t had an experience like it since, but after years of writing novels the same way, I sometimes miss the way I worked on D—Throng of Heretics.

Hideyuki Kikuchi

April 18, 2016, in the middle of the night

While watching Vampire Hunter D on DVD