SERENDIPITY IN THE BLACK FOREST

CHAPTER 1

—

I

—

Less than five minutes after thunder rumbled in the western sky, white streaks started to fall, noisily battering the leaves all around the traveler. Having surmised that this might happen from the look of the sky at dusk, Ry wasn’t overly concerned, but rather clucked his tongue at fate. Although it was probably no more than an evening shower, he still had to do something. It was actually his good fortune that woods lay like black haze to either side of the narrow road. Before diving in, he’d listened intently, and the thunder had died out. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about being struck by lightning.

Once inside the tunnel formed by the interwoven branches, the fusillade of raindrops ceased as if it no longer existed. The forest was renowned as one of the largest and most thickly wooded in the area—it took less than five minutes for the blue sky to be replaced by jet black. Getting through the forest would take an hour at the very least, and after that it would be an additional hour’s walk to the village of Anise.

“Guess I’ll be camping,” Ry said with resignation.

This wasn’t a safe woodland. The forest spirits could breathe out a greenish cloud that put travelers to sleep so the monsters might steal their still-beating hearts, and werewolves, gold-eyes, and tree-dwellers were undoubtedly watching Ry from somewhere. A cursory glance at the tree trunks around him would’ve revealed the marks left by their fangs and claws.

However, now that he’d settled on this course of action, Ry quickly went to work. Taking a sleeping bag and pneumatic gun from the duffel bag on his back, he then put “owl eyes” into his own eyes. A pair of thin membranes that almost completely covered his eyeballs, they served as infrared filters, allowing him to discern his surroundings even in pitch blackness. In situations where building a campfire might prove deadly, travelers found such lenses indispensable.

Though the young man had intended to eat some jerky before climbing into his sleeping bag, his eyelids were suddenly on the brink of collapsing. After pressing on with a scant three hours of sleep per night the last four or five days, it seemed he was finally paying the price. Checking that his gun was loaded and pressurized, he’d just slipped into his sleeping bag when the sandman came to claim him. Still, he remembered to at least switch on the security system connected to his sleeping bag.

No sooner had his eyes closed than the buzzer went off. Ry quickly grabbed the timepiece he wore around his neck and pulled it up for closer inspection. More than six hours had passed since he’d dropped off to sleep.

The grass was whistling. And the sound was accompanied by movement—movement from all around Ry to somewhere off deeper in the forest. A chill ran down his spine as he watched, for something was moving through the grass. The lines a number of creatures cut through the verdure were almost elegant. Then, his terror faded. And even his surprise at that melted away softly.

A faint song trembled in the air, and the voice was soft and sweet. However, it issued from the throat of a man.

That song?! Ry thought, leaping from his sleeping bag as he did so. As he walked off with only his pneumatic gun in hand, there wasn’t the least bit of uncertainty in his steps. That song, he thought. Those lyrics. That melody—

These thoughts alone swirled in his brain. A red spider came to rest on his shoulder, and something slimy wrapped around his ankle. He didn’t even seem to mind.

The face of his father appeared to him. He looked weak from his suffering, and he was reaching out from his bed with one hand. The young man thought he was going to tell him something. Though his father had always been a man of few words and he’d never sermonized at his son, surely he’d have at least one thought he’d like to leave the boy. But Ry soon realized he was mistaken. He saw himself reflected in his father’s eyes. However, it was not him that his father saw. His dry lips trembled, his mouth yawned like a cavern, and what came from him made Ry forgot all about his father’s imminent demise.

There wasn’t much he could remember of the lonely funeral service or the eulogy in which the village mayor had praised the old man as a splendid cobbler. His ears still rang with that song and the one thing he’d said.

The village of Anise.

And then his father had shut both his mouth and his eyes. That was all.

The day after the funeral, Ry had set out on a journey—to Anise. The seventeen-year-old never questioned the notion that the song and the final words the old man had left this world were inseparably linked.

As he walked, he heard the sound of rain above him. Strangely enough, only his sense of time remained—little more than five minutes had passed since he’d started walking. The singing had long since faded. And yet his body moved naturally, with clear conviction.

Far off to his left he heard a horse whinny. Not halting, Ry turned his face alone. He could see through the dark of night. The horse and its rider seemed to be swathed in a color deeper than the darkness. He couldn’t see the rider’s face, but he wore a long coat or a cape of some kind. Ordinarily, he would’ve called out to the stranger immediately just to have some human companionship. But now, the thought didn’t even occur to him.

Facing forward again, Ry kept walking. The rider behind him remained silent as well. After going another five or six paces, the young man became somewhat curious and turned. He didn’t know exactly why.

The figure had been swallowed by the darkness. And he got the feeling that if he were to call out, he’d receive no answer, but would be devoured as well.

I must be seeing things, he thought instantly.

Only after he’d gone another ten paces did he finally see the flames. By the capering orange flares some thirty feet ahead of him, several figures were moving around. Three of them. Instinctively, Ry hid himself behind a colossal tree. Something strangely ominous seemed to be gusting at him.

One of the figures sat before the fire while the other two stood a short distance away, surveying the area. Their faces were slightly downturned—they seemed to be scrutinizing the ground. Although Ry couldn’t make out the face of the seated man, the other two sported beards. One of them wore the jacket and pants of a khaki-colored uniform of some sort, while his companion was covered from the neck down by some sort of protective metal armor. Each wore a longsword on his hip.

Crouching down, the one in armor snatched something from the grass in a movement that was swifter than the eye could follow. Seeing the long black shape wriggling as the man grasped it with his right hand, Ry was horrified.

“I got one, too!” said the armored man.

“Hell, I’ve got three already,” said the one in khaki, sticking out his left hand.

A trio of similar creatures thrashed in his fist—surely that must’ve been what’d slid so noisily through the grass. Judging by the color and size of them, they were undoubtedly wood snakes.

“Good eating tonight,” the one in armor said, first holding out the creature, and then suddenly flinging it into the air. His right hand became a blur. While the wood snake fell as a single animal, as soon as the flames touched it, it split into three pieces that vanished into the glowing blaze.

“Don’t forget these,” said the uniformed one, effortlessly doing the same to several more serpents before he turned to the man who was seated.

The flames gave off a bluish smoke.

“It sure is something, I’ll give you that,” the one in uniform remarked. “When they hear that song of yours, everything from the little rock-eaters to mountain snakes comes right over to us. With service like that, we’ll never go hungry.”

“Sure as blazes is a funny song,” the other one said. Shoving his right hand into the fire, he continued, “Oh, they’re cooking up real nice. Hot, though! You know, no matter how we try to imitate you, we can’t sing a bar. Strange, ain’t it? Wish I could’ve heard the real deal, too.”

Ry thought his heart might stop. By “the real deal” could he mean the same song his father had heard? Who’d sung it, and where? Had one of these men actually heard it, just like his father? And were they headed someplace special?

Ry turned his gaze on the last of the three. His heart began to beat once more—loudly enough to reverberate within his own skull.

The flames seemed to add to his beauty. His age couldn’t have differed much from Ry’s own. The glow from the fire made it impossible to tell the color of his complexion, but he had golden hair. His closed eyes, his lips, the line of his nose—he was so handsome that anyone who dared to declare him as anything short of beautiful was likely to have their heart stop cold from mortification. The other two didn’t look like they belonged with him at all.

Feeling a little angry, Ry thought there must be some sort of mistake.

Just then, the gorgeous young man turned to him and said, “Hey, you—come over here!”

Ry stiffened with shock.

Apparently even the rougher-looking pair had noticed him, and they wore daunting smiles as they called to him, “Yeah, come on out!”

“Have a bite with us!”

—

II

—

Not surprisingly, Ry hesitated. There was something dangerous about this trio.

“You know, you ain’t the first person that song’s dragged over,” said the one in uniform. “Everyone from old men and women right down to babies just comes right on out at the sound of it. It’s a weird song, all right. Come here and have a drink with us. We got us some mighty fine hooch.”

Ry came to a decision. This was no time to stay in hiding.

When he stepped out with his pneumatic gun pointed toward the ground, the grins of the bearded bruisers grew even deeper.

“Well ain’t you a looker! You’re liable to have the she-devils chasing after you.”

“Yessir, real men were made for traveling. Well, come on over already. It ain’t like we’re gonna eat you!”

“Before I do—could I ask you something?” said Ry. His voice was a lot steadier than he thought it’d be.

“And what would that be?” the lovely young man asked, his eyes still shut.

“Where are you guys headed?”

“Hell, we got no destination at all,” the man in uniform said, shrugging his shoulders before he hunched over. Quickly sticking his hand into the fire, he pulled out a chunk of wood snake. He brought the smoking meat up to his mouth, but it stopped right before his lips.

Ry got the feeling there’d been some odd change to look in the eyes of the two men as they stared at him.

“Now this one looks tasty!” the uniformed man said, throwing the chunk of flesh he held down at his feet. His hand came up smoothly, and he beckoned with it, saying, “Come to daddy!”

Ry saw that his eyes gave off an unsettling red light.

I’ve gotta get out of here! he cried to himself in his head. This is just too dangerous. I’ve gotta leave, and fast!

However, his feet were stuck to the ground. His arms wouldn’t move, either. It was as if lead had been injected into his veins.

“Come on now,” said the man in uniform, beckoning once more.

Behind the boy, something moved. Passing over his head, it slid down right in front of his face. What Ry saw was a trunk about as thick as a man could reach around, and it glittered a bluish green as it reflected the flames.

It couldn’t be—this couldn’t be what he’d hidden behind after mistaking it for a tree trunk.

“Come to me,” the uniformed man said again, and then his mouth mysteriously stretched to either side. It split from ear to ear, as the saying goes. Only in his case, it went even further, opening all the way around except for about an inch at the back of his neck.

The gigantic wood snake Ry had mistaken for a tree flicked a little red tongue from its mouth. It could probably swallow the man in the uniform whole. That thought alone was what had the young traveler completely paralyzed. With a hiss, the tongue stretched out a good three feet to strike the face of the uniformed man.

Just then, the strangest thing occurred. The man’s head from the mouth up—or to be more precise, from his upper lip—flipped backward sharply. The hinge connecting these two portions was a narrow section of skin at the back of his head less than an inch wide. Beyond rows of teeth in his disturbingly large jaws, there was no tongue or tonsils—there was merely a cavernous opening as wide as his neck. And the wood snake’s head was swallowed by it. The serpent’s head was three times as wide as the throat of the uniformed man, but it effortlessly slid into the opening. Naturally, his neck swelled tremendously—it wouldn’t have been at all surprising if it’d split wide open. Ry stared in amazement at the man’s belly, now swollen like a keg of beer.

Illusion, sorcery, or reality—while the young man was still trying to decide what to make of this, the snake kept being sucked into the man’s bizarre mouth until only the tapered end of its tail remained, and even that promptly vanished. At the same time, the half of his head that’d gone backward flipped forward again, coming down on his jaw like the lid of a jar. From below his ear came the sound of bones snapping back together. And then the incredible man gave a slap to his great drum of a belly and let out a resounding belch. That alone would’ve been enough to give anyone goose bumps—ripples could clearly be seen spreading across the surface of his stomach.

“You really do pack it away,” the armored man said with something like admiration.

Rubbing his stomach lovingly, the man in uniform replied, “Hell, one this big is bound to come in handy some time.”

“Won’t he fight with the others?”

“Not to worry. I’m always careful to keep them in separate compartments.”

The man’s laughter sounded like something out of a nightmare to Ry.

Before it ended, the young man with blond hair said, “You asked a strange question just now, didn’t you?” His voice and his manner of speaking were those of someone Ry’s age. And yet, his tone seemed to be invested with something horribly cold and mature. “The very first thing you asked wasn’t our names or what we did,” he continued, “but rather our destination. Why is that?”

“No reason,” Ry said, taking his eyes off the boy’s gorgeous countenance. If he were to gaze at it for too long, it seemed like his mind would melt into a milky haze and he’d completely lose himself. “I was just curious,” he added.

“About what? Our destination? Or about that song?” the young man said, slowly getting to his feet.

Apparently there must’ve been some special meaning attached to the action, because his two far rougher-looking companions backed away with paled countenances.

“That’s a song you can’t forget once you’ve heard it. Those under its spell always want to go find the singer. I heard it when I was in my mother’s womb, or so I’ve been told. When and where did you hear it?”

Ry was just about to reply that he didn’t know anything about any song, but then he suddenly became aware that an intense urge to defy the handsome young man before him had been building in his gut.

“I heard it with my own ears when I was two,” said Ry. “In the village of Anise.”

There was silence. A silence far more terrifying than any other change could’ve been.

“Is that right? I guess that figures,” said the blond man. “As much as I like the song, I don’t intend to go looking for the singer to hear it again. It’d probably be best if we parted company with you here.”

Ry finally noticed that the young man still had his eyes shut.

“I was just thinking the same thing myself. See you around.”

And with that casual expression, Ry turned his back on them. From the base of his neck to his waist he was horrendously cold. The chill concentrated in the left side of his chest. It hurt. His feet moved smoothly. The pain grew worse and worse. At the last second he thought, Here it comes . . .

That’s when it happened. Off to his right, he heard a horse whinny. The pain and the chill vanished abruptly. Ry didn’t turn around. He wanted to leave as quickly as possible.

The sound of the rain had died out.

When he finally reached someplace that seemed safe, Ry had a strong suspicion he’d been saved by the rider he saw earlier.

—

III

—

Located in an eastern Frontier sector, Anise was a village bordered on all sides by rugged mountain ranges and black forests. The amount of land cultivated was barely enough to provide for the thousand villagers who lived there, but the inhabitants supplemented their income by using the waters of the Garnow River that ran along the western edge of the village to transport lumber—an activity that helped make them one of the wealthier communities in the area.

The weather controllers had almost no effect on this region, so the four seasons came and went like a goddess robed in four simple, distinct ensembles. Summer was a deep green veil that covered everything beneath the blue sky. Fall was a coat of apples and plums that swayed with sorrow-laden breezes. Winter was a white gown that hid even the school’s highest spire. And now it was spring. The season when remnants of snow that feared the warmth flowed away in the clear streams, grass and flowers put forth buds, and children’s feet could be heard slapping their way up and down the muddy streets.

Many people came to the village. Merchants and fortune-tellers, traveling artisans and gamblers, con men and bodyguards, drifters and criminals . . . Still, up until last spring it had always been peaceful. This year, it didn’t look like that was going to be the case. There’d been a lot of travelers that day—some were just passing through, while others had various aims and would stay a while. The peaceful village accepted them all without complaint. Even though there were some the community would’ve done well to reject.

There were two places to stay in the village. One was a lodging house for merchants where everyone slept packed into the same room like sardines; the other was a hotel with private quarters. Ry chose the hotel. Having camped out all the way there, he still had money to spare, and he also suspected the trio might check into the merchant inn. He somewhat regretted ever having mentioned the village of Anise to them.

While the accommodations were hardly what anyone would call spectacular, the room was at least clean. It was also unpretentiously strung with high-voltage lines and various charms to ward off evil spirits and smaller monstrosities. Just as he was unpacking his baggage and considering what he should do next, a steady knock rang out and the door to his room was opened before he could even reply.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” said the girl.

The room seemed to brighten immediately due to her confident tone and bearing. She must’ve been related to the sulky old man who’d showed Ry to this room—her carefree demeanor didn’t fit that of a mere employee.

“I’m Amne. I work here at the hotel. I just came by to drop off something you forgot. Well, I actually heard there was someone about my age staying here and I wanted to have a peek at you. Mind if I come in?”

Once again, she didn’t bother to wait for an answer but rather strutted right in. Over her blue blouse she wore a dowdy employee jumpsuit, but like a doe, she also had an almost impudent vigor that was violently at odds with her attire.

“And just what did I forget?” Ry asked, a bit perplexed.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had any experience with girls back in his home village. To the contrary, his lithe build and sensitive nature made him quite popular compared to all the rough and tough country boys there. Still, none of the girls he’d known had been quite so forward.

“These. Put them in if you’re going to be outside at night.”

A pale hand opened before the boy’s chest. Taking the two little rubber items from her, Ry stared down at them.

“Ear plugs?” he said.

“That’s right. So don’t go sticking ’em up your nose by mistake. Why? Something wrong?”

“No, it’s nothing. Why do I need these things?”

“I don’t rightly know,” the girl replied. “It’s just a custom. We all use them when we’re out walking at night, too.”

“Hmm.”

As he intently scrutinized the little rubber plugs, Ry wondered if he should ask Amne about the song. In a sense, it was taboo for a common traveler to ask about the history or traditions of the villages he visited. Quite naturally, in cases where the area had been under the direct control of the Nobility and their servants and the villagers had been terrorized day and night, they were fanatically loath to revisit their fearful past.

Amne chuckled knowingly.

“What?”

“Actually, the story behind the ear plugs is no big secret or anything,” she told him. “It all goes back to the days of the Nobility. Long, long ago, there was a great big mansion on the western mountainside.”

Ry was at a loss for words.

“While they say that hundreds of Nobles lived in the mansion, one of them was a singer skilled enough to be called to the Capital to perform at the great theaters there. The story goes that upon hearing the singer’s voice, not only the birds and the beasts but even the very wind and the rain would be drawn to the mansion. And I suppose you can guess what happened to the people when they went up there, can’t you?”

Ry imagined the mellifluous voice drifting out in the moonlight night after night and the eyes of the young people as they intently climbed the steep mountain road toward the mansion. For all their fear, their eyes must’ve been ablaze with delight. And while that delight burned in them, surely there was also some sadness.

Though she sounded far off in the distance, he heard Amne say, “The people all came back pale-faced, with teeth marks on their necks. And then, at night, they’d get up out of their beds and sink their fangs into the throats of their wives and children—no, no, that’s all just one big lie.”

“A lie?”

“That’s right. Just a tale cooked up to scare the villagers and travelers. None of them did anything. Recent research has shown as much.”

“Research?” Ry said, completely thrown off balance. “They didn’t do anything? We’re talking about victims of the Nobility, aren’t we?!”

“No, I suppose they did do a little. After all, the Nobility had got to them. But apparently it was nothing like the tall tale I just told you. Research shows all they did was sing.”

Here was another mention of singing.

“A song . . .”

“Yes,” said Amne. “When night came, they’d slip out of the place where they were held and begin to prowl the village streets with their hands stuck in their pockets. Like this, kinda slouched forward, while they sang a certain song.”

“What kind of song was it?”

“I don’t know. All of this happened fairly far back—more than two hundred years ago. And the Nobility suddenly vanished about that time. But even now rumors still remain that they’re actually hiding out somewhere and are going to swoop back down on us.”

“You mean to tell me no one wrote the song down?” Ry asked.

“Who’d ever do such a thing? You think we’d bother committing to paper every rotten thing the Nobility ever did to us? But now that you mention it, I heard that when rumors were going around a while back that they had come back, a traveling composer went into the mansion and jotted down the tune. But that’s got to be a bullshit story.”

Given that she was working in the service industry, the girl’s use of profanity with a customer probably crossed the line. But Ry didn’t even seem to notice.

“That talk about them coming back—how long ago was that?”

“Let me see . . . It’d have to be nearly twenty years, I suppose.”

In addition to the wandering composer, his father must’ve heard the song as well.

“Is there anyone who can recite the song?” asked the young man.

“Not a soul. A long time ago, you used to be able to hear it anywhere you traveled in these parts, because all the men and women who heard it went up to the mansion. And after they came back, the villagers who hadn’t been affected had no choice but to listen to them sing. However, they say it simply can’t be duplicated. The tune itself is straightforward and beautiful, but you can’t even hum the first couple of bars. The only people who can sing it are the ones who’ve heard it themselves at the mansion. And I suppose by the same token no one could jot it down, either.”

Perhaps as a result of not inhaling for so long, Amne stopped here and took a few breaths.

“Are you sure it’s okay telling me that?” Ry said, smiling wryly all the while.

“Sure it is! When I’m at school, no one there listens to the results of my research.”

“Your research? You mean to tell me that was the theory you came up with?”

“That’s right! Why, I’m even in the ‘historical research society’ at school. Seems like you’re kind of interested, too. So, what are you here for anyway?”

“I came to hear a song, actually.”

“You’re pulling my leg!” the girl said, but she looked rather pleased. She must’ve figured he’d enjoyed her theory. “Well, not that it matters. You know,” Amne continued, “it’s past noon, so you should probably head out and get yourself some lunch. After that, I’ll show you around the village.”

“That’d be a big help, but you really don’t have to. You’ve got a lot to do here at the hotel, don’t you?”

“Not a problem,” the girl replied. “At the moment, you’re the only guest we’ve got, and the saloon downstairs doesn’t get crowded until after sundown. So, where would you like to go?”

In his heart, Ry now faced a dilemma. He couldn’t very well tell her he’d come to hear the Noble’s song or to meet the singer. But now that he knew a Noble was involved, his interest hadn’t waned in the least. To the contrary, the knowledge had only fanned the flames of his tenacity all the more.

“Well, that’s a good question—that mansion’s probably pretty far off, right?” he said with a calculated disinterest.

The answer came instantaneously.

“Hey, it’s no problem. It’s thirty minutes by wagon. After you have lunch, we’ll still have time for a nice, leisurely round trip. We’ve even got a wagon we’re not using now. Now, run along to the diner. You go out and take a right on the street—”

—And going straight for about two minutes, he found the sign for the diner. Right above it the words “liquor” and “dry goods” were written in large letters. In small towns and villages, it was typical to combine the general store, diner, and saloon into a single establishment. Although Ry thought they might be in there, he wound up being the only customer.

Finishing his meal of stew and bread, Ry followed the street west. The fence at the edge of the village was where he was supposed to meet Amne.

Snow still remained in a few spots along the road. Stepping into an alley he’d been told was a shortcut, Ry stopped in his tracks.

Countless gold sparkles drifted in the air—seeds of the golden snow flowers dancing on a gentle breeze. They weren’t an uncommon sight in the eastern Frontier sectors. Exceptionally heat and cold resistant, the seeds could also withstand poor soil conditions and severe weather until one bright, sunny day in spring when they’d bloom into small golden flowers that delighted people’s eyes.

Bathed from head to toe in their golden light and seeming to almost suck up the glow, a figure in black suddenly stood there on muddy earth not yet dry from the previous night’s rain. He wore a wide-brimmed traveler’s hat and a long coat, and he had an elegant longsword across his back—that was all the young man could see of him from behind. A short distance from him, a cyborg horse was toppled by the side of the road.

Ry didn’t move. There was something about the figure in black that was even more dangerous than the trio he’d encountered the previous night. Suddenly, it occurred to him that the rider who’d saved him in the forest might be this very same man.

A spring breeze stroked the end of his nose, and as if that harmless sign was a declaration of war, the figure in black made a leap. Looking like darkness coalesced, the figure sent flecks of light flying everywhere.

The roof of the warehouse off to his right was ten feet high, and at the top of it there was a silvery flash. There were two simultaneous thuds, and a brief cry of pain rang out. Ry then saw something red fly off at an angle and strike the ground.

“We’ll meet again!” a voice he’d heard before shouted in apparent pain from somewhere in the heavens.

Ry ran out into the middle of the road—the spell over him had broken. As he looked up, the figure in black landed right in front of him without a sound. The young traveler was once more thrown into a hopeless daze. Could a human face possibly be this beautiful? He had to wonder if he weren’t perhaps still in the forest, and all of this was a dream.

“It looks like you made it out okay,” said the man.

Although that was hardly what someone fresh from a deadly conflict would be expected to say, Ry seemed free from such concerns as he nodded. “Thanks for what you did last night,” he said with bowed head. “That character just now—was he one of them . . . ?”

“Apparently they hold a grudge. You’d do well to watch yourself.”

“I will,” the young man said, adding, “Um, I’m Ry.”

“Call me D,” said the youth in black, brilliant bits of gold dancing all around him.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

—

Hideyuki Kikuchi was born in Chiba, Japan in 1949. He attended the prestigious Aoyama University and wrote his first novel Demon City Shinjuku in 1982. Over the past two decades, Kikuchi has authored numerous horror novels, and is one of Japan’s leading horror masters, writing novels in the tradition of occidental horror authors like Fritz Leiber, Robert Bloch, H. P. Lovecraft, and Stephen King. As of 2004, there are seventeen novels in his hugely popular ongoing Vampire Hunter D series. Many live action and anime movies of the 1980s and 1990s have been based on Kikuchi’s novels.

—

ABOUT THE ILLUSTRATOR

—

Yoshitaka Amano was born in Shizuoka, Japan. He is well known as a manga and anime artist and is the famed designer for the Final Fantasy game series. Amano took part in designing characters for many of Tatsunoko Productions’ greatest cartoons, including Gatchaman (released in the U.S. as G-Force and Battle of the Planets). Amano became a freelancer at the age of thirty and has collaborated with numerous writers, creating nearly twenty illustrated books that have sold millions of copies. Since the late 1990s Amano has worked with several American comics publishers, including DC Comics on the illustrated Sandman novel Sandman: The Dream Hunters with Neil Gaiman and Elektra and Wolverine: The Redeemer with best-selling author Greg Rucka for Marvel Comics.