Demon Deathchase (15 page)

Perhaps feeling the air pressure to their rear, D tugged the reins to the right. As
his horse went a few lengths in that direction, the mass dropped at its feet. It was
the soil itself, the same soil that’d been gouged out by the fingers—a fitting projectile
for a colossal arm.

Catching the shock wave on its flank, the horse lurched to one side. D danced through
the air. Like a veritable mystic bird he flew, landing in a spot some five yards away.
His horse regained its balance and dashed back to him.

The colossal arm set its sights on D. It came after him with terrific speed, making
the earth tremble. A black fingertip passed right before D’s eyes as the Hunter leapt
backward. His stone-cold face remained impassive as a cloud of sand struck it.

“What’s the matter, Hunter?” Caroline laughed charmingly from atop the arm. “Can’t
do a thing, can you? You see, this arm has joined the ranks of the undead.”

Hard as it was to believe, the arm did have a power plant in the wrist, and it ran
on gasoline. And Caroline had sucked some of the remaining fuel from the pipe. This
“vampire” had taken what was akin to the “blood” of the colossal arm. Those bitten
by the accursed demons became demons themselves. But it hardly seemed possible that
the same abominable rule would extend to a mechanical arm.

The colossal forearm was now one of the living dead, a corpse that moved in accordance
to Caroline’s will. It didn’t seem possible that even D could repel these attacks
forever, when one followed another with such blistering speed.

In accordance with instructions from Caroline, the arm had chased D right over to
the horizontal wreckage of a gigantic torso. Though the body was toppled, the side
was still easily thirty feet high, a distance even D couldn’t possibly jump.

“Are you finished, Hunter?” Caroline asked, tittering uncontrollably. “The sword upon
your back—is it a mere affectation?”

With his rear blocked off, D appeared unable to do anything, and the wrist rose up
over his head. A black brilliance surged up from the ground, slipped between the fingers
crushing down now like an avalanche, and settled on top of the mechanical arm.

“What?!” Caroline exclaimed. D’s coat flashed elegantly right in front of her as her
eyes widened in amazement.

“Now we’re even,” the Hunter said softly.

Thinking to say something in return, Caroline took a few steps back—toward the elbow—as
if she’d been pushed back by some unsettling emanations invisible to the eye. The
colossal arm stopped dead in its usual inchworm pose. Beads of sweat rose on Caroline’s
brow. The beads immediately grew larger, coursing down her paraffin skin. The sunlight
made the wet streaks glitter like quicksilver.

Both of D’s arms hung naturally by his sides.

Various ideas whirled through Caroline’s head. There wasn’t enough room to flee. And
the first time they’d met, Caroline had realized this youth wasn’t the sort who’d
spare her because she was a woman.

D took a step forward.

“W . . . wait,” Caroline said desperately, humiliated by the way her voice quavered.
“Even if you slay me, Mashira still remains. Wouldn’t you like to know about his powers?”
Cornered now, it was the best plan her brain could conceive. For a warrior, learning
the abilities of the next opponent they’d meet in combat was more important than anything
else. This offer would sway him without fail.

D advanced another step.

“Wait, just wait.” Caroline waved her hands and leapt back a few yards. So, this youth
gave no consideration to knowledge that might give him the advantage in battle?
I’m going to die, aren’t I?
Caroline thought.
Here, on this man’s sword . . .
Caroline gazed absentmindedly at the youth in black raiment approaching her. A strange
feeling welled up in her breast.
I want to be slain. I want to feel this gorgeous man stab into my bosom.
The ecstasy of death enveloped Caroline in its rapture.

D’s movements ceased. Letting out a low moan, the figure in black fell to one knee.

Not knowing quite what’d happened, Caroline instinctively went into action, seeking
life instead of death. The colossal arm flipped over, leaving the two of them to drop
through thin air. Still, D managed a spectacular landing before one of his knees buckled
again. The colossal arm fell toward him. There wasn’t enough time to get out of the
way.

D’s right hand blurred. It looked like it smoldered. There was a flash of silver that
intersected the fingers crushing down on him like an avalanche of digits. With a tremendous
crash, the foot-and-a-half-thick middle finger fell behind D, and everything else
from the wrist forward twisted back. Black streams of machine oil poured down from
the wound-like rent in the metal.

At the same time, Caroline landed on the opposite side of the road. She pressed down
on the fingers of her right hand and grew pale. There was a thin vermilion line around
the base of them.

D leapt. His cyborg horse was under him.

“I’m not letting you get away, Hunter,” Caroline cried out. With streams of black
oil trailing from it, the trembling hand went into a deadly pounce.

D was moving at a gallop. Could he escape?

The colossal arm went after the horse and rider. Flames suddenly blossomed from the
mechanical wrist, traveling all the way to the elbow. Melting in the heat of a nuclear
missile—which could reach a hundred thousand degrees—the abhorred demon arm collapsed
to the ground as little more than a burning log of steel.

The smoke trails of five missiles hung in the air. From back down the same road that’d
brought D, there reverberated the sounds of a nimble engine. The low-profile vehicle
with huge puncture-proof tires was, needless to say, the battle car. And Leila was
at the wheel.

After killing that master of the shadows, Bengé, Leila had wrangled herself a scouting
mission by saying she couldn’t help wondering what their foes were up to. When she
left, she said she’d be right back, but an hour had passed, then three. She’d gone
searching for D.

Her brothers said the freaks were probably lying in wait for him. They laughed about
how sweet it’d be if they all killed each other. And the more Leila thought about
how likely they were to be right, the larger the face of that gorgeous young man so
full of the void loomed in her heart.
That’s just because he saved my life twice
, she thought. But Leila had never been given to thoughts about repaying debts before.
If she collapsed from hunger and someone gave her food, she’d have had no compunctions
about pulling a knife on her savior to steal the rest from him. That’s simply how
Leila—and all of the Marcus clan—did things. The very concept of returning a favor
was alien to them. But as Leila held the yoke of the battle car and ripped through
the morning air, her heart held the closest thing to it.

The instant she entered the ancient battlefield and saw the colossal arm chasing D,
it was a movement of her heart rather than her conscious will that made her press
the firing button and launch those miniature nuclear rockets. She didn’t know that
the colossal arm, writhing in pain from the loss of a finger, couldn’t have caught
up to D at the speed he galloped.

Stopping alongside the arm, which had ceased moving and spouted lotus-red flames,
she scanned the area with her sharp gaze. She was searching for Caroline. But the
freak was nowhere to be found. With a disappointed cluck of her tongue, Leila stepped
on the gas.

—

Having ridden hard for about two miles, D veered off the road and into the forest.
A horrendous torpor was sweeping over him. It was the sunlight syndrome, a condition
unique to dhampirs. Inheriting half or more of a vampire’s characteristics as they
did, dhampirs could move about by day without concern, but that was not without its
drawbacks. While they remained oblivious, a tenacious form of fatigue was building
in their half-immortal flesh from the merciless rays of the sun. For dhampirs working
as Hunters, the most dreaded aspect of this affliction was that the symptoms manifested
without warning in the form of a sudden feeling of exhaustion and ever-increasing
lassitude. It was painfully clear what would happen if someone were to suffer an attack
of this while locked in deadly battle.

D’s narrow escape couldn’t really be called a retreat or a defeat. In fact, it was
only thanks to D’s superhuman strength that he was able to get himself in the saddle.
But, when he got off his horse deep in the forest, D’s gait was somewhat troubled.

The ground here was shrouded by multicolored flora and teeming with insect life. D
knelt down and started to scoop at the dirt with a knife he pulled from his combat
belt. Earth and moss flew with his intense movements. In less than three minutes,
he had hollowed out a depression large enough for a person to lie in. With just the
lightest shake of his head, D quietly entered the hole. Once he’d used his hands to
pull the dirt around him onto his body, he laid back.

The reason vampires in legends of antiquity carried coffins filled with soil from
their homeland was not merely because the grave they should’ve occupied offered them
the most serene sleep. Actually, their kind had discovered in ancient times that Mother
Earth would draw out the fatigue that accumulated in their bodies and instill them
with new immortalizing energy. And D was following their example.

“Heh, this is a fine mess,” D’s left hand snorted. “Hell, even I can’t tell you when
the sunlight syndrome will strike. The fact that you’re tougher than the average customer
only makes matters worse. What’s it been, five years or so?”

The voice from his hand must’ve been talking about how long it’d been since the last
attack. Usually, those dhampirs who’d inherited the greater part of their disposition
from the vampires went an interval of about six months between outbreaks of the symptoms.
Using the date and time of the last one as a rough base, they’d hide themselves for
a month before and after the next expected attack, avoiding all combat during that
time. These precautions weren’t solely out of fear of reprisals from the prey they
chased, but also to avoid attacks from their business competitors. There were always
plenty of scheming cowards looking for a larger share of the Hunting business, and
they’d keep elaborate records of the dates their rivals had attacks, then try to learn
their whereabouts before the next one was due so they could do away with them. Needless
to say, in D’s case, he’d have to guard against a fierce onslaught by Caroline and
her cohorts.

“Well, looks like we’re on vacation for a while. Good luck,” the voice said. But by
the time these carefree comments rose from his left hand, D’s eyes were already closed.

—

I

—

While D and Caroline’s deadly encounter was unfolding on the ancient battlefield,
Mayerling’s jet-black carriage was parked on the shore of a lake some forty miles
away as the crow flies. The sky was clear and blue, the trees by the shore benefited
from the abundant water, and rainbows seemed to spring from every leaf and twig. Far
off, a blue mountain range capped with white snow stretched into the distance, and
golden birds skimmed the peaks. As scenery went, this was a truly beautiful and placid
tableau.

As he watered the horses on the lake shore, a serious expression flitted into Mashira’s
wicked visage, as if he were mulling something over. He’d been that way since a short
while earlier—when he’d parted company with Caroline. Now, waiting for the horse to
finish drinking, he seemed to be gazing intently at the ugly face reflected in the
water. Finally, after some minutes of rapt concentration, he muttered, “Okay,” and
slapped his hands together. Following that, he stooped to pick a number of the white
flowers blooming by the shore. As he started walking toward the carriage parked a
little way off, a charitable expression, strangely free from worry, arose on his face.

He tapped on a window with shades tightly drawn, and a voice over an intercom answered
with an inquisitive, “Yes?” At this charmingly plaintive voice, he stopped the unconscious
licking of his lips, and, in an amiable tone, he replied, “I was wondering if you
wouldn’t like to open the window and get a breath of fresh air. The sky is blue, the
water clear, and the whole place is filled with the sweet scent of flowers. Though
milord Mayerling slumbers, I believe you have nothing to fear so long as Mashira is
here.”

There was no reply. Behind the window, she must have been hesitating.

Perhaps seeing some spark of hope, Mashira said as buoyantly as he could, “Here, look
how beautiful the flowers are. The ground’s completely covered with them. If you’re
that worried, just open the shade and drink in their color if you will.”

There was silence again, and, just as he was deciding his ploy wasn’t going to work,
the black shutter shot up smoothly. Seeing her innocent face quietly peering out like
a moonflower, Mashira smiled inside.

How can I get her to come out here?
That’s the question that’d wracked his brain since before they had arrived at the
lake. He’d considered a number of options, but, in the end, he decided to exploit
the feelings she was bound to have as a young human girl. Even if she was with her
boyfriend, even if he’d expressly told her not to go outside, there was no way a maiden
of her tender years wouldn’t want a breath of fresh air after being cooped up in a
carriage for days. After all, the darkness was no place for a human to live. Ever
since Mashira had taken Mayerling’s place at the reins at dawn, he had schemed of
using the girl’s humanity to his advantage. Planning ahead, he took the carriage off
the road and steered it to this remote locale.

“Say, how do you like these?” Mashira quickly thrust the bunch of flowers he’d concealed
behind his back against the windowpane.

The girl’s eyes became terribly blurred, and her white hand reached out. It bounced
off the windowpane in vain.

“What are you waiting for? What’s the harm in merely stepping out for bit of fresh
air?” And then Mashira became even more empathic. “The flowers are in bloom, birds
are singing, and when this place seeps into your pores and makes you even happier,
milord Mayerling is certain to thank me for a job well done. And of course, the purse
for our contract might gain a little weight, as well. Think of it, if you will, as
your way of helping out one poor bodyguard.”

The girl’s eyebrows knit with reflection. In less time than it took to draw a breath,
her pupils sparkled and the door handle spun. The girl stepped down into the meadow,
and the darkness of the interior was scattered by the sunlight.

His beautiful prey had finally played into the trap. Gently taking her by the hand,
Mashira led her to the shore.

“It’s so beautiful,” the pretty young lady exclaimed, proving that she was indeed
a resident of the world of daylight. Where the little waves encroached on the shore,
the girl knelt and reached out to touch the surface of the lake. Ripples spread, obscuring
her gorgeous countenance. Pulling back the hand she’d put wrist-deep in the water,
she searched for a handkerchief to wipe her face. The surface of the lake returned
to calmness.

Mashira was standing behind her. The front of his gray coat was open. Maybe the girl
glimpsed something inside it, because she froze without saying a word. When she finally
turned and Mashira’s hands grabbed her by both shoulders, something brown and tube-like
stretched between their abdomens with unholy speed . . . out of Mashira’s gut and
toward the girl. The girl squirmed, but Mashira’s hands never left her. Her well-formed
body was pushed down into the brush without any real effort.

“What are you doing? Let me go!”

“Can’t do that,” Mashira said, grabbing the hand the girl levered against his jaw
and twisting it up. “I’m crazy about you,” he continued. “You’re gonna be mine. If
you just take it you don’t have to get hurt. I’ll take care of that jerk Mayerling,
too.”

“What are you talking about? Let go. If you don’t let go of me—”

“What’ll you do? Out in the middle of the woods like this, you can shout but nobody
will come. Now, why don’t the two of us get to know each other a lot better . . .
”

A mouth burning with desire tried to close on her lips, which trembled with fear and
anger. It was then that intense gunfire resounded. As Mashira jerked up his head,
there were tremendous explosions of pain in his jaw and crotch.

Grunting as she pushed his body off, the girl got up quickly. Behind the carriage,
she spied what looked to be a huntsman with a still-smoking rifle thrown over his
shoulder. There’d been someone around after all.

The girl quickly ran for the carriage. The huntsman cut her off. Unsettling shadows
clung to his scraggily bearded face. “Missy, what in the blazes are you?” he asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. This here carriage’s gotta belong to the Nobility. Why on
earth would you be trying to get into it?”

“The truth is . . . ”

As the girl hemmed and hawed, the huntsman threw a vulgar laugh her way. Suddenly,
he grabbed her chin with one hand. With his substantial strength, the man exposed
first one side of the girl’s neck, then the other. “No wounds . . . meaning you hooked
up with a Noble of your own accord, didn’t you? You little traitor. Once I’ve taken
care of that bastard, I’ll learn you a thing or two. And when you’ve known a real
man’s touch, I’ll send you to join your bloodsucker.”

An unbelievably fierce gale was blowing in the girl’s head.
This man means me harm, too,
she thought.
The moment I set foot outside of the carriage, I meet with one misfortune after another.
Oh, if only I’d stayed with my love . . .

“Get your hands off her,” she heard Mashira say in a low but clear voice. Still smarting
from the blow to his crotch, he remained somewhat hunched over as he came closer.
His look had changed. He was so enraged now, almost nothing remained of his expression.
“Get your stinking hands off her,” he repeated.

“Ha! If you think you can make me, give it a shot,” the huntsman laughed scornfully.
“I figure chances are pretty good you’re just a drifter who ran across this girl the
same as me, but trying to rape her here was piss-poor planning. I’ll be sure to nail
her once for you, too, though. Now run along to hell.” And, saying that, he threw
the girl down in the opposite direction from the carriage and took the high-caliber
gunpowder-rifle in his left hand.

“Wait just a—” Mashira started to say, but with an explosive bang like a hammer striking
steel plate an enormous hole opened right in the middle of his heart. His hunched
body was thrown back over six feet. A scream rose from the girl, and the air was clouded
by a vermilion mist.

“Okay, now to deal with you,” the huntsman chortled. “After I’ve had my share of fun
with you, I’ll drag you back to town for everyone to see.” And with that the huntsman
turned around, and an alarmed expression arose on his face. The girl’s face had been
flooded by a look of sheer terror. Following the path her eyes had taken, now it was
the huntsman who froze.

Mashira was coming toward them. Covered with blood, a gaping hole in his chest where
he’d taken the high-caliber shell. There was no need to see how his eyes had lost
their light when the bloodless face was that of a corpse. The way he walked was strangely
stiff. Almost as if it was something he wasn’t accustomed to doing . . . The huntsman
shouted something. His rifle seemed to howl in response.

Mashira’s head exploded like a watermelon. It may well have been that his steps became
swifter at that point because his load had just been made that much lighter.

The huntsman couldn’t move. The nerves that drove his body had withered to nothing
when the rifle he placed so much stock in had proved ineffective.

The hands of the headless man reached out and grabbed hold of the huntsman’s powerful
shoulders. “You know, I was just getting used to this body. Now I’ll take yours, you
bastard.” There wasn’t even time to notice how this voice so unlike Mashira’s reverberated
from his belly before something like a brown tube sank into the huntsman’s abdomen,
rising from the same spot on the walking corpse. Several seconds passed. For the girl,
it was a nightmarish eternity.

“Heh heh heh—the transfer is complete,” the voice said from his new belly. The belly
of the huntsman, that is . . .

Without wasting time to watch the headless corpse tumbling to the ground, the girl,
who’d long since reached her limit of horror, gave a scream and dashed off into the
forest. Though the huntsman followed her with his eyes, for some reason he didn’t
set out after her. “There’s no use in her trying to run,” he snickered, “but I only
gave her
a little of me
, so we’re not quite ready to start either. Guess I might as well have myself a little
game of hide-and-seek,” he muttered, starting after her at a brisk pace.

—

When the last scrap of canned beef had been safely tucked away in his stomach, Kyle
threw the empty can into the street. The cylinder rustled hollowly for several bounces
and then, as it hung in the air on another, a silvery flash of light split it in two
before zipping back to Kyle’s waist.

It was the main street of the ghost town. Kyle was sitting on the edge of the boardwalk
that jutted from the front of the saloon. When rain soaked streets like these, the
mire could be difficult for pedestrians to negotiate.

Parked in front of the drugstore, the bus opened its door and Borgoff stuck his head
out. He seemed on edge.

“What do you wanna do, bro?” Kyle asked, getting to his feet.

Borgoff made a concerned face. “Grove’s had another attack,” he said, looking up at
the heavens. “A real bad one this time. His heart might not be able to take it.”

“That ain’t good. We still might need him to do his stuff one more time if something
comes up.” With a snort of laughter, he added, “Maybe me and Leila went at it a little
too hot and heavy for him.”

“You moron,” Borgoff bellowed, his face severe, but he soon folded his arms and donned
a morose expression. “Of course, you probably ain’t far wrong. I mean, we knew it
wasn’t any good for his health to force him to send his other self out like that,”
he muttered. “Anyway, let’s roll,” said Kyle. “We’ll lose the daylight if we hang
around here waiting for freaking Leila. The Noble’s making better time than we figured.”

“Yep,” Borgoff replied, but his face was dark.

This cruel clan had always managed to take care of not only the prey they stalked,
but their competitors as well. But now they’d lost their brother Nolt, Leila hadn’t
returned, and even bedridden Groveck hovered near death.

Leila’s failure to return didn’t necessarily mean she’d been slain, but, in light
of the strength of their foes, the brothers couldn’t be sure. Worse yet, Borgoff harbored
another fear about his little sister. That she’d fallen for D.

When they’d picked their sister up after she’d been injured in her first engagement
with the Noble, every chunk of shrapnel had already been pulled out of her, and Leila
was resting peacefully. They’d asked who’d patched her up, but she said she couldn’t
remember. It sure as hell wasn’t the Noble. Which meant it had to be D. In fact, there
were signs two other people had clashed near where they’d found Leila. She hadn’t
made any mention of that. But, given his sister’s temperament, it wasn’t inconceivable
she’d keep it to herself. D was someone they were going to take out, after all. The
fact that he’d saved her life would be nothing but pure humiliation.

However, Leila didn’t seem in the least bit mortified. And that was just the start.
Her expression was pained even while they strategized together, and she seemed strangely
tired. Their clan wasn’t so soft they’d make a big deal out of that, but her condition
seemed to have nothing to do with physical exhaustion. Considering all the facts,
Borgoff realized she’d only exhibited these signs whenever they discussed what to
do about D. Putting two and two together, he thought,
Bingo!

But in his heart of hearts, there was one thought Borgoff couldn’t get rid of, peerless
Vampire Hunter though he was—the question of whether it was really D that’d saved
Leila after all. At that point, D must’ve known for a fact that the Marcus clan should
be considered his enemy. By all accounts, he wasn’t the kind of man to go easy on
any armed opponent, woman or not. Even if half of what people said about D’s abilities,
his battles, and the list of foes he’d slain could be discounted as idle talk, the
remainder was enough to send icy fingers up the nape of Borgoff’s neck.
He of all people had saved Leila?
Borgoff found that hard to believe. And that’s why he hadn’t tried to stop his sister
from going out on reconnaissance that morning.