But where had the torture chamber’s previous occupants—Strider and Stanza—vanished to? And what had become of the person whose presence the Hunter had sensed as he’d approached?
—
Even now, every room and corridor was reclaiming the splendor and dignity of the Nobility’s appointments. The whole place seemed to glow. A manse built from gold and marble and jewels, it was truly the residence of a Noble. There was no sign of soldiers on the upper floors. This was a place for history’s chosen ones.
D advanced down a broad corridor. At the far end, an enormous door was visible. This was the resting place of the lord of the castle—Grand Duke Dorleac. Moonlight poured down from the ceiling, but it wasn’t actually from the moon. Rather, the moon’s glow and hue were being replicated by superadvanced lighting panels. Beneath them was darkness in human form—a young man made of darkness.
When the Hunter was still fifty yards from the door, footsteps could be heard behind him, and a voice called out, “Hey! You there!”
The speaker’s deep purple cape drifted elegantly. This was the same young man who’d identified himself as Grand Duke Dorleac’s son back in his subterranean resting place—Drago. Perhaps the Nobleman realized D wasn’t about to halt, because his face was distorted by wrath, and the right half of his cape spread like something out of a dream, forming a purple wall in front of D.
“I don’t know who you are, but when you enter someone’s house, you would do well to acknowledge the son of the master. Are you an assassin sent by the lowly humans?”
“I suppose you could say that.”
“I applaud your honesty. But you should relent. Your task is impossible with only one hand. Besides, today I shall slay my father.”
“Dorleac had only one son—would your name be Drago?”
“Dear me! You’re not at all like the muscle-bound clods who came through here before. So, you know my name? But—” Drago licked his unnaturally red lips. His eyes were damp with rapture. “My, you are an incredibly dashing fellow. Are you, perchance, a dhampir?”
“Yes.”
“I thought as much. In that case, are you here for my father, or me?”
“For Nobles.”
“Both of us? Aren’t you the confident one!” Drago said, bending backward with laughter. “Of course, I just finished doing battle underground with someone who shares his body with a dead man. I underestimated him, and paid dearly for it. I won’t be so lax with you. Be at ease. I shall be the one to slay my father.”
“Why are you fighting?”
“Because my father constantly interferes.”
The Hunter said nothing.
“In short, I view human beings as a malignant tumor, unfit to live. So I decided to wake the dead from their graves and make them mercenaries so that they might go out and wage war on the human scum. This was some five thousand years ago,” Drago said, a distant look in his eyes. “The order and grace of the Nobility yet remained in the world. It was a good time. Every night I danced at balls, sharing my thoughts with my friends and lovely ladies. Human beings were insignificant bugs, not even worthy of discussion. However, it would seem that history is sickeningly unfair. In no time, the Nobility faded, and the lowly insects came to predominate. And so I made a weapon to deal with them and the mercenaries.”
“You mean the gas that controls human beings?”
This time, it was Drago’s face that was etched with astonishment as he said, “Just a moment—who told you that? That project was conducted under the utmost secrecy. It makes a human fight a copy of himself. Just the tiniest amount of gas is enough. Is there anyone in the world who would cut himself down? While he hesitates, he’s killed by his own illusion. And that is how the world will oh so easily be returned to the hands of the Nobility. The sole drawback is that it isn’t effective on humans with powerful self-destructive urges and those who don’t identify with themselves, but that’s unavoidable.”
“And Grand Duke Dorleac opposed this?” D asked, his brain conjuring up an image of the fiend who’d sucked the life from the mercenaries. It was difficult to imagine him bothering to stop a slaughter. “Why would he stop you?”
“Apparently he had orders from an esteemed personage,” Baronet Drago replied, and at that moment, he backed away. D’s eyes were shining. It was enough to terrify even a soul that’d risen after more than five thousand years.
“Now I see,” the exquisite assassin said. “I see it all.”
“Really?” Now it was Baronet Drago’s turn to ask the questions. “Who in the world are you? And why would that esteemed personage interfere with me? Kindly tell me, if you know.”
“Well, that bastard was a bit unusual. Sometimes he did strange things. I don’t think even he knows whether it was for good or for ill. Not even now.”
“Hey! Did you just call him a bastard?” Drago said, true rage in his voice.
There was something that ignited the anger of any Noble when even the worst insults failed: to call the source of their race a bastard.
D’s upper body dipped. The blade that stretched from the lining of the Nobleman’s cape missed the Hunter’s neck by a hair, and D’s sword sank deep into the cape.
The face staring at D with such intensity lost all its determination at that moment.
“In my youth, I once saw a portrait of the Great One,” the baronet said, his voice trembling and dazed. He was like a believer who’d seen God. “It can’t be . . . Milord . . . It’s not possible . . .”
Suddenly the cape returned to his back.
“Beyond that door is my father,” he said in a weary tone. “I should like to postpone this for five minutes longer. After that, I will be only too glad to face you. Until now, I never once entertained any thoughts of possible defeat, and now that I’ve met you—or, to be more precise, after seeing the Great One, I can’t help thinking that this must indeed be providence,” Drago said, smiling faintly.
“Five minutes,” D said.
“Oh, then you’re amenable? You have my thanks. Perhaps it wasn’t providence that sent you here, but part of the Great One’s plan.”
“Where’s the gas?” D inquired.
“Underground. Should I not return, do with it as you like.”
Before the figure in the purple cape, the heavy door opened, and then closed again. What was he doing in there? Perhaps this question crossed D’s mind. Perhaps there was even someone who might’ve answered it. However, he was alone. The figure in the moonlight-showered corridor was beautiful. Far too beautiful.
WHO GETS TO GO?
CHAPTER 9
—
I
—
Once the door had shut behind Drago, calm immediately filled his heart. Had the Hunter tried to force his way inside, the baronet would’ve been powerless to stop him.
Surrounded by luxurious paintings, sculptures, and carpets, a white coffin sat in the center of the room, and beside it a figure in a green cape was seated in a golden chair.
“So, you’ve come, Drago?” said Grand Duke Dorleac, his green eyes gazing gently on his son. The arm D had taken from him was now restored. It was probably a cyborg limb.
“As you can see,” the baronet replied. “Just now, I ran into someone in the hall. The Great One.”
“Ridiculous. And yet, it’s not completely out of the question. Since my castle returned to life, I’ve constantly felt the Great One’s presence. Even five millennia later, must I still answer to him?”
“Indeed,” said Drago, his expression one of amazement. “It was he who forced you to interfere with me, Father, and later made us adversaries. I don’t hate you for that. However, I can’t forgive the way you handed over Mother, no matter how grand the cause.”
“Those were my orders.”
“Mother never did return, and rumor has it she was used in experiments any Noble would find abhorrent.”
“Enough!”
“You may act as wounded as you like now, but that won�
��t bring her back! For the sake of my mother, who died in pain and humiliation, I shall slay my father, and then lay waste to the world of man.”
“That runs contrary to his will. I’ll stop you, Drago!”
“I fully expect you to try. One other thing, Father,” Drago said, turning his head ever so slightly toward the corridor. “What I encountered wasn’t an illusion. Nor was it merely his presence.”
“What?”
That stunned instant was precisely what the Nobleman’s son had been waiting for. The grand duke was suddenly enveloped by purple, and the blades that thrust out from all sides pierced his body. Reaching out his hands, the grand duke tried to catch hold of his son. As his arms were sliced off at the elbow and fell to the floor, Dorleac shuddered from head to toe, coughing up bright blood.
“That was quicker than I expected, Father,” Drago said, smiling sadly. “You gave Mother as an offering to the Great One. And he sided with the filthy humans. I want you to understand why I did these things.”
The baronet’s cape opened and returned to its normal shape, while the grand duke’s body collapsed to the floor as if it’d been waiting to do so all along.
Baronet Drago was headed for the door when he halted and turned, saying, “Next, I shall do battle with the Great One. Here’s hoping we meet again in the hereafter at some point. I suspect we’re both going to the same place.”
Heading toward the door again, he turned for a second time.
A green globe had glided into the air.
“Not through yet?” Drago said, meeting the threat head on.
The globe closed on him.
The purple cape spread like gigantic wings.
—
The sound of the great door opening echoed down the corridor. D gazed at the figure revealed by the moonlight.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” the young Nobleman told him.
D’s right hand went for the hilt of his sword. He didn’t inquire how the battle with Dorleac had turned out. The only thing he had to offer the man who’d returned as promised was the fight they’d agreed upon.
Drago spread his cape as if there was nothing that could’ve pleased him more.
“There’s one thing you should know,” the baronet said, purple chaos whirling behind him. “Even if you should slay me in this battle, the mercenaries won’t be destroyed. Each side will fight to the last man, spreading slaughter across the entirety of the Frontier. And no one can stop that.” A smile split his lips, revealing glittering white fangs. “He was a great father.”
D dashed through the moonlight. As he barreled through it, the glittering moonlight changed shape and watched him go, at times like a fog, at times like mica.
A wall of purple met D’s blade. Making a horizontal slash, D poised himself for a thrust. Stark streaks of light flew to the Hunter’s left and to his right, in front of him and behind him. Parrying some and dodging others, D made his thrust. Drago’s heart would lie at the end of it.
The Hunter felt his blade pierce fabric. Drago’s cape was folded, layer upon layer, making a wall to ward off the blow.
“Can you see me?” Drago inquired.
D’s entire field of view was filled by writhing purple fabric.
“I see you.”
“What?” the frozen Nobleman exclaimed, and at the zenith of his astonishment, D bounded. The wall of purple spread before him, and a naked blade shot from it. Not bothering to parry it, D swung his sword home. He could feel only too well as it split his foe’s skull.
As it came drifting down, the purple wall dissolved into the moonlight. The tall figure reeled, like a dancer thrown off balance.
“Well done! I should expect no less from the Great One.”
As he watched the bright blood swiftly soaking his opponent’s face and chest, D said something strange: “That wasn’t my sword.”
As if yanked backward on a line, Drago tumbled against the great door, using it to pull himself upright. His cape sailed up. Beneath it, his chest was gone. In its place, there was a hole the size of his head. The carvings on the great door behind him were visible through the gap. Grand Duke Dorleac’s ball of energy had dealt a critical wound.
The light was swiftly fading from the baronet’s eyes. Reaching out one hand as if seeking something, he said, “Please . . . give me back my mother.”
And with that he collapsed. By the time he hit the floor, he was half dust. It streamed through the blue light like an ashen fog. There must have been a breeze.
As D gazed at the dust, weariness clung to his features like a shadow.
“So, I look like him?” the Hunter said, but it was unclear if the words were intended for the departed or someone else.
D’s gaze fell on the great door. His sword was in his right hand. And the doorway was producing another shadowy figure.
“So, you are here, are you?” Grand Duke Dorleac said with a certain heartfelt emotion. Not a drop of blood remained on the body that’d been so badly perforated. “I sensed something out on the battlefield. Are you the esteemed personage of whom my son spoke?”
“Your son is gone. What will you do?”
“I rose from the dead to guard against my son’s actions. I no longer have any business in this world.”
The Hunter said nothing.
The grand duke’s vermilion lips formed a smile, bringing white fangs into view.
“But being a Noble, there’s something I must do: rule over the humans.”
“Were those your Sacred Ancestor’s orders?”
“No, the Sacred Ancestor forbade even threatening the humans. What I shall do next will run contrary to his lofty intentions.”
“So, you’ve come to pity your son?”
The grand duke’s eyes were ablaze. A fiery ball of death shot from his mouth, streaking toward D. The arc of the Hunter’s sword split it in two. Simultaneously an explosion occurred, and D was physically blown back.
“It’s not just human energy. Didn’t you see my mobile collector that takes in all kinds of life?”
Blue waves of electromagnetism enveloped D’s chest. Or rather, they were chaotic flames of life energy.
Narrowing his eyes, the grand duke looked at D. “Oh, that’s right. You’re injured, aren’t you? It would appear my son took a toll on you.” The Nobleman then donned an expression as if he’d suddenly realized something, continuing, “Ah, but your skill should be far beyond my son’s. I see. You let him do that on purpose, didn’t you?”
D’s knees shook. The grand duke’s attack seemed to be scorching him to the very marrow, and the left hand that could’ve negated it wasn’t there to help him.
“As his parent, I should probably thank you for that, but of course you’re no more than a filthy bounty hunter out to take our lives. I must dismiss my son’s words as mere misgivings before battle.”
The Nobleman’s mouth opened, revealing a deep green glow.
D had his sword at the ready, too. Despite the hopeless agony he was in, he hadn’t lost a whit of his will to fight. The Hunter kicked off the ground.
His features forming a grin that was the picture of malevolence, the grand duke launched the flaming sphere of death at D’s chest. Leaving his still-flaming body exposed to the swelling sphere of fire, D hurled his longsword as if it were a throwing knife.
The grand duke had plenty of time. He launched a second flaming sphere at the blade. The flames welled up, forming an immovable shield.
Piercing this shield, the sword sank into the chest of the still-smiling grand duke. As his body snapped back, he screamed out a death rattle.
“Wh—what strength is this?” Dorleac sputtered. “It can’t be. Tell me it’s not you . . . milord . . .”
His words were heard by the blazing figure in black. The flames then vanished like water seeping into the ground as D’s body absorbed them. A ferocious glow resided in the Hunter’s dark eyes.
“You . . . drank blood . . .”
D’s lips were damp
with crimson. Just before hurling his longsword, he’d bitten open the inside of his mouth and drunk the blood. That was why his sword had pierced the deadly fireball.
“But I’m not destroyed yet . . . The power that flows through me is that of the Sacred Ancestor.”
“Why did the Sacred Ancestor bring the two of you back to life?” D asked as black smoke rose from his chest, cuffs, and back.
“Five thousand years ago . . . when my son and I did battle and we both were slain, the Sacred Ancestor was battling a group of Nobles who’d started an insurrection. They had taken my son in and promised to revive him after his death, so he might paint the human world pitch black five millennia later. Learning of this, the Sacred Ancestor told me he would resurrect me at the same time, and ordered me to put an end to my son. You see, I was told that I was responsible for my son’s rebellion.”
“And that meant the two of you had to cross swords again?”
“Enough talk. Face me once more, you who have the power of the Sacred Ancestor!”
Twisting his upper body, Grand Duke Dorleac started to rush forward, the sword still stuck in him. But ahead, a man and a woman appeared from the great corridor to the right. It was Stanza and Strider, the same two warriors who’d been exposed to the unearthly gas that lingered in the torture chamber. While it was unclear where they’d been or what they’d been doing, they wore the expressions of those who gaze upon nothingness.
“Your job is finished, grand duke!” said Strider. It was Strider’s voice, but that’s not who was there. “No other action is called for. Return to the darkness from which the Great One brought you.”
The grand duke laughed, his voice dripping with blood. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. I realize something only now. My son was correct. Crushing the humans underfoot and savoring their blood is the only way for a Noble to live! I intend to follow through on my son’s wishes.”
Perhaps it was the same will that’d allowed him to destroy his own son that made the grand duke gnash his fangs, his rather contemplative visage flushing with an undirected rage. He unleashed a fireball like he was spitting up a gout of blood.
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