Vampire Hunter D: Raiser of Gales

by Hideyuki Kikuchi

  “Well, I don’t know about that,” Nolt said wryly, being more philosophical than the youngest boy. “We’re talking about a guy that fended off your crescent blade, after all.”

  While Kyle was surely glaring at the second oldest, Nolt’s eyes glimmered. “A horse . . . I wouldn’t have thought it possible.”

  Kyle was at a loss for words. Surely enough, the sound of iron-shod hooves was approaching from the depths of the same forest from which the two of them had just emerged. “It was no problem for us because we knew a shortcut. But that son of a bitch . . . ”

  Just as the two were exchanging glances, a horse and rider appeared from part of the forest below them, knifing through the darkness. Making a smooth break for the road, the figure struck them as being darker than the blackness.

  “It’s him alright,” said Nolt.

  “He ain’t getting away,” Kyle shot back.

  There was a loud smack at the flanks of the pair’s mounts, and hooves were soon kicking up the sod.

  With intense energy they pursued the black-clad silhouette. The way he raced, he seemed a demon of the night, almost impossible to catch.

  “We got orders from Borgoff. Don’t try nothing funny.” Nolt’s voice flew at Kyle’s back, riding about a length ahead of him.

  They couldn’t let D get too far away, but, on the other hand, they were told not to do anything rash like attack him. This Borgoff had ordered in the sternest tone they’d ever heard from him.

  But for all that, the flames of malice burned in Kyle’s breast. It wasn’t simply that he had the wildest and most atrocious nature of all his siblings. His lethal crescent blade attack had been warded off by D. For a young man with faith in strength alone, the humiliation was intolerable. What he felt toward D had surpassed hatred and become nothing less than pure murderous intent.

  Kyle’s right hand went for the crescent blade at his waist.

  But, however much Kyle wanted to start a fight, they just couldn’t catch up.

  They should have been closing the gap on D—he didn’t seem to be riding any faster than they were—but the distance between them was increasing. The brothers were rapidly falling farther and farther behind.

  “Son of a bitch,” Kyle screamed. Even as he put more power behind the kicks to his horse, his foe still dashed away, the tail of his black coat fluttering in the breeze he left, shrinking to the size of a pea and then vanishing from their field of view. “Dammit. Goddamn freak!”

  Giving up and bringing his horse to a halt, Kyle trained his flaming pupils on the point in the road that had swallowed the shadowy figure.

  “We ride all night, only to have this happen in the end . . . ” Nolt’s tone was bitter as well. “From the looks of it, we’re never gonna catch up to him by normal means. Let’s wait here for Borgoff to show up.”

  -

  Around him, the wind swirled.

  His hair streamed out, and the wide brim of the traveler’s hat seemed to flow like ink. The silver flecks crumbling dreamlike against his refined brow and graceful nose were moonlight. Though the air already wore a tinge of blue, the moonlight reflected in his gaze shone as brightly as in the blackest of nights. While it was possible for a specially modified cyborg horse to gallop along at an average speed of about sixty miles per hour, the speed they were riding put that to shame.

  What can be said about a rider who could work such magic on an average steed?

  The road dwindled into the distant flatness of the plain.

  Without warning, the rider pulled back on the reins. The horse’s forequarters swung widely to the right, while the sudden stop by the forelegs kicked up gravel and dirt. This rather intense method of braking was not so much mesmerizing as it was mildly unsettling.

  Once again, the moonlight fell desolately on the rider’s shoulders and back.

  Without a sound, the black-clad figure got to the ground. Bending down, he patiently scrutinized lines in the dirt and gravel, but he soon stood bolt upright and turned his face toward the nearby stand of trees.

  This person, possessed of such beauty it seemed to make the moonlight bashful to be around him, was none other than D.

  “So, this is where they left the usual route then. What’s he up to?” Muttering in a way that seemed less a question than a statement, he mounted his horse and galloped toward the tree line.

  After he disappeared into the trees, all that remained was the moonlight starkly illuminating the narrow road and the distant echo of hoofbeats, fading to nothing in no time at all.

  The moon alone knew that some six hours earlier a driver in black coming down the road had changed the direction of his carriage in that very spot. Had D discerned the tracks of that particular carriage from all the ruts left by the number of electric buses and other vehicles that passed over the road by day?

  Shortly thereafter the moon fused with the pale sky, and in its place the sun rose.

  Before the sun reached its zenith, D and his steed, who’d been galloping all the while, broke out of another in an endless progression of forests. They halted once again.

  The ground before him had been wildly disturbed. This was the spot where the carriage had lost a wheel and rolled.

  Starting out a full twenty-four hours late, D had caught up in half a day. Of course, it was the fate of the Nobility to sleep while the sun was high, and the Marcus clan was still far behind him. The speed and precision of the pursuit by the mount and rider was frightening.

  But where had the carriage gone?

  Without getting off his horse, D glanced at the overturned soil, then gave a light kick to his mount’s flanks.

  They headed for a small hill at a gradual pace, quite a change from the speed they had been galloping.

  It was a mound of dirt that really couldn’t be called a hill, but it gave D the perspective he needed. Standing atop it looking down, D’s eyes were greeted by the sudden appearance of a structure that was quite out of place.

  It looked like a huge steel box, with a width and height of more than ten feet and a length of easily thirty. In the brilliant sunlight that poured down, the black surface threw off blinding flames.

  This was the Shelter the Noble in black had mentioned.

  Immortal though the vampires might be, they still had to sleep by day. While their scientific prowess had spawned various antidotes for sunlight, they never succeeded in conquering the hellish pain that came when their whole body was exposed to the sunlight. The agony of cells blazing one by one, flesh and blood putrefying, every bodily system dissolving—even the masters of the earth were still forced to submit to the limitations of their biology.

  -

  Though the vampires had reached the point where their bodies wouldn’t be destroyed, many of the test subjects subjected to more than ten minutes of direct sunlight were driven insane by the pain. Those exposed for even five minutes were left crippled, their regenerative abilities destroyed. And, no matter what treatment they later received, they never recovered.

  But, in the Nobility’s age of prosperity, that had mattered little.

  Superspeed highways wound to every distant corner of the Frontier, linear motor cars and the like formed a transportation grid that boasted of completely accident-free operation, and the massive energy production facilities erected in and around the Capital constantly provided buses and freight cars that mimicked those of ancient times, but with an infinite store of energy.

  And then the decline began.

  At the hands of the surging tide of humanity, all that the Nobility had constructed was destroyed piece by piece, reducing the Nobles’ civilization to ruins. Even the power plants with their perfect defense systems collapsed before mankind’s tenacious millennia-spanning assault.

  While the situation wasn’t so dire in metropolitan areas, Nobility in the Frontier sectors were stripped of all means of transportation. Though there were many in the Nobility who’d expected this day would come and had established transportation networks in
the sectors they controlled, they eventually lost the enthusiasm and the desire to maintain the networks themselves.

  Even now, silver rails ran through prairies damp with the mists of dawn, and somewhere in colossal subterranean tunnels lay the skeletons of automated ultrafast hovercrafts.

  Before carriages became the sole means of transportation, accidents due to power outages or the failure of radar control occurred frequently.

  To the humans, who had taken the scientific weapons of the Nobility and could penetrate the vehicular defenses with armaments they had devised on their own, Nobles in transit were the ideal prey. It helped that the Nobles were immobilized by day.

  Due to the intense demand from the Frontier, the Nobles’ government in the Capital constructed special defensive structures at strategic locations along their transportation network.

  These were the Shelters.

  Though their special steel plating was only a fraction of an inch thick, it could withstand a direct hit from a small nuclear device. In addition, there was a vast array of defensive mechanisms to dispose of any of the human insects who might be buzzing around with stakes and hammers in hand.

  But, what made these shelters perfect, more than anything else, was one simple thing.

  “There’s no entrance?” D muttered from atop his horse.

  Exactly. The jet-black walls that reflected the white radiance didn’t have so much as a hair-sized crack.

  Looking up at the heavens, D silently started down the hill.

  The pleasant vernal temperature aside, the sunlight that ruthlessly scorched him was unparalleled agony for a dhampir like D. Dhampirs alone could battle with the Nobility on equal terms by night, but to earn the title of Vampire Hunter, they needed the strength to remain impassive in the blistering hell the daylight hours could be.

  As D drew closer, it seemed the surrounding air bore an almost imperceptible groan, but that soon scattered in the sunlight.

  At D’s breast, his pendant glowed ever bluer. It was a mysterious hue that rendered all of the Nobility’s electronic armaments inoperable.

  Dismounting in front of the sheer black wall, D put his right hand to the steel. A chilling sensation spread through him. The temperature was probably unique to this special steel. Perhaps it was because, to render the exterior of this structure impervious to all forms of heat or electronic waves, molecular motion was altered.

  D’s hand glided slowly across the smooth surface.

  Finishing the front wall, he moved to the right side. It took thirty minutes to run his hand over that side.

  “Sheesh,” said a voice of unmatched boredom. The voice came from between the steel and the palm of his hand. The voice sighed, and D moved to the back wall. If there’d been anyone there to hear it, this bizarre little scene would have undoubtedly made the eyes bug out of their head, but D continued his work in silence.

  “Yep, this metal sure is tough stuff. The situation inside is kind of hazy. Still, I’m getting a picture of the general setup. The superatomic furnace inside is sending energy into the metal itself. You can’t break through the walls without destroying the atomic furnace, but, in order to do that, you’d have to bust through the walls first. So, which came first, the chicken or the egg?”

  “How many are inside?” D asked, still brushing along the wall.

  “Two,” came the quick reply. “A man and a woman. But even I can’t tell whether they’re Nobility or human.”

  Without so much as a nod, D finished feeling over the back wall.

  Only the left side remained.

  But what in the world was he doing? Judging from what the voice said, he seemed to be searching the interior of the Shelter, but if the outer walls couldn’t be breached, that was pointless. On the other hand, the voice explained that destroying the outer walls would be impossible.

  About halfway down the steel wall, the left hand halted.

  “Got it,” the voice said disinterestedly.

  D wasted no time going into action. Without removing his left hand from the Shelter wall, he took a step back, reaching with his right for the sword sheathed on his back. The blade seemed to drink up the sunlight.

  Drawing his sword far back, D focused his eyes on a single point on the wall. A spot between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand.

  But what had they discovered? The instant an awesome white bloodlust coalesced between the naked sword tip and the steel, a pale light pierced the black wall.

  It was D’s sword that streamed forth. Regardless of how trenchant that thrust might be, there was no way it could penetrate the special steel of the outer walls. Be that as it may, the graceful arc sank halfway into the unyielding metal wall.

  That’s where the entrance was. His blade was wedged in the boundary between door and wall, though that line was imperceptible to the naked eye. With the mysterious power of his left hand, D had located it, then thrust into it. Granted that there was a space there, how could the tip of his sword slip into an infinitesimal gap?

  “Wow!” The voice that said this came not from the interior, but rather from D’s left hand. “Now here’s a surprise. One of them is human.”

  D’s expression shifted faintly. “Do they have Time-Bewitching Incense?” he asked. That was a kind of incense the Nobility had devised to give day the illusion it was night.

  “I don’t know, but the other one’s not moving. A dead man, at least by day.”

  “The girl’s okay then?” D muttered. Most likely she’d been bitten at least once, but, even if that were the case, destroying the one responsible would restore her humanity. But why then did a dark shadow skim for an instant across D’s features?

  The muscles of the hand he wrapped around the hilt bulged slowly. It’s unclear what kind of exquisite skill was at work, but the slightest twist of the horizontal blade sent a sharp thin line racing across the steel surface.

  Blue light oozed out.

  D immediately ceased all activity. Silently, he turned his face to the rear. His cold pupils were devoid of any emotion.

  “Earlier than I expected,” the voice said. “And not who I expected at all.”

  Presently, the faint growl of an engine approached from the forest, and then a crimson figure leapt over the crest of the hill.

  Raising a cacophony, it was a single-seat battle car that stopped right at the bottom of the slope.

  The vehicle was an oblong iron plate set on four grotesquely oversized puncture-proof tires, crammed with a high-capacity atomic engine and some controls. The product of humans who got their hands on some of the Nobility’s machinery, its outward appearance was a far cry from what the average person might call aesthetically pleasing. An energy pipe with conspicuous welding marks twisted like a snake from the rear-mounted engine to a core furnace shielded by studded iron plate, and the simple barlike steering yoke jutted artlessly from the floor. Churning in the air like the legs of a praying mantis, the pistons connected to the tires were covered with a black grime that came from the vehicle’s harmless radioactive waste.

  But perhaps what warranted more attention than the appearance of the vehicle was it armaments and its driver. Looming large from the right flank of the rear-mounted engine was the barrel of a seventy-millimeter recoilless bazooka, staring blackly at D, while on the other side, the left, a circular twenty-millimeter missile pod glowered at empty space. The missiles were equipped with body-heat seekers, and naught save certain death awaited their prey. Finally, mounted ominously atop the core furnace, exhibiting a muzzle that looked like it had a blue jewel set in the middle of it, was the penetrator—a cannon with grave piercing power.

  Yet, despite the fact that it had a lot of heavy equipment not found on the average battle car, judging from the size of the core furnace and engine, this vehicle could easily be pressed for speeds of seventy-five miles per hour. It would run safely on ninety-nine percent of all terrain, and, thanks to its three-quarter-inch wire suspension, it could be driven on even the worst of
roads. It raced across the ground, a miniature behemoth.

  A figure in crimson rose from the driver’s seat and jerked a pair of sturdy goggles off. Blue eyes that seemed ablaze took in D. Blonde hair lent its golden hue to the wind. It was Leila, the younger sister of the Marcus clan.

  “So, we meet again,” the girl said.

  The animosity radiating from every inch of her made her vermilion coverall blaze in the sunlight. Her body, jolting to the incessant groaning of the engine, seemed to twitch with loathing.

  “You might’ve thought you beat my older brothers just fine, but as long as I’m around you can’t steal a march on the Marcus clan. Seems I ran into you at just the right spot. Is my prey in there?” This girl referred to the Nobility as her prey. She spat the words with a self-confidence and hostility that was beyond the pale.

  D continued to stand there, sword in hand, like a sculpture.

  “Out of my way,” Leila said. The tone was that of an order. “It was unfortunate for my prey that they had nothing but this broken Shelter, and fortunate for you, but now I’ll be taking that good fortune, thank you. If you value your life, you’d best turn tail now.”

  “And if I don’t value it, what’ll you do?”

  D’s soft voice caused a shade of vermilion every bit as vivid as her raiment to shoot into her face.

  “How’s that? You seriously want to tangle with Leila Marcus and her battle car?”

  “I have two lives. Take whichever one you like. That is, if you can.”

  The serene voice—unchanged since the first time they’d met—made Leila fall silent. The tomboy hesitated.

  She hadn’t realized yet that the blade piercing the wall of the Shelter had done so due to D’s secret skill alone. From the very start, it never crossed her mind that anything alive could perform such a feat. Still unaware of D’s true power, the hesitation on Leila’s part was born of movements in her heart to which she was yet oblivious.