A REPORT FROM THE DEMON CASTLE
CHAPTER 1
I
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The ash gray clouds piled up so heavy and low they nearly touched the ground, and from time to time the purple luminescence became a thin thread stitching heaven and earth together. And each time it did, a section of the ether glowed faintly, the light fading in hue as it spread in the distance, and then vanishing again in no time. Then another section did the same. This time closer.
The light beyond the window gave General Gaskell’s face the pale glow of a saint’s.
Turning, Gaskell said, “Welcome. I’ve been waiting for you.”
Luxurious was the only way to describe the reception hall, where no expense had been spared. If an artist or archaeologist from the Capital could see it, they’d cling to the intricate wall carvings and never let go for as long as they lived.
“Such was the agreement. I’m ever so grateful to have been brought back to life,” Baron Schuma said, his tone somewhat sarcastic as he raised the wineglass he held. “So, have the others arrived yet?”
“They’re all here. You, sir, are the last of my guests.”
“My apologies. So, when is the party where you introduce us all?”
“There won’t be one.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re fond of parties, are you?”
“Why, yes.”
The baron’s crestfallen reply brought a grin from the general.
Baron Schuma wanted to gasp aloud, but he desperately fought it back. When he first saw the general, his height and the breadth of his shoulders had seemed mountainous, but now he was normal size. But as a result, his impact had increased a hundredfold. On the right half of his face was a mask of silvery steel. While battling an expeditionary force from the Capital, he’d become too enamored of the slaughter and failed to notice the coming of dawn, and as a result half of his face was exposed to light shining from between the clouds. Though there was no choice but to read his atrocious nature from the remaining half of his countenance, there was no need to even observe that for long. Just a glance made it perfectly clear. His sharply rising eyes brimmed with malevolence, his nose was curved like an eagle’s beak, and the lips below it were so thick they looked like they alone would be enough to gnaw through bone. The occasionally glimpsed fangs seemed to have enough force to stop a monster in its tracks.
“My esteemed guests won’t be meeting face to face as long as you are in my castle, or even after your goal has been achieved.”
“Why is that?”
“Because there is nothing I loathe so much as a conspiracy.”
The baron’s lips formed a grin of surprise—and irony.
Whether the general noticed that or not, he continued in the same fierce tone, “All of you have been revived and have come here due to promises made in life. Your power must be focused against our foe. However, once that’s been done, what proof do I have that all of you won’t join forces?”
“For what?”
“To destroy me and take my territory and my power.”
“But that’s—”
“Don’t tell me that’s wild speculation, Baron,” the general said, his lips twisting to leave his fangs exposed. It would’ve been enough to give a child a heart attack.
Spinning his black cape around, he stretched his right hand toward the window. Lightning flashed again.
“Where did it fall this time? Most likely near the Hunter called D. That’s probably where he is.”
“He’s something else,” the baron said, his expression growing serious. For he had squared off against D.
“There are seven Nobles to face him—that is no small number. Each is exceptionally powerful. And all of them have their sights set on my life, my position, and my property. Don’t look so surprised. If they weren’t so vicious, they’d be of no use to me.”
“Well, you may have something there,” the baron conceded. “But that would mean we’ll have to go against D one at a time.”
“Precisely.”
“Forgive me for asking, but has the general ever done battle with that young man?”
“No.”
“I thought not,” Schuma said, and as he nodded his head, his cold eyes never left Gaskell, piercing him. Before the general could say anything, the baron raised one hand and said, “I know what you’re going to tell me. However, all I wish to say is that having crossed steel with him once gives you an entirely different perspective. If you could sense the will he shows to slaughter, or better yet feel even the breeze off his blade with your fingertips, General, I believe your preconceptions would be wiped clean. If you are truly intent upon destroying him, you should have all of those you’ve summoned to your castle working in concert. Even then, I don’t know whether he would be defeated or not.”
Although the Nobleman thought an objection would hit him like the blast from a bomb, the general fell silent. He then quickly donned a wry grin and stared at the baron. Something cold crept up the baron’s neck.
“If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. Indeed, I have no way of knowing precisely how strong our foe is.”
“This is exactly what I would expect from General Gaskell,” the baron said, but as he bowed respectfully, his heart was filled with fear of his host.
Outside the window, lightning flashed again.
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“So, the rain came with the thirtieth, eh? Well, it’s dangerous, but there’s not much we can do about that,” Juke said, his words surviving the roar of the fierce downpour to reach the other two in the tent.
Thirty was the number of times lightning had struck.
The tent that’d been pitched beside the wagon—which was easily spacious enough to accommodate ten or more people—was of the very latest style, and it set itself up at the pull of a single cord.
“This is a hell of a situation, isn’t it? What’s this ‘drifting domain’ D’s been talking about?”
In reply to Sergei’s question, Gordo said, “I suppose it means his territory can move to and fro. So we strayed into his domain without even knowing it.”
“Then you mean to tell me we can’t get out again? No matter how far we run, his territory will move after us!”
“We’ll leave that matter to D.”
At Gordo’s reply, the eyes of all focused on the tent’s still-open door—D had gone outside to check the area around the tent. As if in response, they heard another sound echoing out beyond the noisy patter of the rain. Footsteps.
“The wire net’s been strung,” Juke said, his voice tense. “Got juice flowing through it, too. See, that’s what D said to do.”
“Those footsteps—they’re not D’s!” Gordo said, pulling the gun by his side a little closer. The click of the safety releasing rang out unpleasantly loud.
“Yeah. There’s more than one of ’em.”
As Sergei got to his feet, he carried a bulbous flamethrower in his right hand.
The group closed up the fronts of the plastic raincoats they wore and put up the hoods. Covering them up past the mouth, the suits had pressurized gas cylinders built in to supply them with oxygen. These coats were indispensable when faced with creatures that gave off radiation, or when passing through areas choked with poisonous gases.
“Here we go!”
Juke was the first one out, followed by Gordo. Sergei remained in the tent.
As soon as they stepped outside, Juke and Gordo noticed blurry figures off in the rain. There were three of them—and they were staggering closer. Women clad in rags.
Juke tried to draw up a list in his head of all the supernatural creatures that might appear on their route across the Frontier, and then stopped himself. This was General Gaskell’s domain. Everything he knew no longer applied.
“Halt!” Juke shouted when the women had come to within twenty or so feet of them.
“What’ll we do?” Gordo muttered softly.
“At any rate—halt!”
At Juke’s shout, the women stopped cold.
“Who are you?” Juke asked, drawing a bead on the second and largest of the women. From the air about her, he took it she was their leader.
“Help us!” the foremost woman cried, reaching out with both arms. Waterlogged as she was, the gesture seemed somewhat calculated.
“Sure, we’ll help you all right. Once you’ve been straight with us, that is.”
“We were locked up in that castle—Castle Gaskell. A lot of our friends are still there.”
“Why didn’t they come with you?”
“They can’t move. They’ve all been bitten.”
And as soon as she spoke, the woman swooned. All of the feelings she’d repressed had burst free at once, and the physical and psychological balance she’d barely managed to maintain collapsed completely.
“Okay—show us your throats. We don’t have any proof you girls haven’t been bitten.”
The other two brushed away the hair that clung to their skin and turned first one side of their necks and then the other to the men. The pale flesh of both was free from injury.
“Okay, you check out,” Gordo said with apparent relish. Though he didn’t know exactly who these ladies were, they were young, curvaceous, and particularly attractive, which was wonderful since they didn’t have the mark of the vampire.
“Now, come right in! Don’t be shy!” Gordo told them in a leisurely manner in keeping with his nature.
Not surprisingly, Juke ordered him, “Check out the neck of the one that fell, too.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s right,” Gordo said, quickly going over to the young woman for a look at her throat. “No freaking wounds. She’s okay, I—”
But even with these words, Juke’s expression lost none of its hardness.
“These are dangerous times. It’s easy enough to hypnotize yourself so you’ll have amnesia or take on a different personality. I’ve even heard you can make fang marks disappear,” he said.
“Then what should we do?” asked Gordo.
Still inside the tent, Sergei hadn’t made a move.
“There’s only one way to find out for sure if someone’s a vampire. And it’s easy, at that.”
“How do you do it?”
“With this!”
Juke’s hand flashed down to his belt, and a second later he pulled out something deep red. A crimson rose.
The women looked at each other.
“This is the result of the latest research in the Capital. It’s just an ordinary flower that blooms all over the place, but if anyone with Noble blood touches it, it’s supposed to wilt in seconds.”
Bending over the fallen woman, Juke set the flower down on the nape of her neck.
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II
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Thunder rang out in the distance.
It couldn’t have taken even three seconds for the crimson petals to lose their hue and wither away.
In his hand, Juke gripped a steel knife with a blade more than a foot long. As he bent over once more, he used the motion to bring down the knife at the same time.
The pale hand that shot up from below caught hold of his wrist—it was the young lady, who’d flipped over faster than the eye could follow. Her slanting eyes gave off a malevolent blood light, a pair of fangs protruded from her vermilion lips . . . and her pretty face had become that of a veritable demon.
Agony twisted Juke’s features, and from the wrist up the limb she clutched turned a deep purple.
If you get into a fight with a Noble, run. Failing that, don’t let them catch you—this saying was a perfect testimony to the brute strength they possessed. They could tear the limbs off a human in the span of a breath.
“Juke!”
“Keep your eyes on the women!” Juke yelled back, swinging the gunpowder rifle in his left hand toward his own right hand.
A roar shook the heavens, and an orange gout of flame blew away the right hand—of the woman.
Juke took a massive leap back, the gun in his left hand bellowing once more. The woman had bounded as if the pain of her right hand meant nothing, but then her head blew apart, scattering contents the same hue as those of a watermelon.
Wielding a rifle with a serious kick with just his left hand and still hitting her square in the head would’ve been a difficult feat for even an expert marksman. Juke must’ve trained till his hands bled.
“How about those two?” Juke said, his expression distorted by pain as he brought his gun to bear on the remaining women.
“Can’t say—but it looks like they’re okay,” Gordo replied.
“Come here. Scratch that—Sergei!” Juke called out, his eyes trained all the while on the women who looked frozen with fright.
Poking his head from the tent, Sergei too had a gun pointed at the visitors. Having read the situation from inside the tent was quite an accomplishment.
“Don’t take your eyes off these women. Gordo, there are some red capsules in the pouch on the back of my belt. Right near the middle. Take two and crack ’em open with your nails.”
Gordo swiftly went behind the other man and opened the flap on the pouch on his belt—it was crammed full of capsules and glass ampoules large and small. He soon located the crimson capsules. Pressing his finger down on one end of them, he pulled. Each capsule was transformed into a crimson rose. Apparently they’d undergone some manner of compression.
Without a word, Gordo threw them at the two women. Both struck them near the waist before falling. And as they fell, they decayed.
Baring their fangs, the woman attacked. Three guns belched fire. With blood streaming from where their heads had been, the women’s bodies dropped in the grass. The verdure changed to vermilion.
“Wonder if they can come back?” Gordo said.
“Their heads were taken off. Look at that!” Sergei said, pointing to where the women’s corpses were collapsing in on themselves.
“That’ll work!” he declared with a nod before adding, “Hey, Juke—what do you wanna do?”
But when Gordo turned to look, the other man’s eyes were lower than he’d expected. He raced over to Juke, who was now on his knees.
“What’s wrong?”
“My hand—”
Juke’s right hand was black and swollen. The cause was immediately apparent. The fingers of another hand were digging into his wrist—those of the woman’s severed limb.
“Goddamn freak!” Gordo spat, pulling the machete from his boot. With movements far more meticulous than would be expected from such a crude weapon, he chopped off the woman’s fingers. Though the hand fell to the ground, the fingers wouldn’t let go.
“She’s a persistent bitch, ain’t she?” Gordo said, wiping the sweat from his brow.
“Would you let me handle this?” Sergei said, having silently observed the situation up until now. He had a look in his eyes like he was watching something freakish.
“Is there anything that can be done?”
“I read something in a book. This is what they call ‘the nails of the dead.’ Once they dig into someone, they won’t let go until that person’s dead.”
“Can’t we try something?” Juke asked this time. His complexion was nearly ashen.
“Yeah. I don’t have time to explain, though. Will you leave it to me?”
“Good enough.”
“Hey, wouldn’t it just be quicker to cut his arm off?” Gordo asked, leaning forward. It might’ve sounded absurd, but the code of the Frontier said that losing an arm was preferable to dying.
Juke looked up at Sergei. “How about it?”
“If all goes well, we can get through this without taking your arm off,” Sergei replied, but his expression seemed somewhat lacking in confidence.
“Okay, then it’s in your hands,” Juke said flatly.
“Hey, are you sure about this?” Gordo said, eyes bulging.
Ignoring him, Juke said, “You always have been the scholarly
one, haven’t you? I don’t know if you’re cut out for doctoring, but do what you can. Don’t leave me with one arm.”
“Understood. Just relax,” Sergei told him, his chest puffing. Now he was ready, too.
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It was just after they’d carried Juke into the tent that D came back. Sergei explained the situation.
“Good enough,” D said, deciding to stand back and watch what could only be described as a questionable operation.
“D—you’ve gotta know something about these ‘nails of the dead,’ too. From what I’ve seen, this guy’s a complete piker. I haven’t a clue whether trusting him to do this is the right thing to do or not. Tell me what to do.”
“My job is finding and killing Nobles.”
Perhaps he simply meant Juke’s operation neither impacted nor interested him.
“Oh, you’re a cold one,” Gordo grumbled roughly.
“That’s only right,” Juke called out, as if to soothe his colleague from where he was strapped down to the table. “Just you wait and see. Hell, I’ll be better in no time. I’ve got a good doctor here.”
And after he’d spoken he inquired, “Is this Gaskell’s territory after all?”
“That’s right,” D said.
“So the area will be crawling with monsters he released. Damn it all!” Gordo said, slapping his gun.
But Sergei told him, “No, actually there should hardly be any.”
“How come?” Gordo snarled.
“He’s right,” D said softly. “Gaskell hated monsters. It seems that when creatures the other Nobles had spawned wandered into his territory, he slew them mercilessly, and then sent their remains back to their masters. The reason his battle against the Capital was such a lonely one was because he had no allies.”
“What a piece of work. So, you mean to tell me there were some who were even hated by their fellow Nobles?” Gordo said, tilting his head to one side.
The general consensus was that the Nobility had prided itself on a monolithic unity.
“But just now—” Gordo began, going on to relate the tale of the vampire women.
“If they were humanoid in shape, that was a different matter. Especially if they were female.”
Vampire Hunter D: Dark Road Parts One and Two Page 14