“Oh, I believe I will come out,” the voice replied.
“Watch yourself,” said the hoarse voice. “Night’ll change into day!”
“I’ll help you,” Ringard offered.
“Stay out of this,” D replied.
At that moment, there was a terrible explosion of stark light and blistering heat. The light shining down from the ceiling illuminated D alone. D let out a low groan. His whole body was being charred right to the marrow. It was like the sunlight attack he’d experienced in Vyken’s magical zone—only this assault was ten thousand times the agony.
“This is one of the grand duke’s original creations,” the Professor’s voice laughed. “He dubbed it the ‘spotlight effect,’ and I’m using it to focus all the sunlight in this entire region on you. Oh, your skin’s started to melt. Not so handsome now, are you?”
“Come out here,” said the Hunter.
“Very well.”
Behind the light—in a time where night still held sway—a figure appeared.
“That bastard,” Ringard snarled. “D—you’ve really gotta let me do something.”
“Don’t.”
“Ringard, you’ll be next, you vile traitor,” a figure blacker than the darkness informed him.
Though a stark needle sank into the Professor’s chest, D remained poised from the throw as he thrust his left hand forward.
“I’ve raised the beam’s volume to an entire continent’s worth of sunlight,” the Professor continued. “Next, I’ll set it for a planet’s worth. You can just rest your filthy bones there in the wholesome light of the morning sun.”
“This is the last part of the Sacred Ancestor’s words,” said D.
“What?”
“Thou shalt slay not Bergenzy, but the one who succeeds him.”
His longsword danced out in the light. A blade of darkness challenging the light—backed as it was by the Noble power that mocked the very laws of physics, the Professor was slashed from the left side of his neck to his right hip, and then the blade turned like a swallow in flight to pierce him through the heart and out the back. At the same time, both D and his blade fell flat against the floor.
“You bastard . . . I don’t believe it . . . Where did such power . . . ?”
As the Professor collapsed, beside him stood a weighty figure.
“You . . . you must help me . . . please,” the Professor said, extending his hands. They reached toward a figure with five chins and a face twisted by scorn.
“Help the Bergenzy pretender?”
Looking down on the twitching form with nothing save contempt, Baron Agrippa raised his right foot, then brought it down on the Professor’s face with all his might. It was smashed to pieces.
“And thus ends the grubby little peddler from the world of humanity. Which leaves only the filthy half-breed killer, if I’m correct. Ah, but what a gorgeous man. Your lovely countenance and agonizing death alone should earn you an introduction. I am Baron Agrippa. I am Bergenzy’s best friend. We were the only two real Nobles in this castle!”
He puffed out his chest. The buttons on his jacket popped off like shots from a gun.
“You must excuse me,” the baron continued. “Gluttony is a mainstay of the Nobility. In making a compact to drink human blood, Bergenzy plumbed the lowest depths of degeneracy, but I shall stand firm! Someday our end will likely come. But until that day, I shall assail the humans’ shacks with the coming of night, lure out their daughters, and drink to my heart’s contentment. That is how the Nobility were meant to be. But before any of that—it seems a planet’s worth won’t work on you. I shall train the daylight of the entire Milky Way on you.”
D’s shape dissolved in the light.
Françoise cried out in surprise. The young man in black stood before her. He was in a horrible state.
“But, you—you’re not even sleeping,” she murmured.
He started running.
Even when Baron Agrippa heard the voice of the man who clearly had one hand braced against the floor whisper in his ear, “Looks like the dream wins,” the Nobleman couldn’t do anything. His bull neck easily severed, spine and all, and a steely tip driven into his back and out through his heart, he was powerless to do anything save collapse. A split second before the darkness swallowed his consciousness, he used his assimilation power, but ultimately all it assimilated was the black hole that’d suddenly appeared.
In the darkness, the Noble turned to dust, while in the light, the Hunter in black got to his feet. In no time at all the light dissolved into the darkness, and the darkness was swallowed up by the light.
“So, your business here wrapped up now?” asked Ringard.
Not replying to that, D said, “I suppose I should thank you.” For it was Ringard’s black hole that had stopped Baron Agrippa’s final attack.
“Oh, save it. It wasn’t you his whammy was aimed at, it was me. It was do-or-die time. Hell, I was just saving my own skin.”
Saying nothing, D walked past Ringard. He went out into the garden and had just straddled his cyborg horse when Ringard caught up to him.
Though the sun hadn’t fully risen yet, the skies were clear.
“Night coming and dreams coming on a fine day like this—there’s just no figuring this world of ours, is there?” said the warrior.
The two of them started riding across the drawbridge over the moat.
“So, what’ll you do next?” Ringard asked. “Well, I suppose wherever you go, you’ll be hunting Nobility, eh? I’m sure there’s quite a demand for your talents, am I right? To be honest, I’m plumb worn out. Think maybe I’ll get out of the game and become a farmer or something.”
“Good choice, there,” said the hoarse voice.
With a wry grin Ringard said, “Hey, if you’re gonna compliment me, at least do it in your own voice,” and then a bullet went right through his chest.
A pair of figures appeared from behind the stone columns on the far side of the moat, one tall, the other short. Leiden and Puma, the son of the former mayor. The boy had a rifle braced against his shoulder.
“His friend killed my mother!” Puma exclaimed in a tone of rage and satisfaction.
Ringard responded with a wry smile, “A long, long time ago, I heard somebody say, ‘Truth will out’ . . . which means you can’t get away with doing wrong, I guess . . . And it was me . . . that sent the heart of that kid’s father into another dimension.”
The man’s life ended before he could ever get to that farmhouse.
Reeling back wildly, Ringard leaned forward once more before falling shoulder-first into the black waters of the moat.
The taciturn rider passed the pair in silence.
“About an hour or so ago, we went by Bezo’s house,” Leiden said to him. “Son of a bitch was draining his kids dry. The two of us took care of him, though.”
Letting the words pass by like they were intended for someone else altogether, D slowly rode away. When he hit the road that continued on to the highway, a young man in a hood was standing beside an enormous tree in the distance.
“Look who popped out of his hole,” said the left hand. “Guess he decided to do something for the good of the village.”
There was no reply. D’s eyes were shut.
“Were you asleep?” asked the hoarse voice.
“Yes, a little while.”
“Well, aren’t you a carefree bugger.”
“I had a dream,” the Hunter remarked.
“What kind?”
“One I’ll never have again.”
“That’s you in a nutshell. So, what the hell was this dream, anyway?”
Good-bye, D, said a pale beauty with a soft smile. Perhaps her name was Françoise.
End
Postscript
This volume was the last handled by Susumu Ishii, who oversaw my Vampire Hunter D series from the very start. Allow me, if you will, to talk a bit about my early days.
My professional debut as a novelist w
as in September of 1982. My first book, Demon City Shinjuku, was published by Asahi Sonorama. Vampire Hunter D was my second book. My third was Alien Hihomachi [Alien Treasuretown]. These, together with Wicked City, were all the beginning of continuing novel series.
So, the cover illustrations for the Vampire Hunter D series are done by the renowned artist Yoshitaka Amano. If you look at the covers of all the books, I believe you’ll see a gradual change in D’s features and accoutrements over the years. While of course it’s true that creators can be greatly influenced by some stimulus or another, the same is true of their art. In the case of D, Mr. Amano’s style of cover illustration changed greatly after he did set design for a kabuki play—this was around the time of Mysterious Journey to the North Sea [originally published in Japan in 1988—ed.] Seeing the fine art stylings of the current covers, the image on the front of my first Vampire Hunter D book really seems like straight illustration. It was pure, gorgeous fantasy.
Having penned that novel with the intention of some hard-boiled leanings, I was surprised when I saw his illustrations. For example, the longsword D’s wearing on his back is fantasy-style, but I had a traditional Japanese sword in mind. Not unexpectedly, I said to Mr. Ishii, “It’s a little too far afield of what I’d pictured . . .”
At that, he grinned wryly and replied, “This’ll get you a lot of female readers.”
Yeah, right, I thought, but it worked like a charm—I got fan letters saying things like:
“The artwork’s wonderful.”
“The illustrations are beautiful.”
“The art really drew me in.”
“The illustrations really make it popular, don’t they?”
Almost all of those were from women. I wanted to tell them enough already about the art, but there could be no doubt the Vampire Hunter D novels sold well thanks to those illustrations. I chose to hold my tongue. Mr. Amano, thank you for all you do.
Speaking of Vampire Hunter D’s early days, let’s touch on the first time it got made into anime. To be honest, I wasn’t a huge fan of animation. Of Japanese animation, to be precise. Compared to the Disney features I was acquainted with from my childhood or Hanna-Barbera’s TV series, Japanese anime merely seemed crude. The project was okayed because I left the negotiations to Asahi Sonorama. Even after seeing the completed work, my impression didn’t change. However, something occurred that rocked me to my foundations. When the animated feature Vampire Hunter D opened in theaters in 1985, orders for the novel it was based on surged into Sonorama. I was stunned to get a phone call every week telling me they were going into a new printing. Ever since then, I’ve told myself not to be so hard on anime. Up to that point, the Alien series had been my top seller, but in no time at all, the tables had turned. And Vampire Hunter D remains on top even now.
Incidentally, the soundtrack to the anime was the first solo work of the world famous musician and producer Tetsuya Komuro; his band TM NETWORK did the theme, called “Your Song.” But because his composition is a bit highbrow, I still can’t sing it myself. Also, because I couldn't carry any tune in a bucket.
Demon City Blues is a novel series spun off from the Demon City Shinjuku series mentioned earlier, and shares its setting in the real-life Shinjuku—except my version is full of monsters, magic, and assorted fiends. You can read some of those stories overseas in either hard copy or ebook form. Several volumes of Demon City Blues were released in English under the title Yashakiden: The Demon Princess. And my very first novel, Demon City Shinjuku, even has a translated version now available. As for Vampire Hunter D, the Hollywood film continues to be developed in secrecy. I hope you’re looking forward to it.
In the postscript to the next Vampire Hunter D novel, I’ll tell you all about the other animated D film. But until then—
September 30, 2019
While watching The Return of Dracula (1958)
Hideyuki Kikuchi
An Odd Employer
Chapter 1
I
There was a knock. The darkness swallowed it. There was such a density to this darkness it was palpable. After ten more of the same, the sound became a voice.
“Hey, open up! A hell of a hotel you chose to hole up in. Are you gonna open up or what? If you don’t, I’ve got dynamite with me. And I’m ready to use it, too. Nobody makes a fool of Old El, the all-purpose financier!”
The darkness responded.
“What do you want?”
“Oh me, oh my. Now, that’s a step toward communicating. At any rate, do me a favor and open up this creepy old door. I’ve got a sweet deal waiting for you out here!”
“Tell me.”
“Wh-what? You wanna get me talking when you won’t even show yourself, you little bastard? Sheesh, you’re just a lousy dhampir—a half-baked failure of a vampire—so don’t go acting like you’re God or something. Ow! That hurts like a mother—”
Apparently he’d picked the wrong place to try and kick in the door.
Once his pained curses had expired, the man’s voice continued in a tone not of anger but of naked pleading, “Oh, I’m real sorry about that. Us humans get up in years and we don’t have much restraint anymore, and that ain’t good. I figure it can’t hurt to ask, but could I get you to protect me?”
“From whom?”
“Deadbeats trying to weasel out of paying their loans.”
A silence ensued. The whole proposition probably sounded ridiculous.
“Hey! C’mon, don’t fall asleep on me. This deadbeat I’ve got, well, it’s kinda special.” Taking a breath, he continued, “It’s a Noble.”
This time, there was an immediate response.
“Fifty thousand dalas a day, and that ain’t including expenses,” a hoarse voice stated.
“Huh?” the speaker said, his eyes surely popping. The voice from the darkness had suddenly gone from a youthful ring to a hoarse croak. “What, you got your manager in there, do you? Well, no problem. So, will you take the job?”
“What’s the Noble’s name?”
“Marquis Verenis.”
“Oh, he’s a biggie,” remarked the hoarse voice.
“Don’t be daft. He’s a liar and a scumbag and a disgrace to the whole Nobility. After getting antimatter circuitry from me worth over three hundred million dalas, he sends assassin duplicates of himself for me when it was time to pay up.”
“Hmm. Was it due in a lump sum?” asked the hoarse voice.
“Nope. I was supposed to get it in twenty installments, each as a draft for sixteen and a half million dalas. And he stiffed me from the very first one.”
“Hmm, that’s definitely deadbeat behavior.”
“I know, right? And I figured he’d run off, but no, he’s still living in his castle, comfy as can be. Now that’s what you call brass balls. I ain’t about to let him get away with this.”
“Didn’t you have him put up any collateral?” the hoarse voice asked.
“His castle and his whole damned domain. But he’s so cantankerous, I can’t seize the lousy property. I’ve sent young fellas up there armed to the teeth to throw a scare into him, and not a one of ’em has made it back.”
“Hmm, that’s some blatantly premeditated action on his part. Which means he must’ve drawn up plans. And to have gone and gotten all aggressive with you, that’s one nasty Nobleman!”
“I knew that when we inked the contract. But that ship has sailed. What bothers me is what comes next. That bastard Verenis figures I’m coming to demand payment, naturally, so he’ll have all kinds of assassins waiting along the way like as not. If it was just your garden variety punks and warrior wannabes, I could handle that on my own, but when it comes to Noble-class killers, it puts me a tad on edge. Which is what brings me here to hire you. Now, I’d heard rumors, but you really do have a weird voice, don’t you?”
“Keep your smart remarks to yourself. So, when are you headed out?”
“Right away.”
“Good enough.”
“What?” Old El said, his voice ringing hollow in his amazement. “You’ll really do it?”
“You think I’m lying or something?” the hoarse voice said with a hint of menace.
“No, I’m all set to go. We’ll set out straight away! Now hurry up and get outta that grave.”
A few seconds passed.
A streak of light split the darkness vertically. Little by little it grew thicker, and the light increased.
Old El watched with loathing and trepidation as the bronze door opened right in front of him. For all the years he’d seen, his fear of the Nobility hadn’t vanished. I’m just your average human, I guess, the old man thought to himself.
His right hand naturally tightened on the grip of his automatic stake gun. The safety was off, and the roller-bearing bolt was pulled back, leaving the first shot in firing position. A little more than a pound of pressure on the trigger, and compressed gas would propel a ten-ounce stake through a Noble’s heart at a range of a hundred yards. If they didn’t dodge it, that is.
Rust flaking from it here and there, the door finally finished opening. On the other side stood a figure in black. As the face beneath his wide-brimmed traveler’s hat drew closer, Old El couldn’t move a muscle.
“Hey,” the hoarse voice called to the old man, snapping him back to his senses. A feeling of vertigo swept over him. Reeling, he reached for the granite tombstone beside him just to keep from falling over. When he looked at the face of the man in black, Old El’s expression melted in rapture, and he actually seemed to be fighting back tears.
“So . . . handsome . . . Who knew . . . there were guys like this . . .”
“You’d better get yourself some sunglasses right quick,” the hoarse voice told the old man, finally bringing him back to reality.
“So, you’re D? I’m Old El. I work as an all-purpose financier.”
“So I heard.”
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