Throng of Heretics

by Hideyuki Kikuchi

  “After five thousand years of this, however, I realized that every time I performed an operation I injured myself,” the grand duke said, taking the scalpel away from his gore-spattered throat. “I immediately knew the cause. When it dawned on me that I empathized with the humans, I considered destroying myself. It was Genevieve who stopped me. She told me that if I were to die then, no one would be saved. And so we began again. Believing in tomorrow. Even if it was a tomorrow that might never come.”

  “You poor man,” Annette murmured, shocking herself. She actually meant those words. “Your experiments ultimately failed, didn’t they?”

  “Correct,” the grand duke said, tightening his fist and his grip on the scalpel, but he quickly shook his head in denial. “Though we failed, next time will be different. Someday our experiments and the hopes of the dead will bear fruit. Toward that end, young lady, I have need of you.”

  “Don’t . . .”

  The grand duke was changing right before Annette’s eyes. All the color drained from him, and as his eyes filled with an evil gleam they gave off blood light.

  “Forgive me, Annette. I apologize to you, and to your family. And I swear that once our aim is accomplished, I will compensate all of you for the fear and grief you suffered by offering up myself to the very next dawn. Forgive me. Please, make me stop, Genevieve.”

  In a hand plagued by the past, the scalpel rose. Its blade no longer gleamed. On account of the blood that clung to it.

  The grand duke cried out, “Do not interfere, Pomerolo!”

  Drago spun around and his scalpel flew, not only piercing the figure who’d just stepped into the room right between the eyes but exploding through the back of his head to imbed itself in the wall behind him.

  The man extended his right hand toward the grand duke and muttered something. With his first step the wound to the back of his head closed, and by the second it was gone completely.

  “Do you resent me, Pomerolo? There was but one step to go. In your case, we were just one step shy! But being short that one step, it was failure all the same. Curse me. Hate me if it please you. But do not interfere.”

  “Ah, but I must interfere,” declared a youthful voice that hadn’t been heard before, echoing through the nightmarish room. Even before the grand duke could turn his eyes to the entrance, the second intruder was primping his copper hair.

  “I shall be taking the girl. Grand Duke, feel free to continue this nonsensical contrition for your foolish experiments in the past for so long as you like.”

  “And just who are you?” asked the gigantic Noble.

  “My apologies—Xeno Gillian is the name. I have returned to this world for the first time in ages.”

  “The Xeno clan I am familiar with. As I am with the name of the grand duke’s poor excuse for an heir. What business have you with the girl?”

  “A small matter—but one for which there can be no substitute. Might I trouble you to hand her over?”

  “Your request is denied. You would do well to remember your station, stripling.”

  “If you were an actual Noble I would. However, I owe no niceties to a specter from the past. I am taking the girl. You may remain in the company of this other creature of antiquity.”

  As Gillian said that, his right arm swept in the direction of the “failure,” who stood there as if rooted. A dagger flew through the air with searing speed, and the power of a Noble knocked the naked man back a good fifteen feet. Undoubtedly Gillian had taken very clear aim. When the man went flying, the grand duke was directly in his path. The two of them collided with the operating table.

  As the grand duke prepared to rise again, a pair of hands clamped down on his shoulders—those of Pomerolo. Lifting the gigantic seven-hundred-pound figure as if he were nothing, Pomerolo hurled the Noble. Gillian was directly in the line of fire.

  Gillian was just about to step to the side when something as thick as a tree trunk caught him in the throat. The grand duke’s arm. The younger Nobleman was knocked all the way back to the door, where he slammed into the wall before stopping.

  Once he’d swiftly gotten to his feet again, Gillian saw the grand duke draw the sword he wore on his hip. The enchanted sword Blue Blood—the wrath of the dead trapped in its blade would drain the blood and the life from any it touched.

  The giant had drawn and struck in a single motion, and Gillian’s blade parried the blow. But the young Nobleman’s eyes went wide. He could sense something within his body being taken from him. Reeling, Gillian leaned against a nearby control console for support. Both his hands and face were red. Blood gushed from his pores. Was it regret at having recklessly challenged a legendary Greater Noble to battle that flickered across his face? No, as beads of blood covered his face, Gillian grinned.

  “Quake,” he called over to his servant, “you know what to do, I take it?”

  And that being said, he adjusted his grip on his longsword. A second blow from Blue Blood rained down against it. The instant Gillian parried it a bloody mist engulfed both men.

  “You bastard—how in hell’s name did you manage that?” groaned the grand duke. For he’d felt all of his own blood being drawn out as well, strange as that seemed.

  “Whenever an opponent touches me, not only directly but even with something they hold, their special abilities flow into me. Grand Duke, you’re going to be slain by your own power.”

  Gillian’s eyebrow arched as if he’d suddenly thought of something. That was followed by his lips turning up in a grin, and his fangs showing themselves.

  He aired his idea, saying, “I shall inherit this train of yours and its experiments. Only the experiments will take on a new form.”

  The giant howled. Blue Blood flashed out, and every time Gillian parried it the two of them were clouded in vermilion. After a number of these blocked blows, Gillian was nearly tripping over his own feet. When fighting under identical conditions, the one with the greater strength would prevail in the end. And the grand duke was Gillian’s superior in both energy and brute strength.

  Parrying a horizontal slash, Gillian could take no more and backed away, calling out, “Quake!”

  The man had been waiting off to one side, and that gigantic meatball body of his became a blur. The weights he wore from the waist up shook wildly. The floor rippled and the ceiling twisted. The ultra-powerful shockwaves Quake Resden gave off could take the flesh off a human’s bones.

  The grand duke’s gigantic form was thrown horribly off balance. As Drago spread his arms to either side and planted his feet, Gillian charged straight at his chest. His blade pierced the left side of the grand duke’s chest, poking all the way out of his back.

  “Genevieve,” the giant murmured softly, planting his beloved sword in the floor and leaning on it. “Now I will finally be released.”

  And then he became a huge mound of ash.

  “That settles that,” Gillian said, and as he regained his balance on the still-quaking floor, waves of excitement swept through his body. He pictured himself glowering out from the train as it sped through the world of darkness. He would travel the world on this train. From every land he’d take lovely young women and drink them dry.

  “But first—” Gillian began, finally with a chance to recall his initial goal. He turned his eyes to the fallen operating table. “What?!” he gasped.

  Aside from the surgical implements scattered around the table, there was nothing to be seen on the floor. No, that wasn’t true. There was one person. Pomerolo was in the process of heading straight for Gillian. A “failure” who lived only for slaughter—was that the shape of the future for humanity and Nobility alike?

  Gillian’s sword rose.

  Just then the door opened. As they turned to look in that direction, both Gillian and the “failure” froze. The newest intruder was that striking.

  “So, you made it all this way, D,” Gillian said with a smile. “It would seem it’s the risen grand duke you seek, but I have slain him. Your useful
ness thus at its end, here you shall die, Hunter.”

  D’s ears caught a base growl. It was Pomerolo. The man’s expression had changed. His eyes gave off a red glow, and he exposed a pair of hitherto unseen fangs, making clear his murderous intent. But more incredible than anything were the flames of malice that scorched him from head to toe. The unbalanced “failure” had finally found an opponent worth defeating.

  “An acquaintance of yours, D?” Gillian inquired, understandably furrowing his brow. Gazing at D, he continued, “No, it would seem not. That being the case, why should he hate you so? Could it be you bear a striking resemblance to a man who did terrible things to him?”

  Pomerolo charged forward. Knocking everything out of his path, he closed to fifteen feet, then swung his arms. The chains and their blocks of stone arced through the air like ropes to assail the Hunter from both above and below. And D seemed to glide right between them. Driving his sword through Pomerolo’s heart was actually shockingly easy.

  Once D stepped away, Pomerolo staggered, but he quickly stood up straight and strong again. His throat and chest were both free of any trace of wounds.

  “An outstanding ‘failure,’ wouldn’t you say, D?” Gillian remarked, his eyes gleaming. “If this is an example of failure, how incredible would a success be, I wonder? I should like to meet one. However, against an opponent who can be run through the heart without dying, your battle will never end. My apologies, D—I’ve decided to aid this creature.”

  And as he said that, the Nobleman bounded. Twelve feet high and over twenty feet he sailed. But when he swung his blade low, there was no killing lust behind it.

  D didn’t try to evade the blow, but rather parried it. And that was precisely what Gillian had been after. He would absorb all of D’s abilities and use them to slay the Hunter.

  “Gaaaah!”

  An ear-splitting scream exploded from Gillian’s mouth. As the Nobleman practically pried his blade free, his face was covered with horrible wrinkles.

  “Such power . . . The energy is . . .”

  He was actually weeping.

  “Exactly how much—No, that will be enough. It’s more than I can handle. Let’s settle this, D. Quake!”

  The beefy face blurred, and a second shockwave assailed the room. D reeled.

  Now! Gillian thought, charging the Hunter. But his foot seemed to catch on something. As the Noble tumbled forward, the Vampire Hunter’s blade flashed down at the base of his unprotected neck.

  D turned his eyes not to the head that went flying but to the body that collapsed. His left hand appeared down by the Noble’s foot, skillfully dashing over to D, making a light bound, and sticking to the end of the Hunter’s left arm.

  “The grand duke stuck me good, but I played dead and slipped into his pocket. I got Annette out. There’s only one of ’em left, so hurry up and take care of him.”

  The instant the hoarse voice said that, a powerful shudder ran through the entire car. When D turned to look at the source of the tremor, the rotund figure who’d looked to be made of big flesh bags had chunks of meat falling off, his bones were crumbling, and in the blink of an eye he’d been reduced to a pile of dust.

  When Quake Resden fought Gillian, he’d died once. Perhaps the massive shockwave just now was his way of bidding farewell to the world before setting off on death’s journey with the master who’d granted him a mock life.

  A klaxon wailed.

  “That ain’t good,” said the hoarse voice. “Seems the reactor’s been nailed. Gotta hightail it out of here, and fast.”

  “What about the kid?”

  “Oh, worried about him, are you? Relax. I told him how to get to the exit and sent him on ahead. What the—?!”

  The last part was a cry of astonishment. How long had D known? Countless figures had gathered around Pomerolo and were staring at the Hunter and his hand. Their skin was pale, their eyes charged with lunacy, their limbs twisted, and their bellies trailing innards.

  “Test subjects, I take it,” the left hand groaned. “Did they get out with that last jolt, or are they just phantoms? Doesn’t matter either way, I guess. Just let ’em be. They’ve got their own lives to lead—as the living dead, though. Pee-yew! I smell something burning. Hurry up.”

  The eye-popping shockwave had hit the desperately fleeing Pikk and Annette as they were making their way down a corridor. Still without a clue as to what’d happened, Pikk got back to his feet, having only banged his right shoulder on the wall.

  “Holy shit!” he exclaimed, and it was a wonder his heart didn’t stop dead.

  The countess lay on the floor, and to her left an iron girder about twenty feet long had apparently fallen. The problem was, Annette’s upper body was sticking out from under it.

  “A-are you all right?!”

  The pain of his shoulder forgotten, the boy raced over, and a pale face smiled up at him.

  “Can you pull yourself free?” he asked Annette.

  “No, it’s no use. It won’t budge an inch, and my legs are pinned. It hurts!”

  The boy grabbed hold of the girder and tugged, but naturally it wouldn’t move at all.

  “Hang in there. I’m gonna go get D.”

  “By then it will be too late,” said the countess.

  “What?”

  The boy turned to see the Noblewoman pinned under iron pipes. From the waist down she’d been completely crushed. It was a wonder she was even still alive.

  “There, down the corridor. See for yourself.”

  Following her gaze, Pikk went pale. Figures beyond numbering were pouring down the passageway. Like a needle, memory pricked at Pikk’s brain.

  “Th-th-those are . . .” he stammered.

  “They are the ones you glimpsed in the basement. It would seem they escaped with the aid of that shock. These are creatures without an iota of thought, and they live solely to destroy!”

  “And it was you guys made ’em that way, wasn’t it?”

  The countess fell silent, but she soon continued, “A fine mess this is. I no longer have my strength. At this rate, the girl and I will both be torn to ribbons.”

  “What should I do? Damn it all!”

  “Run for it, Pikk!” Annette shouted. Her voice was a performance in fear. “If you don’t, you’ll be killed too. Thanks for everything you’ve done for me. You’ve done more than enough. Now you have to think about yourself. Okay?”

  “You’ve gotta be kidding me. You expect me to run off like a pansy after coming all this way? No man—hell, nobody human could do that.”

  “Please, flee,” the countess said, her words practically an indictment. “Strive as you like, but you will accomplish nothing here. As the young lady said, you’ll meet a pointless death. At least let us see you go free.”

  There were approaching footsteps. One person, two—ten, then twenty . . .

  Pikk fell silent. He was weighing a thought he had. His face grew pale from the staggering nature of that notion.

  “Pikk . . .” Annette said, and she saw the boy look up. Such a sad face he wore, but also such a proud one.

  “Nope,” the boy said, giving her a manly smile. “There’s only one way outta this!”

  When D arrived on the scene, what he saw there were corpses beyond numbering, with Annette lying in a spot a short distance away.

  “What about the other two?” the Hunter asked.

  “They left,” Annette replied, tears glistening in her eyes. “He got me out from under that girder and pulled Genevieve from the wreckage, then took care of all those things. They told me if I stayed here you’d be along, and with that they left.”

  D looked down the corridor.

  The boy had moved a girder to save the girl. There was no way he’d be able to do that. He needed more than human strength. And by her side—there was the Noblewoman. There was something he could do. Only one play.

  From the depths of the corridor there flowed a doleful melody. Was it a serenade they played?

>   Thirty feet away there was an emergency exit. Opening the door, the Hunter found a familiar face smiling sheepishly. It was Hiki. His wiry frame was wrapped in a thin membrane. He was an unlikely person in an unlikely place. It knocked the breath right out of Annette.

  “What are you doing?” D inquired.

  “Actually, I’ve been trailing the train a good while now. I was looking in through one of the windows, and I just happened to catch the most unbelievable scene. I suppose all my colleagues bit the dust, right? All seems pretty pointless now. I’m throwing in the towel on this one. Grab ahold of my hands. This train’s in a bad way!”

  “First things first—it’s convenient you happened to be here,” the hoarse voice said.

  Grinning, Hiki replied, “Well, when I poked my head in a little while ago, I happened to run into the little guy. That’s when he told me to come here . . . you know, now he’s a—”

  “Go,” D ordered.

  Several seconds later, the three of them were down on the ground watching the vehicle race away. It could no longer be described as a black shape. Flames and pale sparks shot from it in a number of places, making it look like a colossal beast covered with wounds.

  “I wonder where they’ll go,” Annette murmured as if in a daze, but no one answered her. “Just suppose . . . if the two of them put the fire out, would they live on the train forever?”

  “Could be,” the hoarse voice replied. “You know what they say: Home is where you hang your hat. The kid’s got guts. Maybe someday he’ll start some new experiments.”

  Now outlined in flames, the train was dwindling on the horizon. Apparently it was headed east. The sky there was beginning to shine with stark light.

  “The boy kept his promise,” D said suddenly.

  Hiki nodded.

  “But I didn’t ask him for—” Annette began, wiping at her tears.

  “Not a promise to you. One he made to himself.” After a short pause, the Hunter continued, “He said he wanted to become a Hunter.”

  D touched his left hand to the brim of his traveler’s hat as if bidding a gentle farewell. A few minutes later when the morning sun shone sleepily on the spot, the three of them were nowhere to be seen.