Demon Deathchase

by Hideyuki Kikuchi

  Thank you. That’s what he said. In appreciation of the fact she’d switched off the lights. He would never think of telling her she should’ve kept them on. Thank you. That was all.

  The couple’s romance had begun in the woods in spring. The traveler’s carriage had struck the girl when she dashed out suddenly in pursuit of a bird, and the lone occupant had tended her wounds—hardly a unique story, but because the principal characters were a human and a Noble, it could only end in misery.

  Sometimes, however, there were exceptions. The girl knew she was dealing with a Noble. And the Noble knew he was dealing with a human. Yet there was neither fear nor scorn between them. They simply fascinated each other.

  Their walk through the woods was sweet. For once in her life, the girl didn’t fear the darkness. He’d been good enough to teach her. He’d shown her that the night, too, teemed with life.

  The girl heard the flowing of a river. She saw the moonbeam fish leaping against the lunar disc. She smelled the perfume of night-blooming jasmine. She heard the poetry the wind recited, and a chorus of tiny, unseen frogs. The night was full of light, too—and he was unfailingly by her side.

  He felt as she did. A heretic among the Nobility, he was one who didn’t consider humanity inferior. A baron who loved the day as well, but awaited his kind’s demise without ever having seen the light of the sun. Finally, he’d seen a goal, an end to his aimless wandering. The girl had given him that.

  His travels had left a bitter taste in his mouth. Fleeing from villagers and Hunters hell-bent on killing Nobles, he’d crossed a brutally cold glacier. He’d raced through mountain trails whipped by howling, mad winds. All of which would’ve been fine if his journey had been for some purpose. Though on the road to extinction, his own destruction still lay a long way off.

  And then he’d met the girl. A young lady flitting about a forest filled with living things, soaking up the light of midday. What did rank matter? So what if they were different species? They both knew who was important to them. That was all there was to it.

  This chance meeting of day and night began with a gentle gaze and the bashful, tender joining of hands. The girl had just turned seventeen. He understood the hopes and fears in her heart. That being the case, couldn’t a Noble and a human possibly stay together? No, not in this world.

  It was then he’d broached the subject. Would you go away with me?

  The girl nodded. I’ll go anywhere. As long as I’m with you.

  And then the two exchanged their first kiss. Devoid of lust for blood or the fear of being fed upon, it was a feverish kiss, but also a demure one.

  Tragedy struck the following night. He burst into her home, unable to watch the beating the girl’s father gave her when he learned his daughter was going to run away. For the first time, this Noble, propelled by hatred, sucked a human’s blood. However, he failed to notice the father had a rare sort of constitution that reacted strangely to vampire attacks.

  Whether a bitten human became a bloodthirsty creature like the Nobility or was left a mere mummy depended on the intent of the Noble that drained his or her blood. Though exceedingly rare, there were also some cases where what happened to the victim ran counter to the wishes of the vampire. A drained individual might be left as a human incredibly low on blood, refusing to change. And an emaciated man left to die of blood loss could come back as a vampire.

  Everyone the girl’s father fed on had become the same sort of fiend with a single bite. Those he attacked sought new victims, and, in the course of a single night, the whole village was transformed into pseudo-Nobility. But the girl had been rendered unconscious by the intense beating she’d received. She had seen none of this.

  When she awoke, her love’s gaze greeted her. And that’s how their journey began. Their journey to the Claybourne States.

  —

  Iaccomplished what I wanted to in the village, but it seems they couldn’t dispose of him,” the Noble muttered as he reviewed the events of the day from recordings made by the electronic eyes. “Most likely this other man with the strange powers has also learned our destination. Given the speed of this carriage, it’s entirely conceivable they’ll be lying in wait for us. We shall have to take the initiative.”

  As the girl turned her questioning eyes on him, he informed her they’d be at their destination before long. He left the vehicle. The pair of escorts riding alongside the carriage bowed to him. One was on horseback, and the other—a woman—was in a small, single-passenger buggy.

  “Greetings,” the first guard said. “I’m Mashira.”

  “And I am Caroline. I’ve looked forward to your appearance, Sire.”

  “We seem to be one short,” Mayerling noted, his tone and bearing in keeping with his Noble rank.

  Mashira nodded. “Yes. He’s lying in wait for the enemy in the woods up ahead.”

  “For the enemy?” the Nobleman asked. “Alone?”

  “That’s correct, sir.”

  “There’s no need to fear,” Caroline said in a mysterious tone. Though Mayerling knew nothing of it, the shoulder left bare by her indigo dress no longer showed even a trace of a wound. Her gaze clinging to him as she climbed over to the coachman’s perch of the carriage, she looked up at her employer and said, “He won’t do anything. He’s simply gone to get a peek at the other Hunters you mentioned to the Elder.”

  “The other Hunters?” Mayerling’s beautiful countenance became a grimace, and he stated, “I’m well aware of the abilities of any other Vampire Hunters besides him. No, strike that—is the young man who ran amuck in your village one of them, too?”

  “Most likely,” Mashira replied.

  Caroline added, “That woman in the car you mentioned is one as well, sire. And there may well be others. So to Bengé goes the honor of the first encounter . . . ”

  Mayerling was silent. From his recordings, he’d learned about the girl who’d attacked them while they were resting at the Shelter and her battle with the automated defenses. He was quite sure she’d been gravely wounded back at the Shelter, but if she was still alive then she’d prove a troublesome adversary. Even more so if she were in league with that young man from the village square . . .

  “Well,” the Nobleman said to the pair, “while he may be one of your fellow Barbarois, I know only his reputation, not what powers he possesses. No matter how great his abilities, it’ll be no mean feat to dispose of all the enemies on my tail. Especially all alone . . . ”

  His two bodyguards looked at each other. Mayerling may not have realized they were smiling.

  “Well, we’ll be arriving in the village of Barnabas shortly,” said Caroline. “Once he’s returned there, perhaps you’d care to ask him about it yourself. But this alone I can tell you. If someone’s already encountered him—or worse yet, is pursuing him—without a doubt they shall die before this night is through.” Her words were backed with such confidence that even Mayerling, Noble that he was, was perplexed for a moment. “But all that aside, will you not do us the honor of introducing the guest you have inside? Come what may, it could prove somewhat troublesome if we don’t know what she looks like.”

  “Absolutely,” Mashira said, nodding his agreement.

  After a bit of consideration, Mayerling bent over and rapped lightly on the door. “Kindly show yourself,” he said.

  While it was unclear how she’d heard him inside over the roar of the speeding carriage, the blue windowpane opened and a gorgeous countenance emerged. Her face was tinged with trepidation from the darkness.

  “Oh, my,” Mashira blurted out, and his words were not altogether empty flattery.

  “Such a beauty,” Caroline added, but her burning gaze was concentrated on the person in the driver’s seat.

  “Thank you, my love,” Mayerling said, and the window closed.

  At that moment, in a tiny voice even his Noble senses couldn’t detect, someone tittered, mumbling, “Nice and pretty, just how I like ’em. Think I’ll make her mine . . . �
�� It was clearly the voice of a fourth person, someone who could not be accounted for.

  —

  The clear weather of that afternoon had broken, and leaden clouds pervaded the night sky.

  A figure garbed in black sped down the street the carriage and its escorts had taken a scant hour earlier. There was no moon, but the black-garbed figure was so beautiful he virtually gave off a light of his own. With the speed with which he galloped, he could gobble up that one hour lead in less than twenty minutes if all went smoothly. Just as he was hitting the heart of the forest, however, he stopped sharply.

  Though there were clouds, the darkness wasn’t complete. In D’s eyes, it was just like midday. About thirty feet ahead of where D halted his horse, a gigantic tree branch hung over the road, and one part of it in particular protruded sharply. Beneath that protrusion hung a long, thin shadow. D alone saw it for what it truly was. One of the trio of escorts—Bengé.

  According to what Mashira had told Mayerling a short while earlier, their compatriot had come here to meet D. And, given the work each had undertaken, an encounter with the Hunter would mean a battle to the death. Bengé had already seen D in action, from the skirmish in the village of the Barbarois and the way D protected Leila in the clearing, and he must’ve been aware of how powerful D really was. The fact that Bengé appeared to confront D despite all that he knew indicated that he had the utmost confidence in his fighting abilities.

  “Hello there,” Bengé called out, his slim hand raised in a cheerful greeting, but his eyes weren’t laughing. “I regret to inform you that you can’t pass this way. Oh, but this is the only road to take. Then it looks like one of us will just have to wait by the side of the road—as a corpse!”

  Bengé probably figured his conceited tone would draw some sort of reaction. But he let out a shout of fright as he caught sight of D flying off his horse and up over his head with lightning speed.

  Indeed, talk was futile. D’s sword, which never returned to its sheath without first tasting the blood of its foes, split Bengé’s skull in two before he could flee. The reason D promptly spun himself around upon landing back on the ground was because of the lack of resistance his blade had conveyed. There was no sign of the clearly bisected Bengé, only a sheet of black cloth that fell about the Hunter’s feet. Cloth that Bengé had been wearing.

  A weird, stifled laugh struck the nape of D’s neck. “You surprise me, you fearsome man. Were I anyone else, you’d have sliced me in two.”

  D didn’t move. Even with his ultra-keen senses, he couldn’t tell where Bengé was. As the saying went, Bengé’s voice came out of thin air.

  “Well, then,” Bengé said, “I guess it’s my turn now.”

  D’s right hand moved ever so slightly. Two flashes of light gleamed, and sparks flew from the base of D’s neck with the most beautiful sound. Bengé had stabbed down at D with a dagger after he suddenly materialized behind the Hunter, and the sparks resulted from that dagger being parried by the sword that flew back with just a simple movement of the Hunter’s hand.

  The tip of D’s sword swept horizontally as he spun about, but there was no sign of Bengé. D kicked off the ground. Leaping five yards, as soon as he touched down he leapt again. Unable to detect anyone, he touched back down from his second leap. And then he heard it.

  “Heh heh heh . . . It’s no use, no use at all,” Bengé’s voice laughed. “As long as the other you is here, I’ll be here, too.”

  In the forest ahead of him, a shadow rose silently. D’s left hand raced into action, becoming white lightning blazing through the air. But the wooden needle he’d launched only nailed a length of thin black cloth to a nearby tree trunk. Beyond the tree, another shadow arose.

  Is that an invitation? the Hunter thought. Fine. D sprinted into the woods. An invitation to follow him from the road to the woods—just what did Bengé have in mind?

  The hot, humid atmosphere pressed him mercilessly from all sides. A sharp sound ripped through the wind. The silvery streaks that flew in rapid succession from either side of D were batted aside, one and all, by his blade.

  “Oh, my. Not bad at all.” Bengé’s voice had a ring of admiration that wasn’t in the least bit exaggerated.

  “You said as long as I was here, you’d be here, didn’t you?” D said without concern. There was no gloating over how he’d just thwarted the vicious attacks. “I see now. I know what your power is—”

  “What?!” Bengé shouted. His daggers flew, as if to cover his shock and indignation. One came from straight ahead, the other from a thicket far to the rear of D—and they were nearly simultaneous. Did the Hunter face multiple opponents?

  Deflecting the attacks with ease, D bent down. The instant a flash of white whizzed over his head, he swung his left hand back behind him. He could feel the rough wooden needle it held bite into flesh.

  There was a cry of pain.

  Taking an easy step forward, D then did something strange. As he turned back to whatever he’d just stabbed, he jabbed another needle into the ground at his feet at the same time. “What’s wrong?” he said. “Until that needle gets pulled out, you can’t get into my shadow, can you?”

  It sounded like someone was grinding their teeth, and then something fell to the ground. A wooden needle stained with blood. It’d been tossed up from a patch of ground where there was nothing at all. Thrown out of the shadow of a tree barely cast on the ground by twilight.

  As long as you’re here, I’m here, he told D. If you concentrate, you can see me. You don’t see me because you think you can’t—that was the secret he’d imparted to Leila.

  Bengé lurked in the shadows. But that wasn’t all. His skill was such that even D couldn’t detect his presence when he’d slipped into the Hunter’s shadow. What’s more, the way his attacks came from utterly impossible angles suggested he required no time at all to migrate from one patch of shade to the next. The slight delay between attacks was actually just the time it’d take to aim and throw a dagger. Once he’d slipped into his foe’s shadow, he became an invincible assassin. So long as that foe wasn’t D.

  “Stanched the bleeding, have you? Too bad the fog is moving in,” said D. Before he’d finished speaking, a dense white flow rolled in from the depths of the woods and boiled up at his feet. The twilit region lost its light.

  Without light, no shadows can form.

  D alone saw it. He saw the figure on the ground some ten feet ahead, clinging to the earth like a veritable sheet of black cloth. Their duel was as good as decided.

  But at that instant the shadow tossed up a tiny ball of light. A blinding brilliance filled the milky white world, and the trees threw shadows across the ground.

  “This time you have me beat. But we’ll meet again,” Bengé shouted, his pained parting words ringing from deep in the forest.

  D slipped out of the woods and got on his horse. Within a few hours, he’d be within range of his target.

  —

  II

  —

  Hmph. Bengé isn’t as great as he makes himself out to be. Looks like he got whipped,” Mashira spat after he’d taken his ear from the ground and raised his head.

  “As I expected, it was too much for him to handle, was it not?” It was Mayerling who said this. He, Mashira, and Caroline had camped out for the night in the middle of the forest, deciding that it would best to await Bengé’s return.

  Drifting around them was the savory aroma of birds cooking over the camp fire, skewered on sticks. Mashira reached out for one and offered it to Mayerling. “Would you care for some?”

  “No.”

  “Suit yourself. The Nobility have no need for meat, right?” The Barbarois bodyguard said this as if he’d known that all along, but that was a lie. Somewhere in his tone there was malice. Mashira tore into the golden brown flesh, stuffing his cheeks. His yellowed teeth continued shredding the meat with a vulgar sound.

  Not giving her compatriot so much as a glance, Caroline gazed at Mayerling’s p
rofile. Perhaps she’d eaten something already, for she ignored Mashira’s roasting fowl. Not exactly the eyes of one in love, hers were feverish and clouded with passion.

  “If he failed, the enemy will be after us. They’ll catch us if we stay around here waiting. We’d best set off at once.” Perhaps angered by Mashira’s rude behavior, Mayerling’s tone was enough to chill the blood. He turned abruptly from the fire.

  “Please put your mind at ease,” Caroline told him. “Our enemy won’t be here any time soon. Not if he’s pursuing a different carriage.”

  “A different carriage?” Mayerling asked as he turned to face them again.

  “Correct,” she replied. “A shadow carriage, if you will. It’s one of Bengé’s skills. Once someone begins chasing it, they’ll never catch it a million years.”

  “I’m sorry to say I have no faith in the skills of one already bested in battle,” said the Noble. “It occurs to me now that perhaps retaining the three of you was a mistake.”

  “What are you trying to say?” Caroline asked in an agitated manner. “I’ll thank you kindly not to judge the abilities of the two of us unsatisfactory merely because the likes of Bengé proved a failure. Oh, that Bengé is an idiot. We would’ve been better served to let that damned Hunter go on pursuing us.” Beneath her vermilion lips, her white teeth ground together.

  “You’ll see our true power, and I don’t just mean someday. Perhaps as early as tomorrow. I believe there’s another pack of bloodhounds on your heels.”

  “Yes, Mashira’s right,” said Caroline. “Tomorrow, I shall join forces with Bengé and slay every last one of those dogs, mark my words.”

  “I leave it to you then,” Mayerling told her. “But tonight, we move out. Our destination is close at hand. We should be there the evening after next. A good time for our departure. I’m going on ahead. You two follow behind. By day I shall be sleeping in the forest.”