Demon Deathchase

by Hideyuki Kikuchi

  “Oh, that’s right—I still haven’t shown you my true face. The one you saw before, and this one I have now, are no more than temporary hosts. The real me looks like this!” And with that, the huntsman pulled up his shirt with one hand.

  Grove let his mouth fall open. But there was nothing on the huntsman’s belly. When the girl gasped, it was like the signal for the change. As they watched, a number of deep creases that couldn’t really be called wrinkles coursed across the huntsman’s abnormally protruding belly, and then what looked like a human face bulged from the surface, showing a little nose, lips like purple scraps of meat, and eyes that blinked wide open. The tips of the yellow teeth spilling over the twisted lips came to fang-like points. It was a tumor . . . a tumor that had a face like a person, and a life of its own. The body of the huntsman was no more than a vessel for it to move around in.

  “Surprised, junior?” the tumor asked. “This is the real me. I’ve been hopping from body to body for five hundred years. It’ll take a lot more than your tricks to beat me.”

  At last Grove grasped the situation. Hostility flooded into his heart. Perhaps it showed.

  “Let’s get one thing straight,” the tumor laughed. “If you let your lightning fly, I’ll shoot and the girl behind you will die, too. You got that?”

  For a moment, Grove was befuddled.

  The abdominal tumor added, “Of course, the girl’s not exactly in pristine shape anymore. You ought to have a good look at her stomach.”

  The weird course of the conversation shifted Grove’s attention to his rear. Before the fierce report of the gun could reach him, he was struck in the chest by heat and a forceful impact. Flying backward, he saw the blue sky. It seemed his foe had aimed away from the girl. He’d never had any intention of shooting her.

  Without even glancing at the punk toppling backward in a bloody mist, the huntsman—that is to say, the eerie countenanced carbuncle—smiled at the girl. “Okay,” he said, “come to me now. If that bastard Mayerling gets out and about, there’ll be hell to pay. See, I’m not allowed to do anything to his coffin. So I want to get as far away from here as we can before darkness falls.”

  A relieved expression arose in the girl. Realizing at this point that she was worried about Mayerling’s safety, the expression of the countenanced carbuncle—or Mashira—flooded with rage. “Oh, you’re being such a pain!” he shouted, taking a step toward her. But, from the pit of his stomach, or quite literally from the middle of his abdomen, a gasp of astonishment escaped. The young man was getting up, perfectly healthy, devoid of a bullet hole or spattered gore. “You son of a bitch,” the countenanced carbuncle said. Now he realized what the young man really was.

  The world was bleached white. In the blink of an eye, streaks of light coming from nowhere in particular slammed head-on into the huntsman’s abdomen. Flames rose from him, the stench of melting fat filled the air, and the huntsman fell into the brush with a thud.

  It was almost as if the nerves that had endured this truly unearthly confrontation finally frayed and snapped—the girl started to fall like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Grove caught her gently.

  When the figure that easily scooped up the girl had gone down the hill with her and out of sight, a low voice could be heard around the ankles of the still flaming corpse. “Well, spank my ass!” it said. “That’s about what I’d expect from one of the Marcus clan. Now that I’ve seen his powers firsthand, I can’t help wondering what the real him is like.”

  —

  Leila had never seen the woman up close before. She didn’t think her golden hair and creamy complexion were beautiful. She herself suited D better. But it was certain that behind those glamorous looks, the Barbarois woman possessed powers that staggered the imagination. Leila didn’t take her lightly. Realizing in an instant that her javelin would be useless against this opponent, she jabbed it into the ground and drew the sliver gun.

  Caroline pursed her lips and smiled. “Do you think you can defeat a woman from the village of the Barbarois with a toy like that?” she laughed. “I’ll have you know, even the Nobility have no easy time getting into our village.”

  Instead of replying, Leila squeezed the sliver gun’s trigger. Imperceptible needles pierced the woman’s stomach without making a sound.

  “Oh,” Caroline cried, but soon enough she grinned broadly. “A gun that fires needles? You should’ve aimed for my heart, little girl.”

  Not knowing quite what she meant by that remark, Leila stood stock still with amazement. Suddenly, something fell from overhead and struck her right hand. The sliver gun went flying. Something speared down into the moss between the gun and the hand she stretched out to retrieve it, foiling her efforts. On discovering it was a thick tree branch, Leila leapt back, but something else caught hold of her by the shoulder. It was another branch, huge and bristling with countless twigs. Twisting the twigs with a crisp snap, the branch wrapped them around Leila’s limbs like fingers.

  “When I learned you’d arrived here ahead of me, I drank the sap of all the trees in the area,” said Caroline. “Sap is the lifeblood of trees. So now, every one of their branches is mine—I have thousands of hands and feet.”

  “No, you can’t be . . . ” Goaded by a fearful foresight, Leila writhed, but she couldn’t get free of the branches that were now her bonds.

  “Ha ha, regrettably, I am not a Noble.” Caroline wore the smile of a victor. “However, I have inherited some of their abilities. My mother, you see, was a wet-nurse for the Nobility overseeing Sector Seven of the Frontier.”

  Oh, it couldn’t be that this gorgeous woman was a dhampir like D. Inhumanly beautiful. Mysteriously refusing to dine. Throwing feverish glances at Mayerling—hadn’t all of these things indicated the woman’s true nature? Even the way she could move about in daylight without difficulty fit the pattern.

  However, her powers proved that she was indeed one of the Barbarois. Whatever felt her fangs—even inorganic things like the mechanical arm, or non-sentient lifeforms like the vegetation that bound Leila—obeyed her in the same way that humans followed the will of the Nobles who bit them. While most dhampirs would drink blood, they didn’t convert anyone, so her ability was truly fearsome in comparison.

  Looking from D to Leila and back again, Caroline let an evil little grin escape. “From what I saw just now, I’d say you’re in love with that dhampir. How interesting. I was going to make short work of you, but I’ve changed my mind. I want you to watch as I go over there and skewer the heart of the man you love. And after that, I’ll let you share his fate.”

  “Don’t,” said Leila. “If you’re gonna kill anyone, kill me—”

  “How courageous,” Caroline replied with a laugh. “It seems even human scum who make their livelihood murdering the Nobility are far more tolerant when it comes to someone they adore. Well, just wait. You’ll follow after him soon enough . . . ” Caroline stated sternly, but as she did so an unbelievably chill breeze stroked her back. This female dhampir, possessing powers comparable to D’s, turned around despite herself.

  There was no change in the way D lay. What could that gorgeous man be dreaming of? Of the ordinary life that he, as a dhampir, could never know? Of days long passed? No, no, of a future painted in blood and pitch-black, with battles that would know no end—of that there could be no doubt.

  “Just my imagination?” Caroline muttered as she raised her right hand. A branch from one of the massive trees around her bent at the trunk and pointed its trenchant tip at the Barbarois woman’s chest. Grabbing it in her pale hand, Caroline snapped the branch off a yard back from the tip.

  Slowly, she went to the side of the sleeping D and placed her feet so they straddled the depression. With both hands, she took a firm grip of the branch—the gigantic stake she’d improvised—and the instant she was about to swing it down from over her head . . .

  Leila’s scream of “Stop!” and her own strike were almost simultaneous, and it was in the next instant
that Caroline cried out “Mashira?!”

  The stake was caught in midair. By D’s left hand. By the palm of his left hand, to be precise. And, as might be expected from Caroline’s puzzled cry, what stopped the keen point was indeed the tiny mouth that appeared in the palm of his hand. The stake had literally been stopped by the skin of those teeth. Above the mouth, a pair of mischievous eyes laughed. And yet, his jaws were so powerful that even Caroline with her superhuman strength couldn’t make them budge in the least. Her beautiful visage distorted by surprise and horror, the female dhampir leapt away.

  “I’ll thank you not to be calling me by strange names,” the face in the palm said, effortlessly spitting the stake out of the depression. “That Mashira—he’s one of your cohorts? He’s one of my kind then, I take it?”

  Without answering, Caroline made a sweep of her right hand. The forest shook. Several gigantic trees bent and swung their branches straight down at the sleeping dhampir.

  The left hand countered with an attack of his own. Grabbing hold of the huge branch it’d just spat out, it hurled the wooden missile at Caroline. The branch went with such speed there was no time to dodge it. And yet, Caroline must’ve managed at least a lightning-fast twist of her body, because it was her abdomen that the huge branch ultimately pierced.

  The instant she fell backward screaming, the movements of the branches came to a dead stop. Even Leila’s bonds came undone.

  Seeing that she didn’t even have time to make a dash for her javelin, Leila ran at Caroline. Latching onto the branch impaling the female dhampir, Leila shoved with all her might. Blood bubbled from Caroline’s mouth.

  “You little bitch you!” the female dhampir screamed. Her whole body twitching in the throes of death, her pale hands seized Leila’s shoulders.

  Leila didn’t stop pushing, even when the blood-rimmed mouth clamped onto her neck. The only thing in her mind was, I’ve gotta save D, and that thought alone.

  The mouth quickly fell away. An intense feeling of relaxation swept over Leila, and she allowed the huge branch to be snatched from her grasp.

  Backing away a few steps, Caroline groaned again. The huge branch still pierced her abdomen, and from the waist down she’d been dyed crimson by the blood gushing from her. It was a sight nothing could rival.

  “Little girl, we shall meet again. And next time, you will be my slave.” Blood mixing with the words she spouted, Caroline turned and left.

  Leila went to her knees on the ground. She’d just been bitten. Bitten by a dhampir. She felt no wonder, no fear. Only fatigue and a feeling of satisfaction. She’d kept her promise. The promise she’d made to herself. Still, Leila managed to pick herself up and go over to the sleeping D. Gazing down at his beautiful face for a long time, she said goodbye. “I wanted to kiss you,” she said, “but I can’t now. I mean, you’d wind up a laughing stock if some reject vampire were to steal a kiss from a Hunter like you. So long. If you can, try to think of me from time to time.”

  Barely managing to take the sliver gun and javelin in hand, Leila walked away. Her tottering figure was soon swallowed by the forest.

  But how long would D continue to sleep? After all, the warrior woman who’d risked her life and soul defending him was wounded, Mayerling’s lady love had run off somewhere, and the situation was only growing more confused . . .

  —

  III

  —

  The scene was the road, about two hours after Caroline and Leila’s deadly battle had ended. Knifing its way through the wind at a speed of twenty-five miles per hour, the bus came to a sudden stop when something was spotted up ahead.

  “What is it?” Borgoff called out in a gruff voice from where he was prepping his bow and arrows in his bedroom.

  “A woman just crossed the road dead ahead of us. A blonde in a blue dress—probably that Caroline character Grove mentioned. I’m gonna go have a little look-see.” As he spoke, Kyle got to his feet with the crescent blades in hand.

  “Wait up—I’ll go with you.”

  In reply to Borgoff’s offer, he said, “Don’t sweat it. It’s just a woman. Besides, what if someone’s trying to lure us both outside so they can take out Grove while we’re gone? There’s another one of them somewhere, you know.”

  “You’ve got a point there,” Borgoff conceded. “Be careful.”

  “Hey, just leave it to me.”

  Smiling with overwhelming self-confidence, Kyle got off the bus. Although noon had already come and gone, the sunlight was hot and white. With crescent blades in either hand, as he was about to enter the woods in the same spot where the woman had vanished, he said, “Just to be on the safe side,” and let the blades fly.

  There couldn’t have been any stranger ranged weapon than Kyle’s crescent blades. Controlled with the fingertips of the hand that held one end of the thin wire, the semicircular blades attached to the other end of each line swept easily between the densely overlapping trees and came back to Kyle’s hands. If his foe was lurking anywhere within a hundred-foot radius of the entrance to the forest, fresh blood drawn from her head or throat should’ve remained on the edge of his crescent blades at the very least. Better yet, she might even be dead already.

  “Looks like no contact,” Kyle said to himself. He went into the woods. Casually taking a few steps, he shouted, “There you are!”

  A silvery flash coursed to the base of a gigantic tree, and, just when it seemed it would strike the trunk, it suddenly turned and shot straight upwards.

  Caroline screamed and fell to the ground. Not the slightest trace remained of where she’d been staked with a huge branch two hours earlier, but now she held her exposed and bloody thigh and moaned. The crescent blade had slashed it open.

  “What do you wanna do, Barbarois bodyguard?” Kyle snickered cruelly. “Don’t be shy. Take your best shot, if you’re game.” While Kyle snorted that she wasn’t all she was cracked up to be and extended both his arms for the coup de grace, his eyes were blasted by the woman’s orbs. There was an indescribable light in her eyes.

  Without time to realize how bad this development was, Kyle went and knelt by the woman’s side. Her exposed thigh was burned into his retinas.

  “Are you okay?” His consciousness drifting in a dream, Kyle heard himself ask a question that wasn’t even in his mind.

  “I think I’ll be fine,” the woman practically moaned. “My leg hurts. I really must stop the bleeding—would you be so kind as to lick it clean?”

  The fact that this woman was a Barbarois sorceress no longer concerned Kyle. “Sure . . . no problem,” he sort of mumbled, then put his mouth to her bare, white leg. His lips were instantly sullied with blood. Licking the outside clean, when he worked his way to her inner thigh, the woman began panting in earnest and wrapped her other leg around Kyle’s waist. Kyle’s blood-tinted lips pressed in even further.

  When the moans of pleasure and lapping sounds had stopped, the woman gently put her hands on Kyle’s cheeks. Her unblemished white face approached the blood-stained visage he raised at her bidding. Kyle had no comprehension how fearful the woman’s actions had become.

  And yet, while his instincts may have guessed the danger he was in, the fingers that reached with exasperating slowness for the crescent blade at his waist were caught by one of the woman’s gentle hands.

  “Oh no you don’t,” she chided. “You can use those to serve me once I’m done kissing you . . . ” Her voice alone rang in his head, and, before long, the blackest darkness suffused his mind through her lips.

  When Kyle came out of the forest a short time later, he raised his hand up over his head to shield his eyes from the sun. Slowly, he returned to the bus.

  Borgoff was in the driver’s seat. “How did it go?” he asked.

  “She wasn’t in there. Looks like she got away, but you can’t be too careful.”

  “Hmm. Trade places with me,” said the oldest Marcus. Standing to let Kyle take the driver’s seat, Borgoff returned to the bedroom. Kyle
was holding the wheel mutely. “Say, Kyle . . . ” Borgoff called out to him. Kyle didn’t move. Borgoff called his name again.

  “Er—What?” Kyle responded, his tone distant and removed. “I’ll let you in on a little shortcut. Pretty soon, we’ll come to a spot where there’s a red branch sticking out on our left. Turn in there. Once we’re on that road, just follow it straight and we’ll come out near the Claybourne States.”

  “Gotcha,” Kyle replied.

  The vehicle went a bit, then stopped.

  “What happened?” asked Borgoff.

  “The engine stalled. Looks like the oil charger is all screwed up. Give me a hand fixing it.”

  Empty-handed, Borgoff followed Kyle off the bus.

  “Hold on a sec. I’ll scout around first,” said Kyle, moving to the front of the vehicle and out of Borgoff’s line of sight. Borgoff scanned their surroundings and gave a light scratch to his head. And, having scratched, he leapt.

  A bewitching light zipped out of the gap between the vehicle’s undercarriage and the ground. As Borgoff looked askance at the pair of crescent blades sparking together in the spot where he’d stood, his right hand went into action. Grabbing the bow and arrows tucked through the back of his belt, he readied them in midair. There was a sound like the plucking of a zither’s strings as he loosed two arrows simultaneously. What was really strange about the shot was how his arrows hit the tangled crescent blades, turned a few times, and slid up along the wires attached to the blades.

  A low groan could be heard from the far side of the bus.

  Borgoff circled around the vehicle to stand over the fallen Kyle. One steel arrow quivered in his brother’s stomach and another was stuck through the top of his head. “I didn’t want to have to do this to my own brother, but I didn’t really have a choice,” he told Kyle. “You went and got turned by a vampire. But at least now I know what she really is. I’ll avenge you, so rest easy.” Notching a third arrow, Borgoff took aim at his agonized brother’s heart. “The next time you’re reborn as a vampire, try not to shade your eyes from the sun when it’s not all that bright out.” And he watched until the bitter end, until the steel shaft had pierced his younger brother’s heart.