Record of the Blood Battle

by Hideyuki Kikuchi

  Was it D’s skill or his fiendish strength that allowed him to pierce, as if they were paper, skin and muscle renowned for their ability to deflect even bullets?

  As the machine man turned to face his opponent again, he made another smooth and deadly thrust that tore through empty air, while the sword brought down from above cleaved him from the top of the head to the chin, and his massive form fell flat on his back. Tens of thousands of wires wriggled from either side of the cut like tentacles. Sparks flew. The wires that came together were knocked back viciously, then rose like cobras preparing to strike. They were never to be joined again, and it was only a few seconds later that the last pair of wires gave up the ghost, but D didn’t have time to waste watching to be sure. He looked at the baron.

  The cause of the Nobleman’s pained cries became all too clear. The baron’s right arm was exposed, and from it a crimson tube ran into the withered branch of an arm on the man in the next bed. The lady stood motionless on the other side of that bed. Needless to say, it was the spell of D’s exquisite visage that flushed her face as red as blood.

  “My dearest,” the lady said. It wasn’t a murmur to herself. It was a call.

  D looked at the bed. The mummy had just finished sitting up.

  “Watch . . . out . . .” the baron said feebly from the bed where he lay. His oily skin had dried out, his eyes were vacant, and he called to mind a slightly plump mummy. “This is a fellow . . . who ensorcelled a machine . . . And maybe his own . . .”

  Not giving him the chance to finish what he was saying, the mummy leapt out of bed and jabbed his right arm through the Nobleman’s heart. D saw that from the wrist down his hand had become a sword. Pulling it back out of the baron, who’d fainted with an agonized cry, the mummy caught a reflection of D in his cloudy eyes.

  “Dearest . . .” the lady cried out, running up behind him and throwing her arms around him.

  Who would’ve believed that the mummy—her husband—would stab her through the side with his right hand?

  The next time she said “dearest,” it was a cry of pain.

  Without a glance at the falling woman, D struck with his blade. The same blade D had used to cut down a mechanism equipped with regenerative abilities was now parried by the mummy’s arms. The gleam sliced through them, sinking into the top of the mummy’s head. With a mellifluous sound, the blade was deflected in a heartbeat by the helmet the mummy’s skull had transformed into. A split second before the deflected blade’s second swipe could make contact with the mummy’s neck, it was covered by steely armor. The whole body had become lustrous and black, reflecting the sunlight.

  “So, this is one of those ‘iron men’ I’ve heard about, is it?” the left hand murmured in a low voice. The skin, muscle, and bone of the mummy’s body had been transformed into the black armor. Even his face was covered by an iron mask, leaving only his eyes faintly exposed. Gazing into them, D said, “You’ve failed. Giving a human the abilities of a Noble is a biological impossibility. The only thing you gained was the Nobility’s cruelty.”

  The mummy’s eyes blazed red. A blisteringly hot beam of crimson pierced D’s chest. His eyes were transmitters for some kind of thermal beam—probably using infrared rays.

  D’s left hand went up. Once more the crimson flashes raced toward D’s flaming chest. The light would bear witness. It would see the tiny face that formed in the palm of that hand. Its mouth pursed. In a long, thin sigh, it let out its breath. But was it that breath that made the thermal rays blur?

  The thermal rays angled down. The tiny mouth snapped open as far as it could go. The red glow was sucked into it like a stream of blood. But who ever heard of a mouth that ate rays?

  “That’s a good hearty meal, there,” the mummy heard a voice say.

  D’s chest remained engulfed in flames, but he became a black wind as he kicked off the floor. The blistering beams had been turned into life force by his body, making him look like a burning mannequin. There was no telling how much power he had behind the sword he brought down over the mummy’s head. The steely armor that should’ve protected the mummy was split from the top of his head all the way down to his crotch, and then another horizontal slash left him in quarters that dropped to the floor. No blood flowed from him. He hadn’t had any from the very start.

  Sheathing his blade, D went over to the baron’s bed, where he heard a woman’s cry of “dearest” creeping across the floor.

  “Where . . . did we . . . go wrong? You said you only . . . wanted to make secrets of the Nobility . . . serve humanity . . . And all I ever did . . . was cheer you on . . .”

  “What’s this? The woman’s crawling over to her quartered husband!” the baron said from where he lay on the bed, his face pale but a gleam coming into his eyes. “This is the same man who stabbed her. What can she be thinking? Oh, she’s holding him close. Are those tears? Why’s she crying? Because you did such a beautiful job of chopping him up? Ouff!”

  A savage blow from the Hunter to the baron’s mountainous belly silenced the Nobleman. D then gazed at the dead on the floor as if they were part of his job.

  Pulling the pieces of the mummy’s corpse back together and hugging them tight, the lady breathed her last.

  After delivering another blow to the baron’s stomach to rouse him again, then freeing the blubbering Nobleman, D left the room first.

  Blue skies, a breeze, and his cyborg horse were there to greet him. To welcome the young man who’d caused three deaths.

  As the baron unsteadily tottered out and got on the back of the Hunter’s steed, countless riders galloped in through the gates. “What’s the story with these clowns?” the baron asked even as he ducked down behind D.

  A group of armed riders blocked their path.

  “How’d it go with Lady Millian?” the sheriff asked from the back of his steed.

  “She died,” D said in reply.

  “Who killed her?”

  “Her husband.”

  A murmur went through the group. The men exchanged glances, a number of them reaching for the stake guns they wore on their hips.

  D got on his cyborg horse.

  The astonishment was plain on the men’s faces. In complete disregard of their orders, they opened a path to let the Hunter pass.

  “Where are you going?” the sheriff asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Ordinarily, I’d have to detain you here until the circuit court arrived and we could get to the bottom of this.”

  “Is that what you’re going to do?” D asked, already advancing down the path the other horses had cleared.

  “Get going,” the sheriff told him with a toss of his chin. “But in return, forget everything that happened here. The town of Nieto never heard of the two of you.”

  As the steed and its two riders walked away in silence, it was unclear if they heard the next thing he said.

  “Those two were the terror of the community. Nobles, if there ever were any . . . They sure as hell weren’t human.”

  And then the lawman heard something. The smaller of the two figures, with a little smirk on his face, said, “No, they were human.”

  THE DEADLY AGREEMENT

  chapter 5

  I

  —

  Still strong, the sunlight bleached a bizarre little area just off the highway. It was a patch of green land that seemed to drink up every last sound—a world made up of grass, moss, and stands of trees. There, it was easy to see millennia of decay. There were crumbling castle walls and corridors, stone stairs, statues gazing up at the heavens, and golden rails that formed bizarre intersections—probably the remnants of a four-dimensional transport system. What Noble had it belonged to? Everything was green with moss, covered with vines, and decaying with the quiet cruelty of the passing years. The only intact piece of the Nobility’s nocturnal grandeur was a realm of crystal-clear water—a large fountain and pool, and D and the baron were at the edge of it.

  An hour had passed sinc
e they’d left the town of Nieto. Traveling in daylight had left the baron exhausted. “I can’t do this anymore,” he cried. “I’m dying. I’m going to burn away to nothing. Help me!”

  Finally the baron succumbed to dehydration and fell off the horse, so D brought them to a shady spot that they were fortunate to be passing by. Grabbing the Nobleman by the collar and dunking him in the water, D put him in the shade of a hundred-yard-high monster elm, where the baron sprang back to life like a freshly soaked sponge.

  “As I thought, I’m not quite used to moving around in the daylight yet. D, how long did it take you?”

  There was no reply. D was on the marble rim, gazing at the blue water’s surface.

  Shrugging his shoulders, the baron continued, “Been that way since the day you were born, then? Hmm. By the look of things, it seems you’re the only success of my theory and techniques. Actually, at that time, I hadn’t even perfected them yet. It’s just like him to manage it, much as I hate to admit it. Right now, my body is beat to hell, but the sunlight doesn’t seem to bother you any more than piss on a frog’s back.”

  “What a vulgar little creep you are.”

  The baron bugged his eyes. “Was that you? No, it couldn’t be,” he said, eyeing D intently, but avoiding his face. “Well, my research concerned pure Nobility, but you’re a different case. You’ve got human blood in you. That’s why you can walk in the light of day without it bothering you. An advantage of being a half-breed freak, in a manner of speaking. He certainly did some impetuous things. Ah, yes! That reminds me—” The baron’s lips curled evilly. “Your relationship—”

  D turned around. To face the baron.

  At the same time, the baron looked behind him. There was the thunder of iron-shod hooves coming down the road that led back to the highway.

  “What, is it the sheriff from Nieto and his goons?” the baron said without trying to conceal the uneasiness on his face, rising to his feet and waddling around behind D.

  They counted ten cyborg horses. Armed more heavily than the sheriff and his men, these riders were all white with dust. They must’ve come quite a distance.

  “We’re a patrol from the Capital,” said the rider who pulled up alongside them. “I’m the leader, Captain Smith. Is it true that one of you is a Noble who can walk in daylight?”

  “No, that’s a lie,” said a voice from behind D’s back. Half of the baron’s pudgy face peeked out from behind the Hunter.

  “Where did you hear that?” D asked.

  The men looking down at him from horseback already wore entranced expressions.

  “On our way to the village of Satori. We got word by carrier pigeon.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Oh, that? We want you to turn that Noble over to us.” The thick finger Smith extended was aimed at the baron, who’d promptly ducked his head again.

  “Why?”

  “A warrant for Baron Macula was discovered in the archives of the Capital’s Legal Affairs Bureau. He’s to be hauled to the nearest court within a hundred days of his revival and placed on trial there.”

  “What’s the charge?”

  “Mass murder.”

  “Oh my!”

  The sudden hoarseness of D’s voice made the men exchange glances.

  “Also, confidence schemes involving fraudulent offers of marriage.”

  At this point, D shut his eyes. He appeared speechless.

  Clearing his throat, Smith continued, “In the summer of 5051, Baron Macula was charged with the crime of capturing and killing approximately half a million people, male and female, young and old, during the period from the autumn of 3022 until the spring of 5049. The plaintiffs are ninety-three villagers from the La Nuvall region. Roughly seven thousand years ago, in that district—now known as Nuvell—the baron not only slaughtered five thousand children, but he lured a good six hundred widows to his mansion with promises of marriage before killing them.”

  “If that don’t beat all,” said the hoarse voice.

  The men’s expressions changed, and their horses whinnied, backing away. Though the weather was unchanged, the air suddenly seemed to have taken on the bite of an autumn frost.

  “That’s not right!” came a scream from behind D. “I didn’t kill anyone! Those children were all used in experiments for a lofty goal!”

  “Five thousand of them?”

  At that question from D, the baron seemed to shrink to half his normal size. “That’s right,” he said. “But I don’t recall ever forcing anyone to do anything. I explained the purpose of the experiments to them at length, then left it to them to decide for themselves! So, do you understand now?”

  “According to the accounts, you used hypnotism.”

  The baron glared at Smith. “That, er—that was just for expedience, to make negotiations go smoothly, and—”

  “What was your purpose?” asked Smith.

  Fixed in every gaze, the baron seemed fidgety, looking around in all directions before steeling himself to the task. “To turn humans into Nobles, and Nobles into humans—and there you have it,” he said, puffing out his chest.

  There was a gleam in D’s eye. That was all. Smith and his men couldn’t grasp the fearful implications of the baron’s words.

  “Save your defense for the trial. At any rate, seven thousand years ago, a civil court heard the complaint. As the defendant is a Noble, any statutes of limitations don’t apply. The closest courthouse to here would be Darlitton, but it’d take a month to get there. Instead, Zappara is to the west of here, and the circuit court is due to arrive there in seven days with the whole works. You’ll have to accompany us there. You have any objection to that?”

  His last remark was directed at the gorgeous Hunter.

  “I certainly do!” came a resolute cry. The baron. Looking up at D as if to say, Right? You do, don’t you?, he grabbed the hem of the Hunter’s coat and tugged on it.

  The men looked at each other. There were expressions of disbelief all around.

  “Nope,” D said.

  “Whaaaaaaat?” It went without saying who screamed that. “D-d-d-don’t you want to meet up with him?”

  “Take him away,” was D’s callous reply, as if he’d already forgotten all about the baron—or as if the Nobleman had never existed in the first place.

  “Very well.”

  Smith gave a toss of his chin, and a number of his men dismounted. The baron ran around like an escaped piglet, but they quickly caught him, slapped plastic cuffs on him, and loaded him onto a cyborg horse that served as their pack animal.

  “Sorry to have taken your time,” Smith said, finally smiling.

  “No need to thank me. I’ll be coming along with you,” D told him, surprising the lawman. “I’ll stay out of your way.”

  “But . . . why would you do that?”

  “This is a dangerous area. Every man you can get should make you feel that much safer.”

  “That may be true, but . . .” Smith deliberated. It was tough being the leader. Looking at D for a few seconds, he shook his head. “No, I think I’ll pass. We can’t be relying on the strength of a drifter. Or would you care to share with us the reason why you were traveling with the baron?”

  D was silent. The silence stretched a good distance.

  Backing up about four paces, Smith turned his cyborg horse back the way they’d come. A hint of relief streamed into his features. The steeds all broke into a run in unison.

  “Help! Murder!” the baron cried, and the man riding close at his right flank dug an elbow into him. “How long do you people hold a stupid grudge? Help! Save me! They’ll kill me!”

  The cries of “Watch your mouth!” and “Damned Noble!” faded into the distance with the whinnying of their horses.

  Once all sight of them and the echo of their iron-shod hooves was lost behind the castle walls, the hoarse voice inquired, “You’re fine with that?”

  Saying nothing, D got back in the saddle and wheeled his steed aro
und.

  “Ah, I see. They can’t very well complain if you follow along behind them, eh? So, we take it nice and slow and tail ’em?”

  At that instant, all four hooves tore into the ground.

  “Wow—what’s wrong?” The voice of surprise quickly faded.

  From the same direction the patrol had gone, gunfire now echoed.

  “Bandits? This should be interesting. I wonder how they’ll handle that bald little Noble this time.”

  As the hoarse voice was still cackling, a figure came into view up ahead. The Hunter was on a part of the highway hemmed by rocky mounds on either side. The sounds of gunfire had already died out.

  “Halt!” one of the men on the road said, training a repeating rifle on the Hunter. Though he wore a harsh expression, no killing lust emanated from him.

  “Hey, they’ve got on the same uniforms as those guys we just saw,” the hoarse voice whispered.

  Lowering his gun, the man said, “We’re a patrol from the Capital. We encountered a group of bandits who were impersonating us to make off with an important figure, and then eliminated them. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to make a detour.”

  The sight that spread before the Hunter’s eyes suggested that a detour might be the best idea. Horses and riders lay on the ground, some covered in blood, some burnt, a number of the beasts still twitching. The legs that kicked vainly at the heavens were nothing short of an attempt to push away the approaching reaper.

  —

  II

  —

  “Hey, D!”

  An egg-shaped figure was halfway up the rocky hillside to the left, waving his arm. It was the baron, but because a six-and-a-half-foot-tall giant of a man had him by the hand, he looked more like a chubby child. Several uniformed figures stood on the rocky hills to either side of the road with firearms in hand, looking down at the Hunter.

  The heavily bearded giant came down to the highway with the baron, then went over to D. “I’m Captain Smith, head of this patrol,” he said, touching his hand to the brim of his hat in greeting. He had an affable smile, and the baron was looking up at him amiably. “From what the baron just told me, it seems their leader was using the same name, eh?”