by David Bishop
Constanta made Hitori wait until nightfall before allowing him to surrender his soul. "Go outside, walk in the daylight, be among your people," the vampyr advised. "All being well, you will remember this day for a long, long time to come. Savour your humanity while you still have it. Most vampyrs have their souls torn from them by hungry predators. Few are given the choice about whether or not they wish to embrace immortality. Consider yourself fortunate."
Hitori did as he was told, walking out from the Ministry of War's building into Tokyo, letting himself mingle with the throngs of ordinary people, all of them hurrying to complete the rituals and minutiae of their daily lives. He found a square set aside as parkland and lay down on the moist grass, savouring the autumn sun on his skin and the soft, gentle breeze that wafted through the air. Last but not least, he found a small stationery store and bought paper, pen and ink to write a letter to his beloved wife. Hitori could not conceive ever forgetting how much he adored her, how much she meant to him, but nor could he imagine what effect sacrificing his soul to a vampyr would have upon that love. He wanted to express all the feelings in his heart but could not find the words, the eloquence to say them. Let no hint of my sadness, my loss creep into my words, Hitori decided. Let her have this last, happy letter to treasure, and leave it at that.
He returned to the park and wrote four pages, his hand hurried by the knowledge that the sun was sinking towards the horizon and his last moments of humanity were accompanying it into the darkness. As people in apartments overlooking the square of park lit lanterns for the evening ahead, he walked back to the ministry building, his feet trudging every step of the way. Suzuki was waiting at the door to let him in, the other workers having already gone home for the evening. "Zenji, what is it? What's going on? The general told me to wait down here for you, but has forbidden me to ask any questions."
Hitori could not help smiling, despite the hollow numbness he felt deep inside his chest. "The general forbade you, and still you ask your questions."
Suzuki shrugged. "You know me; I've always been the curious one."
"Be careful it does not get you killed one day." He handed his oldest friend the envelope, addressed to Aiko. "This has to be sent to my wife from Manchuria, she has to believe I died there. Can you do that for me, Shiro?"
"Of course, but-"
"No more questions, please." Hitori pushed past his friend into the building, but Suzuki followed him inside.
"Okay, okay, I won't ask you any more questions."
"Good."
"But that doesn't mean I can't speculate. If I guess right, I'll see the truth in your face. You always were a terrible liar when we were young, and even worse at bluffing." Hitori walked on, doing his best to ignore Suzuki. "Obviously, this has something to do with that Rumanian. If your wife has to believe you died in Manchuria, it means you're going on some kind of covert operation, and you're not expected to make it back alive. Am I right?"
"I thought you weren't going to ask any more questions?"
"Hmm, good point." Suzuki peered at Hitori's face as they walked along a corridor towards Tojo's private office. "I am right! But what kind of suicide mission would the general send you to undertake that involved a Rumanian officer? I mean, I screen all the intelligence reports that come in and the only mentions I've seen made about a Rumanian are those wild stories about-" Suzuki stopped, realisation and horror competing for dominion over his face. "Constanta, he's one of those creatures, isn't he? Red Army troops on the eastern front have been telling Moscow for weeks about a cadre of bloodsucking fiends fighting alongside the Wehrmacht. Lord Constanta, he's one of them, isn't he?" Suzuki's mind was racing, putting together the pieces far faster than Hitori had done. "The general's ordered you to form an alliance with this monster."
"Keep your voice down," Hitori hissed. They were standing outside the general's office and he had no wish to involve Suzuki any further in this. "He didn't order me to do anything, Shiro. I volunteered."
"Why?"
"The emperor asked me, and I would do anything for the emperor."
Suzuki staggered back a step, still reeling at the reality of it. He looked down at the sealed envelope, understanding why Hitori considered it important. "You're giving up everything to become like Constanta?"
"Yes."
"Then let me take your place."
"No. You don't know what you're suggesting, Shiro."
"I don't have a wife or a family like you do. The army is my life. If doing this spares you from losing what you love, it's a sacrifice worth making."
"No. I told the emperor I would do this," Hitori insisted. "I gave my word of honour. I cannot renounce that. It is too late for me."
"Then let me do this thing with you," Suzuki urged. "I have nothing to lose."
"You don't know what you're asking."
"Explain it to me."
"I don't have time," Hitori sighed. He knocked on the office door and it swung open to reveal Tojo and Constanta waiting for him inside. "Please, just make sure the letter gets sent to my wife from Manchuria, as you promised."
"I will," Suzuki said.
Hitori embraced him for one last time. "Goodbye, old friend." Then he walked into the office and closed the door, leaving Suzuki outside.
Constanta took Hitori out on a terrace near the top of the ministry building. It offered a stunning view of Tokyo as dusk settled over the city, but neither of them paid the vista any attention. Instead Constanta gestured to a group of figures held in an enclosure below, half a dozen men clustered around a pitiful paper lantern. "Once you are a vampyr, you will hunger. You must feed at once; gorge yourself on the blood of living humans. The general has arranged your first meal, a party of Chinese prisoners to do with as you wish."
Hitori remembered his earlier revulsion when Constanta had offered him the chance to drink the blood of a captive. "I'm not sure if I can go through with this. I will not dishonour my emperor, my unit, my family name by breaking my word, but to sup on another man's blood..."
The Rumanian rested a leather-gloved hand on Hitori's shoulder. "Before, in the general's office, I made you that offer as a test. You were still human then. When you are one of us, one of the everlasting, your hunger will overcome all other considerations. Your need to feed will command you."
Hitori took a deep breath. "How do I become like you?"
"Firstly, I must drink your blood. It is part of the price you must pay in exchange for immortality. Don't be afraid, it is a necessary step."
The Japanese soldier undid the collar of his uniform and pulled it aside, exposing the throat. He tilted his head to one side, all too aware of the jugular pulsing against his skin. "Do it, before I change my mind."
Constanta smiled, his lips slowly drawing back to reveal his fangs, like a predator unsheathing its claws. He took a firm grip on Hitori before rearing his head back. The Japanese soldier closed his eyes and tried to picture the face of his beautiful young wife, tried to imagine what their son must look like. Then he felt two sharp stabbing pains driving down into his neck, and a gush of warmth as liquid spilled from the twin wounds. Hitori smelled his own blood, the metallic scent clogging his nostrils, and he tasted the bitter tang of adrenaline in his mouth.
Slowly, gradually, the pain eased. In its place was the uneasy feeling of something being sucked out of his body, the disturbing sense that his life's blood was being pulled away. Hitori's heart pumped faster, trying to compensate for the loss, pushing his remaining blood around his body. He wanted to tear himself away from this monster, this fiend supping at his throat. The fight or flight impulse was close to overwhelming him, but he used every last ounce of his remaining willpower to resist that most primal of urges. He surrendered himself utterly, his old life ebbing away with his blood, giving in to the darkness and damnation.
Hitori felt disappointed when Constanta pulled his fangs away. It was as if the vampyr's presence had become the most important thing in the world, the sole reason to live or di
e. The Rumanian licked his lips lasciviously, savouring every morsel of crimson liquid. "Delicious, quite delicious," he hissed. "It seems a shame not to take the rest, but I made a promise to Tojo and to the Führer, back in Berlin." He undid the right sleeve of his uniform and pushed the fabric up his thin, pale arm. Two old puncture holes were visible in the fold of his elbow. Constanta dug into the wounds with his long, sharp fingernails, tearing back the scar tissue to reopen them. Two trickles of blood so dark it was almost black dripped down from the holes.
"Now it is your turn," Constanta said, his voice a bleak rasp. "By taking your blood, but leaving you enough to survive, I have remade you in my image. If you feed before the next sunrise, you will become a vampyr, but a vampyr of little power or status. You will discover there is a strict hierarchy to our kind, and your place within that is defined by your strength and abilities. Greatest of us all is the Sire, who sleeps beneath the lake of blood hidden deep inside Transylvania, awaiting the day when he will rise up and claim dominion over the world for all vampyrs. He was my blood sire, resurrecting me in his image. I have been blood sire for a select few, endowing them with much of my power and abilities. In turn, they have sired the next generation of vampyrs, imbuing them with part of their status and strength, and so it goes, on and on, generation after generation.
"It is rare that I sire a new vampyr," the Rumanian said. "According to tradition each of us can sire only ten new vampyrs. Alas, I lost one of my kin on the eastern front in recent weeks. But that is fortunate for you, as it means there is a gap in my family and I can endow you with far greater powers than you might otherwise have gained. You will need these to create the cadre of samurai vampyrs that Tojo wants as his secret weapon in the coming war."
"How?" Hitori asked, swaying in the cool twilight breeze, his legs weakened by the substantial loss of blood. "How do I attain these powers?"
"You must feed. You must drink my blood." Constanta held out his arm so it was level with Hitori's face. "Close your mouth over my wounds and nature will take its course. Forever more, part of my blood will be part of your body, augmenting your senses and your abilities. You will become one of my creatures, one of my übervampyrs!"
Still Hitori hesitated, his old self repulsed by the thought of drinking another creature's blood. But something else was stirring deep inside him, an insatiable need, a hunger that grew until it became a torrent, a storm of wanting and anger, of violence and need. An animal instinct was overtaking him, until he could hold it back no longer. Red mist descended upon his reason and he gave in to it, pulling back his lips with a hiss of triumph. Hitori sank his teeth deep into Constanta's cold, sallow flesh and drank of the liquid within. He felt the warmth of it smearing his chin, running down his neck and staining the front of this uniform, but he didn't care. He wanted to suckle those wounds forever, to bury himself in that black and crimson moisture; he wanted to feed upon the source until it ran dry.
"Enough," Constanta commanded, trying to pull his arm free.
"More," Hitori replied, his voice as guttural as some base animal's.
"Enough!" The Romanian ripped Hitori from his arm, throwing the Japanese soldier across the terrace. Hitori's body thundered into the stone balustrade, but he was up on his feet within moments, licking his lips and advancing on Constanta. The Rumanian rolled his sleeve back down, hiding away the wounds that had become irresistible to Hitori. "You tried to drain me."
"I was hungry," the Japanese soldier smiled.
"You want to keep feeding?" Constanta pointed at the prisoners waiting below. "There's your next meal. Feed on them."
"Cattle," Hitori spat. "None will taste as sweet as you."
Constanta folded his arms and glared at what he had created. "Be that as it may, you took more than enough to assure your future as one of my kinsmen. But I still control you, Zenji Hitori; you will be ever in my thrall."
"We'll see about that," the Japanese soldier snarled and hurled himself at the Rumanian. Constanta smashed him aside, as if swatting away a gnat.
"Do not try my patience," the vampyr lord warned. "Yes, I have made you powerful, more powerful even than my faithful Gorgo, but I still have your measure, Hitori. I can resurrect myself from the smallest speck of dusk. You remain vulnerable, you can still be killed. You are immortal, but only up to a point. Do not make the mistake of believing yourself unbeatable."
"How?" Hitori demanded. "How can I be killed?"
"I will tell you as dawn approaches tomorrow morning. For now, you should go and feed. Discover your abilities, what you can do, the powers that you have. Return here before the next sunrise and I shall complete your education." Still scowling, Hitori moved to the door that led inside. "You need not go that way anymore," Constanta said. "You are a vampyr. Fly and be free!"
"I can fly?"
The Rumanian grinned. "There is little you can no longer do, kinsman."
"But how?"
"Leap from this terrace and your new instincts will do the rest."
Hitori stared at his benefactor, as if trying to see into his thoughts. "How do I know I can trust you?"
"Would I let you drink my blood and then suggest jumping to your death?" Constanta gestured at the vast cityscape splayed out before them. "This is all yours now, take it! Enjoy your new freedom, your new abilities. Embrace them. Become one with the night."
Hitori looked down at his hands, studying them as if they were newly grown. He opened his mouth and ran a finger across his fangs, freshly emerged from within his upper jaw. He grinned, a grin that turned to laughter. "So be it," the Japanese vampyr said, before throwing himself off the terrace.
FROM: Lieutenant Hitori, Manchuria
DATE: September, 1941
My dearest Aiko,
By the time you get this letter, I imagine you will have already had the baby. Is it a boy or a girl, I wonder? If our child is a girl, I hope she has your beauty and your serenity, your patience and your compassion. If our child is a boy, I hope he has your courage and your faith in human nature, your openness and your smile. I wish I could have been with you at the birth, but know that your parents and mine will have done all they can to help you.
As always, there is little I can tell you about our situation here, in case this letter should fall into the wrong hands. I can't wait until the day we are reunited, so that I can tell you in person how much I love you and our child, how much both of you mean to me. Be assured that your devoted, loving husband is fighting bravely and as well as he can for the empire. Our enemies are many and our resources finite, but the men show great courage and I am proud to lead them into battle.
Outside the sun is setting and I can smell jasmine on the breeze. It makes me long for our little home, to be drinking green tea with you and sharing the story of our day, to be sharing our love for each other, as husband and wife. I would give anything in the world for this war not to have taken me away from you, but such wishes are beyond my power to grant, sadly. I must put such fancies from my mind and concentrate instead on the happy day when we are all reunited. Know that my thoughts and feelings will be with you, always.
Your loving husband,
Zenji.
FOUR
Sergeant Emery Lee Hicks had never seen such a pathetic, useless, despicable and craven collection of marines in his life and he wasn't afraid to say so. More than a dozen men from B Company had been arrested for fighting at Tokyo Joe's the previous night. All of them sported bruises and bandages, several had black eyes, and a few displayed broken noses. It was embarrassing for the corps and especially so for Hicks. B Company was responsible for policing and security within the navy yard, yet his men had been starting brawls with other divisions of the service in downtown Honolulu. Hicks gave the twelve unhappy marines an ear bashing that would have made a battleship blanch. After shouting himself all but hoarse, he announced that each man would be confined to barracks for a fortnight and that they could expect no privileges for a month. He dismissed most of the marines, b
ut kept back the trio accused by the bar manager of having started the brawl: Paxton, Maeda and Walton.
Walton had two black eyes and a swollen jaw from the blows that had knocked him unconscious. Maeda's head was swathed in bandages and his left arm was in a sling, due to a dislocated shoulder he'd suffered while trapped on the floor of the bar. Despite having thrown the first punch, Paxton had gotten off lightly. A split lip was all the evidence he bore of his involvement, having taken shelter behind the bamboo bar with Kissy as soon as the brawl got out of hand. He'd emerged grinning afterwards, as usual.
The sergeant glared at the men identified as ringleaders. All of them had been standing in the blazing sun for more than an hour, and their uniforms were soaked with sweat. "You three disgust me," Hicks snarled, his words thick with venomous hatred. "You disgrace the good name of the corps with your antics, turning a perfectly respectable bar into a battleground for your petty squabbles and rivalries. You pick a fight with navy pilots and any passing grunts that happen to be inside Tokyo Joe's, when everybody in uniform knows that place is neutral territory! You attack the military police when they arrive, ensuring that everyone in this unit is a marked man in future. But you know what makes me most ashamed, what chills the blood in my veins, what makes me sick to my stomach?"
Walton opened his mouth to reply, but thought better of it and stayed silent.
Hicks spat on the parade ground tarmac, his face twisted by rage. "It's the fact that you three didn't win your fight before the damned MPs arrived! In my day we would have beaten the living snot out of everybody in the bar, before using their ugly faces to wipe the floor clean of blood. My god, we're talking about raw recruits and navy pilots! If you can't beat those pantywaists, what hope have you got against a real enemy? The three of you are a disgrace to the corps!" The sergeant marched straight at Walton, not stopping until their noses were touching. "Well, Flinch, what have you got to say for yourself?"
