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Cover art by Yoshitaka Amano English translation by Kevin Leahy Book design by Krystal Hennes

A division of Dark Horse Comics 10956 SE Main Street Mihvaukie OR 97222 darkhorse.com

The road lay in shadow. To either side of it were endless rolling plains. Though they were dotted with what looked to be rocky mountains and woods, these did nothing to lift the air of desolation. Spread with gray clouds, the sky occasionally carried the growl of distant thunder. It would probably rain.

All day a horse had been advancing through the wilderness. The continuous stretch of dull tones and identical scenery would drive all emotion from the heart of any rider in the saddle. Anger, joy, and sadness all fused with the ash-gray world, leaving a dull weariness in command of the soul. At times like this, travelers might even wish they were dead.

However, this rider was a gorgeous exception. The eyes beneath his wide-brimmed traveler’s hat gave off a light that it seemed even the void would fear, and as he rode into an almost imperceptible breeze, the face he had turned forward was so beautiful it could convince anyone that it was not of this world. Men and women alike were paralyzed by it, and even the beasts undoubtedly adored him with one look. However, his beauty was such that all who saw him understood that when his black-gloved hand reached for the hilt of the curved sword peeking over his shoulder, he wouldn’t be done until death colored the blade of his weapon.

Both the ashen sky and the ocher plains seemed to exist solely to highlight the rider’s magnificence as he and his horse went down the highway. What awaited him at his destination—life or death?

When the grumbling of the heavens had grown quite close, a flickering image resembling a village began to take shape further down the road. The sea of clouds lit up. Blue zigzags connected the sky and earth, with thunder audible just a short while later.

Perhaps this was some signal to welcome the rider and his mount. For with that flash of light, the rider caught the stink of blood on the almost imperceptible wind. It had blown out of a village—a village that lay more than six miles away.

An hour later, the horse and rider came to the town. At the end of a smaller road that branched off to the right of the highway loomed a high palisade and a wooden gate. The gate was open. And the stench of blood definitely came from within.

The rider, however, showed no signs of turning his mount in its direction. Not displaying the slightest hesitation, he rode forward without revealing an ounce of fear. All he had for the village that stank of blood was a stern indifference. Had any survivors known of this, they might’ve held it against him for the rest of their lives. No, they would’ve undoubtedly forgone that. That way, they were spared having to choose death over a life of writhing pain.

After the young man had gone five or ten feet past the road to the village, his ears caught a faint sound and a voice. The sound was footsteps, and the voice was that of a young woman.

The young man’s action betrayed the image he projected. Halting his horse, he tugged on the reins and wheeled it around. He gave a light kick of his heels to his mount’s flanks, and the cyborg horse began to trot back in the opposite direction.

On passing through the gate, the rider was greeted by a scene like any other Frontier village. Wooden houses were scattered between the trees. There were a square and a well, stock pens and rows of storehouses. However, no one called out to the visitor, and there was no sign of vigilance-committee members to surround him with swords, spears, and firearms in hand.

The rider went straight down the main street of the village. But despite everything that was wrong about this scene, he didn’t seem to raise so much as an eyebrow on his cold and beautiful visage.

On the left-hand side he saw the sign for the general store: Yarai’s. It was the local branch of a chain that had stores far and wide across the Frontier. At the same time the horse halted in front, the door swung open from inside and a pale figure staggered out. Taking a couple of steps down the raised wooden sidewalk, she then thudded down on her face. Her flaming red hair shook.

Getting off his horse, the rider went over to the girl. Before he came to a stop, the girl put both hands against the sidewalk and tried to rise. Surely she’d noticed the rider’s approach, but she didn’t even look at him as she got back up. Though she was gritting her teeth, her face was that of a beautiful young lady of seventeen or eighteen. Rubbing her tear-wearied eyes with one hand, the girl then looked up at the rider. Her eyes instantly opened wide with fascination, and a rosy hue tinged her cheeks. For even mired as the girl was in weariness, resentment, and despair, the rider had a countenance so gorgeous it made her lose herself.

“Who are you?” the girl asked in a dazed tone. “I’m Rosaria.” “D.”

Just then the wind blew by, stirring the young man’s hair and making him hold down the brim of his hat.

“That sounds like someone saying goodbye,” the girl—Rosaria— said, squinting her eyes.

“Everyone’s been killed,” Rosaria replied weakly. With a pale finger she pointed to a black scarf around her neck. “You must know without even looking. There’s a pair of teeth marks under this. I was bitten by a Noble.”

The sky glittered. Half of the girl’s face had a white glow to it while thunder rumbled in the distance.

“No. I don’t feel particularly good about it, and if you were to run off on me, I wouldn’t be able to go anywhere.”

Rosaria’s eyes opened as far as they could go. Yet they still seemed to have a sort of gauze over them, due to the beauty of the young man before her.

With that, Rosaria collapsed on the spot. The threads of tension that’d supported her had been cut. Shoulders rising and falling as she took a deep breath, she looked up at D with hatred in her eyes.

“Don’t play innocent with me. I’m a victim. When a Vampire Hunter finds someone like that hanging around, he doesn’t let it slide. It’s your ilk who did this to the village!”

“Your colleagues came in and ran around killing everyone. That’s all—why don’t you see for yourself?”

Suddenly, Rosaria got right back up on her feet and headed for the door of the same general store she’d come out of. She acted as though her earlier call for help had just been the sound of the wind.

Stroking the neck of his horse, which seemed somewhat on edge, the Hunter then followed Rosaria.

The interior of the store was soaked in blood. Not the floor or the ceiling—the very air. By the counter, two villagers lay face down. Apparently they’d been attacked from behind, and the ends of iron stakes jutted from their backs. Judging by the length and thickness of them, the stakes had to weigh over twelve pounds each. Even if they’d caught these people off guard, the person who’d used them must’ve been endowed with incredible strength.

“Behind the counter is old man Meadow. He was the manager.” D had already caught the scent of another person’s blood rising from back there. Turning to Rosaria, he asked, “Did you hide?” The girl nodded. “I worked here part time. I was just in the middle of putting some sacks of flour into the storehouse out back. And then, all of a sudden, I heard these screams.”

Though she’d thought about coming out, her whole body had frozen. The screams had been that intense.

“Actually, they were screams from Mrs. Judd and Mrs. Laroque lying there. It’s unbelievable the noises a person makes when they’re dying . . . Then there was the sound of something hitting the floor, and old Mr. Meadow said, ‘Who sent you?’ But right after that—”

“Not a word. Once I heard the manager fall, there was some laughter. I’m sure there were four of them.”

Terrified as she was, this innocent young redhead had still been able to deduce their number from the murderers’ voices.

“I was paralyzed in the storehouse. And then I saw this huge flesh-eating rat down by my feet. It didn’t surprise me, but it managed to knock over a mountain of canned goods. I—I was certain I was dead. They came into the storehouse!”

“I don’t know,” Rosaria replied, shaking her head. “I just pressed my back up against the storehouse wall like so and shut my eyes. I was so nervous I thought my heart would stop. Now, that storehouse is a little prefab job that couldn’t hold three people. I knew as soon as they came in I’d be right in front of them. They absolutely had to have seen me. Yet all they did was grunt about how there was no one there, and then they just left.”

After he’d finished listening to her, D spun around and stepped outside. Crossing the street, he went into the saloon in the middle of the block. It was a bloodbath in there, too. Nearly a dozen men lay in their own blood. Stakes jutted from their backs or chests, and there were three decapitated corpses.

“Not a single person escaped, you know,” Rosaria said in a hoarse voice, having followed him there.

Undoubtedly these sudden attackers always prided themselves on being exceptionally skilled at slaughter. One corpse stood over by the wall with a hand going for the machete on his hip. He’d been killed while trying to resist. A stake about a foot and a half long nailed him to the wall, right through the heart. The man over by the window who’d been impaled with arms still outstretched had obviously made an attempt to escape.

It was obvious that, having wielded those heavy stakes so easily and slaughtered ten people in a split second without letting anyone escape, they weren’t average Hunters. What’s more, they hadn’t pulled the stakes back out. Each must’ve had a number of them—how many pounds of weapons did they carry around?

His question related to the decapitated corpses. Although it seemed a shocking query to put to a girl of her age, this was the Frontier. And it was D asking.

“After they left, I went around and checked every house in the village. The massacre was complete. Not a single person was left alive. Our village didn’t have much of a population to begin with. Wherever you go, you’ll find nothing but corpses here.”

Rosaria closed her eyes and shook her head. The winds of death had blown off with every life in the village, irrespective of age or sex.

“Did you see the killers?” D asked as he looked across the street. “Nope. You can laugh if you like, but—I didn’t leave the storehouse. At least, not until the sound of their horses and wagon had gone down the road to the gate. But while I was in there, I heard screams and shouts and people begging for their lives outside the whole time.”

“Now that you mention it, there was a huffing sound like steam.” The reason D had asked must’ve been because he’d seen the number of deep ruts that’d been left in the dirt of the street.

Rosaria’s eyes gave off a troubling gleam, but she soon seemed to give in, saying, “I guess there’s no point in hiding it from you, is there? Apparently, it’s been about fifty years. They took a village that’d fallen into disrepair and patched it up. You know, don’t you? That this was a village for victims.”

“Why didn’t you look underneath? When you see a person with a scarf around his neck, isn’t it perfectly natural for a Hunter to tear it off and check, even if that person happens to be one of your own parents? All the Hunters I’ve ever known would’ve done that.” “What was the population of the village?” D asked her.

It took the girl a few seconds to grasp the meaning of those words. “You’d bury them?” she said, her eyes quickly filling with tears. “I can’t believe it. You’re a Vampire Hunter, aren’t you? Isn’t it your job to kill people like us?”

“There isn’t enough time to bury them. We’ll cremate them.” Rosaria nodded and sent glittering bits flying.

“It doesn’t matter which it is. Just so long as they get a proper human sendoff. I’m sure they’d appreciate that. Thank you.”

“Victim” was the term generally used to describe people who’d been fed upon by the Nobility but had been left, for whatever reason, before the job was done. Ordinarily they were banished from villages and isolated under strict surveillance, or else quickly disposed of. Although there were people who had no qualms about driving a stake through the heart of someone who up until a day earlier had been a friend or relative, they were few and far between. Some villages employed special “cleaners.” It was unavoidable that this task occasionally fell to Vampire Hunters, but at the same time they were probably also perfectly suited to the job.

A vacant gaze, a predilection for seeking shade to escape the sunlight, a fondness for wandering in dark forests, and an unpredictable thirst for blood—-these were the characteristics of those who’d become slaves of the Nobility, and they’d been recognized since the ancient time when the Nobility had first made themselves the rulers of the earth. Some victims exhibited a number of these symptoms and others lacked them entirely, but they might escape a speedy death at the hands of their own kind and flee to someplace where no one knew them. However, they couldn’t hide the wounds on their throats. Due to the unholy nature of the vampire, they could burn the wounds with flames, melt them with acid, or even have the flesh surgically removed and replaced with a graft of new tissue, but like the immortals who’d left them there, the wounds would suddenly regenerate.

Inevitably, the victims had no choice but to conceal the marks left by that accursed kiss with a scarf or something similar. For the uninfected, that in itself became the way of distinguishing who’d been bitten. Thus, they were also banished from new areas and sent far into the mountains or deep into thick forests to seek a life in ruins of antiquity, cursed and shunned by others.

By the time they’d used a wagon to collect all the corpses in the village and lined them up on the edge of town, the light had fled completely from the afternoon sky. But in this world ruled by darkness, the two continued to work without pause. For Rosaria, like D, had the darkness-piercing vision of the Nobility.

Once they’d piled up the more than two hundred corpses, Rosaria watched gloomily as D splashed them with high-octane fuel, but she didn’t try to avert her gaze from his harsh duty. The fuel had been buried on the outskirts of the village for use in case of an emergency. Everything else had been carted off.

D took out a light stick. One swing brought dazzling flames from the end of the eight-inch baton of concentrated chemicals.

Rosaria spoke. “They were all such good people. I thought I’d spend the rest of my life in this village.”

D might’ve been waiting for that. There were several seconds of silence—and then the fire was tossed.

The glow pulled their forms out of the darkness and danced across them. The flames were flickering. Burning at a hundred thousand degrees, the flames looked like a blinding mirage. And within them, the forms of the victims crumbled away without a sound.

“Goodbye, everybody,” Rosaria said, but she shed no more tears. She’d run dry.

If anyone who knew him had heard that question, it would’ve made them doubt their own ears. The very thought of this young man asking someone else’s opinion!

“Can’t stay here. I wanna go west. There’s this village named Valhalla. Ever heard of it? I don’t suppose you’d happen to be headed the same way, would you?”

“Really?” Rosaria exclaimed, her face instantly brightened by joy. “Well, in that case—take me with you.”

“No,” she shot back. As she said the next part, Rosaria realized she actually meant it. “You’re different. I can tell. I like to think

I can read people. You’re really scary. You’re probably a lot more merciless and terrifying than the ones who killed everybody, but you’re definitely not a bad person.”

“Go straight down this highway here. After about thirty miles, you’ll hit Dodge Town. Ask there about the rest of the way.”

“If there’s nothing wrong with your legs, you can walk,” D told her. “Wait a minute. I—I’m a victim! A poor invalid. Don’t you wanna protect me?”

“As long as you can walk in the light of the sun, you’ll manage,” D said, turning his back to her coldly.

Gazing absentmindedly at his back as he walked away, fascinated as she watched him go, the girl turned after a while to the flames scorching the heavens and chanted a prayer, then began to hurry after him.

The girl was referring to the fact that even running as quickly as she could, she couldn’t match his pace. And it’d looked for all the world as if D was just walking normally. He wasn’t even taking long strides, yet she hadn’t been able to gain any ground on him at all. The only reason she’d finally managed to catch up was because D himself had halted.

“You know, you’re just being horrible! Leaving a girl my age to—” Rosaria had begun to shout when her tongue froze.

Before it’d stopped not three feet from her with a shrill gasp of steam, Rosaria saw what it was: a vehicle hung with a number of lights. The huffing sounds of steam came from the cylinder on the back half of it—a boiler.

The shadowy figures who clung to the vehicle like insects climbed down in unison. The air shook; there wasn’t a sound. And the only way to describe the men was to say they were remarkably athletic. Each wore a cotton shirt and a vest with a staggering number of pockets, and over their eyes they wore thick night-vision goggles.

“Looks like our forerunners left one alive, I’d say,” one of the shadowy figures remarked in a cold tone. It was the sort of voice that made his cruel and callous nature perfectly clear. “We would’ve gone right on by, too, if not for those flames. But if we don’t wipe out every last one of the Nobility’s playmates, the good little villagers won’t be able to sleep all safe and sound.”

The men’s hands went in unison for the weapons on their hips. Bastard swords, short spears, stake guns, throwing knives—though all their weapons were nicked and grimy and spoke volumes of the hard use they’d seen day in and day out for quite some time, it still wasn’t proof they’d ever been used against the Nobility.

Nobles were something else entirely. A lot of punks called themselves Vampire Hunters, but when it came down to how many of them had actually gone toe to toe with the creatures of the night, it was less than 1 percent.

“W'what, you’d even kill a girl? To hell with that!” Rosaria cried. “See, I’ve got myself a strong bodyguard.”

“Well, he certainly is one hell of a pretty boy,” the man said, his voice having the ring of rapture to it.

Giving his head a good shake to drive out the impeding thoughts, he turned his eyes to D’s neck and said, “From the look of it, you’re not a victim. If you’re just passing by, you’d better beat it. I can’t say what’s gonna happen next will be a very pretty sight.”

“You know, they’re out to kill me!” Rosaria said, clinging to the hem of D’s coat.

Glaring at the men, she shouted, “Why would you kill us? What did we ever do?”

“Once your blood’s been sucked, you’re in with the Nobility. You get a whole bunch of you people gathering together, and upstanding folks can’t live in peace no more.”

“What makes you say there’s something wrong with us? We were just living here quietly without bothering anyone, weren’t we?” “You’ve got the DNA of the Nobility in your blood. Everything might be quiet now, but there’s no telling when you might show your fangs. And no one likes to take chances. Just accept it already.”

The man drew a bastard sword from his hip. The blade was wide enough that it looked like it could behead a steer as well as a human, and it’d been so finely honed it appeared to have no thickness to it at all.

Clucking his tongue, the man laid a hand on D’s shoulder and tried to shove him aside.

The man had expected there might be trouble. As he raised his bastard sword, he did so with the joy of getting exactly what he’d wanted.

His blade halted in midair. The pain shooting through his wrist was more than anything he could’ve imagined.

Reaching for their respective weapons, the men behind him surrounded the pair without another sound. Their formation was exquisite—this didn’t happen without day after day of strict training.

Someone let out a gasp. It came from the man who’d had his wrist pinned, who’d just been tossed headlong in the direction D was facing. Two or three others caught him, but the man collapsed to the ground.

His arms were broken at the shoulder, elbow, and wrist. But when? No one had seen it happen.

Once again all eyes focused on D, but they weren’t filled with the confidence and intimidation of conceited bullies. Confronted by the unknown, something deeper and stronger than fear prickled against their skin—actual terror. There were those who could do the same trick they’d just encountered. One of them had actually seen someone do it somewhere. However, all of the men sensed that the master who stood before them was a whole different creature from them.

Still, their firm will to fight got a handle on the fear in an instant. Adrenaline flowed into their veins.

“Back to your senses,” D said, but of course his words weren’t meant as advice.

Failing to grasp his meaning, the men took glittering weapons in hand and made a mad rush at him. Behind them, other men braced themselves for a deadly volley from their stake and rivet guns.

Four men reeled backward—all of them men who’d rushed D. Jabbed into their heads, necks, or shoulders were their own blades

or those of their compatriots. Not only that, but at the instant their screams arose, cries had also rung out from those behind them with guns ready. For the bastard sword one of the staggering men gripped had split their throats open.

The flames illuminated only two men now. Ten people had been reduced to two in a split second. They weren’t quite aware of how incredible this was—they couldn’t be.

The deadly silence was broken by Rosaria’s enthusiastic cry of, “Get ’em, D!”

What had the girl just said? D? It couldn’t be that D, could it? Not the Vampire Hunter D?

If the men had been ordinary Hunters, they probably would’ve either collapsed on the spot and wet themselves or else run off without a backward glance. However, the second their will to fight was lost to a terror that knew no bounds, a trick of the mind turned the two men into robots no longer governed by emotion.

Taking his short spear under one arm, one of them made a thrust with it, while the other simultaneously hurled his bastard sword.

If someone were to elaborate on the events that unfolded a heartbeat later, it probably would’ve gone something like this: Turning sideways to avoid the spear one man was thrusting at him, D used his left elbow to deliver an uppercut to the man’s chin. The blow came with such power that the man’s body, weighing more than 170 pounds, went straight up in the air. Perhaps D had calculated it so that the bastard sword flying at him would take the man right through the heart. The man was killed instantly, but a split second before he died, the Hunter took the short spear from him and hurled it at the remaining man. There was nothing the man could do to prevent that steel spearhead from piercing his larynx.

Before the men had even fallen, the fight was over. However, three thuds echoed from the ground. For the battle had proven so ghastly that, watching the situation from behind D’s back, Rosaria had fainted dead away.

The darkness that night was different from usual—it was filled with the glow of flames and the stink of blood. But only one person stood there in beautiful brilliance, the same one who’d unleashed the scent of blood into the air.

Without even looking at the deadly scene he’d created, D walked over toward where his horse was tethered in front of the general store. Even Rosaria was left behind. He hadn’t fought for her sake. The instant the man who’d been after her laid a hand on D’s shoulder, death had spread its black wings over the men’s heads.

After he’d gone two or three paces, a voice that sounded like someone dead and buried echoed up from the ground behind him, saying, “She called you D, right?”

It was the man with the two broken arms. Although he’d been the catalyst for this bloodbath, he was the only one of them who’d survived it.

“Always thought... I’d like to meet you someday . . . But this is what I get. . . eh? My name is Quinn. I work for Grays.”

D put the saddle resting near the horse on his mount’s back. He never even halted.

“Wait . . . please. This area’s got a lot of dangerous creatures. Take me with you .. . please.”

“It’s true ... These last six months ... the number of monsters has increased like mad ... This used to be a safe zone ... but now ...” While the man was speaking, the rider in black and his white steed had gone to within a few yards of the gate.

The clomping of hooves stopped. Halting, D soon turned back toward the village. His horse began to walk again.

The shadowy form was split lengthwise, and a black liquid that wasn’t the form itself spread in the air like ink. The halves of the form that lay on the ground were covered with black bristles and had trenchant claws exposed.

Advancing on his horse as if nothing had happened, the Hunter dismounted by Rosaria. With her unconscious form over one shoulder, he easily got back on his mount, this time heading straight for the gate.

“I’m begging you . . . It’s about my future . . . Please, just wait,” Quinn said, his voice seeming to creep across the ground. “I was always prepared ... to die anywhere . .. but now I’ve got a reason not to die . . . In the village of Valhalla . . . I’ve got a girl. It’s been five years since I left. . . and I was on my way back there.”

How did it sound to D, hearing the name of a village he’d already heard once repeated now?

Halting his horse, he turned to the left—in the direction of the steam-powered vehicle.

At that point, what could only be described as a hoarse voice clearly rang out in the darkness from the hand that gripped the reins. “As always, you’re such a softy!”

The car’s interior was both strangely cramped and strangely hot. There wasn’t room for more than two people to ride in it to begin

with, and heat from the steam boiler intruded mercilessly. When over capacity, it must’ve been more comfortable for those who had to ride on the outside.

From the way D looked at the cockpit, Quinn had guessed that it was his first time driving, but on seeing how easily the Hunter mastered the controls after making only one or two mistakes, the man was quite naturally left dumbfounded.

The common school of thought was that you didn’t travel by night. The darkness impenetrable to human eyes held numerous supernatural beasts and monsters filled solely with boundless hunger and murderous intent. However, no earthly school of thought applied to the handsome young man behind the wheel.

Rosaria soon regained consciousness. On seeing Quinn the eyes nearly popped out of her head, but Quinn explained his situation to her ... only he left out the part about having a woman in Valhalla.

“Why should we help a murderer like youl You deserve to get a taste of your own medicine and feel the same terror that everyone you killed felt. You’d know what that was like if we left you behind in the dark forest for about five minutes!”

“Shut your hole, little girl!” Quinn bellowed back, his own mouth open about as wide as it would go. “I make my living as a Vampire Hunter. Taking care of the half-dead who’ve been drained by the Nobility is my job. I’m warning you, you’d better not set foot outta this car so long as you’re traveling with me!”

“No, you shut up! What’s a no-talent bum like you supposed to do when you can’t even move your arms?”

“I knew it! You’re a monster bitch!” he howled with loathing. Since he called himself a Hunter, his reflexes should’ve been keen enough to keep a woman or child from striking him. There could be only one reason why she’d landed a hit on him. Rosaria’s speed was that of neither a woman nor a child.

“I knew you were part of the Nobility after all! Just try walking down a normal street with those marks on your neck. You wouldn’t last a minute. You’d be better off letting me kill you now.”

“The hell I would! Why don’t you try killing D, then? Think you could? After all, he’s a dhampir, you know!”

A second later, Rosaria turned in D’s direction and said, “Oh, no! I went and told him!”

His beautiful back to her, the Hunter didn’t move a muscle as he said in a low voice, “He must have known anyway.”

“Ha! This is one messed-up gang. Two Vampire Hunters and a victim. And two out of the three have the blood of Nobility in ’em,” Quinn sneered. “That being the case, traveling by night should be safe enough. It’s when the two of you do your thing, after all. Hey, don’t let me get in the way. Why don’t you find a little farmhouse hereabouts and go drink their blood?”

“See? What did I tell you? I’m not surprised he knows his place. Now, you’ve also gotta—”

“Have you ever walked the road at night until daybreak? If not, you’d better settle down.”

His meaning dawned on them both instantaneously—the man and woman were, indeed, residents of the Frontier. The two of them squeezed themselves into the narrow space between the seat cushion and the dashboard.

Rising to his feet unconsciously, he peered out ahead of them through the windshield. His goggles still worked. But right away, he groaned.

From the left-hand side, a pale little figure had suddenly stepped right out into the middle of the road.

“Help . . . me!” cried a tiny voice that echoed in the depths of their ears.

“She’s just an ordinary girl!” Rosaria called over to D in the driver’s seat.

The girl turned in their direction. With smooth, rosy cheeks, wavy black tresses, a dress torn in a number of places, and an absolutely terrified expression on her face as she sought succor— she was so cute, it wouldn’t have been strange for even the most cold-hearted deity to make an exception in the case of this girl.

The vehicle kept heading right for her. It hadn’t slowed down yet and showed no sign of ever doing so.

“Don’t!” Rosaria cried, picturing the girl being crushed horribly beneath the black wheels of the vehicle.

But a second later, the girl was flying through the air. The instant she’d risen as high as D’s forehead, her right hand flashed into action just as the Hunter’s sword raced out of its scabbard. Without a word from the girl, her body split down the center, and something like white petals rained onto the black ground.

“What was that?” Rosaria shouted from the back. “When she flew up, she had the scariest look on her face. She was a monster, wasn’t she?” “You just figured that out, you dolt?” Quinn sneered. “What are the chances of a girl just happening to be out in the road at this hour waiting for someone to drive along? Of course it’s a monster! It was simply waiting for some kind heart like you to get all sentimental and stop her car. It’d tear us to shreds with its fangs and claws. What the—”

Suddenly they picked up speed, and Rosaria grabbed the leather strap beside her. Quinn narrowly managed to maintain his balance.

Something pale in the air was chasing after them. Despite the darkness, they could see everything with perfect clarity, just as they had before. The black hair, the pink skin, the cute face—it was the same girl.

However, needlelike teeth jutted from the mouth that now rent her face from ear to ear, and the claws that stretched from her fingertips looked to be about as long as her arms. More than anything, what dug talons into the hearts of both were the green flames that burned in her eyes. Her hatred made fire shoot from them. While the way she reached out with one hand and wriggled her body as if swimming through the air looked rather cute, she was also ten times more horrifying than any ordinary monster.

The distance between the vehicle and the girl was most definitely shrinking. A supernatural creature versus a product of civilization—in this world, the former always won.

Quinn reached for the broadsword on his right hip—and groaned. His arms were still broken, after all.

The girl’s body began to slip apart right down the middle—that was the only way to describe what was happening. Rosaria saw that her left half had fallen about a hand’s width behind her right.

Precisely. The body of the flying girl had tasted D’s blade, and now, perhaps having lost its ability to rejoin, it split in two.

The girl wrapped her arms around herself. On her face, as plain as day, were bottomless malice and loathing—and a hint of pain.

Rosaria’s cry almost seemed to reinvigorate the flying girl. Her distance from the car decreased even further, until the girl was just outside the window—they could’ve reached out and touched her. Blazing eyes were trained on the two of them. Her left hand reached out with its claws.

But not a second later, the flying girl suddenly pulled away. Perhaps her power was spent, because the last thing the two of them saw was the two halves of her adorable form flying apart in midair.

CHAPTER 2

Relief surged into the hearts of both the man and the woman— but it vanished again immediately. Not only did the vehicle show no signs of slowing down, it was actually gaining speed. Fierce vibrations shot through the pair from the soles of their feet all the way to the tops of their heads, and through the window glass the snarling echoes of the wind clawed at their eardrums.

Still hanging onto a hand strap, Rosaria said angrily, “Hey! If we keep zipping along at this speed, won’t we catch up to those murderous friends of yours?”

“We might, I suppose. So what if we do? You thinking about settling a score with ’em?” the bearded man sneered back at her.

“Yeah. I’ll drain every last one of them dry,” Rosaria replied, baring her teeth.

Quinn’s smile disappeared.

Every inch of the young woman was tinged with an air of rage. Pointing a finger at Quinn, Rosaria declared, “Just remember this: you’ll be the last to get it!”

“You don’t say!” Quinn replied, a nasty look on his face. “In that case, there’s no need to wait till we catch up to them. Settle up with me here and now!”

“Oh, that sounds like fun. You think you can handle me without your grubby little hands?”

They weren’t joking, and this wasn’t an act. Murderous intent radiated from every inch of Quinn, and Rosaria’s eyes gave off a red gleam as she stood with her fingers curled like claws in front of her chest. The fight that ensued would be the real deal, and it would be to the death. But it was preempted by the tortured shriek of the brakes. This time, they weren’t braced for it. Both of them went flying forward, slamming into the divider between them and the front seat.

“Yeah! Are you trying to kill us?” they snapped, their deadly battle now forgotten.

But what the Hunter said in a far lower and more tranquil tone silenced them: “This is the wrong way.”

Somehow managing to fight the feeling he was being taunted, Quinn turned to the divider and shouted, “Are you sure you’re really D?”

The skill with which his colleagues had been dispatched gave him the answer to that question. Better yet, Quinn needed only to consider his own two arms.

Giving him a look that could kill, the young woman replied, “What gives you the right to order me around like a king? Why don’t you open it yourself?”

“Gaaaah!” Quinn exclaimed, bending backward in pain. A kick from Rosaria had connected with his right elbow. In the narrow confines of the vehicle, there was no way he could’ve avoided it.

Looking down frostily at the man as he writhed in pain, Rosaria spat, “Do you get it now? In this world, the strong survive. And

I’ll give a taste of the same to your friends shortly. Just like they did to the villagers.”

And then she opened the door. The first thing that caught her eye was the glowing moon. The disk was nearly full, and its light seemed to exist solely to emphasize the beauty of the young man in black standing beneath it. Perhaps it was that beauty that drew Rosaria out of the vehicle. The air was sweet and fresh—much sweeter and fresher than by day.

Taking in her surroundings, she waited a bit before saying, “Where are we?” She sounded unsettled as she made her query.

At some point, sheer walls a hundred yards high had surrounded them. Their rock surface had a jewel-like luster in the moonlight. They were at the bottom of a ravine, yet it was strangely spacious— the rich black earth must’ve covered at least an acre.

D waited in a spot about fifteen feet from the vehicle, though it was unclear what he was looking at. All the young man had to do was stand in the moonlight with the wind blowing around him—which probably wasn’t the wisest thing to do given their current situation—and he created a scene worthy of a picture scroll. A skilled artist might’ve even been able to depict how the wind swooned when it touched him.

Even Rosaria forgot about their predicament. I just want to stay here like this, she thought so intensely it hurt.

His cold tone shocked Rosaria back to her senses, planting seeds of anger at the same time. “Why?” she asked, and she was in the process of sidling up to the Hunter when the ground by her feet moved violently.

When her eyes turned down in shock, they spied a black shape pushing its way up out of the sand. The way one end of it appeared first made it look like a submarine.

A black-gloved hand wound around the waist of the dumbfounded Rosaria, and the Hunter dashed with her toward the vehicle.

Ahead of them, sand was erupting, and with each burst a black wooden box appeared as if to block their path.

Surveying her surroundings with fear-filled eyes and realizing that the rising black coffins covered the entire bottom of the ravine, Rosaria was horrified.

Though it may come as a strange compliment, she truly was a victim. Her voice didn’t even tremble as she spoke.

Now wide with surprise, her eyes reflected a new scene. The lids of the coffins opened in unison. Without a second’s delay, those inside sat up. Pale faces with vacant eyes and vermilion lips that looked painted with blood—they were indeed victims of the Nobility. However, there were some among them shriveled more like dead branches than mummies, their eyes, noses, and mouths seemingly buried beneath wrinkles.

Pointing at one of them, Rosaria asked, “What’s the story with that stick figure?”

“That’s a victim from the earliest times,” D said. “They gathered here in this valley to try to lead an existence that was neither life nor death. Victims who don’t turn into Nobility can live without seeking human blood, and they age at a far slower pace than they would ordinarily. Surely that’s one who’s spent all this time in the valley without slaking the thirst for blood.”

“D,” she started to say, the expression on her face announcing she’d come to some sort of decision.

They looked all around them before dejectedly turning their gazes back on the pair.

Their voices called to mind a chorus composed of every trick the wind had ever played.

All extended their arms simultaneously. Slowly, vainly, they curled their fingers, opened their hands, then curled those fingers again as they drew the hands back. They stopped when their hands reached their chests, poised to snatch and rend.

Nearby, someone snarled like a beast. Turning, the girl saw that sharp incisors poked out from the lips the being was licking. A few of them were just shy of turning into Nobility.

Four or five of the closest attacked D and Rosaria with unbelievable speed. Silvery light danced out. Black blood swirled in the wind. The victims fell to the ground, clutching their throats.

With the same blade that’d tapped fountains of blood still in hand, D glanced at the shadowy figures behind the fallen. Poised to latch onto something, the victims staggered back. Their foul aura was being beaten into submission by the Hunter’s air of beauty.

The car was less than ten feet away, but between her and it were a coffin and a person. A woman. Swaying black hair hung down to the waist of her filthy shroud. Though she had the withered face of a crone, on closer inspection she was actually still young.

The woman opened her mouth. It was as empty and black as a cavern. Withered like a dried persimmon, her gums didn’t hold a single tooth. Except for a pair of fangs, that is.

As the girl groaned, a withered pair of hands reached for her. The pain of those fingers digging into her was horribly acute. A hint of emotion surfaced in the woman’s muddied eyes, and her hands came away from the girl’s shoulders. With fresh blood spraying from her throat like the spouting of a river whale, the woman tumbled backward.

Even before Rosaria saw the handsome young man with sword in hand, he’d wrapped a powerful arm around her waist, easily carried her back to the vehicle, opened the door, and then roughly tossed her in like so much baggage. The door was then closed.

Springing back up, she peered out the window. What she saw was the mob of victims pressing closer and D’s back as he faced them.

“This is a freaking nest of victims,” Quinn said, turning a tense face to her. “And nasty ones at that—they’ve all nearly turned into Nobility. Gathered here to lure in humans and drain their blood, I’d say.”

Staring at Rosaria with an expression somewhere between scorn and rage, he continued, “You sure you sickos didn’t already know about these things and just let ’em keep right on doing it?”

Bloodshot eyes met teary ones—and sparks flew in the air. Catching something out of the corners of their eyes, both of them looked out the window in surprise.

His black coat fluttering out in the moonlight like a cape, D was coming back. His sword had already been returned to its sheath, and there wasn’t a single victim left standing behind him.

Upon seeing the vast number of men and women lying there, Rosaria groaned in a hoarse tone, “That’s horrible!”

D got back into the driver’s seat without even glancing at the pair in the vehicle, and with a ferocious pistoning sound, the car began retracing the route by which it’d come.

Returning to the highway, D stopped the vehicle, turned to the pair, and said, “Wait here.”

“You’ve gotta be freaking kidding me! I ain’t about to be left here in the middle of the night with a bunch of pseudo-Nobility. I got no use of my arms. And on top of that, those things back there will probably come after us!”

“Who the hell would want to go after a jerk like you?” Rosaria spat at him, and then she turned a wrathful gaze on D. “You know, folks like that might not be human, but they’re not monsters either. So why’d you kill them so horribly?”

A thin smile surfaced on Quinn’s lips as he put his index finger to his throat. “Slashing victims open here is the best way to keep them off their feet. You’re one of them, and you mean to tell me you didn’t even know that? By now the wounds will have closed and they’ll be bumping around in that murky valley none the worse for wear.”

Quinn resumed his complaint, saying, “Which is why I said I ain’t about to be left here. Why didn’t you just go ahead and wipe ’em all out?” 38 I HiDErtrji Kikichi

“There’s no need to do that. Victims will—” Rosaria started to say, but then she held her tongue. Because anything she had to say about the victims would also pertain to herself.

“What’s the problem? Just come out and say it!” Quinn sneered at her while leaning against the back of the driver’s seat. “Victims will drink their own—”

“D?” Rosaria said, staring at his hand as he pulled it back into the front seat.

“Have you ever heard of them leaving the valley?” D inquired as he got to his feet.

“They’ve been living in that valley. But there are times when their desire for blood makes them lure passing travelers down there. Bright moonlit nights like tonight, for example.”

Rosaria said nothing, but nodded. Feelings of empathy she didn’t fully comprehend kept her from speaking.

The truth that everyone knew yet none would speak. That something human beings found repulsive was simply one means of survival for victims—drinking their own blood. Or that of their fellow victims.

Though in many cases victims resigned themselves to their fate and awaited their hour of destiny in a quarantine area on the outskirts of their village, more than a few still clung to life and decided to escape. Perhaps it was some sort of supernatural power they gained while being transformed into Nobility that allowed them to meet up with others of their kind. When two of them happened to cross paths and headed off together to find some forsaken place to live, other victims in the same situation would collect there as if blown by the wind, and they would form a community. If the human portion of their mind was strong they might subsist off farming and hunting, but the Noble blood that flowed in their veins wouldn’t allow their hunger to be sated by the blood of animals. They needed the blood of something else. And while this terrific struggle took place between the human and Noble within them, each of them realized the same thing: their own blood remained human. As did that of their compatriots.

And people found that repulsive. It was this practice of feeding on themselves and their neighbors that caused humans to set fire to any community of victims they discovered without preamble. In highlands where the shadow of humanity rarely fell, at the ends of the earth, and on isolated islands, cries rang out from those who stalked the victims, and blood swirled in the winds.

Those victims who’d been relatively unaffected by the Nobility would use special makeup to cover the wounds on their throats and take full advantage of their ability to walk in the light of day by living close to human villages. Instead of shunning contact, they could associate with ordinary people. It was said that on the Frontier alone several hundred communities like this remained. Rosaria’s village had been one of them.

The victims swarming the valley hadn’t, in fact, gone out and attacked human beings. They didn’t seem to be luring travelers in, either. They’d merely stayed there peacefully, living off themselves. And D’s group had only been drawn there by chance.

“What do you intend to do, D?” the girl asked, thinking all the while that it was to no avail. Her tone was so calm she stunned herself.

“They’ve been fine up to now,” D said. “But if they lure any travelers in, they’ll end up bringing a mob armed with stakes down on themselves. They should be able to survive with their own kind.”

Rosaria’s eyes quickly began to fill with sparkling tears. “Yes, you’re right about that,” she said, swiftly wiping them away.

Rosaria realized why the shriveled young woman who’d caught hold of her shoulder had then let her go. She’d recognized Rosaria was one of them. And Rosaria had known it, too.

“I’m sure they’ll do fine. They won’t cause the outside world any trouble, so I guess the best thing to do would be to isolate them. D, I’ll wait here. Hurry up and go already.”

The figure in black had gotten onto the cyborg horse standing beside the vehicle. Though Rosaria had been watching him all along, it’d happened with such speed she wasn’t sure exactly how he’d done it.

“Stay right here,” he said, leaving her with just those words on the dark road.

Almost an hour later, D returned with the echoes of iron-shod hooves. Halting his steed, D surveyed his surroundings. The car was gone. Quiet had returned to the darkness. The only one who might’ve driven the car was Rosaria. What could’ve happened?

“They’re not here,” a hoarse voice remarked from the left hand balled around the reins. “And there’s no sign of those clowns who chased us. Does that mean they just took off on their own? No, I don’t think that girl’s one to go against your instructions. Ordinarily, I’d say someone coming down the highway had carried them away. Heh! It’s been a pretty boring trip up till now, but it’s finally getting interesting. But enough about that—you’ve already noticed, haven’t you?”

Before the hoarse voice had finished, D had wheeled his mount around toward the road into the valley where they’d been earlier, for his nose had caught a faint scent drifting from far down the road. The smell of blood.

“An ordinary person wouldn’t be able to tell, but that’s the mark of a wholesale slaughter. So, what are you gonna do?”

In lieu of a reply to the snide voice from his left hand, D drove his spurs into his horse’s flanks.

The valley was shrouded in the same stillness as the first time they’d entered it. The only difference was the rows of coffins on the ground. Lying black in the moonlight, they declared that this valley was the kingdom of the false dead. There was no sign of the car. From the back of his horse, D focused his gaze on the row of coffins. His beautiful eyes were filled with a gleam many would describe as ghastly.

It was a call to arms. There was something in the center of the valley. The ground suddenly rose in a mound, and a cloud of dust went up. Like water breaking in waves, the ground flew off to either side as the cloud zipped forward. Something was burrowing underground!

The figure in black flew out into moonlight—D had leapt down. Having been given a kick to the flanks, his horse raced on at a good pace. Now on the ground, D gripped his longsword in his right hand.

The cloud of dust changed direction. Its speed surpassed that of the cyborg horse.

D didn’t move—and a second later, his form was swallowed by the black cloud. A sharp wave passed through the air. Leaving D behind, the cloud of dust raced off toward the entrance to the valley. Soon, it’d been swallowed by the darkness. D sheathed his sword without saying a word.

“That sure was something!” the hoarse voice said. Whether it was referring to D’s display of skill or lauding the underground foe was unclear.

“A quarter inch to the right and it would’ve severed a major artery. But it let out a scream, too. Guess it bit off more than it could chew, eh?”

Not replying, D pressed his left hand to the wound. The bleeding stopped almost miraculously. Walking over to a nearby coffin, he

reached for the lid and opened it. It wasn’t locked. In it lay a victim. Vermilion stained the upper body. He could quickly see where the blood, which had already begun to dry, had come from—someone had carved open the chest and cut off the head. Apparently it’d been done with prodigious force, as the head of the victim only had a thin flap of skin still linking it to the body. The next coffin was the same. As was the next, and the one after that. In no time at all, D had confirmed that every last victim was dead.

“There ain’t a single footprint left here. Doesn’t look like this was the work of any human,” the Hunter’s left hand said, its tone, not surprisingly, one of amazement. The foe they’d just faced had been underground. “It’d take twenty people to put down this many victims. But what I don’t get is—”

There the voice halted. D had turned around. His ears had caught a sound that wouldn’t have been perceptible to any ordinary person—the echoes of wagons approaching the entrance to the valley.

“There are five of them—cargo wagons. It’s okay—they rode on past,” the hoarse voice said. It sounded disappointed that nothing had happened. “Must be a late-night express hauling the essentials of life to villages along the highway. But the creaking of their wheels sounds pretty frantic. Wonder if they called on that girl’s village. At any rate, the next matter of business is where those two got off to in that steam-driven car, but that doesn’t interest you anymore, does it?”

“That’s right,” D said, his reply darker and colder than the tense blackness of night.

“Steady there. If those two have gone on ahead, that group will find them. At least they’re not as heartless as you.”

Ignoring the mocking tone, D broke into a gallop. He quickly caught up to the group of cargo wagons. There were escorts on cyborg horses riding in front and behind them as well as to either side. Beside the drivers sat men armed with pneumatic guns.

Two of the riders broke off from the last wagon to block D’s path. With the old-fashioned rifle mounted on his horse’s neck trained on the new arrival all the while, one took a flashlight in his left hand and flashed it in D’s face. Both men tensed at the gorgeous countenance revealed by that circle of light. At that point, even a child could’ve cut them down.

Recovering his bearings somewhat, the one with a beard stammered, “Wh-who the hell are you?” D’s beauty was so great that the man’s voice was tinged with fright. He had to wonder if this wasn’t some supernatural beast—a creature of the night.

The two men looked at each other. The voice of the young man before them was so hoarse it didn’t seem to suit his beauty at all.

“If you’re gonna go around asking folks who they are and what they’re doing, it’s only common courtesy to introduce yourself first.”

“We’re a transport party for the Frontier Commerce and Industry Guild. It’s our job to deliver orders to every village in the region,” said the other man, who had a length of cloth wrapped around his head like a turban. There was the evidence to support the left hand’s inference.

“I’m a Vampire Hunter,” D said. Cold and exquisite as ice, his voice made the men exchange glances again.

The one with the turban said, “A Vampire Hunter? With a face like that. . . you wouldn’t happen to be—”

“That’s right,” the hoarse voice replied again, but the two men didn’t have enough presence of mind to find that curious. For those who lived on the Frontier, the name and deeds of the Vampire Hunter of unearthly beauty were nearly legendary.

The one with the beard lowered his light and took his right hand off his gun. “I’m Juke. I’ve heard of you. It’s an honor to make your acquaintance.”

After some bewilderment, the two men pulled back the hands they’d extended. They didn’t seem to take offense at the lack of a handshake. They knew that on the Frontier, casually offering your sword hand to anyone besides an ordinary citizen was a good way to get killed.

“We haven’t run into anybody. The area up ahead’s been flooded and cut off from supplies. That’s why we’re in such a hurry. Maybe it took one of the byroads instead?” Juke replied.

When the Hunter grabbed the reins again, the pair cleared the road for him. Turning back toward the wagons, Gordo shouted, “It’s okay. He’s a Hunter. Let him by!”

As the handsome rider in black passed the wagons, men carrying lights and weapons trained their gazes on him.

Halting his steed, D turned and looked. A particularly powerfully built man was leaning out off a wooden footing that encircled one of the wagons. D’s eyes could pick out every single gray hair in his beard.

“I’m in charge of this transport party. Kyle’s the name,” the man called out with one hand cupped by the side of his mouth. “I knew the second I saw your face. You’re D, aren’t you? If so, I’ve a favor to ask of you. Could I hire you to guard us?”

“Hold up!” Kyle called out, his voice an octave higher. It had a ring of gravity to it. “I know you’re a Vampire Hunter and ail. I’d take that into consideration on hiring you. Your pay would be the same as if you were taking on Nobles.”

“The area up ahead doesn’t belong to the Nobility,” D replied. The mere sound of his words was enough to make the man’s expression stiffen. A human could tell in a flash the voice of a dhampir—someone with the blood of the Nobility.

“With the number of people you’ve got and how well armed they are, you won’t have any problem.”

“The fact of the matter is, before we came out here, I went to a fortuneteller and had a reading done. Three times, mind you, and all of them came out real bad. Not that I necessarily believe in that stuff, but I’d like to be prepared anyway. I could really do with some serious backup.”

“Godspeed to you,” the Hunter said, and then he galloped off into the night.

After he’d sped along for about an hour, dawn began to sparkle like water in the eastern sky.

“Daybreak. Human time, eh? Still, I wonder what happened to that girl,” a voice from the vicinity of the Hunter’s left hand could be heard to say in the fading darkness. “If we go another three miles, there’s the village of Donellico, but that’s pretty low lying and gets flooded by the river all the time. Being of Noble blood and all, water’s not your element. Better rip through here as fast as we can or take another route.”

D didn’t slow down. Presently, the road began to dip. Chunks of rocks and stands of trees joined the scenery to either side, and an overall dense atmosphere swept over them. Up ahead, a silvery band could be seen. The roar that’d been audible for some time was the flow of a river. And it was fairly intense, at that—it bisected the road. The spray that went up some thirty feet away was impenetrable muddy water.

“This ain’t the river. It’s the wake of a flood. There won’t be a village left anywhere around here.”

“It’s about a mile and a quarter from here and runs perpendicular to this flow. Given the force of this sucker, how about taking the long way around? It’s not like we’re in a hurry or anything.”

“What?” the hoarse voice exclaimed. It would have knitted its eyebrows, if it’d had any.

The voice actually sounded rather worshipful as it said, “What— did you sense something? I know sometimes your senses are even sharper than mine.”

For all its grumbling, D had entered the water. In no time at all the muddy water was up to his waist. His steed lurched—the flow was so fierce even a cyborg horse had difficulty keeping its footing. Any ordinary mount and rider would’ve been swept away in the blink of an eye.

Pushed all the while by the overwhelming force of the water, the cyborg horse swayed its head from side to side to maintain stability and somehow began to ford the flow, partly due to the strength of the horse. However, what kept its gait strong and sure was none other than D’s handling of the reins from its back. When the steed tilted to one side he would slide over to the other, and when his mount was about to give up he gave a kick to its belly to keep it moving. In no time, they’d crossed the roaring torrent to within thirty feet of the opposite shore.

“Maybe the running water dug that out of a cemetery? But it looks like its occupant is no ordinary character. Where’s the grave?”

To understand what the hoarse voice was talking about, one had only to watch the floating coffin. The muddy torrent flowed noisily past D from right to left, the water rushing downstream. Yet the black coffin was slapped by waves as it pushed its way slowly but most decidedly from left to right—moving upstream.

D halted his steed. Skillfully shifting his center of gravity on the back of a horse that seemed ready to lose its footing, the Hunter managed to maintain his balance as the bizarre coffin sailed right by him.

“What’s the deal with that? D, don’t you wanna have a look at what’s inside?”

“So you’d just let it go, then? That’s a crying shame, you know,” it chortled hoarsely. “If it were up to me, I’d make a thorough inspection of what’s inside, then drag whoever it is out into the sunlight and turn him into dust. Well, whatever. At any rate, hurry up and get us back on solid ground. Your horse can’t stand much more of this.”

Suddenly the horse began to move, and less than thirty seconds later it stood in the village. A desolate scene spread before D. The houses, earthen walls, roads, and stands of trees must’ve all been submerged for quite some time. Everything was coated with gray mud. Judging from the way both homes and boles had been knocked flat, the floodwaters had apparently surged over them quickly.

“Don’t do anything stupid. What do you think you’re up to, cutting through this village?”

Paying no mind to the hoarse complaints, D slowly rode down the village’s main street. Due to the furniture and farm implements that were scattered everywhere, his horse was hard pressed to advance. Suddenly, his vista expanded. He’d come to the center of the village—to its square.

“Well, I’ll be!” the hoarse voice exclaimed, its tone conveying rare surprise and curiosity.

What should be sitting there in the middle of the muddy and debriS'Strewn square but the steam-powered car.

“Sure, it’s built like a tank, but I’m still surprised it could make it through that water. Actually . . .”

It was hard enough to picture that steam engine plowing through the water. Undoubtedly the vehicle had been under someone else’s control.

The voice hadn’t forced him to do it, but D rode his horse over to the steam-powered vehicle and dismounted before grabbing the handle and opening the door.

Just as the shadowy figure that erupted from the car was about to hit him, D dodged with ungodly reflexes, and the figure hit the ground hard. Letting out a cry of pain, he then passed out.

D crouched down by Quinn’s side and put his left palm against the man’s neck. Fierce spasms rocked Quinn’s body and he awoke. Sitting up quickly, he gasped on noticing D next to him, and then twisted around to scratch at the ground with his hands and feet.

Grabbing hold of him by the collar and hoisting him to his feet, D asked in a low voice, “What happened?”

The man’s only reply was a frantically powerful struggle to move forward and an unexpectedly shrill scream.

“It’s no use. Don’t bother,” the hoarse voice told the Hunter. “Why, he’s lost his mind. Looks like he must’ve been through hell.”

“It’ll be risky. Trying too hard to set him right might destroy his mental functions. He’s under some kind of supernatural pressure. The best thing to do is fix him little by little.”

The left hand caught the still thrashing Quinn by the neck, and his expression of otherworldly terror quickly grew placid.

A flicker of intelligence spread through the man’s vacant gaze. Quinn’s brain had begun to sift through his memories for a response to the question. After his eyes had lit up several times, he finally said, “General Gaskell was ...”

“General Gaskell? That monster? Come to think of it, this is pretty close to his territory. But he was supposed to have been turned to dust a long time ago. Hey! Did you really see him?” the hoarse voice asked.

“His face was outside the window ...” Quinn replied in a ghastly tone. “He was gigantic. Had a number of other guys with him. They were all huge, too. Gaskell rapped on the glass. When I asked who it was, he gave me his name. Said it so prim and proper it made my stomach turn.”

“I didn’t intend to at first. There were weapons, so I planned on plugging the bastard through the face or the heart. But before I could—”

Before it could prompt him for more details, the hoarse voice gasped—Quinn had begun to fade away. His whole outline had grown oddly vague, and the scenery behind him was becoming visible right through him.

“No! Stop, damn it! Wait!” the left hand exclaimed, its fingers finding only empty space now that Quinn was becoming one with the air. Finally just his two eyes were left in midair, and those too quickly vanished.

“You know how General Gaskell died, right?” the palm of the Hunter’s left hand croaked. “Maybe he survived, or maybe this is the work of his vengeful spirit—anyhow, making people physically vanish was the best way he had of terrorizing those under his rule.”