Demon Deathchase (2 page)

“What are you waiting for, freaks? Come and get it!” As the man in black shouted,
the heads of nearly half of the fang-baring villagers closing in on him from all sides
went sailing into the air, sliced cleanly like so many watermelons.

An instant later, silver light limned another corona, and the heads flew from the
next rank. Even novice vampires like these knew they mustn’t lose their heads or brains,
but they dropped to the ground leaking gray matter or spouting bloody geysers as if
they were fountainheads.

What had severed the heads of the vampire victims so cleanly was one of the blades
that’d hung at the man’s waist. The blades were about a foot in diameter and shaped
like a half-moon. Honed to a razor-fine arc, the weapon was known among the warriors
of the Frontier as the crescent blade. A wire or cord was usually affixed to one end,
and the wielder could set up a sort of safety zone around himself, keeping his enemies
at bay by spinning the blade as widely or tightly as he wished. Due to the intense
training necessary to handle it, there were few who could use one effectively.

But now, the weapons swished from both hands of the man in black to paint gorgeous
silver arcs, slashing through villagers like magic—to the right and the left, above
him and below, never missing the slightest change in their position. In fact, each
and every one of the villagers had clearly been cut from a different angle. His lightning-speed
attacks came from phantasmal angles. It didn’t seem possible that anything he set
his sights on would be spared.

Another particularly weird sound, entirely different from the slice of the crescent
blade, came from his companion’s favorite weapon—the hexagonal staff that was always
on his back. Both ends had sharp protrusions, veritable stakes, but normally this
weapon would be spun and used to bludgeon opponents. Its owner was using the hexagonal
staff in this manner. However, the way that he swung the staff was unique. Spinning
it around his waist like a water wheel set on its side, he smashed in the head of
a foe to his right, spun it clear around his back, and took out an opponent to his
left. The movement took less than a tenth of a second.

In a snap, four shadowy figures hung in the air to the left and the right of the man
with the hexagonal staff, and before and behind him as well. This leaping assault
capitalized on the superhuman strength unique to vampires.

The man with the hexagonal staff struck the first blow. His movements were sheer magic.

An instant after he staved in the hoary head of the old man to his right, the old
woman before him went sailing through the air with her bottom jaw knocked clear off.
With almost no delay, the two to his left and behind him were both speared through
the heart by the tips of his staff.

What kind of strength did this ungodly display demand? Actually, the man with the
hexagonal staff had his right arm stock still up around the shoulder. To all appearances,
his right hand from the wrist down didn’t quiver or move, and the staff seemed to
spin of its own accord, giving the impression of smashing the villagers all by itself.

It wasn’t humanly possible.

Still, the villagers numbered five hundred. Even with the skills this pair had, they
couldn’t keep the vampires from attacking the bus. In fact, the other vampires ignored
the two of them and pounded across the ground in a dash for the vehicle.

And every time the wind howled, a number of them screamed and dropped in unison. The
wind roared, and villagers fell like beads from a string, only to be skewered together
again by arrows from the giant’s bow.

The bow itself wasn’t the kind of finished good you’d find for sale in city shops.
It was a savage thing, just a handy low-hanging branch that’d been snapped off and
strung with the gut of some beast. Even the contents of the quivers strapped to both
of the giant’s flanks and his back were no more than simple iron rods filed to a point.

But in the hands of this giant, they became missiles of unrivaled accuracy.

The giant didn’t use them one at a time. Drawing back five at once, he released the
arrows simultaneously. The acts of both getting the arrows out and then nocking them
off seemed to be simplicity itself. Judging from his speed, he seemed to just be shooting
wildly, without taking aim.

And yet, not a single arrow missed the mark. Not only did they not miss, but each
arrow pierced the hearts of at least three villagers. This was only the natural way
to attack, given that vampires wouldn’t die by being run through the stomach, but
the question was, how could the giant choose a target and move his bow in less time
than it took to blink?

This remained a mystery even as the villagers left corpse upon corpse heaped before
the bus.

It was then that a small shriek arose from behind the mounted men. They heard a woman’s
voice coming from inside the bus.

“That ain’t good. Fall back!”

Before the giant had shouted the words, the men were whipping around toward the bus
behind them.

With a bestial snarl, the villagers started to run. When the rapidly dwindling distance
shrunk to a mere fifteen feet, the ground-pounding feet of the fiends came to an unexpected
halt.

A lone youth suddenly stood between them and the bus, blocking them.

But it was not that alone that stopped the rush of these bloodthirsty creatures. For
starters, there was the question of where this youth had appeared from.

With the gentle wave in the forelock touching his brow, the youth’s face was strong
and had a healthy tone, and, from the center of it his innocent eyes gazed at the
hell-spawn without a hint of fear.

The villagers, who’d hesitated due to the way the youth unexpectedly appeared, must
have deemed him the most desirable of prey. An instant later they were pressing forward
toward him, as a single tide.

And then something happened.

Into the darkness were born a number of streaks of light.

Like silvery fish that burst flying through the waves, the lights looked as chaotic
as cloth whipped by a high wind, but their accuracy was truly peerless, for each individual
flash lanced through the hearts of countless villagers. Five hundred vampires hit
in an instant . . . Flames spouting from their chests, the villagers fell. Writhing,
then stiffening, the peaceful faces that came with death were surely the ones they’d
had until dusk of the day before, returning to them now as serene masks.

From the cover of the bus, the man with the hexagonal staff slowly showed his face.
Seeing the corpses lying in heaps, he said, “Wow, pretty damn intense,” then gave
an appreciative whistle. Once he’d whistled, he looked up at one of the windows on
the bus and asked, “Is good ol’ Grove doing all right?” His expression showed concern.

He didn’t even glance at the young man who’d done all this. That man had already vanished.
Every bit as mysteriously as he’d appeared.

“It couldn’t be helped, and what’s done is done,” the man in black said, coming around
from the other side. “We’ve got bigger fish to fry. The geezer said the Noble that
grabbed his daughter took off to the north, right? If we go now, we could definitely
catch up to ’em, bro. We could track ’em, run ’em down. Ten million if we bring her
back safe. Sure he’s probably already had his way with her, but what the hell, we’d
be dealing with a woman on the other end. We could threaten her, tell her we chopped
the girl’s head off along with the vampire’s, and turned her back into a human. She’d
keep her trap shut and pay up.”

Behind him, the giant muttered, “That’d all be well and good, if he’d been talking
to us.”

“What do you mean?”

The man in black looked at the giant’s face, then followed the giant’s line of sight
toward the thicket ahead of them and off to the right. Earlier, that was the same
spot the old man had addressed when he spoke.

“Come on out!”

As the giant said this, a crescent blade in the man in black’s right hand gleamed
in the moonlight, and the hexagonal staff ripped through the wind.

They, too, had known that this unearthly miasma hadn’t belonged to the old man. The
one responsible for it was in the woods. Their hands went to their weapons. The aura
coming from the thicket gave them the same chill that radiated from the Nobility.
They grasped their weapons fiercely, wanting to conceal their humiliation at not having
uncovered the source of those emanations.

“If you don’t come out, we’re coming in, but from the way that old man was talking
to you, I’m guessing we’ve gotta be in the same line of work. Hell, it seems you’re
even more dependable than we are. If that’s the case, we don’t wanna do nothing stupid.
What do you say we talk this ten million deal out all friendly-like?” The giant waited
a while after finishing his proposal. There was no answer, nor any movement. His thick,
caterpillar-like eyebrows hoisted up quickly.

“Bro, this way’s a lot quicker.”

The crescent blade flew from the hand of the man in black. While it wasn’t clear what
it was constructed of, it wove through the trees, speeding to the spot at which the
giant glowered. It was an assault devoid of ceremony, but steeped in murderous intent.

There was a beautiful sound. A silver flash of light coursed back out between the
trees.

Behind the two men who yelped and jumped out of the way there was the sound of steel
cleaving darkness.

What the giant now grasped in his right hand was the same crescent blade the man in
black had just unleashed. A red band was slowly running down its finely honed surface.
Fresh blood poured from the giant’s hand. The emotional hue welling up on that rock-like
face was one of fury, and also one of fright.

“Not bad,” said the man with the hexagonal staff, giving a kick to his horse’s flanks.

The horse didn’t move.

Once again he kicked. His boots had spurs on the heels. The hide on the flanks broke,
and blood trickled out. And yet still the horse didn’t move.

When he noticed it was thoroughly cowed, the man with the hexagonal staff finally
stopped giving the horse his spurs.

The door of the bus opened. A girl stuck her head out and asked, “What’s going on,
guys?” Acutely sensitive to the presence there, her beautiful face turned automatically
to the depths of the woods. Imitating her older brothers.

In the depths of the darkness, the presence stirred. The clop of hooves drew steadily
closer.

Suddenly the youth was before them, bathed in moonlight. It was as if the darkness
itself had crystallized and taken human form.

—

II

—

Mysterious as the sparkle of the blue pendant shining from the breast of his black
coat was, it ranked a distant second to the gorgeous visage that showed below the
traveler’s hat.

Astride his horse with the reins in his fist, the beautiful youth seemed as calm as
any traveler passing through by happenstance, but one look at him and it was clear
he was far from being a mere traveler.

“What the hell are you supposed to be?” the man in black asked in a thick, lethargic
tone. The traveler’s good looks were enough to send chills down his spine. That, combined
with the knowledge that this guy had just batted back his lethal attack, made him
speak in this strange voice.

The shadowy figure didn’t answer. He moved forward, seemingly intent on casually breezing
past them.

“Hold up,” the man with the hexagonal staff shouted in an attempt to stop him. “Look,
buddy, you might be one of the Hunters that geezer called, but so are we. Sure, we
might’ve been in the wrong flying off and taking a poke at you like that, but there’s
no harm in us all introducing ourselves. We’re the Marcus clan—I’m Nolt, the second
oldest of the boys.”

The shadowy figure halted his advance.

“This here’s Kyle, the youngest brother,” Nolt continued.

Eyes gleaming with animosity, the man in black made no attempt at a greeting.

“The great big fella is our older brother Borgoff.”

Just as his brother finished introducing him, a sharp sound came from around the giant’s
thigh. The crescent blade, now in two pieces, fell to the ground with a shower of
glittering silver flecks. The unusual break in it was not from folding. It was from
squeezing. The giant wiped his bloody palm on his horse’s ear. Blood stuck to the
creature’s coat, forcing the hair to fall in a mat.

“We’ve got another brother, but he’s sick and doesn’t get out of our ride. And finally,
there’s Leila, our baby sister.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Tight-lips.” Behind that oh-so-amiable voice, Leila’s bright
feline eye burned with flames of hostility. However, when the face of the traveler
made a rapid turn in her direction, those flames suddenly wavered.

“The Marcus clan—I’ve heard of you,” the traveler said, speaking for the first time.
Without inflection, his voice was like iron, devoid of all possible emotion. The voice
didn’t match his incredibly good looks, but then again, no other voice would have
been more appropriate.

However, the fact that he spoke in such a tone even after learning the names of these
men . . .

The Marcus clan was the most skillful vampire hunting group on the Frontier. Consisting
of five members, the family from oldest to youngest was Borgoff, Nolt, Groveck, Kyle,
and Leila. The number of Nobles they’d taken care of reached triple digits, and word
of how, miraculously, none of the clan had been lost in the process circulated far
and wide among the people of the Frontier.

At the same time, so did tales of the clan’s cruelty and callousness.

Nowhere did it say only one Vampire Hunter or group of Hunters could be hired for
a given case. Considering the vengeance the Nobility would wreak in the event of failure,
it was perfectly normal for the person concerned to employ a number of individuals,
or even several groups.

The Marcus clan always lasted until the very end. They alone. No individual or group
that had worked with them, or against them for that matter, had ever survived.