Vampire Hunter D: Dark Road Part Three (12 page)

“Aaaah!” the great general cried, loosing a scream of agony more horrible than any cry he'd made in any deadly battle before, no matter how ghastly. Several seconds later, black blood spilled from his collar and chest, from his cuffs and between his buttons. Still unconscious, he bent backward and writhed in pain. His limbs twisted in impossible directions as he twitched to the dance of death.

Pulling away from Gaskell's body, the shadow turned toward Lord Rocambole, who remained standing stock still.

Whistling through the wind, a gleam of black flew through the air to skewer Gillis's shadow as he raced across the ground. The shadow flowed like water, leaving only the black sword behind. He moved from the soles of the stationary lord to his legs. From his legs, the shadow climbed to his trunk—and now he planned to finish Rocambole with a single blow!

However, just as he was about to do so, the most terrifying thing occurred. With the deadly shadow wrapped around it, Rocambole's body collapsed to the ground—but not because Gillis's power had rendered Rocambole unconscious.

“B-but you're . . .” Major General Gillis stammered, his bewilderment quite natural. After all, how could his opponent have the same special power that he did?

As the two shadows tangled in their deadly clash, Lady Ann's vacant gaze alone watched them. Suddenly, the pair pulled apart. One of the shadows let out an ear-shattering groan of pain. And the other shadow slid smoothly over to Lady Ann, slipping into the space between her body and the ground and carrying the girl with daunting speed toward the door to the nearest garden.

However—in the feeble darkness of the garden, a long, thin streak made a black sweep along the same path as Lady Ann.

—

“The bleeding's quite bad,” Lady Ann muttered. But as the girl was still unconscious, the words came in Major General Gillis's voice. “He's not used to dealing with shadows. I managed to get the drop on him, but he'll probably be after us soon—and it doesn't look like I can last much longer. In which case . . .”

Lady Ann stopped moving. She was practically at the center of the vast rear courtyard—on a marble pathway.

A shadowy figure emerged from beneath the girl's hunched-over form. The profile looked to be that of a man, and gazing intently at Lady Ann, he said, “I've managed to save you somehow, but this is as far as I can take you. Though I die here, I have no regrets, milady. I'm happy to have met a girl like you . . . but I can't just leave you to be sacrificed to Rocambole. Before it comes to that, I'd rather you died by my hand.”

The shadow must've been drawing on the last of his strength, because as he moved toward Lady Ann, he seemed to be in a horrible kind of slow motion. His hand stretched for the girl's form. Anyone the Dark One passed through—even the great general himself—would feel her body burn with hellish torment. Lady Ann's destruction was assured.

His outstretched hand crept up Lady Ann's chest—and then it twitched violently. The torso of the shadow that lay on the ground had the shadow of a longsword running through its heart and out its back. The arm that gripped the weapon was visible from the elbow up, and it belonged to Lord Rocambole, who was kneeling on the ground. When he drew it back, both his hand and the longsword returned to their original form.

“You . . . son of a bitch . . .”

Though Major General Gillis's groan was weak, it still left the lord stunned. His deadly attack had clearly gone right through the major general's heart, and it should've killed him instantaneously. This was true tenacity. A crazed devotion to Lady Ann kept the dead man from expiring.

“I won't let you . . . have her . . . This girl . . . is mine.”

Easily fending off the two arms that reached for him, Rocambole put the tip of his blade against the ground. It turned into a shadow and made another thrust at Gillis's shadow.

Major General Gillis bent backward and shook with one final spasm. That was the end of him.

Getting up, Lord Rocambole went over to Lady Ann and put the end of his longsword against her bosom. The steely tip pressed into the flesh of her chest. Pulling it away, Lord Rocambole said, “She's a lovely girl. And as I recall, there's one more. It's not too late to compare the two and see which is more beautiful.”

And then he turned his eyes to the outline of the castle that towered in the distance.

—

Major General Gillis's attack far surpassed anything the great General Gaskell had experienced or could even comprehend. One by one the cells of his body burned and melted—he suffocated, he felt like vomiting, he groaned and writhed in pain. His brain had died, and his heart and lungs had completely ceased functioning. It took ten minutes for him to come back to life.

“Need . . . liquid,” Gaskell muttered, raising his left forearm and sinking his teeth into it. Black blood spilled out. He drank it all up like a man stranded in the desert, swallowing at least a quart.

When he finally paused to catch his breath and wipe his lips, someone far behind him asked, “Satisfied now?”

Making an involuntary leap forward, he twisted around and landed some fifteen feet away out of surprise and fear that someone could come up behind him without his noticing, regardless of how he might've hungered. He had to wonder just how the owner of the voice had gotten there.

“D?”

Astride a cyborg horse sat a vision of beauty, and behind him one of the supposedly impassable gates was open wide.

“How did you get through the gates to my castle? Who the hell are you?”

“Where are Lady Ann and Rosaria?” All D did was ask the obvious question.

“One is in the basement of my castle, and the other is being pursued through my rear courtyard by Lord Rocambole. You'll be seeing him again soon enough.”

“I can't wait.”

The figure in black leapt down. As D stood beside his horse, there was the sound of the sword leaving the sheath on his back.

Feeling like this sound alone was enough to cut him, Gaskell drew his own longsword.

“Before we do this . . .” the general began, dropping the tip of his sword as he assumed a low position. His tone was strangely composed. “The way you got in here just now tells me something—it's actually quite a surprise, but it doesn't bother me
that
much. After the first time I met you, I think I must've realized it. However, there's something I don't understand. Why did the Sacred Ancestor order us to destroy you?”

A breathtakingly beautiful darkness spread over Gaskell's head—a darkness known as the man in black.

Gaskell barely managed to parry the silvery glint that came down from that darkness. The clang of steel meeting steel seemed to become a numbness that raced through every part of him. His head grew fuzzy.

Incredible! He really must be the Sacred Ancestor's own
—

Without warning, the general was thrown off balance when D pulled away the sword that was locked against his. As the general staggered, the Hunter's blade streaked toward his waist. However, his prodigious form rose above the sword like some demonic bird, and he landed behind D. The great sword sped toward the Hunter's back in a slash aimed to cut him from the right side of his neck to the left armpit, but the blade was knocked back by a terrific impact accompanied by a shower of sparks. Without even turning, D had thrust his sword back over his shoulder to parry the blow.

Overcome for a moment by anger, the general brought his great sword back for a thrust instead. “Hyaaaah!” the general yelled as he made a lethal thrust that could pierce iron—and it did a perfect job of running D right through the neck. The instant Gaskell realized what he'd seen was only an afterimage left in empty space, the thrust D made with his own blade while falling backward jabbed cleanly into the left side of the great general's chest.

Though he trembled and was unable to speak, Gaskell made a giant leap away. Continuing on for a second bound, then a third, when he'd jumped over to a door to a corridor into his castle, he shouted, “Sorry, D. My heart's on the right side!”

Clots of blood spilled from his mouth.

Before D could kick off the ground again, the general shouldered his way through the passageway. The steel door closed, and a split second later a needle of rough wood bounced off its surface.

D didn't go after him. Turning around, he headed for the rear courtyard. There he should find Lord Rocambole and one of the two women.

—

III

—

With the unconscious Lady Ann over one shoulder, Lord Rocambole returned to the castle. The great general had told him where to find the other woman—Rosaria. Traversing a labyrinth of stairways and corridors, he finally came to a steel door, behind which Rosaria lay on a plush crimson bed. Brushing the hair from her face to compare it to Lady Ann's, Lord Rocambole donned a vicious grin. The vermilion lips unique to the Nobility gave a disturbing glimpse of white fangs.

“I see. Each is quite a beauty. At any rate, it would be a shame to take this girl's life just now. Perhaps I should wait for General Gaskell.”

And saying this, the lord threw the girl down roughly, braced his sword against the floor, and leaned back against its hilt. His eyes shut—then opened again.

“An incredible presence is approaching,” he murmured to no one in particular. “It's not Gaskell. Which would only leave . . . D. If he's going to be here soon, I shall have to arrange something to throw him off his game.”

His eyes rested on Lady Ann, then shifted to Rosaria on the bed. Suddenly, he crinkled his brow.

“This woman . . .”

The way he said the words, they seemed to spill from someone else. Yet seemingly unable to be sure of something that filled his heart, his expression grew a bit more suspicious.

“Might you aid me in my battle against D?” he said, a devilish light in his eyes.

—

D stopped in the middle of the staircase. He sensed something was wrong. While he was certainly heading down, all five of his senses told him he hadn't advanced a single step.

“You've fallen into a maze,” D's left hand informed him in a tone brimming with curiosity. “If you're not attuned to Gaskell's castle, you could keep going around and around on these stairs forever. Well, earth and fire will be too much trouble. What say we give it a try with just water and wind?”

It was unclear whether it was D or the source of that voice who put the Hunter's left hand out before him. A disturbing little face had surfaced in his palm. And it pursed its tiny, wrinkled lips.

Sticking out his right hand, D ran his left forefinger across its wrist. Although his fingernail didn't seem particularly long, the flesh split open and fresh blood dripped out. All of it fell into the left hand he'd positioned below—to be swallowed by that tiny maw. Continuing this for about three seconds, D then placed his left palm against the wound. There was a sucking sound, and the bleeding stopped.

Taking his left hand away, D raised it high above his head. From the vicinity of the palm there was a faint hiss of wind. In less than two seconds' time, it became the howling madness of a tempest.

The tiny mouth was sucking in air. And in the depths of that maw, a pale blue flame was rising.

D's eyes gave off blood light. Black hair rose, one strand banging against another like needles. A pair of trenchant fangs grew out of his gnashing teeth. The blood that flowed in his veins had been made manifest—D had turned into a true vampire.

“You know what you have to do, right?” the hoarse voice inquired.

There was no reply. All that escaped D's lips was a yell.

—

In an underground chamber, Lord Rocambole suddenly perked up his ears.

“Such a vicious cry. Such a powerful cry. Such a beautiful cry. And such a sad cry.”

At his feet, Lady Ann said, “I know. I can hear it. It's a cry from my love. Which means he must be close.” Perhaps the girl had wakened on hearing D's yell.

After speaking, Lady Ann stared intently at Lord Rocambole's face and said, “It can't be . . .”

There she broke off.

“Are you . . . crying?”

—

“Okay.”

When the hoarse voice said this, D's cry halted. Like a gorgeous black statue on the brink of collapse, he swayed but did not fall. His trembling right hand reached over his shoulder for his longsword. Drawing the blade, D made a crude jab into the stairs beneath his feet. The stairway below him melted away like a swirling ammonite. D turned around—not a trace of the stairs remained behind him, either. The walls to either side had vanished, leaving him floating in the darkness on that one remaining step. A heartbeat later, he took to the air. There was no hesitation whatsoever. His coat spread like the wings of a mystic bird challenging a black abyss.

—

His body told him that zero time elapsed before the soles of his boots were back on solid ground.

D stood in a subterranean corridor. To his rear was the staircase.

How long had it been since he'd finished coming down those stairs?

A long cut from a sword remained clearly on the floor at his feet. To the right lay a dead end. D started down the corridor in the opposite direction. An iron door appeared. When he pushed against it, it creaked open.

There was no need to examine the situation. Rosaria lay on a crimson bed, and beside her an armored knight stood, as vigilant as a temple guardian. At his feet was Lady Ann, propping herself up with one arm.

“So glad you could come, D,” Lord Rocambole said softly in greeting. There was something calm about his tone.

“You can't win like this,” D said.

A weird and invisible aura gushed from every inch of the Hunter and assailed Rocambole. Rosaria shook from head to toe, and Lady Ann let out a little groan as she wrapped her arms around herself.

“I'll be damned,” D's left hand moaned. For the instant the Hunter's unearthly aura had touched Rocambole, it'd disappeared completely. “I guess that's what you get with Gaskell's ultimate weapon. He's a real danger to you.”