Vampire Hunter D Volume 18- Fortress of the Elder God (9 page)

Still, the other kids had it better. They at least had friends. The boy had had some too, in the beginning, but once they noticed his habit, they steered clear of him. As if staying away from him protected them from anything. The silent treatment the other children gave him left the boy essentially bereft of hope. His parents, sister, and brother had abandoned him for the same reason. The boy could remember quite clearly waking up one morning to find his house empty and seeming strangely bigger. He’d been sad. There was no reason he wouldn’t feel that way.

His family, the children at the monastery, and everyone else had taken a liking to him at first. He never sensed any anger from them at the start. But that always changed. At some point, the boy got in the habit of living with his head hung low. He knew why everyone turned their backs on him, yet it wounded him deeply. The only reason he felt somewhat at peace was because the old woman in the bed and the other woman—sketchy, but nice—had been kind to him. But even they would eventually—

That’s right. Once they truly know you, none of them will have anything to do with you. This fleeting kindness means nothing. You’re just a little different. The truth is, if they just keep their distance there won’t be a problem, and it’s not as if it happens every day. Yet they alienated you. Pushed you away. Left you all alone. They didn’t try to understand your pain. They didn’t care what happened to you. Grieve no more. What you need is anger. Anger to lay them low, to strike them dead.

“It’s no use,” the boy said, curling up in a ball. “I can’t do that. If I could, I would’ve got angry a long time ago.”

I’ll make it so you can, the voice said gently. Toto got the feeling that it sounded like someone he’d played with a long time ago.

“Really?” the boy asked with all his heart.

THE WHISPERER

CHAPTER 4

-

I

-

The second the Hunter passed through the enormous gate, the world began to change. The walls, floor, ceiling, and pillars that’d had straight lines and right angles until that point rippled like a heat shimmer, losing all proper geometry. Even the sunlight began to shine from impossible angles, casting shadows in impossible places.

“A force field’s creating a distortion,” the Hunter’s left hand said, sounding repulsed. “Those old-time Nobles sure did believe in a strange god. They’d have been better off believing in just the Sacred Ancestor. Oh, what’s this?”

Up ahead, the floor rippled like waves and twisted, and where it swapped places with the ceiling, they could see the back of a figure in black.

“That’s you, D! Interesting. So, space has been distorted too? Right now, if you were to throw a stake, it’d probably go right through your own back.”

D remained silent, seemingly taking in what remnants of battle were still left around him. Pillars were smashed, a huge hole had been blasted in the floor, and part of the ceiling was melted. The Sacred Ancestor’s army had pushed in this far.

Presently there appeared ahead of them a cyclopean doorway that could only be described as a parallelogram on the verge of collapse. Ten yards from it, D halted. The doors were two panels of lustrous black metal. In front of the entrance—hinged to open down the middle—lay fragments of bizarre sculptures that had apparently been decorations for the doorway. The utter indifference of the unblemished doors became an overwhelming force thanks to their sixty-foot height and thirty-foot width. No weapons the Sacred Ancestor’s forces possessed were any use beyond this portal—not even a dimensional cannon could obliterate the doors.

“All alone, the Sacred Ancestor opened these doors and went inside. And returned a year later. They say he never did tell anyone what happened in that time.”

The surface of the Hunter’s left hand rippled and shook, the muscles quaked, and a tiny human face took shape.

“The Nobility succeeded in calling forth gods. That much is certain. When they first attacked this place, the Sacred Ancestor’s army had thirty thousand men—but they were wiped out in a day. By nothing short of the power of a god. It’s said the only one to escape was the Ultimate Noble, Grand Duke Valcua. If left to its own devices, their god surely would’ve conquered the world. But it wasn’t perfect. The day the Sacred Ancestor himself took the field, it allowed him to make it this far, then squared off with him. Just thinking about what kind of battle took place behind those doors gives me goose bumps. After the contest, they say the Sacred Ancestor went to sleep for a hundred years. Apparently it took quite a toll on him.”

“He screwed up,” D said.

“Too true,” the left hand confessed. “And that’s why you’re out here. But no matter how you look at it, you shouldn’t have taken this job. Look at my goose bumps! I bet even the Sacred Ancestor got them. The question is, can we even get these doors open?”

If you’d asked a hundred people this, all one hundred replies would’ve been in the negative.

The door trembled and twisted without a moment’s rest, and even when D stepped forward and put his left hand to it, it still didn’t take its normal shape. After applying a little force, D quickly pulled his hand back.

“Damn,” the face in it groaned. “Why, the power you put into it heads off in a different direction—or rather, it just spirals off! At this rate, that door could be made of tissue paper and you still couldn’t get it open.”

The voice flowed. Once D’s left hand had entered his coat pocket, the sound of something being chewed could be heard. When he pulled his hand out again, it had a little mouth in it. Black dirt tumbled from its lips as it chomped away.

“Been a while since I did that,” the hoarse voice stated with pleasure.

D put his left forefinger against his right wrist and pulled it lightly. A fine vermilion line immediately appeared, and D put the palm of his left hand beneath the blood that spilled out. The bright blood flowed into the tiny mouth. The mouth coughed, and then D took his left hand away and stroked the wound. The bleeding ceased. And the wound began to fade.

When he raised the hand high, the mouth let out a belch. With a great roar the wind whirled around—it was being sucked into the mouth with terrific force. Pale blue flames burned in the depths of its maw. Earth, wind, fire, and water had been assembled.

Once again the black-gloved hand touched the surface of the iron door. The Hunter didn’t seem to put any particular force behind it. He remained that way for five seconds. Then ten.

Look. Both halves of the door swung in ever so slightly with a creak. The crack where the iron doors met became a fine line of light, its thickness grew, and from beyond it blew a mysterious black wind. Was there nothing concerning the Nobility that this young man couldn’t handle? The iron doors that were supposed to disperse all force applied to them now seemed ready to yield.

It was then that the change happened. In the stone wall to either side of the iron doors was a three-foot-deep niche, fifteen feet long, and each of them housed three monklike statues in hooded robes, though the ones to the right of the doorway had their heads lying down at their feet, while the three to the left remained intact.

The latter trio had begun to move. Letting out the kinds of grotesque screams that were inconceivable from any human throat, they writhed on the floor. They were the movements of stone; there was no mistaking that. However, little by little, they were becoming more human. Even the colors of their robes became evident. Dark blue, yellow, and gray.

“The six guardian knights,” the hoarse voice said. “Three of them were beheaded by the Sacred Ancestor. But supposedly the other three were turned to stone. And they say those three were the only ones that managed to wound the Sacred Ancestor. So, the legends are true? People turned to stone, stone changing into human beings . . . D,
you have to take care of these clowns first.”

D turned. He knew that what his left hand said was true.

The robed figures charged toward him like the wind. The Hunter’s right hand went for his weapon’s hilt. A silvery gleam shot toward the neck of the one in front of him. It could even cleave rock.

“Oh!”

The cry of astonishment was overlaid with a metallic sound. One of those who’d just finished turning into a human being—the one in the yellow robe—had parried the blow—a blow from D’s sword! An instant later, a blade whizzed toward D. The parry had become an attack. Sparks shot out twice—and the two combatants switched places. The robed figure reeled, clutching his belly as he twisted around. Not taking another strike at him, D flew through the air. A blow mowed through the position he’d occupied, then headed for where he landed. It was from the figure to the rear—the foe in dark blue.

At this point, heaven and earth shook. Though D managed to land safely, his opponent was thrown off balance. Not facing his foe, D dashed in the direction of the corridor that had led him there, vanishing in the blink of an eye.

“Were you whipped?” the hoarse voice groaned, sounding like it had to squeeze the words out.

D’s left shoulder was split open. Fresh blood fell to the floor. The one in the yellow robe had scored a hit.

“Even for you, those three are a lot to handle. Don’t take them on unless you can do it one on one.”

Not replying, D looked at the gate. The doors slammed shut.

Once again, heaven and earth shook.

“What’s that?”

This time, the voice got an answer.

“An attack from outside. This was a fortress, wasn’t it?”

Undaunted, the gorgeous figure in black started back the way he’d come at a rapid clip. But behind him, the number of headless statues had increased by one.

-

On his return, D was met by Jan and Weizmann. He learned Bierce had gone to the command center to get a peek at what was happening outside.

“I’m going, too. Don’t leave this room.”

As D quickly turned around, Jan was right behind him.

“Take me with you. I’m sick and tired of babysitting women and children.”

“It’s a job just the same.”

“I’ll do as I please!” the mobster shouted, and then his eyes met D’s. The mobster stopped moving.

“I told you not to leave this room.”

Not waiting for his reply, D went through the door. It was precisely thirty seconds later that Jan’s metabolism returned to normal.

-

The command center was on the seventh floor of the fortress. All told, the fortress had ten floors. All of the electronic devices arrayed in the vast chamber had been destroyed. It was apparent at a glance that they were powerless. From the window the warrior could see outside—that, at least, was something.

The holographic schematic in the medical center had given them the layout of the fortress. Carved out of the heart of a mountain, the fortress was protected by a rock wall that towered more than a hundred yards high. To either side of the natural stronghold, walls towered in excess of two hundred yards, while the defile between them was so tight that only one person at a time could pass, hampering enemy invaders.

Before the rocky stronghold there had once lain three layers of defenses, but all of them had been destroyed by the Sacred Ancestor’s forces, leaving only a cratered expanse. And beyond that—in a spot about a mile and a quarter away—the ground was covered with innumerable troops and weapons. The armored soldiers were divided into infantry in yellow and cavalry in green astride cyborg horses, while the figures in blue and green lingering in the rear on the tanks were probably the commanders or other high-ranking officers. Bathed in the light of midday, the vibrant colors seemed to gleam brilliantly.

“They’re not Nobility—so what are they?” Bierce mused as he peered down from a window where all the glass had broken out, but just then the door behind him opened.

“D?”

When Bierce turned to look, his eyes were greeted by a man in a yellow robe closing on him. There was no killing lust about him. And yet, the warrior’s body was rapidly cooling from its core. Within the robed man’s hood was a face that some would even describe as refined, and a faint smile now graced it.

While he was making a leap to the right along the window, Bierce swung his right arm. His aim was flawless—the arrows he hurled had dropped everything he aimed for until now.

As the man in the robe dashed, his right hand flashed out. Striking down both arrows with ease, he moved with unbelievable speed toward the rooted Bierce.