Vampire Hunter D Volume 13: Twin-Shadowed Knight Parts 1 and 2 (21 page)

Pointing the end of his crossbow at Menda's heart, he pulled what looked like an earphone from one ear.

“I got this listening device from the Capital. I heard the entire conversation you two had. Now I'm going to see whether or not emptying every arrow I've got into your heart will send you to the hereafter,” he declared with naked loathing.

BEFORE THE GATE

-

I

-

"
D
on't!” Menda pleaded, but—wearing a look on his face that hardly befitted a holy man—the monk pulled the crossbow's trigger. Driven at speeds of six hundred feet per second by compressed air, the steel arrow pierced Menda's chest, leaving the lost soul writhing on the ground.

“Stop it . . . Just stop!”

Her sobs were like pouring gasoline on a fire for someone of a sadistic bent, and the monk ran his tongue over his lips. “Oh, does that hurt? Are you in pain? Do even lost souls feel? I believe I could write a paper about that to send back to the main temple in the Capital. Just let me make some more observations.”

With a whuuut! a second shot scorched through the air, penetrating her heart and sticking into the ground far behind her. Menda rolled around, not even able to speak.

“How's that? Here's another,” he said, bracing the crossbow against his shoulder again.

But just then someone called out from behind him, “Knock it off, you bald bastard.”

The second he realized the voice was the same low tone the young man in black had used earlier, cold steel pressed against the base of the man's neck, and he froze before he could say a word.

“Got here quicker than I expected. Have a look at him,” said the other D, who stood with his longsword at the ready. Mia was by his side, naturally, and as she rushed over to the Hunter she cried out, “D!”

“Looks like you lucked out, baldy,” the fake D said.

Still standing where he was, the man asked, “How's that?”

But his eyes beheld a shadowy figure rising smoothly to its feet. A veritable spirit of the black earth—however, if that was the case, this spirit of the earth was undoubtedly an avatar of beauty.

“You—you're alive? Even a Noble dies if you shoot it through the heart!”

“You see, I am special,” the fake D said, watching proudly as D effortlessly pulled out the arrow jutting from his chest.

The blackness that clung to the Hunter's lips was blood the monk himself had drawn. It was the source of the energy behind his revival.

“If I hadn't stopped you, you'd have been whacked in half before you got off that third shot. You see, that me isn't as nice as this me.”

“Are you two twins?”

“No. We're one and same, only there's two of us.”

On hearing this, the monk looked bewildered. But when he saw the other D approaching, his panic reached an all-time high. “He-help me,” he stammered. “He'll kill me!”

“Well, that's to be expected, isn't it? You're the one who shot him in the back out of the blue.”

“I—I only did it for the village—”

“And was it for the peace of your village that you shot not one but two arrows into a defenseless soul?”

“You—you mean you can see her?”

“Of course I can. After all, he's me and I'm me, too. Anything he can do, so can I. Anything he can't do—well, I suppose that'd be out of the question.”

And while the fake was saying all that, D just kept getting closer.

“His power is at work in Menda's heart,” the Hunter said. “Though she was killed by the villagers, that heart has kept her from moving on. Upon learning this, he went and sealed Menda's ghost away in superdense stone.”

“I see. So, that's why he took a shot at you for busting her grave open? What a tricky bastard!”

“I—I only did it for the villagers—”

“By torturing a spirit in distress? What'll you do with him?” the fake D asked the other.

D turned to face the monk. His handsome features were unaltered. However, his mien had changed completely. His eyes gave off blood light, and it looked like sanguine tears might fall from them at any moment. The corners of his slender lips pulled up, and a pair of threatening incisors poked from the crescent his mouth formed. And those lips stained crimson could mean only one thing—

“N-No-Nobility . . .”

Saying only that, the monk slumped to the ground limply. He'd fainted dead away from surpassing fear.

“I'm sure he's telling the truth about doing it for the village,” the fake D remarked with apparent amusement. “But this weasel is a sadist, through and through. Sooner or later, he'll accuse some gypsy or migrant girl of being a witch and drag her off to his temple under the pretext of saving her. I can just picture him poking her with needles, roasting her with flames, and even slapping her around. Oh, what's this now?”

His voice grew fainter. For he'd just seen D's right hand flash into action.

The monk was in a kneeling position, but fresh blood spurted from his throat and crotch. The crotch wasn't hard to figure, but why had D cut his throat?

Holding both places, the monk rolled around on the ground, but not a sound came from him.

“Did you cut his vocal cords? He won't be chanting any prayers now. And seeing where you also cut his manhood, he won't be feeling too randy, either. He's finished as a monk and as a man. You know, you—I mean I—am looking crueler all the time.”

Saying nothing, D sheathed his sword and walked off toward Mia. The fake D quickly followed after him, and the two of them stood by the fallen Menda.

“Could you do anything for her?” D asked. His expression had returned to normal—the madness of the Nobility had left him.

“I think I eased her pain a little,” the nodding Mia replied.

“I'm fine now,” Menda said, sitting up.

“You've been through quite a lot—will the next time be the same?”

“This time, let me try,” the fake D called out, and that made Menda's eyes go wide. She'd finally noticed that there were two Ds.

“Sit back and relax. I'll take one swipe at it for starters.”

“No,” Menda cried, backing away.

“What's the matter? I'm just like him. Relax.”

Given the results up to this point, there was no way she could relax.

“Why the long face? If the first shot doesn't work, I'll give it a second whack—”

“It hurts!” Menda exclaimed.

“Is that a fact? Then let's do this on the first shot.”

“You're a reckless fool!”

“What?” the fake D shot back angrily at the woman, but D put a hand down on his shoulder. “Let go of me.”

“I'll give it a try.”

“You already blew it, didn't you?”

“This is the last time. If this doesn't work, I'll give up.”

“Oh. Just so you know, your successes are my successes, and your failures are my failures. So don't embarrass me, okay?”

There was a hoarse laugh.

“What was that I just heard?” he said, looking down at D's left hand. “You've got something strange inside of you, do you? That's something I don't have. What is it?”

“It's a secret,” the hoarse voice replied.

“Step back,” D said.

Tension filled the air—even the fake D retreated a good distance. Menda was motionless, as if frozen solid.

D reached for the hilt of his sword. His eyes were closed again. When they opened, the sword flashed out.

Slowly getting to her feet, Mia tried to slip past D, but he caught her tightly by the wrist. Before she even had time to scream, she was pulled close as if her body weighed nothing, her pale throat laid bare before D's panting lips.

“Don't!” someone shouted, but whether it was the fake D or the left hand was unclear.

Red lips were closing on Mia's throat—but just before they did, D hoisted Mia high into the air. His fingers sank into her wrist, and Mia sensed that the skin had broken. A warm stream dripped down from her wrist. It spattered noisily against the ground. For some reason, Mia didn't look at D. The air snapped taut as a bowstring, making her body tremble, and just then she heard a groan in D's voice. Actually it'd come from the fake D, and when Mia raised her head again, D's blade was sliding back into the sheath on his back without a sound while the illusory Menda wavered before him.

“Ah . . . It's true . . . after all . . . You really are . . .” the fading woman said, tears spilling from her eyes. The tears vanished in midair.

“Muma—where is it?” D asked. His words rushed forward.

As D tumbled to the ground, Mia went right after him with a handkerchief still pressed to her wrist.

“I've told you now. Farewell, D. The great one's own—”

There was no longer any sign of Menda, but her voice flowed from somewhere that was neither the sky nor the earth.

“She's gone,” the fake D said, sounding deeply moved. Beside him, Mia had rolled D onto his back and had one ear pressed to his chest. “But who'd she tell, and what?”

“It was the location of Muma. She gave it to D,” Mia said.

“How?”

“I don't know. You're part of D, aren't you? Well then, hurry up and get him to wake up!”

Mia fairly flung the words at the fake D, but he had an unexpected reply for her.

“Look,” he said.

On the spot on the ground he indicated with a toss of his chin, Mia saw that D was reaching out with one hand. When it stopped, the index finger was pointing toward the plains straight ahead.

“Looks like north it is,” the fake D said.

“That's right,” Mia said, adding her own opinion.

North again. Was that where Muma lay? And when was D going to wake up?

The two of them looked off into the distance. The twilit plains were darkening with a deep and endless blue.

“Ready?” the fake D asked, putting the other D over his shoulder and rising again.

“Yeah, let's go,” Mia replied, having already started walking toward the wagon.

-

II

-

D was walking across a vast expanse of clouds in an unfamiliar place. He had passed out. This was the world he was seeing while unconscious—he knew it was a dream. He was walking. But where was he headed? He wasn't at all concerned about what might be happening to his physical self. He knew that this place, where Menda had brought him, was the entrance to Muma. It would have defenders. And they wouldn't stand idly by when someone reached the entrance. Menda had most likely been given this ability while in the service of the great one. Who that was, D must've surely known.

On the sea of clouds, a titanic lozenge-shaped structure could be seen. It seemed as if it might be reached in a few steps and at the same time as if he might never get there.

“There's a gate,” his left hand whispered, but was that just part of the dream? “Beyond it is Muma. But first, you've gotta unlock the gate.”

D halted, but not because what his left hand said had alarmed him. Something stood between him and the gate. While it was a presence devoid of substance, D could still distinctly sense its weight, its density.

So, you made it this far? he heard a voice say. It wasn't a sound ringing out to tremble against his eardrums, but a voice nonetheless. I suspected you, of all people, might. Still, it is truly remarkable.

“I'm going. Don't try to stop me.”

I'd never do anything of the sort. To begin with, I'm not even here. What you feel here is no more than an illusion spun by your own senses. You sense me because you want to, and now you'll try to slay me yourself. It's an exercise in futility, D.

D resumed his strange trek. Beneath his feet, the clouds swirled fiercely, surging up all around him.

This voice, too, is nothing save what you yourself wish to hear. In other words, it is nothingness. Muma might well be the same, D. And you, and the whole world too.

D felt the presence drawing nearer by the second. And yet, it too was probably no more than a product of his own will. The real question was whether or not he himself thought this was pointless.

This is all in vain. You should turn back.

D's right hand went for the hilt of his sword.

-

The horse bearing the fake D came over beside the driver's seat of the wagon.

“You notice that?” he asked casually.

Still holding the reins, Mia turned to him and replied with equal ease, “Yeah.”

“When I give the word, jump over to me, okay? I'll catch you.”

“I'm counting on it.” While the girl smiled and seemed calm enough throughout the exchange, her spine iced up from the tension she felt. She sensed a strange, murderous intent emanating from the back seat.

Oh, D!

“Is he directing that at you?” she asked, her characteristically calm tone melting into the twilight, but the words conveyed a matter of deadly seriousness.

“Nope. It might sound strange, but the killing lust from that me is quickly being funneled away somewhere. My guess is that'd be wherever my consciousness is.”