Mercenary Road by Hideyuki Kikuchi Page B

It called to mind the bridge of an ancient ship haphazardly covered with iron plates. Windows and loopholes for weapons dotted its lumpy surface with complete disregard for matters of physics or aesthetics, and it bristled with guns and cannons that made it look as menacing as a porcupine.
    But even before these weapons turned toward him, D was leaping from the back of his horse.
    —
    III
    —
    It was more like a fortress than a tank. Still, it was oddly constructed. Not only were there pits and bumps all over it to assist in climbing, but hatches were scattered across its surface.
    D drifted back down and was reaching for the handle of the hatch by his feet when the gun beside it swiveled in his direction. The muzzle was nearly three inches across. A direct hit would blow even D to pieces. His left hand grabbed it.
    The gun was driven by a motor of several horsepower. But the Hunter easily forced it downward—that was the sort of unnatural strength his left hand possessed.
    A shot howled from the gun. Neither the earsplitting roar nor the impact drew so much as a blink from D, but he saw flames and dirt shoot into the air. Using the hem of his coat to bat away the blow darts flying at him from below, the Hunter yanked on the hatch. One after another, the bolts shot free.
    Apparently those down below were somewhat prepared. At the same time the heavy hatch was ripped off as if it were paper, a soldier with pistol in hand poked his head out. His bloodless waxwork of a face was as expressionless as a mask.
    Before his opponent could take aim, D caught him by the collar. Without time to even draw a breath, the soldier was jerked out and discarded. Arms and legs flapping all the while, he landed some thirty feet away. By then the figure in black had slipped into the fortification.
    Gunshots echoed and screams rang out. Soldiers who’d been running through the position in confusion rushed toward the tank. The instant they reached the hatch, a flash of black lightning flew out. In midair it transformed into D, with the hem of his coat spread like a pair of wings. The sword in his right hand glittered as his beauty made the supernatural soldiers look up in a daze.
    Before D landed, the great fortress of a tank exploded. The blast and shrapnel mowed through the soldiers and blew away the barricade. After D touched down, the swelling flames surged toward him. His left hand came up.
    Just look. Blistering flames of thousands if not tens of thousands of degrees formed a neat little stream that was sucked up by his palm. The speed with which it happened was frightening. The gout of flame that’d closed to within three feet of D ultimately disappeared without ever actually touching him.
    Standing there perfectly straight, D surveyed his surroundings. The supernatural soldiers who lay on the ground were fading, one after another. Their shapes crumbled, they became masses of gas, and then the wind scattered them.
    “So, even those who’ve died once can die again?” the left hand remarked, letting a belch escape.
    Spotting a lone figure writhing some fifteen feet away, D approached him.
    Though his basic features were human, it was unsettling the way the soldier’s face remained expressionless despite his obvious pain.
    “If something isn’t done, you’re gonna die,” the hoarse voice said. “Answer some questions, and I’ll fix you up. Tell me who brought you jokers back to life, and what they’re after.”
    Though the soldier lacked lips, he feebly worked a bare crack of a mouth, saying in a mechanical tone, “So . . . I’m dying?”
    “That’s right.”
    “I don’t really understand . . . Have I . . . done that . . . before?”
    “Yep.”
    “I don’t get it . . . I’m not afraid . . . at all . . . Are people normally . . . afraid?”
    “You bet.”
    “I was brought back . . . to fight . . . So if I can no longer fight . . . nothing remains but to die.”
    “Then tell us who brought you back, and what they want.