Black Rain
Phantom kicked off the ground and charged, striking Juyda in a single blow that sent him flying forward. A hit? No—the better word was takeoff. With that one strike Juyda soared upward, floating through empty air. He twisted mid-flight to regain his balance, but Phantom was already waiting at the landing point like a ghost.
With terrifying strength Phantom kicked the incoming Juyda skyward again. Then he raised Beast Double and fired at the figure rocketing into the heavens.
He never even looked at his target; he simply loosed the shot into the fog-choked sky. A single gunshot cracked, and Juyda’s body was shredded to pieces. The power of Beast Double was enough to overwhelm even a Jinma. As long as the shot connected, modern weaponry could threaten a True Vampire’s life.
“Damn it!”
But given who the opponent was, that much would never be enough to kill him. Phantom immediately cracked open the revolver’s cylinder. Residual gas pressure alone ejected the heavy spent casings. He reloaded and swung the weapon back toward Juyda—only to find the man already gone from above. In his place fell only a slick, oily black rain.
“What the……?”
Beast Double ranked first among Phantom’s magical armaments. It carried recognition-disruption treatments, anti-wear enchantments, and a blessed barrel that had to be replaced every thousand rounds—yet even against formless ghosts the weapon remained effective. The number of Lycanthropes slain by Beast Double was beyond counting.
The death of Plague Lord Guar—the Lycanthrope chiefly responsible for the spread of pestilence—at the muzzle of Beast Double had been the event that taught the vampire world just how dangerous the Jinma called Phantom truly was.
He shoved the cylinder home; magical power flooded the entire weapon once more. Juyda was one problem, but the vampire hunters and the other Jinma worried him just as much. Hecate had lost every last one of her subordinates and was surely furious enough to tear the sky apart. A woman already known for going too far would not simply sit still. She was probably nearby, assessing the situation—and so were the rest of the vampires. The twenty-four Jinma called themselves nobility, yet their behavior was no different from gamblers diving into a high-stakes game. Then again, had the word “noble” ever carried a particularly flattering meaning?
“Hm?”
While those thoughts flickered through his mind, a chill so sharp it raised goosebumps across his entire body suddenly washed over him. Something was moving at high speed through the pouring rain—and it was coming from behind.
Shhk. A soft sound like scissors slicing paper, and the world went black. For a vampire, darkness this absolute was almost impossible unless the eyelids were closed. What restored the true meaning of night even to a vampire was Juyda’s darkness.
In a space this dense with buildings, either of them could snatch the other’s life.
Ten thousand thoughts raced through Phantom’s head, yet the range of possible actions was narrow. He had to dodge by running. He spread his legs wide and dropped low, almost hugging the ground.
A concrete building parted like butter; beyond it he glimpsed a pitch-black blade whistling past. Relief that he had somehow avoided it lasted only an instant. Juyda was already behind him, seizing him by the nape, hoisting him high, and driving the enormous blade straight through from back to belly.
“Guh… khak!”
The moment the blade pierced him Phantom clamped both hands around it. If the bastard lifted the sword even a fraction higher, Phantom would be split clean in two. Caught inside Juyda’s darkness he could not use his bloodline abilities; turning to mist was impossible.
Ssssss. A sound like steam escaping a kettle spout rose between them. Phantom’s blood boiled and hissed as it clashed with Juyda’s binding power. Juyda poured strength into the blade, trying to cleave him apart while leveling Beast at Phantom’s skull. At this rate he would die. Gritting his teeth, Phantom kicked Juyda away, rolled forward, and tore free of the attack.
Thud-thud-thud!
Blood and scraps of flesh that had clung to the blade mixed with the rain and spattered across the ground. Phantom flipped upright in midair, but Juyda was not about to let Beast sit idle.
In the next instant a thunderous boom staggered Juyda. From behind, another precision Barrett round punched clean through Phantom’s body and continued on. Every time the fight began to tip in one direction, a shot invariably arrived; the shooter’s intent was obvious.
“Khrrrk!”
Even if he made a point of never killing humans, even if the man had once been Father Silvester, the Vatican’s monster hunter—this had long since passed the point of forbearance. All that remained was to recognize him as an obstacle and eliminate him.
Yet the black-clad priest seemed determined to end the fight right here; he kept firing without pause. Juyda immediately swept his sword sideways, smashed open a building shutter, and dove inside. Once the fight moved indoors, a vampire held the advantage over a sniper.
Silvester, however, ignored the chase. Instead he put another round into Phantom, who was still reconstructing the wound Juyda had given him. Earlier the priest had effectively pulled Phantom out of a tight spot, but that had only been to keep the two Jinma balanced—never because he wanted Phantom to win. The ideal outcome was for both sides to exhaust themselves and destroy each other.
“Ugh. Damn it!”
Phantom melted into the rain. The wound from Juyda was serious, and the Barrett was no joke either. Every injury weakened his binding force further, lengthening the time needed to heal the next one. Still, he was a Jinma; even after taking a Barrett round he could reconstitute flesh and blood and recover.
Challenging an estimated VT of 700,000 with a mere 400,000-range VT had been reckless from the start. Worse, scavengers were watching from every direction with eyes lit by the prospect of easy pickings. Juyda had taken serious damage from Beast Double as well, yet that monstrously high VT reconstructed the injuries with ease; the longer the fight dragged on, the worse Phantom’s odds became.
When Phantom carefully scanned the area, Silvester had already withdrawn from his previous position and vanished into the maze of buildings. No doubt he planned to keep leaping between them, sniping whenever the chance arose. No matter how one looked at it, the battle was settling into a war of attrition.
Sarhyuk jumped down from his Humvee and surveyed the surroundings. The wreckage of an Apache helicopter burned in the exact center of the road as though a street battle had just ended. The pouring rain would soon quench the flames, yet the scars the chopper had clawed across the city—and every other trace left behind—would never be washed away.
These looked like the leftovers of a Tetra Anax execution squad, and the sight was almost laughable.
“Do these idiots have brains or not? Tetra Anax is out of its mind too. Pulling out a helicopter in the middle of a city just to fight vampires—what fun did they think they’d have?”
And the opponent was a Jinma, no less. The ones who should know vampires best apparently knew nothing at all.
“We’ll have trouble getting past unless we clear this. Any alternate routes?”
“Hard to say.”
“Even if they’ve suppressed people’s minds, they can’t hide this mess. And when humans feel their lives are in danger, there’s no telling what they’ll do.”
“You mean the mind control might break?”
“Exactly.”
Sarhyuk clicked his tongue while staring at the Apache wreckage.
“Better clear it.”
He lifted one boot-clad foot and shoved the helicopter remains aside. Even as wreckage the weight was enormous, and a push relies on friction with the ground; an unstable stance like that was a terrible way to transmit force. And yet—
With a bone-chilling scrape the Apache wreckage slid sideways.
“Judas isn’t Godzilla—what the hell were these clowns thinking, trying to catch him with this?”
With that monstrous strength he finished shoving the helicopter clear, climbed back into the Humvee, and spoke to his men as though the thought had just occurred to him.
“There’ll be plenty of vampire corpses around here. Fish them all out. Got it?”
“What about you, Boss?”
“I’m going after the jackpot. One hit and life flips upside down—you know the feeling?”
He winked as he said it. His subordinates, however, did not seem charmed; they openly scowled.
“Even if you go after a Jinma, the losses will outweigh the gains. Why obsess over those things?”
“Oh, the jackpot itself is guaranteed.”
“So you lot just stay here and snack on the small fry. Me, I love a big score, so I’m sticking my head into the Jinma free-for-all.”
He gathered his gear. A Colt Python .357 and a massive knife whose blade looked a good forty centimeters long—that was the full extent of his armament. Watching him prepare such weapons after an Apache had just crashed left his men speechless. Yet Sarhyuk walked off into the fog with complete confidence, leaving them behind.
“They’re putting on a good fight.”
A woman stood in the pouring rain without an umbrella, sweeping her hair back with one hand. Her left hand remained in her pants pocket while she pushed the soaked crimson locks from her face. She wore a form-fitting bustier with a single cardigan thrown over it. Even the outfit alone would have made men on the street turn for a second look; what truly stood out was the blood-red beauty of her hair.
That long cascade reaching her waist gleamed even more sleekly now that it was wet. A slender figure free of excess flesh and features that, for a Westerner, were surprisingly soft made her an extraordinary beauty—yet her eyes somehow promised a rotten temper.
“Ahh… honestly.”
She raked her hair back in irritation and walked straight toward the police checkpoint controlling the area. Word was that an Apache from a nearby U.S. base had been forced down by the storm and exploded; the Americans had begun cleanup without notifying anyone, so the Korean police had arrived late. That was the official story. Even if Tetra Anax’s mind-control was formidable, the denser population of Asia required far more effort than the sparsely inhabited West. The vampire Oracles dispatched to Korea could cover little more than the actual operational zone where events were unfolding.
“This is a civilian-restricted area.”
The officers were sweating as they tried to hold back onlookers. The Apache itself was an aging airframe, but its control systems had been continuously upgraded; the helicopter was a walking collection of military secrets. That was doubtless why they had refused to entrust recovery to Korean forces and were handling it themselves.
The attitude was insulting to Koreans, yet their decision was correct. Crashing a helicopter into someone else’s city and then fretting about leaked secrets looked ugly, but “we caused an accident, so please steal our classified technology as compensation” was not a rational response either.
In any case, crimes involving the U.S. military were headaches even for the police; they blocked the strange foreign woman.
“Move.”
She spoke in clear, fluent Korean. Still keeping her left hand in her pocket, she ordered the officers with an expression and posture of pure arrogance. By the time the policemen regained their senses they were already fawning over her, practically ready to lick her boots, and had cleared a path.
“They do have a slightly cute side. Disgusting…”
She muttered her discontent as she walked on. At that moment a car slid up beside her. She glared at it through the rain, clearly displeased. It was a sleek Lamborghini Miura in silver pearl. Why was a top-tier sports car rarely seen even overseas sitting here? And a 1960s model at that…
No—there was exactly one bastard with the appalling taste to drive something like this around.
“What a surprise, Hecate. Getting soaked is bad for the skin, you know.”
“Shut up, Venom. Go harass Spider-Man or something. I don’t have time to deal with you.”
Venom, head of the Ireland Astate, watched Hecate whip her head away and gave a low whistle. Pale skin, green eyes, slightly wavy blond hair—he looked less like the leader of a traditional vampire clan and more like a rich playboy. A little frivolous, perhaps. That such a man was a vicious racist was pure nonsense.
“So cold. I never knew you read Marvel comics.”
“Drop it. More importantly, what’s a heavy-assed guy like you doing here?”
“You’re not asking because you don’t know, are you? You heard Tetra Anax’s prophecy?”
“Ah. That Juyda dies tonight? Yeah, I heard.”
She licked rainwater from her lower lip as she spoke.
“I’ve got a few things to collect from that bastard. Blood price for my children, among others.”
“But keep the rotation, Hecate. Trying to monopolize the traitor Juyda’s blood by yourself is nonsense. And do you really think they’ll just let a Jinma eat another Jinma?”
“Look who’s talking. If you had no intention of monopolizing anything, you wouldn’t have shown up in person.”
“Planning to walk the whole way? Why not hop in?”
Venom offered the passenger seat, but Hecate shook her head vigorously. Each shake sent her long red hair swinging, scattering droplets in every direction.
“No thanks. Cars don’t suit my temperament. Especially not that antique you drag around.”
“Calling a Lamborghini Miura ‘that antique’… Well then, what does suit your temperament?”
“What was that?”
“Nothing. I’ll go on ahead. Don’t scowl so much, miss.”
Venom gave a short laugh and sped off in the Lamborghini Miura.
The air had felt strange since the previous night; now a record-breaking downpour and typhoon had finally arrived.
The mission entrusted to Se-geon was simple.
Standing in the hammering rain, he unfolded a road-traffic map and studied the sections Silvester had marked with a magic marker. The map was already soaked and falling apart, yet still legible enough. According to the hastily drafted plan, Phantom would drive the enemies toward the ring road; Se-geon’s job was to plant booby traps along the expected routes in advance and wait.
A Jinma stood at the absolute peak of its bloodline—something no human could face as an equal.
Yet booby traps, explosives, and firearms retained the same lethality no matter who pulled the trigger. However powerful a Jinma might be, something like Se-geon’s USAS-12 left no room for evasion once it opened fire at point-blank range.
Even so, the chance that Se-geon might actually bring down a Jinma was as slim as winning the lottery. His mere involvement in this affair was nothing short of suicide. That creature called Juyda sliced buildings in half and used traffic lights as stepping stones; he was simply not an opponent any human should face.