A Goalkeeper's Duty
A dry gunshot cracked, and the spent casing spun free. At that near-point-blank range she still jerked her head aside and slipped the bullet.
It did not miss entirely; the round grazed her shoulder, skipped off the pavement, and buried itself in a nearby utility pole. Even so, she had dodged a shot fired almost into her face.
"Ah, damn. Look at the mess I'm in!"
The talkative male vampire rose as he spoke. The female vampire watching him broke into a bright smile.
"Idiot. Vampire hunters specialize in ambushes, you know…!"
She flung the RX-125 before the sentence finished. Se-geon threw himself off the bike in shock and hit the ground hard.
CRASH!
Barely out of the repair shop, the RX-125 slammed into the slope again and tumbled downward. Whether luck or misfortune, Se-geon slid down the embankment and never saw it happen.
Gush, gush, gush.
He landed in a drainage ditch where rainwater poured off the hill. Even as he slipped he shoved himself upright and drew the Type 54. The male vampire was already on him, face thrust inches from his own.
"You look delicious!"
The creature swung. Se-geon threw himself backward down the slope again, emptying both pistols on the way. The male vampire had already vaulted with impossible speed and landed atop a utility pole.
SHHHHH!
Se-geon skidded farther down the rain-slick incline. The burst had not been useless; a few rounds had nicked the vampire's limbs. In exchange Se-geon's helmet was shredded across the front, completely wrecked. A fraction slower and his skull would have gone with it.
"Not bad, this one."
"Yeah."
The two vampires chatted as if they were on a stroll. The casual tone grated on Se-geon. Bantering mid-fight, letting their attention wander—they weren't even treating him like an enemy.
"Ugh. Blood got on me."
"Told you to be careful."
The black-clad pair fussed and took positions between streetlamps and poles. Se-geon clenched his teeth.
Plenty of loose rounds remained, but the magazines held only three for the Tokarev and five for the Type 54. Even dumping every last one, he doubted he could win.
"Well then—time to top off what we spilled."
At the male's words the female vampire leapt first from the pole, diving at Se-geon. They looked like children playing keep-away with food.
"You sons of bitches!"
Se-geon gritted his teeth and raised the gun toward the vampire plunging at him.
Atop the department-store outdoor parking structure, a priest in black stood waiting. The Catholic cassock and the contrasting silver hair suited him perfectly.
"What sudden change of heart made the one who kept running finally pick a place and show himself?"
He called quietly toward the elevator. The heavy vehicle lift was well soundproofed. Amid the rain, traffic, and constant chaos of the city, no ordinary ear could have caught so soft a voice.
Then the alloy doors slid open and a white man in an immaculate suit stepped out.
"You wouldn't ask if you didn't already know the reason, would you, Stalker? Keep waiting out front like that and people will get the wrong idea."
"No. I was merely wondering when you turned into such a fragile vampire who can't handle a little stress. Or is it that you intend to protect even the low-rank thralls of your bloodline?"
The black-clad priest—Silvester—sneered at the Jinma Phantom as he emerged. Phantom approached with the easy familiarity of an old friend, expression calm.
"Why don't we talk for a moment? We have all the time in the world, after all."
"A rat-lord who steals human lives to prolong his own, lecturing on infinity. How quaint."
"Is that so."
Phantom let the barbed words slide and leaned his upper body against the rooftop railing, gazing down at the rain-washed city. Sharing the view of the gray metropolis with a Jinma hunter felt strangely fresh.
"Surely you aren't going to be so crude as to start with a fight? I was under the impression both of us care rather a lot about aesthetics."
"Don't lump me in with your kind. Aesthetics or not, this place is no suitable battlefield."
If he intended to fight regardless of the surrounding humans, he would have taken the sniper shot back at the hotel. Phantom burst into laughter and stepped up onto the railing itself.
Safety netting hung beyond it, yet the drop still spun the senses. Phantom paced along the edge as he spoke.
"Hate to say it at this late hour, but I… don't think I can manage the role of a weeping vampire. Why not go bother some other Jinma instead? Traditionalists like Arcadia or Hecate, or Ireland's Astate…"
"For something that claims to be speech, that comes remarkably close to pure nonsense. Have you grown tired of learning human language and decided to try dog-barking instead?"
Cold to the bone, this Jinma hunter was in some ways more vampiric than any vampire. He drew a knife from his coat and fixed Phantom with his gaze.
"In any case, I believe we've talked enough… Shall we begin? You didn't summon me simply for conversation, I assume."
"Why wouldn't I?"
Phantom raised a hand. Almost at once a helicopter descended from the sky.
Thup-thup-thup-thup-thup-thup.
Rotors tore the air; a hard wind slammed down from above. Silvester clutched his coat closed, shielded himself, and looked up.
"…"
His face hardened as he glared. Broadcast equipment filled the cabin; a cameraman in rain gear shouldered a heavy camera and filmed Silvester and Phantom both.
Under these conditions… fighting was impossible. He could hardly attack Lau—who still wore a human face—with a knife while cameras rolled.
He shook his head in sheer disbelief.
"What kind of farce is this for a Jinma of your standing? You defeated me once already!"
Though young by their standards, Phantom ranked among the strongest of the Jinma—stronger even, some said, than ancient ones like Juk-yo and Chang-woon. Why go to such elaborate lengths to avoid a rematch with someone he had already beaten?
That very caution was what made Phantom terrifying. A mere blood-drinking beast, no matter how savage its fangs and claws, held no true dread.
Even the use of sorcery and unholy arts amounted only to tools of violence. Whether the tool was a firearm, magic, or claws… what difference did the result make?
True fear lay in wealth and power. Money could buy a human soul; power could buy even those souls money could not reach. To civilized humans, the force of other humans was far more terrifying than any unreal violence.
"I am king of vampires and king of men. For me to face you like a savage would offend my aesthetics. The age when savagery itself was law is long past."
Phantom spoke and pointed skyward. Deep gold hair whipped in the wind and rain; his pure white coat billowed. The bearing was unmistakably regal. Silvester had no choice but to admit he had been too hasty.
Unlike the other Jinma, this Phantom possessed both the strength and the authority to match. The old despair that had been his companion for years rose anew…
Yet if Phantom was a king, Silvester was the one who hunted kings. Even feeling despair, he would not let retreat cost him his dignity.
"Very well. Out of respect for a king's authority I will withdraw from this place. I also accept that you will choose the battlefield and the hour."
Silvester spoke, black coat flaring, and walked into the elevator.
"In that case… I'll simply have to give you a reason to want the fight."
As Silvester's figure vanished inside, the motor hummed. The sound receded, and with it the Jinma hunter. Watching him leave, Phantom covered his face with one hand.
"You've grown a great deal, Silvester."
He murmured the words and remained standing on the railing, looking down over the city. The gray rain was gradually easing.
Dogs began barking throughout the residential streets. The gunfire and explosions? Startled howls cut through the rain and carried a surprising distance.
Yet not a single person leaned out a window. No one would poke their head out during a shooting spree, of course—but this felt wrong. Wrong enough to make one wonder if it were a movie set.
"You sons of bitches!"
Se-geon squeezed the trigger and twisted aside, but the female vampire ignored the hits and closed at blinding speed. The weak stopping power of Tokarev rounds, perhaps. Even silver-treated hollow-points lacked the punch to drop a high-VT vampire with single shots.
"Got~cha! One!"
She chirped like a child playing tag, seized Se-geon's arm, and swung hard. The world spun. With monstrous strength she simply hurled him.
"Two!"
Waiting atop a utility pole, the male vampire caught him mid-air, spun, and flung him higher still.
It was a beautiful pass straight out of ball sports. The problem was that the ball was a person… and being thrown by a vampire fourteen meters into open sky usually meant you were already dead.
"Three!"
A third attack on top of that? Se-geon flinched into a guard. Something bright red punched through the air and smashed both his arms. The same keratinized flesh projectiles the bird-form had been firing earlier.
They were small, no larger than bullets—yet their velocity and force rivaled actual gunfire. Se-geon's arms shattered under the impact; his entire body was blasted backward.
CRACK!
He slammed into a magnolia tree in a spacious private yard. The tree, mature after long years of care, took the falling body and broke with it.
Like a doll with a snapped neck, Se-geon bounced off the trunk several times and collapsed onto the front-lawn grass. Blood sprayed, painting the wood—something inside him had broken.
"…"
When pain grows too great, even screaming becomes impossible. Sprawled like a broken doll, Se-geon could barely draw breath.
"Ahahaha!"
The black-clad pair descended from the sky as if dancing. In the pouring gray rain they looked like a scene from a black-and-white film.
"Didn't you swing a little hard?"
"Yeah. At this rate there won't be much left to eat."
They peered down at the blood-soaked Se-geon. Even then he was struggling with everything he had to rise.
Falling from that height had wrecked his body; moving was impossible. The only mercies were the tree that broke his fall and the decent protection of the racing suit he wore.
Wheeeee…
The sound of rain seemed to waver—at least that was how it felt to Se-geon. Balance shattered; every sense twisted. In this state he could never beat vampires.
"Well then—time to eat."
The female raised a hand. It bubbled like boiling water; sharp teeth sprouted along it. The male likewise warped his arm and closed in.
"Kh… ugh…"
Se-geon tried to rise and crumpled forward. Adrenaline alone could not overcome a blow that shredded every fiber of the body and stole all strength. Grit, stubbornness, raw will—none of it mattered.
A fall from moderate height rarely kills outright, yet its stopping power surpasses almost anything else. The vampires chuckled at his futile effort and swung their arms.
Pfft-pfft!
At that instant a soft, almost inaudible gunshot sounded. The female vampire's head exploded; she dropped.
"Kh! Another one?"
The male flung himself backward, barely avoiding death, and spun toward the source of the round. Perched atop a garden wall, Colt Government .45 fitted with a suppressor, crouched Song Deok-yeon.
Unlike Se-geon—who had sprinted over nearly unarmed after finishing a part-time shift—Deok-yeon was fully geared: blades, Spectra body armor, the works.
"Hey, you dumb fuck. Trying to go toe-to-toe with vampires without even popping Psychedelic Moon? Is that what I taught you?"
He clamped the Colt in his teeth and swung the shotgun hanging slantwise across his back. The black-clad vampire left a blur of shadow as it charged, but the shotgun roared and the creature was blasted away.
Shotguns excel at close range, yet hitting a target that fast and precise still bordered on miraculous.
The vampire shrieked hideously and tumbled backward. Pump-action shotgun power was devastating; a single solid hit left the body shredded.
"Gaaah!"
Still it did not die. It staggered, vaulted the wall, and fled into an alley. Deok-yeon tossed the knife at his waist to Se-geon and shouted.
"I'll chase that bastard—you suck that bitch dry and get back to guarding the goal!"
He dropped over the wall after the vampire. Watching him go, Se-geon felt less relief than a faint oddness.
If he was going to use the shotgun anyway, why bother putting a suppressor on the pistol?
Moving the broken arm as little as possible, Se-geon carefully reached into a pocket. The racing suit had a cargo pouch on the thigh; sliding a hand inside sent pain lancing up from the hip.
Cracked pelvis? Fractured ribs sending pain downward? He forced through it, drew the blood extractor, and drained the female corpse, injecting the blood into himself.
Piiing.
His skull rang. The mere introduction of vampire blood washed most of the pain away. Yet the sensation differed from cheap thralls—this was blood of a Jinma bloodline.
So that's why they were so strong.
He looked down at the headless female body. While she was an enemy he had never noticed; now she looked small and pretty. Pale skin, mutated arms, missing head aside…
"Uwek!"
He choked back rising vomit. Lack of blood? He stabbed the extractor in again, drew more, and injected his forearm.
Wounds closed slowly. Broken bones knitted; gashes torn by the tree sealed in moments. The instant he could move he rose. Exactly as Deok-yeon had said…
A goalkeeper has to guard the goal.
Se-geon picked up the fallen knife. Deok-yeon had thrown him a roughly sixty-centimeter black blade with bladder treatment, sheathed in a nylon sword horse. Drawing it revealed a 420-stainless blade.
The so-called "ninja-to" of 420 stainless was a peculiar knife born of American over-imagination about ninjas, yet it was surprisingly practical.
He slung it over his shoulder, yanked the Tokarev magazine, and reloaded on the run. When he had taken the guns from the thugs each held only one spare magazine—plenty of loose rounds, but awkward to use. Better to fill them now.
"Hah… hah…"
He sprinted full-tilt up the hill and reached the entrance of Jin Yu-mi's house. Blood and scraps of flesh already mixed with rainwater at the gate, as if someone had hosed down a slaughterhouse halfway through cleaning.
In the yard that was the source of the blood… one man and one woman lay shredded and blended together. A poetic soul might say "they had at last become one flesh." The more accurate description was "ground meat."
"God damn it!"
Se-geon kicked open the basement-side door and swept the muzzle inside. Darkness hid everything, but the stench of blood punched his nose. Recalling the layout of basement and rooms, he lunged forward.
Squelch… squelch…
Grotesque sounds. Someone was dying and being drained, he was sure. He swallowed the nausea.
The sights and sounds of the day his family was massacred were reconstructing themselves here, right now.
Stay calm… lose it here and you die.
Perhaps because of the vampire blood, his heart hammered and refused to quiet. He cracked a Psychedelic Moon capsule onto the back of his hand. Rain-wet skin dissolved the powder; he forced the mess up his nose anyway.
A sneeze threatened, then even that sensation vanished. The drug's effect hit so fast it was frightening.
Ah!
Even in darkness, outlines slowly emerged. A strange, marvelous feeling. Senses sharpened; surrounding sounds separated and recombined into clear images.
Every raindrop striking the roof registered on his skin; the silhouettes standing out from the dark gave better vision than any night-vision goggles.
Se-geon walked into the rooms.
In the broad floor that served as kitchen and living area, countless children already lay butchered. Bodies torn apart with such ease felt unreal—like cheap resin zombies shredded by a chainsaw in a splatter film. Reality was sometimes worse than cinema, yet Jin Yu-mi was nowhere to be seen.
Jin Yu-mi… she would be in a room, and she would not be alive. With a quiet heart he opened the door.
"Ah."
A girl stood inside. The blood-soaked blue two-piece hung on a frame grown terribly thin, yet she looked infinitely pitiful. Not a great beauty, but… yes. She resembled Jin Yu-mi somehow.
Strange, wasn't it? She had been the victim, Jin Yu-mi the perpetrator. She had come for revenge and now achieved it—yet why did the two look alike?
Before her lay Jin Yu-mi, cut cleanly in two. The look-alikes had produced a simple result: one had killed the other.
Jin Yu-mi, who had drifted above the vast city of Seoul for lack of reality.
Yoon Mi-hye, who had sunk endlessly into herself while locked in a hospital.
Perpetrator and victim had traded places, and the story was finished. The dead Jin Yu-mi must have taken the Psychedelic Moon Se-geon had given her; even in this grotesque death her face wore a drug-hazed expression.
Two girls who looked alike… Se-geon regarded her and, without a word, raised the gun.
No words.
No resistance.
In the downpour several shots rang out. Tokarev rounds punched through her, ricocheted around the room; one grazed Se-geon's cheek and left a long streak of blood.
He lowered the pistol, drew the ninja-to, and took Yoon Mi-hye's head. He kicked her face with a walker boot and drove the blade into the convulsing heart.
"…"
Too dry, somehow. He even felt boredom. He had expected a flood of emotion; the expectation proved empty.
Using the extractor he drew as much blood as he could from her… then left the house behind.
"Oh, right."
He paused at the entrance and fired down the corridor. Rounds struck the piled butane canisters; the explosion bloomed, but on Psychedelic Moon he flung himself clear of the blast and flying debris.
"Haa…"
He chose a shopping bag, filled it with the blood, and walked away from the burning house. The storm was intensifying—perhaps the typhoon moving north. This fire would be put out soon enough. Thinking that, he headed down the hill.
Deok-yeon, covered in blood, leaned against a utility pole and looked up as Se-geon approached.
"Hey!"
"…"
Without a word Se-geon tossed the used ninja-to to Deok-yeon and righted the fallen RX-125. The handlebars were bent; the bike was no longer rideable.
Looking like a drowned rat, Se-geon set the RX-125 down. He had tried to keep it because it was his brother's keepsake, but it had finally reached its limit.
"You okay?"
Deok-yeon asked, privately worried. Se-geon turned an expressionless face toward him. Rainwater ran down his face and dripped from his jaw like a waterfall.
"You've got the Pride, right?"
"Yeah."
"Give me a ride?"
"Sure. Let's get out of here fast."
Deok-yeon loaded the blank-faced Se-geon into the Pride and drove out of the alley under the pouring rain.
Police cars and fire trucks blocked the alley. The explosions that sounded like gunfire, followed by the gas blast… even in an apathetic society, reports were inevitable.
By the time officers arrived, however, neither bullets nor casings could be found. The only things left were the half-basement building shattered by the explosion and the bodies smashed inside it.
Yet even for Korean police, overworked and inclined to downplay cases, this one held too many anomalies. No projectiles remained, but bullet marks scarred the structure, and autopsy showed the corpses had already been dead before the explosion damaged them.
If so—what could tear human beings apart like that?
In a park near the still-active residential crime scene sat a jet-black Corvette Coupe. On the bench beside it a silver-haired priest and a youth with green-bleached hair watched pigeons pecking at feed.
"Pigeons or chickens…"
The green-haired youth sighed at the birds. The silver-haired priest raised a hand to his lips for silence.
"Cough them up…"
Several pigeons gagged and regurgitated crushed copper-alloy fragments. They had swallowed the bullets that had punched through vampire bodies and brought them back.
"I assigned Deok-yeon out of concern… pathetic. What good is a man who doesn't even recover the casings?"
The silver-haired priest—Silvester—scolded while focusing his magic. Using rats, stray cats, dogs, pigeons and the like, he had recovered casings and projectiles; now he slipped on latex gloves and bagged them in plastic. Se-geon watched the process in silence, leaning back on the bench.
"Even though they're dead, not a single tear. Maybe those who cannot cry aren't only the vampires."
"…"
Hearing Se-geon, Silvester rose. The pigeons, released from the spell, finally came to themselves—yet the feed kept them from flying away.
Silvester opened the Corvette's door. Leaves that had fallen on the car in the brief interval blew inside with the wind.
Then Se-geon called him back.
"Oh, right… Silvester."
"?"
"Do I… look like Kurt Cobain?"
"Your head must be hurting. You're talking nonsense."
Se-geon laughed loudly, then buried his face against his knees. The laughter cut off almost at once; his shoulders began to shake. As though a spell had finally broken, tears poured from eyes that had been dry for so long.
"…"