Scenes From an Unholy War by Hideyuki Kikuchi

Author:Hideyuki Kikuchi [Kikuchi, Hideyuki]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Horror, General, Fiction, Science Fiction, Fantasy
ISBN: 9781616552558
Google: 0erOngEACAAJ
Amazon: 1616552557
Publisher: Dark Horse Manga
Published: 2013-08-14T12:00:00+00:00

THE WORK OF A MURDERER

chapter 6

I

—

Perhaps the moon was mourning. Lamenting the fact that it was such a beautiful moonlit night. Wondering why humans were always killing one another. But the moon’s grief was somewhat misdirected. The eleven shadowy figures now dashing across the wilderness couldn’t be called human. Each had eyes tinged blood red, and from between lips twisted in deadly rapture there poked ferocious fangs—fangs that gnashed, showing just how these men trembled with expectations of blood and slaughter. They had no need for horses. Their legs carried them three times as fast as they had when they were human, and they never tired. Those crimson eyes could see through the darkness of night as if it were midday.

The saplings and high grass ahead of them swayed with the night breeze. They were about to leap over them without the slightest hesitation when everyone halted ten feet shy. That they came to a dead stop without even breaking form was testament to their amazing new physical prowess. There wasn’t even a sound when their feet hit the ground.

All eyes turned in unison to the front of the pack. Their run had been cut short by an object that had rolled out in front of them. A skull.

Who threw that?

Their eyes shot to the bushes. At that instant, there was the sound of something else landing behind the brush. Not surprisingly, it was another skull, pale in their night vision.

All eleven saw the same thing simultaneously—a stark pillar of flame reaching up into the heavens behind the bushes. After a second, they leaped back, recognizing the white pillar for what it was. It wasn’t there. There were no flames, no fiery column. All there was at present was something that caused icy-cold beads of sweat to form on the brows of the eleven men—an eerie aura that was not of this world.

“I’ll be damned,” Toma murmured. “I remember this place. I should’ve finished you off so that you’d never have to hear the song of the dead a second time. No, I don’t suppose stabbing you once more would be any different, would it?”

“Let’s go, boss,” one of them cried. It was Sumatro. A deadly automatic rifle stretched from his right hand.

The men said nothing, their stunned faces turning to Toma as one. They’d expected him to instantly give them the command to move out.

“Let’s roll!” one of them urged testily.

Just then, they heard the exquisite voice of the darkness, filled with inhuman ecstasy, coming from beyond the bushes. “Come,” it said.

“D,” Sumatro groaned as if his mouth were gnawing on the inky blackness.

“D,” Dacia said, the darkness he bit off staining his teeth.

“D,” someone else said.

“D!”

“D!”

“D!”

But how did they all know that name?

Though they knew who it was, the shadowy figure in the bushes remained melded with the darkness.

“Boss?” Sumatro said in a voice choked with the terror of someone who’d realized the truth.

Toma was frightened. A fear beyond mortal ken clearly clung to his hardened features. What

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