This is my first Anna Dracula fic yaaaaahhhh!!! ;)

I haven't wrote anything in ages so constructive criticism is welcome.

This is a fic about Dracula losing the role of being the powerful being/master but instead is reduced to the role of slave /servant to another more stronger being ( much to his distaste).

And of course Anna is dragged along for the ride ;) (she loves it!)

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing from Van Helsing and am only writing this for fun.

The back story is Dracula and Anna both survived, Van Helsing and Carl will be popping up at some point.

But a new stronger-more frightening enemy has moved into Transylvania, setting up a base camp amongst the Carpathian Mountains with the intent of taking over and claiming all inhabitants as their slaves.

Chapter 1-The Gods,the warrior,the vampire

Many ancient warriors believed that to die on the battlefield was the greatest death of all, many wished for it in fact. That to die with your sword drawn soaked in the blood of your enemies was 'the' only honourable and 'true' way for a warrior to pass on to the next plain of existence.

They were taught as children that when you died you were met at 'the Great Fire' (an ancient eastern European equivalent of the gates of Heaven) by Shan'agrath the winged god, who would then escort them through the 'halls of the dead' where they would come face to face with the three gods of the Imperial Underworld, 'Duyas' the horned god and keeper of all the 'good' souls, 'Miro'the wolf-headed god and keeper of the 'bad' souls and 'Turanmae' the faceless god who would pass judgement.

Every single thing that person had done in their life from the day they were born till the day they died was documented on a scroll held by 'Shan'agrath'.

If they had lived a good and honest life with truth in their hearts then 'Turanmae' would allow that soul to leave with 'Duyas' who would then take it away to the 'garden of Falasal' which was a paradise where you would be reunited with your ancestors and deceased loved ones.

However if a soul had been judged evil or tainted then it was taken to the 'pits of Xuin' where it was thrown into the pit to face the darkness and wrath of 'Miro'.

This thought often plagued General Nathra'shan as he sat atop his mount and watched the events on the battlefield unfold before him. He was a fearsome and sometimes ruthless warrior who had survived many battles through the years and had managed to reach his fortieth year which was quite impressive for a man in his position. His slender frame and average looking face gave the impression of a man clearly out of place on the battlefield, but his skill with the sword and war axe proved many doubters wrong and usually sent to their graves.

He had lived his life the best he could, he was a loyal soldier and right hand man to the almighty Warlord Zeixde'ath and to the armies of Dacia but he often wondered if his masters plans and actions were good and honest; the dead villagers littering the blood-soaked ground and the homes of the innocent set ablaze made it pretty clear to him that there was nothing 'good' or 'honest' going on here.

But nevertheless he would never question or betray his master Lord Zeixde'ath, for his word was the way and he would be the one to lead them all to great victory, eternal glory and eventual rest in the garden of Falasal.

Well that's what General Nathra'shan hoped.

'What a great day to turn the fields red don't you think Nathra'shan?'

General Nathra'shan was shaken out of his ponderings by the heavily deep guttural voice of his master arriving by his side.

Nathra'shan turned obediently to face the man…no, man was not the word for this beast, he was more like an animal that had just taunted, tortured then slaughtered its prey before smearing the remains over itself with the blood dripping down his heavy black armour.

Zeixde'ath was every inch a warlord, with his muscular torso protected by black as night steel armour which was riddled with numerous scratches and dents from battles past, the scars littering his face, neck, hands, anywhere that wasn't hidden by armour were evidence that he was one fearsome warrior that certainly did not back down from a fight. He was also a towering beast, standing near six feet tall even with all the weight of armour and weapons resting on his frame. His hair brown and quite shaggy looking hung limply past his shoulders.

But most frightening of all about him, which even General Nathra'shan agreed with, was his piercing blue eyes which according to many soldiers would turn a horrid maroon when in the pits of a fiery rage.

'Why yes my Lord, an excellent day indeed sir'. Nathra'shan obediently replied.

Lord Zeixde'ath nodded approvingly, satisfied with his generals reply before slowly turning his head to gaze back out to the devastation that once was a peaceful farming community now burning to the ground. The cries of the dying enveloped the air, as dusk began to creep into the sky.

Nathra'shan turned to his master, 'my lord may I ask what our next port of call is? We have taken over quite a bit of area in this part of Europe, shall we be regrouping the army before we head back home? '.

Zeixde'ath thought silently for a few minutes before turning back to his most trusted aide.

'No my friend, we have one more battle ahead, one more domain to crush before we send the troops home, I have longed to be the most powerful man in all Europe ever since I was a boy sitting on my grandfathers lap. If I am to realise that dream then I must secure the one last area of land that still stands in my way.'

General Nathra'shan had a pretty good idea of where they were next heading, they were already camped several miles north of a place called Romania.

'I shall send messengers my Lord to rally the soldiers' Nathra'shan spoke as Zeixde'ath looked out once again to the fallen town and recent addition to his ever growing empire.

'Where shall I say we are marching to my lord?'

Warlord Zeixde'ath looked towards the direction of his next and possibly greatest fight yet and savoured the victory in the air for a few more seconds

'To Transylvania we march'

The sun was once again setting over Transylvania, the chill of the night air slowly creeping in.

The sky heralded a vast array of colours; from the yellow of the fading sun to the red and the purple that met the darker blues of the oncoming night, blanketing the valley with an eerie stillness and promise that tonight might be the night that the vampires return.

For one village, one truly extraordinary village, this was the feeling felt every night by its inhabitants…and feared by every single one.

After being terrorised by the notorious Count Vladisluas Dragulia and his three brides for many years, the villagers hoped and prayed they would never return.

Well once bitten and all that!…

There were rumours that all three brides and their evil master had been slain by the great Van Helsing! (which was met with joyous cheering) but several townsfolk of sound mental health had mentioned of 'sightings' several weeks later, of a great dark 'bat like' figure roaming the skies on certain nights a few miles south of the village. A local merchant on his travels to the next town also confirmed the sighting of a 'great winged beast' soaring high through the clouds before disappearing amongst the mist of the Carpathians.

Was it true? Had the son of the devil returned to wreak havoc once again on these poor people?.

There had been no murders or kidnappings recently, maybe the Count…if it truly was him had found another poor unfortunate village to pick from.

Maybe the actions of the legendary Van Helsing and the Princess Anna Valerious had scared him off?

It was truly remarkable for the villagers to go out at night and enjoy themselves for once, without having to rush home at sunset, lock their doors and windows or constantly look over their shoulders.

This was a good time for the village of Anna Valerious.

Onward he flew, higher and faster.

Moving with no sense of direction or reason.

The hunger was building up in him once more but no matter how fast or how high he flew nothing could distract him from the intense need to feed.

His wings were pounding mercilessly through the air, propelling him further and further from…he had no idea what, he just wanted to fly somewhere anywhere, it was his greatest passion to just soar through the skies and admire the beauty of the world below.

The battles, the people, his hunger…none of that mattered anymore, this was what helped him think; it helped to clear his head of all the anger, hatred, pain and the demons in his head.

Well it used to help…

Flashback

Now no matter what he did he couldn't get over the increasing pain of the hunger, if he didn't feed soon well…he had no idea what would happen, he had been trying to keep his head down for a while, he didn't want anyone knowing of his survival until his full strength had been restored. Unfortunately this meant having to go without blood for longer than he was used to.

There had been several times where he had just blacked out mid flight and plummeted to the ground helplessly, resulting in the once great and powerful Count Dracula lying in a messy heap on the forest floor in a daze.

It was after the final battle with Van Helsing, which Dracula had managed to survive (although incredibly weak) he realised that Anna had also survived.

After Van Helsing, Anna and Carl had left the castle believing the Count to be dead, Dracula had lain slumped in a sort of comatose state for several days, not moving, talking or thinking, just merely existing.

It was after the sun had set on the sixth day that Dracula had finally pulled himself together and began thinking properly again, knowing that if he was to live then he had better get some fresh blood into his veins and fast! With all the strength he had left to muster he left the castle and made his way through the dark forest and towards the nearest village, opting to walk as flying was not an option in his present condition.

Upon reaching the village he stalked down an alleyway and made sure to stay hidden in the shadows, spotting what appeared to be an elderly man stumbling out of the apparent local inn, not Dracula's first choice to drink blood laced with ale but beggars cant be choosers he decided.

He watched what direction the man was going and began to follow at a safe distance behind. As soon as Dracula felt the man was far enough away and no one was around, Dracula made his move. The struggle was virtually none existent, the man had obviously drunk more than his weight in booze and could barely stand never mind fight off an attacker, at least it was over quickly for him.

As soon as the first drop of blood had touched his lips Dracula wanted to gag, it was with a shudder that Dracula noted that the man had not only been on the ale but the mead, the vodka and the whisky as well. He felt his strength slowly coming back to him but he still did not feel one hundred percent up to his full strength.

That had been several weeks ago and although he had fed a few more times he decided to only feed when absolutely necessary (deciding to prey only on the sick and elderly so their deaths would not be treated as suspicious) , that way he could remain undetected by the townsfolk whilst he planned how he was going to exact his revenge on Van Helsing, he wanted the element of surprise on his side this time.

End of flashback

By this point Dracula had reached the main tower of his castle and glided in gracefully to land on the open windowed balcony with relative ease.

He was glad to have the strength to be able to fly again, it was his therapy if you out over the land, Dracula admired the beauty of his home, the lush green forests, the meandering rivers, the mist over the Carpathians…this was his home, this was his land.

Turanmae help anyone who tried to take it from him…

To be continued

Let me know what you think so far please :)

I know it's a bit long to get started but I had to add all the back story.