For HopeCoppice as a thank you for '22'.
A dark little one-shot that pestered me to get written. Possibly a future scenario in DiF, possibly not ... As River Song would say 'spoilers'...
Major apologies to DiF readers, I promise that I haven't abandoned it, hopefully I'll be in a position to start posting again soon.
Hope you enjoy it! xo
Burn
In the castle courtyard, the vampires moved with uniform grace and violence. The light of the outdoor torches glinting off the shiny metal of their badges, their cloaks swirling as the dark blue material followed the flow of their bodies. The sight was oddly beautiful, a perfect example of vampire strength and power, an indication of the battles to come and the war which would be waged against the filthy breathers who had dared to occupy their world for so many centuries.
They watched the troupes in silence, Bertrand mindful, always, of the powerful vampire standing close to him, so close that they were mere inches away from each other. Of the extra coldness of Vladimir Dracula's body. Of the dark energy that seemed to throb through him almost like a vampiric heartbeat.
Bertrand spoke softly. "They will rise up against you. Breathers have a remarkable tendency to fight back."
Vladimir Dracula turned away from the window, the dark emptiness of his sapphire eyes only attenuated further by the flickering candlelight. A low evil laugh slipped through his lips and echoed around the castle. The recruits outside paused in horrified anticipation of their master's mood. Only the tensing of Bertrand's jaw gave away his uncertainty at the Grand High Vampire's reaction.
"Let them," Vlad snarled, hatred transforming his face into something darker, more evil than Bertrand had ever dared to hope for. "Let their armies march upon me. Let them try their weapons against me. Their pathetic bullets and missiles can't even touch me. I'm going to rip the throat out of this world and nothing can stop me." A sneer spread across his perfect mouth twisting it into something cruel and vindictive. The bitter, matter of fact manner in which he spoke his next words would have made any vampire, other than Bertrand, flinch away from his gaze. "After all, I am invincible."
Bertrand hesitated before speaking again; he knew how much the Chosen One hated to be reminded of her. "Not quite Your Highness," he murmured, uttering the words so quietly that a breather would have strained to hear them. It took all his courage not to step away as Vlad approached him, laying a cold, pale hand on his shoulder.
"Hmm." Vlad's eyes swept over Bertrand thoughtfully, the clear blue depths more terrifying than if his eyes simply flashed into blackness or glowed vivid red. The Grand High Vampire leant forward slightly, Bertrand could feel his lips curving into a vicious smile as they almost brushed against his throat, it was a taunting reminder that the younger vampire was in control. "You sound almost ... frightened." The Chosen One whispered the insult before pulling back and giving his chief advisor the sort of smirk that sent a shiver of terror racing down his spine.
It was a warning. Bertrand understood that better than anyone. He declined his head slightly in a sign of respect to the Grand High Vampire, a sign that he accepted Vlad's will over his own. The Chosen One barely bothered to acknowledge Bertrand's submission before sweeping out of the room.
Bertrand remained frozen to the spot, watching as the vampire army in the courtyard below performed their routine over and over again. The world was going to burn in a blaze of blood, violence and fire.
And it was all his doing.