DARKSTALKERS: VAMPIRE SAVIOR
Chapter One: The Revenge of Demitri Maximoff
Fanfiction by Louis the Rogue
(Based on original story by Capcom Inc.)
The courtyard of Taurus Drey was unlike anything else in his collection; it was peaceful, simplistic, and of little material value. Reminiscent of an early Greek design, the marble fountain in the center and the sidewalk tile-wide marble walkway that lined the edges just past the high stone walls were the only things in it aside from pure, pristine grass. For this reason, Lord Funechika would always insist on this spot to share luncheon during his weekly visit to Castle Drey.
As he sat his squat, gnome-like body on the grass before the red and gold checkered blanket that held a small feast and separated him from his long-time ally, Lord Drey had to admit that he was grateful for the reprieve. Since the war began, Funechika had less and less time for these informal discussions of theirs.
"So, tell me Ed, what have you heard about Maximoff?", the blue-eyed nobleman inquired absently as he brushed a bit of his curly red hair off his emerald, tailed jacket.
Lord Funechika gripped a violet teacup with his long, slender brown fingers, and drew it to his shriveled little face for a sip before he answered, "The worst, I'm afraid. His assault draws nearer to our borders every moment. It seems that…"
As he paused, Drey leaned in eagerly, "Go on!"
Funechika almost winced with the weight of his knowledge, "It seems that House Kreutz has finally fallen. At the time I received the message, Maximoff was reportedly engaging Xell Kreutz himself. Without the Wolf Lord to guard his back, it can be assumed that he will barely be a match for the infamous tyrant's newfound strength, if at all."
"This is terrible news", Drey sighed. He detested sober moments.
Nodding gravely, Funechika took something from his burgundy robe resembling a small, golden timepiece and handed it to Drey across the blanket, "You know what this is, and I suggest you use it at the next opportunity. I'll be leaving as well."
Taurus was taken aback, "You expect me to leave my clan and collection behind?"
"Even a collection as extensive as this can be replaced. A life, I fear…"
"Fear?", a voice taunted from the darkness, "There is nothing to fear in death but the dying!"
"It's him", Drey noted in a hushed tone as he looked to his friend, "Should we try to bargain with the monster? Could our lives be spared that way? Ed?"
He drew back in shock as he took in the blank, lifeless stare that now occupied the face of Ed Funechika. And then, nigh instantaneously, the stilled nobleman's body collapsed like shattered glass into a pile of blood and organs.
Screaming like a madman, Taurus leapt from the ground and turned to flee. His journey was cut alarmingly short, however, as he slammed face-first into what seemed to be an immovable object from his viewpoint.
As the hapless Drey gathered his wits enough to look up, he groaned miserably at the figure before him. Tall and statuesque, the thing was shadowed by an aura of menacing flames about its' person and two hateful crimson eyes glowered out from the face.
Worst of all, by far, was the way its' elongated fangs seemed to promise eternal damnation even as the mouth opened to speak, "I must apologize for the imprecise scheduling of your demise, Lord Drey, but you have had a century to prepare."
"No no!", Taurus pleaded, "There must be another way! My collection? It could be yours! I could be signed on to procure even more artifacts for your greatness when YOU rule The Makai? Does that strike your fancy, Lord Maximoff?"
"You miss the point", the brooding figure bellowed over him, extending a fearsome, clawed hand to grip the tiny creature by the face and lift him in the air, struggling and all, "My conquest is secondary only to my vengeance. The nobility must be made to suffer, as I have suffered. Blood for blood is the only way my pain can ever be reprised."
"Please! I beg you to reconsider! Demitri!", Lord Drey screamed in vain, choking on his own blood as his plump little head imploded under the weight of the tyrant's gripping fist.
Dropping the remains of his latest victim, Demitri Maximoff looked to the bloody sky, "Only one can be spared. Morrigan, you will submit to me soon enough."
Striding up the golden steps that lead to the splendor of Castle Aensland, Morrigan found herself confronted with no small army of vampiric soldiers, each decorated in a sapphire-hued armor of Roman design.
At the forefront, a violet cape adorning the back of his armor to identify him as the leader, stood a seemingly elderly vampire, his long white hair in a soldier's braid and his formerly fine-trimmed goatee having grown into a full beard.
"Stand down men", the vampiric gentleman called as he drew his basket-hilted rapier, a pair of faded gray wings unfurling from his back, "Lady Aensland is my responsibility."
Her agile form sliding into a fighting stance, Morrigan locked eyes with the general, "Chivalry is rare among you Maximoff dogs, and yet, you bar me from my castle."
"To think, the future Queen of Makai is but an arrogant whelp!", the old man rebuked, "Alas, but I would never second guess Milord."
"Never?", a melodious voice rang from behind the elderly vampire, freezing him in his tracks, "Those who lose their pride lose also their right to live. Someone very wise told me this once."
As the vampire general turned to strike, his shimmering blade met another with the intensity of a crimson flame. Wielding the strange sword was a flawless man in Florentine armor. Recognizing him instantly, the elderly soldier's eyes turned red with malice, "Hartland, you fool!"
Morrigan relaxed her pose, a sour look on her face, "Your interference was hardly necessary on this matter, Milord"
"I must disagree", the nobleman smiled with a charming confidence about him, "As a gentleman, I cannot allow you to stain your hands on an enemy so far beneath you."
As his opponent took to the sky, diving down in a bird-like strike, Hartland turned on his heel and parried with such velocity that it stirred a sudden, whistling wind through the air.
Gripping hold of his hilt with both hands, the general struggled downward with all his might, not simply to break the parry, but to break his opponent's resolve.
However, as he looked over Hartland's flawless stance, both legs bent just enough to support the weight of the defense as his free hand administered a perfect balance to the whole of his body, the gentleman realized to his chagrin that he was woefully outclassed.
"Kill me quickly", the old man muttered as his sword dropped from his hand.
"It shall be done, Dear Sir", Hartland nodded, never taking his gaze from his opponent's face as he swiftly struck him through the heart, pulling back with such alarming speed that it made the combination of attack and retreat seem like the sting of a massive bee.
Silently, Demitri Maximoff's former right hand dropped to the floor, his blood spilling over the stairs like a red carpet. His face was a mixture of defeat and resolve; he had died in service to his master, and yet, with the knowledge of his futility.
Hartland at her side, Morrigan began the slow journey through her former home. The once rich red tapestries were torn, the golden carpets scattered. Paintings and other priceless effects were irreversibly damaged, and the smell of death permeated the air.
As her eyes fell over the remains of what had once been a loyal servant, Morrigan stopped, the spark seeming to go out of her perfect eyes.
Sensing her plight, Gregorio Hartland dared to lay a hand on her shoulder as he spoke, "Much has changed in the last nine years, Milady."
Abruptly starting forward, Morrigan continued down the hallway without a response.
Down toward her father's chambers. The throne of the dead king Belial. The one place she knew he would be. She could feel his dark presence stifling the air around her.
Throwing open the golden double doors, she stepped inside, virtually unfazed at the sight of Demitri sitting atop her beloved father's throne.
"It suits me well, Belial's throne", Demitri mused across the red and gold rug to her.
"Your arrogance supersedes what would otherwise be your power", Morrigan glowered to him, "Must I humble you once more, little tyrant?"
"You dare to think so lightly of me?", Maximoff roared, his form shifting into a bat-like creature even as he leapt from the throne, the transformation complete by the time the two warriors locked arms in a grapple.
Much as one might expect in a battle between opponents so skilled, neither let the force of their power tear into the land around them; to do so would simply have wasted their much-needed strength. They remained locked in a stalemate, each glaring hotly into the others' eyes. Only the circumstances of their situation could define the true nature of the looks they gave one another; today, they were soldiers, and there was only the battle.
However, focused as she was, the elusive rage that now clouded Morrigan's normally subtle demeanor had also begun to cloud her judgment. Her father had been everything. With his passing, she was to be the next candidate for Ruler of Makai. She had never wanted such responsibility, but now, seeing this tyrannical demon among demons desecrating her home for the very same title, she swore to herself that no man would ever take her birthright away from her.
Somehow, as she had become lost in her thoughts, she had also become lost in those eyes of his. They were always so intense. In spite of the borderline hate that boiled inside of her at this moment, she also felt a strange compassion for this fell, proud creature that resembled affection. Were the two really so different?
She would pursue the thought no farther. At that moment, Demitri noted her momentary lapse in focus and used the opportunity to pin her by the neck. As her body slammed into the stone floor with enough force to split it in two, she instinctively tried to scream out, but her throat could barely manage a hiss.
"Morrigan!", Hartland screamed, drawing his rapier in an instant and leaping above the monstrous Demitri in another, a hellish rage boiling in his eyes.
"Gregorio…", Morrigan whispered. Even as her eyes took in the scene, the massive claw that slashed the noble warrior to ribbons with a single horrific blow, there was a subtle respect in her tone that needed no further eulogy to fully honor his proud death.
His wiry blonde hair loose about the frame of his skull-like face, Emperor Ozomu brooded silently in the darkness of his throne room. The past nine years had been increasingly trying as his strategy had not-so-slowly shifted from a passive offensive to a full and desperate defense. Maximoff was stronger, of this there was no doubt, and that very strength would be his undoing unless…
"Ozomu", a strange, yet familiar voice called from the darkness, interrupting his thoughts.
"Who's there?", Ozomu called to nowhere. He knew that voice.
"Ozomu…", an icy hand rested on his shoulder, "I am sorry, but please lend me your powers."
The ever-composed Emperor of Dohma froze with terror.
"Your soul would become the foundation of Majigen…", the voice of his former master trailed from soft blue lips into Ozomu's trembling skull even as his body began to slowly fade from this world, "and will help the future of Makai."