A Vampire in Gotham II

In the ruins of an old, dilapidated church in the East Side of Gotham City, a man was huddled over a pile of ashes. He was dressed in nothing but the tattered remains of an old inmate uniform that bore the insignia of Arkham Asylum, and he rocked back and forth on his knees, his hands clasped in a kind of prayer as he whispered a fast series of words in an ancient tongue. He crossed himself at last, beginning the cross upside-down, in a perversion of the usual gesture. And then he scooped up the ashes, cradling them as gently and reverently as a baby as he gazed up at the moon shining through the broken beams of the church's ceiling.

"Tonight is the night, Master," he whispered. "When you shall be restored to life and take vengeance on all those who have wronged you. I have waited so long for your return, for the night when you shall subjugate all creatures to your will and make them submit to your dark power. Especially he who takes your name and your image in vain – the Batman. He shall be punished most, for daring to presume upon your greatness. He will be on his knees begging for your mercy, and you will show him none, oh merciless one."

He placed the ashes on the ruins of an altar, overgrown with weeds and ivy. He reached into his pocket and picked out several used stubs of black candles, placing these by the side of the ashes and lighting them. He then picked up an ornate, ceremonial dagger, studded with jewels, its sharp blade shining in the moonlight.

"From ashes to ashes and dust to dust, arise, my Dark Master," he whispered. "Taste the fluid of life!"

The man plunged the blade into his arm, cutting down it and holding the dripping gash over the ashes. The blood splattered onto the pile and made a strange hissing noise as fog began bubbling up from nowhere, enveloping the altar. Strange screams and cries filled the church, and the man fell to his knees, muttering more prayers and chants, his eyes alight and fixated on the mist in front of him, the mist that gradually formed into the shape of a man.

The man who had performed the ritual fell to the ground, his face buried in the dirt as he gasped, "My Dark Lord and Master, Count Dracula! You have returned at last!"

The man lying on the altar stood up slowly, his black cloak billowing around him. "Where am I?" he murmured.

"You are in Gotham City, Master," whispered the man.

"Gotham City?" repeated Dracula, puzzled. "The same place where I met my latest demise?"

"Yes, Master," said the man, nodding. "Your followers knew you had returned and come here, but your demise was reported before we knew where or how you had returned. I spent many months tracking down what had happened to you, and what became of your remains."

"There was a clown and…a bat man," murmured Dracula, remembering. "Do they still live?"

"Oh yes, Master!" cried the man. "The Batman must pay for impersonating you, for perverting your glorious darkness in the name of justice!"

"The clown is the one who killed me," muttered Dracula. "With the Batman's help."

"Oh, then they will pay a hundredfold, Master!" said the man, eagerly. "We shall wreak revenge and havoc on them!"

"We?" repeated Dracula, raising an eyebrow.

The man prostrated himself again. "Forgive me for presuming, my Dark Master, but I would be honored to aid you in your quest for vengeance. I have long been a devoted and loyal follower of yours, and to even stand in your presence is a glory I never dared dream of! I am yours to command in all things!"

"Well, I am grateful for such devotion, Mr…?"

"Renfield, Master."

"Mr. Renfield, and those who serve me are rewarded. But firstly, I will need a place to inhabit suitable to my specific needs…"

"I thought this church would be suitable, Master," said Renfield, gesturing around. "I have made all the preparations in cleaning out the crypt and finding you a new coffin to rest in."

Dracula looked pleasantly surprised. "You have done very well, Mr. Renfield," he said. "Are there others like you? Loyal followers to me and my cause?"

"Not in Gotham, Master," murmured Renfield. "None of them would come all this way. None of them are as loyal as I."

Dracula studied him curiously. "Your clothing is strange, even for this time period, I believe," he commented.

"Oh yes, forgive me, Master, for not attiring myself in a manner befitting your splendor," he said, bowing low again. "I still wear the trappings of my false imprisonment."

"Imprisonment?" repeated Dracula.

"The people here believe me to be insane, Master," murmured Renfield. "They do not comprehend your dark power and believe in your greatness. They are fearful of acknowledging the possibility of such a mighty being as you, and so they sought to silence me, and lock me away in a madhouse forever. But I fooled them all. I escaped, and they will pay for their insolence when you have claimed illimitable dominion over all their pathetic, unbelieving souls."

Dracula considered for a moment. While he himself doubted this man's complete sanity, there was no denying that such a devoted and loyal follower and helper would be immensely useful in his quest for revenge and domination. And if none of his other followers were here, he would have to make new ones, as quickly as possible.

"Arkham Asylum," he said, reading the label on the clothing. "Are there other madmen there?"

"Oh yes, Master," whispered Renfield. "Oh yes."

"And would they be inclined to serve me?"

"I am sure you could persuade them to, Master," replied Renfield, nodding. "In fact, one who escaped recently did not believe me when I told him of your greatness and glory. It would please me very much to give him a demonstration of your limitless power, and convert him to a loyal servant of yours."

"Do you know where this man is?" asked Dracula.

"Yes, Master," said Renfield. "Shall I take you to him?"

Dracula nodded. "Lead on, Mr. Renfield."