Before Dracula left the desecrated and graffitied park, he looked closely at the back side of his hand, pearly white in the moonlight and almost translucent from his meager diet. Thin traces of black veins netted together underneath his skin, the blood of his victims flowing clearly if he really concentrated on the pattern of flesh and its underlying network of sprawling arteries. His broad dead-white body was drawn tight to his stabbing bones and full muscle, exactly like an old man's body would look if he had lived to age for hundreds of years, and his long hair was a matted mess of gray, silver, and white string that swung from his bare shoulders, not unlike the full black hair of the fallen angel Lucifer. He was not a vain man, he never had been, but the vampire knew that he must gather his strength for this new campaign if they were to succeed, which meant that he had to shed this unattractive and utterly debilitated shell. Scanning the night, smells wafting though the the chilled air to tease the other senses, a pair of glowing vermilion eyes locked on a staggering drunk. The man was strong with the scent of liquor, a smoky cigar odor enveloping leather and cheap cologne. Dracula descended upon the man from the shadows, not bothering to hesitate as he grabbed him from behind, arms vices against the mortal's chest. The man seemed to notice him a little too late; the starved vampire feeding to his hearts content, scarlet blood flowing out of the puncture marks his fangs had made in a river of gore and slop. Standing proudly once more, face stained red from the man's feeble struggle, he already felt healthier...
Taking the few unlucky humans that came his way, a well-built man appearing to be in his thirties passed their lifeless corpses, left carelessly in the open like breadcrumbs in a child's fairytale, thick brown-black waves swinging in the breeze, "Now to find the Necronomicon."
Striding through the eerily empty alleys like a regal prince of the underworld to arrive at the wolf-infested edge of the city, he could see that the infinite sky, all ink and burning blue-white pinpricks, was slowly beginning to dim down to a dark royal purple. Maybe it was a special gift of his, or maybe all vampires had an internal clock built inside their bodies, but he knew that, sooner rather than later, he would need to find shelter from the sun's harsh light. But first, he had more pressing matters to deal with, such as ridding his pesky canine pursuers. He had known of their presence the entire time, an unnumbered pack stalking him ever since the park, but he had felt no need to bother with the creatures before now; they were no where to be seen by even his superior eye, but they could not hide their rancid stench from his acute, vampiric senses. Almost without thought, he drew his whip from his side, its sterling length almost crying in agony as it waited to tasted flesh. Slashing through the electrified air at them from the sidelines, even as he moved from point A to point B, Dracula made sure to see them all end as red splashes of rich, lush blood. While busy with the likes of the lesser lycans, a greater lycanthrope hurdled out to block off the path that would ultimately lead to the Necronomicom. Growling from deep within at the unflinching vampire, it vaulted at him from the side, its massive hairy muzzle, dripping with the crimson remains of its own meal, poised to take a chunk off the naturally superior creature. Testing his newly restored body with vigor, and perhaps a bit of boredom, he rolled back at the last possible second, swinging his weapon in a wide semi-circle so it wound around his foe's unprotected ankle. Yanking the spiked chain as hard as he could, he reeled in the monster as it desperately clawed at the ground, trenches of raw ground rising underneath its pointed nails, but he was the stronger, more dominate one of the two, so the lycan was no match as Dracula pulled out a silver dagger from his belt, the leather-bound handle protecting his own hand from the sting of the silver, embedding it in the beast's heart in fountaining spurts of scarlet.
Straightening his back as he ascended to full height, he thought he heard a sigh of relief soft as a rustling leaf break through the serene night air, and immediately he thought of the figure who had saved him at the park earlier. But the sense that he was being watched was gone almost as soon as it came, so he shrugged it off as his imagination and continued on the path. It was queer that someone should be following him from the shadows, lending a helping hand in a seemingly hopeless situation, especially now of all times. Was it even possible that news of Lucifer had spread so quickly? Was it possible that there were still those who would try to defeat the fallen angel in this day and age? Nay, even if there was someone brave enough, strong enough, or foolish enough, there was no way that they could ever ever have hope of defeating Satan. A voice not unlike Marie's echoed in the back of his mind: You did. When all hope was lost, you drove the fallen back to the pits of hell! Remember the strength you had when you fought for me? The raw desire to hold your beloved once again gave you the courage and will to do it! Was that not you? The hope that drove you passed the brink of death itself? Was that not what happened? Don't think so little of the humans... It was not THAT long ago that you yourself were once one. The voice, who or whatever it was, was not wrong.
The bruised sky was getting dangerously lighter by the second now, yet fortunately for the brooding vampire, there was an old church not too far way from his current location. It was thoroughly abandoned years ago and was more than halfway burned down, but the roof still was cover enough if he could just reach it in time. The building was one story above ground, had a gaping hole in the side of the wall the size of a wreaking ball, several smaller patches missing from the gabbled rooftop, a white cross mounted on atop the roof little more than a twig amongst the fiercest infernos of hell, and nothing but shattered windows lined the outside of the building, not even a door. It was washed out, the rotting clapboard stained brown from a number of floods that never completely dried away. A small cemetery enshrined the once fenced-off area, a number of illegal, unknown, and unmarked graves sprinkled all around the faded headstones, every name obliterated by the wear and tear of time. Dracula skirted the outside of the cemetery until he came to an opening in the fence, eying the sky with growing distrust.
"Rest in peace... Such foolish mortal ideals," He scoffed at the tombstone nearest to the gateway, pushing away a time when he himself once believed in such things. But that time was so long ago now, lost in another life.
The cemetery itself loomed opaque and ominous, covered by a sprawling neighborhood of webbed roots, twisting willow, and dried ivy. Putting one detached foot in front of the other, Dracula nonchalantly entered the once hallowed grounds, and almost as if on cue, the ground became alive with husked, crawling bodies known as creeping corpses. Scratching their way to the intruder faster than could be believed, given that they had branch-like limbs from the elbow and waist down, the swarm attempted to force him down. Becoming airborne to avoid their wicked tree-like scratch, he brandished his whip, flourishing it around and around to put the dead down for good. Going deeper down the beaten path, he was assaulted by more of the creeping corpses, one of them slithering its way into an open coffin to become a creeping coffin. Growing root-like legs, the coffin charged its full weight at the vampire, sending him flying back on impact. Using the handle of his whip, he dug it into the barren earth to stop himself. Grabbing one of his last few flasks of holy water, nonlethal to himself as long as he avoided contact with the blessed water, he threw it at the ground under him, sending the creatures back where they came from, their shrill cries of pain sounding like a soothing ballad to the cold-hearted master of the night. The rest was easy for him, his nature as a vicious predator taking a hold of him...
His first real challenge came in the form of an age-old necromancer, feet bound into one point with swaying dusty red-orange robes like all the others he had fought before. It was standing, or to be more precise, floating, between him and sweet sanctuary, the rose-gold dawn quickly pressing down the last of the gray night's sky. It was not interested in speaking to him like the last one had been, it made that abundantly clear by swinging its blackened staff at Dracula, summoning a small crowd of creeping corpses to fight on its behalf. Dismissing them one-by-one, like flies, whip cutting continuously through the summoner's skin, the false death cried out in excruciating agony. Downing the pitiful creature, Dracula pressed his bare foot against the creature's chest, forcing it on its back. Grabbing its staff from its writhing grasp, he rammed it into the necromancer's heart, or the cavity that would have held a heart if it had one at all, killing it instantly.
But all this had taken too long - The orange disk that was the sun was up now, shining it's wrath upon all traces of shadow its glowing rays could reach. Pushing his newly restored body beyond his physical limits, Dracula practically flew into the open wall, making the safety of the shadows at the last possible second. It was not a pretty sight, his skin paper white, scorched black and red as gray ashes drifted off of him into the air, but the burn marks on his skin would fade away by the time night next fell, and he would live to see another adventure. But he had drained himself now by human and vampire standards alike, so he swayed tipsily on his feet, collapsing from the exhaustion that plagued his wary body and the searing pain that boiled under his skin and bubbled at his ashy flesh.
Ok, here's chapter two... A little short, but... Well, I hope I did alright! It will be quite some time before the next chapter, probably, but I will continue this story, so please just try to bare with me? Action isn't my forte, so maybe I could get some advice on how to improve on that... Or if that's too much to ask, maybe just a little "Oh, this story sucks, stop writing!" or "Keep up the good work!" would be nice. But either way, I'll continue writing, because that's my passion in life! I really love Castlevania and Gabriel!