-1The Child

Two years. Exactly two years to the day since the snivelling Van Helsing had thought he had got rid of Dracula for once and for all. The idiot thought that Dracula had been banished to the furthest reaches of hell to spend eternity in agony and pain. But Van Helsing was wrong.

Yes he had returned to the fiery chasms of hell but by no means had he been in agony or pain. He had been received with open arms, a welcome worthy of a king. There he had bided his time licking his wounds knowing that one day soon he would return and take revenge on the world who could not accept him and the man who killed his children. Van Helsing.

It was just a pity that Anna Valerious was dead. He would have great pleasure in killing her, after she killed his last remaining bride. She could have even become his new bride. But it was all too late.

Dracula stormed angrily around his palace looking for any sign of habitation from vampire, human or animal but there was none. Every room he searched was empty, covered in a thick layer of dust, debris and dead leaves from far far away. Dracula was alone, like he had been for most of his life. He had no servants, and he had no idea where they had gone. He sat gloomily on a balcony wall, a long drop to the ice covered floor below.

Dracula stared mournfully around the grand hall. This room had once given house to his unborn children, keeping them safe from the violent storms that often passed overhead, keeping them at a critical temperature necessary for their survival. Now it was empty, a few dark stains where his children had exploded. A few rusty wires hanging from the ceiling swaying gently in the calming breeze.

Dracula had nothing in this world. No brides, they were long gone killed by Van Helsing and Anna Valerious. He hoped that it had hurt Van Helsing when Anna died as much as it had hurt him when his brides had died. The pain was almost unbearable and he had no feelings.

It had also hurt him when his children died. Every time a child died a little piece of him died. But he never let it show. He was supposed to be strong. His brides and his children were the closest thing to life he had ever had. And Van Helsing had robbed him of everything.

Dracula screamed out angrily channelling his rage into the thunderous black sky, causing the thunder to rumble and the lightning to blind the skies. He jumped off the balcony onto the cracked stone floor, far below. He kicked at the broken machinery scattered around him, sending it flying to the end of the hall where it shattered against the icy walls.

Suddenly out of the corner of his eye he noticed a small light flickering behind a large ancient pillar. He turned and watched it for a few seconds and then cautiously approached the pillar.

At the base of the pillar a small white light flickered, twisted and turned under the shadow of the stone that towered above it.

Dracula watched it in confusion. He didn't know what it was but he felt he knew what to do with this light. It was like he had seen it long long ago and he just hadn't remembered it. Slowly he extended one pale hand towards the light. The light twisted and curled around his fingers without touching him. Dracula had never seen anything so pure, it was a wonder to him and at the same he felt slight fear when it came near.

This made him angry for he did not have to fear anything, he was immortal, strong, powerful. He plunged his hand into the white light. In an instant he fell to his knees, choking and spluttering, as the light slowly drew his strength. The white light curled around his wrist and turned black.

For 400 years he had not felt pain in anyway and the pain that came shocked and angered him. A razor thin line appeared on his wrist and blood began to stream out forming a large swirling ball just in front of his eyes. He screamed angrily as he began to feel faint. This black light was drawing out his blood using it for it's dark purpose.

The blood began to form the shape of a person, but a small person, about half the height of Dracula. He fell to the floor as the light stopped drawing his blood. He felt the wound close up but there was still a searing heat in place of the wound.

He looked up shakily and saw the blood now had a face, the face of a young girl, quite like his own. He stood up using the pillar behind him, not sure if his legs would hold out. The black light slowly enveloped the person made of his blood until there was nothing to see but blackness. The blackness turned a bright white and Dracula was momentarily blinded.

When he opened his eyes, the light had vanished, but the blood person had not. But the blood person was no longer blood. It was flesh. The flesh of a little girl, no more than 6. Her features matched some of his own. Her hair reached halfway down her back in soft black ringlets. Her skin was porcelain white. Her eyes were closed and she was dressed in a black robe.

Dracula prodded the little girl with his finger. Immediately her eyes flashed open, and they were as black as the light that had enveloped her. She looked around slowly, taking in her surroundings. She looked at Dracula and there was no change of expression on her face.

"Papa?" she asked curiously. She ran forward and flung her arms around Dracula's legs. Dracula patted her on the head confused. Suddenly a large wind whirled around the two. Dracula was sure that through the howling and shrieking he could hear a dark voice saying, "This is my gift to you." But he was not sure, it could have been his imagination. But then he knew. This girl was to be his daughter. He had a child. He lifted the child up into his arms. She would have to learn many things, starting immediately.