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'Remember my friend, that knowledge is stronger than memory, and we should not trust the weaker.'
'Mankind ill needs a savior such as you!'
'The powerful always judge the weak. The humans made their judgment of me, as well.'
'There are darknesses in life and there are lights, and you are one of the lights, the light of all lights.'
'Welcome to my castle. Pleased to meet you. I am the master of the castle, Walter Bernhard.'
'So… even in death, my soul cannot find forgiveness…'
'A storm is coming. Mankind faces ruin and death.'
Isabel tried to grasp onto anything as she felt awash in the noise. Tried to clasp onto any bit of herself, any bit of anything she remembered. Who was she? What was she?
She felt lost in a sea of voices. A sea of flashes of images, of thoughts, of deaths. Countless deaths. That's what it was, then, really - a sea of blood. As old as vast as the oceans themselves.
An ocean of souls, an ocean of blood - and her sense of self was drowning in it. She felt the push and pull of a tide, then - felt a rhythm to the pressure against her. It felt… cyclical. Flashes of imagery poured into her mind as she watched as walls and parapets crumbled into dust, only to reform. Fall, and rise. Wax and wane. Full moon, new moon and back again.
She saw the flash of the full moon, crimson against the black void of the night sky, casting the silhouette of a structure that reached up towards the sky as talons clawing at a heart. Isabel latched onto that image as hard as she could - latched onto that vision like a drowning man would a hunk of wood.
Still, the ocean of blood threatened to drag her down. She felt herself begin to drift away, and become so much seafoam.
No!
Latching onto that image, the castle in her mind's eye, she pulled as hard as she could - yanking herself from the grip of the burning, beating tide.
She found herself suddenly standing upon a balcony. The night air was cool against her face, and the air was a welcome sensation - like a damp cloth to a fever. Looking down at her hands - she was almost surprised to recognize them. She pulled in a wavering, shaking breath and ran both of her hands through her hair, pulling on it as if it would help her clear her mind.
We we certain you were weak. We were wrong.
Isabel whirled - looking for whoever, or whatever had spoken - but there was no one else there. "Thanks..?" she said, hating that she sounded so timid. She couldn't feel or see anyone else around her.
Whatever had spoken didn't feel the need to elaborate. This finally gave Isabel time to look at her surroundings, and pulled in a small gasp through parted lips. It was beyond words. Whatever this place was - wherever, whenever, it was… massive.
Tangled structures could be seen in the crimson glow of the moon beneath her. Floating towers connected impossibly to the main structure by bridges that had no business holding up their weight. Spiraling, interconnected structures wound around each other like an escher painting. The carved, black stone had so much detail buried in each corbel and arch that it reminded her heavily of their trip to the Sagrada Familia. If Giger designed it. Skulls, demons, arched wings of dying creatures… she had seen this artwork before.
The door to the vampire's mausoleum.
She leaned against the granite railing of the balcony, peering down over the edge, and almost instantly regretted it. God, they were high up. Isabel didn't really have a problem with heights, but this threatened to give her one.
That's when she saw the barest blink of movement - something was flying around beneath her. Bats? No. They were… too big to be bats.
"Welcome to my home, little dove."
Her heart skipped a beat as she half-shrieked, whirling around wide-eyed and startled. Even as startled as she was - and she was scared half to death by the unexpected voice - she knew to whom it belonged.
"Oh fuck me," was all she could think to exclaim.
Sure enough, there he was, standing before her. Cut marble features looked emotionlessly down at her, his red eyes barely flickering in the dim light. He was dressed differently this time - older. Like a monarch of the 16th century - and as regal as one could be. All in black with barest touches of gold, silver, or crimson. His hair was long, and… white. Not black like previously. Yet he didn't look any older than the last time she 'saw' him.
That drew an arch out of one eyebrow. "Your statement and your inflection are contradictory. While I am unaccustomed to women making such a direct and angry proposition-"
"I was swearing," she growled at him.
Thin lips curled up from their ever-present frown to a smirk, revealing his joke. "I am aware."
He took a step towards her, and she recoiled. "Don't-" she began and he… stopped.
His smirk faded, and he whirled around on his heel and walked away from her - across the balcony and through an open glass door, it's spiraling, vine-like metalwork asymmetrical and chaotic in its structure.
She didn't expect that. He just… turned and left. Isabel waited, her back still against the railing - and… nothing happened. Isabel squeezed her eyes tight, trying to wake up from this dream, this memory, this nightmare, whatever it was - and… equally nothing happened. "Great," she muttered. She was stuck, at least for now. Stuck and alone on some elaborate balcony in some bizarre, hell-dreamt building.
Grumbling under her breath, knowing what she needed to do, and yet wanting nothing more than to do anything but that, she walked after the ancient vampire and through the door.
She was in a library of some kind - a small one, like a personal collection. A blaze flickered away in a large, arched marble fireplace. The place really did look like the Sagrada Familia 'from hell.' Beautiful but dizzying in its detail. So much so that it was impossible to see it all.
The vampire sat, seemingly bored, in a large red chair by the fire. He had his head propped up on one hand, the light of the flame casting his features starkly and causing his red eyes to flicker and dance in the reflection.
"Where are we? This isn't your mind."
"No. It is not. You cast yourself into the captive power inside that sword - and it obeys me as it's Master. For the time being, your mind is trapped within it, and I am both here, and within the waking world."
"Oh," she responded, as if that made sense to her. It didn't, really… what was in that sword, then, that she could be trapped in it? It wasn't conscious. The memory of the waves crashing over her threatened to drag her back into it, so she pushed the thought from her mind and focused on the immediate problem. "I can't wake up."
"I am not allowing you to," he responded idly.
"Why…?"
"Your friend is about to do something remarkably foolish, and I believe I wish to watch it play out. If you were awake, it would ruin everything." He said it so… emptily. Like it meant nothing. He wasn't looking at her - instead looking into the fire.
Isabel swore quietly. "Adam." That was not good. Adam doing dumb things usually made for a larger crater of impact than Eric or… or Tex. She clenched her fists at her sides. She wanted to rail against him - punch him, hurt him for what he had done. For murdering her friend - for doing god-only-knows-what to Eric - and god only knew what he was going to do to them all.
He still wasn't looking at her - almost seeming to be distracted. "Pleading with you not to hurt them… It won't help me, will it?"
"You had your opportunity, you chose this path instead."
"I had to roll the dice. I couldn't just… give up."
"I am surprised you acted as you did. It took great strength to cast yourself into the power held captive in that blade… and greater strength of will to pull yourself out. I thought perhaps you would go mad - as all others have. And yet, here you are… whole." He looked at her then, and she wished he hadn't. There was a danger there - a deep, dark hunger that made her want to retreat. "Such strength, I will savor to watch crumble beneath me. What a joyous plaything you will be."
That made a chill wash down her spine. She swallowed reflexively.
"Fear not, my little dove…" he turned his gaze back to the fire. "No more of your friends shall die this day… I have other uses for them. In the end, you may understand that death would be more merciful."
"Let me out of here," she said to him, quietly. She tried to wake up again - tried to break free. No luck.
"What will you give me in exchange?"
That was frustrating. She ran her hands along her face, feeling the familiar scrape of her gloves against her skin. She let out a wavering, exasperated sigh. "I have nothing to bargain with."
He laughed then, and stood from the chair with a graceful movement that reminded her far too much of a giant cat. He disappeared, and before she could react she felt an arm wrap around her waist. "You have everything with which to bargain. Your body, your soul, your heart, your mind..."
She jumped, startled, and tried to whirl to face him - but he held her fast. He pressed her back against him, and it felt like being against a concrete wall. "But tell me, my little dove…" his head was close to her ear now, and she felt his cold breath against her skin. "Do you wish to watch as I slaughter the ones called 'Brass' and 'O'Hare?' Do you wish to watch as your friend Eric serves me as a slave? Do you wish to watch as Adam feels the full wrath of his poor choice to free me?"
His other hand had gripped the edge of her hood and pulled it down away from her face. She pulled in a gasp as he ran his fingers slowly through her hair, his sharp nails dragging against her scalp. She shuddered against him - and swore under her breath. She wasn't used to being touched at all by any means and she despised how quickly she reacted to him. "Please, stop-"
That was clearly the response he was hoping for, as he chuckled deep in his throat. She felt it reverberate through his chest more than she even heard it. "Stop what, little dove?"
"All of it. Stop… touching me, stop trapping me here, stop what you're going to do to my friends…"
"And ruin our game…? You ask me to deprive myself of too much." His hand had now made its way to the side of her face, his fingers tracing along her cheek and her jaw as he tilted her head up to face him. Isabel's heart was pounding in her ears as her breath quickened. She struggled again, trying to wrench out of his grasp. But she was fighting a living statue.
He lowered his head, his hair brushing against her face as he tilted down towards her. She felt his cold breath against her lips as he hovered there, an inch away. "I sense your horror… I sense your fear… I feel your body trembling," he whispered, his voice a low rumble. He lowered his head closer.
"Stop, please… Dracula-" she whispered back, her eyes shut now, unable to meet the piercing red gaze.
She felt his lips curl into into a smile. "Finally, you use my name… How delicious it sounds upon your lips." He let out a low 'hrm' as a thought occurred to him. "I will let you wake from this nightmare - but you must pay the toll." His insinuation was heavy enough - it was clear what the cost for her freedom was as he threatened to close the bare distance between them.
Anger flared in her abruptly. "Don't mock me-" she snarled and Isabel struggled hard against him, and tried to push away from him. How dare he, trap her like this, and then make fun of her?! He pulled his head back slightly, and let out another low chuckle as she fought uselessly. Isabel let out a gasp and a groan of pain as he tightened his arm around her ribs. It felt like a boa constrictor around her, and it stilled her struggling.
"Mock you..?" he looked at her curiously, as if she were an ever growing riddle to him. "I do nothing of the-" he paused. "Ah. I see…" he grinned, and suddenly his eyes flickered with a delighted, vicious predatory expression. "You believe you are undesirable… don't you?"
Isabel turned her head away from him, or rather - she tried. He trapped her chin in his free hand and pulled it back up to face him. A pointed thumbnail rested against her lower lip as he looked down at her. "So defiant you are… and yet so quick to question your worth..?" he laughed, cruelly, his lips curling in a sneer. "I will enjoy toying with that little revelation."
"Let me go-" she snarled at him. She hated that she was vulnerable to him. Hated that she was an open book. That was her trick. She didn't like having it used against her.
"Very well." He threw her forward, and she staggered and fell to her knees with a pained grunt. Tears stung her eyes, for many reasons. But she'd blame it on the sharp jabs of pain that shot up her knees. A hand in her hair wrenched her head backwards, arching her back to look up at him. His features were cruel, a vicious sneer still pained across perfect carved features. "Witness what your friends have wrought for you. Witness what they have made."
Isabel woke up, feeling the press of something cold against her face. She let out a small 'hnnf' as she pushed herself up from where she lay. She had fallen to the floor, apparently - the cold press of concrete on her face is what she had felt.
She pushed herself up from the floor, slowly managing to get herself onto her knees. Her head was reeling, and she almost fell back to the floor. "Adam…?" she weakly croaked - but there was no response.
Bit by bit, piece by piece, moment by moment, she managed to get herself to standing. She leaned heavily on the chair that she had fallen out of. How long had she been there…?
Adam. Adam was about to do something incredibly stupid. The adrenaline that suddenly rushed her forced her head to clear.
As the ringing in her head began to die down, she began to hear voices. Two voices she recognized. Two voices she knew well.
"We're agreed, then?" she heard Adam ask.
Isabel forced herself to be able to walk, and half staggered out of the room that had contained the sword. It was missing - oh. Adam had it. Great. She saw the bodies of O'Hare and Brass laying on the ground nearby - they looked like they were out cold… Adam again, she had no doubt. Probably a tranquilizer gun - he loved those.
"Yes. The master agrees to your terms. And he suggests you act quickly-" Eric peered over Adam's shoulder through the glass. "She's awake."
Adam looked back at her, and he sighed, sadly. "I'm sorry, Izzy. I just couldn't let you."
His hand hit the large button that controlled the lock for the door, and it popped open with a hiss.
"No-" she cried. But too late.
The door flung open, smashing against the wall and wrenching itself off its hinge. The corpse stepped forward slowly - its gaping, empty eyes locked onto her.
"What've you done..?" she half-whimpered, feeling the monster's full focus trained on her. Being locked in a dream with it was bad enough - but here… here it could cause real harm.
"He said he'd let you run… He said he'd let you get away," Adam said quietly, defeated. "I couldn't let you sacrifice yourself for us. I just couldn't. I'm in charge of this team, and it's my fault I failed us."
"Run, Izzy girl," Eric crooned, madness thick in his voice. "You better run!"
She had no gun, no means of defending herself. Everything inside her screamed to listen to them, to turn tail and flee. But her friends…
Eric grabbed Adam by both arms and shoved him forward towards the vampire, cackling like an idiot as he did. Adam staggered, dropping the sword to the ground with a loud clatter. The vampire grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, keeping him from tipping forward and falling to the ground. But for what good it did, she didn't know.
"No!" she cried again as she was forced to watch as the vampire wrenched Adam up, and with little ceremony, dug his fangs into his neck. Adam let out a gurgled whimper, his face scrunched up in pain as his hands weakly pushed against the vampire in a futile attempt to get away.
"Run, Izzy," Eric crooned again.
The corpse dropped her friend's body to the ground with a thump as he finished. Adam groaned in pain - alive. For now. The vampire reached down, and picked up the hilt of the blade, lifting it as he stood back straight.
The sound of the metal scraping against the concrete made her shiver.
The corpse took several large strides forward and stabbed the blade down into the concrete, digging into the surface several inches like it were nothing. It reached back one bony, clawlike hand and smashed a fist into the ruby that decorated the center of the hilt, shattering it.
Blood poured out.
A cascade of it like a fountain of the viscous, nearly-black liquid. It was like it had tapped into some sort of underground piping. But she knew better. He had set the power free - and she watched as the blood began to pool around the monster's feet, pooling around Adam where he lay. Eric was jumping from one foot to the other, clapping his hands in excitement.
"Run… dove…" were the scratching, broken words from the corpse in front of her, standing in the ever-expanding pool of blood.
She was out of ideas.
So she obeyed.
Adrian Fahrenheit Tepes had been asleep for a long time.
He jumped back from the strange, smooth black surface of a roadway as a large metal machine on wheels roared past him, a horrible bleating noise emanating from it as it passed. A man was inside - half leaning out a window of a door. A mechanised chariot perhaps?
"Get out of the road, you fuckin' weirdo!" the man inside the chariot shouted, one hand making what Adrian could only assume was meant to be a rude gesture.
Adrian Fahrenheit Tepes had been asleep for a very long time.
Boston was not a city that changed frequently, or quickly. Residents who were around during 'The Big Dig' can tell you as much. Even when change did come to the nearly four hundred year old city - it happened almost painfully slow.
So when spires began to form from nowhere - seemingly overnight - twisted, blackened spires that were once part of the brownstones of the Back Bay… it was cause for immediate - and international - concern.
The news was quick to scatter, scoping out the best views and angles, and was quick to put primped and pretty reporters in front of cameras, with the foreboding structure looming in the background. No one had information to report - but that didn't stop them from talking. 24/7 coverage on nothing but speculation. Was it the Russians? Chinese? Aliens? MIT? No one knew.
All anyone knew for sure was that it was spreading. Every night it corrupted more and more of the city around it, spreading out from a centerpoint like a disease. Each building it touched warped into a twisted, nightmarish version of its former self. Each building it touched became part of this new corrupted structure. Winding and weaving itself into an architectural mockery of some gothic castle or cathedral.
It didn't seem like any attempt to enter the structure was possible. There were no doors that could be seen - and any attempt to scale the structure to enter the windows entered… very poorly. Like a piece of coral sensing attack, the structure quickly began to "grow" a fence around itself. The old wrought iron fences that would dot the lanes of Mass and Comm ave were now a spiked, deathly deterrent to anyone who was brave enough to approach.
Doomsday fanatics were quick to descend on the town, crying out for repentance to every potential deity who might listen. Signs declaring everything from 'Praise God' to 'The Aliens Are Coming Home' dotted the crowds who gathered.
The army and national guard were quick to slap up a quarantine zone, keeping reporters, curious onlookers, and fanatics at bay. Barriers, spotlights, and men with heavy machinery and ballistics kept an eye on the growing corruption night and day.
But it did little to curb its' spread.
The most bizarre thing about the dark, twisted structure growing nightly into the existing architecture - although trying to rate the weird qualities of the event seemed rather futile - was this:
No one ever saw it grow.
Every night like clockwork, the corruption would spread. The iron gate would move. The barriers of the quarantine zone would crumple and fold under the weight of the iron, brick, granite and marble like so much flowing lava.
But no matter how hard one focused - no matter how many cameras or instruments were trained on it… nothing was ever recorded. Nothing was ever witnessed or remembered. But the moment the sun would rise… it would be bigger. The army would scramble to scrap what they could of their now-crushed blockade and rebuild it a dozen yards away - and every night it would repeat. Like clockwork.
It was about a week of this behavior before it seemed to finally stop its spread. It was a week of this behaviour before people began to go missing.
Several days went by before the pattern was noticed. The news began to keep a daily tally of confirmed missing persons since the night before. (The number would change wildly from moment to moment. Panicked phone calls from mothers whose loved one simply got stuck in traffic or from bosses whose employees were a half an hour late were frequent to say the least.)
The army, the FBI, the news - scientists… No one had an answer. It was another week before the city, with great heaviness and reluctance, declared an evacuation.
Boston became a ghost town.
Few foolish people chose to remain that weren't either military, police, paramilitary, or media. No one was allowed on the streets without authorization - and being caught meant arrest and being shipped from the city. Many of the townies in the fringe areas of the city took great offence to this, and began provoking altercations with the police at every opportunity.
They would come to regret their decision to stay as the situation worsened. People began to see what had made so many living residents go missing: the dead residents.
'Zombie Apocalypse' ran the headlines for days. 'Dead crawl from the ground to devour the living! More at 11.' Fringe churches from the south were quick to condemn the corrupt city of Boston as the reason for the end of the world.
The army had little trouble mowing down the rotted corpses. Skeletons were easy to blow to pieces with a few grenades and a gatling gun. But soon, more than just the dead joined the fray. Monsters. Demonic mutations and freaks of nature of every kind. It was H.P. Lovecraft's worst nightmare - now there really were creatures under the North End.
At the first sight of the winged demons that now ripped through living flesh like toddlers carelessly playing with toys - the rest of those refusing to evacuate quickly changed their minds, and fled.
Only a precious few remained. A precious few who had either no mind in their heads, or nothing else to lose.
Isabel was one of those precious few - although which one she was, she wasn't quite sure. The spires and the structure that was raising itself from the existing land like a nightmare of itself looked very… painfully familiar to her.
That was what had been contained in the sword. That is what those two men she saw in the memory lock away: the sword, and the man who controlled… whatever it was… that could do such a thing.
Those two long-dead Victorians had gone through the trouble to ship the corpse and the sword across the ocean here, to New England, maybe in hopes that it would keep it hidden. And her and her friends had set it free.
Isabel had fled the warehouse, leaving Eric, Adam, and the corpse behind. (And the two idiot doctors, but she didn't really count them.) She had found their van parked in the lot just outside, and thankfully the goons had left the keys in it. Isabel had driven away - but couldn't bring herself to leave the area. Or the country.
She should have fled as far as she could. But there was a chance… a slim, tiny, spark in the darkness… that her friends could still be alive. That she could save them. Isabel wasn't a complete fool - she knew that her best opportunity was to trade herself for them - but she would.
And so, she stayed. When the city had declared evacuation - she didn't listen. She had holed up in a hotel in Brighton, hoping it was far enough away to distance herself from the thing inside that castle, but close enough while she tried to come up with a plan.
The army began to have bigger concerns than looking for idiots (like her) who refused to leave when the dead started to walk… Isabel had armed herself with what she had salvaged from their van. They no longer questioned a woman walking the streets with a rifle strapped to her back, and a pistol at her hip. They probably assumed that she was a paramilitary agent - or a bounty hunter, looking for a cash reward for demon heads - or someone hunting for a lost loved one.
After days of sitting at her laptop, clicking through old emails and trying to reach out to contacts, she finally had her only spark of a chance. There was an old contact of Adam's who lived and worked in the city - and who specialized in 'this kind of thing.' He was a priest who worked at the Cathedral of the Holy Cross.
All attempts to email him or call the cathedral were fruitless - no calls would go through, and the emails went unanswered. So… Isabel had one option left - which was to go there personally. The problem was, it was now impossible to drive anywhere in the already-difficult-to-navigate city. Barricades, burning corpses, debris and wreckage made it now entirely impassable. So… she had to walk.
It probably isn't smart to stay so long in one place anyway, she justified it to herself.
She ducked into alleys and knew how to stay out of sight. Her black hoodie was always pulled up tight over her face, and her black coat let her vanish into the shadows. And so, rifle on her back, hands shoved in her pockets, and hoodie pulled up over her head, she walked.
The structure that now stabbed at the sky like a mockery of its former structures now had seemingly begun to generate its own… clouds. More than that, it seemed to generate its own darkness. It's like the sun could no longer get through to it - that the sun refused to shine on the perverted building.
That made it all the more dangerous. If the monsters that seemed to pour from the structure were only afraid of daylight - they were free to roam whenever they wanted to. So she stuck to the outskirts as best she could, checking her phone's GPS regularly to make sure she was pointed in the right direction.
That was easier said than done, sadly.
The 'castle's' (that's really what it was, now) corruption had spread a long ways. It stretched now from the Fens to the common - from the Charles River to Northeastern.
Truthfully, she didn't even know if the cathedral was still standing. But she had to try. If Adam's contact still worked there, if he hadn't evacuated like everyone else, she might have a snowball's chance in hell of getting help.
She had reached the Longwood area when she ran into a serious problem. The corruption had spread further south than she had hoped - and was cutting off her path through to where she needed to go.
The buildings around here vacant, some with their windows blown out. The streetlamps were on, as the sun was blotted out by the weird, almost volcanic-black cloud that hung low over the area. Isabel had seen a full solar eclipse, once - and that's what the sun now looked like overhead.
Eric had been obsessed with a game that she had watched him play for weeks - it's post-apocalyptic take on the city seemed now a little too 'on the nose.'
Isabel had to try. That was her motto now, it seemed - so she had to cross through this nightmare in hopes of reaching the Cathedral. In hopes it was still standing. In hopes that the priest was still there. In hopes that he could - or would - help her. Steeling herself against what might happen, she continued her trek.
Isabel made it pretty far before she ran into a problem - more corpses. Of the shambling variety. Man, she was sick of looking at corpses. Luckily, they were all fairly dumb, and easy to avoid. Weaving from alleyway to alleyway, she made her way along the streets.
Bursting from one of the alleys, she ducked back against the wall as a large military vehicle tore down the street, far too quickly. A loud, ear-piercing roar revealed the reason why.
A creature was chasing it, running on all fours. It looked like a hound, if you had fed it radioactive material and shaved it. It leapt onto the back of the last vehicle in the line, and with one wrench of its jaw, pulled the vehicle over onto its side.
Isabel recoiled as the monster tumbled end-over-end with the military truck. The sound of tearing metal and smashing glass filled the street. It finished its roll on the roof, and skid to a slow, painful scraping-metal-on-tarmac stop.
The monster had been thrown from the vehicle and was trying to pick itself back up, having been injured in the crash as well. A door flew open from the back of the upside-down jeep. It had been filled with soldiers - many of whom were now pulling themselves and their compatriots from the wreckage. Two men were struggling to pull the driver out while the others were beginning to open fire on the monster.
Isabel ran towards them from the alleyway. One of the two men saw her approach, and instantly pulled his gun on her. She put her hands up. "I'm human! I'm human. Let me help."
The soldier nodded. He stood up from the wreckage and kept his gun trained on the animal as she took over his previous job of trying to pull the driver out. He was strapped in, and the dash had pinned him in, such that he couldn't undo his seatbelt.
She slung her rifle off of her shoulder and pulled a knife out of her boot. She was smaller and less encumbered than the other soldier, so she fit inside the narrow gap in the door between the bet frame. "Hey," she said to the driver, who was conscious. He was panicking - and he flailed at her desperately as he tried to escape. "Hey!" she tried to get his attention, and pressed a gloved hand against his shoulders. "Calm down…"
Isabel could push feelings on people as part of her being an empath. She pushed the feeling of calm on the soldier as hard as she could, and she watched as his hyperventilation began to slow, and he blinked - seeing her for the first time through the fading panic.
"I'm going to cut you down," she began firmly, but calmly. "I need you to put your arms up, and keep yourself from falling, okay?"
"Okay," the soldier responded.
"There you are, my little dove…"
Her blood ran cold as she whipped her head to the voice and to a soldier who was - had - been riding literal shotgun. The man was… very dead. His skull had been crushed in by the impact. And even as blood oozed up from the gaping hole in his skull and dripped onto the ceiling of the jeep, his mouth was moving, although the rest of him remained limp. "I feared you had truly fled."
"Shit!" she swore loudly and quickly cut the seatbelt. Great! The vampire could possess corpses now. That's perfect.
The driver did as she had asked, and kept himself from falling on his head, and on top of her. She backed out of the cabin of the jeep. Her and the other soldier pulled the driver free, and she helped him sit against the side of the crushed vehicle. Bullets were still flying, and she could hear the shouts of the men and the screams of the monster. It was hard to tell who was winning.
Two other soldiers - too injured to fight - were leaning up against the jeep in the same fashion as she had placed the driver. He was bleeding badly from the leg. Isabel worked quickly, having some minor training as a first responder (she was always stitching up her idiot friends on a job.) Tearing off part of his pant leg, she used it as a tourniquet as best she could. "Lean here," she instructed him, and placed the soldier's hands against a spot in his thigh. Nodding weakly, the driver did - and she watched the blood slow. "Good. I'll get-"
A slurping sound next to her made her voice hitch, and broke her train of thought abruptly.
It was kind of like the sound a knife makes when you stick it too far into a pumpkin on Halloween, and pull it back out. Turning to the noise - she screamed.
A monster with dark purple skin and… nails… claws… she didn't know what to call them - blades that extended from its fingers that were longer than its lanky, thing forearm. It had attacked one of the soldiers next to her - and rammed the long blade down through its throat and through its chest. It was slowly pulling the long blade out like a breathing tube. That was the slurping noise that she had heard.
The driver screamed as well, and fumbled for his gun. She did the same - but they were both slower than the monster.
It jammed its other hand's worth of blades through the driver's chest, and stood up. The bodies slid from its fingers, forgotten, as it turned to her.
Isabel was still half-prone on the ground, and was firing rounds into its chest. It hissed in pain - but they did no good in stopping it. It stepped forward, and with one quick gesture - went to end her life.
Isabel turned her head, squeezed her eyes shut - and waited. Waited for the pain.
But none came.
Slowly opening her eyes, she looked back up and let out a small squeak in her throat as a single blade of it's long claws hovered barely an inch from her head - as if it were stopped mid-strike.
But it hovered there, staring mindlessly down at her. It had no emotions. Nothing more than that of a beast. Kill. Eat. Sleep. Kill. Eat. Kill for the Master.
She didn't even have the time to think about what this meant, or what to do - when a blur overtook the creature in front of her. Isabel threw an arm over her face as the thing was struck to the side, smashing into the upturned jeep.
The monster that had killed the soldiers let out a shriek of pain. A long, thin blade had run through its head, pinning it through to the steel of the vehicle. The impact had been caused by… a man. A man whose clothing was still settling against the momentum of his strike. He wrenched the blade from the metal and bone, and the creature burned up in a blue flame that consumed it entirely - leaving not even dust as proof of what had happened.
He looked at her briefly - and her breath hitched in her throat. What was he? Features cut from ice. Eyes to match. And clothing that looked… they looked familiar. Like Dracula had worn in the dream.
Isabel scrambled to her feet as the man walked towards her slowly, steadily. Isabel raised her gun, and pointed it at him - and that was enough to stop his gait. He stood, as locked still as the marble statue he resembled. His emotions were a… muddled cloud. Guarded, and reserved. Nothing came to the surface.
His attention was drawn away from her to the other beast, and the soldiers who fought it. Turning his head, he vanished from where he stood.
Isabel took her opportunity to run. Rushing to pick up her rifle where she had put it, she turned and ran from the scene, ducking down another alley and another, weaving through the streets.
She ran until she could barely breathe - not even sure what direction she had chosen. She leaned against a burnt-out wreckage of a car, and put her hands on her legs to try and catch her breath.
"Who are you?" she heard from in front of her.
Without having made a sound - and faster than she could have tracked - the man from before with the icelike eyes now stood in front of her. Isabel let out an overwhelmed sob, and pulled the gun from her holster, and pointed it back at him. "Leave me alone…" she begged.
"You are human." It was a statement, not a question.
"Last I checked," she said between deep breaths.
"Why did it not kill you?" His face was as flat as his voice.
"I don't know," she lied. And he knew it. His eyes narrowed slightly, the barest twitch of alabaster skin. "I don't… Please, if you're going to kill me, just do it…"
"What I chose to do weighs entirely upon the truthful reply to my question."
"It's… it's complicated," she said, and lowered the gun. She knew it would be useless anyway. This thing was faster than she could see, let alone shoot. She flicked the safety and put it into her holster. Maybe just walking away would work. "These things serve Dracula. I don't think he'll let them kill me. I think he wants to do the deed himself."
She turned to leave - but a thin sword now blocked her path - the blade extending out across her throat.
"And why, praytell, would Dracula seek your death at his own hands?"
"I don't know-" she answered, truthfully. "My best guess is, I'm the first thing he saw when he woke up, and he imprinted on me like a goddamn baby goose. So now as far as I can tell, he wants me dead for fun. Okay?!" She slapped the blade away from her throat, and glared at him angrily. "And I'm sick of vampires fucking threatening me, alright?!"
The barest flicker of confusion flashed across his face as he tried to comprehend her meaning. He then let out a small breath. "You are one of the ones responsible for his release."
"Yup. And I know. It makes me stupid, foolish, foolhardy, and responsible for all these deaths and all this destruction!" Tears stung her eyes again. She was overwhelmed. It took everything in her to just take it one moment at a time. And right now, this so-blond-it-was-almost-white haired, drop-dead beautiful, irritatingly cold vampire was just the last straw. "And I'm trying to save the other two idiots. And I'm trying to do the best I can. I'm trying to fix this. So step the fuck off, chuckles!" she shouted at him.
That seemed to give him enough pause that it let her walk away from him. At least it let her turn away to wipe the tears at her eyes.
"My name is Adrian," he corrected her, studiously.
That, for some reason - maybe from her stress, her lack of sleep the past few weeks, the adrenaline crash - struck her as the funniest goddamn thing she had heard in a long time.
Isabel leaned against the wall, she was laughing so hard. She put her back against the brick, and looked up at the sky as her laughter slowly faded off - at the dark purple-black, hazy sky. The sky the sun refused to shine through, and cast everything in a bizarre, ugly light.
Looking over at the creature that stood there, watching her, unmoving, unbreathing like the alabaster he resembled - she sighed hard. "Fine. Nice to meet you, Adrian. I'm Isabel. I'm going that way." She pointed. "And I'm going that way right now unless you stop me."
"What for?"
"A church. I'm hoping it's still there. I'm hoping the priest that is supposedly an 'expert in the hunting of supernatural creatures' is still there. And I'm hoping he'll help me make a plan to set my friends free."
When he stood there silently, she pushed herself off of the wall and began walking again. She heard the barest sound of footsteps behind her. Turning, he had caught up to her and was now only a foot behind her. She jumped, startled, not having expected him that close. He looked down at her, emotionless and empty expression.
"What?!" she demanded angrily. "What do you want, chuckles?!"
"I will accompany you. If Dracula seeks you, then I will use that to my advantage to hunt and kill him." The creature said it so matter-of-factly, it was almost intimidating. It was absolutely impossible to argue with, that much was clear.
Isabel grit her teeth, and glared at him - but again, it was like glaring at a statue. The statue didn't care. She threw her hands up in a frustrated acceptance, and turned to walk again. At least she'd have some sort of pseudo-body guard.
Adrian watched the woman that walked before him, and tried to decipher her with what little information he had. This era had changed much since the last time he had woken - and he was unprepared for its garishness.
The woman, Isabel - seemed a perfect example of this new time. She swore quickly, easily, and seemed defiant of the creatures around her. Although she was terrified, she seemed steadfast. In his years, Adrian had seen many grown men and experienced hunters reduced to terrified weeping at the sight of what horrors she had seen. He had watched her attempt to save the soldier from the jeep, uncaring for her own welfare and acting instinctually.
His father wanted her dead, she said. He was certain there was far more to that story. Although it was not unlike him to become fixated on a mortal for his own amusement, she seemed either unwilling to tell him the full truth, or unwilling to accept it.
It was hard to tell much about her. She was silent now that they walked through the burning ruins of the city. Although Adrian abhorred small talk, and was grateful she did not pepper him with questions or curiosities - it was uncommon for him not to be bombarded with questions of who, or what, he was. She simply walked ahead of him as if he were not there.
Adrian tried to deduce what he could. She was dressed head to toe in clothing that resembled that of a man. (Many women in this era seemed to do the same, albeit perhaps to a lesser extent.) A black hooded sweater under a long black coat - the hood pulled tight up over her face as if she wished to hide from the world around her. Black pants, black boots… black gloves… This was a woman who wished to go unseen.
What was it then, that inspired his father would to hunt her, such that none of his minions were allowed to lay a hand on her? Wavy chin-length hair that poked out from the hood was almost as dark as the fabric itself. She was, he admitted, of a remarkable sultry beauty that he knew his father favored. Full lips, painted a pale purplish red, and pale skin. Amber eyes that were almost an orange hue in some light.
In the era in which he was more comfortable, many women of such qualities would seek to flaunt such a thing, and dress accordingly. But not this one. This one felt overburdened, tired, and seeking to hide. But driven forward by a duty.
"Tell me of the circumstances that found you here," Adrian pried.
"Why should I tell you anything, chuckles?" she asked in return, not even turning her head to him.
That frustrated him. Her strange nickname for him. They were not acquainted nearly well enough to warrant a pet name such as that. No one was. Indeed, it seemed derisive, if not insulting. "I seek to kill Dracula. In doing so, I may save your life and those of your friends."
Adrian was never one to desire praise or acceptance. His was a lot of atonement. To balance the scales his father sought so easily to tip. But to be dismissed so readily was not something he particularly enjoyed. His statement was not one to garner friendship, but to perhaps demand respect.
It seemed to work, for now at least. "We were treasure hunters. Mostly for private buyers, seeking to find some… trinket or relic. Sometimes hired by countries to recover stolen artifacts that some other private buyer had stolen." She shrugged. "We were the best at our jobs. The four of us. We were hired to recover a sword from a crypt."
Adrian couldn't help but let out a small grunt in the low of his throat - and she heard him, and understood his meaning. "Yup. You see where this is going."
"Helsing and Harker took it across the ocean and buried it with the remains," he filled in the blank.
"And we were the fucking morons who dug them both back up. After he ate one of my friends in front of me-" she crossed her arms across herself at that. Adrian could see her suffering written plainly across her demeanor. "He let me live. So that he could hunt me down and 'kill me slowly.'" She shoved her hands back into her pockets and clearly tried to force down the pain. "And he's trying to make good on that threat. He took my other two friends as hostages, knowing I'd try and come to find them."
"Hm," was all he said in reply.
Silence descended, and she seemed happy enough to let the conversation die there.
"Master… we have found her. But she is now with your son…"
A voice - raspy, broken, hissing through a decrepit mouth replied. "It changes nothing. Bring her to the castle."
Whelp, now she knew what it was like to be haunted by a ghost. A silent ghost. In this case, haunted by a tall, ungodly pretty, silent, ghost. With a sword. And fangs.
Speaking of fangs.
"Hey, chuckles - I have a question," she started. Silence followed. Undaunted, she continued. "So you're a vampire. And you're going to go kill Dracula. Who's also a vampire."
"Yes."
She waited for a longer explanation. And waited. And none came. She snorted, shook her head, and shrugged it off. Fine. Weirdo.
Finally, they rounded a corner - and there it was. The Cathedral of the Holy Cross. It looked… mostly intact. A few of the windows were blown out, but those that were seemed barricaded from the inside. That looked promising - you don't barricade somewhere you don't plan on staying.
For the first time in a long time, the smallest twinge of hope plucked at her heart.
She walked across the street, followed in suit by her tall, spooky and silent vampire. Walking halfway up the steps, she stopped and looked back at him, scrutinizing him with a quizzical glance. He stopped, and raised an arched eyebrow in response. The expression looked familiar, but she shrugged it off.
"Hey uh… can you even go in there?" she gestured. "What with you, being…"
"Yes. We are not cast out by God as your kind believes."
"Oh," she responded, and for a moment said nothing. She felt like she should say more than that, but 'that's nice' or 'good for you' just seemed too patronizing. So she let out a breath, shrugged, and turned back to the door. Walking up the stairs, she knocked on the large heavy surface.
"Hello!" she shouted up at the door. "I'm here to see Father Conrad O'Malley, please. … If he's still here. … If he's still alive."
There was a long pause, before she heard a bolt slide, and the door creaked open. A man stood there, dressed in typical catholic garb. He looked terrified - and a large bruise decorated most of his face. She winced in sympathy for what must have caused it. Shakily, he opened the door another small crack. "Who… Who are you…?"
"My name's Isabel," she responded. "He's Adrian," she pointed a thumb over her shoulder. "I'm a friend of Adam Davish - Father O'Malley should know the name. Is he here?"
"Yes - uh-" he glanced back over his shoulder, and looked back at her, at the man looming behind her, and letting out a wavering breath, stepped aside and opened the door.
"Thank you," she said kindly as she walked into the church.
Isabel had always loved churches… she was an architecture nut, after all. The soaring arches and columns, stained glass and statuary… it was stunning. A remnant of another time. She wasn't particularly religious, to be honest - but spiritual, of course. This place had a vibe of… peace. Love. It washed over her like a gentle wave, and she smiled faintly. As an empath, she knew that buildings carried just as many emotions as a person could - even if they were imparted onto them by those that walked its halls.
Isabel walked into the main sanctuary, and heard the two sets of footsteps behind her. One lighter, one heavier. Turning to the priest that had let them in, she saw Adrian walk to stand by one wall, seeking to stay in the shadows.
"I'll… I'll take you to Father O'Malley if you'd like…" the young priest stammered.
Isabel reached out and placed a hand on his arm. He was nervous beyond belief - he had seen many deaths in the past few weeks. She felt the wavering faith in him, and she tried her best to push a sense of calm onto him, as she had done with the soldier. "It's okay… we mean you no harm, I promise…"
Well, she could promise for herself, anyway. Adrian, she wasn't so sure. She glanced at the stoic alabaster creature by the wall - but he seemed uninterested in what she was saying. He was looking at the stained glass windows, and she wasn't sure if he was admiring the artwork or expecting a demon to leap through it. Perhaps both.
The priest smiled faintly, and walked up the aisle of the sanctuary towards the vestry in the back. Walking after him, she shoved her hands into her pockets, and looked at the statues of saints and angels… and wondered what they thought of the mayhem taking place around them - if they even cared.
The priest knocked quietly on a door, and told her to wait in the hallway. She did, obediently, as the priest ducked into the room for a moment. After a long pause, and the sound of a murmured conversation inside, the door opened again and the priest waved her inside.
An older man - maybe in his forties or early fifties, sat at a desk in the center of the room. He looked harried, as though he hadn't slept. He was clicking away at a computer, a stack of books next to him.
"Father O'Malley?" she asked, and he looked up at her with a pained, if attempting to be reassuring expression.
"Yes. You are Adam's friend? A pleasure to meet you, even if the circumstances are… unfortunate."
Isabel walked towards the desk, and reached out a hand to shake his. He reached out as well, but she saw his eyes dart to her hand for the briefest flicker. The flag that shot up in her mind rose too early. Her hand met his, and she… felt the lie.
She stiffened reflexively, and pulled her hand back to go for the gun.
It was too late.
She heard a click from behind her, and knew a weapon was pointed at the back of her head. "Don't move," the first priest warned. The wavering fear in his voice had fled, replaced with an insistent confidence.
Isabel raised both of her hands slowly. "I don't mean you any harm," she insisted.
"Too bad we don't mean the same," the older man said with a sigh. "You're going to come with us, alright? And you're going to come quietly."
Isabel was too confused to put together what was happening. "Wait… who are you? You're both humans.. You're not - you don't serve Dracula, do you?"
"We serve others," the 'priest' said from behind her. The older man walked around the table, and went to go put her hands behind her back, likely to restrain her.
Isabel took a breath - counted to one... two… and summoned every ounce of self defense training she had ever taken. Ducking, she shoulder-checked the man holding the gun in the stomach, and reached up to grab it from him. Wrapping her hands around it, she wrenched it from his grasp, shoved the barrel against his chest, and squeezed.
A round fired off, and the man hurked, coughed, and collapsed to the ground. She whirled to point the gun at the older man, but was met instead by a fist to the back of the head. Isabel crumpled from the blow - and tried to push herself up onto her hands and knees.
Isabel barely recognized the second blow to her head before her world went black around her.
Voices were around her, and she managed to latch onto a few of them as the blackness began to fade.
"The little cunt shot me."
"Do you honestly blame her?"
"... No."
"Besides, she'll wake up with a lot bigger headache than you did, so shut up."
"Whatever… Did we ditch the other guy? Was he who I think he was?"
"I think so. On both counts."
"We better have ditched him… I don't want to explain that to Maverick."
Time passed - god only knew how much - before she felt herself being hefted up off the ground.
"Don't touch her skin. Whatever you do-" she heard a voice warn.
Isabel felt like she was drugged - maybe she was - the world was a blur around her. She felt herself get placed onto some sort of surface - and still moving. A gurney? She tried to move - tried to roll over, tried to lift her head - but she couldn't. Something was holding her down. With a low moan, she realized she was strapped to a gurney.
Isabel had gotten pretty black-out drunk once - not far enough to not remember, but far enough to know she was close to it. This felt like those few hours where she was out of phase with the movements of her body. That time, it had been Tex's fault, wanting to see what she was like 'when she was out of control.'
Out of control was a good word for what she felt. She pressed up against the straps as her world was slowly, if barely, clearing. "What-" she started, her voice slurred and out of sync with her mind.
"Shush," a voice urged. The older man from earlier. "You're alright."
She desperately felt like she should argue with him, but her tongue wouldn't obey. Lights were passing over her as she was wheeled down some manner of hallway - and her stomach lurched dangerously. So she shut her eyes in hopes that it would quiet down.
The next thing she knew, she was being lifted up and placed back down - and a sound of a click finally made her open her eyes blearily - one at a time - and what she saw didn't make any sense.
"Tell Maverick that we have her."
A door, a wall, a wall with a door and a lock… A wall with bars, close together… A cell…? She was locked in a cell..?
She must be dreaming…
Her head fell back down to where it had been - something comfy was there. A pillow. Yes. She must be dreaming.
So she let sleep overtake her.