Hi guys! This is my 1st Dragatha story . The beginning of this fiction takes us into the 21st century to the house of our beloved vampire nun, that survived the Demeter explosion and for 123 years lives her life as a free, independent, and successful woman. However, her calm life is disturbed by the news she has heard from her dying great-great-grandniece on her death bed. Further, this fiction differentiates from the canon in other aspects as well. Dracula, after his awakening was immediately captured and held in the Institute, however not for long …

Enjoy the story! I hope you will like it and find interest in it, even though there are so many great Dragatha authors here already

SECOND CHANCE

PROLOGUE

- That can´t be true! - she tells herself as soon as she reads a secret document that was not supposed to leave the institute. Just like him. He shouldn't be able to move out of the building, leave it and yet ... now he's somewhere else. My goodness! - Was this their initial intention? Finding his coffin underwater. Getting him out of the sea. Study him. If only that was it. - She didn't have such a problem with the Harker Institute's original plan, although she didn't quite like the idea and never really approved such intentions. Keeping someone captive and examine him like an animal? Well, he is a monster. However, ... so am I ... He conducted though similar experiments ... doing almost the same. She snorts and squeezing the root of her nose, sighs in frustration. It was supposed to be a medical research aimed at studying his blood, DNA, but those results shouldn´t be used for... she is re-reading page 5 of a classified document that has fallen into her hands three days ago. The secret service, the army, was involved in the whole project. As always. Oh yes. From the Harker Institute, they took the unsuspecting Dracula in unconscious state to a secret military base she hasn't heard of. And why? Research as usually, at least they claim so, but with what purpose? Isolation of DNA, in order to study and detect the mutation that could explain his strength, fast ability to heal and speed of movement. Attempts to develop a human super soldier. If for no other reason, I can't just let him stay there to be kept captive under these conditions ... even though he did similar atrocities with his "brides". For a similar purpose - for the purpose of a murder. However, not as extensive as in this case. Nevertheless. Shit. Again, the tall woman bites her lower lip, that immediately turns dark-red, and walks over to the mahogany table in the middle of the office. Simply placing the paper folder on the top, she looks out of the window. After all, the garden of this house always brought her relief. Whether by caring for flowers or lounging in a hammock during warm summer days. This is how she would like to spend the beginning of this day. Perhaps on a blanket, with the final version of her latest study, that should be published next month. At rest. Carefree. Not thinking about him again. She is getting more and more nervous from the upcoming hours, from the whole hastily planned action, but there is no going back, although she realizes the consequences of her heroic deed…or doesn´t she?

-/-

With a pair of men of dubious reputation and employment, they infiltrated the facility surprisingly easily, and not all of this can be explained by her vampire abilities. After the transformation, she gained superhuman strength, refined senses and great speed, but this is not a guarantee of the success. By eliminating the armed guard, she gained even more respect from the bulky men, who had so far known nothing of the story about her true identity. The task of destroying the security system and alarms was completed by a speculated computer virus, which cost her a lot of money, not only because of the complexity of the target security system but also the short time limit for its construction. Sun will rise to the sky in 30 minutes, so security is minimal. After all, the vampire will not run away during the day ... This is one of the many reasons why, she is now in the target room, isolated from the rest of the world by three meters thick concrete walls covered with an iron mantle. As a result, her eyes rest on a glass coffin filled with a mixture of glycerol and ethanol in which he lies. The famous Count Dracula. A man, a monster, her creator. How many times she cursed him, how many nights she longed for his presence? How much she wanted to hear his voice, at least in her mind, to argue with him again, or simply talk about everything and anything, even joke with him!? How much she longed for a sharp exchange of views, but above all, for someone or something who would understand her, kept her company during those silent days? She has it all in an attractive bundle now. Trapped in glass, he doesn't look as scary at all as many may think. The truth is, he never occurred so diabolical to Agatha. Not by his appearance. Not completely. His actions did, but he always looked human, and during the moments of his gentleman's behaviour, only a few would say he was a murderous monster. By his charming façade, he deceived many, but never her. Agatha takes a step closer. In the end, she doesn't have that much time to waste. Swiftness is essential, not hesitation. The former nun focuses again on the motionless man - completely exposed to the world, just like over a century ago, in front of the monastery gates, although now he is not covered int the blood or the remains of wolf's tendons. This way he looks so attractive, human-like, and basically the way she remembers him from the last seconds of her mortal life. His face looks calm, but noticing the rapid movement of his eyes behind his eyelids, Agatha knows immediately that this is not the case. How could it be? There are 6 outlets of pipes and thin tubes sticking out of his body, which draw information from his blood and pump him with rich mixture of yet unknown substances. It's a pathetic sight. Agatha rather does not wait a moment longer, doing her best to suppress any hesitation, she opens the heavy lid of the coffin through a computer connected to the construction. The lifting hydraulics can be heard, after a while the system of pumping out the preservative fluid resonances as well, and Agatha deftly disconnects all foreign elements from his body. However, she will not forgive herself a thorough look at his exposed body. It is impossible. Even 123 years ago, she could not resist such a look, and at that time the situation was even more delicate, unacceptable. Agatha quickly removes a towel from the backpack and hastily wipes his legs and waistband (feeling a sudden rush of heat at the sight of his groin), only to dress him in black boxers (again, Agatha swallows empty when the black rubber band of underwear resonates with a quiet slap). There is no time for more. Count Dracula is dignifiedly covered, it's time to end the mission.

- Take him. - she instructs her companions, burly men, who also consumed a considerable amount of money, with which she could easily buy two or three new cars. Discretion. Illegality. Minimum questions. You pay high for it. The next moment, the motionless, cold body of Count Dracula hangs slung over the shoulders of a strong man in black and covered by Agatha and the last member of the rescue team, they quickly leave the entire complex. The fog trick, which Agatha has not been able to do for 78 years, has finally succeeded ...

-/-

Shaking their hands goodbye, with quiet thanks, both men start to feel strange. A sudden rush of adrenaline makes their hearts stop for a while, making them feel dizzy. All the memories from the sooner events seem to be blank and blurred, as if they were just a crazy dream. Vampires. Secret military base. Liberation of the famous Dracula. Foolishness. In any case, successful. With Dracula safely in the wide bed, she finally exhales. Those two will quickly forget about the whole event, and the hot trace to her house in the London suburbs cools down quite quickly. Locking the door, she returns to her bedroom, which she lent him. To her killer and obsession at the same time. It's a strange feeling. To stand in a dawning morning over his motionless body, with no signs of life except for the relentless movement of his eyes under closed lids. Did he look at me like that? Back then, on Demeter´s board, after he fed from my blood? These questions always swirled in her mind, and although she drank his blood, she never found the answers. "We will spend the eternity together, Agatha Van Helsing," he told her as she finished her last glass of wine, a sort of goodbye drink, unknowingly consuming his blood as well, before the explosion of gunpowder took place, creating a triumphant smile on her face, anger on his. "It's a shame it would be such a short one, Count Dracula!" It seemed to her then that he was trying to hold her hand, to pull her behind him ... he didn't release her hand even at the moment of the overboard fall ... but she was too numb to hold on tight ... the salt water began filling her lungs and her panicking brain made her quiver ... her hand slipped out of his grip and pulled away the eternal remembrance of him ...

Remembering this event, she smiles bitterly, subconsciously twisting the massive ring on the ring finger of her left hand, he used to wear on his little finger. She doesn't even know why she kept it. At first, it was useful evidence of her identity that helped her to survive in a foreign, new world in which she knew no one but the name of the law firm that represented him on English soil. Dracula suddenly trembles in sleep, finally the first real evidence of his survival, and so Agatha stops thinking for a moment and steps closer to the bed. His face crosses a smirk of pain for a moment, and the muscles in the area of the ribs where the lab tubes were connected, stretch convulsively. The regeneration process begins, but from the few experiences Agatha has had with wound healing on her own skin, she has never seen such a painful reaction.

- Shhh. - she says subconsciously and sits down on the edge of the bed she has not yet shared with anyone else. - It will be alright. - suddenly she takes his hand, pulling the light blanket a little higher, although he is not cold. Comforting silk can though sooth the body a little. That and a gentle touch of a woman. Reassuring presence of Agatha by his side has an undoubtfully subconscious positive effect on him. Within a moment, his facial expression changes. It softens, the traces of pain gradually disappear. Agatha wants to stand up again and let him rest, regenerate as quickly as possible, but Dracula´s hand won't let her go. She's already awaiting Dracula´s awakening, his eyes widely opening (I´ll have to face him completely unprepared - she panics) ... it's not happening. He still lays in the bed, only in black boxers that look divine on him, covered in a silk blanket, that helps Agatha to focus on something other than the lower parts of his body. She had never looked at him so closely without any distraction, without being observed by him. She didn't have a chance to examine his face so thoroughly or notice its details. Now he seems to be relaxed. None of the many facial muscles are tense. One could even say that there was a calm smile on his lips. His jaw is no longer in tension, and the few wrinkles around his soft lips, whose touch she still remembers, are almost invisible. Being in his late forties, with the kind of a life he has led, Count Dracula looks gorgeous. Not a hint of grey in the raven-dark hair, the colour of which correlates perfectly with the black curls on his broad, well-defined chest. Calm down, Agatha. This is the murderer of yours. She's trying to convince herself. After being mercilessly thrown into the reality of immortal life, she wanted so desperately hate and curse him for what he had done to her, but she also knew that she was largely responsible for it. Her constant provocation, desire to achieve her own, and curiosity often led her into a dangerous situation and an actual trouble, but none of that matched that moment of such hopelessness. In a law firm that sent Johnathan Harker to Eastern Europe, despite her own doubts, they believed her slightly corrected story of the Demeter shipwreck and the sudden, tragic death of her dear husband. Apparently, just 2 weeks earlier, the law firm received a legally binding document, a marriage certificate of Agatha Van Helsing and Count Dracula, who took the formal surname Balaur, thus making Mrs. Agatha Balaur, a lawful heiress to his vast fortune. The ornate signet ring, with Dracula´s heraldic, was more than an adequate proof for them about the sincerity of her words. The beginnings were not easy, but would be much harder without his property. That does not change a fact that you left me alone, without a knowledge how to supress the hunger … not that you were much interested to control it. As a good observant and a fast learner, she somehow managed to survive, without the need to become a murderer in the exact meaning of this word. She learned to use the knowledge gained from his blood and after all, he was right. Blood is lives. Oh yes, I wanted to hate you, Dracula. Curse you, however ... I was finally free ... well had to manage the bloodthirst, but as a mourning widow of a wealthy man, I could do whatever I wanted. No need to be a property of another man again, just to be accepted by the society. In the new world full of possibilities for an independent woman, growing with every year, decade and new discovery. My life was finally mine. All the precious books from his castle in Transylvania were sent during the next decade to England and filled the vast bookshelves of Carfax Manor that she called her lonely home until the break of the Great War. Only then did she take the courage, and mastering her skills to suppress and control her thirst, enrolled in the University to study medicine, converting her home to a convalescence house, now a well-known private clinic with the main Blood Bank in England, the 1st of its kind in Europe, maybe in the entire world. All her doings, her deeds ... being a monster just like you, but thanks to you being able to save many lives as well. How ironic. How could I hate you for that? Fear you, since you were forgotten at the bottom of the sea ... up until 2 months ago, when my great-great-grandniece and her Institute dug you out of your ocean grave ... and now Zoe is gone, meanwhile you are as much alive as possible ...

"He thought that I am you, Agatha." Zoe told her through a video call 2 weeks ago, lying on her death-bed, when she finally revealed her the secret of Dracula's resurrection. „Looking so happy like a child when he gets its first puppy and so much disappointed when he discovered I am not you. Almost sad, even though masking it pretty well immediately." That was a turning point when Agatha decided to return from the Netherlands after four years of living there, finishing her 3rd postgraduate in Medicine and the 1st in History. All her colleagues felt sorry when she was leaving, even though she was not so close with them (with anyone in fact), but valuable part of the team nonetheless. Zoe was though dying and she the only remaining member of her family ... and Dracula was there too ... the main reason of her return, that was again brought upon this land and almost misused for another murderous plans. Now that she is the last Van Helsing in this world again, well not precisely anymore, it´s her task to take care of everything connected with Dracula. She sighs again. Dracula´s behaviour in the institute wasn´t the best according to Zoe. The space was claustrophobic and without the access to anything other than some books on the e-reader tablet, he was becoming aggressive, even though he tried to play the role of a gentleman. Now, contemplating about it again, she has to admit that it was a bit cruel. Even though I was his captive as well, at least I had a company to talk to and a subject to study. He on the other hand had no access to the outside world and being asleep for 123 years it must have been hard, frustrating, to be refused the access to knowledge. Especially for him. A test subject, that was all you have been. She sighs, lowering her gaze at him again. So peaceful now. I really hope you won´t behave like a beast once you wake up again. It will be hard, maybe too much to handle, but she has to try at least… keep him somehow under control… even though, it might be possible, he would like to kill her once he opens his dark eyes …

-/-

A comatose condition that would convince an ordinary doctor at first glance that Count is dead (well, actually … ) is no longer vegetative, but also manifests itself by active symptoms. Dracula moves from one side to the other, his body subconsciously simulating laboured breathing. The wounds, which were supposed to heal quickly due to his regenerative abilities, are still open, red at the edges and pulsating painfully with cramps. Silver needles - Agatha thinks - that's why I had irritated skin on my fingertips ... It looks serious. Dracula´s high forehead would like to be covered with droplets of sweat, but he no longer has functional organs for their production. The poisonous toxins are thus washed away woefully slowly. Basically, his body is not capable to remove them, as the outlet tubes, which replaced the functions of the kidneys, are gone. His body's reaction shows all the symptoms of toxic shock and no wonder. The results of the toxicology were frightening, an ordinary person would be killed on the spot by a quarter dose. Although nothing should kill a vampire, this combination of narcotics is dangerously effective. Dracula's body is simply not adapted to modern, synthetic drugs. Methamphetamine. Cocaine. Heroin ...

- Hell! - Agatha swears a hundredth time, walking around the bedroom here and there, constantly watching his reclining figure. She does not know how to proceed with Dracula´s cure in the conditions of her abode. Under normal circumstances, the patient would be placed in the Intensive Care Unit, followed by a thorough gastric lavage, an IV of saline solution with a dose of antitoxins, possibly two infusions of blood. He gets blood, yes, the rest is useless. However, the usual method of feeding was rejected. Constantly shuffling the in bed, it´s impossible to keep the tube in Count´s mouth, so on the left side a stand with one pocket of blood connected directly to a vein stands day and night. It was a difficult task to insert the needle into the hand, to penetrate his rough skin, even with her own hard, vampire nails. But now Agatha is really desperate. She sighs hard, gently stroking his painfully wrinkled forehead, which surprisingly brings him at least a fraction of the relief for a few seconds. Replenishment of pure blood has no visible effect. The procedures of ordinary medicine are really not applicable and it is the second day of such agony. Agatha´s mind is slowly being consumed by one particular thought. If she doesn't come up with something, Count Dracula may die, definitely this time. Would that be a redemption, a relief? For her? After all, it would achieve what she set out to do 123 years ago at the gates of the Budapest Nunnery. This would rid the world once and for all of the most feared vampire of all time, and if he left the world, it might end her life too - if, at least in this sense, the legends are not wrong. Contemplating, she looks at him again. Maybe it would be a redemption for both, but ... somehow, she's not ready to give up her life right now ... is it selfish? Perhaps. But she has a reason to live, even if she is alone ... The clinic ... her life's mission, the work that fills her with satisfaction, her research. Countess Dracula sighs again and combes Count's thick, raven-dark, now tousled hair back. Now I have a power over your life. She realizes suddenly. It would be easier than ever to kill you now, Count. Your gift of eternal life is a curse and a blessing at the same time, isn´t it? How to save you though? How to save the both of us? She asks him soundlessly, and as always during the 123 years he had left her walking the land alone, Agatha does not receive an answer this time either. The longer he stays in this condition, the less chance he will get out of it. What did they do to you, Count?Not ushered a single word with him since the day of the ship explosion, yet having him here now still alive, a silent companion, she might miss him. But how to get poisoned blood from you without the need of a hospital facility? Would you be able to move to Carfax? Wouldn't that be dangerous for our patients? What if the withdrawal symptoms cause even more aggression than it is common in a case of ordinary mortals ...? I have to get it out of you here. Think, Agatha, come on ... suddenly pure-clear, like a bolt from the blue, a saving thought strikes her and she looks back at Dracula. How the turntables ... I would laugh at this irony of fate if the situation wasn't so serious. Unlike him, however, she will not profit from his blood. Poisoned. Agatha also risks her health if not careful enough. It's been ages since I drank blood straight from a source ... what did I get into because of you, Dracula?! However, it is decided. She has to do it. Agatha suddenly leaves the bedroom for the kitchen and returns after a while with all the necessary accessories. Not hesitating, being a determined doctor again, she spreads everything out on the bedside table by the bed and settles on its edge. Leaning over him, she looks directly at the skin of Dracula's neck, yet determined to touch it with her mouth. How many times did you feed from me, Count? Enough to kill me and turn me into your image. How many times will I need to feed from you? Finally, she touches his smooth, cold skin with her lips, slightly shivering. This is the closest she ever got to him. Most intimate. Sensual. The way his skin feels under her lips. The well-known, calming, spicy scent with a hint of attractive wickedness. However, the Count begins to shake again in the convulsion, and before Agatha manages to penetrate the firm skin with her white fangs, he is out of her reach.

- Screw it! - muttering, Agatha decides on the most daring act. Stradling him, positioning herself on his firm lower, still exposed abdomen, she leans over Dracula again, this time faster, without a single doubt and holding him firmly captive, she sinks her sharp fangs into his neck. It's a bit difficult, she encounters with a slight resistance, a weak moan, but eventually she reaches his blood flow. It´s exciting act in some way to sit on him like this ... like a paramour would in an act of love-making ... how did he drink my blood? Was it the same for him ...? focus, you foolish woman ... But it's also disgusting. His blood due to drugs is bitter, unpleasant, irritating, but at least it eliminates her desire to swallow and drain him empty. After a few sucks, she separates from his neck and in disgust spits contaminated blood into a stainless-steel container. Agatha coughs, wipes her mouth (I am not a messy eater like you), cleans the wound on his neck, looking at him worriedly (no change yet). You have to do it ... brave Agatha repeats, clinging to his neck again, pressing her chest against his exposed, tilting his head gently with her free arm. The treatment begins and Agatha only hopes it won´t be useless. Come on girl, suckle ...

-/-

After 2 hours of alternating suction and spitting the blood to the bowl, Agatha is completely exhausted. Straightening again, her head spins and, tired, perhaps a little intoxicated too, Countess falls on Dracula's motionless body, which is no longer trapped in spasms. Her face lands down on the pillow, just so-so avoiding a collision with Dracula´s head. Her body also weakens, she falls asleep. Everything darkens. Her mind turns off for a second, and the last thought she still felt ceases to echo in the background of her mind. Now it's over. For both. Nevertheless, the state of weightlessness and erroneous ending lasts only a few seconds. Agatha opens her eyes again, but is not in her bedroom anymore. She finds herself in the middle of an unknown battlefield, soaked in the blood of the defeated and the victors. Weapons rumble everywhere, painful cries of death are louder and louder. The smell of rot surrounds her, battle cries in various languages are thunderous, the gallop of horses and the stamping of their hooves all around. It's a horrible sight. It scares her so much when she looks around. Worries fill her immediately. She knows that she dreams, that it must be the insane effect of drugs, which also got into her blood in small amounts, but Agatha does not understand how she could have gotten into such an overly real illusion. Staring around, she looks for an explanation, maybe a familiar face, but finds nothing. Yet. Taking courage into her hands, she decides to search a bit, even though her mind says it's a horrible idea. From what she can see, her stomach flips and she feels the urge to vomit. In the mud, mixed with thickened blood, trampled bodies curl up with severed abdomens or detached heads. Usually at least one limb is missing. The last moment of life is forever captured in numb faces, woefully painful and torturous. Death on the battlefield must be the most insidious. Except for medieval torture, probably. Agatha reasons and, remembering a little, begins to think like a historian. What period could it be? Which troops? Where am I? She looks reluctantly at the bodies of the fallen again and tries to recognize all the main details from their clothes, that could reveal more. However, she does not have much time for it, because her senses catch the approaching hooves of horses galloping with great speed. Agatha turns in the blink of an eye, noticing a small retinue of men. At the head of the knights, a tall man with ebony-black hair falling lightly on his shoulders, rides proudly, spreading the fear at the same time. His face is sprayed by blood of fallen, his beard dirtied by the precious liquid as well. Anger, ecstasy from the fight, and determination are recorded in the dark brown pupils. The proudly strained chest is decorated with the coat of arms of the family, which Agatha undoubtedly recognizes. After all, she carries its sign on her finger too. For 123 years. The man rushes forward with vigour and heads straight to Agatha with a battle cry. He looks at her with a look of hatred and, drawing his sword, reaches out to cut. Agatha closes her eyes in horror, expecting excruciating pain and agony. She can even hear Dracula's sharp sword cut easily through the flesh and, when it hits the bone, also cuts it smoothly. Strangely, nothing happens to her body. She does not feel pain or pressure of the cold touch of the bloodied blade, thus decides to open her azure blue eyes. In front of her, Agatha can see again the tall figure of the Count, whose breath she feels directly on her pale face. He's breathing! His heart is beating! He smiles cruelly and Agatha feels that he is looking directly at her. Impossible. And indeed. The legendary warlord passes directly through her and stabs with the sword again, hitting the still beating heart of the already dead man. He laughs and looks behind.

- Those with their heads on their necks still breathing, stab and the prisoners prepare for impaling. - he orders without mercy and looks at Agatha again with a cruel smile (though he doesn't see her). He crosses her motionless figure and wants to get on a horse when a long wooden stake penetrates Agatha from behind, hitting Dracula directly in the heart. Surprised sigh, followed by a painful roar and Agatha's uneasy scream fills the void. The warlord falls slowly to his knees, catching breath unsuccessfully and looks in shock at his chest, which is penetrated by a sharp piece of wood. A lot of blood is pouring out of the wound, and it's only a moment when, in the dripping laughter of the dying Osman as well, Dracula falls to the ground. A stream of blood flows from his mouth, flooding his eyes and suffocating him at the same time. Snoring, gasping for breath, he dies after few moments. Dracula's boyars fall to the ground, but they can only say one thing. Their leader is dead. Agatha also leans over and stares in disbelief at the silent eyes, still wide open. Their expression has never been so empty. Without the usual devilish spark, however, they look even more terrifying. Surprisingly, the whole look makes Agatha feel anxious, but sooner than she could think about it a little deeper, the whole scenery moves elsewhere, into a gloomy battle tent dominated by a long table in the middle. On it, quite motionless lies the dead body of Vlad III. Dracula. His most faithful are standing around and for a long time they have been arguing, shouting, trying to figure out what to do next. Yes. Dracula, the famous leader of the Wallachian army, the defender of Christian Europe, the fear of the Ottoman Empire, the last line of defence against the Turks, ruled over his country with a firm hand, but he managed to take care of the safety of his people. Without his rule, the army will disperse, alliances will fall apart, other dukes will cringe for supremacy. There is a risk of total collapse, which according to some can be stopped only by one. His rebirth. Recovery. Return from the world of the dead. Black magic of old superstitions. My goodness! Agatha is threatened, listening to all the information. In the following moments, she is to witness the birth, creation of a vampire. In the first moment, she is looking for a way out of this situation. She should, however, prevent them from manipulating with his body and, in essence, the soul they want to sacrifice to the devil in this way without his consent. According to her knowledge and known facts, Dracula was very far from the saint, he was not even a good person, but after death everyone should get a chance to see heaven, or at least through purgatory. After all, he defended Christian principles, although perhaps not, certainly not, for selfless reasons. However, this does not change the fact that the satanic ritual will ruin all these chances. And I thought, it was him to willingly accept the life of a vampire. His free will. Perfect understanding what will become out of him. What desires will corrupt his mind. He is not innocent, but he is not entirely responsible for it. However, the plan cannot be sabotaged. Agatha has no material essence, she's just an idea in this ... what exactly is it? His memory. Hallucination. Reliving the last seconds of life? But the posthumous ones he shouldn't remember ... not this part. It's getting weirder. However, Agatha has no time for further thought. An old woman enters the tent, accompanied by two soldiers. At first glance, it´s more than obvious that she is a witch. She hunches over, her skin is completely wrinkled, her face is almost grey, she stinks like death. Completely shrouded in black, she walks slowly to the Dragon's body and mumbles something under her nose constantly. At one point, this old crone looks at Agatha, who would swear she could see her very well. She smiles maliciously at her, filling Agatha with even more anxiety. At the same time, however, she concentrates on Dracula and nods expertly:

- He can still live. He can return to the world of the living and never leave it again. He will be stronger, more powerful, he will destroy all enemies. -

- What to do, old woman, just say! - a man with a long scar on his right cheek asks her impatiently. The old woman scolds him, but she answers.

- Blood! He needs blood! Violently removed from the body of an innocent creature. - her quiet devilish voice terrifies almost everyone in the room. - If he consumes the blood of a new-born child by midnight tomorrow, he will live forever. Bring me a child and I will bring your master back to the life. - in the first moment, disgust appears on everyone's faces, but it doesn't take long. An expression full of disgust is instantly replaced by determination. The Boyars don't even need to think twice or discuss it anymore. It is decided. Life for life. Dracula will rise from the dead at all costs. Agatha looks with horror at the count's pale body, not noticing another change in the background. Her focus is interrupted by the quiet but strong cry of a child, with whom one of the creators of the beast returns to the tent. The baby is still wrapped in a blanket of mother's blood, the umbilical cord is not cut properly and Agatha almost chokes from disgust. Subconsciously, she lunges forward, reaching for the child that she wants to snatch from his hands and run away to safety, but simply passing through him, she once again cruelly realizes that she is a participant in a memory, a past that cannot be changed. So, silently she watches as the child is taken to the bony hands of the old occultist, that walks towards Dracula with a silver knife in one hand.

- Open his mouth. - she orders them in a firm, frightening voice, and as soon as the order is fulfilled, she cuts the child´s throat and lets his blood run into the dead mouth of the Count, reciting spells in an unknown language. Everyone turns away from the scene, they prefer to look in a different direction, only Agatha looks with hatred at the old woman who is responsible for countless lives being taken away and, in fact, hers too. The child no longer screams in pain, does not cry, but suffocates with blood that is already flowing into another body. Its heart slowly stops beating, and when Agatha thinks it can't get any worse, the old woman proves her otherwise again. With long, spiky, dirty nails, she easily snatches a still beating, small heart from the chest of the innocent creature, eventually throwing the still body of the child into a corner as if it were a dirty rag. Next, she opens the count's chest with a sharp blade of silver and places a still beating heart on it. Vitae ad vitam. Sanguis enim sanguis. Sanguis vitam est. Life for life. Blood for blood. Blood is lives. At least these words are understood. The language of the curse changes again, and after another 5 minutes, the ritual appears to be complete. Nothing happens first. Everything falls silent. It even seems that the wind has stopped blowing. However, it only takes a moment, a fraction of time, when the hell unleashes. The wind picks up again, all the candles blown in the tent and a scary gurgling sounds, but not painful, escape Dracula´s mouth. His hitherto motionless body sits down and opens his eyes wide. The wound on his chest heals quickly and his eyes blast with flame. It looks scary. Scarier than ever. He searches through the tent and stands on his legs again. Without a word, he takes the sword and hurries to the exit. Nobody is trying to stop him. Everyone is scared. They just saw the devil. Only the old witch is not terrified. However, Agatha is no longer cowardly standing still. Her legs allow her to move and she comes out in front of the tent, noticing him again. Count Dracula sits on a horse, with bloody-red eye, thirst for killing, surrounded by fog, and with his sword drawn, gallops forward. The whole camp wakes up and sets out to fight in 10 minutes. Agatha knows what will follow. She had read many times about this event, which until now she had considered only a myth or an exaggeration of a chronicler. On this night, in the 6th month of the year 1462; 15,000 Ottomans died at the hands of Dracula and his warriors ... thirst for blood, cruelty, greed, hatred ... all of this stood at the birth of the beast, which he had become not entirely of his own free will ...

- TBC -

Isn´t it just cute how Agatha cares about Count D? ... This is how I imagined Dracula´s transformation … nevertheless, … don´t hesitate to leave reviews and comments. I would greatly appreciate it … it´s been some time since I wrote for such an active fandom and it always brings joy to see a response… until next time