Eternal Night (I) Chapter 1: Resurrection, a van helsing fanfic

So, umm... I was definitely not expecting the reaction I got from you guys when I posted that prologue last week. I'm honestly still kind of in shock and at a loss for words. All I can think to say is thank you - from the bottom of this bruised and aching heart of mine. A special thanks is owed to all those who Favorited/Followed, and especially to those of you who took the time to review - Riona Winters (aka: Too lazy to logi), alexc1209, Scarlet Empress, TenebrisSagittarius, She-Devil Red, Guest, Lereniel, Arwen17evenstar, Sleepy Bibliophile, Aegystine Valeska and cneajna. You guys made my Friday and my weekend.

Well, I hope you all enjoyed that taste of blissful indulgence in the last installment, because from here on out... let's just say ya'll are in for one hell of a ride. But more on that later. And my apologies in advance for some of the exposition in this chapter - I did my best to keep it to a minimum, but whatever. It is what it is at this point. I don't know why my brain always feels the need to make things harder for myself. World-building has never been my forté, but as I mentioned in my previous A/N - I really tried to challenge myself with this one.

Lastly, I'm still trying to figure out an update schedule, so please do bear with me while I sort that out. I know when I did Ink on a Page, I ended up posting twice a week, Mondays and Fridays - if memory serves. Let me know if that's something you'd like to see for this story as well. I don't want to leave you all hanging, but I also want to make sure I give folks enough time to stay up-to-date as we progress.

Anyways, I promised you guys a massive time-jump, so here it is.

CW: graphic vampire violence/blood/gore.

Chapter 1
Resurrection

July 2137
Budapest, Capital of the Vampire Union State
UN Sanctuary of the Preternatural

The city of Budapest had been sans-Dracula for a mere thirty-five years, but how quickly it had deteriorated into its present state of civil unrest. What had once been the hub of all supernatural life, the very model of uniformity across species, had since corroded into a desolated island of misery and corruption in the sea of an otherwise indifferent world.

The days were dark and the nights forever long.

While the palace glistened in the heart of the metropolis like the crown jewel it was, it proved to be an undying symbol, a glaring reminder of the state of the region and its people. The structures that surrounded the sovereign residence of their present ruler shined with a brilliance diminished only by the sheer extravagance of the edifice in the center. Yet, the buildings situated farther away from this pocket of affluence found itself in a continued state of neglect and decline.

Only the social elite were fortunate enough to dwell in the center of town, enjoying the luxuries and comforts that came with prestige and privilege. The rest had been left to squalor in an escalating state of constant need, violence, and despair.

Dracula – king of the vampires and lord over the people of this once great land – had long been in hibernation, isolating himself from the world for reasons undisclosed to the public, leaving his brother of circumstance to rule in his stead. But Marcus Augustine was no leader. The dragon may have been known as the son of the devil, the first vampire in existence, but Augustine was the defective firstborn – a failed experiment left to live out the long years of his immortal existence with the knowledge that he was deficient and unwanted even by the one who had created him.

Having spent centuries of his life in a never-ending struggle to prove himself more worthy than his younger and perfected "brother," Augustine had dedicated himself to eradicating Count Dracula from his life, even if that meant pretending to be his friend. But no matter how much he plotted and schemed and deceived, in the end, Vladislaus always proved the victor and Budapest had been his crowning achievement.

Augustine now walked along the darkened corridor of one of the tunnels beneath the palace. The walls were lined with ancient stone, damp and musty, an incessant dripping noise coming from somewhere in the catacombs as water from the Danube above continued to leak in through the ceiling, a single droplet at a time. The hall was lined with torches, the flames offering very little light in the thick and consuming darkness.

His shadow slinked across the floor behind him like a large serpent, slithering over imperfectly laid cobblestone with every soundless step he took. His pace was controlled despite the welling anxiety and malice that coiled tightly in the center of his chest, the air he disturbed with his movements managing to leave the torches guttering in his wake – as if afraid, repelled.

Thick, dark brows furrowed over even darker eyes as he neared his destination – a small security room off to the side of the passageway. It was a stark reminder of the age in which he lived, despite being surrounded by the remnants of an older world just on the other side of the large plexiglass window.

The only other individual in the compact room was seated at the computer, the nameless man's eyes continually diverting back and forth between the monitor in front of him and the view through the window. Beyond where they were situated was dimly lit chamber, a handsomely carved stone sarcophagus situated in the center.

This tomb was made of large tiled squares of black granite, enormous pillars holding up the impossible weight of the ceiling above. The dark color of the polished stone seemed to devour all light like a black hole, effortlessly nurturing an atmosphere of foreboding that lingered on the fringes of veneration.

Augustine observed the scene within the tomb from his side of the plexiglass.

Five servants were robed in ceremonial garb, their leader chanting low in a long-forgotten language as the other four followed close behind, their hooded heads bowed in either reverence or fear, he could not be certain. Not that he cared.

He'd never understand his younger brother's obsession with tradition and the rituals of the old-world. They were archaic and confining, beneficial only to the superstitious. These mumbled words were needless in the ritual about to be performed, and Augustine, growing impatient, leaned over the man at the computer and pressed one of the buttons on the dashboard which allowed those within the tomb to hear him over the loudspeaker.

"I haven't got all night. Save your litanies for someone who gives a damn. Let's get on with it already," and then Augustine straightened, expression hard as he locked eyes with the leader within the chamber who dared to look back at him with disapproval.

Augustine never took the questioning of his authority lightly, and had the circumstances been different, he would have gladly marched into that sarcophagus chamber to show those pitiful cretins who was in charge. But they were destined for a fate far worse than anything he could inflict upon them, so he remained silent, eyes still fixed on the robed leader before the nameless servant's gaze diverted back down to the floor in a sign of submission, the subtle waving of his hand commanding the others to move into position.

Content that they were finally moving along, Augustine allowed himself to relax, his stance less rigid as he folded his arms over his chest, eyes still fixed on the scene just beyond the glass.

"How long before we are ready to proceed?" he asked the man at the computer.

"Just a few seconds more my Lord…" and with a press of a button, Augustine's heightened senses perceived the otherwise indecipherable sound of tiny machinery located in the deceptively simple-looking sarcophagus coming to life. "We're in business."

Both men observed the pair of screens in front of them as the tiny night-vision cameras within the sarcophagus and the low-light cameras within the chamber flicked on.

Inside the stone tomb was a body, decomposed to the point of being unrecognizable – a husk of a skeleton, encased in leathery dehydrated skin. The corpse's eyes were sealed shut by wrinkled lids held down with tiny black stones, the jaw appearing to be misaligned with the rest of the skull, leaving the mouth agape.

The robed servants within the chamber, on the count of three, all assisted in removing the lid of the stone-carved coffin, the dim light of the room now reflecting off of a set of pearly white fangs peeking out behind the corpse's thin lips.

With a signal from Augustine to proceed, they removed the lid completely, and with a flick of a switch from within the security room, the sound of more hidden machinery coming to life could be heard. All eyes watched in fascination as small holes that lined the inside of the tomb opened.

Blood then began to pour from the dozen cylindrical openings, filling the sarcophagus like water would a tub, effectively immersing the carcass within. As the coffin filled, the servants within the chamber fell to their knees, chanting incoherently a verse of Latin text about the rising of the dragon. Although mildly annoyed with the devout attentions, Augustine could not deny that the litanies seemed to summon a darkened tension that was now settling in the air like an oppressive shadow.

He was so engrossed in what was happening in front of him that he completely missed the arrival of another who had taken to standing at his side in the small room.

"How are things progressing?" the newcomer inquired, the sound of his voice startling Augustine, though he hid it well.

"Ah, Ildar, I was not expecting to see you down here," Augustine said casually. "I do believe we are right on schedule."

The two continued to watch the screens before them in silent intrigue as the blood stopped filling the sarcophagus. The surface of the liquid appeared like a sheet of crimson glass, perfectly still. The cameras within the tomb had long been obscured, leaving those in attendance to wait with baited breath for something to happen.

After waiting at least a full minute in unbearable silence, Augustine leaned over once more to press the button, his voice coming in over the intercom.

"Anything?"

The head devotee within the chamber looked to the window of glass on the far side of the room and shook their head.

"Well, check!" Augustine insisted, and he straightened once more, encouraging those in the chamber with a wave of his hand to get along with it.

The robed servants looked between one another with evident wariness, none of them particularly eager to rise from their kneeling positions. Unwilling to evoke the wrath of Marcus Augustine, a single brave soul stood and began to cautiously approach the sarcophagus filled with blood. The woman unveiled herself as she drew near, dark hair pinned back so her throat remained bare.

As she quietly examined the tomb before her, hand hovering over the surface of the still undisturbed blood, Ildar looked to Augustine once more.

"Are you still sure this is a wise decision, Marcus?" he asked in lower tones. "We're not even sure if his blood will do the trick."

"We have exhausted every other method. I wouldn't be standing here right now if I wasn't certain it would work."

"But how will you get him to help you? When he discovers all that's happened since he went under, who sanctioned the creation of the virus in the first place, what it was originally intended for, how it spread – I don't know about you, but I like my head where it is."

"He won't discover the truth."

"But you can't be sure of that," Ildar insisted. "You know how he gets. He can sniff out a lie a hundred miles away, and there are still those loyal to him working within and without the palace. How else would the alliance find out about the virus, or the increased number of human and dhampir disappearances? If he finds out the real reason why you're bringing him back…"

"Then we'll just have to be certain he doesn't find out, won't we?" Augustine snapped, an unspoken warning in his tone.

"I didn't mean to question you… I just… the council has their concerns. All of us do. With the alliance on our asses and Basillio still riding the fence… these are precarious times."

"If we stick to the plan, the council's concerns will be short lived. Once I have what I need from Dracula, we can put him back down and the alliance won't be a problem for us anymore. It's an in and out procedure. You have nothing to be worried about."

There was suddenly a scream from within the sarcophagus chamber and both men looked up to see that a hand had grabbed the throat of the robed female servant rather unexpectedly. Though the arm had only broken the surface of the blood for just a mere three seconds, Augustine could see that the once leathery, decrepit flesh of the carcass had been restored to its proper form.

He watched with a look of unaffected boredom as the woman was suddenly lifted up and pulled into the sarcophagus with the owner of the arm, disappearing behind the surface of blood, which splashed and spilled over the sides as though those within were struggling beneath. But then the surface went still once more, the chamber unnervingly silent.

"He always did have a flare for theatrics," Augustine said with an impatient sigh, his expression never altering as a scene of horror and carnage unfolded before them on the other side of the glass.

A thick, unearthly mist began to fill the room as the woman from earlier – or rather, what was left of her – was abruptly ejected from the tomb, her disintegrating corpse landing on the floor with a sickening crash as blood-soaked bones scattered in every direction. The four remaining servants were quickly on their feet and rushing toward the exit, but with a press of a button from within the security room, Augustine sealed them inside, the faint twitch of a malevolent smile tugging at the corner of his lips as the terrified persons proceeded to scream and bang at the thick sheet of plexiglass.

He waved tauntingly at them from the other side of the window until a roar erupted within the room. From the stone coffin, drenched in blood, emerged a man. He was a few generous inches taller than six feet, hair long and dark, with the body of a warrior – taut muscles sculpted and defined to utter perfection, covered in a hide of flawless alabaster skin, though presently stained in crimson.

With the emergence of this dark god came an almost tangible pulsation of power that seemed to originate from his person. His presence left a heavy drone reverberating in the air, each vampire in the vicinity inherently recognizing his authority. The lights in the chamber flickered under the impressive weight of his aura before going out, one at a time. Just before the last torch could be extinguished, his eyes opened, irises glowing a vibrant, electric blue.

The dragon had awoken.

The black chamber beyond the plexiglass echoed with horrified screams as the newly awoken king completed his resurrection by satiating his ravenous appetite. The cries for mercy mingled with the sounds of tearing flesh, the crunching of bones, and the spray of blood as the once penitent servants were quickly reduced to little more than carnage and ash. When the last of the screams had died away, all became silent, though the chamber beyond remained unlit.

"Turn the lights back on," Ildar instructed the terrified man still seated in front of the computer after several tense moments in silence.

The man, though visibly shaking, began to type away at the keyboard in front of him, his keystrokes hesitant, but efficient. With the final click of the return key, the backup lights in the chamber suddenly illuminated. Standing directly on the other side of the plexiglass in a sea of mist was the awoken vampire, fangs dripping with fresh blood.

With reflexes like lighting, the monster slammed his fist through the thick window as if it were no more than tissue paper. He reached for the man at the computer who never even had a moment to scream as he was grabbed by the lapel of his shirt and pulled through. The vampire fed without a second thought, and as he slurped greedily at the fountain of blood erupting from the torn flesh of the tech's throat, Augustine stole a glance at Ildar who couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from the butchery.

The room behind the crouched vampire feasting on his prey was littered with torn limbs and assorted gore, blood smeared and splattered across walls and pooling in small puddles on the floor. Ildar appeared genuinely disturbed by the scene in front of him, and this pleased Augustine undoubtedly a little more than it should have.

He returned his gaze to the vampire still in the chamber, the stark naked and blood-soaked man having calmed considerably as he finished draining the tech of his lifeblood before straightening slowly, eyes still glowing with blue fire.

"Should I call for one of the guards to select a lucky soul from the dungeons for you, dear brother?" Augustine inquired with thinly veiled amusement. "Or has Dracula had his fill?"

Dracula arched a single brow in reply, his shoulders squaring in response to his name.

"A shower would be appreciated," he replied. "And perhaps a small digestif."

"I can have Baysia summoned for you, my lord. I know she has been eager to see you again. Or would you prefer one of your other usuals?"

"Baysia will do."

"As you wish. Ildar, have Baysia fetched from the city and brought to the master's chambers," Augustine instructed, the word "master" said with a faint sense of difficulty that left Dracula smirking just slightly.

Ildar nodded and excused himself from the small security room, leaving the two brothers alone, one staring intently at the other. When he was certain they were alone, Dracula spoke.

"You better have a damn good reason for summoning me."

"I would not have done so unless you were my only option."

"And how badly have you botched things up this time, my dear elder brother?" he asked with thinly veiled disdain. Augustine frowned.

"This isn't my fault."

"Of course it isn't," Dracula replied, bored and unconvinced by Augustine's sloppy attempt at deflecting the blame. "It never is."

With the flick of a switch, a small room was illuminated in a dim purple glow. The muted light bulbs provided very little luster, not that Rémy required the assistance to see. He moved into the room with ease, shutting the door behind him as his eyes fell over the glass casket before him. A variety of tubes and colored wires were plugged into the metal lower half of the machine that housed his beloved sister, preserving her in a state of stasis as she continued to linger in hibernation.

He could see her unobstructed through the glass, dressed in a simple white shift, her naturally dark mahogany brunette hair appearing less vibrant than he recalled it being as it contrasted with the deathly pale of her skin.

"Hey sis," Rémy whispered to the eternally young woman behind the glass, the sound of his voice never disrupting her slumber. "I know you said you wanted to stay in here a bit longer, but we need you… I need you."

He diverted his eyes away from her for only a moment so he could press the right button, the machine humming to life. He watched his sister's face with grave attention.

Her chest suddenly rose and then fell with breath as the machine restored her vitality, and with a second breath, her eyes fluttered open. Her irises glowed a brilliant violet hue, gaze fixed on the man hovering over her. She pressed her hand to the glass which still kept her confined and Rémy positioned his hand just over hers, a soft, rueful smile on his face.

There was nearly a minute of silent looks between the two siblings, unspoken words and subtle expressions.

"It's time to wake up, little sister," Rémy explained in whispered French, and when the young woman nodded once in understanding, he removed his hand from the glass and flicked another switch, watching as the thin tubes that had been hooked up to her arms and legs through at least a half a dozen needles began to pump fresh blood into her body.

The woman's eyes grew brighter still, canines extending as chapped lips peeled back from razor-sharp fangs, the blood regenerating her body and adding the faintest hint of color to her flesh. When the process was complete, another switch was pulled, and the glass lid slid away slowly, allowing the woman to breathe in unrecycled air for the first time in five years, though the oxygen was admittedly useless to her.

Old habits.

Rémy offered his hand and the female vampire took it, allowing him to pull her up carefully into an upright position before he knelt down at her side, his other arm wrapped around her back to keep her vertical.

"The nausea will dissipate quicker if you feed properly," he explained, still speaking in his native tongue. He offered his wrist to her, but she immediately shook her head in refusal of his generosity.

"I don't want to," she said in hushed tones, but he persisted, holding his wrist in front of her face.

"You need to feed, Frankie. Stop being so damn stubborn."

Frankie sent her brother a narrowed look, but his baiting worked, and she took his wrist in both of her hands and bit down, sighing softly when the fresh blood erupted into her mouth, sliding down her parched throat.

With the small mouthful came flashes of images – a dark street littered with gore and the ashen remains of loved ones lost. In her mind's eye she could see her hands and front drenched in the blood of another. The guilt… that horrendous guilt. Frankie knew from experience that she needed more than a couple of mouthfuls of blood to revitalize her, but she could barely choke down one more as the trauma from over half a decade ago resurfaced, leaving her ill. With the familiar nausea came a resurgence of willfulness as she ignored her hunger and pushed her brother's bleeding wrist away.

"You can take more than that, you know," Rémy insisted in English this time, but Frankie shook her head, resting her hands on the edge of the dreadfully uncomfortable vessel she had been resting in, pushing herself up to her feet with some difficulty.

"I don't want more," she replied. "A bottle will suit me just fine."

"Francesca…"

"If you want me to drink anything, it will be cloned human blood or nothing at all."

He knew better than to argue with her, so Rémy relented with an exhale of disapproval, offering her a supporting arm, which she thankfully accepted, and he led her out of the room.

"Come on. You and I have a lot of catching up to do."

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