Chapter 7

Wallachia, Romania

            The clouds had moved in and had covered the moon's light from the lush and rolling Romanian mountain side.  But this man, standing atop his castle that was nearly as old as himself, did not need the help of the celestial rock to see his old kingdom.  A kingdom rich with history.  A history unknown to many, many people. 

            For over nine centuries, this man, or beast, has lived among the passing generations the same, yet entirely different.  And almost a millennia ago, he spilled blood for this land, in war after war. 

            Now, as a thick, ghastly fog crawled slowly over the land, the Count Dracula reminisced about times long past and times yet to come.  His intricate mind found its way into the walls of the Vampire Nation's headquarters in Czechoslovakia, where the Elder Damaskinos sat like a statue on his throne satisfied with the way of the world now. 

            Damaskinos felt the presence of the other vampire, and laughed in his ethereal face.  An insult, Dracula thought, would be the least Damaskinos would have to worry about in retaliation.  Ruling over the humans is not the way of the vampire.  It is in the shadows, behind the scenes, the silent predator that brings death to those who deserve it most.

            Murderers, pedophiles, rapists.

            Though somehow over the centuries, the purpose had been torn away, much like the legend, until it was nothing more than a joke, a forgotten memory.  And soon the legend became evil.  The vampire became linked with the devil, instead of an avenging angel for man.

            Even Dracula himself had been known to take innocent lives, but with immortality comes great prices that even the most hardened of souls cannot cope with all of the time.  Sharing his secret with the one known as Bram Stoker was a big part of that undoing, but for what is was worth, no one took it seriously—it was just a work of fiction from a drunken Irishmen.  Serves him right, Dracula thought; he twisted the facts and failed to add the most important of the truths, that is all but shattered today. 

            Cutting through the thick dark of night, Dracula could see his followers coming to his domain with their white, almost glowing eyes and preternatural speed that would shame the fastest animal on the planet.  Dozens of pairs of eyes glanced up at the perched castle and then back to the path as they progressed. 

            The most infamous vampire of all-time was calling his Children of the Night to initiate a fatal blow to the Overlord Damaskinos and the Vampire Nation.

            Tonight, the House of Shadows and Ancients join Dracula in hopes of changing the future for the better, at least for the humans who cannot defend against gods.  Tonight, the strongest vampires in the world gather to over throw the Overlord who has, for centuries, destroyed the system and design vampires have followed for millennia.  Tonight, Dracula once again becomes the Prince of Darkness. 

            Behind Dracula, several members of the former House of Erebus converged on the balcony.  The man with the long dirty-blond ponytail in the middle stood staring at his great, great ancestor.  A man whose blood runs through his own; a blood that mysteriously was, in a small amount, not quite able to turn the victim of that long ago night, and was handed down in each and every generation for centuries. 

            Frank Drake looked at the one whom he now called lord, and had a respect for him he had never had in his many years of hunting the nocturnal blood-drinkers.  He never imagined the camaraderie between them that would eventually turn them into the father and son relationship.  But Dracula was not the evil, malevolent murderer he had thought him to be.  No, in fact, he was quite the remarkable soul, if they do really exist.

            Fiction and legend helped to twist his reputation into that of the dead, or undead, cold-blooded monster-killer that the majority of vampires were.