The Chaos Chronicles
Purgatori
Ravenous
Based on the unpublished comic by Dan Jolley, this story begins in 1997, during the Dracula Gambit. Purgatori has tracked Dracula down to his keep in Romania, only to discover that he was waiting for her. They feel an instant attraction to one another, and immediately become lovers. As they do so, Dracula begins to teach her that to be a legend, one must remain human at heart.
Purgatori, feeling her crimson flesh soaked with sweat, opened her eyes and stared up at the silk canopy above her. She turned her head sideways, to stare into the eyes of the handsome vampire lying next to her. He gave her a lopsided smile, allowing her a glimpse of his fangs.
"How does it feel," he asked her, "to truly make love? Is it not better than your former methods? Is it not preferable to hear the passionate moans of a lover, rather than the terrified screams of a victim?"
"I…am still undecided," Purgatori admitted.
"Then perhaps you should ask her." Dracula gestured lazily past her shoulder, and Purgatori turned over, to gaze into the soft features of a female vampire, her pale skin smooth and unblemished, showing the young age at which she had been turned.
The vampire bride gazed back at Purgatori, and smiled seductively. Purgatori leaned in close, and pressed her black lips against the bride's red ones, and caressed her tongue with her own. The bride gasped softly with pleasure.
Purgatori ended the kiss and leaned back. She turned around, to see Dracula standing beside the bed, draping a fine silk robe over his shoulders. He fastened the belt, then held a hand out to her.
"Come," he told her, "there is still much for you to learn."
Purgatori took his hand, and rose.
The two of them left the keep, and took the count's carriage down to the nearby village. It was still night, with many hours until the rise of the hated sun in this cold and mountainous land.
The carriage stopped in the main square, and Dracula climbed down, holding a hand out for Purgatori as though she was a noble human lady. Inside, she bristled at the thought, but suppressed her irritation and stepped down gracefully.
"Why are we here?" she asked the count.
"There are things I would have you see?" he replied, as he led her off down one of the streets. "Look around, tell me what you see."
"I see a filthy mortal settlement. The buildings are old and dirty, and the streets haven't been cleaned in centuries. This place reeks of poverty and squalor."
"Indeed," Dracula replied. "It is just as you would expect of a village that is placed so close to the lair of a vampire lord. You no doubt expect the people to be terrified and oppressed, slaves to my will, living only to quench my endless thirst for blood."
"As it should be," Purgatori hissed.
"No," Dracula disagreed. "Mortals have a value far beyond the liquid gold that flows through their veins. Slaves have no value at all."
Dracula guided her to rundown shack in the middle of a lonely street. He rapped on the door authoritively, and the door opened a crack. An old woman peered through, and her eyes widened upon seeing the count. She unlatched the door and opened it wide, allowing Dracula and Purgatori to step through.
The room inside was large, taking up most of the first floor of the shack. It was far warmer than the outside made it appear, with clean and painted walls, several paintings, and even a stone fireplace which blazed comfortably.
The old woman curtseyed deeply to the count, and gave another to Purgatori. The demoness raised an eyebrow, unaccustomed to such respect. Her wings, horns, and blood-red skin usually had most mortals fleeing in terror, or reaching for stakes and crucifixes.
"Where are the children?" Dracula asked the old woman.
"They are in the back room, kept separate from the others, my lord," she replied. "We have been waiting for you, and the release only you can bring."
"Lead on," Dracula told her, and the old woman guided her through the far doorway. As they followed the old woman towards the rear of the building, Purgatori crept up behind Dracula and hissed into his ear.
"Are we here to feed?"
"No, Purgatori," Dracula replied, careful not to let her see the exasperation on his face. "We are not here to feed."
Annoyed and confused, Purgatori fell back a step, and peered past the count's shoulder when he stopped at the doorway to another room. This room was smaller, but had room for several beds. Each bed was occupied by a sleeping child. As Purgatori watched, she saw one of the children toss fitfully, and moan in pain.
Dracula stepped into the room, and Purgatori followed. Dracula examined each of the children, pulling back their bedcovers and placing a pale hand upon their brows. Purgatori also examined them, and saw that they were all covered with cold sweat, and shook with fever. It was clear that every one of them was sick, maybe dying.
"Is there anything you can do, my lord?" the old woman asked, worry evident in her voice. "The little ones won't last much longer."
Dracula removed a small capsule from his pocket, and held it out to the old woman. "Your children suffer from a disease that is known to me," he told her. "Give them three tablets each day, morning, noon and night, and it will cure them."
The old woman took the capsule, rattling it gently in her fist. She lifted her eyes and gazed at the count gratefully, tears welling in her eyes.
"Thank you, my lord. You are so kind."
"Think nothing of it," Dracula replied. "The medicine was difficult to acquire, even for me, but I will not let children suffer and die if I can help stop it."
As the old woman hurried off to store the medicine in a safe place, Dracula turned towards Purgatori, who sneered at him.
"How pathetic. Helping humans when we should be feeding on them? I should slaughter every child in this building."
"Indeed?" Dracula raised an eyebrow. "Is your thirst so uncontrollable? Are you that much of a beast?"
"I can control it," she hissed. "I just don't see why I should."
"Very well, how about a compromise." Dracula waved an arm back into room full of sleeping children. "Why don't you go in there and take just one child and feed on him. Just one."
"They are sick, diseased."
"We are vampires, immortal. Human diseases cannot harm us. Go ahead, take one."
Purgatori frowned, but then glided past him into the room. She gazed around at the children as they lay helpless in their beds. Several of them moaned fitfully, others lay quiet.
She blinked, feeling a strange and unfamiliar sense of indecisiveness. Her eyes drifted across each of them, as she struggled to decide which one to take. Finally, she stepped over to the nearest, and sat down on the edge of the bed. The child was a young boy, no older then ten years old. His hair was a curly brown, and his features were hardened prematurely from fever and squalor. Yet his mouth had upward wrinkles, and even in sleep he smiled, as though smiling came so naturally he could not help it, even when dying.
Purgatori leaned down close, her lips reaching for his throat. Yet as she did so she gazed into his fevered yet strangely peaceful features, and she was overcome with a reluctance she could not explain. She hesitated, her fangs inches from his throat, and then she leaned back, pulled the covers up to the boy's chin, and rose.
She strode out the room, her head held up haughtily. Dracula said nothing, but simply followed.
In the streets of the village, Dracula once more took the lead. Purgatori raged behind him, though whether at him or at herself, she did not know.
"I could have killed that child," she insisted.
"But you didn't," Dracula responded. "We are not slaves to our thirst, unless we allow ourselves to be. Just because we are vampires, does not mean we have to be monsters too."
"I like being a monster!"
"That is because being a monster is all you know."
Dracula turned down another street, and Purgatori gazed past him, her eyes opening wide at the sight of the building where they were headed. It was a large and ornate structure, with stained glass windows and a stone crucifix mounted atop the steeple.
"Are you leading us to a church?" Purgatori exclaimed.
"That I am," the count replied, his pace not slowing at all. Purgatori followed after, her footsteps beginning to drag as she came closer. With each step, she could feel the lethal power of faith and righteousness flowing from the church. Yet Dracula strode up unafraid.
Dracula stopped outside the doors, and turned back. Purgatori had stopped, still several metres away from the structure. She gazed at it. Bright yellow light streamed through the windows, and the sound of music, voices and laughter flowed from behind the walls. The church was clearly open, and some kind of ceremony was taking place within.
Dracula held out a hand to her. "All are welcome in God's House," he told her.
"You believe in God?" she asked, incredulous.
"Kind of difficult not to," Dracula replied with a lopsided grin.
Feeling the power of faith ripple across her flesh and drive needles of agony into her soul, Purgatori could not help but agree. "If we are welcome, then why do I feel the urge to flee this place in terror?"
"Perhaps the urge comes not from this place, but from within yourself. Perhaps the thing you wish to flee, is your own dark soul."
"You speak in riddles!"
Dracula turned, and opened the doors of the church, allowing golden light to flow across them both. "Come, Purgatori," he called back. "Push the hate and fear deep down within yourself. You have nothing to fear from this place."
Dracula stepped inside, leaving the demoness alone on the street. Purgatori hissed in rage and pain, but she refused to allow the count to get the better of her. She closed her eyes and concentrated. She focused on her hate, imagined all her enemies, living and dead, in a single place, and bundled them up in a small box. She then buried the box in a deep place within her soul, and left it there.
Opening her eyes, Purgatori breathed deeply, and walked up to the church. She still felt ripples of pain and terror wash over her, but she found she could ignore them now, or perhaps absorb them, allowing them to flow into the same place as the box. Whatever the reason, Purgatori found she could enter the church with only a vague sense of uncomfortableness.
The church was filled with people, most of them seated on pews. The majority of the humans ignored her, their attention focused towards the far end of the church, where a reverend stood upon a dais, speaking to the crowd.
Directly before the reverend stood two people, a man and a woman. The man wore a fine black suit, while the woman wore a magnificent white dress. She looked beautiful, and Purgatori's breath was taken away.
As the demoness entered, the reverend concluded his speech. "Then, by the power invested in me by our lord, Jesus Christ, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may now kiss the bride."
The groom leaned in to kiss his new wife, and she responded eagerly, wrapping her arms around him. The crowd cheered happily, and an atmosphere of joy and love filled the air of the hall.
Purgatori hissed in rage, as the box within her soul burst open, and hate filled her. She felt an uncontrollable urge to kill everyone in sight, and flexing her claws, she stepped forward to act on that urge.
Beside her, Dracula placed a vice-like grip on her shoulder, forcing her to stop. Purgatori turned and hissed at him.
"Let me go! I am going to kill them all!"
"Why? They have done nothing to you."
"This display of affection sickens me. Don't you feel it?"
Dracula closed his eyes. "Yes. I feel it. I too feel the envy of knowing that love – true, human love – is something that I will never again feel. But I refuse to let my envy control me, anymore than my thirst. Take the hate. Take the rage and fear and envy. Take the frustration and despair of knowing that we are both more and yet so much less than human, and use it. Use it against your enemies. Use it to gain power. We are not simply blood-drinking parasites. We are creatures of passion and rage. That is what gives us our power. Once you accept that, then you become a legend."
Purgatori gazed at him, her eyes wide, as she finally felt a glimmer of understanding. She turned back to the crowd, and watched them celebrate the joy of life and love, of everything that was human. She felt the rage and hate build inside her, but she held it in, held it down, and sealed it tightly within her soul.
The two of them walked back to the main square, where their carriage awaited. Dracula opened the door and gestured for her to enter. Purgatori paused, her hand on the door.
"If you care so much for these people, why do you keep them in poverty? You have enough wealth to make each one of them a king."
"Because they are my people," Dracula replied. "I do care for them, and I will allow no harm to come to them, but I will also never let them forget that they belong to me!"
Purgatori nodded. This, at least, she understood. The two of them spent the journey back up to the keep in silence, lost in their own thoughts. Once in the courtyard, they stepped out of the carriage and headed for the inner citadel. Before she had taken three steeps, however, Purgatori suddenly hunched over, wrapping her arms over her stomach, and howled.
Dracula stopped and placed a gentle hand upon her shoulder. Purgatori turned her face up at him and hissed in rage and anguish, tears streaming from her eyes.
"What have you done to me?" She howled.
"I have done nothing but remind you of your lost humanity. The pain you feel is nothing to be afraid of. It is simply your heart, your true heart, beating once more."
Purgatori stood up, grasped his collar, and snarled into his face.
"Make it stop," she demanded.
"Do you really want it to?" Dracula asked her. "Do you really wish to forsake all these feelings and sensations, the true mark of humanity. Without those feelings, we are simply monsters, less than the lowliest beast."
"I do not want my humanity!" Purgatori shrieked, clawing at his face in rage and despair. "I do not want these feelings of remorse and despair! I am Purgatori! I do not need these feelings! Make them stop or I will destroy you!"
Dracula gazed at her, the gashes on his face already healing.
"Very well," he told her. "Come with me."
Dracula turned and walked into the citadel. Purgatori followed, dashing unfamiliar tears from her face.
Within the great hall of the citadel, Dracula stood before her, holding a large tome in his hands.
"This is how I knew of you," Dracula told her. "This book was written by your own sire, Rath the Celt; it tells of your past, and even hints at your future. It is his journal, his grimoire. He calls it, 'The Way of the Flesh.'"
Purgatori's eyes focused on the book lustfully.
"Give me one reason why I shouldn't take that book for my own," she hissed.
"Do you wish to be free of your humanity, or don't you?" he responded.
Purgatori said nothing, but made no move to take the book. Dracula opened it to one of the pages. With his free hand, he gestured over at one of the alcoves, and two of his brides entered, dragging a small child in with them. The child was sick and feverish, but awake, and his eyes were filled with terror.
Purgatori gazed at the child, and recognized him. He was the same boy that she had almost fed on earlier that night.
"The magic of this book has a cannibalistic focus," Dracula told her. "If the spell I am about to cast is to succeed, you must kill this child, and eat his heart."
Purgatori glared at him. "I thought you had sworn to protect the villagers from harm!"
"From all harm, but my own," Dracula replied.
Purgatori hissed at him, but then stalked up to the child, as he cowered in the grip of the brides. She gazed down at him, and felt a part of her – a part she had long thought dead and buried – feel the urge to slay every vampire in the keep and carry the boy to safety. While she wrestled with her centuries-dormant conscience, she heard Dracula begin to chant behind her. The chanting was eerie and spectral, and caused her very soul to ripple in loathing.
Suddenly, the chanting ceased. "Now," Dracula cried out from behind her. "Drink from the child."
With a single sob of grief and self-loathing, Purgatori reached down and gripped the boy in her arms. She held him close, and sank her fangs into her throat. As the sweet, coppery taste of blood washed down her throat, the familiar, addictive, seductive sensation drowned out her grief, until al that remained was the need to drink.
Behind her, Dracula continued to chant, the words pulsing in her ears. As the magic reached a crescendo within her, she held the boy out away from her with one hand and, screaming with both triumph and despair, she sank the claws of her other hand into his chest, tearing out his heart in a spray of blood.
Dropping the corpse carelessly, she lifted the heart up to her lips and swallowed it with a single gulp.
A wave of disorientation washed over her. She felt the magic ripple through her soul, rearranging her thoughts and memories and feelings. Time lost all meaning. She relived her slavery, her marriage, her betrayal at the hands of everyone. She felt again the ecstasy and agony in Rath's massive arms, as he drank her blood and fed her his own. She hunted down Dracula again, the years passing in an eyeblink. And she experienced glimpses of the future, of chaos and destruction, of war and death and Armageddon.
After an eternity, Purgatori opened her eyes. The keep was empty. Neither Dracula nor his brides were anywhere to be seen.
Purgatori listened, but all was silent and empty. The fireplace was cold. Purgatori stretched out her senses, but felt nothing. The citadel was empty.
She looked down, half-expecting to find a body at her feet. But the stones were cold and dry and bare.
With nothing to keep her there, Purgatori snarled absently and strode to the door. Kicking it open, she marched outside, spread her wings, and flew off into the night.
Shrouded by sorcery, Dracula watched her depart from the highest tower of the keep. He kept his eyes on her until she was lost to view, fading away in the moonlight.
When she could no longer be seen, Dracula turned to face the only other person in the room. He was a large, overweight man, with the fangs of a vampire protruding over his lower lip.
Dracula picked up Rath's journal from a nearby table, and handed it to the other vampire, who took it and held it carefully.
"Take the grimoire, Bassa," Dracula ordered his servant, "and deliver it to those who would keep it safe. The magic did more than simply erase the details of this night from Purgatori's memory. It bound her and the tome together, and began a transformation within her. There will come a time when her humanity is all but lost to her, when the monster within her is at its peak. At that time, the grimoire will call to her, and summon her, whether she wills it or not. At that time, she will finally be made to face her humanity, and then she will have to choose, once and for all, whether to be human, or to be a monster."
"Why did you not simply destroy her?" Bassa asked.
"She is more useful to me alive," Dracula replied. "But she is not ready to face the truth about herself. Only when her soul is at its darkest, will she be ready to see the light, and dare to walk into the shadows that exist between both the darkness and the light. When that time comes, the tome will be waiting, and so will I."
"I leave at once, master." Bassa bowed and left the room.
Alone once more, Dracula turned and stared off into the night.