"Igor! Throw the switches!"

Doctor Frankenstein's assistant make a face for a moment, then grabbed the massive levers and pulled down, igniting a chain reaction of electrical fury while lightening flashed outside. His defining feature was the horrible twists in his back, which forced him to hunch sharply to one side. His facial features were blunt, almost unsightly, and he was un-naturally pale. He had no eyebrows over his small, deep-set eyes, and long stringy black hair hung over the man's face.

Victor had harbored doubts about hiring Igor to assist him. It was not his appearance, though that alone was disturbing enough. No, it was something about his presence, and Frankenstein could not quite put his finger on it. But, Count Dracula has felt strongly about Igor, and so, trusting his friend, Victor had kept the man on.

The count. If there was ever a man so taken with desire for results, it was Dracula. As of late, the count's insistence had been somewhat unnerving. He had, as promised, given Victor everything he asked for, even gave him this castle in which to set up his laboratory. But, despite the overtures of friendship, Victor could not help but feel that Dracula had some other motive in the matter.

A crash of thunder again, and a bolt of lightning, along with the thunderclap that soon came after, that slammed down into the tower. Electricity coursed down through the conductors, pulsing through thick wires and arcing across contact points. Frankenstein hurried now, carefully flipping switches in proper sequence. Everything had to be done just right, so that life would be brought to his creation...his son.

Bounded to the specially built pod that was raised up high was Victor's greatest work. A figure clothes in bandages, sewn together by Frankenstein's own hands. Pieced together from parts selected carefully from seven different cadavers, using surgical techniques not even yet dreamed of by his colleges. And even now, it was just the beginning.

Another bolt slammed down, this time impacting on the pod and cascading about while the generators hit their maximum output. It was in the hands of the forces of nature now, and Victor could only hope he had done everything right. And then, just as suddenly, a second bolt came down from the sky, hitting the pod again. He turn to Igor and gestured for the pod to be lowered swiftly. "Hurry!" Frankenstein called to his assistant. And, as the deformed man begrudgingly complied, Victor ran to the pod, and, as he saw movement, was driven to tears.

He did not know if they were shed in the passing of his old life or in joy of the start of his new, but at that moment, when his creation gave out its first cry of life, Victor was overcome with emotion. Only one phrase could describe his triumph. "He's alive," he whispered, seeing the form now drawing breath. "He's alive...he's aliiiiiive!"

The rush of euphoria was incredible. Surely, this feeling was what God Himself must have known in His greatest moment of creation. All of Victor's sacrifices, his endless work, it all now had come to fruitation, and he hand accomplished something that no one else in the history of the world had done.

But then, his joy was shattered when he heard a crash. The sound of splintering wood, the roars of an angry crowd. Running to the window, Victor saw a torch-bearing mob outside in the night. He knew why they had come, feeling a chill as he realized that their anger was righteous. Oh, if only he could talk to them, explain why some of his unconventional methods had been necessary.

Some were carrying a tree trunk. They charged forward, bringing the battering ram crashing into the castle's front gates. Wood splintered, but the gates held. However, Victor knew that it would not hold them for long. He would not be given the time to explain and justify his work and the incredible value it held. His greatest creation - his son - was in danger. And they would never understand; how could they? This mob would look on his son and see only a monster.

Where was his friend? Where was the count? Dracula was his friend, he should be helping to protect him. So why had he abandoned Victor now?

"Success!"

Victor jumped at the voice and whirled around to find himself face-to-face with a dark figure. The fear in his heart burst up through his throat, and he screamed. But then, he recognized the features, and for a moment, his terror was calmed.

"Count," he gasped, trying to regain his breath. "It's just you."

He stepped forward, illuminated by the light of electrical burst arcing about between the connectors. Something was wrong. His eyes were like ice, his voice toneless. "I was beginning to lose faith," he remarked almost flippantly while stepping over to look out the window and down upon the angry mob. "A pity that your triumph is being spoiled by a little thing like, grave robbery."

Down below, the mob surged forward again, moving as if they were a single organism. And as that single being, they had a sole purpose; revenge. How could anyone, let alone one who called himself a doctor, commit such an unholy and unspeakable act such as grave robbery? They simply could not comprehend it. But no matter what the reason, it had driven Vaseria into a frenzied state of horror and outrage. Though not all or even most of them had been wrong, it mattered not; they would have vengeance all the same.

The castle was centuries old, and in the past, it had always defended against invading armies, but the villagers were sure that it would fall to them. After all, only one man was in there, and they would have him before the night was done.

At the head of the mass, the village undertaker, dressed in black and wearing a tall top hat, raised his torch. He was unusually pale, even in this low light, and there was what seemed to be a sinister gleam in his eyes, a reprehensible expression of pleasure in the task at hand. "You know what he's doing in there!" he cried, encouraging the angry horde on. "What he's doing to your loved ones!"

The tree trunk was driven forward again, crashing against the gates once more. The weakening gate still held, though, as if refusing to simply give up the fight.

He was frightened by the utter lack of concern in the count's voice. Grave robbery was a serious charge, no trifle matter to just laugh at. The mob would soon be through the castle gate. From there, the front door would be little trouble...there would be no stopping them.

"I...I must escape this place!" he exclaimed, now hurried to grab what he could and prepare to leave the castle. With a growing panic, he for the first time saw this place for what it truly was; a prison. Less a respectable lab and more a devious dungeon, and there was forever the stench of corruption. The generators, the dynamos, the reaction chambers...they all seemed to be grotesque abominations churning away as his world crumbled around him.

Something was wrong, terribly wrong, here. The count was staring at him, almost as if in contempt, only much worse. It was like...hunger. And in that instant, the blink of an eye, the last certainly Victor had was gone.

"Where will you run, Victor?" Dracula asked calmly. Frankenstein froze for a moment, and looked to see that the count was no longer standing at the window, but now was perched amid the rafters of the watchtower, as if he has magically transported himself there. "Your...peculiar experiments have made you most unwelcome in much of the civilized world."

There was a touch of insulting malice in the count's voice. Victor knew one thing now that was for certain. He had to get away from here, take his son away from this place...away from the mob, and away from Dracula. Then, he could take the time to sort things out.

Throwing open a nearby traveling chest, Frankenstein frantically began packing. And, while he did so, Victor concentrated on the thing that mattered right now; his son. "I'll take him away," the man stated in a panicky voice. "Far away, where no one will ever find him!" He continued packing, just the things he would need, but with the count nearby, it was so hard to focus.

"Oh no, Victor," the count replied. Again, the direction in which his voice was coming from changed, and Victor turned to see that Dracula was now somehow on the other side of the room, pacing atop the massive mantle over the fire place. It defied all the laws of physics and motion as he understood them, how was Dracula doing this?

And then, Frankenstein realized something. Who was this man really? He had lied to Frankenstein, right from the beginning. And most of all, he had stolen something very important from Victor; his dream.

Dracula smiled, and Victor once more saw those oddly long canines. But now, the fears in the back of his mind sprung forth without resistence, and the old folklore of his childhood was screaming at him. "No, Victor. The time has come for me to take command of him."

"Wha-what are you saying?" Frankenstein's voice was hysterical, even to his own ears.

In less than a heartbeat, Dracula slammed shut the lid of the trunk, and Victor did several double takes between where the count now stood and where he had been standing on the mantle. This was impossible, by all the laws of science! No human man could be doing this!

"Why do you think I brought you here!" the count screamed. "Gave you this castle! Equipped your laboratory!"

Victor backed away slowly. "You...you said you believed in my work," he said, but he barely was able to say the word, fear choking his voice. Even with the scientist in him saying that it was impossible, he was beginning to understand at last that the old legends of his homeland perhaps weren't just myths.

"And I do." Dracula smiled again "But, now that it is, as you yourself have said, a triumph of science," he continued, turning toward the still active generators and raising his fist toward the sky, "over God!"

There was an eruption of sparks as the generator overloaded and blew out. Dracula smiled while a crack of lightning served to add to his words. "It must now serve my purpose."

Victor looked for answers in the count's icy blood red eyes. Realization had dawned upon him now, that he had been a mere pawn of an evil agenda. But still, he had to know for what reason his work was to be corrupted. And even then, he could feel the last remnants of Dracula's hold on his mind slip away. Victor gathered what courage he had left and took a step toward the count. "What purpose?"

A crash of lightning as the villagers raced forward again with their makeshift battering ram. The castle gates, unyielding metal twisting and groaning, gave a loud crack, and the crowds cheered. Though they were near exhaustion, the men holding the tree trunk prepared for another run.

The gate was no match for their force. Seconds later, they were finally through. Victorious cries spread throughout the crowd, and as they poured in through the gateway, the man in the top hat smiled and looked on, urging them to continue. It wouldn't be long now before this task was done.

Something echoed in the rage of his hearing. It was faint, but definitely the howling of a wolf. For a moment, he almost thought it to be something else, but then he recognized the howl as it rang out a second time. "Dunpeal," he whispered to himself.

"Good God!" Frankenstein cried out. He now understood what he had allowed to enter his life, what he had let loose upon the world. It horrified him that such a thing could be possible, but at the same time, he realized that he should have know it all along. "I would kill myself before helping in such a task!"

There was a laugh from the count as he walked toward the pod. "Feel free to," he said flippantly. "I don't actually need you anymore, Victor." He stopped at the pod, looking to Frankenstein's creation. "I just need him. He is the key."

Victor looked at his creation, fatherly love in his eyes. "I could never allow him to be used for such evil," he said, for a moment almost forgetting that Dracula was here. But then, he felt it from the count; pure malice. Whatever Dracula was, he was no man, not even a creature. He was a foul thing that should not have been.

And the count gave a smile while bending over the pod. "I could," he finished, then brought his eyes up to glare at Victor. "In fact, my Brides insist upon it, because if not, then they will be rather put out." There was a gleam of anger now in his eyes. "And I can't let you get in my way, not like certain relatives of mine!"

He looked about in panic. "Igor!" Victor cried out. "Help me!"

"You have been so kind to me," the mis-shapen man replied as he walked out from his hiding place. "Thoughtful, caring..." Igor paused, and smiled sinisterly. "But...he pays me."

He was alone. Nothing would help him against the hellspawn Dracula. But he still had himself, and even if he was going to die, Victor would make sure that Dracula would reckon with the last of the Frankensteins. He backed up to the mantle, then reached to the coat of arms he had mounted and drew from it the family sword. He could feel new strength in his body now, a righteous anger fueling him. "Stay back!" he ordered, raising the sword to point toward the count.

Dracula only laughed, and stepped forward. "You can't kill me, Victor," he said, and then, flying the face of all belief, stepped into the sword, pushing the blade into his chest. Victor stared in horror at the act, but even as incredible as that was, he continued forward, impaling himself even more on the blade, and now stood only inches form the man's face.

"I'm already dead."

Victor could say nothing. Everything he knew, everything he held true, had just been shattered. This creature, this thing was not of the living. The old stories of Romania were true; vampires were real, and Dracula was one. No, not just any vampire. Victor knew it now. This was the real Dracula, the man who had made that name so infamous. And there was no doubt in his mind now that the count was beyond anything that the ancient Roma gypsies could even imagine.

Dracula grabbed him by the collar, pulled him about, and opened his mouth to reveal his now razor sharp teeth. He looked less human now, and more like the monster he truly was. All remaining color drained form Dracula's inhuman face, and as Victor felt those teeth piercing into his neck, he did not find anger at his death. He had brought it on himself, not heeded the warnings.

But his creation, his son...he deserved better. And now, he was going to fall into the control of this monster.

Flashes of light. Noise, unfamiliar sounds. Focus was difficult. He did not know where he was, what his name was, or if he even had a name. But, there was someone nearby, he knew that much.

Father.

He tried to moved, but something held him down to this table. Straps were hooked to the sides of the platform, but, he was strong. That was his second certainty. He had been made strong. Father had made him strong. He forced his eyes to stay open, to adjust to the light. Soon, he was able to see, and he heard Father's voice.

He knew that voice well. Even before he had become aware, he had heard Father as he worked to bring him life. And he realized that he was looking at the place where Father had given him shape, given him life. He so much wanted to see Father, to touch him, to embrace him and show his love.

But why hadn't Father released him yet?

There was another voice, a colder voice, one that sent a chill through his body. He could hear Father's voice arguing with the other. Father was afraid, he could hear it...and he could feel it. He had to help Father, but he could not get free. Father needed him. He pushed harder.

Something broke. One of the straps was off him. The others snapped easily, and then he felt danger. Something was horribly wrong. He moved slowly, muscles sluggish in response at first. He was strong, but to move his limbs took much concentration.

He looked to Father. There, in the corner, he was pointing a weapon at the other man. A name flashed in his mind, associated with this person; Dracula.

Dracula, yes, that was what Father called the other man. A foul name to hear even in thought. Instinct alone told him that Dracula was a corrupt being, and Dracula was approaching Father, no heed to the weapon pointed at him. He intended to harm Father...no, not just harm. He intended to kill Father.

There was not much time, and they were too far away. But that mattered not. He stood up, only to watch at Dracula bent down and bit Father. He could feel the pain, the teeth in Father's neck. Already, he felt the first greatest changed since his awakening. His connection to Father was gone, severed harshly by Dracula. He wasn't fast enough to stop it, he knew that he wouldn't reach them.

But he was strong. And he already hated this man.

Dracula licked his lips clean of Victor's blood. Igor had already fled the lab. Good, he would be needed later. It would do no good to have put so much effort into the mortal only for this mob to kill him. But, for now, he was appeased. And now, for Frankenstein's creature.

Turning to the pod, Dracula's eyes widened. He walked over to the empty table, looking around until he saw where the creature stood. For a moment, he raised his hand in motion to command the being, but then was shocked by the creature when it listed up a piece of machinery and threw it hard.

The conductor slammed into Dracula's chest, sending it and him flying back into the blazing fireplace. The creature paused for a moment, then walked over and scooped Victor's body into his arms. He heard the voices from outside, angry voices. He turned to leave, stepping down the stairwell and heading for the rear door.

Father had to be saved.

As he burst out the back doorway, Igor smiled to himself. No doubt, his master had finished feasting himself on the blood of Doctor Frankenstein, and had taken command of the creature. All would be well, and his own rewards would be beyond imagination.

Perhaps the count would be so generous as to grant him immortality.

Something else came out the small doorway. Igor turned in time to see the creature make his way out of the castle and toward the hills in the distance. Something was wrong with the plan. The monster seemed panicked, as if trying to escape Dracula.

And he was carrying Frankenstein's body in his arms.

"Doctor Frankenstein!" Igor cried.

"Look!" came a cry. Igor recognized it at the village undertaker, a man known as Danesti. "It's headed for the windmill! Get it!"

He turned, then fled, not wanting to be caught by the mob. Igor had already once been at the hands of their angry, as the hideous twists of his nek constantly reminded him. But what now concern Igor was that the monster was trying to save Frankenstein. Dracula should have already taken control of it, what could have happened?

Truly, it was a good thing he had fled the laboratory already. It would not to well to be in Dracula's presence when he was angry.

He kept running, heading for the large building upon the hill. The angry voices were following, he could feel the danger they presented. If they overtook him...

Father is beyond hurting now... a voice deep inside him echoed. For a moment, he refused to believe it, wanting to hold on to the hope that he could save Father. But he knew that there was nothing now that he could do. Still, he owed it to the man who gave him life to try.

He ran.

Reaching the door of the windmill, he threw it open, walking inside just before he turned to quickly close it behind him so that the mob could not catch him. A large latch came down to lock the door, and a familiar sent filled his sense of smell; alcohol. He saw a machine, bottles of liquid, and a nearby set of stairs. Without a second thought, he raced up the stairs as best he could. Father needed him.

For a moment, held down by the large conductor, Dracula sat. He was stunned, too stunned to move. He could feel the fire burning his skin, but he merely let it. He had been surprised by Frankenstein's creature. He had not been taken off-guard like that in centuries, not since he had become what he was.

Dracula had assumed that the creature would be a mindless beast, even if Victor had been successful. But, that thing actually cared for the blithering fool who had created it. It carried humanity in it, a soul. It shouldn't, by all means. It was an automaton, not a true human being.

Frankenstein had been a fool...but a brilliant fool. If he had indeed given that thing not only life, but a true soul, then perhaps it had been a mistake to kill him. It seemed now, however, that the error was irreparable. Victor was dead, beyond the aid of the cursed blood that ran in Dracula's veins. It was just as well, in a way. No doubt, he would have gotten in the way of the plan sooner or later, be he living or undead.

And, it seemed, even in death, Victor had brought Dracula's plans to a crashing halt. The creature had fled, taking the body of its creator with it. But he would not let that thing thwart his plans, not for an instant. Of course, he would kill the creature, but not before Dracula's purpose and his will.

The count pushed the machine off of his body, sending it flying through the air and crashing into a chemical vat. As he walked out of the fire, his skin was revealed to be burned down into the muscle structures, but that mattered little to one who was beyond wounding. A moment of concentration, and his body regenerated itself, right down to the hairs that hung down over his face.

Dracula brushed aside one of the stands of hair, then, looking to the window, sneered. "You can't run from me," he hissed, voice growing deeper as his body changed. Indeed, he was going to enjoy making that creature suffer.

Frankenstein's creation reached the top of the windmill. Once more outside, he could see the castle in the distance. And down below, he could see the crowd, their faces lit by the torches. The shouting people quickly surrounded the windmill. There was no way out.

For a long moment, nothing happened. He hoped that they would leave him and Father alone in peace. He had done nothing to them, after all. He had not harmed anyone. The night was still, and the crowd fell silent. It was here now that they got their first real look at the ghastly construct they had pursued.

And then, someone stepped forward, throwing their torch onto the mill, breaking the silence and the stillness. It began a reaction, all those with torches throwing them to set the building ablaze, and the outcry resumed.

He struggled to understand their fear, their hatred, their desire to do him harm. "Why!" he cried out. It was then that a second silence came over the crowd, a stunned silence, and they all stared in shock at him. He looked to Father, cradling his body in his arms. "Why?" he asked of them again.

There was a shattering of glass in the distance, a sound that broke the new silence. The crash was followed by a horrid screech. A dark shape emerged from the castle, racing into the sky. Though it was too far to see clearly, he knew that it was the other man, Dracula. He looked like a winged shadow, and was soon joined by three others than came up from over the mountains. There was something wrong about the moments, they were too liquid to be natural.

"Vampires!" someone in the crowd screamed. Soon, they all raced to escape, though the man with the top hat remained unmoving for a moment longer. The creature looked down upon him, and noticed a sinister gleam before the man departed, very calm for one who should have been panicking like the other villagers.

He looked down on his creator, and a tear fell from his eye. "Father..." he whispered, hoping that his creator would wake up. But there was no sign of life in the face of Victor von Frankenstein. Father was gone, and neither the villagers nor the vampire could do any more to him.

But he had lost Father. So much to learn from him, so much to gain, and it would never be. All because of Dracula. And as fury rose in him, he looked toward the sky, bellowing his anger while the floor cracked and collapsed beneath him. And even as he fell, he clutched to Father, for even if it was his end, he would not let go.

His eyes shifted in form as he swooped down, transforming back into his human form and landing upon the ground. The windmill imploded mere seconds before he had landed, and there was fury in Dracula's eyes. The creature was gone.

His three brides, Aleera, Verona, and Marishka, landed behind him, having reverted into their own humans forms. They wailed in despair, reaching out in vain toward the burning ruins. He did not need to see their faces to understand their pain. He knew their anguish, but at least Dracula was more able to restrain his anger, lest he make them suffer for that which was not their fault.

No, it was the good doctor's fault here. Somehow, he had instilled a sense of morality into his creation, given it a soul. Could it be that God in fact had aided Victor in creating that thing? It was the only way to explain how that creation had gained a soul.

That creature, his mind hissed. He cursed inwardly at having indeed underestimated not only Frankenstein, but his work. It was the second time that the creature had surprised him. A pity it was already dead; he would have greatly enjoyed killing it.