It was a few days later that Van Helsing and Carl crossed over into the Romanian territories. The train ride had been remarkable smooth, little trouble along the way. It had given Van Helsing time to review what he'd be up against and Carl the chance to make last minute checks on their equipment. It also allowed Van Helsing a good rest, or it would have, if not for the nightmares that had become increasingly more frequent.
When he couldn't sleep, Van Helsing finally resorted to burning the midnight oil and reading up on the threat in Walachia. What caught his eye most of all was the details on vampires; strength of twenty or more men, dependent on the blood of the living to continue their own undead lives, invulnerable to the usual ways of death, and the ability to heal very quickly. On the converse point, they were vulnerable to sunlight, holy water, the smell of garlic and wolfs bane, and in many cases displayed a weakness to silver and gold. With the silver, it was easy to see why; the purest metal. But with gold, it wasn't so obvious. Gold was a metal which caused corruption for its value. Why would it harm a corrupt being?
Symbolic of the sun, that voice in his mind echoed. Right now, he wouldn't mind more help from that voice, being that he knew there was some link to his past in Walachia, but as of yet, he didn't know what it was. Something that had to do with Dracula, that was for sure. Maybe for once, he'd get solid answers to his past instead of fragments and riddles.
When they had pulled into Buda-Pesht, Van Helsing had expected they'd be able to swiftly gain passage to Tirgoviste. Instead, he'd been welcomed by the fact that no one wanted to head into Walachia, not this time of year. It was apparent that Dracula's presence was a major one.
"Lovely," Van Helsing hissed after Carl tried and failed to acquire travel into the Walachian province. "No one will take us into Tirgoviste, all because you have to go through Borgo Pass. What is it about that place? I know about Dracula, but..."
He sighed, knowing that it was hopeless. He didn't know if they could make it on their own, and even if they did, it would be weeks before they got there on foot. Far too long for them to be doing their job. They needed to get there fast.
And he knew how to do it. Oh, Carl would object, being that it was using the professor's reputation, but it was all in the name of the high justice, the greater cause. Besides, it never hurt to once in a while use the name to his advantage.
He headed over to the train office, noting the worn-out look of the main in the room. "Look, might you direct us to someone who will arrange for travel to Tirgoviste?"
"You have to be mad to want to go there," the man replied. "I don't care who you are, but no one is stupid enough to take you into Walachia now."
He grinned. "My name, sir, is Van Helsing. Now, granted, I don't know-"
"Van Helsing!" Yes, that got his attention, just as planned. "Professor Abraham Van Helsing!"
All right, not exactly what he had in mind. He'd planned on using his name for some leverage, not being mistaken for the professor himself, but it was good enough. "Yes," he stated. "I'm trying to get to Tirgoviste, and it's very important. Now, if you would at least direct me and my assistant to a stable of sorts where we can acquire our own steeds, that would be better than nothing."
The man jumped up and nodded energetically. Within seconds, he had bolted out of the travel office, and Carl took the chance to slap Van Helsing in the back. It was a gesture of displeasure and not amusement. "That was very foolish," he hissed, obviously not pleased. "You know very well that the professor is infinitely more knowledged in these matters!"
He chuckled. "Carl, we need to get there as soon as possible," Van Helsing replied while picking up one of his bags and sliding the carry strap over his shoulder. "Besides, there's only two things I need to know in these matters; what are we up against, and how do I kill it. Anything more is just fluff."
Seward frowned. Van Helsing was a very capable man, no denying, but he had a certain ignorance with matters like this. It was definitely one of his major flaws. And just what did Professor Van Helsing see in this man, what was it that brought the professor to not only take him into the Order, but give him the family name and treat him like a son? If anyone had all these years acted like a son to Abraham Van Helsing, it was Carl. Abandoned his dream of becoming a renowned doctor to instead be the main weapons developer for the Order, while his brother had gone back to London and taken over that ridiculous sanitarium. And yet, Van Helsing was the one who got most, if not all of, the credit.
The man was arrogant, to be sure. Granted, he did have a perfect record in completing his missions, something no other field agent of the Templar could boast, and he was almost superhuman in his abilities and skills. By God, he'd even had to clean up the leftovers of other agents' failed assignments for various reasons. Perhaps, now that Carl thought about it, arrogance wasn't what Van Helsing displayed. Maybe it was more a burden, and yet he still showed little signs of it. Any other man would take every chance he could get to make his plight known, but Van Helsing rarely did. It was as if, deep down, he knew why he carried the weight he had on his shoulders.
Soon enough, the man had returned, and gave Van Helsing directions to a stable house where they could purchase a coach into Walachia. Sadly, when he and Carl got there, no one still would take the job of driving them to Tirgoviste. The farthest anyone would take them was to Varna, which was in the outskirts of the region. From there, they would have to arrange other travel, but for now, it would have to do. It would have been better to go by sea, Van Helsing reflected. Less trouble by this point.
It was in Varna that they had less difficulty, ironically. They had been able to acquire a pair of horses, strong fine stallions, and by Carl's calculations, it would only be a few days ride to Tirgoviste. If all went well that is. If they ran into a storm, there would most certainly be problems. And nature's fury was the least of their worries. After all, Walachia was crawling with enough nightmares as it was.
They rode hard through the mountains, and, at times, when letting the horses rest, Van Helsing took the chance to look out at the beauty of the Carpathians. It all seemed so familiar to him, and yet, he was sure that he'd never been here. Certainly, he'd not come to the Romanian regions in the last seven years, and the deepest he'd been into Hungary before was Buda-Pesht. That was the Orlock incident, he painfully remembered. Three men dead, one of them his best friend, Quincy Morris, and the professor's left leg run through with a nasty serrated pike. It was only by sheer luck, and Quincy's selfless sacrifice, that Van Helsing had delayed Orlock long enough for the professor to burn his coffin so that they could force the vampire into the sunlight. Now, there was a memorial to Quincy in the basilica, and the professor was bound to that damnable cane.
"God rest your soul," he whispered, looking up at the sky. They had perhaps only a few hours of sunlight left, and soon enough, they would have to make camp for the night. Van Helsing hoped in his heart that his old friend was watching over them from above. If the professor was right, and Orlock was only a fledgling compared to Dracula, they were going to need all the help from Heaven that they could get.
A few days later, they arrived in Tirgoviste. As they rode into the city, Van Helsing made sure that the brim of his hat was down to cover his eyes. He glanced to Carl, now remembering that Seward didn't carry much of the same accessories of clothing that he did. The hood of his cloak served the same purpose, doing just as well. Besides giving them some anonymity, the cover helped the men keep warm. There was a chill in the air, and a light dusting of snow on the ground.
Tirgoviste was a large city, once the court of the Walachian princes. Nothing near the size of Varna, but then again, Varna was a bustling trade center, not a former city of court out in what was now the middle of nowhere. In the center of the town were a number of stone buildings that were one to two stories high, and a few even reach three stories. Like much of the surrounding land, this town appeared to have gone unchanged for years, decades even.
It was the people that worried Van Helsing though, as he and Carl dismounted their horses. They looked positively vicious, all staring at him and his companion. He hoped that there wouldn't be trouble from the townfolk; he was here to help these people. As it stood, he was certain that Dracula would be enough of a challenge, especially if he was indeed that much greater than Orlock.
As they moved through the crowd, Carl glanced about, but then began trying to have some kind of conversation with Van Helsing. "I've known you for seven years now," he began. "Is there anything you can remember from before then?"
"Not now, Carl."
Undeterred, Carl pressed on. "Surely, you must remember something."
There was a look of pure seriousness on Van Helsing's face. "I remember fighting the Turks in Constantinople," he replied, voice devoid of any kind of sarcasm or humor.
He didn't have to look at Carl's face to see the shock there. If not for the vividness of the visions, he'd not believe it himself. "But that was in the fourteen-fifties!"
"Well, you asked."
Carl fell silent. At the least, Van Helsing knew that he had convinced the man to avoid asking questions about the past he didn't even know himself. It was then he looked to see Carl nervously watching the townfolk as they gave the two men suspicious glares. If Seward had been quiet, he might have been able to notice the reception faster. Not the first time he'd dealt this this kind of welcome. While Carl alone wouldn't raise much suspicion, the way Van Helsing was dressed most likely was what caused the commotion. He dressed as best possible to hide his features and his equipment. Van Helsing was also questioning the wisdom in having brought Carl along. He'd already proved a distraction, to himself, and to Van Helsing. It was a distraction he could not afford. The decision had largely been based on instinct, which in the past had served Van Helsing well, but now, he wasn't so sure it had been a smart idea.
"Remind me," the man finally said, trying to bring his own awkward nervousness down. "Why is it so important we kill this Dracula?"
Van Helsing sighed and reached up to tilt his hat down a bit more. "Because he's the son of the Devil," he replied, then paused in his thoughts. Yes, because Dracu means 'Devil'. And yet, he wasn't sure how he knew that. Some tidbit of Romanian he must have recalled.
"I mean besides that."
"Because anything created by him or sired by him will also die."
"I mean besides that."
It was then that Van Helsing decided to ignore the comment. Killing Dracula would not only destroy a great threat to the world, but it might also give him some peace, and a great deal of answers, if he was lucky. Certainly, destroying sure an evil would make the cardinal happy; it would be a grand victory in the Church's cause. That single act would destroy more real monsters and genuine evils than could be imagined, and possibly lift some of the weight from Van Helsing's own heart.
A tall man appeared in front of them. Dress in ragged black attire and wearing a top hat, he had rough stringy blonde hair that draped down his head. He was unusually pale and gaunt, with deep set sunken eyes and exaggerated cheekbones that gave him the appearance of a living skeleton. There was something odd as well more so about his eyes; they were large and manic, bearing a sinister gleam in them. To Van Helsing, he looked to be the local undertaker, and from that grin, he apparently took a touch too much pleasure in his work.
"Welcome," he stated in broken English as they passed by, his Romanian accent strong, "to Tirgoviste." The menace in his voice was clear.
Immediately, Van Helsing was on guard. He knew what would come next; he had certainly seen it enough times. The inhabitants quickly surrounded them, now holding whatever could be used as a weapon. There was a grunt of disappointment, and as he and Carl came to a halt before the well in the center of the city square, Van Helsing set the bag slung over his shoulder onto the ground. The crossbow inside gave a clang, but fortunately, Carl was carrying all the fragile equipment in his bag. He set his hands on his waist and sighed while turning back to look over the crowd.
He could hear the change of rhythm in Carl's breathing, but still, the man was remarkable calm compared to how bad it could be for him. All the better, perhaps Seward's first taste of the field wouldn't be such a horrible shock as Van Helsing had feared. "Is it always like this?" Carl asked while moving his eyes over the crowd.
"Pretty much," he replied. Scanning the mob, Van Helsing ran the situation through his mind. It was just like any other such confrontation; the mob mentality was childish, unable to truly direct itself without a leader. And once that leader was down, the mob was no threat. He guessed that the man in the top hat was the obvious leader of this crowd. He would quickly be rendered powerless. But something else tugged at Van Helsing's mind. While he certainly could take on this whole crowd by himself and come out on top, he couldn't do so and protect Carl at the same time.
Something was wrong. The crowd was standing there, hesitating as if waiting for orders. This was not at all like any mob scene he'd been in before. Was the man with the top hat not their leader? Or maybe...
He heard footsteps from behind them. "Turn around," a strong male voice ordered. The English was very good, and the accent soft, not curling on the letters like that of the man in the top hat. Van Helsing gave a dry smile as his mind informed him that he'd just found the real leader of this crowd.
As ordered, he and Carl turned back to face whomever stood upon the waist high stone wall around the well. Van Helsing looked upwards, but only enough so that he could see the person in charge here. His hat, he made sure, was still covering his face.
Standing there, upon the wall, was a man dressed in rich clothing. A black velvet overcoat with silver threading on the button loops, the shoulders were covered by red velvet flaps while the collar appeared to be made of gold. Under that coat were black pants and a black silk shirt with golden buttons, and his belt had a golden buckle that looked to be in the design of the sun with a cross upon it. Pale blonde hair came down over his back to the bottom of his shoulder blades, and flowed as well over the front of his shoulders.
His bright blue eyes, like the winter sky, shined with great intelligence. There was such a royal air about this man that it was no surprise the people of Tirgoviste looked to him as their leader. Something else though. He resembled someone, someone Van Helsing had seen but not met. Was he one of the Valerious? Possibly a Corvinus...but the professor had said that Anastasia was the last of that family.
The man gave the two a wary look. "Let me see your faces." It was an order, not a request. Van Helsing had never been good at taking orders.
"Why?" he asked.
The answer was obvious, but the man said it anyway. "Because we don't trust strangers."
I don't blame you, Van Helsing reflected. He then noticed that the man in the top hat was measuring Carl. He was the undertaker.
"Strangers don't last long around here," he remarked, finishing his measurements. "One and seven meters." He grinned, then moved to measure Van Helsing, but just as he took that first step, he froze, then backed away, almost as if terrified.
With good reason, he thought while looking back momentarily at the crowd. Still, it was a maxim he had himself. "Well, forgive me," Van Helsing said in reply. "But I don't trust anybody." He had made his counterpoint in Romanian, out of a hunch. It was the first time, in memory, he had spoken it, but from the look on the noble man's face, either he had screwed up completely, or he had said it perfectly.
"Wise words," the man on the wall replied in the same language. Good, it was the latter case. "However, you will be disarmed."
Alarms when off in his head. This man was no fool, he knew exactly what he was doing. Van Helsing, on instinct, reached to his back, gripping his revolvers. "Like hell I will be," he snapped, now speaking in English again. He looked around, and the crowd had backed away a step. Inwardly, then, he breathed with relief.
"You refuse to obey our laws?" the man on the well asked. His brow was raised, piqued with curiosity.
He smiled wryly. "The laws of men," Van Helsing stated, "mean little to me."
The man laughed. He truly seemed amused by this situation. "But the laws of God are a different matter, I assume?" he said. He could see the defiant answer in Van Helsing's eyes, and knew that he had guessed right. "My name is Adrian Tepes, I look after the people of Tirgoviste." He paused for a moment, then narrowed his eyes. "Why, gentlemen, are you here?"
He relaxed. Maybe this would work out after all. But his mind was still irked by something. The name Tepes, he had heard it before. But where, that was the mystery. However, there were more important things right now to deal with. "I'm here to help you," he said.
"Indeed?" Adrian gave a humored smile, as if he didn't believe it. "You've wasted your time, we don't need your help."
Even as he said that, Van Helsing saw something moving from behind the noble, something large, and there was more than one. "Oh really?" he quipped, then dropped down like a blur and pulled the crossbow from his bag. A flick of the switch, and the bow-sides sprung out into place just as he aimed.
Adrian's eyes went wide, but he realized that the man in black wasn't aiming at him; he was aiming behind him. With a grunt, he fluidly dropped down, giving Van Helsing a clear view of the three giant white bats that flew down toward them. They were each the size of a man...or rather, the size of a woman. Looking hard, Van Helsing could see distinctively female features on the creature. They each had a wingspan of twenty feet, and nasty looking claws at the end of their powerful looking limbs.
He pulled the trigger while trying to remember everything he'd read on the way up on the train, but nothing could have prepared him for this. Nothing in his mission details mentioned that vampires could take on demonic forms! Bats, yes, wolves, to be sure, and most certainly mist, but this was not in his briefing notes. Nothing had been there to warn him of this kind of situation. If these were just his servants, then Professor Van Helsing was right; facing Dracula himself would be even worse than the battle with Orlock.
Three arrows shot off in rapid succession. True to his word, Carl's invention launched the bolts at incredible speed with amazing accuracy, but the three vampire creatures were moving too fast to be targeted properly and easily dodged the arrows.
Adrian was still atop the well, but he was a man with that aura of command about him, an air of calm and order. "Everybody inside!" his voice boomed. Van Helsing glanced but a moment to the noble; he had charisma, that was for sure. Adrian was standing higher, more vulnerable than anyone else in the square. He was either foolish, or knew well what he was doing. Regardless, the level of his ability to take charge was amazing.
Van Helsing grunted, trying to choose his targets carefully and lead them to compensate for their speed, but the creatures were too quick, too agile. All he seemed to be doing was amuse them with his efforts. Suddenly, he saw one of them headed for Adrian, diving at the man. "Tepes!"
He already saw it coming without looking. Adrian dove off of his perch, hit the ground with a roll, and reached to his side to draw out a sword with a gold encrusted silver blade. As one of the vampires came about to dive at him again, he raised his hand, and a red glow built up in his palm. "Return to Hell," he hissed, launching a ball of fire toward the undead being. The vampire bride gasped and twisted about, barely dodging the burst of flame.
Carl rubbed his eyes. Had he just seen that? He wasn't quite sure with all the panic, but he could have sworn he just saw the man called Adrian release a fireball from his hand. Who was he? A warlock, someone skilled in sorcery? Was he too a threat? No, he wasn't, he couldn't be. These people did not fear Adrian, they sincerely trusted him, respected him, there had to be good reason.
Too busy to have noticed, Van Helsing continued firing, then heard a grinding as the bolt cartridge of the crossbow slammed to a stop, now empty. "Carl!" he cried, detaching the empty stock piece. "Carl, it's not working!"
He looked over and sprang into action, pulling a spare clip from his bag. "I knew I should have brought silver bolts," Carl muttered to himself just as he threw the cartridge to Van Helsing. "Try aiming for their hearts!"
Catching the clip, Van Helsing saw the dark haired bride dive for him, and he didn't have time to lock in the bolts right now. He ran, looking for cover, then dove to the ground just as the vampire sailed overhead and caught a hapless cow in its grip. He could hear her frustration, and looked up to see the creature throw the cow into the balcony of one of the two story buildings. He was lucky, and Van Helsing took that chance to lock in the cartridge and arm himself again.
Leaping to his feet, Van Helsing turned to see Adrian fleeing from a pair of the vampires. Why were they focusing on him? Granted, Adrian was the leader in this city, but why such attention to him? Wouldn't their target, if she were here, be the child Anastasia Corvinus?
He shoved the questions from his mind and flipped the arming switch, then aimed and pulled the trigger to unleash a storm of arrow bolts. The arrows ripped through the air, tearing into storefronts, and for a moment, Van Helsing realized he might accidentally hit the man who could help him in his task. But Adrian seemed quite skilled at dodging the flying objects. And then, just as one of the brides almost caught him, Van Helsing had to blink. He couldn't have seen what he thought he saw; it appeared as if Adrian had vanished into a cloud of mist. Surely it was dust and snow that kicked up from the vampire's wings, for when the two brides pulled up and away, Adrian appeared from behind a pile of crates.
A silence fell over the city. The vampires had vanished. It seemed brighter all of a sudden, and then, Van Helsing looked to the sky, realizing what was the cause of the momentary peace; the sun was out, unfettered by the clouds. Adrian gave a sigh of relief, then snapped to alert when the sound of splashing came from the well. He looked to Van Helsing, nodded, and readied his sword. Both men approached the well, and, after a moment of hesitation, looked down into the depth, Van Helsing aiming his crossbow.
Nothing moved. Adrian, however, was untouched by relief. His eyes warily looked down into the well, as if he could see through the darkness. "Marishka," he whispered. "I know you're down there."
"Van Helsing," Carl said while looking at the sky to keep an eye on the cloud cover. "We have a prob-"
He was cut off when, as the sun was blocked off by the clouds, the bride named Marishka came screaming out of the well. She slammed into Adrian, causing him to drop his sword, then caught him by the right arm and flew off. Van Helsing was quick to recover and aim, but he couldn't fire without risking harm to Adrian. It was then he noticed the vampire's first mistake; it hadn't killed Adrian the first chance it had.
Adrian as well recognized Marishka's mistake. He growled low, tensing his hand as it transformed to now bare a set of claws, and swiped hard to cut into the bride's legs. Marishka screamed out and let go of him, and Adrian prepared to hit the ground, but Verona quickly swooped down and caught him, this time by the legs. It seemed that she learned from the mistakes of her sister.
"Do you like to fly, Alucard!" she hissed to the man. The insult in her words was clear, and Adrian's face was distorted by disgust and anger; he did not appreciate that name.
Verona laughed, then realized that her prey felt lighter; Adrian was gone. "What?" came her angry cry as she looked down just in time to see the man perform an almost impossible feat of acrobatics and land on his feet without any sign of injury.
From Van Helsing's point of view, what he was witnessing shouldn't be happening. Adrian couldn't be doing the incredible feats he appeared to have preformed. The look of mist was explainable; dust and snow from the force of the brides' wings. But having injured one bride without a weapon, and escaping the strong claws of another was more than he his mind could rationalize.
"Van Helsing!" Carl cried, bringing the Vatican's top agent out of his thoughts. "Two 'o clock!"
He turned and brought up the crossbow; the blonde bride, Marishka, was headed right for him. His finger squeeze the trigger, holding it down as six bolts fired out in tandem and slammed into the vampire. Van Helsing didn't let up, however. Turning just as fast as she flew over him, he continued to launch arrows into her body, until she slammed through the roof of a building. Only then did he release the trigger and sigh with relief. "That's one," he whispered, hoping that he had killed the undead beast, but he dared not give in to illusions quite yet.
Adrian breathed heavily as he slammed the door shut behind him and threw the bolt. He had managed to grab his sword from the ground, but right now, he needed to develop a plan. He hadn't expected Dracula's brides to attack now, not in the daytime. It was a horrible risk to them, for even a single ray of sunlight would cause wounds that could take them weeks to heal.
He stepped back, catching his breath, then turned to come face to face with the red-headed bride, Aleera. She hissed at him, hanging from the ceiling before crawling aside and dropping to the floor with a fluid transformation to her human form. Now, she was a stunningly beautiful young woman dressed in revealing white robes, well endowed in her physical form, and she gave Adrian a lustful eye. "Greetings, Lord Alucard."
There, again, these woman referred to him by a title he loathed. "Nice to see you too, Aleera," he returned, now playing the part of a polite nobleman. He almost reached for his sword, but right now, he needed to plan, and Aleera was making no attempt to attack him as of yet. "Have I done some wrong to you this last lifetime?"
"Don't play coy with me, princeling," she stated coolly, almost with a seductive purr in her voice. Adrian knew well why she was stalking him like this; desire. It wasn't enough that she had Dracula's attentions, she wanted to rekindle other affairs. "I know what lurks in your lusting heart."
So you think, Adrian reflected. "I hope you have a heart in there," he instead replied, slowly moving his left hand to grip the handle of his sword. "Because one day soon, I'll drive my blade through it!"
She back-handed him furiously, something that was so quick, it caught Adrian off-guard. However, it worked out to his advantage, and he crashed through a window and landed outside on the ground. Battling Aleera would wait for another time, he had to make sure the people of the city survived the attack.
With Carl behind him, Van Helsing readied his crossbow and slowly stepped toward the building that the creature Marishka had crashed through. The inventor was remarkable calm, a testament, perhaps, to the professor's training. The people who lived here in Tirgoviste had been dealing with these monsters all their lives, and yet they still panicked at the first sign of the vampires. Carl, however, had remained at Van Helsing's side through this hole ordeal. Maybe his instincts had not been wrong about bringing Carl along. After all, he'd already proven himself to be much of a resource.
As he closed in on the building, Van Helsing could hear a low growling, like a vicious beast. The vampire, he realized, his hopes that the successful blows before had done her in now burst. If such an assault as the one he'd delivered had not killed the bride, then he make no illusions about beating all three of the creatures this day. One would be enough of a handful.
The front door suddenly exploded open, and Marishka came out screaming through the air, slamming into his body to send Van Helsing flying back to the ground. He groaned, a pain in his left side, but he ignored that when he noticed that the crossbow had been knocked from his hands, and now lay on the ground a few dozen meters away.
The vampire swooped about in the air, pulling out the remaining crossbow bolts from her body one by one, tossing them aside. She landed upon the railing of a balcony, where she transformed into her human guise. Now, instead of a horrific bat demon, she was a beautiful blonde woman, whose white robes barely covered much of her body. There, she teasingly held the last bolt while the wounds on her abdomen healed, leaving not a mark. Marishka then threw it away, and glanced down to Van Helsing.
Carl took the initiative and reached into his bag to produce a steel and glass flask, one that Van Helsing recognized. "Holy water!" he cried just before throwing the flask through the air toward Van Helsing. Verona, the dark-haired bride, swooped down and intercepted the flask before it could reach the man, then hissed and threw it violently into the well, where the glass portions shattered and spilled out the contents down into depths of the well. So much for that solution.
"Stop your teasing, Marishka!" the still bat-form bride growled to her sister. She brought a hand to her neck and made a slashing motion. "Finish him off!"
It was over. The crossbow was too far away for him to reach in time, and Van Helsing knew it. He could see the lustful glare in Marishka's eyes, lust for his blood, and even as he made a run for his weapon, she leapt off the balcony with a scream, shifting back into her winged form. There was a hiss, and then, suddenly, a bassful voice that cried out. The aura of command was unmistakable; it was Adrian.
"Sol Invictus!" the voice cried out, and a ray of sunlight burst through the clouds to focus directly on Marishka. She screamed out as the light of the sun burned into her skin, causing her to sail over Van Helsing as he dove to the ground and crash hard against the earth. She was out of the sun now, but her body was still smoking profusely, and the bride was in terrible pain.
This was his chance, he knew it. Van Helsing scrambled to his feet and pulled out a wooden stake from his coat as he raced toward Marishka, then leapt forward and drove it into her heart while he had the chance. Her screams intensified in the pain they reflected, and Van Helsing quickly backed away. A pair of wails echoed out, and he looked up to see the remaining two brides sailing up into the air and racing away. That's one, he thought, knowing now that it was no illusion.
Marishka clawed at the stake, but her hands were far too burned to be of any use, and her body began to ripple and bubble. Painfully, she reverted to her human form, and her screams continued until, at last, she disintegrated into a pile of ash, nothing left of her or her clothing.
Van Helsing breathed in deep and whispered a prayer while signing the cross. His fears about the vampires had been proven, but they were not invincible, he knew that now. With a sigh, he picked up his crossbow and walked to the steps of the city church, where he turned and sat down. He was tired, and hungry.
After a moment of staring in amazement, Carl walked toward his partner, picking up Van Helsing's hat from the ground and dusting it off before handing it to him. A hush came over the city square while the towns people realized that it was over. Then, they came out, and Carl could hear murmuring. There was a problem though; it wasn't amazement or admiration in those voices; it was anger. This was not good.
"He killed a bride!" one voice cried out.
"He killed a vampire!" came another.
The people were crowding around them again, trapping Van Helsing and Carl in the stairwell of the church. This didn't make sense, why were the people upset at having been saved? "Isn't that a good thing?" Carl asked of them, his voice steady and almost sarcastic.
The undertaker appeared atop the well wall. Van Helsing glanced over, then noted something; the undertaker had been nowhere in sight after the sun had first come out, yet Van Helsing has seen him in the crowds clearly just before then. In fact, he'd been most calm during the attack up until that point. It wasn't until now he had reappeared.
"Vampires only kill what they need to survive," the man stated from his perch. He had the most detestable grin on his mouth. "One, or two people a month. Now...they kill for revenge."
And your business booms, Van Helsing thought. He didn't like the undertaker, right from the moment he'd seen him. No doubt, Dracula's activities gave the man much work, and as well, much joy in that he had a boom of business.
"Is it always like this?"
The laugh came naturally. "Pretty much," he replied. Carl caught on quick, Van Helsing to admit that. He gripped the crossbow tightly, but hoped it wouldn't come down to a fight with these people. He'd never yet killed an innocent, and while he of course had no desire to start, it looked almost unavoidable here. He didn't like it one bit.
"So what name, my good sir, do I carve on your gravestone?" The undertaker again grinned, apparently anticipating work, and the chance perhaps to go through the belongings of these two strangers.
"His name," came Adrian's voice once more, "is Van Helsing."
There was a new roil of voices, but now it was different. It was nothing like the ones he'd heard in Ireland a month ago, it was something he'd long been waiting to hear; admiration. Less than an hour after meeting the locals, and Van Helsing decided already that he liked Tirgoviste much more than Dublin.
People made way as Adrian walked toward the agents of the Templar. There was now a smile on his face, one that showed his own respect for the man in black before him. "Your reputation proceeds you," he stated in a light tone of friendship. "Not as much as the professor's, but Richter spoke highly of you." There was a pause, and pain was clear in Adrian's eyes. "Before he was killed at least."
It was true then. Van Helsing had been warned that the worst may have happened to Richter, but he had hoped otherwise. It seemed that Adrian was the bearer of the bad news. Van Helsing made a mental note to send news to the Vatican and inform Abraham. But that was for later, and Van Helsing knew that Adrian was focusing on the victories, not the losses.
The nobleman turned to his people and smiled. Now they realized that it was no mistake that the vampire was dead; it was the aid they desperately needed. "He's the first mortal to kill a bride of Dracula!" he cried out. The people cheered out. Carl made a sour face, noting that now they rejoiced. Adrian, however, gave Van Helsing an appraising look and patted the man on the shoulder. "I'd say that's earned him a drink."
He felt her die. He felt her pain, her anger, and then, the connection was severed. But it was enough. He knew what she had felt in those last moments of her undeath, before a stake had been driven through her heart. No, not just stake. The sun that burned her as well. He made sure after that first slip that the sun would be blocked off, it should not have shined down on her. Such was no doubt the work of that accursed Adrian.
The heat of his fury melted the ice which served as a lid for his coffin, and the weakened remains of that shell shattered away as he rose up from his rest, now standing on the rim of the coffin. "Marishkaaa!" he cried in agony, his voice echoing throughout the icy tomb of a castle. For a moment, he stood there, and then he floated to the ground, his expression one of rage.
Dracula was not happy with this turn of events.
He looked upwards, to where his remaining brides, Verona and Aleera, stood upon the ceiling, upside down. "If it's not the Christians," he hissed, now walking toward the wall. "It's the damn Moors! Why can't they just leave us alone!"
As he passed the ancient candelabra, the candles mounted there ignited with just a glance. Dracula growled, his fury clear, and the source of it was obvious. That one of his brides had been killed, yes, that was enough to enrage the count, but for her to be killed by a mortal...that was the grave insult. It was an outrage, a challenge upon his rightful reign over Walachia.
He pressed his foot against the wall pillar, now walking up the pillar toward the ceiling. "We never kill more than our fill, and less than our share," Dracula continued, moving upwards along the column that stretched over two hundred feet to the ceiling. "Can they say the same!" He paused his words, now focusing his mind on other matters; the reason he had sent his brides to Tirgoviste. "Did I not stress how important it is that we be rid of these Corvinus!" He came to the ceiling and rotated to stand upside down as he now walked along. "And you!" Dracula hissed, glaring at Aleera. "I told you to kill Alucard, not go chasing after him like some love-sick bitch in heat!"
Aleera shied away, but Verona moved to defend her sister. "We lost Marishka!" she cried. "How can you blame us when it is the fault of your spawn!"
For a moment, he almost lost control of his anger, almost struck Verona. But then, he calmed himself. It would not do to abuse his prized minions. Besides, they had suffered enough, Dracula could see that. "There, there," he intoned, gesturing for the two vampires to cheer up. "Do not worry. I already have found another bride to take her place."
"What!" Aleera screamed. The jealousy in her face was all too plain, though Verona did not attack her for it, being she too felt it. "Do we mean so little to you!" she said, the angry words of jealous rage expressing her horror. "So easily replaced!"
Verona joined her sister in her words. "Have you no heart!"
"No!" Dracula proclaimed to his brides. His voice echoed through the castle once more. "I have no heart, I cannot feel love, not since those ignorant and stupid humans killed my Lisa!" He roared, releasing his grip on the ceiling and dropping down in a flip to the ground where he landed perfectly. "I feel no joy," the vampire lord continued. "No fear...only anger, sorrow." He smiled at that moment as he reflected. "But, I have passion, and in that, you, my brides, serve well...for I will live forever."
Almost crying, Aleera fought the urge to. It would spill precious blood if she shed tears. "My lord," the vampire crooned, hoping to bring him back to her. "It is not so bad."
Again, Dracula laughed. He could not feel love, true, but he did feel the lusts of passion. And as he had said, his brides served well in that regard. He looked up to the balconies where an army of creatures waited for his command. Dwerger, squat and stocky, but industrious and positively vicious. They were a race of trolls, known in the human lore, but they were living, some of the few mortal creatures that Dracula found to be of use.
"I am at war with the world!" he bellowed, walking down the hallway while looking to his army. "And every living soul in it! And soon, the final battle will begin!" Dracula smiled now as he paused. Something piqued in his mind about the incident in Tirgoviste. The Stranger. Yes, that new arrival, the man in black. It was he who had given Adrian Tepes the inclination to cause such harm to Marishka. "I must go and find out who our new visitor is," he said, turning then as a powerful roar bellowed out from behind a corner. Dracula turned to see the shadow of a werewolf cast upon the wall, struggling against his bonds. He smiled and raised his hand up in the gesture of squishing a bug. "We will have to make a little...aperitif out of him!" the vampire remarked in amusement. It was then that his expression when dead serious. "We're far too close to success to be interrupted now."
There was a cry of horror from his brides as they swooped down and landed upon the floor. "No!" Aleera said softly. She stepped toward Dracula with a begging look in her eyes. "Please, say you will not try again."
"My heart," Verona added as she moved a step behind her sister, "could not bear the sorrow if we should fail again."
Yes, he knew their pain, but it should not be so great as they expressed. With a roar, Dracula swung at his brides, finally giving into his un-natural rage. They were quick to back away, now whimpering in sorrow against the pillars. Just as swiftly, he regained his composure, now opening his arms to his vampire brides. No, they had suffered enough through all this, it would not do to punish them further. "Do not fear me," he whispered, and they came to his embrace, practically purring in his arms. "Everyone else fears me...but not my brides."
There was the sound of an electric discharge, and the werewolf howled in pain. Dracula looked over to the shadows and noticed that of a hunched-over man jamming a long pole into the beast. "Igor!" he yelled, which resulted in the disfigured man scurrying out to meet him. He was holding a ten foot cattle-prod in his hands, the source of that sound.
The vampire gestured toward the werewolf. "Why do you torment that thing so?"
Igor hesitated for a moment. "It's what I do, Master," he replied.
"Come, come, Igor," Dracula stated in an almost lecturing tone. "Do unto others."
Igor nodded in agreement. "Before they do unto me," he finished, giving a grin while bowing as best he could. "Master..."
A smile danced on Dracula's lips. He could not be angry with his human servant, not when he knew his lessons so well. Yes, even the mortals had their uses beyond food, and Igor's role in his plans was a vital one. "Now go," he intoned, then looked up toward the Dwergi. His meaning was clear to them all. "To Castle Frankenstein!"
Igor bowed and departed, the Dwergi doing the same. Dracula and his brides, however, floated over the ground toward an alcove, the two women fawning over their master. "Yes, yes," Aleera cooed, offering no resistance to Dracula's orders. "We will try again."