Ragweed: Yeah, you actually came to chapter two! I'm so happy! Well at least you like me. Nobody likes me. Don't I sound pathetic?
Readers: Yeah…
Ragweed: Don't worry, I'm just being an idiot. So, I hope you reviewed the first chapter and I hope you liked it of course. As always, constructive criticism is welcomed, I can't make it better if you don't tell me what's wrong. If you want to flame, go ahead, I could use a laugh. But I hope you like it all the same. Anyway, in this chapter the plot actually starts to come out (kind of) so, yeah…read on!
Crimson-Stained Shards of Memory
Chapter 1: Darkness Engulfing
"Catch me, as I fall,
Say you're here and it's all over now,
Speaking to the atmosphere,
No one's here and I fall into myself,
This truth, drives me, into, madness,
I know I can stop the pain, if I will it all away…" --'Whisper' by Evanescence
.:I:.
Fire. All around wild dancing flames licked his sides, scorching him with red-hot lashes of pain. Yet he stood unaffected as the red flames dancing around him, for his own boiling anger within himself drowned out all other feeling from him. The scarlet and orange flames smothered him in a choking smog of heat and pain. The tips of the flames reach up much higher that he stood, making him consumed even more by the fires. Stark darkness hung high above in the emptiness where the raging glow of the angry inferno could not reach it. Endless, the fire was. Spreading in all directions forever, never braking or flickering. As was the blackness, blackness that reached without end upward and onward so that you felt like the smallest thing in all of history. The Fire was odd, unnatrual. Shades of every imaginable colour were smeered into the flames, deep scarlets, blushing pinks and roses, lightning-storm purples, deep-night indgos, oranges, yellows. Each burning with more pain the the last. Burning all that was pure and good to twisted, charred ashes of evil. Pain, fire, darkness, and alone, this truly was Hell.
I'm back. But you don't remember me do you. It hasn't been that long has it?
He knew he was there, watching him, testing him, waiting for him to brake, waiting for him to give in. He could sense him there. The fire was his doing and he knew it. Why did he feel that he had been here already, that this had already happened? Why did everything seem so familiar. Why did his hollow body hurt so much? How long had he been here, in this place? What had happened to him? What was going to happen to him now?
I must say you've outlasted the pain longer than I thought you would…
He could here the voice, somewhere in the back of his mind. Taunting him. Who was it? What did they want? He dared not move though. He had lived too long to begin trusting anyone. His green blazing eyes had become black and hollow. His cold, porcelain-white skin remained untouched by the fire. His long black hair was still pulled back off his smooth, pale face. His golden-embroider jacket and cloak still remained as black as death, while the silver earring and jewellery shone in the white light of the fire.
His mind said nothing to him, as if his life had been sucked from his very soul, or what was remained of it. But even still, pain and anger still stirred within his hollow body. His hunger for life hadn't been stifled by his death. Where hot, sweet, blood had once dripped fresh from his fangs, now clean, pearl-white teeth pierced from his upper-lip. How long had it been, since he'd tasted the running, dripping blood that flowed, oh so freely through a human's body? He could not remember. Or he didn't want to anyway. He guessed he didn't need to drink the heart's-life anymore, but the craving for the sweet bitterness of the liquid still burned deep within him. Though you could not tell, his black eyes stared through the fires, looking beyond them into nothing. Nothing reflected behind them. He didn't move. Why should he? What would that do? Only encourage the one who was watching him, it would only bring the pain faster. And he didn't want the pain anymore. And the longer he evaded the pain, the deeper and deeper he fell into himself.
I've grown tired of waiting for you this time…
But then, with an invisible wind, the flames parted and swept his billowing black cloak around the Count's body tightly. So tightly, it could have very well strangled him. He didn't flinch. Nothing could break him anymore. Unblinking black eyes gazed absently onward into the fire as the blaze smothered around him once more in its unyielding pain.
Does it hurt yet? This hasn't even begun to hurt…
He was testing him, and Dracula knew it. He refused to let him break him. He would not give in, not again. He felt the fires part once more and a cold wave of icy chills came over the Count, freezing the blood in his very veins solid in place. The cold gripped him like a vice, squeezing him tighter, tighter until he couldn't breathe and his ribs felt as if they would crush inward into his body.
Can you feel me yet? I know you know I'm here…
Yet his eyes remained in their unfeeling black gaze into nothingness, though the pain should through clearly on his face. He had endured so much here already. He refused to let himself be broken. But…it was cold, so very cold. No! some dieing part of his mind rebelled. You won't give in! No matter how painful it will become, for this was only the beginning of what was yet to come. He didn't know why, but he new that worse was yet to come. Without command, his black cloak constricted tighter around his body, as the cold began to seep through his skin into his dead core. Soon, the cold stung his pale skin in agony as the fires swirled and danced and laughed nearby, afraid to come closer to the numbing cold wave.
You cannot withstand me. Though it will be amusing to see you try…
Dracula began to tremble under the cold; he could feel it begin to take him. Needles of frozen pain were driven deep within his flesh as the cold waves intensified further still. His black unseeing eyes began to glaze over as hot tears of pain stung the back of his eyes. The icy grip was coming tighter now, and Dracula began to break. He knew he couldn't withstand this much longer. The fire retreated further back away from Dracula; chased further away by the unnatural cold, and soon it could be seen the ground was nothing more the more empty blackness that the fire danced upon.
Do you know what you cost me? Do you know how much time you've simply wasted!
Frost began to collect on his porcelain skin as the cold began to freeze the air around itself. Stinging tears began to flow unending from his black eyes, down his angular cheeks until they fell to the invisible floor and became nothing more then evaporated ribbons of steam. His black cloak pulled tighter around him by an invisible force. By now, any living thing would certainly have been strangled by the pressure. Yet he couldn't die, and not being able to be released just made the pain worse.
Damn you, Vladislaus! You've destroyed everything!
The climax was coming, the ultimate pain. Dracula closed his unseeing eyes and bit his lip with his own fangs to keep from crying out. Icy fire blazed in his hollow body. Dracula tensed as the long fingers of ice crept up around his head, dragging him down deep under the midnight pools of darkness. With a final, intense instant of stabbing icy torture the flames flared backward even more and a frozen blue light emanated from Dracula's body. A shockwave ran through the fire, dwindling the inferno as the wave traveled outward. A deep rumble was heard over the roar of the flames as the shockwave travelled out of detection.
The light flashed and died. The cold blue light dwindled and faded quickly snapped out. The frosted grip released him and Dracula collapsed to his knees, tears of hot pain flowing from his eyes. He crouched over himself, curling tight against the ragging fires. Yet he made not a sound, not a sob, nor whimper; he would not degrade himself further. His black cloak released its grip and fluttered out around him until it swaddled him in an eerie cradle of death. He gripped his sides tightly as the fires melted away the stabbing cold pain and replaced it with a familiar burning throb that rattled his hollow body.
I told you, it was useless to withstand for this long. All you did was bring more pain to yourself. Though I can say it was amusing to watch you suffer.
He had broken. Despite all his efforts the torture had been too great. Dracula could feel the fires begin to creep closer. His white skin remained has cold as death however, no matter how close the fires would come again. He shivered uncontrollably and he gripped his sides tighter as loose strands of black hair fall in front of his tear-stained, face. He curled up tighter and bent over himself even more, trying vainly to keep the pain away.
Fire engulfed him in an orange-white blaze, swallowing up his broken spirit and body. Now he was to remain here, submerged within a pool of never-ending darkness until he pined away in the fires, eons from now. And Dracula knew that he would enjoy ever minute of it. He would enjoy watching Dracula suffer in ever-lasting pain and solitude.
But maybe, perhaps, just maybe….
Dracula sensed him before he heard him. A chilling cold aura of blackened ice that radiated from him in icy blue beams of unforgiving, cold light, a feeling very out of place for the ruler of the fires of Hell. He moved in sharp, swift movements, darting here and there as the fires danced in the darkness. He never stayed in one spot, instead he dashed around constantly, only to keep his captor confused. Zipping this way and that, slipping in and out of the dancing flames. He had more fun watching them suffer in confusion.
"Hello Vladislaus," His hissing voice slithered into the hunched-over Dracula's skin making him shiver ever so slightly. Oh, how he hated that voice. "I see you've come back to us. I told you all it would bring to you was more pain. You took a long time to reach us again. After four-hundred years! Four-hundred unfeeling years of pain and hunger. Hated and feared by all. Locked away in an icy exile, never to be accepted in the world." The voice raised in octaves until Dracula had to cover his pointed, bat-like ears to keep from screaming, "And you still have failed to kill him!" The fires flared with his rage and Dracula cowered further within himself.
"You pathetic excuse! I gave you wings to kill as you wish, another life to reign terror upon the world, and you still have failed to kill him!"
Dracula's black eyes filled with unworldly fear. He'd never known fear, and the simple feeling of it scared him even more. But he did not move, he remained crouched inside the ring of flames, no longer having the will to do anything burn within him. He had no spirit anymore; he didn't need to keep his empty veins flowing with the heart's-life anymore.
"I should lock you deep within the flames, never to come out! You cost me four-hundred years, Dracula!"
He charged at Dracula. His body was distorted and completely consumed in blazing Hell's fire. Fire that shone with the white heat of the purest form of absolute evil. Never could the Prince of Darkness be described in words of this world. He was evilly beautiful, yet shone with the utmost evil that spread far beyond the reaches of any imagine, beyond any dream. Flames of every colour trailed from his body as he shot through the nothingness of the dark. Reds, purples, blues, whites, oranges, yellows, the flames twisted, thrashed and whipped about wildly as they trailed from his body. His red, scarlet eyes boring deep within Dracula's broken body. But he didn't strike Dracula, instead he sailed clear over his head into the fires on the opposite side of the vampire. Fire on the other side enveloped him and he disappeared. Dracula didn't dare move, he knew him too well to even dare breathe.
Silence. The fire stopped, froze in place, even the fire didn't dare move with his fury raised so. Soon, the silence deepened and grew thick and heavy and Dracula could feel himself begin to tremble violently. He hated the silence. Hated it! He would give anything to have a sound, something to blot out the deadness of the empty space and silence. Yet he was not going to leave Dracula alone for long…. He wanted to see Dracula beg for the silence. A hideous wail of fury climbed into the darkness. Screeches that sprawled up, twisting up within themselves, making them sound more pain-filled still. Screams and desperate howls thousands of damned souls suddenly invaded Dracula's mind. Instantly his hands shot to his pointed ears trying to shut out the deafening sounds. But the Count's futile attempts to block the terrific wails were pointless, for he could not block out what was already in surging in his own mind. Screams of dieing lives stabbed in his mind. Howl's of pain and damnation that could kill. But over the dieing screams, he could hear with words as clear as the night.
You do not deserve a second chance, Dracula! Yet I have more use for you! You will do my work this time! Your kind means nothing to me! Nothing! Your kin will all rot with my fires! But I need you Dracula, and you will do what I command this time!
Clawing desperately on the sides of his skull, Dracula, again, bit his lip with his fangs to keep from screaming. Howling wails battered the vampire, unnerving calls of the dead, dieing and damned. He tore at his bat-like ears once in another pathetic attempt to end the ear-splitting torturing of the screeching and wails. With all hope drained from his hollow soul he let out his own pain-filled howl and--in a final flash of screaming fire, roaring noise, Hell--and his own world shattered into darkness.
.:I:.
Softness. Like feathers. Cold feathers. What was he laying on? How soft it was. How did he get here? He remembered it had been burning moments earlier, but now…. He tried to move, but he couldn't feel his body just yet. He couldn't even open his eyes. It was like his mind was trying to re-establish itself in his body after being asleep for a long time. He must try. He focused deeply. With a light tingling sensation, he could feel the nerves in his right arm come to life. He took in a deep breath and felt his lungs swell with pain as they too came to life once more. Dracula felt his chest swell with his lungs as they drew in air for the first time. His muscles ached strangely, as if it had been a long time since he had moved. The Count re-gathered his thoughts again and focused on his arm. The ends of his fingers twitched ever-so-slightly. Dracula could feel the rest of the nerves in his body spark to life somewhat. He could tell he was laying on his stomach, one arm folded underneath himself, one stretched out over the ground awkwardly. With a great effort, he pulled his outstretched arm in and folded it against his body. He shivered slightly. Why was he so cold? It wasn't an icy, frosted cold, just a gentle blow of winter that was beginning to stir in the land. The nerves surged in his body once more and suddenly he could feel the snow underneath him. It was a familiar land….
Exhausted by the small effort to fold his arm against himself, Dracula lay motionless for a while, eyes closed, waiting patiently in the winter for strength to return.
Soon, all time was lost…
Hours crawled by like years…
Numbness enveloped his body…
Dracula's mind drifted in endless darkness…
He didn't know how long he lay there…
But in the darkness of the unconscious mind, the faintest sound could be heard.
Dracula's eyes snapped open. His long, sensitive, ears twitched at the distant sound. It was a high, sweet sound, that carried over the snow-strung winds. The Count's eyes gradually became focused to the dim light of the winter night. From where he was, he could see the dull orange light of a small group of buildings of some kind, (houses maybe?) that bled into the soft purple-blue light of the night. A full moon lit the indigo sky, reflecting off the layer of snow that blanketed the ground, turning the soft snow a light glowing blue. Dracula's silky black hair lay splayed out on the snow, covering his eyes slightly. His eyes; they were no longer black, they had regained their blazing green colour that shone in all darkness. Eyes that could see the blood of a living creature coursing through its veins in pure darkness. And they blazed with hunger of something he could not get.
The Count's bat-like ears twitched again as the sweet, laughing sound came up over the fluttering snow. There were more sounds. Voices. Three. Two were sharp and spring-like, the other was somewhat duller, with a thickness to it. They were close and were coming closer. Minimal strength returned, Dracula placed a bare palm on the snow on either side of himself. With a silent strain, Dracula lifted himself from the snow. Even such a small effort sapped energy from his weakened body. Why was he so weak? With another great effort Dracula dragged his legs up underneath himself so that he was crouching on the snow. Suddenly, an overwhelming dizziness came over the Count. He swayed slightly, the strange unbalancing feeling that struck him subsided quickly and his green eyes snapped open again.
He took in a deep breath and stretched his legs straight. As he stood up, more dizziness came, this time on a greater scale. His legs beneath him began to waver and weaken. Dracula touched his forehead with his hand as he staggered for a moment. But his eyes caught something on his hand. He levelled his hand with his eyes and studied it. His skin was as pale as the snow around him. The empty veins in his wrist's should clear through his translucent skin. There was nothing under his skin, no colour to it. He needed the blood. That was it, that was why he was so weak, he needed to feed.
The voices came back. They came louder this time. He could make out words this time, vaguely, but they were there. It soon came to show that Dracula was standing on a snow bank at the side of a wide country road. Three children skipped and chased each other a little was down the hard frozen ground of the cart-trail from where Dracula stood. Two girls, one young, no more then four years, the other was as only a year younger then her brother, twelve years old. They laughed and screamed in glee as they chased one another in the joy of their game. Snow fluttered around them in the moonlight.
The entire scene struck Dracula with a bolt of remembrance, it was a scene he remembered well. Another bolt of recognition hit the vampire. The town just down the cart-trail was Vaseria, the old village that the still Valerious Manor loomed over. Dracula felt slight anger burn in his body, Valerious. The word rolled around in his skull and he cringed with hatred. Memories that he had so long kept concealed began to stir and wake and Dracula struggled to keep them locked away in the dark recesses of mind. He had been able to forget for so long, he had been stronger then it, he wouldn't give in. The fear wasn't true, fear was something only the weak, living felt; not an impenetrable demon that he was, not such an evil, heartless creature like himself, greatly feared Demon of the Fire.
Though no one was there to see it, Dracula's green eyes blazed in starvation. As the big, clumpy, snowflakes fluttered from the sky, the Count floated down to the frozen road, staying in the shadows as the children played. Oh, how he wanted blood, he wanted it, he craved it more than anything in the world. Its hot, sweet, metallic taste running down his throat. He craved for it. He craved for it more then anything. No. That was not true. There was one thing he desired moreso then anything. Life.
He started off down the road the children played. The snow had slowed somewhat, making for an almost clear night. His black cloak billowed out around him as strode forward, his green eyes thirsty for the heart's-life. At first, the children were too caught up in there game to notice the man with the porcelain skin and black pulled-back hair. But soon, the youngest girl stopped and starred back at him. Her ragged brown dress and curly blond hair and her sky-blue eyes. She was the symbol of all innocence. When her siblings noticed whom their younger sister was staring at, their games stopped and all three stood together, her siblings hand's tightly gripped the little girl's shoulders.
At first, Dracula thought he wouldn't remember how to speak. So long he had gone with out speech. But almost instantly, words came to his mouth. "Hello, young ones." His words lingered in the air like a poison. His smooth Transylvanian accent still curved his hiss-like words in all of his refined elegance.
The eldest daughter pushed her younger sister and older brother behind her. She wore simple clothes, dull in colour and torn on the edges. Compared to the aristocratic Dracula, she would be considered a pauper. Her eyes looked up at Dracula as her brother held on to her younger sister behind her. Although her stare with piercing, she said nothing.
"'Tis a little late to being playing games, my sweet." The Count's words where laced with a cocky smile as he stared down at the girl. "Tell me, why are you out so late…alone?"
"Me and my sister were going to the pine grove to the see the faeries," shouted the younger girl from behind her sister. "They only come out on a full moon, you know."
Dracula seemed only more amused and he wicked smile grew wider, "Faeries?" he echoed, as he saw the full moon peek though the mountaintops of the valley. "Surely, you have heard of the other creatures, far more dangerous monsters, that lurk in the woods after-dark. Werewolves and such, yes?"
"No," answered the older girl firmly, "The werewolves have left here. The vampires are gone too."
Dracula's amused smile vanished as he heard the word. He found, to his surprise that he was barely able choke it out, "V-vampires?"
"Yes," answered the girl in a strong voice. "The great Van Helsing came here nearly a month ago and killed them, Dracula and his brides. I was there in the village that day, I saw him shoot down Marishka that day. I saw him kill the werewolves as well"
Dracula felt an uncontrolled instinct surge in his body. His green eyes turned an icy blue and he seized the girl by the throat and lifted her off her feet into the air. The girl clawed at Dracula's gloved hand vainly. The boy shouted and the younger girl became to scream.
"You and your family would like to think that wouldn't you! We've been whipped from the face of the Earth, like we never existed!" his words became a terrible hiss as the girl gasped for air in his grasp. "Well, you were all wrong! That damned soul Van Helsing could not undo gift had been given to me. You should consider yourself lucky that you will not live to see the day when I destroy all of Transylvania and feed upon your people's blood until there is nothing left but bloodless corpses, impaled high in the freezing air on three-pronged pikes!"
"Liam," gasped the girl to her brother, "Liam, run!"
Dracula roared and two, long, ivory fangs grew from his canines. His green eyes suddenly blazed with an icy blue frost and flashed with manic severity. Black claws dug into the girls neck as the true animal inside Dracula broke from it's suppressed shell. Something of this sight would have been considered manic by any mortal standard. Another roar escaped Dracula's body, this time the very night air itself screamed at the boy who jolted out of shock and he turned and grabbed his younger sister.
"Run!"
Fangs bared, Dracula angled his head at the whimpering girl's neck. Pearl white daggers broke into her fair skin. Sweet blood poured in to the vampire's mouth. Dracula inhaled deeply, drawing blood from deep within her body out unto himself. Shimmering red liquid fell in ribbons from the girl's neck as Dracula drew blood from further within her. As her dying heart beat franticly, it forced her blood faster and faster around in her body, allowing Dracula to drink it deeply. The Count's frosted blues eyes flashed open in absolute ecstasy. The heart's-life began to settle in his own veins; for he could only survive on blood that was not his. The thick, warm, scarlet blood, still hot from her body's heat fell down his throat in complete starvation. Blood flared around in his veins, charging his body with a fake life. A life to sustain his own.
He remembered now. He remembered what he had said. That Dracula was now to do his bidding. Dracula was not free anymore of him. A pang of disappear echoed off inside Dracula's hollow body and he let out a inaudible whimper, his fangs still lodged in the girl's neck. The vampire's lungs constricted and he whimpered again. His world faded to black and Dracula's head pounded with the fact that he wasn't free, that he could walk the Earth again, but he still wasn't alive. In pain, Dracula dug his talons into the flesh of the now limp body of the girl. As the bitter realization dawned on him: He had never truly been free had he?
Finally, he removed his fangs from the girl's neck and screamed in retaliation to the black night air. He dropped the dead girl's bloodless body the frozen ground. Blood stained the powdered snow, tarnishing the ground with claret stains that no amount of rainwater could every wash away. Dracula staggered for a moment, exhausted with his repletion. His cheeks were fuller now, and his pale porcelain skin flared with sudden colour of blood that was not his. His mouth was redder than ever, for his lips shimmered with fresh blood, which trickled from the corners of the mouth and ran down his neck.
Dracula breathed heavily as if the rekindling of his new life fatigued him. Life? Could it be called that? It was a half-life, a fake life, a life that couldn't be sustained on it's own. It wasn't life, it was only an existence. They were similar, but they weren't the same, Dracula had learned that long ago. Dracula cringed with anger and beat a balled fist on the frozen ground. Gasping in realizing defeat, the vampire broke down in powerlessness. It all came flooding back to him. He could remember it all. He remembered the pain of the fires, and of the cold grip he had crushed him with in the fires. He remembered Gabriel. He remembered Gabriel, and the pain of the bite. The bite that had damned him again. Again! Twice! And nothing had he had not been punished yet, for the great injustice he had caused.
That was all he remembered, the pain. And darkness. And everything that had happened to him before Gabriel had betrayed him. Gabriel…that unholy man. Dracula clenched his clawed hand into a fist. He would gave anything to crush Gabriel's skull in his talons. To see him scream in pain before he tore him to shreds. Dracula clasped his claws so tight they began to slice his own hand. He stopped his thoughts, he didn't want to think about Gabriel now. Perhaps everything wasn't Gabriel's fault, even if that's what he wanted to believe.
Dracula screamed again and massive wings sprouted from his back, his face distorted and his arms and legs grew grotesquely muscular, obsidian talons grew immeasurably long form his long feet and hands. Earth-shattering roars exploded form his throat. He flared his massive wings, the membrane of the bat-wings stretched taut between long bone fingers. Obsidian claws from his hands tore at the air. In one giant leap, the vampire soared up and onward into the indigo-velvet night. He knew where he must go. And Dracula rose up into the Darkness ever-engulfing.
Ragweed: Whoot! Blood-sucking! That was always something I didn't like about the movie. I mean, it's a movie with four--count them--four different vampires, and they have one blood-sucking scene. And you don't even get to see it! How wrong is that!? Okay, I know that there was major OOCness on Dracula's part in this chapter, especially early on. I can justify this! When you are tortured day after day in fire and stabbing cold and taunting voices, eventually your will and spirit will break. Even Dracula would loose it under torture by the Devil himself! So I promise that is going to be the only major OOCness. Anything else is unintentional.
And as I said I would, I began this chapter with an excerpt from Evanescence, the awesomest (yes I know awesomest is not a word) band of all time! Well, does it fit with the chapter? That's the whole point to them…
Well, tell me what you think! Constructive criticism is always welcomed. Next chapter will be up in a few days.
