"CastleVania 2000"
Chapter III of III : "The Dissolution"
CastleVania, the Demon Castle Dracula
December 31st, the year of our Lord 2000 A.D.
After the trio of vampire hunters' encounter with Death, several more hours of intensive combat that put them on the defensive awaited them. As if it were all some kind of increasingly insane gauntlet, one after the other they were met and affronted with ghouls, zombies, both skeletal and armored warriors with shields and swords, lizardmen, mudmen, and fishmen. Every now and again they would encounter a pack of fanatic human enough-looking gypsies, rifles or knives in their hands, which seemed a breath of fresh air from the veritable "monsters" they had been encountering in such number. Still, why any humans would knowingly pledge their allegiance to the servitude of Dracula escaped them.
"What time is it?" Alucard inquired, the three of them nearly at the top of the winding flight of stairs the three of them were ascending. His heightened senses and overall physical awareness could tell him to minimal degree of error, but he seemed to want a precise number.
"Adjusting for time zones... Eleven Thirty-Three P.M.," Buffy Summers replied, giving her watch a quick glimpse.
Alucard winced. "Running out of time... come midnight, my father's hold on this world will become absolute; come midnight... he will truly become King of the Vampyres."
Blade shot Alucard a reprimanding gaze. Even with sunglasses on, there was no escaping that venom. "I think we're all aware of the situation, Drac Junior."
"Are we truly?" Alucard inquired, cocking an eyebrow.
"Look, Kid Dracula, we just ain't g—"
"Oh, my. How utterly cute... the Blade the Daywalker, Buffy the Vampire Slayer... and Master Alucard himself, the forgotten son of Dracula."
The three vampire hunters recoiled at the sound of the sultry feminine voice. Looking above them was a shapely, rather regal-looking woman with long, flowing greenish-black hair dressed in a red gown that dragged behind her. Four young girls—all of them disturbingly naked—no older than seventeen or so knelt beside her, each one holding lovingly onto a leg of the woman.
"You... I feared I would cross paths with you one day again," Alucard seethed, glowering at the woman.
"The feeling's mutual, I'm sure, Master Alucard."
"I am 'Master Alucard' no longer, witch," Alucard boomed, his words defensive as they were definitive. "I left my father's servitude many a century ago, as you should have if you had any semblance of humanity left in you!"
"Your loss, but I cannot leave the side of my uncle."
Buffy grunted, then gave Alucard an intuitive look. "C'mon, Alucard, you're the one doing the Undead introductions in this group. Who's the bitch?"
"This is the Countess Elizabeth Bartley of England. To be sure, an ancestor of Elizabeth Bathory 'The Blood Countess,' Bartley is a vampire witch, herself before even Dracula himself was even born to his mortal life, she fed off the blood of the hundreds young servant girls she surrounded herself with at her castle until she was tried as such and burned at the stake in 1421. She was resurrected centuries later to do battle with John Morris and Eric Lecarde in 1917, presumably killed in the encounter."
"Really into those servant girls, eh?" Buffy mused. "What is she, some kind of nymphomaniac vampire lesbian? Can't say I've run into many of those."
Bartley hissed, baring her fangs and talon-like fingernails at the threesome as she shot Buffy a sardonic, seductive gaze that seemed to come only natural to the Countess. "Don't knock it 'till you've tried it, honey!"
Blade flicked the safety off his matte-black MACH pistol and cocked it in one hand, katana-like sword drawn and ready in the other. "I've heard just about enough of this shit—let's dance."
"Wholeheartedly agreed," Alucard said.
The vampiresses moved fast... only Blade moved faster. His MACH pistol blasted out a drumbeat of death. The garlic-tipped dumdums smashed into into one of the creatures' faces, exploding on contact, dropping the unlucky young girl attempting to leap at him in her tracks. The body incinerated into a swirling cloud of black ash that sifted across his boots as it cascaded down upon him.
Alucard turned, tracking all the vampires in the room. His life, as with his companions', was measured in the heartbeats as he maintained control of the situation. His Crissaegrimm Sword stopped as it slashed through flesh and penetrated bone above the young vampiress beneath him cringing on the stone floor. Alucard didn't hesitate, slashing at every target thereafter. Bullets from Blade's MACH pistol tore through the vampire flesh of a girl beside him, black blood spattering across his face as they shredded another Undead life right before his eyes to ash. Blade was good, he had to give him that.
Blade's pistol blew back empty, but the number of vampiresses had dropped to two—just the Countess and one last girl. With the roll of gunfire silenced for a moment, the vampiresses grew braver. Blade, at least, knew it would. It amused him to see them regrouping like the predators they were, thinking they could take him and his two friends down. Probably most of the bloodsuckers, like the rest they had run into, had only heard of him at best, certainly never been around any of the firefights he'd engineered in his career.
As Alucard leapt back into action and Buffy, vigilantly flanking both men, used her martial arts prowess to stay out of range of the action and took another potshot (less lucky—she missed) with her shotgun at one of the vampiresses, Blade swung hid assault rifle up. His thumb grazed the arming button for the spotter scope mounted atop the weapon. It wasn't the usual ruby laser preferred by many police and military units as a deterrent to continued aggressive behavior. The light emitted from the spotter scope was UV ultraviolet, the best part of the sun in Blade's opinion, though the writhing vampiress he targeted seemed to beg the differ as he trained his aim on her. Before he could pull the trigger and claim his victory, however, a loud buckshot sounded and the girl's head exploded in a flurry of skull and brain. Blade turned an annoyed gaze at Buffy, who stood behind the smoking barrel of the shotgun he'd given her.
"Aw, steal your kill?" Buffy teased, a smile on her otherwise serious face. "So sorry, Blade."
Blade couldn't help but chuckle. "No problem, blondie... and... not bad. Just watch my back."
With that, only the Countess Bartley was left, and Alucard seemed to have already claimed her as his and his alone. His Crissaegrimm Sword clashed with sparks back and forth in a fierce one-on-one mêlée with the Countess against the ornate dueling sword of French design she wielded in her defense.
"It's not too late, Master Alucard," Bartley spoke with gritted teeth. "Dracula will still take you back at his side... you're his son."
"My father died in the marshes of Bucharest defending the kingdom of Wallachia in 1476... the man you serve is a vampire madman with delusions of grandeur and mad with power. I must reject your offer, Lady Bartley, and bid you a very fond adieu."
"Why y—"
Alucard cut the conversation short with a final, expertly-placed decapitating swing of his Crissaegrimm Sword that penetrated her defenses and struck home. Bartley collapsed on her knees, the head sliding off her neck before her body buckled over.
Buffy walked over, giving Alucard a look of approval, planted and kicked into place both a stake into the torso and head of the fallen Bartley. As both body parts disintegrated, the battle was over. Gathering themselves and making sure the coast remained clear, they exchanged a look.
"Buffy... Blade... Prepares yourselves," Alucard said. He pointed a finger at the wooden door above them, at the end of a small rise of ten stair steps. "Dracula awaits."
Blade nodded. Besides reloading his MACH pistol he had in addition to his Indian-style katar dagger, and katana-esque sword, he fastened his six-point adjustable body armor and readied the assault rifle he carried strapped over his shoulder muzzle-down; Buffy prepared the customized sawed-off Mossberg shotgun Blade had given her, loading seven shells, then cocking it once to load an eighth in the chamber. Blade removed the bandolier of silver stakes he bore around his neck, giving a handful of them to Buffy to supplement the oak variety she already had at her disposal.
"Ready here," Blade affirmed. "You ready, Buffy?"
"Ready as I'll ever be," Buffy replied, putting a little pep in her voice.
"Then let us begin, then."
Steeling themselves, the three proceeded up the stairs and stood to each side as Alucard opened the door at the top. Opening it, they ascended a final flight of stairs under the darkness of the night sky and light of the moon before reaching one last door. Opening it, they found themselves in a high-ceilinged chamber adorned with various Romanian decorative paintings and murals, each depicting either historic battles, Romanian heroes, or Prince Dracula himself. In the center of the room, draped with red cloth, lay a polished onyx coffin. As the door slammed behind them of its own avail, the coffin sprung open and the rising figure of a man arose.
Resplendent in his Toledo cape and cloak as he stood away from the coffin of his disturbed slumber, the awakened Count Vlad Dracula greeted his three guests with an icy glare of the purest malevolence. "Alucard... Adrian, my son, greetings. I see you have brought company." Dracula's gaze hesitated on Buffy, recognizing the youth from their previous, brief confrontation back in October.
Alucard nodded respectfully. "I have, Father."
"I have been expecting you."
"I know."
"Have you come on this glorious New Year's Eve, the eve of the Third Millennium, to perhaps witness the coming of my absolution, just minutes away?" Dracula began a dignified pace, keeping his narrowed eyes focused on the three. "No, I should think not. I should think, instead, that you three have invaded my castle and infiltrated the sanctity of the chamber in which I rest... to attempt to stop my absolution. And slay me."
"This is true, Father, and you know the reasons. I cannot condone your actions over the past centuries... moreover, I cannot let it continue any longer."
Dracula gave a heavy sigh, folding his arms behind his back in a showing of disappointment. "I thought since last we fought in 1797 you might have come to the good senses to change your mind, but I see that is still not possible. A shame. Here, on the verge of my absolution. The Legend of CastleVania is finally at an end... legend is about to become sweet reality... for all of time."
"You're right about one thing, Father," Alucard said, a more challenging note creeping into his tone. "The Legend of CastleVania is about to end... only it will be doing so with your final death and your castle's destruction." Alucard smiled, if only to annoy his father. "I know the rules of your centennial resurrections, Father. Since the fifteenth century in accordance with your 'deal' with Death, CastleVania and yourself resurrected every hundred years if not resurrected by outside means or persons..."
"You know nothing of my dealings, boy," Dracula snarled. "Since the Crusades I have been tearing through the centuries... you do not even know my true name!"
Alucard didn't falter. "This 'deal,' however, comes with a caveat, does it not? The coming of the Third Millennium. If the year 2001 comes while you are resurrected and you are struck down... it is forever. 2001 is your 'deadline,' as it were."
Dracula first seemed caught off-guard at his son's words, but quickly regained his composure. "It seems you are most correct, my son, but let one not forget... if the year 2001 comes and I stand alive and unchallenged... deliverance—the Undead immortality of myself and CastleVania becomes absolute. I become vampyre without weakness... a Daywalker like yourself and your friend, Blade, though invincible to both mortal and vampyre harm. My power will grow unabated until I am truly the Prince of Darkness, the King of the Vampyres." Dracula reached a hand to Alucard. "It's not too late, Adrian. You can stand with me in these glorious days... stand beside me, and we shall usher in a new age with the coming of the Third Millennium—a Golden Age all our own, father and son."
"I'm afraid my answer stands, Father."
As if in response to Alucard's words, Dracula drew his ancestral Toledo Blade—the same blade that had belonged to his father, Prince Vlad "Vlad the Great" Dracul II—from its sheath at his hip.
As Buffy and Blade looked on, Alucard again drew his Crissaegrimm Sword and engaged his father. In turn, Dracula launched himself forward and swung his Toledo Blade at once, bringing the sword around in a blinding arc that would have taken his son's head off.
Only Alucard wasn't there when it arrived. In a whirl of cape, he flipped back out of reach, avoiding the deadly blade by less than an inch. He came down on his hands, pushed, and tried to regain his feet, only to be met with a kick to the midsection. Recovering, he spun to face Dracula, bringing his Crissaegrimm Sword into the en gardé position. He blocked the next sword swing, sparks crashing as steel rang on steel. Then he riposted, ripping the sword through the air only inches in front of his father's face.
"You've grown in skill, my son," Dracula said, turning the sword aside. "A fine general in my army of Undead you would have made."
"It isn't over yet, Cronqvist," Alucard said, pulling back.
Dracula gave his best sardonic smile. So many lies had escaped this creature's mouth over the centuries, so much deceit, and villainy. "And I liked it so much when you call me 'Father.'"
Giving a short cry, Alucardvaulted forward and swunghis sword.
No matter how fast Alucard pushed himself, Dracula seemed to get faster. It was like the vampire Count was plugged into an unending source of energy, a source perhaps stemming from the proximity of the New Year, only minutes away now. Alucard started taking more chances, trying to slip the sword and score. Dracula brought the sword down on his shoulder, cutting deep into the muscle and bone.
"Alucard!" Buffy cried.
A smile twisted on Dracula's dry lips. "First blood is mine, Adrian." Another swing of his Toledo Blade sent Alucard's own sword clattering across the chamber. Dracula reared back, preparing to deliver the death blow to his son.
"Not so fast, Count!" Buffy shouted, startling the Count. Somersaulting herself between Alucard and Dracula, she engaged her enemy hand-to-hand. Delivering a series of well placed kicks, punches, and jabs, she fought the ill-prepared Count toe-to-toe. After a final backhand that seemed to lay Dracula on the ropes, she drew one of the silver stakes Blade had given her, brought it back, and prepared to seize the opportunity to drive it home.
"A commendable effort, fleshling... but precious little more," Dracula seethed. With unearthly speed and strength, the Count reached out, grabbed Buffy's arm, pried her fingers open, wrenched and hurled the stake away from her, then bore his fangs and leaned in for the kill.
Blade dove into the fray, shoving Buffy out of the way and taking a swing at the Count with his sword that caught him across the collarbone and chest. "C'mon, mother fucker—let's see what you got!"
Dracula reared back, backstepped a few feet, then drew himself up to his full height as he again readied his Toledo Blade. "This is not your fight, Daywalker... but I will gladly end your suffering existence nonetheless."
In an explosion of smoke and mist, the Count vanished, then reappeared right before Blade. In a more intense version of the mêlée between Alucard and Dracula, Blade and Dracula clashed swords. Early on, the Count managed to sneak in a slash that cut through Blade's armor and pierced his shoulder.
Controlling the pain the way Whistler had taught him, too, knowing that the wound was part of the risk he had chosen to take, Blade rose to the challenge. He didn't think about the sword's movement anymore—he became the movement, became the blade itself.
There was no fear, no hope, no friends, and no enemies. There was only the blade and the unforgiving net of steel he wove around himself.
Sparks jumped along the lengths of both swords, grating hisses of razored edges echoed around them.
Blade parried and riposted, blocked and slashed, cut and thrust. Dracula's defense was immaculate, a perfect rhythm to everything Blade had to offer. Blade's lungs ached, burned from their need for oxygen. Salt from his own perspiration stung his eyes.
He concentrated on the voice. He was movement, perfect and pure, better than anything Dracula could ever be.
Unexpectedly, Dracula drew himself away from the action for a second time. He thundered at his three opponents in a coarse, deepening voice that seemed to fade into silence as he spoke, "Now, fleshlings, feel true power!" With that, Dracula disappeared into another gust of mist. When he reappeared this time, however, he was not his familiar self... he was... something else.
Nearly fifteen feet in height, Count Dracula had morphed himself into an imposing Devilish creature with gray-blue skin, cat-pupiled eyes, and coiled coal-black, ram-like horns. He peered down at the three, looking as if he was considering simply squashing them where they stood. He stomped his foot and belched a salvo of three fireballs, forcing the three vampire hunters below to go on the evasive.
As Dracula reared his great head back in a fit of hoarse laughter, Alucard and Blade exchanged a meaningful glance as they saw their opening in a flash. Both men nodding, they made a sprint toward the massive figure of the Count, their respective swords drawn.
"What is thi—"
As both men leapt into the air with their weapons outstretched, Blade's sword connected with the Count along the neck; Alucard's sword connected with the Count along the waistline. As if a final touch to the deathstroke, Buffy laid and athletically punt-kicked into place a silver stake into Dracula's ribcage above his heart.
As the three combatants were finished with their grim task and killing blows, the quivering figure of Count Vlad Dracula was left shaking on his legs, which seemed to be apt to give way on him at any given moment. "No... no, this cannot be..."
"Thought you knew, be-atch." A short, contained burst of silver-tipped bullets from Blade's MACH pistol rained across the Count's face and chest, the final, perhaps merciful stroke to his end. The head separating from its neck and torso separating from its hips from Blade and Alucard's earlier sword strikes, Count Dracula collapsed into a quivering, disintegrating heap of black blood, gore, and smoking ruin. As the Count's death throes came to a cease, there was little left to look at.
As it finally began to set that the conflict was over, the three gathered themselves, then reconciled.
"My thanks to both of you," Alucard said in solemn gratitude. "You both performed admirably, above and beyond anything I expected of you. Dracula's Curse has been lifted—forever. And now..." his voice lowered with his gaze, "... now, perhaps my father's spirit can rest."
"Yeah, it's been real," Blade said, somewhat flippantly.
"We now have one last problem..." Even as Alucard spoke those words, the floor on which they stood was beginning to shake with an increasing intensity. "We haven't much time—CastleVania's walls will crumble now to the earth and the nether realms... for the final time."
Buffy harrumphed. "I'm assuming we don't want to be inside while this is happening...?"
"A wise assumption that would be, Ms. Summers. I shall meet you two on the outside."
As the two men of the trio began their escape, Blade on foot and Alucard morphed into the agile form of a wolf, Buffy spared a look back at the pool of black blood that had once been the regal Count Dracula, then at her wristwatch. It was 12:00 A.M. on the dot, January 1st of the year 2001.
A grin spread across her young face. "Happy New Year's, Dracula."
After Buffy passed, Blade sauntered by the remnants of the Count, harrumphed, and offered a flippant, "Happy trails, mutha fucker."
