Disclaimer: I don't own anyone here, Sony Pictures Animation does. OCs are mine.
Chapter Eleven
Somewhere in Castle Transylvania, shortly after contact lost with Guardian Squad
Wakey Wakey
Who's…?… who's there?
Your worst nightmare in just a few minutes.
His senses hadn't come to and he was surrounded in darkness. He felt the drowsiness trying to tug him back into slumber, but a slight, yet aggravating pain coming from his left arm.
What do you want?
He sought the voice that startled him from sleep.
You'll know, now rise and shine!
"AAAGGHHRR!" The count roared as he was shocked awake. His burning red eyes shot around the room in pain and fear, the later he hadn't felt in some time. His eyelids opened from a furious squint as he locked on to the figure leaning over a table with his back turned to him. In a flash, it all came back to him at the sight of that blond hair.
"YOOUU!!!" Drac seethed, then let out a pained yell as he fell back on a metal table. He sharply glanced around to see his cloak and uniform shirt removed, his skin covered in what he assumed were small cuts.
"WHHY!"
That roar of a question didn't echo, it sounded like it should've collapsed the small room but it didn't.
Greem simply glanced up at him with an unreadable smirk. "Sleeping beauty is up I see, and as for that question it'll have to wait until you answer mine."
Drac felt that raging heat go up to his head then through his arms. He struggled against the table and attempted to tear at his restraints, anything to get to that treacherous wretch he mistook for a friend.
The ex–agent let an amused grunt slip before shaking his head. "You should know me by now that my designs are inescapable… unless I unlock it."
The count let those words sink in as his struggling slowed. "You…" He mouthed. "You didn't just have a hand in it, you let those beasts out yourself!"
"Yep." Greem pointed his finger at him like a gun, as if this were a game show. "Well Bela and the old wolf helped, but it was mostly me."
Drac lurched again, the metal table actually budged this time. His eyes were more of a darker red now no thanks to some busted blood vessels. He rested his torso back down in defeat.
Tsk Tsk Tsk
Greem strolled over to him. He towered over his former master, making sure his shadow covered his face. "Let's cut to the real question here."
Drac's eye twitched.
"Dark Magic, the most raw and powerful yet unstable force on this planet." Greem began, not missing a beat. "You and your punk of a grandson used it like drugs back in the war and neither of you fell to it's affects."
"Denniso–" Drac started wide eyed but was cut off by Greem.
"Don't interrupt me. I didn't interrupt you, did I?" Greem smugly stated.
Drac partially listened while his train of thought mainly focused on the status of his grandson. He had good faith in their SHTF plan and hoped he was out of the city by now, but another part of him wanted to believe the worst, that he was captured by those blood thirsty…
SLAM!!
The subdued count's left ear rang. He didn't even see Greem's arm jerk when he slammed his hand on the side of the operating table, leaving a sizable mark. Drac turned to face him without any hesitation this time, he hated to admit to himself that he was actually scared.
Greem was closer now and glaring like a owl at his prey. "Listen," he worded, his voice just above a whisper. "Dark Magic, Your blood, how does it all work?"
Drac went quiet at the question and stared up at the lone fluorescent light. He can't avoid the question any longer, he didn't know the secret to his own bloodline. If his father knew, he certainly never told him. He tried to remember his older relatives, any keywords, but it was like his mind went numb, like something didn't want them to know. Some kind of inherited safeguard?
"Time's running out Drac, for you and your friends." Greem turned around to the rolling table he was at before the count awoke, and grabbed some kind of object. "This can be easy or hard, the choice is yours."
The vampire felt shivers run up his spine as the object was revealed in the light by Greem. It was the strange gun Green knocked him cold with. He sharpened his blue eyes to hide the fear at the weapon.
Drac tried his best to hide a gulp, knowing he may very well face the wrath of that thing. He knew the ex–agent wasn't going to like his answer. "I… in all truth, I don't know."
...
"I… the…" Drac made sense of the speech he was trying to form. "The generations before me never spoke of such immunity, I just always assumed it was because we're the oldest of our species and developed adaptations to the hellish energy."
"So you mean to tell me you don't know?" Greems voice was now drained of emotion, and patience.
"I swear it… on Lilith's tomb."
There was long and drawn out silence in the room, the room must have blocked out all outside noise. Drac didn't dare look over at his former wartime assistant, and he was damn sure ashamed of it. The silence was finally broken by the slight shuffling of the gun.
"Look… Greem… you don't have to carry on with this whole crusade of your's, just stop and we'll find another…" Drac stopped himself. He's never felt this weak and stupid in his entire life. It was apparent Greem was beyond the point of negotiation, and he knew there was no turning back.
Drac heard a click beside him and turned in fear to see that… Greem wasn't there. In fact, nothing was.
It was as if the details of the room had disappeared into a bluish grey mist. The light was still there but even it seemed to have dissipated into an orb.
Drac laid there on the table and focused on the ball of light above him. There was no sound or any pain, the fear Drac felt had melted away and he felt a strange peace despite the situation he remembered.
It was until he focused his vampiric vision in the light, the silhouette of a young man. The red locks, khaki shorts, and short cape threw everything off. The figure increased in size as it appeared to be moving closer in Drac's eyes. He froze when he realized who it was.
Dennisovich?
It was him alright, but his whole facade was different. He looked to be the same age, but his face was cleanly shaven and didn't seem to have that war–torn cast. It was like he was pure… like that incident at the hotel over a decade ago didn't happen.
With his emotions breaking down the barrier he put up, tears began to form around the corners of his eyes. What… what could have been.
He opened his mouth to speak, "…D–Dennisovich."
Dennis' eyelids shot open.
Drac's sad smile instantly morphed into a startled frown. The alternate Dennis was glaring at him. The glare brought out a feeling of guilt that seemingly hit Drac out of nowhere.
"What are you staring at, coward?"
"What?" Drac asked weakly, his mind now blank.
"You heard me." Dennis' glare intensified.
"Dennisovich! It's me, your vampa! Everything's going to be…"
"Oh shut the fuck up you old croon! And before you open your trap again things will never be OK for me again!"
Why… why is he talking like this!? Drac shamefully fought back his tears.
"You should be happy!" Dennis spat.
Drac just stared up confused and distressed.
"Before that night at the hotel," Dennis started in a low tone. "You tried so fucking hard to turn me into a bloodsucker just like yourself."
"No. . No!" Drac could no longer fight the tears and started to sob. It was an old wound, and he just hacked it right open. His mother didn't want it for him, she wanted him to have a normal life, not this.
"Oh yes! You happy now Vampa!" Dennis spit that last word out.
"Nooo!" The broken count weeped. "I never wanted any of this, all I want is…!" He couldn't speak coherently anymore. In truth, all he wanted was his family here with him, Mavis, Johnny, Dennis, and even Vlad.
Dennis was consumed in a black cloud, the unsheathing of a sword could be heard as the cloud began to dissipate. It revealed what Drac recognized as the grandson he let down, long hair, black uniform, and charcoal eyes ready to see blood spilt.
"Selfish fuck!" Dennis charged straight down with his blade pointed.
Drac could only watch hopelessly as Lilith's blade came down, down until it plunged right into his chest. Then, blackness."
…
Greem watched the whole show from the doorframe of the tight room. As entertaining as it was, he had other matters to attend to. He let his finger off the trigger of the infra gun when Drac stopped moving and slung it over his shoulder. "Sleep tight, and you better have an answer when those eyes open again."
He turned and made his way down a concrete hall. Greem chuckled to himself how the old bat was too mentally degraded to see it as a hallucination. He just hoped that illusion followed him into his dreams.
A/N: So I think I'm going to try breaking the rest of the story up into smaller chapters like these as it's definitely better for my inspiration than writingthose big 6k chapters. I'd like to thank everyone who took the time to read this story and I know there's people reading this because I looked at the traffic stats. Seriously thank you.
