A/N: So here we have the conclusion to Dracula's backstory and the story overall.
Chapter 9: Dracula (Part 2)
Transylvania, 1462
Vladislaus felt like he was sinking. Then he was aware of two smooth pieces atop his eyelids. Raising his left arm off the horizontal surface, Vladislaus removed either piece, then opened his eyes. His canopy cloth was above him, recognisable by the discoloured mark near the centre. His bedchamber was deep-blue with moonlight pouring through open windows. Vladislaus was aware something felt different – he was aware of the bedsheets underneath him, the head sheet below his hair and the cold wind blowing into the chamber, but these things were all just sensations. Nothing caused him comfort or discomfort.
Vladislaus slowly rose into a sitting position, aware of something small rolling off his chest. His bedchamber was vacant, its non-private study desk bare of papers. Looking at himself, Vladislaus saw he was dressed in his mourning clothing, a gaping rupture in the houppelande where he'd been pierced. The cloth was stained dark around the hole, but when Vladislaus put his fingers to it, he found undamaged skin inside. He looked at the thing that had rolled off his chest – it was his severed finger, missing his ring. Raising his right hand, Vladislaus saw the ring finger was a stump, ending in a red, non-bleeding hole. Not four seconds later, bone started growing out of the stump, then muscle and skin, as Vladislaus watched in amazement. In three seconds, a new, identical ring finger had appeared. The severed finger rapidly turned green, putrid liquid pooling.
Vladislaus flexed his new finger, testing it. He wondered why he still partly felt like when he'd been in the grey place, but his new powers suddenly interested him. He thought darkly of what else he could do with the powers the Devil had offered him – thinking of what he could do to Gabriel specifically, to Vladislaus' surprise, his new finger shortened back to a stump. He slid off the bed and, banishing thoughts of Gabriel, watched his ring finger regrow again. Vladislaus walked four paces across the room, examining his finger, before halting and silently observing himself. He wasn't breathing any longer. He remembered the Devil saying he'd give back Vladislaus' body – he hadn't said anything about his life. But Vladislaus didn't linger; his soul had meant more to him than his life, and now that he was damned, he cared little either way. Approaching a window, Vladislaus looked at the village sprawled on the valley floor – though it was night, he could make out houses, lanes and mountains as if it were a slightly-overcast day. Relaxing his ears, Vladislaus heard yelling, crying and chatter – buildings' occupants seventy feet diagonally away from him. His gaze scanned left and right, then when it caught moving people outside, some violent desire struck like lightning – it was slightly hungry, singing to Vladislaus' insides with its power, a longing that needed to be sated. Eyes lingering on one person, Vladislaus' vision suddenly shifted. He was seeing through the visible people's flesh to the moving skeleton, a bright-red glow emanating off of them. By the way the glow teased his desire, Vladislaus guessed he was sensing the living bodies' warmth.
Vladislaus was impressed, but beyond heightened senses, he wanted to see what exertive powers he possessed. Looking at his tarnished clothing, Vladislaus growled in disgust, then he proceeded to his chamber's wardrobe. Removing the grey mourning clothes, Vladislaus donned red hose, over which he wore boots that were halfway to knee-height, and a black houppelande with a line of gold buttons sealing the front. He added a waist-length black traveller's cape, and a fur-lined cap with a large, dark bird-feather at the front set in place by an amethyst.
Attire in place, Vladislaus exited the chamber. He passed through empty rooms, trying to keep his pace quiet lest Gabriel or his family hear him, though such caution quickly faded when Vladislaus' own sensitive ears could barely hear his footsteps. Vladislaus exited the castle through the rock mouth, as on the night he'd hired the assassins. He slipped into the village through shadowed lanes between buildings, wanting to avoid anyone seeing his face yet – he didn't know if it had been a day or longer since he'd died, nor if his death had already been announced. Approaching a cross-section where another lane crossed the one Vladislaus was on, he heard a close-seeming rhythmic-thumping, before a hideous drunkard stumbled into view from on the other lane. Vladislaus halted, then silently pressed back to the lane wall, watching the man and listening. The drunk looked down the lane, eyes passing over Vladislaus like he were invisible, while Vladislaus saw clearly like he were only in a tree's shade. After a few moments staring, the drunk stumbled away along the adjacent lane, thumping noise that Vladislaus realised had to be the man's heart slightly quicker. Vladislaus considered targeting the man, but disregarded it – he wanted something slightly less contemptible, so he continued down the lane, a black silhouette passing in buildings' shadows.
Passing the lane cross-section – and barely glancing sideways down the way the drunk had gone – Vladislaus heard yelling voices coming from around the bend of a T-section twenty feet ahead of him, the noise getting clearer the closer he came.
"I said to not hurt him!" a woman's voice cried out, the feminine sound drawing Vladislaus' interest.
"I said I'd have you if I had to kill him, and I meant it!" cried a harsh, slightly-gravelly man's voice that didn't sound at all educated.
"Gergo, please…" the woman's voice pleaded pitifully. "I… Please… I didn't want this…" A pause followed, in which Vladislaus crossed at an even pace to within seven feet of the bend. He heard a thwack sound of flesh being hit hard, immediately followed by the woman's voice crying out, while he continued walking forward.
"Well, fine," Vladislaus heard the man's voice snarl savagely. "You don't want me, I don't want you. I can find myself a whore at the inn near the square, and I'd bet she'll be ten times as good as you in that bed!" At the bend, Vladislaus slowed and stopped, then he slowly leaned his head forward – just enough for one eye, the brim of his hat and a bit of eye socket to be visible past the bend. Ten feet up a narrow lane, a woman wearing a thick, white, single-piece peasant's rag was on her behind in the earth, one hand to her round face. She was looking up, dirty-blonde locks falling halfway down her shoulders. "You want food? You want a place to sleep?" snarled the red-haired moustached man on the house's doorstep, wearing a loose-fitting grey peasant's shirt, blue pants and no footwear. "Your animal pa-pa is dead, go scrounge for filthy rat-food here in this street!" The man withdrew, slamming the house's door shut. Vladislaus remained still, watching the woman on the earth, listening to her heart's beating. She remained on her backside, hand on her face, and began weeping softly after a few seconds. She picked herself up after some moments and began stalking up the lane; frame spasming, arms clutched close to her body pathetically. Vladislaus' eyes narrowed, his teeth slightly showing as he grinned. Emerging from the bend, he stalked down the lane three seconds before the woman turned into another lane.
Listening to the woman's heartbeat, Vladislaus initially proceeded at a quick pace to the bend she'd passed, then when he turned it and saw her back as she slowly staggered, he slightly slowed. The woman turned left – stopping at the bend to shudder, heaving out sobs like vomit. Keeping pace, Vladislaus slowly closed the distance, sticking to the shadows. He and his prey passed a half-unconscious drunkard, and another passer-by moving in the opposite direction. Near the next lane's end, the woman turned right short of entering an open street. Boots slightly-quick on the earth, Vladislaus turned the bend four seconds later, seeing the current alley was no more than twenty feet long. The woman shuddered and sobbed twice more – she was moving slightly slower now.
"Good evening," Vladislaus murmured five feet behind the woman. She turned, green eyes ridiculously wet with tears. After a second taking in Vladislaus' shadowed cape and hat, she hurriedly wiped a hand on her bruised face, then bowed her head and upper-body half-hurriedly. "Forgive me for my intrusiveness, but you appeared to be in need of being wished such a thing." Vladislaus heard her heart quickening.
"I- I beg your forgiveness, lord," the woman murmured, locks dangling, not raising her body. "I am wretched." Vladislaus chuckled softly, grinning.
"Lord," Vladislaus echoed hoarsely. "Do you know who I am?" The woman raised her head, eyes wide with miserable fear. Vladislaus slowly stepped forward so half his face was in the yellow light of an outside-hung lamp. The woman's face didn't show recognition – not surprising, as Vladislaus hadn't recently passed through this small part of the village – but she looked into Vladislaus' eyes like he were a sunbeam shining through stained glass. Vladislaus thought something immediately seemed shifted in her – suddenly, she was like an ant in his gaze, and like a keyhole which he felt he could easily slot through like a key's pin and wards.
The woman replied after five seconds, "I- I do not know your face, my-" She stopped herself short of saying the wrong word, lips tightly sealed, bowing her head slightly. Her face was creased with emotion, eyes still brimming with tears. She had a lump in her throat, trying to stop herself from sniffling. Vladislaus chuckled, stepping towards her.
"Do not worry," Vladislaus murmured, tilting her chin up with an index finger. She met his eyes again, and looked slightly dazed. "I will not punish you simply for not recognising me, especially on such a night as this." The slightest breath left the woman's body, relieved. The warmth in it rolled over Vladislaus' skin, making that gnawing desire in him unignorable. Slowly advancing forward, he wrapped his hands around the woman's body in an embrace, as slow as rolling mist – she cried out slightly at the contact, then relaxed into it like they'd always been friends. "You are, I believe, exactly what I need," Vladislaus growled huskily into the woman's ear, nose brushing her locks. Withdrawing slightly, Vladislaus sharply grabbed the woman's hair and pulled her into a dip, making her cry out slightly. Following instinct and gnawing need, Vladislaus opened his mouth and was aware of his face morphing – his lower-jaw opened wider than it naturally should have, and the teeth in his mouth became sharp, two teeth lengthening. A sound escaped, like a hiss made by a creature from Hell's bowels. Face filling with horror, the woman opened her mouth to scream – half a second in, Vladislaus clamped a hand over her mouth. She kicked and hit Vladislaus – being a soldier, he had a high tolerance threshold, but this felt like being slapped with a wet cloth. Vladislaus barely glanced up and down the lane, listening to make sure no-one was coming. As the woman screamed into his palm, Vladislaus lowered his head towards her neck. He could feel the hot blood, rushing furiously under her exposed skin, making his need for it increase greatly. Half a foot from the neck, Vladislaus suddenly lunged the rest of the way – his teeth punctured flesh, blood entering his body. It was overwhelmingly sweet. Vladislaus couldn't taste anything, but the blood sated him, like devouring a juicy turkey after days without food or like drinking water after crossing a desert. He kept taking blood in, feeling his strength increase, feeling strong like when he'd killed in battle without fully exerting himself. While the woman's muffled screaming died, hits rapidly growing weaker.
Walking down the open street, holding either of her small brothers' hands, the curly red-haired girl felt slightly hurried to get home. She in her white peasant-dress and dark-red shawl, and her brown- and blonde-haired brothers in brown clothes, were the only people about after sunset. Despite the yellow light from windows and lamps hanging outside, the girl looked about like a bear from the mountains might be lurking. She dreaded the thought she and her brothers could be killed next for being out alone at night, as the three people killed over the last two weeks had been. The priest had said a devil was walking in Vaseria, and the girl didn't see why one should doubt. Approaching the gap between a house and inn, the girl had an urge screaming inside her not to go in, remembering that the first dead person had been found in a lane, but the thought of what her father would do if they didn't come home soon helped her overcome it. She marched through the shadows quickly to reach the street twenty feet ahead, slowing slightly when one of her brothers started lagging. She exited out the other side, her and her brothers curving in their walk.
"Excuse me." The girl spun with her brothers, eyes wide. Upon seeing the man in the fur-lined hat and traveller's cloak, her breathing momentarily slowed, eyes drawn to his handsome, slightly-worn face. "Forgive my intrusiveness, but I see that you are on your own. It is not safe for a young woman and children to be alone at night." He slowly stepped forward. "So please, allow me to escort you to your residence." He offered a hand, non-hostile. The girl's gaze wandered onto it – her first impulse was to accept it, but then she backed away slightly. She looked uncertainly at the man – he clearly wasn't simple folk so she worried about wrongfully causing offence, even if she somehow felt he was a friendly man. "You need not fear," he murmured almost huskily. The girl found it difficult to stop looking at his blue eyes. "I am no common murderer. I shall not hurt you."
"I…" The girl blinked. "I… Forgive me, sir, but I am not sure my family will appreciate at all such a noble man being troubled-"
"It shall be no trouble at all," the man cut her off, slightly-hoarse voice authoritative. Strong, the girl though the voice was. Yet the girl remained uncertain, feeling there was something important she had to remember. "I insist," he said. The girl hesitated a moment longer, feeling the warning voice in her mind's back screaming faintly.
"Yes, sir," she murmured. The man's smile broadened pleasantly. Then with sudden speed, he grabbed her dress's front and threw her at a lane opposite the one she'd come from, like she were a ragdoll. The girl hurtled fifteen feet before crashing into a stack of wooden boxes. She vaguely heard her brothers' voices start screaming before being cut off. Groaning, the girl remained among the toppled boxes and mud for five seconds before lifting her head. Looking back, she saw the man standing in front of her brothers, either hand clamped tightly over their lower-jaws. He was looking at her, smiling. Eyes wide, the girl got up in one second and ran forward – a horrid sound which she didn't know was hers for a few seconds filled the lane. She halted at the lane entrance, looking at the man and her brothers, the boys' eyes terror-filled. She briefly thought to try commanding the man – devil, she now thought – to begone, as the priest had said a righteous soul could triumph over evil if God was on their side. She raised a hand and made the sign of the cross – the monster growled through his teeth and winced, like it pained him. The brown-haired boy made a muffled scream as Vladislaus lifted him, before throwing him at the girl. He hit her midsection, throwing her backwards to the mud. The girl rose after two seconds, seeing the man slowly stalking forward – face dark, eyes ice-cold – the blonde boy forced to walk with him as the man held his jaw. The girl on her backside scrabbled backwards with her brown-haired brother, the monster-man keeping pace, until her back hit a wooden wall.
"Please, please don't harm us," the girl pleaded desperately, frightened tears stinging her eyes. Looming above her, the demon slowly smiled, though his eyes remained cold. He stepped forward, feet on either side of her knees, while her brother clung to her and she to him. Crouching, he lightly slammed both hands to the wall on either side of the two, including the hand holding her blonde brother's head.
"Come with me, and I will not harm them," the monster murmured quietly, face inches from the girl's. "If you scream or run away, I will kill them both and then I will kill you." The brown-haired boy whined keenly, clutching the girl tighter. The girl's eyes welled, abstractly terrified of being taken away from her home by this monster. The monster smiled, patiently awaiting her answer. Her breathing started hitching as she sobbed weakly, and the monster's smile slowly faded. After what seemed like only ten seconds, the girl weakly nodded her head. The monster grinned, giving a small growl. Then he opened his mouth unnaturally-wide, several teeth becoming long and pointed, irises glowing. The girl and her brown-haired brother screamed. The monster's hand grabbed their blonde brother's neck and snapped it, before he clamped both hands over the girl and remaining boy's mouths. He leaned towards the girl, demonic hiss emerging from his monstrous mouth, making the girl's eyes bulge and making her convulse with terrified sobs.
After the young woman and two boys hadn't come home, most of the community dreaded the beast or devil had claimed three more victims. When no bodies were found by the next sunset, their father and half the neighbours said they must have run away – the other half of the neighbours still said it was the work of evil. Twelve days later, there hadn't been a single new killing in the night, which made some villagers hopeful that the bane had left altogether.
The following night, three villagers in different houses saw something eerie – a red-haired young woman with a boy holding her hand, walking in the street, though their faces weren't seen. An innkeeper watched from a window as the last drunkard out of his inn stumbled towards them. They stopped, the woman smiling rosily, while the drunkard muttered lecherously about it being dangerous for little ladies to be out with no father or husband. The girl chuckled. Then, as the innkeeper stared in horror, hers and the boy's faces transformed – jaws lowering unnaturally far, fangs appearing – and they leapt upon the man. They bit him, very little blood escaping beyond their lips. They remained on the man ten seconds, then suddenly looked at the window. Closing the shutters, the innkeeper barricaded the door and downstairs window-shutters with tables, and remained huddled in a corner until the morning. At dawn, the boy and woman were gone, leaving only the man's body which had two of the same bite as the previous victims. The priest performed an exorcism on the street where the man had died, and blessed the man's family.
A week later, a barmaid walking from her lover's house saw a silhouette holding a limp person, face buried in their neck. When the figure raised its head, the barmaid saw yellow eyes. A dog-breeder's daughter's corpse was found there the next morning. The next night, two boys stumbled into their father's friend's house, one holding the other who'd been bitten on the shoulder – he said the yellow-eyed little boy who'd attacked outside the inn had done this. Another six days later, a middle-aged woman ran into an inn screaming one of the yellow-eyed wraiths had killed her daughter, and she herself had a bite mark near her neck. Five days afterwards, a little girl reappeared on her uncle's doorstep, saying the fresh bite-wound on her arm hurt. In this time, the shoulder-bitten boy had fallen increasingly sick and become bedridden – he felt constantly weak and achy, saying the sun hurt his skin. Despite his family's tending, he died after eleven days, by which time his mother had also been bitten and was falling sick. Two days after the bitten boy's death, a bitter old woman took up shouting to her neighbours, saying she'd seen the dead boy with yellow eyes and fangs, committing the previous night's killing. The priest had insisted on performing an exorcism on the spot where the body had been found. Two nights after the sick boy's mother died, a drunk banged on the church's doors. The priest answered, a drunk outside saying he'd seen the red-haired demon-girl and the middle-aged mother attacking a man, woman and child. Several villagers went to the graveyard the next morning, but found the fresh graves' soil looked unbroken.
Hysteria spread through Vaseria, along with stories of demons that took the forms of the dead and wicked souls rising from the grave. The priest wanted to dig up the victims' graves, at which point Valerious the Elder intervened – he told the priest in the populated village square, he'd suffer a grave robber's punishment if he did any such thing. Over two more weeks, seven more people died, either in an attack or from the sickness that claimed the bitten survivors. Bitten and non-bitten villagers continued spreading stories – saying they'd seen the dead victims walking at night, if not that they'd seen them attacking people with fangs, eyes turning yellow. Three unrelated villagers said they'd seen Count Vladislaus Valerious. The priest grew angrier as the deaths continued, and the graves' soil remained as loose as ever, but he didn't dare defy Valerious the Elder. Talk spread that the fires seen on the mountains in the day were villagers burning their bitten relatives' corpses, rather than letting them return from the buried grave. The sceptical villagers – whose numbers were dwindling – blamed dogs or beasts for the deaths and cut many dogs' throats. Seven weeks after the first deaths, ten brash villagers went outside together at night, hoping to ward off an attack. After midnight, six of them were running and screaming in different parts of the village; the others were dead at dawn. Another two weeks later, nearly a quarter of Vaseria's population was dead or slowly dying of the bite-related sickness. With the graveyard overflowing, people buried on the village outskirts or burned the bodies. Villagers approached Castle Valerious, unsuccessfully begging the guards to let the family hear their pleas for help. The surge grew slightly larger every couple days.
Nearly three months after Maria and Vladislaus' deaths, father and son were dining after sunset. Valerious the Younger put his knife down and turned to the Elder.
"Father, I believe I must talk with you about the trouble occurring in the village," the Younger said.
"What of it?" the Elder muttered harshly, cutting his food. "Do you wish to lead a posse to hunt down the beasts?"
"Father, I am deeply troubled by our dismissal of the claims the dead are rising," the Younger said.
"And why are you troubled?" the Elder asked, sounding contemptuous. "I have told you, the villagers have my full permission to lead hunting parties as large as they wish and to ask any weapons they need of us." He put the fork in his mouth, devouring the meat.
"They do not want swords and maces, they want permission to burn their own dead," the Younger said pressingly.
"Do you believe their stories?" the Elder asked, glaring coldly. Valerious the Younger was slightly taken aback.
"The priest says the graves' soil remains loose and soft," the Younger said calmly. "And masses of villagers at the castle's front door claim they saw the dead walking at night and committing the killings."
"Do you recall what happened with the madman while I was the Vastags' guest in Bargau?" the Elder growled, lower-teeth showing through his beard. "Ten townspeople and farmers were disembowelled over eight nights. The villagers had screamed it was a devil, and the culprit was nothing more than a mortal man."
"I have not forgotten, Father," the Younger said. "But that does not explain the soil, or why so many villagers claim the same thing."
"The soil could be a ritual the murderer is practicing – much like the Bargau murderer killing livestock for every man he killed," the Elder said gruffly. "As for continuation, the attacks could be committed by multiple murderers, who may be hidden among the villagers."
"I looked at one of the deceased's mortal remains," the Younger said. "The bite could not have been made by a man."
"Then it is bears and wolves," the Elder murmured. "They've entered the village before."
"No, the bite was too circular for a wolf," the Younger said. The Elder glared, scarred face disdainful.
"Tell me, when was the last time you saw a wolf's bite?" he growled harshly.
"When I was twenty years old," the Younger admitted.
"And your memory from when you were twenty years old is clear enough to remember precisely how circular a wolf's bite is?" the Elder asked.
"No," the Younger admitted. He hesitated before speaking again, words on his tongue's tip. "Father… you taught me to never doubt the power of Satan, yet you so readily dismiss the possibility that he is at work here?"
"I do not doubt the power of Satan," Valerious the Elder said, looking more calm. "Equally, I do not doubt the power of madness over men in times of crises."
"Father, these events began on the night Vladislaus' body disappeared-"
"Which WOULD NOT HAVE HAPPENED, HAD YOU KEPT WATCH!" the Elder exploded, chair scraping the floor as he shot up. Valerious the Younger momentarily thought thunder had exploded in the dining hall. "You know as well as any Transylvanian the dead should never be left unattended, and you left your brother alone, to rest your eyes! You seek a better explanation for these murders?! It may be Gabriel Van Helsing who is responsible, seeing as he escaped and fled the same night your brother's body disappeared! He may even be the one who took the body!" Valerious the Younger didn't dare speak further - dealing with his father's full wrath was a strength God had never granted him to the same amount he had Vladislaus.
"Enough of this talk about your brother and the villagers' stories," Valerious the Elder growled, sweeping a hand through the air commandingly. "Our extended relations arrive tomorrow. If you wish to help in the village put an end to these deaths, then by all means, go. You are excused." Valerious the Elder marched around the table, side harshly brushing the corner, footsteps clear in the hall as he exited. The Elder's footsteps slowly fading, Valerious the Younger remained sitting, hands clasped together. Before his siblings' deaths, his father would never have been so uncaring about the village, nor so dismissive of this phenomena.
Awake, Vladislaus listened to his father and brother's activity, smiling. His powers still amazed him – if he relaxed his ears and listened, he could hear his father and brother talking in the castle. When he hissed a certain way, the sound gave his ears a clear picture of the crypt. And though it was pitch-black, Vladislaus could still clearly see outlines and shapes in the crypt. Hearing his father thought there was nothing demonic occurring, Vladislaus could've chuckled at the old man's impudence. Thoughts turning to his victims, Vladislaus again probed with his mind, feeling the many fellow fiends connected to him.
He remembered the red-haired girl and her brother he'd taken captive and chained to a rock, in the mountain-cave above the village. It was where he'd slept in the day inside the coffin he'd stolen, having discovered early on that without a grave, he remained aware of himself and his surroundings through the day no matter how weak he felt. The children had whimpered and huddled together pathetically, the chains manacling the girl's wrist and the boy's ankle clinking, heartbeats something Vladislaus could have danced to. Vladislaus had bitten them shallowly every couple nights, drinking only until their muscles' strength had waned, and had brought them berries from the woods and a dish of river-water. He'd wanted to see how long he could keep the living alive as a continuous food source before they'd perish. They'd initially only stayed weak for hours, but as time had gone on, their weakness had seemed to grow more permanent. They'd lasted for nine days before the boy had died at night – two nights later, Vladislaus had emerged from his coffin, to find the dead boy slowly feeding on the girl just as Vladislaus fed on his victims.
"Master," the boy had said when he'd seen Vladislaus. Then Vladislaus had become aware of his connection to the not-dead boy, the boy seeming like the smallest dog to Vladislaus' mind, Vladislaus' will wrapping around his tiny presence without eye contact or any resistance. Vladislaus had released the boy, then the girl when she'd also ceased to be wholly-dead. At present, Vladislaus was connected to nearly eighty fiends – created by him biting people and they biting more people. Feeling their presences with his mind, he needed only to pick one, and he'd be able to see and hear whatever they did and to take any memory from their mind he wished. What was more, he was sure he felt stronger rather than weaker the more minions were created.
Vladislaus hadn't stayed in the mountain-cave for long after releasing his first two servants. Though an invisible force blocked him and his fellow fiends from entering a private residence – except for the time he'd thrown one of his fiends through a wall – Vladislaus had discovered he could re-enter and exit Castle Valerious freely. He supposed because he'd lived here and had risen from the dead in its walls. When Vladislaus wasn't listening to activity in the castle, he rested in his great-grandfather's stone sarcophagus in the isolated crypt chamber, the skeleton of the sarcophagus' first occupant tossed aside at its foot. Vladislaus had been dismayed to hear Gabriel had escaped the same night he'd risen, taking Vladislaus' ring from where his family had stored it – he'd wanted to repay his friend for what he'd done. Vladislaus supposed he would settle for killing his remaining family – he'd like to have his father see what little God would do for him, before he drank the life from him.
The morning before the feast, Vladislaus had remained outside the sarcophagus until after he'd heard his relatives arrive – a couple uncles, three first cousins and eleven distant relations. He rose at sunset as usual, before the feast's start. He listened until everyone was seated, then made his way up the stairway into Castle Valerious. He had little need for the secret passageways, going straight through the rooms and halls. Near the library, Vladislaus approached a guard from behind, grabbing him and biting his neck until he died. He crept up on and snapped the neck of another guard past the next corner, and two more in the front hall. Moonlight and candlelight cast the castle halls in blue and yellow flecks as Vladislaus strode towards the dining hall, hands behind his back, the soft talking voices getting closer in his ears.
Vladislaus stalked into the archway, initially unnoticed. The table slowly went quiet as, one by one, everyone turned a head and saw him. Many faces went pale with stupid horror, others seemed baffled, perhaps suspecting his death had been a fiction. Slowly stalking into the hall, Vladislaus smiled pleasantly.
"Greetings, my father's brothers and distant relations," he said. He approached the table, some nobles abandoning their seats and backing away. "I must apologise for my lateness. I thought a surprise would be most entertaining." Entertaining it was, as Vladislaus drank the dinner-guests' stupor like well-aged blood. Seeing and smelling a garlic clove-string on the table near him, Vladislaus found himself curling his lip without knowing why, then he moved towards the left-hand chair nearest the table's bottom – a female cousin wearing a rose-red dress occupied it, possessing a pointed face and auburn hair in a net. Standing behind the chair, Vladislaus brought his arms over her shoulders, hands joining over her chest. Inches above her head, he smelled sweet fear, her heart's thumping filling his ears like music.
"What is the matter?" Vladislaus asked the table with mock-surprise, smiling at every pale face. "Did you think I was dead?" He looked at the table's head. Valerious the Elder's face was stoic, but delightfully, Vladislaus saw a look in his father's eyes he'd never seen there before. "Or did you lie when you said the Devil's power should never be underestimated?" Several voices began whispering in horror.
"Demon."
"Devil."
"Creature of the night."
Vladislaus stroked his thumb above the auburn woman's dress neckline, up and down her cleavage though avoiding the cross on her bosom. She hissed in air, heart speeding up.
"Release her, devil!" snarled a middle-aged woman, standing up. She wore an escoffin, from which long white veils hung. Vladislaus grabbed the auburn woman's lower jaw and bared his teeth at the old woman, eyes flashing pale-blue.
"Mary, Mother of Mercy," someone said, making the sign of the cross.
"You are guests in my house," he snarled. "Until you are guests no longer, I shall do with you as I wish."
"This… is not your house," Valerious the Elder said slowly – his voice was commanding, but Vladislaus, slowly turning his head, detected a slight tremble. He released the woman's jaw, running a finger down her Adam's apple.
"How strange," Vladislaus murmured, instantly calm. Releasing the woman, he slowly stalked past the chairs towards the table head. "As I recall, I was made sole heir of this house at the same time I became a count. This house, Father – your grandfather's house – is as good as mine. Though if you require officiality, be assured I will see to it my castle's previous tenants are dead, before another dawn touches the castle's walls." Valerious the Elder vacated his seat – Vladislaus' father, the man he'd once thought was his equal in willpower, was backing away! Vladislaus chuckled darkly, Valerious the Elder slowly backing around the table's other side, Vladislaus stalking after him.
"You, backing away, Father?" Vladislaus purred. "Perhaps you are right, this isn't my house." They passed Valerious the Younger's chair, and Vladislaus was aware of him watching in shock. "Tell me, what strength is God granting you now?!" Vladislaus hissed. "Is he giving you none, just as he gave me none when I was in the Devil's arms?" Vladislaus saw the tiny shift in the Elder's eyes. "Yes, Father. Gabriel Van Helsing robbed your son of his salvation, and God didn't lift a finger to amend the wrong to his devout protector of the faith. Just like he did nothing when my mother was taken from us. Or my sister." Still the Elder's face was stoic, but his eyes could've burned. Vladislaus chuckled and grinned wickedly. "Do not worry, Father. After tonight, you shall join them in the earth." Vladislaus' mouth began changing, an ungodly hissing sound escaping.
Valerious the Elder suddenly swiped his hand across the table, throwing cloves, leaves and meat at Vladislaus. Vladislaus screamed a sound that belonged in Hell, something in the food burning him. Opening his eyes after two seconds, he saw his father sprint to the wall, pulling a lever hidden between two bricks. Suddenly, the floor below Vladislaus fell away. Screeching as he fell, Vladislaus' fingers grabbed the square trapdoor's edge just before it would've been out of reach, leaving him dangling in the dark cellar. Grabbing the edge with his other hand, Vladislaus flung his body's weight upwards. He shot three feet above the hole, a snarl and a hissing shriek emerging from him, before he landed on two feet. Everyone stared in shock momentarily. Then Vladislaus grabbed the dining table's edge, and threw it in the air. The guests at the opposite wall scattered, but three weren't fast enough, the table's top fatally flattening them against the opposite wall. The other guests stared in horror a second. Hearing footsteps, Vladislaus looked at the archway, seeing two guards appear – the front door guards he assumed. A female cry drew Vladislaus' attention – it was a young woman in a blue dress, huddled with a slightly-older blonde woman left of the table.
Almost without thinking, Vladislaus marched fast towards them. A male guest next to them removed a wall-mounted sword and ran forward, yelling. Vladislaus grabbed the man's sword-hand, forcing the sword through his belly and out his back easily. Pathetic, he thought. The guards ran forward, one ahead of the other. Promptly removing the sword from the corpse, Vladislaus sliced the nearer guard's head off. He backhanded the other guard's pike from his hands – hearing bones in the hands crunch – and lifted the guard off the floor by his throat. He threw the guard backwards, into the wall above the archway. Another guest ran at Vladislaus' right, mace raised. Vladislaus stayed the man's wrist a split-second before the mace would've struck, then sank his teeth into the man's neck.
"Stay back!" Vladislaus heard his father roar. A second later, Vladislaus let the body drop, sighing with slight pleasure. Everyone was standing or huddled against the thrown table, on his left, right and centre. Eyes finding the auburn-haired woman, holding onto one of his uncles by the crashed table, Vladislaus advanced. Those who didn't recoil out of his path, he carelessly shoved aside one-handed. When Vladislaus was a foot away, his willowy-looking uncle made up his mind, moving forward. Vladislaus sidestepped and grabbed the man, throwing him across the hall to crash into a wall-mounted torch. Vladislaus watched his uncle crumple, then slowly looked back at the auburn woman, who was pressing backwards into the table's underside. Stepping forward, Vladislaus slowly planted his palms on the table on either side, caging her, and grinned. Growling, Vladislaus grabbed her cross and tore it from her neck. He threw it away, ignoring the burning in his palm. His mouth started changing, a hissing screech escaping – the sound died as something pierced his upper-back, pushing air out of his body. Turning, Vladislaus saw the escoffin-wearing woman behind him. She instantly looked afraid. Sneering darkly, Vladislaus nonchalantly reached behind his back and removed the embedded table knife. He was aware of Valerious the Younger removing something from the wall nearby, but didn't take his icy gaze off the old woman. He stepped forward – she backed one step in the time it took Vladislaus to make two steps. Valerious the Younger ran at Vladislaus' side, yelling – and suddenly, Vladislaus felt burning agony explode on his skin, making him yell and stagger sideways. Unscrewing his eyelids, Vladislaus saw his brother was holding one of the wall-mounted crosses, three feet from his eyes. Valerious the Younger pushed forward, making Vladislaus burn hotter and back sideways.
"Get more crosses and use them!" Vladislaus' brother yelled. Vladislaus raised his forearm, but it did nothing to shield his body from the agony. He sensed physical heat, a second before yellow light pierced his eyelids. Looking while screaming, Vladislaus saw the cross was bursting into flames. His brother held it for two more seconds, then cried out and dropped it. Vladislaus stopped backing, screaming dying in two seconds. Valerious the Younger looked at him, eyes wide. A slight growl escaped Vladislaus' throat, then he stepped towards his brother, face cold and dark. He was four paces away when noise made him look past the Younger. Guests were taking down another mounted cross. Looking left, Vladislaus saw a guest running at him with another dismounted cross. Screaming in rage, Vladislaus swiped an arm at his brother, knocking him across the hall. A second later, the cross was close enough to burn, making Vladislaus scream. Suddenly, two more things were burning him, as more guests carrying crosses flanked the first. They slowly pushed forward, making Vladislaus step backwards. He realised where they were forcing him, a second before the floor ended and he fell. Vladislaus' hand grabbed the trapdoor's edge. The guests held their crosses above the hole – Vladislaus screamed a hellish sound, feeling agony unlike any he'd known before, but didn't let go. Forcing one eye open, Vladislaus saw his father holding one of the crosses towards him, past Vladislaus' hand. Screaming anew, Vladislaus thought he could've turned to ash, but didn't let go. He heard wood crackling, light exploding behind his eyelids. Outside the hole, Valerious the Younger grunted, then his sword cut through Vladislaus' fingers. Vladislaus fell, the cross's flame-engulfed ashes falling directly above him. He fell for four seconds before his torso went through something, impaling him. The cross's ashes fell on his houppelande-clad chest, flames still among them.
Groaning hoarsely, Vladislaus had a sudden sense of being oppressed, like being suffocated by sweltering air. He wanted to rage against it, but moving any part of his body was like bending a tree branch with a mortal's strength. Looking around, Vladislaus saw he'd landed in a coffin on a stone block, and six silver spikes had impaled him – five protruding from his chest including one over his heart, sixth protruding through his right thigh. He made out the wine cellar's layout and barrel-shapes in the dark. Three rings surrounded the stone he'd landed on – the closest was flowers, the middle was crushed white flakes and the furthest was green herbs. Vladislaus could guess the middle ring was church wafers, the nearest was wolfsbane, and the furthest was rosemary, and they were what was making him weak. Inside him, the silver spikes induced a certain tingle, like indigestion or the taste of ink.
Forcing his head to turn, Vladislaus saw his father, brother and several guests' faces above him, in the hole. The guests and Valerious the Younger looked shocked or horrified, while the Elder's scarred face was a picture of utter disgust. Baring his teeth, Vladislaus snarled. A moment later, his father vanished past the hole's border. The trapdoors slowly began swinging shut, the ray of light thinning, then vanishing. Vladislaus was completely cut off.
Two days and three nights passed – two days after which Vladislaus felt only half-replenished, and two nights immobilised. Vladislaus had been unable to slide his body off the stakes – when he'd tried hard enough, the rings' oppressive effect had grown heavier, threatening to choke the proverbial life from him. However, he was sure the rings' effects were slightly lessening each night, which meant he wouldn't be imprisoned for long if his jailers didn't replace them. In the meantime, Vladislaus retreated into his mind when awake, thinking hateful thoughts about his father and brother, which fuelled his desire to give them slow, agonising deaths. Listening at night to what happened in the castle, Vladislaus had heard from his father and brother that their relatives had left the day after he'd been trapped, taking their dead with them. From the night after he'd been trapped, a dozen of Vladislaus' fiends had disappeared in his mind, his connections to them severed, and he'd heard his father and brother discussing the effort to exterminate the other creatures like him. Apparently, the Elder and Younger had given the villagers full permission to exhume and destroy the dead, and were spearheading the mob. Extracting the remaining fiends' memories and seeing through their eyes, Vladislaus had discovered the remaining fiends were the ones resting on the village outskirts, the ones in the graveyard having been annihilated. Feeling slightly weaker as more of his minions had perished, Vladislaus had called out to the remainder, warning them. Tonight, he'd discovered by extracting the others' memories they'd fled their graves, going into the mountains or seeking unoccupied buildings in Vaseria. The fiends in the mountains had dug graves to rest in during the day. Concerning how his servants had been destroyed, Vladislaus had been surprised to hear from his father and brother's conversation, several had burned to ash and bones when they'd been exposed to the sun; those who'd been unearthed when the sky was overcast had been destroyed by holy water or stakes driven through their hearts. Vladislaus had noted the silver stake in his heart hadn't killed him, perhaps because it wasn't wood like the villagers', even if it felt poisonous. He'd dreaded his father and brother would attempt to destroy him the same ways as his servants.
Ten nights later, Vladislaus' situation was dire. He'd woken on the fourth night to find all three rings had been replaced with fresh stock, feeling as oppressive as when he'd first been trapped. The effect had again faded by the eighth night, and they'd been replenished during the day again. More of Vladislaus' fiends had perished, but at a lesser rate than when he'd first been imprisoned, and the remaining fiends were biting more people to restore their numbers. Vladislaus didn't hear his family say anything about destroying him, focusing on his servants. Curiously, after the seventh night, Vladislaus had only heard his brother's and the guards' voices, not his father's. The guards had said Valerious the Elder had left to deal with faith-based matters.
Twenty-five nights after being trapped, Vladislaus remained imprisoned and un-destroyed. He wished he could remain awake in the day to see if he could get free when the rings were being replaced, but unable to leave the coffin, he became inert from sunrise to sunset without control. Valerious the Elder still hadn't returned, which suggested he was travelling far or spending some time on this business of his.
Forty-four nights after being trapped, shortly after sunset, Vladislaus heard his brother's voice.
"Father, I beg you tell me you did not do this…!" A pause followed, in which Vladislaus was interested to think his father was back.
"Did you hear me say that I was weaving a fiction?!" Valerious the Elder's gravelly voice barked, stoic-sounding. "That abomination is my son. One of the House of Valerious' members has turned his back on God and consorted with the Devil. He has disgraced our entire House in God's eye by existing, and it is our duty to correct the error we made in creating him!"
"But Father, to place our everlasting souls upon this mission?!"Vladislaus' interest increased tenfold. A very long, very interesting pause followed upstairs. Concentrating in the silence, Vladislaus thought he picked up slow footsteps. The silence lingered some time longer before someone spoke again.
"Our everlasting souls…" Valerious the Younger said. "More valuable than anything else on this Earth. And their fate now depends upon this mission?" Vladislaus heard a clang of jointed metal on flesh – it didn't sound harsh enough to cut or break anything, but it still hardly sounded like a light slap.
"This is what man does every day, and what our House has done since its beginnings," the Elder's voice growled. "We prove to God we are worthy of his mercy, and that our souls deserve salvation. Or we face eternal damnation and swim in the Lake of Fire forever! We have given the Devil a new vessel upon the Earth which has already claimed many innocent souls. So, my son, I confessed my sin in creating this evil, and I swore in Rome to God himself that our House would enter Heaven only when we saw the monster vanquished! And if the father cannot do this duty… it must pass to those of his House who will follow him." A long pause followed.
"I do not mean to intrude…" murmured a meek-sounding third voice that Vladislaus didn't know.
"The guards will escort you to your chamber," Valerious the Elder murmured gruffly. In the quiet that followed, Vladislaus glared icily at the ceiling like he could cause it to crumble. He was quite concerned by the way his father had used the word vanquish, wondering if his father and brother meant to destroy him. They hadn't yet used on him any of the methods that had destroyed his servants. On a level he wouldn't admit to, Vladislaus feared his father and brother would succeed if they did mean to destroy him, in spite of his helpless state. Dawn seemed to Vladislaus not as painstakingly slow to come as usual, as he thought deeply about his current predicament and his family's intent.
Vladislaus awoke to something unpleasant on his skin. Eyes opening, he growled before comprehending his surroundings. He was still impaled, but the coffin was vertically upright. He heard heartbeats. He was in the castle's art gallery, overlooking the river. Valerious the Elder and Younger stood in front of him, both wearing stoic expressions. Closer was a man Vladislaus had never seen before, looking at him – he was probably barely in his thirtieth year, short in height, with a bulbous nose and beady green eyes. He wore ankle-length white robes and a crucifix around his neck, and his brown hair had a tonsure. A priest. When Vladislaus saw him, the man backed away. Vladislaus heard two more heartbeats behind his prison-coffin – guards, he guessed. The sun was shining on Vladislaus' face from the western mountaintops – it didn't burn, but Vladislaus purely hated it on his skin. He wanted to remove it, he would've happily obliterated its source if that were possible. The protective rings were gone, but Vladislaus still felt almost as weak. Whenever awake during the day, he'd always felt like every movement took significant effort, like his strength were one man's and like he could barely extend his mind's magic powers.
"The sun does not burn him," the priest-man murmured. He was the other voice Vladislaus had heard the previous night. Turning to the Elder, he said: "Holy water might destroy him."
"We have a sure way of destroying him," Valerious the Elder growled matter-of-factly. Vladislaus silently listened, eyes shifting between the three.
"Yes, the potion," the priest-man said, gesturing at two lid-covered stone beakers, standing on a desk near the window. While the man talked, Vladislaus quickly considered how he might escape, running through several scenarios. Kick at or scratch the nearest man's neck and hope the guards would get close enough for him to bite and drink, or get his feet outside the coffin and run through the window. "The liquid on the right came from a fallen star, and is blessed by Ariel the archangel. It has been stored by the Church for many years. The man who drinks it will become a great beast with a man's mind, able to kill many a wicked creature." Vladislaus multitasked, listening to the man while thinking. "I researched this incident thoroughly before you left Rome, my lord, and I believe the creature here-" He gestured at Vladislaus, but didn't look. "-is the creature of darkness whose coming was predicted more than four-hundred and fifty years ago. If this is so, he bears the title of son of the Devil. It is clearly stated only a non-worldly wolf will be able to destroy this creature, and after much research, I believe that-" He moved quickly to the table, lifting the right-hand beaker. "-refers to this potion's power." Vladislaus' jaw was locked, the situation now direly serious. He considered trying to force himself off the coffin's stakes. Eyes shifting, he saw his father momentarily looking at him, face unreadable.
"You said you can banish him," Valerious the Elder said, looking back at the priest.
"Yes," the priest said after a moment, looking surprised. He put the beaker down.
"Father, I shall do it," Valerious the Younger said.
"You will do no such thing as long as I breathe!" the Elder growled dangerously. Then he glared at Vladislaus, who looked down his nose at his father. "You, monster, have disgraced our family in God's eye and jeopardised its salvation," Valerious the Elder murmured, gravelly voice low and dark.
"I've heard you bartered our family's souls to amend the wrong," Vladislaus murmured almost flippantly. His father and brother immediately looked taken aback, having no doubt been unware of his extreme hearing. Vladislaus smiled thinly. "How devout of you, Father."
"Know this," the Elder murmured very-darkly, grey eyes glaring hatefully, "you may be allowed to exist as long as I live, betrayed and led astray by my heart, but your reign will not last, if our house must fight you until the Last Judgement!"
"Then I suppose I will simply have to kill you all," Vladislaus said, again almost-flippantly. Valerious the Elder looked back at the priest.
"This undead is one of those which has no reflection in the mirror," the priest said, holding up a reflective glass pane – it showed an empty coffin filled with silver spikes. Not surprising to Vladislaus, he'd observed his lack of a reflection in water some time ago. "When this happens, it means to those undead, the mirror is not a reflection at all – it is a doorway."
"How interesting," Vladislaus spoke, making the priest wheel around in fright. "Will you say more about this?" He smiled charmingly. Valerious the Elder and the Younger looked wary.
"It is of no concern to you, demon!" the priest spat, though he trembled in fright. He turned to Vladislaus' father and brother. "I can cast a spell to banish him through such a mirror-" Vladislaus' eyes narrowed in new interest, for he'd believed sorcery was entirely an affront to God. "-and bar the place of his exile so he will not escape through mirrors."
"You will do it," Valerious the Elder said without hesitation. Valerious the Younger, nearest the coffin, had his eyes on the other two men. Vladislaus watched, waiting. Then he lashed out an arm, grabbing his brother's neck and pulling him close. He heard the guards rush forward, while the priest and the Elder turned. Valerious the Younger grabbed Vladislaus' wrist, but Vladislaus increased the pressure threateningly, making his brother open his mouth desperately for air.
"Release me," Vladislaus growled at his father. "Or watch your last heir die." He meant it – even without his strength, he knew how to snap a neck one-handed. Suddenly, a familiar burning made Vladislaus scream. His brother quickly tore free. The source was behind Vladislaus – he realised one of the guards was wielding a cross. The effect subsided a moment later.
"I suggest we hurry," the priest said urgently. Valerious the Elder nodded. As Vladislaus watched, lips a tight line with the fury building inside him, the priest, his father and his brother marched towards the gallery exit, stopping at a bare part of the wall. Picking up a large basin on the floor, the priest threw its contents on the wall inside an archway – a bronze-coloured liquid, which stuck and rolled down the wall very slowly. He pulled his robes' sleeves back, then raised his hands.
"Exaudi preces nostras, Domine, quia abominationem et servus est plaga ambulat in nobis…" The chanting lasted three minutes. Whenever Vladislaus tried to slide off the stakes, or even when he growled in fury, either guard raised a cross which burned him. When a guard raised his cross too long and it caught fire, he replaced it with another one of several crosses nearby.
"Et hoc cardine ostium aperire ita ut eiciant de cladibus tuis!" the priest finished. As Vladislaus watched and listened, the liquid produced a crackling sound and seemed to thin, looking like a frozen sheet. What liquid hadn't slid to the floor began spreading outward, filling the area inside the archway. Then the bronze colour faded and the liquid became reflectively clear – there was now a glass mirror filling part of the wall.
"It is done," the priest said.
"Bring him," Valerious the Elder said commandingly. Vladislaus growled as the guards hoisted his coffin off the floor and carried it, horizontal, above their heads to the mirror. Stopping, they pressed the coffin's bottom to the glass. The glass area the coffin touched turned pale, cracks and shapes like shifting and melting ice spreading out. The coffin bottom slid through the patch, then Vladislaus' feet, then his lower-legs. Vladislaus turned his head, one eye peeking above the coffin's edge at Valerious the Elder.
"This is not over!" he growled fiercely. The Elder said nothing, scarred face dark. The line of the ice-glass enveloping Vladislaus passed over his head, and his father disappeared, replaced by a twilight-blue place.
The coffin fell six feet. Growling, Vladislaus gripped the edges and very-slowly began sliding off the stakes. It took nearly a minute to slide free, during which time Vladislaus took in more of his surroundings. It was cold, comfortingly for him; winds were howling, carrying snow, which also coated the ground. Ahead of him was the largest manmade structure Vladislaus had ever seen – it was as tall as a mountain, piercing several layers of clouds. Sliding fully off the stakes, Vladislaus took a moment to stand. He looked behind him, and saw a glass panel set in a giant obelisk, surrounded by carvings. Looking in front, Vladislaus saw the giant building consisted of three towers – he craned his head up and up to see the towers' tops. Standing atop a rocky base, the fortress looked as though it had been crafted by carving out an entire mountain. Ahead of Vladislaus was an entrance, the fortress's architecture looking extremely elaborate. Small dead trees lined the snowy path on either side, curving branches pointing over it and forming an arch. Two gigantic pillars supporting nothing stood past those. Beyond the mountain-fortress, vast mountains formed a barrier on all sides. Theirs and the fortress's bases stretched down and down below the ledge Vladislaus was on, a gorge encircling the mountain-fortress. The gorge went so far down that when Vladislaus looked over the ledge, even he couldn't see any bottom.
Hearing the same unnatural sound from when he'd passed through the mirror, Vladislaus looked back at the obelisk. Shapes were forming near the mirror-pane's bottom, like finger-drawings in frost. He immediately advanced back to the obelisk, watching two lidded beakers slide out where the outlines had been. Standing by them, Vladislaus looked back at the mirror. He slowly raised a hand and pressed it to the glass – it didn't slide in, nor did the glass react in any way. Vladislaus turned from the obelisk with a snarl, teeth grit and fury boiling. He walked halfway to the fortress's entrance, before his anger subsided and he looked back. Approaching the beakers, he crouched and lifted the left-hand beaker's lid. Inside was a liquid that looked like reflective silver, but rippled like water when Vladislaus blew air on it. Re-placing the lid and lifting the other beaker's, Vladislaus saw clear liquid, like water but thicker. He re-placed the lid, eyes slightly narrowed.
Weeks passed, and Vladislaus was not enjoying his prison as much as he could have under other circumstances. The icy conditions and the fact sunlight seldom breached the place were perfect for him. Inside the fortress, he'd discovered a chamber containing a sarcophagus, which encased him in ice when he slept and thawed at sunset. Vladislaus had spent most of his waking time exploring the fortress's vast facilities. The halls' carvings told some stories – a vertical series of carvings on a pillar Vladislaus had examined showed: a stick-figure among mountains kneeling before a devil; the fortress sprouting between the mountains with the stick figure in front of it, the legless devil-figure forming a snakelike ring around this image; the stick-figure inside the fortress, with other figures outside pointing spears at it, while the devil-figure lurked below all the figures, a parchment in hand; and the devil-figure, now sporting wings, inside the fortress, ripping a second stick-figure out of the first.
Still, Vladislaus hadn't drunk since the night he'd been trapped. Shortly after he'd gotten free of the stake-coffin, he'd nearly fully recovered, though his physical strength had seemed less. But after a month at the fortress, the effects had worsened – Vladislaus' strength was continuing to wane, moving his body seemed to be taking more effort, reaching his remaining fiends' minds continuously became harder, and he'd observed he took longer to heal when he wounded his body. Being already dead, Vladislaus didn't know what would happen if he didn't drink blood, but he could guess. He'd started feeling in need of rest before sunrise and awakening after sunset, the effect worsening as time went on – Vladislaus wondered if he would eventually enter a permanent rest if he didn't drink blood. Looking for his creatures' minds, Vladislaus had seen many still existed, having scattered from Vaseria. He'd called them to locate his prison shortly after arriving at the fortress – so far, they hadn't found him, and Vladislaus hadn't been able to tell where he was by the surrounding mountains.
Six weeks after his arrival, Vladislaus was on the thirty-foot wide square roof of one of the towers, slowly pacing along its edges. His cap was gone, though he'd tied part of his long hair into a knot, hands clasped behind his back, traveller's cape billowing in the winds. He was looking out at the mountains – mostly half-silhouetted since the storm was slightly thicker tonight – hoping to see something he hadn't before.
"I'd hoped for slightly better than this." Turning, Vladislaus saw the Devil standing across the roof from him, long coat and ponytail seemingly untouched by the wind. His yellow eyes stood out piercingly, both hands resting on his cane's skull-head. "I didn't name you the son of the Devil so you and all your power could be banished." The Devil sounded disappointed, and Vladislaus detected the slightest dark undertone, which made him slightly wary. The Devil slowly stalked forwards, cane clunking.
"A sorcerer-priest banished me here," Vladislaus said, turning his body to wholly face the Devil.
"And before that?" the Devil murmured, stopping seven feet from Vladislaus. When Vladislaus didn't immediately reply, he growled very-darkly: "What. Happened. Before that?" Eyes narrowed, Vladislaus considered and carefully reconsidered his answer.
"My family trapped me," he murmured. His tone at the end turned slightly-resentful, blue eyes turning slightly dark.
"Yes. They defeated you." The Devil's lips curled from his white teeth, yellow eyes narrowed, emphasising the word defeated like it were the most disgraceful thing in the world. He took half a step closer to Vladislaus, vain face dark. Fiery-orange veins glowed on his arms, the glow spreading past his elbows, revealing more blood vessels. It spread past the Devil's shoulders into his chest, black doublet glowing like a gateway into Hell. Horrible tearing sounds and wailing emerged from his torso. "For the last son of the Devil, that didn't end well," the Devil murmured, tone as black as the world's darkest pit. "He burns hotter than most in Hell to this day." Vladislaus' face was unreadably calm, not wanting to show open fear. "This did not happen entirely because of powerlessness." The Devil turned and began striding away from Vladislaus. "You don't seem to have used one of your powers yet." Vladislaus' eyes widened slightly in interest, tracking on the Devil. He silently thought, trying to work out what this power was – he suspected the Devil might not want him to ask, and he wasn't inclined to push that barrier. The Devil halted, back to Vladislaus.
"This particular power will free you from this place," the Devil said without turning around, decrepit and dark voice calm. Turning, Vladislaus slowly stalked sideways to him along the roof's edge, traveller's cloak billowing. His blue eyes were constantly shifting or narrowing slightly, lips slightly parted. He stopped at the roof's edge, eyebrows creased in an almost anxious-looking expression. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed among the clouds, though it barely affected Vladislaus' vision. The distant but all-encircling mountains lay sprawled out before Vladislaus, the rumbling twilight-clouds above the bottomless gorge below. Vladislaus reached the answer in three seconds.
Flight. But how was he to use this power? Not looking back at the Devil, Vladislaus' eyes narrowed and his lower-lip slightly curled away from his teeth. Another lightning-flash illuminated his face. Vladislaus quickly dismissed the thought flight might come naturally if he fell from this roof – he'd already discovered he could walk on walls and ceilings, and had dropped from the halls' ceilings twice. Eyes narrowed and brows lowered, he slowly raised his right hand, holding it in front of his face. He closed his fingers into a fist like he were gripping something, mouth becoming a thin line. Perhaps it was like using a muscle – his mouth transforming was similar. He relaxed and flexed his shoulder blades, expecting wings to emerge like how flexing one finger flexed the others on the same hand – nothing. Reconsidering, Vladislaus spread his hands out from his body slightly, palms facing the earth, and tried to imagine he was pushing himself off the ground without touching it. Again, nothing happened. Growing slightly frustrated as nothing he thought seemed to work, Vladislaus' face grew slightly dark. He tried visualising his muscles pushing and pulling him away from the ground, constantly working like he were climbing a training apparatus.
He was aware he'd started transforming just before he grew in height. Clothes becoming part of his skin and the rooftop becoming further from his eyeline, Vladislaus grinned. Then he released an inhuman cry as everything under his skin shifted, nearly making him double over. His arms enlarged, developing obvious muscles, while his nails became black talons. His torso rippled and shifted, gaining a thicker ribcage, new muscles popping into being. His eyes became beady above his already-changed mouth, forehead swelling. Within a few seconds, Vladislaus' muscles stopped shifting. Giant leathery wings spreading out from his torso. Craning his head, Vladislaus screeched to the sky horribly, taloned hands raised, large mouth wide open. Lightning flashed in the sky again, and the wind started bringing rain. Finishing his screech, Vladislaus examined his grey-skinned arms and flesh-coloured wings, lips forming a grin around his oversized gums and stake-like teeth. Thrusting the wings, Vladislaus flew backwards with his back facing the rooftop, then fluidly twisted his body in the air so his chest faced down. Flying from the tower, flight came like Vladislaus had always been able to fly, beating his wings quickly becoming a task his waking mind hardly regarded. The winds and air currents barely seemed to affect him if he didn't ride them. Flying freely between the tall towers, Vladislaus screeched again, the sound carrying so it would've been audible a mile away. The clouds turned white as lightning flashed. Vladislaus circled inside the fortress's towers, flying by the second short tower, then out and around the largest tower's side which faced away from the others. Again, lightning flashed when Vladislaus screeched, forking through the clouds, and thunder clapped. Approaching the tower he'd taken off from, Vladislaus was a vast-seeming, bat-like silhouette against the stormy backdrop. Within five seconds, he was a monstrous man-bat getting close, rearing his lower-body forward and slowing his incredible speed. Vladislaus landed on two feet in the roof's centre. Shrinking his muscles, Vladislaus' wings folded, his height decreased, clothes reappearing. The rain was beating down much harder, but the human-looking Vladislaus was unbothered even as it cascaded down his face, dripping on his nose and brows and making strands of his dark hair stick to his skin. Standing near the roof's edge, the Devil likewise seemed unaffected.
"I take it you are pleased with your new form?" the Devil murmured, voice clear over the winds and thunder, tone suggesting he didn't need an answer. He was smiling quite-darkly. Vladislaus turned his head, also smiling darkly. Behind him, lightning forked above the mountains and thunder boomed.
"It is greatly appreciated, and I suspect, I shall enjoy it thoroughly in the future," Vladislaus murmured, voice growling near the end, as he slowly walked forward. The Devil smiled slowly, maliciously.
"I should hope so, my son," the Devil said. "And now, let us discuss important business matters."
"Such as?" Vladislaus murmured carefully, mouth becoming a straight line and eyes narrowing.
"Such as those two potions sent to this place with you," the Devil said, turning and walking around the rooftop's edge, cruel yellow eyes remaining on Vladislaus.
"The men who banished me said one potion would turn a man into a beast of God," Vladislaus said, eyes tracking the Devil, shifting his front so it always faced the blood-coated figure.
"It will," the Devil said. "Valerious the Elder was a blind fool to throw them into this place, hoping you might destroy yourself. You have not only the one weapon in this world that can destroy you-" The Devil spun, pacing back towards Vladislaus, grinning near-ferally. "-you have a very valuable tool." The Devil stopped, looking Vladislaus in the eye. Vladislaus' face had darkened slightly. "I know that you have already found the fortress's library. You can learn much about the dark arts from its texts. And the weapon in question, like all good things with time and craft, can be broken." Vladislaus paused, imagining, then an elated grin spread on his face. He liked that idea. A Noble Beast of God, its powers corrupted and twisted to serve evil? How much damage could Vladislaus have such a thing inflict?
After a moment indulging, Vladislaus calmly asked, smile gone; "What is the other potion?"
"The opposite of the Noble Beast; a twin without which, the other potion cannot serve good well," the Devil said. He gave Vladislaus a look that said he expected him to give the answer himself. Swivelling away from the Devil, Vladislaus' blue eyes shifted as he thought deeply, brows furrowed in a dark expression which looked near-anxious. A twin, the opposite, without which the Noble Beast cannot serve good well… The sorcerer-priest had said the silver potion turned men into beasts with men's minds. It granted them the power to kill nearly anything demonic, and it was a tool for good.
"It removes the first potion's spell, before the transformed man is tempted by power," Vladislaus said.
"You are correct," the Devil said. "But there are other details relating to those potions you should know, if you do not wish to be destroyed by unexpected surprises."
"I am listening," Vladislaus said calmly, blue eyes narrowed carefully as he turned on his heel to face the Devil. Lightning flashed and thunder clapped momentarily.
"Do you know where that friend of yours who killed you came from?" the Devil murmured almost-patronisingly. "Or why he has nightmares of battles hundreds of years passed?" Vladislaus' eyes widened a little.
"I do not, but I would be very interested to know," Vladislaus murmured. The Devil's lips peeled back from his teeth manically.
"He is His-" The Devil pointed upwards. "-Left Hand. The angel Gabriel incarnate." Vladislaus' lips were parted for a moment, then closed, though his eyes remained almost-madly wide. His mind went over Gabriel's dreams, his memory loss and his origin in Rome.
"How?" Vladislaus growled hoarsely, voice cutting the roaring wind and rainfall.
"He has been on the Earth for more than fourteen-hundred years," the Devil murmured, not smiling at all. "It is mostly because of him that the forces of darkness never regained their foothold in this world. But you, my son…" He raised a hand holding the cane-skull, pointing a long-nailed finger. "…with all of your powers, can turn the tide in our favour once more." Vladislaus broke eye contact with the Devil. Imagining himself and his fiend minions bringing darkness and terror to the land, Vladislaus found great delight, seeing himself securing more power than ever he had when he'd served God. A wide grin slowly spread on his face. Slowly, he tilted his head skyward – a loud, dark, melodious laugh escaped him while rain poured and lightning flashed, his arms slowly spreading. The Devil smiled wickedly. When he'd finished laughing, Vladislaus looked at the Devil's face, his own face quickly turning stone-cold and serious.
"There will come a time, very soon, when all of Eastern Europe will know my creatures' teeth and blackness, tearing its men, women and children apart," Vladislaus said, husky voice dark. "The Son of the Dragon shall rule the land!" he practically snarled.
"That is delightful," the Devil murmured. "But about your friend-" The Devil pointed a finger again. "-I have foreseen, my son, that there will come a time in the neverending years now laid ahead of you, in which you and Gabriel shall meet once more." Vladislaus' mouth's corners curved slightly downwards, wide eyes intent. "And when you do, though the precise outcome is unknown to me – the scales of good and evil will tip, in one's favour or the other's. When that happens, one of you shall be destroyed." Vladislaus' eyes remained wide, quickly processing this new knowledge. He first considered the possibilities about who would be the destroyed one. The Devil had told Vladislaus he could only be destroyed the Noble Beast, and he now possessed the potion. There was the possibility someone else had imbibed it before his father had received it, but if the Noble Beast's power was alluring enough to warrant a cure being paired with it, Vladislaus suspected he wouldn't have much trouble turning such a being to his side. Overall, the odds were completely in his favour. He looked back at the Devil.
"Truly only the Noble Beast's power can destroy me?" Vladislaus asked, eyes dark while the wind howled loudly.
"Indeed," the Devil murmured, face unreadable. Vladislaus slowly spun on his heel and stalked away through the rain, eyes wide.
"Then it would seem, there is truly no-one," Vladislaus said, "and nothing… that can kill me." He looked back at the Devil, grinning wickedly. The Devil said nothing, simply smiling slyly, white teeth showing. Lightning flashed twice, and in the blink of an eye the Devil vanished. Vladislaus looked at where the Devil had been, blue eyes slightly-lidded, smiling face calm and cool. Turning, he looked out at the mountains, smile pleasant. He was eager to know how much more delightful terrorising his prey would be when he could fly, and after so long trapped, Vladislaus was eager to traverse the fortress's natural barrier; relish in how the gorge and mountains could no longer prevent him. Correctly commanding his muscles, Vladislaus transformed, slightly faster than last time. Releasing a triumphant screech, he leapt from the roof with a mighty spring of his ankles, wings catching the air and flapping.
Flying through thick, twilight-blue rainclouds, the grotesque bat-shape's outline was occasionally highlighted by a lightning-flash, though the storm didn't threaten the creature – he could feel the storm bending and twisting to his will. Vladislaus – or the son of the Devil, Dracula – flew with immense-seeming speed but never slowed or tired, such weaknesses being for the living. Within twenty seconds, the fortress was completely obscured behind him by the clouds. In another ten seconds, snow-dappled rocky peaks were looming through the clouds below and ahead of Dracula, then slowly rolling away behind him. He wholly intended to find Vaseria, whether he was still in the Eastern Carpathians or across the world from Transylvania. He looked forward to seeing the villagers' staring, mindless terror when he swooped on them in his new form, and he had unfinished business with his former-family. He wholly meant to uphold his declaration he would bring all of Eastern Europe to heel. He would see his minions spread far and wide, while those that defied him would bend or forever perish. Vladislaus Valerious was gone, now he was Dracula, a scourge upon the Earth. He would secure evil's grip in this part of the world again, and most importantly, he would be master of all the dark things that roamed.
A/N: I hope you like my take on Dracula's backstory. In the film, I thought there was probably something more by how Dracula reacted when he saw Van Helsing; likewise with his 'This cannot be!' moment – hence the prophecy in this chapter. :) :) I also hope you like my take on the werewolf cure's origin – I'm a bit of a werewolf fan and I think that came across with the potions in this chapter. I'd also like to know what you think of my take that the curse is all Valerious the Elder's fault.
Please R&R! :)