Fear was an unusual feeling for the Lord of Darkness.
As a vampire - a Dracula at that - there was rarely a reason to be afraid of anything. And yet, he couldn't shake off the pit of dread that formed in his stomach as his bat-self took flight from Vlad's cave back out into the world. It had been only a day within his father's cave, and he already felt far more secure inside of it than he did outside. It was baffling when he thought about it, really. Who would have imagined that his father of all people would be the one to offer him the sense of comfort, after the way things were left between them all those years ago? Dracula shook his head and reeled in his thoughts. He would need to focus if he wanted to complete this mission.
Dracula let the wind carry him above the clouds and over the vast Transylvanian landscape, his eyes scanning the land below until they caught just what he was looking for - a town.
It was a small one, with tiled roofs on small buildings and cobblestone roads dusted with the dirt of passing travelers. Not a soul wandered the streets, and windows were dark and curtained. Even from high up in the sky, Dracula could easily detect which one of these buildings was the one he intended to descend upon, and he ended up setting his sights on a slightly taller edifice. It was made of an aged stone, sitting somewhere right in the heart of the town with three tall stories and a design that looked more akin to a vintage manor. The red crosses painted on the doors however easily gave away that this was not a personal property, and in a couple of wing flaps the vampire alighted.
Dracula landed on the rooftop, shapeshifting into a mouse and scurrying through some open piping that led down into the building itself. It took a few twists and turns, but the Count managed to maneuver his way in, coming out the other end in a storage room of sorts. Finally, turning back into his humanoid form, he quietly sifted past the spare linens and supplies, opening the door to enter the main grounds of the facility. He was greeted by an expansive hallway, with a sleek tiled floor. It stretched out before him for a good hundred feet, dimly lit with flickering fluorescents hanging from the ceiling. His shoes clicked on the floor as he began to walk along it, slowly, following its curve with purpose and careful attention. It was, admittedly, an unnerving place to be. One did not have to be an expert to know that this was a place of illness and death. He could feel it in the air, like a tangible fog surrounding every room he passed by.
His heightened senses picked up every feeble moan and whimper he heard, every twitch or cough. It was almost suffocating, and he tried his best to ignore it. Instead, he resolved to concentrate on the scent he was after. Surely there was a bay in the building reserved for aciurgy.
Once and then twice he turned a corner, unable to pick up the tangy smell that he so recognized. The third time, he finally found it; the pungent, acrid scent was unmistakable and his footsteps quickened as new determination drove him forward. The hallway got more narrow as he went, rooms that were once large and intended to hold many people now being divided into smaller, more personalized units. The blood smell was strong now, and the Count halted. This was his destination.
Silently opening the nearest door to him, Dracula peered inside. It was a lab.
Sterilized equipment sat on tables and shelves, various vials and tubes lining the workstation behind a counter. Above the scent of chemicals was that of the blood that flooded his nostrils. Without hesitation he moved toward it, automatically locating the storage locker in the opposite corner of the room. Bags of the crimson liquid, fresh and untouched, rested there, awaiting use. His mouth watered at the sight. Such a long time it had been since he'd drank human blood. It was not the healthiest form of nutrition due to its fatty nature, but a delectable one regardless. With that knowledge in mind, it wasn't hard for the Count to emanate the self-control needed to resist his hunger. Promptly, three of the 8-ounce bags were removed from the case and tucked securely into the inner pockets of his shirt. After making sure the lock on the locker was securely closed again, the Count returned to the doorway. Shadows moved along on the other side and low voices were heard. The Count quickly moved back, pressing himself against the wall and allowing the hospital staff members to pass. Once they were gone, he slinked himself out of the room, carefully clicking the door without so much as a sound.
He could still hear the voices of the nurses that passed by, though they were faint and further down the hallway in another unit. The patient they were tending to groaned in reluctance at their approach, but allowed them to continue in their duties. For several moments, the vampire stood alone in the empty hallway, pausing to listen, registering once more that this was a place of weakness, where humans - no matter how powerful in spirit they were - were powerless in body, and not at all like the ones who invaded their home and...
Dracula 's eyes darkened, his fists clenched as the fresh memory assaulted him and he gritted his fangs together. A mix of curiosity and hatred getting the better of him, he strode into another one of the nearby rooms. This one was a patient infirmary, with several cots holding the sickly and frail asleep in the beds. The Count's pupils became slits, his fangs baring ever so slightly and a small growl leaving his lips as he approached. His father was right. How easy it would be to sink his fangs into their throats, rip the life out of their bodies and exact his revenge. He was a vampire, and the humans had nearly taken his love from him. It would in a sense feel right.
The growl escalated when his sights landed on one particular human who looked hauntingly familiar to a man from the mob who'd been adamant about his intention to stake the vampire - the same crooked nose and sunken cheeks that Drac had seen before he ended the attacker's life. But the growl just as quickly died out when the Count's gaze drifted to the cot next to him. Atop of it was a woman, her skin pallid and her face drawn. Dark cascading hair spilled onto her pillow onto the pillow below her, the breathing shallow and hardly there. Dracula stopped, swallowing thickly. What was he thinking? This human woman here... she was not unlike his own Martha. All the more likely to be innocent and undeserving of the brutal end he'd just envisioned for her and her companions in the room. The words he'd spoken to his father prior to taking flight rang in his ears again, this time more forcefully.
We can't be like the humans. They may want to hurt us, but we don't. We are better than them.
He had said them to Vlad, and he intended to keep his word. Martha would not want him to hurt a human. She expressed many a time the desire to have peace with them, in fact. It would be a great disrespect to counteract on her wishes and act on vengeance. It would do more harm than good, painting the picture of vampires to be exactly as humans feared them to be - vile and bloodthirsty, filled with a lust for destruction and death upon the weaker beings. It was not how he wished to be portrayed. There was more to a vampire than the generalizations that humans made, and he would show restraint for the sake of his zing.
With a swish of his cape he turned heel, reentering the hospital hallways and retracing the steps he took to make his way back the way he came in. It proved a little more difficult, as he now had to evade the more staff members that were now entering the facility and milling about. Morning was about to come, the first hints of dawn breaking through at the very edge of the horizon.
In haste, Dracula took his bat form again, flying up and above the land once more, toting the sacred lifeblood in his back claws and leaving the human hospital and its spared victims far behind.