Chapter -3-

Justus Bell clinched his right hand around the butt of the pistol. For some reason, it didn't provide him with any relief. He had four magazines, not counting the one already in the weapon. His eyes shifted quickly from left to right, looking around the courtyard. Nothing moved but the area seemed lively with greenery.

Halfway across the square-shaped yard, Justus seemed to jump before his mind registered the noise that came from behind. He whirled around, pointing the weapon at the gate he'd just come through; his hands shook gently, causing the gun to tremble. He tightened his grip over the rubberized handle, keeping his arms fully extended like the novice that he was.

A voice from the far left startled him; again he seemed to jump before his mind could register that a noise broke the surrounding silence. He pivoted on his foot and pointed the weapon at an elderly gentleman with a torn sweater. Justus blinked a few times, lowering the weapon by forty-five degrees; he'd seen that in a movie or video game somewhere.

"Don't shoot me son," said the aging gentleman. He had reading glasses atop of his balding forehead. "You're obviously not a cop; you don't look like you know what you're doing with that thing. At least you have the common sense to point it at the ground, though. You're awfully jumpy, kid. Do you even know where you are?"

Justus licked his lips apprehensively, looking the harmless man over with some measure of relief. He took a long, slow breath then said, "In the middle of a crime scene in Romania. Did you see what happened out there?"

"I'm afraid not," said the man. "I heard a noise and sound of cops shouting orders. I came out of hiding just now, but you don't look much like a cop."

"They're all dead." Justus remained concise, still in a measure of shock. He'd never seen a bloody corpse. Young Bell made a disgusted face and lowered his voice. "Those images are still fresh in my mind," he muttered in a sour tone.

"I see. Police officers are here but… they're dead?" The man's rhetorical question caused Justus to grimace. "Sorry, son. I'm just trying to make sure I have the facts straight. This appears to be a finely recreated version of the citadel once owned by Lord and Prince, Vlad Tepes the Third. It's strange, I've lived in the cottage adjacent to this castle for years and I've never been inside. We came through the main gate and suddenly, you could see the entire town. The overgrown courtyard vanished before my eyes as if I'd gone back into time."

Justus offered a dubious smirk. "Two minutes ago, everything outside of that gate was flat. Fields of grass as far as the eye could see. Among the cops, there were farmers using scythes to cut down the grass in front of the main gate. The cops were setting up a field tent when everyone was ambushed. There are no towns around here within visual range. And who the hell is 'we' for that matter?"

"You're wrong," said the older gentleman. "Go look out through the bars of that gate and prove me wrong. The name is James Johnson. The girl I came in with was Molly… Fields, I think. Yes, Molly Fields. She was about your age, give or take a year. I've not seen her since we were separated." He paused then pointed to the gate. "Go on, take a look, young man."

Justus turned about and walked back to the gate, crossing the courtyard. He peered out between the massive iron bars, keeping the gun pointed at the ground. The young man gasped loud enough for James to hear, halfway across the square yard. He glanced over his shoulder at the old man who simply shrugged. Justus turned his gaze back to the bars, looking through them. Large spikes were anchored in the ground, rising up from the soil at a height of about six feet. Every police officer and field worker that had been killed now rested upon those spikes.

Their fresh blood ran down the metallic spines, which lined a cliff-like precipice overlooking an archaic feudal town. On second look, the village appeared to be European in design. The soft howl of wind could be heard, adding to the sensation of being at the top of a cliff. A light fog rolled through the town, below, shrouding it just enough to feel spooky.

"What the hell is that?" Justus demanded, pointing the gun at the gate and the image beyond. That wasn't there! What the hell is going on; this is bull sh-" Justus suddenly found himself cut off by a curious shrieking from within the castle. He glanced up at the windows in the turrets at the far corners of the courtyard. They appeared dim and so he lowered his gaze to the dimly illuminated entryway at the far end of the yard.

Upon reproaching Johnson, the old man lifted his finger. The boy paused; James came besides him and turned to stand directly adjacent then lifted his arms out, palms together and his elbows bent. "Hold the weapon like this. If you keep a relaxed grip, your muscles won't quaver with strain. Right now, you've got adrenaline in your blood so your body is shaking with the raw effects from it. The more you stay relaxed, the more accurate you will be with that thing. It doesn't look like any revolver I've ever seen, though."

"…Revolver?" Justus held the gun out as instructed but cast a furtive glance over at the man. "Who the hell uses a revolver anymore?"

James quirked his brow. "Umm, everyone I know? Unless you use a Winchester or Remington. And that sure doesn't look like a rifle to me, son."

Justus studied the old man carefully. "You're acting like we're in the mid-to-late eighteen hundreds. You older than you look or something?"

"Give it a rest. I don't even know your name yet," James retorted. "Now, point that thing at something and pull the trigger. Let's see how your aim is, boy."

Justus took a slow breath, pointed the Taurus at a potted plant on a pedestal, twenty-five yards away. He lined up the metal nub at the end of the barrel with the groove at the back then pulled the trigger. The gun jerked upwards in his hands but he kept it from lifting more than an inch or so. To his pleasant surprised, the ceramic pot shattered, spilling soil over the pedestal. The plant dropped to the marble steps.

James offered a grin. "See? Easy, ain't it? You've just gotta relax. So what's your name, sure shot?"

"Justus Bell. You do realize it's the year twenty – forty-four, right?"

"Yeah," James replied in a sarcastic tone, adding, "And don't forget, there's a field out there; tall grass as far as the eye can see. Well Justus, you can call me James. Since you've got the gun, a forty-five caliber by the sound of it, I think I'll follow you around for a bit. If you don't mind, that is."

"I… could use the company," Bell replied, looking the man over again. His choice of clothing reflected the late 1890's or possibly early 1900's. Justus couldn't be sure, though. He turned his gaze back to the potted plant. Suddenly, his eyes widened and his jaw dropped. "What in God's name is that?"

James turned back to the potted plant then frowned, backing up until he was being Justus. The lone plant, lying on the marble, began to pick itself up as if it were a creature out of a movie. Its stringy roots seemed to hold it up as if using them for legs. The large bulbous part at the top, shaped like an ear of corn, tilted forward at ninety degrees then parted in the center, like an ovular dog's muzzle. It began to maneuver towards the two.

Justus didn't know how to react. Still in shock, his first reaction was one of near amusement. "What is that thing? A little shop of horrors, anybody?"

"Pardon? Why don't you shoot it?" James asked.

"It's a walking plant," replied the young man. "I should take this back to Europe and sell it for a mint. Wait; what's it doing?" He watched curiously as the plant quickened its pace, approaching them with an aggressive body language. It snapped its beak-like mouth, gnashing angrily as if it sported teeth with which to do so. "Am I really seeing this?" Justus asked, shaking his head. He lifted the gun; the plant continued to close on them.

"This is definitely a first," Bell added, keeping the gun trained on the approaching plant. "Hey, I bet it's an herbivore; would that make it a cannibal?"

James backed away from Justus, slowly. "Just… shoot it, will you? Now would be a fanciful time, young man."

Before Justus could react further, the plant literally leapt at him, mouth gaping wide. In that split second, he could see several rows of shimmering incisors. The plant's leafy appendages rippled as it floated through the air, diving at him. In that instant, he could actually smell rotted meat on the plant's breath. His eyes fluttered, his ears flickered and his mind registered the flash of a weapon. His hands felt something buck against them and the plant's offensive dive suddenly reversed in course.

The strange creature flew backwards, dropping to the ground about two meters from Justus Bell's feet. It thrashed about on the ground for a moment. Strange hissing noises came from the plant then it locked up and froze. As if on cue, it began to wither before their eyes. James peeked over the boy's shoulder, watching as it writhed in agony for several seconds then froze completely. Seconds later, the creature began to visibly wither, turning to ashes as if right out of a movie.

Upon closer observation, the mouth-like head had been shattered, leaving small green residue on the concrete blocks in the surrounding area. James patted the young man on the shoulder and said, "Nice job, sure shot. That's two direct hits; pretty good for a greenhorn. Let's hope your luck holds out. C'mon, I don't want to stay in this courtyard."

Justus lifted his eyes to the dusky looking sky and frowned. "I thought it wasn't even six o'clock yet? Look how quickly the sun set, James. Say, the fullmoon was last night right?"

"Are you kidding?" James asked with a measure of surprise. "Son, this is Dracula's castle. It's been a full moon every night, since Molly and I came here. I'm not even kidding. And if you think I am, you'll see for yourself."

The boy frowned. "Dammit."

"Problems?" Johnson placed his hands on his hips, walking passed the youth and heading towards the entrance on the other side of the courtyard.

"It's possible," replied Bell. "I've got it on good authority that the full moon will present a problem for me. I've got this condition, see. I've been ill over the last few days. Oddly, I've felt pretty damn good since the attack. I think the adrenaline is keeping the pain at bay."

"Or you're about to turn into a werewolf," James said casually. He stopped at the entrance, looked back at Justus then smiled. "What…? I'm just… you know… just kidding; c'mon."

The inner sanctum bore a fresh coating of slick scarlet; the obviously wanton gore a far cry from simple paint. The grim mosaic had been splattered across the floors and occasionally decorated the walls. James seemed surprised to see the mess, citing that it had not been present less than an hour ago.

Justus, quick to do the math, eased the old man's worries by explaining, "My Uncle, Julius Belmont, is somewhere around here."

"Belmont?" The old man had a great deal of surprise in his voice. "As in the clan of vampire hunters? The ones that branched out into the Schneider family, the Morris family and the Belmondo family?"

Justus quickly became agitated. "Y-yeah, something like that. He says he traces me back to some blue crescent something-or-other guy named Cornell. Heard of him too?"

James tilted his head then politely shook in a negative answer. "No, I'm afraid I've not heard of 'Cornell.' Why do you ask? What is his relevance?"

"I don't know, exactly," said the boy. They continued down the hallway, following the trail of blood. "Uncle J. doesn't know a great deal of his story, either." They made a right down the next hallway, continuing to follow the broken bones, blood and stench which Julius left in his wake. "I think he had an adopted sister or something but I don't remember all the details. It was, like, back in the mid 1840's so, you know; anyhow, Cornell's bloodline has made me the way I am.

"Then, in 1980, Julius' father bore a bastard son who grew up away from the family due to an inability to … I don't know, maybe he couldn't pay child support. That woman was apparently related to Cornell, or maybe my grandfather's wife. I'm not sure if my father was the first person to have this sickness or if his father struggled with it. Hell, I didn't get to ask him all those questions. My old man, Simon Bell, died in a car accident in Romania, a few years back. Now everything is screwed up." Justus took a long, slow breath then signed. "Complicated crap, huh? Illegitimate kids, mixed bloodlines, changes in surnames; it's a real Goddamn mess – tough to follow."

"Understood," James replied. "Did you seriously just say that Julius and his half-brother were born in 1980?"

"Yeah, sixty-four years ago – why?" Justus glanced back at the strange man again.

James looked back to the hallway and shrugged. "n-Nothing, never mind. Perhaps you and miss Molly Fields have more in common than I'd initially realized. At any rate, my good sir, please lead on. It appears your Uncle has not only left us a trail of metaphorical bread crumbs, but it seems he's rather an accomplished warrior. We'd do well to find him and stick together."

"Yeah, I feel the same way," Justus muttered, adding, "He told me he fought Dracula when he was only nineteen. The more I see weird stuff going on in this castle, the more I'm starting to believe him. It's eerie. I think my adrenaline is starting to wear off though; I'm suffering from a serious lack of Advil."

As the two continued down the hall, the blood trail became less intense. Sporadically, piles of human skeletons could be found in pieces on the floor, however. James glanced back at Justus and finally asked, "What is 'Advil,' Justus?"

The boy rolled his eyes, half assuming that they simply didn't market the drug by that name in this part of the world. He thought nothing of it and recited the medication's trademark slogan, "Its advanced medicine for pain, old man. Say, if you're from this area or whatever, how do you know English so well?"

"Because I'm not originally from these parts, obviously!" James chuckled. He then said, "I studied at Oxford and…" The old man was suddenly interjected by a loud crack of something sounding like thunder. The noise tapered off into a low rumbling noise and yet no light flashed in the windows. They approached the nearest window and peered out into the starry sky. "I don't see storm clouds; what could that have been?"

"Thunder doesn't need a cloud to exist," Justus explained, adding, "That crap is caused by hot and cold air, clashing. I don't remember the detailed but I just graduated from high school last year. I thought you said you studied at Oxford. You don't know what causes Thunder? What was your major? Mathematics?" The noise happened again.

Because of their proximity to the stone-cut window, they both realized that the sound came from further within the castle and not outside. The two looked at one another then continued on their way, following the trail of defeated goons left by Julius. Within a few minutes, Justus began cursing under his breath at the pain in his joints and lower back.

James cocked a brow then furrowed them in reply to his distaste. "Is there truly a reason to utter such vituperative nonsense?"

"It hurts, you asshole." Justus immediately paused and sighed. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you; I'm just… physically sick or something. My lower back is killing me and now my left hand is starting to ache terribly."

"Look," James said.

"Yes?"

Old man Johnson shook his head then pointed at Justus' left hand and repeated, "No… Look." He motioned to the fact that Justus' fingernails were disproportionately long compared to those of his right hand. The boy blinked in confusion. He put the gun into his waistband then held his hands up, side by side, to a nearby torch which burned brightly from a hook on the wall.

"What is going on here?" he exclaimed in a sharp voice of protest. "Look at my Goddamn hand! Is this what he was talking about?"

"Who?" asked the older man.

"Great Uncle Julius said I would become a werewolf and… and… son of a bitch!" he shouted. The last three words echoed off the large stone corridors, taunting him with their quixotic change in tone. He tried to ball his left hand into a fist but couldn't close his fingers into his palm because of the length of his new fingernails. They appeared thicker than normal, like claws. He turned his hands over, gazing down at his palms then offered a sharp gasp. "What in the hell is happening to my fingertips and palm?"

Before his very eyes, the skin was beginning to split. A dark coloration seemed to be present beneath the skin. Several layers of flesh peeled back with ease, to release the thick black padding.

"It's similar to the paw of an animal. Open your mouth, Justus."

"What?" The boy gawked at him. "My mouth?" Regardless of his argument, he did as he was asked and parted his lips then dropped his jaw."

James staggered with something akin to fear at what he saw. "Mother Mary, please help us." Justus' expression seemed blank, full of confusion. After a moment to let the panic subside, James said, "You've gained rather distinct incisors, Mister Bell. Run your tongue along the top row of your teeth, then the bottom row, if you please."

The boy did so and seemed alarmed. There were spaces between his molars now; his jaw seemed to be elongated somewhat. His canines were long and pointed on the top and bottom row of his front teeth. He quickly glanced around, trying to find a wall mirror but couldn't seem to locate one. Instead, he turned and punched the wall. To his surprise, it didn't even hurt.

At first he assumed that the other pains in his body masked and possibly even trumped the pain in his fist from striking the wall. He then snatched the gun from his belt and placed the barrel against his new left paw.

"No! Wait!" cried Mister Johnson. "Don't be foolish!"

"I can't think clearly…" Justus trailed off, dropping the Taurus on the ground. It clattered on the stone floor, clattering out into the middle of the hall, where the center plate was tiled in marble. The boy dropped to his knees, below the window, burying his head between his knees. "Jesus Christ, it hurts…"

"Where, Justus?"

"Everywhere!" the boy exclaimed in anguish. The pain in his lower back lessened in intensity, now in a near-fetal position but seemed to be by-far the most painful of all his ailments. His left arm lanced out and he began to scrap his new claws across the stone floor before rolling onto his side. His legs were tucked up to his chest in the shape of a ball and tears stained his cheeks. He grunted long and loud in pain as if trying to lift a granite boulder but in the course of that extended breath, his voice tone changed. The grunt rolled back into the deeper section of his throat, becoming a feral sounding growl.

Immediately blinded by fear, James Johnson snatched the torch off of the wall and broke into a run. He disappeared down the hall, leaving Justus alone in the dark. His footfalls faded into the distance until silence deafened the teenager.

Justus Bell swung his right arm out, sweeping his fingers across the stone until it touched the bloody marble slab. The coagulated trail of blood, possibly from the flesh of the undead itself, felt cold and sticky against his fingertips. Finally, he found the gun in the dark and lifted the barrel to his head, seeking an immediate relief from the incredible agony of his first transformation.

He pressed the barrel against his head as hard as he possibly could then squeezed the trigger. However, the trigger wouldn't depress. He tried with all of his might and all of his adrenaline but the trigger would not move. The harder her grinded the metal barrel to his head, the less he realized that the sliding mechanism was what kept the gun from firing. Hot tears gushed from his eyes, dripping off of his chin and onto the granite section of the floor.

The gun fell back to the ground and he reached his paws to the top of his head where excruciating pain lanced through his skull. At first it felt as though someone had lifted him up with their fingers by means of his eye sockets but then the pain shifted dramatically. The drastic, agonizing sensation shifted to the top of his head. It was tenfold of any migraine he'd ever experienced.

The pain was so severe that he only now realized he'd gone without taking a breath for the last two minutes. His body's natural instincts kicked in and he gasped for breath with the next stabbing sensation. The pain came in waves now, assailing every inch of his body. His paws felt something obtruding from his hair. His fingertips closed around the soft, fuzzy flesh. His mind, attempting to faint into Morpheus' wasteland of oblivion but unable to bridge the gap, could not fathom that he now gripped at his new ears.

The triangular protrusions upon his head seemed to be covered in a light coating of blood or some measure of plasma. The gooey substance coated the fresh coat of fur that grew up through the pores of his flesh in the last few minutes. He opened his mouth to scream but the most foreign of noises filled his ears… the howl of a wolf…

The beating of his heart pounded loudly in his head, deafening him. Finally, unable to cope with the incredible pain of breaking the seal in his blood for the very first time, Justus Bell fled into the depths of unconsciousness…

A/N: Okay, now our protagonist has ungone the transformation. Neat. We also see a dash of history leading up to that point and at least one creature. Now, FINALLY, I can get to the action. You know, the part where our protagonist rips everything to shreads like a feral incarnate of the deadly caged beast that he is? Yeah, like that.

I love action sequences. I love describing the fighting scenes, the way a beast as kickass as a werewolf might rip some zombie's arm off, you know... THE GOOD STUFF! As soon as our hero wakes up, he's going to be so utterly fueled with adrenaline that ANYTHING in his way WILL get turned into kibble.

So, what'cha think so far? Also, I'm VERY OPEN TO SUGGESTIONS. If you guys want to see a little romance between Justus and Molly or if you want to see James Johnson get disembowled by the bad guys, JUST SAY SO. That's how I roll, yaw'll.

So, let's hear some ideas, huh? Thanks!

-Kit