Chapter -4-
Countess Báthory Erzsébet
Justus' respite from pain was short lived. The world slid back into focus, sharper than before. The acute clarity felt mind boggling. Every color seemed brighter; the darkness in which he lay felt clear, as if he only lay in a patch of light gray shade. Every crevice of the concrete tile beneath him had well defined lucidity; his eyes perceived every grain of dust before his nose and he discerned the temperature from his whiskers before he could perceive it from the padding of his paws.
Justus Bell sat up on the floor and propped himself against the wall. Ethereal moonlight from the window above illuminated the dust particles in the most dazzling way. The dust swirled about; the speckles' graceful dance became highlighted by its tantalizingly slow descent to the ground, several feet from his face.
The moonbeam reached diagonally from the window, cascading through the abyss until it splayed across the marble flooring at the center of the hallway. The frail white illumination sparkled on the tiles, causing the marble section to incandesce in the most brilliant way.
The world around him seemed hyper-focused; his psychological senses felt clear and his heart seemed relaxed. His sensory perception felt newly attuned in a way that only an LSD user might comprehend. While far milder than an acid trip, Justus felt that every conceivable perception caused a powerful sensation; every image and sound caused some sort of subtle smell, taste or feeling – both physical and emotional. The powerful first-time sensation of auspex felt incredible.
Justus felt and sensed everything including the grain and texture of the very fabric of his tattered clothing. His flesh and fur relayed signals to his brain that informed him on the most subconscious level – torn, splayed threading covered his torso. The cool clasp of metal upon his stomach blended into a firm, smooth contour of well-aged leather encircling his waist. The belt metaphorically seemed to merge into denim which tapered off into shredded threading over his upper thighs. An additional weight of ripped garment hung from his ankles where the remaining denim clung; a frayed rag at best.
He reached outwards and closed his velveteen padded palm around the handgun on the floor. He drew it close then pushed it into his belt. The room-temperature metal felt odd. A different mass and density from his belt buckle, it now felt secure at his waist, providing a tingling feeling against his body. It's shape, a sharp right angle, felt comfortable half buried against his fur. The Taurus 24 / 7 forty-five caliber handgun remained snug against his body.
Without so much as thinking, he reached down and captured the threadbare, dilapidated remains of denim. His clawed fingertips were furry and yet muscular. His newly dexterous digits clinched at the fabric and his arm drew back, tearing the remains from his ankles without so much as straining in the slightest. Justus released the useless garment to the floor and stood up.
While the cotton boxers expanded without tearing, conforming to the muscular contour of his hips, thighs and crotch, they felt awkward and tight against his left leg. Equally, the remains of his jeans were beyond comfortable, unable to encase the build of his crotch and hips properly. He used his claws to cut through the denim belt loops then the inseam at the side until the remainder of his jeans dropped to the floor. His belt now touched his fur and flesh directly providing fresh new sensations.
He quickly reached his left paw down to the back of his thigh, rolling his padded fingertips along the contour of a foreign lump in the cotton boxers. As his fingers followed down the hemmed fabric, he realized that a tuft of fur fanned out behind his left leg. His eyes widened and his head lowered to acknowledge the fact that he now sifted his fingertips through the fur of his tail.
Justus Bell paused, gawking in disbelief. 'I'm a …werewolf.' The words failed his vocal cords but seemed almost loudly spoken, reverberating through his mind. He came to the realization that he'd been holding his breath this entire time and exhaled; redrawing in a deep, calm lungful of air.
The inhalation felt reinvigorating and allowed him to taste the fresh air from the window above. The aromatic sensation of the air subconsciously suggested to him that his body was a fair distance above sea level; Dracula's castle rested at the top of some sort of cliff or hilltop. He could feel the barometric pressure and sense the altitude in his joints.
The newly transformed beast began to shake his head. Slowly at first, the urge to quicken the pace led into his torso instinctively joining the action. The revitalizing tremor that had started at his neck continued down his spine until it ended at the tip of his tail; Justus shook like a wet dog, stimulating every nerve ending in his body. He felt wide awake and alert. Everything about his form felt electric to him; for the first time, Justus Bell felt truly alive and his instincts tingled as they were designed to do.
Everything felt oddly right about this transformation; it was in his blood and his spirit. The five-foot ten-inch young man now stood at an even six foot tall. His redesigned ankle perched upon mighty, wide hind paws, making balance seem natural. His powerful forearms and furry, human-esque hand structure felt tight, starting at the forearms.
Everything felt innate. His obstinate attempt at a mental acclimation to his new strength fell to the wayside in his mind. Everything felt so perfectly natural about his new body that it seemed difficult to grasp the simple concept that Justus Bell was stronger than before.
The post-transition felt so intrinsic, instinctive and inherent that the nineteen year old boy didn't know his own new strength. He stood up straight, stretching his torso and joints as if he'd just spent eight hours in bed. He arched his back, stretched his legs then returned his gaze to the dim surroundings.
Justus' eyes zeroed in on gorgeous satin drapery decorating the other side of the hallway. It lined the granite bulkhead opposite of the window, stopping every ten meters for a pedestal, containing an armored suit. The unused armor, silver in coloration, glinted – even in the dim illumination – due to its cleanliness. The nearest well-preserved metal suit also had a flowing cape at the neck piece, hanging to the floor. The fashionable cloak, black on the outside and red on the inside, appeared at a glance to be nearly six feet in length.
Stepping out of his worthless, torn shoes, Justus approached the armor and removed the cloak from the neck of the cuirass section. He drew it about himself and secured it over his shoulders with a broach. The clasp resembled a Crucifix, fashioned from heavy, dense platinum. His eyes lifted, raking over the attractive suit of armor. He wondered if it would fit him. Ultimately, he decided that the new, inhuman structure of his joints would not allow him to don the protective suit.
Justus drew the cloak closed around his body and then lifted a hooded section over his head. The hem of the hood came to his brow but didn't sit perfectly upon his brow. There were two pointy lumps at the top, where his ears perched above his head-fur. Beneath, his tattered shirt clung diagonally over the cross-section of his torso.
He removed his cotton boxers, turned them around so that they were reversed, then pulled them back up his legs beneath his cloak; he readjusted them for a proper fit. He now wore them backwards with the unbuttoned section in the back to allow for his tail to exit through the unfastened space. It felt a bit more natural, although a slightly larger waistband would have been even better. For now, the undergarment did what it was designed to do: conceal the intimate details of his new body.
Justus sniffed at the air then glanced over his shoulder. Obviously the old man ran off, down the hallway. He could be tracked if necessary. For now, it was best that the old man find somewhere safe to hide. Justus turned his attention back to the trail of fallen evil that dotted the corridor.
He collected the remaining four magazines of ammunition from his tattered scraps of clothing and slid them into the belt, at the flattest section of his lower back. Satisfied and feeling prepared to continue on his journey alone, Justus tightened the broach and cleared his throat. The beast turned towards the now-faint scent of his elder bloodline and began to follow after Julius Belmont.
Within minutes, the hallway opened into a magnificent, imposing foyer. Two winding staircases reached to a loft on the left and right side of the grand hall. As Justus walked out into the large area his ears perked and his body began to pivot. His natural and instinctive reactions occurred before his mind could perform the routine of analytical logic…
His mental capacity, while seeming fresh with this new sense of clarity, finally managed to catch up with his instinctual physical reaction once his eyes landed on the door he'd come from. He'd leapt forward…
A gate had fallen from in the upper part of the wall, landing squarely upon the ground with a thud. The metallic bars prohibited his return to the hallway from which he had come.
The fur of his tail bristled, along with the thick covering of hair upon the back of his neck. His eyes narrowed and his body tensed, ready for anything. Justus gasped in an almost euphoric way; adrenaline filled his blood, simply at the behest of his mind and instincts. The sensation of a dark presence filled the air, leaving a foul taste on the roof of his mouth. The werewolf's ears lay flat causing the hood to conform better to his head.
He turned back towards the duel staircase and now faced the rotting husks of undead corpses. They bore armor with a logo unknown to him. The archaic Roman Empire soldiers drew their swords and shields like the trained crusaders that they once were. "Slay the heathen!" one cried in a raspy voice. Each of five men quickly charged Justus. His ears perceived a horrible noise: their metallic breeches and boots, shaking at the joints and stomping upon the floor. Justus' eyes crossed from pain due to the audible assault.
Beneath the hood, the furry beast winced; his arms lifted from beneath the cloak and his fists opened, displaying fresh virgin claws. They glistened like the season's first snowfall. His arms tensed and his paws reached out. As if trained by a combat master, Justus Bell surrendered to his new instincts.
His claws met the brittle, archaic body-plating of the first soldier. Justus arched his elbows, using his forearms to brush away his attacker's hands. The shield and sword parted and his claws plunged into the enemy's torso. He crossed his wrists, forcing his paws to pass, one over the other, completely eviscerating the undead guard's sternum. His razor sharp nails diced through ribs, snapping some and slashing through others. The undead being's spine began to curve backwards with the weight of his shoulders and head.
Everything played out before Justus' eyes as if it happened in slow motion. The first attacker, split open at the chest, began to buckle at the knees. His momentum kept his lower body moving forward while the weight of his upper body and armor caused him to peel back like a banana. His spine, the remaining section of the fruit's peel, caused the top portion of the banana to topple back, parallel to the bottom half of the metaphorical fruit.
He felt hyper-focused on the battle itself. The clattering of a sword and shield across the granite floor hardly registered to Justus; it sounded as though the metal collided with the ground at the bottom of a deep well. The sounds, far away and deeper in pitch, made the moment feel rather surreal.
With his wrists now crossed, Justus turned his paws over then drew them out as if performing a breaststroke under water. The maneuver slashed through the spine of that first enemy, breaking him into two separate halves. The legs and stomach dropped to the left of Justus' feet while the top portion of the body fell to his right. The second attacker came directly behind the defeated leader of the pack.
The werewolf's lengthy fingertips met the next opponent across the belly, disemboweling the undead legionnaire. Gelatinous splotches of coagulated blood splashed across the granite tiles, resembling brown jelly mixed with tar. He diced the attacker's rotting intestines like a warm slab of pepperoni. The rotted chips of freshly diced meat spilled into a pile of quivering wedges upon the floor.
Justus brought his arms down, inward, then back up in the technique of a duel uppercut. His claws turned the flesh – covered with brittle, worthless metal – into giblets which lifted into the air. The macabre gore scene seemed complete; square chunks of putrefaction soared above the group. The decaying flesh then rained down over the remaining three monsters.
The cloak billowed out behind Justus Bell, displaying his muscular, furry contours to the room; the beast turned into a hard pivot. His arms reached outwards gracefully and his dilated eyes shrank for an instant in reaction to a flash of lightning. The room turned incredibly bright… Justus' arms met slight resistance as he spun about with his paws extended towards his opponents.
The hyper-focused sensation of crawling time faded and the world around him sped up. As his pivoting spin maneuver came to its conclusion, the blinding arc of lightning in the windows began to fade from the night sky. His eyes quickly readjusted just in time for him to see three decapitated heads, complete with rusty helmets, fall from their respective bodies.
An iconic crash of thunder coincided with the bodies and heads striking the floor, drowning out the shrill noise of clattering armor against smooth granite. A splash of deep garnet covered the hall and the rumble of thunder tapered off, leaving a palpable silence. Justus gasped his first deep breath since the beginning of the attack, only to realize that the entire fight reached its climatic conclusion. It all ended before he could blink once. He drew his paws up in a battle-ready stance but nothing remained to offer resistance.
His mind raced to analyze this situation with rational logic; the return of his sharp mind resulted in a gasp of surprise. He lowered his light-mocha gaze, unable to fathom the fact that he'd caused this carnage in the split-second it took to blink his eyes one time. Vertical obsidian slits over a circular amber palette; those orbs flitted about the area to check for other attackers. He scanned the staircase then sighed in relief, content to be alone.
"Jesus, what have I become?" His voice stunned him, echoing off the large hall and high ceiling. Slightly deeper and a wonderfully melodic baritone, Justus once again gasped in surprise at the end of his audible inquiry.
Not expecting a response and unable to sense another presence in the room, Justus found himself startled when a voice replied from out of thin air. He whirled around to face the direction of the speaker who explained, "You've become your destiny, child of lupine. You are the sixth-great grandchild of Cornell – my childhood friend."
Justus' eyes landed upon a translucent specter resembling an anthropomorphic lion. The ghostly apparition continued. "I am Ortega. I foolishly allowed myself to fall into lure of darkness. The presence of Evil will test your faith and your willpower in an attempt to cull your soul. He will sully and defile your sense of humanity and corrupt your spirit if you allow it."
Justus had never seen a ghost before and felt skeptical. "Am I hallucinating? How did you arrive here?"
"I am trapped here in the form of a wraith. I foolishly committed suicide by throwing myself from atop the clock tower. Dracula's minions collected my broken body and placed it into a coffin. I was deposited in a mausoleum, beneath the castle. The sarcophagus rests at the castle's foundation. Only by removing my body from its tomb and taking it out of this castle can my soul become free of these walls. All that is left is what you now see of me before you."
Justus glanced around; the rest of the room remained as it was with the slain enemies strewn about the floor. He decided that he wasn't dreaming this and so he returned his attention back to Ortega. "Who is Cornell? I know nothing about him."
"Cornell was a werewolf. He learned to break the magic seal on his blood and was able to transform from human to his lupine form at will. He once shattered the lives of mortal people and, out of guilt, raised a female survivor from his youthful, wrath-filled mistake. He grew to love her as a sister and, one day, Dracula abducted her to lure him.
"He rescued the girl but did so by trading his abilities for her safe release. Dracula got what he desired: …Cornell's power. Unknowing of the damages that he'd caused, Dracula was able to be fully resurrected in eight short years. Cornell, without his powers, became unable to fight and so he lived out his days as a normal human being."
Justus blinked uncomprehendingly. "But if he became a normal human being, why did I become a werewolf?"
Ortega descended to the floor and walked towards Justus. His aura seemed to radiate with a collection of strange colors. Justus, inexperienced in knowing the shades and their meanings, simply looked at the bizarre aura with intense fascination. Ortega placed his mass-less orange-furred palm upon the young man's cloaked shoulder.
"Because it's in the blood, encoded in what you humans refer to as… DNA," said the spirit. "The seal on those powers expired at the turn of the millennium. Whether triggered by time or by Dracula's defeat, at the turn of the century, I cannot be sure. All rumors of previous ancestors having this curse prior to Dracula's defeat in 1999 are completely fabricated – those with the curse in their blood had urges, dreams and minor symptoms at best. However, Julius Belmont's half brother had a startling surprise on his twentieth birthday, the one year anniversary of Dracula's defeat."
Justus' jaw dropped. "So it was the woman with whom Julius' father committed adultery?"
Ortega smirked. "Hardly; very few Belmonts allowed themselves to commit such a grave sin." His eyes dipped furtively, as if sizing up the young man-beast. "No, Julius' father was divorced by his wife. She simply didn't understand the Belmont super-human power and feared him. Years later, they remarried; their love conquered her insecurities. His depression during the divorce caused him to act out; he allowed himself to be seduced by a woman who felt lonely. She'd roamed without a mate due to her minor symptoms of lycanthropy. However, her desire to be loved became satisfied by the unquestioning love of her offspring. She no longer required a mate; she simply wished to be needed.
"They parted ways after several months of dating," Ortega continued, adding, "I'm sure he found it strange to see his temporary girlfriend barking at the moon, scratching his back with her nails and howling from time to time. While she couldn't experience the true transformation, the spirit of the wolf which inhabited her blood still made a powerful impact on her personality, boy. She passed away in 1998, struck down by Dracula's werewolf killers. The eighteen year old boy, Jonathan, escaped harm but was rattled by the occurrence. His son, Jonathan Simon Junior, was given the name Simon Bell Junior on his birth certificate. Changing the last name ensured that the family line would be safe from attacks like the one that he experienced; yes, he was present when she was slaughtered. The rest is history that you're already familiar with."
Justus had a sudden epiphany but quelled the shock by clinching his paws into fists. "How do you know so much about me?"
"Your father told me in 2038." Ortega offered a grim smile. "It's all making sense now, isn't it?"
Justus backed away slowly, waving his left fist through the orange-furred hand upon his shoulder. His own paw passed through the ghost's forearm. "He died in a car accident in Romania."
"Put the facts together," Ortega replied flatly. "He died in here in Romania. Do you really think that was a coincidence?"
"Sh… shit; I… Goddamn it all; my mother will be crushed." Justus shook his head vehemently and said, "Is he a ghost, trapped in this castle, too? What happened? What is the truth, Ortega?"
The werelion folded his massive arms across his overly-sculpted chest, leering at the teenager. "He learned that Dracula's minions sought out Cornell's bloodline, starting in 1998. They wished to secure their Master's safety by slaughtering the foes of those capable of his destruction …which Cornell could have caused. Not only that, it was their hope that Cornell's line could also restore Dracula just as Cornell's power had done in the past. Simon came here to investigate the disappearance of his father. He found that Dracula had been defeated and never returned to the realm of the physical. He met me and spoke with me to learn. He told me about you and about his wife, Tina. Satisfied that the Solar Eclipse Citadel held no answers, he moved on to continue his search for Jonathan S. Belmont Senior. By nightfall, minions from the castle followed him and attacked him. They caused his fatal automobile accident. His soul found its way to heaven. He is gone. I watched from the Clock Tower in dismay. I feel jealous; I'm trapped here for all eternity. He's lucky."
"He's far from lucky." Justus frowned thoughtfully, opened his stance and secured his cloak at chest level from within, using his right paw. "Does that mean that this castle is my natural enemy?"
"Aye, you could say that," Ortega replied. "Find your great uncle, m'boy. If he dies, no one can protect Cornell's line. If you come across my grave, I beg of you to recover the body. Take it outside by any means possible. You do not owe me this favor but I ask of it anyhow."
Justus nodded slowly, feeling his bristled tail beginning to settle. The fur over his back lowered and, as his facial muscles relaxed, his ears perked up, under the hood. "You've provided me with invaluable information; I owe you that favor. Watch over my body and I'll do my best to locate yours. Thank you and farewell."
"I'll do what I am able," Ortega replied. "Now go, concentrate on safeguarding Cornell's blood. When you leave this castle, ensure that your offspring know how to protect themselves; consequently, they'll live longer. However, warn them of the dangers of Romania and of the Romanian folklore 'hero'." He lifted his powerful forearms and crooked his fingers to gesture quotation marks, when speaking the last word.
"Thanks again," Justus replied, adding, "One last thing… Where do these stairs lead?"
The werelion narrowed its eyes, glaring at Justus for lollygagging. "To unnecessary sections of the castle; the Tower of Science, the Vestibule of Despair, the Atrium of Autumn Souls… The Throne Room, the Master bedroom and guest rooms… Dracula is dead and his soul has been placed into a man with a noble heart and a good spirit. God is giving his soul a second chance with a new life in purgatory. When Soma Cruz dies, he'll ascend into the ranks of heaven. Dracula is gone so there is no need to remain in this castle. But that doesn't mean he can't live on through the evil, wicked ways of others. He is also not the only Vampire of infamy."
"How did this castle get here?" Justus cast his gaze back to the recently reanimated undead soldiers.
Ortega clinched his fists but he knew the boy needed a brief history lesson to know his place in this land. "A Royal vampire, related to another Transylvanian voivode. Prince Stefan Batory. He wasn't the threat; she is, however. Condemned to live the rest of her life under house arrest in her bed chambers, she fell into torpor." He stood there, between the staircases, now several feet from Justus. "Assumed dead, four years later, her body was removed from Cachtice Castle in Hungary. Dracula freed her of her stonewall tomb in the spring of 1615, where she gathered virgin females. She created a literal bloodbath, drank and swam in it – thus rejuvenating herself – and served as Vlad's countess for a number of years. Eventually defeated by a Belmont and Belnades, she fell back into Torpor from the mid 1830's until some fanatic virgin female sacrificed herself to awaken the Countess. Elizabeth has been revived and now reigns as the countess of this castle; she is the one who raised it. I suggest that you leave before Julius crosses her; he's an old man. Now, find your Uncle and leave. Even if you do not find my body, the blood of Cornell is your first and foremost concern. Now, go."
The werelion, tired of the dialogue, faded before the young man's eyes. Justus stepped over the bodies lying on the floor and headed through the doorway on the first floor, between the two large staircases. He came to a substantially sized room, standing at the loft section. He slid his paws through the cloak and grasped the railing. The banister creaked gently in protest of his weight but it held. Justus peered over the side, seeing his great uncle down below… it was too late; Julius was at a standoff against an attractive female vampire.
Despite his second instinctive reaction, Bell's gaze landed upon the copious canyon of her well-displayed cleavage. "Elizabeth!"
Justus's cry came in unison to his Great Uncle down below, who shouted the name, "Carmilla!"
The woman glanced above Julius, spying the cloaked figure, high up on the loft. She smiled, drawing her gloved hands to her buxom chest. "My, I've not been called Elizabeth in many centuries! No, the times have changed and so have I; I am also Carmilla, or perhaps simply Camilla will do. Let's leave the name Elizabeth Báthory in Hungary, Carmilla in Austria, Millarca Karnstein in Styria… Yes; you both may refer to me as Vampira!" She then turned to a doorway behind herself and said, "Oh, Laura, please come out here, my love."
A servant girl of nearly the same physical age approached the countess with haste. She knelt before her mistress, placing her cheek gently against the countess' hip. "Yes, my beautiful Mistress?"
Vampira slid her fingertips through the girl's hair with a smile. "Laura is the only virgin I could not kill; I fell in love with her, you see. Her purity protects my physical body. As I could not deflower her flesh with my own, she became my vampiric servant, forever a virgin. We can be defeated in battle but our true love protects us from eternal separation through Final Death." She then smiled at Julius and said, "Strike us with your whip; you will see we are invincible when together."
Justus placed his foot upon the railing then hurdled it. His cloak billowed in the wind and his hood flew back from his face. His body instinctively dropped to a crouch, absorbing the impact with grace and style. He arose slowly, baring his lengthy incisors at the women. His eyes narrowed and his ears lowered, lying flat upon the top of his furry head. A guttural growl filled the base of his throat, reverberating in a deep tone. Laura immediately looked afraid. She her face into Vampira's thigh and closed her eyes tightly with glistening tears forming at the corners.
"J..Justus?" asked the old man, disappointment in his voice.
"Yes, it's me." The werewolf's reply was clean and deep in tone. "I require clothing; mine no longer fit."
Julius turned back to the women and snapped his whip. "So, you're older than the legend of Carmilla, are you? No matter, Countess… It simply makes your destruction far more ironic. You see, I obtained a second whip in the Chamber of Sorrows; The Hunter's Whip, used by Nathan Graves." To his words, the woman scowled. She'd been defeated by that very whip; the look on her face told Julius that she did, in fact, remember. He then said, "Do you know why this whip has the power to defeat you? The satire and irony amuse me, now that I understand who you really are. The viceroy of Poland whipped you before locking you in your room, did he not? Do you remember? It happened around 1610, wench."
The countess barred her fangs and hissed. "I was royalty and he was forbidden to strike or kill me. And yet he whipped me; confining me to my room kept me from proving to the royal family that I had markings upon my back. I demanded to be freed from my room for four years, so I could rightfully prove my unjust injuries!"
Julius twirled the second whip then snapped it. "The Hunter's Whip is the very whip that struck you that night. It all makes sense now: that's why Nathan Graves defeated you; he wielded The Hunter's Whip. Are you ready to fall before it for a third time?"
The achingly beautiful vampire's scowl melted into a thin smile. "I told you; with Laura at my side, we cannot be physically harmed. She is my mate and she does my bidding. I am her mistress and she is my submissive little angel."
Justus began to lose his patience. "I'll tear them apart with my claws; ready your whips, Uncle Julius."
"Defeating us will not be an easy task!" Vampira chided. She slid her fingers down through Laura's silky hair, curling them through the locks of the kneeling woman's bangs. The pair began to levitate and their physical form frosted over with an icy coating.
Justus drew his claws and jammed them into the crystalline structure, causing the icy orb to crack. Julius followed suit, striking the ice sculpture with each whip, held in his left and right hands. Soon, the levitating ice shattered; it was empty and hollow inside. A wisp of steam emanated from the shattered orb of ice. The evanescence dissipated into thin air.
"Uncle Julius, we should leave. I learned that my father met his fate in an attempt to leave this castle. I was advised that our safest bet is to leave. I also learned that Dracula's soul is not here and cannot be resurrected. It's protected by the good will and nature of …some guy; his last name begins with a 'C'… That woman we just saw; she's the only one here."
"You saw the spikes outside?" asked Julius. "Impaling wasn't her way. Something more sinister is going on here. Innocent people have died and it's my duty to fight. I've not passed on my bloodline, surname or The Vampire Killer whip. It's still my duty. I'm not leaving until my job has been completed."
"I am a Belmont!" cried Justus. "If you are truly that stubborn, let me finish this. If you die, you won't be passing on anything. Please, Uncle Julius. My father died; I don't need you getting yourself killed, too. My mother and father assumed you were just crazy but now I know better… I'll take over your ideals."
"Justus, shut your mouth," Julius replied in a flat voice. "You don't know the first half of fighting evil. You didn't even believe in it, yesterday."
"And now look at me!" Bell exclaimed. As their argumentative dialogue continued, their distracted attention allowed for them to become surrounded. Outside the chamber, scores of zombies filled the hallways. Moments later, thundering noises filled their ears. They paused, glancing first at one another then to the doorways at either side of the hall. Both of them saw the zombies at the gates and both were immediately confused as to why they didn't enter the large room.
"Why won't they attack?" Justus asked in a whisper.
"I don't know," Belmont replied. The rhythmic, thundering noise continued, growing in intensity. Julius then added, "I have a feeling they're there keep us from leaving. Something tells me we're about to find out what's going on."
The werewolf's incredible instincts alerted him seconds before Julius sensed the new presence. They both looked up at the loft, high above. Justus had come through that very door several moments prior but neither would be able to reach the lofty balcony without a ladder. Something began to emerge from the doorway above…
"It's the boss of the keep," Julius muttered. "Certain sections of the castle are protected by a powerful esoteric presence. I refer to them as the boss of that section. Are you in any condition to fight?"
Justus nodded slowly, baring his large animalistic fangs. "I feel incredible. Let's take this thing."
The old man snapped his whip, causing Justus to back up a few steps. "Don't be an amateur, boy. Just watch my back while I fight this thing, whatever it is. If you got yourself killed, your mother would have a fit. I'd rather fight vampires and every monster in this castle than to see her angry." Belmont's dry humor caused Justus to smirk in reply.
Justus narrowed his eyes, looking back up at the balcony. His eyes zeroed in on something inscribed in the stone, beneath the railing. "Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate," he repeated out loud in a poor rendition of an Italian dialect.
"Not too shabby," Julius remarked casually. "It means 'To all who enter: Abandon all hope,' in Italian. It's also written atop the gates of Hell, according to Dante."
"Oh," Justus replied, backing up to try and better look over the balcony to the doorway. "I didn't read The Divine Comedy, I read the internet to get the run down; it wasn't the most exciting piece in school."
The rhythmic thunder of noise continued, drawing ever closer. Julius snapped the left, then the right whip yet again. "In the land of Hades, on the shores of Acheron along the river Styx, you'll find Persephone, Charon, the three headed dog named Cerberus, Minos, Aeacus and Rhadamanthys. Yeah, I didn't know Greek mythology until I sat down and read into it to draw paranormal parallels a few years ago. I'm not going to hold it against you. While I was in the Chamber of Sorrows, trying to secure The Hunter's Whip, I found something interesting."
"Do we really have to talk about this now?" Justus cried, inadvertently growling out the last several words of his inquiry.
The older man refused to shut up. "It was a puzzle, where I had to connect information on Hades and other mythological Greek beliefs concerning Hell. Then I had to tie in a section about Dante's Divine Comedy and finally, there was a section about Milton's Paradise Lost. Either Dracula thinks he's Lucifer, or they're in league together."
"Uncle Julius…" Justus muttered, seeing a shadow appear on the ceiling, emanating from the lofty doorway.
"Anyhow, I solved the puzzles," continued Belmont, "Grabbed the whip and took off down the hall. This rather well-assembled Frankenstein-looking-character crashed through the wall and began pursuit."
The werewolf drew his claws from the cloak once more and readied himself. "As in… the creation of Victor Frankenstein by Mary Shelly?" Justus exclaimed. "It's a fictional book!"
"That's what you said about Bram Stoker's Dracula," Julius retorted. "And now you're in his God-forsaken citadel, Justus."
Justus watched a glowing light illuminate the hallway as if someone held a torch. A massive shadow spread across the ceiling, above them. "Wait, I thought Frankenstein is just misunderstood and people are afraid of him. Isn't… isn't he supposed to be a swell guy?"
"Human fear inspired murder and other atrocities," Julius mused, keeping his whips ready. "It affected the humanity of that beast. Furthermore, Dracula took pity on the humanized attempt to create The Undead and so he's corrupted that thing's brain. I usually like to avoid that thing and continue on my way."
"I don't think we're going to be so lucky this time," Justus replied, seeing the ducking head of the beast emerge from the doorway. Frankenstein did not look like Boris Karloff, Glen Strange, Robert De Niro, or any other Hollywood rendition. "And here I thought that it was supposed to be an allegorical story about the Industrial Age and," Justus sort of stammered, seeing the impressive monster step onto the balcony, holding an old fashion lantern. "I mean, you know, at a time of dramatic advances in science and technology. It's supposed to be about how the creation rebels against its creator. It's supposed to be seen as a warning that the application of science can lead to unintended consequences."
"This isn't the goddamn Terminator Movies," Julius muttered. Born in the year 1980, Julius knew cinema from his childhood and teenage years. He watched the massive, seven foot beast and gripped the leather handle of both whips, tightly. "Get ready, Justus. Stay back unless things get bad."
Bell rubbed his claws together, as if sharpening scissors against dagger blades. "I'll stay away from your whips, but I'm going to tear him apart, stitch by stitch."
"He had stitches a few hundred years ago," Belmont rebutted, adding, "I don't think he has them anymore."
The monstrous form of Frankenstein brushed a mighty left hand across the banister, bringing about its destruction. The debris hit the floor, far below. The creature leapt from the loft, lifting its powerful arms. Opposite from the grace employed by the werewolf, Frankenstein slammed into the ground, causing the flooring to crumble. The granite slabs of floor tile gave way and the scientifically constructed undead being sank to its waist.
Julius wasted no time and began whipping the heathen across the face and forehead. The barrage of attacks only angered the monster who pulled itself from the floor by its powerful arms. It lifted its colossal right hand and then immediately closed its fingers around The Vampire Killer whip. With an impressive tug, Julius went flying head first into the monster's capable grip.
Frankenstein lifted its left hand, seizing Julius by his torso as if the aging man was nothing but a mere rag doll. This atrocity, seen by the young werewolf, inspired both fear and wrath simultaneously. Julius shook his head, flailing his arms. "Keep back!" he shouted to his nephew.
Justus did not listen and pounced. The cloak billowed behind him; he spread his claws wide. They sank into the flesh of the monster's left arm, causing it to drop Julius. The older Belmont rolled away and placed his hand against his ribcage to check for broken bones. Meanwhile, Justus Bell clung to the monster's massive bicep.
Frankenstein swatted him away like an insect. The werewolf, launched across the room, bounded off the wall then dropped unceremoniously to the floor with a bellow of pain. It sounded frightfully close to the cry of a dog shot in the leg. Justus' high pitched cry of agony caused Belmont to scramble across the floor towards him.
The creature had other plans, swiping its other arm outwards. Julius Belmont tumbled to the ground, rolling to a stop with a grunt, just a few feet from his nephew. "You hardheaded… son of a… Are you all right?"
Justus sat up, putting his weight against his muscular right arm. "Yeah; he swings a mean left hook. You?"
"It takes a lot to hurt a Belmont; I told you to keep back," Julius replied quickly, getting to his feet. He still had both whips and snapped them loudly to show their 'host' that they were ready to fight again. "Now, watch and learn, newbie," he said, dashing off towards the creature once more. He opened his arms then brought them together hard, wrapping both whips around Frankenstein's neck. They snapped about the monster's throat, one above the other; the Hunter's Whip coiled clockwise and clung beneath Frankenstein's jaw, while the Vampire Killer wrapped counterclockwise just above the collarbone. Between them, two corroded metallic bolts jutted from the monster's pale gray flesh.
Julius, even in his sixties, was still a Belmont. He placed his right foot against the enormous being's stomach and walked right up his enemy's torso. Julius then kicked his leg upwards, placing his foot directly beneath Frankenstein's chin. The monster's head snapped upwards, biting into its tongue and shrieking angrily. Julius followed through with a loose somersault. He landed upon his feet then tightened his fists and jerked on the whips, causing Frankenstein to lurch towards him.
Off balance, the creature fell forward – his equilibrium stolen by the professional hunter – and landed flat upon its face. Young Justus was back into the fray, literally pouncing like a fox. He plunged his claws deeply into Frankenstein's back in an attempt to break the spine but the density of the monster's flesh and bones seemed far different from the undead warriors back in the last hallway.
With a calm sort of grace, the monster pushed itself up on its arms, and reached for the whips at its throat. Frankenstein couldn't uncoil both at once because each one was wrapped in a different direction. Instead, the monstrosity tugged them with its powerful grip. Julius toppled forth, coming nearly face to face with the fallen monster.
The creature, however, lost interest in Julius for the moment and brought its right arm back, slamming its elbow into Justus' shoulder. "Goddammit Frank," the lupine hissed only to be struck again in the very same way. Frankenstein reached its left arm back, grasping the teenager by the hood of his cape. Blood ran down the monster's left bicep from the earlier attack. It left a smear on the floor, adjacent to the hole it had created previously with its feet.
Justus found himself thrown head over heels. He slammed to the floor on his back and skidded to a halt, looking up at the ceiling. His head rested on a square, wooden pillow; part of the broken banister that came from the balcony. The indignant wolf lay upon his tail, the hood now draped over his left shoulder. The broach remained fastened over his upper chest but the fabric had been stressed and was slightly torn around the clasp's pin.
"I told you to just stay back," Julius grumbled, getting to his feet. Frankenstein quickly arose, throwing its head up against the old Belmont's chest. Julius crashed back to the floor from the uppercut-like head butt. A trickle of blood eked down over his mustache and dribbled over his lips. He shuttered at the metallic tasting liquid then flinched again when a massive grayish hand snatched him by his ankle.
"Vile humans!" bellowed the antagonistic degenerate. Frankenstein stood fully erect; the monster's arm darted upwards, holding Julius inverted by the left leg. The hunter's long-coat, jacket, shirt and hair reached towards the ground. Somehow, he still managed possession of both whips by their handle. He jerked his right foot back then struck Frankenstein in the wrist but the monster wouldn't let go. Julius pulled with all his might on both whips but strangling Frankenstein proved beyond the realm of possibility.
Justus rolled over and sat up, shaking off the dazed sensation. He reached beneath the cloak and retrieved the forty-five caliber pistol then cocked it. He pointed the weapon high, at Frankenstein's head then fired. The first round exploded from the handgun and struck the monstrosity directly in the forehead. The powerful, manmade freak received a high power round just above its eyes; its head snapped back in response.
Justus fired again, cracking the densely skinned creature's skull. Two traumatizing head wounds, side by side, covered the monster's forehead and yet it didn't release Julius Belmont. Justus Bell, feeling frustrated, sprinted towards the towering creature, while it seemed stunned. He leapt into the air and buried the claws of his left paw in Frankenstein's right shoulder. He lifted the pistol directly to the creature's mouth and shoved the barrel passed the row of rarely used teeth.
Justus's paw tightened, squeezing off round after round into the back of the monster's throat. After the sixth round, the bullets penetrated the nape of Frankenstein's neck. The rounds, however, missed their mark of severing the spine. The creature threw its right arm outwards causing the claws to slip from the flesh. Belmont flailed about, hanging by his ankle while Justus fell back to the floor. The gun clattered noisily over the granite, temporarily abandoned.
"I know how to beat him, stay back!" Julius called to his nephew.
"Don't you understand the concept of team, old man?" Justus shouted in reply.
"No, you have to stay back," Julius replied then said, "Watch what I mean and you'll see. Don't let him touch you, just watch!" He arched each of his wrists and quickly withdrew the whips. Frankenstein, waiting for just such an opportunity, hurled Julius across the room.
The monster's wounds were fairly substantial. Blood ran down its left arm, right shoulder and now the back of its neck. Julius sat up and snapped Vampire Killer, wrapping it around one of the corroded metal prongs on the side of the being's throat. He dropped the second whip and thrust his free fist into the air.
From out of the ceiling, lightning lanced down as if originating in the heavens. The electricity joined together with Julius' fist, forming a bolt that connected to the high ceiling. It disappeared for an instance then flashed once more, striking from above. It collided with Julius' elevated arm and traveled through his body and into the whip. The powerful electrical current had been summoned from one of the magic spells he'd learned from Yoko Belnades. The lightning transferred intense current into the metal prongs that protruded from the side of Frankenstein's neck.
There were two connectors, one going directly to its brain and the other leading down its spine, to its heart. They were the old metal plates used to bring the reconstructed corpse to life, centuries ago. Now the direct line of current stopped the monster's heart, cold in its tracks. Julius dropped to his knees in front of Hunter's Whip while Frankenstein jolted back from the powerful electrical magic.
The creature spun about on its heel; the current threw it back into the doorway on the far end. Frankenstein bowled down a group of the zombies with its intense weight. The behemoth creature lifted its right hand which seemed to quaver in its struggle to rise. After a moment, the arm dropped and the zombies began to back away, giving Frankenstein space…
The monster's mouth parted slowly and, in a raspy voice, said, "I cannot feel my beating heart; yet the pain in my chest grips me just the same. Will I go to Hell? Gehenna? Will they call it the Netherworld or perhaps Naraka? Will the gates of Jahannam – the land of Di Yu greet me? Will I sail the river Styx?" Julius hobbled into the doorway, towards the fallen, babbling monster.
Belmont, having re-secured both whips, used the backside of his wrist to wipe the blood from his mouth. "Perhaps it's more akin to Sheol, Hades or perhaps you may simply call it Tartarus, old man. The only way for you to find out is for me to remove your head. If I don't, one of Dracula's minions will simply revive you."
"I am not Lazarus, human."
Julius coiled the whips on the belt hooks at either side of his hip. "And the minions of Dracula do not wield the power of Christ, Monster."
Frankenstein began to lose consciousness. "Am… am I the monster? Perhaps your race… perhaps they …are the… monsters." Frankenstein's eyes began to fluttered shut and its breathing came to a stall.
"With the loss of your humanity," Julius began, kneeling down over the creature's head. "You have become the monster. Anyone is capable of being a monster; they only need to lose touch with their heart, soul and humanity. And, any monster is capable of redemption. I'll spare you your head to show you that I am no monster." He stood up then glanced around him at the undead beings, two meters away.
"Justus, come here," Julius called. The werewolf passed through the doorway, glancing at all the zombies in the room. They remained still; their glassy gaze cast off in all different directions.
Justus approached his great uncle, closing his paws into fists. Beneath the cloak, his tail bristled up, nearing the undead beasts that stood in a semi-circle around Julius and the fallen creature. He reached his arms up, clasped the hood and drew it over his head once more. "Yes, Uncle J?"
Julius glanced up at the cloaked figure and frowned thoughtfully. "You've not changed mentally. That's good. Use your claws and sheer off the metal bolts on either side of his neck. Without them, the minions of Dracula cannot use lightning to reawaken this… poor bastard." Belmont stood up, drew one of the whips from his belt then snapped it at the nearby zombies. "They'll stay at bay until they perceive us as a threat to Frankenstein. I think they only fell back because he wanted them to, for a moment. Hurry. Then we'll run back into the main room and go down through that hole in the floor. We can't fight every one of these things at once. Even by attrition, it would take more arms and more weapons then we have and I don't wish to be overcome by their vast numbers."
"Very well," Justus muttered, nervously watching the zombie hoard as they shifted about, remaining idle, in his peripheral vision. He opened his fists and parted the cloak with the backside of his paws. Doing as he was told, the werewolf suddenly jerked his arms high then brought his paws downwards in a well-placed strike. The feral claws sheered off the metal bolts above Frankenstein's left and right shoulder. The dense pieces fell upon the floor with a metallic clang.
Belmont snatched both pieces, pointed back to the room where they'd just fought for their lives and shouted, "RUN! To the hole!"
Justus glanced over his shoulder; his eyes widened and yet his dilated pupils shrank. The hoard of zombies suddenly burst forward, closing about them quickly. Justus and his uncle sprinted through the doorway and into the main room. Across from them, the other doorway began to spew the undead corpses intending to block their escape.
Justus drew the cloak tightly about himself and tucked his tail between his knees. He applied pressure to his ankles, leapt upwards and dropped through the hole in the floor. Julius Belmont dove through it next, head first. In each fist, the old man held a metal bolt belonging to Frankenstein. Together, the two dropped into the dark; the fall felt bottomless.
Something tingled in the back of Justus' mind. His instincts took over and without so much as thinking on the action, he gasped for breath then held it in his lungs. Almost instantaneous to his quick action, his body plunged into deep, cold water. The audible world changed to a blurry, distorted noise followed by a thunderous, garbled sound. Somewhere in the back of the lupine-man's mind, he knew that Julius Belmont just joined him in the water.
Justus struggled; his lungs began to ache from holding his breath. He pushed his furry arms outwards and kicked his legs but, in the darkness, it was difficult to tell which way would take him back to the surface. His options were to hold his breath as long as possible and hopefully float to the surface. 'I've fallen a far distance; I'm too deep to hold out much more,' he thought. He argued with himself that floating might take longer than he could hold his breath. His mind felt disoriented and his instincts simply told him to gasp for air to ensure his survival.
The last vestiges of his shocked, spinning, logical reasoning called the situation hopeless. His mind raced. 'The weight of my submerged fur and cape could possibly be pulling me down instead of allowing me to float.' Now he didn't know what to do… Panic set in…
His heart pounded furiously, using up the last of the oxygen. His lungs ached, full of carbon dioxide. His muscles began to burn from the lack of fresh air in his bloodstream. The werewolf's consciousness wavered and reality faded. The depths of the cold water swallowed him whole; would it become his tomb?
A/N: Readers, I want to know what YOU want to see: should I go into detail about the romance between Carmilla and Laura? Maybe a sexy feeding scene? Let me know if anyone is interested in seeing that at some point.
If anyone is enjoying this story, then please let me know you're out there! I love getting ideas and opinions from readers on how to progress. I don't always use them but sometimes, just bouncing ideas off of the audience helps me to come up with things. Although, I do sometimes use a reader's idea and run with it to the fullest.
Oh, and if you think Julius will save his nephew from this? Nope! I'll tell you right now, the werewolf's instincts allowed him to gasp for breath before hitting the water. Julius Belmont hit the water and has the breath knocked out of him. So he needs saving, too.
I was thinking of different ways for our heroes to survive the water. Anyone have something to contribute?
If so, let me know! Sorry the chapter is so long… I was having fun writing it and got rather carried away! There will be lots of fighting, gore, action and ass kicking from here on out! Also, we'll find out what happened to Molly Fields and James Johnson really soon. Oh, and who wants to see more Frankenstein? What about Alucard? Anyone?
-Kit