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Horror / Bound By Blood: Prologue (Analysis)
Wallachia. December 1476. The battlefield at Snagov.
Dracula tugged hard on the reins of his stallion. The beast struggled to keep its footing on the muddy slope. It snorted and shook its head. His bodyguard crowded around him. Less than a half of their number remained alive. The hundred men that did decided to hold back with the rumours of victory filtering through.
The stallion steadied itself. Dracula released his grip on the reins. He leaned forward in the saddle to relieve his aching limbs. It had been a hard fight. He had put many of his Turkish enemies to the sword.
The rain fell in a steady pattern. Mist cloaked the field below. It obscured those who had not yet given up the fight. However, it appeared to be rising. Even so, Dracula could see little of the action. From his vantage point the mist was still too thick. He knew though that the Turks were on the retreat. That in itself hinted to him that victory was his.
In days gone by he would have been at the front. He always relished the final slaughter of his enemy. But that seemed like an age ago. He felt more than a little tired of the fight now.
In the last eighteen months he had seen only war. From the moment King Matthias of Hungary released him from prison it had resumed again. He had seen nothing of Ilona or his sons. The struggle to regain his throne had been all that mattered to him.
For a time he became lost in thought. He relived this new and glorious episode in his career. There were many to speak of. It began with the liberation of Bosnia from the Turks. That campaign ended earlier in the year. It had seen a return of the fire in his blood.
The Christian alliance soon followed. It united him once again with Stephen. He thought back to his cousin for a moment. There was a time when he loved him more than a brother. But that had all changed. Now he hated him with a passion. They set the old wounds aside for a time. To win back his throne he had to do it.
Several others had joined his side. They included Stephen Bathory and Vuk Brankovic of Serbia. Their united effort drove the Turks from Wallachia. With Mehmed’s armies defeated they restored Dracula to the throne.
He wondered how long it would last. This was now his third reign. The throne, that had been his father’s before him, brought nothing but pain and strife. He had always been brutal in power. The struggle to stay there made it so. That was the lesson he learned from his father’s demise. He vowed to never make the same mistakes. Anyone who stood against him had to either yield or die by his sword.
It was the only way to rule. The end justifies the means. The use of the same tactic saw him remove all crime from his country. All who offended died the same way as his Turkish enemies. They soon came to realise that impalement gave a slow and lingering death.
The people remembered him for this. He was feared because of it. Some even loathed him. Their love was a luxury he could never enjoy. All across Europe people spoke of his cruelty. It was the excuse Matthias had used to keep him captive for thirteen long years.
But the spread of Islam put the fear of God into the nations of Europe. It was to counter this that the Pope had called for a new crusade. His concerns saw the birth of a new union of Christian states. The Pope wanted the Turks driven out once and for all. It aided Dracula’s cause. He knew it was the only reason he had the support of his fellow princes.
In his reign from 1456 to 1462 he had fought the Turks alone. Now his allies had returned home. It meant he had to fight alone once more. They did not care that it left him brutally exposed.
A rare grave error on his part compounded this. The chance had arisen in battle to kill his mortal enemy and cousin, Basarab Laiota. He did not take it. Now, a month on, Laiota busily rallied support. He courted the Turkish commanders along the Danube frontier for their help.
Thirty days had passed. In that time Laiota raised a new army. He marched with it to Snagov. His numbers doubled those of Dracula’s. Despite these odds Dracula prevailed with his genius on the battlefield. Now his army was routing what remained of Laiota’s forces.
The sound of hooves broke his train of thought. He lifted his head to see a rider galloping up the slope. It was Ivan Olescu. Olescu was one of the boyars most loyal to his cause. He raised his right hand in salute.
Dracula responded in kind. “You have news for me, good friend?”
“Yes, my Liege!” Olescu shouted.
The others trained their eyes on him. Each was eager to hear what he had to say.
“Victory is yours, great Lord!”
Dracula could not hide a grin. At last he had secured the throne. His victory meant all who opposed him were either dead or too weak to fight on.
Olescu continued. “We have routed the Turks, my Liege. Those who have not yet escaped the field are being put to the sword.”
“Do you know many have got away?”
“A fair number, my Liege. But not enough to pose a threat to us.”
“Very well then,” Dracula said, looking around. He pointed towards the gap between the two hills to his left. “We will make camp in the fields on the other side of that pass.”
“We will be in the open, my Liege,” one of his men pointed out.
“Yes,” Dracula nodded. “But safe all the same. At first light we can hunt for survivors. Spread the word.”
Olescu drew his sword and held it high above his head. “Hail Dracula!” he shouted. “Hail Dracula! Voivode of Wallachia!”
His men repeated the salute. Some of the other boyars rode up to hear the news. When they saw their comrades cheer Dracula’s name they joined in and raised their swords high in the air.
Dracula turned his horse towards the pass. He dug his heels into its ribs to prompt it forward. The others spurred their mounts into a trot too. They rode either behind or flanking their leader. The group approached the top of the pass. Here the trail narrowed. They rode on in single file with Dracula at the front.
He noticed one of his servants up ahead. It annoyed him to see the man there. The unruly scoundrel should have been with the rest of the entourage. Their place was at the rear. Dracula rarely tolerated any kind of insubordination. In this instance he did not feel any different. He decided to make an example of the man. The horse’s ribs bore the brunt of his frustration. It snorted and picked up the pace. The servant, he assumed, had hidden in the hills away from the heat of battle.
The gap between them quickly closed. Dracula raised his fist to strike the man down. But the miscreant took him by surprise. He grabbed a hold of the stallion’s halter in an attempt to knock Dracula from his mount.
Dracula put a hand on the hilt of his sword. Before he could draw it the servant drove a dagger into him. The man was no amateur. He knew exactly where to thrust the blade. It ripped into his lower abdomen below the armour plating.
The man shouted in triumph at his success. The light padding there gave little defence. He felt the warmth of Dracula’s blood ooze down onto his hand. It did not seem to matter to him that his own death would surely follow.
Dracula groaned in pain. The cold steel pushed into his left side just above the kidney. Angled upwards it scraped against his lower rib. He slumped forward a little. The man withdrew the blade. He stepped back to allow himself the room to strike again.
The stallion pushed forward. It caused him to lose his footing. Dracula used this respite to draw his sword. He raised it high into the air. The man looked up in despair as Dracula held it aloft. Before he could recover his enemy brought it down against the side of his head.
The man died instantly. The razor-sharp edge sliced through his skull. It punctured both his eyeballs before exiting on the other side. His body swayed for a moment and then collapsed. The top of his skull fell against the ground beside him.
It all happened in seconds. The mounts nearest Dracula shied away from the spray of blood. They collided with other horses. It caused several riders to fall.
Dracula worried more about the ambush he sensed he was riding into. The man he had just killed was an assassin. Of that he had no doubt. And where there was one there were sure to be others. It angered him that such a man could infiltrate his camp. But he should have seen it coming. The fact he did not upset him even more.
He touched his hand against his wound. Looking down he saw the blood that coated his fingers. He turned his mount around to go back. “Move away from the pass!” he shouted. “We must get back to the open ground!”
A hundred horses cluttered together. Those without riders jostled about. The men on the ground scrambled around on hands and knees to avoid having their skulls crushed by stamping hooves. Some of those at the back of the group were unaware of the situation at hand. They blocked the path of their comrades who now turned their mounts around.
“Go back!” they heard the order repeated.
“What is wrong?” one of them asked.
“There is an ambush!” another shouted. “The Voivode is hurt!”
Dracula saw the situation was hopeless. His men hemmed him in on all sides. Those around him struggled to control their panicked mounts. It left him with only one option. He would have to ride on through the pass at speed. If he remained here he would surely die.
Why had he not sent scouts on ahead? When had he ever been so lax before? This was the price of carelessness. Ignoring the numbing pain in his side he leant as far forward in the saddle as he could. He dug his heels hard into the stallion to urge it into action.
A hail of arrows whistled by. Many of them found targets close behind. The ensuing mayhem separated Dracula from his men. A number of them found a way through the carnage of dead comrades and horseflesh. Still, there was already too great a distance between them and their leader. Dracula spurred his mount on. It sprinted through the pass. He reached the crest at the end of it and came out on the wider downward slope.
Three men jumped at him from a rocky height to his left. They made contact and pulled him from his mount. He crashed down hard to the firm ground. It opened his wound still further. Blood now trickled steadily down his left thigh. However, he was on his feet in an instant, despite the pain. He swiftly took the head off the man nearest to him with a horizontal sweep of his sword.
Dracula still possessed blinding speed and agility. He ran his sword through the second man and hacked an arm off the other. The third man dropped down. Blood gushed from his severed limb as he lay there screaming.
He took a second to survey the scene. The ambush comprised an infantry unit of some fifty men. Fifty to his one. Behind them he saw over a dozen archers.
Time seemed to freeze for a moment. His enemies eyed him with a mixture of awe and fear. Here before them stood the man they heard spoken of in legends. The same man who had impaled an army of twenty-two thousand Turks many years before, all in a single day.
The moment was soon shattered. Dozens of Dracula’s bodyguard burst through the top of the pass. His very own Maglak warriors led the way. The Moldavian soldiers that Stephen had left there, followed close behind.
Chaos erupted all around him. The deafening sound of steel on steel, mingled with the cries of both horse and man, stung his ears.
Dracula’s men fought savagely to protect him. They killed the enemy soldiers without mercy. However, Turkish archers picked many of them off. The Turks dragged others from their mounts to meet with a brutal end on the ground. But they managed to form a circle around Dracula. Any time the cordon was broken he fought on and prevailed. But his strength slowly began to ebb away.
A quartet of foot soldiers broke through. They found a gap created for them by their archers. Dracula felt his heartbeat quicken. He had rarely ever known fear before. However, as these men faced him it made his pulse race. They circled him slowly, ready to finish their task.
Dracula’s nerves affected him for only a moment. He squared up to the four men. With his sword at the ready a grin extended across his face. “You think you can defeat me?” he taunted them in their native tongue. “I am Vlad Dracula. No man alive can beat me in combat.”
Even four on to one they feared him. They each wondered what it would take to kill this man. Their eyes fell on his famed sword. He clasped the hilt of the mighty Fier Negru in both hands, its blade red with the blood of those he had already killed.
“Yes take a good look at it,” he grinned. “You will feel its bite soon enough.”
The men hesitated a moment. None of them wanted to make the first move. They all knew of his speed of hand and foot. The soldiers they served with spoke of it often. Some had ridden with him in the old days. Although they were enemies now, the respect they felt for him had never gone away.
A sharp pain tugged at his side. The men looked down when Dracula winced. They all saw the blood oozing from the padding below his armour. It gave them hope. Like wolves they circled him again, ready for the kill.
Dracula did not wait for them to make the first move. He called on the lightning speed that had not yet deserted him. Lunging forward, he raised the Fier Negru back behind his head. He brought it down in an arc against the neck of the nearest of the four.
The Turk screamed out loud. The blade sliced through his collarbone and split his sternum down the middle. It sheared the arteries around his heart. They exploded in a gush of crimson.
The blood poured out all over the man’s padded shirt. He was dead even before Dracula had removed his sword. In the same movement he spun around one hundred and eighty degrees. Lowering to a crouched position he ran the tip of the blade across the belly of a second.
He dazzled them with his speed. Dracula was on his feet again before either man had hit the ground. Finally both men fell. The second dropped to his knees and clutched at his stomach. His eyes bulged and watered. Gasping he tried to hold the contents of his stomach in. He tumbled forward and fell against his shoulder. When he did his intestines spilled out in a heap in front of him.
Dracula grinned at the other two. They branched off either side of him. He stood with his sword poised. As soon as they made their move he would cut them down. “Do you still feel brave?” he asked. “Are either of you man enough for me?”
Just then an arrow plunged into his left thigh. He gasped in shock and pain. The force from the missile knocked him off his feet. It dropped him onto his right knee.
Seeing this prompted the Turks into action. They closed in on him from both sides. On his right, one of them swung their sword. Aiming for Dracula’s neck the soldier threw all his weight behind it.
He ducked to avoid the blow. At the same time he drove his own blade into the man’s crotch. The Fier Negru tore through his genitalia and ruptured his bladder. The man lost the grip on his weapon. It flew through the air and struck a Maglak warrior full in the stomach.
Dracula withdrew the Fier Negru. His victim cried out and fell onto his back. He ignored it and, instinctively, turned on his knee to block the downward thrust from the fourth man.
Suddenly something blinded him. He fell backwards and tried to wipe his eyes. Unable to see, he feared his life might end at any moment. But very soon he realised it was the blood of the fourth man that had caused his loss of vision. The man’s head dropped in his lap. Ivan Olescu towered over him. His friend had severed it with one clean swoop of his sword.
Dracula managed to wipe the blood from his eyes. They stung but at least he had his vision restored. He looked up to see Olescu standing there. Not for the first time in his life his good friend had come to his rescue.
They exchanged a brief smile. The image of his friend transfixed him. The two men could have passed as twins. Even friends had confused them for each other in the past. It often made Dracula wonder if Olescu might indeed be his brother. His father had sired others outside of marriage. Only subtle differences allowed people they knew to tell them apart.
Olescu stood a few inches taller. His moustache was shorter and not quite as thick. Later that same day another would make the same mistake. An undercover agent would cut off the head of Olescu believing it to be the prized scalp of Dracula.
As he looked down on Dracula he did not see the arrow with his name on it. It smashed through his spine and upper body armour. Blood spilled from his mouth. When his knees sagged Dracula saw the arrowhead protruding from his chest. He cried out in grief. Olescu dropped down dead right before him. Incensed at this, he struggled to his feet. The third man he had fought with groaned quietly nearby. He crawled the few yards between them and drove his sword through the man’s heart.
Dracula scrambled to his feet. The arrow still remained embedded in his thigh. Every time he moved it caused him much distress. He stood on one leg. With his sword at the ready he surveyed the scene around him.
His men had warded off the attack. Reinforcements arrived to join in the fight. They routed what was left of the enemy. Even the injured and the dying they killed without mercy.
Bodies lay strewn all around. Turkish and Wallachian warriors caught up in the intimate indiscriminate embrace of death. He looked down on the corpses of many of his own men. They had given their lives bravely to protect him. Dracula felt the loss of every one of them.
He threw the Fier Negru down in despair. His blood loss left him feeling weak. Grabbing the arrow in both hands he gritted his teeth and snapped it in two. He took a deep breath and pushed the arrowhead through.
The pain was unbearable. It caused him to nearly pass out. He screamed as the arrowhead ripped at muscles and tendons. Once he had it out he discarded it on the ground beside his sword. By this time he was gasping for air.
Where is my horse? He squinted in the fading daylight to locate his trusted steed. The animal was grazing less than thirty feet away. He sighed with relief when he saw it there.
Dracula put his fingers to his lips and whistled. The animal pricked its ears at the summons. It reared its head back before trotting over. Dracula then leant down and retrieved the Fier Negru. He groaned again before returning it to its scabbard.
His horse nudged him with its nose. When he rubbed its mane it snorted a greeting. With great angst he placed his left foot in the stirrup and hoisted himself up. For the second time he cried out in agony. A black wave passed before his eyes. He sucked in several deep breaths. It was a struggle to clear his head. Soon however he overcame his near lapse into unconsciousness.
The fighting in the day’s main battle had ended. The hundreds pouring through the pass told him this. His entire army now mustered to his flag. They saw an end to the ambush. An officer saw he was wounded. “Call for the surgeon!” he cried.
The exhausted physician arrived. He pulled up in his wagon alongside Dracula. The Voivode remained on his horse. He did not possess the strength or the desire to climb down. For that reason the surgeon stood beside his horse to examine him.
Dracula closed his eyes to try and combat the pain. Even the lightest touch on his leg caused him to wince. He did not see the arrows that rained in on the group around him. The surgeon fell to the ground at the stallion’s feet. The thud of his fall and the cries of his men alerted Dracula to the attack.
He looked down to see the surgeon lying on the ground. An arrow had struck him in the head just above the ear. Several others close by took hits also. Dracula reacted quickly. He leant forward and steered his mount away from the melee.
A second arrow found him. It hit him in the chest below his left shoulder. His breath caught in his throat as it threw him backwards. He clung on to the reins in desperation. One of his men managed to place an arm around his waist. Only for that he would have fallen from his horse. Already blood filled his left lung. His laboured breathing left traces of it on his lips.
“My Liege?” his soldier called to him. “Can you ride?”
Dracula looked at him through groggy eyes. “Take me to the chapel at the monastery,” he rasped. “If I am to die I want it to be in a sacred place.”
The soldier grabbed the halter of Dracula’s horse. He then steered them towards the monastery. The island where it stood was less than two miles away. But they would not need a boat. The surrounding lake had frozen over weeks before.
The other members of Dracula’s bodyguard saw him slumped in the saddle. They forgot everything else and raced to his side.
There were no further incidents along the way. Dracula’s men hunted down the archers and killed them. Those who rode with him ensured nothing blocked his path. They remained vigilant in case of any further attacks.
Blood oozed steadily from his wounds. The colour had left his face. His men lifted him gently from his horse. They could see he was not in a good way. Few of them had known anyone as tough. But he looked as close to death as a man that still breathed could. Some of them thought then that the tips of the arrows might have carried poison.
They opened the door of the chapel. Taking him inside they laid him down at the top of the steps below the altar. The abbot arrived soon after. A group of his monks walked with him. It led to a slight fracas over the intrusion into their building.
“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded to know.
“Mind your tongue,” one of the boyars warned. “I could soon cut it out for you.”
The abbot looked aghast. “You cannot violate the sanctity of the chapel.”
“How dare you come in here and threaten the abbot!” one of the monks spat.
The same boyar pushed him back. Soon all of Dracula’s men became involved.
“Good Lord!” the abbot cried out. “What is wrong with you men?”
“This is what!” one of the boyars snarled.
He grabbed the abbot by his smock and threw him down. The abbot fell on the steps near to Dracula. He gazed at his Voivode to see him slowly bleeding to death.
“Get on your knees when in the presence of your sovereign,” the boyar warned.
The abbot crawled beside Dracula. “Forgive me, Sire,” he said. “I did not know you were here.”
Dracula opened his eyes for a brief moment. Every breath became a struggle for him. Blood had filled his left lung completely. He had also suffered a little damage to one of the arteries near his heart. His wounds already looked infected. It showed that his men were right about the arrows.
The abbot began to administer the Last Rites. Dracula barely heard the words spoken over him. He did not notice the efforts of his men to make his last moments comfortable. Some of them even wept openly, as hard as they were.
All of a sudden an icy chill engulfed the men inside the chapel. A strong wind blew from the door and along the mosaic floor. It ruffled the hair of each of the boyars present. They looked to the door to see a mist creep slowly along the floor towards them.
The abbot was the first to see the dark figure that stood at the entrance. He stopped in mid sentence. The boyars watched him bless himself several times. They wondered what he had seen that had spooked him so. His face turned pale when the figure began to walk slowly towards the altar.
Dracula sensed the presence of the mysterious figure. A faint smile escaped his lips. Death had come for him. In his heart he knew there were no angels coming to this place. But it was what he had expected. He was not afraid. In that moment he welcomed Death’s arrival.
The boyars turned in the hope they might see what had caught the abbot’s eye. They saw only the mist creeping towards them. The figure remained invisible to their eye. It stopped right where they stood. The air grew stale all around. A foul stench caused them to gag and fight for breath.
Terror filled the abbot inside. His mouth went dry. A cold sweat formed on his brow. Instinct told him the identity of the stranger. That knowledge paralysed his every muscle.
The figure stood over Dracula. “Tell them to leave us!” it growled in a deep gravely voice that was not from any human throat.
Dracula opened his eyes. When the boyars saw this they crowded around him. “Go,” he told them, barely above a whisper. “Leave me in peace to die.”
He found it a real effort to speak now. His men knew he was very close to death. They did not want to leave his side. “Go,” he said again. “It is what I want.”
They adhered to his wish and took their leave. The abbot left also with his monks. He had no desire to confront the stranger. His fear suddenly far outweighed the power of his faith.
The door of the chapel closed. It left Dracula and the stranger alone. He looked up at the towering figure. The stranger pulled back the shroud that obscured his face, to reveal himself.
Dracula gasped in shock at the image that met his eyes. Standing well over seven feet the stranger glared down at him. His deep black eyes looked right into Dracula’s soul. Fathomless, they hinted at an expression of real malignancy and menace. It terrified him in a way he had never felt before. This was not how Death should appear to those who welcomed him.
The shock of seeing his face was so great that Dracula could not breathe. He rolled onto his side and clawed at the marble steps. His face turned a murky blue.
The stranger clicked his fingers. Suddenly Dracula was able to breathe once more. He stayed on his side, not daring to look up.
“Look at me!” the stranger ordered him.
The voice itself was enough to put fear into the staunchest heart. He fell on his back again and looked up. Only then did he see the face of the stranger properly. A full black beard covered his jaw. He had long raven black hair that dropped to his shoulders. His skin looked tough and scorched. What caught Dracula’s eye the most were the two strong horns that extended upwards from the stranger’s forehead.
“Did you think by coming here you would escape me?” he growled.
Dracula did not answer. He closed his eyes in the hope this might all go away.
“Look at me!” the stranger said again with real menace in his voice. “I can make you wish you never had eyes. If you close them again I will make good my threat.”
Dracula did as the stranger said. His eyes opened to look up at him.
“You are mine,” he advised, looking Dracula straight in the eye. “You have always been mine.”
The Voivode no longer felt afraid. The pain in his body was such that he no longer cared. “How do you come by that notion?” he gasped through bloodied lips.
“Oh, Vlad, are you so naïve? I have been with you enough times over the years.”
Dracula looked confused. He thought back over his life. Then it struck him. The one who had nurtured him from the age of twelve. The one who had protected him from harm. The one who had guided him through so many troubled times. The one who had manipulated and threatened him when he wanted to follow his own path. But that was a woman he had known. “Lucy?”
The stranger laughed. “Yes indeed.”
“You are she?”
“I told you I would come for you in your moment of death. That time is upon you at last.”
Dracula closed his eyes again. He should have known. So many things made perfect sense to him now. He realised why God had sent nobody to claim his soul. All his life the Devil had courted him. He knew it meant an eternity of damnation.
“This place is no haven for one such as you,” Lucifer advised him. “God does not want you.”
He paced about the area for a moment. While Dracula continued to groan he eyed the lavishly decorated interior of the chapel. Dracula, as patron of the monastery, had funded it all. Lucifer chuckled at that. Men like Dracula spent small fortunes on these holy relics to buy an indulgence or two into Heaven. A man could buy no such thing.
“All your miserable life you have carried His banner. You led the fight against the spread of Islam. In that time you believed you were doing His work. But, in truth, you were always doing mine.”
Dracula groaned again. He coughed so hard that he left a small pool of blood on the marble surface beneath him. The reality of his life pained him as much as his injuries. He knew it was the truth. In light of that he accepted it, not that the Devil spoke the truth often.
“Today has been a profitable day for me. I must thank you. You have exceeded even your own bloody standards.”
“What do you want from me?”
Lucifer grinned. “Yes we should talk about that.”
Dracula coughed again. Lucifer waited patiently until he seemed fit to speak. “For all the time you invested in me. There must have been a reason.”
“Usually I would have sent another in my place. But not for you, Vlad Dracula. I was always going to come myself on this occasion.”
“You often said I was your special one.”
“Yes,” Lucifer grinned, his tone easing a little. “You have always been the one most special. Indeed I look on you as I would a son. That is why I want to offer you an alternative to eternal damnation.”
“You want to make a deal with me?” Dracula gasped. He clutched at his side. “In exchange for what? My soul?”
“No, you fool,” Lucifer laughed. “That is already mine. Believe me when I tell you this. If God had wanted you in this your hour of death then someone other than I would be here with you. God has forsaken you, my son. You belong to me!”
He paused to allow the reality to sink in. Dracula’s calmness surprised him. On any other occasion he had claimed a soul, the recipient would always cower with terror. This was not the case with Dracula. Once he had overcome the shock of seeing his face, he became his usual self. It was one of the qualities that indeed made him the one most special.
“How do I know you are who I think you are?” Dracula asked him.
“Oh, Vlad. Do not talk nonsense. I am not a mirage. You know me well, as I know you.” For a brief moment Lucifer transformed into Lucy, and then back again. “You were expecting me, as much as you hate to admit it.”
“Very well,” he sighed. “What is it you want with me?”
“I want you to carry on my work.”
Dracula noticed the excitement in his voice. “You are retiring?”
Lucifer ignored the comment. “Be my General in the world of men. In return I will grant you the chance to avenge yourself against God. The God you thought you had served for so long.”
“A deal would usually imply both parties benefit. What do I gain from this?”
“For your service to me I will give you eternal life.”
Before Dracula could respond Lucifer lifted him up by both his arms. He raised his protégé high into the air. The pain was intolerable. It paled in comparison to that when the Devil bit hard into his neck.
The pain was more concentrated than the blade or arrowheads that had left him near death. Lucifer’s breath was like fire upon his skin. His eyes bulged from their sockets. He could no longer breathe. As his throat muscles spasmed he felt like his face was about to melt.
He managed one loud scream. Inside his body he felt the little blood he had left emptying from his veins. The sound attracted several of the boyars. They burst into the chapel to see what ailed their master so.
The sight that met their eyes left them both horrified and stunned. They saw Dracula suspended two feet above the ground. A vicious wound showed on his neck. They could see blood there, but it did not trickle down.
The boyars ran up to him. They drew their swords and cried out to him for direction, not knowing what to do. Lucifer continued to drink. At the same time he absorbed the fear of the men around him. When he had drunk enough he discarded Dracula on the steps below the altar.
He licked his lips. The taste satisfied him. Indeed for a moment he felt a touch giddy. He smiled, having wanted to do this for such a long time.
The boyars felt a presence as he walked among them. They put it out of their minds for a moment. The sight of Dracula on the floor concerned them more. They attempted to resuscitate him. But there was no need. He was not yet dead.
Dracula suddenly clutched at his stomach with both hands. It scared the boyars half out of their minds. He emitted a cry that was almost inhuman. His men stepped away. The presence amongst them grew more apparent. They scanned the empty air around them in an attempt to locate it.
Their master’s body shook violently on the steps. His arms and legs flailed wildly. Foam and vomit streamed from the corners of his mouth. His eyes rolled up inside his head. They watched until only the whites of the orbs showed.
A second animal-like cry filled the chapel. It echoed off the walls around them. Outside the abbot dropped to his knees in prayer. The many hundreds of soldiers, servants and monks gathered there did the same. Lightning filled the darkening skies. The thunder bellowed after it, as a prelude to the downpour that followed.
Lucifer began to tire of the game inside the chapel. He selected the first of the men to join their dead compatriots on the battlefield. His focus fell on the largest of the six. Hans Kruschner had served Dracula for over twenty years. He stepped up behind the mighty Saxon. Kruschner choked at the strong arm that gripped him around the neck. The invisible force lifted him from the floor. It snapped his spine before tossing him back down again.
The boyars watched on in horror. What could have lifted and killed their friend with such ease? They saw the invisible entity seize the dead man’s sword from its scabbard. Lucifer held it there so they could all see it. He felt their fear. Terror-stricken, their instincts told them to run. However, they sensed this entity was a threat to their Voivode. Their code of honour demanded that they stay. It was their duty to stand firm and defend him. Even if it meant they lost their own lives.
Lucifer laughed out loud. He allowed them to hear him, his intention to mock their bravery. He engaged the five men still standing. They knew he was toying with them. He decided then to up the ante. With speed none of them could match he ran the sword through the mouth of Petru Galcea. Like Kruschner, Galcea had been with Dracula over twenty years.
The sword passed right through. It exited beneath the base of Galcea’s skull. When Lucifer withdrew the weapon it sliced his tongue and lower lip in two.
The others watched in horror. They could not believe that Galcea was dead too. Their friend dropped to his knees before falling onto his face. Lucifer took full advantage of this. In the blink of an eye he beheaded a man to either side.
Now only two remained. One darted for the door. The other dropped his sword in surrender. Lucifer eyed the one who fled. Almost at once a bolt of lightning crashed through one of the stained glass windows above. It struck him in the centre of his chest.
The lightning bolt lifted him off his feet. It propelled him backwards and impaled him on a railing to the left of the altar. A hole burned through his breastbone the size of his head.
The last of the boyars dropped to his knees. He broke into a tearful plea for his life. Adrian Gabrul was the last of those that had served Dracula from the beginning. He was a very capable and respected soldier. But the events in the chapel had reduced him to a shivering wreck.
It was then that Lucifer revealed himself. Gabrul saw his true form. It only served to further deteriorate his mental state. He trembled like a child that had awoken from a nightmare. But this was far worse than that.
He watched Lucifer lick the blood from the sword. Then the Beast ran the blade across his own wrist. It opened a deep gash. Blood trickled quickly from the wrist and down his clawed hand.
The scent of it aroused the convulsing Dracula. He glanced across at Gabrul. The boyar stared at the white orbs. The very sight of them made his stomach churn. Dracula forgot him in a moment. When Gabrul vomited he did not even notice.
He crawled across the floor on his hands and knees. A small pool of blood lay on the marble surface. Dracula stooped down and licked it up. A few drops of blood from Lucifer’s wrist fell down onto the side of his face.
Although blind, he looked up sharply. The scent of the blood guided him. No more of it hit the floor. Dracula caught every last drop in his mouth. He found the hanging limb and pressed his lips against it.
The blood oozed onto his tongue. He found the taste intoxicating. With his mouth clamped against Lucifer’s wrist his thirst became ravenous. His master held it there for him to drink. And drink.
Soon Lucifer was satisfied that enough of his own blood had transfused into Dracula’s veins. It was far more potent than that of any human. He knew this ritual would bind them together for all eternity. That was what he had planned for. From it Dracula would have immortality. He would live through the ages to execute Lucifer’s Master Plan.
At first Dracula resisted Lucifer’s attempt to pry his wrist away. It forced him to exert greater force. He grabbed his protégé by the throat and threw him down. Dracula landed with a thud on his back. He gazed up at the ceiling, unable to move.
“From here on you are my son,” Lucifer said. “And you will do my bidding.”
He glanced at Gabrul from the corner of his eye. Sputum hung in a trail from the boyar’s nose and mouth. Dracula remained prostrate on the floor. He seemed oblivious to Gabrul’s plight.
“Your mortal life is about to end,” Lucifer told him. He could scarcely contain his excitement as he continued. “It will give way to something far beyond even your dreams. For every day of your immortal existence you will thirst. It will be the same as the thirst building inside you in the now.”
Lucifer rejoiced as Dracula showed signs of life once more. He watched as Dracula writhed about on the floor. The whites of his orbs slowly turned blood red. His temperature rose quickly until it became too much for him to bear. Sweat oozed from his every pore.
Dracula ripped at his clothes. He tore them away in shreds until he lay naked against the cold marble. Lucifer remained silent the whole time. He waited and watched for the process to begin.
Gabrul now watched too. He remained on his knees and at an angle sideways on. The sight of Dracula there mesmerised him. He jumped with fright when Dracula cried out for the third and final time. Dracula’s torso tensed and strained. Every muscle and sinew in his body pushed out against his skin. Gabrul looked on in disbelief as he began to disembowel. Along with his intestines and other organs, all of Dracula’s bodily fluids oozed out of every orifice.
“This, my son, is your mortal death.”
The process of Dracula passing from a mortal through death to immortal lasted a long time. Lucifer paced about. Despite feeling anxious he waited patiently for his adopted son to make the transition.
Gabrul passed out and lay unconscious on the floor. Soon Dracula lay still again too with his eyes closed. Lucifer prodded Gabrul with his foot until he came around. He commanded him to kneel lest he would kill him. The boyar obeyed him without question.
The people continued to pray for Dracula outside. The bitter cold ate into their fingers. The driving rain soaked them through. Their wet clothes felt like ice against their skin. But still they prayed.
They knew something terrible was happening inside the chapel. However, none of them possessed the courage to venture in there. Instinct told them not to. That applied to the soldiers too. They chose to wait outside and pray for Dracula’s soul.
In time Dracula opened his eyes once again. Lucifer smiled at him. “Early in the next century, a man named Martin Luther will strike the first blow against the Catholic Church. You will see to it that it happens. Nothing must get in the way.”
Dracula listened to him intently. He did not get up from the floor.
“His actions will induce a split in the Church. It will see Christian killing Christian. Then for five centuries you will live and build your strength. In that time you will do all in your power to weaken the Church.”
He stopped when Gabrul started to whimper. The boyar looked away, fearful of him. He put his hand over his own mouth in an effort to stay quiet.
Lucifer continued. “Then you will have your Second Coming. It will give you the strength you need to finish your task. Then this damned institution of Christ will fall to its knees. The same great Church you fought so nobly to preserve, only for it to desert you. In the same way He cast me out so long ago He has you too. You will destroy this last great icon of God. Then from its ashes I will rise up and return to my rightful place. I will rule the Heavens and the earth with you at my side.”
Dracula grinned at the prospect. The conversion was almost complete. The wounds on his body had vanished. It was Lucifer’s blood that coursed through his veins now. With it he assumed the mantle of true evil. The challenge laid down for him was one he wanted to meet.
He got to his feet. Even then he felt strength in his limbs he had never before known. A thousand different sounds reached his ears. He heard the sounds of the night for the first time. They delighted him. His vision improved to the same extent. He knew there and then that night would no longer be night for him. The darkness would never again shield anything from his view.
His eyes focused on Gabrul. The most loyal of his servants over the years, the boyar sobbed like a child. Dracula felt his terror. He could also feel his heartbeat and read his every thought. Most of all he could smell Gabrul’s blood. His warm delicious blood.
Lucifer was unable to conceal his delight that his experiment had worked. “Tell me how good you feel,” he said.
“Oh, I feel good,” Dracula replied, his eyes still trained on Gabrul.
“Feel your power, my son. Nurture it. How men will fear you. They will lie awake in their beds at night. Unable to sleep, they will pray for the dawn. For it will only be from the hours of dusk until dawn that you can walk among the living.”
Dracula nodded that he understood.
“In the daylight hours you will sleep and feel your thirst grow. Come sunset you can walk among the living again and drink from them. That is the price you must pay me for the powers I have bestowed on you. If you do not feed you will cease to exist. Then I will have to find another to carry on my work.”
“I do have a thirst.”
“I know, my son. I can feel it.”
“The smell of his blood is so good. So strong.”
“Then indulge yourself, my son. Accept him as my offering to you. You will make so many sacrifices in my name.”
Gabrul could no longer contain his fear. At once he realised the implications of the conversation. He lost control of his bladder when Dracula approached him. A pool formed on the floor around his knees.
Dracula was not gentle in taking his old friend. The sensation he felt as he sank his teeth into Gabrul thrilled him beyond imagination. He felt the blood transfuse into his own veins. It made every sinew in his body tighten. His penis grew erect. The experience easily exceeded any sexual encounter from his mortal life. He felt Gabrul’s heart tear in two from the strain as he sucked him dry.
When he finished with Gabrul he tossed him aside like a rag doll. He exchanged glances with Lucifer and smiled. His tongue carefully removed the last traces of blood from his lips. He ran the tip of it over both his fangs, which protruded fully from his mouth.
The abbot’s voice irritated him no end. It rang like a gong in his ears. He looked to where the door of the chapel swayed gently in the wind.
Lucifer read his thoughts and encouraged him to venture outside. “Go on, my son. This is where it all begins.”
Dracula nodded and headed for the door. As he walked Lucifer spoke after him. “In five centuries all who live in the civilised world will know your name. It is up to you whether or not they believe in you.”
The monster had been born.
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martykate reviewed Version 1 -
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shelerella reviewed Version 1 -
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forgetaboutit reviewed Version 1 -
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Jesus, this is crazy.
If this is only the prologue, i cant wait to red the rest.
I loved it.
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INA_TRANCE reviewed Version 1 -
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I am biased, yes, because I love Dracula stories. This piece was moving and intersting. It didn’t drop me nor did my mind ever wander. The pace was perfect and I smiled when Dracula looked up and said “Lucy”.. I was wondering how long was a long time [for his transformation].
All in all it is an excellent piece on the birth of the monster, Dracula.
mymommaatelettuce reviewed Version 1 -
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lavallee773 reviewed Version 1 -
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A different spin on the origin of Dracula. It read almost like a comic book. The use of Dracula’s name repeatedly I thought to be excessive. There were some typos as well.
I thought the graphic parts were very descriptive and easily visualized. The final few pages with the siring of Dracula could have been a little shorter. Also I thought the Satan character to be a little farfetched and simple.
A very nice job as a whole. I did find myself getting into the exciting parts. Even though the ambush part was a difficult to follow.
kaine63 reviewed Version 1 -
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ok, i’m 50-50 on this piece! you have a very fresh and unique outlook on an old classic story. I liked and enjoyed your version of the legend of dracula. I thought you took something that is timeless and put a new spin on it. My only worry is that you may scare away an agent or peublisher becaus eit is such a classic and timeless story. People can be good writers but to try and revamp something that bram stoker and countless other film makers and authors have depicted time and time again may be alittle bit too much of a risk for someone to take? I do like the story overall and think you have a different take on it, just be careful of getting pigeon holed into dealing with a long legacy of previous stories!
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