The Dracula Chronicles: Bound By Blood Page 3
He paced about the area for a moment. While his quarry continued to groan with pain, he eyed the lavishly decorated interior of the chapel. Dracula, as patron of the monastery, had funded it all. Lucifer chuckled at the irony of that. Men like him 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 the injuries that would soon bring his death. He knew it was the truth. In light of that, he accepted it, not that the Devil spoke the truth often.
“This day has been a profitable one for me. So many more souls to add to my number. I must commend you on that. You have exceeded even your own bloody standards. And there are few that could ever match you.”
“What do you want from me?”
Lucifer grinned. “Yes, we should speak of 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 good 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 said, his tone easing, though a little excited in pitch. “You have always been the one most special. It is true to say 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 strike a deal with me?” Dracula gasped. He clutched at his side. “In exchange for what? My soul?”
“No, you fool,” Lucifer said. “That already belongs to me. 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! You have always belonged to me.”
He paused to allow the reality of his words to sink in. Dracula’s calmness surprised him. On any other occasion he had claimed a soul, its owner would always cower with terror or plead for mercy. This was not the case here. Once Dracula 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?”
“Oh, Vlad, do not dishonour me so. 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 are loath to admit it.”
“Very well,” Dracula conceded. “What is it you want with me?”
“I want you to carry on my work.”
Dracula could sense the excitement in Lucifer’s voice. “You are retiring?”
Lucifer ignored the comment. “Be my general in the world of men. In return, I shall grant you the chance to avenge yourself against God. The same God you thought you had served so faithfully, and for so long.”
Dracula stayed with the conversation even though he was finding it increasingly difficult to do so. “A deal would imply both parties benefit. What do I gain from this?”
“For your service to me, I shall give you eternal life.”
WALLACHIA. THE CHAPEL OF
THE MONASTERY AT SNAGOV.
DECEMBER 11, 1476. AFTER SUNSET.
Before Dracula could respond, Lucifer lifted him up by both arms, and raised his protégé high into the air. The pain was intolerable, but it paled in comparison to that which he felt 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, and he fought hard to breathe. As his throat muscles tightened, 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 alerted the boyars. Their efforts to force open the door of the chapel finally paid dividends. They burst into the chapel and made for the altar 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 their voivode. 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, satisfied at the taste. Human blood was good, and he took a moment to savour it, and the smell. He smiled, having wanted to do this for such a long time.
The boyars felt a presence as he walked among them. They tried to put it out of their minds. The sight of their master on the floor concerned them more. They attempted to resuscitate him, but there was no need. He was not yet dead.
Dracula clutched at his stomach with both hands. The movement was so sudden it scared the men half out of their wits. He emitted a cry that was almost inhuman.
His men stepped away from him as the presence amongst them grew more apparent. They turned their focus to it and scanned the empty air around them in an attempt to locate it.
Their master’s body shook violently on the steps, and his arms and legs flailed wildly. Foam and vomit streamed from the corners of his mouth, and 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 and echoed off the walls around them. Outside, the abbot dropped to his knees in prayer. Every other man and the women from the entourage who had not done so, did so now. Lightning raged across 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 from 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, and snapped his spine before tossing him down again.
The boyars watched on in horror. What could have lifted and killed our friend with such ease? They looked on as the invisible entity seized the dead man’s sword from its scabbard.
Lucifer held it there so they could all see it. He felt their fear and thrived on it, the kind of fear that alerts every one of the senses.
Terror-stricken, their instincts told them to run. Death surely awaited any man who remained. Despite this, they sensed this entity was a threat to their voivode, and their code of honour demanded 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, allowing them to hear him. It was his intention to mock their bravery and erode their resolve still further. He engaged the five men still standing. They knew he was toying with them, but stood firm to meet the threat. He decided 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 and exited beneath the base of Galcea’s skull. When Lucifer withdrew the weapon, it sliced Galcea’s 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 flat on his face. Lucifer took full advantage of this and, in the blink of an eye, he beheaded a man to either side.
Now only two remained, one of whom made a run for the door. The other dropped his sword in surrender. Lucifer eyed the man who had fled.
Almost at once, a bolt of lightning crashed through one of the stained glass windows above. It struck the fleeing boyar in the centre of his chest.
The lightning bolt lifted him off his feet and propelled him backwards, impaling him on a railing to the left of the altar. A hole the size of his head burned through his breastbone. His clothing smouldered and burned around the edges of the wound. The smell of his charred flesh filled the chapel.
The last of the boyars dropped to his knees and broke into a tearful plea for his life. Adrian Gabrul was the last of those who 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, and Gabrul saw his true form. It only served to further deteriorate his mental state. He trembled like a child who had awoken from a nightmare, though this was far worse.
He watched Lucifer lick the blood from the sword. Then the Beast ran the blade across his own wrist, where he opened a deep gash. His blood flowed fast from the wound and down his clawed hand.
The scent of it aroused the convulsing Dracula. He glanced across at Gabrul with eyes that did not see. The boyar stared back at him, transfixed by the white orbs. The very sight of them made his stomach churn. Dracula forgot him in a moment; and when Gabrul vomited, he did not even notice.
The voivode crawled across the floor on his hands and knees to the small pool of blood that lay on the marble surface in front of him. He stooped down and licked it up. More drops of blood from Lucifer’s wrist fell down onto the side of his face.
Although blind, he cocked his head sharply. The scent of the blood guided him, and no more hit the floor. Dracula caught every last drop in his mouth. He found the dangling limb and pressed his lips against it.
The blood oozed onto his tongue, and 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 Dracula had taken enough of his blood. It was far more potent than that of any human. He knew this ritual would bind them together for all eternity. That had been his plan for so long. From it, Dracula would have immortality and inherit some of his abilities, though he would still be restricted in the mortal sphere. But it would allow him to live on through the ages and execute Lucifer’s Master Plan.
At first, Dracula resisted Lucifer’s attempt to pry his wrist away. It forced the Dark Lord to exert greater force. He grabbed his protégé by the throat and threw him down. Dracula landed with a thud on his back, the blow winding him. He gazed up at the ceiling, unable to move.
“From here on, you are my son,” Lucifer said. “And you shall 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. He then turned his attention back to Dracula, who remained prostrate on the floor and oblivious to Gabrul’s plight.
“Your mortal life is coming to an end,” Lucifer told him. He could scarcely contain his excitement as he continued. “It shall give way to a life far beyond even your dreams. For every day of your immortal existence, you shall thirst. It shall be the same as the thirst building inside you in the now.”
Lucifer rejoiced when Dracula showed signs of life once more, and he watched him writhe about on the floor. The whites of Dracula’s 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 with both hands. 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 a sideways angle to the altar. The sight of his master there mesmerised him. He jumped with fright when the voivode 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 no longer of use, 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 the area and, although 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, with his eyes closed. Lucifer prodded Gabrul with his foot until he came around. He commanded him to kneel lest he kill him. The boyar obeyed the Dark Lord without question.
The people continued to pray outside for their voivode. The bitter cold ate into their frozen hands and feet, and 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. All had heard the cries from within. But even with the door open to them, none of them possessed the courage to venture inside. Their instincts told them to stay outside, and that applied to the soldiers as well. Six had already gone in, but none had come out again. The rest chose, for that reason, to wait there and pray for Dracula’s soul.
Lucifer smiled when Dracula opened his eyes again. “Early in the next century, there shall come a man to strike the first blow against the Catholic Church. You must seek him out and be there when it happens. Look to where unrest among the clergy is at its greatest.”
Dracula listened to his every word, but did not get up from the floor.
“His actions shall induce a split in the Church and see Christian killing Christian. Then, for five centuries, you should live and build your strength. In that time, you must do all you can to continue to weaken the power of the Church.”
Lucifer 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.
“You shall have your Second Coming, to give you the strength you need to finish your task. Then, this damned institution of Christ can fall to its knees. The same great Church you fought so nobly to preserve, only for it to abandon you in your final hour. As He cast me out so long ago, He has done to you on this day. You shall destroy this last great icon of God. Then, from its ashes I shall rise up and return to my rightful place. I shall rule the heavens and the earth with you at my side, where man should exist no more.”
Dracula grinned at the prospect. What the Dark Lord said was true. He would never have listened to such talk before, but things had changed now in so short a time. He had fought for the cause of the Church, yet where was God now? Where were His angels? He had been forsaken and denied his rightful place in Heaven. And because of that, he would seek a new path. The path Lucifer had created for him.
The conversion was almost complete, the wounds on his body gone. Even the arrow that had protruded from his chest dropped to the floor. 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, and 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, and 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 fell on Gabrul. The most loyal of his servants over the years, the boyar sobbed like a child. Dracula felt his terror and 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 alive you feel.”
“I feel more alive than ever before,” Dracula replied, his eyes still trained on Gabrul.
Dracula nodded that he understood.
“In the daylight hours you shall 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 to me for the powers I have bestowed on you. If you do not feed, you shall cease to exist. Then I would have to find another to carry on my work.”
“I do have a thirst.”
“I know, my son, I can feel it burning within you.”
“The smell of his blood is so sweet; so strong.”
“Then indulge yourself, my son. Accept him as my offering to you. You shall 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 forming 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, his own heart pumping it there. It made every sinew in his body tighten, and his penis grow erect, filled with the fresh blood. 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 stood over his old friend and urinated all over him and on the mosaic floor, the eight pints of blood containing mostly water. Then 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.