Dracula raised his head, his gaze following the voice to the highest rampart of the main tower.
A striking young woman with hair split in stark black and white stood silhouetted against the moon. Her eyes, the burning crimson characteristic of their race, fixed on him. A silver, dagger-like ornament adorned her hair, and she wore a short, black-on-red cloak over an elegant formal dress.
"Long time no see, Serena," Dracula said, a faint smile touching his lips as he offered a casual wave.
"It has been a while," Serena replied, her tone sharp. She descended from the tower, her wings not feathered but vast sheets of leathery skin, starkly patterned in black and white to match her hair. They carried her down to land silently before him. She crossed her arms, her expression a mask of indignation. "A hundred years. You abandon your castle to a child for a century while you go off to have fun. Have you no shame?"
"Ahem," Dracula coughed, his smile turning sheepish. "You're hardly a child anymore, Serena. You're well over a hundred years old."
"And being over a hundred means I'm supposed to run your castle for you?" Serena shot back, mimicking his posture. "I see it now. You only took me in to find a glorified steward to manage your territory, so you could run off and be the glorious, hands-off lord!"
Her accusation was entirely correct. Dracula had indeed grown weary of the tedious politics and day-to-day management of the castle, so he'd sought a proxy. But the proud vampires of his court would bow to no one but their progenitor. So, over a century ago, he had adopted a malnourished, dying girl from a Muggle orphanage. He personally turned her, nurturing her through the fragile early years with his own powerful blood.
He had named her Serena Alucard. Serena, for the moon she was born under, and Alucard, his own name spelled backward.
As his direct progeny, Serena quickly developed formidable strength. The other vampires, recognizing her as Dracula's chosen heir, reluctantly afforded her their respect. Soon, she was more than capable of managing the castle on her own.
And Dracula, with a clear conscience, had promptly vanished, first to enjoy his freedom and then, when boredom set in, to seal himself in a coffin for a century-long nap.
Though he knew she was right, he certainly wasn't about to admit it. His adopted daughter's temper was a thing of legend.
"I was cultivating your abilities, Serena!" he said earnestly, quickly manufacturing an excuse. "The future belongs to the young. A relic like me should have stepped back from the stage of history long ago. You are the newly risen moon in the night sky…"
He trailed off, noticing the witheringly skeptical look she was giving him.
"Listen to yourself. Do you even sound like a vampire?" Serena said, her lip curling. "And since you're calling me a newly risen moon, let me ask you this: does a moon that has already risen halfway decide to just set whenever it feels like it?"
"Well…" Dracula hesitated, his confidence wavering. "It's not impossible. I could always go lie down in my coffin again."
"Don't you dare!" Serena snapped. "You slept for a hundred years! It might have been relaxing for you, but I was left exhausted, trying to manage this unruly mob you call a family."
"That's why I told you to abandon the low-levels," Dracula said, his voice softening. "The ones with no self-control. Let them fend for themselves. Your life would be much easier."
"No!" Serena shook her head stubbornly. "Even the lowest of them was once a person, just like I was. They still have lingering fragments of their former lives buried deep inside them. We can't just abandon them."
Dracula shrugged. "As you wish."
At that moment, a furious roar echoed from below the castle walls.
"We are at your gates, and you dare to stand there chatting?!" a hulking figure bellowed. "You hold me in contempt!"
Dracula and Serena glanced down in unison. A massive man with a thick grey beard and wild hair stood at the head of the werewolf pack. His teeth were bared in a snarl, and long, yellowed claws tipped his fingers.
"Who is he? The new werewolf leader?" Dracula asked.
"Presumably," Serena said.
Dracula raised an eyebrow. "The castle and the Romanian werewolf tribes have been neighbors for centuries. As the current regent, you haven't bothered to learn the name of their leader?"
"Of course I know who their leader was!" Serena retorted, stung by the implied criticism. "He was a different man just a few months ago, and we had a perfectly civil relationship. This one is Fenrir Greyback. He's from Britain."
She pointed a finger at the seething werewolf. "He showed up with this army of Inferi, bolstering the packs. The signal I sent you was because I'd discovered them. Given that the old alpha is nowhere to be seen and our 'neighbors' are suddenly laying siege to our home, I assume Fenrir killed him and took over."
"From Britain?" Dracula repeated, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow.
Below, Fenrir saw the two figures on the wall continue to ignore him. His rage boiled over, and he let out a guttural roar that shook the air.
"You just wait! When the moon is high, I will be the first to tear you to pieces!"
The surrounding werewolves echoed his cry, their howls rising into a chaotic symphony. On the wall, many of the younger vampires paled, their bodies trembling in the cold wind.
But one vampire, who had just witnessed the return of their lord, stood firm. With Lord Dracula present, a few mangy werewolves and their walking corpses were no threat at all.
Dracula and Serena remained completely unfazed.
"Serena, why don't you fetch him for me?" Dracula said with a light chuckle. "Show me what progress you've made in the last century."
"Why don't you get him yourself?" she shot back, rolling her eyes. "Or better yet, you can deal with that army of Inferi and show me if you've gotten weaker."
"An interesting proposal," Dracula said, a smile playing on his lips as he surveyed the horde below.
As the last rays of sunlight vanished, the world was plunged into darkness. A full moon climbed into the sky, its cold light bathing the werewolves in a spectral glow. A chorus of howls ripped through the night as their transformations began. Snouts elongated, backs arched, and thick fur sprouted, their human forms contorting into monstrous beasts.
Fenrir, leading the charge, launched himself from the ground. With a single, incredible leap, he cleared the high wall and landed between Dracula and Serena, his massive form shaking the stone.
"Was it you two who ignored me?" he snarled, his wolfish mouth struggling to form human words. "You will pay the price for your arrogance!"
"A new breed," Dracula noted with interest. "Can they remain conscious after transforming?"
"Someone developed the Wolfsbane Potion a few years ago," Serena explained. "The wealthier werewolves can afford to take it, allowing them to retain their minds. It makes their attacks more deliberate, and far more destructive."
"What a waste," Dracula clicked his tongue. "Most werewolves can't afford a single dose to save themselves, and these ones use it for mindless destruction."
Seeing that he was still being ignored, Fenrir's rage finally consumed him. He charged.
The next moment, he saw the silver-haired vampire casually raise a hand.
Fenrir's limbs went slack, hanging uselessly at his sides. His massive body floated into the air as if held by an invisible hand, suspended helplessly before the two vampires.
"Tell me," a rich, melodic voice echoed in his ears, "who are you working for? A dog like you couldn't have summoned so many Inferi on your own."
"Damn you! Put me down!" Fenrir thrashed wildly. "If you have any honor, fight me fairly, without your cursed magic!"
Dracula glanced at Serena, who was watching him with a knowing smile.
"Feeling playful again?" she teased.
"Indeed. It's rare to encounter a species with decent physical strength that can also maintain its reason," Dracula admitted readily. He looked back at Serena. "Keep an eye on things. If the Inferi press too hard, call for me."
Serena nodded, stepping back to give them space.
With a look of genuine interest, Dracula lowered Fenrir to the ground and released the magical restraints.
"As you wish," he said, a playful smile on his face. "A fair fight."
Fenrir landed in a heap, his head buzzing as feeling returned to his limbs. He stared in disbelief. A high-level vampire, a being of immense magical power, was choosing to fight him hand-to-hand? Fenrir knew that while vampires were physically formidable, they were still bound to a human form. They could never match the raw, transformative power of a werewolf.
This battle was his to win.
"No tricks!" he snarled. "No magic!"
Seeing Dracula nod, Fenrir dug his claws into the stone and lunged.
Dracula calmly flexed his wrists. The nails on his slender fingers elongated into gleaming black talons. As the werewolf charged, he sidestepped with liquid grace, his movement almost too fast to see. As Fenrir shot past, Dracula spun and snatched the werewolf's stumpy tail.
An agonizing pain shot through Fenrir's body. Before he could react, he was swung through the air and slammed violently against the hard stone of the wall, the impact leaving him dazed and seeing stars.
"Your physical prowess seems to be less than you imagined," Dracula said, his voice laced with disappointment.
The taunt shattered Fenrir's remaining control. The effects of the Wolfsbane Potion evaporated, and a primal, all-consuming hunger surged through him.
"Awoooo!"
A feral howl echoed across the castle. Fenrir's eyes turned blood-red, saliva dripping from his bared teeth. He opened his massive jaws and lunged for Dracula's throat—
SLAP!
A single, resounding blow landed on Fenrir's face. The werewolf's scarlet eyes rolled back into his head, and he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.
"Well, that wasn't very interesting after all," Dracula sighed, extending a hand toward Serena.
Anticipating his need, she produced a silk handkerchief. "You should have known that," she said, pouting. "It's not like you haven't fought werewolf kings far stronger than him."
Dracula casually wiped his hand, then offered the soiled handkerchief back to her. Serena took a step back, shaking her head with a look of disgust.
"You're right," Dracula chuckled. He ignited a ghastly white flame on his fingertips, turning the handkerchief to ash. "Now then, let's deal with these Inferi."
A pair of wide, leathery wings unfurled from his back, carrying him into the sky. He hovered above the castle, a dark shadow against the cold moonlight.
Below, the vampires on the wall raised their heads. Awe, then ecstatic reverence, filled their faces. The high-ranking vampires spread their own wings, flying up to cross their arms over their chests in the highest salute to the pillar of their race. The lower-level vampires who could manage the transformation shifted into bats, swarming around their lords in a show of fealty. The weakest, who could do neither, simply prostrated themselves on the stone.
Dracula smiled faintly and waved a hand downward.
From the shadow he cast, a countless swarm of smaller bat-phantoms fluttered out, instantly blanketing half the battlefield. Their wings blazed with the same ghastly white fire. Each phantom had a target. They descended upon the Inferi, landing on the backs of their necks like ghostly insects. The moment they touched the rotting flesh, the white flames erupted, engulfing the corpses.
The Inferi, feeling no pain, continued their relentless, shuffling march toward the castle, oblivious to the fire consuming them. But the flames were implacable. Starting from the neck, the fire devoured their heads, their vacant expressions turning to ash. Still, their bodies marched on. The fire crept down their spines until they were burned away completely, and the legs finally collapsed, losing all motion. The ghostly white flames lingered, turning everything they touched into fine, snow-white bone ash.
Across the dark battlefield, thousands of fires ignited, a constellation of ghostly lights upon the ground, mirroring the cold, distant stars in the sky.
With the Inferi annihilated, the remaining mindless werewolves posed no threat. The high-ranking vampires descended from the air and, with their own innate magic, easily subdued the beasts.
Seeing that the battle was won, Dracula retracted his wings and floated down to Serena's side. She had already bound the unconscious Fenrir with spells and hung him from a lamppost. Her eyes, however, were fixed on the fading embers scattered across the battlefield like fallen stars.
"Quick! Teach me that! I want to learn!" She ran to his side, grabbing his arm with childlike excitement. "How could you keep such a beautiful spell to yourself?"
"Didn't I teach you already?" Dracula asked, glancing at her.
"You definitely did not! I would have remembered!" she huffed.
"Alright then, watch closely." A strange smile played on Dracula's lips as he extended a single finger. "You know how to conjure an innate flame, correct?"
Serena nodded.
"And you know how to summon a bat-phantom?" He extended a second finger.
She nodded again.
"Then you already know how to do it," Dracula chuckled. "Simply ignite a flame on each phantom and command them to fly to their targets."
"What?" Serena's face fell. "And who besides you has that kind of monstrous control? Commanding that many at once is…" she searched for the word, "…obscene."
Dracula smiled. "Which is why I said, you still have much to learn."
(End of Chapter)
***
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