He was having a dream.
Or a memory.
Often these two things were so similar that there was no way to distinguish one from the other.
He'd expected death to be very much like this. A dance through his life. He followed, like a butterfly from flower to flower. Moment to moment.
His childhood, spent scrambling across through the Carpathian mountains. Exploring paths and passages seldom used. Running from werewolves.
Fighting with werewolves.
Then the day of his Turning, where he was bitten by a Vampire Count and given the blood of the Black Dragon Court. His power awakening.
Then the training.
The constant training.
Endless.
Boring.
The problem had been he'd been too gifted. Too talented in the ways of a vampire. Even Prince Ferenc, leader of the Court, had called him Little Dragon. Rumours persisted that Vlad would one day lead the Court to greater heights than any could dream.
Had those rumours gone to his head?
Was that why he'd slacked off so much during his training?
Why he frequently turned to the arms of a bride or a young nubile Renfield to quench a growing emptiness in his soul? An emptiness he wasn't filling with the rigors of training?
Only on the field when facing the Pope was it clear to him.
It was true.
Ferenc had gone down to the Pope's blade. His body carved in two. Vlad wanted to scream.
He wanted to cry.
But instead the memory shuttled him back again. Away to a moment where the two had stood on the ramparts of the Dragon Castle and peered out at the vast lands of Transylvania together.
A moment much like many others as they shared a glass of blood and spoke of the mysteries which gave vampires their power.
"Do you regret becoming a vampire, Vlad?"
"Eh. What's to regret?" His younger self scowled suddenly. "Except bacon. I miss bacon. Long strips of greasy bacon…"
"Please," Ferenc sighed. "I was being rhetorical."
"If I could go back," Vlad proclaimed arrogantly. "I wouldn't change a thing. Except I'd have given my all when fighting Radu and left nothing of him in the arena except his ash and snot."
Ferenc smiled. "He's your brother, Vlad. You should respect him more."
"Bah. There's nothing in him worth respecting."
"You might need him one day…"
"If that day comes, I will walk into the sun myself."
That day had come.
Radu, Vlad thought. Forgive me, brother. I was wrong.
Pain.
Pain jolted him like electricity. It thundered through his head and left him howling into the dark.
"Pope!" Had he not cut his head off? Had the cursed bastard managed to survive?
The Roman Court was notorious for dabbling in strange magics.
"Pope?" A harsh voice rasped in his ear. "What the hell is wrong with you? Pope? What crazy dream are you dreaming?"
Vlad's eyes snapped open.
A young vampire was leaning over him. A look of sneering contempt rising out of his scowl. "Get up, you lazy bastard! The sun went down an hour ago. Just because you're new, doesn't mean you get to laze about like a prince. Who the Hell do you think you are?"
Vlad blinked up at him, confused. "What?"
"What do you think this is? Blood Week?" The other vampire swatted him with a cane. "Get up!"
Vlad stared at the young vampire.
How could this fledgling speak to him like this?
He didn't look old enough to find his own balls yet, let alone have them be so big he would hit Vlad with a cane! A cane!
How did this fledgling think he had the right to become Vlad's opponent? He wasn't worthy to shine his coffin!
Vlad squinted. "Do you have a death wish?"
"What did you say?"
"You hit me with a cane. What do you think you're doing?"
"Are you serious?"
"Look, fledgling-"
"Fledgling?"
"Just give me the cane, and accept your punishment and I'll pretend it didn't happen."
The young vampire's eyes bulged.
His jaw dropped open.
Then without another word, he brought the cane down on Vlad's head with a sharp crack. Once. Twice.
And again.
"Ow!" Vlad yelped. That had hurt more than it should have.
Why was the cane hurting?
He shouldn't be feeling this much pain.
Shocked, Vlad raised his arm to ward off another blow. Only to see his skin turn bright red as the cane whipped over his forearm.
Impossible!
Still unable to believe what was happening, he made to grab the cane from the fledgling.
And missed.
"Not possible," Vlad hissed.
He was too slow!
He couldn't snatch the baton from the other vampire. It couldn't be true. How could he be too slow to snatch a weapon from a little fledgling whose fangs were probably too small to draw blood?
"Get up!" The other vampire snapped at him. "Get up, lazy asshole!"
Despite the pain, Vlad recognised the other vampire wasn't trying to harm him permanently. But the humiliation bit deep.
To think that he, the Little Dragon of the Black Dragon Court, would be cowed by a fledgling!
Ferenc would not believe it.
Vlad could practically hear the First Count giggling in his ears.
Beaten by a fledgling? Perhaps it's time we called you the Little Newt instead?
"Hngh!"
The cane raised again, but this time didn't fall.
"Get dressed. Be in the courtyard in five minutes. And clean your coffin. It smells like shit in here."
Vlad swallowed hard as the vampire left.
What was going on?
Was this Hell?
He looked around, confused. The walls seemed familiar, though. They looked like the walls of the Dragon Castle. But there was a layer of black on them.
It looked greasy and awful.
And, like the other vampire had said, it smelled like shit in here.
"Ugh."
He prised himself from his coffin, glancing down at it. A simple coffin. The coffin a fledgling would be given immediately after being Turned. Simple linen lining and a hard pillow.
Barely enough room for himself.
Certainly no room for a bride or two.
Or three.
What kind of bullshit was this?
Limping towards the small closet, he opened it and stared in horror. What was this? The clothing looked old. The tunic was worn, and the symbol of the Black Dragon was faded.
It looked like a grey dragon.
They wanted him to wear this?
This…
"Disrespectful," he muttered.
But he had no choice, so pulled it on over his body. Only then did he notice how thin he was. Almost spindly.
Was that why he'd been so slow?
Had death drained his power and left him a bare skeleton?
Pulling on a pair of dark pants, he found a worn leather belt and strapped it around his waist. It was a touch too big, but it would do for now.
And his boots didn't fit right.
They'd rub at his heel and he'd have blisters soon.
Sighing, he guessed something had gone wrong. He'd have to visit the Quartermaster and get it resolved.
He couldn't train in this.
With a shake of his head, Vlad stumbled out of his room.
Barracks.
He was in the barracks. He dimly remembered living here when he'd first been Turned. But the same muck which covered the walls of his little cell was streaked across the walls in the hallway, too.
Was no one cleaning this place?
And where were the carpets?
And the paintings?
The curtains, too?
It looked…
It looked like the place had been ransacked.
He heard distant voices in the courtyard. Perhaps someone there would know what had happened. And why he was so skinny again.
At the end of the hallway, an old door barely clung to its hinges.
Pushing it open, Vlad stepped into the courtyard and froze.
The stone tiles were gone. In their place was mud.
The great wall which had surrounded the barracks and castle, was crumbling. The tower, once home to Ferenc, was gone.
Just gone.
His own tower, too.
All five towers, the domains of the Vampire Counts, were gone.
Only the Great Hall remained mostly intact.
Shock left Vlad staring.
"Why?" He rasped. "Why is this place so shitty?"
The punch to his head nearly took his head off.