The sky above Castle Târgoviște churned with crimson streaks and boiling clouds, as if the heavens themselves rebelled against the carnage to come. The wind carried the scent of snow and blood, stirring the golden banners of the paladins who now stood in perfect formation outside the gates. At their head, the Metropolitan’s gilded armor caught the dim light, making him appear as though divinity itself had descended to walk among men.
Nauthiz Dracula stepped from the shadows of the castle’s inner courtyard, his blackened armor glistening with the faint sheen of mist clinging to him like a living thing. His crimson eyes burned with an unnatural light, cutting through the pale fog that swirled around his boots. He moved with a measured grace, each step resounding with unholy authority.
“Dracula!” the Metropolitan’s voice rang out, heavy with both condemnation and resolve. His staff blazed with a holy light that cast long shadows across the stone walls. “This land will be free of your corruption. Stand and face judgment!”
Dracula tilted his head, a faint smirk curling his lips. His fangs glinted as he spoke, his voice low and resonant. “Judgment? By your hand?” He laughed softly, a sound that echoed through the courtyard, chilling even the most stalwart of the paladins. “Wallachia thrives under my rule, Old Man. Your god abandoned this land long ago. And now you seek to destroy the only thing keeping your flock from the wolves?”
The paladins shifted uneasily, their shields reflecting the faint light of the Metropolitan’s staff. The old man raised it high, his voice booming. “You have brought ruin to this land! Your darkness will be extinguished, and Wallachia will rise from the ashes of your tyranny!”
Dracula’s smile widened, and the mist at his feet began to writhe, tendrils snaking outward to lick at the edges of the paladins’ golden shields. “Then come,” he said, his voice a dark invitation. “Let me show you the futility of your light.”
The paladins surged forward as one, their swords and spears raised high. The sound of clashing metal filled the air as the mist thickened, swallowing their movements and muffling their cries. Dracula strode into the fray, the shadows around him alive with his will. From the darkness emerged wolves, their glowing red eyes and jagged teeth flashing as they leapt at the golden-clad warriors. Their howls filled the air, mingling with the screams of the dying.
The Metropolitan slammed his staff into the ground, sending a wave of holy light rippling outward. The mist recoiled, and the wolves dissolved into shadow, their forms evaporating into the air. Dracula staggered slightly as the light struck him, his armor hissing and smoking. He snarled, his iron claws flexing as he raised his hand. The mist surged forward again, thicker this time, swallowing the holy warriors whole.
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Above the din of battle, Dracula’s laughter rang out. “You think your light can cleanse this land?” he taunted, his voice cutting through the chaos. “Light is fleeting. Shadows endure.”
The air grew colder as Dracula’s powers intensified. With a single beat of his wings, he unleashed a gale-force wind that sent the paladins tumbling backward. He leapt into the air, his form shifting and twisting as he transformed into a massive bat. His wings unfurled with a deafening crack, blotting out the light as he descended upon the clerics. His claws tore through their robes, and his fangs found flesh, each bite spreading his virulent essence.
The Metropolitan advanced through the chaos, his staff blazing brighter with each step. He chanted a hymn, his voice steady and commanding, and golden fire erupted from the tip of his staff, arcing toward Dracula like a divine spear. The flames struck true, searing Dracula’s armor and driving him back. He staggered, his wings folding as he landed heavily on the ground.
The vampire lord hissed, his crimson eyes flaring with rage. “You’ll need more than fire to kill me,” he growled, his voice a guttural snarl. He lunged forward, the mist rising around him like a tidal wave. The shadows converged on the Metropolitan, clawing at his armor as Dracula closed the distance between them.
The old man raised his staff once more, its light pulsing with holy power. “Your arrogance will be your undoing, creature of the night!” he bellowed, unleashing another blast of radiant energy. The light seared through the mist, striking Dracula square in the chest and forcing him to his knees.
But the vampire lord was not so easily defeated. With a roar, he surged to his feet, his claws raking the air as the shadows surged forward, enveloping the Metropolitan. Dracula’s voice, low and resonant, echoed through the courtyard. “Your faith is a crutch, old man. And now it will fail you.”
He closed the distance in an instant, his claws tearing the staff from the Metropolitan’s hands. The holy man staggered, his armor cracked and bloodied. Dracula’s fangs bared as he lunged forward, sinking them into the Metropolitan’s neck. The old man gasped, his struggles weakening as Dracula drained him of his blood and will.
The golden light of the staff dimmed, flickered, and finally went out. The Metropolitan’s body slumped to the ground, lifeless. Dracula straightened, his lips stained with blood, his wounds knitting themselves shut as the stolen power coursed through him. A faint red glow surrounded him, his eyes blazing brighter than ever.
From the shadows, Constantine emerged, his spectral form shimmering with residual energy from his own conquests. He surveyed the carnage with a grim smile. “You’ve changed,” he said, his voice low and cautious.
Dracula turned to him, his fangs bared in a sharp grin. “I’ve evolved,” he said, his voice laced with dark power. “The blood of the Metropolitan… it awakened something.”
Constantine’s expression darkened as he studied Dracula. “Be careful,” he warned. “Power like that always comes with a price.”
Dracula glanced at the battlefield, littered with the bodies of holy warriors, and smirked. “Let others come,” he said, his voice cold and resolute. “Wallachia is mine. And I will show them the true meaning of fear.”
As the last vestiges of mist faded into the morning light, Dracula turned and strode into the castle, the shadows curling around him like a dark mantle. Constantine lingered a moment longer, his gaze lingering on the vampire king before he too disappeared.