Chapter 27: With a Red Light of Triumph in His Eyes, Part 3

A giant emerged from the darkness on the other side of the gate. A skeleton made of other skeletons, with more arms and legs than could be counted waving in the stagnant wind of the castle hall, and of course, the countless eyes burned with the will-o'-the-wisp of the hells.

As it emerged from the darkness, it roared, making the air tremble, cracking the ground.

The flames in its eyes intensified for several seconds.

An impressive, terrifying spectacle...

"No, no, back again. Let's repeat it," Dracula ordered. Actually, there was no need to say "ordered," everything that came out of his mouth was an order by default, accustomed to getting his way.

But not enough.

"I know I've been sleeping for a few hundred years and shouldn't be surprised, but many of you have lost practice, huh? Come on, big guy, practice the entrance. I'm not going to let you have fun if you don't satisfy me."

The great mountain of skeletons, Joe, sighed and turned around for the umpteenth time, returning to the darkness. Each of his steps sounded like a small earthquake. It would be intimidating, impressive, just for that. But it wasn't enough with just that, it had to be perfect.

That is, this was Dracula's castle comeback tour after a thousand years.

Of course it had to be perfect.

Joe came out again and it wasn't better than the previous time, rather the opposite. It seemed to get worse the more times he was forced to repeat it. He supposed it made sense. He must already be tired.

Well, so what?

He was tired too. He should have just done it right the first time and could have saved all this.

His instructions weren't that difficult to follow!

Oh, but how naive he would have been to believe he could coordinate absolutely everything from the throne. How naive, not even he was perfect. Well, there was no need to go overboard. He was perfect, the world around him, not so much. What could he do about it? Nothing, of course. Nothing. That didn't mean he wasn't perfect.

Damn.

"Joe, you're doing a fucking terrible job. You're not scary, what you are is embarrassing."

Joe returned whimpering to the darkness like a beaten dog. Okay, maybe he had gone a bit too far, but the truth was the truth. He had too much on his shoulders to be worrying about the feelings of a mountain of skeletons.

Or anyone's feelings, for that matter.

His were the only ones that mattered.

"Death! Death!"

Seconds later, a tattered black cloak, apparently empty, and a scythe materialized in front of him.

"Yes, my lord?"

"Make sure Joe fulfills his role. I'm already bored."

"Officially his name is Malebolge, boss of the first floor."

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"I know, but Joe is faster. Why do you think you're the only one whose name I haven't changed, or almost? Well, because it's only six letters. I like three-letter names more, like Bob. Ah, in a way I miss that bastard. Where was I?" He continued before Death could say anything. "It doesn't matter. Anyway, take care of that."

"Yes, sir."

The tattered black cloak bowed to him (or maybe it was scratching its bones somewhere below, hard to tell when it was invisible) and got to it.

Obviously, it wouldn't do better than him, nobody did anything better than him, but Death would have the tedious task of asking him to repeat it until the instructions entered Joe's head.

It was his debut after a thousand years of absence, so the boss of the first floor of the castle was especially important. People might say don't judge a book by its cover or a person by the first impression, but people said a lot of stupid things that they then didn't follow.

The first impression was the most important.

So much so that if it wasn't good, you probably wouldn't get a second one.

Dracula didn't have to worry about that, since if they ignored him everyone would die screaming like animals. But well, that wasn't an excuse to slack off. Everything had to be perfect.

Dracula returned to the throne room and of course sat there, crossing his legs, leaning back.

While waiting for the human army and the possible hero or heroes (maybe it was expecting too much, but hope was the last thing to lose) of this era, he could extend his consciousness through the castle again. Anything he couldn't do from the other he could simply send one of his slaves, that is, Bosses to do it in his place, as he had done with Death. Everything had to be perfect, but well, not a pain in the ass.

That's why he had carefully designed his throne. It was one of the few things that never changed, no matter how many times the castle itself transformed, adapting to the times, his army and his whims.

"Where do I sit?" Davy Jones asked, standing next to his throne. Speaking of whims.

"Well, on the floor. Lie down and you can serve as a footstool."

Davy Jones kept silent and didn't move from his spot an inch. He must have lost the desire to sit.

Who knows why.

——

Daniela pierced another vampire with her lance.

She had been fighting for a while, but even so the force of the impact was such that in the blink of an eye there was no vampire. That's right, it exploded like a piñata, if only they contained blood and organs.

She couldn't feel satisfied.

And not just because there seemed to be more vampires and all kinds of monsters throughout the city, coming out from under the stones (literally and figuratively), but because she only felt like a murderer. After all, most of the creatures she had killed today had been innocent people until a few hours or even minutes ago. They were simply infected by Evil, by a bloodthirst they couldn't fight against.

She was no heroine.

She wasn't saving anyone, she couldn't. The only role of a hero on such a scale was to clean up the mess after it happened. Even if a hero from the legends descended upon the world once more, they would only be able to do that. Heroes were limited by definition since they could only react to evil that could explode suddenly, at any time, anywhere.

In short, heroes didn't exist and even if they did, they wouldn't make this situation better.

It was impossible for Daniela to think about the people she was saving. Pushing away the monsters, giving them time to evacuate the city. She only thought about those who had already died and those she was killing with her own hands, freeing them from this suffering and perhaps sending them to a better world, perhaps, perhaps.

Because here there was no cure.

Evil was Evil. True evil, even when it gave ground, corrupted it forever.

Daniela turned around, wielding the lance with both hands. Her mind was elsewhere because she was fighting on autopilot, not because she had even a second of respite. As she had said before, there were monsters everywhere, too many times she had found monsters even in what she thought were corpses... or at least they had been until then.

As she spun, becoming a tornado of death, she couldn't help but look up at the castle floating above the ruins of this dead city.

Dracula's legendary demonic castle.

Even if they won today, what good would that do for the people of this city?

For the survivors and the thousands of dead?

For society, which would forcibly know that the monsters lurking in the darkness were not childish fears?

Daniela couldn't stop fighting, but she couldn't believe she was fighting for something.

As said, on autopilot.

With a Red Light of Triumph in His Eyes, Part 3: END