The Prince of Darkness Walking Down Fifth Avenue (4)

He let his new vassal, by the name of Justin, guide him home. He lived alone, which was a bit inconvenient, he could have added his parents or his partner to his forces. The army he was starting from scratch.

But it didn't matter.

Justin assured him he had friends he could lure home with the excuse of a party or anything else.

Justin did not wish this, but it didn't matter. No vassal of his could disobey or intentionally harm him.

The first thing he noticed as soon as he entered was that he heard voices from inside. Intruders, burglars perhaps? The possibility that the vassal had lied to him didn't even cross his mind. For it didn't exist. His will was absolute, especially among those he personally turned into vampires.

It didn't matter.

It made absolutely no difference why they were here and how they had arrived, all that would vanish into the sands of time when he drank from them and transformed them into his vassals.

Dracula followed the voices to what he assumed was the living room. It was like a dung-filled stable compared to the hall of his castle, but he supposed it was a vast improvement over the halls and other rooms he had seen, belonging to the peasants whose villages his infernal hordes had razed to the ground.

In any case, the voices led him to a metal box. People were inside.

"What is this?"

A portal?

Dracula reached his hand toward the metal box, somewhat hesitantly, though he would never admit it aloud. It wasn't like him, but he wasn't used to surprises, quite the contrary. To having seen everything already, to feeling bored because humans didn't know how to do anything else and didn't even present a decent challenge to his rule of evil.

His hand didn't pass through the portal, leading him to wherever those two sacks of blood were talking, he just touched something that felt like glass.

Strange, what was this, and what were they talking about in the first place? He decided to pay some attention, in case it was helpful.

"It was an interesting match, but the Americans went after the Scots like a dog after a big steak. I've never seen so many red cards in one game!"

He frowned. He hadn't understood half of it. Fortunately, the image changed to some uniformed guys in shorts running after a man like them pushing a ball with his feet (for some reason, the moment when this one got knocked down and had the ball taken away got repeated several times) and he understood maybe eighty percent thanks to the context.

A competition between two teams based on kicking a damn ball, though he hadn't understood the victory conditions.

The real victory would be to stop clowning around and go home.

"I can't believe I'd miss the religious zealots, shining with the light of Heaven and saying things like "Die, you monster, you don't belong in this world!". But now I do. What the hell happened to humanity?"

The humans inside the metal box couldn't hear him. He didn't think they could ignore him, even if they didn't recognize him as Count Dracula. Maybe it was a portal, he just didn't have the necessary key to make use of it. The key didn't have to be a literal key, although sometimes it was. A blood sacrifice, a specific object, there were also portals that only worked on a full moon or something.

Though he wasn't sure why anyone would want to make use of this portal (if it was a portal at all) to watch these clowns run around.

"What is this?" Dracula asked, turning to his new vassal, who was looking at him funny.

"A television. It's for watching entertainment. Like soccer."

"Soccer? Ah, that competition. I understand." He didn't really understand why anyone would waste time watching that, but he understood the most important thing, its purpose, though not how it worked. It was enough for the moment.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

So it doesn't act as a portal?

"Portal? There's no such thing as magic. Well, until half an hour ago, I didn't believe vampires existed either, so..." He laughed nervously. "But no. It's no portal, my lord."

Dracula arched an eyebrow.

"You don't believe in the existence of magic or vampires? What are you, the village retard?"

"Sure I am, I must have done something wrong to have ended up in this situation. But, my Lord Dracula, all human beings share the same opinion. If you go out on the street and start talking about magic, you will be laughed at. For us, things like that or vampires are part of myths. Stories. Pure fiction."

He didn't like anything he was hearing, but at least the vassal believed what he was saying. He couldn't act against him in any way. That included, of course, lying to him.

"Unbelievable."Dracula shook his head, "Really, what has happened to humanity? What is this mess? I've been asleep too long."

"What do you intend to do now, my lord?""

Dracula fixed his eyes on the vassal.

"The same thing I did to you, to many more people, while I take back my castle, my power and my army. Then I will gather you all together and start a massacre, and wait to see if your time has any brave hero who dares to stand up to the Prince of Darkness." Perhaps of the Van Hellsing line, if his legacy had persisted rather than withered and died. But anyone who could provide him with some real entertainment was enough. Of resistance.

"Why?" The vassal was trembling.

There was no rage there, and even if there were it would be futile, he could do nothing to resist him. That was precisely why all there was in that wreck was fear.

"Because I am the dragon, Dracul. I am the Prince of Darkness. I have always been like this."

The vassal Justin lowered his head, too afraid to even look him in the eye. That was just as well. Just because he feared him didn't mean he was a coward, it was common sense.

When he would send him against his former species he wouldn't hesitate.

He was physically incapable of doing so, now.

The only thing Dracula feared, insofar as a creature like him can be said to fear anything, was that there would be no hero capable of standing up to him and his demonic hordes. Without such a hero, the climax would be tremendously dull, after all. The whole exercise would be pointless.

Boredom was the only true poison for an immortal being.

——

"He sounded scared on the phone, I think he deserves a little support, guys," said Damien as he fumbled in his pocket, trying to find the house key.

"Well, we're here, aren't we?" Mark said. "It's probably some sillty thing, but that's what friends are for."

"Not this time," Damien said, still unable to find the fucking keys, fuck, did he drop them? "I don't know what's wrong with him, but it's really serious. If you had heard him you wouldn't be doubting."

"I hope you're wrong," Dorian said. "Oh, and look in the other pocket already."

Damien blushed and took his advice. Oh. That was it, he reached into the wrong pocket. Damien put the key in the lock, acting as if nothing had happened, and turned it.

The three friends had a copy of Justin's apartment key. They also had a copy of each other's.

They were friends of the kind there are very few of these days, real friends, who had each other's backs in sickness and in health. The family they had found after they were born and stronger for it, for having been able to choose.

"Justin, are you there?"

Damien stepped into the dark hallway without looking for the switch and turning on the lights. He couldn't say why he had done it (no, it wasn't because he had gotten absent-minded like with the keys, for Christ's sake), but he did it anyway and didn't see it as a mistake. He didn't think for a second about turning around and hitting the damn thing.

Suddenly his mouth was dry, very dry. He shuddered when he realized that Mark and Dorian accompanied him in the dark, in a silent agreement not to turn on the lights, not to....

What?

What was it he was afraid of?

Did he think they'd find Justin hanging from the lamp in the living room? In the bathtub, his wrists slit and the water stained with blood?

Was that what it was all about, afraid to get a good look at the state of his friend, who had been transformed into a limp lump of flesh?

Fear that he had finally done it?

Or...

Did they...

Did they think...

That there was something there?

They could have hurt him, instead of hurting himself.

Something? Something like what?

Someone could have broken into the house, and.... No. Nothing too bad could have happened to him in the time between when he called him, Damien gathered the others, and they came here. He licked his lips.

They walked into the living room.

The television was on, the volume muted. Even with the light the screen provided, they couldn't get a good look at the person sitting on the couch. But it had to be Justin and he had to be okay.

"Hey, buddy. What's going on?" saying that, Damien put a hand on his shoulder.

Justin, because it was Justin, turned his head to look at him. He was alive, but he couldn't by any stretch of the imagination say he was okay. Something had changed in his eyes and it went beyond his usual depression, he knew it with the first glance, he knew it without a doubt.

"I'm sorry," Justin said.

Unconsciously, Damien squeezed the hand on his shoulder.

"What happened? What did you do?"

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. But I..." He began to cry, a few tears falling silently down his cheeks, but it was more disturbing than if he had started crying like a baby. Because this way he only looked resigned. "I had no choice. I want you to at least know that. I had no choice."

He heard

(the flapping of a bat's wings)

There was something out there after all. In the darkness. Eyes red as freshly spilled blood, blindingly red, floated amidst the darkness of the room.

Am I dreaming?, Damien thought.

Then the darkness grew teeth, no, gleaming, knife-sharp fangs, as something lunged at them, and soon he stopped being able to think anything at all.

The Prince of Darkness Walking Down Fifth Avenue (4): END