"Do you understand now, Justin? The immensity of my power, the dark abyss of..." Dracula stumbled over one of the bodies and almost fell on his head in front of the stupid television. He got up, dusting off his shirt and cloak, trying to pretend nothing had happened. He had said bodies, not corpses; he had gone a little overboard and Justin's friends had been knocked unconscious, but not quite dried out, he had procured to turn them into vampires. What he hadn't tried to do was not stumble over their corpses. Curses. "The dark abyss of my soul."

Justin looked at him as if he didn't know what to think.

After a while he did the right thing, though, bowing his head. Prostrating himself before him.

"Please, my lord... Lord Dracula... I will... I will bring you as many victims as you wish. But, I beg of you, let them go. They are my friends. My family."

"No," Dracula answered without a second's hesitation. What did he expect?

Hell, what did you expect?

Justin just ducked his head even more in response, he was this close to touching the ground but he wouldn't recommend it. It wasn't very sanitary right now, what with all the blood strewn about (because, again, he'd gone a bit overboard) and intestines decorating the room.

In his opinion, the house was much cozier than before, but Justin didn't seem to agree. In any case it was apparent that he wasn't going to protest any further, so Dracula sat on what passed for his throne now: his servant's couch. What a downgrade.

He tried to recall, now that his belly was full and his body was still vibrating with the power of fresh blood.

He tried to remember what the hell had happened to him, how he had ended up in this situation.

It wasn't going to help him set things right, not at least a thousand years after whatever had happened, but he felt it was important to remember.

It frustrated him not to know how he had been... defeated (even thinking that word made him want to vomit), so he could make sure it wouldn't happen again. And just because - who would like such a gap in their memories? The last thing you should doubt is your own self and memories, but the current situation was forcing him to do so.

Frustrating.

Really frustrating, but fortunately for him and all the sacks of blood in this apartment block (for today), he felt the memory was right there. He could almost brush it with his fingertips now.

Dracula dove into the sea of memory.

***

Dracula had been too busy on his throne, drinking blood from a goblet as if it were wine of the highest quality, waiting for the usual report from his servants that they had killed all the humans to notice too much how the sounds of battle changed.

That's why he was surprised when they knocked on his door, that is, rammed it with some battering ram.

Wow. It had been a long time since some intrepid heroes had made it this far into his castle. Dracula stood, still holding the glass, preparing to greet them.

He thought, but not too much, about hiding the glass somewhere.

He came to the conclusion that their impression would be stronger if they saw him drinking, relaxed, as if this happened every day. So not only did he not toss the glass somewhere, but he sat back down. He was impatient, but waiting a little longer, until they opened the doors, was okay.

After all, until seconds ago he hadn't believed he was going to have any fun today. What was a minute or two more, compared to the months it would take them to mount another full-scale assault? And that was assuming the next one didn't fail miserably as well.

He could thank his lucky stars, bottom line. He was getting lucky for a change.

They finally finished smashing the double doors to the throne room with the battering ram. It didn't bother him too much, as in the last few iterations of his castle the doors hadn't even been there. Nor had the throne room been in this part, incidentally.

What did bother Dracula somewhat was that his throne room was entered not by a fearless, dashing hero who had fought his way through his hordes of monsters with suicidal determination and little else, but by two dozen pricks in golden armor and golden staffs, spears and swords, quite possibly compensating for something.

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Okay, maybe he shouldn't complain. It broke the monotony of uninterrupted massacres, at least.

But where had the days of brave solo heroes gone? You could hardly look heroic with an army behind you, each in armor made of enough gold to feed half the country, if it were spread out on more useful things.

Like Van Hellsing, for instance.

He'd had enough fun with Abraham, that old prick. Even with the reenactment of his own death and the happy ending he'd spied in bat form, because he thought he deserved a victory for the effort. He could have killed Harker and let him take the girl, but it would have been a bit meanspirited. He had felt generous that day, what could he say!

This just wasn't the same. Anyway.

Dracula rose from the throne slowly. The intrepid heroes now no longer looked so intrepid, more like they were shaking discreetly in their solid gold boots, even if they had the grace and light of the Heavens supporting them or whatever.

"What a coincidence. I was dying for a bit of blood," Dracula said. Unfortunately he had to realize that it had sounded better in his head, but the intrepid heroes must have been too intimidated to notice.

Good. He dropped the cup, which exploded into a thousand pieces against the floor, spilling what was left of the blood.

He didn't care, he wasn't the one who would have to shampoo the carpet.

And then the sordid business began.

It began with one of those golden-armored soldiers spinning like the town drunk coming home from a good day at the tavern, along with his spear, in his direction. Very fast.

Dracula arched an eyebrow. Okay, that was new.

He opened his cloak and from the darkness within summoned an earth golem, one of the many creatures that were still alive in his castle, creatures that he had complete dominion over.

One might say that wasn't very fair, but one could also shut the fuck up. They too had brought help.

"Die, monster! You don't belong in this world!" That wasn't new at all. As the golem set about playing with his new spinning toy, another one of them stepped forward and perhaps because he saw how his companion had fared, he didn't spin around like a top. He simply swung his sword the old-fashioned way.

Dracula dodged perfectly, transforming into mist.

Yes, mist. He could do that. It was unpleasant and rather uncomfortable, but he could. As an intimidation tactic it was quite effective.

The others jumped on him as well, making a valiant effort to ignore the cries of the comrade whom the golem had grown fond of as a toy and there was no way he was going to let go any time soon. At least not willingly. He'd break it before he got tired of it. That was for sure.

The warriors of the church of who knows what pounced on him like famished hyenas.

With their golden weapons and the firm conviction that they were doing the right thing. Well, and they were, not that there was much moral ambiguity. The hellish hordes of Dracula's demonic castle were wreaking havoc all over the country for no particular reason.

But being on the side of the good guys, the right side of things, didn't do them much good.

For starters, he grabbed one of those guys and showed them that his fangs were able to pierce gold armor perfectly. Well, not perfectly. It hurt quite a bit. But he did, and started drinking from him, and when they decided to try to interrupt his meal he made a jump that took him almost to the other end of the room. Where he finished sucking him dry without interruption.

Then more of those guys calling him before going on the attack monster, spawn or vile creature ( it was the same thing anyway) with voices like orators who had been practicing for quite some time the speech they were going to give to the personification of evil. That is to say, very loud voices, sure of their own righteousness and making it clear, in general, that they believed themselves to be the protagonist of this world.

He dispatched them quickly and they did not provide him with much entertainment. They had managed to get this far, even if it was as a group, so there must be something special about them. But not enough, that much was clear.

Too bad.

"Well, I guess I can help with the cleanup."

Dracula headed for the exit. Slowly, because he was in no hurry and had an image to maintain. Nothing said fearsome lord of shadows like a guy running down a hallway with his cape billowing behind him. Yeah right.

One of the golden-armored assholes, who hadn't been as dead as he'd thought he was, grabbed his ankle as he passed.

That was pretty heroic, considering he was the last one alive. Now he really did meet all the requirements. Except that he didn't even know his name, that wasn't exactly the hallmark of a great nemesis, but all in good time. Besides, nobody was perfect.

Dracula grinned wildly.

"You're not satisfied with the result? And you blame me? They would be alive if you were stronger."

The golden-armored prick let out grunts that could only very generously be interpreted as a response.

"What are you going to do about it, huh?" A somewhat weak response, but he had to get very creative with his interpretation of those grunts.

The damn thing started to glow. Just like all his buddies, just like himself before Dracula metaphorically broke him over his knee.

But this time, this time it was different.

The radiance increased in intensity until it blinded him.

Then there was an explosion.

He didn't know from the sound, he didn't hear anything. He didn't know by sight, his vision had been covered in white. But he didn't need any of that. He felt the floor crumbling, sending him and the damn idiot tumbling to the floor below, and that was enough.

"That was better," Dracula said, rising to his feet, preparing to face his enemy.

Only to discover that he had, of course, died in the explosion.

A last-ditch effort that turned out to be a futile sacrifice.

It would have been significant if he had offered more resistance, or if he at least knew his name. Since neither was true, it didn't mean shit.

"Oh bugger," complained the Prince of Darkness.

The Prince of Darkness Walking Down Fifth Avenue (5): END