"You didn't think one of my creations could block your punch?" Seraphine said, adjusting her glasses.
Before the barbarian could answer, the head was suddenly ripped clean off the creature's body. Seraphine froze—only for a moment—before her expression flattened as a bone spear pinned the head to the wall.
She sighed. "Do you all love pissing me off?"
"My apologies," a voice drifted from the shadows. "I was aiming for the barbarian's head."
Marrow stepped into the light.
Seraphine yanked the spear out, spun it, and flicked it back at him with a barely visible motion. It pierced his shoulder, cracked his spine, and pinned him to the opposite wall.
Marrow only laughed. The spear melted, turning into liquid bone that seeped into his skin.
His back snapped into place.
"Seraphine Duskbourne. Still fierce, still calculating, still beautiful," he purred, eyes rolling with ecstasy. "Marry me already. Imagine how far we could evolve the vampire race."
"Fuck off," she said flatly. "But if you love me that much, donate your body for my experiments."
"You know I would," Marrow chuckled, "but I'm close to a breakthrough."
The creature's body collapsed as four doglike horrors crawled out of the darkness—baby faces stretched over their skulls. They threw themselves at the corpse, gnawing hungrily. Bones shifted, limbs elongated, bodies twisting as they rapidly evolved into humanoid monstrosities.
Sablefang watched with a grimace.
"You two are giving me the creeps. Even I have limits."
A calm voice answered from the shadows. "Your sanity impresses us every day, Sablefang."
Isolde stepped into the dim light, white locs shimmering, crimson eyes half-lidded.
Marrow grinned. "Isolde Veyra. How have you been?"
"Taking a trip down memory lane," Isolde said.
"The way you phrase things hides what you truly mean," Seraphine muttered.
"But I meant every word," he replied with a smile.
"Never mind," she sighed. "Let's start the meeting. Without him. He never comes, anyway."
Later – The Elder Council Table
The Elders sat around the long blood-stained table.
"Let's address what's on all our minds," Seraphine began. "Dracula's return."
"It might be a lie the people spread to unsettle us," Sablefang grunted.
"Perhaps," Marrow added, "but the Horns have appeared publicly, and his castle has been opened."
"Why should we care?" Isolde asked. "He's no better than us."
Seraphine narrowed her eyes. "If he wants the throne, we'll be forced to step down. Everything we've built collapses."
"That's… not good," Sablefang muttered.
"Or," Marrow said, leaning forward, "this could be a blessing."
"Explain," Seraphine said.
"We've all hit our limits. We're desperate for power… but stagnant. So tell me—what creatures are undeniably stronger than us?"
"Dracula and his Horns," Seraphine answered.
Marrow smirked. "We even finish each other's sentences. Destiny."
"You asked a question," she snapped.
"That theory isn't accurate," Isolde interrupted.
All eyes turned to him.
"My informants on Eryndor say Dracula has lost most of his strength. He struggled against a C-tier child."
Sablefang slammed his fist on the table. "All this talking is pissing me off. I just want to fight him."
"Reminding you," Marrow said, "Divine Visionaries rank the Horns as S-tier threats. And we Elders… B-tier. We've never even seen an A-tier—none of us has ever met Val Hellsing."
"What is an S-tier again?" Sablefang asked.
"Beings halfway between mortality and ascending into godhood," Seraphine answered.
Sablefang burst into manic laughter. "I don't get what that means, but it excites me!"
Seraphine and Marrow exchanged twisted smiles.
The Air Shifts
The Citadel trembled.
Slaves scattered across the floor dissolved into pools of blood.
Every Elder stiffened.
"…He's here," Isolde whispered.
A voice echoed from every corner of the Citadel.
"I've been listening. All you've done is praise them endlessly."
"You should be the happiest, Tharion," Marrow replied. "Didn't all your attempts to bring him back finally succeed?"
"I didn't bring him back."
The voice came from behind them.
They turned.
Tharion sat casually at the end of the table, as if he'd been there the whole time.
Marrow's smile faded.
Seraphine stopped breathing for a second.
Even Sablefang went still.
"What do you mean?" Isolde asked.
Tharion's eyes glowed faintly.
"He didn't return because of me."
"That man parading around as Dracula is an impostor," Tharion said. "The true Dracula is still sealed away… and he intends to reclaim everything that's his."
Isolde tilted her head. "That's a serious accusation. Do you have proof?"
"Of course."
Tharion raised a finger to his temple, a slow, deliberate motion. "He told me."
A sadistic smile stretched across his face.
Seraphine sighed internally. Not this again.
Tharion rose from his chair, hands clasped behind his back as if addressing disciples.
"Since childhood, there has always been a voice in my head," he said. "At first a whisper. Then clearer… louder. Dracula guided me. Chose me. Prepared me. And today, he spoke again—telling me that the man wearing his name, and those fools beside him, are nothing but pretenders."
He lowered himself back into his seat.
Sablefang grunted. "Is he talking to you right now?"
Tharion shot him a cold glare—and said nothing.
Seraphine watched him, expression blank, mind racing.
He sounds completely deranged… yet he built an entire Church around himself. A legion willing to slaughter in Dracula's name.
Delusion shouldn't have that kind of influence.
"He's insane… though sanity is hardly something any of us possess," Seraphine continued silently, her fingers drumming the table.
"What do you propose?" Sablefang growled, leaning forward.
Tharion's answer came instantly.
"We kill them."
The room froze. Even the torches seemed to dim.
"Is that even possible?" Isolde asked quietly. "Not even the Sorcerer Supremes—or Val Hellsing—could kill him."
Tharion's smile sharpened. "He spoke to me. Give me three weeks, and we'll rid this world of those pretenders parading around with his name. Their bodies are yours to toy with as you please. And when the true Dracula returns…" he leaned back, eyes gleaming, "…he will resolve all your little problems. Doesn't that thrill you?"
Seraphine said nothing.
Sablefang burst into wild laughter. "And if three weeks pass and you fail—what happens to you?"
Tharion didn't blink. "Kill me. Devour me. Hang what's left of my corpse above the gates of Sanguinastra."
The Elders exchanged slow, predatory smiles.
"That works for me," Sablefang barked.
"One more thing," Tharion added, drawing every eye back to him. "Do what you want with the Horns. But the false Dracula? He belongs to me—and only me. Understood?"
No one argued.
"Excellent," Tharion said simply. "May the will of the one true Dracula guide you."
He began to walk toward the exit, then paused.
"Oh, and Sablefang, Marrow—visit me later. I have something that might interest you."
Seraphine raised a brow. "And it won't interest me?"
Tharion didn't even turn. "Nothing I do ever interests you. But you're welcome to come… if you're curious."
With that, he strode into the shadows and vanished.
"She gives me the creeps…" Seraphine muttered under her breath.
"Do I come off as boring?" Isolde wondered silently, visibly offended but too polite to say it.
Back at Dracula's Castle
Dracula walked through the dim hallway, his steps echoing softly against ancient stone. He stopped suddenly. With a smooth wave of his hand, the wall before him rippled and dissolved—revealing a hidden door marked with an old magic circle.
He placed his palm against it.
The seal flickered, then vanished.
Dracula exhaled, long and drained, and pushed the door open.
A stale wave of dust greeted him. Cobwebs draped across shelves, corners, and even the chandelier. It was a forgotten time capsule.
"Was I truly gone for that long…?" he murmured.
He approached the desk. One gentle breath sent the dust spiraling away, revealing a faded magic circle etched into the wood. Another gesture erased it.
Dracula knelt and opened a lower cupboard.
Inside lay a tiny cloth sack.
His hand hesitated before taking it.
He loosened the string and pulled out a ring—simple, old, and heavy with meaning. He stared at it for several seconds, expression unreadable.
"…I'm so tired," he whispered.
A voice drifted from behind. "How can a man who slept for over a century still be tired?"
Dracula looked up to see Varin lounging against the doorway, arms crossed.
"I was wondering where this room disappeared to," Varin added casually.
"That's not what I meant," Dracula replied.
"If you say so." Varin's eyes narrowed at the ring. "I've been with you for many years… and you still haven't told me where that ring came from."
Dracula slid it onto his finger. "It's nothing."
A thunderous banging echoed through the castle entrance.
Followed by a furious voice:
"I am Diana Morvain, and I demand an audience with Dracula!"