Name:
Ankhesenamun
Born: Translyvania, 1463
It
was not a job. Perhaps an obligation. A penance.
To live as one without soul. To live as one fighting for no reward. To live
knowing there would be no salvation.
Forced to slay countless horrors. Horrors that would make a human run away screaming. Horrors that he now knew were in his likeness.
Deep in him was a terrible sorrow. Buried deep in his mind, in a region he did not dare explore himself. Not always had he been one of them. His parents were brutally murdered by Dracula countless years ago, leaving him and his two brothers orphaned. Dracula, however, had a worse fate planned for them. A fate worse than death.
Dracula had given them the bites of a vampire.
For countless centuries he had lived in agony, neither living nor dead. He had hidden from the world in shadow and solitude, trying to control the raging urge for blood that he knew lay in all his and his brother's hearts.
He had failed. Failed.
Now, the time for revenge was at hand. Each brother had sworn a grim oath. They would rid the world of Dracula. Or die trying. For death was a mere flicker compared to their undeath.
For a long time he had been under Dracula's watchful glare. Dracula had caught him, had him in his clutches like a hare in the talons of a hawk. Dracula had enslaved his will and broken his spirit. When Dracula breathed, he was breathless. Where Dracula walked, he crawled pathetically behind, like a dog to a king.
Dracula was his world.
That made not a difference now. He was free. Now bound by the light to free those once his kind of the evil of Dracula.
His name is Ankhesenamun, and his penance is to rid the world eternally of vampiric taint.
***
Once again, the castle screamed in reply, echoing the cries of the one in agony.
In this castle lived evil, an evil so malignant and so malicious that no mortal had ever seen it unveiled in its full power. No one had seen it in its true form. No mortal.
Once beyond the gates, there was no light. There was no hope. There was no salvation.
Again, a scream. Again, Ankhesenamun resumed his futile struggles against the chains that bound his wrists and ankles, and was with each effort plunged into even deeper despair. Again, the Count, whom he had come to know, to love and to respect, roared in sadistic glee at the sufferings he was the cause of. Ankhesenamun could only sob as he beheld the horrific sights before him in their shadows, pleading silently that he would never be subject to this.
The cold fear in his heart blazed into life once more as a new sound now echoed in his prison. Not the sounds of torture. But the sound of silence. For the screams of pain had ceased.
Something cold seemed to grip his heart as he saw the creature emerge from the shadows. Count Dracula. As the light fell on him, he saw the Count of Transylvania revealed in his full wicked glory. Madness blazed in the eyes of the Count, a madness mixed with satisfaction and pleasure. His fists were clenched and his lips, redder than ever, were stretched in a terrible smile. Ankhesenamun whimpered in fear when he saw the blood, the very blood that coloured the lips crimson, drip from the face of the Count. The Count noticed his fear.
Dracula gave a languid smile. He struck.
In a movement impossible of any living creature, Dracula swooped down on his prey. Ankhesenamun caught sight of the crimson mouth open wide, wider than any human’s could. The Count shrieked like a filthy animal, the twin canine teeth tearing out of his gums and extending, becoming longer, longer. His eyes no longer held any semblance of human sanity, now filled with feral madness.
Dracula’s blood-red tongue ran slowly out of his mouth, running over his lips and teeth. Then his head shot forth like a snake’s, his jaws turning sideways and clamping shut on the neck of his prey.
Ankhesenamun screamed as the fangs burst into the soft skin of his neck. The wounds on his throat were burning. He could feel the warm blood running out of the wounds. He could feel his spirit being pulled from his body, out through the two holes in his neck, and a part of Dracula’s spirit pouring into him. For a moment, he and Dracula were one. An exchange, giving Dracula new life and him new death. The pain numbed. He felt only satisfaction...his blood would now feed a brother and nourish his undead body…
The human mind suddenly surged back, regaining control of his body. He tore at the chains that shackled his arms and legs with renewed fervour, however futile his efforts would be. He had to escape. He had to free himself of this never-ending nightmare of shadow. He clawed madly at the walls. There had to be an escape, somewhere, somehow.
“Yes,” he heard Dracula roar. “Yes! Unleash your true self, be rid of your filthy mortal shell and surrender to my power!”
Dracula had receded from him, and now stood before him, his face smeared with blood, his malevolent gaze boring into Ankhesenamun. A sick smile pervaded his foul countenance.
Ankhesenamun could feel the skin of his gums stretching, and the nubs of enamel that were already protruding from them. He cried out in agony, as the canine teeth burst free. They lengthened at a rate no human growth could rival, until they protruded from his lips. He could hear the voice of the Count, repeating one word over and over.
“Yes…yes…yes!”
Ankhesenamun's world blurred, to be replaced by crimson tinted vision. He felt feral strength build up in his teenaged muscles. The urge to test his new strength was overpowering. Ankhesenamun strained at the chains, roaring in the voice of a maddened animal. He knew in his heart what he had become. He had become a vampire. Possibly the worst part of it all was that he did not really mind.
“Yes…yes…YES!”
***