Chapter 99: Chapter 97: Dracula’s Suffering

Chapter 99: Chapter 97: Dracula’s Suffering



"FIND HIM, YOU FOOLISH IMBECILE! FIND HIM OR I'LL HAVE YOUR HEAD ON A SPIKE!" Dracula roared, his voice reverberating through the cold stone walls of his castle like thunder. The fury in his tone sent a shiver down the spines of his high-ranking vampires, who scurried away like frightened mice, desperate to escape the wrath of their lord.

As they fled, their cloaks billowing behind them, the air hung heavy with tension, the weight of Dracula's anger palpable.

Dracula remained on his deteriorated throne, a dark silhouette against the flickering torchlight, the very embodiment of power and menace.

His eyes glowed like embers, burning with a rage that threatened to consume him from within.

Each ragged breath he took felt like a tempest brewing, a storm waiting to break.

Dracula gripped the arms of the throne, knuckles white, as memories of that human slipping through his fingers reverberated through his mind, a phantom just beyond his grasp.

While Ricky reveled in his newfound strength, expanding his power and aides, Dracula languished in a pit of despair, his fate spiraling into darkness.

The three years following Ricky's eldritch summon had left him a shadow of his former self, his once-mighty presence now weakened by the cracking of his mana core.

Dracula's body, an imperfect vessel forged from ancient magic, now struggled to contain the vast reservoir of power that was slowly leaking away.

His mana core, once a wellspring of formidable energy, had become a cursed wound, a source of debilitating pain and frustration.

Each passing day felt like a reminder of his mortality, a stark contrast to the eternal night he once commanded.

Unlike the other vampires who roamed the night seeking to bolster their own powers, Dracula's pursuit was different.

He had devoted himself to harnessing the essence of Varnae, the ancient and terrible entity that had once bestowed upon him dominion over the shadows.

Varnae's power, though formidable, had come at a cost as Dracula had only scratched the surface of its true potential, tapping into a legacy that had been meant for him alone.

The core, once a bridge to that terrifying power, had turned into a shackle, binding him in a slow and agonizing decline.

Gazing out over his crumbling empire, Dracula felt the weight of his desperation settle heavily on his shoulders.

Dracula looked for cores, the vital essence that defined a vampire's power, but his search was in vain.

Dracula couldn't find a single being that possessed half the capacity of his own, which had once belonged to Abraham, now a mere echo of the strength it once held.

It was maddening, the thought of Ricky's core, the very essence he had foolishly allowed to slip through his fingers, somewhere out in the world lingering about with what should be his.

Ricky, the boy who had defied him, was now an enigma, an unexpected rival whose power could threaten to eclipse even his own.

The thought of it sent a shiver through Dracula's bones, igniting a spark of rage deep within him.

How could a mere fledgling hold such untapped potential?

At this point, Dracula was desperate to find Ricky and extract his core, his mind endlessly churning with dark schemes that were all in vain.

He could not allow Ricky to thrive unchecked and desperately needed that core, that power, to restore himself and reassert his dominance.

"Sire, is it possible that there could be a Van Helsing remaining-"

"I KILLED THEM ALL! I WATCHED AND WAITED FOR THEM TO BREED OUT A CORE FOR ME, AND ONCE I OBTAINED ABRAHAM'S CORE, I WIPED THEM OUT!" Dracula bellowed, the ferocity of his voice echoing through the stone walls of his castle, shaking Baron Blood to his very core.

The revelation hung in the air, thick with the weight of Dracula's madness as his eyes, once pools of dark ambition, now burned with the remnants of his shattered dreams.

The chilling truth spilled forth from his lips like poison: his entire purpose for keeping the Van Helsings alive had been a sinister scheme to exploit their rare core magic by letting them breed amongst themselves.

He had gone to great lengths to manipulate them, all while pretending to harbor a grudging respect for their lineage, scheming for the day when he could snatch the essence he desired.

The Van Helsings, with their rich bloodline, were a means to an end; a line of rare genetic inheritance that could breed a core powerful enough to hold his strength.

But in his relentless pursuit of power, he had acted rashly, snuffing out the very candles he had hoped to use to light his path once he thought their use was completely used.

Having outliers like the Van Helsings among the living had been a foolish risk which is why he killed them, but now he recognized a weakness that had led him to slaughter them all leaving him in the predicament he now faced.

*HUFF*

"I already used the last of their flesh to create my holy immunity; I cannot salvage anything that is left." Dracula lamented, raking his fingers through his white hair as frustration seeped into every word.

The rhythmic tapping of his foot against the cold stone floor echoed his growing impatience, each sound a reminder of the precious seconds slipping through his grasp like grains of sand.

"Every second I waste is another tiny bit of power siphoning out of me." Dracula continued, his voice thick with irritation

"And another step further from completing my master plan." Dracula gripped the arms of his ornate throne, the creaking of the wood under his strain punctuating his mounting agitation as he cast a piercing gaze at Baron Blood.

The small crack had slowly been causing a greater rift within him both externally and

internally.

Over the course of three years, Dracula's core had leaked out one-fifth of his power, weakening him and leaving him desperate.

Each day, the fracture widened, a silent thief siphoning off his once-unstoppable strength, and with it, his confidence waned.

Everything was at stake; his very existence hinged on the raw, brutal power that had once

defined him.

Yet, as he grew weaker, so did his hold over the shadows and terrors he commanded.

The empire of fear he had meticulously built was beginning to tremble at the waning of his brute force.

Desperation clawed at him, twisting his thoughts into dark, chaotic spirals as he could feel the insidious whispers of doubt creeping in, threatening to unravel the carefully woven

tapestry of his plans.

Without power, he was just another name in a long history of fallen tyrants.

Rage flared within him, igniting a fierce resolve as he could not, would not, allow himself to

fade into obscurity.

Every ounce of energy he had left would be channeled into regaining what was lost.

The Black Knight was more than just a target; he was the key to restoring Dracula to his former glory and furthering it.

With each passing moment, the stakes rose higher, the pressure mounting like a thundercloud

ready to burst.

He had played this game of shadows for too long, and now the clock was ticking against him.

It was time to act, to reclaim his power, or risk losing everything he had fought to build.

The thought ignited a primal instinct within him; the instinct to dominate, to conquer, to rise from the ashes of weakness.

"How are the night raids progressing?" Dracula inquired, his voice heavy with a simmering

impatience.

another human, one among many, eager to embrace the darkness but naive to its true depths. But in the intervening years, he had watched Schmidt transform as the man had honed his skills, manipulating events and people with an ease that had initially surprised Dracula.

It was during the early days of his involvement that Schmidt had begun to make a name for

himself, a man driven by a singular desire: power.

The early thirties were a turbulent time in Germany, the ashes of the Great War still smoldering beneath the surface of a new regime.

As the Nazis began their ascent, Schmidt seized the moment, aligning himself with the

ambitious party members who saw in him a dangerous asset and clinging himself to the Fuer, Adolf Hitler.

Schmidt had a knack for rhetoric, a talent for persuasion that seemed to weave around his listeners like a silken thread.

They didn't just hear him; they felt his voice resonate with their very being. Schmidt stirred their ambitions, ignited their fears, and in doing so, he positioned himself as

a vital part of the regime's future.

Dracula had initially underestimated him, dismissing the human as just another opportunist vying for attention.

Yet, over time, Schmidt had proven to be anything but ordinary as he had a chilling vision for Hydra, a vision that aligned eerily well with the dark aspirations of the Nazi Party. Underneath his suave exterior lay a mind that craved not just power but the kind of legacy that

would echo through history.

"Dracula, everyone knows you joined our organization to cure your weakness." Schmidt

stated bluntly, his voice dripping with condescension as he turned on his heel, clearly unperturbed by the vampire's fury.

"Remember, Dracula." Schimdt continued, his tone laced with a chilling finality. "There will be no place for you within the organization if you continue to stagnate amidst the growing war ahead." Schmidt paused at the imposing double doors, the shadows playing across his features, before glancing back at the seething figure seated on the throne.

"If a head is cut off, two more shall take its place." Schmidt's voice, cool and confident, reverberated through the air, a warning wrapped in the guise of inevitability.

With those chilling words hanging in the silence, Dracula's gaze locked onto Schmidt's, his

crimson eyes burning with an intensity that could turn stone to ash.

The implication was clear: the organization would not hesitate to discard him if he failed to

rise to the occasion.

There was no mercy for the weak, no patience for the faltering as Schmidt's presence had shifted the balance, introducing a new brand of ambition that threatened to eclipse the old. The doors swung shut behind Schmidt, sealing him away from the shadows of his castle.

*RUMBLE*

The very air around Dracula vibrated with his unrestrained fury, the ground beneath him trembling as if the castle itself were succumbing to his wrath.

Yet amidst this chaotic energy, a melodic voice broke through, soft and soothing. "Father, if I may." The voice chimed, cutting through the tension like a gentle breeze.

As the furious vampire turned his gaze to the source of the voice, the storm within him began

to settle beneath the surface of his rage.

There stood a beautiful and ethereal figure, her face a perfect blend of striking allure and

haunting intensity.

Pale, porcelain-like skin gives her an ethereal quality, while her high cheekbones and sharply

defined jawline lend an air of aristocratic grace.

Her eyes, a deep and mesmerizing shade of crimson, seem to pierce through the soul,

reflecting centuries of wisdom and darkness.

Her hair is a cascade of midnight black, flowing in silky waves down her back, shimmering

with an almost unnatural luster.

It framed her face like a dark halo, adding to her otherworldly allure and when she moved, her

hair seemed to ripple like a living shadow, enhancing her mysterious presence.

Her lips are a vivid contrast to her pale skin, painted a deep, blood-red hue that hints at her

vampiric nature.

When she smiles, which is rare and often unsettling, her fangs are revealed as sharp, gleaming, and deadly, a reminder of her true lineage.

Her attire is as captivating as her appearance as she favors elegant, gothic-style clothing that

emphasizes her slender, yet strong figure.

Flowing black gowns, intricate lace, and velvet fabrics adorn her, often accented with dark red

or deep purple.

"Lilith, I am not in the mood to converse at the moment." Dracula replied, raising his hand as

if to ward off her words.

His frustration simmered just below the surface, but he held back his ire, knowing well that

his daughter was not the one to blame, yet.

"Father, I only wish to seek out that wretched human who has brought you to this state."

Lilith declared, her crimson eyes glinting with an ambition that sparkled dangerously in the

dim light of the throne room.

Dracula shook his head, dismissing the thought even as the flicker of interest ignited within

him.

"If I cannot even dare to find his trail, how can I expect you too-" "All I am asking for is the chance to find him. I wish to prove myself to you once and for all,"

Lilith said, her voice steady and resolute while Dracula considered her proposal, weighing the

potential risks against the dwindling options he had left.

"Very well," he replied at last, his voice a low growl, "but do not engage with the Black Knight. It could spell your doom." Dracula granted his permission, and Lilith's face lit up as

she bowed deeply before turning away, a bright yet dark smile illuminating her features. would never dream of it." Lilith assured him, her confidence a sharp contrast to the tension

"I

in the air, as she departed to embark on her mission.

"Until now."n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om