First Demonic Dragon

Chapter 1250: The Death of Dracula I

– 1477, Wallachia…

The battlefield was a grotesque wasteland of untold horrors.

Buzzards circled overhead for miles on end, all lured by the scent of corpses baked by the sun.

Rows upon rows of glorious pikes were planted into the ground. Upon their points, they boasted the heads of Ottoman soldiers, permanently contorted in terror.

Sitting at the foot of the battlefield, lounging atop a mound of headless bodies, was none other than the great one.

He was an olive-skinned man with hair like inky ropes. His face, though seemingly gaunt, was quite handsome. A thick mustache spread across his upper lip, nearly reaching from cheek to cheek.

Atop his head, he wore a cap of red silk wrapped in ornate jewels. A crown that could never hope to match the oppulence of it’s wearer.

He was surrounded by men in armor, singing his praises in their native tongue and promising many glasses in his honor.

However, none of the acclaim seemed to move him.

With remnants of dried blood staining his face, he stared out into the battlefield with no discernible reaction.

In his eyes, there was nothing much to celebrate.

Does man feel thrill whenever he steps on a bug? Does a bug feel a sense of supremacy when it crawls over the earth?

What he had done was natural, and because of that, it was inconsequential.

He doubted he would even remember this day upon the morrow, or half the things he had done.

The day was practically like any other. And because of that, he could feel no joy. No sense of accomplishment.

Night fell, and the men were still in the midst of celebration. They raised mugs in his name and sang songs of his valor and tenacity. But above all, they sang of his cruelty.

They called him Hero. Son of the Dragon. A God.

How they referred to him mattered very little to the him, in the same way that the opinion of a wheel of cheese would not matter to a starving man.

After growing bored of hearing platitudes from his men, the ruler adjourned to the terrace.

As he stepped outside into the embrace of the chilling night air, the horrible smell of rotting flesh greeted him, despite being a ways away from the battlefield.

It was a very enticing scent that whetted the appetite nicely.

“Has the celebration sparked your ire already, father?”

Vlad didn’t make a move as he continued to look out into his domain.

His middle and youngest sons stood on either side of him and joined him in his brooding.

“This place… the people…. It all bores me.” Vlad said in his native tongue. “My hunting ground this may be, but… There is no splendor. Nothing to excite the mind. Nothing to challenge the body.”

Vlad held up his hand, and three-inch claws spread from his fingertips.

“…A blade that is never used will eventually begin to dull.” He raked his claws over the stone bannister and cut into it as if it were tissue paper.

Vlad closed his eyes for a brief moment. When he lifted his eyelids again, his brown eyes were a deep scarlet.

“There must be greater excitement out there, beyond our borders. Prey that is worth hunting. Enemies that are inspiring.”

Vlad’s youngest son shook his head. “Perhaps our actions have not been as prominent as we had hoped… If we wish to spread tale of Wallachia’s reign, then we must-”

“Wait.” Vlad held up his hand.

The glow of his eyes became noticeably fiercer as they darted all across the sky above and the earth below.

He found nothing. For a moment, he believed that he had experienced his first bout of needless paranoia in quite a long time.

And then he realized that he didn’t hear anything anymore either.

Vlad whirled around and stormed into the party.

When he entered, he found the reason why everyone inside had suddenly gone silent.

A new man was standing in the doorway. An uninvited guest, to be sure.

He was unlike anything they had ever seen. His complexion, like an enticing cinnamon, was completely foreign to their eyes.

The clothes he wore were equally outlandish. Bright and colorful, and yet sparse. They revealed his rippled chest and powerful legs.

He was tall. The only man Vlad had ever seen who was taller than him.

His figure was made to seem even more imposing with the addition of the crown of feathers sitting atop his head.

He was a most glorious sight to behold. A divinely carved vision, the envy of men and women alike.

When he parted his lips and spoke, a foreign language with a melodic tone tickled the ears of the stunned guests.

None of them understood a single word of what he was saying. Save for the inhumans lurking about inside.

They could so clearly hear the intent and meaning behind his words even without the foggiest idea of what was being said.

“Do you know who I am?”

Vlad stiffens, but remains silent. His blood slowly begins to churn inside his stomach

The foreign man took a step forward. “Do you know what I am..?”

Vlad’s eyes narrowed. He finally speaks, and his words are almost dripping with excitement.

“You are of the same ilk as I. A great dragon amongst a sea of toothless worms. Your arrival here is a true reason to toast..!” Vlad raised a goblet, splashing an unusually thick and dark wine across the floor.

Distaste showed up in the eyes of the foreigner.

He began pacing throughout the party, allowing everyone inside to steal closer glimpses of his glorious form.

“You seem excited… As if this confrontation was something you wanted all along.”

Vlad nods fervently.

“Well, yes, of course! My line are all that these lands have ever known! There is no excitement here, no contest! But it was my most fervent hope that we weren’t all there was, and I have been rewarded for my gamble!”

Vlad’s fangs gleamed in the light of the room. His lips were turned up into a chillingly made smile that unnerved many of the party’s attendees.

“I see…” The foreigner finally stopped in place. “I was going to offer you a simple warning of caution, but… now I realize that would be tremendously unnecessary.”

Vlad was unsure of when it happened, but suddenly the strange man was holding an even stranger weapon. One that resembled a wooden plank lined with sharpened, glossy rocks that resembled teeth.

He slammed the weapon into the ground and the entire room shook fervently.

A dark shadow seemed to spread throughout the room, engulfing all light inside in its chilling grip. All that could still be seen was the unholy glow of the foreigner’s bright red eyes.

“On my name as First of the Vampires and Safeguarder of our existence, I judge you, Vlad Tepes III to be a threat to the balance. The punishment for your crimes is death. May the gods have mercy on your soul.”