《Balthazar, a case study》


 The Bloody Castle

    Dracula adjusted his red tie in the mirror, smiling at himself and baring his vampiric fangs. He ran his comb through his raven black hair, and after buttoning his jacket, walked out of his quarters donning a crimson tuxedo.


    "Balthazar!" the vampire beckoned, and, soon enough, one of the granite statues decorating the halls of his estate sprang to life. The gray gargoyle swooped down from its pedestal and joined his master on his stroll through the mansion.


    The dark lord and his soulless servant pushed open the gates and walked out into the courtyard. A heavy downpour of rain threatened to wash away their very fiber as they approached the parked red Ferrari Tunero. After stuffing Balthazar in the trunk, Dracula sat himself at the car''s steering wheel and started the engine.


    "How are you enjoying the 21st century, master?" Balthazar''s telepathic voice projected itself into Dracula''s mind.


    "Truthfully, this millennium isn''t too bad." Dracula revved his car, and the tires screeched as the familiar scent of burnt rubber assaulted his nostrils. "But I much preferred the 12th century. Nonetheless, I must admit, I do appreciate some of the luxuries of modern life," Dracula continued, his British baritone voice overpowering the noise caused by the squealing windshield wipers. He took a ceramic mug inscribed "#1 Vampire" out of the cupholder and gulped down the blood.


    "Indeed. I do miss your cloak and sword, though. I can''t say I''m a fan of today''s fashion sense," Balthazar replied.


    "I still have my coat and my blade. I do hope that Carmilla has taken good care of them, and that they''re not just gathering dust in one of my wardrobes. Who knows when I shall need them again? Regardless, enough idle chatter. You must conserve your energy for what is to come."


    Balthazar turned to stone, giving heed to Dracula''s words. The rest of the car ride passed swiftly and uneventfully. Eventually, Dracula drifted into a parking lot and got out of the car. He''d journeyed into the city for the occasion of an ancient art auction, interested in winning the bet for the only depiction of himself in recorded history: "Saturn Devouring his Son" by Goya.


    There may be some pictures of people dressed up as Dracula circulating in your Facebook news feed, and you might have even seen a few paintings or digital artworks of the infamous vampire. But the only accurate depiction of Dracula''s true form is Goya''s original canvas masterpiece, and for this reason, the drawing held great power over the vampire.


    The painting currently went for a staggering sum of two hundred thirty-six million dollars. Surely, the Dark Lord had enough to purchase it, but his material wealth was best spent in other places, and there was always a possibility of somebody outbidding him. Of course, the chances of somebody even wanting to buy the painting in the first place were slim, as most of the antiques on exhibition were valued thirty million dollars at most. For all intents and purposes, "Saturn Devouring his Son" was only there as a publicity stunt to attract clients, and was believed by most people to be a fake. But Dracula knew better.


    Invoking a minor fire incantation as he entered the event booth in order to dry himself, the vampire casually walked towards the security checkpoint, carrying Balthazar slung over his shoulder.


    "Greetings, Mr. Alucard. I hope your trip was pleasant," the security guard said and motioned for him to stay put.


    "Indeed it was. This weather is atrocious, however."


    "I was under the impression you British men were used to rain." Another guard cut their small talk short and took away the statue, carrying it off away somewhere. "Anyways, we''re going to have to inspect the exhibit you wish to currently auction. This shouldn''t take more than a moment. In the meantime, spread your arms wide away from the body. My colleague here," he pointed towards a bouncer, who was fiddling with an x-ray tool behind him, "will be giving you a routine scan. We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause."


    The Dark Lord nodded in agreement and complied with the instructions. In a few moments, he and his stone servant were given the green light to continue, after assuring the guards that he could carry Balthazar on his own. Dracula confidently climbed the stairs and opened the door to the main room. He was early - only a few other bidders had arrived. He walked towards the platform at the front of the room and found an empty place where he seated Balthazar, after which he wrapped a sixteen million dollar price tag around his ears under the watchful eyes of the four security guards.


    Taking his seat in an unoccupied chair to the back of the room, Dracula''s eyes scanned the audience. Of the few already present, a man in a trenchcoat and a fedora with a golden cross hanging from his neck caught his attention. He was conversing with a similarly dressed man, and his moustache danced under his nose with every word he spoke. Dracula detested all members of the clergy and the symbols of any religion, but especially Christianity. The mere sight of a cross was enough to turn most lesser vampires into dust, but for him, it was a minor inconvenience at best.


    "Greetings, ladies and gentlemen!" The auctioneer''s hasty voice boomed across the room. "The auction will be underway in five minutes." The two sharply dressed men Dracula had observed before took their seats to either side of the vampire, but he hid his nervousness quite well under his emotionless face.


    "Evening, sir," the moustached man to his right spoke as he extended his arm towards Dracula for a handshake. "Horrible weather, eh? I haven''t seen a rain like this ever before."


    "Indeed. I''m quite used to rainy days like this, as an Englishman, but this weather is certainly an oddity. What exactly piques your interest out of all the items on display here, if I may ask?"


    "I am fairly interested in the rifle of Abraham Lincoln myself, but it pales in comparison to the fascinating statue you have brought for sale here. If I''m not being indiscreet, does that gargoyle sculpture have any deeper meaning to it, Mr..."Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    "Mr. Alucard. And yes, you could say that my effigy does have a profound connotation attached to it, as all great works of art do. The original tale of Balthazar is that he was one of Michelangelo''s early works, and his only granite one, but it was carbon dated to a much earlier period of approximately the 11th century. The eerie sculpture also had an engraving inscribed on its base when I found it, which read << BALTHAZAR | STILL THE BEST 3592 >>. The modern typeface, as well as the current forms of the words marked on it lead me to believe that this was a mere act of vandalism, as that form of English certainly did not circulate in the 11th century, and Michelangelo was Italian."


    "Quite intriguing, indeed! I can''t imagine sleeping soundly with that thing anywhere in your house, though. Just the sight of it gives me the creeps, and I''m not that weak of heart. In fact, Mr. Alucard... what do you know about vampires?"


    "I''m familiar with earlier literature on the subject, particularly Bram Stoker''s ¡¶Dracula¡·, but I''m not that interested in such puerile fantasies. How about you?" replied the vampire, fighting back the unease that the ironic change of topic had given him.


    "I wouldn''t be that quick to brush the tales of vampirism off under the category of childish stories. What if I told you that they are a reality?" The man inquired, his lips contorting into a slight smirk.


    "If you had told me that, I would probably question your sanity and require empirical evidence for your ridiculous claims."


    "Right in front of you." He proudly tapped his cross and pulled out an ornate silver sheath out of an interior pocket. He pulled a knife out of it, scraping its impeccably sharpened edge against the holster and making the pleasant humming of metal linger in the air.


    "Mr. Alucard, I present you the signature armament of a vampire hunter. The hallowed steel of this silver knife vanquishes the unliving with great ease," the man proudly stated.


    "That is indeed odd. I am awestruck, actually. I wouldn''t be so quick to trust a stranger, but you look like a respectable gentleman. But enough talk, the auction is starting." Dracula abruptly ended the conversation, finding the perfect excuse in the auctioneer''s frantic shouting.


    "Greetings, ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the 158th edition of Sorvent''s Extraordinary Auction! Our exhibits are unique, and you will never find such splendid objects anywhere else!


    The first item to be auctioned is John the Baptist''s Cauldron! A relic of the 14th century, it is believed that this object manifested anomalous properties during Catholic rituals, and great men like Pope Gregory the eighth and Richard the Lionheart were baptised in the waters it held. It is currently valued at a price of twenty million dollars. Going once..."


    "One more!" cried out a member of the audience.


    "Twenty-one million!" confirmed the auctioneer.


    "Four!" shouted another.


    "Twenty-five million! Going once, going twice, and..."


    "Seventy million dollars!" Dracula announced his bid.


    "...Seventy million dollars," the auctioneer repeated, a bit shocked. "An unmatchable offer by the unmatchable man in the red suit! Going once, going twice.. and, s--"


    "Let''s make it a hundred," the vampire hunter muttered.


    His words rang out in the room. Silence lingered in the air until the auctioneer''s delayed reaction.


    "A hundred million dollars! Going once, going twice, and sold! To the--"


    "Enough!" Dracula''s voice thundered, the magnitude of his intimidating shout threatening to blow the hats off the vampire hunters'' heads. He stood up. "I tire of this charade." The vampire''s skin cracked and turned pale under his suit and his muscles bulged. Dracula''s irises turned red as his hands morphed into horrifying, ebony claws. With supernatural speed, he lunged towards the hunter to his left and slit his throat before he could react. The surface of the vampire''s flesh disintegrated with a hissing sound when he touched the crucifix, but the noise was drowned out by the stampeding crowd and the hunter''s death rattle.


    In the meantime, Balthazar abandoned his stone form and stepped off his pedestal. He made a rush for the nearest security guard, who was already firing at him. The gunshots sent what was left of the fleeing crowd into hysterics, but the bullets ricocheted harmlessly off the gargoyle. If Balthazar''s creator had bothered to sculpt him some vocal chords, he''d probably be laughing at the shooter''s surprise, but instead, he headbutted him violently. The explosive force of the impact was enough to send the man flying away, with what was left of his brain turned to mashed potatoes inside his splintered skull.


    The other three guards emptied their clips at the monster and found themselves running for their lives when they saw that not even a scratch had been inflicted on Balthazar''s immaculate granite body. The gargoyle cut their retreat short, briefly flying towards their positions and ending all three of their lives with a well-coordinated whirlwind of blows.


    Meanwhile, Dracula found the other vampire hunter to be much more of a challenge than his more talkative friend. A being of his power shouldn''t be able to feel pain, but the five silver bullets lodged in his abdomen begged to differ. The Dark Lord raised his claws for another strike at his nemesis, which the man failed to parry. The slayer was left mutilated by the powerful force of Dracula''s talons, and he slurped the blood from his fingers, as the man''s lifeless body hit the ground with a resounding *thud*.


    The dust from the fighting had settled, leaving an eerie tranquil atmosphere in the room. Dracula was expecting more guards to arrive at any moment. He moved towards the podium and nodded towards Balthazar. He''d have taken more time to interact with his underling, if not for the laser sights pointed at him from the back of the room.


    "Alucard Belmont! You are under arrest for--"


    Dracula didn''t allow the officer to finish his warning. Balthazar stepped behind him and stretched out his wings, protecting his master from the gunfire which began to rain down upon them. Shattering the display and retrieving the prized work of art from its case, Dracula stared appreciatively at himself in Goya''s painting before he dissipated into a cloud of bats. The screeching flock made for the SWAT officers, and, although a few were shot down, the legion of bats managed to slip past them and out the front door of the building.


    In the confusion caused by the shrills of the bats, Balthazar managed to grab the painting and kick down a window, making his exit before anyone could realize what was happening. He sprinted as fast as he could towards the car, but Dracula had already assumed his normal form once more and was waiting for him, seated on the hood of the Ferrari.


    "Let me see it, Balthazar," he beckoned, and his minion handed him the painting. He ran his fingers over the canvas, admiring the visage of his true form. "Quite close, actually," he remarked. "I could mistake it for my reflection in the mirror, had I any son which I would eat," Dracula chuckled.


    "Let us get going." The vampire put Balthazar at rest in the trunk, along with the painting, and revved the engine.


    "Just another Saturday night," Dracula began monologuing to himself, as all great villains do. "I am rather pleased by today''s events, really." He reached for his "#1 Vampire" mug and drank down what was left of the blood. The wounds from his fight regenerated completely, the fabric of the suit stitching itself back together, and his muscle fiber reforming. "Vampire slayers in this day and age are indeed an oddity, but I cannot say I am surprised. A shame I did not take their bodies to extract their blood, but alas, what is done is done. Time was not on my side, and I see no reason to reminisce on my mistakes, especially when I have *this*." He pointed behind his back with his thumb, towards the painting in the trunk, for an invisible audience. "A great painting to adorn the walls of my bloody castle, I would say."

 Welcome to the New World

    Atop a gloved hand, the masked butler nimbly balanced a platter holding two wine glasses and an unlabelled wine bottle. He confidently stepped towards the Grizzled Sailor''s lounge. The waiter arrived at a dimly lit section of the tavern, a table sitting far away from the others with only a small chamberstick illuminating its patrons, casting faint shadows over their faces and creating an intimate mood. Lowering the tray, he set the glassware down in front of the two diners. He gave the first glass to the lady with the crimson hair. Bewitching locks of straight hair fell freely upon her shoulders, framing the beauteous features of her face and accentuating her enchanting emerald eyes. Further down, her fair bosom was currently struggling for air, caged in an avant-garde ebony corset with a matching robe. The soft skin of her neck, as well as her slim arms, was completely exposed; such outrageous and revealing attire was in complete opposition with the current era¡¯s timid fashion sense. Along with her charming beauty and the unusual color of her hair, it was enough to brand the woman a witch to be burnt at the stake without further question.


    Opposite her, a slim, pale-skinned man sat, dressed in a masterfully woven red shirt. The otherworldly allure of his elongated, yet proportional facial features was further contributed to by his powerful jawline. A wig of straight gray hair further added to the man''s eccentric handsomeness. He raised the glass of red wine to his nose and inhaled, feeling the sublime scent of wine pass through his nostrils, accompanied by a slight tinge of alcohol on his tongue.


    "Is the wine to your satisfaction?" the monotone voice of the butler resonated through his mask.


    "Indeed it is. We do not require anything else for the moment, Balthazar." Dracula smiled towards his servant, tilting his head and raising his brows as he did so.


    "As you say, master. I shall leave you to your company." With a bow, he took the tray and made off with a mechanical, calculated pace.


    "I think the wine will be to your liking." He took a sip, letting it linger in his mouth before swallowing. "It is something else, entirely. It has braved the Atlantic so that we could savor its sweet aroma. I find that the journey across the ocean has pleasantly matured it."


    "Are you to say that you tasted Bordeaux Sweet in its home country?" She brought the glass to her alluring pink lips before taking in its scent and finally drinking from it.


    "Not exactly. I''m not much of a francophone, ma ch¨¦rie," he pronounced with perfect diction in a mocking French accent, "but I was fond of wine in the old world, a habit which the Americas have not yet changed." He chuckled, leaning forward on the table propped on his forearms, holding the bottom of the glass with his hand. "You know, Bordeaux was my favourite. I always had a glass when I dined."


    "Just who exactly are you, Mr. Alucard?" she playfully asked. "I doubt that one of the common folk could shake hands with both Cromwells while also serving as a commodore, and apparently regularly drinking one of the most exquisite wines known to man." Her big jade pearls gazed intently at the vampire.


    "Oh, I''m just a regular man." Dracula chuckled at the irony. "A simple tavern owner who just happens to have connections with the right men. But what about you?" He made for his glass, being purposefully slow as to make her uncomfortable. Indeed, the topic being shifted to her past brought great unease to the woman. Staring into his inquisitive eyes, she shifted forward in her seat and struggled to find her words.


    "Oddly enough, I''m also a regular woman." Dracula took a long sip from his wine, his insistent gaze showing that he was not satisfied with the answer. "We are alike in that manner. But you''ll find that we are different in many other ways, Alucard," she teased with a smirk.


    "I would not be so quick to dismiss us as different." He moved his hand to lightly caress the back of her palm with his thumb, the sensual feeling of his fingertip through the velvet gauntlet causing the woman''s spine to tingle pleasantly for a moment. "But, after all, opposites attract." Lowering his tone, the vampire leaned forward, inching ever closer to the woman''s face and her inviting lips.


    "Then we are indeed different," she whispered back and finished her wine, carefully moving her hand and lightly brushing Dracula''s chin with the bottom of her glass. "But, tell me... could your courting be any more obvious?" She reciprocated his approach. Now, their faces were mere inches away from each other.


    "Heh. I was hoping you''d have realised three hours ago," Dracula replied, unaffected by her bold question.


    "Oh, but I have." She moved her hand behind his head to pull him closer in and whispered into his ear. "I just thought that your kiss ought to taste better after a glass of wine."


    "Indeed, it ought to," Dracula repeated, the hot breath on her neck sending shivers throughout her entire body. "Would you care to try it?" Not letting her reply, he cradled her cheeks with his hands and pulled her close for a kiss, the lovers'' tongues dancing around each other, neither of them willing to break the waltz of passion they had lost themselves in. Dracula''s will was wavering, and he was struggling to resist the urge to bite at the appetising flesh of her lips, but he was saved by the woman finally pulling away.


    "Yes, I would care to try it," she flirted. "Again. Maybe this time, it will be in your quarters." The woman didn''t even let him answer, her infatuation already having made her rise from her seat. "After you, Alucard."


    The two lovers made their way to Dracula''s mansion, the vampire guiding his consort through the busy streets of the Boston harbor with his arm wrapped around her hourglass figure. After a stroll through the noisy city, they found themselves in front of an imposing steel gate. Staring through the bars, a majestic courtyard with an impeccably tended garden took the woman''s breath away.Stolen story; please report.


    "You said... quarters. I was under the impression you had rented one of the rooms at the tavern," she said with awe. Dracula walked forward and fished for the keys to the padlock in his pockets.


    "Sweetheart, I *own* the tavern," he bluntly said. The lock clicked, and Dracula pushed the gates to his estate open. The vampire turned around and extended his arm, as if inviting her to a tango. "Follow me."


    She took his hand, and the couple walked towards the mansion on a leisurely stroll. Holding his hand and breathing in the flowery perfume of his garden, she was at peace, overwhelmed with a warm feeling of serenity.


    They walked up the stairs on a red carpet. After opening the unlocked door, they were met with a sparkling marble room. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, bathing the area in candlelight. The checkered tiles on the floor, as well as the chairs close to the walls, suggested that this was a ballroom. Her lips were slightly parted in surprise. Dracula didn''t let her take in the sights for too long, and he led her through another door. The room they had just entered was very homely, with a couch sitting opposite a roaring fireplace. The obsidian statue to the left of the fireplace depicted a gargoyle with its wings outstretched, but it was too far away for the woman to make out the inscription on its base. A wool rug decorated the floor in the middle, and upon it, an empty table stood.


    "Shall I get the maids to provide us with more wine?" he asked as he plopped down on a corner of the sofa, sprawling his arms on the couch back and inviting his partner to join him.


    "N-no, I''ve had enough," the woman managed to stutter as she sat down next to him. He lowered his arm around her inviting neck, as if his embrace was meant to protect her from other thirsty children of the night.


    "Are you sure, Carmilla? Are you perhaps scared of becoming groggy? I was under the impression witches were not able to feel the effects of alcohol." He smiled, and she extended her legs into his lap, sighing.


    "Many rumors circulate about sorceresses. Most of them are inventions of the simple peasantry, whose idle and illiterate minds can come up with the strangest claims when left to their own." Dracula took off one of his gloves, gently pulling the fabric from each finger off before placing his mitt into his shirt''s front pocket. His pale skin was exposed, and he slid his hand under Carmilla''s robe to touch her inner thigh. His cold skin contrasted with the heat permeating from every inch of her flustered body, and when he caressed the surface of her thigh with his fingertips, Carmilla gasped in ecstasy, but was also surprised by his chilly touch. "Why are you so cold?"


    "Am I?" Dracula chuckled. "You''ll see. Come here." The vampire leaned in for the kiss, the last one he would give her. He started with gently brushing the skin of her neck with his lips, but he didn''t go much farther. Opening his mouth wide, his fangs dug deep into her veins, drawing blood. Carmilla threw her head back as she moaned in pleasure. She never knew having her blood sucked out of her would feel so good. The warmth at the nape of her neck sent wild emotions throughout her entire body. She felt out of breath and dizzy, but she was certain it wasn''t from the wine. She knew she was about to die, but never did Carmilla imagine that her final moments would be so blissful. The woman was powerless to resist, struggling with the feeling of disassociation she was experiencing.


    When the vampire pulled back, she simply stared into his eyes. His lips contorted into a smile. Dracula wasn''t a messy eater, as evidenced by the lack of even the faintest drop of blood on his face. Crimson liquid was still oozing from her new breathing hole, but in spite of this, she mustered the energy to talk.


    ¡°Y-you don''t have to do this. P-please... let me live."


    "And why should I, my darling?" Dracula rose from his seat and stared intently at her. "You have nothing to offer me. Your life force is spent. I see no reason to save you."


    "Let me serve you..." she desperately pleaded, but her voice was cut short by the sanguine fluid filling her throat. With a distinct lack of grace, she spat a mouthful of blood on the carpet. "I-I am a witch, like my mother before me." Dracula looked at the stain on the wool rug, before snapping his gaze back towards her with interest.


    "You''re a witch, you say?" the vampire questioned. Turning to the gargoyle statue, he made a few arcane motions in the air and turned back around to her. "Your energies are weak. You are inapt. I shall waste no more ti--"


    "W-wait," she interrupted him. "Perhaps witch was not the right word. I... am an alchemist. That which is physical, I transmute into energy..." Carmilla stopped to cough, before continuing. "I cannot channel energy of my own."


    "She knows her stuff, apparently,¡± Balthazar chimed in, having returned from his errand with a bottle of ether and a long roll of bandages. "I have obeyed, master. I suggest sparing her," he spoke as he placed the first aid supplies on the table. "But you will do as you wish."


    Dracula looked at the dying woman as if staring through her very fiber to judge her soul. She anxiously awaited the verdict, using a hand to apply pressure on her wound.


    "Why do you desire vampirism, Carmilla?" he asked after an eternity, breaking the tense silence in the room. "What shall you do with your newfound blessing?"


    "I shall cherish it... and I shall serve..." his prey weakly mouthed, her voice trailing off at the end; she didn''t have much time left in the world of the living.


    "Hmmph." He considered her answer, and found it satisfying.


    The layer of skin covering his right hand seemed to peel off, dissipating into thin air as Dracula partially manifested his true form. Sharp claws burst forth, taking the place of what were once his neatly groomed nails. "You are... sufficient." He pulled the sleeve of his other arm back and superficially cut the still human skin of his wrist, letting a small quantity of blood flow from the wound. "Drink, Carmilla, and rejoice as you are born anew."


    Bringing the bleeding hand of the elder vampire to her parched lips, the fledgling vampiress drank to her heart''s content. The pain which had made her so blissful was gone, but she felt empty. Something was now eating away at her very soul, and she sucked on Dracula''s wrist as if her life depended on it; for indeed, it now did. As Dracula recognised the symbols of bloodthirst from her desperate nibbling, he beckoned to Balthazar. "Prepare for her turning. Summon the maids. See to it that her hunger is sated."


    "On it, master," his telepathic voice made itself heard in Dracula''s head.


    The dark lord pulled his feeding hand from Carmilla''s mouth, easily sliding out of her desperate grip with his supernatural strength. "Balthazar will guide you. I have more pressing matters to attend to." Not waiting for her reply, he walked out of the room. Carmilla licked the vampiric blood from her lips, aching to drink more of the sweet nectar. She made for the crude first aid kit on the table so that she could clean her wound. Carmilla''s tongue brushed against her new vampiric fangs and traced circles around them. She smiled as she awaited Balthazar, enjoying the lingering taste of sweet ambrosia in her mouth.


    "I don''t think I will be missing sunlight any time soon."

 New Babylon

    The aggressive neon lighting of the nighttime Neo Babylon slums flooded the apartment as Dracula slid the curtains aside. The vibrant street lamps bathed the chamber in a finely variegated rainbow. A scrambled, convoluted display of flashing pink and radiant green danced along the surface of the couch behind him, which was positioned for a panoramic view over the red light district through the window.


    "Almost brighter than the sunlight, master," Balthazar chimed in. He was sitting right behind the sofa. "Have you heard the news?"


    "I have not. Enlighten me, Balthazar," the vampire replied as he overlooked the miserable streets of the city from his seventh floor flat.


    Echoes of machinery and screams polluted the air, interrupted only by the occasional barking of an OWG officer. The concrete jungle that Dracula''s apartment complex was situated in took the vampire some getting used to. Having to trudge through the miserable roads of the city after an eternity of living in private mansions and penthouse suites was an entirely new experience.


    "An important diplomatic meeting will be organised in the VIP lounge of club Tranquility," Dracula''s faithful servant continued.


    "Why tell me this? I care little for the banter that occurs in such seedy establishments."


    "Because the Antichrist will be there," the statue said, matter-of-factly.


    The elder vampire clenched his teeth upon hearing the name. His ears perked up in surprise. "Ah, yes. Vanity, his favourite sin and all that." Dracula sighed. "That is indeed *news*. May I inquire as to why you thought that would interest me, though? I''m not the vampire I once was. All these new demons... they make my stomach churn. So flawed. And this technology.." he ranted, horribly upset about all the hellspawn which emerged with the instauration of the One World Government. "But, I digress. Answer me."


    "You still hold great power, yet you are a mere remnant of your former glory, which lies just around the corner, awaiting reclamation. In but a single night, you may regain your rightful dominion over the world." Balthazar attempted to persuade his lord, whispering poison into his ears, as if having something to benefit from manipulating him. "Kill the Antichrist. Drink his infernal blood."


    "You are coming across a tad too strong, like the low-budget villain you are," Dracula joked.


    "I am indeed low budget: a lump of granite, given shape and purpose by a two florin chisel," the statue continued the banter.


    "You underestimate yourself; inflation would have it that you are likely the most expensive sculpture around today," the elder vampire snarked back. "Regardless, enough idle talk. Where is Carmilla?"


    "She recently took a job at the local conduit. She should be back in a few hours," the gargoyle informed, and from the way Dracula turned around to stare at him, it was evident that the vampire disliked the gargoyle¡¯s answer.


    "How recently? Why was I not informed of this? Did she not already have a job?" he asked, irritated. As wise as he was, excessive perseverance bordering on stubbornness was one of his flaws. Indeed, Dracula was finding it difficult to adapt to the notions of "poverty" and "laying low".


    "About a month ago, master," Balthazar concisely replied.


    "I will discuss this with her." The vampire made towards the door to another room. "I shall be in my coffin. Awaken me when she returns." Dracula had not slept in a coffin for almost two millennia, but adapting to the vortex of energy and faith that was the 23rd century was proving to be grievously draining.


    "Will do."


    Dracula could not rest, even inside his luxurious bed. Ever since moving to Neo Babylon, he frequently found himself retreating to his coffin, much like a normal human would retreat to a mattress for his or her nightly sustenance. It was never very fruitful, as his thoughts - which grew ever more turbulent - tugged at his mind in many different directions, and denied him his desired rest. The instauration of a global theocracy had taken its toll on the former dark lord, and he found himself unwillingly passing that mantle to the Antichrist.


    Failing to meditate, Dracula was awoken by the sound of the lock keypad buzzing and high heels clicking on the floor. Pushing his coffin open, he left the plain dormitory, which merely consisted of two sarcophagi layed next to each other in an otherwise empty room.


    "Carmilla!" he beckoned as he sat down on the couch, staring into the brightly colored landscape and awaiting the vampiress.


    "Yes?" she called over from the kitchen. Her voice was slightly hushed by the sound of paper shuffling; was she counting money? Regardless, she made for her master in the living room, afraid to keep him waiting. She propped herself against the narrow window sill opposite of Dracula, sitting face to face with him. Carmilla was wearing a tight black pencil skirt, accompanied by a contrasting white dress shirt.


    "Quite the secretary," Dracula commented.


    "Uh-huh," she faintly mumbled and crossed her legs, rubbing her shoes against each other and nervously tapping the ground with one of her stiletto heels. "What did you need me for, master?"


    "Since when have us vampires needed to do such menial labors in order to stay alive? Why have you not told me about your job?" he scolded. Carmilla froze like a deer in headlights, disarmed by the question. She felt like a child getting caught by her parents, trying to negotiate not getting grounded. Nervously, she fiddled with her hair, twirling her finger around the short locks of her fiery red bob cut.


    "W-well, the casino job was just not cutting it anymore. Besides, working at the local conduit allows me to network easily and brings in a nice sum of money. We need that money, master. Whether you like it or not, the golden age of vampires has long since disappeared," she justified herself; yet, evidenced by Dracula''s irritation, he clearly disliked her answer.


    "It hasn''t disappeared. Not if I can help it. In fact, I have been considering it ever since Balthazar told me that Lucifer will be making a public appearance. That is mainly why I wished to discuss with you."


    "I''m listening," she spoke, relieved.


    "As you might have heard, the Antichrist will be present at the Tranquility club in two weeks on a business meeting. I have been meditating on this occurance, and I require your council. Tell me, Carmilla; what do you know about BEAST?" he asked, more relaxed now.


    "It''s the embodiment of Hell''s will on Earth. A global network, offering surveillance and even distorting the nature of reality if the situation calls for it. BEAST is a semi-sentient system which gathers information from a variety of spiritual and physical assets, which it uses in order to maintain global stability. Although, as you can see from what''s left of the Balkan Union, that hasn''t been working out so well." She continued to ramble, but her description of the current geopolitical climate as well as the marvels of modern engineering fell on deaf ears.


    "Hmm." Dracula was impartial to Carmilla¡¯s exposition and absorbed the information quite easily. "How would that work? What fuels BEAST?"


    "No, you can''t cut the power and kill him with the lights out, if that''s what you were thinking," Carmilla teased. "You''re about two centuries too late to try that Ocean''s Eleven trick. Regardless, BEAST runs on conduits, like the one I work at."


    "And how would an upstanding secretary of the infernal bureaucracy lack a barcode?" Dracula asked. The vampiress rolled up her sleeve, revealing a discreet barcode stamped upon her inner wrist.


    "Appeal to aesthetic. I managed to convince them not to brand it on my forehead. I haven''t had it for that long." Most facilities were accessible only by means of barcodes; the seemingly meaningless calligraphy held deep meaning to BEAST and worked as multifunctional identification. "No, we''re not being bugged." She quickly mumbled her excuse upon seeing Dracula''s brows furrowing in response to her. "This is a low surveillance area, and I don''t think BEAST cares much about us."


    "You are right. I have refused the mark, and you are a simple white collar worker." The vampire brought his fingers to his face, dramatically stroking his chin as he schemed. "You said you worked at the casino, correct?"


    "Yup," Carmilla answered.


    "Start networking. Get into the underground gambling rings; I am certain those still exist. Find a man who is marked, neck-deep in debt and handy with computers. It is imperative that he fits my description to the letter. Have I made myself clear?"


    "Very clear, master." She nodded, not daring to question his motives or the difficulty of his very specific request. "Is there anything else, or.."


    "You are dismissed. The sun will be rising; best not to linger." With that being said, he rose from his seat and made for the bedroom, crawling inside his coffin and making sure to not crease his stylish crimson shirt. Carmilla stood in silence for a few moments, before letting loose a sigh of relief. The slightest hint of Dracula''s anger being aimed at her never failed to make her tense. After briefly pondering her master''s ambitious plans, she walked towards her coffin, unceremoniously jumping into it on her back and sliding it shut.


    Over the next couple of nights, Dracula spent his time in his coffin, awaiting news from either of his servants. Balthazar did exactly what an inanimate statue was expected to do in normal circumstances, and Carmilla was hard at work, juggling two jobs. After finishing her shift as a dealer at the Diamond Flush casino, she always made sure to talk with the players, making small talk and inquiring about the underground gambling landscape. Thanks to her charm, it didn''t take long until she was directed to the basement of the Pika Kokidon.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Places as bright as the barren parking lot behind the chicken joint were never a good sign in Neo Babylon. Lights were mounted atop the roof of the restaurant for no good reason, illuminating a completely unexceptional area. To unknowing eyes, there was nothing important to be found in this place, but Carmilla saw the flimsy metal door which was cleverly painted to blend in with the walls of the Pika Kokidon. She knocked once, then thrice, then twice, awaiting a response from the other side.


    "The fuck you want?" The harsh voice of an obviously inhuman bouncer resounded through the rusted steel.


    "I wish to partake." Carmilla spoke the password.


    "Hmm. What do you think, boss?" One of the pink lanterns dancing on the wall next to her turned to face her. From the four red dots she noticed when staring into the light source, she figured that it was a camera and smiled towards it.


    "Looks cute, knows the code, has no mark."


    "Bring her in," another voice spoke, and with that, the door creaked open.


    The overpowering stench of cigarette smoke assaulted her lungs when she stepped in. Remaining vigilant, her curious eyes scanned her surroundings, acknowledging the miniscule size of the frontmost room, whose walls were bare and tightly compressed, akin to a large, empty closet.


    Her gaze naturally found its way towards the bouncer, whose skin was colored a sickly dark green. Veins bulged on his bald head, struggling to pump blood through his massive body. He towered at least two feet above her, despite her high heels. He wore a ripped plain business suit with a skinny black tie, and its white shirt was decorated by dried blood stains.


    "Get in," he grunted as he locked the door behind her. His rough hand shoved her inside by the small of her back. "Watch the head. Down the stairs and to your right. Keep it down. You can fight about debts outside, but you don''t look the type. Shut down''s at sunrise, which is in about three hours," he informed as she descended down a flight of uneven stairs.


    Holding onto the railings, her stilettos carefully clicked on what she assumed to be stone. Carmilla couldn''t see much, but her vampiric senses aided her as she climbed down through the darkness. With every step she took, the sounds of music and noisy chatter gradually grew louder and louder, until she reached the literal light at the end of the tunnel. A red light bulb dangled from the dirty ceiling, and she could make out a door to the right.


    Opening it, the source of the noise became apparent: this was more a bar than a casino. Immediately to her left, a deformed bartender wished her a good time while he leaned over the counter, wiping a pristine yellow glass with a rag. The room was bathed in an eerie red light by various lanterns, similar in hue to the light bulb hanging outside.


    Closing the door behind her, she stepped on the dirty floorboards of the saloon. Rattling of dice and shuffling of cards added to the grimy atmosphere. As a vampire, she savored unkempt, damp places like this. Raising a hand to her chest and taking a deep breath, her lungs expanded with stale cigarette smoke. Lost in her thoughts, Carmilla was oblivious to the voice of the man next to her, whose words were drowned out in the noisy atmosphere.


    "I said hey, beautiful. Are you one of those types?" One of the few normal humans in this place attempted to say hello to her a second time. Staring at him from the corner of his eyes, his wrinkled face did not inspire much trust; neither did the stench of alcohol on his breath. "Fucking deaf-mutes." The vampiress pretended not to hear him, playing along. "It''s like all you <<saved>> lunatics without barcodes are suddenly better and won''t even consider acknowledging the words of the common folk. Fuck you, whore." He made off to order another drink at the bar, unable to hear Carmilla''s ensuing giggles. She found it hilarious when inebriated men ogled at her and begged for her attention.


    Walking slowly while staring at all the tables, Carmilla looked for a man to fit Dracula''s description of someone who would be good with computers. Finding her mark, she sat down on a wooden chair, in between two poker players. A pudgy man of Asian descent was currently hunched over, staring at his cards through greasy glasses. His barcode was branded directly on his forehead into the layer of acne covering his face, making it almost illegible. Safe and snug inside of the black hoodie which covered his hair, Derick considered his options, looking into the eyes of the queen of hearts as if expecting the card to tell him what to do.


    "I''m pulling the timer soon. Do you call or fold?" his opponent barked. The player he was up against was more machine than man, every inch of his skin covered in tattoos, hellware and cybernetic enhancements. Blue robotic irises zoomed towards Derick''s quivering hands, and his opponent''s metallic jaw seemed to threaten to eat him whole if he would make the wrong decision.


    "Do you mind if I deal the cards next round?" Carmilla innocently asked, looking towards Derick''s opponent.


    "There won''t be a next round," he informed with an arrogant tone. "This pussy''s dead. He owes me thirty thousand already. He can win it all back, or double up, and I won''t play afterwards. Hurry the fuck up, Derick," he said as he tapped the clock embedded into his wrist. It started counting down from sixty in a distracting, high pitched synthetic voice.


    "Oh. Okay." Carmilla nodded and directed her gaze towards Derick, anxiously awaiting for him to declare his action.


    "Stop that fucking buzzer!" Derick slammed his fist on the table, annoyed by the countdown. "I call. Pair of queens." He rolled his cards over, hopeful. Drops of cold sweat were racing down his face. He could win it all back and walk out of here, breaking even on all of his debts. Or he could continue to live the rest of his life in misery until his gambling failures finally caught up to him.


    "Tough luck, kid." The man revealed his cards. "Aces full." He rose from his seat, sweeping the cards off the table into his backpack. Derick''s jaw dropped to the floor. He was now approximately seventy thousand dollars in the red. "Why call on that board?" his opponent asked.


    "N-no..." he muttered through his fat lips. He pressed his head into his hands, defeated, staring through his fingers at his rival who was smirking in victory.


    "In a month, I''m expecting my seventy thousand dollars with interest. That''s about a hundred and fifty thousand. You know where to find me. See you, loser." The man made his way out of the tavern with a shit eating grin on his face.


    "A hundred and fifty grand, huh?" Carmilla asked the grieving man. ¡°That¡¯s a lot of money, and that¡¯s a man you don¡¯t want to owe even the smallest sum to.¡±


    ¡°I know. I¡¯m fucked. Why do you even care?¡± Derick inquired, wishing to hear her say that she wants to play poker, despite circumstances. He was going to lose even more, no doubt; but part of him still believed that he could win money back if he kept playing.


    ¡°I have a proposition for you.¡± She leaned in closer and gently pulled his arms down on the table. His teary eyes were now visible, as well as his bleeding forehead; Derick¡¯s nails had tore at his acne in frustration.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to--¡± Derick slid behind on his chair as if to stand up. Carmilla softly tugged at his wrist with her gentle touch.


    ¡°No. Listen. It will take seven days at most, and you will make enough to pay all of your debts and still have some. Interested?¡±


    ¡°Maybe. Yeah. Definitely. What do I have to do?¡± The fish had taken the bait, but she did not reveal the exact nature of his job in fear of scaring him away.


    ¡°A variety of things. Just know that you are the right man for the job. If you¡¯re interested, I can leave you my number, and you can ring me when you¡¯ve decided.¡± Carmilla smiled reassuringly, convincing him that he was not about to fall victim to some con trick.


    ¡°No need. I mean, I¡¯d like your number, but uhh¡­¡± Derick blushed, eliciting a girlish chuckle from her. ¡°Uhh, yeah, I¡¯ve already decided. When do we start?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll have to talk to my employer. I can take you to him. By the way, what¡¯s your name?¡± She extended her arm, and the presumed hacker nervously shook it. ¡° I¡¯m Carmilla, pleased to meet you.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s, uhh, Derick.¡±


    Making their way through the city slums, Carmilla had to reassure her new acquisition that this was indeed a serious job. Briefly interviewing him, she confirmed that he was indeed what they needed. A bored security worker for a mega-corporation, who turned away from the stability the One World Government provided in order to seek some thrill in his life in the form of crime. He had a brief history with drugs, but unregulated gambling was his favourite vice. His career naturally lended itself to technological aptitudes; furthermore, Derick had a background in the hacking community and allegedly had a hand to play in the recent healthcare crisis, which was even more impressive considering that he was marked.


    Arriving at the unremarkable flat complex in which Dracula resided, the two took the stairs. Derick was becoming skeptical, but when the vampire answered the door in his signature crimson suit, he was convinced that Carmilla¡¯s proposition was serious.


    ¡°Greetings.¡± Dracula greeted the hacker. ¡°Please, come in.¡± Entering the kitchen, Derick noticed something brewing in the multipurpose furnace. ¡°Your caf, or tea, will be ready soon. It would be my pleasure if you joined me in the living.¡± The vampire directed them to the familiar room with the panoramic view. Carmilla and Derick sat on the sofa while Dracula stared the new recruit up and down, dissecting him with his gaze.


    ¡°He¡¯s perfect, master.¡± She crossed her legs, and she could swear that Derick jumped when her knee briefly brushed against him through his jeans, but she paid it no mind.


    ¡°Your name is Derick,¡± Dracula inferred through his telepathic abilities. ¡°Do you know why you are here, Derick?¡±


    ¡°Not at all.¡± He nervously rubbed his hands, uneasy due to the vampire¡¯s unnerving voice.


    ¡°You are here because you have about two hundred thousand in debt. I can help you repay that, Derick. But first, you have to do us a favor. Tell me, have you heard of Club Tranquility?¡±


    The hacker¡¯s eyes rolled upwards, trying to recall. ¡°Uh, that super exclusive thing? Yeah, I¡¯ve heard of it.¡±


    ¡°Good. Well, it just so happens that I need an invitation to the party on the 18th. Would you be able to forge a ticket of authorization which is of sufficient quality to fool BEAST?¡±


    ¡°Hehe,¡± Derick forced a giggle. ¡°Child¡¯s play. Barcode modification is--¡±


    ¡°I do not think I have explained enough; please excuse my ambiguity. I am looking for an invitation to the Antichrist¡¯s table, at the VIP lounge. Would you be able to do that?¡±


    The hacker froze. He looked over at Carmilla, shocked that such a ¡°nice¡± girl could work for an insane man. Noticing his gaze, she smiled and bared her vampiric fangs. With a girlish yelp, he moved away from Carmilla.


    ¡°What the hell are you people?¡± he asked, frightened.


    "Vampires. And I am a man who wants Lucifer dead. And you," Dracula grabbed at his shoulder and pushed him against the sofa''s back, causing him to shriek in fear, "You are a man neck deep in debt, who can help me. Will you join my cause, Derick?"


    "A-ah!" he screamed. "Help!"


    Dracula chuckled. "Scream all you want. It will not help you here, even if you have accepted the brand of BEAST. Now, despite my bloodthirst, it would be a shame to kill a talented man such as you. Have we reached an accord, Derrick?"


    Carmilla was sitting against him again; he barely registered her movement in his fear. "Come on." she said, putting one hand on his leg and gently shaking it. "Do the right thing here, Derick. The alternative is death."


    "Y-you''re both crazy! I''ll do it, damn it!" The fat man unsuccessfully attempted to push Dracula''s hand off him, finding himself paralyzed by the magnitude of his oppressor¡¯s unrivaled strength. He desperately tugged at it, trying to free himself from the vampire''s grasp, but failed to do anything other than cause Carmilla to giggle.


    "Are you done now?" Dracula asked. "I need to feel it in you, Derick. Look into my eyes. You will be making a run at BEAST itself. I need you to be ready."


    "I''m ready! I''m fucking ready!" Derick stared directly into Dracula''s emotionless eyes, having gained some confidence.


    "Not good enough." Dracula backhanded his face, threatening to snap his neck with his vampiric strength, if not for the arm locking his shoulder in place. One of Derick''s fake bronze teeth fell on the floor with a clang, knocked out of his mouth from the force of the elder vampire¡¯s blow.


    "I''m ready."