Darkness Becomes Her

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Disclaimer: Own the ideas, but didn't make money for it.

Any comments, just e-mail me at "kfong60@hotmail.com"

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Since he began his quest of conquest, he knew that he would one day accomplish his goals. But even with victory already certain, he would only rest once he had conquered it all. He had all the time in the world, but he grew impatient with every failure. . . A change of plans was in order. . .

He was thinking. In his type of business, one must treat everything as one would a game of chess: Always planning three or four moves ahead of time and plan for the future. Planning on what his next move should be, he finally decided on the course of action he should take. . . Why not? Sometimes, he even amazes himself. . .

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All Things Come to an End

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(The story goes on. . .)

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"Where are we going?" she regarded him with open curiosity. He didn't refrain a step answering to her question nonchalantly.

"That doesn't matter." He replied, smirking. "Will you come peacefully?"

She frowned almost looking as if she were pouting. The expression on his face altered slightly at her antics, so that he seemed mildly amused. The way his words were spoken sounded like empty threats. She shook her head; this man was evil, this man was dangerous and she was foolishly feeling too comfortable to be fathomable. She began squirming in an attempt to break free. She did this for a few seconds, Dracula ignored her. His grip was like a vise, and she was unsuccessful and lacked the vitality.

Giving up, she looked up at him accusingly. Catching the small smile that flickered across his mouth, she hissed her fury at him. How inconsiderate he was, to disregard her wishes and mock at her lack of strength. She chose to remain silent, and curse at him in her own way. Funny enough, she really didn't feel as much amnesty towards him. She denied that it could be from this one act of kindness in the midst of all his other faults, which was plentiful. Ironically enough, it had affected her on the unconscious level instead, and that she had no control over.

For some odd reason, they were descending upon a stairwell hidden by floor boards. Upon their arrival, it had rumbled violently before it blew off its hinges. Down they went, into the pit of what looked like a never ending staircase, that would lead to hell itself. But fear it not, for she felt assured whatever creature that crept would do her no harm. The torches rusted as they may be, still hung on desecrated embankments that had seen better days.

Upon reaching the basement, the halls were like tombs. A labyrinth of corners at every turn, too many to memorize where a map was necessary. Because she was ensconced, she did not need to think, just remain as she was. Not deterred, the man walked aimlessly into the void, where she her night vision had yet to manifest for she was but a new born. The further they journeyed, the darker the corridors became. Blind as a bat, her master was now her eyes. Only the presence of the solid underneath her and rich racketing footsteps stopped her from maniacally reaching out to affirm she was not alone.

"Could you, light a torch?" she asked, searching in the general direction of Dracula with unseeing eyes.

She hoped that didn't sound like a plea, for she was deafly afraid of the dark. It was one of those common childish fears, that you never get use to. Still in her distressful predicament, she could hear the muffled laugh and could only imagine the luminous eyes peering at her no doubt with a pinch of amusement as he stopped. She could tell by the pause in the shifting vibration that came along with striding.

A snap later, the burning lanterns lit a passage to an entrancing crypt for better words. Finding her legs meeting solid ground, she staggered under her feeble weight, careful shifting on her injured leg. That is till she found her twisted ankle no longer felt the absence of a throbbing sensation that accompanied it. Looking at him for a sense of direction, he motioned her forward with a flicker of his shifting gaze.

The scent of blood flared her being, too surreal to be a fabrication. She found herself hunger, as she drew nearer and nearer to the gift waiting for her indefinitely inside. For she knew it was a human through and through, for only their aroma would waft such painstaking hunger. Their blood was a delicacy, an exquisite taste that all vampires grew fond of.

Upon reaching the apex of the room, she heard in the back round, "Who's there?" a demanding tone not so unlike a king referring to a trespasser. It Lacked the spiritual cadence such words should carry, but included the eerie sense of familiarity. Her clouded mind unravelled finding crystal clarity from innocent curiosity to a haunting insanity.

There standing before her was Reinhardt, shackled to the cold surface of a wall crucifix-like. His eyes blank, roaming dead to the world. The signs of dried tears was apparent on his features, but this was not the man she remembered him to be. Strong, brave, and righteous Reinhardt, like all the Belmont's before he. She was shocked to see him broken, the lack of features betraying he was alive, and the steady heartbeat that denied he was dead. Seeing him now, tore at her heart with bitter sadness at the state he was left in. The man he knew would never have cried those crimson tears. . .

Following the end to its root, she found out why it was that mysterious color. His eyes were ripped, the sockets empty and dull. He was less than worthless now, just a shadow of his former self. This can't be the man he appeared to be, but a sadistic illusion meant to dash away her belief in god. For if he was true, then god have mercy on him.

"Has the reaper snatched your tongue? Speak now foul demon while you still have the chance!" he roared in his plight, trying his best to intimidate the one who he knew was there provide his unending torment. He attempted another feeble escape dragging his arms up retching, writhing towards where he knew the demon lurked before the shackles echoed the message he would go no further. He just hoped the next one would be his executioner.

"It's me. . ." she whispered, crying silent tears. Tears not of sorrow, but of hate. Instead of feeling the sorrow of his and her circumstances, she felt the boiling rage at herself for giving in so easily while he remained strong and vigilant. She should have been stronger than this! She envied how he still retained the same conviction even under direness, for if she were in his place, she would have caved long before the next moon.

Even the count admired him from a distance in his own way. After all this, his resolve had not wavered. He still stood true to his beliefs, and trusted the prophecies that all Belmont's would triumph and do with Dracula. And believe he did, and held true to form and faltered not at his own misgivings. It was a clever prophecy, devised to shred all doubt that their line would possess, so that they would not falter when the time came to lay it all cards down at stake. But he was but a simpleton, and a simple mind was inferior and cannot coexist in the grander schemes devised by a far more experienced player of this game of life. For in his business, everything must be treated as one would a game chess. The Belmont was comparable to a pond given orders by a bishop. His blind faith was admirable, but stupid. He was amounted nothing more than cannon fodder in this game he played. How one could place so much on the line, was a gamble to risky to play. And play he did. . . and win he not.

For he fell victim to the unpredictable black knight two steps ahead of him.

"Carrie?. . ." his mouth was dry, "Is it you?"

She covered her mouth, for she was speechless. The first drops of rain spilt unheeded from her misty eyes.

"Your so frail. . ." she whispered in choked sobs as her vision blurred, "Your so frail. . ." she could take it no more, her feet giving out beneath her. The agony racked her soul.

'I thought you were dead, but now I find you here restless. . .'

Had death failed to provide its sweet comfort to him as well?

"Carrie!" he shouted with despair clear in his voice, grabbing for the girls attention, "You must leave this place, this hell!"

She continued to cry in bare segments, piece by piece and nodded her head vehemently, "I know," she choked. The shackles clinked in sync with its prisoner.

"This is not a place for you to lay your life!" he yelled, even as it tore him so to leave such harsh words to the girl she remembered would dismiss his grave concern. This was not a place he would wish even upon his worst of enemies.

"I can't. . ." she stuttered.

"You must!" he ordered, straining the words in finality.

"I can't. . ."

"This is not a game Carrie!" he rescinded her, with every fibre of his being to strain the words that escaped his mouth. It was all for her own good, she should would understand. She must understand. . . And even if he had to force himself to admit defeat to convince her, so be it. "This is not a fairy tale. . . The good don't always prevail. . . I am the living proof of this. Can you open your biased eyes and relinquish your foolish game?!"

"I want to! Really, I tried. . ." even if he were blind, she could not meet that condensing gaze of concern for her welfare, and scrutiny at her in his eyes childish behaviour.

"Why?" but one word, that questioned the reasoning of all that can be asked.

"It's too late. . ."

"Why!?"

"Because I, I, I. . ."

"WHY!?" he snapped, frustrated beyond comprehension.

The eerie silence lingered upon those words, seeming to still echo long over due. She tried to answer the question he deserved to know, but all she could do was only stutter. The words too flippantly difficult, too stubborn to leave her tongue. The truth was too painful to reveal! Why did he have to ask of her the one thing she had tried to avoid, the one thing she could not bare to say to him?

But luckily, or unfortunately depending how you looked upon it, someone else answered on her behalf with a look of indifference.

"Because she, is one of us." Those words too haunting spoken. The finality in his tone brought terror to her very essence and almost comical, how it mirrored upon the Belmont as well. Mortals would bow their head, and pray that they would never meet the holder of that voice.

"Tell me the vampire speaks lies!" the suppressed spat. He even began to put together the pieces of the puzzle from the earlier tones and patterns spoken not too long ago. His visage scrunched into an angry scowl that screamed shock, entwined with a wisp murder.

It was these racing turmoil's, that the Count lived for. For, he wanted them all to experience it within their miserable lives, short as they were. He was comparable to those who loved to wrap these gifts, and wait until its fruition to see the surprised look of the happy individual. Though instead of the joy it should bring, it gave its opposite. There is no pleasing some people. . .

But the girl broke him out of his reverie tugging at his cloak, and he supposed he owed her as much to give her that undivided attention she did seek. Pathetic how she wailed, and yet she was a vampire! Emotions were for the weak, and the inferiors that needed them. But he supposed that it was one of her traits that had captivated his sights. Peering down on her as a king would do a lowly servant, he awaited her to speak.

"Please, let him go. . ." a simple request, he did not like.

"I suppose you are right. . . He is an eye sore. Sure I'll let him go, but I shall pick the place." He answered.

"Where will you take him?" almost amazing him with how steadily she spoke.

Looking in her eye, he bent down to stare into those fiery depths.

"A place close, but far from here. . ." he all but whispered.

"I won't let you." She sieved through gritting teeth. It was almost comical how she tried to retain a front in front of him! The king of vampires! Who did she think she was?

"Of coarse you won't. That is why you are here." he spoke deviously, leaning down further basking the girls head within his fingers. "Carrie, Carrie. . . it must be done. . . If you do not end his misery, than he shall continue hanging on that wall over there, and the tortures will continue. . ." he tried to symphonise, even though it may have sounded otherwise.

With that finished, he handed a dagger into her eager hands and clasped it assuredly with his own. The hand knew what to do. All that was left was to wait, and watch the curtains unravel. He had given her a choice, and hoped she would pick the right choice. But if by some mystery she didn't. . . well he'd save that for later. Either way tonight there would be blood spilt.

She gazed at the gift offered to her hand. She could see the metal reflecting the dancing torches, as well as the sharpness of the design. It was not so different than the throwing knives she used before. Now her mind hallucinated the tip of the blade represented the arrow on a compass. Her path was not laid in stone, yet she knew not what to do with it.

Slowly, she took slow deliberate steps, belying her feelings toward the ensconced man. He knew when the foot steps stopped momentarily before him, that she was his executioner.

They stood there, understanding each others plight with the look of resentment gone from Reinhardt. His mouth now but a thin line.

"You serve him now, and you will have doomed us all. . ."

". . ." she had nothing to say to such accusing accusations. His arms tightened around his restraints, to the point they bled from the nails puncturing them. The blade pierced his heart, the blood spilling from his mouth. He was on his last breaths, and finally he could rest at peace. She had thought she had ended his mockery, but in the face of death, he finished what he started.

"When it comes down to it. . . Which. . . is more important? The. . . crosses we bare? Or. . . the way we bare them?"

With that, his body limped upon her small frame. The liquid, glazing, sliding down her neck and down her sleeves. If there were tears, they could not be seen within the torrents of red that now soaked everything as would a cannibals wet dream.

Already, she was regretting it, on her knees begging for forgiveness, or appeared to be.

"He was not the first to perish, nor will he be the last. Do not think it will end here, for your path is paved in blood. The more you spill, the closer you'll come to realizing it is a way of life. They are nothing more than insects, live stock. We prey on them as they prey on beasts. Do not lament for long, for dwelling upon them is the beginning of many nightmares to come. . ."

She turned slightly to face him, in a pulchritude gown of red appeasing to the eye regarding him full of despair. But that was not what it was, for what he saw instead was hate, loathing, and the suffering it demanded. He had finally found it. That which he seeked. That which must not be found.

He had decided that she shall be his thrall. He gave an inquiring glance at his avatar.

'But I am a dark spirit, and my agent of destruction should be likewise. . .'

So he had decided to eradicate all traces of the child, and leave only the hatred behind. There before him was the image every bit as unsettling as he had imagined standing before him as his equal.

"You shall serve me well. . ." with that he left her to herself, vanishing into the very air.

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A year had passed since that dreadful day. At this point a battle was raging in the mind of Carrie Fernandez. She didn't see the point in fighting. She was tired of escaping, tired of running from the Dark Lord dark ambitions, drowning them for what they were. Her philosophy had always been simply take that heavy responsibility on her own accord. To escape the pain and the sorrow, it had changed. Now she simply did what the Count told her that was the responsibility was theirs, not hers. He had changed her perception to that of black and white. They had all been innocent, but the master labelled them all guilty. The master was not to be disobeyed. . . But if not left dead by her hands, someone else would have done it.

Her life thus far had been nothing but pain; she hated the God she believed to be false. If he were real, how could he ideally sit in his throne in heaven while watching these atrocities happen? The truth was, he wouldn't. And though she hated God, she hated the vampire even more, for what he did to her, for what she did for him, for what he succeeded in doing. For he brought her on her knees, and the world soon would follow. It was only a matter of time before his tyranny reached pass the boarders of Transylvania. But for some peculiar reason he had become satisfied with his kingdom, and stretched no further. Be it he was sparing the outside on his whimsical capricious nature of his or he had not the power as of now, she wasn't sure.

She had asked him this, and he answered truthfully. Yet it was not his vengeance on the world that was his enemy, nor acceptance of the world that made him pause. He understood that vengeance and acceptance are pointless things to live for, for once they are achieved your life again becomes worthless. But she still harboured the belief that all he said was just a fabrication of a fairy tale he wanted her to believe to banish her doubts. Who ever heard of a conqueror who no longer wished to conquer? If only he knew. . .

She learned of his past that day, and discovered their pasts were remarkably similar. But they had chosen different ways to deal with the pain. Something in him changed. . . but she wouldn't let it cloud her mind, for he was still a killer.

But until she grew strong enough, she could only reluctantly obey. But the master was not to be disobeyed. . .

She shook her head to clear her mind. He had corrupted her mind through the passing nights. Those phrases that were not quite her own, etched in stone in her mind. Another reason to despise him! He practically controlled her.

But no more! Tonight she will bathe him in the very liquid that keeps him alive! He can't escape, he won't survive!

But her thoughts had not gone unnoticed, and Rose had always questioned her loyalty. Rose was the Count's personal rose keeper, and swayed to his beckoning through vampirism.

She had been delving into her suspicions for quite some time. . . For unlike her, the Count had refused to take away the girl's free will having faith that she would be better this way. But she feared the master may have overlooked the fact that too much of it was a bad thing and she had plenty. . . For one with it can change, for better or for worse.

Rose decided that she should remove the thorn now before the master could come to any harm and would be glad to do the deed. Though they both served the same master, it had always been a tenuous labour for his affection. She couldn't see why the girl had been favoured over her. Her she was the pinnacle of beauty and fiery idealism, but instead he had picked the twit. Why was the master so blind?

She stepped away from her hiding place in the garden, and approached the girl just as she was about to leave.

"I will not allow you to harm the master. . ." she snarled.

Without turning, she replied full of conviction, "Leave now, and I shall allow you to live a bit longer Rose. . ." she finished trying to be civil devoid of all emotion except the eyes turning to regard her as if she were an eye sore.

"You are a disappointment to the master!" Instead of doing the logical, she clasped her fingers before her and the hilt of a sword occupied the gap with the blade extruding.

"Rusted it may be, but enough to rid traitors like you!"

Turning full circle without batting an eye, she replied in a haunting tone she was incapable of before. Instead of turning to face her, she ensconced morbidly her unsettling eyes over the sections of where the protuberant walls were. The eyes roamed everything to the most minute detail with an empty look before directing it to the obstacle before her. She seemed indolent to her elders threat. And finally, she spoke softly in a serrate tone which would be the last phrases the other would ever hear from her.

"The voices tell me now you are one of them, you too shall I condemn. . . They tell me now to drown you in the very liquid that keeps you alive, I will repaint this room with your blood, you won't survive. . . They say the walls are turning brown, they must be red to match your gown. . ." For, her favourite colour was red, and it would be fitting that these walls bleed the very color she loved to follow her into the void.

She began approaching her victim indifferently as if she were but a nuisance, and she backed away assuredly afraid. Just the way she wanted it.

"I impeccably follow their every soft spoken word, for what they ask of me is never, ever. . . absurd. . ."

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She moved passed the clock tower she knew he would be awaiting, for she knew as a given that the death of one of his minions would announce her far before she ever reached him with the element of surprise. Which is why it came as no surprise that she approached without masking her presence. Which she would be sadly mistaken if she were to try such pitiful actions for nothing was beyond her master's perception. Except a foully like this. . . where she removed her tracks in the dark.

Pushing aside the looming symbolic doors towering her, she met his watchful disdainful gaze, which left nothing to the imagination. Like she had imagined, he was there in his throne waiting indefinitely, how long was anyone's guess. He sat there as a king, but lacking the subjects that should have been. He sat there as a god, but lacking the followers to name him such. For a god remained and will always be a god as long as someone believed in him, but ironically there was none. He stood now on the lustrous red carpet which was that drew the line between the two on its opposite ends. They stood for different ideals, and as such it was fitting that they no longer walked the aisle on the same level side-by-side.

"I've always wondered Fernandez, I've always wondered why you were so reluctant in these tasks I give you. . ." he stood impervious as the day she met him. Nothings changed. . . History seemed to be mockingly repeating itself.

"I refused to run anymore." She said back without hesitation.

He laughed. The mirthless laughter which was one of a kind.

"Is that what you think this is about? Running? I, we, what is it that you humans call us, vampires? Yes, that was it. A blood drinker even, and you think that makes us evil? No, it does not. You of all people must know that humans are far too corrupt and selfish to ever bring about an understanding with each other. And because of this, they will continue to torment themselves and the ones around them until they bring about the end of their own accord. Why make them suffer like this? We can lend them a hand, being the catalyst. They might as well receive peace now, and spare themselves the pain." He finished. Seeing her contemplating his words, he smiled.

"And now you're here to end my life. But why? I know the answer, and it is much more truthful than your own feeble imagination can comprehend. You believe that by killing me, you will have saved the world? It is not so simple. . . you are too naïve. . . Regardless of what you do this day, the worms will bring about their doom one way, or another!"

Now she appeared hesitant to pass her judgment, having lost some glow of her own conviction. He turned, back facing her as he strolled back to his thrown. Passing over deviously an afterthought.

"You're a walking contradiction. You intend to enter battle for the lives of your cohorts and the fate of your existence, yet you are terrified to kill. . . What sets me apart from the very mortals that you wish to protect?"

"You are the incarnation of evil." She forced the words from her mouth.

"What makes me evil?" he questioned condescendingly as if he already didn't know the answer.

"The lack of empathy you possess. The countless innocent people you've murdered."

"If I am evil, what does that make you?" he commented, and paused to let the words sink.

"I didn't mean to do it. . . But I had to, for this day. . ." her fingers clenched claw-like. She knew there was no valid explanation to justify her actions, knew she was lying to herself. Even if wasn't human, he was made up of the stuff that made humans. In fact, she knew that it was him that made her this fate as well.

"The truth that you have found, Carrie, does this justify the death of others? Can you kill in the name of this thing? This justice you seek? Does that justify the path you have chosen? Does that justify the death of others? Are you a killer, Carrie?" he bawled running through the words smirking, in the tone of a philosopher questioning anything and everything of how the universe works.

"Stop it!" she yelled. "I know what you're trying to do!"

"And yet, you have been doing this all along, even though you failed to comprehend it. All the creatures you murdered in the name of truth that you knew would lead you to my chamber door." He continued mockingly dripping with sarcasm.

"I did not murder them, I vanquished them for the greater good of mankind." She bawled back angrier than before.

"So it isn't murder if it isn't human? I'm not human, are you?" he questioned metaphorically, knowing full well what that implied, "But you're not human now are you? So what does that make you?"

A dramatic pause, as his voice echoed throughout the domain, bouncing off the walls.

The count laughed. With a swing of his cape, he shrouded himself in the darkness just as the girl lashed out with those tainted orbs withering death which altered with her change. They were vacuumed into the void not so different than a worm hole within the confines of his ebony cape. Dashing toward her prey, she wielded another two of her power towards his direction, before unclasping her razor rings from her belt hanging her arms behind her reducing the resistance while impaling the air towards him to quicken her path. For was it not the shortest distance between two points, a straight line?

Closing the gap, she swung her extension reaping with magical energies with a feverous pace. He mirrored her in diverting her strikes with a simple flick of his wrists causing sparks. In this stalemate, he locked eyes with her crimson depths that wished to swallow him whole, and caught the sight of two returning vengeful spirits reflected behind him. He fluctuated leaving after images of himself as he tilted to one side allowing the projectiles to fly harmlessly passed him, and saw her duck in an attempt to sweep him, he flipped accordingly and eliciting first blood dragging his fingers through flesh in his ascent. It all happened in a fraction of a second, too quick for the naked eye to catch.

She stumbled, but no cry of pain emitted from her small lips. For he had taught her too well, and that was among the few things she'd ever thank him for. Looking at her now, his lips became a thin line, not seeing the desired pained scowl that should accompany this image.

'There's no pain, where strength lies. . .'

"Bastard. . ." she panted out, lost in the reign of her own breaths. Slowly she slid to her own knees.

"It hurts doesn't it?" he drew a small cloth from his pocket and wiped the blood the best he could from the gloves he wore. He chuckled to himself.

"You see Carrie, the truth for which you fight only brings you pain." Dividing his attention to what was more important, he concentrated on cleaning his stained hands with a spare cloth in his pocket mirroring how one would crumple a towel to dry ones hands while continuing,

"I know that you are fighting for the sake of others, but when you die, that will only bring them pain as well. Why not help them achieve the peace they so desire? I hear the sounds of nature, and laughing children. But those are deceitful, trust me I know. For this is a world of lies, as soon there will be only peace, only me," he began walking towards her form,

"For these parasites cannot be saved from themselves. Today they may be at peace, joining their forces for a common enemy, me. But tomorrow if I am no longer, they will revert back to their former selves and destroy each other, the history that has been repeated since the beginning of time. For truthfully, there is no creature out there I can fathom they should fear more, than themselves. Again I find myself offering you the chance at perfection that you so foolishly dejected. . ." his haughty resolve gone.

Carrie tried her best to ignore his words, as she pulled herself back to her feet. By now the Counts boots were standing before her vision a few yards away.

"You have a choice Carrie, and I hope you pick the sensible choice. What any other sensible character would choose." He stretched the last part, "It's not that hard to see. . ."

She spat.

The disdainful smile he wore drained into an angry scowl.

"I see. . . Then I guess your choice is death. . ." Dracula concluded as he hung his arm high for the finale. She raised her eyes, catching him driving his appendage downward. Twisting away, she rolled sideways before clashing her extensions with those of his own forcing him to give ground as she hacked away at his defences, before they were locked fiercely in combat sidestepping sideways as they dragged their tools together desecrating the surface they stood upon to dusty rubble.

She had proven to be as formidable as the himself. He was amazed at her ability to utilizing her conviction to fuel her ferocity, yet not let it cloud her mind and overcome good judgement. Unfortunately for his case, the girl's agility and skill were equal to his own. He had trained her too well, and all the few hints leading to this oversight he would pay dearly for. They each moved with a grace that was almost mythical that could be seen as perfection. Their movements, whither on the ground or in midair, were simply incredible. He would dare an impaling strike and she would leap in bounds over the harbinger of death and launch a devastating downward sweep that would have decapitated him had it connected. They both didn't want to step aside. . . Their skills too deep to be fathomable. One would strike, and the other parry. Their actions look so identical. One had the power to threaten his enemy, the other tries to prove her conviction to risk her life. They seem to play the dancing game.

She had never danced once, and he had made her dreams come true in a twisted way.

One could catch when they pounced from step to step in perfect rhythm, but a faulty step may very well be their last. Where a dance was ended, one would lead and the other follow. They danced back and forth; horizontal, vertical, and diagonal. Carrie did all she could in this fast paced upbeat rhythm taxing her limits. Another pass, another began. This time he hit home. She could feel the warm blood oozing down her cheek, but not before she recovered she nicked his shoulder in a savage twisting somersault a foot in the air. Further pressing of advantage was dissuaded with a wave of his hand and before him ignited into a wall of flame. He shrugged an arm at his artificial wound sending ripples of it to the ground. Already was the healing factor removing the minor nuisance.

A handful of transparent gloss fell before her vision, showing different angles among her vision. Peering up into the sky slowly, the rain poured unto her making the eyes flutter. She could see the drops descending from the cracks in the ceiling with their helping hand. They drowned away her own tears. That was what she liked about rain. They always washed away in an undecipherable mass masking her own. The whole room was leaking, but unnaturally they did not dim the fires, but only irritate them further to blaze in ebony streaks.

"Disgusting. . . I'm wet." He chuckled manically directing the condescension of a promising tone mistakenly similar to a scowl. Voiced towards her through the dancing flames roaming everywhere, but his face shrouded in the shadows of his wet long hair plastered to his face. He began deliberately stressing steps sideways circling her. The airy flames gave off the impression of hellhounds.

"I hate the rain, it spoils my mood. . ." he continued moving his fingers like talons. They made the most disturbing snapping sounds each time they moved.

"Some of my soldiers died today for the second time. . . Some dumb fellow, dead. . . But if they were strong, they wouldn't be killed. . ." his pacing paused, his shoulders moved not an inclining inch while he continued facing her in clouded visor, while she remained ready. The distance between them was nothing, for no distance was considered safe. The pause was filled with pouring rain.

The thin line of his mouth, curved into a sinister smile.

"Now, let's play for a while! Let me enjoy myself." He raised his gaze, his eyes bulging psychopathically to meet her own, as an invisible force shredded the space between them towards her. The ground instantly gave way to rubble and she shielded herself with her own will. Deflecting the horrific aura, she launched towards him gliding above the paved surface connecting blade to blade in crisscross.

Still he did not divert his gaze from the eyes as he bore into her own fiery depths. "You remind me of the insolent worms that keep me from my goals. . . But they have all perished, as I remain ageless and wanting. . . And soon you will too likewise."

She lowered herself into a stance, "But like them all, I shall succeed without fail." And unlocked the stalemate shoving each other back.

The game continued, them making several passes now. Now it had lost much of the fluidity and grace before possessing, and left only the arcane savagery at every pass. Sparks flew as their clashes became more demanding, more desperate. Their attacks were tenuous and straining enough to decapitate the other, but with each swing it would be diverted by the mirroring other, creating the displacement of air and vacuuming the blades veering marginally off in wild arcs. Each swing, each clash would cause the candles inside the lit chamber to sway left and right by the changing currents. Each deflection would cause their feet to slide away from each other, but the gap was always insignificant. Turning around for another, she dashed the opposite direction to meet him halfway. The carpets became thicker with their nectar, greedily drinking it to further define its color. This continued as the wounds began to accumulate far too quickly for the dark gifts to work their magic.

She felt the burning sensation of the wound against the wind and air, felt the strain of exhaustion encage her body bear-like. It was to be belittled, for it belied she suffered the heavy lethargy, and lacked the vitality to suppress the cold agony of approaching death. With each pass, it brought her closer to release. But she would be damned if she should fall before her enemy did likewise. She recovered quickly from another teeth-jarring impact, even as her enemy did the same. She could not afford to acknowledge the pounding pain in her head, the burning of her skin as speeding bits of metal tore and flailed her raw; she could neither blink nor turn away to alleviate the pain. Too much was at stake.

Another rush drying the vigour within and without, the patterns changed into a different set. They dashed in semicircles to meet back at center. Unyielding determination in a gamble, it was anyone's game. She caught his eyes, and he locked as well. They shared a mutual agreement that this game had traversed far long enough. Her rings gleamed under the silvers of light, radiating an eerie ebony glow as if it were alive. He came fluctuating like a tilted top towards in a rush with his fingers gleaming from the passing objects that passed in his haste, her reflection included.

"BURN IN HELL!!!" Dracula shouted, releasing the screaming torrents of hellfire from his palms, rendering the girl unable to continue, driving her back against the wall as he marched forward following without relent.

He was very much angry now, using his hate to fuel his dark powers. Her whole form screamed in agony as the ebony flames burned her alive and her skin began peeling off.

"BURN THE BONES AS WELL!" he shouted filled with bloodlust and excitement.

She screamed and screamed but not out of fear or of approaching death, but reliving a past she had left behind she never wished to remember.

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"MOM!" she cried, the walls nothing more than blazing debris as everything was alight. The home she once had, not a blazing inferno as death reeked at every corner, claiming the villagers not quick enough littering the steps and one among the porch. She saw the falling beams on flames, blocking out escape. And amidst the chaos, she was drawn to her step mother's body among the piles of other corpses. She lay there dead, but headless. She relived the horrors, though they were twisted. Her head was held by the hair by a hand of a figure of bones staring back at her, with his blade extruding from his hands tainted hands a different texture than the whiteness it originally was.

"Fight. . . A descendant of the Fernandez clan cannot face the enemy with her back." the head mouthed, dripping in blood. She was too frightened to reply, as she gave into her fears.

"FIGHT! COME, AND LET'S FIGHT." it commanded. The word lingered in her mind. . .

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"AAGGHHH!!!!" she roared, and ran recklessly further into the pillar of flames towards Dracula as would a berserker. But more empirically to his surprise, she arms wrenched through the thickness almost indolently trying to grasp him from afar.

"What has gotten into this girl?!" he questioned baffled, as she showed no sign of self preservation and reached him in moments burned and charred leaving little left recognizable, except the two glowing orbs of crimson promising death. The glowing ores clouded by the red mist, seething the demonic cadence, focusing on his, never relenting.

Seeing an opening to end her life, he swung his fingers towards her heart in her moment of recovery. The hands punctured, felt the familiar flesh and slashed it open wildly. Damage like this could not be alleviated so easily, where at times it meant certain death. But. . .

His eyes widened, "Missed?" he whispered in shock. He had glanced her side, with the failed opportunity, there was no more. He had made a mistake where one was not to be made.

Her face contorted, but not before she began hacking away at him in a berserker frenzy the injury insignificant among all else, each ring thirsted feverishly for the milk it thrived for. Longed to serrate itself, lusted for the tearing of flesh, to embed itself inside its soft embrace.

"DIE!" she dripped, continuing on accentuated bloodlust with considerable force, forcing the Dark Lord to trace his steps back. The blood in her veins were exhausted and should not have been possible to continue at this inhuman calibre. They were driven by hatred, anticipation, and the desire to kill; the hate to carry it out, the anticipation to fuel it for eternity until the body literally falls apart.

"KILL!" She screamed.

Which each grinding slash, she brought Dracula closer to his knees, another swing and she lacerated the tendons, stealing the use of his left arm. Now the streams of red were plentiful, much more of the liquid splattering the walls, the floors, and the bloodthirsty participants. Though he buckled under the unrelenting monster before him, he was not afraid. For he breaded this breed of killers, and as fellow killer himself would never be afraid for they were never afraid of when or where the approach of death lurked.

But, though shocked at her for what she was capable of, he caught the demon of hatred within her eyes, Hyuri. After all the eyes are the windows to ones soul, and it was child's play for one like him to utilize its significance.

He caught her next strike, the strength she yielded was almost overwhelming his own. Diverting it, he redirected her hand to her throat in one fluid motion slitting her throat. It was clean and quick, a silence where the winds could be heard howling, before the geyser rained the sky. She held his face within her own soaked hands, before they sank under their own.

"Mother. . . were you watching?" the last words to escape her lips.

The dust settled, as he ended the dance. The last dance they would ever have. It stopped where she was in a dip, and the Count supporting her weight. Those words she spoke made no sense to him at all. The humans never made much sense. He released his vise-like grip on her dangling form, letting it sink to the floor below. She had finally made a choice, and chose humanity before him. Only he stood now, the victor. But ironically, he felt he had lost something important instead of gained. He felt this great emptiness.

"Morning, it's morning. . . and now you're gone. . ." He kneeled cuddling her head.

"It had been almost a year, since I've met you. . . I was so close, and indifferent to you. . . Sometimes care. . . sometimes indifferent. . ." he stopped.

'I love her, but I don't know how to treat her. . . Then each day had passed this way. . .' his thoughts wandered sadly. He chuckled soberly getting back unto his feet.

"I am so foolish. . . I yearn for you now that I'm sure, but now your gone. . . Now, I've lost you. . ." a tear sparkled from his eyes in descent.

But he knew all along, that it could never be. For though he loved her, she did not love him back. Theirs unfortunately was cruel, and one sided.

"Everything has ended just like you said it would. . ." he glanced down at her prone slowly deteriorating to ash, the winds carrying it out.

"Just like you said. . ." he repeated once more, the words lingering. Hearing the splattering of liquid, he looked down at himself. A ring was impaled in his heart, dripping in a steady stream.

"Just like you said. . ." he whispered one last time. He fell to his knees and no further. Pain, white light, the agony of death.

'That is all I feel. . . All I am. . . It has overcome my being. . . My power is being wrenched from me, my strength vanishing. . . My mind is fading, I can see only darkness, I can hear only silence. . .'

He smiled for the last time. His last words were not vocal, but mouthed.

"I am at peace. . ."

And the final player left as well, the curtains fall. It seemed fitting that where everything started, so would it end.

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Authors Notes: Okay I'm satisfied with the ending. No way I could have ended this a happy ending, so don't flame me! It just wouldn't work out.