Work Text:
For all the marvelous living spaces, hauntingly gorgeous decor, and a macabre domain, there were pieces of itself that the demon castle did not know what to do with. The leftover components were expended into senseless nooks, fitting as neatly as crooked joints on wood. One such room caught Alucard’s interest. He gauged the distance from him to the entrance. He counted his steps on the ledge so he could time his jump correctly. His too short leap across rewarded him with a plummet into the castle's toxic pools. Deceptively clear, the frigidity of the water added to the dhampir’s agony, and he quickly forgot why he made such a stupid decision. He thrashed along in a way that was indistinguishable from a wet cat.
The room sat quietly, undisturbed, in the hours of eternal night. The silence was disrupted occasionally. The chittering of a lost Ukoback echoed in the chamber, passing the entrance by a hair, then gliding back down. It was complaining about the underground. The ice and scenic falls, it fretted about in its guttural goblin tongue, were too damp. It was used to the dungeon, which was much warmer. What was more, the air was drier, very important for kindling little fires where it pleased.
A family of bats flew in. They tucked themselves in their natural capes. Licking a claw, maybe a wing, a flock mate. No one knew of their peeping presence, save for themselves and the hidden things in the dark. They left after a huddled, shivery nap.
The castle shuddered in torment. Its guardians were slain, one by one, and the lord Belmont prowled about the throne, irritated yet delighted. Alucard was weak and ill prepared. His armor had been stripped away, and he was forced to scavenge for lacking replacements, swords that didn’t quite balance in his hand the way he liked them to. Malnourished from the wines that gave him strength, even. He had staved off his cravings for human blood until his watering mouth went dry from the briefest thought of consumption. The dhampir could not even wade through a small pool without a relic to keep him safe.
The cruel thing still loved its scion, rambunctious as he was. So it provided. He was granted back his wings and his wolf form. He freed his familiars from the cards they were bound to. With his new assets, Alucard made it his job to search every room and every corner he could not reach before. Too many things made no sense to him, from a Belmont in charge, the castle’s broken layout, no sign of his father having returned. Maria was a separate enigma altogether, traversing his home without any need for vampiric magic. He needed answers.
The space itself seemed to hold its breath as he neared. The roars of nearby waterfalls were pulled in, trapped in the decrepit, forsaken cavern. Something landed above it. A pebble shook loose. It nicked the cavern floor, bouncing off somewhere unimportant. Footsteps. Scuffling.
Nimble, velvet shadow tumbled into the room, spilling over the floor. Spears clattered after it, bouncing together into a messy pile of sticks. Imps swarmed the man like irritated wasps. An ebony fist struck at them. The pesky devils flitted back, gurgling among themselves. When a consensus had been reached, a shimmer of emerald cut them down. Thick sprays of embers and oily blood pelted the shadow’s cape.
Alucard lowered his arm, batting out some of the flesh stuck to his cape. His familiar was similarly layered in filth. The ichor of hundreds of demons gleamed on its blade like black water on a moonless evening. The dhampir nodded deeply in gratitude and willed it away for a job well done.
He carried himself on dead weight, staggering, his feet hefty with prolonged exhaustion. Sweat licked his brow, festered thickly under his collar and clothes, along his spine. His body was dappled with a harvest of bruises, both deep shades and paler. They would vanish within a day. Even sooner with proper rest.
In front of him was his haven, waiting for him in a small chamber. Although it was quite different from what he remembered. The shell of the coffin was a rich color, blood red, instead of the earthy shade of oak he was used to. The cross was more ornate. Thin sheets of gold leafed over another, swirling into the wood when it thinned out. Chunks of polished ruby, amethyst, garnet and onyx dropped along the length of it. Peeking in, he could see that the coffin was lined with plush, exquisite velvet.
His discoveries were frustrating, sometimes. A small item, usually a cheap jewel, took monumental effort to reach, when he could have continued without it. Coffins were his source of respite, always a welcome sight after a taxing excursion through the castle’s twisted halls.
Yet, there was something off about it. A sinister energy thrummed against his ribs. The colors themselves felt like a warning. There was nothing inside, nothing remarkable except the deep, violet hue. The lid was cracked open, just like all the others. Alucard wondered, once he closed those elaborate jaws himself, if he would be able to leave.
He was tired. There was no place for him to rest. Nowhere nearer, and he had pulled himself so far. With feathery apprehension that was quickly dismissed, he climbed into his bed and let himself dream. The dark shapes in his mind flattened and stretched, blocked up a foundation of his environment. He sank into it, like pins and needles, reaching for the figments of his imagination without hindrance or hesitation.
He was curling in an alley, a tucked away crevice, in a village he remembered visiting. A cozy town with a skittish population, in Wallachia, basking in the preying shadow of the castle. The village was barren and silent. Not a soul wandered the streets.
Sadly true, as the lonely prince was lacking one. He believed so, anyway. It had been ripped from his chest, an offering to a demon for power. His father had a viscous aptitude for punishment, repaying slights done to him far beyond what they needed to be. It just so happened that his lust for power coincided with his son’s open defiance. Alucard refused to recall the memory.
Instead, he touched the walls of empty houses. What looked like hard stone felt hollow and brittle, yellowed like the calcium of well-worn teeth. He heard the hush of angry voices. He tipped his head in the direction of the sound, following it with his finer hearing. Around the corner, then. It was nearby. He tugged his cloak from the dirt, intent in his discovery.
Alucard's blood froze when he found it. His mother was there.
It wasn't really his mother. She was only a memory, the most recent he had. Her death hunted his happier thoughts, scattered them like a hungry wolf cutting through a flock of bleating sheep. It was not his only thought of her, but it was the clearest. He had been tiny. Helpless. Doomed to watch her burn away. Her love became ash, her arms a crisped cage. He couldn't save her. Before him, the scene began anew, and he was forced to watch.
A mass of angry witch hunters scuffled in the center of town. They spat their hate in thick wads, froths of it landing on his guiltless mother, trapped in the middle of them. Children tailed their fathers, throwing stones and dirt. A holy man stood nearby, righteousness booming from his old, stern lungs. Patronizing and deaf to any begging, his stony preaching carried on until the rabid bastards raised her on the cross. The pike men stood close to the holy symbol. They straightened impressively, proud to be serving the church, but the faces they wore suggested indifference. Alucard surmised that, to them, it likely did not matter what they were doing. If they were committing a proper execution or putting down a sick dog, they would be there for show, stony masks and all.
His mother was simply dressed, and she was still wonderful. Soft, flowing, ebony silk was sharp on her pale skin. It reached to her ankles, tied foot over foot. Her arms spread as if basking in the divine, and she looked upon the crowd with something gentle and determined. A solemn drop of her eyes and a brave smile were the tints she wore, like she had made herself for a friendly gathering. Her hair fell shimmering about her neck, torrents of gold gathered back in a black ribbon. However many innocents had been burned at these false trials, she was the loveliest of all.
A crude torch billowed to life in a villager’s hand. Alucard mustered his will, stalked forward, prowling like aristocratic midnight. He was strong, now. He could do what he wanted, so he did. He took out his pocket watch, dangled it crookedly from its chain. The world was suddenly drained of its livelihood, framed in place at his will. He ran forward, elated and horrified.
His negativity seeped away with every step, slopping into thick puddles as he began to jog. He was grown. He could do it. He could finally save her.
“No, Alucard! Don’t come here!”
“But Mother!” he cried. Why? Even in his dreams, why was he not allowed?
“It’s all right! If my death can save others, I gladly surrender my life.”
She was always thinking of innocents. She brushed off the notion that sickness was a form of divine punishment. It was not her duty to judge them by their sins. To heal others was all she ever wanted.
“Mother! No! …. Please! No!”
“Yes, Alucard! Watch me die, and always remember my last words to you…”
Those final words held more worth to him in the waking world than false joy in a dream land. He needed to stop, and let the nightmare run its course. It still took a great deal of strength to keep himself still, to nod and ignore the bitter twist in his gut.
Her smile wilted. Her mouth pulled into a cruel grimace, and there was an iciness in her eyes that Alucard had never seen before.
“You must despise humans.”
Dread crept over him as he heard his father’s ideals from the wrong parent. It held him for a moment, before she insisted also to kill humans, then anger burst to the surface. He defied her. She tried to reprimand him, and he threw out a fist.
“You’re not my mother! What kind of demon are you!?”
The creature before him revealed itself. It was not his mother, not even a memory of her, but a sultry demon. A succubus who twisted his hopes into a fine hunter’s snare. He was determined to cut himself out of the trap. He raised the blade in his hand, Firebrand, in challenge. Death was a mercy for her, really. She was lucky that he had no time to make her suffer.
The succubus cocked her hips, beckoning closer.
“Come here little boy and show me what you’ve got.”
She was nimble, leaping out of the way of his first strike. She spread her wings, flapping above him like an ugly crow. He jumped and hacked at her again, clipping her boots with the tip of his sword. She descended with him, got in his face, and blew a kiss of thorny petals into his eyes. He yowled, clamping a hand over his burning sight.
The bitch jabbed an ivory bone into his shoulder while he was confused. Thick blood splashed after a black velvet cape, the tattered chunks pooling at the prince’s feet. The bone retracted slowly, oiled with dark crimson. His muscles whined with a liquid creak. The terrible seductress landed, licking the unclean spike. Her wet tongue slid over the shape obscenely, and for a moment she took it into her mouth. Her deep, lidded gaze roused something sick in him. Alucard swallowed it back. He flinched when she popped it out of her mouth, wearing a plump, lewd smirk. She batted her eyes. Alucard stilled a shudder.
He burst forward, swinging viciously. His sword came down, hissing through air, cutting into stone. Sparks bounced off the cobblestone. She stood in the air, giggling at his temper. Alucard took a silver dagger and hurled it at the demon. The knife whistled through an illusion, one of the many tricks that succubi loved to perform. They were creatures of treachery and lies, and thrived in an environment where the world was as flimsy as their honesty. The deceptions folded their palms together. They nursed a very real spell between them.
Alucard feverishly prepared his own. “Soul Ste—”
Two jolts sizzled his stomach. Cruel heat burst along the ridge of his back. He pitched forward, banging his teeth on the cobblestone. In a haze, he noted that it didn’t taste quite right. There should have been dirt and smoke on his tongue. He should have inhaled ash and burnt skin. The crowd should have kicked him aside for daring to show his face, for being born of a monster and maiden, and worst of all, getting in the way of their entertainment. There was nothing. No insults, no vulgar titles, no sudden pain in his ribs. The illusion was decorative. The recreation of that night was nothing but a pitfall for him to throw himself into.
And he did. Just so. Like a fool, he came running, and he lost.
‘Perhaps Lady Maria should have gifted me with a bow for my hair,’ he thought dryly. ‘to be more presentable.’
Alucard heard the tap of her boots when the succubus touched down. He coughed once, hard and bitten with pain. He could feel her foreboding presence draw nearer. Straining, he reached for his sword. The effort was heavy, aching, and lethargic. A sharp, pristine heel dug into his back, chafing the burns that were there. He hissed. His voice tilted into a low cry when she twisted her heel. He looked to his left. The harlot’s leg cut a pale, netted curve against the bleakness of his nightmare.
“You are mine now.” The cut of her words made his throat stick with dread. Her spell curdled his blood, boiling away his strength. He could not move. She kneeled on top of him, the ins of her thighs rubbing against his lower body. She fussed with his hair, tugging locks that were tucked in his collar and carding her fingers through the soft silk. Her ruddy black nails trailed down his neck, his cold jugular, mesmerized by the strong sinew until she brushed his collar.
The clasp of his cape was undone. The white chain spilled onto the cold street. He felt her shift, her breasts flatten and squash against his back. He swore those were lips on his ear. Maybe a fang that held the skin. A wet tongue and the crackle of spit confirmed it, and drove him to disgust.
She was in his mind. A trespasser, taunting him with the day of his life where he had been shattered. She had mutilated it for her paltry gains and hopes of defiling him, on the conjured stone, in a village he recognized, at the foot of his mother’s final resting place. This was his dream, his memory. Resolve tightened his jaw. Let him be damned to hell if he did not banish her.
His fingers closed around the pommel of a borrowed sword, and he imagined himself getting up. He dug an elbow into her core. She choked from the blow. Alucard felt the spark of opportunity. The fatigue in his body surged into new given strength. He threw the wench off his back, springing to his feet. He did not miss a moment. He flourished his blade, scorched metal slicing across her left breast. A hellish screech crashed in his ears, and he raised his arm, aiming to drive the next blow home.
His bones locked up. The world lurched around him, heavy and warped. New wounds striped his body. They bled richly, boiling with the gouge in his shoulder. Deep red soaked his clothes. Alucard felt his weapon slip in his palm. He tightened his hold and crushed steel in his hand. His body was a heavy stone, dragging him down, until his back slammed against the street once again.
“Nice try.”
The demon approached him. Her hips bounced with every click of her boots. That was to say nothing of her breasts, which were now beginning to peek over her tight, lacy corset. Their quivering made Alucard panic. He twisted where he was. His limbs were bound to the street, by her will alone. He swallowed back something sour. He kicked out at her when she knelt to crawl on him.
“Relax.” The seductress kneeled over him, playing with his hair again, idly. “You’ve had a busy night. You must be exhausted.” Soothing smokiness trailed his ear like a feather. It prickled his nausea. Polished nails pulled away at his shirt. “How long has it been since someone has attended to you? Given you kindness? Pleasure?”
Alucard wanted to tell her to burn in hell. He said nothing. Sharp lace brushed his jawline, sliding all the way to his chin.
She purred. “I like the silence. It suits you.” Thick hips ground down. “Gives you an air of mystery.” She straightened her posture, struck with awe. “You! How could I miss it? You’re the son of Lord Dracula!”
Alucard spat. “Damn you, and damn the rest of your kin.” Disdain crept from his lungs, even with the force on his ribs. Rasping was the best he could manage. “Your kind is a vile stain of bull’s piss on this world. Death would be too good a punishment for you.”
A snort, then hacking, ugly laughter. Her head tilted back. He could see orange fangs curving out of her gums. She grabbed his chin in her claws. The pressure made his jaw ache.
“Oh, sweetie, I’ve already won.” The succubus brought her mouth closer, glowing with half-lidded contentment. “You’ve worn yourself out, trying to wiggle away like that. I already have domain here; you let me right in!” Her smile grew crueler. “All this nonsense, turning against your home and sanctuary. You’re just a little boy chasing after his mother’s skirt.”
Strong, gloved hands rose to reach her neck. She swatted them away, having little trouble keeping the seething dhampir where he belonged. A heavier push to his shoulders, with her thumbs digging into his tendons, he could do little more than thrash with what strength he had left. He snarled, boiling with helpless rage. It coated his throat, thin and scalding, but he couldn’t summon the energy to spit it at her. She took his fanged grimace as an invitation, and she bent over and kissed the handsome dhampir, drinking deeply in his horror.
Dread coursed in hot waves, heavy and bloated with sickness. Was he so easily conquered? Even being Dracula’s son, the demonic blood in him that he tamed and withheld, did his temperance make him so vulnerable?
The demon forced his jaw to unhinge so that she could enter. A harsh groan of displeasure rattled his throat. He could taste the salt on her writhing tongue, the blood and essence of guileless fools, kinds that lost their wits over soft, jiggling mounds of breasts. She finally drew her lips away, circling with her tongue to relish the slickness of their saliva. Alucard drew a sour breath. He immediately coughed it out. Damp warmth ran like soaked velvet along the cup of his ear. The harlot’s fangs took hold, playfully, then pierced.
It was painful, first and foremost. Alucard jostled, scarring his cheeks with his back molars and relentless gnawing, but he did not cry out. Heat dripped from the wound. It had no smell. Was it drool? His blood, maybe? He could not tell, and the pulsing sear was woven into unwanted pleasure, bidden by the seductress.
A sultry moan teased. “You are delicious.”
“I've been licked by horses that had better breath than you.”
“How interesting. Did you satisfy yourself on them?”
He sluggishly gnashed at the finger working into his mouth. The grip harshened immediately into a bite, splitting skin open until he was sawing at cartilage. He let go and spat red. The succubus examined her gnarled flesh. She held a critic’s eye, and then, bizarrely, lapped around the tear herself. Fibers knit back together, bleeding was staved. She smirked, shook the same finger at him. One thin needle sliced along the dhampir’s collarbone. She pushed her nail right in, right under his throat. Her prey bled and writhed, curses bubbled with blood.
She drew the nail down, painting the hilt of his sternum. Black with iron, the familiar substance shimmered like wine and cherries in idle trails. She undid one jacket brooch, pulling apart his cravat. A shiver brought her delight. Her glossy eyes deepened with color.
They left so easily. His cape. His coat. The boots. She brushed the dip of his naval, teasing the prince just so slightly. This could be pleasant, if he wanted it. He had, before, when he was centuries younger. With his father turning monstrous in his grief, he was left to his own devices.
“Stop this,” his demands were soft. He was short of breath. He never had enough. She wouldn’t let him.
His shirt slithered open.
“Stop.”
His belt slid away.
“Please.”
His trousers unfastened. Soft fingers pulled his dick out.
“No.”
She drew away. Alucard wrenched his head one way and shut his eyes. He felt where she had her hands on him. She squeezed once, then uncurled her fingers. His sweat made them stick, lightly. Sensations accompanied her removal. The world lurched under his back, dizzy and sickening. He wanted to vomit.
Slowly, she undid her corset. It dropped away from her sweating bust. She then took her hands and played with her breasts, arching closer. One of her nails flicked a pebbled nipple. It was an ugly bit on her supple flesh. It was grey, the ring of color around it flushing black-cherry dark. She pressed it to his cheekbone, and his throat tied in a knot.
He shut his eyes. What was another bad dream to him? They all stacked together, his faults and his sins buried under punishment and assault. They ran like wet paint and wild horses, carrying the same weight of despair. They blended with others, confusing, terrifying, bleeding and rotten. Occasionally they would resurface to trample him again. He began to feel burdened by them, which he supposed was not the best way to feel, but it had come to that.
He knew the motions only by touch. The haphazard attempts to interest him had stopped. She guided his limp penis over her clit. She lowered onto his hips until she drew him inside. He coughed. He jolted. He shook his head. He scuffed his feet. Her softest flesh was cold, runny, and vile. She laughed, teasing his thighs with her little claws, exciting the blood there against his will.
For a moment, she stilled her hips. Alucard tensed, watching her to see what she would do. A collection of heartbeats later, he retched hard enough to hurt himself. Liquid warmth had started to stream from her thighs. The tangled briar over her snatch became wet with urine, spilling the reek into the air. Warm convulsions tightened around his dick. He arched, straining to push her off. He only ended up thrusting into her, spiking his horror with frustration and unwanted arousal.
“Give me more, little prince.” He heard a curling smile.
“Damn you,” he growled, and nothing more.
Her rocks continued. She shifted back on his shaft. Wet skin slipped together. She kept grinding deeper, lower, a heated moan when she finally took him whole again.
He was blind to it all. He wouldn't look. He didn't want to. She would rape him and be on her way, would she not? It was how they lived. It was the only instinct they had. He remembered that this was how they reproduced as well. They lured in men, and they used him to further their kind.
A spark of horror kindled in Alucard. Something occurred to him. It was a slim chance, but if he could father children, then his father's cursed blood would spread. Suddenly the nightmare became unbearable. He could not be idle this time, lest his passiveness lead to his seed being sown.
“Stop it,” he snarled. He was too weak. “Let me go.”
An insistent thrust was her response.
“Leave me.” Behind his command, he gathered what little hellfire he could. His palms burned hot. Coals lit up on his fingers.
A soft, wonderful voice made him yield. “Why would you see me burn again?”
She didn’t. Oh, God, she didn’t.
The mistake he made was opening his eyes. There was his mother. She was naked, leering on top of him. Even as an apparition, it was convincing enough. He shut them again, but the image of fond, familiar eyes and a loving smile were burned to his eyelids.
Unable to do much in his hopeless position, the best method he had was shaking his head and gnawing his bottom lip. The image wouldn't leave his head. If he tried to keep his memories pure, the reality would hit him in waves of unwanted urges. He dared to open his eyes again.
She was tone, soft. There was some recovering pudge from pregnancy, stretch marks blemishing the skin further. No, not blemishing. Marking her as a mother. Those were things of pride, for her. Things showing that she had grown him.
He didn't know what to do. His protests, visible and audible, were ignored. Treated as begging, but not for his freedom. So, he gave up. He accepted it. He let the succubus defile his memories of her, too sick with himself for being so helpless.
“My poor boy,” she sighed. “What have those creatures done to you?” She gently prodded his bruises. She brushed one of the many bite marks on him. “Do you remember when you used to play with the monsters, and they were always too rough with you? You would come running to me.”
“Shut up,” he choked.
“How could they? You may as well be family.” Slick drag up. “And they still hurt you.” Swift press down.
Alucard heaved. Tiny burns pricked his eyes, moistened his corneas. She touched his hair again. Then his cheek. She stopped sodomizing him for the briefest of moments. The tiniest piece of him wanted to believe it was kindness.
“Why are you crying?”
He blinked. Tears clung to his lashes. One fell in a thin drop. His eyelids were bruised with shame and sorrow. More tears spilled out when she shifted again, rocking back up to the pace she had set. He was painfully aware of the sensations, the rhythm, the quiet clap of their skin meeting together. Guilty, unbidden arousal kindled at his groin. He whimpered, pleading and panicking, repeating all the dead words she did not heed the first time he spoke them.
Around them, the villagers shifted their feet. Torchlight fell upon him, illuminating part of his arm, his thigh, his hair. The abandoned, crumpled heap of his clothes laid prominently in the harsh light. One by one, they turned to him, the new spectacle on the street, until a vicious circle had closed him in. Alucard swallowed the rock in his throat. He knew what a sight he made.
“What’s wrong with you?” spat a toothless farmer.
“Why don’t you enjoy it?” jeered a blacksmith.
“Ungrateful filth. What a selfish son you are.” The old woman who spoke babbled at him, wheezed in his eyes.
Voices smothered his sharp thought. His sense. They grew louder, murmuring and weaving until they tempered into one.
You don't know her as well as you think. You did not know about the scar on her ear. Perhaps she is here. You are not dreaming. She has saved you from your shame. Now she is using it to teach, when you lay with a lover one day.
He sobbed. “Mother…” But how could he shove her away? He had missed her for so long.
No. This wasn't her. This wasn't his mother.
“My sweet prince.”
It wasn't.
A flitter of black appeared in the corner of his sight. He glanced up, saw it flicker. His captor followed his action. Horror stretched across his mother's face. It blotted out, smacking right into her.
Biting and scratching peeled away at the succubus’s devilry. The sweet, stolen voice lowered into something ugly. She shrieked and cursed at the thing on her face. She pulled at its wings. The creature only clicked testily whenever her teeth weren't connected to flesh.
It bought Alucard the time he needed. The poison drained from his head, substituted with adrenaline. His pants were the first things he shakily pulled on. With them came security, his body no longer exposed for abuse. He fixed his open jacket next, then tied a hasty bow around his neck. He tugged that and his belt to make sure they did not come loose.
He quickly put together that he was standing, the mob was gone. He looked to the ground and reached for his jilted scabbard. Firebrand crackled to life, hot and sharp and unbroken. Good. His dream obeyed him again.
He looked to the succubus. Her face was a web of red streaks. His bat had been thrown to the side, and he spied a rip in her wing. There was a puncture on the side of her belly, dripping with blood and matting her fur. Her feet balled in tight little fists of toes. Other than the slightest tremble, she was not moving.
He looked to the succubus. They stared at each other for a beat, and then he stepped forward, eyes dark and teeth sharp.
“No!” she rasped. She shuffled back. “No, please–”
He sprang at her.
WHACK.
His nightmare ended with a swift chop of her head. In his fading vision, he was still slicing her corpse. Rivulets of black pooled around his feet. He kept cutting, and cutting, and hacking, and hacking.
He woke with a gasp, in tears. He shoved himself upright. Something sleeping tumbled off his chest.
The bat on his lap shook her wings. The imp gave her a hand with its spear, and she climbed back up her master, licking away a tear on his nose. A blue fairy perched on his shoulder and braided his hair. It was the only comfort she could do with how angry she was. She could see his dreams with her magic, after all. It was how the bat knew what to do.
The skull of a ghost hovered near, concerned for its master. The proud sword spirit could not read emotion as deeply as the others, but there was a toxic weight in the air, something it knew could not be cut to ribbons. It patrolled the room, as if looking for something that could be eviscerated, and supposed the fruitless action would do for consolation.
Alucard was still for a very, very long time. His familiars did not leave. He did not register it until the imp grumbled in the quiet hum of the room.
“That bitch,” it growled, scathing. “I hope she paid for it. I hope she’s full of bloody holes.”
Alucard nodded. Just in time, as the little hands in his hair stopped twirling his locks. Had he delayed his agreeing, the fairy would have flitted over and slapped the imp.
He hugged the bat on his chest, then climbed out of the coffin. His familiars kept him from looking back in their own little ways. The fairy with her doting, dousing a potion on him. The ghost whirling around his head. The bat bobbing on his shoulder and wiggling her ears. They led him away from the ugly coffin. The imp gave a good firm jab to the lovely side of its polished surface. He got a grand idea.
He looked to another familiar. The spirit sword tilted at him in a bow.
“I won’t leave one splinter intact,” it murmured.
Alucard kept going, trying not to look when he heard the first wooden shatter. And then he was at the room’s entrance. And then he was climbing out of the cave. Every bit of distance took time, and in every bit of time, he mulled it over. He had fought a succubus. He fought it and it looked like his mother. He could not tap at the outrage that should have been there, even though he had control again. He kept picturing his mother, smiling down. Telling him…
He shook off the horror. He knew what was real.