"Come, we must see and act. Devils or no devils, or all the devils at once, it matters not; we fight him all the same."
~ Bram Stoker, Dracula
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The setting sun was nothing more than a weakly glowing crimson arc on the horizon, trapped between the ocean and the sky. It flickered like a dying firefly, obscured by the wall of fog, until it blinked out of existence completely, almost as though it had never existed at all.
A ghostly figure stood at the end of the dock, surrounded on all sides by dark water. The fog, and mist, and gale encompassed her, whipping around her white dress and blonde hair like it would carry her out to sea, sans boat, sans lifeline.
The Lady of the Lake, or, perhaps, the spirit of a lost sailor's wife, to the unknowing eye only one thing could be discerned: she was waiting for someone.
The heavy fall of night signified the approach of a yet unseen presence. A presence that could slice the water and crumble the earth.
A presence that would gladly destroy everything in its path to succeed in its aim.
At the end of the dock, she awaited the arrival of true darkness.
~ ~ ~
Lucy could sense his advance. The sickly distress she had felt the night of her turning now attacked her threefold.
The shipyard was deserted, its empty buildings rising through the fog like long-forgotten ruins. The Prometheus loomed behind her, black water lapping at the corroded base of its hull.
There wasn't a sound, a shadow, or a movement. Just a feeling.
And then, he appeared.
As though conceived and birthed from the fog itself, the Nosferatu glided down the dock toward her, the skin of his bare chest and shoulders almost glowing in the night like that of luminescent fish. The white folds of the Egyptian shendyt skirt billowed around his powerful legs.
Still bat-like in appearance, still azure in hue, and still possessing the ability to make Lucy feel like her lungs were encased in cement, his presence was terrifying.
But this was no time for fear.
The senescent vampire paused, ten paces from Lucy, and tipped his head.
He appeared to be studying her.
"'ant laa. Earusaa," he growled in Arabic, but as she listened, Lucy found her mind understood the strange, foreign syllables.
"You are mine. My bride."
Lucy blew a steadying breath through her pursed lips.
"Only if you catch me," she whispered.
The Nosferatu tweaked his head, and blinked.
Lucy vanished.
She reappeared a moment later at the bottom of the ramp that bridged the dock to Prometheus' main deck.
The Nosferatu made an agitated sound, and began gliding toward her once more.
As he drew closer, Lucy vanished again, reappearing halfway up the ramp.
The Nosferatu snarled and increased his speed.
Lucy vanished and materialized in the center of the ship's main deck.
The Nosferatu close on her heels, she ran across the deck to her predesignated position at the edge of a phantom circle.
As she'd hoped, her pursuer followed her.
His hollow eyes narrowed in irritation, and he thrust out his hand toward her, the knotty muscles in his arm flexing.
"Enough of this!" he shouted. "Come! You are mine! We will be joined in the Marasim Alwahda, and the world will kneel at my feet."
Again, he spoke in Arabic that she could somehow understand. The completion of the rites, perhaps? She didn't know or care.
Stepping back, Lucy shook her head.
"I'm sorry, but no," she said in firm refusal. "You didn't say 'please'."
From the depths of the fog, Virgil shot through the darkness like a bullet from an elephant gun. Passing directly through Lucy's body, he leapt high in the air, unsheathed his sword and brought it down across the Nosferatu's chest with staggering force.
The dhampir ducked, pivoted, and slashed again, his blade slicing through his enemy's bare, muscular back.
A crimson geyser erupted from both planes of the Nosferatu's torso, spraying liquid life across the deck. He roared.
On the upper deck, Lucy regained consciousness in her protected hiding place next to Evelyne, unharmed. The "Lucy" that had lured the Nosferatu onto the ship had been nothing more than an incorporeal copy — or "astral projection" — made manifest by a clever incantation.
"Well done!" Lucy said to the enchantress. She stood, brushing the dust from the neglected floorboards off her dress. "He believed it was me."
"He's strong, Lucy," Evelyne said. Her high, regal brow was creased with worry and concentration. "Stronger than anything I have ever encountered. I will need him in place for at least five or six minutes longer for this to work. He must not be allowed to wander."
Lucy nodded. "I understand," she said.
She ran to the stairs and descended to the main deck. She would be at the ready, should Virgil need her help.
Lucy slowed to a stop twenty paces from the fight, just in time to see Virgil attack from above, his blade reflecting the light of the many hanging lanterns lit across the deck. He dove through the hazy air, striking down and left so fast, his arms and sword momentarily vanished. The blow did not land, however, as the irate Nosferatu batted the sword and its wielder aside like an irritating insect.
Virgil landed on the deck on one knee, tilted, pivoted, and propelled his blade upward, slicing the Nosferatu's leg open from calf to thigh. Virgil ducked and rolled between his legs, but the Nosferatu twisted at the waist and swiped Virgil across the back with his curved claws. Long, diagonal tears appeared across the back of Virgil's coat, but if the claws had torn his flesh, he did not acknowledge it.
He rose to his feet, swift and fluid as an African caracal. He stalked around the Nosferatu, lightfooted, his rapier at the ready.
His opponent snarled as a slick ribbon of dark blood dripped from his leg to the smooth planks of the deck, varnishing the wood an angry red. He glared at the dhampir, the blackness of his bottomless eyes seeming to deepen and expand.
Virgil advanced and swung his blade. As the sword was about to make contact with the cerulean flesh of his enemy, it reversed direction, and made a second stroke from an unbelievable angle that resulted in fresh blood gushing from the Nosferatu's left shoulder.
Growling, the Egyptian vampire covered the new wound with his clawed hand, and stumbled back from the impact of the blow. Above him, a shape arose like a giant, ominous raven as the immortal hunter once again took to the air.
Virgil dove, bringing his blade down with the crushing force of an angry wave, the sharp edge poised to slice through the top of the Nosferatu's glabrous head.
His opponent struck the sword aside, and grabbed Virgil by the collar of his long coat, slamming him to the deck.
A groan of discomfort burst from the dhampir's mouth, but no sooner had the Nosferatu smirked in victory than a diagonal flash of silver shot up at his bare torso from below.
Cut open right between the floating ribs all the way to the spinal column, the Nosferatu howled in pain. He looked down and saw the black scabbard of Virgil's sword protruding from his midsection.
Virgil stood and yanked his blade free. The burgundy blood of the Nosferatu spattered across the deck in coagulated drops like acid rain.
The two opponents backed away from each other with slow, heavy steps, their steely eyes locked and murderous.
Lucy felt her breath catch in her throat as she watched. Even the tangible pestilence of the fog seemed to freeze solid from the lethal intent that billowed between the two creatures of the night. It was a performance that would have been breathtaking, had the blood not been real. A beautiful and violent depiction of Kabuki Theatre, complete with genuine gore.
As though the voices of the gods — unheard by all but the two combatants — had commanded it, Virgil lunged, his sword streaming along behind him. As the blade painted a silvery arc in the air aimed at the legs of the Nosferatu, the ancient vampire leapt aside with surprising height and agility, shoving Virgil to the ground as he passed. Virgil took control of his forceful fall, turned it into a roll, and brought himself to a stop, sword poised for his next attack.
The Nosferatu slammed his fists down, splintering several wooden planks from the deck. He yanked one slat free, and held it aloft, the end jagged and sharp like a broken spear.
The Nosferatu attacked with the splintered plank, swinging and thrusting the sharp edge at Virgil's head, torso, back, and limbs, his speed unfathomable, his aim deadly true.
A powerful thrust was aimed at Virgil's chest, and as the plank glanced off the steel of the dhampir's parrying blade, it managed to scathe his shoulder.
Virgil was unphased. Parrying and evading another onslaught of thrusts, jabs, and strikes, Virgil flew up in a graceful leap and blocked a wide, forceful blow in midair. The sole of his booted foot making the swiftest tap of contact on the top of the Nosferatu's shoulder, Virgil propelled skyward again, readjusting his hold on his sword's hilt and flipping upend. He dove back toward his opponent, and as the end of Virgil's blade was coming down, it suddenly changed direction. The Nosferatu attempted a parrying blow with his plank, but it missed the target completely, and Virgil sliced through the exposed flesh of the Nosferatu's sternum.
Not pausing for a second, Virgil pivoted and attacked again, landing another cutting blow across the Nosferatu's shoulder blades. Then another across his breastbone.
Halt, pivot, thrust.
Halt, pivot, strike.
Virgil's movements were a blur of black and steel. His long coat danced around his lithe form like nightmare shrouded wings, and his blade appeared omnipresent, striking everywhere at once.
Now bleeding from countless wounds, the Nosferatu roared. He broke his wooden plank in two. He threw the splintered shards aside and lunged at Virgil. Virgil swung up with his sword, but the Nosferatu anticipated his strike, grabbing the end of the blade in one hand, and Virgil's collar in the other. Once the dhampir was in his grasp, he hoisted him high in the air on his two muscular cerulean arms, and launched the hunter across the deck.
Blade swinging widely askew, Virgil sailed toward the ship's bow, somehow still exuding the grace and poise of an acrobat.
Lucy watched, her brain burning with conflicting feelings of apprehension and rapture.
Virgil tucked his head and rolled, narrowly avoiding landing on a pile of wooden crates. He stood, a fraction slower than before, a walked toward the Nosferatu again.
The Nosferatu released a horrible noise that Lucy took for something between a scream of frustration and a laugh. Blood leaking from his many injuries, he accosted Virgil in Arabic.
"Hadhih?" he demanded. "This? This is all of which the great Vampire Hunter is capable? You cannot kill me with such feeble, weak attacks."
Virgil responded in the same ancient tongue; Lucy able to understand every word. "Oh, I'm aware of it. And you should know, I haven't even begun trying to kill you. I'm just trying to make you bleed."
"Foolish boy," the ancient being spat. "I can heal my wounds."
"Not fast enough," the dhampir said with a smirk of satisfaction.
Virgil pointed behind the Nosferatu to the door that led to the ship's cargo hold.
The Nosferatu turned his head, peering over his shoulder.
The door burst open, breaking from its hinges with an explosive cacophony and a frenzy of movement.
A mass of chaotic purple flesh and ravenous moans stampeded at the Nosferatu, disaligned jaws snapping, ruddy hands outstretched and grabbing.
Dr. Rosencrantz' freaks.
A dozen, perhaps more, reanimated bodies surged at the wounded Nosferatu, attracted to the smell of his archaic blood.
The freaks collided with the ancient vampire, a tidal wave of rotting meat, and latched on to his countless cuts and lacerations, teeth gnashing through his cerulean skin.
Enraged by the sudden onslaught, the Nosferatu expelled a roar that shook the very hull of the Prometheus.
Lucy could see his face. He was furious, confused, and disgusted. He didn't understand what the freaks were.
Virgil appeared at Lucy's side. She could see the deep gash in his shoulder shrinking in size and severity.
"Are you alright?" she asked. In fascination, she watched his skin stitch itself back together.
"Fit as a fiddle," Virgil replied. "Evelyne must be nearly ready."
"Nearly," Lucy agreed.
She and Virgil turned toward the massacre before them in horrified awe.
The freaks ravaged their vampiric meal, tearing chunks of flesh from his body, scratching and ripping his skin with mutated strength and deadened nerves.
The Nosferatu thrashed and convulsed, swinging his limbs and twisting his body to rid himself of the savage assailants. Shaking one freak free of his arm, he grabbed another and wrenched it from his leg, tearing the flesh of his own thigh in the process. He hurled the freak from the deck and into the water.
He tore away another of the cannibalistic horde from where it fed on his sternum, jerking and tearing the arm off of the mindless creature. He ripped the jaw off of another, and the leg off yet another.
They kept coming for him.
Exploding with rage, his azure form became a frenzy of grisly and brutal activity. Using his entire body as a weapon, the Nosferatu butchered the freaks with fangs, claws, and muscle. He slashed, split, ripped, shredded, and tore them to bits. Some went overboard in pieces, while others were smashed into pulpy stains on the deck.
Watching the violent display, Lucy felt her knees buckle.
One freak still standing, the Nosferatu plunged his hand into its chest, pulling out its heart. He held aloft the spasmodic, bloody organ in front of the freak's face, then crushed it into gory ash in his fist. He grabbed the bewildered freak, snapped its neck, and threw it overboard.
A damp cloud of vermilion surrounded the Nosferatu, and he roared at the sky in victory.
Virgil's hand tightened on the hilt of his rapier. "He made short work of them," the dhampir commented.
Lucy nodded, her stomach twisting at the sight of such brutality.
"Well," Virgil said, "duty calls."
Sword held poised at his side, the vampire hunter sprinted toward the now opponentless Nosferatu.
And that appeared to be the precise moment for which the cerulean demon had been waiting.
Wrenching another splintered piece of wood from the bloodied deck, the Nosferatu thrust the jagged stake through the air with nightmarish speed and force. His aim was true, and the stake plummeted into Virgil's belly, exiting through his back, impaling him.
Held aloft in the air by the long plank through his midsection, Virgil's face took on a look of shock, then crumpled into unconsciousness. His sword clattered to the floor.
The Nosferatu flung the plank around in a wide arch, and hurled the stake and dhampir alike across the deck and over the side of the ship, into the frigid black water below.
"VIRGIL!!" Lucy screamed.
Panicked, she ran to where her fallen friend had gone over, only to be seized by the throat in a pair of powerful, clawed hands. The Nosferatu lifted her high into the air, his eyes boring into hers. Lucy's legs kicked wildly five feet above the floorboards.
"Enough!" the creature bellowed at her. "Enough games! You are mine!"
Fear and panic surged through her like a riptide, and she bit down on the side of his hand as hard as she could, her fangs piercing through the translucent skin to the flesh and veins beneath.
He howled.
She tasted his blood, and was immediately plunged into a colorless world of swirling smoke and hollow sound as a horde of chaotic memories assaulted her mind.
~ * ~