Harsh Lessons
Who: D [vampirekin] and his father [sacredancestor]
Where: At the edge of Cronqvist's territory
When: After D leaves Castlevania to get the first (and hopefully last) battle with his father out of the way.
Rating: Teen for blood. Not in gory detail, but lots of blood.
Summary: Dracula waits for his son, and hopes that he can tempt D to tap the feral power inside of him. Also, there is taunting.
When D left Castlevania, he knew his father would be waiting for him. He had not bothered to hide his intent from the vampire, and truth be told, it would be refreshing to return, if only for a little while, to what he was meant to do: killing vampires. As always, the dhampir was well-armed with stakes, sword, and other more esoteric items at his disposal. Not a one of these weapons would be enough to dispose of Dracula by itself, but D was intent upon his mission. He would rid Vertere of his father, or die trying.
Just at the edge of Cronqvist’s domain, the progenitor of all the vampires in D’s world watched his son’s approach. Dracula smiled at the slip of shadow that moved towards him with silent grace. D was superb. He was the perfect predator, able to operate in both worlds with little impediment, and nearly as powerful as his sire. They had battled before, but it had been so long since they’d seen each other face-to-face that the coming encounter sent a chill down Dracula’s spine. He was looking forward to this, very much.
“Father,” D said, stopping several yards away from the vampire. His hands hung relaxed at his sides, though he was prepared to defend himself at a moment’s notice.
“Hello, D. It’s been a long time,” Dracula replied, smiling so that his fangs showed. “You look well.”
The dhampir snorted. “Did you expect to find me otherwise?”
“It’s always so difficult to tell with dhampirs. Not all of them are as hardy as you.” Dracula sighed and examined the tips of his claws in the silvery light of the evening. “I suppose you would like me to skip the pleasantries and get on with this.”
“I would.”
Shaking his head, the elder of the two remarked, “So predictable. You are starting to make our little game quite boring, D. I shall have to remedy that.” He dropped his hands to his sides. “I have an idea. Why don’t I let you deliver the first hit? Any hit you like, except beheading. I’ll even stand right here and let you put a stake through my heart. How does that sound?”
D frowned as his hand twitched almost imperceptibly towards the pouch at his belt that held numerous needle-like stakes. What game was his father playing at now? A stake through the heart had spelled the end of his physical being when D was still young. It would almost certainly do the same now. “You know I won’t do it, don’t you?” he inquired at last. “You know that I will not fight my own father if he does not fight back.”
The smile that Dracula showed him was fierce, animalistic in its intensity. “Very good, my boy. Very, very good. I just wanted to put you off your guard.” Without another word, he vanished from sight.
D’s hand shot up just in time to grasp the wrist of a hand aimed towards his throat and force away the claws that had been intent on tearing his neck open. His free hand found the hilt of his sword and drew it in a clean arc that swept the blade down towards Dracula’s neck. The vampire ducked easily out of the way, his fingers twisting to find purchase in D’s flesh and tear through skin and muscle. D gritted his teeth against the pain. He knew without having to see that Dracula had just crippled his left hand.
“Too slow,” his father mocked as he pulled away. A small clutch of stakes appeared in his right hand, stolen from the pouch at D’s side. “How did you defeat Magnus moving like this?” He let the stakes fly, and watched as D barely dodged the flashes of silver-white wood in time. “You are capable of more, D, even if you have been limited by the keepers of this place. Why won’t you let yourself touch what my blood gave you?”
“Because I am not you,” the son retorted coldly, driving forward with his sword poised to run through Dracula’s heart.
Dracula spun to the side at the last second, and his fingers closed around D’s blade, just above the guard. “No, you are not me, but you are a prince among the deathless, and you squander that power.” He jammed the hilt of the sword back into D’s gut and then yanked it free of the dhampir’s hands. His son fell to his knees. Blood stained his clothing and his shattered armor. “Use it,” Dracula growled as he twirled the sword in his grip. “Defeat me.”
D’s head spun with the need to call on the beast that lived within his blood, the need to kill to survive, but he forced the instinct away. His good hand found another stake tucked away in his clothing, and he surged back to his feet. The stake found purchase in his father’s chest, but not his heart. Dracula smiled as he pulled it free.
“Not good enough, but perhaps the scent of my blood will entice you, hmm? You’re going to make me jealous, you know. Why let Camilla see your true strength and not your own father?”
Without warning, Dracula reversed the stake and drove it past D’s armor, just shy of destroying the dhampir’s heart. As D staggered, the vampire struck with the stolen sword, impaling his son, before he lifted the hunter by a stranglehold on his throat. “If I were any other of our kin,” the Sacred Ancestor told him in a low voice, “you would die here … and that, D, would disappoint me more than anything.” Abruptly, he pulled the sword free and dropped his son.
D landed in a crumpled heap at his father’s feet, blood pooling on the ground as it seeped from his wounds. Dracula’s claws had cut the major vessels in his neck-not enough to kill a dhampir of D’s caliber, but certainly enough to weaken him on top of the other injuries. “Why don’t you kill me, Father,” D choked out around the blood, “as you did with all the others? I am destroying our kin.”
The smile Dracula offered him was tender, affectionate, and the vampire knelt to run a gentle hand over D’s long hair. “Because that is what you are meant to do. Children are the future, and the future of vampires in our world is destruction.” He wiped away the blood that trickled from the corner of D’s mouth and patted his son’s shoulder. Then he stood, and licked his fingers clean. “I am only trying to instruct you, D. One day, you will understand.”
Where: At the edge of Cronqvist's territory
When: After D leaves Castlevania to get the first (and hopefully last) battle with his father out of the way.
Rating: Teen for blood. Not in gory detail, but lots of blood.
Summary: Dracula waits for his son, and hopes that he can tempt D to tap the feral power inside of him. Also, there is taunting.
When D left Castlevania, he knew his father would be waiting for him. He had not bothered to hide his intent from the vampire, and truth be told, it would be refreshing to return, if only for a little while, to what he was meant to do: killing vampires. As always, the dhampir was well-armed with stakes, sword, and other more esoteric items at his disposal. Not a one of these weapons would be enough to dispose of Dracula by itself, but D was intent upon his mission. He would rid Vertere of his father, or die trying.
Just at the edge of Cronqvist’s domain, the progenitor of all the vampires in D’s world watched his son’s approach. Dracula smiled at the slip of shadow that moved towards him with silent grace. D was superb. He was the perfect predator, able to operate in both worlds with little impediment, and nearly as powerful as his sire. They had battled before, but it had been so long since they’d seen each other face-to-face that the coming encounter sent a chill down Dracula’s spine. He was looking forward to this, very much.
“Father,” D said, stopping several yards away from the vampire. His hands hung relaxed at his sides, though he was prepared to defend himself at a moment’s notice.
“Hello, D. It’s been a long time,” Dracula replied, smiling so that his fangs showed. “You look well.”
The dhampir snorted. “Did you expect to find me otherwise?”
“It’s always so difficult to tell with dhampirs. Not all of them are as hardy as you.” Dracula sighed and examined the tips of his claws in the silvery light of the evening. “I suppose you would like me to skip the pleasantries and get on with this.”
“I would.”
Shaking his head, the elder of the two remarked, “So predictable. You are starting to make our little game quite boring, D. I shall have to remedy that.” He dropped his hands to his sides. “I have an idea. Why don’t I let you deliver the first hit? Any hit you like, except beheading. I’ll even stand right here and let you put a stake through my heart. How does that sound?”
D frowned as his hand twitched almost imperceptibly towards the pouch at his belt that held numerous needle-like stakes. What game was his father playing at now? A stake through the heart had spelled the end of his physical being when D was still young. It would almost certainly do the same now. “You know I won’t do it, don’t you?” he inquired at last. “You know that I will not fight my own father if he does not fight back.”
The smile that Dracula showed him was fierce, animalistic in its intensity. “Very good, my boy. Very, very good. I just wanted to put you off your guard.” Without another word, he vanished from sight.
D’s hand shot up just in time to grasp the wrist of a hand aimed towards his throat and force away the claws that had been intent on tearing his neck open. His free hand found the hilt of his sword and drew it in a clean arc that swept the blade down towards Dracula’s neck. The vampire ducked easily out of the way, his fingers twisting to find purchase in D’s flesh and tear through skin and muscle. D gritted his teeth against the pain. He knew without having to see that Dracula had just crippled his left hand.
“Too slow,” his father mocked as he pulled away. A small clutch of stakes appeared in his right hand, stolen from the pouch at D’s side. “How did you defeat Magnus moving like this?” He let the stakes fly, and watched as D barely dodged the flashes of silver-white wood in time. “You are capable of more, D, even if you have been limited by the keepers of this place. Why won’t you let yourself touch what my blood gave you?”
“Because I am not you,” the son retorted coldly, driving forward with his sword poised to run through Dracula’s heart.
Dracula spun to the side at the last second, and his fingers closed around D’s blade, just above the guard. “No, you are not me, but you are a prince among the deathless, and you squander that power.” He jammed the hilt of the sword back into D’s gut and then yanked it free of the dhampir’s hands. His son fell to his knees. Blood stained his clothing and his shattered armor. “Use it,” Dracula growled as he twirled the sword in his grip. “Defeat me.”
D’s head spun with the need to call on the beast that lived within his blood, the need to kill to survive, but he forced the instinct away. His good hand found another stake tucked away in his clothing, and he surged back to his feet. The stake found purchase in his father’s chest, but not his heart. Dracula smiled as he pulled it free.
“Not good enough, but perhaps the scent of my blood will entice you, hmm? You’re going to make me jealous, you know. Why let Camilla see your true strength and not your own father?”
Without warning, Dracula reversed the stake and drove it past D’s armor, just shy of destroying the dhampir’s heart. As D staggered, the vampire struck with the stolen sword, impaling his son, before he lifted the hunter by a stranglehold on his throat. “If I were any other of our kin,” the Sacred Ancestor told him in a low voice, “you would die here … and that, D, would disappoint me more than anything.” Abruptly, he pulled the sword free and dropped his son.
D landed in a crumpled heap at his father’s feet, blood pooling on the ground as it seeped from his wounds. Dracula’s claws had cut the major vessels in his neck-not enough to kill a dhampir of D’s caliber, but certainly enough to weaken him on top of the other injuries. “Why don’t you kill me, Father,” D choked out around the blood, “as you did with all the others? I am destroying our kin.”
The smile Dracula offered him was tender, affectionate, and the vampire knelt to run a gentle hand over D’s long hair. “Because that is what you are meant to do. Children are the future, and the future of vampires in our world is destruction.” He wiped away the blood that trickled from the corner of D’s mouth and patted his son’s shoulder. Then he stood, and licked his fingers clean. “I am only trying to instruct you, D. One day, you will understand.”