Vampire Hunter D: The Chronicles of Asenath
Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Hunter D, Dr. Who or Asenath. All of those things belong to their respective creators. This story is purely non-profit so do not sue. And down with Anne Rice: what kind of monster opposes fanficiton of her work?
This story is AU of the series of VHD stories told by Shallowswan and this fic is also a collaborative effort with 'Swan. Please review and I will spare you when the revolution comes.
12,0751 Common era, Capitol
I was fucking Vampire Hunter D; already I'm ahead of all but one woman in the entire history of the fucking universe. I'm in love with Vampire Hunter D and he loves me; that puts me ahead of all except for one woman in the entire history of the mother fucking universe, again. It used to sting that another woman was more perfect for him than me, but I honestly don't care anymore.
He's here with me and we love each other; nothing else matters except for what we want to matter. He and I are trying to kill the Sacred Ancestor; the diseased, incestuous fucker named Dracula. Vampires and humans alike can barely remember him; the shining myths don't match up with the cock-ugly reality. He's not the most evil bitch in history; but that's not for lack of trying on his part.
My love, D is trying to kill Dracula. Hence it's a no brainer that I'm also involved in killing Dracula and all his toadies.
As of right this instant D and I are doing a bit of grocery shopping in the middle of one of the worst neighbourhoods in the Capitol, the sight of the beginning of the end of the Nobility.
D and I own a little caste in the far north, where the climate control satellites have all fallen out of orbit or have gone offline. While my soul mate shops for all the toys involved in killing things, I'm shopping for the defensive.
It wasn't that long ago that I narrowly escaped death by pure luck. One of Dracula's monstrous henchmen showed up at my castle and nearly ate me for dinner. My luck appeared in the form of a crazy vampire slayer with magic bullets in her gun. The deadliest thing that I had with me at the time was a hoe; pitiful, I know.
Next time, I won't be so helpless. While D shops for fusion cannons and swords, I'm talking with the owner of the little shop of horrors. I've already bought a few cuttings of devils snare and I'm just listening to him show off some kind of plant from the forgotten continent of North America, which is just recently being explored again.
"It's called plant forty two" the illegal plant dealer informs me; fucking creative name for a plant. "It's a carnivorous, predatorial plant that uses its vines to suck blood from its victims."
"What's so special about it?"
The dealer smiles and shakes around the small bulb in a glass jar. "You've obviously never seen one of these in action; they caused the extinction of dragons in North America and they'll eat devil's snare like spaghetti." Great, since I've already bought devil's snare from him, I might as well get this thing.
After a lengthy and boring bit of haggling, I go about my merry way and hypnotize some cop into believing that this guy was boning his wife. The son of a bitch was staring at my fucking rack; I'm not a whore . . . anymore.
My next step is to find D; first though I decide to grab some lunch. Dried plasma compounds were originally created by the Nobility to satisfy their blood cravings without the use of actual human blood. They're easy enough to find; humans treat these things like candy. It's all part of humanity's unhealthy vampire fetish.
I haven't even gotten two feet away from the artificial blood salesman when some wacko seems to spring out of nowhere. This shocks me because with my kind of hearing, nothing on earth should be able to sneak up on me.
Christ, this guy stinks; he smells like bad food mixed with a yeast infection.
He holds a dead bird and grunts, "I'm starving." Suddenly he starts chowing down on the bird like a frenzied lunatic. With a sickening noise, he first rips a chunk of skin and feathers off. Then he eats like it's going out of style.
Watching the son of a bitch, I feel like vomiting; even Renfield didn't attack his food like this guy. While he inhales his meal, I discretely start to get the fuck out of there.
In the blink of an eye, he's in front of me again. He throws aside the stripped bird carcass and tossing it aside, leaving nothing behind but bones and guts.
As he wipes his bloody face and hands on his sweater, I get a better look at him. The first thing that springs up at me is his hair; it's all grey like he's old, but he doesn't have a single wrinkle on his face. I can hear two heartbeats coming from him; freaky. By the look of his dirty clothes and smelly hoody, I guess that he's one of the many homeless in the Capitol.
Again, I try to move out of the way, but this piece of shit keeps on moving in front of me. If he keeps it up, I'm going to have to tear him a new hole.
He gives me this smile; I don't know how to describe it but I don't like it. I don't beat around the bush, "What the fuck do you want?"
He gives me this little half laugh and pulls off the hood on his shirt. "Everything; I want everything. I want more, I want chips and cheese, cream and beer, pork and fat and great big wet hot chunks of red!" As he talks, he gets more and more frenzied and he starts to spit as he talks.
I don't have time for the deluded ramblings of a fucking hobo so I'm honest with him. He's not worth my time; I shove him to the side and stride past in my big stomping boots.
I freeze dead in my tracks; something is wrong. "How do you know my name?"
Crazy man flashes a winning grin that's ruined by the dirt on his face and traces of blood. He talks like some kind of British comedian. "That information is fairly common, Absinth." Shockingly, he knows the name from when I was Fisher Lagoon's star bitch. Even more shocking, he's talking perfectly intelligently and clearly now; no more trace of madness but still creepy to boot.
Just when I think he might be sane he starts to ramble again. "Don't you see the joke; look at me." He gestures to himself. "I'm an undead alien trapped on a little blue planet swirling in the cosmic toilet" Dramatically he waves to himself. "The old master of disguise trapped and manipulated into the service of history's great underachiever."
"I don't give a fuck who you are, how did you know my name."
The sanity returns back to his voice with a heavy dose of sarcasm, "Dear old Dracula gave us your name at the Monday morning meeting."
Instantly I'm on him like flies on shit; I grab him by the throat and slam none too gently into a wall. All the people from earlier seem to be gone and it's just me and the chav. D used to live in the UK before the apocalypse; he briefed me on some of the slang.
"Why did he send you here?" In case he doesn't think that I'm capable of lethal force, I tighten slightly on his windpipe.
He can barely speak but that damn smile doesn't leave his face; his green eyes remind me of a snake. "I wasn't sent here," he laughs/gurgles a bit, "I sought you out because you're like me: all alone."
I throw him to the ground and put my foot down on his neck. "Start making sense, shitwad."
Before I know what's happening, the chav surprises me. From his hand shoots a bolt of lightning and he gets me right in the stomach; at least he didn't shoot lightning out of his ass.
I didn't feel pain right away; at first it was just numbness. Then it felt like somebody had poured gasoline into my skull and set it on fire. I didn't have time to enjoy my pain because master chav grabbed me by the hair and looked me in the eye.
Something about him reminded me of Dracula's personal sorcerer, Martin Broadcloak. Looking into those eyes is like looking into a hole cut into the bottom of the universe; you can see the primordial nothingness behind them. He's different thought. He's like Broadcloak's university educated counterpart with a PHD, a BA and all kinds of letters attached to his name.
He talks to me in that educated and deranged voice, "Don't you see, Asenath? You are unique, alone in this entire world; like me!" he sounded excited. "And your only company is the withered husk of a hunter. He certainly seems to like you now that you're not ugly" he sneers.
His words spark anger in me and I want to rip his head off and shove it up his ass; but I'm still crippled by the effects of the lightning he shot.
Like a sadist taunting a captive insect, he zaps me again with that palm lightning. There's no numbness this time, only pain. Clawing at the pavement, I weakly raise my head and look at this psychotic fuck.
The chav laughs, "I'm one of the last two members of my species; destitute, dying and homeless. I've been hounded and humiliated by my nemesis and now Dracula offers me sanctuary; oh, how the mighty have fallen."
His eyes seem to cloud over with what looks like hunger and he flashes me his worst smile yet; even Broadcloak isn't this eerie. "Don't you see it? I'm funny! My sides are splitting!" On the word "splitting," he changes; his skin becomes see-through and I can see the muscles, organs and bones. His skeleton flashes neon blue and his eyes spin before he returns to normal.
"I am hilarious!" he transforms again.
"I am the funniestthing in the whole wide world!"
To tell the truth, I have no interest in hanging out with Bone-Apart Jackson so I high tail it the fuck out of there despite the fire in my brain. I need to find D; he can take this guy head on and then we'll brace him for information. After that, D will probably slice him in two and we'll have some laughs over it.
The streets of the capitol are uncharacteristically deserted. "D, D; there's this man!" I reach the spot where me and D agreed to meet but he's not there.
Standing in the middle of the street with two bags of weapons to either side is an incinerated skeleton that is wearing D's clothes. The information doesn't register immediately but when it does I scream for all it's worth. The man I love is well and truly dead; best reason in the world to scream.
From the labyrinth of abandoned skyscrapers and twisting tunnels I can hear the scream of the otherworldly chav. "DINNER TIIIIIIIMMMMEEEEE!" His scream of bottomless hunger reverberates through the now empty city and echoes.
Out of the corner of my eye I can see him land on top of a skyscraper. He's grinning again and foaming from the mouth. He looks like one of those people that are so hungry they'll murder for a crust of bread. Like a grasshopper from hell, he leaps off the tall building and right at me.
The last thing that I see is his translucent muscles and neon bones. Fuck my life.
Now, the residence of D and Asenath
When the first beam of moonlight struck my face I bolted upward and automatically looked down at my right side, making absolute certain that he was still there and I wasn't just dreaming the whole thing. You'd think after doing this three times a day for a month I would stop, but I can't. He was still there, and I didn't hide my sigh of relief. I even touched his cheek just make certain he was real, yup…not a ghost, and defiantly not dead. Not anymore at least. Just asleep, and for some reason still right next to me.
That's probably a good thing that he's here next to me and not an incinerated skeleton. Flashes of the dream spin through my subconscious and make me shiver for a moment. Who the hell was that guy? I should tell him about it, but I haven't the fucking heart to wake him.
You see I spent over 30 years chasing after this man, so you can understand why I am so anxious over the fact that he might leave at any time he wants. After all, we haven't even had the talk yet. I don't know what he thinks of me as. I am I his girlfriend? His lover? His friend with benefits? His whore? His fuck buddy (which is pretty much the same as a friend with benefits)? I haven't a flipping clue, but he's never offered me money for sex, so I am guessing I am not his hooker.
Oh, I should introduce myself. My name is Asenath Akart. Yea…I know….funny name. But my parents were constantly stoned and tripping on absinthe, I have a theory that my name is a stoned attempt at saying absinthe, although I did happen across my name once while reading H.P Lovecraft. But you see I also live in an era where nobody bats an eyelash at names like Dumper, Samon, Bingo, and Fisher Lagoon. I even met a guy named Wally the One eyed Wonder Weasel. That guy must have been beaten up every day of his childhood.
There are really only two things that you need to know about me for the moment. The first is that I am a vampire. I was sired by Dracula himself as a weapon meant to destroy his son. It didn't work out to well…the weapon part anyway. As far as vampires go I think I am a badass. Sunlight doesn't affect me at all. I haven't been staked yet, but I have a feeling that wouldn't be the end of me. The second thing you need to know was that I used to be a hooker. It's not at all an uncommon profession in my time, but I am trying to reform damn it. I mean it.
Okay, now you know Asenath, so back to the scene with me lying in bed next to the man I have loved since I was human. I never really dreamed I would actually have this man naked in my bed and asleep by my side. I mean…well…I thought of it, preferably with a something that vibrated close at hand, but I didn't let it be more than just an orgasm fantasy.
I know that as a reformed hooker I should grow a pair and just asked him what, if anything I mean to him, but I cannot. It is a miracle that this moment ever occurred, and why question miracles when they are given? Isn't that line in a movie somewhere? Well…anyway I sure as hell have known very very few miracles. Are you antsy to know why having this naked guy in my bed is so shocking? Okay, brace yourself.
This hot guy is the Vampire Hunter D. Yes, that D; the man himself. The dhampir that saved all of humanity from Cthulhu, the angst driven son of Dracula that would rather destroy his own people than to take his place as King of Nobles, the man who has been hunting the Nobility to the brink of extinction, the man who strict muff divers could take one look at and still get a raging hard on.
But not many people know that he almost unrecognizable as the ageless dhampir he's been forever. For starters he only has one eye now; his father really kicked the shit out of him last time they met. The left one is missing, now he's got a glass eye with a red smiley face in there. I'm sort of freaked out by it…but it's better than the scared eye socket, then all I can think of is the horror of when he lost it. And I thought I had Daddy issues… at least my Dad never ripped out my eye and ate it for dinner. On his upper lip he's taken to wearing a huge handlebar moustache that looks like it could be used as a coat hanger; he explained to me why he wore a moustache but I frankly didn't understand; I preferred a clean shaved D. In addition to looking like a one eyed carnie from hell, his uber long hair is now both black and grey, and he's got quite a few wrinkles, as well as a few small patches of scars that look like healing burn tissue. Those scars he's got all over his body…he never quite got over what happened to him five years ago. It screwed him up bad.
When I had first meet D he looked to be eternally locked within his early 20's, but now he easily looked to be in his 50's…but at least it was mostly his face that showed age. His body is rather toned and muscular, not flabby and sagging most 50 year old men. But I think even if his balls hung to his knees I would still be in love with him. But thank God they don't. I don't even see the fact that he's aged far more drastically than an immortal should, he looks utterly beautiful to me. I see his changed appearance only as testaments to his bravery.
Now me on the other hand…I guess I am the pretty one, at least in your traditional since of beauty. I have thick dark russet coloured hair with just the right amount of curl. I don't remember the last time I cut it; I had a really shitty experience with being bald for a few years, so it's now past my waist. My eyes match my hair, there are almond shaped and it looks like I have fake lashes and a lot of mascara even though I don't. My lips are full, and sensual, and what many men have termed as DSL…dick sucking lips. Thank god D has never used that description; I think that DSL is only a vastly outdated internet connection to him. Anyway…back to me. (Hey, let me have this moment. I don't get a lot of them.) I have a body to die for really. An hour glass figure with giant tits…even in this day when most women are sporting nothing below a C cup my jugs are still pretty impressive. Unfortunately I still have the strongest broadest chin you've ever seen; I could use it to crack chestnuts.
But you see I wasn't always hot. That was just a side effect of being infected with Nobel blood that has happened slowly over the years. I used to be butt ugly. There really are asses a lot more attractive than I used to be, and that is saying something, as I have seen some truly hideous asses in my whore days. My hair used to look like rats lived in it, my eyes looked like mud pools, my face looked like I was half retarded (and most of my family was. But I think I just got the crappy Akart features, I don't think I am retarded.) and my DSL's were split by a nasty, poorly healed scar. I never had an hour glass figure as a human…I was either to skinny or to flabby depending on my living conditions, and I was suffering from saggy tits even at the age of 17.
Because I was ugly nobody really wanted to sleep with me. I was the cheapest hooker money could buy. Because I was cheap, I was a notoriously bad whore. I hardly knew what I was doing. I just did it because I was hungry. I am not the first woman to sell her cooch and ass in desperation, bad sex just meant later I might have something to eat. Sometimes I still have nightmares about the lesbian werewolf with syphilis and the one handed zoophagous with low grade schizophrenia and a penchant for anal.
But you see becoming a vampire even against my will has other, very useful advantages. I wasn't sure when it happened exactly, but having sex as a vampire…it just kicks ass!
It's like the difference between water and wine. Between human blood and synthetic blood. A condom and bareback. Between plain Bloody O's and blueberry flavoured Bloody O's. You see where I am going with this. I used to be so bad that the first time I pounced on D and begged him to love me I was so awful at blowing him that he had to picture his dead wife just to get off. At least that is what Lefty told me. (More on him later.) But it isn't like that now. Now I can make D scream my name. And he can do the same for me. Was that the reason he still hasn't abandoned me? The awesome vampire sex?
"OH!" I cried out in sudden surprise. I hadn't even noticed that D's eyes (crap! Eye.) were open and that he was staring straight at me. I've been so lost in all these rambling thoughts to even pay attention.
He's gazing at me with his brilliant blue eye and the freaky smiley face eye. When he first went to buy a prosthetic eye I joked about getting the freaky smiley face one; I didn't think that he'd actually go through with it. The damn thing gives me the shivers; I feel like it's going to eat my soul in my sleep. D is nothing if not sensitive to a woman's needs so before doing anything else he slips on his sunglasses. They're enormous golden aviator glasses with thick arms that go back over his ears like thick pieces of crowbar.
The good thing about his glasses is that they cover up his freaky eye. The bad thing about his glasses is that they cover his good eye. When we have sex, I sometimes get him to take out his eye and put on an eye patch. I dig the pirate look but he never keeps it up for long.
His voice calls out to me, "Asenath, what is the matter?" D is known as far and wide as a sex god, which he is; but people never really talk about how sexy his voice is.
At first I consider telling him that everything is fine but this is D that we're talking about here. He can see right through me. He can also see through the plastic curtain when I shower; grrrrrrr tiger! Back to the matter at hand. "I had a nightmare."
He nods to me. "Do you feel up to telling me?"
I don't answer right away. First I try to make sense of the dream. It was about D and me; it was about what we were doing yesterday. Yesterday we shopped for defences for this dilapidated castle. It was like reliving yesterday except for one thing; that strange man with grey hair. "I dreamt about yesterday. I dreamt that somebody killed you."
To me his savaged face is inscrutinable; most of the time I have no idea what he's thinking or feeling and it drives me insane sometimes. In the moonlight I can see his alabaster features melt slightly into a look of sympathy. It doesn't look like much but for him it's like he's crying to me that it'll be alright.
His voice is my anchor. "Is there more to the dream? I could hear you scream."
"Yes, there was this man-hey! You heard me scream in my sleep and you didn't wake me up?"
I love him for all the world but sometimes he knows exactly how to piss me off. "So what was your excuse for letting me scream in my sleep?"
He's totally nonchalant and cool, "My back was bothering me and it would have been too much effort to reach twelve centimetres to my side and wake you." To the average yahoo this might not sound like it but it's his way of making a joke.
Since I'm a reformed hooker, I've got quite a temper on me. You need a temper to survive some of the rougher customers. "Okay grandpa, you've just auditioned for an ass kicking." He visibly stiffens when I say this. He hates it with a passion when I call him grandpa.
Before he can move I pounce on him and start to do a one-sided catfight with him. First I start off with the boob smother; I love watching him pretend to be helpless against me. I've got some power issues and his little groans that he's suffocating are so cute.
Not wanting to linger too long on smothering D, I change tactics and put him into a bear hug. Gently, but not too gently, I put my arms around his lower back and squeeze. His groans are so sexy that I nearly come on the spot. Even with his physical beauty nearly entirely burned off of him, he's still more than any other man alive. After his groans make me near orgasm I let go of him and I tell him, "You've passed."
He laughs. He laughs. He laughs! Just once; D only laughs once but it's more precious than gold. Do you know how many years D has gone without so much as a smile? To know that I can get a giggle out of him, that's a big ol' smoke of dope that I could easily get addicted to.
His face returns to his usual blank poker face, but behind his glasses I can see kindness in his eyes. "What did you see in your dream?"
The dream is still fresh in my mind; it's more like it actually happened than a real proper dream. I'm a bit reluctant at first; the words don't quite come to me. "I dreamed about what we did yesterday."
Patiently he tells me, "Go on."
"Alright; I dreamed about us shopping for weapons but it was different." Why is it so difficult to say it? What's so special about that freaky chav that he's got me scared? Dracula practically made me piss my pants; after that, what else can scare a girl? There was something about that guy, a detail that I'm missing.
D cuts off my train of though. "How was it different?" His tone is patient; he sounds like a teacher or a parent. A teacher or a parent that makes every maiden moist and wanting.
"Well, there was this man; he said he knew me."
"Did you know who he was?"
"He was a chav," I blurt out.
He doesn't respond, but with just a small raise of an eyebrow he tells me that he's wondering what the hell I mean.
"You know; a chav. Remember when you talked about how you lived in England and stuff like that?
"What did this chav do?"
"He ate a bird." God, I feel like such a fucking idiot. He ate a bird? He must think I'm retarded. Hell, I think I must be retarded for saying that.
Instead of making fun of me he asks me in a totally serious voice, "What else did he do?"
It's harder now that I remember what the son of a bitch did. "Well . . . he shot lightning at me." I pause; D can see right through me and I go on. "He shot lightning at me and he . . . he killed you. Or ate you; I don't know what the hell he did but you were gone and then he went after me."
I wait for a response from D. I don't get any. He just sits there like a damn parent. I don't want to think of him as a parent; humans are just starting to relearn that incest is bad and I for one have never had any interest in doing a parental figure.
What is it about this damn dream? Normally with my vampire brain I can recall dreams, math formulas and trivia in a fucking second; there's something that I'm forgetting. I know that it was important; what the hell was it. Something is blocking my memory.
We're suddenly interrupted by the sound of a gruff voice waking up. "Huh-hm. Okay, what's going on? Did you guys screw without me; you know I hate it when you do that!"
The annoying, vaguely cranky sounding old man's voice belongs to the parasite that lives in D's hand. That's another thing most people don't know about the famous Vampire Hunter D; he has an elemental demon face living in the palm of his left hand.
That little demon is one of D's most important tools. It can break through dimensional barriers, do forensic analysis, pick up details that even D's keen senses would miss and he can bring back his host from the dead. I know all about him; I had the not-so-pleasurable opportunity to serve as temporary host for the little bastard. He means well, it's just that he doesn't have the power to shut the fuck up.
D holds out his left hand. Sure a shit, the face of an old man with sharp teeth appears on the flawless skin of his hand. The face licks his lips. "Alright, top of the morning to you ingrates. Hey Ase', hey D." Ase' is his nickname for me; I sort of like it.
D bluntly puts it to his left hand, "We need your help."
The hand just grumbles, "Oh yeah; like you guys ever need anything me for anything else. Analyse this; detect that; eat some of this shit; see what I mean? Nobody ever gets me up to say hello or to have a chat with me."
Silently, I play a fucking invisible violin for the demon in D's left hand. He gives us this speech about every two weeks. I felt bad for him the first time and tried to talk. He ended up babbling for six mother fucking hours. So If I tell him to shut up, I do it to spare myself a migraine. "Lefty, just shut up and lend us a hand."
The hand chuckles sardonically, "Whatever, you guys are lucky that I enjoy this line of work enough to hang onto you guys."
D raises his left hand up towards my forehead; it won't be painful but it won't be pleasant either. When the parasite makes contact with my head, it starts to feel like there are a bunch of slightly chilled tentacles playing the harpsichord with my frontal lobes. It's like at the dentist; the you feel something but the anaesthetic keeps you from feeling it.
Not that I've ever been to a dentist; God forbid. If I had money for a dentist when I was human I'd have gotten my teeth bleached.
The parasite raises his rough voice, "Okay, okay; scanning and some more scanning. Please wait while it loads; here we go. I've got last night's dream."
I'm all ears as he speaks. "Alright; you're talking about plant forty-two. Now we enter the crazy Englishman; this guy needs a shave. Ah, interesting: cut me loose, D."
My love pulls away and then the cold tentacles in my brain are gone. Whatever the parasite has got, it had better be good. I listen intently as the parasite gives me the scoop. I think that D looks eager, but honestly I can't tell because he's got his poker face on again.
"Well, kids, gather around and listen to the Left hand; and you can't shut me up like you tried to do at the theatre. That play sucked and you know it!"
D has no patience for it. "Just tell us what you've seen."
"Okay, no need to get huffy. Alright, it goes pretty much like Asenath said it did; plants, crazy English guy, lightning and D somehow consumed or burned or whatever."
"That guy claimed that he was with Dracula, but that's not the big bit."
Right, the chav was with Dracula; why didn't I remember that? I can usually recall dreams like no big deal. I focus once again as Lefty delivers the big bit.
"Asenath; that wasn't a regular old dream you had. Somebody, that guy, was contacting you. He reached out to you telepathically and touched your mind and replayed your memories, inserting himself into them."
I'm shocked by this revelation. Some British fuckwad touched me psychically in my sleep. I don't care if he used hands or psychic powers; anybody that touches me in my sleep is a fucking dead man. "Why the fuck would he do that?"
The parasite responds, "I don't know. Did he say anything to you; don't answer right away. It looks like he didn't want you to remember certain parts.
Once more, remembering the dream is like seeing through a thick fog; possible but not easy. I screw my forehead with concentration. Something comes to me. "Yes, he said that we were both unique."
"That answers it then; chav boy is lonely and he wants to bond with you on some level. Although from what I saw, his idea of bonding involves lightning bolts and cannibalism."
Well, that's a fucking slice of fried gold. It's not bad enough that Dracula is out there somewhere planning to destroy the world and rape my boyfriend with a broom handle for a second time (what a twisted fuck). Now Dracula has some British douche bag with lightning bolts coming out his asshole and he wants to cuddle with me. Only one phrase can accurately describe the situation, "Fuck me."
Lefty chuckles; he probably thinks that he's real fucking funny. "Get used to it, kid; we lead a charmed life. If it were up to me, we'd just sent ol' Draks a thermonuclear bomb in the mail and then retire to some tropical island full of naked women. And the island would have lots of hookers since you're, you know, retired and-mmmff!"
This time I don't wait for D, I just shut up the parasite myself by grabbing onto D's hand and squeezing. D looks pleasantly surprised . . . just barely. In a soft voice that clashes with his fierce appearance, "I love you."
I almost choke and it's a bitch to stop from crying. "I love you too." I embrace him and he embraces me back. I don't know what I am to him and I don't have the balls to ask, but he and I have a job to do and I intend to see it that our side wins.
Transylvania, Dracula's lair
I can hear it
Can you hear it?
I can always hear it.
Of every day
I can always hear it
It's the sound of drums, the drums; the never ending drums. I can hear them all the time. They never stop and they never get any softer. The tempo sometimes changes but the basic rhythm remains always the same; four rapid beats, over and over again until the end of time itself. The drums have abandoned me. There was a time when the drums guided me, drove me towards the path of war. Now, they only torment me, as they have done for the majority of my life.
I found the source of the drums and killed him, but the noise didn't stop. Now I am lost and so alone.
Speaking of noise, I can hear the noise of my two deadbeat masters.
Martin Broadcloak's voice is like two pieces of metal being rubbed together; high and whiny. In his previous lifetimes I'm not sure why no one beat him to death because of that aggravating voice of his. He's arguing with Count Dracula; more like Count Chocula.
I type harder on the keyboard (how primitive), hoping in vain that it will keep me distracted while Broadcloak and Dracula cavort and banter like a pair of schoolgirls. At times like this the drums don't seem so bad; if I had to listen to the voices of those two for an eternity I'd probably go off the chain.
I can hear Broadcloak; he's berating Dracula for not killing Asenath when he had the chance.
I can no longer hear what they're babbling about as a pang of hunger grips me. Do you think you know hunger? You don't know it like I do. I'm so hungry that I could chop off my hand and eat it; I almost did it yesterday when Dracula waited nearly too long to feed me. As a second hunger pang rips through me like a raging alien beast, I honestly consider eating both Dracula and his pet sorcerer.
If given a choice, I'd take the hunger over the drums any day. At least food and the living flesh of others can temporarily abate the gnawing in my gut that makes me want to eat the dirt itself.
Make it stop!
A hand on my shoulder pulls me back into the waking world. Oh cripes; it's Broadcloak. He just stares at me with those metallic blue eyes and he smiles with that cigarette lined, puckered mouth. As he touches me with one of his filthy hands, it takes all of my self restraint to not take the primitive screw driver next to the computer terminal and drive it through his damnable eye.
His high, shrill voice is pure torture to my ears. "Hey Harry." Harry, that's their nickname for me. "You hungry, Harry? Well, before you eat, you'd better take a shower; you stink like shit!" I would like to shower, except that Dracula bars me from bathing over some imaginary insult that he thinks I cast in his direction.
Martin's high laughter titters like a bell. My hand slowly moves towards the screwdriver. I don't want to drive it in too quickly. I want to drive it into his eyeball slowly and twist it around a bit before I drive it through his eye socket and into his brain.
Before I can touch the sharp metal object, a pale hand with long fingers and multiple gaudy rings picks it up off the terminal.
Vampires call him the Sacred Ancestor and once hailed him as a god-king. If the earth race of vampires could not see what I see now then they all must have suffered from a fatal retardation of the mind.
Dracula just stands there, poisoning the air around him and pleased as punch that he's doing it. On his face is that same stupid smile that everyone seems to love him for. His eyes stare blankly at me as if they've been painted on. In all my six thousand years of life, I've never seen anything as phony and insincere as this thing. Yet, everyone around him seems to love him, adore him even.
Why? Why does everyone swallow his lies? I feel insane that I'm the only one who can see how repulsive this creature truly is. I've always been a pretty hypnotic guy but I was never capable of generating this level of charisma without resorting to a planet wide net of mind control satellites.
The voice of the vampire king is smooth and velvety. He sounds like me from a previous regeneration. It makes me want to claw my eyes out.
"Harold, you shouldn't let Flagg upset you. It's what he wants." Flagg is one of the annoying sorcerer's aliases. Dracula continues, "You've been working hard. As your master I think it's time you had a break."
I take my time and try to get my body and my anger under control. This new body of mine isn't the one I was born with. It is the result of a failed attempt at resurrection. This body of mine is dead; all it knows how to do is die and bring death. That's why I need to feed on life, because my life is always bleeding away.
Before I can utilize my world famous wit, my digestive system chooses that moment to rumble. Damn this body.
Broadcloak, or Flagg laughs. "I think the baby is hungry, better give him his bottle." I honestly don't like that man. I think I'd like to slowly crush his head in a pneumatic press. That would be fun.
The doors to the chamber open and two of Dracula's new servants walk in with my meal. Two humans, a man and a woman are led in by what I like to call zompires. They're nearly indestructible zombie/vampire hybrids. Dracula created them in imitation of the giant I built for him.
The man and woman hug each other. In some small way it reminds me of the wasted Hunter D, and Asenath. Funny, I don't know what to call these feelings I have towards that girl. I'm at a loss to explain it. I'm drawn to her, like a magnet to iron ore. The need to find her is as real as the drums and every bit as mysterious. She's a whore and a dumb slut; I should be disgusted by the very thought of her, yet I can't help but think of her constantly.
I even contacted Asenath while she slept. My actions baffle me. It feels like I'm losing control of myself to this girl. What is so fucking special about her?
The drums remind me that I am in control. I refocus my eyes on the two humans and I devour them both. Do I feel bad about it? Do you feel bad when you swat an annoying insect?
I jump at them with incredible speed. The chamber is vast and gaudy to the extreme. The omnipresent gold leaf burns your eyes before long. I jump across it in a heartbeat. One advantage to having my life-force bleed away is that I can manipulate it and use it as a weapon or tool.
I feel the rush, that thrill which I always get in a situation like this. Have you ever murdered someone? It's like sex but there's a winner. I win!
The man is first; I don't like his face. Grinning like a fool, I go instantly for the kill. A quick lightning blast knocks aside the woman before I kill her man. Lighting bathes him and he screams with ultimate agony. I wrap my arms around him like a leech. His flesh liquefies and I suck it up like a spider. The woman screams as her lover or whatever is consumed. It is so much fun.
The woman tries to run but for a human that's a difficult task when she has a hole burned in her abdomen. I can see her intestines, how disgusting; nothing this weak is meant to survive. Her death is less fun than the man. Killing is fun but it can get repetitive. Soon the two humans are both smouldering skeletons on the floor.
I feel wonderful. I'm still starving but now my strength is at full. Now to take care of those stupid zompires. Both of them are clad in black armour and armed with nothing but large circular shields. They don't need any other weapons.
These creatures insult me; cheap replicas of my research and passed off as an example of the Sacred Ancestor's perceived genius.
Each of the zompires senses my ill will towards them and raises their shields, which have their names hastily scrawled onto them with white paint. The first shield reads, "Hello, my name is Quilp 421." The second reads, "Hello, my name is Asmodeus Fuji."
Lightning crackles from the palms of my hands and I smile. Quilp 421 and Asmodeus Fuji both get the message and attack me. The two creatures move at the speed of light, but that doesn't stop me. I'm an un-dead Time Lord from the Planet Gallifrey; I can perceive the universe in a single thought and detect the ripples of time like a waiting snake sensing vibrations in the ground.
By the standards of Gallifrey, these creatures are crude constructs. I shape my life force and alter the gravitational constant around me. My action causes the two creatures to stumble, their powers are easily disrupted.
I don't kill them right away. I decide to burn their legs off first. Flagg and Dracula don't stop me; they're too smart for that. Enough playing around; I turn the zompires into ash and then burn the ash into dust.
I slowly turn around as one of the zompires shields hit the ground. I feel like my old self again. I burned a great deal of energy to kill those two but it was worth it. The zompires were just little men following orders. I don't take a lot of pleasure in killing little men; I prefer to kill the big men with their big egos.
Dracula stands before me, dressed up in a ridiculous outfit that is modelled after my descriptions of the now dead Time Lord President. His face is still molded into that sickening smile but you can see how he struggles to maintain his composure.
Dracula is nothing but a blood sucking version of Nero. He dresses up in his ridiculous outfits and resorts to low brow theatrics, all to gain the adoration of his crowd. Dracula is an actor and a director; taking the center stage and leading all others into death and degeneracy.
He'll never give me the response I want to see in him . . . and I'll never give him the reaction that he wants. But I know that he doesn't like it when his script is tampered with; each zompire he constructed represents a massive expenditure on his part and he's not happy to see that effort he put go down the toilet.
I joke with him. "Sorry, got a bit carried away and all that. My, is that the best you can do; because if it is then you might as well surrender to your son now."
Before I can react, Dracula leaps like a great red bat and strikes me across the cheek. It's nothing by his strength, nothing but a slap. However, his blow is enough to break my cheek bone and jar me down to the marrow. The force of the strike caused my whole body to turn transparent and flash my bones.
Dracula is a fantastic actor but his psychotic disposition ensures that the facade of friendliness is easy to shatter. I'm knocked to the ground and before I can get up my nerves catch fire.
I used to keep a laser screw driver on my person at all times. It's a wonderful tool with over a thousand uses in the hands of a skilled user. Among other things it can be used to cause ungodly pain by disrupting the nervous system.
I don't have a laser screw driver anymore; Dracula has my screw driver. He's using it on me to tame me, like a dog. When what feels like an eternity has passed, the screw driver turns off and I'm left twitching on the floor.
Dracula begins to rub me gingerly on the chest. Out of disgust, I swat at his hand but he ignores my physical cues. His hands are cold and I hate them. I hate being treated like somebody's pet. I catch a glimpse of Dracula's smug face; I want to spit in it.
I've known hate all my life but I've never hated anyone like this. He sits there, holding my laser screw driver and pretends that he actually has sympathy for me. I know the truth. I know what's behind the visage, even If I can't see it.
He speaks again with the tittering voice as automated systems clean up the remains of the zompires and the two humans. "Oh Harold, why do you have to kill my servants? If you didn't break the rules I've set for you, I wouldn't have to punish you."
Just like somebody's parent, "It hurts me more than it hurts you." And I'm going to hurt him more than he hurts me.
I sneer at him, "You really should surrender to your son now. You're going to lose one way or another."
This is one thing for certain that I know he doesn't like. He hates being reminded that for all his vaunted genius, he's still failed to end the vendetta with his son. Rather than strike me again, he speaks. "How soon can we move with our plans?"
I smirk. "Oh, same as yesterday I suppose. The two asteroids will hit the planet when you specify it. All other arrangements have been taken care of by me."
As my strength returns, so does my wit. I shove Dracula off of me. "Don't you feel a bit useless with me around? I mean, you spent ten thousand years, ten thousand, trying to unravel the secrets of vampire physiology and I do it for you in two weeks."
Oh yes! This cocksucker is not happy. It was I who built the regenerating giant, the only being that has ever defeated Vampire Hunter D in combat, not he! Dracula knows who the bigger genius is. He knows who the better scientist is and it eats him alive.
"I've worn the same clothes since you "recruited" me. I want a change of clothes." Then, I turn my back on Dracula and start to head out. He calls out after me.
"You can borrow some of my clothes since you haven't got any. Good luck trying to find a cure. Try not to find it too quickly."
Ouch; he's hit my weak spot. I hate Dracula and Dracula hates me, even though he keeps his cards close to the chest. My problem is that I'm trying to find a way to cure my condition and be rid of this hunger. The only person in the galaxy who has the resources I need to get my cure is Dracula. And that's why I stay with this pathetic megalomaniac. And it's the worst punishment imaginable to have to share in his garish wardrobe. I'd rather have my eyes pulled out with corkscrews but my smell is starting to get to me.
And I'm also convinced to stay because Dracula never bites the hand that feeds him. Despite the torments with the laser screw driver, I get treated better than any of his wives or servants, which isn't saying much. He cooked his last wife in a giant frying pan when she tried to kill herself.
While I find my cure, Dracula and I will hurt each other. He's going to give me a thousand small inconveniences that will threaten to break my resolve. I'll sabotage his megalomaniacal schemes without him ever knowing. D's fight is as good as won.
Suddenly there is a rush of air in front of me and I'm greeted by my creation. Theander stands before me. Theander is eight and one half feet tall, he's strong enough to take apart a dalek with his bare hands and he loves the Austin Powers movie trilogy.
Theander's blunt features twitch before he greets me. "Hi mister. Where's mommy?"
I point in Dracula's direction, "Mommy is right there; aren't you, mommy?" When I created Theander out of a mentally disabled orphan with undeveloped regenerative abilities, Dracula wanted a mighty warrior with a heart as hard as steel. Instead, I gave him an unstoppable bruiser who's too stupid to know the difference between a mother and a father.
I do my best not to laugh as Dracula quivers with irritation at the giant. Theander lumbers towards his mummy and begs to have his favourite movie repaired.
Let Dracula babysit his pet giant.
Let D end this pitiful spit with his father.
Let this planet and the entire human race burn.
And let me and Asenath . . . do what? What shall I do with her? Do I kill her or do I do the unthinkable and spare her?
No matter what happens though, I need to make one thing clear.
"My Lord?" I gently enquire of Dracula.
"What!" he snaps at me. Theander is using up all of Dracula's patience faster than I ever could.
"My name isn't Harold." This is addressed to Flag too.
-is the Master."
And thank you for enjoying this story. This has been a request and a collaborative effort with that darling author Shallowswan. Be sure to check out her work, it's worth your time :) I had a lot of fun writing both Asenath and the Master. John Simm is truly amazing. My next project will be the Big Hellsing. Stay tuned for that and stay tuned for Survivor: Vampire Island by Lion in the Land, it's a load of fun you don't want to miss.
Master of the Boot =D