Tomb of Dracula

The temperature had fallen dramatically with the encroaching darkness, and she could tell that it was still dropping. She was shivering, teeth chattering as she ploughed through the hip deep snowdrifts, trying to hurry down the side of the nameless mountain in the Carpathian range. Her breath swirled in steaming clouds of mist whipping up and away with the wind in her mad race to keep up, trailing and fading behind her. She was sweating in the raggedy, lice-ridden coat that the Rom had given her before tying her one good arm up and back behind her, her numb hand stretched up between her shoulder blades and strapped in a criss-cross lacing of rope about her upper torso.

She was aching and tired, hungry and weak, and her captors did not seem to care. And why should they? She was the concern- and property they had said- of their Master. They just had to keep her alive until he chose otherwise, which would probably be sometime soon according to the setting sun. She figured she would be dead before sunrise.

The rope about her throat tightened and jerked and Misty Knight gave a startled yelp as she was dragged abruptly forward and off of her feet. She fell into the deep snow with a grunt, stars exploding in her sight as her hip hit a rock buried in the drifts. Her groans of pain were choked off as the tether about her neck tightened and her body was dragged along over the frozen ground.

“Halt!”

She barely heard the gruff shout as her body skidded to a stop in the icy snow. Gasping for breath she tried to struggle to her knees, the constricting noose about her throat biting into her skin and making every breath a burning torture. She tried to will her useless bionic right arm to life, simply to loosen the choking collar, but it was dead beneath her. As dead as she was soon to be.

A crunch of snow broke through her panicked, breathless haze and she looked up with weary, red-rimmed eyes at one of her leering captors. He was in his twenties she judged, with an olive complexion and wavy dark hair mostly hidden by a colorful bandana wrapped tightly about his head. His dark eyes were shining and piercing as he stared down at her with a conceited smirk curling his thin lips, creasing the stubble coated rosy cheeks.

“Get up, sow.” He said in heavily accented English. She saw that he held the trailing end of her leash in his left hand while the barrels of a twenty-gauge shot gun wavered in his right. “We have miles to go, and you are slowing us down, Negress.”

If she had had the strength she would have beaten the crap out of the arrogant Rom Gypsy with the butt of her dead bionic arm. As it was though she could barely keep her eyes open to draw breath. Still she struggled to do as commanded flopping about in the snow and really accomplishing nothing save wasting breath and strength. She had to try though. Eric needed her. And Colleen…

“Peace, Dimitri,” another voice sounded, older and familiar. Misty sensed the youth tense as he looked to the side and she followed his gaze seeing the ancient Rom, leader of the Clan she assumed, approaching. Zarish she thought his name was and he looked eighty going on a hundred. Gaunt and pale-skinned with wispy white hair and beard he looked almost comical in his quilted, Northface parka. “She cannot continue like this,” he said as he stepped to the younger Rom’s side, his hand pressing the shotgun to the side and away. “She is weak and exhausted. The Master wants her to suffer but he does not want her dead… yet.”

“We can put her in with the old man,” another voice said and Misty turned to see the youngest of the group approaching. A young teenager with greasy black hair and thin frame, lanky and awkward. He wore a parka as well, jeans and boots. Beside him was the blonde woman she had seen briefly before at the mouth of the cave where she and the others had been captured. She was bundled against the cold as well, but where the youth paused she strode forward and squatted down beside Misty. With a smile she reached out and loosened the choking rope about her throat.

“She needs water,” the woman said, pulling off a glove and caressing Misty’s skin. “She’s dehydrated. Food and rest wouldn’t hurt either.”

“No!” the younger Rom, Dimitri snapped. “The Master – “

“The Master will flay you alive if you allow her to die, boy.” The woman stood and glanced at the younger teenager. “Put her in the wagon with the old man. Bind her legs if you’re worried, but give her water at least. Soup or stew would be better. She’ll be dead before we reach the castle if you don’t.” She turned and glared at Dimitri. “And it will be your fault. Don’t think I won’t tell him.”

Misty cringed as the shotgun came up, pointing now at the blonde. The woman did not flinch and actually grinned. Misty clenched her eyelids shut, as the woman’s skin seemed to tinge a pale green.

Silence…

“Dimitri…” the old man finally said breaking the tension and the younger man lowered his shotgun with a defeated sigh. He cast the rope into the snow spouting something in his native language before turning and stalking off back to his horse.

“Get her into the wagon, Vlad” the blonde said. “Give her some water and let her rest. We still have a ways to go.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the boy said as he stooped and easily hefted Misty Knight into his arms before trudging his way through the deep snow towards one of the Tinker wagons. Misty tried to stay conscious, but she was just too tired. On the run for days now since the Dark Dimension, her bionic arm stripped to spark a fire to keep her and her companions alive in the cold, no food, no rest.

Her last thought was of Colleen before the sweet darkness of sleep enveloped her…

TWICE THE PAIN!

By Curtis Fernlund

“Hey…”

Misty Knight stirred slightly in her fitful slumber…

She felt warmth flickering near, a fire she assumed. She moved and felt needles and pins lashing through her numb hand. She groaned despite herself and rolled towards the sound of the voice she imagined that she had heard.

She found the ancient visage of Eric Arcane staring thoughtfully at her.

“You look like shit,” Arcane said with a weak smirk.

“Said the pot to the kettle.” Arcane chuckled.

Misty took a moment to survey her surroundings as she tried to force herself awake. They were in a small area that had been mostly cleared of snow, though the ground still looked damp and frozen in the cold air. They were still in the woods she could see by the thickset trees surrounding their little oasis. A small fire burned not too far away giving off heat that Misty luxuriated in, and she could see a small metal pot dangling from a makeshift tripod set just off the flame. She smelled stew, and her stomach rumbled.

“Feel up to some food?” Arcane asked, rising unsteadily at first from the fallen log that he had been propped against. He still appeared old, though she knew that he was probably actually in his late twenties. She knew too that he was what Doctor Strange had called a ‘Hedge Mage’; a magician of sorts that spouted ‘Cantrips’- one word spells that caused a lot of damage but sucked the life force from the caster in order to do so. Eric Arcane had spent a lot of energy; first in London where her Away Team had tried to stop a fractured alternate universe as sparked by the actions of Brian Braddock: Captain Britain or whatever he called himself these days. He had spent more then when Midnight, the third member of the team had teleported them to some corner of the Dark Dimension where they had fought a running battle against the denizens there, all intent on eating them alive.

Things had come to a head when the Scarlet Centurion had appeared…

A man stood on the far side of the hill, though she doubted that ‘man’ was enough of a description.  He was easily over eight feet tall and massive, looking to be solid muscle beneath the garish, archaic armor of scarlet shades that he wore.  She shuddered as she met his gaze, his eyes black with white pupils reminding her of images of Galactus that she had seen in the past.  Wonderful…

Misty Knight, the man said as he gazed cryptically at the three of them.  She wondered though if he had actually spoken as his voice seemed to echo in her head.

You possess items meant for me.  He extended a massive hand, palm up and expectant.  Present them, now.

“Uh-huh.  And just who the hell are you, red?” she said as she raised her Magnum.  It was all she could do to keep her voice from quavering.  It was all bravado on her part as she knew that even the .357 shell would be like a mosquito bouncing off that armor.  She had run into these ‘god’ types before and knew bullets were squat against them, but that was all she had.

The big man smirked but it was far from friendly.  You are brave, human.  Grimm chose his comrades wisely.  Now comply, lest I take what I desire.

“Sorry.”  Misty fired three quick shots emptying the gun, watching in disbelief as the bullets slowed in mid-air and finally halted at a simple gesture from the red man.  He was so certain that he chuckled as the bullets turned 180 degrees and suddenly shot back in her direction.  She dropped to the ground shoving Arcane away to tumble back down the far side of the hill.  Two bullets zipped past far too close while the third disappeared into the viscous black swirling from the folds of Midnight’s cape.

Midnight started to back up as the big man rose slightly to hover just above the ground.  Then Midnight froze, one foot at an odd angle in mid-step and she wondered why he did not topple over.  She realized then that she could not move either, her gaze even locked on Midnight’s foot.

She saw the man on the edge of her peripheral vision as he hovered closer finally looming above them.  She could not see beyond the top of his blood red boots, but she could hear him.

I am no longer amused, monkey.  His ‘voice’ was a cold dagger in her brain and Misty suddenly sensed that the three prized items had vanished from her belt.  She could not look up but did not have to, to know that he now held them.

Had you complied I would have healed you and sent you home.  Now you may fend for yourselves.

And he was gone, no flash of energy, no sonic boom.  The scarlet giant simply winked out of existence.

Misty collapsed to the ground, suddenly free and mobile again.  A moment later and Midnight was sprawled beside her on the rough, cold grit.  “Eric,” she whispered and scrambled back and around to see Arcane lying deathly still at the bottom of the rise.  Worse, in the distance she could see the dark shadows of the denizens of the Dark Dimension gathering and roiling closer; a horde of jagged teeth and razor sharp talons.

“We gotta get outta here,” she said as she scrambled and slid down the hill to tumble over Arcane.  She got to her knees between him and the critters and reached back with her flesh and blood hand to touch his throat.  She felt a pulse but it was dull and weak.  Still she sighed in relief and called back up the rise.

“Get your ass up, Midnight!  We gotta go!  Now!”

She could hear her partner stumbling down the hill even as the first of the creatures arrived; a quick, flying thing with ragged, diamond-like teeth and an insectoid segmented body.  It zipped past, testing its prey then shot in mouth agape.  Its head exploded as Misty Knight drove her bionic fist into the back of its throat in a shower of sizzling black gore that burned where it splattered on her skin.

“Jesus, fuck!  C’mon!” she shouted as two more bugs shot past.  She could sense Midnight’s concern as they were still far from their transition point, but she did not care.  They were dead if they stayed.  “Do it!”

She held Arcane close even as Midnight’s Shadow Cloak swept out to engulf the three of them, the inky black chilling her to the marrow as the Dark Dimension slowly faded away…

And that had been that. The red man had vanished with the three items that she and the Away Team had been sent to collect; the Meta-Plague that could wipe out the Marvels, or at least their powers, Fu Manchu’s Elixir Vitai, and finally the mystical stylus that contained whatever spark it was that made Braddock a threat to the multi-verse.

That the red man was Grimm’s mysterious benefactor Misty Knight had no doubt. That he had been playing Grimm and all of them was painfully obvious now as well. The only question remaining was; Why?

“Misty?”

Misty Knight looked up from her reveries to find Eric Arcane holding out a bowl of stew for her. She smiled as she eased herself into a sitting position and accepted the warm, metal bowl gratefully. It smelled delicious and made her stomach growl again. She could not remember when last she ate.

“It’s rabbit,” Arcane said as he settled to the ground beside her. At closer inspection she noted that he looked a helluva lot better. His skin and hair were darker and his frame had fleshed out a lot. Still nowhere near his proper age, but getting there. “These Gypsies may be ass holes, but they can cook, I’ll give ‘em that.” Misty laughed then started shoveling the stew into her mouth.

Arcane watched her with some amusement, waiting until she had finished the bowl before taking it for a refill. “Are you all right?” he finally asked as he settled beside her again, handing her another helping of stew.

“I’ve been worse,” Misty said between bites luxuriating in the warmth making its way through her body. “My right arm’s dead and I feel like I went a round or two with Tyson. But I feel better than I did.” Arcane nodded.

“From what I gather they were dragging you along behind a wagon since they caught us. I was out of it for most of the ride, but that kid, Vladimir? clued me in when I woke up. The Rom roughed you up at Dracula’s command, just enough to make you hurt and suffer.”

“They did a good job,” Misty said as she gingerly touched her swollen lip. She felt dried blood at the corner of her mouth and her left eye felt tender as well. It also felt like she had a cracked rib, though her breathing wasn’t strained. Of course she had not tried to stand yet.

“There’s some blonde woman with the Rom. No idea who she might be but the kid said her name is Stephanie Scratch. She insisted you get liquids, rest and food. Probably saved your life, whoever she is.” Misty nodded, scraping the last of the stew from her bowl, finally sated.

“And how are you?” she asked setting the empty bowl aside and easing back against a cold hard log to rest and digest.

“Been better.” Arcane smirked and started to dig through the pockets of his long coat. Misty was surprised that their captors had let him keep it. Dracula at least, she figured, would know the fetishes of a Mage. After a bit of fishing he finally pulled out a crumpled pack of Newports. He glanced inside and frowned, shaking one out. “Hope they got a 7-11 wherever we’re going.” Arcane slipped the butt between his lips and leaned towards the fire puffing it to life with obvious pleasure. He settled back against his own log and looked thoughtful for a time.

“It was damn close,” he finally said after a few drags on his cigarette. Misty could almost see his health slowly returning as age lines faded from his face. “I’ve only been that low on energy once before, and not even THAT bad. I dunno what happened after Midnight got us outta dodge, but I figure I’m alive because of you. Thank you.” Misty waved away his thanks.

“You been in this business as long as me you learn that we don’t keep score. You just buy the beer next time.” Arcane smiled.

“Done.”

“Where’s Midnight?” Misty asked but Arcane shrugged, flicking ash into the fire.

“No idea,” he said. “You know he’s tied to Dracula somehow, so I figure with him. Figure too he’s gone over to the Dark Side doin’ his best Anakin Skywalker impersonation.”

“Wonderful.” Misty did know that Midnight was some kind of Vampire thanks to an allegiance between the Lord of the Vampyr and the Lord of Strange Deaths, Fu Manchu. Add to that that he had been genetically manipulated by the Kree to battle the Silver Surfer and you had one fucked up Brother. He was their best ticket out of this Hell however, and if he was lost to them then they were really up Shit’s Creek. “Where are we, anyway?”

“Near as I can tell, somewhere in Walachia.” Misty stared blankly and Arcane chuckled flicking his spent butt into the fire.

“Transylvania, Sister. Next stop, Dracula’s castle.”

“What are you up to?”

Vladimir jumped at the sound of the woman’s voice. He had not heard her approach through the trodden snow, she moved so silently. But then he knew that she was ‘special’, just as he was, so he should not have been surprised.

Stephanie Scratch stood on the outside steps framed by the open doorway of his Master’s wagon. She was dressed in her fur-lined parka against the cold and blue jeans and knee high black leather boots. Her long, blonde hair fluttered slightly in the breeze as icy eyes darted about the small confines of the wagon. Finally her gaze settled on Vladimir and she smiled.

“Mind if I come in?”

“Enter freely and of your own will.” Vladimir smirked and was delighted when the older woman laughed at his little joke.

“Does your Master know that you’ve read his biography?” she asked as she stepped inside. Vladimir’s smile faded as old memories came to the fore.

“My father made certain that we all learned. Reading is fundamental he would often say with a laugh, though none of us ever knew why he laughed. He had no ban on what we read, except for the Communist Propaganda.” Vladimir smiled shyly. “I always enjoyed Fantasy and Horror… Science Fiction. I loved to dream of other worlds where I might be the hero like John Carter of Mars, fighting off the Tharks.”

“And winning the love of the princess?” Stephanie asked as she glanced at the small bed at the head of the wagon. Vladimir did not have to turn to know that she was looking at Sylvia, the girl that his Master had turned into a ghoul to slake his thirst for blood. Zalish, the Gypsy leader had offered his own tribe for the honor, but for reasons Vladimir could not fathom his Master only tasted of Sylvia. He never took enough to turn her; just enough to sate his needs.

“She asleep?” Stephanie asked moving closer to the tiny desk where Vladimir was seated. She leaned in close, her hand suddenly resting on his shoulder as she peered at the screen of the laptop open before him.

“Yes,” Vladimir answered licking his lips. The woman smelled clean to him and he wondered how. They had been four days on the back roads winding through the Carpathian Mountains since passing near the last town. Four days since his Master had allowed a small group to go into Bicaz for supplies; two of the Rom, himself and Stephanie Scratch. The Master had demanded that they return as swiftly as possible with the food, bottled water, clothing and such, but Stephanie had insisted that they needed at least a day. Oddly, again the Master had acquiesced to her demands.

They had driven the smallest of the circus’ trucks into the town some thirty miles from where the Rom had made camp. The drive had been boring for Vladimir, sitting in the back of the truck in the dark as the cab had barely been big enough to fit three. The roads were rough and ill-maintained as was common in the mountainous areas of Romania and most of Eastern Europe for that matter. More than once throughout the ride he had wished that his X-Factor had included invulnerability.

Once in Bicaz they had quickly gathered the supplies that Zalish had deemed they needed at the largest of the mercantiles that supported the town that barely touted two thousand residents. The store was well-stocked however, being the final wide spot in the road before the major highways went their separate ways east and south. And the proprietors had no qualms about accepting the ill-gotten gains pilfered from the Ringmaster’s coffers.

They had loaded the truck with their wares shortly, and Vladimir had expected to leave immediately despite Stephanie’s insistence on a full day. To his surprise, however, Stephanie Scratch had ordered the two Rom back to the camp saying that she and Vladimir would be along the following day. The Rom protested of course, but like the Master they finally acquiesced to her desires. Even before the truck had vanished from sight she had linked her arm with his own and dragged him away down the cobbled street.

“Time for some down time, my young friend.”

They had spent some time simply walking the streets of the town, peering in shop windows that caught Stephanie’s eye and marveling at the curiosities both hand-crafted by the locals or imported for sale from the larger cities within Eastern Europe and Russia. Vladimir had spent a fitful hour at least watching as Stephanie had tried on clothes in the local fashion, modeling for him long, flowing dresses of wool and cotton blouses, silken scarves and bangles of every sort from rings to bracelets to rattling bands of golden charms. Vladimir had complimented her on every choice thinking rightly that she looked beautiful in whatever she chose to model, but strangely all that she bought was the fur-lined parka she now wore. He did not understand as his father had not taught him the wiles of women.

Their final stop had been a small store that sold electronic equipment. It was Vladimir’s idea to go inside as his Master had insisted that he buy a laptop computer to learn about the world and had given him coin from the Ringmaster’s cache to buy one. The shop obviously dealt in stolen merchandise and cheap fabrications both from the West and the East, but Vladimir knew computers well and had actually built his own under his father’s guidance once. Amidst the knock-offs he had found a true Hewlett-Packard that was only a year old, a personal ‘Hot Spot’ station and a small generator, which he had purchased for a song after Stephanie had haggled with the proprietor for barely a few scant minutes.

There were surprisingly several Inns in the town. Vladimir supposed again that this was because it was situated as the nexus where the highways divided and probably at certain times of year much traffic flowed through Bicaz. Stephanie chose a smaller one run by an elderly couple as opposed to a more lavish motel that seemed more comfortable to Vladimir.

“You’ll see,” was all she said as she rented one large room for them both complete with two beds (thankfully) and an in-room bath. The room was Spartan but comfortable, and Vladimir had immediately set about the task of setting up his computer; charging it and the generator and registering his local Hot Spot while Stephanie had claimed the bathroom for an hour to luxuriate in the claw-footed iron tub that it sported. Life with the Ringmaster’s Circus of Crime had been rough and difficult for her for years and she had mentioned that she had missed the small amenities that life had to offer, the simple pleasures like a long, soaking bath or a good meal.

Vladimir, as his Master had wanted, was surfing the Internet and reading up on the world’s Marvels when Stephanie finally emerged from the bathroom. The Avengers seemed to be the Media ‘Baby’ of late with their new island just off of New York City. They had suffered many trials and tribulations fending off assaults from the Wrecking Crew to an army of androids that Vladimir thought maybe belonged to the Mad Thinker; an older foe of the Fantastic Four. They had persevered however and remained the premiere team of the United States, fighting for truth and justice. There were articles on the X-Men and the Fantastic Four as well as the Thing, who had apparently gone rogue. The media was touting him as a villain now, accusing him of countless acts against the United States government security including the murder of a senator’s aide in Washington. Worst of all however had been the incredible Hulk’s rampage through Seattle. Vladimir had stared unbelieving at the images of the devastation and the numbers of fatalities and injured. It was being touted as the worst disaster within the United States since 9-11, and possibly even worse.

Vladimir could not believe that that was true. The Hulk was a monster at times, but misguided and often misjudged. And of all the world’s heroes, Ben Grimm had been his favorite. He had saved the world a thousand times over during his long career. Ever the outcast because of how he looked, he continued to strive to do the right thing. Vladimir felt an affinity with the man, his own X-Factor setting him apart, though he knew that the Thing – not a Mutant but mutated by Cosmic Rays – had a far harder time of adjusting and simply being accepted.

“Life’s a bitch, kid,” Stephanie Scratch had said as she had leaned over him then as she leaned over him now. Smelling fresh and clean from her bath, dressed in the terrycloth robe that the Inn had provided she had looked on the information on the laptop’s monitor. Vladimir felt his body reacting to her closeness.

“This is all propaganda,” she had said. “The media finds a story that it can exploit, they run with it, right into the ground. The News is designed to keep you living in fear, buying things that you don’t need and trusting that the government will see you through in the end. That doesn’t happen too often. I’ve fought Ben Grimm, and he’s a true hero. I didn’t know it then, as I was fairly fucked up because of my father, but I know it now. If he’s gone ‘rogue’ as they’re saying, bet he has a damn good reason.”

“You respect your enemies?” Vladimir asked. Stephanie nodded.

“You’re a fool if you don’t. Never underestimate an opponent, especially someone like Ben Grimm. He’s smarter than he lets on and way too savvy in a fight. Doesn’t matter who you think you are, guys like him always find a way to win.”

“I understand.”

“No you don’t,” Stephanie Scratch had said with a sly grin, “but you will. Now, let’s go see if we can scrounge some dinner.”

Vladimir had readily agreed, as he found that despite eating a healthy meal when they had all arrived in town, he was hungry again. His father had told him that his metabolism was active and high and would need replenishing often, and on this journey Vladimir was coming to believe it was so. He learned soon enough, however, that Stephanie Scratch could easily keep pace. After a lavish spread and several helpings consisting of thick-sliced beef and potatoes baked in a local cheese, meat pies stuffed with a variety of steaming vegetables, roasted game hens, soup and borscht of all things, Vladimir had been stuffed. Stephanie looked as fresh as when they had started dinner, but stopped eating when he had had his fill.

There had been five others joining them at the table for dinner. Two men and a woman that Vladimir had easily recognized as Russian military, if not Soviet Intelligence. He had seen enough of the like at Zero Station where his father, Phobos had trained him and his brothers and sisters to note the signs. The other two seemed American; a blonde man with haunted eyes and a blonde woman that was beautiful despite the scars slashing down her face. None of them had said much through the long dinner beyond pleasantries and they all had retired early.

“That was a queer bunch,” Stephanie had mused as she sipped vodka by the roaring fire in the comfortable sitting room of the in. Though he did not drink – as his father had warned him never to impair his senses – he nursed a sizable tumbler full himself, knowing that his metabolism would quickly burn it out of his system. “Three members of the FSB and two Americans with a hidden agenda.”

Vladimir knew from his schooling that the KGB of old had split into two factions with the ‘fall’ of Communism; the SVR – Foreign Intelligence Service – and the FSB – the Federal Security Service of the Russian Federation. Both were still powers to be feared throughout the Soviet States.

“Figure the FSB were just passing through, but I wonder what the Americans were about. Hardly looked like they were on Holiday.”

“I don’t know,” Vladimir had said truthfully, but there was something almost familiar about the man. And the woman had been eyeing him oddly. “You seem to know a lot about the ways of the world.” Stephanie Scratch had smiled and sipped at her vodka, putting her feet up on a small hassock before the fire.

“Like your father,” she finally said, “mine demanded we learn about the world, though I think he was a bit more harsh than your Phobos. I learned about the world’s Marvels and all the world’s pitfalls along with my sisters and brothers in Salem’s Seven. We were genetically altered to be something superior, and Nicolas Scratch – our father – wanted us up on all the hazards of the world, be they Marvels or Black Ops or spies. In the end we were all just pawns for his use.”

“I had no idea.”

“Why would you?” Stephanie shrugged. “We were just a footnote in the Grand Scheme of things. He threw us against the Fantastic Four and a few others and in the end he let us die.”

“Die?” Vladimir said with some surprise. Stephanie sighed and nodded, sipping her vodka.

“He threw us all away in the end. Killed us all to advance his own psychotic schemes. Didn’t figure on me though, and what he had bred with his alchemy and witchcraft. I’ve got a good deal of reptile and amphibian in me. I regenerate like a lizard regrows its tail but on a higher level. It took time after Daddy left me for dead, but my body, mind and soul came back. Unfortunately the Ringmaster found me before I came into my full being and used that damn hat to enthrall me. I don’t even know how long I was in his Side Show Freaks Gallery as the Serpent Queen. Way too long.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault, kid.” Stephanie tipped back the last of her vodka and laughed, slamming the empty glass to the table upside down. “If not for you and your Master I’d still be locked in a cage for the yokels to gawk at. So would everyone else I now hold dear. Thank you.”

Vladimir had blushed looking down at the still half full tumbler of vodka in his hands. He downed it in two quick gulps and slammed the empty glass down beside Stephanie’s. She laughed and applauded. Then she seemed to appraise him with a wicked smile and a gleam in her eye.

“Let’s go to bed…”

Nothing had happened that night and after a huge breakfast of bacon, eggs, baked bread and fried potatoes with juice and coffee they had set out to rejoin the troupe of Rom hidden in the hills some miles away. Vladimir had looked back fondly at the downtime that he had shared with Stephanie Scratch. Life with the Ringmaster had been arduous and worse with the Rom, living on the run. But that was his life now, in the thrall of the Master…

“He’s back!”

Both Vladimir and Stephanie jumped as Sylvia sat bolt upright in her bed staring blankly into space with a huge, lustful smile contorting her face. “The Master has returned…”. Vladimir sighed and started to power down his laptop. He glanced at Sylvia and frowned.

“Don’t even think that way, kid. She’s his. More so than you even.”

“I know,” Vladimir said as he closed his laptop and shut down the small generator that powered it and the Hot Spot. “I hate to see her used though.”

“Nothing you can do, boy. Dracula’s too powerful.” Stephanie Scratch rose from her spot on the edge of the bed even as Sylvia pushed past, racing out into the night. “Best we go say ‘Hi’ to our savior.” Vladimir nodded and followed Stephanie out of the wagon.

Vladimir stepped from the wagon behind Stephanie Scratch down into the packed snow of the camp. He saw Sylvia standing next to the fire, her arms upraised as a dark cloud encompassed her. The Rom were standing about in a loose circle watching with anticipation as the black cloud swirled and coalesced; becoming solid slowly and taking form

Soon the Prince of Darkness stood in their midst, his cloak whipping though there was no breeze. Vladimir stared longingly at his Master but Dracula did not acknowledge him, or Sylvia who he shoved aside. She fell to the snow and Vladimir saw the hurt expression on her face. He felt Stephanie’s hand on his arm.

“Wait…” was all she whispered.

“Ready yourselves,” the Lord of the Vampyr said glancing about the camp at the Rom. “We will be visited soon, and we will be tested. More guards on the prisoners.”

“Master?”

“Move fool,” Dracula said as he backhanded Zarish. The old man fell to the cold, hard ground. Several Rom went to aid him but he waved them off.

“Ready yourselves,” he said spitting blood. “The Master needs us. Gear your weapons and pray.”

Vladimir watched as all of the Rom grabbed assault rifles from the wagons, locking rounds into chambers and preparing for the fight of their lives. They set themselves in the thick woods, waiting.

“I don’t understand…” Vladimir said watching as his Master strode to disappear in his wagon. Sylvia collapsed to her knees at the base of the steps sobbing into the dirt, ignored.

“Something’s coming, kid,” Stephanie Scratch said and Vladimir turned to her, gasping and backing away as he saw her morphing into her serpentine body. Her skin paled to a light green and her legs seemed to mold together forming a tail that she rose up upon. Her arms were now serpents writhing madly at her bequest. “Roussssssse the Sssssside Ssssssshow… We might need them.”

Vladimir stared at the strange serpentine creature that now reared before him and found it hard to acquaint her to the woman that he had come to know after the last several days. He knew though that she was a force to be reckoned with and at her command he dashed off to the wagon that hauled the Freaks.

He hated that word but he knew that it was easy and it fit. Dog boy, Chicken Boy, Fat lady… they were all part of the group thanks to Samantha and they would need to join in whatever fight was coming.

Thunder rumbled as he threw open the door of the wagon…

“Wake up!” he shouted even as he heard the roar of engines overhead…

“There they are,” Anthony Stark said as he veered the Avengers Quinjet into a wide arch flying in low over the Gypsy camp and then circling back up and around. “Misty’s down there somewhere.”

“About damn time,” Ben Grimm said as he leaned on the back of the pilot’s chair looking out the main view port as well as glancing at the computer enhanced monitors. “What’re we looking at, Shell-head?”

“It looks like a Gypsy caravan,” Stark said as he tapped buttons on the Quinjet’s console. “Twelve vehicles; trucks mainly pulling wagons. There’s a semi hauling a trailer parked just off the main road in a clearing. I count fifty-two ‘hot spots’ on the Infra Red. Two… No four anomalies.”

“Anomalies?” Grimm asked as he puffed on his cigar.

“They’re not putting out the average heat that radiates off of a human body. Have to figure they’re… special.”

“You got anything ta add, Grey?”

Ben Grimm, the Thing turned and looked at the other passengers pressed into the Avengers Quinjet. Two X-Men; Cyclops, leader of the Mutant band of alleged outlaws and his main squeeze, Phoenix, possibly one of the most powerful Mutants ever. Behind them sat Colleen Wing, Samurai and best friend of Misty Knight, one of the trio that they had come to rescue.

“They’re getting ready for battle,” Jean Grey said as she morphed her clothing into her more familiar green and gold battle suit. Grimm noted that her eyes had gone all white and looked at Scott Summers but the seasoned leader of the X-Men did not seem disturbed. ”I sense anxiety, and there are two… three that are hard to read.”

“Stark’s anomalies?”

“Probably.”

“Well we figgered there were probably Marvels.”

“Ben!” Anthony Stark interrupted. ”I’m tracking a major storm rolling down out of the mountains. “I’d call it a Category 4 Hurricane at least, except those don’t happen here.”

“So we got a ‘Weather Witch’ on the ground. Phoenix, she’s yers. Cyclops, you got the Gypsies with their guns. Me an’ Stark’ll hit the other anomalies. Colleen, yer the clean up. Take out anything that don’t know they’re beat and find Misty and the others.”

“Right.” Colleen Wing stood and loosened her katana in its scabbard.

“This hunk a’ junk hover, Stark, or ya gotta land?”

“I’m coordinating a ‘stall point’ just south of the camp’s center. It hovers.”

“Good.” Ben Grimm stubbed out the butt of his cigar in the ash tray and moved to the Quinjet’s door. A massive hand slapped the ‘Unlock’ button and the door opened filling the interior with the chill winds of the Carpathian Mountains. Grimm smiled as he looked down at the snow-encrusted forest far below.

“Buckle up, people,” he said as he leapt out the door. “It’s Clobberin’ Time!”

Dracula ignored the Quinjet as it banked in a wide turn preparing for another pass. He recognized the emblem on the ships’ tail but could not fathom why the Avengers had involved themselves in his affairs. The Knight woman no doubt, not that it really mattered, nor did he care. It was done and he would of course deal with the problem.

His eyes burned red as coals in a forge as he directed his attention to the high mountains to the north. He had sensed the storm raging in the far peaks and knew at once that he could use its fury if he was to do battle with Marvels again; especially the Avengers. They did have powerful members in their ranks strong enough to give him pause so the tempest would help balance the odds. With arms outstretched and long fingers curled into claws he used his powers to draw the storm down the mountainside, directing the winds and adding to the blizzards intensity. He could see flashes of light blossom within the churning dark mass, the thunder roiling as the blizzard roared down the mountain like an avalanche. He could feel the temperature dropping rapidly as the mass pushed frigid air before it. Dracula smiled and lowered his arms letting nature take its course.

“Master!”

Dracula’s smile vanished with irritation as he rounded on Zarish, the Rom patriarch. “What, old man?” the Vampire Lord demanded but the Rom merely pointed skyward with eyes wide. Dracula’s gaze followed the old man’s direction saw what appeared to be a craggy orange boulder hurtling from the slowing Quinjet. He stared in confusion for a heartbeat, and then realized what – or rather who it was.

“The Thing,” he whispered. “And so it begins. Fly you fool!” he barked at Zarish even as his form wavered and sifted apart becoming a dark mist. He ‘sensed’ more than heard the old man running for cover just as he ‘sensed’ the massive body of the Thing pass harmlessly through his misty form. He ‘felt’ the seismic waves of impact, which caused him to roil but let the concussion carry him, following the winds to drift into the forest to reform.

With barely a thought of effort the Lord of the Vampyr glanced at the befuddled member of the Fantastic Four as he clawed his way out of the crater he had created. He was curious as to why the Thing was involved then vaguely recalled that the brute had been a member of the Avengers years ago. A convenient bit of circumstance on their part apparently with the monster visiting and joining their assault team.

As the creature crawled from his hole the Rom began firing their weapons. Dracula let them waste their time and ammunition for a few moments knowing that the fodder were no doubt boiling with adrenaline. He watched as the hail of bullets bounced off of the rocky hide having no more affect than a swarm of flies would on a normal human. The Thing ignored the assault head turning as he surveyed the situation. Finally Dracula invoked his control; his command of the Rom and drew on his power.

“Enough you dolts!” he shouted. “He’s impervious to your bullets. Save your ammunition for lesser prey.” Immediately the firing stopped and the Thing turned to stare at the Vampire Lord.

“You!” the Thing snarled with a gravelly voice. “Transylvania. I should’a known.”

“Cretin,” Dracula spat as the Thing started towards him, fury in his eyes. “Boy!”

Dracula’s smile returned as Vladimir’s form came flying from the shadows. His fist slammed hard into the Thing’s rock-like hide, the blow a total surprise and snapping the brute’s head to the side. Both fell to the hard packed snowy ground, the boy scrambling to get atop the monster as he continued to pummel his opponent.

A flare of fiery yellow drew Dracula’s attention back to the now hovering airship. He saw a red-haired woman enveloped in some form of golden energy emerge from the open hatch. He did not recognize her as she floated momentarily, her powers withdrawing two others from the craft; a man and a woman. The man dressed in dark blue with a rather unique visor attached to his mask he did recognize. Cyclops of the Mutant X-Men scum. That would make the woman Marvel Girl he supposed. The second woman he recognized as well though did not know her name. She carried a Japanese katana and had been with Knight and Arcane that night in Manhattan when his dream to bring back his wife from death had been shattered. He watched as Marvel Girl lowered her and the leader of the rogue Mutant band to the ground then sped off towards the mountain and the storm. Cyclops visor immediately flared red as the Rom opened fire on him. The woman dove for cover in the trees. Good.

Dracula’s eyes narrowed as a man in crimson and gold armor stepped from the craft to hover beside the Quinjet. The allegedly ‘Invincible’ Iron-Man’.  Here was his foe, his battle, but he waited… watching. No one else emerged from the craft. Dracula smiled.

Defeating these fools would be simplicity itself.

Vladimir grit his teeth and tried to ignore the pain in his hands as he continued to slam his fists into the Thing’s rock hard face. He ignored the blood splattering with every punch he threw, knowing that it was his own. He ignored the emotions churning within him as he attacked a man he considered an idol; a true hero to him. But it was the Master’s will and wish that the Thing be defeated and Vladimir had to obey.

And astonishingly Vladimir seemed to be winning. He assumed that his initial tackle had stunned Ben Grimm and that his relentless hammering assault had kept the hero at bay and unable to recover. Grimm had yet to defend himself or strike back and that merely spurred Vladimir on, giving strength to his blows. So he ignored the pain and the blood and kept pummeling.

But then suddenly Grimm’s hand shot up and Vladimir gasped as his hand was seemingly swallowed by the huge, orange fist. He winced in pain as Grimm squeezed.

“You about done, kid?”

Vladimir groaned as Grimm applied pressure. He tried to pull his hand free but it was locked tight within the Thing’s fist. He stared into the Thing’s deep blue eyes as he struggled to free himself.

“You’re good, son. Nice right cross ya got there. Figger you could go toe-ta-toe with Spider-Man, if ya could tag him. He hits about at hard as you.”

Vladimir felt the pressure on his hand lessen as the Thing eased his grip a bit but still held on tight enough to keep him in place. He swung with his left hand but Grimm easily blocked the blow. Frustrated and enraged as he was becoming Vladimir sensed that the Thing was not toying with him or laughing at his efforts. Grimm was trying not to hurt him. But that simply goaded Vladimir into trying again… and again. His Master needed him to succeed.

Finally though, the Thing seemed to have had enough. The Thing simply raised his arm and flicked Vladimir hard just below the shoulder. Vladimir yelped with the sharp pain and tears welled in his eyes as his left arm tingled and slowly drew numb. After a few moments it dropped uselessly to his side.

“My old wrestlin’ coach from when I was in the Unlimited Class told me about the Brachial Nerve Clusters in the shoulder. Hit it hard enough an’ yer opponent’s arms are useless for a long time. ‘Course it never worked with the bruisers I was fightin’ back then, but figgered you ain’t got much by way of armor so it’d work on you.

“Now we’re in the middle of a firefight, kid an’ I’d rather not have ta do that to yer other arm an’ leave ya helpless. Ya gonna back down, or what?”

Vladimir was about to nod in the affirmative when a cold voice broke through the moment.

“Let… the boy go… Grimm.”

Vladimir looked up even as the Thing looked back and he saw Stephanie Scratch hovering over them. She had transformed into her full serpent form rising up off of the ground on the coiled length of her slithering tail. Her skin was tinted in varying shades of verdant green and scaled, hardened Vladimir suspected. Her eyes seemed slitted now and dark and a long red forked tongue flicked from between her lips as she considered the pair of combatants. Her arms had become two long, undulating snakes; her hands the heads with fangs dripping venom; venom that Vladimir knew to be deadly. The only thing that remained of the woman he had grown to know, like and trust was the long, golden hair and the curve of her face.

“Reptilla?” Grimm said obviously dumbfounded. “I thought that whacko, Nick Scratch had killed all you test tube babies.” Vladimir’s anger boiled at the Thing’s rude remark and struggled all the harder to free himself. Reptilla seemed unfazed by the insult however and actually smirked.

“He did,” she said with a hiss and suddenly her hands both shot out, snakes striking for Ben Grimm’s face.

Zarish stood far back within the shadows of the trees watching as his family fired sporadically on the strangely dressed man and woman. Everyone was wisely using the advantage of the frozen, barren woods for cover if not against the hailstorm of ammunition that his Clan was spending against the invaders, then in defense against the man’s crimson eyebeams. The woodland was ablaze with explosions of light as guns fired the harsh stench of sulfur on the wind blearing his senses and stinging his eyes.

To his relief the old man saw that none of his own had been injured yet, but then neither had the man or woman. For her part she seemed to be holding back for the moment and following his lead, but Zarish could see that she was trembling with anticipation. She could not stand still shifting nervously from foot to foot and her hands were wringing the tightly wrapped leather of hilt of her gradually curved sword. Her eyes were dark and fierce her gaze darting continually around the area both tactically and as though searching. But for what?

The man in contrast seemed calm and in his element. No matter the diversity of the assault his eyebeams flashed scarlet and any and every bullet fell short of its mark; whether deflected or simply stopped dead to fall and smolder in the snow. A Marvel of course and well-versed in the use of his unique abilities. Zarish noticed that the beams did not generate heat and luckily, fire but rather a pressure of force. Cold and damp as the Carpathian Mountains were the wood was tinder and would flare to conflagration with little encouragement. That was good.

The man seemed almost familiar to Zarish; memories of things he had gleaned in his travels. Something in Scotland years ago, and later in France involving Magneto; a name as feared and respected as his Master’s own…

Almost.

“Yuri!” Zarish called out and seconds later a raggedy teen dressed in a soiled, black and gray Caterpillar coat, denims and Redwing work boots huffed up beside him breathing hard. He had a dark knit cap pulled low over his ears and to his brows, dark hair jutting wildly from beneath. His eyes were wide as he surveyed the firefight; his first. The boy was barely sixteen but after this he would be a man.

“Those radios the Scratch woman sent back from town,” Zarish said as he placed a calming hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Are they working?” Yuri looked up at him.

“Y-Yes,” he stuttered obviously afraid but coursing on adrenaline.

“Give me yours.”

Zarish held out his hand and to his credit Yuri hesitated only a moment before pulling off his stocking cap and then the headset. He handed it to the old man who fitted it in place.

A strange new world where times and things change, Zarish thought as he placed the headset on his crown, the buds in his ears and adjusted the thin arm of the microphone. His father would have laughed at all of this ‘technology’. It had taken him years to acknowledge the advantages of simple trucks with four-wheel-drive; a Godsend in the mountains in the wet winter months. But add to that assault rifles and sub-machine guns, computers and now these short range radios…

But his father was dead these long lonely years and Zarish led the Clan now for better than two decades. Alone. As lung cancer had taken his father breast cancer had taken his Gaynor. Or so the doctor’s in the city had said.

He smiled at the thought of his wife, her own smile reflecting his love back at him; the mirror of his soul. Her fiery red hair and temper, the freckles that sprinkled her pale, Welsh skin so soft and comforting. How his father had hated her, an outsider. They had almost been banished but for the intervention of his grandmother. No one disobeyed Mama.

“Cease fire,” Zarish said and slowly the sound of guns spewing bullets sputtered and finally stopped. Zarish scanned the battlefield.

A thin wisping steam of fog hovered close to the ground giving the woodlands an eerie feel; the mist roiling on the winds as the spent cartridges cooled in the snow. He saw the scattered puffs of breath coming from his clan dotting the area in a wide swath; an arch of over one-hundred eighty degrees. He could almost feel the tension radiating as his brethren waited; ignoring the muted rumbles of thunder rolling down the mountains, the screaming winds and the whine of hard-pressed battle not so far away.

He saw a flash of scarlet as the man peeked out, eyes glowing. A two-second glance before his head disappeared again. The woman followed suit, though her head popped out at a lower level; two second scan and she was gone. They were well trained in the arts of battle; Zarish would credit them that. But so was he.

Zarish started whispering his orders and smiled as his brethren started to move.

“What the hell are they doing?”

Colleen Wing stood with her back against the thick Fir scanning the area behind them, watching for anyone of the gypsy band that might be trying to circle around. She doubted they were that smart, but you never knew. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the sweat-soaked hilt of her katana, her anxiety and rage making her desperate to get out of this stupid, useless firefight and find Misty. She wanted to scream.

“They’re trying to flank us.”

Colleen stared at Scott Summers – Cyclops and former leader of the X-Men – and wondered what she had ever seen in him. They had had a brief fling a couple years back when they were both alone and lonely; some fun times she would admit and cherish. But as soon as Miss High-and-Mighty Grey had come back from… wherever, he had tossed her aside like an old shoe. It galled her that she had needed to call him for this; him and Grey both, but getting Misty back was the most important thing.

“Flank us,” she said even as she saw a shadow flit between the trees several yards away.

“They’re widening their line of fire thinking that if they spread out far enough I won’t be able to defend against their shots.” Summers looked her way and grinned. “Apparently one of them has a little military background. Won’t do them any good of course.”

Cocky, sonuvva… “Listen, you don’t need me for this,” Colleen said. “I can easily loop way out and around and come up behind them. I can find Misty and the others and we can get out of here.” Summers shook his head as he returned his attention to the Gypsies.

“Too risky. All I’m seeing out there are men and boys. Odds are the women are back at the vehicles and probably guarding your friends. No telling how many there might be.” Summers looked her way again, the glow of his eyes glinting off of her sword. “We don’t want a blood bath here, Colleen.”

Colleen Wing was about to snap back when a blazing golden glow erupted far up in the mountains. She saw the vague outline of a fiery bird before the explosion rumbled down in a cascading wave that washed over them all and drove them to their knees…

Dracula stared in awe at the blazing glory erupting within the storm far away on the mountain slopes. The symbolism of the huge flaming bird was not lost on him as it rose through the swirl of dark clouds amidst crackling arcs of lightning quaking bellows of thunder. He had seen and wielded magicks both light and dark and had witnessed wonders created by Strange, Thor and even the Silver Surfer, but there was nothing to compare to the majesty of the Phoenix.

As thunder shattered the air he watched as the Iron-Man faltered in the blast of wind that raced down the mountain to sweep the small valley where the Rom had made camp. The Avenger’s flight had been interrupted by the frigid, gale force winds as he had hovered surveying the firefight. Now he worked to compensate and distracted as he was, was at a disadvantage that Dracula could exploit.

As Lord of the Vampyr one of the powers at his command was control of the weather. He was not so vain to truly believe that his own abilities rivaled those of the Thunder God, Thor, or even the Weather Witch Storm of the X-Men, but he could manipulate the elements already in place and brewing. He could enhance the storm and bend it to his will; a taxing effort to be certain but most often the results justified the means.

Dracula raised his arms and curled long, gnarly fingers into claws, his will reaching out as he called the storm to him. It had already been swirling down the slopes but the force of the Phoenix had excited its fury and now it sped to do his bidding. He concentrated; willing the temperatures to drop, the lightning rage and the winds to howl. He stared at the Golden Avenger and brought his wrists together, his hands forming a funnel. He watched as the Iron-Man steadied his flight and turned as a wall of sleet washed over him. Freezing rain enveloped the battlefield.

“Jesus! What the fuck?”

Misty Knight shrieked as the deluge of sideways blowing sleet swept over the camp. She was cold enough to begin with but within seconds she was soaked to the bone and freezing from the sudden cold. She felt ice coating her shoulders and clinging to her hair as she pulled up the hood of the ratty parka that the kid Vladimir had given her, thankful for small favors.

Visibility dropped to zero as the sudden squall railed around them. The Gypsy women who had replaced the men as their guards carrying shotguns and AK 47’s shrank back and faded from sight looking just as shocked and surprised as she felt. Darkness swelled as the small fire that had been keeping them warm quickly died. She felt a strong hand grip her shoulder.

Sicht

Misty swayed a bit as her vision swam but the hand on her shoulder was supportive as well as strong. She saw flitting images of light in the distance flickering like feint fires glowing in the distance and getting smaller, dwindling as the storm raged. Infra Red, she thought remembering the earliest versions of the high-tech goggles she had used many, many years before.

“Arcane?” she asked but could barely hear her own voice above the sound of the shrieking winds.

Wärme

Misty gasped in pleasure as a feeling of warmth coursed through her body. She could still feel the biting cold and wind but it seemed lessened somehow by whatever her friend the Hedge Mage had done. The weird word that he had spoken was already fading from her memory, not that she cared.

“You okay?” Eric Arcane said as he leaned in close. He looked as frosty as she felt with ice sickles hanging from his dreads and beard. The butt of his cigarette was a soggy sliver of ice dangling from his thick lips. She saw fresh traces of silver in his hair, but whether that was from the sleet or the magic that he had just drained from his Life Force she could not tell. Despite the sudden flood of warmth he was shivering. So was she.

“Yeah, thanks,” she said her left hand going up to grip his forearm and strengthen their bond. She stared hard into his eyes, squinting in the wind. “You’re still weak. Don’t do nothin’ stupid, old man.” Arcane smirked and spit his useless cigarette into the wind.

“Minor Cantrips,” he shouted over the wind. “They won’t last long though so we better get moving. You got a plan?”

“Besides getting’ the hell outta dodge?” Misty shrugged and scanned the area. Little pinpricks of heated light scattered the land. Way in the distance she saw the fiery form of the Phoenix – at least she assumed that’s what it was. She’d heard it described often enough. To think her ex-roommate wielded that kind of power. She shuddered and not from the cold. Closer though she saw a glowing man in the sky; a vaguely familiar shape, bulky and radiating heat from head to toe. It was either the Human Torch or…

“Iron-Man! I think the cavalry’s arrived and it’s time for us to get outta this travevlin’ freak show.”

Something slammed into her back and sent her sprawling into the snow. The special sight vanished and immediately she felt the bitter sting of the freezing sleet as she was enveloped again. She hit the icy ground hard and slid as a weight bore down on her. She could hear snarling and felt the brief warmth of breath on her throat as something bit into her right shoulder.

This is ridiculous, Colleen Wing thought as she struggled through the growing snow drifts and blasting winds of the storm. Despite the leather flight jacket she had pilfered from the Quinjet she was feeling the icy bite of the storm that she was certain Dracula had called down. He had done it before the last time they had encountered him, though not with this kind of intensity. And she was damn certain that it had been Dracula that she had seen.

And it made sense of course. Transylvania for Christ’s sake; why hadn’t she seen the connection? Too worried about Misty, she supposed. And she was here. Colleen could feel it in her freezing bones. She and Misty Knight had been friends for years; best friends and partners. They had developed an affinity; a bond over those years. Oh, maybe not the mystical, psychic link that she shared with Daniel Rand, but it was just as strong. In ways, stronger.

Light flared in the distance behind her. An odd sound caught her attention and she spun as the swirling sleet storm eased a moment, sword high and ready to strike. Not so far away she saw a flurry of shadows moving closer.

She saw the huge bulk of a person shambling through the snow. Flanking that was a tall lanky form well over seven feet and another spindly shadow that sported a strange-shaped head and what appeared to be tiny wings. She saw another shadow carrying a gun that was longer than it was tall. Beyond that two forms struggled in the snow; one with only one arm.

“Misty!” Colleen cried out and charged forward even as the winged creature leapt skyward. Colleen skidded to a stop on the icy ground and slashed her katana in a wide arc as the shadow dropped towards her. She felt the slightest resistance and heard a shriek as the thing cried out and fell to the snow.

“Colleen! No!”

“Misty?”

Colleen Wing felt something fat and wet slam into the side of her face. She dropped to the icy ground head ringing and eyes swimming as the huge lump of a form loomed over her. She looked up blearily and saw a woman easily the fattest she had ever seen towering over her prone form. She was wearing rubber boots and a parka that was obviously too small for her. Colleen shook her head as the bulky woman raised her foot.

“Bitch!”

Without thinking Colleen thrust upwards with her katana. She heard the fat woman scream as the blade cut into her thigh and she staggered back, finally falling in a plume of snow. The lanky man ran forward and dropped to his knees beside the woman. He ripped off his coat and quickly pressed it to the woman’s wound before staring hard at Colleen with bulging, red-rimmed eyes.

“Leave us alone!” he shrieked over the howling winds as Colleen scuttled backwards out of reach. She held her sword before her as movement caught her eye and she turned to see a man separating the shadow from attacking whatever she thought was Misty Knight. She saw the strange silhouette of a dog’s head as the thing flew backwards slamming into a tree. It seemed to slump, stunned.

Colleen Wing drove her sword into the earth and struggled to her feet, pushing up on shaky legs. She ran forward as best she could, past the lanky man intent on guarding his friend. He was no threat that she could see. Fighting through the blowing sleet storm she finally saw Misty Knight take focus, lying on the ground with blood oozing from her right shoulder. Too she saw Eric Arcane kneeling beside her, placing his hands on the ripped flesh. He seemed older than she recalled.

Hellen!

Colleen gasped as she saw Misty’s body arch up even as Arcane held her down. Her friend thrashed hard for a moment then lay still. She ran up and dropped to her knees beside her best friend. She gasped a sigh of relief as she saw Misty’s chest rise and fall. Tears welled in her eyes…

Flamme

Colleen looked up to see a spark of fire flaring in the Hedge Mage’s hands as he puffed a cigarette to life. He grinned once he got it going and tossed a crumpled, empty pack away into the snow as he took a long drag, exhaling the smoke on the wind.

“Hope you’re ready to go,” he said as he got to his feet and looked into the storm. “I’ve had about enough of this.”

Stephanie Scratch screamed as the Thing’s massive orange fists enclosed the two snake heads that were her hands. Her serpentine body wavered as she felt the pressure of Grimm’s assault. Her eyes flicked to the side as she sagged seeing the ruby red flash of Cyclops’ eyebeams; the grunts and screams as the Rom army fell. She heard a snarl of rage and looked back at Grimm.

Vladimir was on the Avenger’s back pounding his bloodied fists against the brute’s rocky hide. The Thing seemed unconcerned.

“I don’t wanna hurt ya, toots. Do us all a favor an’ surrender.” Grimm squeezed his fists slightly and Stephanie cried out, her snake-like body slumping in the snow. She could barely move as the cold and sleet enveloped her making her lethargic.

“Let her go!”

Stephanie Scratch looked up to see Vladimir hammering on the Thing’s rocky hide. He looked furious as icy tears froze on his cheeks, his bloody hands glistening. Grimm glanced back.

“Yer gettin’ on my nerves, kid.”

Stephanie knew what she had to do and bowed her head. Concentrating she willed the animal back, the cold making the serpent slow and willing. Her long, snake-like arms wavered in the storm finally shrinking and changing color. She felt her tail split shedding skin as she was suddenly kneeling in the snow before the Avenger, her hands still grasped tight. She took a deep breath as she looked up at the Thing, her sight wavering as heat faded.

“Don’t hurt him,” she pleaded and felt the grip on her hands lessen, finally vanish. She looked up and saw Grimm smile as he reached up and back. He flicked a finger connecting with Vlad’s chin that sent the boy tumbling back to sprawl in the snow. Grimm stared after the boy a moment then nodded before turning his attention to her once more. He smiled.

“Not a problem.”

Dracula raised his arms to the storm and called forth the lightning.

The Lord of the Vampyr squinted as light flared the static erupting about the Golden Avenger’s armor. He seemed to falter a moment, but then the armor glowed and the Iron-Man swooped down raising his arms.

Dracula shifted becoming mist as the Avenger’s Repulsor Rays plowed into the earth where he had been standing just a moment before. Dirt and snow spewed as the misty form drifted on the wind finally coalescing in the trees not so far away. Dracula watched as the Avenger slowly turned in place, the explosion of energy apparently disorienting him. Finally the Iron-Man stopped and raised his arms again, pointing at the Vampire Lord.

“We weren’t looking for a fight,” the metal man’s voice boomed over the storm. ”We just want our friends back. Give them up and we’ll go.”

“No!”

Dracula winced as a golden flare resembling a huge, fiery bird erupted in the sky behind the Iron-Man. Stark turned in flight and his body spasmed. Dracula watched as the armored Avenger went limp and dropped from the sky like a stone. He hit the icy ground hard even as a woman appeared within the raging inferno of cosmic fire. The Vampyr Lord stared at the Phoenix Force in all its glory.

“This ends now!” the Phoenix shouted even as the raging sleet diminished and stopped. A calm fell over the area as Dracula stepped from the trees to face this new threat. He stared up at the woman her fiery red hair ablaze as her form wavered shifting from pale green to blood red.

“End it then, woman!” Dracula shouted raising clawed hands into the sky. “Destroy me and pave your way!” Dracula heard the squeals of his brethren gathering and coming closer. He was not done yet.

“Jean!”

Both Dracula and the Phoenix looked aside to see the X-Man, Cyclops, running forward. He skidded to a halt on the icy ground and stared up longingly. In the distance Dracula saw the bats massing.

“Don’t do this!” Cyclops shouted as the Vampire Lord gathered his latest army. In the distance he saw the Rom struggling to rise. He saw the Thing striding closer. He saw the woman with the sword holding Misty Knight, the Hedge Mage standing back and watching intently.  “Fight it!” Cyclops shouted.

“No!”

Dracula saw the Phoenix Force flare and heard the screams as the bats erupted in a fire storm. Those that were not incinerated dropped to the ground just as dead. Wolves and rats alike ran into the safety of the forest, disappearing into the dark. Dracula lowered his arms.

“Do it!” he shouted over the last of the dying winds.

Dracula saw the Phoenix Force flare and braced for the onslaught of energy that would wipe him from the face of the Earth. His memory swirled and he saw the face of his long dead wife briefly. That in turn morphed into the image of Rachel Van Helsing; one of his more persistent antagonists. He did not understand but stood proudly; the Lord and Ruler of Walachia, King of the Vampyr, Master of the Dark and Undead…

“Enough!”

A hollow metallic voice caught his attention and he turned as did all others. Dracula saw a flicker of energy as a man dressed in greens and cold gray armor strode forward with a purpose. His true face was hidden behind a façade apparently iron, his eyes ablaze as he scanned the battlefield. Even the Phoenix paused as she stared at the new arrival who strode towards the Vampyr Lord. Energy flickered in his wake.

Finally the armored man stopped before the Lord of the Vampyr. His red-rimmed eyes flicked to the Phoenix, her form fading to a paler glow. Dracula saw the Thing pause and the X-Man raise a hand to his visor. In the distance the woman with the sword stood between her friends and the newcomer, protecting them. Dracula saw the slightest tint of white in the armored man’s faceplate; a smile as he turned his attention back to the Vampire Lord.

“I am Doom,” the armored man spoke and Dracula knew that it was so.

“I know of you,” Dracula said standing tall and proud before the Lord of Latveria.

“And I you,” the armored man said looking about. His gaze lingered on the Iron-Man for a moment downed and helpless then focused on the Thing. “This petty squabble must end.”

Dracula stared at his neighboring monarch. He had heard of Doctor Doom of course but their paths had never crossed. Latveria had never been a goal.

“Petty?” Dracula said with some arrogance. He saw the Phoenix lowering to the ground, apparently confused and cowed. Cyclops moved towards her but she raised a hand to stay him back. “These ‘Heroes’ seek to keep me from my ancestral home. I cannot… Shall not abide their continued interference.”

Doom nodded and Dracula saw a spark of energy in his gauntleted fist. “I understand,” Doom said and turned towards the Thing. “I need that one.”

Grimm stared at Doctor Doom.

“What’s up, Vic?”

“More than you can imagine, mockery.” Doom’s hand flared in a burst of energy that blinded everyone for seconds. When his vision returned Dracula saw Midnight and the girl – Sylvia – standing between him and his foe. The Thing was gone.

“Listen. We’re done.”

Dracula looked up to see the Hedge Mage standing just a few feet away, his hands up in supplication. He saw the Iron-Man still helpless on the ground, Cyclops the Mutant comforting the Phoenix Force. The woman with the sword guarding Misty Knight. He saw the Rom coming around, rising from the frozen ground. He could still win the day.

“I agree,” he said looking towards the Negress. Misty Knight stared at him.

“I wanted blood, Mage, but I can abide with the hardships I have imposed. Take your allies and leave us. Never return or your life is forfeit, and all of those that follow you.”

The Hedge Mage took a long hard drag from his cigarette then flicked the spent butt into the snow. ”No worries,” he said turning to the woman with the sword. “It’s over, Colleen.”

Dracula saw the woman hesitate but finally lower her sword. She seemed to sag.

The Hedge Mage turned back to him and grinned.

“Doctor Doom… Go figger.”

“Indeed…”

Epilogue

The Lord of the Vampyr stood on the edge of the icy ridge staring out at the land that he had once called home…

In his mind he saw the road leading to the castle lined with stakes; his enemies dying slowly, impaled and writhing in agony. The Turks for the most part, but others as well. He had shown them… Shown them all.”

The castle loomed mighty in the last rays of the fading sun.

His body smoldered as he stared longingly, remembering times past.

Harker had destroyed his home years before. The cripple had exploded the castle in a fool attempt to destroy him. It had worked, for a time. But Quincy Harker had never understood the ultimate truth.

Dracula was forever. And they were no more…

Harker

Van Helsing

Taj

Harold H. Harold

Even Blade, fool that he was

Dracula drew his cloak about him as the last rays of the sun faded beyond the mountains. He shivered as he healed, his thirst growing.

“You okay?”

The Lord of the Vampyr turned surprised that Stephanie Scratch had gotten so close. Was it her, or was he failing?

“I am well. Just reminiscing.” Scratch nodded and stepped up beside him.

“I can imagine,” she said stuffing her hands in the pockets of her long, quilted coat against the cold. “Lot of years to remember.”

Dracula nodded and turned towards the woman.

“You’re not afraid of me.”

“Not particularly, no.”

“Why is that?” Stephanie shrugged.

“My father killed me. Me and all my siblings. As far as I know I’m the only one to come back. Snakes and Reptiles. Figure if you kill me I’ll be back, eventually.”

Dracula returned his attention to the castle and the setting sun. “I have no reason to slay you.”  The pain of daylight eased.

“Good to know.” Scratch smiled. “The Rom are ready to move. Zarish is keeping them in line.”

“I know.”

Dracula watched as the sun finally dropped behind the Carpathian Mountains. His eyes adjusted in the dim and he looked on at his ancestral home, waiting for his return. He felt the pain ease.

“Get them organized,” he said as he dropped over the edge of the ridge. He staggered a bit and called deep into what was left of his soul.

A wolf cried out…

Dracula ran.

He was home.

END

Authors Note

This will be my final issue of Tomb of Dracula, at least for awhile. I told the stories I had in my head and brought the Vampyr Lord and some of his supporting cast back into the world of the Marvels and Omega. Some worked… some didn’t, but I hope you all enjoyed the ride as much as I did.

I’ll be focusing now on Thing and Avengers, which I plot with the amazing Dino Pollard. If you haven’t been keeping up with those, you probably should as BIG things are coming. As to Dracula, I’ll be releasing the Dibs for now, but if no one else takes up the reins I may be back before you know it. Time will tell.

For now, thanks and as always: ‘Read… Write… Enjoy!’

Curt Fernlund
November 14, 2016

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