I took a step forward, a short one that allowed me to disappear into a blur before appearing back over the burned and ruined carcass of the sorcerer. By any regard, he should be dead. I glanced around at the absolute wreck we had turned this part of the road into. There were pockmarks on the ground, while some parts of it had melted from my attempt to contain the flame the sorcerer had unleashed.
I glanced around and caught what remained of the firewyrm. It had suffered the brunt of that attack, and it showed in the carcass it had left behind. A gurgling beneath my feet drew my attention away from the rapidly approaching threat and the destroyed surroundings.
"You cling to life so fiercely. One would've thought after four hundred years, you would have grown weary of it," I said as I looked down at the burnt husk at my feet. I was met with silence, so with a brief nudge of my foot, I turned the body over to pained and tortured gasps from the burned sorcerer.
The air around us began to change, a strange sort of static filling it. The Chaos magic in the air began to shift, blowing and moving like something alive, something being manipulated, I realized. A flash of light gave life to shifting scales hidden in the sky as their owner beat wings so wide and heavy that the very air currents in all of Valyria changed.
I was left with a choice. Something told me that the dragon had been aware of me and my expedition for days. We might have been too small to draw its notice, but it had been somewhat aware. Yet the one and only time it had bothered to spare me attention was when I had been on the landing pad. The same could not be said for the sorcerer.
I turned the pieces in my head and came to a decision in what looked like a split second but had been almost a minute of internal thought that led me to an answer. The dragon was not here for me.
Another glance back at the barely alive corpse reminded me of Gerion's words once more. The sorcerer on his wyrm had fled from the dragon once. They had been specifically targeted, which meant there was some grudge between the two, one I had no business with. Yet I was embroiled all the same.
The dragon wanted the sorcerer dead, but I needed him alive. There was no benefit to confronting the dragon. I had gotten what I wanted from this journey, and the presence of the sorcerer, as well as the knowledge he carried, was important to me and more than made up for the annoyance that was the battle to suppress him. Yet to simply leave like this left a sour taste on my tongue, like curdled blood from a bloated corpse.
It felt like running.
Dracula did not run. He did not hide from foes simply because they were as big as mountains, with wings so wide they blotted out the skies and with roars so strong they reverberated through him and shook the very ground he stood on. Despite the sheer strength, presence, and malice the ancient dragon brought forth, I did not feel fear or even worry. All I could note was a faint sense of annoyance.
Would I win if I stood here and fought? My odds were higher than probably anyone else could boast, yet at the end of the day, there was no benefit to fighting or killing the dragon. The odds were that I would lose the sorcerer in such a fight. If this were a game, then the sorcerer only had half a life left. Even splash damage would be enough to kill him.
The dragon was closer, but I had come to a decision. I bent my knees and grabbed the sorcerer by the neck before standing to my feet, where I was greeted by another roar, this one a more focused blast. I didn't need to be a skinchanger to read the turbulent storm of emotion rolling in with the dragon: hate and rage with a topping of desire.
For some reason, the dragon really wanted the sorcerer dead. Unfortunately, it would not be getting its wish. I looked up to the sky and inclined my head just as the massive snout of the dragon began to emerge from the smog-filled clouds it swam through. I waved it farewell before disappearing into a blur once more as I saw the maw open, revealing teeth bigger than horses.
_
Isaac
There were a few experiences Isaac could say he truly hated, and running through Valyria while injured was fast making its way onto that list.
His broken wrist throbbed with each step, the pain sharp enough that he was forced to keep his arm pressed against his chest to minimize the jostling as he ran. Beside him, Gerion stumbled more than walked, his face pale as he raced after him. The only reason the disgraced knight could still move at all was because of the thing beneath his skin that seemed to be keeping him upright, writhing with increased agitation and fueling his desperate strength.
Marwyn trailed slightly behind, his arms desperately clutching the pack with the dragon eggs, his breathing ragged but determined. He was the least wounded among them, owing to the fact he had done nothing at all, but nothing had been expected of him in the first place. The archmaester seemed a fair fighter, but at heart he was a scholar first. The night creature took up their rear. It was wounded, but it didn’t need to be whole as long as it was functional. It lumbered behind them, carrying the rest of the salvage they had managed to gather, and that weight slowed it down.
They moved as quickly as they could, following the broken dragon roads back the way they had come. The landscape hadn’t changed; it was still the same ash-choked sky, the same ruins, the same oppressive heat. But now Isaac was acutely aware of every shadow, every sound, every potential threat. Without Lord Dracula’s presence here, he suddenly realized how oppressive the cursed land appeared. Had Lord Dracula’s presence been filtering things?
A wraith materialized ahead of them before he could let the thought grow, its spectral form coalescing out of the smog as it walked uncaringly, as if it were simply crossing the road. Isaac didn’t slow. “Keep moving,” he ordered, taking a curve and running at an angle to slip past the uncaring ghost. Gerion and Marwyn did the same, but the night creature shouldered past the apparition as it ran. The wraith shrieked as it suddenly came alive with emotion and lunged, but it was bound to the spot where it had died, unable to pursue beyond a certain radius. They left it wailing behind them.
More wretches appeared as they progressed, drawn by the noise of their haste or perhaps sensing easy prey, since more than half of them were injured. These were different from the ones they had fought and killed in the manse. These were smaller, more feral, with mutations that made them barely recognizable as having once been human.
The night creature surged forward with renewed strength as it dealt with the first two, its massive fists pulping corrupted flesh. Isaac gutted a third with Longclaw, the Valyrian steel cutting through warped bone like it was nothing. Gerion managed to skewer one that got too close to Marwyn, though the effort nearly sent him to his knees.
They were flagging. The scent of so much blood would lead to more monsters.
“Don’t stop,” Isaac said, sheathing Longclaw and grabbing Gerion’s arm with his good hand, pulling the knight forward. “We’re almost there.”
They passed through a section of ruins where something watched them from above. Isaac caught the movement from the corner of his eye and looked up to see it perched on a crumbling tower. It was the size of a horse but shaped all wrong, with birdlike wings that folded against an equine body, its head a twisted fusion of beak and snout without a nose. Multiple eyes tracked their movement with unsettling intelligence as they ran past it.
It was aware.
Isaac’s hand went to his sword, but the creature made no move to attack. It just watched them, tilting its malformed head as if considering whether they were worth the effort to kill. Those eyes went to the night creature, Longclaw, Brightroar, then shifted to the people who wielded them. The sight of the dragon eggs in Marwyn’s hands made it give a full-body twitch, but at the end of the day it did not move from its spot. It had concluded that they were not worth the effort.
It spoke to startling intelligence. Something told Isaac that the creature was not the first they should have crossed. Yet if it was intelligent, with the ability to make threat analyses, it suddenly made sense why they had seen none previously.
Dracula's presence.
The first sign they were close was the bodies that lined the roads before the courtyard where Castlevania had landed came into view, and Isaac felt a surge of relief. The castle stood exactly as they had left it, its Gothic spires jutting into the poisoned skyline.
“Move!” Isaac shouted, and they broke into a stumbling run across the open ground.
The castle doors opened before they reached them, as if sensing their approach. They stumbled through, and without even a second to spare, Isaac immediately turned to the night creature and Marwyn.
“Take the eggs and the things we managed to loot. Secure everything in the storage rooms. Now.”
Marwyn nodded, too exhausted to do anything else, and stumbled back to his feet before following the night creature deeper into the castle. That left Isaac and Gerion in the entrance hall, both bleeding, both barely standing.
Isaac stared at the open door, his mind working through the possibilities. Master Dracula had told them to return. Had ordered them, in fact. But that had been before the explosion.
The explosion had been powerful enough to send them flying even from a distance. The shockwave had hit them like a physical wall, knocking them off their feet and leaving Isaac’s ears ringing for a minute afterward. Whatever Master Dracula had done to the wyrm, it had been catastrophic.
Was he still alive? Isaac knew the vampire was powerful, knew he could survive things that would kill a normal vampire a dozen times over. But that explosion...
He took a step toward the door, already calculating how quickly he could get back to where they had left Master Dracula. His broken wrist would slow him down, but he could manage. He had to.
Then he heard it, footsteps, measured and unhurried, coming from outside.
Isaac froze. Beside him, Gerion straightened slightly, his hand going to Brightroar’s hilt.
The footsteps grew closer before a figure appeared in the doorway, backlit by the hellish glow of Valyria’s perpetual smog.
Master Dracula strolled into Castlevania like he had just returned from an evening walk, despite the smell of ozone and death that followed him.
He looked fine, his features placid. His hair was slightly disheveled, dust and ash clinging to the dark strands. His coat had scorch marks around the edges, the fabric burned and tattered in places. Smoke stains darkened his clothes. But he was whole, unblemished, and carried himself with the same casual dignity and arrogance he always did.
In one hand, he carried something that made Isaac’s brow rise.
The sorcerer. Or what was left of him.
The figure was a burnt, twisted ruin, barely recognizable as having once been human. Most of his lower body was gone, either destroyed in the explosion or left behind with the wyrm’s corpse. His remaining arm hung limp, the flesh blackened and cracked. His four golden eyes were dim, but the moment they stepped into the castle, the eyes twitched, forcing Isaac’s brow to rise further.
Somehow, impossibly, he was still alive. Had the change been that excessive? He doubted the sorcerer even qualified as human anymore, even in the vaguest terms.
Master Dracula held the sorcerer by what remained of his torso, fingers digging into the sorcerer’s neck and carrying him like a particularly annoying cat. He glanced at Isaac, took in his broken wrist and numerous cuts, then spoke with that casual tone, as if the last time they met he had not left them behind to battle a sorcerer and his wyrm.
“Get your hand checked by Marwyn. I do not enjoy the sight of it.”
Then he tossed the sorcerer.
Isaac caught the burnt form on instinct, immediately regretting it as pain shot through his broken wrist. The sorcerer weighed almost nothing, most of his mass having been lost in the explosion. He made a weak sound, something between a wheeze and a groan.
“Treat him,” Master Dracula said, raising a brow, and Isaac felt foolish for catching him. Dracula shook his head and let out a soft chuckle, then continued, already moving past Isaac toward the stairs. “Leave the heavy lifting to Gerion. Secure the sorcerer after making sure he won’t die to an errant breeze. I want him alive and conscious when I have time to ask my questions.”
Isaac understood immediately. “Secure” meant the dungeons, which meant the sorcerer was to get a room alongside the Other they had captured before they left the North. “Understood, Master Dracula.”
Dracula paused at the base of the stairs and turned to them one last time. “Brace yourself. We’re leaving immediately.”
Gerion blinked, confusion crossing his face, while Isaac simply took his word as law. Gerion asked, “Master Dracula?”
“The ride might be bumpy,” Dracula continued, and if Isaac didn’t know him so well, he would have thought he shrugged. “I suggest finding something to hold on to.”
There was something in his tone — not quite worry, not quite urgency, but something close. Master Dracula didn’t sound like that unless there was a reason. There was nothing more to say, so he continued his easy stride up the stairs.
Isaac moved to the window, the burnt sorcerer still in his grip. Through the stained glass, he could see the sky or rather, what was moving through it.
A cloud was racing toward them, propelled by something massive moving within it.
“Seven hells,” Gerion breathed, having joined Isaac at the window.
As they watched, the cloud grew closer, and the thing inside it became visible: a glint of scale, a pair of massive wings, and finally, the creature burst out of the cloud with a single wingbeat.
A dragon. Isaac’s eyes widened in surprise.
It was enormous, bigger than any living thing should be, its wingspan wide enough to cast the entire courtyard in shadow. But it was wrong. Twisted. Its scales were a diseased mixture of black and sickly green, cracked and oozing. Extra eyes dotted its head and neck, each one glowing with magic. Its wings were tattered and torn, but somehow still functional, beating the air with enough force to create gusts that rattled Castlevania’s walls.
More importantly, it was coming straight for them.
“Move!” Isaac shouted, already turning away from the window and pushing the half-dead sorcerer into Gerion’s hands. Both of them burst into hurried motion.
Halfway through their stumbling run, they came across his night creature, which had returned from depositing the salvage. Gerion threw the sorcerer at the night creature to another groan from the sorcerer, not that anyone particularly cared.
“Take him to the dungeons! Chain him with the White Walker! Go!” Isaac ordered, and the creature shambled off, the sorcerer dangling limply in its grip.
Isaac grabbed Gerion’s arm, supporting the knight as they stumbled toward the center of the entrance hall. His broken wrist screamed in protest, but he ignored it. Around them, he could feel Castlevania itself beginning to hum with power, the castle preparing for teleportation. This was what he meant by a bumpy journey.
Through the window, Isaac caught one last glimpse of the dragon. It had opened its maw, unhinging the jaw like a snake and revealing a mouth large enough to take a sizeable chunk out of the castle. Isaac could see fire gathering deep in its throat, a green, sickly fire that burned with corruption. Then it breathed out.
The fire traveled fast, and the flames reached the castle walls in seconds. The black stones that made up the exterior walls further blackened from the heat as glass cracked.
Then the world twisted.
It wasn’t quite like teleportation as Isaac had experienced it before. This was more violent and spoke to the rush with which Dracula had initiated it. Isaac could feel space folding in on itself, and his stomach lurched as reality bent around them.
Then they were gone, pulled away by Castlevania’s magic, leaving the twisted dragon to roar in apocalyptic rage at empty air before it.