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My Son is the Chosen One
The Count felt the fury at his son once more denying him food that so happily wandered into his home. Worse than that was that he had done so in full witness of the most powerful vampires in the world. Just one week after he had almost been executed for fraternising with humans.
Did his son not care for his father’s unlife?
That was it!
Vlad was going to the Academy of Night.
Atilla and Krone would be pleased.
The Count had been avoiding sending Vlad there for years because he didn’t want his son to be so far away for him. Plus, he loved Vlad and couldn’t bare the thought of Vlad hating him and he wanted Vlad to be happy. It was just a shame that the Academy didn't take girls (of course they didn't because what did the powers of girls matter as long as they could produce healthy young and look after the castle) but it would be nice to have Ingrid out from under his fangs.
And Vlad would not be happy at the Academy deprived of his friends, his bed, his breather apparel. The Count found his resolve wavering with the thought of making his precious baby boy unhappy. But the Count couldn’t just turn a blind eye or accept Vlad’s strange eccentric interests not in front of such company.
He just hoped Vlad would one day forgive him.
Then a bald breather dressed in typical slayer’s garb turned up in the middle of the hunt for Vlad’s breathers. The Count could smell the stench of death on his so deep that he must have killed hundreds of their kind.
He hadn’t smelt a slayer with a scent so strong since the slayer in Moulin Rouge in 1906. Of course, he had killed her, and she had put up a hell of a fight. Still had a bottle of her delicious blood somewhere for special occasions. Was planning to open it when Vlad turned sixteen.
He might never get a chance to now.
He might get staked.
And this wasn’t like with the Van Helsings who he hadn’t even been able to scent were slayers until he had revealed himself. And even then, the scent was so weak he could barely tell what they were. Probably just ancestral slayer’s blood. That was why he enjoyed playing with them but didn’t see them as a threat to his children to finish them once and for all.
But this slayer was not like them.
He was a killer.
He was experienced.
He was dangerous.
The Count could die.
Vlad could already be dead.
Oh, some slayers like the Van Helsings wouldn’t attempt to kill a vampire child even though they thought they were monsters they couldn’t bring themselves to harm a child who had yet to kill. But not all slayers were like that. There were many who considered it a preventative measure to kill a vampire child before they became the killers they were destined to be when they grew up.
The Count felt dread settle in his gut.
‘And who might you be?’ the Count demanded.
‘Kurt Moller, Vampire Slayer, number of kills – 989,’ the man said.
‘And where is my son and heir?’ growled the Count.
‘And Count Dracula literally begged for his spawn’s life,’ the slayer said.
‘Where is he?’ growled the Count.
‘The kid’ll be fine,’ the slayer said. ‘Sunlight will not yet burn him … but it will you.’
The Count hissed in and jumped out of the way as an explosion of sunlight dusted Selahattin Alkan. The Slayer was muttering under his breath and speaking in third person as he began to dust the most powerful vampires in the world.
He was crazy.
Not that was surprising.
All Vampire Slayers were a little bit unhinged.
It made their blood all the sweeter.
Ingrid’s half fang showing a proficiency with pyrokinesis started shooting fire balls at the slayer from behind where he and Ingrid were hiding. The slayer shot more sunlight towards them but by now natural barricades had formed. They were fairly evenly matched. Which was galling given how many vampires against one human there was.
Then the half fang jumped out into the middle of the fray in an attempt to kill the slayer and got dusted for his trouble. The Count could have sighed at that if he had breath in his body. The young ones were always so impulsive when they were first sired so desperate to prove themselves to their Sire.
Foolish boy.
Foolish girl for siring before she was able to control her Half Fang. Not that he would have expected anything less from the foolish girl who had been a disappointment to him since she had crawled out of her mother’s womb not the son and heir he had been expecting and waiting for. Still, he had fed and cared for her even when many would have made sure their eldest was not a girl.
Ingrid stopped fighting to kneel at the dust of her lover with tears in her eyes. Just like a girl to get the better of her in the heat of battle. But at the same time seeing his daughter’s pain made the dead thing that hadn’t worked in six hundred years twist.
The Count pushed that away.
The slayer ran out of ammo causing the Count to laugh.
Foolish breather to think his unpleasant toys could withstand the might of a vampire!
‘Well,’ laughed the Count. ‘We enjoyed your little firework display. But all good things must come to an end.’
‘Including you,’ Ingrid stood up.
The slayer threw a fangled metallic contraption at the Count. The Count didn’t know what it was but knew whatever it was he didn’t want to be anywhere near when it blew. The Count prepared to jump away from it but the stupid bumbling servant of his flung his arms around him in attempt to save him and so damning him when UV cage closed around him.
‘You are so dead,’ hissed Ingrid.
As she and the remaining Grand High Vampire elects crowded around the slayer. That was when a tear stricken teenaged slayer turned up and shot young Keleblek Erkan in the back before he could take a bite out of the slayer. The breather boy’s scent changed as he did so.
His first kill.
His blood would taste wonderful tonight.
There was nothing like the blood of a loss of innocence.
But the Count could do nothing while trapped in this infernal cage!
‘Nice shooting slayer,’ the older breather said.
‘Where’s your father?’ the older slayer said.
The boy’s lips wobbled, ‘he’s dead …. Let’s finish this once and for all.’
The boy threw a stake at the adult who quickly aimed it at Ingrid’s heart. Ingrid for all her frailties and foolishness stood with pride and not backing down as the foolish slayer threatened her. Well, of course, she was she did have some of his noble blood after all.
That was when Vlad rushed into the room.
The Count sniffed he could smell the elder Van Helsings blood on Vlad enough that it was clearly not just an accident. Well, good on his son for finally proving himself to be a vampire and the killer the Count had always known he was.
‘Don’t do this!’ Vlad shouted. ‘We can work something out.’
‘The time for talking is over, kid,’ the older slayer said.
‘My father is dead!’ snarled the slayer boy.
Vlad flinched but at the same time licked his lip and tried to get something out from his teeth (he must need a fang brush). Getting skin stuck in your teeth was always so annoying and Vlad without his fangs grown in ... well feeding would have been deliciously messy. Not that wasn't the norm when you were. The Count couldn't help but think of all the delightful carnage he had delighed in when he was young.
‘I’m sorry … but this won’t bring him back ….’ Vlad tried.
Then Vlad appeared to look into the empty space beside him as he tried to talk things out again but failed to find the right words. But the Count knew that the only peace would be when one side was wiped out. That was the way of war after all. There seemed to be some sort of acceptance in Vlad’s eyes.
That was when Vlad’s breather boy ran into the room.
Except no that wasn’t right.
His clothes smelt of breather blood.
His own blood.
But the boy smelt of vampire.
He had been turned.
And from the looks passing between his son and the Branagh boy he knew exactly what had happened. But it should be impossible. Vlad was thirteen-years-old (fourteen next week). Over two years away from his transformation. He should not be able to turn a human.
But he had.
Robin was holding the Crown of Power.
‘Robin, the crown, now,’ Vlad ordered.
Robin tossed it at Vlad who took it and placed it on his head. The Count tried to shout out. Vlad had to survive, had to. He and Ingrid may die but Vlad had to continue their line. Vlad had to survive he just had to.
But the second he put on the crown everything changed.
The Crown began to glow with white light and the room began to tremble with telekinetic energy. The Count tried to avoid falling into the UV light cage hissing as he did so. The breathers screamed and fell as Vlad ascended into the air the power controlling him as much as he was controlling it.
He was too young.
Vlad screamed.
Electricity streamed out of the Crown from Vlad’s head.
He was the Chosen One.
The Count knew it without a shadow of a doubt that Vlad was the Chosen One. Vlad had tried to tell them before, but he hadn’t listened to his own son, hadn’t believed him. The Count had thought it was some harebrained scheme to protect his father out of a sense of loyalty.
But it was true.
It explained a lot.
It explained that why at the age of twelve Vlad had been able to hypnotise Count Dracula himself. Even the Count hadn’t begun developing hypnosis abilities until he was fourteen-years-old. Ingrid had developed it only two weeks before her fourteenth birthday and if she ever found out her abilities came in before the Count’s he would never hear the end of it.
Then at thirteen Vlad had developed pyrokinesis. He hadn’t believed it at first not believing that his thirteen-year-old son could have developed pyrokinesis. Ingrid hadn’t developed until she was almost sixteen-years-old and even the Count hadn’t developed pyrokinesis until he was fifteen and he was something of a prodigy.
Then only a few weeks later Vlad had entered the Dream World before he had absorbed his reflection. The Count had researched it at the time but the only way to enter the Dream World before your sixteenth birthday was if you went through the Transformation early. There were no records of it happening any other way.
And then a couple of weeks ago Ingrid had resisted her transformation and both she and her Reflection had been running around Stokely. Yet, Vlad had been able to see it even though he had not absorbed his own reflection.
The Count had realised after his son had hypnotised him that Vlad was destined to be an extremely powerful vampire (if his breathing loving hippy new age fangled nonsense was sorted). But never in his wildest dreams did he think that his son and heir would be the Chosen One. The Count had heard stories of the Chosen One all his life.
And his son was the Chosen One.
He was so proud.
How long had Vlad known?
Since the Dream World ….
The Count had asked him if he was the Chosen One and Vlad had hesitated before saying no, he wasn’t. That lying deceitful spawn on his thought the Count proudly. He hadn’t considered that his son would lie because if he had been the Chosen One, he would have shouted it from the rooftops. But Vlad who had desired to be human ever since the escapade with the village elders would not, he would hide and run from it as he did vampirism.
But that too was written. In the old prophecies it was said that the Chosen One would be crowned unwillingly when he had to make a most terrible choice. The Count wondered what choices Vlad would have to make.
‘That’s my Vladdy,’ the Count said.
He was only thirteen.
Just two days off of being fourteen.
And now he had revealed himself as the Chosen One.
And now he had claimed the Throne of Power.
And now he was the Grand High Vampire.
He was just a child.
And he was going to have to make decisions not just for him and the Dracula family but all of Vampire Kind. The Count wasn’t sure if his son would be ready for everything that would be expected of him. But Vladdy would have his Daddy to guide him. The Count knew that with his help Vlad would mature into the kind of leader that their kind needed.
And he would have so much sway over their new leader.
It was only one step away from being the Grand High Vampire himself. He would likely have to be the Regent until Vlad turned eighteen in much the same way the closest relative would be regent on the Clan Council if a young vampire became Clan Leader before he was eighteen-years-old.
And wouldn’t that be fun.
Atilla and Krone’s faces when they realised, they had to take orders from him, from Count “Draculoser” would be a scream! The Count almost laughed aloud when he had that thought. Oh, they would hate it.
But then Vlad began to speak, and the Count lost his train of thought because when Vlad spoke his voice echoed with ancient power that belied his young age. And the voice he spoke with made it almost impossible to resist his words.
He was thirteen.
If this was what he was like at thirteen what would he be like when he fully came into his powers. The Count shivered at thought but whether in fear of his son or excitement for how feared his son would become the Count couldn’t and quite frankly wouldn’t entertain.
‘Vampires be gone,’ Vlad roared.
And the assembled Grand High Vampire elects fled in a second out of fear of his son and with utter obedience to the Count’s son. Oh, the Count couldn’t be prouder of his little Vladdy who was wielding so much power.
Not that the elects had any reason to stay now that their chance for the throne was gone probably forever. After all, the prophecies of the Chosen One said that the Chosen One would rule forever or more accurately as long as there was Night and Blood.
‘Mortals approach me,’ Vlad roared.
And wasn’t the term something that had fallen out of favour shortly after the plague had ripped through Europe when he was young. It was a term for when the breathers still saw them as gods and worshipped them. It was around this time that the breathers began to see them as demons and began to hunt them. And it wasn’t a coincidence that Vlad was referring to them as mortals as he floated above them like a god to them.
The two slayers dropped their stakes and Renfield approached Vlad their eyes vacant. Vlad was obviously hypnotising them and it was powerful if their looks were to go by especially as the slayer had likely got trained resistance and Renfield had built up immunity over the decades of service.
‘Why must we destroy each other? Can we not live together in harmony?’ Vlad’s voice echoed as he spoke.
Even now at his ascension Vlad was still the peace maker. Still trying to make them all get a long and sing kumbayas around campfires. Vlad couldn’t or perhaps more accurately wouldn’t accept the fact that vampires preyed upon breathers and slayers hunted vampires. It was the way of the world and nothing he could do could change that.
Except now he was the Grand High Vampire.
Now he was the Chosen One.
Now the entirety of the Vampire Kind answered to him.
The Count had a bad (or was that good) feeling about this.
‘Leave this place and remember nothing of vampires,’ Vlad said voice still echoing strangely. ‘We. Do. Not. Exist.’
Vlad waved his hands and blue lightening came out of them and directly into the three breather’s heads as their minds were wiped of all things relating to vampires. The Count watched in shock and awe … and fear.
He had never seen power like this.
Not at the academy.
Not even from his father.
Not from the Grand High Vampire.
His son really was the Chosen One.
And he was thirteen-years-old.
‘NOW GO!’ roared Vlad.
And the two slayers and Renfield were suddenly whisked away as though they had vampire speed. The Count couldn’t even figure out how it had happened because Vlad hadn’t moved from where he was floating.
He had never even heard of powers like that.
Vlad let out a deep exhausted sounding sigh as the light went out of the Crown of Power and his body crumpled to the floor coming down to the hard stone flagstones with a nasty sounding bang. It sounded as though it hurt a lot. The Crown of Power fell of Vlad’s head, and he lay absolutely still. The Count couldn’t hear a heartbeat or breath from the boy and as a juvenile vampire he should have a heartbeat (about half the speed of a human at his age) and shallow breaths.
But he didn’t.
Was he dead?
Properly dead?
Had he wielded more power than his non-transformed body could cope with?
Had becoming the Chosen One killed him?
The Count felt pain and grief he had never felt before in all of years of unlife. He couldn’t bare it if his precious son, his little Vladdy, was dead. It just couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t be true. The Chosen One was supposed to rule over them for an eternity. He couldn’t be dead!
‘Is he … is he dead?’ the Count could barely get the words out.
Ingrid stood up and kicked the Throne of Power further away from Vlad’s body still looking spooked by Vlad’s power. But the fear of her brother’s power and rightful place in the world was being overtaken by rage.
‘I don’t know,’ Ingrid said looking down at Vlad, ‘and I don’t care!’
Ingrid declared her voice harder and colder than the Count had ever heard it and she was often hard and cold to him at least as of late. It had been so much easier when Ingrid was a little girl before she got ideas. Before Magda had left to deal with her on his own.
‘He’s your brother!’ shouted the Count. ‘You must care!’
He had never hated his daughter as much as he did in that second (and he had never particularly liked her). But his precious son, her little brother was lying motionless on the floor, and she wasn’t doing anything to help him.
But he noticed Robin, Vlad’s half fang moving fast across the floor to the side of his sire, to the side of his best friend. The Count breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the young half fang take his pulse and lay a hand on his forehead.
‘Is he dead?’ the Count asked begging.
‘I’m sorry there’s no pulse,’ Robin said. ‘He’s not breathing … but his temperature feels normal.’
The Count looked up to the heavens, ‘no you are dead … and so is he.’
The Count couldn’t look anywhere but Vlad feeling absolutely devastated.
Vlad was gone.
But he couldn’t be.
Vlad was dead.
The Count wanted to sit down heavily but he couldn't in this cage.
He wanted to scream.
He wanted to kill.
He wanted to murder.
Vlad was dead!
Ingrid looked down at Vlad with an unreadable expression on her face and then she screamed. Apparently, somewhere deep under all the anger she eld at Vlad for being his favourite she did care for her little brother.
‘I’m in charge now,’ Ingrid said. ‘And you can call me Countess Dracula. Watch me as I avenge Will’s and Vlad’s deaths and make the streets of Stokely run red with blood.’
Ingrid laughed and as she did so her eyes glowed red and lightning crashed behind her. The Count suddenly looked at his now grown up daughter and realised how powerful the girl had become and how much like him he was. After Magda had let him he had slaughtered his way through the village he was staying in to ease his broken heart which was why they had been driven to this dull country. And the Half Fang's slaying was much worse than that.
‘Traitor!’ the Count yelled. ‘You will pay for this!’
‘From inside your cage, Daddy?’ asked Ingrid tongue as sharp as ever.
She was so much like Magda.
Like her little brother wasn't lying dead just below her.
And then she transformed into a bat and flew away to cause mayhem and destruction. The Count snarled wanting to murder his ungrateful brat. Maybe that would make him feel better about his precious’ son’s death.
‘Well, she’s got you there,’ Robin said not taking his eyes off of Vlad.
The Count snarled at him.
‘Wait shouldn’t I be dead,’ Robin asked hope in his voice.
‘You are,’ the Count said with a snarl.
‘No, I mean if … if Vlad’s dead … I should be too, right,’ Robin said grasping at straws. ‘That means he’s going to be okay. He’s my sire.’
The anger went out of the Count to be replaced only by grief.
‘No,’ the Count said unable to keep the utter agony out of his voice. ‘Vlad's … that’s a myth.'
Probably, from when Blood Mirrors were smashed by Half Fangs desperate to escape their fate.
'Once you have vampire blood running through your veins it is yours forever no matter what happens to your sire,' the Count said.
Robin sat down beside his sire and sobbed heartbreakingly.
Then suddenly he stopped.
‘Vlad?’ Robin asked with hope.
Vlad gasped as he sat up his eyes, bright red and the largest set of fangs he had seen dropping from his son’s mouth. The Count understood now what had happened to Vlad. The power of the Crown of Power had forced him to wield a lot of power that his juvenile body had been unable to cope with forcing him through an early transformation. Hence, why his heart had stopped, that he no longer breathed, and he was cold.
Vlad was now fully dead.
Vladimir Dracula was now a full vampire.
Vlad’s eyes rolled once more into his forehead as he collapsed onto Robin’s lap exhausted and weak and unconscious once more. Vlad had used to much power and the transformation may have been enough to save his unlife but it wasn’t enough to completely heal him.
They had to get out of here now.
Preferably before his traitorous daughter came back.