Council Members,

You are to convene immediately at Castle Dracula to discuss a matter of the utmost importance. You must arrive without delay- I have taken the liberty of arranging personal transport for each of you to Cluj-Napoca and thence overland through the Borgo Pass to Castle Dracula. Please accompany this messenger.

Again, I stress that this face-to-face meeting, extraordinary though it may be, is absolutely vital to the continued survival or our besieged community.

At the bottom of the old-fashioned parchment, a splash of red wax bore the seal of Dracula. A handwritten letter sealed with wax and hand-delivered by one of Dracula's agents. Erik idly wondered if the Count would ever invest in a telephone or email.

It had been a long trip for the Phantom, Dracula's human servant putting him on a chartered airplane to Cluj-Napoca, where he found a fully fueled off-road vehicle able to take him deep into the mountains, the very mouth of the treacherous Borgo Pass where the last few miles to the castle that could only be traversed on foot. His suit, hat, and cloak were intolerably dusty, and if his face was able to produce sweat the mask would have been dripping as well. It had been annoying to finally arrive and find their host absent.

He looked over the group assembled in the library of Castle Dracula, eyes impassively glinting through the holes of his mask. It was a comfortable enough room, lined wall-to-wall with books old and new, beautifully made chairs and tables scattered around atop priceless rugs, a wide window with a jaw-dropping view of the Carpathian Mountains. But the absence of the castle's owner put all of them on edge. A few members of the Council were also conspicuously lacking- Erik supposed they may have been engaged elsewhere or simply not wanted to come but given the subject matter of the urgent summons he could not help but feel there was some cause for concern.

“Every last one of us received one of these,” he said without preamble, holding up his letter. He spoke bluntly, directly, a man unaccustomed to socializing. “There can be no doubt of its authorship,” Erik said as he tapped the wax seal depicting the Dracula coat of arms. “But it is so unusual for us to meet in person, much less for anything so vague. After a difficult journey up into the mountains, we arrive to find no sign of our host. No servants, no instructions, no fires lit, no refreshments waiting. Not even so much as a note on the door- 'gone to market, back in ten minutes'. We did what any sensible people would do- we searched the entire castle, top to bottom, trying to find our host. Nothing was out of place, nothing out of the ordinary, except this.”

Erik indicated the empty envelope sitting atop the library table where they had found it. It had been slit open (doubtless with a flick of one of the Count's razor-sharp nails) and the contents removed. Privately, Erik suspected the letter inside was now the clump of cold ashes in the library fireplace.

While there was nothing inside the envelope, the writing on the outside might potentially be considered a clue. The postmarks showed it had been received one week earlier at a PO box in Bucharest, one of the Count's few connections to the outside world. The return address revealed it to have been sent from Loxton, a tiny town in a truly remote desert province of South Africa. The sender was listed as one Doctor Septimus Pretorius.

“This, I believe, was the Count's last piece of correspondence. It might suggest that whatever was in this letter was the cause for our summons here today. It might suggest that this Doctor Pretorius was responsible for the Count's disappearance. Perhaps some of the people in this room are. I do not know.”

Erik, with a perhaps overdramatic flick of his cape, turned around and settled into a chair. “I do not like to leave Paris, and then not for any extended period of time. I intend to return at once. Anyone who wants to come with me is welcome.”

He lounged in the chair, lifting his leg and resting the pit of his knee on the armrest while flinging an arm over the back. “I have made no secret of my opinions. If Dracula was right and there is some mysterious force threatening us all, we must band together and defend ourselves. Anything that overcame him can surely overcome us if we are not united. Now, more than ever, we must make a public statement to the world. While the Count would have objected, he is no longer here to stop me from acting in our best interests.”

Erik reached into the pocket of his suit, produced a small silver-plated flask. Delicately, he unscrewed the lid as he spoke. “When I return to Paris, I will make a public ultimatum to the French government and the world at large. It will be simple: abandon Paris and leave it to the children of the night, or face a disaster beyond your wildest imagination. Rest assured, I have recently discovered the means to enforce this edict hidden beneath the city, and it will be so much the easier with your help.”

His speech completed, Erik Garnier, the Phantom, held aloft his flask in salute to the other members of the Council of the Night. “To a new world of gods and monsters,” he toasted, and took a deep swig of cognac.

Lawrence anxiously handled his own letter as he listened, patiently, or at least politely.

It wasn't difficult for him to make arrangements, and see to his affairs for the duration of his absence while on "holiday". This turn of events, though, troubling as it was, did have the wheels turning in his head.

Once Erik had spoken his piece (loony as it was), he took the opportunity to make his own remarks on the apparent state of things. "Well, that certainly was a... 'colorful' performance, Monseur Garnier, but I do think there are some rather pressing issues, more so even than your..." He paused, for dramatic affect, "Fanciful notions. Surely, though this is highly unusual, it wouldn't be the first time that Dracula has taken a leave of absence. This letter, speaking of his likely whereabouts, is not, to my faculties, anything more than what you would have preferred. The simplest and most reasonable assumption is that he is in South Africa, isn't it? There's no reason to assume anything else."

He stood, and gesticulated a bit as he continued in his Posh accent, "Accounting for his eccentricities in all of this, and this whole... Hullabaloo is hardly cause for concern, save the inconvenience of it. Surely, if we simply consult his people, we'll find a plan in place, and if not, it would be far more prudent a course to simply... Delegate some manner of stewardship in his absence? Practical, as well, far more so than... Buggering off to Paris, as you seem inclined, regardless!" He left out that he absolutely had someone in mind for the assumption of leadership. After all, as others would point out, he himself has a fair amount of real leadership experience, and is one of the oldest members of the council. Combined with how loyal he'd been to Dracula, he was convinced his qualifications were obvious, and his nomination inevitable.

He leaned on the table, "And what of this 'New World' of yours? Had it not occurred to you that if such an idea were manageable, nay, even practical, Dracula might have done it himself by now?" He allowed a bit of a laugh in the last words, a subtle jab. He avoided professional politics, lest his persona become just a little bit too public, but in his shadowy dealings with this council, he certainly developed a taste for politics, all the same. "Even if we were to take this seriously, has it never occurred to your 'brilliant' mind, that a many of us stand to lose far more than we might gain, by investing in this venture? I can assure you, I've worked far too hard for what I've managed to piddle it away on the prospect of... What? Splitting the rent on one of those caves you tinker away in?" Another affected laugh, "No, no, sir, I think we all know better than to 'jump the gun', as the Americans would say; this is not a time for rash behavior, let us instead learn what we can of the situation, and act accordingly."

He sat himself down gently, concluding, "And, if we can find no pre-determined course of action or instruction, or, for that matter, Dracula has not returned by such a time, then further action may be appropriate." He looked around the room, "The rest of you lot? You can do as you like, 'playing with matches'; I hardly assume authority, but... I, for one, don't care to be present if Dracula should return to find we've 'burned the house down'." Or raided the pantry, he thought to himself- Lawrence, if you play this right, you may finally be free. Just keep asking yourself: What Would Dracula Do?

Marsh was in Istanbul when the letter came for him. Or rather, he was close by it, plumbing the depths of the Black Sea. It was a difficult task, but a rewarding one, as the salt content of the sea required constant adaptation to breathe within its depths, but the host of ruins along its floor were exquisite. Marsh had almost come to have an appreciation for human history, given his long decades searching through the remnants of their past. The letter came as a small surprise, as Marsh was only so close to Transylvania because Dracula had summoned him a few years earlier. He traveled very slowly, preferring to go alone by water routes, as public transportation made him feel unnecessarily exposed.

Luckily, he had no need for such measures this time. The vampiric servant that had tracked down Marsh's encampment on the Sea's shores had come by means of a rugged automobile, and was prepared to chauffeur him back to Dracula's castle. The few days of travel that followed were awkward and uncomfortable. The vampire sent to collect Marsh obviously found him as repellent as normal humans did, and suffered constantly from his foul odor and insidious presence. Marsh similarly did not care much for the undead, and particularly not vampires. As much as he would like to think that such perversions of nature were a uniquely human creation, there were similar monsters in his own time. The Grey Weavers of the tunnel-kingdoms, servants of the Spinner in the Dark came to mind.

Once they were free of the prying eyes of common humans, Marsh let his disguise slip, and resumed his natural form. A scaly fish-man that perspired foul, ranine mucous sat looking very out of place in the passenger seat of an offroad vehicle. He didn't expect Dracula to bill him for the cost of having the car reupholstered. They would probably just have to burn the thing to be rid of the smell. Despite being so close, Marsh was one of the last to arrive, probably due to the difficulty inherent to finding him. He came stomping in, his webbed flippers leaving soggy marks on the rug, as the human, Garnier his name was, was going on his rant.

"Humans," he gurgled contemptuously, "No bloody sense of proportion." Marsh had to partially transform his laryngeal structure to even be capable of uttering sounds resembling human speech. The result was... barely adequate. An awful, wet croaking that sounded like a man gargling mud. "Do you have any idea how many of you buggers there are? Nearly eight billion. We, the others, number in the thousands-- a million at best. There are simply too many of them and too few of us to ever make a difference. You can take the city, but you won't hold it. Much worse than that, is that you'll make life unmanageable for those of us content where we are. There'll be no hiding after that. They'll kill themselves by the million just to get rid of one of us. They'll do it, too. It'll take time, but they'll do it." Marsh flexed his webbed hand, admiring the sharp black claws that tipped his fingers, before his inhuman gaze snapped back to Garnier. "You're a madman and a fool, and I'll curtail your errand myself before you get a chance to doom us all."

The courier found him alright-- just like the others had.
Deep in the jungles surrounding Mount Sicapoo, the courier placed a package atop a mossy, ruined, and forgotten stone pillar in the thick of the underbrush. Truly, this had been something of a suicide mission and, just as the courier counted their blessings for having 'made it out alive', they were promptly pounced upon and turned into ash.

Which was no fun.
Why had he been sending the newbies so often lately?
This would have been the question running through the intelligent half-man mind of the 'Killer Panther' had he, well, had more intelligence and patience to give to the thought.

As it stood, Itimpu looked at his ash covered man-paws, then promptly hustled around in a frantic circle-- confused as to why the Human in his Territory had just exploded into Nasty Dirt. He hated that. Why was it that sometimes they exploded into Nasty Dirt but other times they-- the package caught his eye and was batted off of the pillar. As it had been designed to do, the box withstood a few more seconds of his Batting it around the jungle floor, before he finally understood it had Latches. And the smell-- oh the smell was familiar.

Yes, it was of the Pale King Dressed In Black, this scent, which meant box must become open.
Slowly and rather delicately, he pried open the box with is claws, before revealing the contents inside.
First, there was some paper-- boring, dis-interesting, who cares? Itimpu gingerly placed it aside.
There-- ah, here it was. A shark's lower jaw, teeth still attached, wrapped in the skin of a Human, with the black chain of Itimpu's former shackles-- this was a signal between he and the Pale-Black King. Itimpu lifted the object in to the moonlight, holding it toward the sky, before he placed it over his head.

---

Likely, he was one of the first to be summoned, simply due to the distance, but certainly not the last to arrive.

When eventually he arrived near the Pale-Black King's manor, he paused, catching a rather... odd scent on the wind-- A baby? Why was there a baby here? Sniffing and snuffling, Itimpu navigated the woods at night, his senses locked upon the scent of a misguided youngling-- how was a baby lost up here?

Every instinct prohibited him from continuing up the path until he found it-- a small boy, wandering up the path toward Dracula's manor. Why, only certain people knew where this place was, and where to go. Surely, this small child was summoned in some manner-- was he the child of Dracula? Could Dracula make babies? It didn't matter.

From the shadows Itimpu lept, landing next to Gael silently. He snuffled a greeting before promptly picking the child up, by the collar of his shirt, with his cat mouth, and beginning his rapid sprint up the path to Dracula's Manor. Quite easily, he ascended the path, then the side of the house-- ensuring that the small boy didn't bump up against anything-- before he climbed through an open window. He dangled Gael over the windowsill and into the room before releasing him.

Immediately, Itimpu was confused. Where was the Pale-Black King? Why were there so many others here that weren't him? Who invited the Sea Beast? Itimpu glared but remained silent as he slinked into the room, smelling about with soft whiffs, as the others began talking. Whatever they were speaking about, it didn't matter, because Dracula was not here.

If he was not here then, obviously, he must be somewhere else, which meant that Itimpu needed to go to him. He sniffed at the letter to South Africa, even going so far as to leave his mouth open, to process more of the scent bouquet. Itimpu began to sniff other objects around the room afterward, his paws moving to slowly, ever so slowly, push things here and there onto the floor.

There was a trail here, he needed but only find it, and no ink-well-- or weird ornamental cup-- was going to hide said trail underneath it on his watch.
^{edit: added a link}

The Kings of the Night were gathered here.

Some were immortals, beings of unspeakable power who had carved their names into the world in much the same way water carves a path through stone. Others were mortals, who had- in some ways, arguably more impressively- wracked up their own fair share of horrors under their belt, who had their names whispered in the dark alongside ghouls’ and demons’. The shadows themselves bowed at their feet. They were gods among men. They were the Council, and they were the top of the top.

And rather predictably, the room smelled so heavily of pride that it permeated the room, clinging to the curtains and becoming just as much of a backdrop as the wallpaper was. It applied more strongly to some than others, of course: that little, smug sense of “I know better. I am the smartest, or the strongest, or both, even. I am a King among Kings- no, a God among Gods.”

Gael was no stranger to pride, himself. His father did so adore that particular sin, and had passed it down to his child the moment that he sired him. But even Gael could recognize that there was hardly any room to strut about feeling superior. They were a collection of big fish in little ponds, and had now found themselves in the biggest pond of them all.

Though not all of them, he conceded, were the same size. Both literally and figuratively.

The Prince Abomination sat at his place at the table, cheek propped up in one hand, idly chewing on a praline cookie he had produced from his bag (he had packed clothes for himself, of course, but the Antichrist had a terrible sweet tooth, and he was well aware that he probably wouldn’t arrive to cabinets stuffed to bursting with candies when he arrived). In order to actually meet the eyes of his fellow council members and not just be left peeking over the table, he had set several cushions on top of his chair, and was perched on them now as the meeting began. Though Dracula didn’t have any plans to run a kindergarten out of his castle anytime soon- to Gael’s knowledge, at least- it didn’t change the unpleasantness about navigating the place as a young boy. He had been forced to let himself get scooped up like a newborn kitten and dragged to the castle if he wanted any hopes of making it to the meeting on time, and even now his collar still reeked of raw fish.

If Dracula came back, or was replaced, perhaps he could speak to the leader about some improvements to make things slightly less annoying until he was older. Arriving to Cluj-Napoca had been the easy part, as all it had taken to get to the airport was some sniffling and "I lost my daddy"s, but everything else? Absolutely terrible. But that would have to wait for another time.

First things first was to address the points raised in the room.

“I must admit, Monsieur Garnier,” Gael began, “that I believe Mr. Talbot and Mr. Marsh have raised good points. We have no reason to think that this Doctor is an enemy, outside of the Count’s disappearance. It could have been a warning or a threat, but we wouldn’t know for sure unless we find the letter. It could even be a test.”

He kicked his legs back and forth as he spoke, taking special care to mind his pronunciation of longer words. There was still something inherently high and babyish about it despite his efforts and articulation, though, softening the edges of some words.

“And Monsieur- I was hoping to ask you about your plans if the humans tried to trap us.” There was an implied “and of course you would have them”, there. “I, the child, wouldn’t dare think that the genius who trapped the opera house, who ran his sway through Paris, had no plans for the worst case scenario.”

Gael had done a bit of light research on what council members he could. People usually liked knowing that they had been heard of, and he doubted creatures of the night were any exception. Especially with the amount of ego getting waved around like a flag.

“They could agree to give up Paris, yes? But then once we are gathered there, they could destroy it. They have many different toys to use, Monsieur, and not all of us could survive them.”

He could see it now. A gathering in the town square. A party, celebrating their escape from humanity once and for all. And just as the toasts were lifted, the warhead dropped, flattening the city and turning them to ash, and that ash to dust.

The City of Light, forever in darkness- just like how Monsieur Garnier asked. How deliciously ironic.

London, England
Midnight
Hyde Mansion, Ward's Office

I am where I am because I have proven time and again that I have no fear. I can stare down evil and smile. I am steel. But this... this is putting my nerves to the test...

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy... I don't know why you're choosing to be so difficult," Ward said with a melodic tone, enriched with false compassion. He sat behind his massive marble desk, black as night, and held his hands together as if in prayer as he looked ahead at the so called Sammy. I stood just to Ward's side, my 9mm pistol trained on Sammy's forehead while Jackie, Ward's Number Two, stood directly behind this poor lad. Jackie's black business suit was covered in a clear plastic apron that was splattered with crimson. There was blood all over, but none of it belonged to him. The giant of a man, standing at nearly seven feet tall, towered over Sammy, his eyes boring down into the latter's skull with such hateful intensity.

"Your people are dead," Ward explained. "Your partners are now my partners. You've lost. The rest is just a formality. I want your stash, your weapons, your money that you've stowed away for a rainy day. I want to know where it is and I want access to it. It's mine now. I am the storm." Ward leaned forward and stared at Sammy as if he were reading a book and having trouble comprehending some of the words. I've seen him do this a lot and it seems pretty odd each and every time it happens.

I'm not easily grossed out, but my stomach had begun to churn as I looked at poor Sammy. His ears had been ripped off, leaving tattered bloody holes where they had once resided. Jackie had grotesquely detached them with his bare hands and placed them into Sammy's lap to make sure that the sorry sap could see them anytime he looked down to hide from Ward's gaze. To give Sammy a closer look, Jackie had also been instructed to pull one of Sammy's eyeballs out of its socket. It was left dangling by loose tendons, bouncing off of and rolling upon Sammy's cheekbone every time the man moved his head in the slightest. His teeth were all but gone, replaced by jagged, broken remnants living in a mouth that constantly drooled out blood. Sammy's arms were tied behind his back while he sat in that chair. His fingers had become jagged, broken, useless appendages. And yet, even though this man was ruined, he still held strong. I had to admire him for that.

In response, Sammy spit blood out of his mouth, hitting Ward in the face with a few of the droplets. Ward didn't even blink.

I was assigned this job to take Ward down. The Boogeyman of England. I've let terrible things happen, witnessed mortifying events all in an effort to get closer to him. I've used every trick the academy taught me to deal with the psychological backlash of it all. I keep having to tell myself that it's for the greater good. It will all be worth it in the end when I take him down. This is why I got into law enforcement. I am the knight that will slay the dragon.

"Fine. I didn't want it to come to this, but you've left me no other alternative, Sammy. This one is on you. Jackie, bring in the boy." Sammy's one good eye widened and his chin dropped. Jackie stepped out of the room for just a moment before returning with a very young boy under his arm, carrying him like a sack of potatoes. There was duct tape over the boy's mouth and ropes binding his wrists and ankles. Jackie stood the boy upright just beside Ward before returning to his position behind Sammy. The broken man squealed and panicked, growled and pleaded.

"No! No! Please! You son of a... !" His words were slurred and sloppy through gargled blood and broken teeth, but Ward heard him perfectly.

"Your son, Jason, looks just like you," he said as he analyzed the boy whose cheeks were wet with tears. "Well, I supposed I should say he looks just like you used to." Ward's smile was one of the creepiest things I have ever witnessed. It was like a silent threat to anyone who had to bear witness to it. This was going too far... Sammy was the leader of a very prominent gang in England. He didn't make it to the top by being sloppy. He was a ghost who used to have nearly 200 soldiers under his command. How in the hell did Hyde find him? How in the hell did he find his kid? Ward opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a large kitchen knife that had brown crust along the sharpest edge of it. I knew dried blood when I saw it. He held the knife to the boy's neck with one hand and gripped his hair with another, preventing the him from moving. "Now, Sammy. This is going to be the final time I ask. I think the consequences are self explanatory. Where. Is. The. Stash."

"Oh God, I'm so sorry. Jason, I'm so sorry. It's.. oh God, alright, I'll tell you! I'll fucking tell you, just let him go!" Sammy's voice started with fear and ended in hatred. Every nerve in my body was exploding. I was not going to watch this man kill a child. I looked at Ward, my lips curling up. You so much as nick that boy, and I'm going to fucking kill you. Suddenly Ward's attention was off of Sammy. Ward was looking at me. Directly at me. And there it was... that fucking smile.

And then it was like someone hit a switch.

"Fantastic," Ward exclaimed. "I knew you would see reason. Jackie, take the ropes off the man, he's been through quite enough!" As he gave the order, Ward took his knife and made quick work of the little boy's bonds, letting them fall to the floor before taking off the tape that covered his mouth. "Jason, I'm truly very sorry for the trouble. I hope you don't take it personally. This was just business between your father and I." He gave the boy a nod and messed up his hair with a pat usually reserved for dogs. "Go on now," he encouraged. Finally freed, Sammy stood up and took Jason in a messy hug as he wept. "Ah, you see there. That's what I like to see. You know, Jason, I never really knew my father. Treasure this time you have with him. This time that I have gifted you both. Jackie, please get the information we need from Sammy as you see them out. Drop them off at the hospital, and make sure the bills get taken care of, our treat."

I couldn't believe it. In an instant, it was like everything changed. His demeanor, the way he carried himself. It was like an entirely different person. I watched as Jackie led Sammy and his son out of the room, leaving me alone in there with the notorious Mr. Hyde.

"You just... You're just letting them go? After all that?" It wasn't disappointment in my voice. In truth, I was absolutely relieved. I was just baffled, utterly confused. Ward stood up slowly and walked over to me. I holstered my gun awkwardly and tried to stand strong. Tried to hide the anxiety that his mere presence gave me.

"Of course, Thomas. We got what we wanted. And now that man is going to live out the rest of his days knowing that he's breathing because I allowed it. He's going to see his son's face and know that I, Ward Hyde, had it clutched in my hand under the grave threat of a knife and that I could do it again at any moment that I so desire. I won, Thomas. Any further bloodshed would be excessive and inhumane. I mean, come on, what do you take me for? A monster?"

He was standing face to face with me, his nose was but a few inches from mine. He stopped breathing. He just stared... unblinking. Unmoving...

"No, boss, I would never-" His hand pushed my chin up with inhuman speed. Suddenly I was looking at the ceiling. I heard it before I felt it. It sounded like an orange being crushed. There was a pinch at my neck. It felt like it was happening in slow motion, but I knew that this was being done within a fraction of a second. I could see my fluids spraying the otherwise pristine white walls of the office. Ward's hand left my chin, giving me back control of my own head. As I looked back down I saw his face. His mouth was covered in blood and a fountain of crimson, coming from me, was showering his dark suit. There was a mangled chunk of meat in his teeth. He spit it back at me, hitting me in the face. It was skin... it was my neck... I held my hands up, trying to cover the horrific hole that Ward created, but the blood could not be contained. My life force was slipping away. The room was beginning to blur. My legs gave out. Before I knew it, I was on the ground staring up at him. Fuck him, this fucking guy. Was he... was he still smiling?! And then the darkness came... everything was black...

~~~~~~

Jackie opened the door to see Ward covered in blood, standing over Thomas' limp body settled in a pool of its own fluids.

"What happened, boss?" the giant asked with genuine concern.

"Nothing I couldn't handle. Please take Agent Thomas Nelson here and dispose of him."

"Agent," Jackie repeated, confused.

"Apparently so. Shame on me for not reading him sooner," Ward said, dismissively. Jackie did as he was told and dragged out the body. The office would need to be completely recarpeted and painted, but that would be a task for a different day. Ward sat down in his chair once more. Now that that business was settled, it was time to address what was next. He noticed a few letters in his mail bin and snatched them up, analyzing each envelope. As soon as he got to the one with the waxed seal, he immediately discarded the others. He just stared at it for a moment, considering the possibilities of its purpose. Finally he broke the seal and began to read...

---

The Next Day
Castle Dracula
Library

“To a new world of gods and monsters!”

Hyde remained silent, shrouded in shadow as he leaned against a bookshelf, taking in all of the information. He had hopped on a plane immediately and made the grueling trek to the vampire's abode. He made no effort to extend false courtesy's to the rest of the council beyond a slight nod of recognition if their eyes should meet. Dracula was gone and no one really knew why... And here was the Phantom hoping to create a kingdom of his own while the alleged king was away. He took in Talbot's points and the hellspawn's as well. The walking fish threw in his two cents for good measure, but nothing that had been said would lead toward a resolution for the initial problem.

"The self-appointed King of the Night is gone and we are comfortable with saying that some Doctor Pretorius is responsible?" Ward shook his head dismissively. "One must consider what it would take to bring down the Vampire King by force and once you've imagined what that entity was capable of, then you'll have a better shot as putting a name to it." He pushed himself off the bookshelf and began to pace slowly. "Phantom, I'm afraid I have no interest in your utopia of horror," he declared. Ward had his own kingdom to run. "but I am interested in what anyone knows about this Pretorius character. Who is he? What is he? What can he do and does he have a reason to come after us next?"

Ward let his inquiries marinate as his gaze met each and every face in the room, trying to find some twitch, some tell that would give away a clue about his associates' motives. As a rule, he promised Dracula not to invade the minds of his fellows on the council unless it begame absolutely necessary, and Ward never broke his promises.

Though the mask displayed no emotion, the Phantom’s eyes flashed with irritation underneath. He had expected some pushback, of course, but not for it to be unanimous. Did they not recognize what he was doing for them? Did they not realize how generous he had been to make this offer?

He carefully resealed his flask of cognac and slipped it back into his pocket. “If you are all content to grovel to the ordinary people and cower in darkness, that is your business,” he said with an affected measured tone. Underneath, however, he was seething with indignation. They refused to acknowledge his genius. Pearls before swine. “Is this not what we craved, though? To live without fear? Now that I offer you the opportunity to do exactly that you push it away?”

Erik’s anger grew as he spoke, and he stood up and began pacing the room in a more animated fashion, cape trailing behind him. “I assure you I have thought this out to the smallest detail. This is no more difficult than a commonplace extortion. I have the means to prevent retaliation- simply make it too dangerous and difficult for them to even contemplate. There are many great secrets in the Catacombs, friends, and one in particular is more dangerous than any army. Mutually assured destruction, to borrow an older phrase. I can release it at a moment’s notice, and I will if my demands are not met. It’s so very simple.”

Erik turned, finger pointing at the group as he prepared another rebuttal, when suddenly the room shook. A clap of thunder directly overhead- no, Erik corrected himself, the sharp crack of an explosion just over the roof of the castle. This was followed by the heart-stopping rattle of a machine gun, a brief burst followed by the echo of bullets ricocheting off the ancient stone. Erik dropped to the floor, inching towards the window on his belly to try to get a glimpse at their assailants. No further gunfire or explosions- warning shots then. That was good, Erik figured, they didn’t necessarily want them dead outright. He peeped out towards the front of the castle, only accessible by a narrow unpaved road.

Outside, he saw a number of men in military fatigues gathered, each of them wearing a green beret. As he watched, they took positions, trained machine guns and mortars on the castle walls. Others guarded the road leading back down the mountain. Erik could see that the only way to escape by land would be to fight through them. “Romanian Army,” he hissed back to the others. “Vânători de Munte. Troops that specialize in fighting in the mountains. I understand they’re rather good at it, too.”

As the Phantom watched, one of the troops (an officer, perhaps) raised a megaphone towards the castle and addressed them in accented English. “Your escape is cut off! Throw out your weapons and come out with your hands up! You have five minutes to comply!”

"This is sub-optimal," the Phantom said quietly as he contemplated their available options.

Marsh recoiled and bared his needle-like fangs at the sound of gunfire. This had all been a setup! As his survival instincts kicked in, flooding his body with adrenaline and other chemicals, he became hyper-aware of his surroundings. The acrid smell of gunpowder. The scent of fear, sweat, and blood in the humans around him. He rapid beating of their panicked hearts. He growled and shook his head, trying to clear his mind of unnecessary distractions.

"Garnier, you little worm." Marsh gurgled, his voice throatier and harsher than before. "If this is your doing, I'll eat your liver." He snorted again, expelling slime that kept his membranes moistened on land. "Surely Dracula had contingencies planned for something like this. Escape tunnels, or something. We'll have to search the basement, but I'd take those odds before going out there."

Ironically, Marsh had the best odds of surviving this encounter out of all of them. All he had to do was slip through the cordon, and if he made it into the wilderness they would never find him again. It would be simple enough to adapt himself to be able to withstand a brief hail of gunfire, now that he had forewarning, and he recovered from injuries fast enough that he doubted they could kill him. The ones that were human among them were in all probability too mad to just consider slipping away quietly, and would get themselves killed for it. Marsh was determined not to let them take him down with them.

From the scents gathered, Itimpu came the the conclusion that no one had stolen the Pale-Black king, at least. So this made him go back to the letter envelope. As the Phantom began part two of his lecture, one could see Itimpu hovering over the letter, with his face all scrunched up. To those with sensitive ears, they could likely hear him very lowly, trying to 'sound it out'.

"A.. ah? Fr-- fr? Ffff. R? R. Ri?" He snorted and squinted.
"Ah-free-kuh?"
"Ssss... sooou..." then in rapid Fillipino, Itimpu said to himself, "(FP)If this is where he go I must go-- but why did he not just tell us to meet him--"

Fur rising along his spine, Itimpu's ears caught the noise of a very subtle whistle on the wind-- the noise of a mortar round roaring through the air. Oh, Itimpu recognized the sound immediately. Having been attacked by similar weapons-- having used a few himself-- and from his rather odd experience as a Mercenary, this was a knowledgeable cat. Yes. He knew.

So he not-so subtly ducked beneath Dracula's desk long before it exploded-- probably looking strange as he did so-- but the noise overhead soon justified his action. A sharp growl escaped him after it went off. In his Cat Brain, all he thought about now was how this was hurting Dracula's house. This meant then, that he had to prevent the harm to the Pale-Black King's territory right now. Baring his teeth, Itimpu's eyes shot to the window, as he crouched on all fours, tail thrashing about.

People were speaking-- saying something about things-- and Itimpu smelled sweat, adrenaline, and the surest hint of rifle carbon on the wind. There were soldiers outside trying to lay siege to the castle! This was not theirs-- they had no right to take it while the Pale-Black King was away, but who was going to defend it? Surely not Fish-Beast and The Boys. Lowly, sub-vocally, Itimpu made a noise of warning-- snorted-- then made a decision.

As the Phantom whispered back the details of the Army, if no one was to stop this guy, Itimpu would take a running leap over the Phantom, and out into the night. He hoped to use the element of surprise, if he had it, and tear apart every single whoever-whatever was trying to TAKE Dracula's house.

What were they gonna do? Shoot him?
Launch Mortar rounds at him?
He'd been through worse.

Uh oh. Well this won't do, at all. As the man-cat flew out the window, likely to do battle- a fools errand, but, Itimpu always was a bit more of an attack dog, in that way.

Too late to stop that one; even if the castle staff were inclined to take orders from anyone else, or had a plan for such an occurrence, it was unlikely anything short of Dracula's power could repel a direct, organized assault like this.

Politics would have to wait- right now, they just needed a plan. He quickly shifted to his wolfish form, in anticipation of a fight, but also to avoid being identified. He didn't want to risk losing everything he'd worked for, back home. Panting after he'd finished shifting, he growled out loud to the others, "Well, this is a ruined shoe, for sure, the muck we've stepped in, here! I don't know what's going on, but we aren't likely to figure it out here. Erik-" he bared his teeth as he looked to him, "You're so bloody smart, you and Hyde work out the escape route- between your skills in architecture and such, and his ability to watch you back or persuade the staff as necessary, I should hope you'll find something, and quick- unless of course you already know the castles designs and lay-outs by heart, which would be ducky." He also trusted that if Erik was somehow responsible, or tried anything funny, Hide wouldn't hesitate to kill him, even if only in his own self interest.

He then turned to the fishman, "Marsh; someone should keep an eye on Gael, the two of you in the mean time would do well to marshal the castle staff. If there's a plan that isn't already being enacted, we need it bloody done, and now! Furthermore, if either of you have a way to conjure up some manner of support, now would be the time to do it; it doesn't need to be the legions of Hell, but if we can split their attention from the rear, it'd increase our odds of getting the hell out of here!"

He sat up in a crouch, turning to face the window Itimpu leapt from, "I'm going to support Dracula's cat, and maybe find out if they came here for us." They weren't going to be able to kill him, so he had that advantage, but his overall goal was going to be not simply backing up Itimpu (hopefully gaining his loyalty), but also draw out this forces' overall goals- if they came prepared to fight monsters, he was the one who would force them to show it.

He hopped onto the window ledge, and took a quick look around- something he could use to his advantage; no way was he going to 'tooth and claw' against an army, but he would certainly try to surprise them, if he could. Some way to get behind them, maybe? That would certainly improve Itimpu's odds, he might even be able to put a stop to the mortars before having to fall back. Those were likely to be towards the back of the formation-

Ah, there! A part of the wall came close enough to the moat he could make the leap across, drawing their fire the whole way- he gave a howl, and began leaping along the wall, grasping and pushing off from whatever he could.

Białowieża Forest - Poland

Orlok had not fed as recently as he would have liked. An unfortunate side effect of being in such thick wilderness was a definite lack of humans to feed on. For the past few days Orlok had been hiking through the dense forests of Poland, looking for beings who may or may not still exist. For many years, tales of shadowy predators with a taste for blood had circulated among the rural Poles. While stories of vampires had been popular for over a century, sightings in this day and age were rare. Most filed them away as myths and movie monsters. Orlok was glad of that effect, as he remembered the days when myths were accepted as reality and he was actively hunted.

However, Orlok knew that there was some truth to the vampires of Poland. It was Dracula himself who had sent him on this errand, believing that it would be fruitful to the cause. Apparently the Nazis had been experimenting with various creatures during the war, including vampires. That much was true as Dracula had encountered them himself. But in the decades since then, they were hunted down by the Allied forces, who wished to keep these experiments quiet. Unfortunately that silence meant facts were sketchy about the vampires. But if they actually did still exist Dracula would want to know. For he is the Prince of Darkness, lord of all vampires. And Orlok his fist.

The first inkling of the sun’s rays were beginning to appear over the tree line as Orlok made his way back to the truck he had arrived in. Sitting in the back of the truck was a box filled with the dirt of unhallowed ground. While Orlok could move about in daylight, it was very much preferable to sleep on top of unholy dirt. But as he neared his vehicle he saw a man waiting there, dressed all in black and holding a letter. Orlok recognized him, one of Dracula’s servants, and had been in his service for most of his life. Orlok then took the letter, slicing the envelope open with one of his dagger like nails. Inside was a letter written by the Count, requesting that he return to the castle, alongside all the other council members. That was odd for all of them to be together. But Orlok trusted Dracula, knowing that he had a grand vision, one that will better all creatures of the night.

Orlok was glad to leave these woods, as seeking these Nazi vampires seemed to be a wild goose chase. Dracula’s servant loaded Orlok’s box of dirt into a larger off road vehicle that he had arrived in. Orlok entered said box as the sun started to rise. Orlok would quickly fall asleep as the servant began the drive south across Poland, heading toward the Carpathian Mountains.

***

Castle Dracula - Romania

Once the roads became so bad that a vehicle could no longer take them, Orlok and the servant got out and hiked the last leg of the journey. For Orlok, he could have walked it blind as he had made this journey countless times over the centuries. Even before Dracula built his castle, Orlok knew these mountains well, having hidden in them, preying on those who didn’t know the way. But life was much different know for Orlok, as he was an actual leader of monsters. That much weighed on him as the castle came into view, the servant opening the front doors for him.

Orlok walked into the entrance hall, that feeling of death and decay surrounding him as cobwebs clogged the corners and shadows seemed to move about on their own. It was a familiar darkness, one that welcomed Orlok to this home. That familiarity meant that Orlok knew where the kitchen was. As vampires do not eat, all that one might find in a vampire’s kitchen is vials of blood. Orlok opened one such vial and quickly downed the small bit of innocent blood. Having somewhat satiated his hunger, Orlok began to look for the master of the house.

The search would prove fruitless, as no one knew where the Count had gone. Within the hour, the other members of the council gathered in the castle’s library. Orlok stayed in the corner, bathed in shadow like he preferred to be. He listened intently as they squabbled, questioning what had happened to Dracula and what to do about it. The one known as the Phantom declared that they should reveal themselves and take over the world. Orlok grunted a small laugh. He had known other creatures that had the same idea. However, they failed to realize that they were creatures of the night, it was in there nature to remain a secret, to rule from the shadows.

As Orlok agreed with Hyde about looking more into Doctor Pretorius, many gunshots rang out. Orlok instinctively retreated further into the shadows. The Phantom stated that it was the Romanian army who were attacking. Orlok didn’t care, as he had fought many armies over the years that laid claim to these mountains. As the others leaped into battle, Orlok quietly made his way into the hallway and toward the servant’s quarters.

As Orlok slunk into the quarters, he raised a long finger to his mouth to ask for quiet, his eyes ablaze with hypnotic power, “Servants of Lord Dracula, honour your oath and raise your weapons. Castle Dracula is under attack.”

As soon as Itimpu was out of the window, he was headed directly toward the soldiers, without a hint of regard for their firearms or their numbers. To his surprise, he heard the howl of the Wolfman-- and said Wolfman was already drawing the attention of the soldiers. Of course, as the soldiers began to shoot toward the Wolfman, their attention was rather divided, once they noticed the noise of Itimpu's approach. With skill, he lept from wall to window, to wall, as bullets ricochet off nearby stone and pillar-- a moving shadow among shadows. It was with this technique that he sized them up-- watched them organize themselves into a better formation-- before he lunged for the center of the group.

Roaring in sheer excitement as he landed atop a man, claws dug deep into his chest, Itimpu drew first blood in the night. Of course, as these were special forces soldiers, they rather coldly left behind their fallen comrade, and sprinted for cover as they pulled up their mortar tubes, splitting off into smaller groups, and headed for the shadows. Several gunshots rang out from a distance as a couple of .50 caliber machine guns began firing toward Itimpu some distance away-- clearly these people had prepared for some form of resistance and their numbers were more than the small "Greeting Party."

Itimpu lifted the skewered half-living corpse of the man up in front of himself as a shield. The body absorbed bullets as Itimpu sprinted for the shadows. Discarding the barely held together body, Itimpu turned a corner, and ran face first into another group of soldiers. He hadn't the time to react as they fired an electric-net directly into his face. It opened with enough force to send him flying backward but was fired all too close, which limited it's deployment effectiveness, and ended up tangling only his face and arm in it.

Then began the screaming.
Castle Servants had descended upon the soldiers outside the castle but the machine gun fire indicated they wouldn't go down without a fight.

Heavy impacts caught Itimpu's attention-- the soldiers were shooting at him. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Itimpu took a firm grasp on the net, electricity causing his vision to blurr, before he rather blindly tossed it toward them, got onto all fours, and threw himself at the soldiers in the same motion. More than one Bayonet caught Itimpu as the soldiers backed away from his projected landing-- leaving rather deep cuts behind. Growling, Itimpu lunged for them again, and they simply could not match his speed. One fell to his claws as another tripped over his own feet, fired his weapon at Itimpu, then gurgled as Itimpu ripped his head from his shoulders, then threw it at the remaining soldiers on the retreat.

It passed by a mortar round in midair.

Reflexes quick and instincts sharp, Itimpu uppercut the mortar, sending the round upward and into a nearby wall where it exploded-- sending stone and dust showering down upon him-- and allowing the soldiers to make good on their retreat. For now.