Morgana was breathing heavily. Gripping the wheel, hands at ten and two. Her eyes were cautious, though this was a considerable change from the wild-eyed thrill junkie Vlad had witnessed but a moment ago. He was staring out the window, relaying the events of the previous day. He heard the strike of the match that Morgana had just lit. A rich, dark aroma filled the otherwise musty Miata. Vlad enjoyed it. Until the flame met the end of a cigarette. Second-hand smoke pervaded the air. As far as Vladimir was concerned, this was the worst habit possible.
“Roll the window down.” Morgana didn’t respond. “Morgana, roll down the window.” Nothing. Morgana happily puffed away. “Morg-“
“Fine!” Morgana turned the window crank with exasperation. Her blood red eyes filled with what Vlad thought was fear, though she obviously tried to disguise it. Red was her natural eye color. She was everything you would expect from a stereotypical vampire. Lean, tough, pretty. All at the age of 15. She had a permit, but she drove like a pro. She had been doing so since age 13.
Vlad was quite the opposite. He was quiet. Kept to himself. Though he could hold his own.
The night before had proved that.
The castle was dark and damp. Moss, vines and fungi seemed to dominate every square inch. The smell of mold attached itself to every breath.
Morgana’s combat boots slapped the concrete, making it nearly impossible to make it to the end of the corridor undetected. Had they been facing a foe worth their time and effort, that might have made a difference.
They reached the door to the king’s throne room. The door was big and rounded, flat only at the bottom. It had a knocker that resembled some foreign creature, possibly a gargoyle, with a steel ring in his mouth. The eyes on this strange furnishing shone bright red and glowed, cutting through the darkness like a katana. Vlad’s gaze was transfixed upon this macabre accommodation. Morgana, however, was not impressed. In fact, she eyed it with disdain.
“Jeez.” She said, “Stereotype.” Vlad disagreed.
“Well, I like it.” He retorted, “It’s refined, elegant.”
“Evil.” Morgana added, her arms crossed. She kicked the door, which swung open in a cloud of dust.
“Uh…it wasn’t locked,” rasped a voice, “I was anticipating your arrival.” The voice belonged to Kilgore Mathis, the king of Vampyron.
“Hello Kilgore,” Said Morgana, “When I KILL you, there’s gonna be a whole lot of GORE!”
“Wow.” Vlad said, “Did you just parody the name Kilgore by using the words ‘Kill’ and ‘Gore’? Let’s shuck that load of corn.”
“’Shuck that load of corn’? Does that mean my pun was corny?”
“Yeah. Yeah it did. Got a problem? Cuz’ if you do—”
“Screw it!” screamed Morgana, “Let’s kill him and leave.”
Kilgore eyed the two vampires with confidence, though he looked quite weak. He was thin and lanky. His bones cracked and popped when he walked. The skin on his hands seemed too tight, Like a glove that didn’t fit. Veins protruded, showing through his nearly transparent skin. He shook like a drug crazed Chihuahua. He wore a black cloak, laced in red. The words ‘Hasst Liebe’ embroidered on his back. He was bald. A short, scruffy beard clung to his face.
“Children,” he spoke. “why the hostility?” his voice was loud and jolly. Like a demonic Santa Claus.
“You have driven this once proud nation into the ground!’’ Vlad raged, “You stole the throne. You forced your authority upon us like someone who…forces…authority on...people…”
“Out of one-liners?” Morgana inquired, to which Vladimir responded with a nod.
“Enough of this tripe.” Kilgore growled, “Prepare to die.” Kilgore started to levitate off the floor.
“Oh, crap!” Vlad exclaimed “He’s Floating! Morgana! He’s floating!”
“We got it, Vlad.”
“We’re messed!”
“Vlad, shut up.” Morgana smiled. “We got this.” She took a running start, lunging toward Kilgore. Her arm drew back. That’s as far as she got.
Kilgore held his arm out, his hand open. Then he snapped it shut. Her body crumpled up and hit the floor with a splat. Blood drained from her body, pooling around her in a crimson puddle.
Vlad was enraged.
“You…you…” Vlad stammered. A smile tugged at the corners of Kilgore’s mouth.
“I’m going to kill you.” Vlad whispered. Kilgore’s voice broke into a sick laugh. Vlad groped at the table behind him, he didn’t care what he grabbed. He settled on something cold that felt heavy. He gripped it tightly and, with all his strength, threw it. Kilgore was still laughing when the ax connected with his temple. The ax didn’t stop. It continued through his head, finally hitting the wall. A maroon splatter covered the wall. The old king was lying on the ground whimpering, slowly getting quieter. Then he fell silent. Vlad scooped up Morgana and draped her on one shoulder, pushing through the door. He marched down the corridor, his head held high.
“Wha-” Morgana had woken from her slumber. “what happened?”
“Shut up.” Vlad smiled, “I got this.”
TO BE CONTINUED
“Roll the window down.” Morgana didn’t respond. “Morgana, roll down the window.” Nothing. Morgana happily puffed away. “Morg-“
“Fine!” Morgana turned the window crank with exasperation. Her blood red eyes filled with what Vlad thought was fear, though she obviously tried to disguise it. Red was her natural eye color. She was everything you would expect from a stereotypical vampire. Lean, tough, pretty. All at the age of 15. She had a permit, but she drove like a pro. She had been doing so since age 13.
Vlad was quite the opposite. He was quiet. Kept to himself. Though he could hold his own.
The night before had proved that.
The castle was dark and damp. Moss, vines and fungi seemed to dominate every square inch. The smell of mold attached itself to every breath.
Morgana’s combat boots slapped the concrete, making it nearly impossible to make it to the end of the corridor undetected. Had they been facing a foe worth their time and effort, that might have made a difference.
They reached the door to the king’s throne room. The door was big and rounded, flat only at the bottom. It had a knocker that resembled some foreign creature, possibly a gargoyle, with a steel ring in his mouth. The eyes on this strange furnishing shone bright red and glowed, cutting through the darkness like a katana. Vlad’s gaze was transfixed upon this macabre accommodation. Morgana, however, was not impressed. In fact, she eyed it with disdain.
“Jeez.” She said, “Stereotype.” Vlad disagreed.
“Well, I like it.” He retorted, “It’s refined, elegant.”
“Evil.” Morgana added, her arms crossed. She kicked the door, which swung open in a cloud of dust.
“Uh…it wasn’t locked,” rasped a voice, “I was anticipating your arrival.” The voice belonged to Kilgore Mathis, the king of Vampyron.
“Hello Kilgore,” Said Morgana, “When I KILL you, there’s gonna be a whole lot of GORE!”
“Wow.” Vlad said, “Did you just parody the name Kilgore by using the words ‘Kill’ and ‘Gore’? Let’s shuck that load of corn.”
“’Shuck that load of corn’? Does that mean my pun was corny?”
“Yeah. Yeah it did. Got a problem? Cuz’ if you do—”
“Screw it!” screamed Morgana, “Let’s kill him and leave.”
Kilgore eyed the two vampires with confidence, though he looked quite weak. He was thin and lanky. His bones cracked and popped when he walked. The skin on his hands seemed too tight, Like a glove that didn’t fit. Veins protruded, showing through his nearly transparent skin. He shook like a drug crazed Chihuahua. He wore a black cloak, laced in red. The words ‘Hasst Liebe’ embroidered on his back. He was bald. A short, scruffy beard clung to his face.
“Children,” he spoke. “why the hostility?” his voice was loud and jolly. Like a demonic Santa Claus.
“You have driven this once proud nation into the ground!’’ Vlad raged, “You stole the throne. You forced your authority upon us like someone who…forces…authority on...people…”
“Out of one-liners?” Morgana inquired, to which Vladimir responded with a nod.
“Enough of this tripe.” Kilgore growled, “Prepare to die.” Kilgore started to levitate off the floor.
“Oh, crap!” Vlad exclaimed “He’s Floating! Morgana! He’s floating!”
“We got it, Vlad.”
“We’re messed!”
“Vlad, shut up.” Morgana smiled. “We got this.” She took a running start, lunging toward Kilgore. Her arm drew back. That’s as far as she got.
Kilgore held his arm out, his hand open. Then he snapped it shut. Her body crumpled up and hit the floor with a splat. Blood drained from her body, pooling around her in a crimson puddle.
Vlad was enraged.
“You…you…” Vlad stammered. A smile tugged at the corners of Kilgore’s mouth.
“I’m going to kill you.” Vlad whispered. Kilgore’s voice broke into a sick laugh. Vlad groped at the table behind him, he didn’t care what he grabbed. He settled on something cold that felt heavy. He gripped it tightly and, with all his strength, threw it. Kilgore was still laughing when the ax connected with his temple. The ax didn’t stop. It continued through his head, finally hitting the wall. A maroon splatter covered the wall. The old king was lying on the ground whimpering, slowly getting quieter. Then he fell silent. Vlad scooped up Morgana and draped her on one shoulder, pushing through the door. He marched down the corridor, his head held high.
“Wha-” Morgana had woken from her slumber. “what happened?”
“Shut up.” Vlad smiled, “I got this.”
TO BE CONTINUED
