Pillaging was an art, one that I seemed quite proficient in. Dracula had always possessed an eye for the finer things. From the interior decorations of his castle, his mode and attire of dressing, and down to the treasures he had taken from conquered vampires that had bent the knee to him. It was something that seemed to have melded well with me.
What should have taken days had taken mere hours, as I pointed out the things that I somehow knew held the most value. It was like literally having an eye for treasure. By the time we were done with the looting, Isaac's night creatures were burdened and hobbled by the amount of loot we had strapped to them. Not even Marwyn was spared. He was the least combat-capable person in the group, so his hands were not particularly useful for fighting.
By the time we were done, the manor looked like a whirlwind had blown through it, and as we stepped out of the manse, I looked ahead, not the same way we had come, but different. Further into the broken peninsula. I had not figured out the full truth of the Doom. I had my theories, I had some scattered evidence, and all that pieced together by Dracula's staggering intellect had given me a hypothesis. Yet I was without the real truth of things. Unfortunately, my search for further information was at an end.
I turned to the people who held me back. Humans, even near-peak humans like Isaac and altered as Gerion was, in the end, they remained humans, with all the necessities such mortality afflicted and insisted. It was a weakness, and one that held me back, yet I was hesitant to completely throw off these shackles.
"We are as ready as we can be, Master Dracula," Isaac said, turning to me after inspecting the loot we had strapped to the night creatures. At this point their physiques could barely be seen under the piles of bulging clothes. They seemed more like legs with burlap for bodies.
I turned to Gerion and Marwyn to see that they were just as ready. Gerion had been given the last tinctures of sweet sleep and was as normal as I could expect from him while we still remained on this accursed land. They both turned to me and nodded their affirmations, so without another word, I spun on the spot, twirling my magnificent cape instinctively.
"Then let us depart."
Gerion led the way. We had elected to follow a different route back to the castle the night before, one that Gerion remembered and claimed would be a faster route, accomplishing in a day what we had in multiple days previously. As this was his role from the beginning, we acquiesced to his directions. The path was lined with the same broken dragon roads that we had walked previously, if only marginally better preserved, as were the statues that lined the road.
On the left side was a gaping pit that went into the ground, a fissure from when the island had cracked into multiple pieces, leaving a chasm so dark that not even my eyes could find the end. On the other side of the road was a river of magma, its surface bubbling and hissing as gases escaped.
The heat was intense, although I did not feel it as much as I noted the change in surrounding temperature. The same could not be said for the men who walked alongside me, as I could see Marwyn and Gerion sweating profusely through their gas masks and heavy coats. The only person that seemed to be spared was Isaac, the heat of the magma river not too far a cry from the sweltering desert he had lived in for most of his life.
The journey was going smoothly, which should have been my first sign that something was likely going to go wrong soon, and this time it was my fault, born of my own pride and strength, which had resulted in hubris. I noted it too late.
Isaac walked ahead with his night creatures, the bulky one carrying most of our plunder from the manse. Books, scrolls, the Valyrian steel armor and sword. The dragon eggs were wrapped carefully in a purple sheet looted from the manse and secured in a pack that Marwyn carried on his back like they were his own children.
The first warning came from above. It was the beat of wings once again, but this was a far cry from the winged calamity that was the dragon that patrolled the skies. This one was closer to a mosquito, flittering at the edges of my consciousness rather than a dragon.
I looked up, tracking the sound, and that was when I spotted it. The winged wretch from days ago, circling high in the smoke-filled sky. I remembered it, and judging from the glint in its eyes, it did as well. I had forgotten about the wretch that we had let escape originally, even knowing it would come back after us. However, between being distracted by the discovery of the eggs and consumed by learning how to actually read the language better, thoughts of the wretch as well as the master that controlled it had fallen to the wayside. Until now.
A mistake I was about to pay for.
It caught my eyes, and the next moment I sent a part of my consciousness into its mind. This was not the delicate and careful way I skinchanged. This was a mental assault in truth. I used my consciousness like a battering ram, and the defense, its fragile and gibbering mind could hold up did not last a second before it let out a shriek, then forgot how to fly, how to breathe, how to even think. Then it dropped like a stone and slammed into a destroyed building with a wet squelch that only I picked up.
I turned to my group.
"We need to move," I said, even though somehow I knew it was too late.
Once again, I was proven right, as the next instant, before Isaac could complete his turn to me and ask for clarification, the magma river beside us exploded.
Time slowed.
Molten rock sprayed upward as something massive lunged out of the glowing liquid. I had a split second to react. My hands shot out, grabbing both Gerion and Marwyn by their collars, and I turned slightly, then flung them backward with enough force to send them tumbling away from the river's edge but not into the dark chasm at the far side of the road.
Isaac was farther away from me, and even though he was caught as off guard as the other two men had been, his night creatures moved on instinct, their bodies acting to protect their master before they could receive the order. The smaller one threw itself on top of him while the bulky one dropped its cargo and stepped forward before raising its arms defensively as magma and stone pelted it.
That was as much as I got, before I felt the air to my side displace as a massive paw, dripping with magma and twice the size of a giant, slammed into me.
The blow was tremendous, and for the first time since I left my original name and life behind me, I felt pain as my ribs cracked from the blow and I was launched backward, crashing through the air before slamming into a half-collapsed building. Stone and debris rained down on me as the structure gave way, burying me under rubble.
_
Isaac
Isaac only had a second to take in and understand what had happened. Everything had occurred so quickly. Master Dracula's words, the explosion of magma, his night creatures protecting him, as well as the sudden explosion of sound as something was catapulted away.
Isaac shook his head, then willed the night creature to rise, and it did, allowing him to stand in full just in time to see the massive paw slam into the broken road. His eyes widened in surprise as the magma wyrm pulled itself fully out of the river and announced its presence to the world with a sound that was half roar, half hiss, booming across the ruined landscape.
It was enormous, easily sixty feet long, its body covered in scales that glowed with internal heat as magma slipped from its scales like oil on water. Cracks ran through the scales, revealing bubbling flesh beneath. Its head was serpentine, jaws lined with teeth like obsidian daggers. Four legs, each ending in those massive clawed paws, dug into the scorched earth as it hauled itself onto solid ground.
But what caught Isaac's attention was the figure fused to its back.
Gerion's story suddenly came back to him as he realized who their new foe was, but Gerion had not quite explained things well. The only thing that matched the figure on the back with Gerion's words was the white hair and eyes.
The figure looked like he had been melted into the wyrm's flesh. His lower body was gone, merged completely with the creature's spine. His torso and arms remained, though twisted and changed. Skin that had once been human was now scaled and cracked, glowing with the same internal heat as the wyrm. His face was a ruin, like melted candle wax, while the four golden eyes in his skull shone bright with madness.
He wore the tattered remains of robes that somehow seemed to have survived the centuries, including traveling through magma. When the magma wyrm came out in full, the figure did not even glance at them. Instead, those four eyes were focused a bit farther away, toward the rubble where Master Dracula had been buried, Isaac realized with wide brown eyes.
Master Dracula had sacrificed himself for them.
The figure stared for a long moment, his burned face unreadable, before turning his attention to Isaac and the others.
When he spoke, his voice was like grinding stone, the words in Valyrian. It was a stuttered and broken thing, and Isaac regretted not focusing on the famed language more when he was told of their destination, for he could not recognize the words. What he could recognize was pain in the figure's speech. Each word came with effort, like he was remembering how to form them as he continued to speak.
Isaac stepped forward, at once drawing the figure's attention to him as well as the wyrm, giving Gerion and Marwyn the chance to recover. Isaac took another step. Master Dracula was not dead. He knew that as certain as he knew the sun would rise from the east and set in the west. All he needed to do was kill the figure and the wyrm if he could, or buy time, and judging by how encumbered he was in this suit and mask, Isaac did not trust himself to be able to. So he tried something he rarely used as a first option.
He tried dialogue.
His night creatures flanked him on both sides. He kept his face calm, his stance ready. Fear was useless here, so he discarded it as he moved to speak.
"We want no quarrel with you. Let us pass."
The figure's burned face twisted into something that might have been a smile. Then it said something again. Luckily for Isaac, Marwyn had recovered enough to translate.
"Putrid language. I shall not deign to speak it. You shall not pass. No. You have treasures. I sense them. Dragon eggs. Books. Steel. All mine."
Isaac glanced back at the archmaester to be sure he was getting the translation correct, but the archmaester was still struggling to his feet and did not seem able to explain any further. Isaac knew at once that dialogue would not work here, especially not when he had to use another person to translate the raving mad words of the figure.
Instead he simply pulled out Longclaw, the Valyrian steel blade gleaming in the hellish light. Then he pointed it at the figure with a single word that did not need any interpretation.
"No."
The figure laughed, the sound like crackling fire. Then the wyrm lunged.
Isaac's night creatures met it head-on. The bulky one caught the wyrm's paw in its arms, its massive strength enough to halt the creature's charge for a moment. The smaller one darted to the side, trying to find an opening to strike at the sorcerer.
Then Isaac heard it. A sound that made him reconsider things.
It was halfway between a gasp and a sob, and when he glanced back, he saw Gerion on his knees, trembling. His sword lay beside him, forgotten. His eyes were wide with terror, fixed on the sorcerer.
"No," Gerion whispered. "No, not again. Not again."
Marwyn had scrambled back after he recovered and, clutching the pack with the eggs, had found cover behind a chunk of collapsed wall. Isaac never had any hope or belief in the maester's combat abilities. Instead his eyes stayed on Gerion, and he watched him with an empty face.
He understood immediately what had happened. He remembered how Gerion had told the story, his first encounter with the wyrm and the figure, their mad dash through Valyria as he and his men were hunted, toyed with, and slaughtered. Now once again he was faced with the figure that had haunted his dreams, and under the weight of that trauma, Gerion Lannister had broken. Now he was useless. Worse than useless, he was a liability.
Isaac made a decision.
"Drop everything!" he shouted at his night creatures, ensuring they threw what was left of the load still strapped to their bodies to the ground. "Protect Marwyn and the eggs!"
The bulky creature released the wyrm's paw and somehow dodged as the second claw swiped, and it stumbled backward. Both night creatures immediately positioned themselves between Marwyn's hiding spot and the enemy, abandoning the cargo they'd been carrying. Books and scrolls scattered across the scorched ground.
The wyrm pressed the advantage. Its tail whipped around, faster than any of them could see, slamming into the smaller night creature and sending it flying into the chasm. Isaac did not hear it land.
The figure raised his hands, and fire bloomed in his palms. Isaac suddenly remembered another fact he had forgotten. Gerion had called him a sorcerer. The sorcerer's four eyes glowed brighter in madness as he stretched his hand back, aiming to throw the fire. But it was not normal fire. It was purple and burned wrong.
He hurled it at Isaac.
Isaac dove to the side, the corrupted flame scorching the ground where he had been standing. The heat was intense even at this distance. He rolled and came up running, Longclaw ready, as he headed toward the wyrm's flank.
The bulky night creature charged its other side, forcing the wyrm to switch its attention as its massive fists swung. It landed a hit on the wyrm's side, denting scales and drawing a roar of pain. But the wyrm twisted, faster than something that size should move, and its jaws clamped down on the creature's shoulder.
Magma dripped from the wyrm's mouth, burning through the night creature's flesh. It tried to pull away, but the wyrm held tight, shaking its head like a dog with prey.
Isaac reached the wyrm's rear leg and drove his sword into it. The blade sank deep, and the wyrm screamed, releasing the night creature. But the sorcerer was already moving, twisting his merged body around to face Isaac.
Another blast of corrupted fire, this one at point-blank range, forced Isaac to roll under the wyrm, much like he had done with the ice spider months ago.
He came out somewhere behind the wyrm, nearly falling into the magma lake. He was on his feet once more. His night creature had taken both the focus of the sorcerer and the wyrm, allowing Isaac to spring to his feet again. He jumped upon the wyrm, his hands scalded from grabbing cracked scales even with the thick gloves he had on as he hurled himself upward, aiming for the sorcerer. He found his feet on the back of the wyrm, and he lunged forward blade first, only to stop when he saw something hidden under the mop of white hair the sorcerer had.
A golden slitted eye.
The next second, the wyrm's tail whipped from the side and caught him. He interposed the steel blade with the blow, but it was too strong and had come too fast. Isaac felt his left forearm and right wrist break under the force of the strike as he was sent flying. His night creature interposed itself between him and the ground a second later, cushioning his fall, but the Valyrian steel blade went flying before embedding itself blade-first into the ground.
The magma wyrm had not stopped moving. Its head shot out again, its fanged maw opening as it aimed to swallow them in a single bite.
Isaac saw his life flash before his eyes until a blur of giant steel was buried into the magma wyrm's jaw, forcing it to let out a screech of pain.
Isaac turned surprised eyes at once, only to see Gerion, no longer on his knees but on his feet, Brightroar shoved into the wyrm's jaw. The terror was still there on his face, but beneath it something else rose. Shame. Anger. Hate. Madness. A mixture of emotions that came from pushing through and defying your body.
Gerion's hand moved, as he pushed the Greatsword deeper into the wyrm's jaw. His legs shook, and the thing beneath his skin writhed violently, but he stayed standing.
His blow had halted the wyrm but had also left him open for the sorcerer's attack.
The sorcerer raised both hands. Putrid purple fire swirled in his palms, once more growing larger, hotter. The air around them shimmered with heat, and his target was clear.
Isaac immediately shoved himself off his night creature, ripping Longclaw out of the ground with his off-hand. Yet he knew he would be too late. He would not get there in time, and the price of Gerion overcoming and pushing through his trauma to save him would be a painful death.
Then a voice cut through the chaos, cold and absolute in its authority.
"Enough."
Everyone froze.
The rubble that had buried Master Dracula exploded outward, sending dust everywhere. Then he walked out, his steps echoing weirdly as he moved through the dust and debris, brushing stone powder from his cloak like his brief incapacitation had been nothing but an inconvenience.
He turned to them, and his face was calm, almost bored, even as he peered at the sorcerer and the wyrm.
Isaac felt relief flood through him. His gamble had paid off. He had bought enough time.
The vampire looked at the sorcerer, then at Isaac and Gerion. Isaac was bleeding from a dozen small cuts, his right wrist was broken, and his left forearm was definitely cracked at least, while Gerion looked ready to collapse, held upright only by adrenaline and stubbornness. Behind them, Marwyn peered out from his hiding spot, the pack with the eggs still clutched to his chest.
"Leave," Master Dracula said, his voice calm. "Take the eggs. Take everything you can carry and go back to the castle."
"Master Dracula..." Isaac started, but the vampire cut him off.
"Now, Isaac." He did not raise his voice. He did not need to. "This fight is mine."
Isaac hesitated. Every instinct told him to stay, to help, but he knew better. Master Dracula did not need help. And if they stayed, they would only be in his way.
He nodded and grabbed Gerion's arm, pulling the knight toward where Marwyn hid. Marwyn scrambled out with the pack, and together the three of them, as well as the injured night creature, began gathering what they could of the scattered cargo. Books and scrolls went into improvised slings. The armor and sword Isaac strapped to his own back, the weight awkward but manageable.
The sorcerer did not even turn to gaze at them or stop them, neither did the wyrm. Instead, the conjoined mixture of man and beast had eyes only for one person. As they retreated, Isaac looked back once and saw Dracula take one more step forward with something on his face.
It was a smile. An unkind smile that told Isaac that Dracula was not happy, so Isaac hastened his steps to escape the blast zone of what was to come. The last time he had seen that smile, Dracula had made a name for himself as the Impaler.