The party of knights moved swiftly through the muddy forest ground, steadily approaching the castle. Leading them was a golden arrowhead glowing dimly in the eerie darkness, the only gift given to them by the witch, designed to help them navigate and locate Dracula within the vast fortress.
The tool floated ahead, guiding them toward the back of the castle where small doors, hidden within the outer wall, waited.
The doors were narrow, allowing only one man to enter at a time. When the last of the knights slipped inside, Gareth closed the door behind them.
Cold, musty air greeted the knights.
The narrow door gave way with a reluctant groan, and a gust of stale wind swept past them. The five knights stepped into a cramped passage, their boots sinking slightly into the damp stone floor.
As they entered, the arrowhead began to burn brighter, shining violently like a torch and illuminating their new surroundings.
The walls were slick with moss, and somewhere ahead came the faint drip of water, each drop echoing loudly in the silence. Faded tapestries clung to the corridor walls, their once-proud crests now nothing but stains of color on rotting cloth. A shattered lantern lay forgotten in a corner, its glass glinting dully in the flickering light.
The air was heavy with the scent of mold and rust — and something older, something sour that spoke of years of neglect.
Further in, the passage opened into a small antechamber. Cobwebs veiled the ceiling like funeral shrouds, and rats scurried into cracks as the men entered.
Gareth raised his hand. "Stay close," he whispered. "We're inside the belly of the beast now."
They pressed deeper into the castle through ancient hallways, blindly following their floating guide until it came to a halt.
The knights readied themselves, weapons drawn and bodies tense. From the darkness ahead, two figures emerged.
One — a short, muscular vampire whose arms were as thick as a man's head. His bald scalp gleamed under the light, and his bloodshot eyes glimmered with sadistic joy. A cocky grin stretched across his face. In his massive hands, he wielded two twin axes, both sharp and eager to taste blood.
The other was quite the contrast— a tall, slender female vampire dressed in a loose black gown that seemed to float in the still air. Her pale face was blank, and her crimson lips glowed like blood itself. In her left hand, she held a small blade.
The short one chuckled. "Got tired of waiting for you. Almost went out to drag you from the woods," he rasped, his voice grating as though something was lodged in his throat.
"Don't get too excited, Malfek," the female said, resting her blade upon her open palm. "They managed to wound our Lord. We can't be careless when killing them."
She finished speaking — then dug the blade into her snow-white skin. Blood poured from her palm, but instead of spilling to the floor, it hovered inches above the ground, swirling and shaping itself into a large scythe made entirely of blood. She grasped the weapon and pointed it toward the intruders.
Malfek groaned. "Sure, I'll be careful," he said, turning toward Gareth and his crew. "Don't die too quick now."
He lunged forward, lightning-fast, toward the largest of the group — Bjorn. The vampire brought an axe down with crushing force, but Bjorn raised his shield in time. Sparks flew as metal struck metal.
A grin of ecstasy spread across Malfek's face. "I like you, big man," he snarled, raining blow after blow. Bjorn blocked each strike, his shield ringing with every impact. Though they seemed evenly matched, the knights knew it couldn't last — either his shield would shatter or his arms would give way under the sheer power of each swing.
The remaining knights exchanged quick glances. Without a word, Gareth, Michael, and Mark moved toward the female vampire, leaving Daven to assist Bjorn against Malfek.
Even with three opponents before her, the female vampire appeared unbothered. She swung her scythe through the air, slicing downward with fluid precision. Gareth moved first, narrowly dodging the strike, and countered with a swing aimed at her head. She blocked instantly with the scythe's handle, parrying the attack with unnatural strength.
In that same instant, Michael lunged forward, thrusting his spear with deadly speed. The metal tip hissed through the air, but she tilted her head slightly, letting the weapon pass harmlessly by.
She stepped back, realizing too late that one knight was missing. Mark appeared behind her, twin curved blades poised to pierce her back. She leapt gracefully over him, landing softly. Before he could recover, she swung her scythe sideways — Mark crossed his blades in defense, blocking the attack, but the force sent him crashing into the wall with bone-rattling impact.
She advanced, striking again, but Gareth intercepted her. Michael thrust his spear once more — she dodged, countered, only for Gareth to block again.
The fight spiraled into a deadly rhythm: she struck, Gareth blocked, Michael thrust, she dodged, Mark slashed, she retaliated. Her power was immense, her technique flawless — no holes in her defense, no weakness to exploit. Even when the trio switched their attack order, she adapted instantly.
They knew one mistake would mean death.
Her movements were hypnotic — elegant yet deadly, like a dancer performing a macabre ballet.
Across the chamber, Bjorn and Daven fought their own desperate struggle. They were stuck in a similar loophole.
Bjorn acted as a shield and Daven as a sword. Once Malfek attacked, The shield would defend and once the opportunity came, the long sword would peak from behind the safety of the shield exchanging quick blows with the vampire. The routine didn't last long.
Soon enough there was no room to attack only defend.
The two cornered, with their backs behind the wall and Malfek without rest swung his axes at the shield. He was only relying on brute force trying to see which would crumble first, the shield or the warriors spirit.
Bjorn's shield held, but only barely. Malfek's relentless strikes came without pause, each swing heavier than the last. The shield cracked; Bjorn's arms trembled from the shock. His body screamed in pain, yet he stood firm.
He told himself to endure a little longer — until the others finished their fight. But then a thought crept in: What if they're waiting for me to do the same?
He longed to draw his sword, to strike back even once, but the pressure was overwhelming. Malfek pushed him back, step by step, until his spine pressed into Daven's chestplate.
The vampire's laughter echoed through the chamber. Bjorn felt his strength waning, his will chipping away with every blow. Death whispered like a promise of peace.
Bjorn grit his teeth and smiled through the pain. He planted his feet, pushing forward with everything he had left.
Beads of sweat rolled down Gareth's face, splattering on the cold floor. His breathing grew ragged — exhaustion was setting in. His mind raced for a way to end this.
He blocked another scythe strike and saw Michael's spear flash uselessly again. Then an idea struck.
"Go help them," Gareth ordered calmly.
Michael nodded and broke away, moving toward Malfek's battle. The vampire was too lost in his frenzy to notice. The female saw, however — and lunged, swinging her scythe at Gareth. He met the attack, blocking it with his sword. She pulled back and struck again, aiming low. The curved blade scraped his armor, cracking it. Gareth winced, holding firm.
Mark leapt forward, using the wall for momentum. His blades came down in a sweeping arc. She tried to pull her scythe back, but Gareth held it for a heartbeat — just long enough.
Mark brought his blades down on her, she let one hand off her weapon and moved aside to dodge the attack. She used her free hand to launch a blow at the unprotected human.
Mark Blocked with his twin weapons but the blow itself was powerful, it sent him flying back and as he landed on his feet, she drew her weapon back quickly with the intention of cutting him in half. Without taking his eye off her, he backflipped over the blade and landed heavily.
"That was close" Gareth thought. Out of all the fighters, Mark had the strangest fighting style. He fought recklessly like a wild beast, always dodging at the last second. His fights were intense and chilling.
It was probably how he lost one of his eyes, but even without it he moved as if he had more than one. Just with the way he evaded the vampires scythe without looking at the blade, as if he had eyes at the back of his head.
Mark's blades slashed toward her, forcing her
The vampire's blank face twisted with frustration — her composure cracked. "Good," Gareth thought.He could feel the scales of battle tipping in their favor.
Then came the sound — the sharp whistle of a spear through the air. Out of the corner of his eye, Malfek saw the tip gleam brightly covering distance in a split second.
Micheal had timed his throw perfectly. He listened and waited, getting used to the rhythm of Malfek's axes against Bjorn's shield. He waited for the brief moment of clarity were the axes were in a neutral position, the position were one axe had finished one strike and was brought back before the other could launch.
He chose to attack in that moment, and in that moment, Malfek was vulnerable
Malfek turned too late. The weapon struck his skull with a sickening crunch, ending him instantly. One clean throw — one clean kill.
Gareth smiled grimly. One down.
The female vampire's eyes narrowed. Her scythe shimmered and began to twist, reshaping into a long, blood-red spear. Gareth didn't wait. He rushed her, sword raised.
The spear shot forward, grazing his cheek — but he was close enough to strike. Then came the wet, crushing sound of bone. Gareth froze.
Michael's scream never left his lips. The blood-spear had pierced his face, twisting it into ruin.
Rage burned through Gareth. He didn't hesitate. With one clean motion, he swung upward, splitting her from abdomen to skull.
Her body went still. The blood weapon dissolved into mist.
Silence followed — heavy and cold.
Only the sound of dripping water remained.