Black void was all around her, a shallow ringing drifted through her conscious. Colors seemed to swim around as she fought against the void, trying to bring herself out of it. It was almost like coming out of water, she felt like she could not breathe at all until suddenly she swam through the void of unconsciousness into a world brought on by dawn. She sighed, her body apparently had been breathing, but the shock of finally awaking made her realize where the ringing had been emanating from. She looked around absorbing her surroundings. She was entrapped within a cage which sat strapped onto a cart being pulled by a few horses. She also could not feel her arms or wings, yet each were strapped together and chained to the side of the cage. She blinked, the sun blinding her slightly as the gleam flashed from the silver cage. She could sense something tugging at her subconscious, silently probing the back of her mind. She looked toward the front of the cart, and realized there was someone there, eyes glowing fiercely red as the voice suddenly muffled her senses once again.
Veron looked back in the direction he was leading the carriage. Due to the harshness of the sun, he had to also borrow a heavy dark cloak for his journey back to visit and present this creature for study to his father. The scenario played out inside his head, he did not expect the interaction to go well due to his status. He expected his father to be able to notice something off about his son, in a way that is troubling and unwelcoming. Banishment may be considered, or shot through the heart right then and there, assuming his pistol was within range. He played out the shooting scenario more than once, considering how to avoid the calamity, but then something occurred to him that he did not consider before. He could not have any weapons kept with him in the chapel, and especially so while being tended by the priests.
While formulating a plan, the carriage jumped slightly as it trampled through a rough patch in the road, the cage moved with the carriage but was stable enough to not move any way else. Veron looked back to ensure his prize had not fallen off. She sat slumped on the side of the cage, seeming to mumble something to herself. He reached into her mind only to hear a soft moaning cry echo out from her consciousness.
Upon reaching the town where they were staying for the month, the sun was beginning to yawn and wisp away beyond the horizon while Veron pulled his carriage up to the guards. They were different from a few days before, and because of this did not recognize him. He slowed the horses until they understood the door would not open and waited patiently as the guards approached Veron.
“What you got there, friend?” one of the guards pointed the sharp end of his pike toward the cage, while his accomplice watched Veron with the sharp end of his own pike.
Veron sighed, “It isn’t your business, this is Vlad Tepes’ property and he would not appreciate your interest in the matter.” His voice was low, menacing, and patient.
The guard examining Veron took a step back, recognizing the name, while the other half-heartedly obliged, still trying to understand the creature slumped in what looked like a gnarled, thorn-like mess within the cage. She had several times awoken, and Veron finally found a method to put her to sleep for a lot longer than a few hours. As the doors swung inward, the guards stepped aside, the horses knew they could move forward and entered the town. Veron led them toward a stable, and relinquished the reins to the stablemaster, the carriage was left next to the inn with the cage still strapped onto it. He decided as the night crawled over the sky, she would still be asleep, with the spell he finally perfected still in effect. And besides the toxin was still within her veins either way.
He made his way toward the chapel, entering within and silently stalking his way toward the storage room. It was strange no one was praying and none of the priests were around, yet the chapel doors were not locked. Veron contemplated however, usually the chapel doors hardly were locked anyway. He peered into the room, examining the contents within. There were vials both empty and full, healing supplies and raw food stuffed in barrels, boxes, and bags alike. He spotted in the far back a strange assortment of blades flashing briefly, with a barrel awkwardly sticking upward. Confirming his fathers’ items, he went on to find him, and entered the room where he noticed something as the light of the room faded.
His father was not within the delicately put together pure white bed he was before. He felt a cold steel nibble upon his neck and froze, listening to the loud heartbeat that echoed throughout the room.
“Who are you to enter this sacred place, monster?” A voice resounded.
“Who are you to call your son a monster?” Veron replied.
“My son would not fall victim to false powers and empty promises,” Vlad’s voice hesitated slightly, Veron could feel a tremble in the blade which signified his time to act.
He leaned backward as though falling, which caught Vlad off-guard going to catch his son, instead he caught a smack into the head with Veron’s foot, making his vision swim with bright spots and discolored splotches while taking several steps back to catch himself from falling onto the brick floor of the cathedral. Veron turned around, landing his backflip upon his toes, gazing at his father who was holding his head with his empty hand, and holding out his blade with his other, trying to focus on his son.
“You’re not the son I sired, let alone raised. You know better than to fall victim to the falsehood of Sanguinare Vampiris,” Vlad spat toward Veron as he cursed his vision, unable to identify which of the three shades beheld his real son. Veron approached his father, noting his lack of depth perception as he almost reached within arm’s length before Vlad thrusted his blade into Veron’s stomach, missing his heart by a few inches. Veron smiled.
With Vlad’s hand still holding onto the hilt, Veron withdrew his own blade and gouged open Vlad’s chest, making him gasp and cough in pain, blood brilliantly covering Veron’s hands. While Vlad was still alive, Veron forced his hand into his own wound, taking out his father’s blade and burying it into his father’s wound, contaminating his father with his own blood. Vlad’s last image was glowing red burning eyes, with a voice unknown to him swimming throughout his consciousness until the void sunk into his mind, Veron could no longer feel the presence of his father. He picked up his father from the floor, the blood still warm upon his hands and took him outside, keeping to the darkness as he went.