Chapter 125: Dracula

Michael quickly hit upon a solution: the portal.

Also known as dimensional gates, portals can traverse any space. Many spatial spells in white magic are built upon this foundation; for example, the Mirror Dimension requires a dimensional gate to exit, a fact Doctor Strange once learned the hard way when trapped by Spider-Man. Fundamentally, a dimensional gate is the key that unlocks all realms.

Sensing the fluctuations of space around him, Michael drew a portal in the air. Gazing into the bright castle within, he knew he had found the right place.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

After calling out a few times and receiving no answer, he stepped inside. The decor here was starkly different from the world outside; on the walls, demons held candles aloft, the lamp oil contained within their very skulls. This was a dining hall, save for the gargoyle carved into the fireplace mantel.

Michael admired the murals, refraining from heading upstairs to investigate, as he could hear the master of the house descending.

*Clack, clack, clack.*

A middle-aged man with black hair stepped down the stairs. He wore an exquisite tailcoat, every movement radiating the elegance of an ancient aristocrat. Dracula looked at Michael and spoke with grace:

"Welcome to my home, my child."

"I am not your child."

Michael didn't even turn his head, continuing to study the wall murals, interpreting the story they told. They depicted an autobiography of Dracula, illustrating his past as a count who had campaigned across many lands. To Michael, however, these murals were far too flattering.

"I know," Dracula said with a smile. "But I can sense it—you are just like us. We are of the same kind, only you possess even greater power."

Dracula’s eyes lingered on Michael, filled with a sense of intoxication. It was perfect. This body was truly a gift from Chthon, the God of Chaos.

Michael was slightly surprised; he hadn't expected Dracula to see through him so easily. "Are the vampires in New York connected to you?"

"Indeed, my dear Michael. I am Dracula. You must have heard the name."

Michael felt a flicker of surprise. He hadn't expected the vampire count to actually be Dracula. He was a legendary figure—a truly massive catch.

"In the human world, I have another name: Vandro."

Vandro? That sounded like a famous name as well. Seeing Michael’s surprise, Dracula smiled confidently and said with elegance, "May I invite you to join me for dinner?"

Michael had no intention of engaging in empty pleasantries. He looked directly at Dracula and said, "I have come here to kill you."

Dracula couldn't help but laugh, as if Michael had said something comical.

"What are you laughing at?" Michael asked, puzzled.

Dracula replied, "I admit you are powerful, but you cannot kill me."

"Why not?"

"Because I am immortal. Neither Van Helsing nor the great Lord has ever truly ended my life."

No wonder this creature acted with such impunity. Michael gave Dracula a long, searching look. "Is that so? I don't believe it."

Dracula smiled, took a sword from the wall, and handed it to Michael. "This sword is silver-plated. You may try it."

Michael hesitated for a moment. "Did Van Helsing never drive a stake through your head?"

Dracula showed a flicker of surprise, clearly impressed that Michael knew the weaknesses of a vampire, but he answered, "He tried. Head, heart, limbs, organs—he drove stakes of pure silver through them all. Regrettably, I still live."

"What about dismemberment?"

"My spirit is eternal," Dracula said confidently. "The body is merely a shell to me."

Michael looked at the sword in his hand but did not strike. Instead, he said meaningfully, "Perhaps more terrifying than death is eternity."

Dracula nodded in agreement. "A pity that you and I both possess this terrible gift."

"I would like to see what you have prepared for dinner. After talking for so long, I find myself a bit hungry."

Dracula clapped his hands, and a group of maids filed in, carrying chilled red wine and various trays. Soon, a sumptuous feast was laid out: roast suckling pig, pork chops, steak, roasted lamb, and specialty sausages. Even Michael couldn't help but feel his appetite piqued.

"How extravagant."

The two sat at the table and began to eat. Michael took his knife, sliced into a filet mignon, tasted it, and said with disdain, "Medium-rare. I wonder if this will give me a stomachache."

Dracula chuckled. "If not for the sake of maintaining decorum, I would prefer to tear into my prey while it is still alive."

Michael was amused. The two continued to discuss many topics, talking as easily as old friends. Through Dracula, Michael learned much about the nature of vampires.

"You know, Michael, your killing of those little ones under Cressis was actually beneficial to us. After all, this is a civilized society now; hunting is an outdated practice."

"Oh? And how do you obtain sufficient food, then?"

"We have our own factories. They can provide fresh blood of various qualities and types."

"Is that so?" A flash of murderous intent crossed Michael's eyes.

Human blood factories. Compared to such a thing, Cressis was merely playing at small games.

"Yes. Thank you for your help; otherwise, that little fool would have brought catastrophe upon us sooner or later." Dracula smiled at Michael, as if waiting for something.

Suddenly, Michael couldn't help but tremble. His hands began to elongate, and his nails grew sharp.

"What is happening?"

Michael had known better than to trust him, so he had been cautious, sniffing everything he ate to detect any threats. Yet, he had still been caught. How?

"What did you put in this? I couldn't smell a thing."

Dracula smiled. "It was human blood. Fresh human blood."

"Human blood?" Michael’s heart skipped a beat.

"An undercooked steak paired with a trace amount of human blood—it is nearly impossible to distinguish by scent, especially when you have never tasted it yourself."

Michael felt as if his body were melting. It wasn't pain—it was exhilaration. Sharp fangs erupted from his gums, bat-like wings sprouted from his back, and his pupils constricted into bestial, vertical slits.

Michael began to lose his grip on reason. He overturned the table, grabbed a maid, and sank his teeth into her neck. Dracula stepped back leisurely, avoiding the chaotic mess, and watched the scene with keen interest.

"How truly fascinating."

Dracula ignored the maid’s pleading eyes, watching the spectacle in silence. Michael knew exactly what he was doing, yet he could not stop himself. It was like knowing that smoking is harmful to one’s health, yet choosing to light a cigarette anyway, and savoring every breath.

Dracula walked over to Michael and examined him closely. "You are different. You are unlike any other vampire. You are very much like me, yet you transcend me."

"A true masterpiece." Even the very first vampire, compared to Michael, was found wanting.

"Savor it. This is a flavor to which we become addicted; no drug in existence can compare to it." Dracula laughed maniacally. "You should thank me. If you had kept on resisting, how would you have ever known that the taste of life could be so... delicious?"