The Dhampir Dimension Page 2

  The townspeople congregated in a plaza right outside of the Magalesti Cathedral, as the city’s priest of the Magalesti family, gave his speech with his harsh tone, making it seem more like to be a mad man’s rant. The Transylvanian Alps shielded the city from too much of a wind chill, even though plenty of snow storms still came through and covered much of the city, home to about 2000 inhabitants, a metropolis for its time. Homes were made of brick and stone, with wooden doors for windows, and wooden pointed ceilings blanketed in snow. All homes were adorned with kerosene lamps that hung on a post screwed next to the doors of the houses, as well as not a single home daring to be missing hanging cloves of garlic and sage crosses to ward off vampires. As a matter of fact, such was the fear of vampires coming into the city to rape, pillage, and kidnap women and children that any person even suspected of affiliation, or of witchcraft was usually, and unjustly beheaded in front of the congregation, whether evidence could be supported against the accusation or not.

  As a result of such fear and such superstition, the people of Meytros were blindly confined to a very mundane life of attending the Church on a religiously mandating schedule, every person paid a tithe, permissions were required on who will marry who, how many children each family could have, and women were not permitted to be priestesses nor learn the sciences, medicine, nor mathematics, for fear of the temptation to turn to witch craft. No, not after the disappearance of Jedidiah Magalesti’s oldest daughter after her pursuit into medicine school. At least this is the lie he preached in public to a herd of ignorant sheep that groveled to his feet.

  Jedediah was the town priest and essentially, had power even over the mayor of Meytros; he was the final authority over the town’s government and could override at any time, over any circumstance he could use Bible passages to justify action or inaction. He was a badly aged man in his mid-50’s, who spoke in a ruthless booming voice, wore a white wig that resembled a Roman jawline-length hairstyle, and had lusterless grey, almost white eyes with only a black hole of a pupil that veered at anyone or anything he laid eyes upon. More than revered, he was feared, many of his actions short of becoming a dictator. He was always too absorbed in his theological work to be too involved with the people of Meytros, until he did ever have to stick his nose into anybody’s business. If he ever did, which in most cases, if anything displeased this man, he loved to order those who had displeased him to be beheaded, or burned alive, the worst offenders being subject to scaphism, or the even worse punishment, one that was kept secret….was to be fed to “it.”

  It, as there was no other name for this true abomination, had made a home within the pitfalls of Mount Moldoveanu, though there existed a shortcut from a well in the well field north of the city. As minimal and as mythical as “it’s’ existence was in the simple minds of the Meytros citizens, including to the aristocrats, “it” was so far, a myth, told to scare children to go to sleep and to keep Meytrans from wandering too far off the beaten path. All of the Meytrans were still gathered in front of the cathedral, listening almost in a trance, to the priest Jedediah boasting about how he himself had destroyed and dismembered the body of the most powerful vampire warrior, and suddenly from behind his podium of marble and gold, he lifted a skull with pieces of silver hair the consistency of spider webs, with his right hand into the air, causing a mixture of repulse, awe, and unpleasant gasps of shock from the crowd.

  “The Royal Highness, Most Mighty, Immortal Invincible Knight, Prince Enttu Stefan Tepes of the ‘good’ vampires, the Selenians, wasn’t so immortal after all,” Jedediah roared with noticeable emphasis of mockery.

  “The Selenians were no different from the Dragul. Because they denounced God simply by being who they are, a wretched creature of the night who feeds off the liquid of life itself, there was no room for either one of them in Romania or on this Earth. God would not want such abomination roaming within his creation. Which is why tonight, we celebrate since Meytros took the duty from God and did His will, to clear the land of evil. No more Selenian, no more Dragul, no more heathens, no more Tepes, ever again!”

  The Meytran crowd cheered on, torches and fists waved in the air, a complete opposite reaction to the adversity of the sight of the skull.

  “Not only was he dismembered, I personally, also made an example out of his own mother who used to be a human before she lay with one of those…beasts, as well as his wife, as well as his daughter. It is a shame that he never saw, as when I found his body in the snow, the bloke already had a dagger through his heart, the beauty in this is that it was easy to hack him into pieces, without any fight! God has blessed Romania!”

  “God Bless Romania!” The mixture of voices of all genders and ages echoed through the plaza, and all the back alleys of town.

  Before dismissal from the gathering, offerings in the form of golden coins or jewelry from each person were collected in two large marble vases, the same height as a grown man. Families went back to their abodes, with Christmas Eve suppers ready upon arrival, the fire from wooden or brick furnaces keeping the warmth in and the cold outside. The more aristocratic homes had the privilege of primitive electricity, lamps of single, one-filament bulbs adorning chandeliers at dining tables, hallways, and bedrooms. Even the local taverns were beginning to be outfitted with light bulbs replacing the kerosene lamps.

  At one nameless tavern toward the southern outskirts, that was tucked between frozen pines, a young man who wore a black cloak and stayed hooded, so he could remain inconspicuous was finishing a hearty bowl of beef stew with vegetables, and a mug of hard ale. Though his intentions were to blend in, the shroud of his clothing kept drawing unwanted attention from a group of intoxicated roisters in leather vests.

  “Take that shit off bloke, the winter is only outside,” said a rancid-smelling mouth of one of the men, who got too close to the cloaked one’s face, past the vicinity of comfort.

  The cloaked one said nothing, except for the response of a blank stare. He grabbed the drunk man by the throat with one hand and lifted him into the air, flailing arms and legs, making him turn blue in the face, and chest tightening from lack of oxygen. The drunken man’s group of comrades stayed frozen, puzzled at what exactly was happening to their friend, before he crashed down loudly upon their table, several ale mugs breaking under his back. The drunken man laid in pain from being strangled and glass shards digging into his back through his leather vest. Cold, wet puddles formed under him. Now he reeked of alcohol and blood, and there was no way to explain this incident to his wife without cause of worry or alarm. The other cloaked man disappeared from the tavern, back into the cold midnight, which did not feel too cold to him because of the two layers of protection he wore, not so much from winter, but from sharp objects, namely, weapons.

  Inside Magalesti Cathedral, was a vast and empty sanctuary filled with oak and leather pews, an altar made of the same marble and gold as outside, fountains of holy water alongside the passages. The stained-glass windows depicted the beatitudes, and the ten commandments. Jedediah sat upon a chair made of gold and red velvet, gazing intently in the center walkway from the altar to the outside doors. A blonde woman with her curls worn above her head leaned in beside him, and made his lap a seat, putting her lush red lips upon his thin line he had for lips.

  “Monika, have you finished counting the offerings?” he inquired in a quieter voice, unlike his usual boisterous, mocking and thunderous tone he possessed, as Monika sank into his arms, enrobed in a scarlet satin, form fitting dress, cinched at the waist with a black whalebone corset.

  “I have done everything you have asked of me my priest,” she cooed melodically into his ear. He snarled, “well, not everything my dear, not yet,” before his lips curled into a wicked, stomach churning grin.

  The sight of an old priest lustily feasting upon a young girl, even though she was a harlot, was a sickening sight to witness, and could’ve most definitely cost him a reputation if his clergymen weren’t
as corrupt as he was. The breathy moans of Monika replaced the vivid silence throughout the church. After their consummation was over, Monika went on her way to the back towards the cleansing chamber and the changing rooms to clean off. She was alone inside the cleansing chamber, about to enter a bathtub filled with warm water and rose essence. Her red robe fell to the floor, revealing her naked, pearl white and slender body, with small breasts, and the filth of the priest and her consummation running down her calf. She felt the water with her fingertips to ensure it was an enjoyable temperature. With her delicate white fingers of her right hand, she undid the ribbon that held her blonde curls up on her head, though she never made it inside the bathtub. She was suddenly grabbed by the throat from behind and her neck was broken in one quick, swift motion. Her body hit the floor at the feet of one of Jedediah’s clergymen, ordered by him to kill her shortly after. The clergyman who wore a brown robe, dragged her body halfway outside, before he coughed out a fountain of blood that splashed onto the wall as a dagger protruded out from the center of his rib cage, and now he was in a pile with the dead prostitute under his bloody body.

  “Sick fucks…” the cloaked young man thought out loud, throwing the bloody dagger he pulled out of the dead clergyman onto the floor. His wounds created a pool of blood. The male hooded figure made his to the altar where a sleeping Jedediah sat upon his self-made throne.

  “I wonder what Nayeru would’ve thought about you fucking a girl at least five years her junior.” The velvet, enigmatic baritone of a voice roused the priest right from his sleep, as he looked to all sides of him, panic-stricken.

  “What in tarnation…” muttered the priest under his breath, fist trembling, holding a shaking cross.

  “Neither your cross nor your holy water affect me, Jedediah” the elusive voice said, before the voice was suddenly materialized in the form of a tall male hooded in black. Jedediah frantically waved the cross in front of his own face, curled back into his seat,

  “Stop trying to play tricks on me, I killed every last vampire off, so who in the devil’s name do you pretend to be?” hissed a panicked and angered priest, as the figure before him stood without moving, outlined in a glowing blue aura.

  “Pretend, I most certainly don’t” the cloaked man continued in a calm, deep voice, before removing the full body cloak he wore, “and I’m a dhampir. You most certainly did not accomplish killing us all off”

  Long, cascading light blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, cheekbones that cut glass, strong jawline, flawless alabaster skin with just a hint of blush in his cheeks gave him an angelic appearance. He wore a vest of black chainmail over his black silk tunic and black leggings tucked into wine-tanned calf-length boots. And the familiar jewel of a crystal crescent moon worn by the Selenians was hanging from his neck.

  “I killed you, you are an illusion from Satan himself!” a frantic Jedediah kept hissing, as the dhampir before him took a step forward.

  “You are gravely mistaken, my name is Enttu Tepes, son of King Nicolae, a descendent of the great Lord Alucard,” he proclaimed so proudly with perfect posture, with the face of a seraphim, but the ability to slash a grown man in two. Times before he had cut men perfectly in half, with the insides and spine being able to stay inside the carcass halves.

  He kept on, “You threw me into Moldoveanu to die, and then still tried to cover up your lie with the skull of some random bastard you found, so utterly depraved you are….you even began to believe your own lie! And don’t even try to preach the word of God to me or tell me tirelessly, of how condemned to hell I am. You created that hell for me, when you massacred my people, my mother, my wife, my daughter. How ironic that someone who calls himself a man of God can reign with pure evil hell over the people he is supposed to protect. You are no man at all!” Enttu was pointing a steel and emerald dagger right in Jedediah’s face, the tip cutting into his cheek.

  “How dare you, you blood-sucking scumbag! Nayeru spelled out her own fate, the minute she decided…to lay with a vampire. As if that did not suffice, you emptied your seed into her and she conceived that filth that brought public shame upon me and the Church, an unallowable abomination,”

  “In lay man’s terms, impregnation is a natural occurrence of life after a man makes love to his wife. And decapitating your own people, decapitating your wife, causing people to writhe in their own shit before vermin eat them alive, burning your own daughter alive, and feeding countless innocent maidens and children to that ‘thing’ you tried to feed me to, and yes I knew it was you….and Lord only knows if you are responsible for my daughter as well. She is the grand-daughter you would’ve never had the blessing from me to meet anyhow…your definition of’ ‘abomination’ is about as backwards as the lies you have everybody in Meytros mind-fucked with!” Enttu condemned a trembling Jedediah.

  His hot breath and visible pearly fangs were in the priest’s face as the other frantically emptied a vial of Holy Water in the dhampir’s face, evoking nothing more than a sarcasm-filled laugh from the prince.

  “You fucking fool, I told you that didn’t work,” he continued, almost in a cynical hiss. He levitated in front of the priest, a blue aura glowing around his entire frame, before lowering himself to his feet, the dhampir kissing the priest’s boots.

  “Where are my manners of course,” the dhampir sneered, revealing his top two fangs, before he sunk his fangs into the calf of the priest, letting the crimson, coppery and delicious red brine flow into his mouth, sliding down his throat, into his veins.

  The priest cried out, weakened and slumped into his chair, frozen into place by an unseen force that he could feel causing a paralysis throughout his entire body, as the prince continued to drink from the two tiny holes he had pierced into his calf. As the dhampir drank more, his blue eyes glowed red and through this vision, he saw a dark red aura around the priest and some of the priest’s memories transferred over as terrifying visions of what Jedediah had done. Enttu saw visions of blood spraying from wounded victims, he saw visions of the priest killing his wife, he saw visions of the priest committing acts of rape, but when the victims in his vision begin to have faces of children, he withdrew with a rage in his voice and let a growling yell into the air. He thought immediately about impaling the priest with his silver dagger, but the dhampir had a pettier plan in mind. He stopped before the last ounce or so of blood was left in the otherwise dried up veins of the old man, leaving him sitting in paralysis, being able to see what occurred around him, but catatonic and unable to move, not even able to lift a finger. The throne was situated in the pathway of light coming directly from the top dome of a stained-glass window high above the altar.

  “Please have no fear, for I am not going to kill you…” the dhampir said lowly, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, as he floated up and away from the priest, towards the front doors of the cathedral. His long black cape he wore embroidered with the Selenian crest waved gracefully behind him

  Still in his catatonic, paralyzed state, the priest was able to think, and that was a torture. Initially seeming like a relief that the vampire creature didn’t kill him, the realization suddenly hit him as to why he wasn’t murdered, and against his state, he tried to move but was permanently fixed in place. The vampirism was starting to take effect an hour after the attack, but he would remain too weak from no one to feed from. An hour had passed since midnight, with sunrise to come and deliver its light of death within several hours.

  Those several, grueling hours did indeed pass by and things ended less than well for the priest. One of his altar servers who opened the cathedral before Sunday Mass dropped a full decanter of wine to the ground, which shattered and decorated the floor with crystal shards and spilt drink. His expression had equally dropped to the tile floor upon the grim sight of the barbecued corpse of the priest sitting on the throne, still freshy burnt with dying embers on charred flesh.

  December 25th, 1894 was a melancholic, dark
day that blanketed over the steeples, and on slanted roofs of Meytros. Even cats and dogs curled up in each other’s company, and birds lined for rows and rows, upon rooftops. Many tall tales and accusations flew.

  “A strigae did this! That thing that attacked me last night at the Cescu tavern was one of them!”

  “God has finally forsaken our town after the atrocities that Magalesti has committed against his own people. The strigae are coming in retaliation!”

  “Don’t be superstitious, it was probably done in revenge by somebody who’s family of one of his many victims……surely we will find the murderer,”

  “But why was there a dagger found staked through Alfonsus?”

  “Preposterous, daggers have just always been common in this area for evident reasoning,”

  Newly fed and healed from his abrupt awakening, Enttu could feel and hear everything at a heightened frequency and it was difficult to block out every other person’s thoughts, emotion, intention, even from animals and inanimate objects. It drove him temporarily mad for a few hours, so he hid himself underneath the steeple of the bell, which seemed to be the most unwise of all places, but here, he could oversee the city without getting burnt from daylight and was able to sleep suspended in the air with protection from the dome of the bell. He drifted in and out of sleep, crossing over to the “other side” where he would be in front of the Moon Goddess, within her glory and silence, then memories of his wife and passionately making love to her, such an intense and vivid feeling of warmth and adrenaline coursed through his veins. Again, he was in another transition, this time of his dead body in the snow where he was murdered my Jedediah Magalesti. The priest had attempted to get rid of his body after Enttu’s soul separated from the vessel. Selene however, sent him back to the Earth Dimension.