The Vorbing (24 page)

The special arrows Vlad made earlier were meant for entering the flesh of Deadulus. Vlad needed to improvise something that would spread wider to hit more than one to deal with the new threat. Vlad remembered a vial of holy water on his person, and he took it out. He tore a piece of fabric from his tunic and tied the holy water to an arrow with it. Deadulus watched from the skies with increasing interest. His young nemesis already had challenged him in ways he had not expected but the NightLord had responded. Now he was witnessing Vlad adapting his battle plan to changing circumstances. Deadulus knew he was dealing with a worthy opponent, far better than his father ever had been.

Vlad fitted the arrow to his bow and closed his eyes. “God, guide my hand,” he said, taking aim, the bow and arrow quivering in his hands.

Deadulus dropped his arm, signalling his vampires to dive in an all-out attack. Vlad fired his arrow towards the crater in Nocturne. It was just past his normal range, but God had not let Vlad down yet. The arrow flew with incredible speed. To Vlad, it was faster than any arrow he ever had fired. He glared at his arrow in flight, silently praying for it to strike the forces of darkness in the pit. The arrow landed to the left of where he intended, but it impacted the crater of demons. The vial of holy water shattered on impact and covered the emerging demons in it. They screamed and moaned in a truly horrific and piteous way. It forced the demons to retreat back into Hell. The lava flow stopped, and the crater sealed shut after them. Vlad’s men cheered, but Vlad’s heart sank when another massive wave of vampires swept out from behind Vampire Mountain. 

              “It is over!” Gatov said behind him. 

              Vlad thought likewise, but could not let his men see he agreed.

“We must leave here while we can,” Gatov said, “or it will be McLintock’s Spit all over again.”

Vlad was on the retching verge of signalling a retreat, when something about his men drew his attention. He noticed how distracted they had become by the incoming vampires. Vlad’s eye flitted to where Deadulus was hovering like a hummingbird. He deliriously welcomed what he saw. Deadulus had become distracted, too. The NightLord had allowed his concentration to lapse for a moment. For all the planning that went into a battle, there was always a turning point, that fleeting moment when one side gained the upper hand, and from then on it was the beginning of the end. It was not always the best or strongest side that gained the upper hand, either, as reputations counted for nothing in the white heat of battle. All that mattered was how an army fought and what happened on the day. The slightest thing could turn a battle: a basic error, good or bad luck, or even the weather. Sometimes, neither side knew a turning point had occurred in all the confusion. It was only peacetime analysis of a battle that yielded up the critical moment. Vlad saw the most golden of opportunities presenting itself to him. He knew he might never get a chance like it again as long as he lived. If Vlad survived the battle, he would tell his grandchildren about the surreal moment his eyes were watching right then. He heard the wings of Deadulus beating along with his own heart. It felt like it would beat its way out of his chest with nervous adrenalin.

              With his wide eyes transfixed on Deadulus, Vlad reached behind his head and took one of his sanctified arrows from its quiver. He fitted it to his bow and drew it back and aimed without a sound. Deadulus was still oblivious that he had gone from being the apex predator to potential prey for the first time. Without thinking, Vlad opened his lips to ask God to guide his hand as usual but choked the words in his throat at the last second. Deadulus would hear him. Vlad was about to find out if he was the prophecy made flesh without divine intervention. It was time to discover the true capability of Vlad Ingisbohr. Vlad took aim and let go of the arrow. It left his bow and shot across the sky.

Still, Deadulus did not notice, and Vlad felt cold shivers of anticipation running through him. If Vlad could kill Deadulus, it would be the greatest moment of his life, without question. Nobody was watching it happen but him, although Vlad knew his father’s restless spirit was with him. He had craved recognition all his life, but all that mattered was killing Deadulus and avenging his father’s murder.

Vlad willed the arrow onwards with wild eyes. It seemed to take an age to cross the sky to where Deadulus was hovering, but it honed in on its intended target. Deadulus sensed something to his right and turned his head. Vlad feared Deadulus would swat the arrow away as he had the battleaxe. However, the NightLord reacted too late. The arrow slammed into the chest of Deadulus with an audible thump and punctured it. A geyser of dark blood spewed into the air.

Once again, Deadulus and Vlad roared simultaneously; Vlad roared in triumph, while Deadulus roared in agony. The vampires behind Deadulus backed away from their NightLord, exposing him to more danger. Vlad’s men whirled around at the sudden loud howls behind them. The NightLord stared at Vlad in disbelief and let out an involuntary groan of shock as the blood literally drained from his face. Despite the severity of his wound, Deadulus remained conscious that he would disintegrate if he landed on the new holy ground of Vampire Mountain. Even if he survived that, a hunting party of Vlad and his men would hack him to pieces. Deadulus was too weak to defend himself due to major blood loss.

The injured NightLord picked a spot in the distance near Nocturne to crash-land. Deadulus figured if he could make that spot, the adjoining column of trees by Nocturne cemetery would afford him some cover behind which he could make his escape. Vlad’s men stared in stunned silence at Deadulus before bursting into cheers. They moved to carry Vlad aloft, but he stopped them dead with a gesture of his hand. His eyes remained fixed on Deadulus. It was not over yet.

A vampire behind the ailing Deadulus suddenly exploded, and then another. When the new group of vampires came into view, Vlad saw who the leader was. It was a certain pale, little friend of his by the name of Anamis. He had brought dozens of albino vampires like himself to help the attack.  The dark vampires advanced towards Anamis and his army to rob the trebuchet operators of a clear target. Anamis launched himself at the closest dark vampire, driving him into the path of the human death machine. The trebuchet operators had increased their rate of fire, and an airborne projectile dispatched the vampire. Anamis’ fellow albino vampires copied his action, and soon the sky was ablaze with flaming dark vampires.  The superior speed of Anamis’ supernatural cavalry enabled them to leave the target area before their bigger rivals. Deadulus’ forces were in disarray, surrounded and outnumbered.

“Archers!” Vlad shouted. His archers reacted and stepped forward. “Fire!”

They unleashed a volley of arrows that struck several of the leading vampires. They fell onto Vampire Mountain, burst into flames, and perished. Vlad noticed that Deadulus had snapped the arrow protruding from his chest, but left the arrowhead and part of the shaft still embedded. Vlad hoped he had made a direct hit on the heart of Deadulus, but could not be certain. If the arrow had punctured the black heart of Deadulus, Vlad knew the NightLord would not have much time left to live. Deadulus averted his dive to near the village of Nocturne and landed on his knees. The vampire attack broke up when they saw their NightLord Deadulus falling away from them. Had Necromus been there, he would have taken control, united the vampires behind him, and kept them fighting. Vlad had taken care of him and that potential counterattack earlier. Besides, the vampires were unable to land on Vampire Mountain and engage the Nocturnian forces on hallowed turf. The vampires swooped around and retreated back into the sky. Vlad’s men cheered and clapped Vlad on the back.

“It’s not over yet, dear friends. Be vigilant,” Vlad urged.

Vlad sprinted hard in the direction of where Deadulus had crashed to earth. He felt determined to finish the job he had started. Nothing would deny him his prize after all he had been through. He would avenge his father and all the other innocent people murdered by Deadulus and his kind. Despite getting scratched and bumped, Vlad drove himself onwards. He rounded trees, leapt over logs, and negotiated hedgerows like a man possessed. Vlad prayed he was not too late. An even worse scenario entered Vlad’s mind as he ran:
What if the wounded Deadulus escaped and started a new colony of vampires somewhere else
? Vlad refused to allow that to happen. He had his foot on the throat of his old enemy and would not release it. The
coup de grâce
Deadulus had done everything in his malicious power to deserve was coming. Vlad would deliver it with a smile.

Vlad saw the injured Deadulus rolling on the ground ahead of him. In one fluid movement, Vlad leapt in the air with his battleaxe behind his head to decapitate Deadulus, but all strength seemed to drain from his arms. Vlad dropped the axe behind his back and fell to his knees, holding his head in agony. Deadulus looked around to see who had struck his enemy, but saw no one and nothing. With great strain, the failing Deadulus got to his feet.

“Is this the great threat I face?” Deadulus said, circling Vlad’s writhing body on the ground, “It seems your own body conspires against you, Ingisbohr. You are not ready for this challenge, boy, just as your father wasn’t. The Ingisbohrs’ failure against me is complete. You have lost and shall share the same fate as your father.”

              It then struck the NightLord what had happened. He bared his fangs, smiled, and laughed a deep, throaty cackle. Deadulus applauded the air as he looked around the night sky. “I give you thanks and praise, dear sisters,” Deadulus said cryptically, as if his “sisters” could hear him.

“What is happening?” Vlad said. Vlad rolled around, clutching his head in terror and agony.  “What have you done to me?” Vlad said.

“The witches of the land have placed a malediction upon you with their evil eye, young Ingisbohr,” Deadulus said. “There is no escape from their power, and no one can help you. Death is certain now.”

              “Will you leave me here to die?” Vlad asked.

“Too merciful,” Deadulus said. “Dismemberment is a favourite activity of mine, and you…thorn in my side…shall…experience it…now.”

It was an empty threat as all strength left Deadulus and he collapsed. Vlad thought he saw the NightLord smile again as the vampire’s hideous face contorted in the final throes of death. The muscles in his enormous frame relaxed. The searing pain in Vlad’s head ceased the moment Deadulus died.

Then, Deadulus transformed back into the beautiful angel Lucifer he had once been. Vlad noticed his vampire wings had disappeared, but there were no feathered, angelic ones in their place. He assumed Lucifer was stripped of his angel wings for his Heavenly insurrection. Even though he had died as Deadulus, Lucifer seemed to regain momentary consciousness. It was as if God granted him the last request of witnessing his transformation back into his former purity. Lucifer’s crystal blue eyes gazed in awe at the return of his luminescent skin. He then stared skywards, weeping tears of disbelief as all life drained from him. As Lucifer lost consciousness and died, his body lifted off the ground and ascended into the sky.

Vlad was joined by Norvad and they followed the mighty angel’s course with astonishment. Up and up the lifeless body of Lucifer went, being reborn to Heaven. All the other vampires resumed their angelic form, and they followed Lucifer into the clouds, as did all the Yara-Mas in the forest. Anamis resumed his cherub form again and ascended into Heaven.

“No, Anamis, my friend!” Norvad said with despair as his beloved pet and friend departed from him. “Don’t leave me.” The old man sank to his knees sobbing.

Vlad picked Norvad up and hugged him. “Be happy for him, brother, he is free,” Vlad said, a peaceful smile on his lips. “You will see him again. He is going to a better place.”

Norvad was overcome and speechless. He nodded his agreement and put his head on Vlad’s shoulder. Vlad consoled him as best he could as he looked skywards at the incandescent vista as the former vampires went to their eternal rest.

As Lucifer entered the turquoise tear in the sky, it seemed to roll back, and no one on the battlefield could believe their eyes. The sky was full of angels; there were billions upon billions of them, stretching into infinity. All of them in full voice as they sang with joy at the return of their Lucifer.

Beneath the angels, there appeared to be a swirling vortex of souls awaiting entrance to Heaven. Lucifer was sucked up into the vortex and the dazzling glare beyond. The eyes of all present then felt their eyes drawn to the centre point of the Heavenly choir. A massive figure, too bright to make out, stood there with its arms outstretched, dwarfing the angels surrounding it. Vlad believed it was God himself welcoming the pure soul of his fallen angel back to his bosom. When their eyes fell upon that vast presence, all on the battlefield fell to their trembling knees, closed their eyes, and joined their hands in prayer. Vlad could not look away, and watched in amazement.

Still, Lucifer rose and rose until he was between the arms of the enormous figure that embraced him. Immediate blinding white light and hurricane-force winds in the sky followed. The former Vampire Mountain lit up like it was daytime. Vlad averted his gaze and shut his eyes with all the rest. Even so, he saw the bones in his hands through his eyelids due to the unprecedented celestial brightness. Then, as soon as it had come, the vision of God, Lucifer, and all the angels disappeared. The turquoise tear in the sky was no longer there, either. The blood moon lost its ruddy tint and returned to pale normality. Blood remained on the battlefield where sounds of war and pain faded to nothingness.