Strange Tales #34 Part 4 Featuring  Written by Bob Gansler

YEAR FOUR JAN

Dracula put down the first edition copy of Bram Stoker’s novel, the novel named after the vampire himself.  His sinister laugh filled the halls of Castle Dracula.  “How utterly ludicrous!” Dracula noted.  It amused him how Bram Stoker had reported the events of that fateful night.  Yes, Quincey Morris had plunged the bowie knife into Dracula’s heart.  However, what good would plain steel do to a vampire?  The knife had not been blessed, or coated with holy water, or impregnated with silver.  It was normal steel, and thus it was totally ineffective.

Dracula relished the memory of what he did to the dying Mr. Morris.  The sun had just set, and Dracula drank deeply of the wounded man’s blood.  His Szgany had been routed by his enemies, but he would not need them to destroy those who sought to destroy him.  It was only Abraham Van Helsing’s consecrated host that kept Dracula at bay that day.  Otherwise, he would have slain them all right there on the doorsteps of Castle Dracula.  He would have feasted upon them all – Jonathan Harker, Mina Harker, Abraham Van Helsing, Dr. Seward, Lord Godalming.  As it was, his enemies escaped, but only for a short while.  In a few years, all of them were dead, all of them slain by Dracula, all except Dr. Seward.  The keeper of the madhouse had managed to escape his grasp.  Dracula wondered whatever happened to the good doctor..

Not far from the castle, a mass of vampires gathered around the red-haired figure that was at the center of the grouping.  The vampires listened intently to the powerful words that emanated from the mouth of Torgo, the short-reigned lord of vampires.

“Hear me, vampires of the Dark Country,” Torgo intoned.  “Too long did you serve under the rule of Dracula.  Too short did you serve under my visionary leadership.  Now we have a second chance.”

The vampires mumbled amongst themselves.  Although there were a few here that were turned after the dissolution of the Montesi Formula, most of them were old enough to remember the time before the Formula when Dracula ruled.

“How have you returned, Torgo?” one of the vampires called out.  This vampire, Stefan by name, had seen Torgo with his own eyes in the depths of Hell.  Stefan had been consigned there as well after Doctor Strange had cast the dreaded Montesi Formula.  {This happened in the classic Doctor Strange v2 #62}.  When the Formula finally broke, due to Strange’s own previous mistakes, some older, stronger vampires had been able to force their way back to the mortal plane.  Only the strong had been able to return; the weaker vampires destroyed by the Formula continued to burn and suffer in the netherworld.

“Ah, Stefan,” Torgo replied.  “I see that you were able to claw your way back up to Earth.”  He smiled sincerely.  “I did not have the luxury of returning as most of you had done.  I had been treacherously killed by Dracula some time prior to the casting of the Montesi Formula.”

A shudder went through the undead crowd.  Those words were one of the few things that chilled a vampire’s tainted soul.

“I was rescued from Hell by mortals,” Torgo continued.  “They asked that I destroy Dracula in payment for their service rendered unto me.”

“Dracula is no longer Lord of the Undead,” a vampire called out.

“Quite true,” Torgo responded.  “But I think we all know that he intends to reclaim his throne.  Is this something that you want to see come to pass?”  Torgo stretched his arms out over the crowd.  “How did you fare under his rule?  Did he not treat you like animals?  Did not his rule only serve his goals of world domination under his hand, not for the vampire race as a whole?”

“Torgo is right,” somebody shouted.  “Dracula ruled only for his own gain.”

Cries of agreement rang out among the assembled.

Torgo was pleased.  The rabble were quickly turning towards his side.  Soon they would be his army.

“Are we agreed then, that Dracula should not have the opportunity to lead us once again?  Are we agreed that there should be a new Lord of Vampires, one who will lead the entire vampire race to global conquest?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” the vampires clamored in near unison.  “Torgo shall lead us.  Torgo shall rule us.”

Torgo quieted the crowd down now.  His will was now imposed upon then.  “Thank you, my friends.  Thank you.  We are the beginning of a new order for the vampire people.  As a sign of our beginning, we shall take Castle Dracula.”

“Take the castle?” Stefan questioned.  “To what end?  Is Dracula even there?  And if so, how shall we gain entrance?  Most of us have never been invited inside of its walls.”

Torgo nodded slightly.  Stefan’s assessment was quite right. Those vampires who had not been invited of the castle would not be able to enter; such was one of the drawbacks of vampiric existence.  “All shall be explained,” Torgo intoned.  “Those mortals that brought me back from Hell also provided me with some information about our former Lord.  They tell me that Dracula has been convalescing at the Castle for the last year after a traumatic battle with the vampire-slayer Blade.” {As seen in the cataclysmic Vampire Tales #16}

Once again, a shudder went through the crowd.  The name of “Blade” was feared throughout the entire community.

After waiting for a moment for the assembly to regain its composure, Torgo continued.  “This is war.  We shall lay siege to Castle Dracula.  He shall either grant us entrance, else we shall ensure that he never leaves his home and thus starve.”

Inside of the castle, Dracula was looking over some of his prized possessions.  Foremost among these was the portrait of his beloved wife Maria.  The representation of her beauty was exquisite in every detail.  It was quite lifelike in appearance.  He had thought that he would never again feel the love that she had stirred in him.  However, the woman Domini had done so.  Now Dracula wondered if he should return to her.  It had been many years since he last saw her.  His mind had been a cacophony of confusion while Hannibal King and Frank Drake had also shared his form. {Once again, revealed in Vampire Tales #16}  Now his will and his actions were his own again.  He could be reunited with his wife and his son Janus.

However, he had spent the last few months alone at the Castle.  He needed to find himself again; he needed to prove to himself that he could be what he once was - Lord of Vampires.  The many nights of preying upon the countryside had engendered a sense of dread in the towns below.  The people once again talked with fear that the nefarious Count had returned.

Dracula walked regally through his home.  He felt that his power was at its peak here.  The Castle had survived through the years.  Quincy Harker had brought most of it down in his final, fateful attempt to destroy Dracula, but the vampiric legions had rebuilt it.

“Harker!  Van Helsing!”  Dracula called out to the sky.  “Your bloodlines are dead, but mine survives!  Dracula lives!”  He arrived in the weapons room, where his thick suit of armor stood silently.  He had not worn it since his before his turning.  He could not exactly recall which battle was the last in which he had donned it.  It had been polished over the years by his underlings, both human and undead, so that it was in very good condition.  There were dents and cuts, the marks of battle, on many parts of the suit.

Beside the armor lay a heavy wooden box.  It was held closed by a set of three locks.  Even through the thick wood, Dracula could feel the power within.  He knew that he should have had the contents destroyed a long time ago, but he had felt that such an act would be disrespectful and dishonorable.  No, he would leave it be, if only to remind him of his glories when he was still warm.

Dracula ran his hand over a banner affixed to the wall.  It was a depiction of a red dragon set on a field of blue.  It was the standard of his family.  His father was Vlad Dracul, the Dragon.  He was Vlad Dracula, the son of the Dragon.  That banner had ridden with him in many a battle.  Perhaps he would raise it again when the world was in his hands.

The time for nostalgia was past now.  Dracula felt the inner cravings of hunger.  He needed blood.  It had been a few days since he had last fed.  Now the hunger was becoming overwhelming.  The hunger was a spice that made the meal all the more tasty.  He made his way to one of the castle towers and prepared himself for the hunt.

When he reached the tower, he could sense the presence of other vampires in the vicinity.  Looking down upon the land just outside the castle walls, the land where Harker and Van Helsing had almost destroyed him, he saw a large gathering of vampires.  Were the local vampires rallying to his cause of their own accord?

Before Dracula could address them, a loud voice boomed out.  “Give us entry, Dracula.  Give us entry and we shall destroy you mercifully.  Else, we shall remain here in siege.  You will have to fight your way through us in order to feed.”

Dracula snarled.  The impudence of these lowly vampires.  How dare they lay siege to their rightful lord?  The rage welled up within Dracula.  He was almost driven to dive into their midst and teach them most harshly of their error.  However, reason took hold, and Dracula realized that the odds were stacked against him.  The entire castle was surrounded.  He would not be able to fight his way out without being overwhelmed.  No, he had to face this situation in another way.

The solution seemed simple.  The vampires outside were laying siege to his castle, like the Turks and Magyars had in times past.  Dracula would do that which he did then; he would don his armor, arm himself with his sword, and battle the besiegers.

Dracula hurried to the weapons room.  He had some difficulty putting the armor on.  Centuries ago, he had serfs to help him don the metallic suit.  Now he had to do it himself.  Nonetheless, he was able to encase himself in the hard plate mail.  He hesitated slightly before the locked box.  Inside was his sword, known to friend and foe alike as “Dragon’s Tooth.”  It was the sword that had spilt the blood of many a foe.  It had been blessed by both Orthodox and Catholic priest alike, as had Dracula in his human days.  He had switched religions as often as some people had bathed back then.

Dracula knew that wielding the sword would be painful.  The religious power that had been conferred upon it was still strong, and holiness was anathema to a creature of the undead.  However, Dracula had the strength to rise above the pain.  Those vampires who fell before its sharp blade would never rise again, Dracula vowed.

Tearing the locks from the box with his prodigious strength, Dracula slowly opened the lid.  The sword was as pristine as when Dracula had locked it up.  Its power could now be even more strongly felt.  Dracula steeled himself and took hold of the hilt.  His hand burned in pain, but Dracula persevered.  He would not release it from his grasp until his besiegers were dead.

Before the battle was to be joined, there was one last thing to do.  He took down the Dragon banner and also grabbed his favorite jousting lance.  He walked proudly to the tower and drove the hilt of the lance into the cold stone floor.  He tied the banner to the end of the lance.  He called out to the vampiric throng.  “This is Castle Dracula.  The banner of the Dragon flies over it.  This banner shall remain flying ere the dreaded sun casts its burning light.”  He cast his eyes over the vampires in siege.  “Enter freely and of your own will,” Dracula declared, “but know that none of you shall see the dark of night again.

That was all that the vampires needed.  Dracula had invited them in, they were free to enter.  They shifted form to that of bats and flew up towards the tower.  Torgo waited for his army to storm the castle first.   It was inevitable that some would fall to Dracula.  Torgo wanted to make sure that he was still be in existence when Dracula finally fell.

When the vampires reached the tower, Dracula was no longer there.  He had retreated somewhere inside of the castle.  The vampires reported this to Torgo who now joined them on the parapet.  The vampires resumed human form and began to walk along the stairs leading down into the castle.  The lead vampire who rounded the first corner was only able to emit a short cry before “Dragon’s Tooth” separated his head from his body.  Dracula had lain in wait and had scored his first kill.

By the time the other vampires reached their headless comrade, Dracula was gone.  Torgo instructed them to carefully wind down the stairs, in case Dracula attempted to reproduce the ploy.  They al made it down the staircase and emerged into the grand hall.  They began to spread out to search the castle.

As they began to diffuse from the grand hall, a mist suddenly coalesced behind Stefan.  He whirled around to see Dracula bringing his sword to bear.  The blade cut cleanly through Stefan’s neck.  The vampires rushed to Stefan, but Dracula had once again disappeared into mist form.

“Damnation,” Torgo raved.  Dracula was picking apart his troops expertly.  If he incurred many more losses, he knew that his vampiric army would lose heart and desert him.  Most vampires were a cowardly lot when they came up against something that could mean their final destruction.

“Be careful,” Torgo admonished his legion.  “Else Dracula will slay you.”

Hovering against the ceiling of the grand hall, the mist that was Dracula observed the vampires below him.  He recognized some of them by appearance but not by name.  One vampire he certainly did recognize and certainly did know the name - Torgo!

“Satan spawn!” Dracula hissed softly.  “I destroyed that impertinent upstart myself years ago.  How is that he has returned?”  Dracula did not relish the thought of another competitor for the as-yet unclaimed throne of Lord of Vampires.  He waited in hope that the vampires would leave Torgo alone here in the grand hall, but the ancient Transylvanian was a better tactician than that.  Torgo kept a trio of vampires close by his side.

Dracula floated across the hall on the trail of some of the other vampires.   Reverting to human form when he was close behind them, he hacked two to pieces before the third could grab his sword arm.  Dracula swung at the man with his armored left arm.  The vampire lost his grasp, and Dracula drove the sword through the vampire’s heart.  “Up, up Wallachia!” Dracula sang from the patriotic songs of his youth.

The pain generated by the sword was beginning to course through Dracula’s body, but he just gritted his sharp teeth and carried on.  There were more to kill.

Torgo and his trio of guards waited anxiously in the grand hall.  The guards cringed with the death cries of every vampire at Dracula’s blade.  The death toll continued to rise.  Some of them escaped from Dracula’s rage, but they would be of no use to Torgo’s cause.  Those that were strong enough shifted to bat-form and exited the castle.  Those who were not dragged themselves into darkened corners, hoping to hide from Dracula’s fury.

Soon even Torgo’s guards lost their nerve.  Dracula was slaying their comrades left and right, and they did not want to be next.  A shared glance among the three of them led to a mist transformation.  In a matter of moments, they were gone.  Torgo was left alone in the grand hall.

There was an approaching sound of something scraping on the floor.  Torgo peered with his undead eyes and saw the armored form of Dracula emerging from a hallway, a half-dozen beheaded vampires in tow.  Dracul dumped the headless bodies at Torgo’s feet.

“So, Torgo,” Dracula gloated.  “Your army has deserted you, both in flesh and in spirit.”

Torgo growled but said nothing in reply.

Dracula smiled mischievously.  “No proud words of bravado, Torgo?  No explanation of your return to the mortal world?  I must admit that I am surprised to see you, since it was I who pierced your heart and took your head.”

Torgo noticed the power that was emanating from Dracula’s sword.  How could he hold it?  The pain must have been intolerable.  “So, you deign to use weapons empowered by our enemy?”

Holding the sword in both hands before him,  Dracula replied.  “This sword, ‘Dragon’s Tooth’, was mine long before it was blessed by both West and East.”

Torgo knew that flight was useless.  He also knew that he would not be able to battle an opponent so armed.  There was only one thing to do, although he was loathe to do it - it had resulted in his destruction the last time.  “I call upon all of the ancient rites,” Torgo said, echoing the words of Dracula many years before. {in the immortal Tomb of Dracula #70}

Dracula paused and then emitted a spine-chilling laugh.  “You invade me home with filthy rabble, and you expect to call upon the ancient rites, to give yourself one last chance in a battle of stakes and rope?”

“It is my right,” Torgo asserted.  The ancient rites entitled him to a one-on-one confrontation, both combatants armed with a stake in one hand, their other hands tied together.

“There are no rites, there are no rights,” Dracula bellowed.  “The way of the vampire is changed, now that we were nearly destroyed but have returned.  There is no Lord, yet, there is no Law.”  Dracula brought his sword back.  “I am Voivode here.  This is my land.  This is my castle.  This is my law - Torgo shall die.”  {“Voivode” means “prince” – Transylvanian-talking Bob}

“I fought for this land against Attila the Hun because I loved it,” Torgo snarled.

Dracula was insulted by the implication of Torgo’s words.  “I have ever loved Wallachia.”

“No, you treated its people like cattle while you were alive.  They were only a means to keep you in power.  You were never true to the land, only to yourself.”

“Meaningless words,” Dracula responded harshly.  “And the last words of a dead man.”  Dracula swung Dragon’s Tooth swiftly.  Torgo offered no resistance.  His head tumbled from his shoulders.

“Up, up Wallachia!” Dracula sang again loudly.  He had protected his home.  He was once again completely confident of his ultimate victory over human- as well as vampire-kind.

“Very impressive, Dracula,” a voice called out from seemingly nowhere, although seeking eyes might have found it coming from a small metallic sphere hovering at the corner of the ceiling.

“Who has trespassed upon my home now?  Show yourself!”  Had some vampire not flown from the Castle, or was Torgo simply the pawn of some other claimant to the vampire throne.

“We are DOA, and we are responsible for the resurrection of Torgo.  We were also the creators of your clone.  I believe that you have met Bloodstorm.”

“Bloodstorm.”  The name pained him.   Bloodstorm, he who was like a son to him, he who would have ruled at Dracula’s side, he who was now naught but dust, slain at the hand of the damnable Blade.

“Come to the British Museum in three days’ time,” the voice said.  “Perhaps we could provide you with a replacement for Bloodstorm, or perhaps you might provide some amusement for us.”

Dracula shook his fist in the air.  “You have violated the sanctity of my home.  I shall relish drinking you dry, cur!”  Assuming bat form, Dracula flew off to hunt fresh blood.  He was hungry, he would feed.

Still, Marvel never explained what the true finale was to the confrontation between Dracula and Van Helsing’s band outside of Castle Dracula.  The excellent novel, Blood of the Impaler, pointed out the apparent error in the original text – Quincey Morris slaying Dracula with a steel knife.  The flashback in this issue helps to provide some explanation as to what I thought happened on that fateful day.  Perhaps I’ll go into it in more detail in a future issue of Vampire Tales.  (There’s still the issue of why a pallid Dracula was resting there in Castle Dracula in 1972, just waiting for Frank Drake and company to revive him.  This is an issue I definitely will be addressing in Vampire Tales).