Eternal Night

(I) Chapter 1: Resurrection

July 2137
Budapest, Capital of the Vampire Union State
UN Sanctuary of the Preternatural

The city of Budapest had been sans-Dracula for a mere thirty-five years, but how quickly it had deteriorated into its present state of civil unrest. What had once been the hub of all supernatural life, the very model of uniformity across species, had since corroded into a desolated island of misery and corruption in the sea of an otherwise indifferent world.

The days were dark and the nights forever long.

While the palace glistened in the heart of the metropolis like the crown jewel it was, it proved to be an undying symbol, a glaring reminder of the state of the region and its people. The structures that surrounded the sovereign residence of their present ruler shined with a brilliance diminished only by the sheer extravagance of the edifice in the center. Yet, the buildings situated farther away from this pocket of affluence found itself in a continued state of neglect and decline.

Only the social elite were fortunate enough to dwell in the center of town, enjoying the luxuries and comforts that came with prestige and privilege. The rest had been left to squalor in an escalating state of constant need, violence, and despair.

Dracula – king of the vampires and lord over the people of this once great land – had long been in hibernation, isolating himself from the world for reasons undisclosed to the public, leaving his brother of circumstance to rule in his stead. But Marcus Augustine was no leader. The dragon may have been known as the son of the devil, the first vampire in existence, but Augustine was the defective firstborn – a failed experiment left to live out the long years of his immortal existence with the knowledge that he was deficient and unwanted even by the one who had created him.

Having spent centuries of his life in a never-ending struggle to prove himself more worthy than his younger and perfected "brother," Augustine had dedicated himself to eradicating Count Dracula from his life, even if that meant pretending to be his friend. But no matter how much he plotted and schemed and deceived, in the end, Vladislaus always proved the victor and Budapest had been his crowning achievement.

Augustine now walked along the darkened corridor of one of the tunnels beneath the palace. The walls were lined with ancient stone, damp and musty, an incessant dripping noise coming from somewhere in the catacombs as water from the Danube above continued to leak in through the ceiling, a single droplet at a time. The hall was lined with torches, the flames offering very little light in the thick and consuming darkness.

His shadow slinked across the floor behind him like a large serpent, slithering over imperfectly laid cobblestone with every soundless step he took. His pace was controlled despite the welling anxiety and malice that coiled tightly in the center of his chest, the air he disturbed with his movements managing to leave the torches guttering in his wake – as if afraid, repelled.

Thick, dark brows furrowed over even darker eyes as he neared his destination – a small security room off to the side of the passageway. It was a stark reminder of the age in which he lived, despite being surrounded by the remnants of an older world just on the other side of the large plexiglass window.

The only other individual in the compact room was seated at the computer, the nameless man's eyes continually diverting back and forth between the monitor in front of him and the view through the window. Beyond where they were situated was dimly lit chamber, a handsomely carved stone sarcophagus situated in the center.

This tomb was made of large tiled squares of black granite, enormous pillars holding up the impossible weight of the ceiling above. The dark color of the polished stone seemed to devour all light like a black hole, effortlessly nurturing an atmosphere of foreboding that lingered on the fringes of veneration.