32. Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Two

J onathan entered the small hut. Darkness enveloped him, and he squinted, trying to make out shapes in the gloom. The familiar pull that had guided him here suddenly vanished, leaving him feeling untethered.

“Dracula?” he whispered, his voice trembling slightly. No response came.

Béla’s nails clicked on the wooden floor as the dog moved deeper into the hut. Jonathan heard him sniffing intently, circling an area in the corner.

“What is it, boy? You found something?” Jonathan’s hand sought the comforting warmth of Béla’s fur. The dog whined softly, pawing at the floorboards.

Jonathan kneeled, running his fingers over the rough wood. His heart quickened as he felt the edge of a trapdoor. “Good boy, Béla,” he murmured, scratching behind the dog’s ears. “What would I do without you, hm?”

With a deep breath, Jonathan grasped the iron ring and pulled. The trapdoor creaked open, revealing a yawning darkness below. A musty smell wafted up, making him wrinkle his nose.

“Alright, Béla,” Jonathan said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I need you to stay up here and keep watch. Can you do that for me?” The dog’s tail thumped against the floor in response.

Jonathan swung his legs over the edge, feeling for a ladder with his feet. He lowered himself into the unknown, clinging to the edge of the trapdoor. “I’ll be back soon,” he promised Béla, whose concerned whine was the last thing he heard before dropping into the darkness below.

The basement of the abandoned hut was no better than the decaying structure above. As Jonathan descended the creaking ladder, the musty air grew thick and oppressive, carrying the damp scent of earth and decay. The space was small, barely larger than a modest bedroom, with rough-hewn stone walls that glistened with moisture in the dim light filtering from above.

Cobwebs clung to every corner, their silvery strands swaying gently in the stagnant air. The floor was packed earth, uneven, and slightly spongy underfoot. Scattered about were remnants of a life long abandoned – a rusted bucket in one corner, a moldering pile of rags in another. A ragged wooden table, its surface warped and pitted, stood against one wall, while a few broken chairs lay toppled nearby.

The air was thick with the pungent odor of mold and decaying wood, accompanied by a distinct earthy smell that hinted at years of neglect. Each breath Jonathan took felt laden with particles of dust and decay, making him want to cough and sneeze simultaneously.

Jonathan’s eyes strained against the inky blackness, desperately seeking any sign of movement. He blinked rapidly, willing his vision to adjust, but the darkness remained impenetrable. “Fine time to not have your gift,” Jonathan muttered. His hand unconsciously reached out, fingers grasping at nothing but damp air. The steady drip-drip-drip of water echoed ominously, each sound amplified in the stillness. “Where are you?”

Fumbling in the near-total darkness, Jonathan’s hands found the smooth surface of an oil lamp on the old table. Nearby, his fingers brushed against the rough edges of a matchbox. He struck a match with trembling hands, the sudden flare of light momentarily blinding him. The lamp sputtered to life, casting a warm, flickering glow that barely penetrated the gloom.

Jonathan’s eyes adjusted to the dim light, revealing a large rectangular shape in the center of the room. He moved closer, the floorboards creaking beneath his feet. His fingers brushed against cold, rough stone - a lid covering what seemed to be a coffin or crypt. Jonathan’s heart pounded as he set the lamp down and pressed his palms flat against the surface, feeling the chill seep into his skin.

The lid was incredibly heavy, far more than he had expected. His muscles strained as he pushed, the stone scraping against stone with a sound that echoed through the small space. With a final, herculean effort, the lid shifted and fell to the side with a resounding thud.

Jonathan’s shoulders slumped as he stared into the hole, the lamplight flickering over the mound of dark soil. His fingers tightened on the lamp’s handle until his knuckles turned white. A strangled sound escaped his throat - half sob, half bitter laugh. He sank to his knees beside the opening, one hand reaching out to touch the earth, as if he could will Dracula into existence through sheer desperation.

“No,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “No, no, no.”

Jonathan’s fist slammed into the dirt, sending a small cloud of dust into the air. He coughed, eyes stinging from more than just the particles. The lamp clattered to the ground as he buried his face in his hands, his body shaking with silent, frustrated tears.

“Where are you?” Jonathan whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. Had it all been a delusion? Had his longing for Dracula driven him to madness, chasing phantoms across the continent?

Suddenly, Béla’s frantic barking pierced the silence, followed by a heart-wrenching yelp. Jonathan’s blood ran cold. “Béla!” he cried out. He got up and sprinted toward the ladder. But a dark figure dropped before he could reach it.

Van Helsing straightened, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “How predictable,” he sneered. “The vampyre’s whore, returning to join his master in hell.”

Jonathan’s fists clenched at his sides. “What have you done with Dracula?” he demanded. “And if you’ve hurt my dog, I swear I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” Van Helsing laughed, the sound echoing off the damp walls. “Kill me? You’re nothing but a weak, pathetic human, corrupted by that monster’s influence. Your dog is the least of your concerns now.”

With lightning speed, Van Helsing lunged forward. Jonathan tried to dodge, but the hunter was too fast, too strong. They crashed to the ground, Jonathan’s head slamming against the packed earth. Stars exploded behind his eyes as Van Helsing pinned him down, one hand pressing against his throat.

“You led us right to him,” Van Helsing hissed, his face inches from Jonathan’s. “Your weakness, your foolish devotion, will be his undoing. But you won’t live to see it. Die knowing you betrayed the very creature you sought to protect!”

Jonathan struggled, clawing at Van Helsing’s arm, but it was like trying to move a mountain. Black spots danced at the edges of his vision as his lungs burned for air. This couldn’t be how it ended, not when he’d come so far, risked everything...

Suddenly, the air seemed to vibrate. A low rumble filled the basement, growing in intensity until it drowned out even Jonathan’s heart. Van Helsing’s eyes widened in shock as the mound of earth in the stone coffin exploded upward.

Dirt rained down as a figure burst forth – Dracula, his eyes blazing with fury, his form more beast than man. He moved with impossible speed, tearing Van Helsing away from Jonathan and hurling him across the room.

Jonathan gasped for air, coughing and sputtering as he struggled to his feet. The scene before him was like something out of a nightmare. Dracula and Van Helsing clashed in a torrent of violence, their movements too fast for human eyes to follow.

Van Helsing produced a stake from his coat, its tip gleaming wickedly in the lamplight. He thrust it towards Dracula’s heart, but the was ready. Dracula caught Van Helsing’s wrist, the wood splintering in his grip. With his other hand, he raked his claws across the hunter’s chest, leaving deep, bloody furrows.

The vial glinted in Van Helsing’s hand. Jonathan lunged for the splintered chair leg, his fingers closing around rough wood. He pivoted, swinging wildly. The makeshift club connected with a sickening crack. Van Helsing crumpled, the vial shattering on impact. Liquid splashed across the floor, sizzling where it touched Dracula’s skin.

Van Helsing roared in fury, rounding on Jonathan with murder in his eyes.

But Dracula was there instantly, placing himself between Jonathan and the hunter. The two immortal enemies circled each other, neither willing to give ground. Jonathan could see the toll the fight was taking on Dracula – his movements were slower, less fluid than before. How long had he been buried, weakened, and vulnerable?

Van Helsing seemed to sense Dracula’s fatigue. He pressed his advantage, raining down blows with inhuman speed and strength. Dracula parried and dodged, but each movement was a fraction slower than the last.

A vicious uppercut sent Dracula reeling. Van Helsing pressed forward, and the stake rose high. “This ends now, monster!” he cried triumphantly.

“No!” Jonathan screamed. Time seemed to slow as he hurled himself forward, tackling Van Helsing from behind. The stake clattered to the ground as they tumbled together, Jonathan clinging to the hunter’s back like a desperate child.

Van Helsing snarled, reaching back to grab Jonathan by the hair. With a brutal twist, he flung the young man across the room. Jonathan’s body slammed into the stone wall with a sickening thud. He crumpled to the ground, dazed and gasping for breath.

Through blurred vision, Jonathan saw Dracula’s face contort with a rage unlike anything he’d ever witnessed. The vampyre’s form seemed to grow, to darken, becoming something unholy and terrible. With a roar that shook dust from the ceiling, Dracula launched himself at Van Helsing.

What followed was a frenzy of violence too brutal for Jonathan’s mind to fully comprehend. Claws tore flesh, fangs rended bone. Blood – both human and vampyre – spattered the walls and floor. The very air crackled with the intensity of their hatred.

When it was over, Van Helsing lay broken and bleeding on the earthen floor. His chest heaved with labored breaths, his eyes wide with disbelief and fear. “Impossible,” he wheezed. “I can’t die... not until I’ve avenged her...”

A new voice cut through the tension like a knife. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that.”

All eyes turned to the ladder, where Andor now stood, a cruel smile playing on his lips. Before anyone could react, he moved with preternatural speed, his hand plunging into Van Helsing’s chest. The hunter’s eyes bulged, a choked gasp escaping his lips.

“You see,” Andor continued conversationally, as if he weren’t elbow-deep in a man’s chest cavity, “before you die I want you to know that you’ve been chasing the wrong vampyre all this time. It was I who killed your precious wife. And I must say, she was absolutely delicious.”

Van Helsing tried to speak, his mouth working soundlessly. But whatever words he might have uttered were lost forever as the light faded from his eyes. With a wet, sickening sound, Andor withdrew his hand, letting the lifeless body fall to the ground.

A heavy silence fell over the basement, broken only by the ragged breathing of its occupants. Jonathan stared in horror at the scene before him, his mind struggling to process the brutal turn of events. Dracula stood motionless, his eyes fixed on Andor with an unreadable expression.