Issue Number Fifteen
"Dracula Untombed" Part One
Written by Barry Reese

What Has Come Before: Six months ago, Blade, the Daywalker, was captured by the immortal Ra-Tet. His disappearance came at a dark time for the group of vampire hunters led by Whistler. One of their members, Elizabeth Van Helsing, died in battle with her old foe, Jean-Paul, while Frank Drake -- erstwhile ally of both Blade and Hannibal King -- gave in completely to the dark nature of vampirism. The darkness looms ever larger, threatening to blot out the sun....

The air was filled with a foul stench, the odors of blood and decay mingling together in a cocktail of horror. Hannibal King had seen far too much of death in his long existence, but it never failed to move him. A former private eye whose death and resurrection as a vampire had left him a tortured soul longing for release, Hannibal liked to pretend that he was hardened to all this... but his veneer of world-weary detective did little to mask his true nature.

Hannibal King hated death, even as he longed for its cold touch himself.

"Blade was here, I'm sure of it."

Whistler stepped up beside him, leaning heavily on a walking stick. The two men were staring down at a desiccated corpse, from which a teak dagger protruded. "Yeah. I'd say that's a safe bet." Whistler looked around them, watching as Mikado and Mosha -- twin girls with a passion for leather and mayhem -- picked through the ruins. So far they'd found and cataloged over twenty bloodsuckers down here, but there had been no sign of the big enchilada -- Ra-Tet himself. "What do you think's going through his head right now, Hannibal?"

A wry smile danced upon the vampire's lips. "Blade's head isn't someplace I like to go, Whistler. The man's been institutionalized before."

"Who hasn't?" Whistler replied with a chuckle. "But you know what I mean... There's been some major action going on lately. Five clans, wiped out completely. Vampires all in a tizzy about it, running scared. And now we find Ra-Tet's base... and it's a charnel house. Our boy's been mighty busy, hasn't he?"

Hannibal moved forward, avoiding the question. It'd been nearly six months since Blade had disappeared, carried off into the night by Ra-Tet. Six months since their former partner Frank Drake had slunk off into the night, losing himself in the madness and shame of vampirism. Six months since Hannibal King had felt something die within him. When good men fall and evil lives on and on and on, where is hope? The easy answer was that there was none. "Hope is just something we cling on to, something that lets us open our eyes every day and put our feet on the floor. Hope is the bitter lie that we tell ourselves so that we don't rip our hearts out and end it all."

Behind him, pretty little Mosha watched with affection, while her sister rolled her eyes and made a twirling motion with her right finger, indicating that she found Hannibal's soliloquy a sure sign of madness. Mosha frowned at her sister, whispering in Japanese "Hush! He is just trying to deal with his condition."

"You mean his vampirism or his poor fashion sense?"

Before Mosha could reply, she felt something move past her foot. Drawing a knife with blinding speed, she slashed downwards with her weapon. Walking through a field of the undead left one on edge, to say the least. The knife slashed through the backside of a large rat, one of a dozen or so that had suddenly surged out of the shadows. "Gods," she exclaimed, dancing back to avoid more of the rodents.

The vermin moved forward like a sea of fur and teeth, coming to a stop behind the being who had summoned them. Hannibal knelt down amidst the dead and spread his hands out before him. Several of the rats moved forward, their whiskers twitching. "Hello, little ones. I need to pick your brains and see if you've recognized my friend. Black fellow, large sword, bad attitude. Ring any bells?"

Whistler watched with amusement as the rats stared up into the vampire's eyes. He wasn't sure if Hannibal was truly communing with them, but it damned sure looked like it. It was a surreal moment, but Whistler's life had been full of those and he liked to think that he handled this sort of thing well. He glanced over at the twins, as they made their way to him. "Good thing he's on our side, eh?"

Mikado grunted. "If you say so. I don't trust him... He betrays his own kind."

"And what kind is that? Vampires? He never asked to be what he is... and I'd say he hates the undead more than we do."

Mikado said nothing in reply, but her tight grip on her sword never wavered.

"They know where he went," Hannibal said, rising quickly. There was a fire in his eyes that Whistler hadn't seen in a long time. "He carried off part of Ra-Tet and is holed up in an alley not far from here."

Mosha looked disturbed. "Part of Ra-Tet...?"

Hannibal moved past her, never slowing. "Yes. His head."

Paris, France -- the Lair of the Archivists

Beneath the streets of Paris, a place of dusty books and ancient flesh lies hidden from prying eyes. The archivists, vampires who have made it their eternal duty to catalog the history of the undead, eagerly take to their tasks, poring over ancient manuscripts and making notes in flowing script. Their is a silence here that is unmatched anywhere in the world. It is the silence of the dead, broken only by the soft scratchings of pens on paper.

Bible John Carik felt very out of place here, moving amongst the vampires and their sycophants. He was the defender and caretaker of the Chiaroscuro, a massive library which served as the central knowledge center for a band of mystic warriors known as the Cathari. It was a task he took very seriously, to the extent of having carved dozens of protective wards into his very flesh. It was only because of those wards that he felt safe here, with warm blood pumping through his veins. He ignored the hungry looks he received from those who saw him, but they stuck with him. He knew that he was welcome here for now -- but that could always change.

A tall, elegant figure waited for him in the grand hall, where a small seating area was enclosed by literally thousands of books piled high on shelves. There was no one else present, but Bible John felt eyes on him, nevertheless. The vampire smiled at his approach, reaching down with long fingers to smooth out the folds in his robes. A toothy grin flashed quickly before he spoke. "Mr. Carik. Such a pleasure. I am L'Engle. We spoke before?"

Bible John took the proffered hand and shook it firmly. He knew better than to show weakness to these creatures. "Nice place you've got here."

L'Engle chuckled softly. He spoke with a cultured accent and John felt himself warming to the vampire despite himself. "You are a man of knowledge. It makes sense that you would feel at home here. You should feel honored, however -- You are the first Cathari to come here in almost two centuries."

"And was the last one kicking and screaming?"

"No," L'Engle replied, rising to the topic. "He was gagged and unconscious."

Bible John smiled coldly, reaching into the satchel at his side. "I brought the manuscript you requested. I hope you still plan to loan us the Inquisition records?"

"Oh, yes." L'Engle took the manuscript with trembling hands, staring at its yellowed parchment. "You will get all you were promised. And this... This is truly the Domini Prophecy?"

"That's it," Bible John confirmed. "Mind telling me what's so exciting about it? It's not due to come about for another century."

"A common error, though one that I wouldn't have expected of you." L'Engle regarded his fellow seeker of knowledge with a knowing stare. "The prophecy actually speaks to this century. To this very year, in fact."

John felt a chill go down his spine. "You sure about that?"

"Quite. I can show you the evidence... But there's no doubting it. We need only find the Daywalker and the bride of Dracula. And then the grand performance can begin."

They say that you can't truly remember the moment of your birth.

Blade would argue that point.

His memories of coming into the world are hazy at best, but he remembers screaming... and pain... bright lights... and a horrible, burning pain in his veins. He was changing even then, being altered inside and out. The bastard Deacon Frost, posing as a doctor, had brutally murdered Blade's mother, biting deep into her flesh even as she forced out the tiny life within her. 

Eric Brooks died at birth that day.

And Blade was born in his place.

He sat in the darkness now, staring at the decapitated head before him. He'd propped Ra-Tet's skull up on top of a trash can lid and it stared at him now, its features stuck in a rictus of pain and horror. "Stop staring at me," Blade whispered. He held one of his teak daggers in his hand, his fingers caressing the sharpened piece of wood. These weapons had saved his life -- and ended those of his enemies -- too manny times to count. There were days that Blade wished he could be carved out of the wood himself. Unfeeling. Deadly. Ready to take this war in both hands and end it.

Pain shot through his skull, making his fingers twitch. He dropped the dagger, letting it fall between his knees. He hungered, the fire rushing through him. He wanted to eat. To feed. To answer the hunger that burned inside him. Once he'd been a Dhampir -- a man changed but not turned by the touch of a vampire. He'd been able to sense black magic. He'd been immune to the bite of a vampire.

But now look at me, he thought, wrapping his hands about himself. He was shuddering now, his breath coming in ragged bursts. Thanks to that bastard Morbius, I'm the Daywalker. The strengths of a vampire, with none of the weaknesses. Unless you count the big one, of course. "Blood," he hissed, hating himself for even voicing the desire. 

He looked towards Ra-Tet's skull, the blood beginning to blacken at the torn base. He dove for it, licking the side of the trash can first. He tasted the blood, savoring it, despite the horrible presence of trash and decomposition. He lifted the head up in both hands, closing his eyes to hide them from the horror.

Holding the head upside down, he buried his fangs into the wound. Drinking deep, he made little sounds in the back of his throat. They sounded eager, needy, like a junkie finally getting the hit that he needed. Blade's eyes fluttered open and through the haze of his bloodlust, he saw the terrible visage of his prey.

Snarling, he threw the head away from him as if its very touch burned him, wounded him. "No..." he whispered, shock beginning to set in. "No way I'm becoming a bloodsucker. No way."

"You already are, my friend. Best to accept your fate. Embrace it."

The voice sounded so familiar to Blade, the voice of nightmares. He drew one of the two swords that he kept fastened on his back, ready for the game -- the bloody, never-ending game -- to renew itself once more. "Dracula?"

A man appeared, dressed in a black suit. He looked handsome, but cold... His eyes had not even the smallest glint of humor in them. His attractive mouth was framed by a small beard and his lips pulled back slowly to reveal pointy teeth and a pink tongue. "Must we stand on pretense, Blade? We have known each other for so very long. You may call me Vlad. May I call you Eric?"

Blade hesitated, feeling a sense of unreality overtake him. Was Dracula truly here? Had the bloodsucking bastard actually managed to find him? Or was his dull headache a sign that he'd gone too long without feeding... Was this the stuff of imagination? Of dark dreams given reality? "What do you want...?"

"I want to offer my help," the Lord of Vampires replied, leaning forward like a predator sensing weakness in his prey. "I want to teach you many things... About your true nature. And about your role in the prophecies that are now driving us. You can join me."

"So that I can be your little lackey? No thanks." Blade danced forward smoothly, swinging his blade in a powerful arc. The blow cut right through Dracula, who laughed merrily at his enemy's confusion. Mist, cold and somewhat wet, fluttered about Blade.

The vampire's haunting tones seemed to come from everywhere... and nowhere. "I will be in touch again, Eric. After I have found and dealt with certain members of my family. Should you come to your senses and realize that your education is far from complete, I shall find you. And then you will finally become the man you were always meant to be."

"Screw you," Blade whispered. He felt nauseous, but managed to hold the contents of his stomach down. As disgusting as Ra-Tet's blood was, it had quelled his hungers for now. He could go a bit longer without feeding again and that was the important thing.

How many months had it been since Ra-Tet had taken him? Since Blade had battled his way to freedom, only to become lost in a seemingly endless haze of hunger and rage? He hadn't felt this confused since his time in that hospital, when the doctors had tried to convince him that his obsession with vampires was misplaced.

Vampires....

Vampires had a certain scent to them. Like fresh earth after a hard rain. Earthy.

Blade hefted his weapon once more and kicked at Ra-Tet's head with a boot. "Who knew this alley was going to be Grand Central Station, eh?" The Vampire Hunter dropped into a battle-ready stance, his eyes narrowing as mist flowed into the alley. A small army of rats moved into view, hesitating at the sight of the large human with the weapon raised. "That you again, Dracula? What happened -- You forget to tell me about the great dental plan you're offering?"

The mist solidified before Blade's startled glare, slowly but surely taking on a familiar form. Hannibal King looked hopeful, but cautious. "You've been a hard man to find."

Blade's only response was to let loose a guttural growl... and attack.

Frank Drake felt the warm liquid sliding down his throat. It was a sublime moment of pleasure, one that bordered on sexual perversity. The girl that he cradled in his arms was young enough to be his daughter, but that thought only served to drive his desire. He would never be a father, never know the pride in seeing his child grow up into a beautiful young woman... This bizarre tableau in which he now starred was as close to that as he was ever likely to come.

And then the thought came unbidden to his mind once more. Make her. Turn her. And then she can be your daughter forever.

Frank pulled away from the softness of her neck, his chin and mouth stained red. He looked about the dingy hotel room which the girl had rented, seeing only drug paraphernalia and dirty clothing. That voice in his head had been growing louder and louder as of late, urging him on to the greater depravity of condemning another to his life of torment.

He rose, leaving the girl to grow cold on the bed. He stood before the mirror, looking at his nude form. His golden locks fell about his shoulders, framing a face that was almost feminine in beauty. But his eyes... His eyes spoke of loves lost and dreams shattered.

A knock at the door caused him to jump. He spun around, looking frantically for a means of escape. He couldn't be seen here, not with the body, not with....

Relax, he told himself. You're a vampire. No nosy hotel manager is going to threaten you. 

A woman's voice on the other side of the door gave him pause. "Frank... He's after you."

Frank stepped up to the door, listening closely. "Who...? And how do you know my name?"

"Because we've met before. And we're related by blood."

Frank hissed out the name "Lilith" before backing away quickly. The door shattered open before him, shards of wood raining down around him. She looked different than he remembered, but she still had the same thin, ethereal beauty that he identified with her. Her hair was cut page-boy style now and she wore dark clothing that accentuated her lean form. 

Frank hissed like a cat, crouching. Lilith's expression never wavered, however -- she looked sad. "Give it a rest, Frank. I'm on your side."

"What are you doing here?"

Lilith looked past him, staring at the dead girl behind him. Frank felt shame wash over him and he started to mist, wanting to get away from the reality of this. "You need help, Frank. You're giving in to the family curse... and you're better than this."

Drake looked away, seeing Dracula's face floating before him. A fluke of genetics had linked the two together and Lilith was right... now Drake was yet another member of the vampire family. "Your father's after me?"

"After all of us. He needs us for something he's working on. His blood relatives have to be gathered."

Frank fell to his knees then, the weight of his sins beginning to bear their toll. "I want to die."

Lilith regarded him silently for a moment before bending down on one knee and touching his shoulder. "We all do, Frank. But God's not that kind. And we have something to do before we can expect any higher power to grant us mercy."

Frank stared into her eyes, seeing his feelings mirrored back at him. The self-loathing, the hatred of her heritage, the desire for vengeance and for release. "Let's make sure he stays dead this time... And after that, maybe you and I can give each other some peace."

Lilith smiled softly, sealing a pact laced with sadness and death.

"Blade! Stop this!" Hannibal King ducked below a powerful swipe of Blade's sword. Had the blow struck home, it would have carried sufficient force to have cut King's head from his shoulders.

"Go away, King! The last thing I need is you and Drake coming back into my life!"

Hannibal kicked out with his foot, nailing Blade on his right knee. The blow, backed by King's vampiric strength, would have once been enough to have sent the Vampire Hunter to the ground. Now, though, Blade was King's equal in physical power -- and his superior in the art of battle. Blade reached out and grabbed King's foot before he could bring it back -- and he then slashed down with his sword, cutting King's leg in two.

Hannibal's howl of pain echoed for many city blocks.

Blade tossed him aside, his eyes narrowed. "Shut up. It'll heal. That's the good thing about being a vamp, Hannibal."

Hannibal held his injured limb, aware of all that precious blood spurting into the air. He knew that Blade saw it, too. "You're even crazier than last time, Blade! I came to help you!"

"Dracula's out there," Blade replied.

"Yeah? And that has exactly what to do with you lopping my leg off?!!"

Blade wiped off his sword's edge and re-sheathed it. "I haven't been in my right mind lately. Sorry."

"Sorry...? You sick sonovabitch. Why do I even bother with you?"

Blade looked down at the injured vampire and sighed. "Because you and Frankie are the only folks who keep coming back around even after I shovel all this shit on you."

"I didn't ask why you bother with us, Blade...."

"It goes both ways, King. Who else has the patience to hear you whining about your condition besides me?" He offered King a hand and the vampire reluctantly took it, allowing the hunter to pull him back up on his remaining foot. "I wasn't sure you were real at first."

"I'm real, all right... and in agony. I can't believe that after searching for you for months, you cut my God damned leg off." Blade didn't reply and Hannibal looked up to see if the vampire slayer had lapsed into madness again. He hoped not... Blade's new abilities only made him that much more deadly. 

Blade was staring up into the sky, at the full moon that hung heavy in the air. It was reddish-pink in color... the color of fresh blood. "Can you feel it?"

King's expression darkened. He did feel it, on the very fringes of his enhanced senses. It was the same sense of impending doom that sometimes sent dogs howling before a natural disaster... "What is it?" he asked, aware that he knew the answer even before Blade voiced it.

"Death's on the wind, King... And there ain't nothing we can do to avoid it."

TO BE CONTINUED

Next Issue: "Dracula Untombed" continues as Blade learns just how bad things have become. Dracula is seeking ultimate dominion over the world of the supernatural and that means that beings like Domini, Janus and Lilith have major targets on their backs....

From the Vault

Welcome! This issue marks something of a new beginning for both Blade and for myself. I've been writing fanfiction for over six years now, but I've rarely taken over titles that someone else began. But Adam Koeth's work on this series was no inspiring that I felt comfortable working with what he left behind, rather than starting up a new Blade series elsewhere. I admired the way that Adam captured the spirit of the '90s Blade and melded it with the too-cool-for-words version from the movies. I hope to do the same... while also taking a major step back to the character's past.

Blade began as a character in Tomb of Dracula and my first arc will attempt to capture some of that feel. I don't have the benefit of Gene Colan's moody artwork, of course, but hopefully you'll be able to visualize the dark, dank corners of the world with the misty horrors peering out at us from the gloom. This is a world of tragedy and of horror, a place where your beloved friend can be altered before your very eyes... to become a threat to you and all you hold dear. This is not a place of happy endings, where loves can be gained and kept forever. This is the last stop on a one-way trip to Hell.

This is Blade, baby.

And we're going to cut you up.

Barry Reese