The cursed town of Nyxmoor lay beneath a shroud of night, its streets
a labyrinth of shadow and despair. Carmilla and Malek moved through
the desolation, their figures barely discernible in the dim moonlight.
Carmilla's heart raced with fear, each shadow a potential threat.
Malek, in contrast, strode forward with an unnerving calm, his gaze
fixed on some distant, unseen point.
Suddenly, Malek veered off the path, moving with purpose. "Where
are you going?" Carmilla called after him, her voice tinged with
anxiety. He did not respond, his silence more unnerving than any
words. She followed, her steps quickening to keep pace with him.
The road they took became treacherous, the ground littered with
broken stones and twisted roots. Carmilla's breath caught in her
throat as the howls of wild wolves echoed through the night. She
reached out to warn Malek, but the words died in her throat as she
saw a wolf emerge from the darkness, its eyes gleaming with
predatory hunger. The beast lunged at Malek, its jaws wide, but as it
met Malek's gaze, it stopped abruptly. The wolf's eyes widened in
terror, and with a pitiful whimper, it collapsed, dead from sheer fright.
Carmilla could not believe her eyes. She had never witnessed such a
power, not even in the fearsome Dracula. Another wolf, limping and
wounded, appeared, its hunger overriding its caution. It moved
towards Carmilla, but before it could strike, blood poured from its
wound, drawn as if by an invisible force, and flowed into Malek's
mouth. His teeth gleamed, sharp and crimson-stained. The wolf's
body shriveled, collapsing into a lifeless husk.
Terror gripped Carmilla. This boy, with his unholy abilities, was
something beyond her understanding. It was no wonder Dracula was
fascinated by him. Malek continued on his path, unperturbed, and
Carmilla had to gather her courage to follow. "Wait for me!" she
called, her voice trembling.
They walked for what seemed like hours, the night stretching on in an endless
nightmare. Eventually, they came upon a broken house, its walls crumbling
and roof half-caved in. Malek's expression shifted from cold determination
to shock. He broke into a run, shouting, "Mother!" His voice echoed
through the ruins, but there was no answer.
Carmilla's heart ached with sympathy as she watched him search the
dilapidated home. Malek moved frantically, overturning debris and calling out
again and again. Finally, he found a torn piece of clothing, stained with blood.
He sank to the ground, clutching it in his hands, his face a mask of silent
agony.
Carmilla approached him slowly, feeling his sorrow deep within her. She knelt
beside him, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder. "I'm so sorry,
Malek," she whispered, her voice heavy with emotion.
Malek's grip tightened on the bloodied cloth. "Dracula," he murmured,
his voice low and filled with a simmering rage. "Dracula." He repeated the
name, his anger growing with each utterance. "Dracula!" His voice rose to
a monstrous roar, filled with a fury that shook Carmilla to her core. She
stumbled back, falling to the ground, her eyes wide with fear.
In that moment, she realized that Malek's hatred for Dracula surpassed
even her own. His desire for revenge burned with an intensity that could
consume them both. The path ahead was clear, their destinies intertwined by
a shared need for vengeance.
As Malek's rage subsided, he stood, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon.
Carmilla rose to her feet, her resolve hardening. She took his hand, feeling the
strength in his grip. "We'll make him pay," she said, her voice firm
despite the tremor in her heart. Bound by their quest for retribution, the
journey would be fraught with peril, but they would not falter. Dracula's
reign of terror would end, and they would be the instruments of his
destruction.
The next day, the dim light of dawn filtered through the shattered windows of the ruined
house, casting elongated shadows across the decaying floorboards. Carmilla emerged
from a decrepit room, her footsteps echoing softly in the oppressive silence. The house
was a relic of a bygone era, its walls adorned with tattered remnants of once-grand
tapestries, now faded and frayed. The furniture lay in disarray, broken and dust-covered,
telling tales of a mysterious past. The air was thick with the scent of mildew and decay, a
testament to the years of neglect and abandonment.
She wandered through the house, studying its remnants with a mixture of curiosity and
sadness. The grandeur that once defined this place was now but a whisper of memory.
Her exploration was abruptly halted by the harsh rays of sunlight streaming through a
gaping hole in the roof. She recoiled instinctively, the instinctual fear of the sun's deadly
embrace gripping her. But to her astonishment, Malek stood outside, bathed in the golden
light, unharmed and seemingly at peace.
Her heart pounded in her chest. She could not comprehend the sight before her.
"Malek!" she called, her voice trembling. "Get inside, the sun will harm you!"
Malek turned, confusion etched across his face. "The sun? Harm me?" he repeated, as
if the very concept was alien to him.
Carmilla explained, "The sunlight is lethal to vampires. It burns our skin, turns us to ash.
You must come inside."
He approached her, his expression one of bewilderment. "I don't feel anything. Why
should it hurt me?"
Despite her protests, he reached out, grasping her hand with a gentle firmness. She
resisted, fear flooding her veins, but he pulled her into the light. Carmilla braced herself
for the searing pain, the end she believed was imminent. Yet, nothing happened. She
stood there, enveloped in sunlight, unharmed. Malek's touch had somehow shielded her
from the sun's wrath.
An hour passed in stunned silence as they sat under the shelter of an ancient, gnarled
tree. The world around them was still, the air heavy with unspoken questions. Malek's
gaze, intense and ominous, finally met hers. "Why did you save me?" he asked, his
voice a low, haunting whisper.
Carmilla struggled to find her words. "I felt sad for you," she began, her voice trembling.
"Sad for all the children trapped in that nightmare. You were the only one I could save."
Malek looked at her, a flicker of something indefinable in his eyes. "Thank you," he said,
the words simple yet profound.
Gathering her courage, Carmilla asked, "Can you tell me about your life before Dracula's
men took you?"
Malek's face darkened, his features contorting with anger. Carmilla flinched, after a silence
that didn't last long he began to speak, his voice void of emotion. "I lived with my mother,
Sirene. She was kind, always gentle. There were others in the family, but they are a blur in my
memory. One day, I found her dead, murdered by one of Dracula's men. They took me after
that."
His voice grew colder as he described the torment. "The dungeon was a place of endless
suffering. They starved me, denied me water. I fed on my own blood to survive. They
subjected me to countless tortures, branding, whipping, breaking my bones only to let them
heal and start again. Time ceased to have meaning. Every moment was a living nightmare."
Carmilla's eyes filled with tears. "I'm so sorry, Malek," she whispered, her heart
breaking for him. She took a deep breath, steeling herself to share her own story. "Dracula
killed my mother too. She was the woman I loved most in this world. That thing , that
demon...he is my father."
The revelation struck Malek like a physical blow. He stood slowly, his expression shifting
from shock to fury. His wide eyes glowed a menacing red, his expression screams "I will
devour your soul". Carmilla trembled, fear gripping her. "What's wrong?" she asked, her
voice barely audible.
Malek turned away, his voice a growl. "I need to find something to eat. I will return." He
stormed off, his anger radiating like a dark aura. As he walked, he struck a tree with such
force that it splintered and fell, a sign to his unimaginable strength.
Carmilla watched him go, her heart pounding in her chest. She had never felt such fear, not
even in Dracula's castle. She had unleashed something far more terrifying than she could
have ever imagined. Malek was a creature of nightmare, and as he grew, so too would his
darkness. The world had no idea what was coming , but Carmilla did and it terrifies her
beyond words. She had seen the abyss in his eyes.
Nightfall had woven its dark shroud over the world, casting the desolate ruins of the
old house into deeper shadow. Carmilla, feeling the weight of worry and fatigue, paced
the creaking floorboards. Malek had been gone for what felt like an eternity, and in his
absence, the oppressive silence of the house gnawed at her. She was unused to such
conditions, having lived her life amidst the grandeur of her father's castle. The stark
contrast between her previous existence and her current predicament was stark, and
she found herself appreciating the simplicity and normalcy that came with this change,
despite the hardships. Anything was better than the suffocating presence of Dracula.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching. Malek
appeared, carrying a large bag over his shoulder with an ease that belied its size.
Carmilla was not surprised, given his unnatural strength and the monstrous
capabilities she had witnessed. He set the bag down and opened it, revealing an
assortment of bottled human blood and various foods. But what caught her attention
the most was the cooked wolf he pulled out last, its charred flesh a testament to his
resourcefulness.
She watched in speechless fascination as Malek devoured the food with a voracious
appetite, drinking and eating like a beast unleashed. The sight was both revolting and
awe-inspiring. She could only imagine the horrors he must have encountered to
procure such a feast. As he tore into the wolf, he glanced at her, his eyes silently
inviting her to join him. She hesitated but eventually sat down and sipped some of the
blood, her eyes never leaving his feral form.
After a while, Malek tore a leg from the wolf with such force that the bones cracked
audibly. He offered it to her, but she declined, asking why he chose a wolf. He
explained simply, "I couldn't find any chickens, and I was very hungry."
She suggested she could have returned to the castle to bring him food. His low growl
of refusal sent a shiver down her spine. "I'd rather eat dirt than rely on Dracula's
scraps," he said, his tone dripping with contempt.
Carmilla felt a pang of disappointment, realizing that she seemed to anger Malek with
each interaction. The tension between them was palpable, but then Malek spoke, his
voice softer, "I'm sorry I scare you often."
She was taken aback. "It's fine," she replied. "I'm sorry I make you angry all the
time."
A strange silence settled between them, broken only by the distant sounds of the night. Then, Malek
sniffed the air like a predator and asked, "Why do you smell like roses?"
Her cheeks flushed. "I… I just put perfume on and clean myself," she stammered, her words trembling.
Malek looked at her, his eyes filled with a strange longing. "I smell like wolves and blood. I want to be
beautiful like you, and to wear clothes like you."
Carmilla couldn't help but laugh softly. "These are women's clothes. You need something that
matches your… manliness. I'll find some for you."
A shadow of anger crossed Malek's face. "My mother used to make clothes for me."
"Fine, I'll try," she said quickly, pointing to a nearby pond. "Go clean yourself there."
Malek glanced at the pond and began to strip off his clothes. Carmilla turned away, embarrassed. "Not in
front of me! Go to the pond!"
He walked to the pond, stripping off his clothes without hesitation. Carmilla peeked from behind a tree,
her shyness mixed with curiosity. "You have to rub your body and clean yourself well," she called out,
but received no response.
Malek disappeared into the depths of the pond, and Carmilla's initial fear subsided, knowing he could
likely breathe underwater. After what seemed like an hour, he emerged, water cascading off his now
clean skin. She handed him some clothes she had found in the house, and he sniffed them, remarking,
"They smell familiar, like someone I knew… but I can't remember."
"Did you ever have a sibling?" she asked.
He paused, a troubled expression crossing his face. "I don't know," he finally said.
Suddenly, Malek tensed, sensing something unusual in the ruined house. Without a word, he began to
explore, drawn by the strange energy he felt. Carmilla followed, her heart pounding in her chest,
wondering what new horrors or revelations awaited them in the shadows of this forsaken place.
As they moved through the dark corridors, Carmilla's fear grew. Every creak and groan of the ancient
house seemed to echo with the memories of its tragic past. Malek's expression was one of grim
determination, his eyes scanning the darkness for the source of the disturbance. She couldn't help but
marvel at his resilience, despite the monstrous nature of his existence. In the eerie silence of the night,
they both knew that their journey was just beginning, a quest for revenge and redemption in a world
steeped in darkness and blood.
In the silence of the ruined house, Malek's exploration brought him to a hidden corner, where he
discovered a strange, silver spear. The weapon seemed to pulsate with an energy, and as Malek laid eyes
on it, a low growl emanated from deep within his chest. Carmilla, who had been following close behind,
gasped, her eyes widening in disbelief.
"It's impossible," she whispered, her voice trembling. "The Unmaker Spear... a legendary weapon said to kill any
immortal being, no matter how strong. No one has ever found it, and yet here it is, in your house."
Malek's gaze remained fixed on the spear. "My dad and mom owned it," he said, his voice devoid of the usual growl,
but filled with a strange reverence.
Carmilla's surprise deepened. "Who were your parents, really?" she asked, her curiosity mixed with trepidation.
Malek paused, struggling to recall. "I don't remember well... but..." He hesitated before uttering a single name.
"Azazel."
Carmilla's breath caught in her throat. "Azazel?" she repeated, her voice barely a whisper. She stepped back, her
body trembling with fear. "Malek, are you saying that your father is Azazel?"
Malek nodded slowly, not fully comprehending the weight of his words. "Yes. My father's name is Azazel."
Carmilla's mind raced. The realization of what stood before her was almost too much to bear. Malek, the child of a
powerful demon lord, and Dracula was unaware of it. She felt as if she had opened Pandora's box, unleashing a
force far beyond her understanding. She pressed herself into the corner, her legs weak with terror, Dracula just
marked his own grave by taking Malek.
"What's wrong?" Malek asked, his voice concerned.
Carmilla struggled to stay strong, her voice quivering. "Malek, do you know what this means? Azazel... he is one of
the most powerful demon lords. If Dracula knew—"
"He doesn't know," Malek interrupted. "My father is a very nice man, but he's always busy. He doesn't show up
for long periods, and I thought Dracula killed him."
Carmilla shook her head vehemently. "No, Dracula could never stand a chance against Azazel. Malek, you might be
the key to killing Dracula."
Malek stepped closer, trying to reassure her. "My father wouldn't harm you, Carmilla. He's nice. He wouldn't kill
you, but...he may not even know about my mother's death."
Carmilla's heart pounded. She had unleashed something far greater than Dracula. But as Malek spoke, a part of her
felt relief. If Azazel was as kind as Malek described, perhaps there was hope. "Do you know what your mother
really was? A human or...?"
Malek's face scrunched in concentration. "She was probably an angel, but she was just normal to me."
Carmilla froze, the pieces falling into place. No wonder Malek was so strong. He was a true vampire, a Nosferatu,
beyond any ordinary vampire. He might possess the power of a vampire god. The idea of an angel marrying an
underworld demon seemed impossible, yet here was Malek, the living proof.
"One day," Carmilla said, her voice filled with determination, "we will take down Dracula and return to your father."
The air was thick with tension and uncertainty, but also with a newfound resolve. Carmilla and Malek had a
purpose now, a shared goal that bound them together. They were no longer just two lost souls in a godforsaken world; they were the harbingers of Dracula's end.