Damn, he thought, flying home. That can’t be true.

The fires disagreed. Sweeping low, he could sense lifeless figures shambling aimlessly in the ruins.

That old senile lizard is just having a joke at my expense.

A faint glow on the horizon signaled he was almost out of time. Annoyed, flapping harder, barely avoiding a pointless and fiery demise.

Inside the evercool of the stone fortress, he was able to relax, shedding the leathery wings and ridiculous smallness for a more comfortable aristocratic demeanor.

Is it possible? Did that maniac’s plan really succeed? He cursed himself for not taking it seriously.

Down to the crypt now, waving off the moldering sycophants. I’ll envy them soon. How depressing.

Mahogany doors swung open; he stormed inside. Ignoring the red opulence, uncomfortable warmth.

The woman in white just stared up at him, the teacup at her lips forgotten.

Count’s fangs, this is pathetic.

“You’re… the last one” he hissed. If he could restrain himself, they both might live.