(POV: Vlad)
The victory in the valley brought no relief, only a cold, bitter affirmation. Dracula now knew what he had to do. Conventional warfare had failed. Now was the time for a different kind of war. A war of terror.
Every night, as the pale moon hung in the sky, Dracula became a ghost haunting the Ottoman army. He no longer led troops. He was the army himself. Using his mist form, he would slip past guards, penetrating the gaps in the tents of high-ranking officers. He would kill them in silence, leaving corpses with expressions of eternal terror on their faces, not a drop of blood left in their bodies.
On other nights, he would transform into a swarm of bats, descending from the sky like a storm of darkness towards their supply lines. Wagons carrying food and weapons would be found the next morning, utterly destroyed, with their guards lying lifeless, their necks torn open.
The Ottoman soldiers began whispering in fear. They were no longer fighting against the Prince of Wallachia; they were fighting against a strigoi (At this time, the term 'vampire' doesn't exist yet, as Dracula is the origin of vampires.), a demon, a creature of the night that could not be killed. Their morale plummeted. Fear became a plague more deadly than any sword. Every shadow seemed threatening, every gust of wind sounded like the flapping of demonic wings.
Dracula felt a grim satisfaction from their fear. This was his new and most powerful weapon. However, each time he was forced to drink blood to maintain his strength, self-disgust would strike him anew. He was doing all of this for Mirena, for Ingeras, for his people. He kept repeating it in his mind like a mantra, the only anchor left for his sanity.
The peak of his war of terror occurred after a particularly massive night raid. He single-handedly infiltrated one of the main Ottoman camps, creating hell within it. He used his monstrous strength and speed, slaughtering hundreds of Janissary soldiers before they could organize a decent defense.
But he didn't just leave their corpses.
The next morning, as the sun rose, the entire remaining Ottoman army was treated to a sight that would haunt their nightmares forever. On a plain overlooking their camp, a new "forest" had grown. A forest made of hundreds of sharp wooden spears. And on each of those spears, the impaled body of a Janissary soldier.
It was a message. A gruesome and brutal work of art. A declaration that they were not facing a human.
Inside his lavish command tent, Sultan Mehmed II stared at the reports from his generals, his face pale with rage and a hint of fear he refused to admit. His army, the strongest in the world, was now crippled by superstition and terror. Soldiers refused to go on night patrols. Desertion was rampant. They called their enemy "Kazıklı Bey" The Impaling Lord.
"This is not the work of a man!" one of his generals cried. "This is the work of a Demon!"
Mehmed slammed his fist on the table. "I don't care if he's a man or a demon! I will destroy him! Prepare the entire army! We will attack his castle with everything we have! Burn all of Wallachia to the ground if necessary! No demon can withstand the light of our fire and steel!"
Meanwhile, at Dracula's Castle, the remaining Wallachian soldiers looked at their prince with a mixture of deep awe and fear. They saw impossible victory after victory. They saw the enemy trembling in terror. But they also saw a change in their prince. His colder eyes, his paler skin, and his reluctance to appear in sunlight. He was their savior, but he was also becoming something else, something terrifying.
Dracula stood on the highest balcony of his castle, gazing at the horizon where he knew hundreds of thousands of Ottoman troops were now marching towards him. His war of terror had provoked the lion into a frenzy. The final battle would soon be at his doorstep.
He felt the dark power pulsating within him, the thirst that never truly faded. He had become a monster to save his people. Now, he had to prove if that sacrifice was worth it.
(POV: Tom)
High above the Carpathian Mountains, hidden behind a cloud shroud he created himself with one of the minor Quirks from his All For One library, Tom Jacker sat comfortably. He wasn't sitting on a cold tree branch or rock. He was lounging on a luxurious red velvet sofa he had teleported from a French palace, complete with a bowl of cold, sweet grapes.
From his "VIP seat" in the sky, he had the best view to watch his grand drama unfold. He had been observing every move of his "main actor," Prince Vlad, with the interest of a film critic watching an Oscar-nominated work.
"Oh, the spear forest!" Tom exclaimed delightedly as he saw the gruesome sight Vlad had created outside the Ottoman camp. He took a grape from a silver bowl beside him. "Classic! Absolutely a powerful visual statement. A bit cliché, perhaps, but the execution was perfect. The lighting at sunrise really highlighted the expressions of terror on those faces. I give it a 9 out of 10 for presentation."
He could feel the immense wave of fear from the Ottoman army below. Using a sensory Quirk from AFO, he could "taste" their emotions. The fear tasted sharp and spicy, a delicious seasoning for this show.
"Look at them," he murmured with a smile. "Hundreds of thousands of the strongest warriors in the world, trembling in fear because of one man. My creation is truly a massive success."
He then focused his attention on Vlad at Dracula's Castle. He could see the struggle within the Prince. The suffering, the anger, and the sacrifice he was making. To Tom, none of it was a tragedy. It was method acting of the highest degree.
"He's really embodying his role as the tormented hero!" Tom thought with admiration. "Look at his cold gaze, his shoulders bearing the weight of the world. What a magnificent actor! I must give him an award later. Perhaps a trophy made from the bones of his enemies."
He saw Mehmed's massive army now moving forward, a sea of steel and rage ready to engulf Dracula's Castle. War drums thundered, and trumpets blared. This was the climax.
Tom leaned back more comfortably on his sofa, taking another handful of grapes. "Finally, the siege battle. I wonder what other tricks he'll pull out. Will he summon a bat army? Or perhaps turn the entire castle into a confusing labyrinth? The potential is limitless!"
He wasn't worried at all that Vlad would lose. He had given Vlad a "powerful curse," strong enough to face this army. And if the situation became too boring or Vlad was about to truly lose before a dramatic end, Tom could always "intervene" and "alter the script" a little. He was the director, writer, and producer of this drama.
He saw the large Ottoman cannons begin to fire, giant stones hitting the castle walls. Explosions and shouts began to be heard.
"Alright, the main show is about to begin," Tom whispered to the cold mountain wind, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. "Hopefully, there won't be any commercial breaks."
He waved his hand, and a bowl of warm popcorn he had just teleported from somewhere appeared. He was ready to enjoy the final act of his created tragedy.