(POV: Vlad)
Dawn broke in blood-red hues, as if the sky itself foretold the coming slaughter. From his fortress, Dracula watched the last wave of Ottoman forces advance. This was an all-out assault, a sea of men and steel driven by Sultan Mehmed II's rage.
Dracula stood at the shattered main gate, his monstrous new army beside him. The stone gargoyles stood motionless, and the shadowy hellhounds growled softly.
"This night has ended," Dracula's voice echoed, cold and sharp. "Now, under the light of dawn, we will show them the true meaning of fear!"
As the first faint rays of sunlight began to touch the castle's highest towers, Dracula felt a faint sting on his skin, a reminder of his new weakness. A daytime battle would be greatly disadvantageous for him.
(POV: Tom)
Above the sky, Tom Jacker, who was preparing to enjoy the show, frowned. "Oh, no. Sunlight," he murmured to himself, like a director seeing a lighting problem on set. "This will be very disruptive. My main actor will be weakened and unable to give his best performance in the final act. Not fun at all."
He opened his All For One "library" in his mind, looking for a quick solution. "Let's see... Quirk number 669, 'Local Storm Cloud Creation'. Yes, this will work."
With a single, relaxed mental command, Tom activated the Quirk.
(POV: Vlad)
Suddenly, something impossible happened. The sky, which had just begun to brighten, rapidly darkened. Thick, black storm clouds unnaturally gathered directly over the battle area, completely blocking the sunlight and creating a haunting twilight atmosphere.
Dracula looked up. This was not natural weather. He could feel the familiar dark energy behind it. This was his "demon's" intervention. His dark master had granted him a boon: a perfect stage, an artificial night for his rampage. A cruel, darkly grateful smile etched itself onto his face.
"The Demon wants a blood show," he whispered. "And I will give it to him." He raised his sword. "CHARGE!"
As Dracula's command echoed, the battle exploded into a symphony of destruction. The stone gargoyles launched from the walls, crashing into enemy ranks like meteorites. The shadowy hellhounds moved like phantoms, tearing formations apart from within.
Dracula himself was the center of that storm. Now free from the threat of sunlight, he fought with full power. He plunged into the midst of the enemy forces, becoming a whirlwind of fury and strength. He snapped spears, shattered shields, and moved faster than the human eye could follow.
(POV: Tom)
"Now, this is more like it!" Tom said contentedly, adjusting his position on the sofa. "Dramatic lighting for the final scene. Action! Explosions! This is entertainment!" He continued watching, providing internal commentary on every move. "The use of gargoyle units as air shock troops, brilliant! And the shadow hounds for guerrilla attacks... My creation turns out to be a tactician too."
The battle raged throughout the day under the artificial dark sky. As the invisible sun began to move westward, Dracula, fueled by the blood of his enemies, finally broke through to Mehmed II's elite guard ranks. A fierce battle ensued, silver swords searing his flesh, but his monstrous regeneration continued to heal him.
He eliminated the guards one by one until he finally faced the Sultan directly. Their fight was brief and brutal. Dracula, with his supernatural strength, broke Mehmed's sword and gripped his neck. With their leader fallen, the remnants of the Ottoman army finally shattered and fled in terror.
The war was over. Wallachia was saved.
Dracula dropped Mehmed's lifeless body to the ground. He stood panting in the sudden silence. The artificial dark clouds above slowly began to thin, revealing a now deep orange sky.
He looked towards the setting sun, its last light illuminating his desolate and gruesome victory. He had won. He had saved his people and his son.
But as he looked at his blood-stained hands, he realized the cost. He had become an immortal monster, forever bound to the night and the thirst for blood. He was now alone, a king over a kingdom of corpses, a hero feared by the very people he had saved. He had won, but he had lost everything.
(POV: Tom)
The artificial storm clouds above Dracula's Castle slowly thinned, just as the sunlight faded on the western horizon. Tom Jacker, from his floating sofa, finished his last popcorn. He applauded softly and solemnly, though no one else could hear him.
"Magnificent," he whispered to himself. "Truly magnificent. A perfect climax! Full of suffering, a bitter victory, and a blank stare into the setting sun. Truly a work of tragic art."
He had gotten everything he wanted from this world. He got his template upgrade to "Shazam-Holy Vampire Tom," and more importantly, he got a priceless show. His game was over. The familiar boredom began to creep back in. It was time to find a new stage.
But first, a good director always gives a personal round of applause to his lead actor.
(POV: Vlad)
Dracula stood among the corpses, the silence after the battle more deafening than any war cry. He had won. Wallachia was free. But he felt an immense emptiness. He looked at his pale hands, feeling the dark power and eternal thirst that were now his only companions.
Suddenly, a man appeared before him silently, landing lightly on a pile of rubble. It wasn't the horned demon or the shadowy creature from the cave. It was the same man he had seen there, but now without the illusion of darkness. He wore strange clothes Dracula had never seen, and his face wore a casual smile that was utterly unfitting for the scene of slaughter around them.
Dracula immediately took a defensive stance. "You! The demon from the cave!"
Tom merely chuckled. "Demon? Oh, that was just a costume. You should see my wardrobe, I have tons of roles."
He walked closer, completely unafraid of the newly forged Prince of Darkness who had just slaughtered tens of thousands of soldiers (not all enemies died).
"I have to say, Vlad," Tom said sincerely. "Your performance was spectacular. You truly embodied the role of the tragic hero. The scene where you realized your weakness to silver? Brilliant acting! And your internal monologue about sacrifice... very touching."
Dracula froze, uncomprehending. "What... what are you talking about?"
"The show, of course!" Tom replied cheerfully. "I'm the one who gave you the curse, remember? I wanted to see what a hero like you would do with such power. And you didn't disappoint! War, sacrifice, terror, bitter victory... it had everything! You're my best creation so far. So tragic, so heroic. I was thoroughly entertained. Thank you."
Reality hit Dracula like a cannonball. All his suffering. Every life he took. Every drop of blood he drank. The sacrifice of his soul. All of it... just a game? An entertainment for this bored, unexpected entity? A colossal rage, greater than his hatred for Mehmed, swelled within him. He lunged forward, roaring.
But before he could reach Tom, he stopped in mid-air, held back by an invisible force.
"That's enough. The show's over. No need for an encore," Tom said, still holding him with Telekinesis.
He released his grip on Dracula, letting him fall to his knees.
"Well, Prince of Darkness. I must be going now. There are other worlds waiting to be entertained," Tom said.
He focused his mind, and a colorful tear in reality began to form behind him.
"Take good care of your kingdom," he said to Dracula with a wink. "And try not to be too dramatic."
With a casual stride, Tom Jacker stepped into the portal, and it closed behind him, leaving absolute silence.
Dracula was left alone amidst the ruins of his castle. He had saved his country. He was king. But he was a king of an ash kingdom, cursed by the whim of a mad god, and forever trapped in a tragedy that wasn't even his own.