To Spite Another God Pt. 06

"Come! Come! Come!" Dr. Van Helsing shouted. "We have very short times!"

Jonathan limped after the other man as gunshots rang out after them, chasing them down the street. Jonathan gasped out: "How!?"

"Likely, the fiends, they left behind one of their own, to detonate the explosives they had gathered, to destroy those men of the Mars!" Dr. Van Helsing said -- reloading the shotgun with shells, shells that he seemed to produce from his pockets without any sign of where he had gotten them. Jonathan, barely managing to keep up with the older gentleman shook his head.

"Isn't that good?" he asked. "I mean...that poor fellow that threw the switch, but, ah, damnation, ow!" He limped faster.

"No, it means the Men of the Mars will be far more acutely aware of their operations in the city! Even now, they are preparing their terrible Black Smoke canisters, their heat rays, all their fearsome weapons! We must hurry! We must hurry!"

The two of them came out onto the street leading straight towards the massive circular dome structure that the Martians had been building. And there, for once since his leaving England for distant Transylvania, Jonathan saw some kind of good fortune had come there way. One of the parked train cars that had been stashed within the underground railroad had been thrown like a spear from the hole blasted in the roof, flung up into the air, where it had arced down and smashed directly into the wall surrounding the Martian facilities. The Tripods that had not gone to collect resources from the underground railroad were, as they rushed forward, beginning to pick up large tubes -- the launchers for the Black Smoke!

Dr. Van Helsing sprinted faster as those Tripods, seeming to not notice the two of them in the confusion of their sudden upset, hefted the launchers.

Chuff!

Chuff!

Chuff!

The rockets that contained the Black Smoke arced into the air and with a low, deep crump, they began to bloom like hideous mushroom shaped clouds, flowing outwards from their impact sites like water. The mushrooms slumped down and swept outwards, filling streets and coating buildings with the killing smoke -- and creating a ring of pure death that would silence all living beings within London that had not found shelter.

Jonathan paused beside the smashed up train, gasping, his leg cocked up to try and bring some relief to his agonized ankle -- and then he heard the roar of the shotgun. Looking over, he saw that a dead Martian was stretched out beside one of those flying machines, his foot planted upon its brownish body like a hunter on Safari.

"Come, Mr. Jonathan! Come! Come!"

Jonathan limped as another round of Black Smoke fired. Glancing back, Jonathan saw that it was slowly flowing towards the fortifications the Martians used -- and that they were loading another round, one last gout that would snuff him and Van Helsing out immediately.

Van Helsing swung the hatch of one of the four parked Flying Machines open, revealing a small sphere shaped compartment, covered with a dizzying array of dials, levers, switches, knobs, buttons, and indicators. Tiny needles were all set to a low numeral, with increasingly high numerals stenciled upon the glass (even with a glance, it was easy to see that the numerals got lager and larger, while Jonathan might not have known their actual notation, he could still get the gist of it.) The chair within was clearly sized for the ball shaped body of a Martian, but Jonathan thought he or Dr. Van Helsing could fit within.

"Here is what we shall be doing, Mr. Jonathan! I take this one! You take that one! Together, we close hatches -- so that the Martian smoke will not slay us. We shall both endeavor to fly -- if one of us crash, the other may avoid this fate. Either way, it is to the west we shall fly! To the west. The sun rises to the east, and so, if you fly from the West, you will reach United America! We shall take the machines to that land, and we shall give them the sword with which to strike against the Men of Mars! Yes?"

And here...

Jonathan Harker managed to do something that he had never expected he could do. Despite his terror, despite how incredibly skilled Dr. Van Helsing was, despite everything, Jonathan found that he had within himself a deep core of...something. Steel? Conscience? Love?

Whatever it was, it did not allow him to simply abandon his Mina.

And so, shocking himself most of all, Jonathan...lied.

"Of course!" He said, then hurried to the other flying machine. The hatch swung open as he worked the latch -- the Martians were clearly so confident that they had never expected any human to ever try this kind of operation. He swung the hatch shut moments before the Black Smoke reached him -- and as he sat, he looked upon the controls before him. He forced himself to remain calm -- thinking that the Martians would not notice their slain comrade, concealed as it was by the Black Smoke, and thus, he would have time. He noticed that there was a forward view port that he could peer through, revealing the world beyond as if he was looking out through a periscope. When he put his eyes against it, he saw an even wider view, as if the lens was designed like a fishbowl, giving him a distorted, but broad view, and through that, he saw nothing but Black Smoke.

"Okay, okay, okay, focus, Jonathan. Focus." He closed his eyes.

When he opened, he looked for which control might be the main means by which he could direct the device and he saw that there were two very large, very obvious triangular shaped handles, rather like the handle of a shovel, that were set into a spherical setting. He put his hands upon them and found that they could be rotated from side to side, and pushed up and down. They had been placed with their handles set vertically compared to the ground, and when he tilted them to their sides, he saw that two dials jumped and moved -- and the entire flying machine jumped and moved as well!

Jonathan set them back to vertical.

"For Mina," he whispered, his eyes closed.

And then he twisted the levers to the sides.

The entire Flying Machine sprang up into the air like a horse started by a goad. The dials that he saw were connected to the handles went from their minimum value to their max, and another dial started to buzz upwards -- and he realized that the numerals were indicating altitude. He peered through the fishbowl telescope and, to the left, he saw that the other Flying Machine was shooting upwards...slower than his, meaning Van Helsing was either slower to divine the machine's workings...or he was more cautious.

Jonathan, gently, pushed upwards on the two levers and the vehicle shot forward. He laughed.

"Yes!"

The exhilaration of flying took him utterly aback -- but he was so fast and free, and the landscape underneath him swept under with shocking speed. However, he saw that he was beginning to actually lose altitude -- the nose of his vehicle angling down. He yelped, pulled back, and not only did he stop, he started to go backwards, and as he went backwards, he continued to go down! Over the channel, he managed to just barely reach equilibrium by leveling the controls out. As he gained in altitude, Jonathan relaxed.

Then the entire ship shuddered hard to the left. Green and white lights flashed on several indicators and a collection of tiny glowing bulbs set into the console created a kind of outline of the Flying Machine -- and the green dots were localized in a single area around the wing, while white dots surround that area, leaving the rest of the glowing bulbs red. Jonathan peered out of the telescope and saw, out of the corner of his eye, smoke roiling from the wing of the machine! He was being fired upon. By pushing the left control forward and the right control backwards, he was able to effect a turn -- the ship wobbling alarmingly as his hands shook terribly.

Two Tripods stood below him, the surf and the waves crashing about them. They hefted their heat rays and he saw them winking at him, trying to draw another bead as his ship slipped and shuddered to the sides. Jonathan yelped, and then shoved at the controls. He started to corkscrew through the air, spinning around and around like a top as he pushed the device far too hard -- and thus began the chase...

* * * * *

"And thus, I arrived," Jonathan said, smiling wryly. "It...was not...great."

"And yet, you liked the flying," Mina said.

"Yes..." He trailed off.

Mina and he were quiet.

"You made love to Dracula, didn't you?" Jonathan asked, flushing. Mina nodded, mutely. Jonathan sighed. "I...am trying to find anger at it. But...that'd be a churlish thing to do -- considering, ah, what I did. With." He trailed off. "A-And..." He looked at his hands. "And there was that fellow Dracula sent to me..."

"He's...not happy about that, yes," Mina said. "But I've told him that you were afraid, that it was an accident."

"That doesn't make him not dead," Jonathan started to stand up. He rolled his shoulders. "I...am afraid all the time, Mina. You...you can feel that. But that doesn't mean I am a coward. I will accept whatever punishment it is that Dracula sees fit to bestow upon me." He smiled, slightly. "And...after that...we can decide...how and...what...and..."

Mina stood. She took his hands in hers. She looked down at them, then said. "Dracula has three wives," she said, quietly. "Maybe...I...I mean...if...we...both enjoy the bodies of others -- like I and Lucy and you and Marishka..." He blushed, hard, at that. "Then why can we not love one another and love others as well? Why not?" She smiled, slightly, looking up into his eyes. "We're vampires now. Aren't we?" She grinned. "We're already monsters by our old standards."

"Y-Yes...we are..." Jonathan paused. "I don't feel like a monster, though."

"Neither do I," Mina said, smiling, showing her fangs. "And...you like being a vampire more and more every second, don't you?"

"Well..." Jonathan flushed.

"You liked drinking Sharon's blood?"

He flushed harder. Mutely, he nodded.

"You liked...thrusting into her..." Mina's nipples were hard against her shift, her eyes glittering as she stepped closer. She nipped, gently, at Jonathan's throat, teasing him with her fangs. She whispered in his mind. It felt good, cumming in another woman's cunt, didn't it?

God, yes, Jonathan thought. His hands gripped her hips, drawing her close. His eyes closed and he murmured. "We're going to hell..."

"No," she said, quietly. "I...I don't believe that, I can't believe that." She drew back. "We're going to save the world, and we're going to protect humanity -- if God cannot accept that we might enjoy the love of other women and other men, then...well, he's no God I want to worship." She nodded, and Jonathan cupped her cheeks. He opened his mouth, then closed it.

"I don't...know if we're..." he paused. "I don't know if this new resolution of mine, that I will accept this life, will last. It...may just be a passing fancy, one that will fade. But for now?" He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "I wish to stay like this." His eyes closed and Mina squeezed him close, then kissed him fiercely. Dominantly. Their mouths locked -- and when she drew back, he was panting, despite the need for breath having long, long, long since passed.

Quietly, he murmured. "Lets see Mr. Dracula."

* * * * *

Dracula's laboratory was neat, orderly, and yet, utterly full. Stepping inside, Mina was shocked to see that not only was the Flying Machine contained within, but it had been opened up. She saw that Dracula had found how to undo the seams and bolts without damaging them, and then used his tools to take the wing that had not been damaged apart, revealing the inner workings. Several bits of those inner workings were, even now, laid out on several tables in the brightly illuminated room. The illumination came from several mirror backed lamps, and had been further enhanced with magic...Dracula might be able to see in the dark, but he clearly didn't want to take any risks in missing things.

The Flying Machine, though, was not the only thing here. There was also both of the Martian corpses. The heavily burned one was currently being daubed in ungents and reagents by his three wives, while Dracula, wearing a laboratory smock and rubber gloves, was cutting into the other one, peeling back skin. Mina's nose wrinkled -- and Jonathan gulped, then stepped forward.

"Mr. Dracula, I beg your forgiveness," he said. "I...did not mean to...hurt...your...that...whatever it takes to-"

Dracula transfixed Jonathan with his red eyes, glittering behind the goggles that he wore to protect his eyes from any...splatter. He pursed his lips. Then, slowly, Jonathan began to shiver. He gasped out, and Mina could feel Dracula touching Jonathan's mind with his own -- then drawing back. Jonathan started to fall to his knees, and she caught him. "I accept your apology," Dracula said, his voice quiet. "We have centuries for you to atone for taking my servant's life -- but...it was an accident, as little solace as that is to me." He looked down at the corpse he was cutting into. "Now. Come close, I wish to show you our enemy."

Jonathan and Mina stepped closer and Dracula pointed inside. "See this?"

"It's...a brain, right?" Mina asked, remembering some of physical textbooks she had read.

"And do you see what is missing?" Dracula looked at her.

"...where are the...intestines, right? The stomach? The...anything?" Mina asked.

"That's precisely it," Dracula said. "I've explored its body completely. This creature neither eats nor digests. It has no taste buds, it does not speak, and it cannot do much beyond manipulate objects around it with these tentacles." He lifted one, before dropping the limp organ down. "The tentacles themselves have no tactility beyond simple pressure -- this creature does not feel pain, nor pleasure...it is entirely a brain and what little organs are required for that brain's support."

"How can it support a brain without intestines?" Jonathan asked. Then, his eyes widened. "G-Good god...the blood!"

"The blood?" Mina asked.

"T-The Martians...they...collected men, and they...they would...take...the blood and-" He trailed off.

"They inject it into their own bodies, to sustain themselves," Dracula said, frowning.

"They're like us..." Mina whispered.

"No. They're not." Dracula frowned. "They lack the ability to transform blood into vitae -- they cannot restore health and vitality to another. They reproduce asexually -- I found several smaller Martians budding off this one, before it died. They're being preserved for later observation." He turned to the two of them. "They are...we...are...creatures of sensation, Mina." He caressed her cheek. "Of pleasure. Of the world. We don't take blood -- we share it. And we don't...bud like flowers." He shook his head. "This is an entity of pure, remorseless logic. Without feeling. Without mercy."

"That's supposition," Verona said. The eldest of Dracula's wives was speaking up from her work. "Until you confirm it."

"True," Dracula said. "Mina, Jon, step back."

"What is he doing?" Jonathan whispered as Dracula strode over to the other Martian corpse. He placed his palms upon the side of the heavily burned creature, his eyes closing -- and then he began to speak. The words were guttural and ancient, not Latin, but some other tongue that Mina had never heard before. Wind rustled around her feet, despite them being indoors and underground. Green lightning crackled around Dracula's fingers, sudden and shocking, and Jonathan cried out in fear, grabbing onto Mina's arm, drawing himself close, trying to shield her from the sight as Dracula's speaking -- as his incantation -- grew louder and more focused.

Then Dracula brought his palms up, then smashing down.

Green fire swept over the Martian...

And it twitched.

It writhed.

And its eyes opened and its beak clacked and it gargled and wheezed and flailed its burned tentacles.

"SILENCE!" Dracula boomed.

The creature stilled.

"W...What in God's name!?" Jonathan asked, his eyes wide.

"By the name of the Morning Star, by the arts of the Scholomonariu, I have called you back, back from whence you have come. And you shall answer my questions!" He glared.

The Martian's corpse gurgled.

And then...

A voice spoke in their minds.

YOU BROUGHT MY HAND BACK TO FUNCTIONALITY. THEIR DEAD NERVES SING WITH INEXPLICABLE AETHER PATTERNS. I CAN FEEL ITS AGONY. I CAN FEEL ITS PAIN.

It was a deep voice. Booming. Echoing. Repeating. Like it was a million voices, speaking as one.

WHAT ARE YOU?

Dracula frowned.

"That is what I wanted to ask you..." He said, slowly. "What are you? You called this...a hand..."

SINGULAR ENTITY...MORTAL AND WEAK, YOU TOUCH MY TOTALITY, FUMBLING FOR AN UNDERSTANDING THAT WILL BE ETERNALLY BEYOND YOU. I AM AS FAR BEYOND YOUR CONCEPTION OF LIFE AS YOU ARE FROM THE MICROBIAL CREATURES FORMS THAT DWELL UNSEEN IN A SINGLE DROPLET OF YOUR WATER. AS YOU BUSIED YOURSELF WITH YOUR INSIGNIFICANT LIVES, YOU DID NOT KNOW THAT YOU WERE BEING OBSERVED BY INTELLECTS FAR VASTER THAN YOUR OWN.

Dracula frowned, slowly -- but the mind continued to speak.

YOUR PAROCHIAL CONCERNS ARE UNTO DUST COMPARED TO THE VASTNESS OF TRACTLESS FUTURE THAT STRETCH BEFORE MY MIND. WHEN YOU ARE DUST, I SHALL BE HERE. WHEN YOUR DUST HAS SCATTERED TO THE WINDS OF SPACE, I SHALL BE HERE. WHEN YOUR WORLD HAS BEEN CONSUMED AT LAST BY OUR ANCIENT, DYING SUN...I SHALL BE HERE.

I AM MARS.

I AM THE ONE TRUE GOD.

YOUR ONLY HOPE IS TO KNEEL BEFORE ME AND BEG FOR MY CLEMENCY.

Dracula smirked.

"Mars..." he said, quietly. "I've heard that before."

His palm spread and he snarled out a word in that ancient tongue. "Tell me your goals!"

YOU SEEK TO COMPEL THE HAND TO SPEAK. PATHETIC.

Dracula closed his hand.

YOU LOOK UPON YOUR OBLIVION, MORTAL.

"I am no mortal," Dracula said, his voice soft.

ON THAT, YOU ARE WRONG.

The creature twitched...and the tentacles actually...reached up...and shoved themselves into the eyes of the ruined horror that was the necromantic construction. The tentacles tore inwards and the living corpse writhed, then laid flat -- still. Dracula lowered his palm.

"Verona," he said, quietly. "Pack up the artifacts -- Marishka, organize the staff. Jon, Mina, Aleera, get the other vampires and begin to gather up as much soil as you can."

Mina blinked -- but then it clicked.

"Why!?" Jonathan asked.

"There are no Martians. There is one Martian! One Mars. One hateful mind, a singular entity that has suborned their entire world -- the ultimate victory of Empire, crushing down every culture until there was one culture, and then crushing every individual until there was one. No Empire, just an Emperor. And we ...and I raised one of his eyes from the dead, right in the middle of my castle, and spoke to him! He knows where we are!"

Jonathan's eyes widened.

"Tonight, we run!" Dracula snarled. "And tomorrow...we fight."

TO BE CONTINUED