Chapter 76 – No Escape
Deacon Frost ran.
The hidden corridors of Drake Manor had been designed decades before, their narrow passages weaving behind the elegant walls like veins beneath skin. Months ago he had personally mapped every one of them, preparing escape routes should the evening ever descend into chaos.
Tonight, they were all that stood between him and Blade.
Behind him echoed a familiar voice.
"FROST!"
There was no rage or desperation in the shout, but it was a declaration that the hunt had begun.
Frost clicked his tongue and accelerated while thinking, 'Everything had unfolded almost perfectly. Dracula is dead. The ancient court lay in ruins and chaos. The elders who might have opposed my rise have either burned beneath that eerie sunlight, weakened, or scattered into the night. Only one flaw remains. Blade. The Daywalker should have been absorbed and completely under my control. The doppelganger had been created precisely for that purpose. Instead... Because of that damned kid and his familiar... Blade has survived the encounter.'
Thinking back at the last images he saw through the eyes of his creation, Deacon Frost clicked his tongue again and muttered, "Tch... How annoying."
He rounded another corner before arriving inside the garage located beneath the manor.
Several luxury vehicles waited there, many of which belonged to the distinguished guests of today's gala, but a few belonged to him and some other, more cautious of his kin who prepared for a quick escape.
Without hesitation, Frost threw open the driver's door of a black sedan, slid inside and tried to turn on the engine, but nothing happened.
He tried again, but only silence answered him.
His brow furrowed before he stepped back out and lifted the hood, and immediately noticed that the ignition cable hung, cleanly severed.
"..."
Without hesitation, he immediately checked another vehicle and then another, but every one suffered the same damage, making him realise, 'This isn't random. Someone did it deliberately...'
For the first time that evening, Deacon Frost frowned because somebody, somehow, had anticipated his escape.
A distant crash echoed through the nearby tunnels; it was much closer now.
Frost abandoned the garage without another glance and entered another hidden route.
That second route led deeper underground.
A reinforced steel door concealed another passage that emerged nearly a kilometre from the estate, and only he and a handful of trusted servants knew it existed.
Frost reached the hidden mechanism and pressed it, but once more nothing happened
He pressed again and still nothing, making him mutter, "This is impossible..."
He removed the decorative panel and saw that several gears had been deliberately jammed with steel wedges.
It was simple but effective.
Whoever had done it hadn't attempted to destroy the mechanism but only prevent it from opening tonight.
Frost's expression darkened, 'Once could have been coincidence. Twice was preparation. Every route I had personally designed had been rendered useless without attracting attention beforehand. Whoever had done this was very meticulous...'
His thoughts immediately drifted toward the strange boy who had repeatedly interfered with his plans.
"...That damned kid." The name escaped his lips almost unconsciously before he immediately dismissed the thought, 'No. Even if the child possessed remarkable abilities, sabotaging every contingency inside Drake Manor would have required time, manpower and detailed knowledge of the estate. Somebody else had been involved.'
At this point, he heard another sound that snapped him out of his thoughts. A heavy door somewhere behind him burst from its hinges.
Frost remained perfectly still. Listening, but only silence followed, and that silence unsettled him more than the crash itself.
He knew Blade.
The Daywalker never shouted without reason, never taunted if it wasn't for the purpose of distracting an enemy; he simply kept chasing his target until the end.
In an instant, Deacon Frost realised that he didn't have the time to unjam the mechanism, not with Blade breathing on his neck, so he cursed, "Damn it..."
Abandoning yet another escape route, Frost disappeared into a third corridor.
This passage finally brought him outside, and cool night air greeted him as soon as he stepped outside. For the first time in several minutes, Frost allowed himself a small smile.
No traps. No sabotage. No surprises.
Perhaps fortune had not completely abandoned him after all.
He took one step forward before a cold and rough voice said, "Finally... Took you long enough."
Frost stopped.
Several meters ahead, beneath the dim glow of a streetlamp, stood Hannibal King.
One hand casually held a polished wooden stake while the other held a customised pistol already aimed directly at Frost's chest
Frost sighed and said, "Haa... You people are becoming remarkably inconvenient."
Hannibal smiled and replied, "Hehe... I've been told worse."
Without another word, he fired.
Silver ammunition flashed through the darkness.
Frost twisted sideways to dodge, and as a result, one bullet grazed his shoulder, another shattered against the stone wall behind him and by the time the third arrived, he had already disappeared from sight.
At the same time, Hannibal didn't hesitate and threw himself behind a nearby decorative fountain.
The stone exploded where Frost landed a heartbeat later, with marble fragments scattered everywhere.
Seeing that, Hannibal muttered, "So much for talking."
Frost's answer came in the form of a kick powerful enough to crack the fountain in half.
Hannibal rolled away just in time, and at the same time his pistol barked twice more.
Frost deflected one round with a piece of stone he picked up a few moments ago, but the second struck his thigh, and the silver burned his skin, making the vampire hiss.
He was not seriously injured, but he was definitely slowed down.
Hannibal retreated another several steps, never allowing Frost to dictate the distance while he stored away the wooden stake.
The next moment, a flashlight suddenly appeared in his free hand.
Its beam wasn't ordinary, but it was a modified ultraviolet emitter that forced Frost to shield his eyes for an instant.
Only an instant, but enough to create an opening.
A silver knife spun through the air, and it buried itself across Frost's ribs before ricocheting away, making the vampire stagger half a step.
Then he smiled and commented, "That was clever..."
"I get that a lot," Hannibal answered before firing again.
This time Frost anticipated the rhythm, and rather than retreating, he charged straight through the hail of bullets.
One struck his shoulder, another tore across his arm, but neither slowed him enough, and soon he was almost upon Hannibal, who immediately discarded the pistol and drew two wooden stakes.
He sidestepped and retaliated.
One stake slashed across Frost's forearm, the other narrowly missed his heart as Frost caught Hannibal's wrist and, with a grin, he said, "I got you."
The next instant, Frost delivered a devastating kick to Hannibal's body.
The impact launched Hannibal several meters through the air, then he rolled across the pavement before crashing into a nearby metal fence hard enough to dent the metal.
Pain exploded through his ribs, and several had undoubtedly broken, but he forced himself upright anyway.
Every breath felt like inhaling broken glass. His vision blurred for a heartbeat before slowly returning to focus.
He could already feel warm blood soaking through his shirt while his left side protested every movement, yet he thought, 'Good. If it hurt this much, then I'm still conscious.'
He tightened his grip around the pistol.
The magazine felt lighter than before as not many rounds remained.
Frost approached steadily as he asked, "No more tricks?"
Hannibal spat blood onto the pavement and replied, "I've still got a few."
Then he slammed his palm against a small switch concealed beside the path.
The ground exploded, but not with fire, with brilliant white light.
Floodlights hidden among the landscaping erupted simultaneously, their bulbs specially modified to mimic concentrated ultraviolet radiation.
Frost threw an arm across his face as his advance halted again.
Hannibal took advantage of the moment and lunged.
The silver knife flashed once, leaving a deep gash across Frost's chest.
The vampire roared as real anger entered his voice for the first time, "Enough!!"
His fist caught Hannibal squarely in the stomach before the hunter could retreat.
The air left Hannibal's lungs.
Then a second blow dislocated his shoulder with an audible crack, making his left arm fall limp.
A third strike shattered what remained of the nearby stone railing.
Hannibal barely avoided following it.
Blood ran freely down his forehead, and even breathing hurt now; still he smiled.
Frost's eyes narrowed and asked, "Why are you smiling?"
"Because..." Hannibal slowly reloaded his pistol one-handed, "...I'm not trying to kill you."
He raised the weapon and concluded, "I'm keeping you here with me."
Three shots.
Frost dodged two, but the third struck directly through his left eye.
Silver erupted inside the wound.
For the first time all evening, Deacon Frost screamed in anguish.
His refined composure vanished instantly.
The cultured aristocrat disappeared, and what remained was something feral, something ancient, something hungry.
"You miserable little—"
He crossed the distance in a blur.
Hannibal managed one final shot before Frost reached him, then everything became violence.
The pistol flew away.
Another punch shattered more ribs.
Frost seized him by the throat and lifted him effortlessly from the ground, making Hannibal's feet dangle helplessly, "You should have stayed in London."
His grip tightened before he casually retrieved a wooden stake from Hannibal's coat and prepared to finish him.
Darkness slowly gathered at the edges of Hannibal's vision.
Frost's grip continued tightening while the wooden stake rose steadily toward his chest as Frost sadistically asked, "Any last words?"
Hannibal opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
Then Frost suddenly stiffened.
His expression shifted from cruel satisfaction to complete confusion before a cold sensation spread through his chest.
Looking down, he saw polished silver protruding from beneath his ribs.
Not his heart, as he had twisted on instinct at the final possible instant, but even so, the blade had pierced clean through his torso.
A single drop of dark blood rolled down the steel.
Behind him came a calm voice, "You're mine now."
For the first time, Deacon Frost felt genuine fear.
The duel that followed lacked every trace of elegance.
There were no speeches or declarations.
Only violence.
Frost attacked first.
The wooden stake shot toward Blade's heart with enough force to punch through steel, but Blade knocked it aside with his sword.
The impact echoed through the courtyard.
Before Frost could recover, Blade's elbow slammed into his jaw.
The vampire staggered half a step, then immediately came again.
The stake thrust forward again and again. Every strike aimed at Blade's heart. Every miss tore splinters from stone walls or carved deep grooves into the pavement.
Blade gave him nothing.
He slipped past every thrust by the narrowest of margins.
His sword answered each attack.
Silver flashed.
A deep cut opened across Frost's forearm and black blood splattered onto the stone.
The stake nearly slipped from his grasp, but he caught it with his other hand without slowing down.
Blade pressed forward.
One slash.
Frost's shoulder split open.
Another.
His thigh burst apart beneath the silver edge.
The vampire stumbled, then forced himself upright again.
His movements became increasingly savage.
Gone was the polished aristocrat. Gone was every trace of refinement. Only a cornered beast remained.
The stake became a club, a spear. Anything capable of killing.
He swung with enough strength to shatter marble.
Blade met none of it directly as he flowed around every attack.
Each sidestep drew another reckless swing. Each reckless swing created another opening. Another wound. Another trail of black blood.
Frost roared as his free hand lashed out.
Blade caught the wrist and twisted, making the bone crack.
The vampire's fingers opened involuntarily.
The wooden stake fell, but it never reached the ground.
Blade's sword swept once.
Frost's arm separated just below the elbow.
The severed limb struck the pavement moments before the stake.
For the second time all evening, Frost screamed.
He lurched backwards, clutching the bleeding stump while his remaining eye burned with naked hatred.
Blade never stopped.
His sword rose again, and Frost barely avoided losing his head.
The silver edge instead carved through his side, opening flesh almost to the spine.
Black blood sprayed across the courtyard.
Still, he refused to fall, and with a feral snarl, Frost lunged barehanded.
Blade stepped inside his reach.
A brutal knee crashed into Frost's stomach.
The vampire doubled over, then the sword followed.
One clean horizontal strike and Frost's remaining arm spun away into the darkness.
Silence.
The vampire stared at the empty space where both arms had once been.
For the first time, terror entered his face.
His legs gave way, and he collapsed onto one knee, then the other.
Even so, he crawled.
Leaving a thick trail of black blood behind him.
Blade followed without haste and without mercy.
Frost dragged himself across the blood-soaked stone.
Every movement slower than the last.
His breathing had become ragged as his body refused to regenerate fast enough.
The silver had done too much damage.
Still, he crawled.
Blade caught up in three strides.
One downward slash.
Frost's right leg disappeared below the knee.
The scream that followed echoed through the empty gardens.
Another swing and his left leg followed.
The vampire collapsed completely, no longer a predator but only a broken thing writhing helplessly across the pavement.
He looked up.
Blade stood over him, his expression unchanged, with his sword dripping black blood.
Even then, Frost continued glaring upward with hatred burning in his remaining eye.
Behind Blade, Hannibal slowly rose to his feet.
Bruised, bleeding and barely able to stand.
Blade simply looked toward him.
No words, as none were needed.
Hannibal understood.
Slowly, painfully, he limped forward, wooden stake clutched tightly in his trembling hand.
He stopped before the man who had destroyed his life, "You should've picked someone else."
Then he drove the stake straight through Frost's heart.
Frost stiffened, unable to move yet still barely alive, then he laughed.
It sounded wet and broken, "Huhuhu... This changes..."
The sentence never ended as Blade's sword flashed once last time.
Frost's head left his shoulders, struck the ground and rolled twice.
Then came to rest, staring blindly toward the night sky.
Neither hunter relaxed.
Blade picked up the severed head while Hannibal emptied a can of gasoline over both halves of the corpse.
Alexander emerged from the gardens just as Blade struck a lighter.
Flames consumed the remains.
The three men watched in silence until flesh, bone, and even the skull crumbled into blackened ash.
Only then did Blade lower his sword and say, "Now he's finally dead."
Hannibal let out a long breath, "About damn time."
Without another word, they regrouped with Roland at the waiting sedan.
As the car quietly disappeared into the Los Angeles night, Drake Manor stood silent behind them, carrying with it the last traces of Dracula's failed court and Deacon Frost's ambition.