"The Count is desperate to get revenge against Ramanga." Malik spoke seemingly to himself in a dark room.
"This is your chance to prove yourself to the count." A disembodied voice spoke back to him, whispering so only he could hear. "Make sure the others don't get in your way."
"They won't." Malik assured the voice. "I'll arrange a little distraction."
"Go, and wreek havoc!"
Malik appeard in front of the Count holding a tray of blood. "Count Dracula." He addressed him.
"Go away! Can't you see I'm busy plotting revenge?" The Count replied.
"Plotting is thirsty work." Malik pointed out which caught the Count's attention. He thought for a moment and then took Malik up on the offer.
"Not bad." The count admitted.
"You wre talking of revenge?" Malik asked.
"Staking is too good for him! He tried to kill my son!"
"They've used forbidden dark weapons, the High Council could have him killed for that."
"I know but they can't find him! Ramanga's gone rogue!"
"I can track him down." Malik insisted. The Count pondered and then allowed him to help.
"What is this place?" The Count asked, holding his nose from the smell.
"It's an old sewage works. A place where Breathers dump their waste." Malik explained.
"Oh, slime pit." The Count realized. "Appropriate. Ramanga must be feeling quite at home."
"We're getting close." Malik assured him.
"Yes, I can sense him. He is near." The Count agreed.
"Nearer than you think." Ramanga spoke, coming up behind them. "You fell right into our hands. I knew you were tracking me, boy." He laughed. Then she sped off, starting a chase. He casted illusions of himself to make it even harder.
"Right, so what do we do now? Fight fifty Ramanga's?" Malik asked.
"fifty?! We become many thousands!" The Ramanga's replied. "Face it, you're outnumbered and outclassed."
"Outnumbered maybe, but never out classed." The Count took that as a personal offense. He honed his power and willed the water flowing beneath them to trap the real Ramanga where he stood.
"Go ahead, dust me. Get it over with." Ramanga said.
"No, I have something much better in mind." The Count replied.
"Master you're back!" Renfield exclaimed.
"Of course I am!" The Count replied, happily.
"Is Ramanga dead?" Renfield asked.
"Better than dead, I de-fanged him!" The Count replied and held up his spoils. "Rather fetching, don't you think?"
"Magnificent master!"
"Credit where it's due." The Count turned towards Malik. "You are a perfectly adequate wingman."
"Thank you." Malik replied.
"This calls for a celebration! Renfield, go to my cellar and open a bottle of someone young and zesty!"
"Yes master, right away." Renfield obliged.
"You'll join me in a goblet, won't you? What's your name again?" The Count asked.
"Malik." He replied.
"Ah, Malik, good name, from the old country." The Count commented.
"My parents came from Bistrith." Malik said.
"Oh I know Bistrith well, who are your parents?" The Count asked, happily swinging Ramanga's fangs on a string.
"My mother's name was Elizabeta." Malik revealed and the Count's swinging stopped. "And my father gave my mother this locket." He continued and pulled the necklace out of his jacket, passing it along. The Count was hesitant to accept it. He opened it it see one picture of Elizabeta and another... of himself.
"No, no, no... you can't be." The Count spoke.
"I'm your son." Malik confirmed. "Your eldest son." The Count grabbed him by the collar.
"And you only thought to mention this now?"
"I was waiting for the right time to tell you, father." The Count pushed him away, giving him back the locket. He walked off without anohter word.
Malik walked down sullenly to an empty room. "You did very well." The disembodied voice spoke to him.
"But the Count hates me." He pointed out.
"For now. With some persuasion he'll accept you as his son. And then, you'll know what to do." The voice replied.
"I've only just begun to know him." Malik said.
"You don't need to know him. Just follow the plan." The voice insisted.
"Plans change." Malik tried to say.
"Not ours." The voice wouldn't have it. "Not if you want to claim the Dracula inheritance. And you do want that, don't you."
"Yes mother."
