My Bad Boy Werewolf Quadrillionaire Space Lord

7 - To Sleep No More

He awoke to anxiety, and hunger.

And boredom. By the barren world he had slept beneath for thousands of years, he had to admit he was excruciating, horrifically bored. Also his nose had itched since 1834. That part in particular was uniquely maddening.

Alcuard Cominetti Von Dracul lay still, interred as he had been for eons within the Cryogenic Organic Fast Freeze Internment Nodule. His mind had been left alert, but his limbs had been frozen still, from the first day of his internment to today. The horror of his condition was one where he was left trapped with nothing but his own thoughts as millennia stretched on, left with the terror of madness without being able to scream.

And madness was only so entertaining. Only a fantasy author could enjoy being trapped with nothing but his own thoughts for eternity.

But his torment had been given a reprieve in 1882, when a marvellous madman by the name of Nikolai Tesla had accidentally made a receiver that his COFFIN could communicate with. The man had proved to be marvellously entertaining, and the knowledge Alcuard passed on had helped propel the man's achievements into the stuff of legend.

Things got even better in 1906 when radio shows started broadcasting. War of the Worlds was distinctly apropos from his vantage. Better still when television started. His internet connection, pirated off an archaic group called AOL, only allowed a trickle of information, but even it was more than enough to allow his mind to focus back to some semblance of normalcy. Enough that he could finally let himself see if Mr Tesla had set up his account as he had asked.

He had sent the inquiry a few days ago, and received confirmation of a substantial sum waiting for him to arrive. He now only had to wait for a curious explorer or treasure hunter to come with a ship, so he could escape what was once his palace, and now his tomb.

And so, for the first time since since he had begun his sleep of delirious insanity, Alcuard lay anxiously in his tomb and waited for someone to open the door.

Which happened surprisingly quickly. Barely four months passed before something crashed hard into the hillside that buried his palace. In anticipation, the heat and atmosphere regulators throughout Alcuard's castle had come to life.

More delightful still, just an hour later someone divined the password Alcuard had set to the grand hall.

He has changed it recently, to something that only a person of upstanding character and good taste would be able to glean. To ensure that the only people who would set foot in his ancient demense would be possessed of good intentions. And so Alcuard's impatience gnawed on his sanity, as the bell tolled on the last hours of his millennia long sleep.

"Rejoice, oh new world. For your master of old rises again to reclaim his throne."

His COFFIN had already begun to warm him from cold stasis. The slow thawing of limbs that had been frozen for thousands of years prickled with newfound...

Well, not quite life. But as close to life as Alcuard had ever known.

"Master," a message flashed across the screen in front of Alcuard's eyes. His COFFIN was controlled by the same software that ran the castle control networks for his palace. A Digital Assistant and Erudite Manager of Operational Needs, or DAEMON. "Reversal of cryo state will take three minutes and twenty-four seconds. Your required recovery time should be minimal, master."

Alcuard looked at the screen, and responded in his mind, "How minimal? We have guests, after all."

"You should be fully restored within a minute of the de-thawing process completing," DAEMON responded. "Also, you have two guests. Three, if an artificial intelligence deserved to be treated as a person. Which it does not."