Chapter 97: Wundagore Mass

The night was growing— and with it came even colder new year winds and deeper ominous feelings.

That was more than likely less because of the time of day and more so because Bronte was about to raid a primordial dark gods temple in a mountain surrounding Dracula's home town.

Danger on danger.

They had no time to waste. Luckily, Mend could fly.

And so they did. Straight up the mountain, hand in hand with The Midnight Suns and Transylvia's Werewolf Pack.

They flew low to avoid detection from the psycho Sorceror and Co. The valleys and stone hills blurred in a collage of earth tones split by shimmering cold rivers absent of both animals and warmth. Even the trees were dead— nothing more than wooden monoliths with jagged branches. The stale darkness only intensified as their elevation rose and the oxygen quality dove.

The place reminded Bronte of somber piano melodies overlayed by a poorly tuned violin or harp….. seconds from breaking into abject audial terror. It made his hair stand on end beneath Mend's Symbiote skin.

"Blade…."

"What, Rider?" Blade replied flatly as Mend's Symbiote tendrils wrapped around his wrist tightly.

"Why do you hate Abe so much?…. I've only seen you talk to Vampires so disapprovingly…" Robbie questioned.

"Did he used to smoke your cigars?" Moon-Knight questioned.

"He wouldn't be here to snake y'all if he did." Blade replied to Moon-Knight in a profession of love for his smokes, "And I don't hate him. I just know him."

"Dios mio…. So harsh…." Robbie commented.

"You have to be in this line of work. If you truly weren't a fighter, even with the Rider's power, Mr Hyde and his goons would've skinned you alive back in LA, right?"

Robbie didn't say anything.

"Everyone one of these Werewolves fights for dominance. The weak and timid die, they don't fit in their world." Blade continued, "Same way Mutants like Magik and StormWolf can't be doormats for all the radicalized crazies on the streets two steps from putting on a white hood…."

Blade looked over at Moon-Knight as they flew, "No offense, slim."

"None taken. I didn't pick my wardrobe." Moon-Knight replied.

"Anyway— where was I at?... right, they have to get active— even if they don't want to. Even if they've lost everything. Do you think many people are built for that?" Blade looked at Robbie.

"No… no, probably not." Robbie looked down at the blurring mountain grounds.

"Not at all. I trained him as much as I could, but he wasn't built for it. He's not built for this. He wanted to entertain women and leave innocent lives he was responsible for in the hands of blood fiends."

An awkward silence attempted to breach the rushing winds surrounding them as they flew under the setting sun.

It didn't last long. It couldn't.

Bronte, Blade and the Werewolves began scenting the air.

"Movement ahead!" One of the Werewolves pointed

Bronte's eyes followed and found a cloud of smoke and bats drifting in the shadows. Gone by the time they hit the ground.

If he was still skeptical, what surrounded them more than confirmed they were near Silver Dagger and Daken's Vampires.

They stood in a patch of forestry. Like most of Wundagore mountain, it was sprinkled with dead zones of forest overgrowth.

The trees were blown aside and covered in blood and ash. The ones that remained standing were adorned with the bodies of feral Vampires crucified by wooden stakes.

They were still alive. Just completely rendered immovable through charm and stapling.

In the growing dark, Bronte could see them faintly strain against the wooden stakes pinning their dark Fatless arms over their heads.

"Why isn't he killing them?" Robbie questioned as they all looked over the Vampires.

Blade ran his Katana through them one at a time, turning them to ash.

"He's acting out what he believes in." Blade explained.

"….. yea I'm still lost." Robbie explained.

Mend's Symbiote body slithered and shrank back into playing as Bronte's arm, "Crucifixion is a type of religious punishment for agitators…. Or slaves ….. or things folks see as less than human."

Blade looked at Bronte.

"I used public transportation every day of my life in Harlem. I know like sixteen different street-priests…." Bronte explained as he watched the ashen remains of the Vampires flutter to the cold dead earth they walked on. Like snowfall under intense shadow.

"So ….. what? On their way up to get the Darkhold, they're crucifying local Vampires and whatever else is up here?" One of the younger female Werewolves asked.

"Yes— and they're using the tunnels."

Everyone spun around to find Abraham Van Helsing crawling out of a hatch in the earth beneath a pile of dead leaves.

He opened his mouth to try and say more as he climbed only to be interrupted as a pile of dirt fell on his face.

Everyone watched him— embarrassingly, attempt to recover and get the dead leaves out of his hair.

"Whew... excuse me." He ran a hand through his hair.

"What the hell are you doing?" Blade questioned.

"I'm getting my money…. And offering help." Abraham replied. One of his teeth still had dirt on it.

"Maybe he has become… built for this." One of the Werewolves commented jokingly.

"If you die—"

"Then I'm dead." Abraham interrupted, "I know these mountains better than all of you. Just like the rest of this land. I'm a Helsing."

"Alright, what tunnels are you talking about?" Bronte was growing impatient. Hell if he had his magic he could've been up the mountain and had the book in his hands an hour ago.

"Like the one I just came out of. There's access points all over. Some religious cult was trying to turn the mountains interior and caves into a worshiping city-state for…. What was his name? Cthulhu?" Abraham itched his chin as everyone around him placed their faces in their palms.

"Cthon." Bronte corrected, "And that checks out. You know the access point that gets us to where you sent the others?"

Abraham nodded, "It's up there." He pointed to a shadowy outline of the nearest mountain peak.

As Bronte turned to see where his finger was aimed the ground shook.

Everyone eyed the ground momentarily as reverberations rippled through the mountain side.

"Did you show them the tunnels?" Ilyana asked.

Abraham's eyes were wide like the full moon in the dark, "Uhh…. No. No I did not."

"Dammit." Mend took over Bronte and grabbed everyone with a flurry of outstretched tendrils before taking off towards the tunnel entrance.

It took less than five minutes to reach the first peak of many.

Bronte and the others hit the ground silently. Abraham tripped and stumbled. By the time he got to his feet everyone was already waiting.

"Ehh— right this way." Abraham walked over to a sizable dead oak growing from the small patch of land and kicked aside the dead leaves and snow.

A hatch loomed. Abraham bent down to pull it open and cringed while doing so. When he took his hand off the handle, cold slimy blood dripped down the hatch from his palm.

It inadvertently told them how deep things went.

Too deep.

Abraham wiped his hands in the grass as the others made their way down.

Brontë went first, sliding down the cold iron latter. Taking in the scents and letting his eyes adjust to the deeper dark.

Wildlife…. Cougars, Wolves, Rats and other rodents. Blood….. death.

When he hit the ground at the bottom of the latter, the smells were at their peak. And the movement ahead was a distant warning that they weren't alone.

Moon-Knight pulled out a flashlight. Robbie's fingers lit ablaze and Ilyana summoned her SoulSword. The flames bloomed and flashed purple as if corruption was a physical slime hanging on the air. Ilyana called away her sword.

"We're close." Ilyana commented as Robbie handed her a flaming stick.

Suddenly it wasn't pitch black anymore.

Bronte pushed onward through the tunnel. His enhanced vision sorted through the shadows and showed him a network of snaking walkways with buttons and gears built into the stone walls with ceilings high enough for Bronte to believe there was an attempt to make a city.

"Go left." Abraham said from beside him. "The way these tunnels are constructed distorts sounds…. So if you're hearing something on the right side it's probably not there. Hopefully nothings here and they made it out."

"You better hope they didn't." Bronte replied near a whisper as they walls of the entry tunnel slimmed.

"Right I forgot…. You guys are worried about something greater than Vampires. Why couldn't I just be rich already?"

"Because you're too impulsive….. among other things." Blade replied as he studied the walls they walked along. The WereWolves behind him were sniffing loudly.

"Impulses are good. They've gotten me out of worse situations— I think."

"You think wrong. This is the worst situation. Open your god damn eyes." Blade pressed.

"You know wha—"

An explosion from above shook the earth. It felt like it shook the earth to its core from the depth of the tunnels and the shake of Bronte's vision followed by an ogerish scream that could've bursted eardrums.

Bronte's regeneration got him back in action first, just in time to see a piece of stone cieling crumble and fall towards the WereWolves behind him.

With Mend, Bronte reached out above them. The Symbiote hand expanded into a second ceiling of sorts, catching all the crumbling shar stone and burning it down into nothing. Leaving only dust and hot pebbles to fall as everyone stood.

Brontë was looking at Ilyana in the darkness.

"They got the book." They both said before a literal tsunami of screeching bats and magical blood-smoke came flowing down the tunnel at blinding speeds.

"Get down!" Bronte pushed Abe to the floor and crouched over him as the onslaught rushed over them.

The sound was deafening. Rubbery flapping wings. High pitched screams of hunger. Growls. Wind and rain and blood.

As a few of the bats knicked Bronte, they exploded like sparks of flame in the shadowy waves. The magic in his blood was still too much for them.

With no sign of the flood stopping, Bronte let Mend slither over Abraham Van Helsing like a protective cocoon.

At the same time he bit down on his real hand and stood, flying his explosive blood in sweeping arcs.

The Vampiric smoke wave took it in like an addict took in their drug of choice— unknowing of the fact that it was laced with the most deadly agent.

The tunnels lit up like they had fireworks as the wave of Vampires was split and halted by the magical fiery explosion.

They all turned to see where the wave of undead was headed and found hundreds of them.

In the dark they looked even more bizarre. But also fitting.

If these tunnels were a sewer, then they'd found the rats. Hairless and dirty with beady red eyes and froth dipped fangs. Their undead muscles flexed at the scent of Bronte's fading blood and enemy Werewolves.

"Are those…. Cougars?" Abraham muttered in shock.

A Helsing in shock at the sight of Vampires. Not a good sign.

"Not anymore." Blade replied.

"We'll handle this. You go." The Alpha of the Werewolf pack— a burly white haired man said, before transforming into a seven foot tall wolf-man with sabered fangs. His pack followed.

The Midnight suns headed down the tunnel with Abe guiding them.

As Bronte ran he cringed at the sudden noise coming from his ear piece.

"No!— get back!" Tigra yelled through the ear piece.

He could've tripped. She was coherent again.

"Tigra!" Bronte yelled into as he ran with everyone.

"What!?…. Who's there?"

"It's Bronte. It's me— remember me?"

Silence.

He would've started praying if he wasn't in a race to save the planet.

"…..yes. Help me…. Please."

"Tell me what you see."

"Darkness….. they're everywhere. Is my son ok?"

"Dammit! Same as last time." Bronte thought before replying, "Yes. He's fine— he's happy but he misses you. I'll get you right soon."

"Bronte…. He's telling them to get you." Tigra managed before letting out a scream. He could hear Reed Richards in the distance with a team of nurses.

Bronte looked back at the Vampiric Felines, "You watching me?!"

Their red eyes only spoke of hunger. But he was somewhere inside each and every single eye.

"Keep watching. I'm taking this book and ending all this. Then I'm coming for you." Bronte yelled at the creatures before firing off a torrent of Flames with Mend's assistance.

It took down a few but more pursued. It reminded Bronte of midtown high. The day he awakened his x gene. Only worse.

The Lupines didn't want to kill him.

As they pushed on, a dead end became visible even in the dark.

Before Bronte could say anything, Abraham cursed to himself.

"Dead end?"

"Door." Abraham replied.

Bronte sped up and Mend took him over. The Symbiote brute charged the door in a rush.

They hit the cold steel hard. Hard enough to shake the ground and send splintering cracks up the metal.

Dark energies poured from the cracks and bit into the Symbiote flesh like snake fangs.

"Ack!"

Brontë hit the ground with his arm missing and dark energies arcing across his flesh.

It felt like acid was slithering over his bones, sending home flashes of white hot pain.

In Bronte's pain he could hear things. Ilyana teleported oddly— like her powers were also affected as she crouched beside him.

"Mend…" Bronte thought. If he focused he could feel the Symbiote within. Silenced. In pain. Stunned.

"Cthon's dark magic is active. Here….. he used the previously built portions of the tunnel to protect his temple retroactively." Ilyana said as she helped him to his feet.

"Abraham!" Blade yelled behind them.

"Just keep going. Worse than Vampires remember!?"

Brontë painfully got to his feet just in time to see Abraham take a right and break off from the group. Brontë could smell blood. Human blood.

The Vampiric Felines followed Abe as a handful of bloody Werewolves tore at their flanks.

He could hear a gear shift immediately after.

The door behind them opened.

Abe fell to the swarm.

Daken's tab was longer than a grocery list. He'd pay for it.

Bronte and the Midnight suns took off down the shorter extension of the tunnel and found a latter gleam in the distance. Already opened and previously used.

Bronte ushered everyone up the latter as the undead beasts closed in.

They lunged. He let them pile on, sinking their fangs into his arm and neck and legs until they exploded and he was covered in ash.

He rushed up the latter and shut the hatch.

The world above was different since the sky screamed.

There were no clouds. The winds were so strong you couldn't hear much else. Or smell.

Luckily Bronte could see through the dead oak.

A handful of Vampires in hiding stood at the mouth of a massive cave.

Everyone moved.

Ilyana teleported them forward. They stepped out swinging despite the volatile adjustment and left ashes in their wake.

The winds raged.

Someone stood in the cave. Only a few dozen feet ahead of them.

The man locked eyes with Bronte….. at least until Bronte found what was in his hands. His old wrinkled hands.

Bronte's hair stood on end. It was so cold the sweat on the back of his neck froze. Literally.

"It's you..."

Bronte didn't say anything.

"I saw you on the tv….. playing god! Playing the one above— playing in the faces of mortals…. Like a devil…. Like…. Like….." He trailed off, coughing and itching his neck.

His over the top villainous monologue felt half baked. He looked lost in the shadows. Clutching the book almost nervously.

Bronte moved— Ilyana caught him by the arm.

"Look behind him."

Things squirmed with eyes like Ruby jewels. In the cave walls around the Sorceror, fissures split open and pulsed like the veins of a living breathing thing.

"You! It was you! ALL…. Of you. You're not what this world intended. Unnatural, unclean, tainted by disfiguration and mutation. ITS MY RIGHT— HAHA! I'll cut you out….. ERHM…." He coughed again. A nasty wet cough. Brontë could hear the spittle splash against the stone grounds. His nose quickly told him it wasn't spit.

"Drop the book, man…. You got played." Bronte said firmly.

"Me!? Yes. By the likes of you…" his hair was falling out. The white strands almost looked like snowfall.

"Motherfu— A mutant sent you here! You are being conned!" Bronte was past losing patience.

"Alls well that ends well. I have the book— I have the power. I will cut the unpure from this world." Silver Dagger opened the book and a black skinned hand exploded from the pages, grabbing him by the throat.

In an explosion of dark magics, the rest of the figure rushed from the pages and into Silver Dagger like inhaled smoke.

When it was all said and done, the book fell from Silver Dagger's black hands.

And Silver Dagger was no more.

What stood instead was something hideous. Something wrapped in eight different interpretations of evil and tied down by horror from a time before man.

Its flesh was burned away, leaving only the deep linework of old muscular tissue and a wrapping of glowing purple veins running down all six limbs.

Silver Daggers face remained, like a flesh mask permanently locked into the expression of terror.

The entity ripped it away just as a pair of horns bloomed like a natural crown studded by dark jewels.

Its barely human mouth absent of lips cracked open like a physically forced carcass with rigor mortis.

"What an old fool….." He looked at them with all four eyes, "Tell me, are the rest of you so foolish? Say yes, I'd like to have a little fun."

"Have a little fire instead." MoonKnight threw a handful of handheld explosives into the cave.

Ilyana teleported them away as the caves entrance caved in.

Bronte's adrenaline ran high. His eyes darted around the mountain landscape, wishing for Mend. Wishing for magic. The power to do what needed to be d—

"Humans advancement in technology still can't handle my beloved magic…. A sad thing, really. But a universal— multiversal, truth." Silver Dagger— now taken over by Cthon, flew overhead. As if he was never in the cave. A purple cape unfurled from his back and fluttered in the wind.

"Some of you know of magics power…. It lingers within. Let me bring it out." Cthon looked from Ilyana to Bronte.

"Let's go." Bronte popped his claws.

Cthon smiled, "Haha!…. Let us."