“‘Thing,’ is it?” Beheim edged somewhat nearer, stressing to see Vlad in the darkness. “However you once longed to be something like this,’ ‘did you not? Maybe you actually are worker to that longing. Maybe you actually long for judgment.” Closer, closer. Inch by inch. “It is valid,” Vlad said. “When I ached for force and life unfading, yet I became terrified and escaped my office. From dread, in any case, I have learned a lot, and whatever I might have lost, I have more than acquired its equivalent in the rebuilding of my humankind.” “Undoubtedly? Why stay in Castle Banat, why not return to the universe of humanity?” “Life here has harmed me. I can never return to the spot that drag me. However, I can kill you, vampire. That ought to solidly set up my human confirmations, wouldn’t you say?” “Others will come. They will annihilate all of you.” “You as of now chase us. For what reason would it be advisable for us to fear you more than we do as of now? Also, I question for any reason there will be a require our killing. There are risks for your sort in these profundities. We would not be not difficult to uncover. Almost certainly, the Patriarch doesn’t wish us to bite the dust. We can’t undermine him, and he might conclude that our little local area gives a captivating risk against which he might test his subjects. Indeed, I would not question that he has effectively evaluated the circumstance and picked to keep up with the state of affairs. He has a liking for such incongruities as our presence here includes. At any rate, if your cousins come to retaliate for you, I will expect to kill them, as well. That will, in some little way, fix the wrongs done in my long stretches of abhorrent assistance.” Judging by Vlad’s voice, Beheim assessed that he was close to about six feet away. He assembled himself, planning to thrust; yet before he could move, Vlad said, “Think on this as you bite the dust, vampire. Around evening time I will have of your excellent woman that load of delights you have tasted. Also, more close to.” Another crushing commotion, another crash. Beheim left forward and met with a boundary. A stone piece had dropped down to impede his way. It was unfaltering, however he pried at it energetically. He hurried in reverse, realizing that he would discover another obstruction behind him, yet trusting, trusting, his heart contracted by claustrophobic fear, his psyche blushing with alarm. There was, as he had speculated, a subsequent hindrance. He was caught in a space very little bigger than a casket, encysted in an incomprehensible weight of stone. Briefly he couldn’t relax. He sucked at the silence, tasting darkness and rot. He could hear the drumming of his heart, feel it expanding in his chest. Then, at that point a shout burst from his throat, and he started to kick at the dividers, to beat upon them with his clench hands. His dread was so creature and despondent, he may have gone on in this style for quite a while, yet close to a moment had passed before a segment of line swung open underneath him, similar to the dropping of a secret entryway, and he went sliding feetfirst into a subsequent line, tearing lower at a precarious point, grabbing at the smooth, clammy stone, attempting to track down a break, a projection, anything with which to slow his advancement, knocking his head with blinding power. Then, at that point he was falling free, shouting, thrashing at the air… yet not for long. A little while, no more. He arrived on his back, the effect sending torment spearing through his appendages, stunning him into obviousness. When finally he opened his eyes, bewildered and throbbing, something was stimulating his cheek and nothing he saw seemed well and good. Overhead was a region of spread, debilitated blue, similar to an ineffectively painted roof, smeared to a great extent with rings of white and splotches of dull green, and figured likewise by a gleaming yellow and purplish mass, all diffuse and overcast, as though he were looking at it through a volume of water. There was a moaning commotion. Wind, he thought, it seems like the breeze. What stimulating his cheek padded across his lip; irritated, he culled at it, held it to his eyes: a thin bend of tanish green. Smooth and cool to the touch. Unidentifiable. He squinted, attempting to clear his vision. A bit of definition showed up in the green splotches above. Pine needles? Couldn’t be, he advised himself. He sat up, agonizingly, unsteadily. He brought down his head, shut his eyes to clear the spider webs. His considerations moved gradually. Simple, innocent contemplations. This damages, that damages. What’s this on my hand? Soil? He thought about what he ought to do straightaway. Discover Giselle? Head for the Patriarch’s chambers? He had no clue about where he was—how is it possible that he would expect to discover any person or thing? He opened his eyes again and was assuaged to find that his vision had gotten back to business as usual. There were tears in his pants, his knees were scraped. Grass sharp edges surrounding him. Winter grass, sere and dry. That had neither rhyme nor reason, either, that there would be grass developing inside Castle Banat.