Chapter Text
This was the end. Much as Lisa didn’t want to acknowledge it, it was the end.
Surrounded by the people of Targoviste, tied to a stake that would soon become a burning pyre, stared down by the cold-hearted Bishop and his priest aides… soon, she would be swallowed by the flames. She didn’t fear for her life, strangely. Oh, she wouldn’t care much for being cooked alive like this, of course. If God felt merciful, she would pass out from smoke inhalation first and die peacefully.
No, she didn’t fear for her life.
The people surrounding her – faces grim, with fear and trepidation gleaming in their eyes – had no idea what they were doing. They weren’t just burning a witch at the stake, righting what they thought was wrong in the world. They were signing off their own death warrants.
Once her husband heard of this – and it was a matter of “when”, not “if” – then there would be no more Targoviste and its people. He was gentle with her, gentler than with anyone else, but he still didn’t think much of humans surrounding them. The décor in front of his gate was rather telling.
And if those same humans did this… then something told her Vlad Dracula Tepes wouldn’t stop with just Targoviste. Something great and terrible would break within him, unleashing his vast knowledge of both arcane and scientific – and ravage this land in the process. She looked to the dark evening skies, feeling tears drying on her cheeks from the heat. “Don’t hurt them! They don’t understand!”
Could he even hear her? Would he hear her? Would he heed her? She knew he was better than he gave himself credit for; he could have killed her, drank her blood and tossed her corpse onto another spike when they first met if he wasn’t. Even this dark vampire lord had a heart underneath his glum shell, and Lisa couldn’t bear imagining the sound of it breaking.
She coughed, her mouth full of smoke and the fire licking at her feet. It wouldn’t be long now. “I know it’s not your fault, but… if you can hear… they don’t know what they’re doing! Be better than them! Please…!”
A flash of lightning lit up the night sky – and a bolt struck the pyre, scattering the flames and the remaining timber. Lisa fell onto the cold brick with a pained cry; the contrast in temperature felt scalding, not to mention the impact. She was still tied to the stake, though the binding on her wrists had loosened slightly; enough to tug it off if she had enough time.
The silence from the people of Targoviste was deafening. In the darkness, she could see the Bishop’s eyes blown wide open; next to him, the Mayor’s mouth hanging loose as if his jaw was broken. They weren’t staring at her, she realized. They were looking higher.
Someone was standing in front of her, facing the villagers. Someone. Something…?
She only caught a glimpse of the yellow cape and red bandages on the figure’s arms before the screaming started.
----
Lo and behold: the woman actually was a witch.
That was, of course, cold comfort to the Bishop standing there and staring transfixed at the horrid creature in rags leaning forward, as if looking to strike. Next to him, the fool of the Mayor was clutching his crucifix, mouthing a prayer like it would save him. He had just admitted to dabbling in matters beyond his means moments ago, in an idle conversation.
Once this hubbub was done – once they survived it (and the Bishop knew they would, for God stood with him) – perhaps it would be best to have a change in the ruling caste of the city.
The monster wasn’t very tall, but it looked wicked indeed: between its metal jaw, eyes so tiny they seemed like emeralds lost at the bottom of a well, the implements atop its head that might have been ears or horns or something in-between… or the yellow rag on its shoulders imitating a cape, like it fancied itself a knight of sorts… it certainly didn’t seem to be anything the Bishop was familiar with.
But all of that took a backseat to the vile lightning crackling about the creature; green and black, the color of rot and corruption. The demon’s head swiveled to and fro, in what the Bishop could hope was panic. For all of its lofty entrance, it seemed unwilling to move forward; a fact picked up by some of the braver citizens. City guards and a few volunteers stepped forward, inching closer with their weapons of choice. Perhaps this one was merely a familiar to intimidate the lesser men, let the witch slip away in the confusion…
“Have no fear, men! The witch called upon infernal reinforcements with her dying breath – and though her death is postponed, it will not be avoided!” He declared, pointing forward. The demon’s eyes found him, matching his glare for a second or two, before the thing squared its shoulders… and took a step back. The first brave lad came out swinging a threshing flail.
Purple smoke suddenly erupted from the creature, blanketing the area and obscuring vision. Alerted cries came, the impromptu fighting force backing out afraid of the evil fog. The Bishop gritted his teeth. It was another trick; he knew in his heart of hearts this cloud wasn’t poisonous nor would it bewitch ones caught in it. It was yet another cheap ploy from a woman of cheap character and disposition…
...but it was effective enough. By the time it cleared, neither the witch nor her familiar were anywhere to be found. “Your Eminence… w-what do we do?” The Mayor asked, still trying to pick his jaw off the ground. The Bishop worked his, trying to put together a plan. A pursuing force of some kind or—
...or the remaining embers of the pyre could explode into a giant inferno, forming a skull-like apparition looming over them – before it materialized into the face of the Devil himself. “WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY WIFE?” It asked, and the Bishop knew his evening was about to become a whole lot longer.
----
It took Lisa much too long to realize that her unlikely savior was a fellow human being – and longer still that he was a youth completely out of his depth.
She was still loopy from smoke inhalation and the youth was performing feats that ordinary lads wouldn’t be capable of. Perhaps he was a magician of some kind, like the Speakers she’d heard about? But then, whatwas he doing there in Targoviste, just so happening to save her from death…? He wasn’t anyone of Vlad’s; for his disdain of the human race, Lisa knew he had a few acquaintances around the world (to not say “friends”, though her husband would surely deny that) that could aid him in times of need, like that of his wife about to be burned at the stake.
She doubted he was a divine messenger either. He was just… a boy. A boy three seconds or so away from a panic attack. And yet, even though he was wound-up tighter than a spring coil, he never stopped moving with purpose. Though he was full of fear at both his new situation and the event he had just arrived to, he immediately understood what was happening and acted accordingly.
It told Lisa that this wasn’t the first time the boy had to save someone from certain death when faced with naked hostility of all around him… and that was a depressing thought to contemplate.
They stopped in some ruined shed, the boy finally setting her down with uncanny gentleness – though he soon fretted over her wounds, likely racking his brain about how to treat them. Lisa heard him muttering under his breath in a language she couldn’t decipher. Her relationship with Vlad had seen her learn a fair few, though not at anything beyond basic conversation – this one, unfortunately, wasn’t on the list.
“...thank you.” She tried, watching him startle like a baby rabbit. He spoke back after a moment, again in his language. Lisa shook her head, trying to speak in Latin instead. He tilted his head at her and for a moment she thought he understood her, but then he regressed into muttering again. Not for long; before she could try another time…
[“...Eng...lish?”]
[“Oh, thank goodness.”] Lisa exhaled slowly. [“Not my best, but I can try to talk in it.”]
[“...okay. Okay, that’s good. Um… do you mind telling me more about this place while I treat you?”] He produced a small pack labeled with a red cross; the make of it seemed a little alien even past his strange and unknowable outfit.
Soon they’ve established a shaky conversation. Lisa learned the boy’s name was Izuku, from Japan. This nation she knew, though only through a few stories from Vlad’s travels in the distant past. She also learned that the Japanese introduced themselves by family name first, which caused some confusion initially. Izuku talked a lot, in cautious eagerness of someone who’s been separated from other human beings for way too long – though the more he talked, the more uneasy Lisa was becoming.
There was nothing suspicious about him, odd appearance aside. Truthfully, he didn’t seem to have an evil bone in his body – and yet, things didn’t add up. His English was a little off, the way he used words that seemed to mean nothing or how the others were pronounced differently. Some of the words Lisa knew, but the context of their use made them feel alien. Then there was the make of his things, how it looked disheveled, but seemed to be made of something so impossibly well-crafted it no doubt cost a king’s ransom.
[“I didn’t know things are this bad in the European countryside…”] Izuku muttered, using a strange spray to treat her burn wounds. [“I’ve heard some… goings on, but to put people on stakes like that…?”] For all of her opinions about Targoviste and its people, Lisa couldn’t call the largest city in the region “countryside”; the very thought was absurd. [“...if I may ask, Lisa-san, why did they want to…?”]
[“I was accused of being a witch.”] She stated plainly. The boy’s face remained hidden behind his steel-toothed cowl but she could tell he was frowning.
[“Not even for having a Quirk or… for being Quirkless? Just… I don’t get it.”] That word came up again, “Quirk”; it seemed to mean something to Izuku. Lisa surmised that was how he called his magic… or were they innate powers? A scientist in her struggled to contain her glee at the idea that humans may one day possess mystical powers without… well, without the mysticism. [“...well, I should make sure you’re safe first, then I’ll need to… I’ll need to go back to Japan, somehow. Maybe there’s a plane I can schedule somewhere…”]
[“A plane?”] Lisa asked, a strange realization starting to gnaw at her from within. Vlad’s told her a few stories about something he called The Infinite Corridor – an endless receptacle of portals leading to all corners of the world… across time and space both.
[“Oh, you know, an aeroplane? Uh…”] He moved back to Japanese for a few seconds, likely thinking this was a matter of something lost in translation. [“It’s a flying metal machine? With wings? And an engine?”]
[“...Izuku, I have never heard of something like that before outside of mad scientist theories.”] Perhaps it was best to go for the throat right away, lest they found out the truth in a less opportune moment. Perhaps he was already realizing it, but not wanting to say it out loud. [“...Izuku, what… year is it where you’re from?”]
[“...what do you mean?”]
[“Izuku. What year is it right now?”]
[“I… don’t understand the question?”]
Lisa sighed, waiting for him to pull back with the strange spray. It seemed to be already making the pain go away. [“...you’re in Wallachia. It is AD 1475.”]
“...oh.”
“...oh indeed.”