(Trizole)
'Tower of Giants'.
That's all the door said. Reinhardt Schneider wondered at this. Dracula's castle
contained a good many dangers, be they vampires, Hell-knights, spider-women, or
the ominous pits yawning wide, like the maw of a great dragon. Each boss had
been a challenge, and weilding only his ancestors' whip, they were
nigh-invulnerable. Somehow, he managed to slip by the Tower of Execution with
only a cut on his arm. The old Belmont luck, he supposed...
All the towers in the castle were deadly. The Duel Tower, for example, pitted
him against only four enemies. But enemies they were, aye! A weretiger, a
minotaur, a lizard man and a golem had each battled him, only because their dark
lord demanded it. If he failed to kill them, his flesh and innards would end up
in the guts of one of the aforemention monsters or flattened by the descending
marble ceiling covering each gazebo.
His thought was a meandering one, but worthwhile. Think on this, gentle reader-
no other doors had such warnings! If a careless minion stepped into the Tower of
Science, one of the several automatic blaster cannons wouldn't hesitate to fire
upon him (Or her, for that matter. Dracula was not chauvinistic in choosing his
thralls). A wrong step in the maze, and a hulking giant chopped a minion to bits
with a chainsaw.
Why the warnings now?
This tower was either more terrible than the others before it, or...? Or what?
Perhaps it wasn't. Dracula's scare tactics were many. Statues bled from the
eyes, demons went as vendors, and the dead danced in the ballrooms. Perchance it
was merely a subtle scare tactic.
"Or perhaps I am worrying needlessly." Reinhardt's gruff voice split the
silence. "It's this cursed castle that has me on edge. And if it's a giant I
must face, then it can't be much worse than the ape-skeleton and the
flame-spewing steer." His gloved hand clenched the brass knob and twisted it
slowly.
Bedlam and chaos! A magnificent, unholy white light sucked and tugged at his
body with amazing force. The white hole lifted him off his feet and pulled him
kicking and screaming into the void...
Reinhardt awoke! But then again, he always had before.
Sleep was nothing unusual. But the place he was... so odd! He swore that he was
back inside of the Castle's Center. But everything was so much... bigger! Wit
the exponential growth of the place, any regular-sized man would be a Zeus and
any woman a Hera.
Now he understood that it really was a 'Tower of Giants', of sorts. Now he
needed to find a way up every staircase, search every nook and cranny. He
guessed that he needed to find another door that would return him to his usual,
more comfortable size. Dracula was so crazed and his logic so warped that he
wouldn't doubt that that explained his current... condition.
But how to go about the enemies?
Hell-knights were easy to pass. They had no neck, and probably couldn't detect
him without eye contact. That was one down.
Glass-knights were much like Hell-knights. If they couldn't see him, they
couldn't attack him.
Skeleton bikers only revved their vehicles when a threat approached. An
inch-high man shouldn't present too much of a threat. They were down, too.
Lizard-men were kept in cages released by pressure-sensitive plates. Insects
could probably pass them, and he was about the size of an insect. So that left
no threats.
But as a jarring THUD knocked him flat on his chest, he realized that he forgot
the single most important villain, the kind that spread their disease with a
bite. A vampire could be dealt with rather easily, but a giant vampire?
Or, as he noticed as he looked up, a gigantic vampiress?
This one was one of Dracula's cleaning staff, he could
tell- she wore a maid's outfit. But Dracula was no perverted old man, who lusted
after busty French maidens: this maid's outfit was rather drab. Two leather
mules that strapped across the front of her feet housed the ends of her long,
tight green pants where they wrapped warmly around her toes. She was also clad
in a short, mocha brown blouse with tight sleeves that hugged her wrists and the
top of her neck like a lover. A frilly white apron guarde her nice, if somewhat
plain, blouse and a headpiece made from the same material inexplicably adorned
her head. As for her her head-
The soft, glossy strands of her hair were a lighter shade of brown, mayhaps
autumn brown? Despite the color, she wore it in boyish bob, cut short and
brushed back, swooping to the right. Understand that this did not make her
unattractive- in fact, since all of the maids in the castle wore their locks
like this, it positively made her Venus, a sheer goddess of beauty! Besides,
there was something about uniformity in the opposite sex that was just so... so
appealing, he'd guess. Strange to think of organization as erotic, but that was
Reinhardt's opinion, and he'd keep it just the same.
Her eyes were sea-swept, cool and Aryan. But there was something of mischief in
them, too. Vampirism increases one's natural tendencies at least by half. What
had that mischief evolved into? But if her eyes were mischeivious, then her
crooked half-smile confirmed it.
As for her body (if Reinhardt could see any more of her without her melting into
one giant, awe-inspiring monolith), she was a lithe, thin girl, probably turned
into the undead when she was only seventeen or eighteen. Her body was firm where
it was expected, her cup-size were a decent high-B-to-low-C range, and her
thighs looked lethal- all in all, the body of a gymnast.
She was just the kind of bloodsucker Reinhardt hated kill. To take it a step
further, he abhorred slaying young girls like her. But even though their flesh
was soft, it was also corpse white and as cold as the final sleep. Those glossy,
full lips sheathed the sharp, ivory fangs that confirmed her affliction.
He must find a way to destroy her!
But how? She could kill him by flicking her soft finger a bit too hard! An axe
to the thigh would feel like a mere pinprick to her, and then guess who would
wind up a gory stain on the bottom of her shoe? Against her, a woman, a thrall
to Dracula, he felt so powerless, so impotent...
"Hold on!" his mind shouted. "Wait until Carrie comes here!
She took a different route than you did. Meet up with her, and she'll get back
your old body!" A damn good idea, if he did say so himself.
So all he had to avoid was getting picked up by this vampiress, and he'd do just
fine. He winced. How would he avoid her? He needed to be at this entrance, so
that he could meet the young Fernandez. But then he ran the risk of being
caught! Oh, what to do....?
The maid paused in her cleaning. No, it wasn't a pause. By saying it was a
pause, one would imply that she resumed lighting the torches. It was more of a
tensing of muscles, a contraction, as if something had just made to strike her.
"Oh!" she called, rubbing her pretty little head. "I smell... I smell human
meat!"
Panic! Reinhardt drew his short sword, determining to at least stub her toe as
he died under her heeled soles.
"Hmm..." she thought, drawing herself into the middle of the floor. "A Belmont!
His... or her... scent... is like... is like..." The girl could not describe it.
"Whomever it may be, he will not take me without some difficulty!" All her
speech was in hushed whispers. Her hands trembled, even as she raised them to
strike with her fingernails.
Needless to say, all of this pleased Reinhardt. His surname was, indeed, a
legendary family! Dracula must have warned this particular batch of thralls of
the Belmonts' vampire-slaying capacity. He allowed himself a little chuckle over
the whole matter- his fatal error.
One mustn't blame Reinhardt for what followed. He hadn't
been a slayer for too long, and, though understanding a vampire's amazing sense
of smell, he hadn't accounted for their hearing. The second he drew in his tiny
breath, her head jolted to the corner of the room. "A Belmont?"
Reinhardt stopped laughing.
"No," she grinned, her monstrous fangs showing. "You're too tiny to be a
Belmont... unless you've been cursed..." She dropped both knees on the floor
infront of him, splaying her legs and sitting on her heels. "Well, Belmont? Have
you?"
Reinhardt coughed and sheathed his weapon. "Err... actually, yes," he did not
lie. It was a half-truth. He had brought this upon himself, but... at the feet
of a bloodthirsty vampiress? Who would consider that a blassing? "Is there any
way that you could help?"
She rolled her massive shoulders, her breasts lolling with the shrug. These
captivated Reinhardt, who had never seen them so big. His mind started to wonder
how Rosa's cleavage might be in this form. Perhaps this was a mixed curse. "I
should probably take you to Dracula..."
"No!" Reinhardt shouted, drawing his sword and raising its blade to his own
neck. "Death before torture!"
With a move faster than he could see, his sword was out of
his hand, an iron splinter flung far behind her, too much out of reach! The face
of her finger touched (engulfed?) his muscled chest. "But I won't," she finished
her thought, ignoring his last statement. Pinching his whip between thumb and
fore finger, she slipped it into the folds of her dress. "I might need something
to tie my hair," she muttered, leaving Reinhardt utterly defenseless.
Reinhardt pressed his back up against the wall as far as he could go.
"Fearful?" She poked him a few times. "Tell me the truth...." The last command
she cooed like a dove.
After a few seconds, there came a quiet, "Yes."
"Terrified? Do I intimidate you?" she was quick to follow up. He nodded, and she
flicked his head with a curled forefinger lightly. "Speak up!"
"Yes!" he replied, wiping blood from his nose.
She laughed cruelly, the twin peaks of her fangs fully visible. "Oh! The mighty
Belmont falls to a little girl, like me?" With a swift motion, she scooped him
into the palm of her hand. "Dracula must be senile, to be worrying about petty
little eunuchs like you! Don't you agree?"
What else could Reinhardt do? He agreed.
"Well, then. Every conquerer takes a prize, don't they?" she asked mockingly.
"Very well. You're my conquest and my prize." She reached behind her with one
free hand an undid her mule's strap. She began to jerk the tight shoe free of
her slender foot. "Dracula may be insane, fearing you in his spire, but he's
still a power. I'll need to keep you in a safe place while I finish my chores.
You don't mind here, do you?"
"Of course not," growled Reinhardt sarcastically, growing incredibly irritated.
"It would be my pleasure to spend the better part of this day basting in your
vile foot sweat!"
She pretended not to notice his rage. "Good. I have it a bit watery for you
already!" Pinching the collar of his armor, she tossed him into the toe area of
her mule. Forcing her soft, sweating toes back into her ragged, much-too-small
shoe, she stroked his damp, already-smelling body with the face of her big toe.
"I'll be seeing you in five hours, then."
But it was already much too hot! His juices were draining into hers, further
fuelling the massive puddles of salty sweat. If he couldn't escape soon, he knew
he would retch and add even more juices to the already-revolting mule.
Even then, Reinhardt didn't have an easy time of it! With what little space
those uncomfortable shoes allowed, she rolled him in between the damp cloth
covering her enormous toes and underneath the warm, fleshy pad of her instep.
Covered and choking in her acrid, bitter foot sweat, bruised and bleeding from
her pummeling toes, his eyes watering and spilling over from lack of clean air,
he passed out.
END