Hayden Panettiere And Megan Fox With Count Dracula
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Batman Vs Dracula Vs Werewolves free porn video
Deep in Transylvania was a castle which only very few people had ever seen and even less people had left it alive. The valley in which the castle was located could only be reached through a single tunnel and was far from what is now called a civilized area. The village that was situated close to this dark place avoided this place for over 1000 years. Nobody from the small town dared to walk along the long road that led to that cave. It was rumored to be a dark creature, an inhuman nobleman who lived in this ancient fortress. Although no one who has been alive for a hundred years had ever seen this nobleman, there has been too many stories about this place. Many foreigners from all over the world came to the country in search of this castle. Many of them were looking for the legendary Count Dracula. Ever since this crazy Bram Stoker wrote his bestseller about the famous vampire 100 years ago, there has been some kind of vampire fanaticism in the world. The people were so fascinated by the book that they went out into the world to follow the footsteps of this romantic monster. The few hikers who had discovered this place at all heard of the oldest of the village that this castle was a special place. None of these people have ever been seen again. The villagers had warned everyone, but all their warnings had been thrown into the wind. As much as the villagers avoided the ancient castle, they also relied on its protection. For over six hundred years now, no power had dared to cross the borders of this territory. In the stories of the village it was said that the last people who had tried it were the Turks. The Turkish army was stopped by the former lord of the castle. Vlad Tepes, who was given the honorary title of Dracul. The reinforcement that followed the Turkish army found an army of 4000 men impaled on stakes. The fields around the fortress were filled with whimpering and suffering people. High generals and common soldiers. Most of them had died long ago but a few had been left alive by Vlad. As a warning to any further Turks. This warning was understood. The land was safe, and since those days there had never been another enemy force invading the valley.
But none of this applied to the ruler of this property. Neither time nor age were anything to fear. He had left such profane things behind him thousands of years ago. Vlad Tepes, called Count Dracula, stood on the battlements of his fortress. It's been a long time since he walked the world. Ever since he traveled to London 100 years ago to get a new bride. At that time he had met a worthy opponent for the first time. The house of Helsing. Fighting in the land of the Englishmen was an educational experience for Vlad. He struggled with the foreign world, the new century and also with the new arts of humanity. Helsing had not been able to cope with him in any way, neither physically nor mentally, and yet he had drawn a draw with the new witchcraft called Science. Surely the courageous vampire hunter had believed at that time that he had finally destroyed the Count, but this was beyond the possibilities of a human being. But the wounds had been heavy, even for such a mighty creature as Vlad. With his last strength, he had succeeded in getting to his homeland and had put the most powerful seals he knew about his castle. For 100 years he would have to sleep at least for his wounds to heal completely. But he had learned a very valuable lesson. The times in which he could rely on his power, his speed and his magical powers were over. Infinite times ago, an age he barely remembered himself, had been worthy enemies out there. Beings that even surpassed him in power and danger. But he had destroyed them all. He had made the mistake of allowing them to spread like an epidemic over the countries. Much too late he had moved into the field against them and had swept them from the face of the earth in many hundreds of battles. He had hunted and exterminated their species to the last. He would not make this mistake again with the humans and their science. But something had got him out of his sleep prematurely. An ancient magical rune he had carved into the catacombs of the strongholds a long time ago had awakened to new life and had called his spirit into the land of the living. Although his power was not yet fully awakened, he had to face this danger. The old enemy had returned. After more than 2000 years the Lycanthropes were back. In a distant land, far above the great sea, a new enemy had arisen. He couldn't explain how, but he would look for this werewolf and kill him before he would bring a new plague over this world. The Lycan was still young. Just created it in the first place. It would take him a long time to master the full power of his new body and that gave Vlad a little time. Werewolves were pretty weak when they were reborn. They were only able to transform themselves into their wolf form during the full moon and even though they were strong and almost invulnerable they learned many of the higher wolf gifts only after several transformations.
But before he would go to America, he had to feed. It was time again for the citizens of his kingdom to pay their 10th tithes to him. They lived under his protection and now it was time they thanked him for it. Vlad stretched out his arms wide and jumped from the battlements into the darkness. Even as he plunged into the depths, his body began to transform and took on the shape of a bat. No one took notice of the individual bat circling above the place and the next morning 12 corpses were found. Not a drop of blood was left in their bodies. The citizens of the small town knew it now. They knew this kind of murder. And while holding out their hand, they whispered about the ancient terror. It was rumored to be a terrible truth.
Count Dracula walked the earth again.
Chief of Police Cordon was standing on the roof of a department warehouse on Gotham Pier. He looked at the sea and did not know whether he should be happy or appalled by this murder.
"I'm getting better. I can almost feel your presence!" he said and turned around. On one of the water tanks was Batman looking down at him. With a leap of elegance and gracefulness, the mighty Black Knight of Gotham landed before Him.
"What's up?" asked the masked hero with a gloomy, frightening voice.
"I don't know how to explain this to you. But I think the Joker made his final joke," said Gordon, not seeing any movement in Batman. He would have been surprised, though.
"What's happening?"
"I think you should see for yourself. We left everything the way we found it. There's no more of my people in there, but I must confess to you. I've never seen anything like it. He doesn't even deserve an ending like that."
"Why are you sure he's dead? He's played games like that before."
"Believe me, Batman. He's dead!" With these words Commissioner Gordon left the roof and left the Black Knight alone. He almost hoped Batman would confirm that Joker was dead. This asshole had been to Arkham far too often in his personal opinion. Eventually, everyone had to pay their price and when he had his weak five minutes, Gordon wanted the Batman to be tougher on this scum. But what would happen if the Dark Knight really ever crossed that last line?
As soon as Gordon left, Batman looked around on the roof. Up here, it seemed perfectly normal. No trace of any burglary or forced entry into the warehouse. He moved to a roof window and by means of one of his plank bars he opened the lock within seconds.
"I'm going in Oracle. Log into the public systems and try to find cameras in the area. Maybe we're lucky to have some pictures."
"I'll make it big Boss. Take care of yourself! It could also be a trap of this nutcase." he heard in his ear.
Batman knew exactly what Barbara meant. The Joker was completely insane, but in his own way he was quite brilliant. His traps were dangerous in a completely insane way. With Bane, Penguin and Poison Ivy he could rely on them to follow a certain pattern. They were all predictable, but the Joker was different. It was hard for Batman to even begin to understand how he was ticking. That's why it was always a challenge for him. And what he did to Barbara was unforgivable. He had often faced the choice of letting him die or killing him, but he had managed to overcome this hatred of him every time. He may have been the Dark Knight of Gotham, but he would never kill! Cause then he'd be no better than the scum he was fighting.
As he slowly descended into the warehouse he could see boxes and pallets everywhere. Most of them wore different toy company’s symbols or were ammunition boxes. It was a typical Joker hideout. But what irritated him were the blood traces all over the hall. Some of the crates were destroyed as if killer Croc had walked through them. As he walked through the dark corridors that formed the pallets, he could see traces of blood on the floor or walls through his night vision device everywhere. Then he came into the main living area. He had seen a lot of things over the years. Here in Gotham, and all those battles with the Justice League. He had defied the dark ruler himself on Darkside's home world, he had protected the throne of Atlantis from monsters in Atlantis and even picked up Superman himself. But none of this could have prepared him for that view.
In front of him lay the body parts of about 20 different people. At least he appreciated that. Even Killer Croc wouldn't have done that. He was perhaps one of the most monstrous creatures in Gotham. But even though he had already brutally killed an enemy here and there, he was not capable of such a thing. Some of Joker's helpers had literally been torn to shreds. Something with a tremendous power had been at work here. Other members of Joker's gang seemed to have been ripped apart and partly eaten by dogs. Batman knelt to one of the bodies and turned his upper body over. The body was cold, but rigor mortis hadn't set in yet. He could not see the man's face because his skull had been rammed into the ground by an extreme force. All the bones in his skull had been smashed. He got up again and slowly climbed over the body parts of the others. There were empty firearms everywhere. Cartridge casings were scattered all over and the walls and crates were dotted with bullet marks. Batman activated his optical systems and the terrain in front of him was digitally refurbished. He was called the biggest detective in the world, but he was also much better with modern technology. The internal systems were directly networked with the computer in his headquarters and offered him possibilities that even Superman would have envied. In seconds, the computer had analyzed all identifiable data and provided him with accurate statistics on the room. Whatever happened here, the Joker gang had fired out of all the pipes. He knelt next to a box and looked down the hallway. According to his analysis, whatever it was, whatever it was, had come down that corridor. Traces of fragmented crates indicated a massive explosion. He was sure that one of the gang members had thrown a grenade or used a grenade launcher.
But what was so dangerous that these gangsters used a grenade at such short range? Then he noticed something. He jumped over a makeshift and hastily erected barricade and took a closer look at a ship's container. Something had cut four deep cuts into the sheet metal. He took some pictures of these tracks. It was clearly not the handwriting of Bane or Killer Croc. The former would have thrown the whole container directly and the latter had no such claws. It could have been a kind of blade, it went through his head but he knew only a few such sharp blades. He took a closer look at the cut edges, but he could not see any metallic residues. Neither did he find any biological residues. He couldn't get anywhere here. However, he was sure that there would be a new player in Gotham. He followed the trail of the bodies and was disgusted at what had happened here. To tear a human being to pieces you needed the strength of Bane, Superman or similar creatures. Nothing here indicated that it was some kind of machine, so it must have been a life-form.
And then he found him. His oldest and most intimate enemy. For many years the Joker had played a diabolical cat and mouse game with him, sacrificing hundreds of lives. And now he was dead. He now understood why Gordon was so sure that Joker was dead. Before him, Batman saw a long table. The joker was lying on top of it and his whole belly was shredded. The intestines were scattered wildly. His right leg was torn off and lay on the ground a few meters away. The wound wasn't clean and smooth. The leg had been ripped out. With brute force. But the worst was the Joker's face. Someone had put two extremely sharp objects into his mouth and reinvented the Joker's proverbial grin. The head had been cut in two parts and yet it still looked like the joker was smiling. But that wasn't the worst.
Batman had fought the Joker more often than any other of his opponents. Even if friends of his had stood opposite the Joker, the Joker had always been completely convinced of himself. He had never even shown a trace of fear or insecurity. Certainly he had escaped one or the other time, but never out of fear. But in the dead eyes of the Joker, Batman could only see one sensation. Uncontrollable panic. They were ripped wide open and his fingers were so tense that his fingernails had drilled deep into the wood of the table. Whoever or whatever killed the Joker seemed to have enjoyed it anyway. But all of this could also be a deception, even though all of his analyses indicated that this was really the Joker. Iris scan, blood count and all the little details were identical.
There was nothing he could do here. He had all the tracks he needed and was just as smart as before. He had nothing. No information as to who or what this massacre had done.
Two weeks had passed since what the news were now calling ‘The Show Stopper’ massacre. With the Joker gone, most of the criminal underworld in Gotham had crawled back under the rocks as it were, even basic crimes like robbery and assault had gone down significantly. Although MANY of the worst offenders in the city had no love for the clown prince of crime, they did understand one fundamental truth; The Joker was a big fish in a small pond. No matter what other crime lords like the Penguin, Black Mask or Two Face were capable of, the Joker knew exactly how to up the ante. He was the top standard for what everyone else thought was absolutely insane or criminal, with no regards for morals or reason. A monster. With him gone, he left a void in the criminal underworld no one wanted to fill, and why would they? Someone or something had finally decided that enough was enough and turned him and his crew into bloody mulch. There was a new player in town, one that had no qualms about killing and whoever it was that killed the Joker and his men killed them all without firing a single shot back.
The Penguin had decided to keep a low profile after the news, shutting down some of his trade routes at the docks until the investigation was done. Sitting back in his leather couch watching the news with a glass of brandy in his gloved hand and a cigarette dangling from his thin lip, his two assistants Tracy and Candy read over the night’s business. Tracy swept her blonde hair out of her eyes, padding down the skirt of her white business suit before lifting a clipboard up to look over reports of the Penguin’s gang. “So, them crews ye got scrounging up de last bit oh yer goods at the docks finally finished… The lazy sods.” Answered Tracy in her cockney accent, checking off some papers while Candy in her dark suit skimmed through reports of her own. “Oh! Baby, that liquor shipment you wanted came in too, want it for the lounge or your private stock?” Asked the caramel skinned beauty, giving her employer a wink when she mentioned ‘private’.
Dashing his cigarette at an ashtray, Oswald sat up from his seat and hobbled over to the list, eyeing the roster with his good eye before taking another puff. “All’s private for now love, we’s gonna keep a low profile…”
“Whateva you say baby.” Turning to leave, both secretaries closed the door behind them, leaving Cobblepot alone to sit back in his chair and watch the news.
*
On the other side of town, in a half-dilapidated warehouse in the industrial sector of Gotham, Harvey Dent looked out from his office window down at the crew of men he had working overtime clearing out their goods from the Joker’s old turf and back to his two storage faculties. Two-Face looked down at the crates of weapons his men managed to make off with before the police had gotten the area cleared, he would have gotten away with more… But he lost the coin toss. Flipping his silver dollar in his left hand, Harvey watched on until one of his men knocked at his office and entered.
“We’ve got all the stuff boxed and ready boss, what’s the plan? We gonna rob a bank or something?”
Looking down to his coin, Harvey gave his father’s trick coin another flip, snatching it in the air and finding it land on its clean unscarred face. “No, we’re going to lay low for a while.”
Scratching his head in confusion, the goon closed the door behind him and stepped inside. “But boss, we’s got enough firepower to burn a good chunk of this city to the ground!”
“Half…” Corrected Two-Face, he had enough to set the lower end of the city up in flames, it was going to be one of his plans when the 22nd of February would come up in a couple months. But right now, things were uneasy, unsure. “We’re laying low until we find out who turned the clown into a damn worm feast.”
“But boss…” Grabbing the man by the scruff of his sweater, Two-Face brought the man up to look him in his eyes, forcing him to turn away at the burn scars of his left side. “I SAID WE’RE LAYING LOW! Or do YOU want to end like that smiling lunatic?”
“N-no Mr. Two-Face!”
Tossing him back hard enough to slam into the door of his office, Harvey didn’t need to look back over his shoulder to know the man ran out and slammed the door behind him. Something was coming, if it wasn’t already here already!
*
In the middle of the night at the Gotham docks, a handful of workers noticed a lone cargo ship drift into harbour, slowly but surely passing the bridge and making its way into the main harbour, where a pair of tug boats came up to steer the derelict ship to port and make dock. With a rough groan of metal, the cargo ship hit the dock and stopped, leaving a crew of workers scrambling to get it secured. “Someone get a walkway ready! See if you can tie this damn thing down.” The chief dock worker barked as his crew went immediately to work. Tipping his hard hat up to look at it, the ship was totally dark, no lights, no beacons and no response from radio when it came into view over the horizon. Like drift wood it floated into the bay without a sound.
When a walkway finally was set up and pressed against the hull of the ship, the crew didn’t know what to expect to find when they got on, but before they could make a step up the portal stairs, a lone figure stood out from the top of the derelict ship and made his way down. Those who weren’t trying to tie the ship, looked up to see a man of middle age heavily bound up in heavy cloths making his way down, almost floating down each step until he reached the bottom of the stairs and stood firmly in place, keeping anyone from heading up the ship. Apart from the black trench coat he wore, underneath he wore an extravagant green suit with a silk scarf wrapped around his neck and hanging down the middle between his coat lapels. A broad rimmed hat tanned the same colour as his suit obscured much of his face in the scant light. But what did get the dock chief’s attention were the yellow tinted sunglasses, which seemed to emit a light of their own even in the shadow of the man’s hat and dark setting.
“I take it I am in Gotham?” Asked the passenger in a thick European accent, slowly undoing his coat and folding it over his arm as he approached the man in charge.
“Yes, who are you? What is the name of this ship and why didn’t it make contact when it berthed the dockyard?”
Waving a white gloved hand up to the man to stop him there, the passenger lifted his other hand to remove his hat with a flourish of his fingers. “I… Am Count Olaf Strigoi, I came here from abroad to visit the city for… Business.” Looking around, the count took a deep breath, taking in the scents and smells of the docks and city before making a sound that seemed comparable to the growl of some jungle cat. “Your city… Is not unfamiliar with death it seems…”
“you still haven’t answered my que-“
“I have travelled the ocean aboard the S.S. Ceres… Onboard you will find a manifesto and cargo to be delivered to the desired locations within the city, I expect this to be done well before day break, do we understand one another?”
“LOOK HERE ASSHOLE! You don’t go giving me orders when you’re not the fucking captain of this floating piss pot you…” snapping back to look the man dead in the eyes, the count let slip his sunglasses to reveal his eyes, glaring into the man’s own with an intensity not unlike a predatory bird. Stunned silent, the dock chief went limp, the fire in his voice going out instantly. “Do we understand one another?” The Count asked again in the same calm tone.
“Yes… It’ll be done before day break…” Answered the man lazily.
“Good… I shall take this time to… Acclimate to my surroundings, do what you will of the ship, I no longer have need of it.” Setting his sunglasses back up and placing his hat and coat back on, the Count made his way out of the docks to disappear once he slipped out of the light of the overhead lamps. Snapping out of what felt like a dream, the chief snapped to a scream from one of his men who made his way up to the deck of the S.S. Ceres. Running up the stairs and joining the rest of his men up the deck, they all recoiled at the sight they all witnessed. One even turned around to throw up over the side.
The crew of the S.S. Ceres looked mummified! Their skin dry and cracked, almost as if they had died years ago, and yet they died still on their post. One dehydrated corpse leaned back against the side of a shipping container with two others, their skeletal hands still holding the playing cards, but the chips scattered on the deck. Another with a mop lay across the deck, where a seagull pecked disinterested at his shirt. Even the captain still had his hands on the steering wheel, his lower jaw barely hanging from its hinges like some permanent scream.
He wasn’t the only one screaming at the state of the ship.
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