"Sadly," Solara says, looking down at the floor, "Mihaela was never seen again."

"Who did it?" My shock and horror make me forget to regulate my volume so Mort doesn't overhear us. It's hard to hold back the powerful emotion in my voice. "Who took her?"

"The villagers blamed everything on Dracula. They branded him as a monster, burned his castle..." She trails off, and her eyes widen. Before she can say anything else, Mort appears beside me.

"...but he was innocent," he says.

"Then who did it?" I ask, filling with empathetic rage. "Who could do such a repulsive thing?"

"Luneimaya's twin brother--Enoctsul."

"He was banished from Lunatori thousands of years ago. He committed high treason by attempting to kill the queen," Solara explains, "not to mention countless other crimes."

"He was hunted across galaxies until I put an end to his wretched existence. He died... slowly, painfully. But the truth is, no matter how much suffering I inflicted upon him, it could not heal my own. I believed by some miracle that Mihaela was alive--that by eliminating him, I could save her. I was wrong."

"I'm sorry," I tell him. "God, I'm so sorry."

With tears in his eyes, he says, "My little girl was too pure for this world. At least she is with the angels now." He walks off and stares at the black suit of armor once again. "My father would be happy to know that one of his grandchildren still lives."

"Your father was...?"

"Vlad Dracul, of course," he replies. "Funny. I was about your age when I met him. Our reunion was not under the best circumstances, unfortunately." As this last piece of information sinks in, he puts his hand on my shoulder. "They say that history is doomed to repeat itself, but I swear that I shall do everything in my power to keep you from experiencing the same pain I felt when I lost my family."

I think of Mom again--and Wilma. His words sound less like reassurance and more like a dark omen. Before I get too lost in my own head, I try to say something encouraging in return, but I can't.

"I grew up without a father--like you. I never knew my real mother either. She died giving birth to me while your grandfather was off fighting in a war. That was his armor," he says. "Want to try it on?"

"Huh?"

"I insist." He presses a button on the wall, and the glass window slides open.

"I don't think--"

"He would have wanted you to have it."

"Well," I say, feeling oddly touched. "If we're going to war with the Repkonians, I guess I could use some armor."

Solara perks up and claps her hands together. "Yay, it's Drakey's turn for dress up."

I doubt that it will fit me well, but I humor them. Solara happily helps Mort strap on the gear. I try not to blush as she wrestles with my body the same why I wrestled with hers when I changed her outfit. Once they're finished, they take a step back to look at their work.

"Oh!" Solara puts her hands over her mouth. "It's perfect."

"Almost," Mort says, holding the sword. As he presents it to me, Jeremy walks up with a box of ammunition in his arms.

"Sick, bro!"

"What the hell're y'all standin' around for?" Mags barks as she nudges him out of the way. The irritation leaves her face for a brief moment when she sees me. "Well, I'll be..."

Abe isn't as impressed as the others. "Do you know how to use that, kid?" he asks, gesturing to the sword.

I grip it tighter and look at my reflection in the blade. I didn't know if I'd still have a reflection. A vampire myth, I guess. "No," I say honestly.

Solara picks up her katanas. "I can help with that."

"Uh, I don't think so. I'll just stick with the lasers." I try to return the sword to Mort, but he halts me with his hand.

"Kryllios doesn't use guns, I'm afraid. I suggest you learn how to parry."

Clank!

Solara throws her katanas onto the sword, and my arms shake as I feel her weight push against me. I manage to break her footing using my brute force, but she quickly plants herself firmly back in place. Spinning in a circle, she gathers almost enough momentum to knock the sword out of my hands.

Clank!

"Bend your knees and your elbows," Mort instructs. "Keep the blade upright. Spread your hands further apart."

I quickly do as he says before Solara unleashes another whirlwind attack.

Clank! Clank!

"Don't just stand there!" Mags yells at me. "Keep moving so you're not such an easy target."

I stumble trying to step to the right, but Mort catches me. He lifts me back onto my feet and folds his arms. "Look for an opening and strike."

"I don't want to hurt you!" I shout, dodging out of the way of Solara's katanas.

"You're afraid of hurting me?" she says playfully. "No offense, Drakey, but I think you should be more worried about hurting yourself."

"Gyah!" I thrust the blade forward, but it only hits the empty space between her hip and forearm.

"Try again." Light as a dancer, she slides herself behind me. It's impossible to turn my head with this helmet on, so I quickly pivot my whole body to keep my sights on her.

I swing the blade diagonally towards her shoulder, but she drops down low to the floor and sweeps her leg against mine. My sword falls onto the floor next to me. Defeated, I look up at Mort who offers me his hand.

"Are you feeling weak? Is the thirst catching up to you?"

"No, I don't think so," I answer. "I'm just not a sword person, I guess."

"Don't give up so quickly, my son." He removes another blade from the display rack. "You've not yet drawn your first blood."

Mags rolls her eyes and says, "We don't have time for you boys to play around with your swords."

"Don't worry," Mort tells her, getting into combat stance in front of me. "We'll stop as soon as Drake lands a strike." Instinctively, I use my super speed to pick up the sword before he shreds me to pieces. "All you have to do is hit me," he says, twirling his blade.

"But--"

"Go on!" He clanks it against mine. "Give me a good jab!" The second time our weapons clash, he almost knocks the sword out of my hands. "Don't be afraid!" With two hands on the hilt, he raises his sword over my head.

"Ahh!" Before he slices me in two, I plunge the sword directly into his stomach.

"Ouch," he says, looking down at the hilt sticking out of him.

"Oh, shit. Shit, shit. I'm sorry!"

Mort grabs the hilt, and with a grunt of pain, he pulls the sword out. He unbuttons his shirt and peels away his bottom layer to reveal very pale but notably carved abs. Above his belly button is a ghastly wound, but it disappears almost instantaneously as he lets out a sigh of relief.

"Are you all right?" Solara asks, gently touching his chest.

He places his hand on top of hers and grins. "I've been through worse."

"Ahem," I say, trying to fight off the sudden awkward silence. "Are we going to talk about what just happened?" Solara and Mort look at each other sheepishly. "I'm talking about the fact that you just got stabbed."

"Ah, yes," Mort says, buttoning his shirt again. "Regenerative power--the greatest advantage at your disposal. I have demonstrated this so you will remember; should you be injured, do not panic."

"Does it hurt?" I ask, lifting off the helmet.

"Like hell," he answers honestly, "but it passes rather quickly."

"Not quick enough." Flustered, Mags checks her watch. "Everyone, get your ass in gear!"

Beep. Beep.

"What now?" Mags grumbles.

Beep. Beep.

Mort looks at the glowing device on his wrist. "I'm getting a call."

"From where?" Solara asks.

"Repkonia."