Reincarnated as Dracula’s Son

From his earliest childhood memories, Damian harbored an inexplicable dislike to the sun's harsh rays. The golden orb, so often revered as a symbol of warmth and vitality, cast a shadow of discomfort and unease over him. As his friends played in the midday heat, Damian would seek refuge in the shade, his pale skin was a result of his preference for darkness over light. Even on the brightest of days, he would shield himself from the sun's glare, preferring to bask in the solace of cooler, dimmer corners.

To prevent exposure to the sun's powerful rays, Damian often retreated indoors, seeking the comfort of shaded rooms and air-conditioned spaces. On the rare occasions when he had to go outside, he shielded himself with an umbrella, but this habit earned him cruel mockery from his peers. They found it odd and unmanly for a boy to be so averse to the sun's light, and their taunts only fueled Damian's isolation and insecurity

As Damian trudged down the sun-drenched sidewalk with his faithful umbrella in hand, a sneering young boy, barely past his childhood years, called out to him in a taunting voice: "Hey sissy!"

With a steely glare and unflinching determination, Damian responded with a withering retort, his words laced with venomous defiance: "Your dad's a sissy!"

And with a flick of his wrist, he offered a single-finger salute to the boy, the universal sign of disdain and disregard.

Damian did not hesitate to unleash his verbal abuse at those who dared to confront him.

However, his courage faltered when faced with a larger foe. He knew his small frame and umbrella-wielding ways would not fare well against a larger adversary, and so he kept his sharp tongue in check when confronted with such a formidable opponent.

On this particular afternoon, the sun's sweltering heat had begun to fade, but it still clung to the air like a merciless beast, its oppressive warmth beating down on the city streets.

Shielded from the lingering sun by the trusty umbrella that served as both a comfort and a point of ridicule, Damian walked with a defiant gait, turning a blind eye to the curious gazes of passersby as he made his way toward the familiar sight of his humble house, a modest yet cozy building that provided him with the respite he so desperately craved.

As Damian climbed the steps of his home, the sanctuary from the scorching sun that he so disliked, he greeted his mother with a casual tone "Hey mom."

In response, his mother, a caring woman with a heart as warm as the rays that beat upon the city streets, returned his greeting with a tender caress of love and affection. "Hey sweetie," she replied, a maternal affection evident in her voice. "How was school?"

It was fine. Damian replied, he offered a nonchalant shrug and retreated to the sanctuary of his bedroom.

It was not that he had anything on his mind or he was in a bad mood, it was just that lately, he had grown increasingly disinterested in engaging in idle chatter with his family members, choosing to burrow himself deeper and deeper into his own introspective thoughts and his own personal world.

As he took off his clothes, Damian found himself embracing the allure of his bed, its soft embrace a refuge from the tired of walking from school.

Yet, just as his head hit the pillow and his body melted into the plush mattress, a shrill voice echoed from the other side of the door, breaking his fleeting moment of rest: "Damian!" his mother's cry pierced the silence, reverberating through the hallways like a siren's call.

With a heavy sigh and an unspoken curse directed toward the heavens above, Damian slumped deeper into his bed, his irritation mounting as he grappled with the unwelcome intrusion of his mother's summoning.

"For Christ sakes!" he muttered under his breath, his frustration mounting at the seeming ill-timed nature of his mother's calls.

Why, he pondered in exasperation, did her voice only ring out to call him when he had finally found a moment of peace and rest, like a thunderbolt shattering the serene silence of a summer storm?

As he debated whether to ignore his mother's call or to reluctantly respond to her demands, Damian's irritation grew like a weed, its roots spreading deeper into the cracks of his mood.

Why, he wondered in annoyance, did his mother insist on summoning him in person rather than simply shouting her instructions from across the hall? Was she, perhaps, subtly reminding him of his place in the familial hierarchy, reinforcing her position of authority by requiring him to present himself before her to receive her commands?

With the faintest of groans and the heavy shuffle of slippered feet, Damian emerged from his bedroom to attend to his mother's presence.

As he entered her presence, she sat with a serene air of nonchalance, engrossed in the intricacies of her crossword puzzle, her attention scarcely acknowledging his arrival."The trash needs to be taken out," she said , her words a casual dismissal of his time and effort as she continued her absorption in the puzzle before her.

As he hefted the awakward bag of refuse, its contents a sordid collection of his family's discarded remnants, Damian released a sigh of weariness and resignation, his shoulders drooping with the weight of his mother's demands.

And as he threw the bag into the awaiting dump, a faint but insistent rumble reached his ears, signally the arrival of a car on the street beyond his home.

With a curious gaze, Damian's eyes tracked the movements of the dark, mysterious car as it maneuvered down the street and into the driveway of his neighbor's home, its presence piquing his interest and stirring a sense of intrigue within him.

"Interesting," he muttered under his breath.

He knew what it meant when a car pulled up randomly to his neighbor's like that.

The car doors swung open, revealing the shadows of its occupants.