Ultra-detailed Face Closeup portrait of Count Dracula at the zenith of his monstrous glory—a sovereign of blood and shadows. His face is a masterpiece of predatory perfection: razor-sharp cheekbones cutting through the gloom, skin like polished alabaster stretched taut over immortal muscle. Twin hellfire eyes burn with the accumulated malice of six centuries, their crimson glow casting jagged reflections across his (blackened silver pauldrons:1.4). A crown of fused vertebrae and impaled saints rests upon his brow, each bone fragment whispering forgotten curses. His mouth is a wound of perfect violence—lips black as a hanged man's tongue part to reveal fangs that drip with a slow, deliberate venom. The air around him roils with (coagulated blood-mist:1.5), swirling in vortex patterns as if the very atmosphere kneels before him. His armored gorget is carved with scenes of massacres, the grooves packed with centuries-old ash. One gauntleted hand crushes a still-beating heart, its arteries dangling like puppet strings, while the other grips a flayed corpse's spine as a scepter. Behind him, a cathedral of writhing shadows arches upward—ribs of a long-dead god repurposed as his throne. (Screaming faces press outward from the walls:1.6), their mouths sewn shut with his hair. The floor is a mosaic of shattered holy symbols, each fragment grinding to dust beneath his boots. This isn’t a king—this is the reason graves have locks.