"Gabriel…"

He shifted in his bed.

"Ohhh, Gabriel…"

"Muhhh…I killed you…."

"Gaaaabriel…"

He shifted harder.

"GABRIEL!" He woke up with a start.

It was raining outside of London, thunder growling in the sea of dark clouds. Van ran his fingers through his hair to calm down his breathing. It felt as though he had killed Dracula only yesterday, but in fact, it had been over five months since he had bitten Dracula's neck in his werewolf form.

So he had done his usual thing: killing gargoyles that came to life, exterminating gremlins from plumbing works, and exorcised demons that hoarded the cathedrals; the usual stuff. Sure, he had gotten a few bruises from his work, but the bite mark still remained on his chest.

Trying to calm his nerves down, Van got out of bed and walked to his window, watching the sheets of rain trickle down his window. A horse- drawn carriage clopped along the drenched cobblestone road as it tried to get out of the rain. Van looked to the churning clouds, and began to ask his questions once more.

Why me, he thought. Why am I the amnesiac who has to save the world? Why don't I get any thanks? He sighed as he went over to his red leather armchair, and lifted his hat up. He started to reminisce about when he had placed it on Anna's head to keep her out of the rain.

"I hate the rain." He rubbed his thumb on the rim before dropping the hat on top of his leather coat and vest.

He still couldn't bring himself to forgive for what happened at Count Dracula's castle. The only thing that coursed through him was madness; utter chaos. He tried to stop himself, but the feral section of his mind had possessed him with an intoxicated urge to kill. Even though Anna had administered the antidote, it was a suicide attempt, and she had paid the price.

Van shook his head as he wiped the tear that tried to escape his eye. It was the past; it could not be changed. What happened, happened. And he had to live with it, whether he liked it or not. He sat down on the edge of his bed, holding a cross between his fingers.

It wasn't his fault…and yet, it was.

He rid himself of the thought, and placing the cross back on his nightstand, he went back to sleep.

"Oh, God, what is it this time?" Van Helsing took the notice from the floor of his apartment when evening came next day.

He tore the parchment off of the envelope, and pulled out the slip of paper.

"Oh, not again! I told them I should have just killed him and be done with it! Oh, why doesn't anybody listen!?" He grabbed his coat angrily as he threw down the notice that stated that an Irish werewolf was roaming freely in the city.

"Cian, I hate to do this." Van inserted six silver bullets into his personally made pistols, and spun the barrel into place.

He was waylaying for the werewolf to approach his next target. The creature had escaped from prison in its human form, and had already murdered ten civilians, including two cats. The murders, obviously, had been blamed on him for he was the only one present when he found what was left of the wolf's victims. He had positioned himself against the base of the west face of the Big Ben clocktower, hiding in the moon's shadow. The air was misty and held a strange electrical sense to it, making Van's hair tingle with anticipation. He knew the wolf was going to strike here so it could hide.

The creature ate the women's heart hungrily, it's beryl yellow eyes livid with feral insanity. Rabid saliva dripped from its carnivorous jaws as its yellowed fangs sung into the cardiac flesh. Its orange red mane of fur was soaked in his victim's blood, marking that his hunt was successful.

He was about to start on the legs when he heard a click. Its pointed ears swiveled in the direction of the sound, and the wolf crouched down in the shadows of the lamplight nearby. He saw the gleam of a pistol barrel in his reflecting eyes, and prepared to lunge from above.

Van held his pistol close to his chest, his breath coming out in jets of mist. He looked around the corner to see the eleventh victim, or what the wolf hadn't finished. He smelled the blood and knew that it was a fresh kill; the werewolf had to be close. He waited patiently, trying to figure out where the creature was hiding. Was it raining?

He held out his hand to check, and what fell into it made him rigid. Sitting in the palm of his hand was blood mixed with saliva. Van swung up his pistol and fired just as the wolf lunged for him. It grazed the creature's shoulder, and it began its climb into the clocktower. Van drew out his grappling gun, and fired, catching at least a hundred feet of cord. Hooking the gun to his belt, he grabbed the wire with both hands and began running up the west face of Big Ben.

The wolf was already fifty feet out of reach, leaping ten feet a minute. It sunk its claws into the metalwork of the clock as it climbed all the way to the face. It began to rain.

Van didn't realize how high he was until he reached the rim of the west clockface. Balancing himself, he turned to see part of the face's glass smashed in. Wiping the rain out of his eyes, he entered into the organs of the clock.

Gears and chains pulsed throughout the clocktower, chinking and thumping to the tower's heartbeat.

Tick, tock, tick, tock…

He drew out his loaded pistol, and kept a steady hand as he stepped onto a large horizontal gear.

Tick, tock, tick, tock…

In the shadows, a huge figure wedged itself into two gears to be kept from being seen. Van was keeping a 360° view so that he wasn't to be surprised, holding his gun outward. A sudden growl was heard, and Van swung around to face it, but saw nothing.

Tick, tock, tick, tock…

Outside, the moon was being curtained with wispy clouds.

A chain rattled, and Van stealthily approached, pulling back the hammer. The figure rushed out, and grabbed Van's ankles, tripping him. He felt back on the rotating gear, and looked up to see a shabby man who wore very little.

"Please, Mr. Van Helsing!" The man was on his knees, his hands locked above his head in forgiveness, "don't shoot me! Please!"

"Mr. Cian McDougal, you are under arrest by the Holy Order for the murder of three men, five women and three cats, and for the escape from-" Cian looked horrified, but not at Van.

He turned to see the moon flaring through the clouds.

"If you value your life, you will run from me, Helsing!" The man slammed his back against a vertical gear, crying out in pain.

Van turned back and stood shocked against the transformation. Sure, he had been one himself, but he never torn off his skin as this creature was doing. Cracking from bones only added to the madness that consumed the man's eyes. It rose up on its hind legs, and bellowed out a howlish roar, saliva flying out in all directions. Van stood firm against the creature's attempts to scare him.

"Well, I'm sorry you feel that way, but this is my job." Before he could pull the trigger, the creature leapt over his shoulders, and kicked him square in the back as it made for the rafters.

His pistol spun out of his hand, and teetered on the edge of a gear. Van recovered from the hit, and tried to scuttle for his gun, but it fell into the heart of the clock gears. Seeing Van vulnerable, the wolf leapt for him, but drew back as a Tojo blade sliced through some of the sinew in its arm, drawing blood. What came next was a jumble of blades and claws followed by cries and howls of pain. Van had a bleeding scratch running down his left temple as he grabbed a chain that was winding upwards. The wolf leapt after him, blood smeared over the brass of the gears. Just as Van was making for the bells of the clock, he leapt off and grabbed onto a clockwork gear that made the hands turn. The wolf, however, rammed into the bell, its howls mixing with the thrum of the stricken bell. Van thought he was all right before he realized his fingers were stuck in the teeth of the gear, and it was moving inwards. The wolf was recovering as well.

He jerked and tugged, but his hands weren't giving way. He yelled, but that wasn't going to help.

The wolf shook its head furiously as it regained its wits. It looked up and saw that Van Helsing was trapped. He hissed in pleasure, and sharpened its claws on the bell. It charged, pure hatred glaring in its beady yellow eyes. He jumped and grappled Van, unhooking his fingers before they were to be crushed in the gears, and pinned him to the South wall.

The wolf squalled in his face, blood and saliva splattering against his eyes. Van had to think quickly. The wolf raised a clawed paw and brought it down on Van's head. It let out a scream of pain as its paw thudded to the other end. Van whipped the Tojo blade away and pulled out his other pistol, and pulled the trigger.

The wolf staggered to stand up, but it was determined to take Van with him to hell. He blindly charged for Van, and performed a lariat strike on him with his one good arm. They both fell backwards, smashing the West face to pieces as they fell five hundred feet below. The wolf shrieked its requiem as its body was smashed against the pavement below. The moon vanished behind the clouds, and Cian's body was reverted back to its human form; he was missing a hand, had a bullet wound in his chest and was covered it slash marks. The authorities and nearby pedestrians rushed over to the scene as the rain began to fall again.

Van opened his eyes, water splashing against his beaten face. He looked down to notice that he was hanging five hundred feet in the air, his arm wrapped around his grappling gun's wire. His shoulder screamed in pain, and he realized that the sudden grab of the wire had dislocated his arm from his shoulder. Blood slid off his face as he performed a one handed cross and whispered his Latin prayer.

"Murderer!"

"Look!"

Van saw heads turn to look at him hanging precariously from the ruined west face.

"VAN HELSING!!!" It almost sounded like they were idolizing him.

Reaching for his hat that was hooked on his left boot, he placed it one his head.

"You're welcome."