It was always the same, Dracula thought bitterly. Just as he's revived, along comes some annoying little twat with a hero complex to kill him. 'Stop killing people' they would whine. 'Stop making people your slaves'. It's not like the filthy humans didn't deserve it.

He'd try to justify his actions, but they would shoot him down with their heroic ideals and their glamorised principles of 'friendship' and 'teamwork'. So then he'd have to fight them but, try as he might, he couldn't stop using a predictable pattern. It wasn't really his fault. He hadn't fought in years, so to try anything but the familiar was dangerous.

He'd fight them and they'd win and go home feeling fan-fucking-tastic about themselves. And what did he get? Another hundred years of oblivion.

Every. Fucking. Time.

And here he was again. Another hundred years, another resurrection, another god dammed Belmont climbing the castle to kill him.

He was fed up of it.

He didn't bother saying anything as he was revived. Just took the proffered by Death and sat in the throne, waiting.

"Everything's ready," Death told him, "and don't worry about Belmont, he's fighting Cerberus now."

Five minutes later, Cerberus was dead.

"Axe armour will get him," Death said.

That ended rather predictably, too. Death didn't even bother acting shocked this time.

"I'm sure the giant poison dart frog in the sewers will do it," Death offered.

Dracula looked at Death with a raised eyebrow.

"Probably not," Death conceded.

Belmont climbed the castle, slaying everything in his path. They always did that, too, and they had the gall to call Dracula the monster. Fucking hypocrites. How many people had Dracula actually gotten to kill this millennium, anyway? Very few is the answer, yet they tore through the castle and still claimed to have the moral high ground when facing him.

Death himself went to confront Belmont next. After assuring Dracula he would succeed, he swept from the room wielding his scythe. To no surprise of Dracula's, he didn't return.

Dracula sat alone and swirled around the wine in the wine glass. It wouldn't be long now. The Belmont would probably be taking moral support from his allies before the final confrontation about now.

The door began to slide open as Dracula drained the wine glass and tossed it aside, standing from the throne.

Big smiles, it's Showtime.