Walachia
Year 1462

The fields of battle were covered with bodies, those of the dead and the still dying. Blood stained the earth, while, high in the air, mounted upon long pikes, the bodies of not only the dead, but the living as well were hung up, impaled to suffer a slow and painful end.

But one man still walked in the grounds of death. His long blackish-brown hair was spread out, lying upon his shoulders, and in his hands was held a long pike, merely waiting for the next victim of his cruel methods. He looked about, seeking his next foe, for surely, after all that he had done, nothing could now stop him.

"Tepes, you have been judged!"

The voice was familiar to him, and he turned. The man before him was one he knew well. Bright lit blue eyes gazed at the man known as the Impaler, and while this man's brown hair was long, reaching to his shoulders, it was much lighter in tone. In his hand right hand was a sword, the blade almost seeming to glow as he approached his enemy.

"By the word of God," he said, halting for but a moment. "You have been judged...and you are guilty!"

The other man laughed, holding his pike now as a staff while looking to this man he'd thought he knew. "So," he remarked, eyes sparking with interest. "It is true then. You are who they said you were." He paused a moment. "I suppose that my sentence is repentance?"

Despite the laugh of his target, the younger looking man gave no sign of amusement. In fact, the expression upon his face was one of total seriousness. He took another step toward the man who was named Vlad the Impaler. "There is no redeeming your acts," he replied with a tone devoid of emotion. "In the name of God, his Son, and all that is in Heaven, you have been sentenced to Damnation, Vlad Tepes Dracula!"

Tepes saw that he had no way out of this battle. He recognized who and what he faced. Now, despite his earlier thoughts of undisputed victory, Vlad Tepes was afraid. The man before him felt like the wrath of God, and if the stories and what he even now witnessed were true, such a comparison was not at all far off.

His sword was drawn forth. The pike was thrown to the ground, and Vlad Tepes began what he knew would most likely be his last battle. The steel of his blade was the best in all of Eastern Europe, but it did not avail him when the glowing sword of his enemy cut through like a hot knife through butter. There was a flash of pain mere moments later, and as Vlad stepped away, screaming, he found that his right ring finger was gone, as was the ring he wore.

The shining blade rose again when the man rose from picking up Vlad's lost finger. "Proof of your sentence," he said. With a quick movement, he removed the ring, now holding it tightly in his right hand while his left continued to hold the red bladed sword. He took a step toward Tepes. "And now, I carry out my Judgment."

He snarled at the man he once thought of as a friend, a brother in arms. "I swear this," he said angrily. "With not God, but the Devil as my witness, I will rise from beyond death and haunt you forever, Gabriel!" He pointed at the man with his still uninjured left hand. "May you never return to the Gates of Heaven so long as I walk upon the Earth!"

The man halted for a moment. "May you burn for your heresy," he stated just before swinging his sword and cleaving through the neck of Vlad Tepes. A swarm of black feathers billowed out while lightning flashed in the sky, thunder clapping almost instantaneously.

However, even as the body of Vlad Tepes hit the ground in death, there was the stench of corruption, and the man who had passed the Judgment of Heaven felt the presence of total evil. He turned, looking for any sign of what caused that feeling, but he need not see it to know what had arrived; Vlad's oath had summoned this presence. His duty here was done, but he almost refused to depart, wanting to finish one other task.

But he could not. A deep and powerful voice echoed from within him, ordering him to leave the battlefield. The man hesitated, looking to where Vlad's body lay. There was a shimmer now standing before the body, one that had the foul stench of Hellfire on it. Turning and vanishing, the man departed, leaving no trace of his presence save the black feathers that landed in the spot where he had stood.