Prologue

Beyond the gateway in the Valerious Manor it was always midnight. Raging storms constantly swirled over the ruins of Castle Dracula, casting the fortress in an eternal haze of ice and snow. Beyond the monolithic stone outer walls of the castle there was no life. It had lain dormant for some time now, but the northernmost tower revealed the fate of one of the castle's inhabitants.

Amidst the machines of the deceased Dr. Frankenstein lay a pile of ashes, the only remains of Count Vladislaus Dracula. They lay hardly disturbed at all, despite the merciless elements that tore through the sky above. An occasional gust of wind would cause the ashes to stir slightly, but the pile strangely lay neatly intact, as if the ashes almost wanted to stay together, bizarre as this may have seemed.

The ashes lay like that for nearly a year, until the day of Midsummer's eve, when something unduly odd occurred.

As the first stroke of midnight tolled out across the vast mountainous region of Transylvania from the many homes and towns of Romania, something began to happen. In the decrepit northernmost tower, the ashes of Vladislaus Dragulia began to stir. The movement was barely visible to the untrained eye, and even then, the movement may not have been so peculiar, if it had not been for what happened next.

As lightning stuck overhead, illuminating the tower, Count Dracula's ashes came to life. Rising up in spiraling columns, the smoky tendrils of ashes slowly began snaking themselves together, moving with a strange life of their own. They began forming themselves into a shape undoubtedly human in form. A cloud of mist encircled the tower, and when it finally cleared a man lay in replace of the ashes.

Clothed in tattered black military style clothing, the man lay unmoving on the cold stone floor. His long dark hair was pulled back away from his face, but wisps of it had come loose and now blew over his pale, striking features. For a moment it was the only movement within the tower, and then, quite suddenly, the man's eyes snapped open.

His cold, icy blue gaze slowly swept the room, and he slowly rose to his feet, swaying slightly. He examined his hands, turning them over and slowly flexing them, as if unsure he was even real.

He looked up from his hands to the machines of Frankenstein, and then to the clock face fixed to the nearest tower, ringing the third stroke of midnight. For a moment he only looked about silently, his face lacking any expression, his cold eyes unreadable. Then a slow, menacing smile crept onto his face, and Count Dracula began to laugh.

He threw back his head and laughed, his cold, sinister laughter echoing off the walls of the crumbling tower. "You have failed, Van Helsing!" Dracula shouted triumphantly. "You have failed!"

The wind mingled with his voice, creating a chilling howl that could be heard from miles off.