"God of Second Chance"
Work: Van Helsing
Character(s): Van Helsing and Lucifer
Category: Angst/horror
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: hints of slash (Dracula/Van Helsing)
When done with me
Forget if you think I feel ashamed
A wild thing
Never felt sorry for anything
--Nightwish
Life has left me, and yet I am conscious once more. The night is dark around me; the stars shine down coldly and without feeling. The wind is soft and mournful. I stand, staggering to my feet. The fresh wound in my back makes it painful to move.
I am confused. If I am dead, then why do I linger? Was I a sinner with a semblance of virtue, not worthy of Heaven but not deserving of Hell? Am I destined to wander forever, caught between realms?
I lift a hand to shove my disheveled hair out of my eyes, and gasp at the sight. The third finger is gone, as is my ring. Suddenly I understand.
"Why, Gabriel?" I cry to the darkness. My eyes sting with the revelation that the demands of the Order were more important to Gabriel than anything.
"Poor wretch," a voice says behind me. I turn to see a figure approaching, trying to ignore the searing pain I feel at the quick movement. He appears to be cloaked in shadow, melting into the blackness of the surrounding woods. "Poor abandoned soul." He grows close enough for me to see his face in the pale light of the moon and starts. It is fair, but his eyes are cruel.
"Who are you?" I ask, but as soon as the words leave me, I know. He is the one we have all been taught to scorn and reject: the first among the fallen, the Lord of Hell himself.
He offers a devious smile, revealing a mouth of too-perfect white teeth. "You may call me your god of second chance," he says mysteriously. His cloak flickers and licks at the ground like black fire.
"Second chance?" I say. His voice is harsh, yet so enticing... "No! Leave me be!" I look away from him, remembering to whom I am speaking, remembering my scruples. I wish he would just leave – what could he want from me?
He hardly looks as though he intends to leave; he begins to circle me as if sizing me up. As he comes within a meter of me I can feel the pain dripping off him; I feel as if all I know is despair.
I have never been so frightened. I desperately reach into my pocket and pull out a rosary. Shakily, I begin to pray: "Our Father, who art in Heaven—"
He appears before me; I am unable to continue. "They do not want you, Vladislaus: a heretic! a sinner! a blasphemer! Your prayers fall upon deaf ears."
"What do you want from me?" I demand. "If truly I am what you say, if you are here to personally see me to my place in Hell, be done with it!"
"That is hardly the case," he says, leering at me patiently. "Rather, I came with a proposition for you, hoping you might be interested." His eyes bore into mine; I can only stand it for so long and I look away.
He sighs. "But never mind it; it is clear to me that such a pious man as yourself would not be interested. Clinging to these shreds of faith – how very quaint of you. But it is your death, after all; I suppose you can make what you like of it."
There are several minutes of silence. Carefully, I weigh my options in my head, and discover there are only two paths to take: to accept, or to deny. To accept would be wrong, so say my conscience and the voices of nearly everyone I have ever known. Gabriel would never have done such a thing... yet, I had also thought that Gabriel would never have done me any harm.
To deny would surely be the end, and I am reluctant to succumb to the embrace of Death. I struggle with this, glancing up every so often to see him still standing there expectantly with his eyes fixed on me, as if he has all the time in the world and he knows that I do not.
I cannot face the end now; there is so much left undone, so much left unsaid. Surely there is no harm in just listening, I assure myself. I sigh softly, my decision made.
"What sort of proposition?" I ask quietly.
His gaze promises something, but reveals nothing. "Let us go someplace where we can talk."
Suddenly we are no longer in the clearing in the woods, but in a chamber, a hall lined with stone columns. I am awed by what I see, hardly daring to breathe in the ominous environment. The hall itself is dim, and one end stretches off into darkness; at the other end a great throne sits, lit as with unseen fire. The mighty pillars are strangely shaped and in shadow; I approach the nearest one and tentatively touch it – it feels hot on my skin. I pull my hand back as I realize that protruding from the columns are carvings of twisted, shrieking human forms: a tribute to the damned. It is utterly silent, and this is perhaps the most disturbing of everything. I had expected to hear the screams of tormented souls, but now I swear I can hear my own heart beating.
I am terrified. "A slow day in Hell?" I say, desperate to break the heavy quiet.
He laughs softly. "No, no. Even I need a place away from everything out there, a place where I can think undisturbed. I am sure you can understand that." I nod. "Now," he says. His cloak melts into two great wings; he sits and looks down at me contemplatively from his raised throne. "Let us get our facts in order. Who was it who killed you?"
I close my eyes. "Gabriel." I picture his face and find that I still love it. "It was Gabriel Van Helsing."
"Quite," he agrees. "And you two were, shall we say, close, as I understand it?"
"He is my dearest friend. My life, my love."
"Not anymore," he says bluntly. I say nothing. I wish some other sound would shatter the infinite silence of this hall. But he speaks again, and his voice is soft. "True friends do not betray one another, nor do those truly in love." The implication is all too clear.
"But—" I begin. He stops me.
"You overstepped the lines of the Knights of the Holy Order, Vladislaus. You did as I did." A wry smile. "You rebelled, and now you have fallen."
"There was no heresy in anything I did!" I protest. "Not in the first place! They imprisoned me for no reason – I only committed murder to escape from their injustice!"
"You killed the two monks who were guarding your cell because they got in your way," he corrects me. "Now it does not bother me, of course, but then, the Order are the ones who decide what is just. According to their principles you deserved to be punished even before that, and the second the life left those two you were already marked as dead. And it would appear your precious Gabriel shares their views despite of everything." He spits the name out like a foul curse. Even as one abandoned, I mentally object. "You were betrayed by an angel and left with nothing."
My chest tightens. "My angel..."
"Don't be lovesick," he snaps. "I mean angel in every sense of the word." I do not understand. "Did you never see why the good Mr. Van Helsing was always reborn to fight for the Order which needs him so desperately? Did you never realize who he truly was?"
In one terrible moment I do see – and it is too much for a human mind to process at once.
"The Left Hand of God," I whisper. I cannot make myself believe it, although I know it to be true. My Gabriel, the archangel? How? I sink to my knees, confused. Despite my best efforts I begin to weep openly, forgetting where I am and who sits watching me. There are only me and revelation.
"But he loved me, Goddamnit, he loved me!" I scream to all the other poor souls in the hall, giving voice to their stony mouths. I do not know how long I kneel there in desperation; they say that no time passes in the realm of Lucifer.
"At some time I am sure he did," he eventually says, rising and approaching me. "But there also comes a time to face the truth." He gazes down at me in my misery.
"Forgive me, Lightbringer," I say, trying to even my breathing.
"What for?" he responds. "You are not the first to have wept in Hell, nor the first to have been betrayed. Rise a wiser man," he commands me. I obey, feeling strangely understood. I regret what I did, but all I wanted was freedom. Why would they deny me that? Why would Gabriel not want that for me? Love has turned to hurt.
"You... you said you had a proposition for me?" I say, now thinking more boldly.
"Ah, yes. A second chance."
"At what?" I inquire with magnified curiosity.
"At life." He returns to his throne as the words settle.
"You will give me my life back?" My voice is breathless, greedy. I step forward.
"In a manner of speaking." His eyes dance with generous malevolence. "Your life was cut short by an organization of God. You were slain by the archangel for your crimes. I think it obvious where you would be spending your afterlife."
I swallow and wonder what I did that merited imprisonment. Is there no mercy in God? How much did the cardinal know about Gabriel and me? And if he did know, is love such a sin? Hurt has turned to resentment.
"You are here all the same, and yet instead of torture I offer you life; I offer you wings."
I am torn – one side of me is screaming to reject this devil and take my due punishment; the other side is interested, not wishing for life to end. "What do you mean?" I ask cautiously.
He leans forward, looking at me intently. "You shall rise to walk the earth again, in human form if you should wish it, but you shall not be as a mortal. You shall exist as one undead, as a vampire."
He pauses a moment to let the full weight of his words sink in. A vampire? One of the blood-drinkers I have slain myself? They are monsters, unholy creatures, said to be the Devil's children. I imagine the fearsome guise I would wear; I imagine feeding on the blood of others. At first I am repulsed – but then I think, why should I have any feelings left for the rest of the world? It abandoned me, drove me to desperation, not the reverse. I have every right to want my revenge. Resentment has turned to anger.
"Go on," I say, hoping my voice does not shake.
He gives a leering smile once more, and this time I do not fear it. "You shall not be like the vampires you have hunted, so petty and weak. You shall be the strongest of them all, immortal and virtually indestructible."
"Virtually?" I ask. This is a serious matter, and virtually is not good enough.
"There must be balance, you see," he explains. "The earthly workers of Heaven and Hell cannot be omnipotent. You shall have but one bane: the bite of a werewolf. A small catch, you must admit."
I nod. It is acceptable. I feel the want for revenge permeating my mind and body. If I cannot have it soon...
"Vengeance shall be yours," he says, as if he can read my thoughts, "and it shall be sweet. You shall do my work, but you shall be free, and unstoppable!"
That which I have wanted is now at my fingertips. It shall be sweet.
"Now, you have heard me. Do you accept?"
I barely stop to think, although I know exactly what I am doing. I will do this, and I will not regret it. "I accept, Lord."
He looks pleased, and there is pure evil in his look. "Yes, I shall give you wings, Vladislaus; and you shall be feared by those who wronged you. You shall be my finest and most terrible creation: Dracula." He stands. "Step forth and kneel." I obey, the pain in my back but a minor annoyance. "Deny your Maker, and declare your allegiance to he who shall give you life anew."
I speak and the words flow unimpeded. "God the Creator is no longer my Father. I go not to Him for guidance, and ask nothing of Him. He is dead to me, as I am dead to the world. I, Vladislaus Valerious, take the name of Dracula, and I ally myself with a giver of new life: Lucifer called the Morningstar, Lord of Hell, now and forever." I look up at him; he nods once in approval and I rise again.
"Come to me," he orders. I go to him, standing on the wide step below his mighty throne. He holds out his hand; I understand I am to take it. Bold and without pause, I take his left hand with mine.
The touch of his skin is like fire and needles; my flesh feels as though it is burning. I twist in the pain, which only increases tenfold as I feel his other hand thrusting into the wound in my back. I cannot help but cry out. It is the pain of the damned, the pain of death, the pain of falling. They say that no time passes in Hell, but there is eternity in those few moments.
He takes both hands away, and I half-stumble back down to the floor. From the wound I feel something pushing, something growing, burning me. A pair of wings erupts from it and unfolds, spreading wide and mighty. The rest of my body changes as well: flesh melts, bones slide, and I grow, becoming stronger. My mouth is filled with teeth like slender knives, made only for killing. I bellow in my might as the transformation is completed. I feel alive once more, and so hungry. I need to destroy; I need to kill. I will serve willingly the one who has given me this gift: my god of second chance. I will despise and destroy the light. Anger has turned to hatred.
"Enough," my lord commands. I do not wish to leave this powerful form, but I do as he says, returning to my human body though I am human no more. My back is healed. He sits again, satisfied. "Come," he says lazily. "I will heal your hand for you."
I look at the stub that remains of my third finger. A trail of blood has left it and has begun to slide down my palm. I wipe it away with another finger and gingerly place it in my mouth.
I smile. "No," I say. He looks mildly surprised. "Let me bear it as a scar of my betrayal. Someday, Gabriel will come after me, no doubt, and then… if he will not have me… I will destroy him."
He looks at me with serene madness. "So be it, my son."
Fin.
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