Carl trembled from the force of the evil he was feeling, reflected and spread among all the men of the Order. There was no doubt now, that this was the being that had hunted them, pursuing the Spear; horror and realization reflected in the eyes of men round the room, and Carl steeled his features.

The creature took its time, gazing languidly around the room, its malicious gaze lighting ever so briefly on each man, chilling them to the bone and freezing the blood in their veins. The fact that it wore a facsimile of humanity made it all the more awful, and Carl shivered, gripping Michael's hand tightly. The small fingers were cold, the little body pressed against his leg quivering.

Then, it opened a red mouth and laughed. The sound rolled through the room, growing as it echoed, swelling into a cacophonous chorus that reverberated through the souls of the mortals pushing themselves against the walls. But it was even worse when the creature trailed off and began to speak.

Hissing sibilants and howled vowels, in a language never meant for mortal hearing, was virulently spat out by the thing, aimed as a weapon toward them. Carl was not the only one whose face wrenched in agony at the sound, and was only one of many who doubled over, clutching their ears in a futile attempt to block the horrendous noise. It was no use – the evil sound slithered into their minds, beating at their spirits with a terrible power.

One word, as alien as the rest, cut through the chaos of sound as if it didn't exist, in that moment erasing it from existence. This word was eerily similar to the ones the creature had hurled at them, but carried with it a force of goodness and healing that straightened the men's spines and brought tears of gladness to their eyes.

Blinking his vision clear, Carl leant against the stone behind him, mindlessly stroking Michael's hand as the boy shook beside him. Gaspar was panting harshly at his other side, and the eyes of all observers were riveted to the scene unfolding in front of them.

The creature stomped forward several paces, speaking once more. This time, the words were aimed at Van Helsing, and those watching felt only the edge of the malice. The hunter responded, words of calmness and peace flowing gracefully from him, bolstering the mortals in the room.

The pleasant river of sound was abruptly cut off by a snarl, and the creature launched itself forward.

Before Carl actually realized what he was seeing, the battle was joined. The two figures moved with unmatched speed, darting and dodging in a silent, lethal dance of terrifying beauty. The illusion was shattered when the hunter landed the first blow, and the creature was hurled back, on its feet almost immediately with renewed ferocity.

Back and forth they grappled, engaging and retreating, circling warily, only to return to the offensive once more. They traded strike for blow, evenly matched in strength and skill. Pews were crushed, obliterated by the power of their blows, bodies being thrown through the wood with pulverizing force. It was eerily silent. The combatants' feet made no noise against the slick stone, and the expected sound of ragged breathing was disconcertingly absent. The only noise was that of flesh impacting flesh, and sometimes wood or stone.

Both men were bloodied now, cuts and bruises ignored as each remained warily focused on the other. The creature shot forward with shocking speed, a roar tearing past its lips, and Gabriel twisted away from the onslaught, turning his evasion into a motion that threw the creature past him and onto the raised dais behind him.

The sturdy altar was swept from the dais, and there was a moment of respite for the hunter, who waited for the creature to pick himself up from the debris of heavy stone and twisted metal. He was breathing hard – and the white-clad man smirked at the sight, not even winded. The brief victory was turned into something more, in that moment before they rejoined the fight; a visceral test of wills, the two beings staring intently at one another with thought for nothing but battle.

Gabriel climbed the few stairs to the platform, and they continued to lock gazes, until some hidden signal had them simultaneously charging to clash into the most violent confrontation yet. Close-quarters, they grappled, ripping and tearing. Blood flowed, the sharp crack of breaking bone split the air. A silent concussion blasted the room, power sweeping outwards from the struggle at its center. The men of the Order were pressed hard against the stone walls, and the floor trembled beneath them.

The two forms on the raised dais were still. The one on top, still robed in white but dripping crimson gore, lifted itself from the still body underneath. The awful laugh once more drove through the air, but it was not enough to force them to the ground. The horror before their eyes kept the men transfixed, kept them on their knees. The creature raised clawed hands to the sky, roaring out its defiance, laughing as it looked at the motionless, bloodied form.

Carl struggled to his feet, freeing himself from the hands clenching in his. He took a step forward, and the creature swung to face him.

"No!"

The hoarse demand came from behind the creature, and it turned. Chest heaving with battle-lust, it chuckled again. It gave Carl an insulting, condescending glance before dismissing him for worthier prey. The forgotten friar looked beyond the nightmarish vision to his friend, and when their eyes met, and Carl knew Gabriel had been speaking to him.

'I don't think I could.'

'You must.'

There was no room for argument now, either. He stepped back to the wall, sliding down it to crouch on the floor, eyes fixed on the battle, such as it had become.

The hunter was barely able to move, but when the creature reached for him, he struck out weakly, causing the white-clad figure to rear back with a scream of pain.

Overcome once more with fury, the creature hurled itself on the hunter, forcing a strangled cry of agony from him. The two rolled over on the dais before the creature rose, once more leaving Gabriel lying broken on the stones.

He did not move.

The creature kicked out at him, foot hitting flesh with a sickening, muffled noise. Gabriel was thrown onto his side, rolling over again to land once more on his back with an appalling thud; but other than that, he made no noise.

The creature drew closer, bending over the still form. Carl's breath caught. What it was doing soon became evident. Gabriel's clothes, now no more than tattered rags soaked in blood, were torn carelessly away to reveal the abused flesh beneath. There was so much blood, and in some places the white glint of bone was visible even to Carl, across the room. He felt he might be sick, and turned Michael's face away from the sight.

With brutal efficiency, Gabriel was stripped and laid out on the dais. Abandoning the inert figure for a moment, the man in white moved to the pile of clothes, pawing through them with blood-smeared fingers. Carl stared at the body of his closest friend, misery, fear and dread building up within him. His breath caught when his eyes realized something his mind wanted to refuse. Gabriel was still breathing.

The creature howled its triumph, holding aloft the spikes it had unearthed in one of the hunter's pockets. Recovered from the deacon at the site of Father Williams' murder, at the start of all this, they had been acquired and pocketed. For all their weight, the overlarge nails had been forgotten, become part of the load that the hunter unthinkingly shouldered every day.

Unbelievably, the creature had not yet discovered the Spear, but Carl knew with despairing practicality that at this point, it was only a matter of time – and a very short time at that.

When the creature turned toward his friend, the noise of indrawn breaths around the room shattered the dead stillness. There was nothing they could do but bear horrified witness as first one spike, then the others, were driven through flesh, deep into stone.

The creature surveyed its work with something of a twisted artistic air, and drew from inside its jacket a long, silver dagger. With a sniff of distaste, it dropped the blade to the floor with a clatter and turned once more to the hunter's discarded coat. With a rush of useless adrenaline, Carl realized that the end was at hand.

The black leather was shredded, but the unveiling of the Spear brought no cry of victory. Instead, the creature simply held the rusted blade flat across its palms, pale eyes inspecting it carefully.

Purpose darkening its steps, the being reveling in its opponent's gore turned once more to its victim, helplessly stretched across the dais. With movements too swift to separate, it moved and crouched to the hunter's right. An arm was drawn back, and when released, it moved relentlessly forward. The Spear was driven into Gabriel's side, cutting deeply through flesh, muscle and the organs beneath.

Gabriel jerked, and coughed, spitting out a mouthful of blood. The sickening sound of choking breaths lasted for only two more gasping inhalations, before the body relaxed, looking somehow smaller than Gabriel had ever been in life.

It was over.

Carl dully acknowledged that he should be feeling panic-stricken at the thought of impending Armageddon and worldwide devastation, but all he could think was of something Gabriel had absently muttered while recalling their time in Transylvania. "Such a burden, such a curse, to be the Left Hand of God."

It wasn't fair. Life seldom was, but the injustice of this cut him to the core. He couldn't concentrate on his grief, for fear it would come boiling out of him in a wail that would only be silenced with his death. Gabriel had laughed a little, when Carl had called his attention to this random musing, and told the friar some of his battle with Dracula, and the evil one's attempts to lure him to the side of darkness. The lesson to be learned was this, the hunter had informed him; that when evil cannot win, it will do anything and everything in its power to turn enemies to allies. Being on guard against the persuasive voice was more difficult than defiance against a determined enemy.

But it did not matter now – they were mere moments from death, when concern for anything this weighty would be beyond them. The friar closed his eyes, wanting to steady his panting breaths, and again saw the unnaturally sharp blade meeting flesh that was immortal, but not invincible.

The creature stepped back from the corpse of its own making, standing straight and sending an exultant scream ripping through the air.

The sound was exponentially worse than the first bout of reviling laughter. Carl found himself on the ground, curled with Gaspar around Michael, futilely trying to protect the boy, without knowing how he got there. As the crescendo grew, all semblance of coherent thought was driven from him.

It was awful, over-sensitizing and torturing every nerve so that Carl knew exactly when the vessel in his sinuses burst, trailing warm wetness over his lips and cheek. He could clearly hear the screams of men around him, and as he thought he would die with the frightful power of the ululation, it began to lessen.

No – it was not dying away, but being eclipsed by a song that had begun low, and then rose until it was softly filling the chapel, growing ever stronger. It was pure, unlike and beyond anything Carl could have imagined. It filled his mind with serenity and a depth of joy unfelt on earth. It brought him to his feet, as it revived all the mortals within hearing.

The creature, however, seemed aghast by the noise, rendered mute and vulnerable in the face of this power that seemed to come from everywhere at once. A light began to grow, its source the body so thoughtlessly abandoned on the stone dais. Wonder sending his senses reeling, Carl raised his arm to protect his eyes as the light grew brighter and brighter, white and cleansing, burning in its fierceness.

He could see, by the light, the creature's true form revealed as it shed the semblance of humanity to fight a new battle. The maelstrom of evil raged against the light, a shadowy blight upon the earth. But the light grew ever more dazzling, radiance exploding into the room with dizzying intensity.

Below the soul-lifting sound, there came another noise – a tortured wail of pain, which was surmounted by the increase of sound that built higher and higher, until Carl thought his heart might burst from sheer happiness.

The light was brighter than the sun, a pure white that seared into the watchers' eyes, blinding them for long minutes as the light and sound stretched out, before fading into silent darkness. Carl sighed, slumping back to be caught by the stone wall. Senses overcome by the past hour, he dropped into a limp pile of limbs and robes at the foot of the wall, slipping into a welcome stupor.