I have never been quite so excited for a story as I am this one. I want to keep the AN short, however there are a few things I feel that are necessary to state before you go on.

This story is nearly completely AU - there will be many references to "Van Helsing" and "Bram Stoker's Dracula" as well as some details pulled from some other sources, those mainly being "The Vampire Diaries", the "Underworld" series, and a few things I've done some research on. I am absolutely in love with "what if the villain won" AUs and this has been no exception. World domination on a large scale by one of my favorite characters sounds less like a nightmare and more like a dream come true- to me, at the very least. I've imagined doing it with many other fandoms: "Avatar: the Last Airbender", "Harry Potter", "The Patriot"—just to name a few. This idea has recently shot off in my head due to reading a wonderful book called "In the Time of the Butterflies" and I decided I could not ignore my wish to write of revolution any longer, and so I took on this project.

My other story will most likely be abandoned, because I think a fresh start is in order, and this idea will be entirely more appropriate for what I have planned. A few things I had hoped to incorporate in "Checkmate" will be added into here, but even this will be a large divergence of that. You will find small similarities between the stories if you have read it.

This story is rated "M" because I always like to play it on the safe side, as there will be mentions/descriptions of graphic death, sexual interactions, fighting, cussing, and nearly anything else horrible you can think of. It makes the atmosphere more attuned to the story, but heed my warning.

Lastly, I should like to think that my writing has improved, but I have yet to reach the level I wish to, which is to become a successful independent author. Gotta start somewhere, and I'm hoping some experience from a large plotted story like this will help. I should also state that despite my in depth research some things may be flawed, so please don't flog me for it.

All other details should be well explained in the writing, but I'm hoping to keep a certain degree of ambiguity in this project. I don't own "Van Helsing" or any of the characters in it, however I do own my OCs and my plot. I've also decided to add a playlist at the end of each chapter to give insight into my writing, this one being an exception. I should also like to inform everyone that I may go back and change some chapters after writing them, but it will just be an alternate way to deliver the information I've already written.

So without further ado, I present to you...

DISSENSION

01 : AN EMPIRE RISES

Nearly a century ago one of the singularly most elaborate schemes had succeeded by a complete monster, and to the general people, a legend of lore. It was a true triumph over God, one that would forevermore change the world. And oddly enough only a handful of people had been privy to the catastrophe that had tipped the scales of balance to favor evil, and most of who had were no longer among the living. The world had spun on as one of the most vital happenings in history transpired, and to some the outcome was a victory, but to most it was a loss. Perchance one of the greatest.

Yet the world still did spin on. Maybe that was what hit the hardest.

Despair swept over Europe, as the Empire of the Devil's Son had started in Romania, and no sooner would it consume the entirety of the continent than it had that single country. Few had known of the existence of the paranormal, and even less were ready for when the world fell like one falls asleep—slowly, and then all at once.

First Romania, then bordering countries like Bulgaria, Ukraine, Greece, Austria, and then even Germany, Poland, the Czech Republic, Italy, Turkey, and France. Nothing could stop the power that Dracula held, or the momentum with which he claimed land and entire people's under him. Human slaves that would serve an inhumane ruler, a description used in every sense of the word. The finest among the populace would be picked, and with them he created an army. And from afar the remaining trestles of societies that sought to end Dracula could only remain in secret, finding no sense to band together. They watched as everything they worked to accomplish crash and burn before their very eyes.

His children had helped vanquish enemies, but none to this day remained—the power of Frankenstein's Monster unable to sustain most past the adolescent stage of their lives. Science and witchcraft was still the answer, and to this day Dracula had enlisted a squadron of the best of each sector to find the solution, one that was nearing completion. His children had helped win the war, and as a reward for the success he would find a way to keep his next heirs alive. Forever.

As a result of this dedication, science came far in the supernatural realm, and Dracula had managed to get ahold of many serums that allowed him to create hybrids and Lycans, both of which were completely loyal to him upon their birth, unable to defeat him, and were willing to get their hands dirty at a single snap of his fingers. His Empire was secured in every physical manner, reinforced with the dark magic of mages and witches; an army of bloodthirsty paranormals at every gate to protect and fight at will; laws, punishments too. The whole nine yards. Victory was truly, very nearly his. His undead children were the only final checkpoint.

There was also the victory of time—Dracula had successfully killed the last of the Valerious line. That was a triumph he savored most specially, and with Aleera at his side, ruling had become almost bittersweet in the best sense. Alas the red headed beauty did not entertain him enough despite all her efforts, and another came along who caught his gaze: a Greek noblewoman who was human, but after a single night with Dracula had become his queen. Her name was Arianna, and she had many of the same traits as Aleera, except unlike her new sister, Arianna was much better at hiding her emotions and desires, though Dracula nearly never objected when she made them known. Two beautiful queens at his side ruling an impenetrable empire and the last of his blood enemies defeated.

Why then could he not obtain the one thing he wanted most? The single thing he possibly longed for even more than power, or even his children. But it was God's punishment to him. One he would suffer until he would repent for all his wrongdoings, but that day would never seem to come, and so Dracula was to suffer the greatest and most ironic punishment of all: even with all the power in the world he could not obtain what he truly desired. This anger at the repeated attempts, with the same horrible results left him incensed with rage, and his Empire bore his fiery wrath. If that variable remained to always elude him, then the people below him would know no mercy. That was Dracula's punishment back.

God had been a heavy source of refuge in this time more than ever, but Dracula took that away from them too—banning anything of such holy nature, and stating it was treason against the Empire and punishable by death. Many did stop, but those who remained steadfast in their beliefs were made examples of. Any sort of revolution was squandered easily, hope seeming to have deflated from everyone like a popped balloon. But there was always something stirring, something beneath the surface that would remain unseen, and for a while it did, but the larger the secret, the harder it is to keep.

The new world Order had been instituted, and there was no room for any nonsense against it. Dracula had waited for over four hundred years to sit atop the world and watch it bow at his feet, and he would not have a silly rebellion sweep across the Empire and question his power. Any speak of revolution equaled death, and many did die in its name, but only claimed the mantle of martyrdom in secrecy: pictures decorated gaily with flowers and golden thread, pictures of cherubs sitting among them as guides for the souls to enter the heavens.

This penalty in all actuality had the opposite desired effect. Give the people nothing and they will steal; give the people a gun and they will kill; give the people a reason and they will start a revolution.

That is one of the singlemost beautiful things of human nature despite all its sin and grittiness. Against all odds there is always room for hope, and that was what most clung to as the days went on, even when things only changed for the worst.

Development in technological items halted in the Empire, and even other parts of the world. Many countries had defaulted to defense, building up their walls to keep the monsters out instead of focusing on the innovation of things to reach the basic level of potential. They seemed to be stuck in an era—and era of fear and blood where nothing felt safe anymore, and that's what it was named. Dracula would come, everyone knew they would, and when they did they would have to be prepared.

That was another thing so beautiful about humans. Despite all their differences they unite for a single cause, even if victory seems too far out of reach.

Alas with the introduction of the otherworldly into the mortal realm, humans were not the only ones fighting for their freedom. Werewolves had a large target painted onto their backs, as did witches and warlocks of light, and the few rogue vampires, hybrids, and lycans that that betrayed their purpose in the Empire. Comparability was necessary, but there were outliers on either side—human or extraterrestrial—that were reluctant to accept the sudden and forced intermixing in society. Tension was high, and trust between these groups was scarcely existent. Time did bring them together out of desire to survive, but by then both numbers had been shorted majorly, as the weakest of them all had been weeded out. Or the ones that had been caught.

Rumors of a secret society that were plotting to take back their freedom, but the details of their existence were either largely exaggerated or just a bit off from the truth, and it was hard to tell which from which. They had done nothing yet, though others had tried. Small skirmishes that had been stomped out like a small flame under the boot; some of these riots were said to be part of this secret order, but it had never been confirmed by fact, and so the resistance remained a myth. For now.

And so Dracula prospered. His kingdom had grown to the size of the Roman Empire so many years ago, except there was no sign of crumbling. It was a stable place despite all its cruelty and gloominess, a place that, though it always felt dark and damper by default, the only good thing was the government, and that happened to be the only fault as well.

A feudal system had been instated and the gaps in the classes were large, especially between the scarce middle and even scarcer upper castes. Lavished with luxuries imported from other countries, castles and exotic goods that made going around the world accessible at home. While the middle and lower people had to fight for jobs and survival, even amongst themselves sometimes. There was a certain dishonor that was associated with further screwing over your fellow people, even more so now than before. As so, crime rates had dropped on their own accord, not because of the many many guards that roamed the streets, even though Dracula did credit that to himself.

The sun was hiding over the horizon, a mere part of its usual shining brilliance peaking over the line, hiding behind layers of dark clouds. A shadow had set itself over the cities of the Empire, but Budapest most of all. It was the capital city, and therefore the center of all activity one could imagine. Here despair was more threatening than the living conditions, as few were admitted through the walls, and even less were allowed out. But even that became the natural order of things over time.

With night nearing, however, fear and despair mingled like two unwanted lovers in the streets, and people began hiding away in whatever shelters they could manage to ward off the darkness and everything that came with it. To these people, monsters were very real, and they walked among them.

Doors were locked, windows were shut, shades and curtains were pushed over everything that allowed a view into the street. Candles and crosses were taken out of cabinets, never a bit of dust on any part of them. Small things that, if Dracula wished so, would do nothing to stop him and his men, but it was the little reassurance people got to sleep through the night. They were not completely defenseless, and so many people turned to God.

A heavy dispatch of men had disembarked unto the streets this night, ordered so under the assumption that there would be revolutionaries lurking about at this very time. In all actuality it was a show, placed to distract from the fact that their king would be walking these cobble lined paths with few guards there to protect him. Subtly was a necessity for this occasion, and should he need to fight, Dracula was certainly willing to do so.

His destination was Town Zero, or rather, what remained of it; named so due to the utter lack of structure and life, this place had been an example set by the Empire, and few were willing to live among such a depressing sight. They would much rather be at risk in the streets than reminded of such horrors as they saw here.

At the center of it all stood a cracked statue, prior to the era of blood it had been known as the Liberty Statue, but now all that remained was pieces of a once grandiose granite pedestal the copper piece had sat upon. The engraving was missing as well, having been stripped from the base of the structure to where only a crater of the missing piece was left. Now the statue represented what had been taken from them—what they no longer had. It was shameful to look upon. Dracula looked at it with pride.

He was steady as he crossed these grounds, a placid expression on his face as he quite nearly drifted across the piles of rubble, looking as if he didn't quite touch the ground with every step. His blue eyes seemed to glow in the darkness, which had no effect on his vision and the precise detail of everything he saw. A cloaked figure stood at the center, his shawl covering the light the lantern in his hand shed. It was not a shape he recognized but that didn't stunt his momentum as he made his way to the character.

The guards surrounded the area, uneasy with the lack of protection directly about their master, though they would never doubt his skill in defending himself. It was a matter of loyalty, and that was why they discarded any of these feelings and stayed put, ready to come at hand if the time called. Dracula wouldn't call, he could smell from afar that this silhouetted frame was only a man, one with blood in his veins and a beating heart that he could rip out with ease.

The cloaked figure turned to face the feared man of legend that ruled their Empire with an iron fist. He had summoned Dracula through an anonymous letter, though by an alternate method the Devil's Son had managed to deduce that this was an enemy of his enemy, and therefore an ally by certain means. He just had to determine on what level. It had not even crossed his mind to consider the invitation when his three witches, who had no inkling of the matter because he had not told anyone, prompted him to go. They had remained ambiguous as to why, but given the nature of their prophecies and their unyielding accuracy, Dracula had accepted.

The man fell to his knee when Dracula approached him, then put the lantern down and stood up, drawing his hood back to reveal a face.

Dracula knew such a face almost immediately. This was the face of a man who wanted power, and by the gleam in his eyes and smirk on his gaunt face, he would be achieving it through betrayal.

"My lord, I'm humbled to be in your presence. I admit I was not confident you would make an appearance." Dracula's face remained like slate, but the man was unperturbed by the lack of emotion. Weakness would make his plan faulty, it was by chance enough that Dracula had arrived, he couldn't muck it all up now.

"Don't flatter yourself, I'm here on account of shared interests: your letter states that you have vital information on the the rag-tag people who believe they can destroy my Empire."

"I'm afraid to contradict that statement, my lord." The man replied, earning a look of questioning disbelief from Dracula. "This Order was a joke, but in recent years it has grown to a size that is a considerable threat. Nothing my liege cannot handle, of course, but if you undermine their power they may catch you by surprise." He went on to explain.

Dracula was not keen on the man's attempts at appealing to his power, but he had to admit that he was refined in his actions and confident in his words despite being a mortal. And if the witches had urged him to meet this man then Dracula would hear his pleas through and through. "What are your sources of this information? For all I know you could be making this all up and trying to beguile me for personal gain."

"With all due respect my lord, I do not think I could trick you into designing a story of my imagination." The hooded figure replied.

"So you would think to flatter me as you have? Flattery is, in most pretenses, false words packaged with a pretty bow." Dracula could not hide the slight hiss from his words, though he remained otherwise calm. "Why should I believe someone who is earnest in flattery rather than the truth?"

"My father always said flattery makes friends and truth makes enemies, but I believe small dosages of both make life-long allies." The man smirked, his oval eyes squinting as the grin on his face became more severe. Dracula noted the way he said 'father' with a detached and bitter tone.

Then, small as it was, a smirk did drag its way onto Dracula's face, but only at the corners. He was impressed by the ambitious nature of this mortal man, but even more curious as to what he intended to gain. Dracula had a few guesses, but it was so much sweeter to hear it straight from the horse's mouth. "Your father is a wise man." He said decisively, watching as a shadow fell over the man's face.

"My father was a wise man, but now he is no more than a fool." He spat bitingly, teeth bared and eyes blazing.

Dracula's smirk widened, undaunted by the man's sudden flare of anger. "What's your name? You did not give it in the letter." The man told him his name, and not after the final syllable had been said was Dracula's spidery fingers wrapped tightly around the man's throat tight; enough to cause alarm but not so that his esophagus would be crushed, albeit one wrong word and it could become reality. Dracula's infamous wrath had boiled to the surface, and it showed in every harsh line and cold glint on his face. He looked almost demonic, and sounded similarly as he snarled in the man's face. "Do you think I'm a fool? Son of a public enemy, a man I cannot kill but constantly humiliates me, and you expect me to trust you?"

The cloaked man grappled at the iron hold around his throat. His eyes were bulging in his head, but he was not completely scared. Despite himself Dracula was impressed once more.

"I do not wish to be known as his son anymore, my lord." His voice was gruff and low from the lack of air. "I wish to become immortal, and make a legacy that my father dreamt for but will never obtain. He is a traitor to the Empire, and I do not wish to be like him. I have already severed all ties with him and any other members of the Order and I will bring valuable information to your attention, things that will certainly help you in crushing them."

A growl made its way up Dracula's throat, curling at his lips as his glowing blue eyes stared deep into those of the man in his vice grip. "Immortal? What makes you think I will give you such a gift? Or, even, the opportunity to start anew?"

The man grinned, and the impressive notions he'd associated with this man's bold nature evaporated into annoyance. It was spiteful in his blind rage. "I can give you the names and locations of the Order's most valuable people, or anything else my lord requires."

There was no measure of falseness in the man's eyes, only layers of hatred and a desire for revenge. Dracula released him, regaining the unimpressed and condescending facade as he looked at the gasping man who was struggling for air. "Speak."

He made a show of rubbing his throat but did not hesitate in fulfilling Dracula's request. "There are three that I believe are of urgency to execute, but above them is a man who could single handedly change the likelihood of the revolution's success." Dracula said nothing, and the man took that as a signal to go on. "His name is Hector Voltaire, and he resides in the Bulgia province. He is a scientist, a chemist, even, and he has developed many serums that will be unleashed to weaken vampires, Lycans, and hybrids alike. Currently he is working on something that will humanize the creatures, and if the correspondences are accurate, something that will kill purebred vampires." The man did not wish to further say that he even planned to make a poison able to kill Dracula himself. It was impossible to, and therefore of little worry for the King's knowledge.

"And do you have proof of this other than your words?"

"I do not have the direct correspondences, my father must have become recently suspicious of me, for he wisely hid them away. But I did manage the addresses of nearly all the major members, diagrams of the basic serums, and a few other things that may prove of importance to my lord." He said somewhat proudly.

Dracula stared at the man, his face entirely unreadable before half of a devilish smirk broke out onto his face. The witches hadn't failed him, this trip was quite worthwhile, even if this man could be irksome. "And by what name do you wish to build this legacy upon?"

"Jude Mirrikh, my lord." He managed to hide his bravado behind a cool face, one that Dracula managed to see straight through.

"Such a similar variation of your previous name," Dracula commented offhandedly, the cloaked man's face fell, and he looked as if he was about to respond when Dracula continued on. "It is of no matter, it is but a small detail that can be overlooked with time. I hope your blood doesn't have the flavor that a traitor's does, I've never fancied the aftertaste." Before the man could blink, or even process the information, Dracula had grabbed him by the shoulders and, fangs elongated, sunk them into the flesh of his neck.

It did taste absinthal, but it was a small price for the victory that would come when he extinguished this order once and for all.

One step at a time it would crumble, but he would start with Hector Voltaire. Without a sturdy foundation, no structure could stand for long.

A worthwhile trip, indeed.