What more could I say about him that no one man has not already said? He is the epitome of destruction, a phrase every man is far too frightened to say aloud, for fear that he may hear them, and make their nightmares their new realities, or, worse, that they may be right. Am I frightened of him? Yes, yes I am, and any man who claims otherwise is either lying or a fool. How can a man not be frightened by one who has scorned two gods, and defeated two others? I am afraid, but I do not fear him, for when his kin would deign themselves animals, he becomes man, and when they would resort to humanity, he becomes animal; when they flail, he thinks, and when they beg, he fights. Such a man cannot be reasoned with, cannot be overcome. But he can be understood, and this is where I plan to prevail where others have faltered.
-excerpt from the journal of Abraham Van Helsing
Chapter 21: Apostate
They came from the maintenance room.
As the door banged open, Seras could barely make out the horror show that the room had been transformed into; pipes coming out of every conceivable space, and where they weren't, every conceivable weapon was mounted, from machine guns to spears. All of it was covered in blood.
Seven people exited the room in total; one of them was clothed in the fraying robes of an archbishop, and the rest were clad in what may have almost been uniforms, though, if they weren't all matching, Seras wouldn't have recognized them as such. The uniforms, crisp, clean, and well-maintained, consisted of almost regular-looking but somewhat baggy white pants, an almost regular-looking white buttoned-up shirt, a very fancy vest of swirling blues and greens, and a white, floppy towel-like hat, with a metal base, and a large white feather protruding upwards in the front. Sheathed at their hips were curved swords, the scabbards that housed them bejeweled in exquisite patterns.
Despite their very Arabic presentation, their faces were mostly western in appearance, with most of them boasting small noses, rounded faces, and one of them even having blonde hair and blue eyes. The oldest looking one amongst them, however, was definitely from a middle eastern country, as he had the appearance of a middle eastern man, with brown skin, curly dark hair, a long, crooked nose, brown eyes, and a long, pointed beard. Despite this, he was the oldest of the group, with gray hairs beginning along the sides of his head and beard, and wrinkles all around his face.
She cowered up against the wall, and they ignored her, marching straight into the room where the hostages had been. Intrigued, she turned, and peered inside.
Alucard had not moved an inch. His head was still tilted downwards, towards the handkerchief, but now his eyes were squeezed shut. His white shirt was stained with droplets of blood, as were his black slacks, and his giant pistols remained untouched in their leather shoulder holsters. The first to react to him was the archbishop, who stopped in his tracks, and pointed a trembling finger.
"T-that's him", he said.
The first of the six uniformed men pushed past him, with something close to amusement on his face.
"Indeed", the man said, in a thick Arabian accent, despite his green eyes and brown hair, "he is the one you spoke of."
"Yes", the next said in a similar accent, as he shoved past the archbishop, "that is 'Alucard'."
"Though we know him by a different name", the next said, as he bumped into the archbishop, and made his way forward.
"For we have been trained to look beyond the surface of every word and action", the next said, as he pushed past the archbishop.
"We have been trained to read every word forwards", the next began, as he shoved past the archbishop.
"And backwards", the last, and oldest among them concluded, as he roughly shoved the archbishop to the ground, stepping forward.
"We know who you are, but we know you by a different word, a foul word for your foul kind."
As one, the group yelled, "APOSTATE!"
Alucard didn't answer. He didn't move. He didn't even seem to breath. His back remained turned towards them, his eyes still closed.
The group remained silent, their half-circle around Alucard imposing and impenetrable. As one, the youngest of the group crossed their arms over their chests and widened their stances. The oldest clasped his hands behind his back, and stepped forward.
"Nothing", the older man asked, as he craned his neck, turning up his nose. "You have nothing to say, Apostate? You, who has so much to answer for, has nothing to say for yourself?"
For a moment, everything was still again. Then, Alucard's shoe scuffed against the ground, as he turned to face the men before him. It was as if his whole outfit had changed in a flash, to a blacked, cut, and in some places frayed version of the uniforms before him, but with different, tighter-fitting pants, minus the hat, and with a few leather belts strapped across his chest. Sashed at his hip was Anna's monstrous sword, the blade exposed and no scabbard to be seen.
His eyes, however, remained closed.
The older man, now clearly agitated, strode forward, raising his hand above his head as if to strike Alucard.
"Apostates like you are the reason this world is-"
Alucard's hand shot forward, tearing off the man's jaw. The man stood still for a moment, simply gaping at the fast action, and at his own jaw now residing in Alucard's left hand. Then he let out a gurgled screech, and Alucard brought the jawbone down into the man's eye, smashing through his socket and piercing his brain. He fell to the ground, lifeless, and began slowly dissipating into ashes.
Now Alucard opened his eyes, and Seras couldn't see any whites in them, they having been filled with blood and hatred.
The younger men remained stunned and silent. Slowly, Alucard reached down, and drew his sword with his right hand, letting the blade glisten in the florescent light. He held it out to his side, and the room became completely still.
Alucard twisted the sword so that the blade now faced the young men, and they sprang into action, reaching immediately for their swords. Alucard blurred forth, immediately skewering one of the men before he even had his sword all the way out. Alucard lifted his body and flung the man, impaling him on a loose pipe protruding from the wall.
Now three of the others had their swords out and were advancing on Alucard, while the fourth slunk back into the shadows, murmuring and moving his hands in a flowing motion. The other three began landing blows, all of which Alucard deflected with surprising speed and accuracy, dodging occasionally to stay out of someone's range.
Seras wondered how much power it took to make yourself that fast, and then considered that with several hundred years of combat experience, Alucard might not be using power at all.
One of the men jabbed with their wickedly curved sword, and Alucard ducked underneath it Matrix style, grabbing towards the tip of the blade with his left hand, and punching the base of the blade with the pommel of his sword. The blade snapped in half, and Alucard took the half that was in his hand at the base of the blade, using the broken sword like a regular one. He swiped up the young man's body, cutting him open from crotch to ribcage. The young man screamed as his guts spilled out across the cold floor, blood pooling around them and him as he fell to his knees.
Alucard, armed with two blades and now down an enemy, seemed to oddly slow down. He mostly kept to the defensive, flourishing the blades against incoming attacks, grunting anytime the broken blade he had taken deflected a hit, his palm becoming bloodier and bloodier.
It didn't take long for Alucard to change his strategy, instead flinging the blade into the leg of one of his attackers. The man stopped short, yelping in pain. Alucard quickly followed it up with a precise jab, running the man through the pancreas. He brought his blade back up just in time to block a counterstrike from the man, grabbing the end of his own sword to increase his control over the blade's movement. He then quickly jabbed again, piercing one of the man's kidneys.
He dodged backwards from the next counterattack, and delivered a swift kick to the other armed opponent, throwing him to the ground. He then charged forward, delivering another jab into the man's other kidney. He flourished his sword to deflect the man's now pitiful counter, and followed through on the flourish to run him through the liver. Almost immediately, the man began dissipating, slowly, into ash. By now, so had the other gutted opponent.
The last armed man leaped to his feet like a ninja, immediately pressing the attack. Alucard seemed to keep mostly to the defensive, lashing out occasionally with a small jab that left deep cuts in the man's arms and legs.
But the one who had been chanting hadn't retreated; he'd been readying a spell, one that left a congealing black ball of goo floating between his outstretched, flowing hands. The ball moved with his hands, growing larger with each passing second. Now, the man flung the ball at Alucard, it smacking the side of his head, and enveloping it quickly.
For the briefest moment, Alucard lowered his sword, seemingly entranced by what had struck him. The swordsman stepped forward to commit a strike that would decapitate him, when suddenly, Alucard reached his hand up, lunging back, and flipping through the air. He pulled the goo from him quickly, revealing a different face, one that Seras couldn't get a good look at, and the goo changed to a fiery red, looking more like lava.
Alucard flung it at the one who had initially cast it, striking him in the stomach. The man screamed in agony, as Alucard made a fist, and blood gushed from the young man's mouth. He immediately began dissipating into ash, falling onto the ground in the fetal position.
Now Seras could get a good look at the face. What she had initially thought was completely different, she now understood was only slightly changed. The hair was no longer jet black, but was chestnut brown and incredibly curly, flowing all of the way down to his shoulders. His facial features seemed to remain mostly the same, though they were creased by lines of age, mostly stress and worry lines, with almost no laughter lines to speak of. The only other major change was a massive, groomed moustache, which spanned one cheekbone to the other. Altogether, the changes made him seem much older, and far more grizzled.
The changes also made the last living man howl in terror, clutching his sword in white-knuckled, trembling hands.
"I-Impaler", he shrieked, tripping over his own feet, as he moved to race out of the door.
Alucard lunged after him, digging his fingers into one of the cuts down the man's arm, and pulling hard. The man's skin ripped off of him in a huge strip, pulling it in a wet arc from the man's arm down to his lower back. The young man howled in pain, and went down to his knees, giving enough time for Alucard to dig his fingers into the other arm, pulling another wet chunk of skin from his trembling body.
Alucard hauled the man up, and flung him towards a conduit on the wall. He slapped against it with a wet smack, leaving a bloody imprint on the wall behind him. The man simply sat there, trembling, with tears running down his face.
Alucard closed his eyes again, and inhaled deeply. He ran his fingers through his hair, and his features melted back into the more familiar ones. His uniform too, seemingly melting back into the white button-up and slacks that he still had. The ornate pentagrams on his gloves burned momentarily, their features seemingly shimmering, and then became black and still once more.
He approached the man, looking down at his quivering form.
"Apostate?"
The man glanced up at him.
"Impaler?"
The man shook his head as Alucard drew his left handcannon.
"I'm the guy with the gun."
He blasted two holes in the wall behind the man, and liquid nitrogen shot out of them, freezing the man's prone form. The man howled in pain as the liquid stuck to his muscle and froze it instantly. He reached a hand up, as if to beg for help, and his cry cut off.
Alucard twirled his handcannon around in his hand, and pistol-whipped the man on his head. His prone form shattered into bloody ice crystals across the ground. Alucard sheathed his gun, straightened his tie, and then turned to the archbishop, who stood trembling in the same place he had been since the fight started.
"Well, hello there", Alucard said, with a big grin spreading across his face. "You didn't think I wouldn't notice that snack standing right there, did ya?"
The archbishop screamed like a girl, and threw his arm up over his head, as if to shield himself. Alucard closed the distance, raising his hand. He brought it down on the archbishop's wrist, producing an audible crack. The archbishop screamed again, bringing his arm down to cradle it. Alucard wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and produced his flip phone, flipping it open and holding it up towards the sky.
"Say 'cheese'", Alucard said, as the flash blinked and the phone made a shutter noise.
Alucard checked the picture, remarking, "Oh, man, that one is just perfect."
"Are you going to kill me", the archbishop asked in a panicked tone.
"No", Alucard said, "...and send."
"T-then you'll let me go?"
"Basically", Alucard told him with a shrug. "After all, you're Anderson's problem now."
The archbishop looked like he had just been told he would die of pain within the hour.
"A-Alexander A-Anderson?"
"The one and only", Alucard told him, as he flipped his phone closed and marched off.
"You wouldn't dare", the archbishop called after him with a sneer.
"Bitch, I already sent the text", Alucard remarked, holding his phone up.
"No... no! Please, kill me! Anything is better than-"
"Look, buddy", Alucard told him as he marched off, "it's been a long day, and I'm all tuckered out. I wanna go have a lasagna, and I can't do that in this disease-riddled shithole, because I'd die of AIDS or dysentery or something stupid like that. I don't suggest you run, because that'll just piss him off more, but at least look presentable for Anderson when he shows up."
Alucard walked up to the door, and stopped, turning towards Seras, who was staring intently at him, wondering what he would do next.
"Oh", Alucard said, a hint of genuine surprise in his voice, "you're still here."
Seras didn't respond, simply staring back at him.
"You, uh", Alucard said, scratching the back of his neck, "wanna head back to the ice cream van?"
Seras stared for a moment more, than averted her gaze and nodded.
She slowly peeled herself off of the wall, and followed behind him, keeping her gaze on the floor. They both walked in silence for several minutes.
"That was, um", Seras began, "that was cool what you did with that conduit."
"Yeah", Alucard said quickly, "I had no idea it was gonna do that. I thought it was going to explode."
"Well, that was way cooler."
"Totally. Let's go get some lasagna."
"Why lasagna?"
"Because it's fun to say. Go ahead, say it."
"Lasagna. Lasagna... yeah, you're right!"
"Lasagna."
"I understand", a new voice said behind them.
Alucard yanked out a handcannon and spun on his heel. Behind him stood the young-looking man he had seen go activate the doors. Even Seras squared up to him. As soon as Alucard turned, the man fell to his knees.
"I understand what you want", the young man continued. "No more vampires, no more slaves. I knew it all along!"
"Then why were you fucking around with these barbarians?"
"They were as close to you as I was ever going to get", the man said, his head hanging low, and with an undertone of regret in his voice.
"Well", Alucard said, pointing his pistol at the man's head, "here you are."
"I don't deserve it", the man admitted, "yet I must implore that you spare my life."
"You're right", Alucard said, cocking back the hammer on his .454, "you don't deserve it."
"Master", Seras spoke up.
Alucard glanced over at her. She looked drained, tired.
"I think there's been enough killing for a day", she said.
He looked down at the man. He saw the sorrow in the man's eyes. And he realized that Seras was right.
He let his arm go limp and hang at his side.
"T-thank you", the young man said.
Alucard began to walk away, as the man said, "I will take this revelation far and wide. I will tell all who would follow you the truth."
Alucard kept walking.
...
Even though the sun was almost fully set, it wasn't hard to see the bright screen of the little phone. Alucard occasionally wondered at modern marvels like this. Oh so long ago, if he had wanted to write something out at night, he would have needed paper, ink, and a couple of candles, all of which were sometimes hard to come by, and no one was likely to see his message for several months. Nowadays, he needed only to flip open his Nokia, and anyone on earth whose number he had access to could conceivably receive any message, picture or even video he wanted them to within seconds.
Yet, for all of that change, the messages he sent and received largely went unchanged, a fact that made a smirk twitch across his lips as he read an incoming text.
Oi faggola whats this?
He typed a quick reply.
It's a picture you silly billy.
Fuck a duck you lily shmuck.
See anything interesting?
Hey, wait, I know that guy! Archbishop Richard! I met that bastard twelve years ago when I was in the Vatican to get chewed out for blowing up an orphanage.
Bro wtf?
There weren't any orphans inside, chill.
That guy significant to you?
Not sure. I'll have to ask him a few questions before I can make any real assumptions.
Nobody there was literate, so I didn't learn anything about the Librarian.
That's ok, they're saying the Remnant boi is waking up, maybe he knows.
Kk. Anything else you want done today?
Nah. Fuck off back to your own country, fucking immigrant.
Love you too, buddy.
Alucard closed his flip phone and sighed. He had won a great victory today, of course, but it was, in many ways, both pyric and hollow. Sure, he had annihilated Half-Moon, but for the fourth time in a row. Their return seemed inevitable. Furthermore, more Janissaries were dead, but he was beginning to see a startling trend of them becoming more common in the vampiric world, and that was almost as bad as being told that he had made no impact in his lifetime. Furthermore, he had no way of knowing if they were original Janissaries from his time period, or if they were laarpers being manufactured in the modern day. They seemed to have the equipment, attitude and even outlook of the old guard, but that could be good training on the part of a few survivors. It made his head hurt thinking about a Vampiric Ottoman Empire rising.
To think about reliving five hundred years ago all over again.
He would not allow that to be the new reality. He would crush this new empire, just as he had brought the old one to its knees with naught but a thousand men. He would end it, once and for all, whatever it took.
And Integra would most definitely help him. She more or less had to, but she would want to. Like all of the greats he had raised up, she shared his vision of a world free from vampires.
Speaking of the greats he had raised up...
He turned his attention to his apprentice. She had mostly been staring at the floor for the duration of the trip, but occasionally, when she thought he wasn't looking, she would sneak looks at him that seemed...
Like she had just had an entire paradigm shift, like he was a whole new thing to be considered. Like he had been dangerous before, but had now taken on a whole new level.
He hated that look.
Once again, he couldn't quite understand why that look pissed him off, but it did.