When comparing him to the greater threats mankind must face, one may find him to be better equipped than those like him. Those threats that can just barely be processed in our minds as something tangible and living pose little to no challenge to him. But that is where his power ends. It is why we are such a great team; he can deal with anything that can touch me, and by the blessings of God, I can deal with anything that can touch him.

-excerpt from the journal of Abraham Van Helsing

Chapter 23: The Devil His Due

Another day, another set of shenanigans. Seras kept giving him strange looks, but at least he was set up in a somewhat cozy hammock above the bed Seras had. The other two idiots were in sleeping bags on the ground, where they belonged. The room still stank of garlic, but you win some, you lose some.

He was seriously contemplating taking a nap when he felt it.

Daddy... Daddy?!

Alley? What's wrong?

I don't know these people! There's so many of- aaaaaaaah!

Alley?!

They grabbed me; they're putting me in a van! Wait, what's tha-

And just like that, his telepathic connection to Alley was completely severed.

He bolted out of the hammock so fast he tore it in half, smashed the door to splinters just trying to get through it, and ran faster than he ever had in his life, power redirecting to his legs so they looked like a blur to the average human eye. He left cracks in the cement wherever his feet touched the ground. If he had noticed the people around them, he would have noticed that they hadn't even registered his presence until he was far beyond them, appearing as little more than a dark streak across their vision.

Faster than he ever thought possible, he made it to the alley. He was so fast, that the van hadn't even sped away yet. In fact, they were still slamming the door shut. He charged them with all his speed and all his might. He had them now.

"Stop breathing."

He seized, and all of the air was forced out of his lungs, as if he had been stabbed in the back. Time began to work normally again, and the door shut before him, closing off Alley's chance of freedom. The van sped off, and as Alucard tried to follow, he lost his balance, and fell forward. Trying to adjust himself to keep moving, he ended up landing on his side.

From his angle, he could see a man stepping from the shadows. The most handsome man Alucard had ever seen, he carried himself with a swagger that suggested he owned the world. He wore the fanciest clothes of the time, a black suit and tie, with a crimson red shirt underneath. When he looked Alucard in the eye, his iris became a blazing gold ring.

Alucard knew his name, and opened his mouth to say it with venom, but when he did, he found that he couldn't. In fact, he couldn't bring in air at all. He felt like he was in a vice, and it was closing around his ribcage, suffocating him. The corners of his vision began to darken, but they stopped at a certain point and blackened no more, like he was seeing life through a tunnel.

The man tsked, and knelt down over Alucard's head.

"I knew the plan you had", he told him, in a voice as smooth as silk. "When you invoked my name, and made an oath, when you asked for a Cursebreaker, I intended to deliver even though I didn't want to. I don't like breaking curses, Vlad; I love curses. So, in return, I asked of you something quite simple. All I asked is that if you were going take something I loved, I would take something you loved."

A smile crept over his face as he finished; a cruel smile.

"You thought you were pretty sneaky with that one, didn't you? When you made it, you didn't have anybody you loved. Yet, when you finally did find something to hold onto, you avoided that Cursebreaker like it was a plague. You didn't dare to use it, even to break the curse over the woman you admired so. And when you finally did? You only used it when everything between you two was fully resolved, when her life was peaking for the first time in forever, so that she could die on a high note."

He leaned his head in even closer.

"Here's what I love about people like you, Vlad; you don't know what love is. You've had the idea of love so twisted in your head, you think it means changing your way into perfection. For people like you, what you think is love can only ever go one way."

He scanned his eyes over to where the van once was.

"But what you have with that little girl? Whom you would do anything for, just to see her smile? Letting her live in this alley against your better judgement, if only because it makes her happy? Wiping out anyone who would dare to harm her, again and again? Never fearing what she may think about you? THAT'S LOVE. And you missed it."

He held up his index finger and thumb, just to show him how much he missed it by.

"So, Vlad, she has to die, because that's what's fair. But don't think this means I don't like you!"

Alucard tried to tell him off, tried to claw at his throat, or spit in his face, or something, but he just couldn't quite manage it.

"I mean... I've been trying to get you to join me, to take the plunge and fully commit, for so long... ever since they threw you in that dungeon, the first time, that is, you've been on my nice list. I have tried to make life so much better for you, I even activated that long-dormant genome that Cain got so long ago. Not quite as potent, but I mean, come on! You've seen what you can do with it!"

Alucard tried to scream in his face, but he couldn't quite manage it.

"I know, I know, now is not the time for a whole 'recruitment' spiel, especially when someone you love so much is being carted off for G- well, I guess I know too, right?"

Alucard couldn't quite manage to roar in the man's face.

The man stood up, and straightened his suit jacket.

"Some of them told me I'd have to hypnotize you, but I know your history. I know what they tried to do to you in that dungeon. I know that only someone with real mental fortitude could overcome something like that. Someone with a mind that strong is near impossible to open up for hypnotic suggestion. It was easier to let you make your own mistakes."

Alucard tried to claw at the man's feet, but he couldn't make his arm move out far enough.

"And besides; while you're bound to this contract, I technically own you, as you can clearly see. Often, technicalities are just as good as alliances. And besides; whichever choice you make, it won't make a difference. After all, you've fooled yourself into believing you're good enough. So it's easier to let you keep making this very same mistake... again... and again... and again..."

The man trailed off as he turned, and walked back into the shadow, disappearing from view, and reality.

Alucard tried to move, tried to stand, tried to breath, but he just couldn't. He was really under a spell, a curse even, and there was no stopping it this time. He wanted to scream, but he just couldn't quite manage it.

...

"What the hell was that", Pip asked in a high tone.

Six Gun snored gently away beside him. Seras, who had been sitting under Alucard's hammock, however, was now wide awake. Above her was a tattered hammock, from which her master had flown. She turned her head, and witnessed the door, which was now little more than splinters on the ground.

"I", Seras began, but paused.

"I... think that was Alucard."

"Oh", Pip said, as if he had missed the obvious. "Yeah, why didn't I think of that?"

Seras stared at the splintered door.

Pip yawned, decreeing, "Well, he certainly doesn't need help. I'm going back to sleep."

"I think I'll follow him", Seras said almost absentmindedly, sliding from the bed, and onto the floor.

She reached into her bag, and pulled out her uniform. Pip looked away as she changed out of her nighty and into her uniform, grumbling that she was going back to the skirt as soon as she got home. She buttoned herself up, kicked her suitcase under her bed, and walked out of the door, following the tracks Alucard had made in the pavement.

Pip leaned over, and shook Six Gun awake.

"Get up retard", Pip harshly growled.

Six Gun turned to look at Pip, giving an exasperated sigh.

"Didn't you just say that Alucard doesn't need any help?"

"First of all, its fucking creepy how you can remember people's conversations even while you're asleep."

"'I hear... secrets that you keep-'"

"Shut the fuck up. Second of all, he may not, but she certainly does. Remember the werewolf thing?"

"All I can think of is when you said, 'she'll never know true love until she knows Fur-ench love' while you were drunk as a skunk."

"Again, shut up. You still got your shotgun?"

"Yep."

"Bring it. I get the feeling that this is going to get messy."

...

She finally found him, laying on the ground, being kicked by several teenagers. She picked up a nearby opened can, and tossed it near them. It soared past their heads, immediately getting their attention. They turned to face her, uncertain. She grabbed another can from off the ground, and cocked her arm back. That seemed to get their attention. They fled quickly.

She dropped the can, and hesitantly approached Alucard. His face was blue, and his muscles were clenched like he was convulsing. She got down on her knees, and scooted closer to his face.

"Master", she asked gingerly, touching his shoulder.

He suddenly shot erect, gasping for breath. In the same breath, he began violently coughing. As soon as the fit was over, he began gasping for breath again. His face began returning to a more natural color, and, after fighting for a moment, he looked around, and laid his head back down on the pavement. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, and let out a seeping sigh.

"She's gone", he finally said.

At first, Seras was confused by that statement, but when she took a quick look around, the particular alley began to look familiar. With a sudden terror, she turned back to see Alucard struggling to get up.

Initially, the first thought she had was, why didn't you do anything, but as soon as she thought that, she realized how dumb that sounded. After all, he came all the way out here and-

Failed. Something had stopped him. What could have possibly been strong enough to do that?

He finally managed to stagger to his feet, but he moved no further. He looked deflated, broken, even. Like a zeppelin on fire.

"We have to find her", Seras immediately concluded, and tried to meet Alucard's eyes, searching for his guidance.

He refused to meet them.

"I", he began, and then stopped.

"Where do you think they took her", Seras pressed. "Do you think they took her back to that cold storage facility? We could-"

"Can't", he finished.

"What?"

"I can't fight them", Alucard said.

Seras stared at him like he had grown a second head. She had seen this man come back from being made bone stew. What in the hell did he mean he couldn't fight them?

"Then I'll find her", Seras told him.

A look of surprise jumped across his face. She didn't wait anymore after that look. She turned, and left, going back through the alleyways, trying to find her way back towards the cold storage facility.

If he had had his wits about him, he would have told her how proud he was of her. Alas, he was a shell of the man he had been only moments ago. He could barely put one foot in front of the other.

But that's what he did. That's what he always did. Heaven was bright, the wind blew, Hell burned, and Dracula marched.

...

It had taken her a while to reach the cold storage facility, but when she did, she found it in much the same condition as it had been left in. She marched straight up to the door, and raised her foot to kick it down. Almost immediately, she realized how dumb that was; more than likely, she was going to be outnumbered.

She quickly looked around for another point of ingress, and suddenly realized just how many vehicles were outside. She counted five black SUV's, and one more car among them. She was a bit confused that there weren't any guards outside; if Half Moon was coming back in a big way, they would want to beef up protection, wouldn't they?

Seras chose to try and find a way through from the roof. It was actually pretty easy to find a maintenance shaft, and from there, she could crawl in through the vents, or something like that. When she climbed up, though, she found a whole maintenance access hatch, complete with a stairway and handrails. She nearly punched herself at the realization. Of course there would be easy access to the A/C units; it was a frickin cold storage facility.

She opened up the unlocked hatch, and quickly made her way down it. Immediately, she could tell that what she was looking at wasn't Half-Moon; men in hazmat suits were taking pictures of every angle of the warehouse, and in certain areas, had already begun the process of cleaning the blood and shit off of the walls and floor.

She was about to turn around and leave, when a second glance landed on two different people.

The people in question were a large woman and a short man; the large woman looked like an Amazon, if they were white, at least six-foot-three, and covered in tattoos, including a- wait, was that a real, working, third eye on her forehead? She almost didn't notice the giant scythe she was carrying.

She, however, was a footnote compared to the short man. Seras had seen him before, but she had thought it was in a dream.

"So", the man with the salt-and-pepper hair said to the tall woman, in a quiet, wavering, yet somehow confident voice, "the big man won't accept my offer?"

"No", the woman said, clearly annoyed, in a thick and powerful German accent. "The idiot refuses to see reason. He would rather we all start this war on our own."

"Well", the man began carefully, "he certainly has the firepower for it."

"Ja", the woman said. "And I think we can pull it off, but-"

"I literally know the future?"

"Ja", the woman confirmed with a chuckle.

"Well, you can't convince everyone", he said with the swagger of a man who could convince everyone. "It will be a shame to see your faction withdraw support."

"Withdraw support", the woman said, with a measure of shock in her voice.

"Well, of course", the man told her. "You're going to need every bullet for your war. And I will need every soul for mine."

The large woman hesitated, and then asked, "Will we win?"

The man gave her a sideways glance, and then a soft smile, declaring softly, "You know I can't tell you that."

"Ja, ja", the woman said with a hand wave, "nothing is certain-"

"The future can change", the man finished.

Seras had heard more than enough. She turned to leave-

Immediately, she felt cold metal across her abdomen. She felt herself being flung backwards. She shot past half of the warehouse into the waiting arms of the cowboy with the cane, and the red spotlight eyes.

"Hello, little lady", he said in a low, gravelly voice, with a wicked grin stretching across his face. "Care to go for a ride?"

...

Alucard trudged through the night, lost. He had no idea where he was going, only that he had to go somewhere, had to do something. He knew only to move forward, even if he didn't want to go that way. It had been engrained into his very being that he had to go somewhere, had to do something, so he walked, even though his feet felt like concrete.

He was minutely aware of the fact that the town had been practically abandoned in the night, that everyone else had gone to bed, even the overnighters and the rowdy teenagers, but he didn't care that he was alone. In a way, he always had been. He felt no more lost that he already did.

...he walked the streets a soldier, and he fought the world alone...

The sounds of Skid Row made him pause. He glanced off to his right, and was greeted with the sight of a rundown bar. The front door looked like at least two hinges had been replaced, and the neon sign was missing a few letters.

When in doubt, his father's poisoned voice said in his ear, let the bottle do the thinking.

Normally, he was privy to buck whatever shitty advice his father had given him, but tonight, he was wondering if that line didn't have some merit to it. It certainly seemed like a better idea than any he had come up with. So, in he went.

He blew straight past the tables, going straight for the bar, transfixed on a bottle of tequila that he was going to make his bitch. A hand reached out and grasped that bottle, and brought it up to the lips of a twenty-something-year-old woman. As she began draining the bottle, Alucard stopped dead in his tracks.

This was not a twenty-something woman, although hardship and warfare had given her looks and experience beyond her age; she was a seventeen-year-old girl, and the last time he had seen her, she had had a large hole in her abdomen, and her eyes had appeared glazed over.

Before him was Vasya, the highest-ranking commander in his once-grand army, and his stalker.

There could be a plethora of reasons why an undead wouldn't turn to dust when they died, but the biggest reason had to do with the use of Power or Magic. If they were using a lot of either, they were bound to poof into nonexistence when they died. That was why Alucard haunted the undead, and didn't fight them.

When Vasya had supposedly been killed, it was entirely possible that she hadn't been using any power at all. Knowing her, when she had seen the Romanians take over Dracula's cannons, she may have forgotten all else and made for the castle at a dead sprint. The grapeshot that had punched through her armor and out the other side would have killed her very quickly, it having been made of silver, but it may not have turned her to dust. That had technically left a chance for a revival, but in Dracula's depressed state, there was little he wanted to do.

Somehow, she had survived, despite the lake of blood surrounding her, and those glazed-over eyes.

She wore a look of bored indifference on her face, and the bottle of tequila in her hands was halfway gone. She lowered it to the counter, and gazed upon it with a downtrodden expression. Almost instantly, her expression changed, and she began wildly sniffing the air. She threw a crazed look over her shoulder towards Alucard, and almost immediately he turned to leave.

"YOU THERE", she yelled.

He stopped in his tracks. She would have never spoken to him like that when she was under his command, and he doubted that if she knew who he was now, she would be calling out to him like he was a common stranger. He glanced back over his shoulder.

"You smell nice", she continued, though she had a frown on her face. She pointed to the empty stool next to her, saying, "Sit and drink with me."

From a table nearby, someone breathed, "Lucky bastard."

"You're kidding", someone whispered back. "That woman's insane, he's fucked!"

Alucard, not one to back down, turned, and walked towards the empty stool, not taking his eyes off of it. He slid in carefully, and kept his eyes forward. Within a minute, there was a bottle of vodka in front of him.

Liquid courage, his father crooned.

Liquid hatred, he retorted.

He wasn't sure what made him and his family line such angry drunks, but he knew that if he was to partake in the bottle, he would spend his life miserable and angry. He could only tolerate wine in small doses, and even then, he was careful to not even begin a buzz.

Tonight was different. He wanted to be angry. He needed direction, even if that direction was only primal.

He popped the cork and drank down half of the bottle like he was dying of thirst.

When the bottle hit the counter, he felt something sharp touch his side.

"Tell me your name", Vasya hissed.

No, she definitely doesn't know who I am. Which means she definitely isn't fucking around. The last thing I want to do is get her killed again.

"Alucard", he responded indifferently.

"Dracula spelt backwards", she said immediately, and the blade left his side. "You must be mad. You will fit right in here."

What the Vatican hadn't figured out in over a hundred fifty years, she had discovered without so much as a logic pause. Even in such an addled state, she demonstrated so effortlessly why she was a supreme commander.

Yet, apparently, she wasn't supreme enough to figure out that the half-assed ruse was just that.

"I served under him", she continued, and drained more of her bottle before adding, "Dracula."

He almost responded with an annoyed, "I know", but that would have gotten him in a lot of trouble. The alcohol was already playing hell on him. He was a bit surprised by how fast it was working.

"You almost smell just like him", she declared, looking at him carefully, "but something is... missing."

She turned back to the bottle, and Alucard instinctively ran a hand over his gums.

"Of course, there's more there", she went on, "a lot more. But I would have assumed that to be a given. It has been a hundred fifty-eight years and ninety-eight days since I last saw him. Surely, he would have been up to something since then."

She paused, hesitant, then continued, "For a moment, I could have swore I smelled Helsing on you."

Trying to appeal to her common sense would be a bad idea. The best way to convince her that he wasn't worth fighting would be to tell her what she wanted to hear. He concocted a story pretty easily.

"Had a run-in with them recently", he told her.

"Did you kill any of them?"

"No."

"That's a shame."

"Shame they didn't get me, you mean", he prodded.

"Maybe", she admitted. She quickly changed the subject, "Now I must ask. Why are you here? I saw you looking at that bottle like you wanted to attack it."

He hesitated, but the wall broke down.

"They kidnapped my daughter."

"Helsing?"

"Half-Moon."

"Go get her back, then", spoken as if the answer were obvious.

And now that he had heard it from her, it was. It was so obvious that he laughed out loud.

"Do you need help", she asked. There was almost a pleading look about her when she said it.

"No", he told her. "I'll do it."

He stood up to leave, then turned back.

"Thank you, though."

She gave a small, curt nod, and watched him. He turned back to the door, and marched his way out. She watched him until he disappeared around the corner. Then she stood, and walked out the back door, more than likely jumping her tab.

...

The sounds of sleep filled the night, with the exception of two men.

"Where are we going again?"

"I don't know, man", Pip answered truthfully, "I think we're just going to go until we find someone."

They had been walking for almost an hour now, and Alley's alley had been empty, so they were, for the most part, lost. That didn't make Six Gun's question any less exacerbating. Sometimes being right was the far harder accelerant.

"Maybe we should head for the Cold Storage facility", Six Gun suggested, adjusting his shotgun again.

"Nah", Pip decreed. "If someone had gone that way already, then it would be best to try and intercept them on their way back. Even so, I'm pretty sure this isn't a Half-Moon problem."

"I'll admit", Six Gun conceded, "It's hard to bounce back in a day."

The duo continued walking. The night was fairly silent. The most prominent noise was of their feet hitting the pavement.

Six Gun continued in French, "Peut-on parler de Brisbane?"

"Non", Pip snapped.

"Écoutez, patron, quelqu'un doit vous dire-"

"Personne n'a à me dire de la merde", Pip said, wheeling on Six Gun, "J'ai passé un appel et c'était un putain de mauvais appel, j'ai compris, arrête de baiser-"

"Vous avez fait le bon appel, vous retardez", Six Gun shouted.

Pip stopped in his tracks.

"Je ne voulais pas tuer des civils, aucun de nous ne l'a fait ! Laisser Bram à sa mort et déserter était le bon choix ! Oui, nous avons déshonoré la France, mais nous avons sauvé nos âmes, et cela vaut bien plus qu'un drapeau!"

"Je n'ai pas-"

"Ta gueule! Oui tu peux! C'était la meilleure chose que vous auriez pu faire et vous l'avez fait alors que tout le monde était trop lâche pour le faire ! Tu es un putain de héros, Pip ! Arrête de te dire le contraire!"

Pip looked down at his feet.

"Revenons à ça, d'accord?"

"Tu as raison", Six Gun said, suddenly attentive, "J'entends quelque chose."

"Very fluent French", someone said, as the air squeaked around him, "especially for an American. Were you Legion, perhaps?"

"I don't rightly think that's your business", Six Gun called back into the shadows, reaching for his shotgun.

The squeaking continued again, as the voice declared, "Oh, but it is. After all, I thoroughly research all of my quarry, yet you don't seem very familiar to me."

"So go hunt something else", Pip told him, hefting his M1911.

The man finally came into view, and the squeaking suddenly made sense; the man was in a wheelchair. Pip and Six Gun shared a glance, and leveled their weapons at him. The man chuckled slightly, his slender frame accented by his round sunglasses and long, straight, silver hair.

He lifted up his hands, saying, "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Pip and Six Gun glanced up, and were greeted by the sight of four very large werewolves clinging to the walls around them. They all had jet-black fur, wicked grins, and saliva dribbling off their chins. The two mercenaries threw down their weapons.

"Fucking hell", Six Gun sighed.

"je déteste l'Amérique putain", Pip cursed.

"Wash your mouth out with soap", Six Gun told him sternly.

"If Alucard doesn't do it first", Pip sighed.

...

Alucard walked into the club, his buzz already starting to wear off. His thick blood was hogging all of his fun, begging for attention... to be thinned. He was hungry... and furthermore, he was angry.

The shitbags in this club may not all have belonged to secret societies, as evidence that they weren't all actively participating in blood orgies, but he had made up his mind. The lurid mass of people dancing on the floor to a horrible, high-pitched whine that irritated him to no end, drinking shitty, overpriced booze at the bar, and doing various drugs on the tables closest to him were all expendable if it came to that. They were running with the wrong crowds. It was bound to happen sooner or later.

For a moment, he softened, and a deep, sad frown creased his face, as he gave thought to the fact that it had become so easy to kill... anyone he pleased. At first, it had been about vengeance. Yes, sacrifices had been made-

No, it had been about duty. And honor. And service to his people. And in service, there were sacrifices. Ones that sometimes kept him up at night, but that ultimately had been made with the right intentions in mind; to serve his people, and his God.

Then it had been about revenge.

Now he just did it because he felt like it.

What was he becoming? A walking blasphemy, a heretic, not just to the GOD he used to serve, but to the man he used to be. Was this really what Alley would have wanted?

The very thought of her brought him back into focus. Vasya was right. She was out there, alone. She needed someone. It wasn't about what she wanted. It was about what she needed.

And she needed for these people to die.

Almost on cue, someone much shorter bumped into him.

"Watch where you're goin', new guy", a man who was clearly a regular spat at him, as if "new guy" was synonymous with "clean liver" and as if that were somehow an insult.

Speaking of insults, he had smelled this guy before.

"Hey, faggot", the guy yelled, smacking his shoulder with the palm of his hand in an aggressive manner. "I'm talking to you! You bumped into me! What're ya supposed to say?!"

He could smell them now. Fourteen... no, fifteen of them, all PMC's, all with the smell of that van on them. Highly trained mercenaries who didn't have as much of a conscience as most mercs tended to. Who would kidnap children for shady people who paid well... children who clearly weren't rich, spoiled brats. Children who clearly weren't their own... and who were clearly very young. They deserved no empathy.

"The girl", Alucard said in an even voice.

"Excuse me?!"

"The girl", Alucard repeated. "The one you took tonight. Where did you take her?"

"I don't know what kinda fuckin' crack you're smokin'", the guy began, as he brought his hand into Alucard's shoulder again, "but I want-"

Alucard grabbed the man's wrist and twisted it, snapping it instantly. The man howled in pain, as Alucard held him there, watching everyone in the club turn to look. He took careful note of everyone who began reaching for their hips and coats.

Way more than fourteen.

Deciding that it was time to make his intentions known, he shouted, "My child was stolen from me. This is one of the men who took her."

A few people got the idea, and stopped reaching for weapons. A few of them started getting up from the tables, moving closer to the walls. Alucard could smell that none of them were from the van. Smartly, no one moved for the exit.

"All I want is to know where she was taken", he told them.

A lot of the mercs had their hands on their weapons, and were preparing to draw.

When the Turks had taken him from his home, they had tortured him, abused him, raped him, but they had also taught him a great many things. By the age of fifteen, he could disassemble, clean, and reassemble a matchlock rifle while blindfolded, and he could fire it, one-handed, to the effect of one hundred fifty yards, a nearly impossible feat by the standards of the day by almost double. After he had realized his life was meant to be a long one, he sought to learn everything he could, not just about firearms, but how to use them properly, and furthermore, how to become effective with them in any situation. Now, he silently thanked all of his mentors, even his torturers, for teaching him how to be a master of war.

If these people were in any way skilled at such methods, it was miniscule compared to what Alucard brought to the table.

"Everyone who stands in my way", he warned, as he reached down towards his left hip.

All of the mercs began drawing their guns, just as Anna's sword tore a bloody swath through the merc's side. Perhaps it was the sight of the sword that gave them pause, because Alucard had just enough time to close the distance with another merc, driving the sword through her chest, as the bullets began slicing the air.

Screams roared throughout the room, giving a decent backdrop to the horrible music that played, adding to Alucard's irritation even more, fueling the intense rage he felt. Most of the people who had been reaching for weapons who weren't mercs had abandoned hope of fighting and had smartly chosen flight, getting as far out of Alucard's way as possible. Even the mass of people on the dance floor began to part like the red sea at the strike of Moses' staff.

Alucard twisted the blade, dragging it through the woman's chest cavity, and reversed his grip to his left hand, spinning to a knee, and yanking out a .454 with his right hand, blasting it through the gut of the closest merc, popping his spleen and stopping him instantly as poisoned blood gushed through his veins.

The merc didn't even have time to scream before Alucard was moving again, lunging for a crowd of three, who all had their handguns raised, and all fired to no effect. Alucard plunged the sword through the shoulder of the closest merc, spearing it through, using the inertia and leverage to spin him around, and from behind him, he shot the merc to his right in the throat, bursting both carotid arteries, nearly decapitating him and gushing blood everywhere. The merc with the blade in his shoulder spun around to face him, and Alucard kicked him in the chest, rocketing him back into the merc on the left, impaling him on the blade as well, driving them both into an aligned heap on the ground.

By then, two mercs had rushed him at either side, and the first one took a round to the thicker portions of his leg, blowing off huge chunks of meat, stumbling him for just a moment, long enough for the other to reach Alucard first. The man stuck his gun straight out, aiming it at Alucard's head. Alucard batted it aside, and then wrapped his arm around the gun arm, pulling the merc in closer, and firing a .454 through his kidney and into the heads of the two impaled mercs. Alucard pushed the man back, and turned to the other merc who was still rushing him, putting two rounds through his chest, both lung shots. He turned to the kidney-shot merc, and put a round into his head as well, spreading brain matter all over the two impaled mercs behind him.

Everyone who wasn't a mercenary turned and fled at that point, minus the tweaked-out people flailing their bodies on the dance floor, probably under the impression that they were hallucinating. Alucard had just enough time to reach down and draw his sword from the two dead bodies before another merc rushed him from the right side, firing wildly at his chest. The merc got too close, and Alucard spun to a knee, allowing the man to spear himself onto his sword, through his gut. Alucard put a bullet under his chin for good measure, and then turned to assess his situation, pulling his sword from the man's gut as he did.

One merc, who he guessed by the gray hair to be the leader of this merry band of asshats, had positioned himself behind the bar, and was firing into the crowd, trying to hit Alucard. All he was hitting were partygoers, who still didn't know the mortal danger they were in. Other than him, five more mercs had taken refuge behind overturned tables. One of the mercs popped out from his cover, and Alucard rolled to his side, pulling his .454 up, and putting a round through the right side of his neck, leaving his head dangling by a sinewy thread.

He heard two people approaching from behind; he had been outflanked. He spun to a knee, firing under his armpit, striking one merc in the intestine, doubling him over. The other one ended up reaching him, and grabbed him by the collar, lifting him up, and slamming him into a glass table covered in white powder. The powder puffed up all around him, clouding the big, burlesque man's vision. In a rage, the man grabbed Alucard up again, and suplexed him onto a wooden table behind him, cranking Alucard's neck hard. He took a second to recover and get his hand on his sword as the big man got back up, and reached down to grab at Alucard again. Alucard spun, slicing a deep, thin line through the man's neck. Blood began to shoot from the wound, and Alucard grabbed the man, pulling him down closer to him, and angled his mouth in an evil smile as his face was drenched in blood. He opened his mouth to get a taste, just as rounds began slapping into the burly man's back, coming from the bar.

In a rage, Alucard hoisted the man up on his legs, and used his power to thrust the man all the way to the bar, landing on the senior leader, hopefully solving the problem of him for the time being.

Alucard rolled, and as another merc snapped up to take a shot, Alucard emptied the rest of his mag into the merc's chest behind the wooden table, leaving the slide on the handcannon racked open. The last merc, seeing that he was out of ammo, ducked from behind his cover to get a better shot. What he failed to see was that Alucard had taken up the Archer's power position, and he used his arm like a catapult, throwing the sword blade-first through the man's chest, stopping only when his flesh hit the cross guard.

As the man fell, Alucard reloaded his empty gun, the action taking less than half a second, and replaced it to the holster in his coat. He took stock of the room as a whole. Fourteen mercs and various drugged out civilians lay in growing pools of blood on the floor, counting the one he had thrown over the bar. Two of them, one gutshot, the other one poisoned, lay still alive on the floor. Alucard calmly walked over to the prone body of the man he had thrown his sword through, and placing a hand on the handle, and a boot on the man's chest, retrieved his sword from the sucking wound. He calmly walked over to the man who had been gutshot, and grabbed him by the collar, pulling him up to his knees. He drew the sword across his neck, cutting the trachea and one of the carotid arteries. He let the man fall to the ground ungraciously.

He walked past the poisoned man, who lay shivering on the ground in the fetal position, without another thought. He would die soon, and even if he didn't his body was slowly eating itself alive; he had no chance of acting through that. He was no longer a threat. He sheathed the sword, and took a moment to take in his surroundings yet again.

Whoever on the dance floor of this club had decided that this wasn't real and was all for show had to be the biggest idiots or so incredibly drugged out that they were likely going to overdose within the next hour. To Alucard, it didn't matter much anymore. In fact, at this point in time, he decided, as he dragged a hand across his face, smearing himself with blood, not much in the world mattered at all.

A white, powdery substance on the glass table he had been smashed through caught his attention. He really needed something right now, anything at all, to stem the tide that was welling inside him. Alcohol wasn't doing it. Neither was violence.

The glass had all shattered to the floor, covered in tiny hills of white powder. He picked up a particularly long shard that seemed like it had enough still left on it to kill a fully grown lion, and snorted it all into his big nostrils. Dopamine began coursing through his head, mudding his thought. But it did nothing to stem the tide. If anything, it made things worse; now he was cranked.

The elderly leader popped out from behind the bar, and fired a few rounds at Alucard. Blood splashed the wall in front of him, but he was slow to feel its extent, the pain beginning a crawling build inside of him.

In a trippy way, it felt good.

He about-faced and marched straight up to the lone survivor, crossing the dance floor, ignoring the 9mm rounds slashing through his body. Blood lanced out behind him, coating the floor even moreso, but his eyes were fixed on this motherfucker, this piece of shit, that needed to be ended.

As soon as he closed the distance, he grabbed him by the collar, hoisting him across the bar, and throwing him out onto the blood-slick dance floor. He slid on his back for several feet, and Alucard followed him the whole way, keeping up a slow, angry, powerful march. As soon as his slide began nearing its conclusion, the old man rolled onto his stomach, and began trying to push himself off the floor, his gaze fixed on the exit. But the ground beneath him was slick with blood and the bodies of his men, and as he slid for purchase, he tripped on the hand of one of the party people he had shot. He landed face-first, smashing his nose onto the ground, breaking it completely.

As fresh blood began spilling from his nostrils, Alucard reached him, and grabbed him by the shoulders, hoisting him up, and throwing him over his head, back towards the bar. Once again, the man slid on his back, and cracked his head against the bar. It hit hard enough that his bell was thoroughly rung, and instead of moving to escape, he clutched his head in pain.

Alucard grabbed him by the collar, and hoisted him up so that he was eye-level.

"Where is she", Alucard asked, without emotion or conviction.

"I don't know what you're talking about", the old man told him, as he spat blood into Alucard's face.

Alucard allowed his tongue to lull out of his mouth, and he licked his lips very slowly.

"You're going to make me do this the hard way", Alucard stated. "Good."

Alucard extended his sharp teeth, opening his mouth wide, and sunk them all into the pathetic worm's neck. The old man screamed... and he would for several long minutes. Alucard was in no hurry to drain him. But the more that Alucard sifted, the more he realized that since he had recently done this horrific deed, he was going to find what he needed quickly. Alucard began to drain faster, focusing his efforts on making the memories as clear as possible. The more he did, the more dark power began to flow from his body.

And as he saw what had become of Alley, the hatred flowed from his body straight into the man.

He must have felt like his veins were on fire, and in a way, they were; his blood was being set at a boil, from pure hatred and malice. After a few more moments in that position, Alucard released him, and threw him away, allowing the man to writhe in pain and agony on the ground in front of him.

As the man slowly died, Alucard's face became more and more twisted into a brutal, hideous, malignant sneer, showing all of his sharp teeth, accented by the blood that was smeared all over his face. The whites of his eyes filled with red, and the red in his eyes began melting, turning into a molten lava pit in his irises, and red vapor began seething from his mouth.

And he realized, right then and there, that he wasn't going to be able to ignore the tidal wave this time.

It was time to open the floodgates.

Time to burn it all away.

...

The moon shone brightly over the dead city.

Thomas Roberts was just having another day at work. He himself was on "break", finishing a cigarette underneath the light pole, when Jennifer walked by, giving him a slight nod. He nodded back, and tossed the butt of the cigarette onto the ground, crushing it with his heel. He turned back around, and walked inside a perfectly normal looking office building. He nodded to Bill, who nodded back, and locked the door behind him, returning to his small security office full of monitors.

Technically, Tommy wasn't supposed to be outside smoking, but today was a different day. Apparently, someone from... ahem, "Corporate", had put them on high alert, and they needed as many eyes on the world around them as possible. That apparently included people, despite the fact that this particular, normal-looking office building, was supposed to give off the illusion that it was abandoned.

He allowed himself a brief sigh concerning the incompetence of higher management wherever he seemed to go, and continued his quest into the innards of the building. He passed by a weapon locker, hidden to the eye of the common man, but easily discernable if you knew what to look for. Passing further down the hall, he reached the break room, where the three others were waiting.

He sighed audibly, saying, "Which one of you idiots is next?"

Michael sighed, and stood up, holding his hand out for the pack of smokes.

"Tommy", Bill called from his office in a panicked, cracking voice, "I need you here for a moment!"

Michael raised an eyebrow, and the whole group stood to follow Tommy to Bill's office. Tommy swept into the office with the group close behind him. Bill hovered over one of the monitors, sweat pouring from his head, his whole body trembling.

"I just need a second here", Bill said in a shaky, cracking voice, "just to make sure they see what I'm seeing."

Tommy glanced over his shoulder at the group, who looked just as startled as Bill did. Bill wasn't one to shake easy. Maybe the easiest of the group, but that didn't mean much. Tommy had seen Bill strangle a kid while reciting poetry.

Tommy peered over Bill's shoulder to see what he was looking at.

Jennifer had been hanged from the light post outside.

"I swear to god", Bill told him, "I only looked away for a second."

Tommy wiped his nose, and looked back at the group. He singled out Tyrone with his eyes, and nodded to him. Tyrone nodded back, and tapped the backs of Michael and Brent, and they went with him to go grab the rifles from the locker.

Tommy patted Bill's shoulder.

"It's ok, Bill", Tommy said, "I believe-"

The screen exploded in static, and the loudest white noise he had ever heard, making him instinctively reach for his ears. In the same instant, the static was replaced by imagery; people, skinned alive, burning, impaled and rotting, and over it, a chilling message.

Liberatas tuteme, ex inferis

As the voice spoke the words, a man appeared with a gun in his hand. With tears streaming down his eyes, and snot spilling out of his nose, he pushed the gun up to his temple. As he pulled the trigger, the sound and picture cut out.

The monitor cut out all together for a moment, and Tommy's arms went back down to his sides. He instinctively reached for his handgun for comfort, but as he did so, the picture returned. It was the same scene the camera had picked up before, Jennifer hanging from the street lamp, only now, there was a figure beneath her, closer to the side of the building. He didn't have time to make out any real details before the feed cut out again.

For a time, him and Bill sat in complete silence.

Then Tommy sprang into action.

"EVERYONE GRAB A RIFLE", he shouted.

The rifles in question were Colt M16a1's from Vietnam. Of their small group, only Bill was intimately familiar with the rifle, and he hated it. As far as Tommy felt, it was accurate and fully automatic, and that was all he could ask for.

The armed group stacked up along the hallway. As Tommy entered the hallway, Tyrone was already there, extra rifle in his off hand. He tossed it to Tommy, who caught it deftly. Tommy glanced over his shoulder for Bill, only to find that he was still staring at the empty monitors.

He thought about tapping him on the shoulder, but as the thought crossed his mind, the door resonated with scratching noises. The sound of nails on a chalkboard echoed throughout the hallway. The group tensed, aiming their rifles at the door in unison.

The sound abruptly stopped, leaving them with only the ambient noises of the humming fluorescent lights. For the most part, everyone kept their eyes on the door. Michael, however, shared a quick glance with Tommy.

The sound of clanking metal, and the door had a huge dent in it.

Tommy wasn't exactly sure who had fired first, but they were quickly mag-dumping in unison, sending round after round sailing through the metal door. Small star-shaped holes soon covered the door and nearby walls, letting in little streaks of moonlight.

When they had all run out of ammo, silence filled the air. Once again, the only sound was the fluorescent lights humming.

"Reloading", Brent shouted, dropping his empty mag and quickly replacing it with a fresh one.

His shout had broken the adrenaline-fueled trance they had all gone into. Tyrone dropped his own mag, and quickly replaced it. He stuck his hand in his pocket, producing another fresh one, tossing it to Tommy. Tommy caught it, dropped his own empty mag, and replaced it.

He took a look back into the monitor room, and found Bill dead. His pistol in his hand, he had a bullet wound in the side of his head, near the temple. It appeared that Bill had shot himself. That was a bit of a shock to Tommy, as he had always thought of Bill as a happy soul.

Tommy began shuffling back towards the hallway.

"Tommy", Tyrone snapped.

Tommy turned his head towards him. In turn, Tyrone pointed towards the door. Tommy turned to follow his finger.

Fog was flowing in through the bullet holes.

It was pooling towards the ground, and approaching them rapidly.

"BACK UP", Tommy shouted.

The group began moving backwards, and automatically began gravitating towards each other. The fog's speed did not change, but as it got closer, the fluorescent lights above began flickering out one by one. The lights suddenly all went out, and the group stopped on cue, circling up and focusing their fields of fire on the door.

The sound of metal scraping sent more rounds flying towards the door. The door flung open, causing more rounds to be sent downrange. They struck nothing, as there was nothing in the doorframe.

The group seemed to hold their breath, uncertainty overruling training momentarily. Tommy, against his better judgement, lowered his rifle to readjust his grip.

As he did, a pair of red, glowing eyes opened behind unseen eyelids, and stared directly into his soul.

He pulled his rifle back up, but by then, he realized that he was surrounded by red glowing eyes.

He tapped Tyrone's shoulder, just to make sure he was still there, and was relieved to find that he was. As he turned to reconvene with him, though, he caught a blur flying towards them from behind the group out of the corner of his eye. He wheeled around, rifle up.

The black mass grew sharp, white teeth, and those teeth sunk into the neck of Michael. Immediately, blood shot from the puncture wounds those teeth created, spraying all over Brent, who wheeled around to face it. The black mass morphed, growing those red, glowing eyes, and shaping into a man; a tall, lean, dangerous man, clothed in all black. Michael screamed, his eyes widening in horror.

The deafening boom and flash of two rifles going off at once, and holes were punched into both Michael and the tall man. The wounds didn't even seem to faze the man, and he continued to greedily drink Michael's essence. Tyrone finally turned, aiming his rifle at the man in black.

The man finally moved, dropping Michael to the ground unceremoniously, standing to his full, massive height. Tyrone unleashed a hail of bullets on him, punching small, red holes into him. They seemed to close as fast as he could make them, and the tall man didn't seem at all fazed by them.

He lifted a hand in Tyrone's direction, and black, shimmering fog shot out around his hand, straight at Tyrone's face. Tyrone screamed as his skin was shredded, his nose left dangling off of his face, his lips peeled back from his teeth at jagged angles, his eyelids sheared off, his face pouring blood.

He turned, dropping his rifle, clutching at his face, and tried to run. Tommy ran after him, fear seizing him. Brent turned and ran as well, apparently finding the situation untenable.

Tyrone screamed again, jerking to a stop, falling over forwards. Tommy chanced a glance back at him, to find that his right leg had been severed above the knee. Tyrone tried to crawl away, but some unseen force seized his other leg, pulling him roughly back towards the man in black. Tyrone screamed, clawing at the ground for purchase, only succeeding in breaking his nails. Tyrone screamed for Tommy to help him, but Tommy could do nothing. He turned and continued to run.

Brent screamed as well, but his scream was cut short by a gurgling sound. Tommy turned to see what had happened to him, only to find him vomiting blood. Behind him, the man in black was making a fist, his piercing red eyes shining brightly on the situation. Tommy turned, and ran for the door, only to hear a crunching, squelching sound, and feel something hot and liquid splash against his back. It goaded him to run faster.

The open door before him. If he could run through it, he could be free of this nightmare. He sprinted with all of his might.

It slammed closed before him.

He slammed into it, unwilling to turn around. A sharp, searing pain across his foot, and suddenly he was being dragged backwards. He clawed around desperately, finding purchase on the doorframe to the monitor room. He pulled with all of his might against the force that pulled him back, and a wet squelch sounded through the hall as his foot was torn from his leg. He howled in pain, crawling as fast as he could to the interior of the monitor room.

There he found Bill's body again, the pistol still in his hand. Tommy wasn't sure when he had dropped his rifle, but he was sure he didn't have it anymore and that he needed something. He pulled the pistol out of Bill's hand, and pointed it at the doorframe.

He wasn't surprised to find the man was already there, staring down at him. Tommy chanced a glance up into his eyes. He was horrified by what he saw.

He had expected to find them filled with the hunger of a predator, or the laughter of a psychopath.

All they were filled with was disdain. The tall man looked down upon him like he was trash in a bin. Like he didn't deserve the life he had been given.

Somehow that was worse.

He wanted to shoot the man, but the eyes told him everything he needed to know. There was no escape, not from the nightmare he was about to be consumed by.

He chanced a glance back at Bill, and suddenly it all made sense.

"Liberatas tuteme", he repeated, "ex inferis."

He put the barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

...

Alucard marched up the stairs. This perfectly normal, abandoned office building would be swarming with cops before too long, he was more than certain, so he had to wrap this night up. There was no way in hell he was going to leave without finishing what he came here to do, though.

The man at the top of the stairs was probably their "mission coordinator", but he hadn't ordered this job. Alucard was more than certain that a merc outfit wanted nothing to do with a small girl living in an alley. He wouldn't find out who ordered it by asking, though, of that, he was sure. If the Devil himself was willing to stop him, then he would find out in due time, on what they surely thought was their terms. He would once again have to wait patiently.

The man, panic in his eyes, the seedy smell of adrenaline wafting off him, foolishly fired at round at Alucard from his pistol.

Alucard cupped his palm, and the man began choking, dropping his pistol to grab at his neck. As he did, he was flung back-first onto the ceiling. Alucard unsheathed Anna's sword, and brought it up, cleaving the man in half. His guts spilled slowly from his body, and when Alucard was satisfied, he let the man splatter unceremoniously on the ground.

As he crossed the threshold of the door, he found what he had come for, and his heart sank.

...

Schrodinger shakily closed the screen on his handheld video recorder. He hadn't asked for them to go as far as they had. He just wanted to hurt Alucard, not that poor little girl. Those bastards had certainly paid a high price.

How high a price would he pay when Alucard found him?

Schrodinger put the camcorder into the case, and tossed it into the dumpster. It landed on the stained mattress below, more than likely just fine.

"Beautiful, wasn't it", a monotone, gravelly voice asked him.

Schrodinger's head snapped back, and he was greeted by a pair of red, glowing spotlights. Instinctively, Schrodinger ripped the knife off of his hip, and jammed it up under his chin. His limp, lifeless corpse fell off the roof and into the dumpster below.

"Riveting", the cowboy said with an exasperated sigh.

He turned his attention back to the supposedly abandoned office building.

...

He couldn't tell if she was still alive. She was so badly beaten, and by the smell of it, assaulted, that she was little more than a bloody mess. If she was breathing at all, it was so shallowly that he couldn't see her chest rise and fall.

He turned to leave, trying to compose himself. He had done what he declared he would do.

"D-Daddy?"

The sound broke his heart and stayed his feet. It was so weak, it was barely a whisper, barely a breath on the wind, barely alive. He turned to witness her.

She had turned to look at him. One of her eyes had swollen shut, the other had the eyelid removed by a knife, the eye red and constantly weeping, her nose had been broken at a jagged angle, and both nostrils were pouring blood. She was smiling at him, many of her teeth having been punched out, and blood dribbling out of her lips. One of her ears had been chewed off, and the other had been sliced with a knife, yet she perked up at the sound of his voice.

"Alley..."

"Y-y-you caaaame for m-me!"

"I did."

Alucard quickly ran to her, embracing her. He was careful to avoid her cuts, but he lifted her anyway, keeping her as close to him as possible. He was careful not to squeeze.

"I'll get help."

"Nooooo..."

Alucard shut his eyes and grit his teeth.

"Ok."

He held her close, rocking her gently.

"I'm... tired..."

"I know."

"Can... you siiiiing to me?"

"Anything."

"A... bedtime story."

Alucard's eyes shut in concentration. He thought back to his brother. To simpler... better times.

He opened his eyes, and a dreamy look twinkled within them.

He opened his mouth, and a melody fell out, at first broken and tone-deaf, but slowly, ever so slowly, it became a true, beautiful tune, carried by a powerful, sad baritone.

"Hush, hush, ba-by..."

As he sang, he was reminded of his beloved brother, the one light of his life. He focused on his face so much, he almost didn't realize that Alley's heartbeat was further slowing. He steeled himself, and continued to sing, squeezing his eyes shut, and using every bit of breath in his lungs, and every last bit of happiness in his heart.

He sang, and sang, and sang, until the song ended.

Alley was nothing more than a pile of ash in his hands.

His hands, at first, balled into fists, but they undid themselves, hanging limply at his sides.

He kept his eyes squeezed shut, his teeth gritted.

He tried to keep it down, tried to honor his creed that he would never shed another tear in weakness, but he found that he couldn't do it. Eventually, he would weep for his surrogate daughter.

But he knew who wouldn't.

Once more, Dracula opened his eyes, two fiery pits from the depths of Hell staring out at the world around them.