𝐕𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 !

𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓  𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑'𝐒  grip seized his own, he caught sight of the bronze glint lying in the center of his palm, and a dark and horrid look took over his expression. such a thing had been long forgotten, taken from him when the count himself had taken his ultimate fall. like a robber come to wrest the then-knight of his identity. 

claws were suddenly ripped away, coated with fresh blood that he did not dare bring to swallow down his tongue. instead they grasped that hand and took from it the ring, snatched and held precariously between two fingers      like a jewel to be inspected.    

“   a fragment from our sordid past, and a relic that spelled the shame of my family’s name.  gabriel, know you where this came from?  ”   he asked, twisting it in the light of the brazier as he climbed, already half-way up the stair to where he’d first began.   “   it was the ancestors of my father that upheld the holy word of God,  and learned from His last great king the ways of the divine.  to this effect it was one of our great and noble family that would always stand resolute against any and all invaders.  it was a dracula before me that sat as boyar in transylvania, and it was too a dracula before he who protected the banks of the danube and, as prince, claimed the whole of wallachia as his own.  those that knew the secrets of dragons and dared learn from their approach… yes, it was too a dracula who created the very order that consecrated your blade.  the blade of a murderer.   ”

at last at the wide landing, stood before the brazier, the count held up his hand and slipped on the band.  finally returned to its rightful owner, and from the one who’d stolen it from him no less.   a mighty sweep of his arm cast off the heavy, tall-collared cloak from his shoulders.  the swath of dark fabric fell instead across a wood, high-backed chair that was seated in the center of the dias.  it was there that he seated, distance great enough to obscure his cadaverous figure through the haze of smoke and flame, but not so far as to keep hidden the glint of white, sharp teeth.   

somewhere below that same roar came again, this time more urgently, and the walls shook so mightily that frozen stone and ice began to fall from the rafters.  still, the vampire remained nonplussed.  

“   foolish gabriel   ”,   hellish red mouth curved into a sickeningly sinister smile, and the count’s eyes filled suddenly with bitterness and scorn.   “   what was your sin,  indeed!  what but a traitorous fool would beg god to remove his worst deed?  who among your knowledge would be so cruel as to befriend who he would later betray?  …nay,  answer it not.  it matters little when i already know the answer.   were i able to speak when my head was removed, i might’ve asked the same:  et tu brute?  or perhaps:  how many pieces of silver?   ”

far too many times, he has seen his own blood drawn: enough that even the drops, as they spring forth from rent flesh, bring only a twinge of discomfort to his face   ( though the pain more severe than it would show ).   the hunter dare not take his eyes from the target, even as he moves now across the room with an impassioned pace, enough to set his nerves alight as he, too, mirrors each movement with his own careful steps: to keep their distance far enough that he may react before a strike. but, it is with finality, that the count seats himself, and with enough performance that he, too, felt that he was satisfied with the exchange. in his sick, twisted way: this was a victory in its own rite.

the floor beneath him trembled, and, it drew adrenaline through his veins, thick and hot. if not another of his devilish offspring, then perhaps another hellish servant, some abyssal monster, sent to defend its master. nostrils flared, inhaled the rot and stench of metal from the air, heavy with the evidence of their war. as ice began to crumble about him, his gaze tore furiously from the target: instead searching above, discerning any rubble or sharpened ice that may be sent for him. with a sweeping step to the side, his eyes returning to his target, to those gleaming fangs behind the curtain of fog, a fragment of ice no larger than his thigh shattered at his side. his voice would be buried beneath brick and frost crumbling down, in the wake of the monstrous sound beneath, but still he spoke. 

❛ — are you satisfied with the return of that which was yours ?  or is it the sound of your own voice you have come to love ? ❜     not resorting to feigned calmness,   the great van helsing’s voice quavers with an endless frustration: if he had no mind to share with him what great betrayal had damned them both, if he had no intentions of sharing it, then let him die, once more, with those truths. let them fall to hell with his bitter, rotting carcass, and let it all burn once more. jaw set, teeth grit in a line, his blood thrummed and buzzed, as if begging him to go forth. form of the beast or not, press teeth into his jugular and pull it from that proud throat.

how bout i

“   𝐁𝐔𝐓  𝐎𝐅  𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄   ”,   said the count, with such masterful ease that his good nature almost seemed genuine, and would have stuck were it not for the ivory barbs that clung to his lip.  he was smiling at the hunter, mirthless and bitter, promising an end so grisly and slow that it might as well have been considered one of the few artforms that MURDER could provide.   “  you cannot escape it, gabriel.  though you have tried.  begged even, i should say, to have the weight of your sins scrubbed from your memory, so that even my face could not shepherd those images forward to see the light of day.  ”

a baptism in unholy blood had left vladislav an absolute husk of his former self. gone were the qualities that once portrayed a cunning and loyal friend, cast aside in favor of filling that skeletal shell with anger, lust and hate.  

“  but where is it you wish that I should begin?  ”    the count’s question was followed by his narrow descent, two steps at a time, while cadaverous hands flexed and lifted to illustrate his verbal design, narrowly avoiding the dangerous bite of the bannister’s brazier.  

somewhere below, the castle’s foundation began to quake and shudder, and the most terrible wail began to echo off the walls.  the sound was unlike any other, and were any feint of heart to hear it, they would surely pass into an early grave.  the count knew the creature’s sob intimately, and knew of its gargantuan size, and of her terrifying fury.               stranger still, the vampire ignored it, instead dipping his proud, dark head and coming that much closer to the one who had ended his life for the second time in four hundred years.  but the count’s unspoken dare was as loud as the storm howling at the threshold.    “  do you wish to hear of your conquest on istabul?  or perhaps the battles fought against the empire as they blazed into the west?      nay, i get ahead of myself.  we must begin far earlier.  when you and i were much more aqcuainted.  when our sinners’ blood mixed upon our hands, and bound our souls together.   ”

lazarus indeed!  the fanged vampire leared and leaned down to grasp one of van helsing’s leather-garbed shoulders between his claws.  with a giant’s strength, he squeezed the flesh beneath until his monstrous talons could carve into the skin and drug him close enough to breath into his ear.  “  we two sinners, who have seen such glorious kingdoms rise and fall into inevtiable demise.  DO YOU REMEMBER NOW?  ”

the victor chose his spoils, and what he desired most was the knowledge the other bore: yet, he had mistaken, for he was not the victor. in this wide world, neither of the two would ever emerge beyond the bidding of their masters, what threads of fate dominated their very existence. two soldiers, locked in combat, attempting to writhe forth from their command as the beast took them both, only to find themselves still bound by ultimate rule.

stone floors began to howl, some otherworldly, beastly bellowing: it did not shake the fallen one, yet his senses sparked alight, an unasked question answered only by the other’s undisturbed stride. where men may shake, the monster did not flinch. the spurning at the door had become a bitter welcome.

as the hunter’s eyes fell upon that skeletal hand, he knew his folly now, knew it in the stinging of flesh being pierced by needly touch. here the count extended himself toward him, those greedy claws locking him to his spot, bait lying upon his tongue as he spoke. and those sharp teeth, those poisonous fangs, remained dripping across the maw, daring one to accept: here he stood with his throat against the hot breath of the monster, waiting for those jaws to finally snap.  to bite.  and yet to show this collection would be to only sweeten the trap, to drive that challenge, to cause this monstrous thing to thrash. gaze rises once more, investigating that pale cheek, ere it ascends past his towering shoulder.

❛ — nothing. ❜     seething past teeth as they braced that circle of talons upon him. with nails within his flesh, any moment and the beast could rend limb from him, and there was no doubt in the hunter’s mind that it would be his great delight to do so. trapped within the clasping of his shoulder, the wolf stirs. he surveys his cage, pacing at the bars. yet he does not bare his teeth. not yet.     

❛ i remember nothing. i do not think i could forget a face like yours. ❜     a death like yours.   and yet, when first he saw that living portrait, a face that had played lead in his dreams, reflected all this long-buried remorse: it had shaken him.     ❛ but i cannot deny that you know me.  i know you.  neither man nor beast would be proud to call you their once friend, i am certain, but there must be a reason why —  ❜     regret seizes his tongue, yet the gospel silences him. a beat passes ere he speaks once more.

❛ why we share the same punishment. ❜

gloved fingers flex and play until from one hand the clinging fabric, to share the sight beneath. bronze ring set against callused flesh, holding it before him so that he may bear witness. the insignia, the beating wings of a great beast frozen mid-flight. fingers wrap about the other’s wrist, the cool metal against even cooler flesh, as his grasp flexes, grips with an unspoken promise. the wolf shed its disguise. no longer did it play and pretend amongst the herd, but broke forth from its flesh; jaw setting to even the vampire’s icy stare.

𝐍𝐎  𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐄  𝐁𝐔𝐓  𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓?  to go off into the frozen woods in search of werewolves, to contract the diseased bite when no other cure stood between hunter and the hunted?   or did he actually think he would make it to the door, no longer bolted shut but instead cast wide open to struggle against the chains that had previously bound it against the wind…   

all this and more was said in dracula’s infernal gaze, turned once more to rest on the body of an old friend.  two immortals cast like die against the world, though he would not remember it. 

❝  to be judge, jury and executioner– is this not what all men do?   do not you recall that too, before the fall of your memory, was your own call to arms?            my friend,  surely you cannot be so pious as to think yourself exempt.  after-all, it is armed with crucifix that you kill what man cannot stomach!   though as you have no doubt experienced, it is seldom an act of justice,  driven by fear and misplaced zealotry.  ❞    the count seemed possessed suddenly by wild fury, and he descended the staircase two steps at a time, careful of the braziers as not to burn his hand. 

he stopped four paces above the famous van helsing,  and his red mouth spread into a terrible and malignant grin.    ❝  you really don’t remember me, do you, gabriel?   or of our brothers in arms and the swords they crossed, or even of the king you helped to betray our order, who in turn had you murder me in the streets of budapest.  ❞

yet here did he stand trial before the other: this beast, the count, once wager of war, once man. he had whispered of memory beyond memory, a gospel so fervent it had shaken the great hunter to the core with its recollection: but still so distant, fleeting from his grasp, fingertips groping in the dark to find purchase upon the jagged truth. 

and so did it vex him. with each failure to cling to what little he knew, the memories which taunted him in his twisted dreams, he had lost himself further. they told him he was cursed: stripped of his memory as punishment for the sins he had made, his corruption being undone with each foul creature he took from this world, seeking a steadily-vanishing salvation. yet, for all his penance, nothing had returned: nothing, until those red, red lips had twisted, spat, and cursed that name.  gabriel.

❛ — i kill what man cannot defend against, ❜     heaves the reply, the man holding himself as the monster takes its ground toward him, seizing command of the space. the control is given willingly: he has slain him once, escaped him twice. fate stood in his favor, the god-given victor; or did it, now that he has chosen his path, creeping forth from the yoke of punishment, to drive his fist to his own reward?     ❛ and save what souls i may. not for my own righteousness, but that of the lord. ❜     

what other purpose could be served by the thing creeping within human flesh,  wearing its skin to deceive: a wolf amongst sheep, baring its teeth to chase the guideless back toward the holy shepherd. 

The accent that the stranger spoke with was a curious one— if he wasn’t so easily riled in a drunken state he might have asked just where abouts the man came from. For he certainly wasn’t American and he held himself in the manner of a man who didn’t care much for attention. ( Giles could relate to that much at least when he had his head on his shoulders and not a bottle in his hands. ) “Here’s some advice— mind your own damn business ‘round these parts. It’ll save you a whole lotta trouble in the long run, partner.”

“Oh, I would know, huh?” Brows shot up briefly as his pointer curled back into his fist. His own gaze, blue and white with film, shifted about the room. Sweeping over the other sad bastards and bored fools that drank themselves into stupors. Again he chuckles, the sound a rumble in his chest, “As if I’d waste my iron on you or another damned fool in this saloon.”

more often than not, gabriel turned his cheek on men like him and their pissing matches. (not because he was any better, of course.) but tonight, more than other nights, he was weary of simply staring into the wood of his table, lost in thought.