In a dark dungeon buried deep beneath the Nosferatu island manor, a withered old man dangles from the walls. His face was worn, with sallow cheeks a far cry from the previous Patriarch of the Volkov Clan, Viktor.
And yet despite this situation, his eyes burned with fire.
"Y...you won't win." His dry, scratchy voice barely made a sound as the man standing across from the fire, holding a branding iron and something else, slowly turned to face him.
Silver hair, pure red eyes and a calm, inhuman gaze.
"Do you truly believe that, old friend?" Alucard chuckled to himself, poking the flames, stoking the fire with more coal, which seared the glowing, bright orange metal. With a twisted smirk on his lips, he lifted the second object and shook it.
"W-What!? How do you have that?"
Viktor's eyes widened, his toothless mouth opening wide in shock at the black slate in Alucard's hand.
