Just as everything seemed to be trending in a positive direction, the situation with Seras and Integra spiraled completely out of control.
The Weeping Angels—monsters that could not be destroyed by mere brute force—had used the very mercenaries surrounding them to complete their first wave of expansion. Now, the entire castle was engulfed in the terror brought by the Weeping Angels.
At first, when their movement patterns were discovered, the Weeping Angels did not cause panic. But the moment a mercenary staring them down was transformed into one of them, terror erupted.
Every time someone blinked, they moved.
Every time eyes were opened, one could see these creatures, with their twisted and horrific visages, having advanced a terrifying distance toward the crowd.
You couldn't look at them forever, yet you dared not look away.
This impossible dilemma stripped the mercenaries of any will to resist. Fighting monsters was not their area of expertise; panic was the inevitable outcome.
Wherever the Weeping Angels went, any human they touched was instantly transported to a point in the past to live out the rest of their days there. And for every mercenary sent back in time, a tombstone would materialize in the garden behind the castle in the present day.
The tombstones bore their years of birth and death. The eerie part, however, was that their birth years were listed after their years of death.
These paradoxical gravestones didn't make observers wonder if there was an engraving error; rather, they instilled a deep, primal fear born of absurdity.
Because of the Weeping Angels' rampage, the mercenaries within the castle had lost their will to fight and were fleeing in disarray.
Meanwhile, the AIM beekeepers on the perimeter had breached the castle interior, only to crash headlong into the Weeping Angels, who were busy preparing their "food."
By this time, Integra was already seated in the helicopter. Seras, wielding her massive cannon, was still doing her utmost to snipe the enemies. But such sniping could not last long; resistance had lost its meaning.
The pilot had already started the engine. They were waiting for Integra's single command to leave this house of horrors.
And then, just beyond their line of sight, a Weeping Angel emerged from the shadows!
"Seras! Prepare to leave," Integra said, her cold eyes hidden behind the glare of her glasses. She had no intention of worrying about the mercenaries who hadn't made it out.
These mercenaries were not her subordinates; they were merely hyenas selling their lives for money. They had long prepared to be discarded and die at any moment, so they required no sympathy from her.
"My men are still down there! Wait just a little longer!" Bernadotte shouted, his voice harsh and desperate. He knew his request was unreasonable to his employer.
But he couldn't just stand by and let this logically correct decision be carried out.
His long braided hair, now shorn at the end, lay scattered. He looked like a mad dog that had lost everything. As a mercenary, his squad had the best reputation, but that didn't change the fact that they were ghouls feeding on the spoils of war.
Joining the battlefield, seizing victory, and then partying—that was their life.
But these men had feelings, too.
"I said, take off!" Integra commanded without a shred of mercy.
Suddenly, a gun was pressed against the pilot's head.
Bernadotte had violated the code he took pride in, threatening the safety of his employer. But he had no choice.
Almost instantly, his neck was seized by Seras. The strength of a vampire was not something a normal human could withstand, even if this particular vampire had not yet drunk blood.
"Captain Bernadotte, lower your weapon! I will not tolerate you threatening the Director's safety!" Seras barked, fulfilling her duty. Protecting Integra was one of her primary missions.
"If we take off now, then you'll just have to stay here with me," Bernadotte said, his single eye flashing with a ferocious light. He showed no fear of the pale hand around his throat.
Camaraderie—or perhaps brotherhood—made him willing to risk death for this. The mercenary was confident that even if his neck were snapped, his muscles would contract automatically, blowing the pilot's head off.
He knew nothing of a vampire's true power.
"Your brothers have already become part of the graveyard behind the castle! They are already dead!" Integra's voice rose slightly in pitch.
Snap!
With speed indiscernible to the naked eye, Seras snapped the firearm in Bernadotte's hand, creating a crisp, metallic sound.
Her humanity prevented her from stopping Bernadotte in a cruel manner; she could have simply snapped the arm holding the gun. But she couldn't bear to. That kindness might have seemed foolish and meaningless, but she did it anyway.
"Leaving now is the only way to save your life! I said, take off!" Integra ordered sharply.
The helicopter began to rise, the roar of the rotors drowning out everything else.
Everyone was focused on the moment of liftoff. No one noticed the hand of a Weeping Angel clamping onto the helicopter's landing skid.
The moment the chopper ascended, the Angel climbed up. With an effortless flip, a long, slender hand appeared behind Bernadotte.
In an instant, the mercenary captain was transported to the past.
Seras reacted with extreme speed. With a wave of her hand, she severed the skid the Weeping Angel was clinging to.
As the Angel plummeted toward the ground, however, its hand firmly grasped Seras's ankle!
Although she immediately locked the Angel's movement with her gaze, it was too late.
The two of them fell toward the ground like dropped stones. Inside the helicopter, Integra's eyes went wide, too shocked to shout.
The moment Seras's body obscured Integra's line of sight, the Weeping Angel regained its mobility. Immediately after, Seras vanished from everyone's view, leaving only the Weeping Angel, baring its fangs and reaching out its stone fingers.
"Seras!"
Integra's scream finally broke through. She ripped off her headset, drew her pistol, and fired violently at the falling statue.
But the bullets were useless against the Weeping Angel, merely sparking harmlessly against the stone before vanishing. The Angel, now locked under her gaze, fell motionless like a common rock until a heavy thud echoed from the ground.
Integra composed herself. She holstered her gun and crossed her arms over her chest.
"Return to London!"
Her grief lasted only a fleeting instant before she reverted to her expressionless mask.
She had no right to grieve right now. She needed to witness the end of this war with her own eyes!
Moreover, Integra's emotions had been buried deep in her heart ever since her betrayal by her own family. Though Seras had vanished from her sight, she would not show weakness again.
A display of weakness only invited greater malice from those with ill intent. She had learned this lesson well when she cried in the face of her uncle's threats.
She felt Walter's passing. But because she and the mercenaries were under threat, she could not show emotion.
She felt Alucard's disappearance. But she could not show weakness.
Now, the only person she could trust had also vanished. Yet, she did not weep.
Integra believed she would see Alucard and Seras again. They were vampires! They did not die easily.
"Director?" the pilot shouted loudly. Over the deafening noise of the helicopter, he had to scream to be heard by Integra, who was no longer wearing her headset.
"Proceed to Central London. I need to find Penwood! You know his location!"
Integra picked up the headset from the empty seat beside her, put it on, and sat in silence, arms crossed, face cold.
In the graveyard on the ground, a new tombstone appeared, weathered by time.
The inscription did not look like it was carved by a chisel, yet despite the erosion of years, the writing was clearly legible. It was Bernadotte's handwriting—beautiful, flamboyant cursive that made the grave look somewhat gaudy. The stone also bore an engraving of Bernadotte's face, handsome even in old age.
Bernadotte, a brave warrior. A fighter who never gave up resistance.
No longer existing as a human, I am one with him.
This man, until he was too old and frail to hold a cigarette, never gave up the hope of living.
Blessed by the Angel, we united.
Watched by the Angel, we merged.
Surrounded by the Angel, we became one for love.
For love, we sleep, until the time of our awakening.
Love makes us immortal — Seras Victoria & Bernadotte.
The inscription stood lonely and silent, read by no one.
Around it, five Weeping Angels stood as if waiting for something. Their hands, unusually, did not cover their faces. They seemed to be eerily blocking something out.
Their bodies, which should have been indestructible, were now covered in cracks.
The Angels' gazes were fixed on each other, but their hideous faces now displayed an emotion akin to gentleness. Or perhaps relief—one could almost see the corners of their mouths turning up.
A bloody pentagram began to glow beneath the Angels' feet, pulsing with a faint red light.
"The Bird of Hermes is my name, eating my wings to make me tame."
A string of obscure words was being written on the ground in blood, transforming from dried stains into fresh, crimson fluid. It was as if it had just been written this very second.
The quote came from an alchemical text, the Ripley Scroll.
To explain it simply:
The Bird of Hermes, to cross the ocean, devours its own restless feathers so that it may fly steadfastly, even if its wings are consumed, even if this resolve accelerates its own death. As long as it is the correct path.
And I take the Bird of Hermes as my name!
The glory of the martyr lies herein.
These words, inscribed on Alucard's coffin, his gloves, and even his very life, represented the Vampire King's obsession!
"Only a human can kill a monster." This phrase, repeated by Alucard, was his steadfast belief.
Alucard felt infinite pain for having become a monster; his true nature was a longing for and a praise of mortal life!
In an instant, the surrounding Weeping Angels shattered into fragments. There was no wasted movement—clean and precise.
The bloody writing on the ground vanished in a flash.
Mephisto was the first to appear in this now-empty wasteland.
"Vampire, I leave it to you, then," Mephisto laughed—a distorted, smug sound—before vanishing without revealing a trace of his aura.
None of the Hell Lords wanted to attract Bul-Kathos, so they acted with extreme caution. Mephisto had obtained a perfect masterpiece, even if the vampire's origin had nothing to do with him.
"I will do what I want to do. How laughable!"
Another figure followed close behind. He wore old-fashioned noble garb, his face deathly pale, revealing two sharp fangs. A crimson cloak spread out from his outstretched arms like the wings of a terrifying bat.
Alucard?
No!
Now, he was Dracula!
Vlad Tepes Dracula!
In the struggle against the Hell Lord Mephisto, two existences had fought for control of the body. Both constantly annihilated other consciousnesses within, striving to be the sole operator of the vessel.
It was a race, and the most likely outcome was winner-takes-all!
During this process, Alucard, initially lagging, managed to master the soul and powers of Schrödinger. He succeeded in finding himself accurately between existence and non-existence!
But at the final step of re-emerging, right when he only needed to defeat Mephisto to succeed, Alucard was corrupted by the Lord of Hatred.
Hatred for God, hatred for life, hatred for the fact that no one searched for him after he went missing.
Every emotion that could spark hate was fanned by Mephisto, turning him into a monster filled with malice.
Losing oneself is the most terrible punishment; becoming another entity is the beginning of erasing one's traces.
No longer holding to the belief that "monsters should die by human hands," all that remained was the infinite hatred spawned by the Hell Lord.
A monster existing between reality and unreality—he perfectly bypassed the Weeping Angels' bizarre defenses. Right now, he was the only being capable of killing a Weeping Angel head-on.
"How hateful. Why do you possess powers similar to mine?"
Dracula turned his head to look at the Weeping Angels approaching him from a distance, a hideous smile on his face.
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