"Do you have any regrets, Bul-Kathos?"
Dracula's figure appeared at Bul-Kathos's location, his face wearing an expression of thick malice.
"Regrets about what? Regret not ripping off Mephisto's dog head?"
Bul-Kathos hooked his weapon onto his waist and turned to look at the vampire before him.
Although this was his first time seeing Dracula in this form, Bul-Kathos had no intention of treating him with any special regard.
While Dracula radiated the emotion of Hatred, there wasn't a trace of his own sin upon him.
This was rare. Perhaps he simply hadn't had the time to commit evil yet.
The vampire Alucard had killed countless people—five hundred years ago to protect his country and subjects, and decades ago for revenge. The sins on that creature belonged to the lives he had absorbed, unrelated to Alucard himself.
And now, the being before him was Dracula.
Although Bul-Kathos knew there was a high probability this guy would walk a path of sin, he faced Dracula calmly. He wasn't the type to take a life based on crimes that might be committed in the future.
That was something even Itherael wouldn't do.
"Regret that you ultimately failed to master Time? At this moment, I am the truly unrivaled existence. Even Death has no way to deal with me."
The expression on Dracula's pale face seemed to be expecting something as he stared at Bul-Kathos.
It was their first meeting in these forms, yet they spoke like old friends.
"Tch. Worthless nonsense. Are you here to die?"
Bul-Kathos looked at Dracula with contempt, casually pulling out a bottle of strong spirits and pouring it into his mouth.
He didn't plan to fight Dracula here, but throwing out a threat or two was within the normal scope of interaction.
"If possible, I would actually like to try."
Dracula extended a hand. A mass of black light trembled in his palm.
"I made a deal with Mephisto. In exchange for his retreat and a portion of his power. However, I never promised him I wouldn't tell you his location. So, here I am."
Hatred flickered in Dracula's eyes. To him, Mephisto was no benefactor; he was merely marginally better than an enemy.
"You want me to look after that little girl? What are you offering in exchange? Mephisto's information isn't worth that condition."
"Fairness? I understand. I can guarantee that I will not appear before your eyes, and I will deal with those annoying angels for you."
Dracula's tone was somewhat elusive.
Integra was his last lingering attachment, the final remnant of his humanity.
When he interacted with Mephisto, they had glimpsed each other's experiences. He worried that the Lord of Hatred would choose to use the only existence he might still cherish as a threat.
Although Mephisto couldn't be sure if Dracula still cared for Integra, Mephisto was the kind of being who would try anything that might cause sin or suffering.
Unfortunately, that connection was Dracula's only chance to revert to Alucard—his only hope.
Dracula wasn't willing to gamble on whether Mephisto had grasped this weakness. Madness was, in the end, a facade—a manifestation to cover one's goals or bury one's disappointment.
As Dracula spoke, his body flickered in and out of existence, looking as if he might vanish from this place at any moment.
"You wouldn't want to face me in battle."
Bul-Kathos pulled out a bottle of his reserve brew and handed it to the vampire.
Dracula, with zero elegance, snapped the neck of the bottle and poured it down his throat. Though his mouth was busy, his voice still resonated:
"I recall you all drink like this. It is truly a regretful thing that your soul is incomplete. But is your soul inside that stone?"
Dracula's words made Bul-Kathos furrow his brow. The statement didn't seem as simple as it sounded; there was a faint hint of a threat.
"If you want to see that half, you can go inside and take a look."
Bul-Kathos tapped his forehead casually. The Black Soulstone emitted a reddish-brown glow.
"How boring. I suppose I'll have some decent playmates to pass the time in the coming days."
Just as Dracula spoke, a bullet shattered his head. His figure flickered and vanished from before Bul-Kathos.
His fair trade with Bul-Kathos was complete. Mephisto had been in the mortal realm not long ago, but having lost all his power, only his consciousness remained somewhat clear.
Not far away, Frank Castle appeared, radiating the aura of Death. In his hands, he held a gun that was constantly shifting forms within a dense fog.
Bul-Kathos swatted the bullet that had passed through Dracula into the ground like a fly, then glanced at Frank.
"A slave of Death? You don't look much different from those Reapers. Frank, do you still have your own consciousness?"
As Bul-Kathos spoke, his hand rested on the hilt of Remorseless, seemingly hesitating.
"Kill that guy, and Death will return my wife and daughter."
The power of Death on Frank expanded, causing Bul-Kathos some dissatisfaction.
"Since you still have your own will, it's best you don't stain yourself with sin. I can tolerate Reapers appearing before me, but I cannot tolerate sinful bastards acting recklessly!"
Bul-Kathos's voice was booming. Behind him, the Wings of Courage flashed for an instant. An immense, oppressive aura crushed down on Frank, squeezing the power granted by Death right back into his body.
In just an instant, Frank reverted to his human form, leaving only the black ring on his hand flickering as if in fear.
"I made a deal with Death, but I am still me."
Frank panted slightly. Using the power of Death for the first time was a heavy burden on his body.
"You still have a son. It's best to be cautious before you act."
Bul-Kathos removed his hand from Remorseless and touched the tattoo on his chest formed by rules.
"Let this end. I've had enough of this place."
Frank sat directly on the ground, rubbing the Ring of Death.
"That will have to wait until that higher-spec fellow finishes his goodbyes and watches unwillingly as the person he failed once gets decapitated."
Bul-Kathos scratched his beard, speaking in a slightly irritated tone.
He found the choice of sacrificing others for the so-called "greater good" absolutely disgusting, yet he had no way to change these things.
That was what made Bul-Kathos feel angry and a twinge of guilt.
Even if the person being sacrificed wouldn't die unjustly.
Bul-Kathos had understood these things the moment he heard the name Excalibur.
The Doctor would do it. It was something he had to experience; only then would that cursed time rift end.
When that moment happened, the three Ancients would complete the cleansing of the demons in that other world.
So, Bul-Kathos was waiting.
"I hate these messy rules. Wouldn't it be better to just hack through the trouble when you meet it?"
Bul-Kathos muttered indistinctly, expressing his dissatisfaction with guys like Merlin who knew the future. It was just like back in the High Heavens; he never gave Itherael a pleasant face.
As he spoke, Bul-Kathos's expression turned solemn. The three Ancients had sent back word: the demonized Daleks had been dealt with.
"Looks like that Doctor is about to make his choice."
Leaving that sentence behind, Bul-Kathos turned and left. He didn't intend to get involved in what followed.
Those who were meant to die would die, so there was no need to worry.
To his surprise when they met, the Doctor was full of kindness, looking nothing like an executioner who had destroyed countless lives.
Meanwhile, at St. Paul's Cathedral.
Everyone present looked at each other in dismay as they watched the pepper pot-shaped machine attempting to communicate.
This Dalek had attracted everyone's attention the moment it appeared.
There was no sign of demonic corruption on it. It had blocked a casual strike from Odin's Gungnir with its energy shield.
And then, they saw this yellow pepper pot, covered in the scars of battle.
"I am in pain! Dalek is in pain!"
The words spoken by this Dalek caused the Doctor to lose his cool.
If the Cybermen asking for help was something acceptable, then the words of the Dalek before him were enough to make him lose his reason.
"You will never learn mercy! You exist only for slaughter; you should not exist in this world!"
The Doctor pushed aside the people around him, striding forward to roar at the Dalek.
The Dalek race was one of the culprits that led to the "destruction" of the Doctor's home planet, Gallifrey.
The true culprit, however, was himself.
The Time War. The two sides: the Time Lords and the Daleks.
A Time War could refer to at least two types of conflict across time spans.
The first type refers to combatants belonging to different timelines, potentially separated by hundreds or thousands of years.
The second type refers to Time itself being used as a weapon—preemptive strikes, time loops, paradoxes, and reversing historical processes.
The "Last Great Time War" the Doctor spoke of referred to the latter.
Two races standing at the apex of the universe initiated a horrific battle. Various weapons forged from time were used by both sides. Such a battle would eventually drag the entire universe in, destroying everything.
In his previous life—the incarnation known as "War," who had forsaken the name of "The Doctor"—he still felt the heavy weight of sin from those events.
"War" himself, who took up arms to end the conflict in the most effective way at any cost, was the universe's greatest executioner.
At least, that was how he felt right now.
"I feel cold."
The Dalek's somewhat chaotic voice rang out. The place was littered with the remains of Cybermen and the corpses of demonized Daleks.
On the ground, Hellboy still clutched the broken half of Excalibur, but he raised his head to look at the scene before him.
"I just want to know, if I let go of the handle of the Stone Sword, will the passage to Hell close?"
Hellboy looked at the passages blocked by holy fire, holding the sword with a grim expression.
As he spoke, his eyes were on the Ancient One. The Crown of Fire above his head was still flickering.
"He is afraid!"
Rose Tyler walked forward a few steps, cautiously reaching out her hand toward the Dalek.
She placed her palm on the machine, gently wiping the casing of the Dalek covered in battle scars.
Rose Tyler was undoubtedly kind, which was the trait the Doctor loved most about her.
But the target of her kindness was a bit problematic.
"Rose, get back! It knows nothing of kindness!"
The Doctor pulled out the only tool on him that possessed even a sliver of offensive capability—the Sonic Screwdriver, which was never born to be a weapon.
"I am the last Dalek!"
The Dalek spoke with some difficulty:
"Orders! Give me orders!"
"He is no longer a threat!"
Rose stood resolutely in front of the Doctor.
The others couldn't understand the conflict between these two at all.
After all, aside from Johnny Blaze who was still unconscious, no one here was a naive, sweet innocent.
The Cybermen and Daleks had already demonstrated their threat.
Or rather, amidst the series of shocks, everyone present realized they weren't qualified to join this discussion.
"Daleks should not exist."
The Doctor held to his initial thought. Still in a state of rage, he would show no mercy to a Dalek.
He took a few steps forward, leaving nothing between him and the Dalek. He pulled Rose behind him, facing the Dalek alone.
"Great space dust! How does it feel!?"
Words filled with anger spewed from the Doctor's mouth, venting his emotions like a flamethrower.
"Retreat!"
The Dalek's electronic voice carried a trace of fear as it backed away. Further back was the time rift.
"Why retreat?! What can you do to me!?"
The Doctor pursued, standing right in front of the Dalek. Looking at its scarred body, the Doctor's emotions edged closer to losing control.
The war he had experienced in his previous life had forced him to make the hardest choice. Pain eroded his heart every moment.
When a Time Lord's life reaches its end, they undergo regeneration.
He is still him, but he is no longer him.
The regenerated Doctor would have completely different hobbies, love different things, and might come to detest foods he originally loved.
Even if he retained all the memories of his past self.
He was, in the end, not the exact same person.
"If you won't kill anymore, what will you do? Dalek? what is the meaning of your life?"
The Doctor circled the Dalek, maintaining a baseline of caution.
He observed this Dalek silently, finally awakening a shred of reason from his utter rage, and began to think.
"You are nothing now. What are you doing here?"
"I am... waiting for orders!"
"What does that mean?"
"I am a soldier. I was born to obey orders."
The Dalek's tone should have been unwavering; they were not supposed to possess emotions like doubt.
But this was the only Dalek who had maintained its self-awareness under the corruption of the Hell Lords. The Last Dalek.
It had no species left. It existed all alone.
"But you won't get any orders. Never again."
"I demand orders!" The Dalek's voice became urgent. Everyone could hear its panic.
"There will never be orders again! Your race is dead! Burned to ash! All of you, ten million ships, all burned! The entire Dalek race was wiped out in the blink of an eye!"
The Doctor shouted loudly.
In his memory, his home planet had vanished just like the Daleks under that ultimate weapon.
That was the choice "he" had made.
"I saw it with my own eyes. I made it happen with my own hands."
The Doctor spoke with pain and hatred for the Daleks, his expression twisting.
"Did you destroy us?"
The Dalek recalled its kin turning into monsters wielding fleshy tentacles in an instant, and it felt fear.
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