An immense castle, built before the city of Transylvania was established, was set upon the tallest mountain looking over the dark city. Surrounding the pathway was a vast forest, home to sounds that any human would fear. Any explorers that ventured into the forest would be engulfed by a vast blackness and never seen again, though their spirits would be released, for they would still be heard. The long, brick road that led up to the ancient building twisted and curved up the side of the mountain, ending at a gap in the land where a drawbridge would allow entry into the castle.

The inside of the castle is unknown to the Transylvanian people. If there was ever a person to enter the castle, which was only possible through invitation, they would never return with memories of the night and those that were ever in the company of the mysterious man behind the castle’s existence never spoke of him.

A thick fog enshrouded the one watch tower that stood against the castle, concealing whoever watched over the lands surrounding the castle. The fog, having permanently made home around the tower, was suspected to be of a supernatural element, possibly summoned by the castle owner.

Lore’s of the castle’s history were told repeatedly to the curious throughout Transylvania. After each telling, the stories changed; at one moment, the castle was constructed by the gods – at the next telling the castle was no more than a hallucination. No matter how many times the story changed, though, there was always one element that stayed the same – the castle’s owner.

A mysterious man, one who has ne’er seen the light of day in his time, is always mentioned; each tale concludes with the mystery man standing atop the highest peak of his tower, gazing over the city; and though all you would be able to see is a blurred shadow, the eyes of the man seem to stand out perfectly with their bright red glow. The figure has haunted many dreams, even though there has yet to be a person living that told of an encounter with the shadow. Nobody knew anything of the man - which is why they feared him.

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Count Dracula stood atop the watchtower, his presence shielded by the supernatural fog that only his eyes could penetrate. He set his gaze upon the beginning of the long pathway to his castle, where a small figure moved swiftly on horseback. Immediately Dracula recognized the figure as the only man fearless enough to take on the supernatural elements that resided within and around the city of Transylvania – Abraham Van Helsing.

The Count hissed at the oncoming presence of his adversary. He had heard tales of the monster hunter, the death of the Wolfman being the latest addition to the mercenary’s victories. Dracula hissed once again, refusing to believe that he too would become just another tale for the hunter to tell. With a flick of his cape, the fog thickened, this time surrounding the vampire himself.

Behind the fog, Dracula vanished. Upon his disappearance, the fog grew thicker and slowly started to drift away from the watch tower. The fog drifted to the ground, creeping slowly along an invisible path, eerily moving towards the castle entrance. At the gap in the ground, the fog stopped and spread over the empty area between the ground and the castle entrance, completely covering the long fall to death. A low cackle emerged from the fog as the sound of a horses’ hoof striking the brick path started to rise from somewhere along the pathway.

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Abraham Van Helsing, known to most of Transylvania as a murderer, did what he could to hide from his scarred reputation. Ever since the confrontation with the man-wolf, Helsing was forced to continually run from the angry mob that saw only the human form of the shape-shifting creature.

Abraham pulled back on the reins, his horse rearing on its hind legs briefly. The horse neighed loudly as it dropped its forelegs back to the ground, kicking up a small cloud of dust with the impact. Helsing scratched behind the steed’s ear as he swung his leg over the valiant mammal’s back.

Stroking the slick mane of the horse, Helsing dug through a pouch that was slung over the horse’s back. After he fished out a gold plated cross, a sharpened wooden splinter, and a small flask of blessed water, Helsing held the gold to his heart and closed his eyes tight. In all of his time working as a mercenary for the church slaying that which normally could not be slain, Abraham had never the pleasure of going against an adversary as unknown as Count Dracula. Helsing sighed and stuck the two holy tools in a small side pouch that was swung over his shoulder.

Abraham turned away from his horse and followed the rest of the path with his eyes. A chill crept up his spine as his eyes came across a small part of the castle, for the rest was hidden behind the treetops. A nervousness that he had never felt before struck Helsing; finally, Abraham was about to face the one adversary that he and all of humanity feared – the king of the legendary nosferatu.

Helsing did his best to shake off his fear, and when he felt himself to be focused, he continued on up the path on foot, hoping to keep his presence unknown.

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A burst of thunder welcomed Helsing’s presence at the castle entrance. Approaching the castle, Helsing dropped his eyes down to the ground in front of him. A feeling of unease washed through his body as he came to find that the ground suddenly disappeared beneath a thick blanket of thick fog. Helsing’s eyes narrowed as he drew in a deep breath, knelt down, and blew upon the fog. Almost as if it were resisting the force, the fog barely moved, yet still moved enough for Helsing to get a quick glimpse at the long drop below it.

Abraham sighed to himself, relieved that he did not take the extra step. Straightening himself out, Helsing stood at the edge of the walkway, eyeing the castle entrance up and down. The gap was too far to jump across and there didn’t seem to be any other way across to the castle. Another crack of thunder erupted in the clouds, the tail end of the rolling rumble forming into something familiar to Helsing.

“Helsiinngg.” The thunder roared- a noise that was certain to be heard in the city.

A shiver ran through Helsing’s body, causing him to shake then tense up. Standing there, listening to the last of the thunder fade off, Abraham felt something pierce into his back- something jagged, sharp, and burning hot.

In turning, the first thing Helsing noticed were two blood red eyes staring him down, the glare in the eyes definitely being the cause of the sharp pain. Reaching his hand around, Helsing felt up his leather trench coat, feeling for a source of blood.

“My eyes, Helsing, they pierce skin without drawing blood; they cause pain, even when there is no source.” The thick Romanian accent of Count Dracula poured over Helsing’s ears.

Helsing’s eyes scanned over the undead being that stood before him. The count was dressed in a black vest and a white shirt, a long silk cape wrapped loosely around his body, exposing only the “v” of his neck. Abraham stopped his eyes on the count’s neck, his eyebrow quirking upward.

“You’ve not been bitten.” Helsing’s age and experience was signified with his scratchy, tired voice.

“The devil does not bite.” Dracula started to circle Helsing, his eyes never leaving his foe. “He grants wishes.”

“Revenge.” Helsing twisted his head to follow Dracula’s movements.

“More than revenge!” Dracula stopped in his place, his left hand curling into a fist as his right moved beneath his cape. “Life! Eternal life.”

Following his burst of anger, Dracula lunged at Helsing and wrapped his boney fingers around the human’s neck before he could react, lifting him off of the ground.

“Eternal life, Abraham. There’s something you’ll never get to experience.” Dracula squeezed his fingers tighter, causing Helsing to flail.

Helsing kicked Dracula’s sternum several times, but never did the undead foe even flinch. Stopping his attempts to break free of the count’s grasp, Helsing’s memory kicked in. Feeling around his waist, Abraham searched for the small side pack that he carried with him. Finding it, he flung the flap open and reached inside, pulling out the small vial.

“Such a time for a drink.” Dracula grasped Helsing’s hand and made a fist around it, squeezing his fist, causing pressure to be placed upon the small vial. “You must think me a fool!”

A jolt of pain registered from Abraham’s palm as the vial cracked, its small shards piercing his skin. As the mix of holy water and blood started to drip down Helsing’s hand, Dracula released his grasp and threw his opponent to the ground. Abraham rolled on the ground briefly, stopping just before the cliff’s end. Groaning, he grasped his injured hand, the cuts in his palm soaking up the holy water.

“You were a fool for coming here, Abraham.” Dracula mocked Abraham as he floated closer, his feet never touching the ground and his legs never moving.

Helsing stayed quiet as he went into his side pack and took hold of the wooden stake with his injured hand. Squeezing his fingers around the stake, he covered the tip with the mix of his blood and water. Abraham looked up from the wooden stake, Dracula’s pale figure looming over him, his red eyes staring into Van Helsings.

“Rise…” Dracula’s voice sounded calm and soothing, almost mesmerizing. “Rise.”

Abraham tried to shake off Dracula’s new tone but was failing. He could feel his body started to stand as his mind started to fog up. Standing before his foe, Abraham did not move. His eyes stared straight into Dracula’s as he fell into a trance caused by the vampire.

Dracula took a final step towards Abraham and rested his hand upon the mortal’s shoulder. Opening his jaw as wide as he could, Dracula let out a small hiss, his enlarged canines nearing his enemy’s neck.

Helsing’s mind instantly snapped out of the trance when the Count’s eyes left his. Immediately realizing his situation, Abraham jabbed the wooden stake into Dracula’s chest, pushing it in deeper to pierce the Count’s heart.

Dracula let out a howl and released Van Helsing as he stumbled backwards, his bony fingers covering the object in his chest.

“I can give you eternal life!” Dracula’s voice quivered as his chest started to burn insufferably as the holy water started to drain into his system.

“I’d rather die…” Van Helsing’s voice trailed as he watched his foe stumble to the ground.

Abraham turned from his fallen enemy, an enemy that for so long he hunted. To any other man, they would have felt their life wasted on this one foe; but to Abraham Van Helsing, he knew that evil would always exist, and there would always need to be a solution to the evil.