The principal's office sat on the outskirts of London, late and lit by a single desk lamp. Papers lay in haphazard stacks. Mr. Oliver, top button undone and tie loosened, pinched the bridge of his nose.
"I want to go to bed," he muttered, tapping his pen. The phone's ring cut through the silence. He glanced at the screen. "Those kids… why aren't they back yet?" he asked the empty room as he reached for the receiver.
A voice came through—familiar, clipped. "Oliver."
Oliver tried a joke, half-hearted. "Val? What do I owe the pleasure—"
"No time. Restrict any movement outside the school grounds. Activate every defensive barrier. Dracula walks among us." Val Hellsing's voice snapped over the line.
The pen slipped from Oliver's fingers and clattered to the floor. His amusement vanished, replaced by a hard, cold dread. "The kids…" he whispered.
"What?" Val demanded.
"They're out there. I sent them out—" Oliver's voice crumpled. "I sent them to a mission, Val. I sent them to die." He cut the call and bolted from the office.
Down below, Val Hellsing sat in a basement with a cigarette between his fingers, shirt hanging loose. He dropped the butt and ground it out beneath his heel. "Shit," he muttered.
A voice rasped from the bindings in the corner. "You promised," it croaked.
Val's head snapped up. In the dim light a vampire lay bound in magical chains, blood matted across its chest. "You promised," the creature repeated.
Val rose slowly, annoyance folding into something colder. "Lives were lost trying to bring him back?" he asked.
The vampire stammered, looking smaller than its kind should. "Y-yes."
Golden mana crawled up Val's wrist, coalescing into a hard, bright shape in his left hand. "Are you going to honor the memories of those used as sacrifices?" Val asked, voice low.
The bound vampire's answer was terrified silence. "I… I don't know."
"Wrong answer." Val produced a white musket, filigreed with gold, as if ritual and weapon had been made one. The vampire's protest died in a wet, final sound. Smoke curled from the barrel. The body slumped; the bindings fell slack.
Val didn't flinch. He dressed quickly, heart already on the next move — and then the basement door opened.
A hundred pairs of eyes greeted him: vampires, dozens strong, filling the courtyard beyond the stairs.
"Fuck," Val muttered.
"We could do this all night," he said, voice hardening. "But time is not on our side. MOVE." Golden mana spiraled around his hand, hungry and bright.
The vampires exchanged glances, then formed weapons of blood, blades thrusting and spears hardening in their hands.
Val closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, then opened them. He raised his free hand and a white lance bloomed into being, its shaft etched with gold. It hummed with contained light.
"Very well," he breathed — not a thought, but a promise.
The children stirred, groaning as they pushed themselves upright.
"What's going on?" Diana asked, her voice shaky.
Morvain turned to them, face pale and drenched in sweat, his chest heaving. He pressed a finger to his lips, shushing them as he forced a calm tone into his trembling voice.
"It's nothing. You know what… let's play a little game," he said, flipping the dining table aside to reveal a hidden trapdoor. Beneath it, stairs spiraled down into darkness.
Akira blinked, stunned. "That's not supposed to be in an orphanage."
Morvain unhooked a lantern from the wall, lit it, and pressed it into Diana's hands.
"I want you all to follow Charles and Diana," he instructed, crouching down to look both of them in the eye. He rested his hands on their shoulders, steady but desperate. "I have… some old business to settle. I need you two to be brave, for the others. I'll join you soon."
Diana swallowed hard, then gathered the smaller children, urging them toward the stairway. Charles lingered, staring at Morvain as he closed the trapdoor behind them.
"Let's go," Diana urged.
But Charles didn't move. His voice echoed in the narrow passage.
"Go on without me."
Diana spun on him, furious. "Are you crazy? Mr. Morvain said he'll join us later—so we wait for him!"
Charles pressed a finger to his lips. His eyes were sharp, older than his years.
"Do you really believe he's coming back?"
Diana opened her mouth but no words came. Charles gave her one last look.
"Just go. I'll bring him back."
Clicking her tongue, Diana pushed the children forward, taking the lead with a scowl to hide her worry.
Charles slipped back through the trapdoor, lifting it just enough to peek out. His heart thudded as he scanned the room. Through the window, he saw a swarm of vampires gathered outside—an ocean of black eyes and fangs. In the middle of them stood Morvain, head bowed.
"What's going on…?" Charles whispered, trembling as that suffocating pressure pressed down on him again.
From the swarm, a lone figure emerged—a young man clad in black priestly robes, his dark hair framing a sadistic smile.
"There's no need to bow," the man said smoothly, his voice cutting through the silence. Morvain's shoulders quivered, sweat dripping down his temple.
"Families don't bow to each other… do they, Morvain?"
Akira's voice cut in, bitter with disbelief. "What the fuck is with that get-up?"
Morvain's hands trembled, sweat dripping down his face.
"Y-You're right… Father," he stammered.
The young priest stepped forward, gently placing a hand on Morvain's head. His voice was soft, but heavy with menace.
"I didn't hear you."
A suffocating aura spread from the priest, pressing against the air itself. Morvain dug his nails into the ground, biting down on his lip until it bled.
"You're right, Father!!" he shouted, his voice breaking.
The priest's lips curled into a smile. "Stand, my child."
Morvain staggered to his feet, trembling, his gaze locked to the ground. The priest cupped his face in both hands.
"What's wrong? Why did you abandon us? Why won't you look me in the eye?"
From the crowd, a vampire sneered. "Seems he's turned into a wuss."
Laughter rippled through the swarm.
The priest's smile didn't waver. He turned his head slightly toward them.
"Did I ask for your input?" His voice carried bloodlust that silenced the night.
"N-no, Father! I didn't mean to—"
"Oh, you didn't upset me." The priest's grin sharpened. He lifted a finger, drawing a single line through the air.
"What's th—"
Pshhhhh!
Blood erupted like fountains. Dozens of heads flew from bodies, tumbling across the ground. The priest closed his eyes in mock reverence, pressing his hands together.
"Your blood has not gone to waste. Our god, Dracula, takes his daily drink."
When he opened his eyes again, he turned back to Morvain, who was struggling to breathe, his body quaking before the carnage.
"Now… where were we?" the priest asked, tilting his head.
Morvain could only stare, paralyzed by terror.
"What's wrong? This isn't the first time you've seen something like this," the priest teased.
From the orphanage window, Akira pressed a hand to his mouth, fighting nausea.
"My God… this guy's insane." His eyes darted to Charles, whose body shook with ragged breaths, fear threatening to consume him.
The priest suddenly snapped his gaze toward the building. His smile widened.
"There's someone in there."
He raised a hand and began tracing another line—this time aimed at the orphanage window.
"Wait—No!!" Morvain lunged, grabbing for his arm.
Inside, Akira's eyes widened. Instinct took over—he shoved Charles back.
But not fast enough.
SHHK!
Blood sprayed across the floor. Charles crumpled, a deep gash splitting his abdomen. Crimson poured from his mouth, nose, and eyes as his body convulsed.