I don't remember what happened next — not
clearly, anyway. There are only fragments…
flashes stitched together by blood and screams. I
remember ruins. Corpses. The world soaked in
red. It felt like a dream, or maybe a nightmare. Or
maybe... something worse. But I didn't feel a
thing. Not grief. Not rage. Not even satisfaction.
There was only silence in my soul — like
something else had taken the reins, and I was
watching through frosted glass, barely a
passenger in my own flesh. The world looked at
me differently. Afraid. Was it the blood on my
hands? The void behind my eyes? No. It wasn't
just that. It was the way I stood… naked in spirit
before them all. Every weakness, every failure,
every buried wound laid bare. I felt like a corpse
on display — exposed, dissected, judged. And
what I felt in return? Nothing. But if I had to
guess what terrified the world most, it wasn't just
my fangs or my strength or my hunger… It was
also that I no longer cared.
You'll say, "Adam, everyone suffers. There are
people starving, dying, lost without homes or
hope." Yes. I know. I've heard it all before. But
this? This is my story. Not theirs. I experience the
world through my eyes. I see only my hands. My
blood. My pain. I am the protagonist of my life.
Only me. And if the world saw fit to judge me?
Then it was time I returned the favor. Am I a bad
person for saying that? Yeah. I know I am. But
for the first time in my life… I liked being bad. It
felt right. It felt freeing. It made me happy. And I
know, I know, you'll call it edgy — like some emo
boy screaming into the void. But maybe… think
about what made those kids scream in the first
place. What drove them there? People like me
don't need judgment. We need guidance. But all I
ever got was mockery. Even from the one who
created me. What was my name again? Adam?
No… Alucard. Funny, isn't it? Dracula, spelled
backwards. That's what I am now. The mirror
image of the devil. The anti-god.
And then… I saw him. The great Mihail. Mr.
President. The son of Vlad Dracula himself. The
immortal puppet master who held the world in
his palm while wearing a human mask. He was
crawling. On the floor. Legs twisted. Face half
burned. Hair scorched. The polished, charming
image that had hypnotized the world now
reduced to ash and blood. He whimpered.
"I had every right to keep you alive," he hissed
through cracked teeth. "You had potential… You
had power. I needed that. Not you. You were
nothing. Nothing, Alucard!" His voice became
screams. Long. Drawn out. Delicious. It was
music. Cruel, ironic music. The president undone
by his own son. How poetic. Then I gasped.
Air rushed into my lungs like fire. I choked on it.
I was in a bed — soft, warm… unfamiliar. I
couldn't move. Pain rippled through me with
every breath. My skin was tender. My bones
ached like cracked glass. There was a cloth — cold
and damp — pressed against my forehead. I
slowly turned my head. There she was. Sarah.
Her black hair fell gently around her pale face,
and those familiar grey eyes were locked on me.
She looked… scared. But happy, too. Tired.
Relieved. She'd been taking care of me. My
memory was just fog and flickers. But she'd
stayed by my side. "S…Sarah?" I croaked, voice
dry and broken. "Shhh…" she whispered, holding
my hand. "It's okay now. Just rest." I obeyed. Not
because I had to — because I wanted to. I glanced
around slowly. The place was clean. Simple. Holy
symbols adorned every wall and shelf — crosses,
scripture, even silver charms. A chapel? Was I in a
church? Before I could think more… the
unexpected happened. Sarah's eyes welled with
tears. Not small ones. Real, heavy tears. Her
breath trembled. Her lips quivered. I had never
seen her like that. "Sarah…" I rasped. "What's
wrong? Why are you crying?" She didn't answer.
She just looked at me — as if she were looking at
someone who had died, and came back… not
quite the same. And maybe that's exactly what I
was.
"I... I'm sorry," Sarah whispered, her voice
barely a breath. Then, she broke. The sobs that
came from her weren't loud. They weren't ugly or
frantic. No — they were the kind of cries that
came from somewhere deep, sacred, and ruined.
Like a violin string pulled too far, breaking in the
middle of a quiet symphony. Her shoulders
trembled, her lips quivered, and her hands
clutched the hem of her shirt, trying to contain
something far too vast to hold. I had never — not
once — seen her cry like this. And it tore me
apart. "Sarah!" I said, more frightened than
anything. "What do you mean? Please — just stay
calm." She looked up at me with those storm
colored eyes, brimming with guilt. "I didn't want
this," she said. "I swear I didn't want any of this.
I'm sorry..." I stared at her, and my voice
dropped. "Oh… you mean mom… right?" She
nodded her head slowly, and then spoke words
that shattered me. "Do you know how my mother
died?" she asked. "It wasn't that I left a mark on
her during birth…"
Her voice trembled. "I was thirsty. I wanted
blood. And she… she let me. She let me." She
wiped her eyes, but the tears kept coming. "I
didn't understand what I'd done. I thought she
was sleeping. I didn't know… not until later. My
dad… he came in… and he saw…" Her voice
cracked. "He teared up… but he smiled. He
hugged me and said, 'Naughty girl,' and patted
my head. And that was it. My mother was gone.
For years, I didn't understand. But eventually, I
did." She swallowed, a single tear trailing down
her cheek. "Adam… I killed my mother." Silence.
I didn't know what to say. My breath caught in
my throat. But then I reached for her, gently
placing my hand on her shoulder. My eyes
burned, and the tears came — slow, hot, real.
I whispered, "Sarah… I did too. I killed mine. Not
by my hands… but by my weakness. I wasn't
strong enough to save her." She shook her head
fiercely. "No… that's not the same. I chose. I
drank. I did it. You didn't do anything to hurt her.
Yours was fate."
I went quiet for a moment, then said bitterly,
"Fate… yeah." The fire returned. The rage. The
blasphemy. The hate that gnawed at the edges of
my soul. I looked up — to no one — and said
through clenched teeth: "You'll pay. You're next."
Sarah looked at me, wide-eyed, tears streaming.
"Adam…" I stood up — barely. My body screamed
in protest, but I ignored it. Every inch ached, but I
rose. "Sarah…" I said quietly. "As I was forsaken
by Him, so I will return the treatment. If there is
a god… then surely, there is his opposite." I
touched my chest. "Me." "No!" she cried out,
taking a step toward me. "Adam, please, don't say
that! I beg you." She sounded so broken — so
frightened. Her voice hit something in me,
something raw. I looked at her, and her pain felt
like a knife. Had I really become something that
scared her? Then… The television beside the
chapel door flickered on — an old model, dusty,
like it hadn't been touched in years. I stared, my
breath caught in my throat. Ruins. Mutilated
bodies. Death. Fire and ash and screaming.
Soldiers shouting, helicopters firing at
something moving too fast to be seen. Chaos. And
then… there he was. A creature. A demon. White,
silver-flesh armor covering his body, glistening
like it was born — not built. Red glowing sinew
beneath. Organic, sharp. His eyes were blazing
scarlet. His hair, white. His face, pale, almost
ethereal — lined with markings that looked ready
to split open. Phoenix-like wings erupted in
flame behind him. Cars, debris, and fire swirled
around him like a tornado of rage and gravity,
controlled by invisible hands. He opened his
mouth. And screamed. Windows shattered. Heads
exploded. Planes fell from the sky. The camera
shook violently. Buildings crumbled. A true
apocalypse. He moved forward, no longer just a
beast but a blight upon the earth. Then I saw him.
Him. Mihail. The President. The immortal. The
vampire who wore the world like a mask. Broken.
Bleeding. Helpless. The monster consumed him.
Drank. Mutilated. Devoured his legacy. Impaled
his corpse on my mother's trident, the same way
he had done to her. And something inside me…
twisted. I smiled. Not just any smile — wide,
stretched, unholy. It felt… better than pleasure.
Better than anything I had ever known. I had
never felt more alive. The monster on the
screen... was me. And Sarah was looking at me —
pale, frozen in place. Terrified. I turned to her,
gently wrapped my arms around her. She didn't
move. "It's okay," I said softly. "It's still me,
Sarah. Good ol' loser me. The guy who gets his
butt kicked every step of the way." I tried to
smile — lighthearted, boyish — anything to bring
her back from that terror. "Come on… smile for
me, yeah? Don't I look like a kitten when I
smile?" I forced a small laugh. She stared… and
then, slowly… her breath steadied. "Adam…" she
whispered. "There's someone I want you to meet.
He's almost here." I blinked. "Who?"
"My dad." "Oh — Michael, right?" I asked, trying
to seem casual. She nodded slowly. I paused…
then remembered something — a fragment from
my mother.
"Mother said… you know something about the True
Creator. She said you might know who — or what —
that really is." Sarah's eyes dropped to the floor. "You'll
know soon enough." And something deep in my gut
turned cold. No. No, it couldn't be. But I already knew. I
just didn't want to believe it. Still… I stayed quiet.
Collected. "Sarah…" I said after a long silence. "You
know I have nothing left, right? Because of fate.
Because of what was written for me." She stepped
closer, touching my arm. "Adam," she said. "Just wait.
My dad… he's on his way. Talk to him. Ask him
everything. Let him guide you." I looked at her. "You're
not mad at me… are you?" "No," she said softly. "I
understand you. I really do. But Adam… you need
guidance. I know you know that." I smiled, tired and
worn. "Guidance from Sarah? That's a win for me." She
smiled, too. And somehow… it made everything just a
bit lighter. "I'm glad I can help," she said. "That means
more to me than you think. I just want to help people."
"You always had a healing touch," I replied, reaching
for her hand. She smiled even more — soft and warm. It
made my heart ache. Then she went quiet. And
whispered… "I think… he's here." She turned to the
door. "Come on," she said. "This way."