I remember the sound my boots made as they struck
the ancient marble floor—sharp, echoing, each step a
drumbeat in the cathedral. The Grand Hall was endless,
so wide the walls vanished into fog, so tall the ceiling
became sky. Pillars stretched to nowhere, sculpted from a
stone that shimmered like frozen starlight. The silence
was thick, sacred… and yet it suffocated me. I hated that
it felt good here. The scent of incense hung in the air like
forgotten memories, sweet and familiar. Warmth radiated
from nowhere and everywhere at once, like the hearth of
a home I never had. As I moved deeper into the chamber,
I saw it: a single obsidian bench in the middle of the
vastness, as though the universe had left a seat open for
me only. I sat. And I waited. The light here didn't cast
shadows. Everything was evenly bathed in glow, but
there was no sun. No source. Just… illumination. Then
came the thoughts. Every scar throbbed. Every memory
screamed. My mother's face in her final breath, her soul
torn from her body in a storm I couldn't stop. My home,
crumbling under the weight of judgment and fire. My
own reflection, twisted and foreign—fangs, eyes that
gleamed like a predator's. I wasn't me anymore. Not truly.
I wasn't even human. I lost it all. Light. Innocence.
Purpose. Peace. All traded for survival.
Then Sarah came in my mind. Maybe... there is a
light at the end of this dark tunnel, but it was still a
long way to reach it... not yet. And then, as if
summoned by my loathing, a voice rang out—calm,
clear, and beautiful like the first breath of spring. "You
came." I turned my head. He stood behind me—tall,
graceful, timeless. Dressed in a sharp black suit that fit
like shadow itself. His long black hair was tied back
with a single, silken ribbon, and behind silver-rimmed
glasses sat two glacial eyes—blue and pale as heaven's
edge. He looked like Sarah. Too much like her. That
was her father, but I knew better. "Michael." My voice
was low, cold. "So... this is what 'The One Above All'
looks like." He chuckled softly, hands behind his back
as he approached, his steps making no sound.
"Only if you need me to." He stopped a few feet from
me. "Today, I wear the face you'll understand. The one
that reminds you of someone you trusted."
"Trusted," I scoffed. "Past tense." He nodded, as if I
was correct. "Trust, like glass, shatters loudest when it
was once clear." I narrowed my eyes. "Don't speak in
poetry. You know why I'm here." "Yes." He slowly sat
beside me, as though we were just two old men
feeding birds in a park. "You came for judgment."
"Not only that," I said, my voice sharp like broken
obsidian. "I came for truth. I came for answers." A
pause. Then, he nodded again. "Then speak." My hands
were fists. My body trembled not with fear, but fury
held too long behind bars of flesh and bones... yet I
stayed calm. "You watched me suffer. You watched
them burn my world. You let her die—my mother. You
know all of it... Where were you then?" "Here," Michael
answered, still smiling, still calm. "Always here."
I growled. "Then you watched. You saw the torment.
The blood. The madness." "Yes." he responded "And
you did nothing." I didn't shut up. His gaze was still,
gentle. "You survived." "Don't twist this into mercy." I
said with anger. "Is survival not mercy?" he asked,
tilting his head slightly. "You endured the storm. You
defied the odds." I stepped closer. My voice dropped
into something colder, something darker. "I became
your devil just to survive your heaven. You made me
claw my way through hell with my teeth. You let the
world break me, just to see if I'd stand." He met my
gaze evenly. "No. I let the world forge you."
"That's what this was, huh?" I sneered. "A test? An
experiment? Am I just your plaything, your pawn on
the board?"
Michael looked toward the far-off sky, then back at
me. "You were never a pawn. You were always a king
in the making. But kings… must lose everything before
they can rule justly." I paused. My lips curled into
something between a grin and a snarl. "You speak in
riddles while your hands drip with the blood of the one
I loved." "And you speak with a blade for a tongue," he
replied warmly. "But I understand. You are in pain."
"I am pain," I whispered. He looked at me with sadness
—real sadness—but not regret. "You believe I wanted
this. That I authored your agony." "You are the
author," I said. "Everything written in the book of my
life was inked in your blood or your silence." Michael
removed his glasses. His eyes, though pale, shimmered
with galaxies. "I never wished for your pain. But I saw
the truth before you did. That you… you were never
meant to be ordinary. If I held your hand through
every fire, you'd never become the flame." A silence
fell between us. And then I said, cold and slow "You
made me a monster." Michael smiled again, softly. "No.
They made you a monster. I gave you the choice to
become more." I looked down at my hands. Claws.
Proof of my fall. "Why… why did she have to die?" I
asked, the words barely a whisper.
He was quiet for a moment, then answered "Because
the world needed to break you open. And only through
that wound could your light escape." I turned sharply,
baring my fangs. "What light?! I have none left."
He stood. Faced me. And in the warmth of his voice,
the world itself stood still. "Then why do you still seek
justice, Adam? Why does her name still ache in your
heart? A monster would not care. A devil would not
mourn. But you do." I clenched my jaw. "You speak
like you care." "I do," he said, not a trace of doubt in
his voice. "More than you will ever know."
"I want revenge."
"I know."
"I want real answers."
"You deserve them."
"I want my mother back."
He stepped closer and placed a gentle hand on my
shoulder—not forcing, not holy, just… human.
"You will see her again. But not here. Not now."
"I hate you,"
"And I love you,"
"You're cruel."
"And you're strong."
We stood there—devil and god, hate and love, wrath
and grace. And neither one of us blinked. Then I
laughed "I bet, killing Mihail was a part of your plan...
so you can be in his place. You wanted the throne," I
muttered. "I wanted order," he corrected. "I wanted to
be near. My creation, my children… you. I never
wanted to rule from above. I came to walk beside."
I shook my head. "Too late for that." He tilted his head.
"Is it?" I didn't answer. We stood in silence again. Then
I turned away. Michael stood at the edge of the Grand
Hall, his hands behind his back, posture relaxed, as
though he were admiring a painting. I was still turned
away, my back to him, fists clenched and jaw tight.
"You shouldn't have touched me," I said. He chuckled
softly. "You've said worse things to better people." My
breath drew in like a blade unsheathing. "And yet you
keep smiling." "I like smiling." he replied. "Then I'll
make sure you stop." Without a whisper of wind, the
entire atmosphere shifted. The ground beneath us
trembled. My shadow stretched unnaturally far across
the marble, and from its edges, smoke began to rise—
red, thick, and hungry. My body cracked as the change
began—bones snapping into new, monstrous shapes,
muscles bulging with old wrath awakened anew.
My hair turned white, not like snow but like ash left
after holy fire. My eyes, now burned with pure
infernal hate—red, deep, endless. Veins lit like
molten rivers beneath pale, undead flesh. My fangs
glistened, my claws extended, and around me
spiraled winds of fire and telekinetic pressure so
dense that the pillars in the distance cracked from
the sheer presence. I was no longer Adam. "I am
Alucard," I said, voice layered in demonic echoes,
"Devil, anti-god. Your mistake made flesh." Michael
simply raised one brow and adjusted his glasses.
"Dramatic," he said. Then he changed. No lightning,
no thunder. Just an instant unraveling of reality. The
light bent around him. His form stretched tall, limbs
long and inhuman, black tendrils slithering from his
back like the hands of death itself. They didn't move
—they slid through space, each one warping the air.
His eyes glowed from behind his glasses now—blue
galactic voids of piercing clarity. His smile was gone.
Not because he was angry… but because he was
listening. To me. To everything. "You're still in
there," he said, voice now layered, warped,
transcendent. "Beneath the flame and fang." I lunged.
And the world screamed.
The Grand Hall exploded into chaos. The ground
beneath us cracked like glass, flames spiraling from
my feet as I launched myself forward with godlike
velocity. The wind howled with my wrath. With a
thought, I sent pillars flying at Michael—massive
things, stone towers taller than trees, hurled like
spears. He didn't even move. The shadow-hands did.
They caught every pillar in the air and crushed them
to dust with a soundless grace. I screamed, raising
my arms, and the floor beneath him ignited in
crimson fire, a hellstorm of pyrokinetic wrath. The
fire turned into a vortex, then a blade, then a winged
beast of molten hate—I ripped reality and bent it to
flame. Michael stepped forward. Slowly. One tendril
brushed the fire beast. It ceased to exist. "You're
angry," he said calmly, walking toward me through
the inferno as though on a Sunday stroll. "But you're
not free." I roared. Telekinetic force sent shards of
the cathedral ceiling falling like meteorites. He didn't
dodge. They hit him—and disintegrated. Unwritten
by his will. "What is a demon… to a god?" he asked.
I smirked, blood in my teeth. "What is a god… to a
nonbeliever?"
I rushed again—this time faster than sound. I
struck him in the chest with a blow that could turn
mountains to ash. Michael didn't move. "Done?" he
asked. "Damn you!," I hissed. Then I snapped.
Scarlet flames erupted from every pore in my body.
Then... My mind cracked open like an egg—and I
remembered. Memories I had forgotten. It hit me all
at once. I saw myself. Small. Crying. Barely able to
walk. Tiny hands reaching out to someone. My real
mother, Nasira. Then, an orphanage with abusive
caretakers, nuns and priests speaking of god, but in
reality they are child predators, and I was a victim. It
was a trauma that my mind blocked. Then I was
picked up by what I thought was mother, but no. She
was an agent, one of Mihail's, set to watch over me to
make sure I do not unlock my true self. I screamed.
As a child. And again now. The pain broke through
my skin and became form. My body was the flame
now—no more vampire, no more human. Just rage
given breath. The sky turned red. Reality bent.
Michael… stopped walking. His smile faded. Not from
fear. From sorrow. "YOU DID THIS!" I roared. My
voice split mountains. "YOU LET THIS HAPPEN!"
"No," he said, almost whispering, "they did."
"You created them." "I gave choice." And I rushed
again—this time a meteor of raw hate. Screaming
louder than the world could bear. Michael stood still,
watching the child beneath the devil, the pain
beneath the fire. He raised one hand. A gesture.
Not of violence. But of pity. And the flames...
hesitated to reach him. There are screams… and then
there are screams born of something deeper than
hate. Mine was the latter. I had become fire
incarnate. Not metaphor. Not poetry. Truth. Scarlet
wrath in its purest form. My voice cracked the very
bones of the world, and my body pulsed like a second
sun, trailing embers with every motion. I didn't
speak. I couldn't. I was beyond language. I was pain
made sentient. And I wanted him to suffer. Michael
didn't flinch as I lunged. My claws—coated in divine
flame—slashed into his chest. No resistance.
He didn't fight back. My hands went through him
like tearing smoke. I kept attacking. I screamed
louder. My vision ran red. My claws, my teeth, my
fire—they rained down on him like a storm. I tore
into him over and over, ripping muscle, bone, and
soul.
His form cracked, shattered, burned, dissolved—
then reformed again, quietly, softly, like smoke
wrapping back into a figure. He stood tall. And still.
"Adam, please…" Michael whispered, barely audible
over the storm of my rage. "You'll destroy yourself if
you stay like this." I didn't care. My body—if you
could still call it that—had become something
beyond. Eyes bleeding fire and red tears, claws
glowing with molten hate. I was a beast of fury,
slashing at shadows that refused to die. He just…
took it. Again and again. Each time I struck, his body
broke—and then returned. One second, he was
bones. The next, ash. Then light. Then breath again.
And all the while… he never looked away. "It's all
going to pay off, Adam," Michael said softly as I
mauled him. "Everything you've endured… it was
never for nothing. I had to be sure. She had to be
sure." He looked up at me through the storm. "Sarah.
She needed someone. Someone who could survive
the end of the world and still have something left to
give. I hoped… that maybe, just maybe, you could be
the one to love her when I no longer could." I roared
louder than ever before, striking with such force it
sent shockwaves. My mind told me he was lying.
Manipulating me. Playing the eternal game.
But my heart didn't know anymore. "Trust me…"
he said, voice breaking for the first time, "I know
what that feels like." I saw something flash in his
eyes—a woman. Tall. Graceful. She looked like him.
Long black hair. Gentle eyes, yet was not clear
enough to me. Then I saw him, Michael, younger,
laughing beside her. Next to him a girl, who was not
so clear... A relative? A sister? I did not know. Then—
Woman faded. I struck him again, harder than ever
before. But my hand trembled. I started seeing more.
Fragments. Pieces. His memories. The weight.
His smile—the one I hated—wasn't armor. It was
penance. He wasn't hiding power. He was hiding
hurt. And I kept hitting him. And he kept letting me.
Not because he was weak. But because he loved me.
Even now. My strikes slowed. Then I saw him looking
at an image of the now gone woman, he said
"Mother." Next was his dead wife, and him holding
his daughter, Sarah. He felt disappointed of himself,
Michael whispered, head bowed. "I failed. Again and
again. I tried to raise a daughter while carrying the
weight of existence. I never found time to be a father.
I wasn't enough. She deserves so much more… I
hoped that... someone would make her smile and
make her happy... I thought you could fix all of it."
I looked down at him—his body now bruised,
bloodied, even the divine has limits. He wasn't some
untouchable deity. He was a man. A father. And he
was breaking. Then it came. A vision. She stood
behind him. Nasira. My mother. But not as I
remembered her. She was perfect. Her eyes glistened
with light no painter could capture, and her smile—
gentle, endless—was for me alone. She nodded. As if
to say: It's time. Let go. My flames flickered. My
knees hit the ground. The Grand Hall finally fell
silent. I cried like a child. Not like a beast. Not like a
god. But like a son. Michael moved toward me. The
shadows recoiled. The divine energy pulsed softly.
He knelt. And pulled me into a hug. Even as I still
burned. He held me. Like a father holds a broken
child. "It's okay, Adam," he whispered into my ear.
"Calm down… it's over. All this pain is over. Trust me,
Adam… please." Those words… The One Above All…
pleading to me? My mind couldn't comprehend it.
But my soul did. Then he said, gently, "I need you."
I stopped breathing. He touched my face, so gently.
"Your mother doesn't want to see a devil. She doesn't
want to see you angry. She wants her son back… so
do I... you are Alucard... the anti-devil."
I looked into his eyes. "I love you," he said. "As
much as any father could love his son." And with
those words— I saw her again. Nasira. Brighter than
all creation. Smiling. Tears welled up again, but they
weren't red. Just real. The flames around me
dimmed, slowly flickering out. And then—Darkness.
I blacked out.