What would happen if there was no Gabriel Van Helsing? What would happen if Dracula had no actual weakness? What if there was no God, and only the Devil and purgatory existed? What if God was real and the Devil was at war? All these things are unknown to the mortal world. There is no Gabriel to save the day, nor a family cursed. Only one person stands in the way of Dracula, and she has a painful memory that keeps her going to fight the evil that destroyed her family, and maybe even more.


The rain softly pattered on the ground, as strangers walked the streets. It was evening and cold, and in the dead of winter. London had always been like this for years as long as anyone could remember. Lightning flashed in the black sky, thunder booming loudly. The cobblestone streets were covered with rain water, and the few people that were roaming the streets, were drenched and shivering under their coats and hoods. A man named Michael was one of the brave souls that ventured out this night, not because of the rain, but of something else. Michael was a poor man, not by fate or family, but of himself. He was his own enemy, his own monster. His ragged cloths clung to him in the pouring rain. He walked through the streets feeling pity, feeling alone.

You see, he was once a great doctor, a genuis, but his own problems caught up to him. Well, he didn't seem to think so. He went mad, paraniod to be more exact. His paranioa always got the better of him, yet he thought himself normal. His lower lip quivered of the cold, and he was dreadfully tired and starving. Why me of all people? His face was dirty and scarred, and a frown appeared on his face. He didn't see the people looking at him, he didn't know he was crying. It finally stopped raining, and the night returned to it's calmness, for now. Michael had to find a place to sleep for the night. He was now alone, no one walked the streets except for him and the rats.

He turned around, feeling a strange presence, but no one was there. His episode was over, but he couldn't shake the feeling of this so called presence. Yet he heard something, was it his name? "Michael..." No one, not a soul. Trying to calm himself, he randomly looked up into the sky. What he saw put fear into his soul, fear into his heart beating rapidly. The moon was no longer its shinning silver, but a blood red, and staring down at him were a pair of ice blue eyes. He gulped loudly, then blinked. The moon was it's silver, and the eyes vanished.

He was shaken greatly, his fear mounting with every sound. "Michael..." Now he was more than afraid, no words could describe it. As he came down the street he saw a church; a public place and shelter. He went towards it then paused, he felt reluctant to go inside. He shrugged it off and entered. The church ceiling was of gold with paintings of angels, the Virgin Mary, and our Lord among flowers. Michael walked into the ile and stared at the alter with dying white lilies. He felt strangly vile, disgusted, but then he shrugged that feeling off also. Michael sat on a pue, and feel asleep hearing his name being called. He dreamt of a nothingness, a black abyss swirling around him. He awoke to the church's doors flying open, powerful gusts of wind knocked down paintings and statues.

Michael was astonished at the power, and was afriad of what caused it. Soon the wind subsided, and yet again he heard the mysterious voice calling him. "Michael..." He stepped outside of the church and the wooden doors closed in a flash. His courage vanished and fear took over his every thought. As he walked the empty streets as before, Michael saw something out of the corner of his eye. He spun around, only to find a figure behind him. he turned around and for the first time saw this thing. It wore a black cloak over his usual attire with a hood conceling his face. This figure came closer, it's hessian boots were silent on the cobblestone. Michale was frozen, he couldn't move. It was as if a force controlled him to stay still and silent.

The figure came even closer, inches apart. Michael saw it's eyes, an ice blue. Now it took off it's hood. Michael tried to scream, he wanted to. This thing was ghastly white, it's canine teeth were fangs, and it had no human features. It grabbed Michael by the neck and drank his blood, as Michael tried without prevail, to scream. It dropped his corpse on the ground.

It's white snow hair was now black as night, it's white complexion was now just pale. Now his other feature seemed to come back, making him look more human. It turned into it's hellbeast form and flew into the night, and it would return to power.





Michael woke in darkness in a wooden box. His nails were longer, and he felt fangs protruding from his gums. He was in horror of what he had become. He only read about them in books, and history of how the dead were not vampires, but how they were all wrong. He heard a sound, shovels perhaps. Soon the lid of his coffin opened, and the sun burnt his skin, in fact he felt himself disinagrating. "Help me please..." Michael pleaded. They didn't. Instead they drove a steak through his heart, then and only then, did he feel at peace.

I hoped you enjoyed the first chapter. The next one will probably tell you who "it" is, but we all know who. Thanks for any reviews I get.