Hellsing Fan Fiction ❯ Contesting Results ❯ Salt ( Chapter 16 )

Author: Lyanna Kane

Pairing/Interaction: Abraham van Helsing and Alucard/Dracula.

----

The salt had been at place, in all the four corners, and then more, to form the circle, scattered on the flooring. He mightn't have approached, or let others do so before him, if not for these ancient precautions. Not that they still served their original purpose; Abraham, as all those acquainted with the lost ways and their old tricks, knew well enough that there was only so much even the candles and the holy water could do, and that all his incantations would not withstand power beyond the realm of the living.
The dead had their own old tricks, too.
The pain in his chest from when he had been thrown to the other side of the room - the very wall- spoke of as much. Better still than the vampire's first reaction to his attempts at nearing him any: he'd paid that discourtesy with enough aching bones to keep him at bay for a few instants.
The circle may have diminished his powers, but it would in itself do no more. And vampires, well, they were certainly creatures of power. Impulsiveness, too, he reminded himself. Though he needed no warning. Even now, he could almost hear the whispers of commerce: the count, still a shaking dark figure spread within the circle, was exchanging his reason for passion, his hatred for want.
He had come with all intentions to seal the count's fate. Open accounts, these Abraham did not like.
The sight of Abraham's swollen wrist, blood still pouring discreetly - no longer as intensely as it had upon the time of the cutting, but still…it had maddened this thing, this demon. This vampire who had now caught upper hand, feeding off him mercilessly as Abraham contemplated devil-knew-what, and then the foolhardy of his attempt.
Abraham had known, of course. Known that this was all hardly enough, even though the master's blood had formed a separate circle, greater still than the one of salt, and even though he had also sketched the astrological chart of the eve's skies.
He wished briefly he could see it, the sky. Everything. The dungeons sickened him. How much this had to do with the prisoner within, the monster he could never hope to tame, he could not tell.

"It shan't be of any good," the count had said, when Abraham had finished the circle, following in his habit to predict another's each move through a quick overview of their minds. "You need my blood as well, don't you, my good doctor? To tie those invisible chains! You need something you shan't get, now don't you?" A low hiss, as the count had drawn in air it did not need, helping himself up. Waiting in the middle of a circle he could not break, on which he had called the shadows.
This treaty of servitude was a natural extension of a thrice-cursed alliance. Two matters had brought this forth, Abraham knew, just as he knew all too well there was also some fault in his fascination with true immortals. He could not kill the count, just as much as he could not allow him his freedom. And the most perverse part of it was how Abraham was secretly at peace.
Abraham had cupped his bloodied hand with the left one, and then willed his sore body to move. Aye, he had need of the vampire's blood to enslave him.
Time to try again.
They'd starved him for days and days and days. It hadn't had any noticeable effect, save perhaps for the fact that it, along with the torture, had assured he would keep more and more to himself. Abraham's assistants had suggested that, all the pain and the impossibility to regenerate properly, as well as the lack of blood, had somehow encouraged insanity.
Abraham himself hadn't thought of such things. Though then, as he had steadied himself, and given the bare wrist an appreciative glance, the count had appeared to him as the very incarnation of despair and lust and madness.

Abraham had stepped into the circle.
Taken the first breath.
He had never seen them summoned - writhing - coming.
He had never had a chance to move.
Not even the chance to cry out.

And now, he was pinned down to the floor, his right hand risen against those same cursed shadows, and then the count himself. He'd carried a pistol with him - it was still there, somewhere, probably quite within his reach. But he couldn't hope to break free, so there was really no point. He found his own calm in the given circumstances disgusting. The count's burning eyes ,sliding from the wrist he had drained, over Abraham's twisted body.
A finger joined in, removing the tie, parting the shirt. He hadn't the sort of claws to make the cuts, but this failed to prevent him from trying. Such a child in his ways. The feel of it was cold and soft and almost ticklish. The pleasure in the menace of upcoming pain.
And then the soft touch was changed with the same cold, yet a distinctly rough replacement. His eyes snapped shut, willing the canines away from his chest, their play with the skin and the letter making.
But the count was so thrilled. "My good doctor, your little pet wants to mark his territory…" A small sketch of the D, and then the A upper still, carrying on in this fashion…the L just at the base of the neck, and the last A to-
No.
He kicked at the count's feline form much as he could, rolled him over, tried to reach over the circle. Research or not, captive as he be, whatever the conditions - no vampire was touching his jugular.
His efforts were met with a powerful blow. Crack, and the ribs paid the price of his insubordination. More pain - oh, how dull of the count. Abraham's breath returned, and with it a series of coughs in convulsive spasms. More kicks, for all they were worth, though they only attracted the count's low chuckles.
He had to call for someone, just get beyond the circle, just- Oh God, he had even coughed-
The count. He had taken as much notice as himself of the small trail of blood lingering on-
Cold lips pressed onto his viciously, thin tongue snaking, waiting, calling, searching… the blood he had coughed up, and that he could feel still on the back of his mouth, rotting though only mere seconds had passed.
Abraham had to do something, anything-
-children' play with inscribing names- children's vengeance-children's ways of dealing with things that were imposed upon them-children's way of showing their dissatisfaction- gritting their teeth to-
And suddenly, Abraham smiled. Drops of blood, twined blood, joined Abraham's on the flooring.
"Judas' kiss," the count growled, hurling him across the room, as no more than he would a puppet of cloth. And then softer, "Get out".
More mad laughter took Abraham out. He must have crawled, or done even worst. He didn't care. The smile never left him.

Alone, in the darkness, he called for those still loyal. Only shadows answered now. A long look at the deserted circle. How pitiful. A hand rose to his treacherous lips, still slightly carrying the seal of his little defeat.
A wound he could have regenerated easily: and how ironic, really, that a bite should save men rather than end their lived. He pressed the side of the lip carefully - and more of the vampire's blood fell to complete the unholy circle.