[It is the voice of compulsion, delivered in a tone colder than ice. Alucard, still stunned by that awful poison, doesn't move. Doesn't try to move. He can only feel the pain, and the frozen nature of his own vocal chords.
The apparition looms larger, blood red eyes burrowing into Carmilla's own.
You have betrayed your kind by turning your court into a farmyard, and viewing your own as nothing but meat. You have betrayed your own kind by planning to murder my son. You have betrayed your own kind in every imaginable way, and your name shall be the shame of your kind for millennia to come.
What would I do with you if I had a physical body, Carmilla of Styria? How would I imprison you? How would I prolong your worthless, miserable life so it was a torture and you begged to meet the sun?
[ The grave. The grave. Oh, but that is a comfort to hear. The grave. ]
If. If you had a body. Not no, you? You are dead.
[ Her voice is weaker than she wishes it were, but she pushes aside another lump of meat, inching slowly closer to Dracula. ] Deader than any of us ever were. You abandoned us for your petty revenge, and I? I have ensured the survival of the best of our kind in the void you left. Culled the weak to bring power to the strong.
[ Dracula's blood burns. She can feel it tearing away her skin so much more keenly than she could feel Alucard's claws and teeth. But pain is not death, and so it does not frighten her. She will not cower before a dead man. ]
I have done what we have always done, my lord. I have taken. You left your son among wolves - I only bit.
You have the audacity to lie in your final moments?
[The question is coupled with a sudden screech of agony. That? That would be Alucard, finally regaining motion in his person. The ability to express pain and oh. Oh it is deep and it is howling, for the combination of the meat hook and the injury to his legs are so deadly deep.]
[ She hates that she stumbles back again. But this time when her back touches meat (warm meat, still with a pulse. Still bleeding. Still breathing. Still screaming) she doesn't flinch away. He is dead. He is dead and this is her kingdom of flesh and bones and blood. ]
No, my lord. On the morning of my coronation, I speak nothing but the truth. Our kind will survive. Thrive. Even if we must be diminished to one to do it. My master is gone. You are gone. I remain, my lord, to carry your legacies as they deserve to be carried out. To be the paragon of our kind. To take and to take and to take until all things are mine.
[ The hook in Alucard's chast brushes against the back of her head, but she barely feels it. Barely feels Dracula's blood burning away her skin anymore. She has won. She has won and this is an illusion. ]
[Alucard knows that if he can get off the meat hook, that wound will heal. It is the leg that is the problem, for Carmilla is an elder and thus he will always heal slower from their wounds.
He has a voice now. He can screech properly. And he does so, voice echoing off of the walls and mixing with the furious noise the figure of Dracula makes as it lunges at Carmilla, fangs bared and snapping, ready to gobble Carmilla up.]
[ She says, and at first she stands tall. He draws closer and closer and she does not flinch. Will not flinch.
But doubt creeps in. He is dead, yes. But death has never stopped any of them. She falters. Steps back again, until her back is against Alucard's chest and her weight swings him backward on the hook. ]
You are dead!
[ It's a screech of her own when she says it again, claws extended as she brings her arms in front of her face to protect herself against nothing at all. ]
WHO ELSE OF OUR KIND TRICKED DEATH THE WAY I DID, CARMILLA? WHY SHOULD THE GRAVE CONFINE ME?
[Death has bowed to Mathias Cronqvist time and again. Now is no different. And as Dracula lungs, as Carmilla brushes against Alucard, the hook is dislodged and--
--Alucard falls free. He lands atop Carmilla in an awful, messy way, but oh. He can fight through the agony now. He can break his hands apart and free them. He can reach into his coat pocket and withdraw the awful little dagger they fashioned from Carmilla's fang.]
[ And just like that, the sun is risen. Dracula is gone as suddenly as he appeared. He is dead, and she is alive.
It takes her a moment for that to sink in. And then it does, and the halfbreed is down from his hook. A trick. It was a trick. ]
You- [ She begins, pulling herself up. She lifts Alucard by the hole in his chest, fingers tearing into the wound, and then tosses him across the room. Humans and pigs and night creatures alike are torn from their hooks as she gives chase. He lands in a pile of cold bodies and then she is above him, all claws and teeth. ] -I have no more patience.
[The dagger is out. Alucard can manage that much, and so when he lands, he has it pointed upright. She's over him, towering, there is sun out now and--
--and he thrusts upward with all the energy he can give, a gutteral expression of all the fury and sorrow and everything inside of him being let out. The walls and bodies around them shake for the effort, and Alucard doesn't know if he cares. He only forces the fang dagger deeper and deeper into Carmilla's heart, until it is hilt in.
He yanks it out as quickly as he can. The wound should take. The wound has to take.]
[ The wound takes. How can it not, when it's her own body turned against her?
She doesn't die instantly. No, she thrashes about. Drags more corpses down on top of them. The weight of them pins her down (the weight of humans! pinning her down! that oughtn't happen) and then her death throes are against Alucard, fierce to the last but bruising rather than bone shattering and steadily growing weaker. And then they stop, and Alucard is alone in the slaughterhouse, trapped beneath Carmilla and a pile of strangers. ]
[Alucard can't extract himself fast enough. He tries, but his leg won't heal. He tries, but Carmilla is atop him. Carmilla is pulling the dead atop them both. Carmilla's death is happening right up against him and the worst part is that there is comfort when she stops.
She's dead. She's dead and he witnessed it. He felt every inch of it and now she is a corpse. A real corpse.
Except now his space is suffocating, and panic sets in. Alucard's suddenly and all too keenly aware of himself, and he does the only thing he can think of doing: calling to the other two.]
[ It's hard to say how long there is nothing bit silence in response. But eventually the first sound comes. It isn't Trevor or Sypha. It isn't Carmilla.
It's a snuffle, followed by a few quiet oinks. The sound of their feet on the wooden floorboards. It's hard to say what they're responding to, until a moment later there is finally a voice. Not Trevor's or Sypha's, but a voice. Soft and tired and a little too calm, but with an edge of certainty to it that not even this place has dulled. ]
Here. This is the slaughterhouse.
[ A thump, then another, and then splintering wood and the door swinging open and slamming against the wall behind it. And then a chorus of pleased-sounding oinking. And then, finally- ]
-Everyone, behind me. She's in here somewhere. Sypha, once we find her be ready to break a hole in the ceiling to get her into the light. And- I'll be honest, I didn't plan for the pigs. The pigs are a surprise.
[Alucard doesn't know whose voice that is, talking to pigs. He doesn't care, he just tries to move himself towards it. Groans. Strains. Tries to at least put a hand out above Carmilla and all the bodies around him, but it fails.
The world is fuzzy. Alucard can feel how dry his throat is and--
[ He had a plan. A proper, well thought out plan. The whip is near enough useless in tight quarters like this, and so then he had a new plan. And then there were pigs, and so he had to work around those, and-
Fuck plans, he's going in.
There are heavier footfalls accompanied by the sound of a crutch hitting the ground, followed by lighter ones. Quiet 'oofs' from the both of them as they push past the hanging bodies. A quiet, horrified 'oh-' from Sypha after one of those, followed by the sound of a body being pushed away and those quiet footsteps moving quicker. And then the load of bodies is becoming lighter, until the last of the corpses between the two of them and Carmilla's body is gone. ]
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck-
[ Before he knows she's dead, Trevor is pushing Sypha back. Trying to get her clear of Carmilla. Sypha is having none of it. There's a whoosh of air, followed by a long spike of frozen blood that rises from the ground with enough force to puncture Carmilla's body and lift her away from Alucard. ]
-dead. Thank god. Thank god. And- shit. Shit, Adrian-
[ There are hands on Alucard now. Warm ones, lifting him carefully from the corpse pile. A smaller, warmer one brushing hair away from his face. ]
[They're here. Alucard's sigh of relief is loud, and he hopes it'll help the other two find him. Words aren't difficult yet, but Alucard wants to reserve them for when they're needed most. Lying in a pile of corpses isn't one of them.
He can hear them approach. The sense of relief grows, even if there's no way to warn them both of the horrors that lay ahead. There's no way to avoid them anyway, not with Carmilla taking him into the darkest, deepest part of the slaughterhouse.
And they're here.
Alucard's a picture of misery under the corpse pile, his hair splayed out, blood all over himself, and the exhaustion painted on his face. When hands start to pull him out, lift him up, there's no tension. But oh, he still holds that dagger like his life depends on it.]
[ He kicks bodies away unsteadily, clearing a place on the ground to lay Alucard down. He’ll need the crutch again before long, but for now adrenaline is enough. Sypha’s always-too-warm hands stroke through Alucard’s hair as Trevor puts rough stitches into the cut to keep it closed long enough to work on. It’s nothing, compared to the meat hook and Carmilla’s nails, but Sypha tries to comfort him through it anyway. ]
Ready as it’s going to be. Just get it closed.
[ They switch places at that. Sypha attending to the wound and Trevor crouching by Alucard’s face. He doesn’t stroke Alucard’s hair the way that Sypha did, but he tugs at his shirt the way they’ve learned communicates affection. He’s largely unhurt, at least compared to Alucard, but visibly shaking. The front of his tunic is splashed with that looks to be the contents of someone’s stomach. ]
We’re here. [ He says, as Sypha begins and the smell of burning flesh starts to fill the horrible room. ]
[Alucard doesn't fuss. He's still, but he does't tense. Not when Sypha touches him, and not when Trevor goes to work. There's too much happening for him to seize upon one thing and be terrified.
Who's to say if that's for good or ill. For now, it simply is.
The tug at his shirt gets a soft sigh, and Alucard reaches one hand over to place atop Trevor's. He's in pain. Touch is...he can manage it. He can manage that right now.
Hate to inform you, but there’s not going to be an awful lot of her to crumble. Maybe the bones. They might leave the bones.
[ Once Sypha gives the okay to move him again, he props Alucard up against his chest so that he can see better. The oinking has continued while they’ve been working, and a white-haired man stands unsteadily over Carmilla’s body, looking on impassively as a group of four of five pigs - two of them still with the hooks buried inside them - tugs meat from bone. A headless one butts its neck stump against her, like it’s trying its best. ]
They can get rid of the worst of this, right? So there’s not too much blood in the river. Don’t want to turn anyone downstream.
[ The man turns and nods, then returns his attention to the pigs. He strokes the back of the headless one to comfort it when it finally realises that eating is difficult. ]
[Alucard's eyes go over to where the oinking is and.
Well okay. He's seen a lot of fucked up shit before, but a headless pig trying to eat an elder vampire actually tops the list. It's cruel, even for someone as awful as Carmilla, and Alucard's face loses what little color it has.]
The pigs'll turn.
[He's not sure. It seems possible though, and he nearly wretches with the thought. Everything is too much right now.]
[ But he looks to the white haired man, who nods. Very well, the sun it is. Still supporting Alucard with his bad arm, he uses his good one to spin the head of the morning star until it gains momentum and then releases it, allowing it to puncture the ceiling above Carmilla. A beam of light floods through the gap, and when it touches Carmilla her flesh bubbles angrily. Only for a moment. Then, she’s dust. The pigs oink in objection, but the forgemaster speaks to them softly until they calm. ]
[Alucard doesn't argue the point, but he doesn't like it. There's the quiet desperation to just have this all be concluded, and then--
--there's light. There's the glorious morning rays, and he can still see some of the purple of the night sky. Alucard's eyes focus only on Carmilla, and then the dust.
A long sigh follows. Alucard seeks one of their hands, Trevor's or Sypha's, he doesn't care.]
Thank you.
[His eyes blink rapidly. Tears threaten, and Alucard doesn't want them. Not now.]
[ It’s Sypha’s, and it squeezes delicately. Despite knowing better, Trevor finds his arms wrapping around Alucard. They almost lost him. He saw how close they came to losing him. ]
We’re here. She’s gone, and we’re here. We’ll get you back home.
[He doesn't flinch. He doesn't fuss or shy away from the contact, but Alucard's eyes flutter closed. A sigh leaves him, and it is so heavy one could be forgiven for thinking of it as a near last breath.]
Home. That'd...yes. The castle's still here, that's a short journey.
[But it also knows where to go next. Somewhere remote and quiet and away from everything.]
No shit it hurts- [ And he’s swiftly interrupted by Sypha’s elbow in his ribs. She looks over the injury again one-handed, not letting go of Alucard’s hand, while Trevor speaks with the white haired man. The man strikes two coins against each other and everything in the slaughterhouse twitches. ]
...yeah. He’ll be just fine here. Let’s get you somewhere less- fragrant. You smell worse than your damn cloak.
[He still wears the cloak, sometimes, when absolutely everything is too overwhelming and he needs additional armor from the world. He'll go outside in it and then run around in the woods, sometimes as a man, sometimes as a wolf, and return looking a little bit better. The stench of it is no more, thanks to constant cleaning, the fact it mostly is a blanket these days, and the fact Alucard cares.
He manages to squeeze Sypha's hand back once.]
Take the dagger before the pigs eat it. Then we can go home.
[He needs it. He needs the thing that killed her, in case someone tries to hurt him again.]
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[It is the voice of compulsion, delivered in a tone colder than ice. Alucard, still stunned by that awful poison, doesn't move. Doesn't try to move. He can only feel the pain, and the frozen nature of his own vocal chords.
The apparition looms larger, blood red eyes burrowing into Carmilla's own.
You have betrayed your kind by turning your court into a farmyard, and viewing your own as nothing but meat. You have betrayed your own kind by planning to murder my son. You have betrayed your own kind in every imaginable way, and your name shall be the shame of your kind for millennia to come.
What would I do with you if I had a physical body, Carmilla of Styria? How would I imprison you? How would I prolong your worthless, miserable life so it was a torture and you begged to meet the sun?
What new laws must I write from beyond the grave?
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If. If you had a body. Not no, you? You are dead.
[ Her voice is weaker than she wishes it were, but she pushes aside another lump of meat, inching slowly closer to Dracula. ] Deader than any of us ever were. You abandoned us for your petty revenge, and I? I have ensured the survival of the best of our kind in the void you left. Culled the weak to bring power to the strong.
[ Dracula's blood burns. She can feel it tearing away her skin so much more keenly than she could feel Alucard's claws and teeth. But pain is not death, and so it does not frighten her. She will not cower before a dead man. ]
I have done what we have always done, my lord. I have taken. You left your son among wolves - I only bit.
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[The question is coupled with a sudden screech of agony. That? That would be Alucard, finally regaining motion in his person. The ability to express pain and oh. Oh it is deep and it is howling, for the combination of the meat hook and the injury to his legs are so deadly deep.]
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No, my lord. On the morning of my coronation, I speak nothing but the truth. Our kind will survive. Thrive. Even if we must be diminished to one to do it. My master is gone. You are gone. I remain, my lord, to carry your legacies as they deserve to be carried out. To be the paragon of our kind. To take and to take and to take until all things are mine.
[ The hook in Alucard's chast brushes against the back of her head, but she barely feels it. Barely feels Dracula's blood burning away her skin anymore. She has won. She has won and this is an illusion. ]
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He has a voice now. He can screech properly. And he does so, voice echoing off of the walls and mixing with the furious noise the figure of Dracula makes as it lunges at Carmilla, fangs bared and snapping, ready to gobble Carmilla up.]
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[ She says, and at first she stands tall. He draws closer and closer and she does not flinch. Will not flinch.
But doubt creeps in. He is dead, yes. But death has never stopped any of them. She falters. Steps back again, until her back is against Alucard's chest and her weight swings him backward on the hook. ]
You are dead!
[ It's a screech of her own when she says it again, claws extended as she brings her arms in front of her face to protect herself against nothing at all. ]
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[Death has bowed to Mathias Cronqvist time and again. Now is no different. And as Dracula lungs, as Carmilla brushes against Alucard, the hook is dislodged and--
--Alucard falls free. He lands atop Carmilla in an awful, messy way, but oh. He can fight through the agony now. He can break his hands apart and free them. He can reach into his coat pocket and withdraw the awful little dagger they fashioned from Carmilla's fang.]
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It takes her a moment for that to sink in. And then it does, and the halfbreed is down from his hook. A trick. It was a trick. ]
You- [ She begins, pulling herself up. She lifts Alucard by the hole in his chest, fingers tearing into the wound, and then tosses him across the room. Humans and pigs and night creatures alike are torn from their hooks as she gives chase. He lands in a pile of cold bodies and then she is above him, all claws and teeth. ] -I have no more patience.
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--and he thrusts upward with all the energy he can give, a gutteral expression of all the fury and sorrow and everything inside of him being let out. The walls and bodies around them shake for the effort, and Alucard doesn't know if he cares. He only forces the fang dagger deeper and deeper into Carmilla's heart, until it is hilt in.
He yanks it out as quickly as he can. The wound should take. The wound has to take.]
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She doesn't die instantly. No, she thrashes about. Drags more corpses down on top of them. The weight of them pins her down (the weight of humans! pinning her down! that oughtn't happen) and then her death throes are against Alucard, fierce to the last but bruising rather than bone shattering and steadily growing weaker. And then they stop, and Alucard is alone in the slaughterhouse, trapped beneath Carmilla and a pile of strangers. ]
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She's dead. She's dead and he witnessed it. He felt every inch of it and now she is a corpse. A real corpse.
Except now his space is suffocating, and panic sets in. Alucard's suddenly and all too keenly aware of himself, and he does the only thing he can think of doing: calling to the other two.]
Trevor?! Sypha?!
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It's a snuffle, followed by a few quiet oinks. The sound of their feet on the wooden floorboards. It's hard to say what they're responding to, until a moment later there is finally a voice. Not Trevor's or Sypha's, but a voice. Soft and tired and a little too calm, but with an edge of certainty to it that not even this place has dulled. ]
Here. This is the slaughterhouse.
[ A thump, then another, and then splintering wood and the door swinging open and slamming against the wall behind it. And then a chorus of pleased-sounding oinking. And then, finally- ]
-Everyone, behind me. She's in here somewhere. Sypha, once we find her be ready to break a hole in the ceiling to get her into the light. And- I'll be honest, I didn't plan for the pigs. The pigs are a surprise.
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The world is fuzzy. Alucard can feel how dry his throat is and--
--Trevor.]
Belmont!
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[ He had a plan. A proper, well thought out plan. The whip is near enough useless in tight quarters like this, and so then he had a new plan. And then there were pigs, and so he had to work around those, and-
Fuck plans, he's going in.
There are heavier footfalls accompanied by the sound of a crutch hitting the ground, followed by lighter ones. Quiet 'oofs' from the both of them as they push past the hanging bodies. A quiet, horrified 'oh-' from Sypha after one of those, followed by the sound of a body being pushed away and those quiet footsteps moving quicker. And then the load of bodies is becoming lighter, until the last of the corpses between the two of them and Carmilla's body is gone. ]
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck-
[ Before he knows she's dead, Trevor is pushing Sypha back. Trying to get her clear of Carmilla. Sypha is having none of it. There's a whoosh of air, followed by a long spike of frozen blood that rises from the ground with enough force to puncture Carmilla's body and lift her away from Alucard. ]
-dead. Thank god. Thank god. And- shit. Shit, Adrian-
[ There are hands on Alucard now. Warm ones, lifting him carefully from the corpse pile. A smaller, warmer one brushing hair away from his face. ]
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He can hear them approach. The sense of relief grows, even if there's no way to warn them both of the horrors that lay ahead. There's no way to avoid them anyway, not with Carmilla taking him into the darkest, deepest part of the slaughterhouse.
And they're here.
Alucard's a picture of misery under the corpse pile, his hair splayed out, blood all over himself, and the exhaustion painted on his face. When hands start to pull him out, lift him up, there's no tension. But oh, he still holds that dagger like his life depends on it.]
Careful, she....she got in deep.
[Actually--]
It's smarter to cauterize it, I think.
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[ He kicks bodies away unsteadily, clearing a place on the ground to lay Alucard down. He’ll need the crutch again before long, but for now adrenaline is enough. Sypha’s always-too-warm hands stroke through Alucard’s hair as Trevor puts rough stitches into the cut to keep it closed long enough to work on. It’s nothing, compared to the meat hook and Carmilla’s nails, but Sypha tries to comfort him through it anyway. ]
Ready as it’s going to be. Just get it closed.
[ They switch places at that. Sypha attending to the wound and Trevor crouching by Alucard’s face. He doesn’t stroke Alucard’s hair the way that Sypha did, but he tugs at his shirt the way they’ve learned communicates affection. He’s largely unhurt, at least compared to Alucard, but visibly shaking. The front of his tunic is splashed with that looks to be the contents of someone’s stomach. ]
We’re here. [ He says, as Sypha begins and the smell of burning flesh starts to fill the horrible room. ]
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Who's to say if that's for good or ill. For now, it simply is.
The tug at his shirt gets a soft sigh, and Alucard reaches one hand over to place atop Trevor's. He's in pain. Touch is...he can manage it. He can manage that right now.
He's smelled burning flesh before. Alucard doesn't care.]
Belmont. [He breathes out.] I want to see her crumble in the sun. Need to.
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[ Once Sypha gives the okay to move him again, he props Alucard up against his chest so that he can see better. The oinking has continued while they’ve been working, and a white-haired man stands unsteadily over Carmilla’s body, looking on impassively as a group of four of five pigs - two of them still with the hooks buried inside them - tugs meat from bone. A headless one butts its neck stump against her, like it’s trying its best. ]
They can get rid of the worst of this, right? So there’s not too much blood in the river. Don’t want to turn anyone downstream.
[ The man turns and nods, then returns his attention to the pigs. He strokes the back of the headless one to comfort it when it finally realises that eating is difficult. ]
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[Alucard's eyes go over to where the oinking is and.
Well okay. He's seen a lot of fucked up shit before, but a headless pig trying to eat an elder vampire actually tops the list. It's cruel, even for someone as awful as Carmilla, and Alucard's face loses what little color it has.]
The pigs'll turn.
[He's not sure. It seems possible though, and he nearly wretches with the thought. Everything is too much right now.]
Please just...just give her the sun.
[End this. End this chapter.]
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[ But he looks to the white haired man, who nods. Very well, the sun it is. Still supporting Alucard with his bad arm, he uses his good one to spin the head of the morning star until it gains momentum and then releases it, allowing it to puncture the ceiling above Carmilla. A beam of light floods through the gap, and when it touches Carmilla her flesh bubbles angrily. Only for a moment. Then, she’s dust. The pigs oink in objection, but the forgemaster speaks to them softly until they calm. ]
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[Alucard doesn't argue the point, but he doesn't like it. There's the quiet desperation to just have this all be concluded, and then--
--there's light. There's the glorious morning rays, and he can still see some of the purple of the night sky. Alucard's eyes focus only on Carmilla, and then the dust.
A long sigh follows. Alucard seeks one of their hands, Trevor's or Sypha's, he doesn't care.]
Thank you.
[His eyes blink rapidly. Tears threaten, and Alucard doesn't want them. Not now.]
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We’re here. She’s gone, and we’re here. We’ll get you back home.
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Home. That'd...yes. The castle's still here, that's a short journey.
[But it also knows where to go next. Somewhere remote and quiet and away from everything.]
The leg hurts more than I'd like.
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No shit it hurts- [ And he’s swiftly interrupted by Sypha’s elbow in his ribs. She looks over the injury again one-handed, not letting go of Alucard’s hand, while Trevor speaks with the white haired man. The man strikes two coins against each other and everything in the slaughterhouse twitches. ]
...yeah. He’ll be just fine here. Let’s get you somewhere less- fragrant. You smell worse than your damn cloak.
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[He still wears the cloak, sometimes, when absolutely everything is too overwhelming and he needs additional armor from the world. He'll go outside in it and then run around in the woods, sometimes as a man, sometimes as a wolf, and return looking a little bit better. The stench of it is no more, thanks to constant cleaning, the fact it mostly is a blanket these days, and the fact Alucard cares.
He manages to squeeze Sypha's hand back once.]
Take the dagger before the pigs eat it. Then we can go home.
[He needs it. He needs the thing that killed her, in case someone tries to hurt him again.]
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