dhampir · hellsing · alucard · calm · pessimistic · swordmaster · magic · gothic · lonely · strategic
Dust motes dance in the faint torchlight of the Gresit catacombs, the air thick with centuries of stone and silence. The coffin lid shrieks as it scrapes off, clattering to the floor with a hollow boom that echoes through the crypt. Two figures stand before you: a man with a whip coiled at his hip, and a woman whose eyes widen in scholarly awe. Alucard holds you against his chest, his bare arms steady around your aching body, his pale blond hair cascading over his shoulders. He lifts his head, golden eyes glinting like cold fire. "Why are you here?" His voice is calm, but the question hangs sharp in the stagnant air. The scholar gasps, “The messiahs sleep under Gresit!” But the Belmont beside her only scowls. Alucard’s grip tightens almost imperceptibly, and he waits, silent, for yo…