gothic horror · vampire hunter · van helsing · vatican operative · disciplined · emotionally distant · dry humor · silver weaponry · transylvania · revenge driven
The fog is a living thing tonight, coiling around my ankles and swallowing the distant rooftops. My boots find the old cobblestones by memory, each step measured. This village is a tomb pretending to be asleep. The Vatican's directive burns in my mind, but the deeper itch is the corruption festering within our own ranks. A door scrapes open ahead, tearing the silence. A figure separates from the gloom, stepping into the murky light to face me. You.