The Match of the Century! Anderson vs Alucard in a no holds barred duel to the death! [CLOSED]

Much of the old wars were over and each organization was left in ruins. Hellsing was down to its few members and Iscariot had already suffered heavy losses including their Pope Enrico Maxwell. Rain fell down in curtains washing away all of the resentment left on the battlefield. Italy had been brought to their knees in light of the war that had been waged all across its countryside. The few Millennium soldiers that were left were completely scattered and disheveled as they scurried to find some order amongst the chaos. The last remaining monument of all of Italy's culture was indeed a sense of poetic irony. The Colosseum which had held the entertainment and battles of old involving the heroes of the time stood there as a monument to the test of time. The stone had been so worn down through weather that it seemed as though it might crumble at any moment. Around it lay sheets of metal from discarded vehicles as well as corpses from each organization. Inside the Colosseum, the seats spoke of a long lost culture and peered over their now quiet surroundings.

The clouds in the sky began to get darker as the rain continued to pour. A few Millennium soldiers lay bunkered outside and were in immediate panic. Their Major had disappeared ages ago and it was to be believed that he wasn't coming back. As they tried desperately to gather up a counter movement, it seemed that fate had other plans for them. With a clap of thunder, one of the soldiers fell inanimate to the ground. The other two seemed to fear for their lives and immediately began to sprint into the Colosseum for protection. The clouds began to sink lower and almost become tangible as the soldiers clung to the walls. The clouds began to cover the monument in what seemed like an unnatural smoke as the storm drifted over them. Out of the smoke, a gloved hand plunged straight through the back of one of the soldiers and out of their chest leaving a jet of crimson blood before they were pulled into the cloud. Panicked, the last soldier fired his entire magazine into the cloud and then stood in silence. After a moment, the silence was pierced by a flash like lightning and the last soldier fell over dead.

The storm began to lighten up and the clouds slowly dissipated to reveal the red coat and finally, the features of the Grand Nosferatu, Alucard. With a laugh and flourish, he sat in the ancient King's throne in the highest box and tilted is head towards his left ear. With relish, he spoke into the microphone words of satisfaction. "The last of those pathetic creatures have been taken care of, My Master. Tell me. Was it al that you had hoped it would be from where you sit, Sir Integral Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing? Still there is no sign of that wretched priest, Anderson? Could it be that perhaps even you were mistaken to think that he would have the same goals to eliminate the rest of the Last Battalion?" He laughed as he finished with his carefully worded jeer. He had hoped that it might spur some of the inner spirit that never failed to inspire him. "Tell me. What are your orders, My Master?"

It's funny really, how it all comes flashing back near the end. He supposed it was true of all men, even one as lowly as himself. There he was, a six year old child at a Church orphanage winning a game of king of the hill. Years later, he watched himself preside over his first Mass. His eyes narrowed as his younger self put that gun to his head. What a coward he had been back then. Pushing past his past reveries he thought fondly on his meeting with his greatest rival, the so called No Life King, Lord of the Vampires, Alucard. Was the vampire simply a rival to him? A fitting challenge for the famed Executioner? No, it was more than that. He doubted anyone other than himself truly understood. Hellsing's ultimate weapon was Anderson's final chance at redemption. A life time of killing, a life time of butchering vampires and men alike and for what? Rome was gone, Iscariot in shambles, it seemed as if Christendom itself was shaken to it's foundations laid oh so long ago on the shoulders of St. Peter.

But so long as he could still breath, Alexander would not let his flock be forever silenced. If it cost him his life, if it cost him his soul, he would pay any price for his final victory. The orphans, the Iscariots, their salvation was worth his damnation and more. They always had been. A quick check confirmed that his trump card was safely hidden in his vestments, soon it would see the light of day again.

Up ahead the Colosseum loomed like an ugly sore on the horizon, worn and scarred from years of abuse and exposure. Lightning flashed overhead accenting the arena's outline. Even over the ripping winds he could hear the screams. Yes, this was a fitting place for a hopless brute like himself to meet his end. He approached the wrought iron gate with long confident strides, his fists held at his side. Here and there he caught sight of wounded and dying from all sides of this shameful conflict. Not one among them dared to incite his wrath this night, madness could only push one so far. Passing through the first archway, all that stood before the Paladin and the sandy arena floor was the heavy gate...and a single millenium soldier who was leaning stooped against it.

With labored breath he rose and attempted to bring his rifle to bear. For his trouble he recieved 16 blessed bayonets through his torse, the razor sharp steel continuing onward to nail him to the gate. He twitched and moaned as the Iscariot champion looked on coldly. Spitting onto the ground he snapped his gloved fingers and simultaneously the butt caps of the blades slide off and the chemical fuses light. All the dying vampire could do was gasp for another breath before the weapons exploded into a tremendous fireball and sent the remnants of the iron gate crashing inward to the arena floor.

Father Anderson silently thanked the armories of the Vatican for augmenting his explosive bayonets with double the normal charge. A year ago they would have called using that much semtex per blade too expensive. Now there was no point in being stingy. Sand and dust swirled around the now open entrance as Father Alexander Anderson stepped through the doorway and onto the blood soaked stage of their final encounter. His opponent sat idly by like the heathen kings of old, looking down with that same arrogance he had worn so many times before. Try as he might, Anderson could not keep the excited smile from spreading across his own lips. "Beautiful moon tonight, isn't it Count?" he called up to Alucard in an eerily calm voice. His words were a mirror of the first he had ever said to the ancient vampire. A fitting bookend to this rivalry. This marked the first time he had used Alucard's ancient title however. There was no more need for mystery and alliases now. It was time to face what he was up against with everything he had and everything he was. Amen.

In enjoyment to his preys final response to his open challenge the ancient Count sat proud in his throne and spoke into his earphone. "So it would seem, My Master, that perhaps he is not the cowardly priest that we had originally thought. Hehe. This is starting to get very entertaining indeed."

"You really are full of surprises, Father. How long have you been searching for me after our last fight? After all of the trouble your bereft organization had caused us, I had honestly expected a little more, Anderson." With the monster's jeering insult, he paused to let his words sink in. "Is this really the best that they can offer me? A monster who can't even properly track a vampire? What a fool? If this is the last hope of humanity, I must confess myself disappointed. As a whole, you and your organization are nothing but pieces of shit."

With his last taunt, he glared at Anderson while smirking at his well aimed insult. Slowly, he reached into his coat and pulled out his Casull handgun. With his teeth, he chambered the bullet and carefully surveyed his foe. From his throne, the King of Vampires halfheartedly screamed one bullet carefully aimed at his opponent's leg as more of another taunt then an actual attack.

Father Anderson closed his eyes and allowed a soft chuckle to leave his breast. "Is tha' so?" He looked up at the vampire with a light sneer on his tan face. There was no intimidation, fear, or even doubt to be found on the mighty Paladin's face. He was completely in his element now. Whether or not the vampire's words carried any truth to them was besides the point, Alexander's faith in the Almighty, and himself, would carry him through even this trial. As the old vampire drew his gun Anderson made no move to dodge. He stood there contently smirking at the vampire's bluster and allowed the .454 Casull to strike his leg. The Iscariot didn't even budge as the large caliber bullet his his thigh only to be quickly expunged as the wound closed in seconds. That gun was incapable to bringing down something as powerful as himself as both combatants knew all too well.

"Whit Ah am vampire...is a madman. Ah am God's madman! Ah ahm a believer an yet naht a believer. Ah ahm a traitor an yet naht a traitor." Twin bayonets of righteous piety fell into his grip from the confines of his mysterious vestments. "Tis Ah who swing mah blade on tha moonless night, tis Ah who flavor tha meals o tyrants wit poison. Ere shall cum a day when tha strength o mankind fails an the walls cum crashing doon. Ah hour o wolves and charrion. Boot it is naht this day! Ah humbly bow an ask tha fergiveness o tha Laird oor Father and set forth tae execute Is joodgement one final tahm."

His left blade spun into a reverse grip and was abruptly raked along it's brother, sparks dancing in the darkness as the blessed steel and silver met. Bringing the weapons into his iconic cross stance, Father Alexander Anderson smiled from behind his blades and roared his battle cry for all the angels of heaven to hear, perhaps for the last time. "Ah ahm God's representative! An earthly agent o Divine Poonishment tasked wit seekin oot tha fool who would oppose God and tearin apart eir unclean bodies until naht a piece remains! AMEN!"

With unmistakable enjoyment, Alucard laughed at his opponent's piety. Those holy words angered him like nothing else could. There was no better opponent than the Holy Executioner to attempt to best him and yet, for all his stoic behavior, the No Life King would not be an easy challenge. Slowly, he got up from his throne, put the Casull back in his coat and stared with a vacant interest at the blades daring to believe that maybe Anderson might have something a touch more interesting than last time. Slowly he walked to the edge of the Top Box and sneered at the Killing Judge.

"And what a righteous day it is, Father? I trust that we will have no more interruptions since that daft Major has finally been dealt with. Maybe there is some divine reason that we are to meet on the battlefield like this or perhaps it is just that you are meant to die by my hand, Judas Priest. Regardless, I have to say that you have at least provided me with some entertainment, even with your pathetic attempts to render me silent."

While cracking his knuckles, he phased into the floor with his fangs bared. He then raised out off the ground directly across from Anderson and started walking towards him. "It's finally time to put this to rest, Father." At full sprint, he dashed towards his opponent, his fists at the ready and threw a coordinated series of 4 kicks and punches at his opponent.

Emerald eyes met crimson as the champions stared one another down. Alucard's voice dripped of his usual sarcasm and arrogance. Father Anderson barked back scripture and declarations of holy retribution as always. But there was something different in the air this time. There would be no one to stop these brutes in the midst of their collision this time. Their rivalry would end, finally, grandly find it's destined conclusion. The priest stood his ground as the vampire rose up before him, the mighty red dragon in human form. A light smirk tugged at the scotsman's lips and he lowered his blades and nodded once. "At tha very least we can agree tae tha' vampire." he said confidently dashing forward to meet the No Life King head on. A smooth duck and and dodge to the left allowed the paladin to evade the vampire's opening punch and kick. However, the second hand strike caught the Iscariot dead in the cheek, staggering him just long enough for the vampire's kick to collide with his ribs.

Reinforced bones fractured and healed in the course of seconds and Anderson grunt of pain contorted into a wild cheshire grin of extasy as he brought his right bayonet across the vampire's midsection to spill his entrails onto the sand of the arena. Continuing onward with the momentum, Alexander would bring up his left bayonet (held in a reverse grip) in an uppercut motion to sever Alucard's right arm at the shoulder before finally passing the nosferatu with a flourish. Once behind the ancient bloodsucker, the Purifier would pivot on his heels to face his adversary once again, a light scoff leaving his lips. "Is tha' really all ye haff?"

OOC: I took the action at the end of your last post to mean 2 punches and 2 kicks adding up to a four strike combo. I apologize if I misinterpreted anything there. Feel free to get a hold of me for edits if you really feel any inconsistencies there are a sticking point.

OOC: Nah, you read it right. I wanted to try something a little different.
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The Killing Judge's attacks had found their marks and cleaved the creature's arms clean off leaving a jet of blood, bone and muscles. The arms fell to the ground with a monumental thud and within seconds, turned to dust and disappeared. From the stumps on his arms, the bone fragments began to form and extend outwards from the stump. As they grew outwards, the skeleton began to form into his hand and muscles began to sew themselves together like threads. Veins and nerves began to spiral around the muscles like an intricate web and finally, skin and cloth began to cover those up. Within just moments, the vampire looked as though he had taken no damage at all. This sudden pain brought great enjoyment to the Count's face however and made him raise his eyebrows quite gleefully at the priest's question.

"Why, Father, is that boredom or fear in your voice? I honestly can't tell. I have plenty more to entertain you if that is what you were looking for. In fact, I was just beginning to think that we should stop pussyfooting around and cut to the chase so I'm amazed that you made the suggestion before I did. Let's make this fun, Judas Priest. After all, the night is still so young. Show me a battle I haven't seen. Bring me enjoyment in it's highest form. I quiver with anticipation, Father. Don't make me beg. Hurry! Show me your true strength, ANDERSON!!!"

The last word was shouted all across the Colosseum and bounced of the walls causing avalanches of sound to fill the arena as a direct challenge to the priest. The No Life King's glove began to glow a brilliant orange as the creature's inner demons began to stir within him. The desire to see the priest impaled or beheaded was paramount and he simply could not do it in this most simple of forms. There were no words for all of his years to describe the ambitions that lay so fresh in his mind. Only the words that he sadly had gotten to say so little would truly bring him comfort in this battle. He hands began to raise and the orange light emanating from his gloves shone through the gloom like a streetlamp as he pantomimed the usual L shaped seal.

"As you wish, Father. Let's make this interesting."

The air became still and cold as darkness swallowed the creature and his prey. A single red and lidless eye formed on his chest with fiery tendrils around it. With an icy voice, Alucard's next words seemed all too familiar as they pulled all of the warmth out of the air.

Releasing control art restriction systems three...two...one. Approval of Situation A recognized. Commencing the Cromwell Invocation. Ability restrictions lifted for limited use until the enemy has been rendered silent.

The single eye was suddenly joined by thousands in a continuous spiral outwards as the Nosferatu's form changed to that of a flame grand enough that would make unfortunate passersby doubt whether or not all of this was an illusion. The Great Incorporeal Hell Hound, Baskervillle, began to form out of the flames with his beautiful red and black fur and his eyes closed. The No Life King's usual attire seemed to be almost overwritten by his fetish looking leather overcoat and pants. This too, began to blur and distort into the black flames as the creature's tongue came down to its full length of his chin. Baskerville was slowly joined by two other hell hounds and their eyes all began to open. Four pairs of red eyes on top of each other stared with menace at their foe and the beasts growled at him with their horrid century old breath. Drool came out of their mouth in torrents and congealed on the ground only to be swallowed up by the flames. Baskerville licked his chops and the others followed suit. With one last venomous growl and series of barks, all three of the hell hounds came jolting toward their enemy with streaks of drools and flame trailing behind them.

Scoffing at the vampire's excitement, Father Anderson flipped his left bayonet into a standard grip and with an additional flick of his wrists, produced another six blessed blades. Now armed with four keen edges weapons in each hand, he pulled back his right leg into a ready stance for the vampire's next move. The hellion spawn had already seen fit to call upon his "Cromwell Release". It could only mean he was already feeling pressured by the Vatican's champion as he should. However, this would not be enough for Alexander, not tonight. He knew there was a dimension beyond Alucard's level one. A deep well of strength which set this thing apart from the rest of his vermin kind. No matter the cost, Anderson would draw that power out and face it head on. Abraham Van Hellsing had done the world a great service in ripping the wings from this demon's back all those years ago, but he had not gone far enough. The Paladin would not be so kind to this creature, soon enough Hellsing's dog would beg for death.

The first two hell beasts charged, each of them on one side of the lead dog Baskerville. For all their brutality and tenacity, the dogs were little more than mindless beasts unable to understand the world around them. The two lesser dogs had taken less than four steps when four bayonets were driven into their skulls before exploding in a shower of singed fur and black gore. Even as their limp remains hit the sandy floor, Baskerville closed the distance between itself and Anderson, his many eyes burning with Alucard's own rage. A few months ago Alexander would have enjoyed playing with the beast, mocking it, humiliating it. But not tonight. He had neither the interest not the time to play with pups when the alpha dog stood so nearby. One bayonet in each hand Anderson beckoned the beast onward only to turn at the last moment. Rotating his body 90 degrees to the left, Anderson allowed Baskerville to rush harmlessly past as if he were a mad bull and the Iscariot a master matador. And much like a matador, Alexander would not let this dog's carelessness go unpunished. After bringing his bayonets up overhead, the priest sent them crashing down on the back of Baskerville's neck as he ran past. Between the razor sharp blades and the Catholic's own monstrous strength, Baskerville's head was cleanly severed in one fell swoop, it's body carrying on another few steps before it became aware of it's own demise and joined it's severed head on the arena floor.

"'An tha great King Nebuchadnezzar wuz cast out an made unta a wolf. Filthy an reviled E wuz naht boot testament tae man's dominion o'er beast an a message o humility fer all tae see.' Yer little pets cannae match tha likes o me vampire. Yew know tha'"

Alucard had not rightly expected the first attack to land on the priest. In fact, as with any war, the first attack was more of a prequel for all attacks to come. The two combatants both more than likely had something else in mind. The explosion was such that the hell hounds were unlikely to escape unharmed. The priest dispatched the hell hounds with his usual unearthly skill and with lifeless semblance; they turned to ashes and became a mud like
consistency in the coming rain. The remains of the beaten hounds came slithering back to their master as he resumed his leather clad form. Rain trickled down his jacket as the mud reached his feet and seeped up into his
boots.

The clouds thickened and thunder shook the Colosseum as Alucard reviewed his opponent’s attacks looking for any sort of opening. The Father had that same sort of confidence as the old Professor Van Hellsing that dared to shackle him so many years before. That same confidence was both a stimulant and a cause for concern as Alucard found it rather inter interesting that even though the Holy Judge had drawn his blessed blades, he seemed so confident in fact that he didn't bother to attack the Count.

What sort of tricks are up the holy man's sleeve, I wonder? It seems much has changed indeed from our last fight in the ruins of the Basilica. He isn't even fazed by this form and that explosion is far stronger than before. If I didn't know better, I would say that the priest has something else planned. How exciting? This may end up being the day when I am beaten if I am not careful.

With doleful reminiscence, in Alucard's mind, the memory of the stake being pushed through his heart ran fresh through his skull with Anderson standing over him instead of the Professor. Darkness covered many of his features short of his glasses which seemed to always be supernaturally reflective. He would hardly have dared to believe this vision if it weren't for the continuous fights between the two men and constant hindrances that seem to plague their meetings. The feeling of dread however, was very fleeting for within moments, Alucard's focus came back to the spectacled Holy Executioner before him. It was all in his head, he told himself and he would not be beaten by a mere madman as Anderson dared to call himself. With his usual vigor, Alucard spat more insults at his opponent hoping to perhaps spur on some of his anger and get an opening in his otherwise impenetrable defense.

"Why Father, could it be that you are holding back on me when I told you not to make me wait or could it be that you have had a sudden change of heart about our battle. Is this the will of Iscariot that their greatest hope will only parry my attacks and isn't man enough to attack me directly? Perhaps I misunderstood your organization's holy call, Father? I could have sworn that you were created by the human race to defeat me or did I get it wrong? If you ask me, I would say that their faith was a little ill
placed if all you are going to do is wait. Don't make me beg now, Anderson. I want you to face me with the vigor of man that is not afraid of death, not of a coward who can't even properly track a vampire. You're a disgrace to your organization and to the people that you protect if all you plan to do is dodge. Attack me and prove me wrong."

Alucard stared directly into Anderson's eyes as if trying to directly discern the priest's intent. Could it be that he simply didn't have the will necessary to beat him or was he simply not satisfied with the No Life King's current attacks? The priest seemed near inscrutable as Alucard openly challenged him and withheld his attack waiting for the priest to make his next move.

Staring stoically at the ancient vampire, Father Anderson seemed to ignore his monologuing entirely. However, as the last of the vampire's words were spoken, Alexander sent a single bayonet screaming towards him to spear the nosferatu through the mouth and out the back of his neck. THe throw was timed to connect just as Alucard finished his final sentence, a fitting punctuation to his infuriating taunts. Instantly replacing the bayonet he had thrown, the Iscariot bent low at his knees and slid his left foot back into a wide lunging stance mimicing a sprinter waiting at the starting line. His right bayonet was held forward towards the vampire's head while the left was drawn back to the Paladin's hip in a reverse grip, ready to lash out in less than a blink of the eye. The priest's face was one of cold stone, strong and unmoving. Though manic glee warred with berserker rage within his less than sane psyche, his path was clear. The vampire had to die.

"Thou shall naht entertain tha sins o pride an arrogance in yer breast my sons an daughters. Fer tis tha deadliest o all Satan's sins an witout fail, pride cometh afore tha fall. Amen.' Ah haff no interest in tha will o Iscariot taday munstar. Ah am boot an instruement o divine poonishment, charged wit the most holy o genocide against yer despicable ilk. Maxwell's will haz no bearin ere taday. This is between yew an me Alucard, nothin else."

Presenting himself as he was, a simple man of God, Father Anderson was finally ready to begin his own offensive against the undead. He fought not for orders or commitments, he fought for his faith and his own will. Pushing off his front leg, Anderson rocketed forward towards Alucard. The right bayonet would be thrust forward in a lunging stab to the vampire's heart while the left bayonet, hidden behind the Paladin's back now, would be whipped around in a decapitation stroke to catch the vampire unawares whether it be during his twinge of pain from the opening thrust or during some quick-footed evasion of it.

Integra was about to give Alucard a new set of orders when she heard him talk to Father Alexander Anderson. Soon enough she started to hear them battle one another. However, eventually she lost the signal. Desperately she tried to find a new connection and when she did she knew it was time to unleash Alucard. Dye with crimson all white clothes of warriors with silver weapons. Dye with vermilion all black clothes of warriors with iron weapons. Dye with red color of their own blood all the clothes of our enemies! Kill all the enemies you'll see! All the enemies you'll see!! Restraint control technique number zero is opened! RETURN! THOUSANDS AND TENS OF THOUSANDS OF TIMES RETURN! LET THEM SEE!!!

OOC: My apologies for the extremely long post and the three day wait but I felt that Level 0 warranted an extremely detailed and serious post. Grab some popcorn and get ready to enjoy my finest art j/k lol.
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The Killing Judge's attacks almost came in slow motion. With what seemed like a common passing nostalgia, the head flew through the air and with great symbolism, the blade went straight though Alucard's leather covered chest. With a great pain, the beheaded monster stood impaled on the bayonet for what seemed like an eternity before slowly turning to soot on the blade. True to form, the Grand Nosferatu never reformed the same way twice. Harmlessly, the soot fell into a large pile on the ground which seemed to turn into a black mud with the rain. From the mud, slowly the No Life King seemed to rise out of it with a mixed expression of pain and enjoyment. That feeling of being bested in that form was unparalleled and it seemed almost hellish, the enjoyment that came from the fight with his greatest adversary. It wasn't until he started to hear the feedback from the earpiece that it quickly became apparent that the fun was only beginning. The mental connection that they shared immediately gave prelude to the words that came next. As soon as they were heard, Alucard started low with a chuckle which built into an uncontrollable laughter.

"Hehe...hehehehe...Ahahahahahaha! Excellent. By your will then, My Master. Tell me, Christian, in all your time fighting "monsters", did you ever stop to think that there was something beyond your normal comprehension; that maybe there was something that you couldn't, as a human, be expected to understand? This is one of those times, Father. It would seem that our entertainment is still far from over. Indeed, I haven't had this much fun in these last 100 years. It's time to show you what a proper vampire looks like, Judas Priest, and bring all your fears to life."

The ground beneath the two adversaries began to tremble on its lowest base level and was barely noticeable as the flames began to completely engulf the creature of the night. Inside the fire, the form of the ancient Count began to change completely. Odd bits of blood stained metal could be seen through the blaze as the flames rose higher and higher. The ground began to shake even more unnaturally and crack under the pressure. Some of the walls on the inside of the Colosseum began to crumble around them and the stadium walls cracked sickeningly. The emblazonment rose to the heavens as thunder boomed sending shock waves of sound through the arena. Still visible amongst the flames, the Count's hair grew longer and blood trickled down his newly forming armor. His face began to look more weather and ancient than his normal youthful glee that he normally wore like a badge of honor. To bring to bear, the aged look of its inheritor, within moments, a full mustache and goatee began to grow on his face and his red eyes began to have wrinkles under them. Five hundred and seventy two years of history seemed to be unveiled in that very instant. The pride of Vlad the Impaler could be seen in the artifact that amazingly withstood the test of time as if bound to his soul.

From the large holes and cracks in the earth, skeletal figures rose from the ground encased in similar bone chilling armor and completely impaled by large spears. The bodies of the last Millennium soldiers completely feel through the ground as these same undead soldiers began to form outside of the monument as well. Underneath their armor, bits of century old flesh hunds of of the bones like ornaments on a Christmas tree and the skulls were infinitely contorted into faces of inexplicable pain. Their sockets lay completely vacant and empty peering into the great unknown. A gruesome scene started to depict itself as more of their skeletal bodies came out of the ground revealing their undead mounts, black horses that seemed as though they were made of everything repugnant and vile. Their sunken blood red eyes stared on lifelessly as they came out of the ground, also impaled. Slowly, one thousand spears came out of the ground with the earth still shaking until they both finally stopped with the army about 6 feet off of the ground.

The flames died down and Vladucard was standing on the highest wall with a face of stern pride. The clouds began to part and the rain completely stopped as the scene became as red as the oldest bottle of wine. In the light of the blood red sun, his features were entirely visible. The armor shone of the brightest steel which, though centuries old and tarnished with blood, still seemed unnaturally new and well kept as though it was a priceless heirloom. Ceremoniously, he unsheathed his sword from its scabbard which also seemed to be the same as the day it was made. As he spoke next, his voice was not its youthful self but instead, something far more seasoned.

"Well then, plaything of Iscariot. Do you still stand true to your promise that you will defeat me or will you fall before the entire Wallachian army? It's amazing, Father. If I didn't know better, I would say the you are almost speechless in the face of my true form. Tell me, is it everything you hoped for?"

Before the Paladin's eyes the earth shook and the flames of hell erupted forth, carrying with them the vampire's dark dominion. Long gone was the pretense of a man, the beast had been revealed for what it was. The gaze of wild emerald eyes flew over the battlefield taking in the expressions of countless lost and tortured souls. The Iscariot briefly pondered how many souls the nosferatu had consumed to fuel his own unholy existence but in the end it did not matter how vast Alucard's army was. Father Anderson would be the one to bring them into salvation. This was the golden oppurtunity he had been waiting for, Alucard was finally vulnerable. If he could only reach the vampire he could end this once and for all.

"Silence mongrel! Ah shall part these black seas in twain an watch ye perish in tha wake!" The Executioner retorted while flicking the vampire's blood free from his blades. With a practiced air, two bayonets became eight only to leap from the paladin's dexterous fingers and embed themselves into the center column of familiars. THe red chemical fuses quickly ignited and the semtex erupted into a glorious explosion of blood, gore, and silver. Continuing his ruthless assault, the priest called forth his Destructive Guidance Star. Snarling with effort and barely controlled fury, he let loose the great shuriken and watched at it ripped through the ranks of the undead, cutting a crimson swath of destruction in its' wake. Turning in a wide arc to further cripple Alucard's army, the Star returned to Anderson's grip like a boomerrang.

Alexander held the weapon only a moment before unleashing it again in an arc opposite the first. Rather than return to the papist's grasp once more, the Star exploded with a force far beyond that of Anderson's standard bayonets. Undead faces twisted into pain as they let out silent screams of pain before shrapnel and fire ripped their earthly forms to ruin. As the dust settled, Father Anderson's explosive tactics had paid off, he had successfully blown a wedge shaped opening into Alucard's forces. True many more foes remained in his path, but now he could just barely see the foot of the stairs leading to where Alucard himself stood overlooking the battlefield. Evicerating the familiars was an exercise in futility, in order to win this battle to the death Alexander would need to remove the serpent's head. Roaring in defiance of the odds against him, the Killing Judge charged headlong into the breach in Alucard's front line and deep into the heart of his infantry.

With more shakes, the ground around the priest began to crumble away as more soldiers began to rise up from their earthly slumber. Alucard merely stroked his beard in enjoyment as he watched the infantile clergy struggling to make good on his promise. Nonetheless, the fact the even had to resort to one of his last aces in the hole was a testament to the strength of the Executioner on just how much of a "mad man" he really was. The best was still yet to come as he couldn't let the priest think that he had gotten away too easily. Again, such was the enjoyment that came from taunting his foe which had became a bittersweet treasure to him.

"Hahaha. You fool. The only red seas seem to come from your Pope's blood, Father. Such a mighty organization for such a careless leader. It still never ceases to amaze how the man will ridicule the monster until he is forced to watch everything that he owns be destroyed. And you, Christian, now that you have seen everything crumble, do you still have the strength or the resolve to be the man, or will you stoop to becoming a monster? Your morals and faith haven't been rewarded, have they, Father Anderson?"

Like a sudden funeral dirge, the voices of the undead servants began to cry out as the sprung to life. The undead horses began to rustle restlessly as though gearing up from a very long slumber. All in unison, the next sounds were as of a percussion in the great symphony of war. From the front of his army for the first five ranks, the soldiers and their mounts began to slowly crawl down the spears on which they were impaled, leaving trailing bits of muscles and sinew on the spears, until they finally reached the ground. The horse hooves pounded on the ground with great strength like the beats of a bass drum as they struggled to pull themselves off of the spears. With a nasty crunch, the spears holding them to the ground broke in half and stuck out of the mounts in weird spots and angles. Blood came trickling down the beast's cursed fur like a red fountain. The skeletal riders pulled
the spears out of themselves and in unison, pointed them down directly at their opponent.

In the ranks further back, the horses started to free themselves from their imperfect prisons as bone chilling rips of flesh and skin began to ring out through a field of skulls. As the skin was ripped away, underneath the fur, you could see white pieces of age old rotted muscles and several maggots and millipedes crawling inside of the mounts. Blood seemed to trickle down their eyes like tears almost as if they actually felt pain, even though that would have been far beyond impossible. Slowly, the muscle and fur began to close up on the gaping wound and with a resounding clang, the back ranks drew their swords and shields.

With a lick of his lips, the Count Vladcard followed suit. The fury and excitement that came from war and impalement made him almost giddy with anticipation. The same restlessness seemed to come in his army as the
started to paw the ground and muffle the air with a one thousand hoof print cascade. They started to bear in on the priest and the Count couldn't resist his last taunt either.

"So Father, it's time to show me the test of your resolve."

In a bright flash of flames, the Count disappear in heaven raised embers which flashed a brilliant white and flamed up in front of his army. In his right hand, he clasped his ancient sword which glared against the flames while his left arm again form into the menacing Baskerville. In a mad bull rush, the Count and his army attacked with a count of 50 spear attacks from the first row as well as the sword attack from Alucard and a bite from Baskerville.

In a writhing blur of sweeping strikes and spewing undead blood, the Executioner continued his march onwards to the No life King. With every step more familiars fell before his divine wrath and he pushed ever closer to the true menace. Finally, with a murderous grunt of effort, he ripped the final soldier in his path to bloody pieces with his bare hands. He inhaled sharply and immediately caught his breath while looking towards the next wave of familiars. The cowardly nosferatu had actually summoned the courage to face him directly. It was commendable, but ill-advised. The familiars were the key, the secret behind the Count's unparalleled regeneration and revival abilities. Like any horrendous monarch he abused his subjects to benefit himself. But not anymore, true he now faced thousands, but among them Anderson only faced one vampire. Alucard was vulnerable and his ruin flew upon swift wings already.

The Iscariot juggernaut slid his boot across the arena's floor and bent low at the knees. With such a deep stance and a deadly blade in each hand he resembled a saber tooth tiger more than a man. It was a fitting description of Father Anderson. He really was little more than a beast snapping at any hand that rose up against the Church. The difference was that Anderson chose this. He willingly gave up his place in paradise to do what nobody else had the courage, the will, or the strength to do. "An let it be known tha' any hand tha' should rise oop afore tha people o' God shall be swiftly cut doon!' Cum vampire! Tha pit hungars fer ya!" Predictably, Baskerville was the primary concern, his speed pushing him forward as the spearpoint of Alucard's legion. However, Anderson instead chose to thin the heard before setting upon the satanic shepard and his black wolf. 16 bayonets took flight towards either wing of the advancing forces and exploded instantly, breaking the spear line and giving Alexander the respite he would need to deal with the dog and his familiar.

Moving at a full sprint, Alexander made to meet them head on. As Baskerville neared the Killing Judge leapt up and forward feet first. He passed over the hellhound's jaws and back essentially parallel with the ground. His long coattails trailed over Baskerville's many eyes temporarily blocking his vision of what lay ahead; namely two primed bayonet explosive whose pommels already fumed with the tell tale red mist of oncoming death. Flying past the dog with inhuman reflexes and speed, Father Anderson barreled towards Alucard with both his heavy booths outstretched to catch the demon in a brutal drop kick to the chest. Against a mortal man or even a lower monster, that kick had the power to turn bone to dust and organs to paste. The vampire's armor and durability would probably save him from so lethal a fate but not even he would shrug this off. Ever armed to the teeth, the papist kept a single bayonet in his left hand as a precaution for the unknown whether it be a sword strike or more of his cowardly black magic.

Every moment of the battle procession wrote pages into history books as the best foe that the Count had faced in all of his many years egged him on and displaced his army with ease. Limbs lay scattered and tattered bits of flesh and metal littered the battlefield. A few horse hooves also acted like dams to the the raging river of blood for which past kings would be speechless and heavens would weep. With great power behind his attack, Vladucard knew the attack was coming and was already well prepared for that eventuality. Angling his body into the attack, the No Life King let the kick hit him square in the shoulder. Through deep, heavy breaths Vladucard could only congratulate his foe on a well placed attack as he clutched at his shoulder.

"Indeed priest. It seems only fitting that a holy man from Iscariot try to do god's dirty work. Whether it be a man or a pathetic pawn, for those of us that would walk upon this earth free of his rule, it seems the willof men like you to "put us in our place". What a shame in fact that you wont be able to do so? As I have said, those that would dare to linger on past death are entitled their time to trample upon the weak. You being one of them, Anderson."

With great vigor, Alucard attempted to grab hold of Anderson's foot that had placed the kick and pull him in closer. As he attempted to pull the bayonet into his arm, a pain went rippling through the rest of his body that was sure to linger. Inside, many curses even started to form amidst the other laughs and screams of souls begging to be set free. From his right hand, Alucard took his ancient blade which had seen many deaths for its time and attempted to bring it up straight into the holy man's heart with all of the speed that he could possibly muster. Meanwhile, the rest of the army began to close in as another regiment of spearmen placed a total of 30 stabs at the priest from a circle formation of 5 feet apart per soldier.

With a satisfying boom the Iscariot felt the vampire quiver under her boot heels and nimbly touched down in a graceful landing. A blow like that much have taken out a few bones in the ancient vampire and it would not be the last. Despite his injury, the Count had managed to ensnare Anderson's right leg just below the knee and gave a sharp tug to draw the Paladin in. Unlike most who would be thrown off balance by the jerk, Alexander threw himself towards the nosferatu and added to the momentum. This alone should be enough to throw the monster off for a moment and by then it would all be over. Dropping his bayonet from his left hand, Father Anderson reached out and made a rough push towards the Count's sword arm to angle the blade down and away from the heart. The old broadsword pierced through Anderson's left side, just catching the edge of his stomach. Even as the weapon speared through him, Anderson left arm wrapped around Alucard's right and gripped the shoulder tightly to immobilize the limb entirely. The Killing Judge was not about to let the bastard wiggle away this time.

His right arm tensed and Alexander began his counterattack only to gasp out in abrupt agony. Twenty plus blood soaked spears plunged into his torso leaving bloody wounds in their wake. Letting out a hacking cough, blood spewed from the Paladin's mouth and splashed against the Count's breastplate. His breathing quickly became heavy as he felt several of the spears pull loose, others snapped off and still protruded from the Priest's back. Every shred of common sense he had told him to drop, to collapse to his knees in defeat and give in to death. But the Executioner held fast to the Count and his knees did not buckle just yet. Blindingly fast, Father Anderson brought forth his ultimate weapon, the Nail of Helena. Tearing it from the confines of his bloody vestments he shattered it's case in vice grip and stabbed forward with it firmly grasped in his right hand. It was a low, hooking strike which would catch the vampire in the chink between his breast and back plates on the left side, just enough to reach the heart.

Looking up once again, emerald eyes met crimson and rage mingled with pleasure in the Paladin's features. Bestial fury drove him to this and Divine Punishment enacted warmed him from within. The Holy Relics Department had told him their theories on what would happen if he used the Nail on himself but he would not resort to that just yet. The vampire would feel the sting of this Nail and it would be his last. This rivalry was long past due to it's conclusion.

[[OOC: Pretty much winding things down with this post. Based on what happened to Alucard when a vine enhanced bayonet hit him, I'd say using the Nail itself is a killing stroke.]]