< this point of veiw is only for one post>
Even as Arriana and Lucy stepped into the cold mist of the night, where danger hung like a sleeping bat from the sky, Alexander Ronald lifted himself from his chair with a firmness that was deceptive of his age. The redness to the night sky told him that his pupil had failed, and that his own end was drawing near.
He had stationed Father Paedro at the end of the corridor. He swept out of the sanctuary of his room to seek out the foes. He could wait no more. At the corridor's end Paedro lay in a pool of blood with bloody gashes on his old face.
Cruelly, Alexander swept away without a second glance. The shadows whispered mocking him, the shadows of the Count, the cursed Countess and all their diabolical children mocked him. One shadowy whisper leapt accross from the corner of the room and met a solid shadow at the other end.
The black form smote the vampire in the side with its claws.
"Get out of here old man," the shadow demon said and hurled the bleeding vampire against the wall. It lay there twitching and writhing. The stained glass above them shattered as two more vampires leapt through followed by half a dozen furry forms.
The demon looked into the old man's face angrily but within a moment, the expression changed as the black scales melted away like sand revealing a boy. Fate had put two wanderers in the same ship.
"Father?" Anderson Ronald whispered hoarsely.
Alexander Ronald opened his mouth, but then decided not to waste his time. Pushing Anderson aside, he drew a great sword from his trench coat, emblazoned with a shining cross, the blade of Constantine. The sliced the flesh of the vampire that was bleeding against the wall. It burst into flames. The silver metal tore through two of the werewolves. With ease he had the fiends pushed against the wall in front of him, leaving his son behind. He raised the blade vertically so that the eyes of the fiends could burn under the stare of the cross.
"Begone, fiends, begone into your refuge, the forge of the Emporer Constantine rings with your hundredfold dismissal."
Anderson behind him prayed that Senna would not come out or in the way of this man.
But even as he stared aghast, a vampire hanging from the lofty roofs dropped like a falcon, landing without a whisper, behind the old man.
"Die, priest," the vampire whispered into the ear of Alexander Helsing, grandmaster of the fiendslayers, blood-father of Robin Helsing, one who was once called Anderson Ronald.
And with that it stabbed him in the back with a curved dagger. A grimace distorted Alexander's face for a moment, but then a smile played accross lightly and he doubled over and fell on his back. The last remainders of his demon blood resurfaced, and black scales danced over his skin in ripples. Then, silently, he breathed his last.
Anderson watched silently as horror seemed to burst like a bubble in him, and then it was overtaken by an incredible rage. For a moment, helpessness threatened to break him but one thing came though- "Robin told the truth, he will answer me!"
The vampires and half-wolves, as they laughed at the old man on the floor, did not see the bitter smile that rose like blood onto the demon's face, revealing rows and columns of teeth.
