The Second Death

"You are nothing," Abraham spat on the still form. "Nothing!"

Blood leaked slowly from the wound that punctured the count's heart. Blurry crimson eyes stared up at the full moon that glimmered tauntingly above him. He licked at the blood seeping from his parched throat. Even hundreds of years later, he was still so damned thirsty. All the blood in the world would never be suitable for him.

And this was where he was offered his second choice. He had lived a longer life than any other creature, and he had been happy.

Happy? The voice laughed. Through the years, that voice had become his; no longer could he hear even a whisper of what he once was. He could not even place what it had sounded like. He imagined it would sound horrible, so throaty and ignorant: he had screamed himself hoarse many times in his life, spewing that bile about God and forgiveness. How could he have ever stood the sound of it? The new voice was so suave and enlightened. He found that he liked it much better. Besides: he could not argue with it now. It had grown too strong. You've lived to command a kingdom, slay an empire, father fledglings, become the lord of your own castle… aren't you tired?After all, there's nothing left to return to. Why don't you die with dignity now? You've been bested by a worthy adversary: that was what you wanted all along, wasn't it?

Abraham van Helsing's eyebrows lowered and his teeth were clenched in a snarl. "Why aren't you ash by now?"

The count blinked stupidly. He did not have an answer for either of them.

What are you waiting for? Shut your eyes now! He wondered what would happen if he did. He wondered if everyone else was unfortunate enough to choose whether or not they had to let go. Surely a human whose body was so severely damaged could not possibly survive. What was this, then? Why was it that only he seemed to have a choice? Every other human he had eaten had never clung to life so long. Was it a sweet relief to them? Heaven or Hell bound- it mattered not where they went. Both alike accepted their fate no matter how scared of it they were. But he was not scared.

What did his wife look like? He tried to think back as hard as he could but found that there was only an image of Mina. Is that what she had looked like? He wondered then what his wife's name had been. Had he also been a father? All he could think of was blood. It was not any blood he had been hungry for: but the kind of blood associated with agony. Whether it was his, his family's, his soldiers', his peoples', his fledglings', or the blood he drank upon the fateful day the world's most pathetic monster was created, he did not know.

He thought that this death would be even more comical than the last. It was not Death that waited over him but a man. A powerful, faithful, imperfect man. It seemed funny almost… that it took a man to kill a monster. He was not dead yet, no, but… some part of him seemed to be slipping away as time went on and he did not waste away. Why did this Abraham have the ability to slay him when the Grim Reaper had failed? Perhaps… he had been a monster in life too. When did he become one? It did not matter now.

Should he will himself to die? Something in his gut told him that it would not be so hard. He could just shut down his heart and let the darkness swirling within his heart still. He was weakened… certainly the stake driven into his chest would be enough to do it?

The voice in his head sounded tired. When will it ever be enough for you?

As the sun rose over the Carpathian mountains that day, a vampire- no longer count nor king- was dragged by his collar across dewy grass, a trail of blood leaking from the gaping hole in his chest. It was much larger now after Abraham had stabbed him so many times His head had been detached twice, his body was wrapped in silver chains, and he was staring directly into the harsh sunlight. The dawn had already passed. He felt his flesh bubbling, blistering, and smoking. His throat felt like sandpaper now. But he still did not seem to figure out how to die.

"You stupid, selfish monster," Abraham scolded weakly, though the man sounded more like he was chiding a juvenile. "Don't you know that your soul would have been set free?"

And just then, the vampire realized something. He did not have to be the monster any more. What if he were a weapon instead?

He realized he liked those painful chains.