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“You’re just like me.”
Alexander Anderson’s bayonet pierced through a piece of plaster approximately eight feet away from its intended destination.
He blinked once.
Then, he blinked again.
Perhaps he was having a fever dream. Or he desperately needed to get his ears checked. Either way, he was 999% sure that he severely misinterpreted something along the line.
Shaking his head, Alexander blinked once more, just for good measure. Then, he stared at the figure lounging near the end of the hallway in blatant disbelief.
“What did you say?!”
***
A few days ago, Enrico Maxwell decided to inform him about a rogue coven of vampires in Ireland who needed help canceling their life subscriptions. Of course, as the official trump card of Iscariot, he was ecstatic to help the church take care of any unsavory supernatural business. But lo and behold, the one person he despised the most just happened to be on the exact same mission.
Alexander prided himself for being a rational, responsible man. Despite how tedious and boring it was, he got rid of the vampire imbeciles first before seeking out his arch nemesis. However, the moment he spotted that bastard in the hallway (the signature crimson poncho really didn’t camouflage too well), blades and bullets were already flying through the air faster than the speed of light.
That was, before his enemy took one look at him and declared that they were somehow extremely similar to each other.
Alexander stared at him, eyes wide with disbelief. “Could you repeat your statement?”
The vampire in the flamboyant trench coat tucked his guns back into his holsters.
“I said, you’re just like me,” Alucard huffed. “I thought regenerators were supposed to have good hearing.”
Alexander bristled.
“What are you talking about? Can’t you see that we’re literally polar opposites?” As an afterthought, he added, “I thought vampires were supposed to have good eyesight.”
Alucard smirked and sauntered over, casually leaning beside him.
“Excuse you, I have excellent eyesight. But believe it or not, I used to be a faithful, God-loving warrior as well.”
Alexander scoffed and rested his weight against the wall, momentarily forgetting about his bayonets.
“Right,” he quipped sarcastically. “And just how faithful were you?”
“Hmmm, I think I impaled around 20,000 Ottoman soldiers for trying to invade Catholic land at one point in time. Don't quote me on that though; my memory is quite foggy.”
Alexander’s jaw almost hit the floor.
Alucard chuckled and tilted his head to the side. “Surprised, Judas Priest?”
“A bit impressed, actually.” He scratched his chin, furrowing his eyebrows. “However, let it be known that the Catholic faith is the only thing we had in common.”
He would be damned if it were otherwise.
Alucard thought about it for a moment before responding, “Correction: the Catholic faith is the only thing we had.”
Alexander snorted. “Don’t tell me you’re going to start waxing philosophical.”
“It's true though. We fought for it, we sacrificed for it, we lived for it. Our religion was everything to us.”
“Until it wasn’t,” he commented, absent-mindedly lifting a hand to stroke his cross.
“Until it wasn’t,” Alucard responded.
Alexander looked at him, features twisted in disgust. “If it meant so much to you, then why did you give it up?”
There was a short lull in the conversation.
“Well, I guess I got tired of it.”
“You got tired of it? That’s such a terrible excuse-”
“No, no, you don’t understand.” Alucard slid down the wall into a sitting position. “After all the battles I fought and all the wars I waged, in His name no less, your God abandoned me and left me to die in the hands of those filthy Turks.”
“Oh, so now it's ‘my’ God. When did it stop being ‘ours’?”
“It was never ‘ours’ in the first place.”
Alexander felt a sudden burst of rage in his chest. He supposed Iscariot’s anger management therapy wasn’t too effective.
“God belongs to everyone, and everyone belongs to God,” he spat, clenching his fists. “He will always be ours and we will always be His.”
“God didn’t want me.” Alucard rested his chin on his right knee. “Admit it, He plays favorites.”
“Are you implying that I’m one of His so-called ‘favorites’?”
“More or less.”
Alexander fumed. The utter disrespect!
“How dare you? You have absolutely no idea what I’ve been through! My regeneration wasn’t a natural gift bestowed upon my birth. I had to earn it, just like I had to earn my religion!”
Alucard sighed and stared at the decomposing floorboards.
“And you don’t think I tried to earn God’s respect? I led my army, my family, my people to their deaths all for God’s acceptance.” He stated it like a simple fact. There was no residue anger or sadness within his words.
This made Alexander all the more pissed.
“You know nothing of acceptance! Only when you’ve endured and prevailed through pain worse than hellfire, will you ever learn the beginning of God’s mercy.”
“God’s mercy? That’s truly such a laughable idea. He has none.”
“God has more mercy than you’ll ever understand, you damnable heathen. He led me to salvation.”
“He might have led you to salvation, but He led me to ruin. As I said, God has favorites.”
This prick had the audacity to offend his religion? He had the gall to antagonize his God? Alexander could never stand for that. During his impromptu therapy sessions, Maxwell always told him to find a healthy way to release his pent-up aggression. At this moment in time, he decided that screaming at the vampire seemed healthy enough to him.
Without warning, Alexander Anderson exploded.
“Lecture me about favorites when you've been chained to an examination table while every single cell in your body is ripped apart over and over again! Lecture me about mercy when you've been drenched in starvation and alcohol while living with your disappointment of an uncle! Lecture me about acceptance when you've been whipped and beaten within an inch of your life by your own father while you begged him to stop! Lecture me then!”
For once, Alucard was quiet.
“You claim that God led you to ruin? Lecture me about ruin when you've experienced my childhood! You did not drag me out of a sin-filled wasteland, God did. You did not mold me into the warrior that I am today, God did. God does not lead people to ruin. You were the one who paved yourself a one-way road to Hell, not God. So the next time you decide to blaspheme on His name, remember that it was not God who failed you. It was your own ungrateful arse.”
Alexander was panting by the end of his rant. In his anger, he had accidentally revealed way more than he meant to. Not many people (or vampires, come to think of it) knew about his past. The ones who did always tried to sympathize with him. It was honestly quite annoying.
Alexander sighed and mentally braced himself for the upcoming pity speech. He expected a patronizing glance, or maybe even a stuttered apology.
Instead, he received the shock of his life when Alucard started laughing.
Alexander stared in consternation as the little giggles turned into wild cackling. The shadows in the room wavered and warped, distorting distance and time and everything in between.
Finally, after a few minutes, Alucard seemed to get himself under control. He was still smiling when he looked back at Alexander.
“Such an interesting revelation.”
“What do you mean, heathen?”
“My beloved nemesis,” Alucard began.
“Do not call me that,” Alexander interrupted.
The vampire nodded and stood up, tipping his fedora towards Alexander as he strolled past him. Before Alucard rounded the corner of the hallway, he turned back and smiled.
“Alexander Anderson," he said, eyeing the priest's sliver cross, "we really are more similar than you think.”