CRIMSON NOCTURNE

CHAPTER 21: Van Helsing vs. Rusfan

"Surprised? That the legendary weapon meant to destroy vampires is in my hands, cutting at you instead?" Rusfan dusted off his sword with casual arrogance, recovering his composure after that near-disastrous opening. "There is no inherent good or evil in this world. People simply decide what is good, and so it becomes good." He quoted some long-dead philosopher, the words rolling off his tongue with practiced weight.

But Van Helsing had already recovered from the shock of seeing the Holy Sword in a vampire's hands. Before Rusfan's last syllable faded, he was already pressing the attack, his blade singing through the air. Relentless sword strokes drove Rusfan back, forcing him into a desperate, stumbling defense.

"My heart knows neither good nor evil. Only life and death." Van Helsing's blade drove Rusfan back several more steps, the clash of metal echoing across the empty farm. He stood tall, sword held steady, facing the vampire with unshaken resolve. "So what if you hold the Holy Sword? My blade is an extension of my very being, a part of my soul. How much unity do you share with that stolen weapon? Today, I'll show you the true power of ancient martial arts from the Orient."

The sight of the sacred blade in a vampire's hands had ignited something primal in Van Helsing. He had forgotten his opponent's overwhelming power and ancient bloodline. All he saw was the vampire defiling the Holy Sword, and his own weapon, thirsting for retribution.

Watching from the sidelines, Yi Fei hadn't forgotten his mission. As Rusfan focused entirely on Van Helsing's next move, Yi Fei transformed in a blur of silver fur, grabbed Camilla, and fled into the night at full speed.

"Ah?" Rusfan caught the movement in his peripheral vision. He turned to give chase — but before he could take a single step, Van Helsing's blade came crashing down with terrifying force, splitting the air where he had stood.

*CLANG!*

Rusfan raised his sword with both hands, blocking the blow, only to receive Van Helsing's unexpected boot to his stomach. He stumbled back several more paces, furious and humiliated. No one had dared strike him like this in centuries. Seeing Van Helsing charging at him again, relentless and unforgiving, Rusfan's legendary temper finally snapped. He let out a roar that shook the ground. His fangs extended, gleaming in the moonlight. And from his back — enormous black wings unfurled, their span casting a massive shadow across the field.

Van Helsing felt the surge in his opponent's power, the air itself growing heavy with pressure, but it didn't shake his focus. "The sword is the king of weapons. Every strike must be made with the spirit of one who fears nothing and stands above all." Not fear, not doubt — only his master's teachings and the single-minded will to destroy his enemy filled his mind.

His strike reached Rusfan's face. Incredibly, the vampire caught the blade between two fingers, as if it weighed no more than a child's toy. Then he brought his massive wings to life, battering Van Helsing mercilessly, each blow feeling like a sledgehammer. Rusfan watched his opponent's suffering with cold satisfaction — until Van Helsing suddenly twisted the hilt of his blade with a sharp motion. A finger flew through the air and landed on the grass.

Rusfan's jaw dropped. He looked from his wounded hand to the severed digit on the ground, then back at Van Helsing, who had withdrawn his blade and stood firm as a mountain, barely winded. How was this possible? He was a fourth-generation vampire — only three steps removed from the original vampire god! His opponent was nothing but a half-breed, the child of a fifth-generation vampire and a human! How could a mongrel possibly wound one of the pure blood?!

Van Helsing smiled contemptuously, reading the disbelief in Rusfan's eyes. "Power is not everything. The method of using power is what truly matters. If you don't understand even that simple truth, you could paint those wings of yours white and call yourself an angel, and you'd still be worthless."

Mocked and maimed, Rusfan lost all composure. His handsome, aristocratic face twisted hideously with rage. With a powerful beat of his wings, he launched himself at Van Helsing at full speed, intending to crush him. But instead of dodging, Van Helsing rushed to meet him head-on!

Van Helsing held his sword in his right hand and swept his left palm along the flat of the blade. A brilliant blue halo enveloped the weapon, humming with power. "Wave Breaker!" He spun his entire body and swung with both hands at the charging Rusfan.

The instant Rusfan saw that blue light, it seemed to fill the entire world. All he could see was an ocean of azure. The heat of his rage was doused by the icy gleam of the coming blade. Panic seized him. He raised his sword before him and flapped his massive wings desperately, trying to halt his forward momentum. But it was too late. Van Helsing's all-or-nothing strike crashed into his sacred sword.

Time seemed to freeze. Rusfan watched in horrifying slow motion as chips flew from both weapons where they met, sparks cascading like fallen stars. Then the overwhelming force — like a tidal wave — surged from the point of contact, through his arms, and into his entire body. With a muffled cry, he flew backward like a kite with a cut string, tumbling across the ground before crashing to a halt, motionless.

Van Helsing stood watching his fallen foe, breathing hard, his arms trembling from the impact. That had been everything he had, every ounce of strength and technique he possessed. And yet, despite receiving the full brunt of his ultimate attack, Rusfan was already stirring, pushing himself up. The gap in raw power was simply too wide. Technique alone couldn't close the chasm between generations.

Rusfan, however, didn't know that's what Van Helsing was thinking. He was still reeling from the sheer force of that attack, his fingers numb, his pride shattered. If he hadn't blocked it, even with a non-silver blade, he might not have gotten back up at all. He stared at the hunter from across the field, a flicker of genuine fear awakening in his ancient heart. For the first time in centuries, he regretted accepting this mission from Larson. With no choice left, he decided to sacrifice some of his precious life force for a final, devastating attack. He could always replenish what he lost by feeding on a few dozen humans later. Once the decision was made, he acted.

* * *

Van Helsing watched as Rusfan wrapped himself completely in his giant wings, forming a cocoon of darkness. Unable to guess what he was planning, Van Helsing felt a chill run down his spine. "Time's about up. If I can slip away, now's the moment." He tightened his grip on his sword and scanned the surroundings for an escape route.

The moment he had mentally chosen his path, Rusfan's wings snapped open with explosive force. A human-shaped beam of dark energy shot out from between them, catching Van Helsing completely off guard.

The beam struck him full-on, hurling him several meters through the air. He crashed into the dirt, rolled, and scrambled back to his feet, covered in dust and grass. But he found no damage to his body — no wounds, no broken bones. "What the hell was that?" He brushed off his clothes, staring in confusion at Rusfan, who was smiling eerily from across the field.

Then the air on either side of Rusfan began to warp and distort strangely. Two dark green humanoid figures emerged from the shimmering space as if stepping through invisible doors, their forms solidifying into unmistakable shapes.

"I never expected you to be so arrogant that you'd space out right in front of me." Rusfan shook his head with a laugh, his easy, aristocratic manner fully restored. "Well, then. For the next fifteen minutes, you'll be fighting two of yourself."

Van Helsing didn't understand at first. But when he saw the two figures charging at him, both wielding long blades in the exact same stance as his own, the terrible truth clicked into place. Rusfan's beam had reached into his soul and created two nearly perfect copies of him. On the left: Wave Breaker stance. On the right: Wave Breaker stance. Van Helsing genuinely regretted not running earlier. No choice now. He gritted his teeth and charged into the narrow gap between the two copies, engaging the one on the right first.

*CLANG!*

He drove the figure back a few steps, but his right arm went numb from the impact. For the first time in his life, he knew exactly what it felt like to receive his own Wave Breaker. By all logic, the copy on his left should have killed him in that opening. But to his astonishment, the left copy seemed completely unable to see him — it swung its Wave Breaker at the empty spot where he had been standing a full second ago.

"Are the copies really that stupid...?"

The next few exchanges followed the same surreal pattern. One copy would attack with deadly precision while the other stood around uselessly. And all the while, Rusfan watched from the sidelines, frowning in concentration, saying nothing. Van Helsing gradually understood. The copies weren't independent — they were being manually controlled by Rusfan from a distance, like puppets on strings. The vampire could only focus on one at a time. Truly, heaven never sealed off all paths.

A plan formed in Van Helsing's mind. He took the initiative and charged straight at his own copy, blade ready.

[END OF CHAPTER 21]