Beside him, Alucard raised his sword. The last son of Dracula and the last heir of Belmont stood shoulder to shoulder on a dying wharf, facing an eclipse made flesh.
Alucard turned his head. For the first time, the mask of cold aristocracy cracked. Beneath it was something raw. "I know. I have outlived every friend I ever made. I will likely outlive you, too. And I am so tired of attending funerals for people who taught me how to feel." Castlevania- Nocturne
Richter looked up. The clouds had parted, but not for the moon. For a single, enormous eye of crimson and shadow, peering down at the earth from a rent in the sky. Erzsebet’s face, miles wide, smiled with a thousand fangs. Beside him, Alucard raised his sword
Alucard drew his sword, the runes flaring to life, casting his pale face in a ghastly glow. He looked less like a savior and more like a ghost who had forgotten he was dead. For the first time, the mask of cold aristocracy cracked
"Try not to die before I do," Alucard said.
Annette had felt it first—a pulse of absolute zero radiating from the south. The Vampire Messiah, Erzsebet Báthory, had not just seized the night; she was devouring the concept of dawn itself. She was raising a fortress of frozen blood and screaming souls, and with every peasant she drained, another star winked out of existence.