Frost scowled at both men and said, "And who the fucking hell do you think you are? I'm La Magra."
Ash tilted her head and said, "And they're Draculas."
The platinum blond tilted his head. At the bar, the Count's hand stilled as he lifted his goblet to his lips, and the vampire cloaked in red was no longer smiling as he regarded Frost.
"…Who am I?"
Frost was brutally pinned to the wall in a heartbeat, numerous wooden stakes slamming into his body, crucifying him like Jesus upon the Cross. Not a single soul could move in the room as the combined pressure of the three progenitors of a race bore down upon them. The windows shattered, the walls cracked, and the floorboards splintered as, just by their presence alone, the Lords brought the bar to it's knees.
The icy stare of the Lord Impaler was enough to reduce a lesser man to a gibbering wreck, and in this space all but the two who had entered with him were his lesser. He walked forward, slowly, while his companions still affixed Frost with their very gaze.
"...I am Vlad Drăculea, the Lord Impaler."
No-one in the bar could speak. The barmaid was shuddering, her mouth wordlessly opening and closing. The girl whose neck bore so many scars had sunken to her knees, sweating and shivering like it was the middle of winter, her skin as pale as Vlad's own. The platinum blonde gestured to the being at the bar who's orange eyes burned in the dimly lit space.
"This is my companion, Count Dracula."
The Count silently lifted his tarnish silver goblet in a mocking salute to Frost, his gaze effortlessly crushing him underneath it like a worthless bug.
"...And this is Alucard, Vlad the Third and the Bird of Hermes."
The red-cloaked vampire grinned, something that struck fear into the heart of all who saw it, even if they had sworn to themselves that they no longer needed such an emotion in their lives beyond humanity.
"'Sup."
Every single being in the bar, whether they were merely human or a vampiric berserker, was pinned under their presence, being forced to watch as Frost was staked to the wall like a captured butterfly.
The
presence that had utterly controlled the room lessened a ways, before disappearing. It could still be felt as a
potential, a force that could emerge at any moment. No-one spoke. The three incarnations of Vlad the III, the warlord who had skewered the Ottomans like so much meat, regarded Frost with the air of a man who knows he is before an insect and feels that it is beneath him in all aspects of the word. The very progenitors of his race had judged him, and found him wanting.
Vlad cocked his head, watching Frost move in what little way he could, his eyes regarding the Lord Impaler with fear. The stakes themselves were only wood, yet they seemed to have a dark, stained pattern on them, like a splattering of ancient blood. Alucard tilted his hand, and the stakes slowly disappeared, leaving Frost to slowly slide down the wall as he regenerated.
"Pitiful."
With that, Vlad dismissed him utterly.
