Ash clapped her hands and said, "Bravo, bloody nice show, Draculas Three!"
Frost's eyes were dyed crimson, swollen with blood as he ripped himself off the stakes. His wounds began to heal almost instantly as he rose to his feet. Then he brushed blood off of his clothing as he moved towards the three of them.
"If the three of you are so fucking bad ass, why aren't you ruling the fucking cattle?" he asked, tilting his head.
Ash sighed and said, "Not everyone wants to rule the humans. We were once mortals ourselves and besides, they have every right to live."
The Count gazed into his tarnished silver goblet. Dracula's voice was rough, but smooth in a way that drew the attention of every member of the room.
"I am not a witch. We are not a covenant. The 'Dracula's Three' does not exist."
His burning orange stare affixed Frost as easily as the stakes had but a moment before.
"What do you think? Should we let them rejoice in the and return of their Lord?"
His other two companions did not speak - instead, they seemed to be considering his words. The air grew thick with tension; it was evident that
something was being set in motion, something that all of the Nexus would feel, in one way or another. The eyes of the platinum blonde narrowed in thought, while the red-eyed vampire's grin grew only fiercer. Vlad Drăculea, The Son of the Dragon, Vlad the Impaler… all three titles belonged to each of the three companions, for each was as the other from a different time and land.
Each one of them had, at some point in their lives, ruled the kingdom of Wallachia with an iron fist and personally executed over one-hundred-and-twenty thousand men. Truly, though the present time had forgotten most of what they had wrought, each of them was a warlord that had driven back the Ottoman Empire and struck the deepest fear into the heart of their Emperor himself. The tension in the air was peaking. Frost, even though he didn't want to admit it, could feel the beads of sweat dripping down his back.
Vlad considered, his hand resting upon his elegant goatee.
"Perhaps it is time, after all. The quality of the vampires that reside in this place is low compared to you."
He did not comment on the fact that he was a Heroic Spirit, and not a vampire. Alucard grinned at Frost, his rows of sharp teeth looking incredibly disconcerting in the artificial light of the bar.
"What, you want to grow another forest? I move that we start with this fucker over here…"
His red-eyes searched the room in glee, watching as beings of strength beyond mere mortals wilted beneath his gaze.
"…And move on to everyone else."
The Count silently sipped at the crimson liquid within the goblet, contemplating. He raised his goblet in salute to something only the three of them had lived for, the man-made forests of twenty-thousand dead that had greeted the Ottomans when they had come to seize Wallachia.
"To our great and beautiful forests…. natural, and otherwise."