Dracula adjusted his red tie in the mirror, smiling at himself and baring his vampiric fangs. He ran his comb through his raven black hair, and after buttoning his jacket, walked out of his quarters donning a crimson tuxedo.

"Balthazar!" the vampire beckoned, and, soon enough, one of the granite statues decorating the halls of his estate sprang to life. The gray gargoyle swooped down from its pedestal and joined his master on his stroll through the mansion.

The dark lord and his soulless servant pushed open the gates and walked out into the courtyard. A heavy downpour of rain threatened to wash away their very fiber as they approached the parked red Ferrari Tunero. After stuffing Balthazar in the trunk, Dracula sat himself at the car's steering wheel and started the engine.

"How are you enjoying the 21st century, master?" Balthazar's telepathic voice projected itself into Dracula's mind.

"Truthfully, this millennium isn't too bad." Dracula revved his car, and the tires screeched as the familiar scent of burnt rubber assaulted his nostrils. "But I much preferred the 12th century. Nonetheless, I must admit, I do appreciate some of the luxuries of modern life," Dracula continued, his British baritone voice overpowering the noise caused by the squealing windshield wipers. He took a ceramic mug inscribed "#1 Vampire" out of the cupholder and gulped down the blood.

"Indeed. I do miss your cloak and sword, though. I can't say I'm a fan of today's fashion sense," Balthazar replied.

"I still have my coat and my blade. I do hope that Carmilla has taken good care of them, and that they're not just gathering dust in one of my wardrobes. Who knows when I shall need them again? Regardless, enough idle chatter. You must conserve your energy for what is to come."

Balthazar turned to stone, giving heed to Dracula's words. The rest of the car ride passed swiftly and uneventfully. Eventually, Dracula drifted into a parking lot and got out of the car. He'd journeyed into the city for the occasion of an ancient art auction, interested in winning the bet for the only depiction of himself in recorded history: "Saturn Devouring his Son" by Goya.

There may be some pictures of people dressed up as Dracula circulating in your Facebook news feed, and you might have even seen a few paintings or digital artworks of the infamous vampire. But the only accurate depiction of Dracula's true form is Goya's original canvas masterpiece, and for this reason, the drawing held great power over the vampire.

The painting currently went for a staggering sum of two hundred thirty-six million dollars. Surely, the Dark Lord had enough to purchase it, but his material wealth was best spent in other places, and there was always a possibility of somebody outbidding him. Of course, the chances of somebody even wanting to buy the painting in the first place were slim, as most of the antiques on exhibition were valued thirty million dollars at most. For all intents and purposes, "Saturn Devouring his Son" was only there as a publicity stunt to attract clients, and was believed by most people to be a fake. But Dracula knew better.

Invoking a minor fire incantation as he entered the event booth in order to dry himself, the vampire casually walked towards the security checkpoint, carrying Balthazar slung over his shoulder.

"Greetings, Mr. Alucard. I hope your trip was pleasant," the security guard said and motioned for him to stay put.

"Indeed it was. This weather is atrocious, however."

"I was under the impression you British men were used to rain." Another guard cut their small talk short and took away the statue, carrying it off away somewhere. "Anyways, we're going to have to inspect the exhibit you wish to currently auction. This shouldn't take more than a moment. In the meantime, spread your arms wide away from the body. My colleague here," he pointed towards a bouncer, who was fiddling with an x-ray tool behind him, "will be giving you a routine scan. We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause."

The Dark Lord nodded in agreement and complied with the instructions. In a few moments, he and his stone servant were given the green light to continue, after assuring the guards that he could carry Balthazar on his own. Dracula confidently climbed the stairs and opened the door to the main room. He was early - only a few other bidders had arrived. He walked towards the platform at the front of the room and found an empty place where he seated Balthazar, after which he wrapped a sixteen million dollar price tag around his ears under the watchful eyes of the four security guards.

Taking his seat in an unoccupied chair to the back of the room, Dracula's eyes scanned the audience. Of the few already present, a man in a trenchcoat and a fedora with a golden cross hanging from his neck caught his attention. He was conversing with a similarly dressed man, and his moustache danced under his nose with every word he spoke. Dracula detested all members of the clergy and the symbols of any religion, but especially Christianity. The mere sight of a cross was enough to turn most lesser vampires into dust, but for him, it was a minor inconvenience at best.

"Greetings, ladies and gentlemen!" The auctioneer's hasty voice boomed across the room. "The auction will be underway in five minutes." The two sharply dressed men Dracula had observed before took their seats to either side of the vampire, but he hid his nervousness quite well under his emotionless face.

"Evening, sir," the moustached man to his right spoke as he extended his arm towards Dracula for a handshake. "Horrible weather, eh? I haven't seen a rain like this ever before."

"Indeed. I'm quite used to rainy days like this, as an Englishman, but this weather is certainly an oddity. What exactly piques your interest out of all the items on display here, if I may ask?"

"I am fairly interested in the rifle of Abraham Lincoln myself, but it pales in comparison to the fascinating statue you have brought for sale here. If I'm not being indiscreet, does that gargoyle sculpture have any deeper meaning to it, Mr..."

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"Mr. Alucard. And yes, you could say that my effigy does have a profound connotation attached to it, as all great works of art do. The original tale of Balthazar is that he was one of Michelangelo's early works, and his only granite one, but it was carbon dated to a much earlier period of approximately the 11th century. The eerie sculpture also had an engraving inscribed on its base when I found it, which read << BALTHAZAR | STILL THE BEST 3592 >>. The modern typeface, as well as the current forms of the words marked on it lead me to believe that this was a mere act of vandalism, as that form of English certainly did not circulate in the 11th century, and Michelangelo was Italian."

"Quite intriguing, indeed! I can't imagine sleeping soundly with that thing anywhere in your house, though. Just the sight of it gives me the creeps, and I'm not that weak of heart. In fact, Mr. Alucard... what do you know about vampires?"

"I'm familiar with earlier literature on the subject, particularly Bram Stoker's 《Dracula》, but I'm not that interested in such puerile fantasies. How about you?" replied the vampire, fighting back the unease that the ironic change of topic had given him.

"I wouldn't be that quick to brush the tales of vampirism off under the category of childish stories. What if I told you that they are a reality?" The man inquired, his lips contorting into a slight smirk.

"If you had told me that, I would probably question your sanity and require empirical evidence for your ridiculous claims."

"Right in front of you." He proudly tapped his cross and pulled out an ornate silver sheath out of an interior pocket. He pulled a knife out of it, scraping its impeccably sharpened edge against the holster and making the pleasant humming of metal linger in the air.

"Mr. Alucard, I present you the signature armament of a vampire hunter. The hallowed steel of this silver knife vanquishes the unliving with great ease," the man proudly stated.

"That is indeed odd. I am awestruck, actually. I wouldn't be so quick to trust a stranger, but you look like a respectable gentleman. But enough talk, the auction is starting." Dracula abruptly ended the conversation, finding the perfect excuse in the auctioneer's frantic shouting.

"Greetings, ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the 158th edition of Sorvent's Extraordinary Auction! Our exhibits are unique, and you will never find such splendid objects anywhere else!

The first item to be auctioned is John the Baptist's Cauldron! A relic of the 14th century, it is believed that this object manifested anomalous properties during Catholic rituals, and great men like Pope Gregory the eighth and Richard the Lionheart were baptised in the waters it held. It is currently valued at a price of twenty million dollars. Going once..."

"One more!" cried out a member of the audience.

"Twenty-one million!" confirmed the auctioneer.

"Four!" shouted another.

"Twenty-five million! Going once, going twice, and..."

"Seventy million dollars!" Dracula announced his bid.

"...Seventy million dollars," the auctioneer repeated, a bit shocked. "An unmatchable offer by the unmatchable man in the red suit! Going once, going twice.. and, s--"

"Let's make it a hundred," the vampire hunter muttered.

His words rang out in the room. Silence lingered in the air until the auctioneer's delayed reaction.

"A hundred million dollars! Going once, going twice, and sold! To the--"

"Enough!" Dracula's voice thundered, the magnitude of his intimidating shout threatening to blow the hats off the vampire hunters' heads. He stood up. "I tire of this charade." The vampire's skin cracked and turned pale under his suit and his muscles bulged. Dracula's irises turned red as his hands morphed into horrifying, ebony claws. With supernatural speed, he lunged towards the hunter to his left and slit his throat before he could react. The surface of the vampire's flesh disintegrated with a hissing sound when he touched the crucifix, but the noise was drowned out by the stampeding crowd and the hunter's death rattle.

In the meantime, Balthazar abandoned his stone form and stepped off his pedestal. He made a rush for the nearest security guard, who was already firing at him. The gunshots sent what was left of the fleeing crowd into hysterics, but the bullets ricocheted harmlessly off the gargoyle. If Balthazar's creator had bothered to sculpt him some vocal chords, he'd probably be laughing at the shooter's surprise, but instead, he headbutted him violently. The explosive force of the impact was enough to send the man flying away, with what was left of his brain turned to mashed potatoes inside his splintered skull.

The other three guards emptied their clips at the monster and found themselves running for their lives when they saw that not even a scratch had been inflicted on Balthazar's immaculate granite body. The gargoyle cut their retreat short, briefly flying towards their positions and ending all three of their lives with a well-coordinated whirlwind of blows.

Meanwhile, Dracula found the other vampire hunter to be much more of a challenge than his more talkative friend. A being of his power shouldn't be able to feel pain, but the five silver bullets lodged in his abdomen begged to differ. The Dark Lord raised his claws for another strike at his nemesis, which the man failed to parry. The slayer was left mutilated by the powerful force of Dracula's talons, and he slurped the blood from his fingers, as the man's lifeless body hit the ground with a resounding *thud*.

The dust from the fighting had settled, leaving an eerie tranquil atmosphere in the room. Dracula was expecting more guards to arrive at any moment. He moved towards the podium and nodded towards Balthazar. He'd have taken more time to interact with his underling, if not for the laser sights pointed at him from the back of the room.

"Alucard Belmont! You are under arrest for--"

Dracula didn't allow the officer to finish his warning. Balthazar stepped behind him and stretched out his wings, protecting his master from the gunfire which began to rain down upon them. Shattering the display and retrieving the prized work of art from its case, Dracula stared appreciatively at himself in Goya's painting before he dissipated into a cloud of bats. The screeching flock made for the SWAT officers, and, although a few were shot down, the legion of bats managed to slip past them and out the front door of the building.

In the confusion caused by the shrills of the bats, Balthazar managed to grab the painting and kick down a window, making his exit before anyone could realize what was happening. He sprinted as fast as he could towards the car, but Dracula had already assumed his normal form once more and was waiting for him, seated on the hood of the Ferrari.

"Let me see it, Balthazar," he beckoned, and his minion handed him the painting. He ran his fingers over the canvas, admiring the visage of his true form. "Quite close, actually," he remarked. "I could mistake it for my reflection in the mirror, had I any son which I would eat," Dracula chuckled.

"Let us get going." The vampire put Balthazar at rest in the trunk, along with the painting, and revved the engine.

"Just another Saturday night," Dracula began monologuing to himself, as all great villains do. "I am rather pleased by today's events, really." He reached for his "#1 Vampire" mug and drank down what was left of the blood. The wounds from his fight regenerated completely, the fabric of the suit stitching itself back together, and his muscle fiber reforming. "Vampire slayers in this day and age are indeed an oddity, but I cannot say I am surprised. A shame I did not take their bodies to extract their blood, but alas, what is done is done. Time was not on my side, and I see no reason to reminisce on my mistakes, especially when I have *this*." He pointed behind his back with his thumb, towards the painting in the trunk, for an invisible audience. "A great painting to adorn the walls of my bloody castle, I would say."