Dracula didn't snatch the tree trunk from him. He didn't get away with it or escape at the last moment by any means. They collided with great force against the wall of the burning building, crashing through it. By which he meant that he made, more with the Count than with the tree, one of the few holes that had not already been in the front.

And inside they collapsed, the trunk rolled into the flames.

It didn't matter, they already had more than enough fuel.

What was his strategy, what did he hope to accomplish with this, when he had thrown him out of the other building because he thought it might be better to fight on open ground?

Nothing. Nothing, really.

Jonathan had no plan. It was just blind violence. Pure thirst for revenge. He had already forgotten to think, inside him there was only rage driving him forward. He had thought he crossed that point long ago, when he saw Elizabeth dead perhaps, but it wasn't so.

Only now. Only now he had nothing left but rage.

Flames roared everywhere, moving as if alive.

He hurried to be the first to get up. Dust and debris fell from his shoulders backwards.

-You know, I saw your past. -He approached the enemy- "I saw when you existed as a vulgar being, without power, at the mercy of others. Like the rest of us.

His sword slashed the air again.

But Dracula dodged it with the subtlest movement of his head, the minimum necessary. As if mocking him. So instead the blade ripped the wall behind him, thank goodness it was just that, that it didn't get stuck.

Because otherwise he wouldn't have been able to back up, dodging, when Dracula lunged for it with his arms outstretched.

A tackle.

That monster stopped his fall with his hands, but then Jonathan kicked him in the temple, and his head did indeed hit the ground. Now he was literally at his feet. He still hadn't won the fight, not by a long shot. Not yet. But gods, what a rush.

He'd felt pretty much the same way at Elesbury. Close to grabbing victory with his bare hands.

But in the end it had eluded him, anyway. That's why he couldn't be soconfident.

Speaking of Elesbury, Dracula hadn't reacted to his human name then. He thought to himself that it didn't affect him, but as strange as it sounded, did he even remember after all this time?

Ha, yes, Jonathan simply hadn't had time to dig deep, perhaps.

-Which means... I know who you really are. So cut the grandiose airs.

He was going to plunge the sword into its heart.

But the monster rolled away, so instead he sliced open one cheek. It couldn't be described as a mere cut. What was left of half of his face hung down, giving him a look similar to his undead, most of them showing serious wounds that didn't stop them at all.

One more attack.

A clash... steel against steel. A shower of sparks. Only when his sword went backwards from the force of the impact did he realize that Dracula had parried his sword with his own. At last he had made him draw it.

Did he feel threatened physically or emotionally? He didn't give a shit about the difference.

Blind rage. A fervent desire for revenge, as he had said.

How hot it was. How hot, metaphorically and literally plunging them into the depths of hell. The flames were advancing very fast, consuming everything in the room, anything that could serve as material. The wood of tables and chairs, the fabric of napkins and curtains.

And oxygen. Above all oxygen.

-You are nobody. And your excuses are even cheaper than the whores in this town. -He'd never been to the city, whores or not, but he didn't think about what he was saying. He was simply spitting out his emotions, releasing everything he held inside. "Talking like you're not like that because you want to, period.

Attack and defense. The blades danced like the current of rivers meeting. Both of them carried unparalleled swords, they wouldn't break so easily, no matter how many dozens of times they smashed them against the opponent's weapon.

Everything he launched were lethal attacks, not attacks intended to weaken and slow down the opponent. He wasn't content with tearing chunks of flesh off him as he had been.

The same went for his opponent. He had stopped fooling around and now he was just another creature (he didn't deserve the title of human being, no, fuck no) fighting for his life. A life that according to him was worthless, but he was doing his best to defend it now, with his back against the wall.

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Dracula jumped on one of his attacks. He was indeed agile and quick as a panther.

He managed to land on the blade of his sword. Which caught him by surprise. He recovered from that surprise in less than a second, but it was enough for him to kick him in the teeth, literally, and then jump backwards.

Spinning in mid-air, landing smoothly.

Jonathan put a hand to his mouth.

Wiping away the blood.

The rest he managed merely by spitting.

-I don't care how long you've lived, I don't care that no one understands you.....

They ran to meet again.

They were like fools trying to tear down a huge wall by headbutting it. Of hurting and hurting themselves more, while the wall barely even trembled.

But they knew there was a keystone.

As long as they hit the keystone, the whole structure would collapse. It was just a matter of who would be the first to find it.

-That doesn't give you the right to act like a fucking animal, Adam. There is only one culprit to blame for everything that has happened to you throughout your eternity. Look in the mirror, Adam. Look at yourself.

Dracula gritted his teeth. He was finally affected.

-Stop calling me that. I don't... I don't even know what you're talking about.... -It affected him enough to make the mistake of wasting oxygen in a fight to the death. Jonathan was doing it because he was out of his mind, no more, no less. Not because he had a special plan to make him let his guard down or affect him in this way.

Well, that's what he was hoping for now. But it had only occurred to him later. At first it had been nothing more than for his own satisfaction.

-I was born in the fucking garbage! A waste of oxygen, a shitty little ratthat no one wanted to see. -Not even his own parents. If it were up to them, he'd have died drowned under that mountain of garbage, alone and in the dark. Alone? In the dark? Wasn't he already, hadn't he always been and even now, shit, wasn't he already? "And as I grew up I became a fucking vermin.

Oh yes.

Damn right he did, and proud of it. Practically anything was an improvement over where he'd started from. But there was something he'd never wanted to admit, even to himself. Not only did he not feel guilty about anything he'd done, he felt fucking proud.

And why not, fuck, why not?

After all, for better or worse, he'd earned it. Piece by piece, with blood, sweat and tears. Literally. He'd earned a place in the world, a role, a meaning.

So why shouldn't he be proud?

He had emerged from the darkest depths and made himself.

-I cheated, I stole and I killed. But I'm still not as huge a piece of shit as you! -Jonathan was a piece of shit, he admitted. But he wasn't the least bit ashamed. Especially now that he knew what real evil looked like. "It's you! It was always just you!

The space between their blades was like a meat grinder, the blades in continuous motion, visible but blurry from how fast they were going.

Anyone passing by would be reduced to shreds before they could blink. But there was no one near or approaching, just the flames. Jonathan wanted to get this over with before the building fell on them, if possible. He wondered if it would count as the coup de grace, since he had gotten Dracula into this death trap, but decided it wasn't worth testing it.

-I could become your fucking best friend, but there's no fixing what you've done to yourself! That's the truth!

He had done this to himself too, but he had been forced to. Even though Dracula was desperate to see him as an equal, they were only alike in one thing.

They both deserved to die.

-You should have died all those years ago. It's a pity your mother didn't think better of it! It's a pity your father didn't go a little too far...!

A sword broke. The one carried by Count Dracula.

Under any other circumstances, it would have been funny to see his dumbfounded face. But the rush of battle left him unable to feel anything else. His heart was pounding. And it burned, it burned like a furnace.

-Or maybe some sergeant in the army! Or maybe just a knife a few inches further to the right, up, where it was necessary, really. A real pity, how many wasted opportunities.

Dracula grabbed his sword with his bare hand. It must have been weakened by the constant exchanges of blows, but it was still shocking when he saw it break. The sword of destiny. The sword with which he assumed he would slay the ultimate enemy. It represented more than just a weapon.

But he hadn't broken it completely, only in half. Now his sword was more like the size of a dagger. He had to think that way and not lose his composure.

He was already practically on top of his enemy, anyway. A few inches of reach wasn't a significant loss.

Jonathan thrust what was left of the sword into one shoulder.

Too deeply. It turned out to be one more mistake. Dracula ripped the sword, or dagger, from his shoulder, only to throw it away.

Every wound was progress, but this was bad. Now they were both unarmed - or were they? They could have moved on to fists, but both decided silently and at the same time to pounce on the remains of Dracula's sword.

Perhaps there were better alternatives at hand, but they went after them anyway.

Like wild dogs fighting over scraps of meat.

Had this happened a little earlier, he would have had the upper hand in this rather unorthodox duel. Two hands against one. However, it had already regenerated.

Despite that, he got the advantage anyway. It was because Dracula merely picked up the broken pieces of the sword with his hands, while Jonathan even used his mouth.

They plunged the sword pieces all over each other's bodies.

No defending, just attacking. Picking up the pieces from the ground and stabbing them into the opponent in front of them, nothing else. Again and again.

They were both absurdly powerful monsters. If they wanted to, they could shake the foundations of this city, not just the building.

Despite that they were fighting like two normal soldiers on the verge of death. On the edge, physically and mentally. Was there meaning in that?

At the very least, it meant something that two lunatics were finally getting their what they deserved.

In an anonymous home, probably of a poor person, not even in a special place, because there was nothing significant about it. They were wild animals throwing themselves at each other's necks.

Less than animals, because they had forgotten their survival instinct.

Hunger, cold, pain, all these things.

They went on like this until they could go on no longer. It was difficult to say which was the last attack to connect. In any case, none of them remained standing.

The ground was bathed in blood.

The madmen fell over that ever-expanding pool of blood.

As the flames roared, and smoke rose to the skies throughout the city.