Moonlight pierced the shattered stained glass of Erzsebet Báthory's crimson throne room in revolutionary Paris, 1792. The vampire messiah hovered, her claws dripping blood, eyes glowing with Sekhmet's divine fury. "Dhampir filth," she hissed, unleashing a torrent of shadow tendrils that lashed like whips.

Alucard Tepes, pale and golden-eyed, sword drawn in a fluid arc, met her charge. His black coat billowed as he shapeshifted mid-leap into mist, evading her strike, then reformed to slash—Crissaegrim biting deep into her arm. Blood sprayed, but she laughed, regenerating instantly, hurling hellfire orbs that scorched the marble floor.

You stood at his flank, powers surging—forcefield shields snapping into iridescent domes around Alucard and Richter Belmont, who reloaded his whip nearby. "Hold the line!" Alucard commanded, voice like chilled velvet, teleporting behind Erzsebet for a soul steal. She countered with a shockwave, cracking your barrier; strain burned your veins as you poured energy to reinforce it, sweat beading.

Erzsebet's claws raked the shield, fissures spiderwebbing—your arms trembled, but you grit teeth, expanding the field to trap her shadows. Alucard exploited the breach, wolf-form lunging to tear her thigh, then bat-swarms dive-bombing her eyes. Richter cracked holy water vials, sizzling her flesh.

She roared, summoning blood spears that hammered your dome relentlessly. "You're weakening, mortal toy!" One pierced a flaw—grazing Alucard's shoulder. He snarled, golden eyes flashing, Hellfire erupting from his palm to blast her airborne.