This is a story that exists and doesn't exist.

That is indeed a bizarre thing to say, but when dealing with the mysteries of the multiverse it is crucial to consider impossibilities and contradictory information. And the mysteries of that green snake are numerous and incredibly paradoxical.

This is the story of a girl I once met – in a different time, in a different place. A girl who exists and yet was never real. If I were to show up before her now, she would not remember me.

Her name was 'Juri' Van Helsing.

1872 America was a very different place, merely seven short years after the American Civil War. But don't let that fool you. For you would not recognize this version of America.

General Odysseus Graham now finally elected President of the United States of America, to officially succeed after a long period of power vacuums created by the assassination of President Abram Lincoln. His death left behind a legacy for a new beginning where men who stepped foot on this land could truly be free. But the Civil War also gave birth to new races of mysterious monsters, and thus the country's weary eyes began to wander off elsewhere, looking for a new enemy to unite against. An enemy the people weren't even sure existed.

The steam locomotive, later perfected to plasma locomotive, played a crucial part in aiding both sides of the Civil War when the North began advancing south to the Mississippi, pushing Americans into a new age of technology. Revolutionized by brilliant inventor and mathematician Anderson Olsen, plasma technology was pushed forth during the summer of 1863 to astonishing results. Plasma ores found in mines and riverbanks, previously thought to be useless, would now transform ordinary firearms into deadly machines of war, capable of incredibly precise and devastating damage. Weaponry of the old age was still common, as often times plasma upgrades were expensive and labor intensive. But as Olsen predicted, it would only be a matter of time…

It was hard to predict what would happen if Olsen hadn't found out the plasma minerals by accident that one night while he was lighting up a cigarette, throwing the burning match outside his porch onto some strange glowing rock. Olsen would later write in his biography, stating he believed it was a gift from God, like how the burning bush appeared to Moses, or blasphemously, how Prometheus gifted the fire of the heaven to mortals down below.

Only a matter of time.

In a small town of North Falls, Oregon, two lone horsemen rode valiantly into this quiet community. The streets were nearly empty, with the people inside the buildings barely even noticing the two strangers entering their soil, much less caring about them. This eerie atmosphere would often scare away those who were faint of heart, but for these two – they were here because it was their mission to be.

Though the adults of the town avoided eye contact and stayed away from these new strangers, the children were awfully fascinated by the mechanical steaming horse one of the strangers was riding on. The hooves clip-clopped of heavy metal sound, as the steam valves whistled between the golden and steel hinges loud enough for even the kids peeking down from tall buildings to notice. The horse behaved as if it were a living breathing animal, shaking its head back and forth, wagging its tail made of steel chains like a pendulum. On its forehead was a silver cross bolted onto a thin steel plate, almost acting as a shield of sort.

More peculiarly however was the way its rider was dressed. Upon closer inspection, the children of the town realized that the rider was a woman. She was young, somewhere in her early twenties. She wore an unusually green colored short torso vest over a long black shirt underneath with an unusually long tail hanging behind. Her long black leather pants blended well with the shirt, making her seem almost abnormally tall. The same went for her shoes, which were polished to a diamond shine with the smooth black surface melting in with the almost baggy look down her shins and ankles. The young girl had long brilliant orange hair, a color not common around these parts, hidden underneath a flat wide-brimmed hat which provided enough shades to cover the square goggles underneath this beautiful lock of hair. Wrapping around her neck was a leather chord from which dangled a small black cross.

The young girl had a very abnormal build that wasn't really common with women and even men sometimes. Wide shoulders, lanky arms and slender legs, and yet despite all of this, the girl composed herself very well with great confidence, most apparent in the way she got off her horse and walked it forth to the front of a saloon – commanding, tall, and decisive.

Of course, the questions on all the kids' minds did not stop there, because the young girl's traveling companion was almost as rare a sight as the girl herself. For he was a priest, dressing a little more ordinary compared to the girl. The tan skinned, white hair young man wore his dark red robe with his white collar over his neck. On his waist was a piece of cloth draping downwards with a white cross emblem sewn into the thick crimson leather. While the priest's outfit was much more typical, the kids couldn't help but wonder why he was wearing such dark colors in the middle of this burning desert heat. He should be sweating buckets by now, fidgeting about on his saddle with the bulky robe, but no – he was as calm as his companion, moving forward like none of it bothered him.

Who were these two strangers? And why hadn't anybody else but the quiet innocent children noticed them?

"Thirsty?" The priest asked the girl as he got off his saddle.

"Absolutely parched," the girl flapped her own sweating neck with her hat, using it as a makeshift fan.

"To think we lost all our luggage back there," said the priest. "What luck, damn… what are we going to do?"

"Don't worry, Father Drakul," the girl winked, pulling up her goggles. "I have a plan."

And the girl kicked down the door of the saloon, storming inside without a care in the world.

Inside were several sets of empty chairs and empty tables, with only a few being occupied by a small number of patrons, enough to count on one's hand. Two old gentlemen playing poker in a table by the corner. A young-looking teen, perhaps young man in his early twenties sleeping on the opposite table with his black top hat covering his face. And finally, a small dog with silky black fur sitting on one of the tables, licking over a glass of spilt alcohol.

What the girl had her sight set on however, was the bartender, who was busy wiping his top shelf as he stood on a small wooden stool. He was a short stubby man wearing a stained white apron and a black vest over a light green shirt. His balding head seemed indicative of his old age, if the bushy mustache didn't already give that away.

"Welcome, stranger," said the bartender, still cleaning his shelf. "Yer new in town, eh? What will it be then?"

The priest followed inside after the young girl. He had this stern expression on his face, not locking eyes with anybody else in the room beside the bartender. The two walked confidently towards the counter, and bizarrely, only one set of footsteps could be heard rumbling on the wooden planks on the floor. Was this a unique skill that one of these two strangers had managed to master?

"Whiskey," the priest said simply, "and leave the bottle."

"A little early in the day, isn't it?" The bartender turned his head around. "Aren't you on duty, Father?"

"It eases the burden of the duty," said the priest.

"Just give him what he wants," the girl plopped down to one of the seats. "Water for me, if you have it."

"Coming right up. Though the water will cost ya extra, little lass."

"Shoot, alright, then just… a glass of cactus beer then."

The bartender nodded his head. And in a flash, he slid two glasses and an old bottle of whiskey across the counter to where the two travelers sat. The girl had still yet to take off her hat and goggles, despite the gruesome heat.

"So what brings you folks around these parts?" The bartender asked. "You here visiting or…"

The girl and the priest exchanged a glance with each other, before nodding. She then proceeded to smile.

"Good sir," she said. "I am here to find my vampiric brethren."

The room fell silent at the comment, but the other patrons did not seem to care much of these people's businesses, with the old men continuing with their card games and the young man still deep in his slumber. Their breaths were slowed however, ever so slightly, a peculiar detail the priest noticed.

The bartender tilted his head in confusion, still standing there.

"Pardon?"

"Oh, 'scuse me," the girl clapped her hands together, before extending them forth for the bartender to shake, "where are my manners? I am Van Helsing – Juri Van Helsing. And this is my partner Father Drakul."

"Huh… those are some peculiar names," he shook her hands, "I'm Shane. Are you two foreign?"

"Well, that's not really important right now," said Juri, right before reaching into her pocket to pull out a glass vial with some strange red liquid inside. "Can I show you something, Shane?"

Placing it on the wooden counter where the sun could shine through the liquid, Shane stood there staring at the vial, unblinking. Drakul proceeded to pour himself a glass of whiskey, and instantaneously downing it in a single gulp.

"This here," Juri explained, "is a vampire's blood. My blood, I'm sure you've heard of the stories, perhaps even seen them yourself. Blood thirsty monsters who stalk in the shadows."

"I heard them tales, yes," Shane scratched his head. "Are you saying what I think you're saying? That you, little lass… is some kinda… one of those blood sucking monsters whatever they're called?"

"Indeed, I am," Juri grinned ever so slightly. "It's hard to believe, I know, on the account of me still being alive despite my exposure to the sun. But I assure you, there is a perfectly good explanation for this. Which I will now attempt to explain before the sun goes down, before the little minute hand hits twelve, and the hour hand hits six here on my watch."

Juri pulled up her wristwatch for all to see, clearly drawing the bartender's attention to it on purpose. It was after all, a peculiar watch with strange metal parts being screwed together underneath what looked like a bright glowing coat of blue paint on its brim, or perhaps it was the electricity inside sparkling like a lightning bolt.

Shane had never seen such a thing before in his life, but what was concerning to him however was that the watch was in reverse. As in the hour hand was pointing towards near the bottom left, and the minute hand was pointing to the top right, despite it being ten minutes to six. The labels of the numbers were small, but Shane could still see that they were all backwards, all thanks to the glowing blue mechanism underneath.

"Did you know," said Juri, "that you can get a priest to bless a vampire's blood and save its soul for God?"

It was at this point that a slight twitch on Shane's eyebrow could be seen if one were very observant. Drakul continued to down another glass. Juri continued:

"People often don't know this, but holy water actually contains special chemical properties that can and will react violently when in contact with a vampire's blood. It breaks down the molecular bonds to such a degree that if enough holy water is present, there wouldn't be a trace of blood remained."

Juri took the glass of cactus beer Shane handed her earlier, and swiftly chuck its content right onto the floor to Shane's absolute shock and concern. Not before being met with the bizarre sight of the girl spitting a mouthful right into the empty glass. Shane was flabbergasted, partly because of how much spit was actually in the glass.

"They say that holy water is so powerful that even a drop of blood from a twenty-yard radius would be vaporized by merely being in the vicinity," Juri grinned, showing off her perfect set of white teeth.

"I… I don't know what y'all want in this town," Shane began to sweat, "but I think it be best you leave now. Look, I'll even let you stay the night in one of our rooms upstairs, bed and breakfast. But you gotta go by morning. This whole… demonic mumbo jumbo, it's… it's too much."

"Come on, Shane, where's your spirit of adventure?" Juri wagged her finger, egging him on. "Father Drakul, would you be willing to do the honor and bless this water so that it may be holy?"

And that was when Drakul lowered his third glass of whiskey to reveal an almost devilish smile underneath.

"It would be my pleasure, Ms. Van Helsing."

But before Drakul could even reach into his robe to pull out a bible, he was met with the cold sensation of the steel gun barrel pressing right against his head. He dared not move an inch, because he knew that Shane was about to blow his brain out onto the floor with his sweaty and trigger-happy finger. The bartender gritted his teeth, and his eyes widened to show the sweat of a coward.

"You bastards don't dare move an inch now!" Shane cried, with his revolver trembling. "I'm warning you!"

"This… isn't turning out how I hoped it would," said Juri.

"Wait, so that was your masterplan?" Drakul snapped. "No backup plan or anything?"

"Cut me some slack, will you? I didn't have much to work with. But maybe… I think I have something for that…" Juri reached down the side of her hip, as if to reach for a gun.

"STAY BACK!"

Trigger-happy finger went all wild. And a loud bang roared from the gun barrel, followed shortly by a hole bursting out on Juri's forehead, clear as day. It looked like the bullet went straight through from one end to the other.

"I… I told yer to stay back, but ya didn't listen!" Shane began to shake, tears overflowing his eyes and sweat dripping down his forehead.

And yet…

"You should really work on your aim, old man."

Shane widened his eyes, looking up to the sight that should not be, that could not be. There was a hole on the girl's forehead. Her brain should've been blown to bits, with blood splattered all over the wall. So what was this madness? The girl still stood tall and confident?

"H…h…how?" Shane gasped, with his hand still gripping tightly on the revolver, preparing to fire once again. "You should be DEAD! What the hell is going on?"

"Looks like we found our target, Father Drakul," Juri stood there posing as a taunt, smiling. "I was afraid we were going to have to do this with everybody in town. But it seemed like the wanted poster steered us right."

"Indeed," Drakul slammed the glass down on the counter, just now downing the last sip of that whiskey.

Without another moment wasted, Juri sped up, jumping right onto the wooden counter and began racing towards the frightened bartender.

"You know how I said I was looking for my vampiric brethren?" She cried out excitedly.

Only for Shane to finally notice the odd glint of light flashing off right in front of Juri's entire body as she rushed towards him. Irregular details in front of him began to surface as he began to suspect some trickery at work. With the final revelation concerning the girl's backward watch Shane saw earlier, he began connecting the dots, only to then turn around and receive a brutal kick to the mouth, a swift strike – sending the man flying far towards the window.

The force of the kick was so great the man's body began spiraling in midair as he plunged his head not just through the front window of the saloon, but through a large mirror set up before that. A square mirror held up by some sort of mechanism on wheels, and in the middle of it – was the hole where his bullet pierced through.

Shane finally understood. As Juri remarked:

"I lied."

The man was sent tumbling out onto the dirt road of the town, even crashing through a whole wooden pillar right before biting on the dust.

"I was worried we were going to have to haul that mirror everywhere," Juri said as she jumped outside. Squatting on the ground, observing the bartender squirming.

"How did you even do this? When did you get it inside?" Drakul asked, "And why didn't you go over it with me?"

Juri turned her head, pulled up her goggles only to wink at the confused priest with her glimmering green eyes.

"A magician never reveals her secret… and I sort of pulled off a few parts from my horse to craft a mini carrier thing with wheels, what do you call it? A cart? A tart? Ah, doesn't matter. It holds up the mirror, and it wheels itself inside, bada bing…"

Shane struggled to get on his feet, clinging tightly on his knee as his bloodied face began oozing out disgusting black gooey blood of some kind. The liquid was thick and dark, almost like coal tar of some sort slowly dripping down his face and staining the ground, only to immediately sizzle onto the soil – there in the distance, the setting sun was nearly down, but its light ray was still sharp. Furiously cutting at the delicate flaky skin that was crumbling from the bartender's mangled up face.

"Y… you bastard!" Shane began coughing on the ground, "What did you do to my beautiful visage?"

"Beautiful?" Juri slapped her knee, "Have you ever looked yourself in the mirror? Oh wait, I guess you can't. A vampire is a vampire, a spade a spade."

"I'LL KILL YOU!"

The monster lunged at the two travelers, baring his foul black fangs and his bloody red glare. The apron that was stained with dirt and booze were now soaked in blood. And his vest that was once buttoned up neatly was now torn apart to reveal the pale rotten skin underneath, the skin of an undead monster. To think, a repulsive being such as this was hidden in plain sight all this time, blended right into the townsfolk.

Which was why cleansing the demons of this land was the utmost important duty – enter Father Drakul.

Out of thin air, he conjured up a heavy minigun colored in a dark shade of blue, with shiny golden paint coating the individual gun barrels and a cross symbol melted onto the side of the weapon. It was a hefty weapon, one that could not possibly be hidden away in plain sight, nor could it be carried around without regular people noticing. So what was the magic that allowed the priest to enter one corner empty handed and come out the other side with this holy weapon in his hand?

Was this a gift bestowed unto him by a force on high?

It certainly seemed that way the moment he revved up his gun and the numerous golden gun barrels began to spin furiously – unleashing a barrage of white sparkling energy projectiles that burned hotter than dragon's fire. The roaring of the weapon was loud and fierce, but it was also strong and elegant, as if every single round were determined to make its mark and not stray away from the path of righteous retribution.

"I pray," Juri muttered under her lips as the machine gun raged on, "o' Lord in heaven have mercy on even the demons that tempted the world of man."

Was the prayer heard? It wasn't exactly clear. I certainly couldn't tell you. What was certain, however, was the absolute thorough cleansing of Drakul's ritual. Indeed, to him this was a ritual, a duty that needed to be carried out to its end. To rend the monstrous flesh of this demon from the bones, to melt its skin into a puddle, if that was what the Lord required. And the Lord required the cleansing of this evil from His beautiful green earth, and thus it was so. All that now remained once the minigun stopped firing was the charred melted skeleton steaming with burning flesh chunks.

And it was clear to the two of them, the monster was no more.

"Well, that takes care of that," the minigun instant vaporized from the priest's grasp, mainly for him to clasp his hands together to pray to the Lord above.

"Shane D. McCarthy," said Juri as she walked over to the melted corpse, collecting the vampiric essence into one of her vials. "I knew the guy was well hidden away into the crowd, but I didn't think he would have the entire town a slave under his thumb. How long do you reckon the people are going to stay lethargic and braindead for?"

"About a day or two," said Drakul, while still closing his eyes, deep in prayer. "So… is this the one we're looking for?"

"I can't say for sure without my equipment. The mechanic's probably not going to wake up any time soon, so I probably won't be able to buy anything off him. Best to just go to the next town and resupply there."

"Then there's nothing left for us here. Let's go, I don't feel safe staying in this town. The evil still lingers, I can smell it. I think there's supposed to be a small oasis just south of here. Let's make camp there."

"Agreed."

But before the two of them could turn around to fetch their horses, they were bewildered by the sight of the saloon door in the back swinging open – for the young sleeping man had awoken, standing out here with sweat soaking his face. Dripping as the shade of his top hat covered over his eyes.

Upon closer inspection, the two noticed the young man looked even younger than before. Almost like a boy who had just hit his early teens. Was this because of the vampire's effects wearing off after Shane's death? But how did he wake up so early when the rest of the town still remained empty and idle? And why did he dress so fancy for someone his age? Silky black leather tailcoat worn over a vest underneath tailored with specific and peculiar star patterns. The young man looked on at the melted corpse lying on the street, panting heavily.

"You… you killed him…" the young man muttered.

And the two travelers responded with confident indifference.

"And what of it?" Drakul said. "You can try to report this to the sheriff, but it's not like he'll believe you. Vampires are thieves of the night, they steal Dreams, stories, dignity."

"You!" The young man pointed his finger at Juri, as if he didn't hear a single word from Drakul. "I've seen you before… on those wanted posters. You're that vampire hunter – Van Helsing!"

"Aw, look at that, Father Drakul, I have a fan."

"Please, I need your help…"

"Me?"

"Yes…" he frantically nodded his head, "I need help from someone experienced in the supernatural."

"Sorry pal," Drakul cut him off, "but this is official church business that doesn't involve civilians like yourself. This young lady is my target, marked by God. I have been tasked with the mission to kill the Devil, and kill the Devil I shall."

"No, you don't understand," the young man stepped closer, now more anxious than ever. "My name is Marcus Waldo Diaz – and I don't know who I am. I don't know where I am."

5 hours later…

"Do you think it was wise to leave him behind?" Juri said as the two of them sped into the distance on their horses.

"We've gone over this, there's nothing supernatural about amnesia," said Drakul. "I see the oasis, let's make camp there."

"Wait a minute…" Juri stopped her horse. "Something's wrong. Weren't we just talking to the young man a few seconds ago?"

Drakul stared at the girl, then rubbed the side of his temple, consumed by confusion. Shaking his head vigorously did not seem to do anything, either.

But most disturbing of all…

Was the green glowing number shuffling on Juri's right hand, stopping right at the number 40, lingering on the skin of her palm.