Walter dreamed. He knew he was dreaming. He knew his body was dying. Again. But the dream had him as firmly as reality.

He was small again. A boy. A tired, ragged, hungry boy who had been brought to this grand house and fed and left somewhat to his own devices.

The black and white tile seemed to spread out to the end of the universe - endless corridors lined with closed doors all leading inexorably to broad stone stairs leading down.

"Don't go into the basement," Arthur's words echoed in the boy's ears.

And who was he to refuse a challenge like that?

Down he went, shabby shoes tap-shuffling in the echoing corridor until he reached the stairs and took them down, down, down, endlessly down into halls that were ancient stonework that screamed dungeon! and set a little boy's imagination scrambling with thoughts of monsters like the one that had brought him here.

And still he forged onward, curious and drawn toward a door at the end of yet another endless hall in this maze of stone and darkness.

He strained at the door, marveling at how heavy it was, how thick the wood, how strong its hinges, and finally managed to get it open enough to let one scrawny boy squeeze through.

The room spread out forever, a universe unto itself, but at the far edge of his vision, he could see a chair that towered toward a ceiling so high, it may as well have been sky.

Tap-shuffle. Tap-shuffle.

Curiosity drew him on, farther and farther away from the light and the memory of the light and still the chair grew no closer and the darkness loomed around him until he wondered how it was that he could see anything at all.

Finally, after ages passed and empires rose and fell while he trekked across that endless stone floor, he reached the chair.

And found it empty.

A little boy with no true understanding of fear, he climbed into the empty seat and around him in the darkness, red eyes opened.

In Alucard's arms in London, Walter opened his eyes, and for a final moment they flashed red before settling into a calm grey as he bled his last onto the ground.