There is no supernatural horror so terrible as the things we human beings do to one another.
In 1894, six friends chased a monster across Europe. That particular supernatural horror was a terrible thing. They confronted and killed it, and none of them went home whole. One of them did not go home at all. But the rest limped back to England, drew the pieces of their lives back together, and healed.
Twenty years later, the mouth of Hell opened in Flanders fields, and its fires razed a generation. It could not be confronted. It could not be killed. It could only be fed, and we let the beast gorge. Few came limping home. Fewer healed.
Given the choice between Count Dracula and mustard gas, I would always choose the former. Always.
The Van Helsing Legacy
