The horde of souls met the slayer's probe, their wails directed not at her, but at a cord of darkness that wrapped about Alucard like steel cable, suffocating his will. They struggled with the spell, straining to hold it back from the core of the vampire's being. Further in, a series of badly marred brands shimmered with lingering heat: the Hellsing seals, containing what they could of Alucard's most fearsome abilities. His mind was a hellscape filled with the damned. Not entirely lost, no, but painfully close to shattering from the forces that tore at him.
"Arthur is dead," Alucard informed her, eyes bleak with a strange form of grief. "He lost his conviction, fell prey to fear. And he was only mortal." The vampire sighed, though he had no need for breath. "As are you, Buffy Summers. What good will you do by fighting me here? Now that the trap is sprung, I cannot refrain from surrendering you to the one who holds my chains unless you are dead. That is not something I wish to see."