[ for once, alucard registers the cold, because it's that bad. it sinks below his skin when anderson grips him, deeper than when he was in a fridge for three whole days, deeper than the death in him--

--he ignores the shouts of the dead, pulling anderson close against him arms around him, and he knows he can't warm him up like this. he's just not capable. he can leach some of the cold out of him, but it will just make him, personally, colder, which won't bother him but won't help anderson. ]

Come on.

[ his voice is hoarse as he stands, trying to pull anderson to his feet. he'll hold him up as much as necessary, carry him if he has to, and he doesn't relinquish his grip on him. ]

We need to get you moving. Get you close to the--the fires, the magma, something. This place is going to kill even you.

[ and, well, he's not about to let that happen. that's his job, if it happens. he listens intently to anderson's slow heartbeat, and he starts moving again, one extra arm darting out to snag the discarded device on the ground.

so: whether he can walk or alucard has to drag him or carry him, it's time to get out of this icy hell. ]