The year is 1916 and to some, the war has just begun
Castlevania: Secrets of Origin
Prologue
The foggy, silent fields of Ypres were plastered with dead men. Men who were once enemies, but neither were evil. Now they lay side by side in eternity.
Black smoke billowed out of trenches where the artillery had made its mark and ripped great scars in the line. Blood mingled with the filthy rat infested water in the trenches; red bodies floated motionless face down.
A blood curdling scream echoed from a steaming pit of grey mud in the centre of the battlefield. A soldier, covered in blood and muck, spat out cries for his fallen comrades. His carved up legs were about five metres away from him and his fingers had been ripped off by enemy bullets in the heat of battle. He wept and whispered a prayer in German, knowing of his fate. He knew that no-one would find him here because all his friends were dead. He cursed their luck but at the same time wished dearly to see his family again.
A slopping of boots on mud sounded behind him, growing ever closer; this made him smile. Salvation calmed his mind.
"Salvation," said the man who stood behind the soldier, "Salvation is a lie. Salvation is what people in this world pray for and never receive. You can pray all you like but nobody will hear you. God is dead."
A great arm grabbed the soldier by the neck and held him aloft, his stumps flailing, "Consider yourself saved," growled the voice. The limp and pale body splashed in the mud and the boots slopped into the smoke, a black cape whipped in the breeze.
"You bastard," cried a figure in the mist. He coughed and ran over to the fallen soldier. He examined the two holes in his neck which did not bleed. He had no blood now. "You fucking bastard," the man whispered. He wore a black trench-coat and had long silver hair that trickled down the side of his head and arm. A golden cross dangled from his neck, touching his knee as he knelt.
Suddenly the dead soldier lunged at the man with claw-like fingers. His eyes were now pure white and his teeth were like butcher knives. The man pulled back and drew a silver dagger from his boot and sunk it into the creature's back. The dead soldier fell into the mud face-first.
"Luthian," said a man in a wide brimmed hat who appeared from the smoke. He held a sword in his hand and also had a cross around his neck, "Castlevania is up ahead, we need to hurry."
Luthian stood and faced the sword wielder. "Dracula will pay Thaddius, mark my words, I vow that he will be killed once and for all."
"I only wish it were so simple my lad. Dracula is immortal. We can't kill him, only put him to rest for a while," said Thaddius sympathetically. He sheathed his sword and stared down at the body. "This land is not safe."
"The world will never be a safe place. This soldier learnt that lesson the way no-one should ever learn it," Luthian said smoothing his fingers over his cross.