PARTNERS
A side story set during Dawn of Sorrow, in the Castlevania universe, as authored by khaki knight.
Disclaimer: Castlevania: Dawn of Sorrow and characters, related ideas, etc. are the legal property of Konami. Characters, etc. are only borrowed for what I hope will be entertainment purposes. Unless you count it as free advertising for the series, this work is strictly nonprofit – scout's honor! This disclaimer applies to the entire work. Insert more legal jargon here if it will keep me from facing a lawsuit. What is a man? A miserable little pile of secrets! But enough talk – have at you!
CV--CV--CV
Soma? Growing old is a horrible thing.
As I struggle across a snowy bridge, those words come back to haunt me. Soma didn't really appear to understand what I had tried to tell him on the cusp of that damnable darkness; oh, sure, he tried to humor an old man like me, but he just isn't really capable of understanding at his age.
As my boot slips and I start to fall from the rope bridge—both my hands locked in a death grip on the rope rail—I reflect that, someday, he'll see what I mean.
Back to the crisis at hand, though; my left leg is officially dangling over an icy crevasse in an otherwise deserted village high in the European mountains. What a way for the last of the Belmonts to die—no last glorious battle with Dracula, instead slipped off an icy bridge to his death.
After a moment, with a grunt and my arms screaming the entire way, I managed to drag the rest of me back onto the bridge. It shakes ominously in the wind, creaking like a... well, actually, creaking like an old man. I smirk as I struggle back to my feet. This bridge and I? I think we've come to terms.
Even so, I'm relieved the second my boots hit solid land again.
As I crunch along a snow and gravel strewn path, I shake my head. Of course I'm not the last Belmont, I chide myself. It just feels that way sometimes. But fate (God?) has a funny way of keeping a few of us around, just in case. Hell, the family disappeared for a few decades and things still worked out, didn't they?
I hunch my shoulders as I walk along.
But if they're out there, I don't know where they are—and I can't tell if that's a symptom of my decades long amnesia or if I am the last. Either way, all know for sure is that all I've got left is the whip... I glance down at the coiled bundle on my right hip. Its presence is familiar and comforting, even in the chill air. All that time as J, I felt as if a part of me was missing. I realize now that—for good or ill—it was the Vampire Killer whose absence I was feeling.
(But who would carry the Vampire Killer after me? The question lingers for too long in the back of my mind.)
My thoughts are getting too far a field, I decide with a snort.
My solitary hike continues. Eventually I come to a stop on a rise, just under a busted lamppost. Off to my right an abandoned car sags silently under the snow. I've reached the outskirts of the village proper, and it's just as deserted as the rest of the area. I let out a long sigh, before plunging on down the slope.
Amazing what foul monsters summoned from the deepest reaches of the underworld can do to chase off the locals.
Or, at least, I'm hoping that's what happened. I'd hate to think that Fortner was the kind of mad cultist who would willingly sacrifice her own followers. Then again, if you're gullible enough to follow a sorceress into an isolated mountain commune—an isolated mountain commune sitting in the shadow of a massive gothic castle—maybe you deserve what you get.
Listen to me. I'm getting heartless in my old age.
Not like Soma. Soma probably would have volunteered to come gallivanting here to save the cultists, if someone had asked him. (Well, if Hakuba girlhad asked him, at any rate.) His heart hasn't completely iced over yet—unlike some people I could name.
Just another thing he'll learn, in time.
As I finally step off the slope, into a broad double wide lane cut through another swath of forest, the hairs on the back of my neck are suddenly standing on end. My eyes narrow; I'm being stalked...
Remaining still, I make a slow show of digging through the small pack belted at my hip, even as I discreetly scan the area. It looks like a pack of wargs. Normally the giant wolves wouldn't be much of a problem, but then again...
But then again I normally wouldn't be about to fall ... I'm exaggerating a bit—but cracking the cult's barrier did take a lot out of me. The massive burst of mystic energy has left all my muscles feeling oddly rubbery, and the hike from the castle back to the village—nearly falling from a bridge notwithstanding—has left me more winded than I should be.
Yes, growing old is a terrible thing, especially for a Belmont.
As I casually uncoil the Vampire Killer, I feel it almost pulse in my hand. A bit of encouragement for the old man? She shouldn't have, I think, a tiny smile stealing onto my face. Yeah, she and I are a pair of old warhorses now. Way past our prime. Probably be put out to pasture if it weren't for nutjobs like the With Lighters running around.
Focus now, Julius, I chide myself. They'll be coming for you.
The wargs must sense that I'm on to them, as they drop all pretense of silent stalking and instead approach from out of the woodwork. They warily pace around me, having me easily encircled. Looks like they expect me to be easy prey... And with numbers favoring them four to one, they might have a point.
The lead warg suddenly bares his fangs and snarls. That's it—the attack's on.
"Hah!" I shout, grabbing a vial of holy water from my pouch, and flinging it into the face of the wolf. It snarls, pawing and trying to back away from holy flames bursting across its snout.
Even as the vial was shattering, I was twisted to my side, the whip lashing out to the wolf on my right. The force of the blow shatters the wolf's right foreleg; it cried out before limping back, whimpering all the while.
But I still wasn't done. My free hand flies down to the razor boomerang at my hip, and throw it blindly behind me as I dash through the opening between the two wounded wolves.
Not bad, I'm forced to admit, as I skid to a halt and turn to survey my work. Yes, my boomerang had missed the two uninjured wolves entirely, and was at the moment buried into the truck of a tree, and those two same wolves were hot on my heels... But I was still breathing, and that was something of a miracle in itself.
With a grunt, I lash the Vampire Killer out again. Almost as if reading my mind, the tip wraps around the forward leg of the warg on the left. With another grunt, I yank the whip back savagely. The warg crashes to the ground, tumbling to a stop at my feet. My eyes narrow, and I smash the heel of my boot down into the warg's skull.
All this seems to have cowed the other warg, and he starts to back off from the carcass of his pack mate... until the alpha male—the fur about his muzzle singed but otherwise in good shape—makes his presence known again. He growls, and his eyes dart between me and the dead body of warg at my feet.
A snarl to the hesitating warg stiffens that one's resolve. Unfortunately for the alpha male, the warg whose leg I had broken earlier had already fled. Two on one, I think. Now we're getting somewhere approximating fair.
Both wargs tense when I start to run at them, and I like to imagine that the look they exchanged as I did was one of confusion and fear. They finally pounce, but not before I drop into a slide. As the wolves go sailing over my head, I skid to a stop, leaping back up to my feet and lunging for my boomerang lodged in a tree.
My hand clasps around the boomerang's haft just as the wargs behind me realize they've been duped and turn back to face me. Judging by their expressions, they're not particularly thrilled with me.
No time for hesitation. I yank the cross from the tree, hurling it at the warg on the right. This time my aim is true, and the boomerang cleaves into the warg's left shoulder. It slumps to the ground, not quite dead, its head turned awkwardly as it tries to snap and pull at the cross lodged in its side with its jaws. Each of its attempts grow weaker and weaker.
The alpha male, however, doesn't falter for a second, continuing its charge. I strike out with the Vampire Killer. The tip slams down, just missing as the alpha male warg skids to a halt. Furious now, the warg drops his jaw open, and then next thing I know, I'm dodging a gout of flame. Despite my best efforts, my left sleeve catches on fire.
Dammit.
I waste precious seconds trying to put out the flames, as the warg advances. He pounces, and the best I can manage is an awkward half-pirouette, half fall to my right. We narrowly miss one another, and I land with a muffled thud on the snowy ground. From my prone position on the ground I strike out with the Vampire Killer again. Although the blow is glancing, the whip's powerful enchantments still manage to sear through the warg's rear leg.
The warg is limping as he comes about to face me, ready to pounce again. But by now I've regained my feet, and I stand ready and waiting. If the warg were thinking clearer, it may have backed off and reassessed his plan of attack. But the fury at being wounded—the fury at losing his entire pack to what he thought was going to be easy prey—makes it reckless and he pounces.
This time not even his flame breath is enough to slow me. All it does is ensure that his corpse is still smoldering as it slides to a stop behind me. After a moment, I coil the Vampire Killer back up, and secure it back at my hip. It's over. For now at least.
I crouch down near one of the carcasses to retrieve my boomerang. Not bad, Julius, I think, as I survey my work. I stand, scanning the rest of the forest, the boomerang in hand. Not bad at all.
That triumphal feeling only lasts for approximately five more seconds, right until another warg springs from the woods behind me and crashes into my back. Its fangs easily tear through my coat and into my right shoulder.
Damn... There were five wargs. That was stupid, Julius. You're getting sloppy, old man.
The warg and I tumble down a slope. Bushes and rocks proverbially clawed at my face and arms on the way down, even as the warg actually clawed at me, digging its teeth in further into my shoulder. I've barely still got a grip on the boomerang, while my free hand scratches desperately at the warg's muzzle.
As we slide to a stop at the base of the slope, the warg flips me by the shoulder onto my back. Apparently it wants the satisfaction of seeing my face as it delivers the killing blow. This is yet another difference—besides the obvious size and fire breath, of course—between a warg and a normal wolf, as a wolf would simply go for the practical, if underhanded, kill from behind. No, that's hellspawn for you: have to see the fear in your prey's eyes before you kill it.
But there's no fear in my eyes, only determination: the warg's vanity is also the only opportunity I've got to save myself. In the seconds before it can go for my neck, I grab up the razor cross from my (now nearly useless) right hand, and stab it home in the warg's right eye. The warg immediately starts to howl, but I pull free the cross and stab down again, and again, and again, until the damn thing finally just dies.
I drop back against the ground again, the now dead weight of the warg pinning my legs and the bloody cross dangling from the left hand. I can feel cold leeching into me; judging from the wound, I'm losing a lot of blood. I awkwardly crane my head around. Behind me, I can just make out the village proper.
I really should try and shove that warg off of me... but... I'm starting to feel incredibly sleepy.
What a way for the last of the Belmonts to die—no last glorious battle with Dracula, instead wounded by a pack of wargs and bled to death...
Bled to death. The irony of a vampire hunter bleeding to deathis hard to escape, even as my mind descends into a white haze...
CV--CV--CV
Not dead yet, I think, as my eyes pop open and I stare up at a plain wooden ceiling.
"No. Not yet, at any rate," someone suddenly says, and I realize that I must have spoken aloud. Despite the groaning in all my muscles, I sit up, only to see Yoko staring at me from a small writing desk. She has my jacket in one hand, and a sewing needle in the other.
Ah, Yoko's 'shop.' I guess I must have been closer than I thought I was.
"Although at the rate you're going, I have to wonder sometimes," she adds. The lamp on the table makes it hard for me to read her expression.
A twinge of pain shoots through my shoulder and chest. I look down to find my shirt missing, and most of my wounds carefully bound in bandages. I shoot Yoko a questioning look. "You're welcome, by the way," she continues.
"Thank you," I offer automatically, if a bit too late.
This at least elicits a self-satisfied smirk from Yoko, before her mouth quirks downward into a frown. "Apparently patching you and your clothes up is all I'm good for," she adds icily, even as goes back to work on my jacket.
Apparently she's still mad.
(That's what I get for trying to keep her safe—cold shoulders and sharp words.)
I don't immediately respond, with the vague hope that if I just don't say anything, she'll consider it a lesson learned and drop the issue. For once it works, and with annoyed toss of her hair she moves on. "What I don't understand is why you apparently had so much trouble with a pack of wargs," she continues, before biting off the thread and beginning a new stitch. "I'm pretty sure Soma took down three of those things with a pocket knife."
Ah, so she hasn't heard yet. Well, of course she hasn't. The only other people who have are probably still slogging through whatever was at the bottom of that accursed cultist mine.
"I'm sure he did," I answer conversationally, "but..." I explain about the Celia's dark barrier. As I relate the tale, the work on my jacket slowly slows to a stop. Her expression seems regretful: she probably wouldn't have made that crack if she had known I had blown nearly all my mystical energy immediately before being beset by those wargs.
"Do... do you think it will come back?" Yoko asks after a minute.
"That's... a good question," I answer quietly. When I don't elaborate any further, she nods quietly, still looking stricken.
The only other time I had ever felt anything like this was last year: the Vampire Killer weakened after Soma's final battle in Dracula's castle. But the whip recovered, eventually.
(Not completely however. But I always imagined the reason for that being that with the death of Dracula—the King of Vampires, Scourge of Man, and Dark Lord Incarnate—evil in the world just never seemed quite as... serious, and the Vampire Killer just felt unmotivated, more or less. But enough of the whip's holy power still remained to make any child of the night who ran across it regret it immediately.)
But the Vampire Killer was ageless, a holy artifact the Belmonts guarded with their lives. I, on the other hand, was just one of those Belmonts, old and worn out.
I feel Yoko's eyes on me again, and I am suddenly very self-conscious of the fact that I'm not wearing a shirt.
"Ergh," I grunt, whipping off the bed covers and standing. My shirt and vest—both already mended—sit on a chair just to my right. I grab them up, draping the shirt hastily over my shoulders. "I need to be on my way," I declare, grabbing the Vampire Killer from the same chair.
"Julius!" Yoko chides in concern, dropping my jacket to the desk and standing in an instant. She looks furious, and yet at the same time, adorable—she has this way of puffing out her cheeks when she's really angry and—
Julius, I chide myself.
"Sit back down this instant," Yoko continues. "You're in absolutely no condition to go anywhere!"
"Soma and Arikado might need help," I counter gruffly. "We have no idea what's waiting for them at the bottom of that mine."
Yoko's expression turns flinty. "If they need us, they'll come and get us. Besides, do you think you can even get there in your condition?" she presses.
This touches a sore nerve. "I have to try," I growl, taking a few wobbling steps.
"Julius," she starts darkly, storming over to me, "I am not letting you go out there in your state. You can barely stand!" She folds her arms defiantly, leaning in towards my face. "You. Need. To. Rest," she proclaims.
(This—this entire fiasco with the cult—is the first time since my first few days with the church that Yoko and I had both been assigned to the same mission. There was a reason I resisted having a partner.)
My eyes narrow. It's obvious she's not backing down. "Three hours," I finally offer.
Bargaining—I hate to have to sink to that level, but it's becoming apparent that's the only way I'm going to make any progress with her.
Her expression turns considering. "Four hours," she counters.
My lips flatten to a grim line. "Three and a half."
The two of us glare at one another for a long moment; finally, she sniffs. "Fine," she relents, "three and a half hours."
"Fine," I agree.
"Fine," she repeats.
And then there's an awkward pause; our faces are only inches apart. For a half second, her eyes flick back down to my chest, and I remember I never actually buttoned my shirt. Incredibly, I feel my cheeks warming.
(How long has it been since I've felt embarrassed like this...?)
I turn away sharply, my fingers quickly flying to my shirt's buttons. "Well, uh, I guess I should get to sleep, then."
Then I notice a blush on her face; she looks off to one side. "Uh, right, yes. I'll..." for a second she looks lost, before her eyes alight back on her desk and my half repaired jacket. She picks it up, killing the lamp as she does. "I'll... I'll be out in the shop..." she says. "If you need anything," she hastily adds.
She quickly hurries to the door separating the bedroom from the shop proper. "G-good night," she says a little too quickly, before shutting the door behind her.
Once she's gone, I slump back down to the bed, my gaze settling on the floor. "Well... that hasn't gone away..."
(There was a reason I resisted having her as my partner.)
CV--CV--CV
The red headed woman stares at me sadly. I feel as if I know her, even if I've never seen her before. "You're interested in her," she says. It's not a question.
Who—Yoko? Attracted to her? At my age? Preposterous. Out of the question. Ridiculous.
The strange woman shifts, looking away from me even as she adjusts the wool shawl around her shoulders. She looks very sad. "You're going to have to let go of the past at some point."
My past... I can't even remember most of my past. How could it be chaining me down?
At this the woman meets my gaze directly, and smiles sadly. "That's exactly what I mean." She looks up suddenly, as if she had just heard something. "You should wake up now."
What?
"Julius, wake up. Something's wrong."
I realize that someone is shaking my shoulder—quite energetically. Both my eyes snap open, and I see Yoko staring down at me. She looks anxious.
I sit up, blearily blinking away the last residues of sleep. "How long was I out?" I ask immediately.
"An hour. Maybe an hour and a half," she answers quickly. When I fix her with an odd look, she tosses her hair in an irritated manner. "And no, I didn't change my mind, but something's... wrong."
I frown. "Perhaps you had better show me, then."
Yoko wordlessly leads me from the bedroom, through the shop's front room, and out into the street. She nods towards the castle. "There."
My expression hardens. There seems to be a massive concentration of energy coming from the castle above us. I can even see a faint distortion in the air around the castle—it's strongest from the tower on the far side. "Then they've made it all the way down..." I say quietly.
"Is it those cultists?" she asks.
I nod. "Apparently With Light isn't going down without a fight." Indeed, even so far out in the village, the two of us could still feel the waves of foul energy buffeting us.
She leans over to me, a wicked grin on her face. "Stillwant to go gallivanting down into that?"
Her tone is light—she means it as a joke. Even so... Even so, I'm forced to admit I probably wouldn't last more than a few minutes down in that hellhole. The knowledge feels heavy on me. "Just chalk it up to an old man's folly," I finally offer, sounding defeated.
At this offhand comment, her expression turns inscrutable, and she turns to walk back inside. After another long, lingering look at the castle, I turn to follow her back in.
I only get a few steps in before Yoko thrusts a bundle at me. "Here," she says.
I frown and unroll the bundle, only to recognize it as my trusty overcoat. I inspect the shoulder—it looks as if Yoko replaced the entire leather panel across the back... and if I wasn't mistaken, had used some of her magic to make the subsequent new stitching and patches blend in completely. Really, it looked better than new. I nod to her. "Thanks."
I slip the jacket back on. It even fits the same. Really, she's a hell of a girl.
(I frown. Girl. Woman. ...Whatever.)
There's a padded chair near the shop's front window, and Yoko throws herself into it. After a moment, her gaze wanders back over to me. "Do you think they can pull it off?" she asks. "It feels..." she frowns, turning her gaze back out the window. "It feels pretty bad down there."
I follow her gaze back up to the castle. She's right—it almost feels like there's two Somas, only one feels... wrong. Corrupted somehow, warped. And growing in power. "I'm sure they'll be fine."
When I don't elaborate any further, she twists back around and fixes me with a strange look. "It really does bother you that you couldn't go with them." Again, not a question.
"I'm a Belmont," I answer automatically.
My answer only seems to agitate her, and she shifts uncomfortably. "You know, you don't have to bear the grief alone all the time just because you're a Belmont," she says quietly. "People do support each other from time to time," she... I guess 'lectures' is the best word.
The speech sounds familiar; it echoes what she told me when she recruited me for the church.
(It was snowing in Tokyo that day. If I hadn't run into her, I'd probably be quite comfortable in retirement.
...That's a lie. I would have driven myself mad. I could never stand idle hands.)
When I don't respond, she looks up; her expression is all scrunched up. "Julius, I just wish you'd—"
That's when I notice the car flying through the air towards the front of the shop. "Get down!" I shout, diving towards her.
"What are you—" she begins, trying to turn back to the window even as I tackle her to the ground. The car slams through the window, rolling side over side until it slams against the back wall of the shop.
Dusting debris from my jacket, I quickly pop back up on one knee, boomerang instantly in hand. Just beyond the new gaping hole in the front of the shop I spot a dark haired, vaguely human shaped creature shuffling away. The beast spares only a single glance back over the shoulder, snarling, before shambling on down the village's lane.
Next to me, Yoko rolls back onto her knees, a precautionary fireball already flickering above her fingertips. "What the hell was that?" she asks breathlessly.
"Yeti, I think," I answer, still peering into the darkness. "A bit more aggressive than normal it seems."
Yoko gives me a confused look, before following my gaze back up to the castle. "Do you think Soma's showdown with the cult is...?"
In the darkness beyond the shop, I can already see countless shapes shifting and moving—all very agitated. "The natives are getting a little restless." If I had been thinking, I would have considered the possibility the instant the distortion appeared around the castle.
I climb back to my feet. The negative waves coming from the castle are getting stronger. Whatever Soma and Arikado are battling down there... The fight seemed to be rising to a crescendo.
In other words, the castle and its local environs—including the village—are quickly becoming a bad place to be. "We should consider leaving before anything else—" I begin, only to break off.
The floor boards beneath us creak ominously. Yoko and I exchange glances, before we both glance down. The creak gives way to the sound of cracking and splintering wood. And then the floor falls away.
END PART I