AN: I was so, so inspired to write a fic based on this prompt: "What if Alucard doesn't listen to his mother's dying wish? What if instead he stays inside the castle and lets his father run rampant, refuses to help out Trevor and the gang, and basically lives his life without ever having sided with the humans? Then along comes Richter, and things get really messy really fast."
Some potential warnings for this story! It will include moments of dubious consent, some pretty dark content in regards to personal agency, and of course Alucard being a bit more devious than he is in canon.
"I see my vision burn, I feel my memories fade with time."
Alucard remembers the first Belmont to have ever stepped foot inside his father's castle. At least, the first to do so in his own lifetime. He remembers the entourage that tiptoed their way through the caves, where one of his crypts laid, of how their footsteps echoed off the slick walls ominously, their breaths haggard and heartbeats quick in their chests. He could smell the blood from their wounds, half-dried and some new, but saturated with trepidation nonetheless. He remembers the Belmont's scent vividly, an alluring bloodline instilled with generations of hardy, fearless strength. A scent one would not encounter daily, but perhaps a few times throughout their life.
What had been the name he'd heard in between their hushed whispers… Trevor? Trevor Belmont? That must have been it.
Alucard had laid deathly still in his coffin, daring not to even breath as they passed by him. He'd heard the turmoil signaling their arrival, the shrills screams and roars of the monsters they slew. He didn't even afford himself the slightest twitch of his fingers, his ears straining to listen for how close they came. And yet, his little alcove was never disturbed, and Alucard found himself deflating, almost somberly, at the missed opportunity. Not to join up in arms with them, as the witch and former noble had, oh no.
What else had there been for him to want, except for a legendary encounter with one of those famed Belmonts? Still, he picked over his thoughts carefully, and came to the conclusion that perhaps it was best he not interfere with their little holy crusade. Their numbers, while normally not intimidating in the least, could prove to be fatal if he were to engage any of them. Ordinary humans typically posed little to no threat, but a spellcaster, what was essentially a trained rogue, and a notorious vampire hunter? Alucard was no fool. Son of Dracula aside, his tainted roots would do little to help him when the odds were so stacked against him.
So he laid, and waited until they had passed through the caves, and even then, Alucard had contemplated whether or not he should even rise tonight. And if he did, what would he do? There were only two possible outcomes that could come to fruition by the end of it all, and his choices were limited. Either his father would slay the little group of humans, or, by some unfathomable miracle, they would exit victorious, and the castle would most likely crumble away.
The denizens here wholeheartedly believed that he would assist his father, for surely no son would allow harm to find their parent. Yet, there was no obligation there for him, no familial or emotional ties that called Alucard to his father's side. In all honesty, his dwelling of the castle was more out of a sense of having nowhere else to go, rather than staking a claim on a side. Alucard existed as a ghost in a home that once held so many fond memories, but now housed only pain and hatred. Its glorious hallways were an empty echo of what they had once been, a mirror of the master that seemingly refused to leave his throne in place of seething and remembering the injustice done to his love.
To Alucard's mother, who deserved not an ounce of the pain inflicted on her by the humans that she had sought to help. He understands his father's bitterness, his sudden hatred and disdain for all the lowly mortals of Wallachia. Alucard understands, and he shares it to a certain degree, but not to the genocidal one of his father. He'd coped by locking himself away behind the castle walls, by detaching himself from the people that his mother once commanded him to respect. Her dying wish had been the same, but Alucard could not abide her this, could not allow the words to pass through his mind. There were many things he could forgive of humans, but this sin was not one of them.
So to have these humans roaming around his father's castle, lurking with the intent to kill, roused the slightest bit of interest and apprehension in him. It was only the thought of losing his last parent that stung, but the reality of it would be different. The man that had once been his father was no longer there, replaced by a beast that Alucard can barely recognize these days. He doubts his father even spares a thought towards his way, for he has not tried to speak to Alucard since the tragedy that took his wife. That had been but a few years ago.
Alucard is grateful, though. He's not sure he even has the right words for his father.
It must have been a day, at most, since the humans' passing of his crypt. He'd dozed between wakefulness and slumber, his eyes opening every once in awhile to try and assess the situation. But the only warning he ever received of the fight's outcome was the sudden, terrible shaking of the caves, and the explosion of noise as both walls and rocks began to crumble around him. Alucard's heart had leapt into his throat, and he'd slung open the door to his coffin just in time to narrowly miss being impaled by a stone spear.
He'd rolled away from the impact, watched as it had splintered his coffin in two, and barely managed enough time to scuttle out of the cave before the entire ceiling was collapsing. Alucard knows not of what he may have left in the casket, but he knows that he can feel his mother's sword attached to his belt, and that's all that matters to him. He could lose anything else, but the sword must always remain at his side.
Deep in his heart, he knew of what had transpired. It was as if someone were clipping away the strings attached to the organ, one by one, painfully decimating his ties to his father's castle. He knew why, could see it crumbling before him as he raced to the outside world, dodging both corpses and rubble as he made a mad dash forward. His father, the only blood tie he had left in this world, had somehow been slain, and now his place of dwelling would follow suit.
Alucard would have to relocate somewhere else, seek safety until the castle inevitably rose again. He knows of the curse placed upon his father, but this… this is the first time Alucard has ever experienced his loss, and it wears upon him like an infected wound, driving him weary and pained. It does not lessen the heartbreak any less.
He finds a safe spot in the forest below, by the lake where the castle had been perched over it. The sunrise crests on the horizon, and Alucard, who'd sought shelter in the thick canopy of trees, narrows his gold eyes through the first glittering rays. The castle itself is still crumbling, but now it grows faster, and the great spires that rose near the throne room tumble and sink into the lake, sending massive waves of water floating upwards. Once they have gone, the rest seems to implode in on itself, and the home that had once been eternal to Alucard is no more. Only the dust remains, and Alucard has to force himself to look away. The sun beats down on his cheeks, warming them uncomfortably, but the slight shift in attention has him discovering something else.
Standing upon a rocky outcropping above the forest and towering over the lake is the visage of the humans that had brought upon Castlevania's downfall. Alucard can see clearly, despite the long distance, the way the hunter's arm is curled around the witch, and how their rogue companion stands off to the side, watching them with an unplaceable look instead of gazing upon the castle's destruction. For one chaotic moment, he is filled with the sudden desire to crest upon that outcropping and drive his sword through the both of them; hunter and witch alike. Alucard imagines that he would purposely leave the third one alive, if not just so that the image will forever be ingrained into his mind. He's suddenly and violently filled with such a strong sense of retribution and self loathing, he can barely contain the trembling in his arms. For a moment, he berates himself, hates himself for not going to save his father. Monster or not, these humans had no right doing what they have, and Alucard feels the familiar burn of the disdain he has for them grow tenfold.
Then, like a great exodus, the emotion is leaving him in a long gust, and Alucard feels as though he hasn't slept in a century. His anger dissipates into a deep melancholy, and his eyes turn once more to gaze at the empty spot in the air where the castle had once lingered. The sun shines brighter, stronger than before, a mocking celebration of its fall. Alucard's skin begins to grow uncomfortably hot in the light, and he tugs the high collar of his cape up to block out some of the rays. He's not sure how long he lingers there, in the forest, but once he has allowed himself to glance at the hill again, the humans are gone, and he is all alone.
Castlevania is gone, and so is his home.
He knows not of where he will go, but he wanders for a while afterwards, skirting in whatever available shadows he can find. Alucard has not prepared many crypts outside of the castle, but there is one… however, this particular crypt is also the home of many bitter memories. As things are, though, he doubts he has much choice in the matter. He doesn't fancy the idea of venturing into a city to procure a new coffin, either. Besides, the possibility of raising suspicion and the act of interacting with any human by this point seems ill-advised. Alucard doesn't want to be responsible for a split-second massacre.
So he makes his way to where his mother rests - in spirit only, of course, since it was impossible to find any decent remains of her. The crypt is well hidden in the deepest outskirts of the forest, purposely stowed away so that no one would ever disturb it. Alucard has not visited his mother's resting place for a long while now. When she had first passed, it had been almost a nightly routine. But as time dragged on, his visits seemed to dwindle more and more, until the act of staring at the empty sarcophagus - save for a few of her items, such as her favorite dresses and jewelry - became almost insufferable.
The crypt is much the same, except for the bright roses that seem to have exploded in numbers over the years. His mother's favorite, a tudor rose, the soft shade of pink that she loved to incorporate into everything. Alucard had not planted the flowers himself, but he had a sneaking suspicion of who might have. Still, it's a reflection of her beauty, and it makes the sting in his heart burn all the more once he sees them. The path leading to the entrance is lightly cobbled, with black wrought iron fences enclosing the premise, its frame twisted and bent into swirling and floral patterns. The crypt itself is made of bright, smooth stone, and its walls are lined with torches that have not been lit in years. Upon reaching the inside, he is both pleased and relieved to see that nothing has been tampered with.
His mother's sarcophagus is the centerpiece of the room, but Alucard's eyes drift to an adjacent chamber, where an old and weathered coffin lies unused in the darkness. He has not slept inside this one, not for many years. It had once been stationed in the castle, stowed away in his room, but after his mother's passing, he'd brought it here, as a means to sleep by her spirit if he were ever wont to. Now is as good a time as any, he surmises.
His father is dead for the first time in his life. The castle is little more than rubble at the bottom of a lake. Humans are unworthy of his trust nor his affections, and their cities can burn to the ground for all he cares. There is no other creature in Wallachia that he can trust, except for himself. So, yes… he will sleep. Sleep until wakefulness decides to find him again. Perhaps it will be at the dawn of the new century, or when the castle has risen again. Perhaps he will sleep for hundreds of years, undisturbed in the forest that often scares many away.
The weariness Alucard feels sinks deep into his bones. His chest is naught but a hollow ache now, and his eyes droop with fatigue and grief. He thinks, as he opens the gold rimmed lid to the coffin and sets to settling inside of it, that if he were to sleep and never wake again, that would be ideal. He doesn't crave death, but life suddenly seems too full of misery, too full of distrust and detestation for the beings around him.
He hopes he will never wake again.
Of course, nothing is ever as he wants it to be. He does sleep for a long while, a little over three centuries, but when he awakes, it's with a sudden and terrible wrenching of his heart, a pounding in his head, and the screeching of monsters that has the forest screaming with despair. Alucard's nails scrape against the roof of his coffin, and he draws his first deep breath in centuries. His lungs feel underused, his throat terribly dry and cracked, and his voice is naught but a slight croak when he tries to use it. His limbs feel leaden, dead without use, but he takes a long moment to refamiliarize himself with everything, slowly regaining his motor function with the passing seconds. His barely peeks his fingers under the lid of the coffin, and pushes it up enough to see that it is indeed the dead of night. The crypt is pitch black, save for the few moon rays that spill in from the roof. Alucard lies still for a while, the lid still half raised, taking in all the monstrous sounds around him.
It's a chorus of howls and shrieks, of inhumane garbling and barking. He makes out the sound of something passing through the forest on all fours, of wings beating rapidly against the night sky, of bones rattling and casting hollow sounds throughout the crypt. There's tinkling laughing, too smooth and seductive to be a human, and metal clanking against each other, the tell-tale signs of armor and weapon meeting each other. But above it all, off in the far distance, but not too far away, is the great rumbling of something rising from the earth. Alucard's breathing has stopped, the stagnant air stilling around him as his heart beats wildly, pushing old and stale blood through his veins.
He knows what this feeling is, had felt something similar to it when his father had first been defeated, but now the implication has been subverted. This is not his father's defeat once more, but instead his uprising. The rumbling in the distance is of stones patching themselves together, of grandiose hallways and rooms rising in all their splendor, and the roars that surround him are all the creatures of the night seeking their way back to the home that had once been theirs. Not only theirs, but Alucard's as well. His father is alive again, and Castlevania stands tall once more.
He finally pushes the lid of the coffin up, and as he rises from it, he finds that his hair has grown considerably over the centuries. What had once ended at his mid back was now an almost white curtain that extended down past his thighs, the pale tresses having grown even paler throughout the years. Alucard pays it no mind, however, even as his hair spills past his limbs like spider's silk. All he cares for is the longing in his heart, of the call and beckon of the castle that draws him back. He cares only for the way his throat burns and his body sings for sustenance.
With the forest screeching as loudly as it is, surely it will draw the curious human close, and Alucard will take his sweet time sating his hunger. Perhaps he will take a few, or lure one towards his father's demonic structure. He won't bank on it, however, considering how many other monsters roamed towards the castle as well. Perhaps a succubus would beat him to the chase, but only if he's not quick.
He must make haste, then, if he's to feed properly before addressing his father again. In the meantime, however, he wonders idly about the world, of how it's changed during his slumber, and of whom would find their way to Castlevania this time around.
He knows of the Belmonts, and if history is anything to go by, surely one of them will find themselves wandering by once more. He will not miss his opportunity to strike this time, will not miss his chance to play with them before they bring yet another end to his father, or fall in the final fight. Perhaps he will even kill them himself, extend the long and terrible reign of his father's monsters upon Wallachia. Alucard doesn't care either way.
"Nothing tears the being more than deception; unmasked fear."
The night is terribly cold, and the wind and rain bites at Richter's skin like shards of ice. The cloak he wears does nothing to deter the elements, only serving as a sponge to soak in the cold and have it cling tighter to his skin. The road leading to the village had been strife with danger, namely in the way that a grim reaper himself had thrown scythes at him mercilessly. It'd been a miracle that he hadn't suffered any major wounds in the short battle, nor that his carriage hadn't been wrecked during the encounter.
Still, his arms sport thin cuts, reminders of painfully close calls where one slow reaction could have been a limb or his head. His jacket is soaked and ripped, stained with thin patches of blood where the cuts have bitten through it. He'd barely managed to fight off the incarnation of death without losing control of the carriage, and he'd nearly sank in relief once the monster had given up its attack.
Upon reaching town, he finds it in shambles. The buildings are ablaze, deep plumes of black smoke rising high up into the sky, though the rain keeps the fire from truly consuming everything it touches. The streets are barren, save for the occasional unfortunate corpse here and there, and the monsters of the castle roam freely, shambling about the shards of glass and splintered wood. Richter knows that to stay and fight them all would be foolish, as their numbers would never cease growing until the castle itself was brought down. So he fights through the ones that purposely block his path, and pointedly tries to ignore the instincts that tell him to stay and defend the broken village.
Despite the chaos already running amok, it was only the beginning, that much he knew. The castle still stood before him, housing a hundred horrific creatures inside of it, or perhaps even more than that. Surely there would be something even more abominable waiting for him, not counting the vampire that waited in its tallest tower. The ones that lumber through the village streets were of the lowest rung on the ladder, the fodder that clung to the outside of the castle wherever it roamed.
Richter had read of each and every one of his ancestor's expeditions into the castle. He'd tried to soak up all the knowledge he could in regards to the structure that housed centuries of pain and suffering. He knew that the inside was constantly changing, and that no map or memory would serve him well inside of it. He knew of monsters that would rather corrupt and enslave any who came inside, rather than try and tear them to pieces. A fate worse than death, many agreed, as the unlucky few survivors who ever emerged from it were left with deep, unforgiving psychological wounds.
He knew that women were more often than not the unfortunate victims of these crimes. The fact that they'd taken Annette was a testament to this, and he dreaded to think of what could be happening to her right now. His mind raced with a thousand, awful things, of torture and sinuous acts that set his stomach turning with nausea. He could not linger on those thoughts, however. He couldn't afford to be weak in the face of adversity, not when Annette's life hung in the balance. Who was to say that there weren't other innocents inside, either? Richter had to stay focused, had to keep his mind clear of worries if he were to succeed in saving anyone.
Trevor had not let emotional weakness stop him. Simon had capitalized on it, using his anger and fear as a righteous tool of justice. His grandfather, Juste, had managed as well, even as two of the closest people in his life threaded the line of life and death. He would not bring disgrace to his family name, would not be the weak link of the Belmonts.
The castle rises high in the sky, towering over the village that it leeches life from. It seems almost pitifully easy to walk right into it. Richter knows that this is most likely a trap, one that he is willingly setting off, but he cannot let fear dictate his actions now. Though the thunderstorm still rages, he shoves his cloak off and tosses it aside, letting the rain-heavy item pool in the mud by his feet. His clothes are quickly becoming soaked, his wounds stinging in the cold, and his hair is whipped wild by the winds that rage around him. Behind him, he can hear the sizzling of the fires fighting against the storm, and ultimately losing.
"Annette…" He takes a moment, closes his eyes, says a silent prayer to himself. God give me strength… His hand settles over the whip attached to his belt, the legendary Vampire Killer that had soaked in generations of monstrous blood. He can feel the faint pulse under his hand, a sentient sort of singing that knows… knows of the savagery that awaits him.
Richter waits no more, and crosses past the walls that house the most awful horrors of the world.
