by NightsDawne
For those of you who haven't played this top Hall of Famer for PS2 RPGs, Shadowhearts is set in semi-historical Earth in 1913, a gothic horror fantasy that takes place on two continents. It's the best PS2 RPG yet, so join the cult ranks who have fallen in love with this fantastic story and the wonderful cast of characters created by former Squaresoft writers. This story takes place after the game, a couple of years into World War I, when two of the heroes of the prewar era start off on a journey to face a new and yet old threat, one that will require the aid of their former companions if freedom is to be salvaged.
The following characters belong to Sacnoth/Midway: Margarete, Keith, Halley, Yuri, Alice, Zhuzhen, Meiyuan, Roger Bacon, Albert Simon. Vlad IV is based on a historical figure and the fictional account by Bram Stoker, however, as is usually done with him, I add in my own take on the legend. Other characters are historical figures and original characters, placed in semi-historical events in actual places in keeping with the theme of Shadowhearts.
Chapter 1: Not Quiet on the Eastern Front
Tirgoviste, Transylvania, 1916
The French spy crawled across the war scarred field, trenches running like deep wounds in the earth that absorbed the blood of the dead and dying. The enemy were only a hundred yards away, but invisible in the clinging Hungarian mist. She dropped down into a trench and ran along in a crouch. Soldiers noted her passing with starts and frightened glances before going back to their tense wait for the enemy to expose themselves. Perhaps in less perilous times the sight of a beautiful woman on a battlefield would have caused more distraction, but the pure carnage of the assault had left the men with little immediate interest in anything beyond survival.
She ducked into a small shelter that stood as the only form of command post on this far front line. Two weary Romanian officers drank a bitter potion of coffee and vodka, the strain of battle showing in lines that made them appear to be ghosts of old men rather than middle-aged soldiers. She snapped off a curt salute, sliding her helmet off. "Major Batishinov and Captain Livani?"
Major Batishinov, his Russian ancestry clear in sharp features and narrow eyes above a hawk nose, nodded. "You are the special agent sent by the Allies?" he asked in a gruff voice mangled in thickly accented English.
She nodded, giving them her code name. "Malkovich, from Paris HQ." In spite of being French, her accent in English was perfected to the point where anyone would think she had been born in New York rather than Provence.
"I see. I was expecting a man." Other than this the major failed to show any surprise. It was quite possible that he had worn out the ability to do so in the harsh months of battle. "Come this way, I will show you what it is that you are here for."
He turned and spoke to his fellow officer in Romanian, receiving a short reply that Margarete took to be understanding, and ducked through the small entry into the next room. Margarete tucked her helmet under her arm, flashed a charming smile to the captain, and followed. A flickering oil lamp showed a dozen bodies laid under ragged coats, the smell of death pungent in the air. Margarete put her hand to her face and crouched down next to one of the lifeless forms, pulling back the coat over it. The frequency with which she had come face to face with death recently did nothing to stop the sense of nausea that crept over her as she looked down at the dead man, his face bloated by the gases of putrefaction, but two puncture wounds clearly visible along his jugular vein.
"Were the bodies cleaned in any way?"
The major raised a brow. "We do not have water enough to bathe ourselves, with what would we clean the dead? They do not any longer need to impress."
"Then where's the blood?" Margarete lifted the coat further, looking for any sign of other injury. "If he was shot in the neck, he should have bled somewhat, shouldn't he? There's not even any pooling around the wound under the skin, no bruising. No blood anywhere."
Batishinov lit a cigarette. "Do you think that for being shot in the neck we would ask for a special agent? Those are not bullet wounds."
"Too small for a bayonet." Margarete stood, dropping the coat back over the dead man. "Well, what then, Major?"
Batishinov let out a heavy breath and looked away. "We are in Transylvania, Tirgoviste. It is here that Vlad IV resided."
"Oh, yes, well, that explains it all." Margarete put a hand to her hip. "Who was Vlad IV?"
"Vlad IV was also known as Vlad the Impaler. Vlad the Son of the Devil. In the local language, Vlad Dracula."
"Count Dracula?" Margarete pursed her lips. "You're telling me these men were killed by a vampire?"
Batishinov looked up sharply. "I expected you would not believe. However, my men do believe. It is all I can do to keep them from deserting."
"Actually, I do believe you." Margarete looked around at the other bodies. "I guess you can bury them now, poor souls." She ran a hand over her silken blond hair, pulled back into a ponytail, and replaced her helmet, then turned to head back out. "Tell your men to focus on the battle and leave the vampire to me."
Blue Castle, Transylvania
"Keith. Keith, wake up. God, if I have to I'll shoot you. Not in the face, of course, you're too pretty for that."
Keith felt someone shaking him, pinching his arm, and finally tickling him under the chin. The immortal sleep made it rather difficult for him to come to consciousness, but he could hear and feel quite well. It was a quite familiar voice, speaking French with a lovely Parisian accent. Fingernails tapped on the marble edge of his coffin in frustration.
"Damn, shooting you isn't going to do any good either, is it. I lit all the torches, isn't that supposed to wake you up? Or was it something else? Why do you have to be such a deep sleeper?!" Keith felt a light slap on his cheeks, but he still struggled against the coma-like grip of sleep. He pondered what could bring Margarete to his side once more. Was it another god of destruction come to smite the world? Couldn't be. They had killed the powerful summoner Albert Simon and destroyed the beacon that drew the alien attackers. A wedding invitation perhaps? Ah, yes, that could be it. Yuri and Alice had finally decided to marry. What a sweet thing to wake for. His lips drew into the slightest bit of a smile.
"What are you grinning about?! You're doing this on purpose!" He heard Margarete's exasperated sigh and could easily envision her pretty face pinched into a pout. He sincerely hoped she wouldn't shoot him. It wasn't how he wanted to wake up, to be perfectly honest. He felt the warmth of her face as it bent over his, then soft lips against his own. She was kissing him? Was she trying to take advantage of his immobility or did she think he was sleeping beauty? If she would just be patient he would manage the task of waking up on his own, but then again, patience was not a virtue Margarete was known for. He felt movement creeping back into his limbs and slowly raised his arm, wrapping it around her, then awoke fully, pulling her off her feet as he swiftly rolled over, yanking the startled spy into the coffin with him.
Keith opened pale green eyes and looked into the face of the woman sprawled halfway on top of him. "I would have woken up as soon as you gave me a moment or two anyhow, but that was certainly.. interesting."
Margarete furrowed her brow. "Well, I'm not the kind who can bore anyone, even you. And as interesting as it may be to explore the activities you could come up with in this coffin, it's really not made for two people. Mind letting me up? We've got a mission."
Keith released his hold on her, letting her sit up and climb back out of the coffin, noting her appearance. She didn't look much older than when he had last seen her, still young and beautiful, her firm body managing even to make a soldier's uniform look absolutely enticing. Blond hair like silken flax was pulled into a ponytail to keep it from falling into cornflower blue eyes. He sat up, leaning against the edge of the coffin. "I'm retired, remember? Why are you dressed like that? And how long have I been asleep?"
"Yes, but I need your help, because it's easier to move in around here, and almost two years." Margarete tapped his nose with her finger. "You don't know what you've missed. Shortly after you fell asleep Ferdinand was assassinated."
Keith raised a brow. "The Archduke? Whatever for?"
Margarete rolled her eyes. "You really didn't pay attention to the local politics the last time you woke up, did you. The monarchy has all but collapsed. The Hungarians and the Austrians are rabid and working with Germany on an attempt to take over Europe, you dolt. The Magyars really put it to the Romanians for a long time and your little province here is a point of heavy dispute."
Keith frowned. "But almost all the villagers here are Romanian. Even if Transylvania is part of Hungary we are Romanian at heart."
"Exactly. Wait, you're a noble. Aren't you descended from the Magyars?"
Keith shook his head. "No, our crown comes directly from the Slavic line. But tell me, what is happening?"
"No wonder there's no treasure in this castle. Hrmph." Margarete straightened her jacket. "What's going on is that almost all of Europe is at war. Austria and Hungary along with Germany against everyone else who doesn't like the idea of being ruled by William II. Romania invaded Transylvania to free it from Hungarian rule and now there's more blood being spilled than anyone ever imagined was possible. It seems man can do as much to man as the God of Destruction could if he was loosed." She sighed. "And speaking of blood, it seems the Magyars have someone else fighting on their side. Someone who's got the Romanian troops panicked."
Keith tucked his hair behind his ear. "And who would that be?"
"Well, according to the Romanians, Vlad IV. You've heard of him?"
Keith's eyes narrowed. "Vlad Dracula? He is awake?"
"And feeding, from what I understand." Margarete tilted her head. "So, you interested in helping me out?"
Keith tumbled out of the coffin, reaching for the heavy broadsword that lay at the bottom, nestled against the red velvet lining. "Looks like I'm coming out of retirement again. I am at your service, Mademoiselle."
"Still charming." Margarete winked and started down the steps of the dais Keith's coffin rested on above the vault that held the rest of his sleeping family members. "Too bad we're always busy when we're together."
Keith strapped on his sword as he followed. "You never gave me reason to stay awake."
Margarete snorted. "I believe it was you who said 'I tire of the hustle and bustle of the 20th century.'"
"And it was you who said 'Go back to your quiet and boring old castle, I could never grow roots like you do.'" Keith caught up to walk next to her with no effort. "I thought that was a clear sign of disinterest."
"No, it was an interest in life. Which you need more of, dear handsome Keith. You could have come with me to Paris."
"And you could have invited me," Keith chided softly.
Margarete glanced at the tall blond from the corner of her eye. In reality, there were too many reasons why she hadn't. He still seemed to be from a different era, even if they had managed to get him more modern clothes than the suit he had been wearing when he woke from a two century sleep two years ago. He looked young, no more than twenty five, but he would look that way forever. How could she risk falling in love with someone who would go on being young and handsome after her beauty had started to fade? It wasn't like she had that many years left before men stopped staring at her when she crossed a street. She was already thirty. Could someone like Keith even fall in love? His charm masked a bored detachment from life that she could never determine the origins of, his race or simply having lived too long to care about anything for more than a passing fancy, something to while away his time with and keep him from going mad. "No sense talking about it. We've got a job to do." She lifted her chin, steeling herself against the memory of kissing his cool and smooth lips.
"Yes, of course." Keith smiled a bit ruefully. "A mission." He looked away from her, preventing her from even having his expression to try to fathom his thoughts, whether they were on her or an enemy he seemed too personally familiar with.