*Author's notes*

I grew very excited about the animated movie for Castlevania 3 but little word has surfaced about it recently. My impatience gave rise to creativity and I began typing. I have never written something like this, but I will be actively updating. I warn you though, I am not the best at this, but I felt the need to do it. Any criticism is welcome and will help me become a stronger story teller.

Prologue:

A Village in Turmoil

It was raining harder than usual that night in Wallachia. A storm had been raging for three days. Disease and famine had entered the quaint walls of the farming community about when the torrent started. The crops died within hours, not to mention the terrible cough that was accompanied by even worse, unimaginable symptoms. These were dark times indeed. It was eerily quiet within the village. Not a soul walked the mud filled streets. The villagers must have been on edge as not a single candle light permeated any of the windows of the sparse dwellings. The only exception was a medium sized building that looked thrown together and in need of serious repair. A dilapidated sign hung precariously overhead. It read: "the Smog's Breath Inn and Tavern". Inside, sparsely huddled around the main hall were villager men. Most were farmers speaking of how little their crops were producing. A few hushed voices suggested a curse was the cause of the streak of bad luck the village had suffered recently.

"I tell you I saw 'em as plain as day!" shouted a rather gravelly voice. The voice belonged to Shamus, an old farmer who lived on the outskirts of the village. He was short and emaciated, with a long white mane and an equally lengthy beard. He stood up on a table so that all in the tavern could hear him. "Wolves that walked on legs of a man took 'em!" The men showed signs of severe agitation at the old man's claims.

"You say you saw them this very night old man?" mocked a rough looking man as he pushed through the crowd that was beginning to form at the base of the table. He was tall and muscular with a thick mustache and about half the old man's age. "You're telling me all of our children were carted off by monsters in the night?"

"It's the truth I say!" Shamus answered. "They boys and girls were all glassy eyed and just walked single file only to be swallowed up by the forest!" The room fell into a hush.

Truth or not, the fact of the matter was still the same. All of the children in the village had vanished just hours before without a struggle. Without so much as a sound. This was the last blow that these people could take. Their women were ordered to remain indoors while the men of the village had gathered at the inn to figure out what to do. Hacking coughs filled the room off and on. It seemed when one started, others would quickly join in with their own labored splutters.

"They must've come from the abandoned castle!" continued Shamus.

"You're crazy old man!" shouted one of the villagers.

"I'll bet it was bandits!" wheezed another.

"What if something did come from the castle? Maybe that's why none of our crops produced this season! Maybe that's why everyone in town is afflicted with this wretched sickness." someone yelled from the back of the room.

"My whole family has boils all over their body!" a man struggled to finish his sentence before having a coughing attack.

"All of us have boils on our bodies!" A man corrected the previous statement.

Around then everyone began shouting over the top of one another again and the old man sat back down defeated.

"Order! Order!" shouted a man over the crowd. They settled down to pay attention to the figure with the voice of authority. It belonged to the mayor of the village. A man in his mid-forties. He was not very tall and was of a heavier stature than most of the village folk. His skin seemed to be greasy and his plump face bore a long curly moustache.

"This man speaks of monsters! Fairy tale stuff! You and I both know that castle has been abandoned since the dawn of time. The old thing barely stands! Even if there were these "Wolf Men" living in it, there is no way to reach it without a boat and it is too treacherous for even the most seasoned and skilled sailor. Not to mention the forest, the swamp, and other obstacles that would prevent hardened men from completing the journey. There has simply got to be a more acceptable answer than boogie men and other nonsense."

"Then what do you suggest!" scoffed one of the upset men.

"Me? Well first off I w-"

He was cut off by the sound of the inn door hitting the wall violently with the wind as it opened. The villagers hushed at the sound. In the doorway stood a dark figure encased in a black cloak. Everyone eyed the newcomer with suspicion and more than a little fear. Not a soul could make out his features under the hood. Lightning flashed and thunder bellowed as the figure took a step inside. The men sunk in their seats, not sure what this was about. He walked slowly to the bar, the barkeep trying with all of his might to keep his courage about him. A bag of gold slammed on the bar counter in front of the hooded man. The barkeep eyed it slowly with a puzzled look and then looked into the empty hood.

"Ale." came a rugged voice from within the fabric.

"s-s-sure thing stranger." stuttered the shaken bartender as he rushed off to fetch his request.

"Hey!" shouted a large man behind the wraith-like traveler. "Just what in the hell do you think you are doing coming in here from god knows where like this? In case you haven't noticed, this is a private meeting!"

The large man's question was met with silence.

"You listening to me? I'm talking to you!" Again the shouting giant of a man only received silence. By then the ale had arrived. The man in the cloak took a large gulp beneath his hood.

"You son of a bitch!" yelled the muscular behemoth as he lumbered closer. I'm gonna teach you a lesson you won't soon forget!" This boast was met with cheers from the, until then, silent men in the tavern. With confidence, he reached for the cloaked man's shoulder. His hand was caught mid grasp and he was surprised when his balance failed him. Still sitting on the bar stool, the man in the hood yarded the giant's arm downward with little effort without so much as turning around. The mass of muscle was launched in the same direction with an amazing amount of force sending his face into the counter with a "CRACK" that echoed throughout the room. Teeth flew in all directions. He lay on the floor folded into a heap letting out a slight twitch before falling still. The hooded man took another drink from his tankard.

Silence filled the room once again with a few hushed whispers of "Is he dead?" The men closest to the event could tell that the giant still breathed, though shallowly. The mayor calmly approached the newcomer and cleared his throat. "That was a stunning display indeed! A truly marvelous display of strength! Although, you shouldn't have taken the man seriously. He is mostly boastful and not usually violent. You see, we are having a bit of a problem tonight and find ourselves wary of foreigners."

All eyes were on the mayor as he spoke to the silent outsider. A few men started their coughing fits again.

"I see you are a quiet one indeed. No matter. I think it best that you leave this place and be on your way as soon as you have finished your ale."

"Can't." spoke the outsider matter-of-factly.

"It speaks!" jeered the mayor. "And why might that be?"

The figure fell silent once more, but only briefly.

"Because demons are outside your gates." The man then ripped his hood back and slammed a whip onto the counter.