Preface
Monday, July 18th, 2044 Anno Domini
About 3:10 pm
Adrian F. Tepes lowered to one knee before the massive cross mounted on the wall. He genuflected with his right hand then passed the front row of pews and stopped in front of a confessional booth. The dhamphir opened the slatted wooden door and stepped into the small booth, facing a dark screened section. He lowered to a cushioned kneeling bar and placed his palms together. With a measure of purpose in his tone, he recited, "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned and am about to sin again; it has been nine years since my last confession," in plain English. His mind still raced from the intensity of his last nightmare.
"Alucard! Indeed it has been a while." The priest's tone brought a faint smile to the lips of the eternal youth. The priest continued, adding, "Your charade as Genya Arikado still holds up after using it for over a decade? Surly the Agency will catch on, soon, my son." The pastor's tone hinted at sarcasm.
The dhamphir smirked at first but the sharp expression melted into a relaxed grin. He drew in a long, slow breath then face-faulted. "I've contemplated faking the death of Genya Arikado," said Alucard with a soft sigh. He closed his eyes and licked his lips with apprehension. "I had a disturbing dream last night, Father. In it, I entered the citadel of Dracula and, somehow, was forced to become him. I couldn't wake up from the dream. At least not until it reached its conclusion. This…vision; it worried me – I'm even considering the possibility of returning to Torpor."
"Alucard, my boy," said the priest, "The only sin you've been guilty of in the past decade has been that of pride. If 'Genya' is to meet an untimely death, then that's the way it must be. Do you think that sleeping is …wise with Julius Belmont growing old? Wouldn't you at least consider staying awake until the next member of the Morris, Graves or Belmont clan is able to come along and take the reigns?"
"Father," Alucard lowered his gaze to his folded hands. "Before my dream, I went to bed feeling ill. You know me fairly well, Padre; I may not confess my sins very often but I do visit from time to time for news and information – I don't get 'sick'. But this… I felt something in my gut and, whatever I felt, it scared me. You're correct, Father: My sin is that of pride. But it is Twenty Forty-Four in the year of our Lord and, while nothing has changed for a very long time, I do feel an intense something in the winds. It is as if a revolution is on the horizon. I feel a powerful rage building in my heart and I have struggled to stifle it. I've felt judgmental in the last seventy-two hours. I sense that I may taste blood again by the end of the month, perhaps even by the end of the week."
The priest took a deep breath then said, "God the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of His Son, has reconciled the world to Himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, ego te absolvo a peccatis tuis in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit – Amen." He gestured in the sign of the cross with the backside of his hand brushing against the screen between them. "Your sins are absolved, my boy. Your soul is healed, Alucard. Your penance and reconciliation restores you, as it was stated in the book of James chapter five, verse sixteen. May you go with God …and stay out of trouble."
"Let's be honest, Father; I'll be heading into the heart of trouble should my gut feeling prove to be correct." Alucard lifted from the kneeling bar and moved back into a small cushioned chair, facing the screen portion of the booth. He licked his lips again then said, "I can feel something odd but I'm not sure what it is. I wish to have the Church's permission to personally investigate later in the week. I'd need a driver and a decent limousine so I can head out to Romania and ensure that there is nothing left of that castle but ruins and a crumbling foundation."
"I will grant you permission," said the pastor. "I'm afraid we're spread thin at the moment. Miss Belnades is in Russia with her betrothed. I've not had contact with Julius in quite some time, but if the feeling in your heart is correct, you should have no problems finding him on location. Go downstairs and take what weapons you need; report to your Japanese Agency and arrange for a flight to Bucharest. Your limo and driver will be waiting at the Bucharest Airport upon your arrival. Ship the weapons you've chosen to the smallest Church in the city, so as to stay under the radar. When you arrive, go and pick them up. You know what to do from there."
"Thank you, Father." Alucard opened the slatted wooden door, crossed the church and approached the large alter beneath the massive cross on the back wall. He turned to a statue of Mary and cupped her cheek with his right hand. He nearly shuttered at the feeling of her smooth marble cheek against his palm. His thumb slid beneath her eye as if wiping away her tears. The fingerprint sensor in her cheek scanned his thumbprint and the Alter slid forward, revealing a staircase. He moved over to the entrance in the floor and descended the aging concrete stairs.
A table sat at the end of a simple stone room, the surface was constructed of dark basalt. Various lethal weapons made of fine silver, platinum and bejeweled with dense diamonds laid in wait. He paused, glaring at a cross-shaped short sword with a diamond-tipped blade. The sight of it brought back an intense image from his dream.
Alucard stood before a horde of undead bodies; they surrounded him on all sides. Beyond, his father stood tall, glaring at him. He clinched his jaw and drew a short sword with a glistening diamond at the tip. He cut his gaze to the left then panned it to the right, watching the zombie legion sluggishly close in around him. They moved as if only to close in their ranks, tightening the rotted halo of bodies that encircled him.
His father's haunting voice filled his ears. "It is futile to fight your own blood to the death knowing how closely we are tied together." Dracula received no response and so he added, "You would fight all the undead corpses at my disposal, my foolishly wayward son? It would last forever; why would you wage a never-ending battle of attrition?"
Alucard tightened his fist around the handle of the cross-shaped weapon. The zombie corpses, covered with aging, brittle armor, moved closer. Dracula's soft chortling frustrated him to no end. His father then said, "Were you to destroy them all, you would be too tired to contend with me, my boy. Why, though, Adrian? Even Radu was never this errant; blood is blood."
"Serving you feels taboo." He glanced to the left and right, watching the zombies grow closer. His pallid knuckles turned to a pure shade of white with the intensity of his grip around the weapon's handle.
"It is one of His divine Commandments, Adrian. Honor thy mother and thy father."
Alucard gritted his teeth for a moment. "I am honoring my mother. She wished for you to become humbled and I will humble you, no matter what it takes."
Dracula smirked at his son. "You will become me, no matter what it takes."
Alucard's eyes widened. He threw his arms outwards and shouted, "Never!" An intense, esoteric wave of unadulterated energy rushed from his body. The shockwave decimated the bodies of every reanimated corpse in attendance. Their torsos were separated from the hips and launched by the glowing force. In the blink of an eye, every surrounding foe became eviscerated from the waist up. An army of bloody pelvic bones, perched upon two quavering legs, dropped to the floor. The congealed gore did little to sully the glowing gold floor. He lifted his eyes back to those of his father and both of them offered a sly smirk to the other. "Your reign is over, father. You should be dead but if it takes ME to damn you the rest of the way to hell, then that is the way it must be!"
"You fool, I am a figment of your imagination," said Dracula with a scoff. "I'm here to tell you what must come to pass in person. I will return, Adrian. Not my body or even my soul. As you know, I have already been reborn. However, the essence of my ways will return to this land and there is nothing you can do to stop it. I wish for my presence to live on with my son but should you resist such power, there are already other loyal persons in place who will carry out my legacy. But you are quite powerful, Adrian. I beg of you; go and assume your rightful place as Lord of my land. Carry out my will and cleanse the world upon blades of metal. Drain them all and let this world become awash in a layer of scarlet."
"YOU are the fool," said Alucard, sinking to his left knee. He'd released all of his energy to wipe out the zombie horde and now struggled with the incredible sensation of feeling drained. "I will go there to stop you, not to join you."
Dracula lifted his right hand. In his palm, he held a glowing clear stone. "Fair enough. When you arrive, I will give you the one thing I've willed to you. Come, collect your inheritance." He tossed the glistening, glassy object across the room.
Alucard caught the glowing stone in his left palm. His eyes widened and the air around him felt hot – his body temperature turned to ice. A wave of passionate hatred filled his heart. His pupils shrank and his heart wrenched in his ribcage. His back arched and he groaned at the sensation of pleasure and power that filled his body against his will. He wanted to fight it but it couldn't be helped. His jaw dropped and his fangs lengthened as a reflective response to the new instincts that replaced his old ones.
"Incredible, isn't it?" Dracula smiled. He approached his son and placed his hands upon Alucard's shoulders. He took one step further and the two began to physically merge into one entity.
Alucard gasped and opened his eyes. A voice came from behind. "Even after centuries of immortality, your instincts are still so very human. You gasp for air like any flesh and blood mortal." The priest from the confessional box placed a palm on the dhamphir's shoulder, coming alongside of him. He turned to the kneeling warrior and used his dust-covered thumb to make the mark of a cross upon Adrian's forehead. "Now stand, Alucard. It was just a dream – pray for God's strength to wield the power of freewill. With His guiding light, you will make a positive footprint in the sands of fate."
Adrian rose to his feet and pushed his fingers back through the peppered locks of his silky, long hair. "It's… changing back to silver – the dye is fading. I should re-dye my hair before I travel." His attempt of changing the subject wasn't as easy as he intended. He frowned thoughtfully and placed his hand on the Priest's steady shoulder. "You're quite the rock to cling to, Father. I... experienced some sort of blackout; I relived a small segment from my dream when I saw a certain weapon on the table. I was holding that very one in my nightmare. I can only pray that it isn't a prophetic vision of my future."
"God gives us the power to stand on our own feet. Pray for His strength and take that weapon to Romania. Dracula is dead. If you saw him in your dream, it's because he's a metaphor. He cannot merge with you if he does not exist."
Alucard blinked in confusion. "…How? How did you know what I saw?"
"You spoke in Latin, as if in a trance. You narrated the entire dream, Alucard. I speak fluent Latin and heard your monotone chanting because you didn't close the Alter entrance. I came to see what you were talking about."
"My apologies," said the dhamphir with a frown. He was all business again. He snatched the short sword from the table and secured the sheath to his belt. He lifted a claymore from the other end of the table and twirled it in his hands by the handle. The heavy sword, two meters in length, made a deep groaning sound as it swirled through the air backed by the raw power in Alucard's hand. He picked up a six-foot holster-like object from the table and shouldered the case then placed the blade into its sheath with a satisfying click. "In my dream, while I never saw the Romanian fields with my own eyes, I could smell the air of my birthplace. I could just… feel that I was in Romania. But what if I'm wrong? What if the castle appears elsewhere and I'm…"
"Shh," the priest interrupted. He placed his left hand on Alucard's shoulder. "Be at peace, my son. Follow your instincts. If Genya Arikado is to meet his death this week, please come and visit me one more time before you disappear."
"Should I remain awake," Alucard began slowly, "Perhaps it would be the most beneficial for you to relocate. I need a trustworthy man of faith to assist me from time to time. Starting with new contacts makes things difficult."
"That could be arranged," said the priest. "Go with God. Please come back and see me before you leave for your trip."
"You know I will, Father. You always seem to have information for me at the last minute."
"See you in a few days, then," said the Priest with a knowing smile.
Forty-eight hours later… Wednesday, July 18th 2044
Genya Arikado opened a large oak door leading into the Church. Clad in a custom tailored business suit and freshly dyed black hair, he stepped into the cathedral and walked down the aisle. An acrid, pungent scent filled his nose and his left hand tightened around the leather-wrapped handle of his briefcase. He quickened his pace, heading up to the front pew. He inhaled deeply through his nose, tracking the scent of blood to the back entrance. He cut his gaze towards the hallway adjacent to the organ and he walked towards it. He paused at the mouth of the hallway and glanced from the organ on his right to the tabernacle on his left. The scent of blood came from ahead.
He stepped into the hall, heading towards the rectory entrance at the opposite end. He quickened his pace and shouldered the door open at the end of the hall. He froze in his tracks, staring at men and women gathered in the lobby. A group of Japanese police officers filled the area. They all glanced up at his noisy entrance but his eyes cut through those in attendance and landed upon a body bag on the floor at the center of the room.
"Where is Father Belmondo?"
"Were you a friend of his?" asked one of the investigators. The way they referred to the priest in the past tense told the ageless man everything. It all fell into place. Someone found out about the dhamphir's mortal contact and sought to kill the man. Alucard nodded in response to their question.
The youthful looking Inspector approached, offering Genya a glance at his three-point badge. He was merely a junior officer. "It looks as though there was quite an intense battle fought in this church, sometime before sunrise. The only part that remained untouched was the cathedral. It's as though his attackers either could not or would not enter it. This man died defending other priests. Several were killed in the attack but according to the survivors, he stepped in and battled the attackers. Once they overwhelmed him, they retreated."
"Teiketsu!" shouted the senior officer. He approached the younger investigator and said, "You don't even know who this man is and you're telling him everything we already know. Take some control in your investigation – be the one asking questions, not the one giving answers."
The younger officer opened his mouth to rebut but Alucard silenced him with a gentle touch upon his shoulder. The dhamphir shook his head then said, "Thank you Mister …Teiketsu, was it? Yes, he was a friend of mine and it's completely in his character to pick up a weapon and protect others. He was growing old, though. Unfortunately, Father Belmondo was not properly equipped to handle attackers of that caliber. I have no other information to provide. But please, answer me this… what was the method of death?"
The senior officer approached Alucard and put his hands on his hips. The Inspector used his thumb to flash his seven-pointed star-shaped badge which rested on his belt. The head investigator then narrowed his gaze. In reply, Alucard tossed a lock of his dark hair with a flip of his right wrist. His effeminate face contorted to offer a thin smirk to the cop. An awkward moment of silence came to pass. Keeping up with his 'Genya' persona, the dhamphir fished a wallet from his dress slacks and flipped it open. The senior officer leaned in, reading the identification card and the Japanese Government badge.
"I… I apologize, Mister Arikado. I didn't know you were here on behalf of the Japanese Government. Survivors say this incident happened a little before two in the morning." The senior officer led Alucard back to the body bag and knelt down besides it. "The witnesses say that he was defeated by pale, unarmed men who overwhelmed him. But judging by the appearance of the injuries that were sustained, it looks as though he was ravaged by a pack of animals. There are fang marks on his neck, arms, shoulders and even one on his left outer thigh. Notably, almost every wound that Father Belmondo sustained was over a pressure point or a vital…"
Alucard gestured the man to silence with his hand. "You're referring to his jugular, his carotid and all along his left wrist, correct?"
"Yes, Mister Arikado. That is correct."
"Don't give these details to the press," said Alucard with a frown. "If they want information, direct them to the Cardinal. He'll know how to handle the press. If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I must my leave of you all. I will return to pay my respects at a later time." He immediately turned to the nearest exit door and stormed through the right rear fire escape of the rectory. The police cruisers on scene were parked behind the building and he waded through them to the main road. He removed his cellular telephone and dialed the second number on his speed dial.
After a moment, a familiar female voice came from the speaker. "Yoko," he said in a soft, downtrodden voice, "It's Genya. Father Belmondo was murdered in his rectory. …I'm on location, east of Tokyo." He paused then said, "I understand. I'm heading to Romania. I have this strange feeling that I'll find answers there." He listened then said, "There is no need to leave Moscow at this time. If the Castle had already made some sort of random appearance, it would be in the paper by now. Just the same, I'm going there to make sure the ruins of Poinari are still silent. But that's just it – I had a dream and it had nothing to do with the castle on the Argus River. I'd actually like to investigate central Wallachia. I'll call you if I find out anything." He paused again then said, "Very well." Without a word further, he shut the cellular phone and put it into his pocket.
The Claws of Fate
By
Kit Karamak
Aka
Ken Weaver Junior
A story in the Universe of CastleVania
Disclaimer: Don't sell or redistribute this story for financial gain. Castlevania and its trademarked characters are property of Konami. This story is written without express permission by Konami and may not be redistributed for profit. This story is written for entertainment purposes only. Please feel free to post this story anywhere you like, so long as the entire disclaimer and the author's name remains with it. Thanks for reading!
Synopsis:
Two unsuspecting mortals find an aging castle and wonder inside together. Meanwhile, a young man named Justus ' Bell' learns that he is part werewolf. With the help of Julius Belmont he learns what it is to be a natural-born predator. A trip to Romania to cure his 'disease' turns deadly with an out-of-place appearance of Dracula's original castle, minus The Count. Julius, Alucard and other returning cast members must face the fact that their abilities are not enough to fight the Castle's new caretaker. They have no choice but to put their faith into the confused, young werewolf – a descendant of Cornell.
A few miles east of Tokyo, in the middle of the night, an aging priest picked up a weapon with the intent to protect ordained men of the cloth.
…Meanwhile, several thousand miles to the west, at that very moment…
Romania… 7:55 pm (6 hours behind Japan)
Tuesday, July 17th 2044 A.D.
Prologue:
The Carpathian Mountains were capped in golden hues offset by the sun-swept crimson skyline beyond them. A subtle gale touched the Romanian fields which stretched through the belly of the nation. The valley fell into shadow as tender rays of evening sunlight disappeared behind the Carpathian range.
A young girl in her mid teens ventured through this barren field of high grass. She clung to her knapsack, ever-weary of the attention that contraband could bring... The illegal substance would fetch good money but she knew this to be a dangerous routine. The girl glanced over her shoulder at the mountain range in the distance and frowned thoughtfully.
A polite breeze sifted through her elegant ebony locks. The gale toyed with her raven tendrils – her hair was gently captured; cascading outwards, dancing on a breath of wind like a ballerina to a note of song. The young woman lowered her gaze, dipping hazel oculars from the beautifully jagged horizon. Without warning, the tranquility became shattered by the sharp rustling sound of someone passing through the area nearby.
The youthful teenage woman whirled about, nervous from her illegal cargo. The parcel could easily attract both Interpol or country-side bandits who sought to pirate free supplies from travelers. The fact that she didn't drive kept her below the radar of most law enforcement but it only made her job that much more dangerous. As she pivoted, her gaze fell upon a scruffy old man.
The man sported a dirty tie and a second hand suit blazer. He looked about as dingy as one could imagine for a vagabond and she immediately reached her right hand into a pouch that rested upon her hip. "What do you want?" she demanded, tightening her palm against the reassuring feel of cool metal within the pocket-like holster.
"Maybe I'm just passing through, lady," said the man. His wiry hair, a smorgasbord collection upon his brow, added to his disheveled visage. "Or maybe I'm surprised a pretty little thing like you is walking through the fields of southern Romania alone."
"And what if I am?" she inquired with a sharp tone. Her fingers snaked around the handle of a pistol, trying to keep her wits about herself. "Are you here to give me trouble?"
His throaty voice gave her chills. He was the cliché, typical highway bandit. She could tell, almost immediately, that this man wanted nothing more than her belongings and possibly a quick romp in the grass. "That depends on what you have in your knapsack and what you have in your pocket." His gruff reply ended on the sour sound of phlegm; he cleared his throat then licked his lips in an unnerving manner.
"Stay away from me; go on about your business," said the girl. The man began to advance on her. She kept her position but used her thumb to flip off the safety on her weapon. Still the man continued to approach. His arms began to extend, reaching for her.
She didn't have time to think her action through. The world slowed to a crawl of time but nothing felt different. The grass swayed, the sun continued to sink into the western skyline and the wind still toyed with those silky onyx strands of her hair. But just as quick and with the instinctive grace of a true highway courier, she drew her pistol.
His hands enveloped her shoulders, drawing close until she could feel the callous flesh against her throat. Instantly, the world came to a stop. His eyes widened and his jaw went slack, loosely starting to form an 'O' with his thin, chapped lips. His grip at her collarbone began to tighten for a moment, only to loosen seconds later.
That slow-crawling instant would be this man's last. The gun offered slight kickback in her palm. The blast erupted from the barrel, slicing through his lower torso. Blood splattered the grass directly behind him, coating the waist-high blades in a scarlet frosting. The man's legs began to grow weak and his weight shifted.
Buckling at the knees, the man crumbled to the earth, devoured by the high grass that surrounded them. His arms flailed into the air, his body swallowed by the forest of emerald that stretched for miles in every direction. The last vestiges of his dying form disappeared from her eyes and, while animation resumed in the world around them, all motion ceased in his dying form. She had delivered a fatal gunshot a mere instant. 'It was for self defense,' she thought to herself. Her hands shook from adrenaline.
The girl lowered her weapon. She gawked in silence at the rusty frosting, speckled over a blanket of rustling jade. In that moment, she felt thankful for the field of high grass. It helped to ease the awkward sensation of what her weapon had achieved by hiding the body within its thick veil. A hand reached from the blades of grass for but a moment only to sink back into the depths. He let out a muffled groan then sighed his last breath.
The vagabond was dead.
With quivering hands, the girl replaced her pistol, returning the safety to its primary position. It took only one bullet to end his life. However, she now felt safe having put the man out of his misery. Barely any sensation of guilt followed. 'I'm an experienced traveler,' she told herself and, due to her moral standards, she felt no pang of sadness over the demonstration. In that moment, she had played the part of God, taking away life with only the simple motion of her right index finger. A part of her, deep down inside, began to wonder how long she could remain stoic… of course his death bothered her to some degree!
She immediately decided to set up her night camp only twenty feet upwind of the body. If anything, it would be stumbled across by highway bandits and they would leave her alone. With such a threat to warn other offenders, she felt safe having the body nearby; part of her wondered if it would make sense to put him up on a stake as a sign of admonition. Either way, if she was lucky, the scent of blood would attract a small animal for her dinner, like a coyote.
Regardless of her shortage of victuals, she didn't dare search his body for supplies. Part of her didn't want to see the body that represented a life she'd taken. Instead, she busied herself with clearing out a spot of grass to put up a small tent. She used a piece of wood, procured from her earlier pass through the forest, to make a campfire. Vying against her heart to rid herself of the guilt, she wanted to keep herself busy to help forget what she'd done. Having set up her tent, she decided next to wash her face with some of the water she kept in bottles in her bag.
Normally circumspect, the girl found herself glancing at her gun from time to time, while going through her gear. She glanced back to the high grass that still dripped with crimson from the normally-emerald tips. A shutter raked its way up her spine but it helped to confirm one thing… The girl was alone in this valley.
She undressed herself, changing into clean sweat pants and a flannel shirt. The girl put her thick dark hair up into a ponytail then set up the campfire. It took a few moments to clear out some of the grass so that the fire had space. Last of all, she set up her tent and settled in for the night. The wind picked up again, causing the grass to rustle noisily.
The girl lay there for a bit, unable to sleep. Her eyes flitted about the inside of the canvas dwelling for several moments before she decided to sit up again. Something compelled her to open the front of the tent. Drawing the zipper up its track, the flaps parted and she stuck her head out into the wind. A man stood directly in front of the tent; he had a hole in his torso, clean through to the other side.
Her jaw dropped wide open, gazing up at the man she killed earlier. His hazy eyes were blank gray hues; maggots were stuck to the white orbs and frothy ooze dribbled from his lower lip. The man sucked in breath causing a strange noise to come from his throat. It sounded like a groan or grunt and his sunken eyes flitted as if trying to blink. Flies buzzed around the hole in his torso and crawled from out of his mouth which hung agape. His state of health didn't seem to be of concern to any but her. Only one word could be used to describe him. 'Zombie?' she asked herself in shock.
The girl reached for her bag again. She drew the pistol back out and pointed it at him. A strange panic gripped her and, out of vertigo, she pulled the trigger again. A fresh wound stained his shirt and dirty coat where his heart should have been. And yet, the body only shuttered under the brunt stopping force of the bullet. Her eyes widened and her pupils dilated. She raised the weapon higher and pulled the trigger again.
The man's filthy visage became further sullied with a nauseating wound beneath his left eye. Coagulated blood splattered from the gunshot, sitting upon the hole in his face as if it were scarlet gelatin. His head jerked to the side but he continued his approach. She quickly moved to the back of the tent but the animated corpse continued forward, trouncing the canvas structure. The plastic polls cracked under the stress of his forward march until the top ripped clear open.
She lifted the pistol and, this time, emptied the revolver into the man's face but he didn't stop. His cheeks, covered in congealed red slime, contorted to allow his jaw to open. He displayed his blackened teeth to her and hissed in a hoarse sort of way. Her breathing intensified, panting furiously. He dropped to his knees directly before her and reached his arm out, grasping at her shirt and ripping the flannel pocket over her breast. Her eyes glanced down at his gnarled hand, where the skin had peeled back to reveal longer fingernails – something that usually took several days occur…
Suddenly, the man pushed his fingers into her ribcage, cracking the first two ribs. His fingers slid through her pallid flesh, closing his fingertips around her intestines. Her jaw dropped again, trying to gasp in pain at the sensation of ice that slid between her ribs followed by an intense fire in her belly. Her head lulled back, gazing straight up into the air, trying not to look at the grisly mosaic of blood in her lap.
That's when her eyes perceived something she'd never seen before… The tent appeared to be in the shadow of a large castle. The massive stone columns stretched into the heavens directly above her. It blurred from her vision; she lowered her head one last time. The fuzzy vision before her seemed impossible: A dead man clamped his jaw over the crimson entrails that emanated from her body. Her form slumped back…. She could feel death claiming her demure form…
Surfacing from slumber, her soft pallid lips parted, asking, "Soma Cruz, Julius Belmont, Simon Belmont; who?" Who, indeed… who were these people? Why did she wake up with their names on her tongue? She sat up in her tent, greeted by the song of birds. Her hand went to her stomach, pushing up the fabric of her shirt. Her smooth fingertips moved across her taut, washboard belly. She traced her nails down over her naval to search for the wound she remembered sustaining. Her flawless skin yielded no such markings. She remained unscathed; the tent was intact.
She blinked her eyes several times… 'Was it a dream?' she wondered. She decided she wanted to make sure the body was still in the grass. She unzipped her tent and peered outside. The girl gasped, looking up at a massive structure – the one from her recent nightmare.
It didn't matter; those names had no bearing on anything as far as she was concerned. She'd never heard the names before and it just didn't matter. What did matter was the fact a castle suddenly manifested outside of her tent over night. The cold bricks apparently appeared from thin air during the course of the night and now the hollow shell of a dank structure sat here as if it had been through ages of disuse. For now the body became the last thing on her mind.
Molly Fields lifted her gaze at the massive structure. 'That was not there last night,' she thought to herself, shaking her head with disbelief. The cold gray bricks reflected in those soft hazel eyes which bore into the stoic structure, uncomprehendingly. There were five 'W' questions for every situation: Who, What, When, Where and, of course, Why? But at this moment, none of them came to her mind. Only one inquiry desired to be sated. How?
How could this structure find its way here over night? How did it appear? How could it seem so ancient, when it only arrived in the last day? And yet she only managed to verbalize it in a simplistic, four word question. "How did this happen?" she pondered aloud. Her own voice surprised her, eliciting a gasp to follow the silence-breaking outburst. She wasn't wearing the flannel shirt or the sweat pants she dreamt that she'd changed into. No, instead, she still wore her field clothes; her gun still had eight rounds in the revolving chamber. Silence had returned only for her to vocalize her inquiry again, shouting, "HOW IN GOD'S NAME DID THIS HAPPEN?"
Not only was morning's silence shattered by the cacophony of her voice but the normally loquacious girl had nothing beyond those few words to offer. Her garish nature was subdued by shock and incomprehension. Her eyes fought to tear themselves from this behemoth erection of stone. She blinked, testing to see if the castle would dissipate with the reopening of her eyes. There was no such luck.
Finally, she glanced down into her bag; it rested upon her hip, suspended from a strap over her shoulder. A gun was nestled within the knapsack which resembled a World War II medical rucksack. A faded white circle covered the bag with the slight vestiges of a once-scarlet cross gracing the front. Ironically, the year was 2044, one hundred years after the Second World War.
The German-born English-raised girl stood before the magnificent structure, still in total awe. Her heart beat hard and yet her curiosity made her different from most of her female friends back in town; none of which were present. She had to know more about this place and wanted to see the inside for some strange reason; her friends would have simply turned and run.
Molly glanced back down at the old medic-style mailbag. The gun was loaded and she felt secure with it nearby. It was a simple forty-five caliber revolver. Snuggly pressed against the weapon was a cellular telephone and a portable video game system. Beneath the essentials, there was a bag of potato chips and a sports drink in a synthetic-plastic bottle. Her eyes were finally torn from the massive estate only so that she could begin scouting the grounds. She returned to her tent and retrieved her machete used for cutting tall grass. Molly attached the sheath to her belt then closed the front flap of the tent and stretched.
The homeless Molly Fields had crossed this sun-shine valley well over fifty times in the last month. She'd never seen this building before and the fact that it now existed served to perpetuate an intense desire to learn of this grand-manor shelter. Not only that, there was no sign of recent maintenance and yet there was no sign of graffiti. That, alone, was enough of a reason to feel that something was odd about this situation.
Any normal person could simply assume that this structure shouldn't exist here, then come to the conclusion that they must not have their bearings. But even still, the fact that this building looked to be dreadfully abandoned and yet not one single tag marking? It boggled her mind.
The place was massive. It took her nearly half of an hour to walk only a fraction of the perimeter before happening across a massive wooden door. The rotting wood was inlaid with incredibly well crafted iron beams each etched with a fancy looking design. It was master craftsman's work from someone who knew how to artistically cast iron. However… it was painfully obvious that the craftsman in question had made this door well over a century ago.
Her eyes flitted about, tracing the metal work overtop the rotted wooden door until they stopped on a plate near the bottom hinge. "Circa 1477 A.D.," was stenciled deeply into the plaque; although it seemed fairly worn from age, the date was still easily legible.
A voice came from behind and Molly's ears perked up... "He was a Christian Knight who crusaded against the westward Islamic expansion into Europe," said a gentleman. It startled Molly so deeply that she needed a moment of repose to steal back her breath. Molly's head turned quickly, those soft hazel orbs raking over the visage of an aging man whose eyes were the softest, kindest blue. Wiry silver strands crowned his head with a shiny bald spot over the top which extended down to his forehead. A pair of reading glasses sat perched above his brows. By contrast, his hands looked smooth to the touch and didn't appear wrinkled or frail in any way.
Finally, her voice returned. "Who?"
"The Voivode of Wallachia, of course," said the man in a tone as soft as his eyes. "This is all that remains of him. He lived from 1431 to 1476; just a few years before Christopher Columbus discovered what is now known to be… modern-day America."
"You certainly know a lot," Molly mused thoughtfully. "I've been through this area at least four-dozen times and I've never seen this castle. We're still in Romania, right?" Her Romanian accent lacked the luster of a polished native speaker but she still enunciated her words well enough to be understood.
"He was known as Kazikli Bey, in the Turkish Balkans," said the older man, pausing to glance up the side of the large front wall. He then added, "It means 'Mister Impaler' or as it would mean, back then when 'Bey' was a title, "Impaler Prince."
"Who made him a prince?" Molly wondered aloud.
"I suppose the Holy Roman Emperor granted him the title," said the man. "This castle has been here since the mid 1400's. Some say that it was expanded on after he supposedly died in 1476, at the age of forty-five."
"I'm Molly Fields," she replied, glancing back down at the plate on the door, reading '1477 A.D.' again. "And you are?"
"James Johnson is my name," he explained with an airy sort of delight. "I'm a hobbyist historian, really. Did you know that Vlad Tepes began his rule at the age of seventeen? He was a keen young man and became a Christian Crusader who had strange habits and often enjoyed a garden stroll through a courtyard filled with ivy-covered six-foot spikes. It was upon these spikes that he had people impaled. It was rumored that the spikes weren't enough to satisfy his lust for blood letting and so, before long, he bared his teeth to do the job."
"Ugh, personal preference, I take it?" she muttered softly. "So he bit people? Or was he some sort of cannibal?"
"No, his two front incisors were longer than the rest of his teeth. Like fangs," said James. "I'm sure you've heard of DRACULA. This man, Vlad the Third, was the very Dracula from which every vampire story book was fashioned. His name came from his father, whose surname was "Dracul", given to him by the Roman Empire. There was something strange about the title, The Order of the Dragon, leading all the way back to the young Germanic Tribes, hundreds of years prior but… That is all simple speculation and fairy-tale rumor by now. But this man is the story-book Dracula that winds up in the movies and horror books."
"Did he really impale people on spikes in his garden?" Molly asked, placing her hands upon the large metallic handle and pulling. The door didn't budge. The wood grunted softly and yet the hinges were beyond mobility any longer. "I want to see these spikes; I don't believe this hype any more than I believe in Good, Evil, God and all that stuff."
Johnson shrugged but kept a genteel smile. "And surly, were you to say that to Vlad the Third, back in his day," James mused, tapping his chin furtively, "He would have run you through without a second thought. He considered Muslims to be godless even though they did believe in Allah. This castle has always been here. It's a monument."
"Bull," Molly quipped, still tugging on the massive door's metallic handle. "I've come through this area a ton of times and it's been an over-grown field for ages. The worst I've ever had to worry about was treading through a bees nest halfway out into the field. I don't believe in vampires and all that stuff."
"No one knows if he was a real vampire." Johnson smiled at her. "But I promise you this," he continued, pushing a wiry strand of silver hair back behind his right ear. "He was a real asshole by his mid-40's. His youngest son was a far more benevolent man but Vlad Tepes refused to allow his boy to get in the way of his tyranny. Adrian had his hands full trying to wrestle away his father's insanity. Vlad the Third only cared about two things in life: Making others suffer and some soft-hearted woman of whom he adored. Adrian's mother, no doubt she was. Some called him the Opposite of Dracula, earning him the anagram nickname of Alucard."
"This freakin' castle wasn't here yesterday," Molly protested softly.
James lifted his left foot, tapping the metallic plate with the date on it. "This claims otherwise," he replied.
"I don't care what it says," she groused with a frown. "I don't mean to be frumpy but I just came through this pass at right about this very hour, yesterday. Trust me, it wasn't here. See those mountains?" she asked, pointing off in the distance. "They're my compass in this area. I came back through last night and set up camp right here; I'd have noticed this place next to my tent don't you think? I'm telling you… there was no castle until I got up this morning."
James nodded slightly then said, "Yes, the Carpathian mountain range is a beautiful sight in the distance, aren't they? Almost hazy on a beautiful day and yet you can only see the outline of them when the fog rolls in."
"The ' Karpaty Range' doesn't lie," Molly told him. "They're a compass, like I said. Their arc runs, what? Nine hundred miles or so? I don't think they changed over night and they're right were I left them, yesterday at this same hour," she added, hooking a thumb over her shoulder at the range in the distance. "They're a half an hour walk from here and you're at the foothills. Like I said, I know this area pretty good. This castle-thing was NOT here, yesterday. I could walk you from Bucegi in the Center of Romania, to this point… blindfolded. And I bet I wouldn't stumble on a single stone along the way, either."
James, bemused, reached passed her, for the door handle and began to pull as well. "You're telling me you can go from the peaks, all the way out, across the Transylvanian plains, blindfolded and still know where you are?"
"Some people don't even consider this area part of the Carpathian Foothills but I certainly know the area. And maybe it would take just a hair longer than half an hour but still," she muttered, placing her right foot against the doorframe while pulling with his help. The door didn't open. "What brings you out here?" she asked between grunts while trying to open the infernal object.
"I own a cottage at the edge of this property and saw you walking around the castle," said James. "I was born in London and attended Oxford University for four years. I've lived in Prague for a while and now I live here because I like the view. Trust me, this castle has been here since God was a boy," he told her, adding the last comment with a bit of playful sarcasm. "And I've not seen you pass through this field several dozen times, believe me."
"I cross through the valley every day," Molly grumbled under her breath. "I trust my gut more than I trust this building being here since the 1400's, believe me."
"It is people like yourself who swear up and down about things that are simply based in rumor," James replied, also between grunts from trying to help her open the door. "Now we suddenly have fairy tales that leave scientists scrambling to prove or disprove something so we can call it legend or fact. Next thing you know, people will start rumors that this castle disappears and reappears from time to time and that will start another rumor that the Prince of Darkness still lives inside. Trust me; Vlad the Third has been dead for almost SEVEN HUNDRED YEARS. I'm almost old enough to have been his neighbor," Johnson added with a winded chuckle.
Suddenly the door swung ajar, throwing both Molly and James to the ground. They spilled over the grass, side by side. James blinked rapidly then announced, "I can't believe it opened."
"You claim to have lived right here for a few years and yet you've never been inside?" Molly balked. "And yes, I may be stubborn but I know I'm right. I set camp not far from here and when I woke up this morning, the skyline was filled with this freaky castle. No one moved my camp while I was asleep. And there's never been a cottage in this area before."
"I don't know what kind of alcohol you drank before making camp last night," James rebutted, "But if you have more, pass it my way."
"Indeed," she huffed, narrowing her eyes. Molly sat up and dusted herself off before peering in, through the opened door. The interior courtyard was heavily overgrown with shoulder-height weeds and a ridiculous amount of vegetation. It clamored up the sides of the brick walls within, all around the general area. The abandoned garden made it look as though no one had lived in this archaic castle for an Eon. To the immediate left, there was a horse stable connected to the side of the main building. In the corner, where the two connected, a cracked and crumbling set of stone-block stairs ascended to a set of massive double doors. They were boarded up with large beams of wood and steel beams.
Young Fields reached up to rub her eyes for a moment. "We're in the north-west most part of what used to be Wallachia, right?" Molly asked, placing her chin against the side of the gateway as she peered in through the opening. "…With the mountains to the east and north, right?"
"Yes, the realm of Transylvania; this is the modest area above the snowy lowlands of what was Wallachia up until the 19th century, why?" James' head was directly above hers, peering in to see the garden. It was over run with weeds as tall as some men stood, especially men from the 1700's. His eyes narrowed. "We'll need a sword to cut a swath through this …or one really powerful lawnmower. Some farmers in this area still use scythes to take down tall grass."
"If this castle was here for almost seven hundred years, there would be a town to surround it," Molly continued to protest. "There's no town, just a field and a castle plop-right-in-the-middle. I'm as nomadic as any other gypsy in this nation; I know my way around."
"I'm telling you," said James, growing annoyed. "I've lived in that cottage for years. You just have no idea where you are and I don't know what compels me to look inside this grand old manor today but I can tell you that I've avoided it up until now."
"And that's nice. You're what? Sixty years old?" Molly groused, pulling out the dull machete from her gear. She'd used it to cut through high grass fields in the summer and dense, frozen shrubs in the winter time. Now would be no different. She pushed her shoulder against the aging gate, forcing it to open wider then lifted her right hand, holding the short, blunt blade upwards. As if on cue, the sky began to dim.
James glanced up, holding one hand over his face and peering through his fingers. "That's strange," he mused thoughtfully. "I didn't know we were supposed to have an Eclipse today. And no, for your information, Miss Fields, I'm not as old as my hair – or lack thereof – would lead you to believe; I was joking about being almost old enough to have been Dracula's neighbor. I was only born in 1999. Please realize that the age of forty-five isn't quite the same as sixty."
"Gee Mister Johnson," Fields muttered, offering the same 'respect' before adding, "I just heard Dracula was 45 when he became 'immortal' whether it be as a legend or otherwise. Like I said, I don't believe in vampires."
James stepped back to give her room to swing the blade but was still glancing up through his fingers at the Eclipse. "Technically speaking... he died in 1999, the year I was born, killed by a nineteen year old boy named Julius Belmont. Know the name?"
She paused; it was the name from her dream… she woke up with his name on her tongue. Molly shook her head and disregarded it as a coincidence. Perhaps she'd read the name on a brochure somewhere in town and it was on her mind subconsciously. "Unless you mean Orange Julies? No, never heard of it; could care less," she replied, beginning to chop through the weeds to clear a path into the garden. "It's getting awfully dark from that stupid Eclipse. This garden can wait until the sun is back out," she added, turning back towards James. Her eyes suddenly widened and her jaw went slack.
"What…?" James furtively glanced over his shoulder then gaped in shock, turning around completely. "How is that possible?" he quipped; his eyes reflected the desolate village of abandoned town houses that stretched as far as he could see. Their white plaster and wood-beam structure was reminiscent of old European design. Eerily, a 15th century German coat of arms, stitched into a flag, hung from a pole attached to a window sill of the nearest house Adjacent to it, the sigil of the Dragon Order flew proudly. "The Holy Roman Empire hasn't existed since…"
"Lemmie frickin' guess …the Middle Ages …give or take? Yeah, well," Molly used her left hand to fluff her hair in that 'tolja so' fashion. "I told you this stuff wasn't here and now even more of it is. So now maybe you'll believe me."
"Listen, girl," James said, narrowing his gaze to squint out at the dark town. "I've lived here for a good number of years by an abandoned castle in an overgrown valley that's covered in snow usually two seasons a year, sometimes three. This town just appeared out of no where. I thought you didn't believe in the paranormal!"
"I believe that this whole place was a field yesterday because I walked through it," Molly argued. "Don't misunderstand; I don't believe in vampires. The unexplainable happens every day in life. And if vampires and supernatural shit happens, it's because there's some scientific reason."
"I can hardly see a thing," James grumbled softly. The ring around the solar eclipse began to fade until there was only darkness. Molly pulled a Mag-Lite from her rucksack and switched it on. Both were shocked to learn that fog had rolled in within seconds of the total darkness occurring. It was as if she had switched on the flashlight in the midst of a low level cloud.
The barometric pressure changed dramatically and the fog only seemed to grow denser. Molly turned back to face the doorway in which she still stood only to gasp in amazement. The weeds were gone, leaving a well maintained courtyard. Majestic walls of ivy clamored along the bulkheads. Rows of bushes and flowers lined the aisles which led from one end of the garden to the other. And yet the fog didn't seem to exist on the inside of the gateway arch.
"C'mon, get in here," she said, motioning for James to step through the doorway. He did and she followed, reaching for the door handle. The archaic gate, wooden with inlaid iron art, swung with ease upon well oiled hinges and that's when she realized that the wood and metal work now, quite suddenly, appeared to be in mint condition.
Something cold touched her nose. It proceeded to touch her cheek then the back of her hand. "It's about to rain… very hard, I can smell it. Let's hurry inside where there's shelter," she suggested, pointing the flashlight across the garden to a side entrance door on the far right. It led into the Grand Manor, opposite of the horse stables. James glanced over his shoulder at the gate entry from which they came, noting its exceptional condition. His eyes went wide but the man seemed rather quick to instinctively fall into step. The two headed through the garden and opened the mahogany door that led inside, just in time.
The sky opened up and dark droplets gushed from the heavens like a cataract. It rained so hard her flashlight's powerful beam couldn't even cut a swath into the pouring night sky. The visibility reduced to a mere meter of distance. "There wasn't hardly a rain cloud in the sky and now it's raining like there's no tomorrow," Molly muttered. "Raining this hard, there's no way this sudden storm won't blow itself out in just a few minutes." But those minutes dragged by and the rain continued with a steady, heavy pace.
After standing there in wait for several long moments, she pushed her hand out, through the doorway, into the rain then immediately jerked her hand back. James blinked, looking from her hand to the expression on her face. "What's wrong?"
Molly glanced at her wet fingers in confusion then lifted her gaze back to the doorway. "It's raining so hard that it stings. And… it's freezing. This is the summer season; it's as cold as ice. It's almost like hail but it's not collecting on the ground."
"That's rather odd," Johnson said, shaking his head slowly. He glanced back over his shoulder then smiled slightly. "We may be in luck," he added, hooking his thumb back down the hallway. "I see light up ahead and it feels warmer in that direction. Let's investigate, shall we, Miss Fields?"
"I guess we don't really have much of a choice, huh?" she pondered aloud, turning back towards the garden doorway. The door shut easily, clicking into place. She pointed the flashlight at the floor then the two began to walk towards the light of a hearth-fire. The inviting atmosphere, a large square living quarters at the end of the hallway, felt warmer. The dull roar of the rain could be heard in the background. For now, both seemed to be taking this eerie situation in some measure of grace...
A/N: Okay I usually write Sly Cooper and StarFox fan fiction. But I was in the mood to put this up... I've got the first 35 pages done; chapter one starts with old man Julius answering an urgant call concerning a boy whose father was a known-yet-cured Werewolf. Don't expect me to hammer out 5 chapters a week like I do with my other fan fictions... this is just something for fun, on the side. It's been on my hard drive for a while and I wanted to get some of it out... however, if a lot of people get into the story, then I may give it more attention.
For those of you who know me and my other stories... yeah, it's true: I usually post 3 to 5 LONG chapters (9 to 11 thousand words each) per week... but I'm so wrapped up in my other ten projects that... I dunno. I was just in the mood to write this.
:D
Let me know if you like what you've read so far, so I know if I should keep going or not... ;)
-Kit
PS: As of August 21st, 2007, I added a piece about Alucard at the beginning. Why? Well, two reasons, really… One, I never explained WHY Alucard showed up outside the Castle when Julius and Justus were standing there with the Turkish Prime Minister. It seemed awfully good timing on Alucard's part… I didn't want it to be cliché or anything, you know? Second of all, I thought it would be better to begin this Fan Fiction with a canon character that CV fans could relate to, y'know? Now everything makes more sense.
Father Belmondo is attacked at 1:55 in the morning at his Catholic Church just east of Japan's capital. He's found dead the next morning. However, at the exact same time he's in battle, Molly has some sort of creepy daydream concerning a zombie. She dreams that she's being murdered just as Father Belmondo is drawing his last breath, six time-zones east of her location. It all happens at the same time.
His death coincides with the arrival of Dracula's Castle. For James Johnson to make the claim that he's always lived near it… means that he's somehow tied to it. He may not know it just yet but… he never knew he was living in the spirit realm. When the two worlds merged, he and Molly crossed paths. Now it all makes sense, doesn't it? ;)
R&R please!