Prologue
A pair of blood-red eyes snapped open to the sound of thunder and lightning crashing through the pitch-black skies of Transylvania, Romania on the night of September 6th, 1972. In that instant, their owner knew that he lived once more. It was not a new sensation to him, particularly as the last near-century had seen him restored to flesh several times. However, a distinct pain rang through his body. It was as though he were a newborn infant and a withered geriatric all at the same time.
A deep, weathered voice spoke to him from outside the dark casket which cradled him. "My Lord... Have you truly awakened?"
He pressed the tips of his pale, clawed fingers up against the cover of his coffin, only to discover that he lacked the strength to budge it as much as a centimeter. Hissing, he forced dry, fatigued words from his lips.
"How... long...?"
His presumed resurrector reluctantly replied. "...It has been twenty-eight years since you were slain by the American whelp, Jonathan Morris."
"Mor...risssss... Such an insolent bloodline... Thrice, I have been humiliated by their ilk... Twice revived, only to be struck down within an instant... I can still feel each and every lash of that damnable Belmont heirloom... Every bit of Sara's spite for me that has so seared my flesh and cracked my bones..."
The outside voice gave an amused chuckle. "We will soon see the Clan Morris ended. The blood that I have delivered for your revival is that of Olympian athletes whose lives were ended by religious zealots in tribute to their god."
"Tribute?" He licked his lips, grinning. "How ironic... The blood they shed for their god will nourish a demon... Humanity's hatred begets further hatred, and my hatred for all humanity will envelop the world..."
"The world is a far more miserable place than you left it, my Lord. It is a world in which global superpowers manipulate regional conflicts to pursue their own self-interests in lieu of outright war. They hide behind half-truths and allegations, fearful that their entire civilization could be eliminated from the face of the Earth with a single command. It is your rule, Count Dracula, that the world needs now more than ever."
"And Morris...?"
"Jonathan Morris' life has expired. Several years were subtracted from the old age he might once have enjoyed when he unleashed the full power of the whip to destroy you. He is succeeded by an agent of the American government: His daughter, Cassandra. With your new body, I suspect that you ought to have little trouble dispatching of this weak, foolish girl."
Feeling replenished as the blood of the sacrifices flowed through his veins, Dracula burst through his coffin and gripped the dark priest by the throat with a single hand. Dark circles underlined his eyes, and his thin, white hair draped over his withered face. He could barely see the new ally that he was assaulting in the dim candlelight of his chamber.
"Do not underestimate women! They are not so frail as it seems you believe! If your arrogance leads her to victory, my last breath in this life shall be a curse upon you and your entire lineage!"
Though he couldn't quite make out the dark priest's features, he could feel the pure fear that gripped his heart and rendered his body and mind immobile. Sighing, he released him.
"Go, now. I require one further sacrifice to end the Belmonts and bring this world into my power. Bring me the Morris heiress."
"A-... As you command... my Lord..."
The shivering servant promptly made his way out the door as Dracula rose to his feet, smiling. "Now, then... Whom shall I call upon to entertain my new guest?"
CASTLEVANIA
-Medley of Pandemonium-
