O Cursed Fate
By Sapadu
Chapter 1: Abandoned Castle
Before he could go further into the castle, Hector turned and unsteadily ran back along the bridge and onto the path leading back to the wastes. He might have defected from Dracula's service three years ago, but Hector was no fool – he'd known there was a chance he might be forced to return to these lands. Perhaps, back then, he'd even hoped that Belmont and his companions would come to him for aid – it would have been Hector's greatest honor to repent of the sins he'd committed.
But, alas, the call had never come. So, now, Hector knew where he'd buried the emergency potion in the wastes – just in case. He found the clearing easily, a little piece of flat ground surrounded on all sides by boulders and slopes. There, with just the enchanted, black flame of the torches as his light, Hector dug.
It was just where he'd left it – a little blue jar with a small handle of gold. It could bring a mortal man back from even the brink of death to, at least, a defensible level of health. Nothing – not magic spells nor the claws of damned beasts nor even enchanted weapons – was so heinous or fatal that this potion couldn't restore one's life.
Hector was about to straighten when he saw something else – something he didn't remember seeing before. He knelt and reached into the soft earth, pulling out something small and wooden – a little statue in the shape of a man's head. It was innocuous enough, hardly anything impressive, but Hector felt something from it – some strange surge of power. Curious, though, was the lack of any malice or curse. It felt clean and bright, despite being naught but a rough carving.
Both the strange statue and the potion went into his pocket. He could decipher the meaning of the statue later, and he might need the potion soon enough. For now, he had to return to the castle and begin his pursuit of Issac – the grounds were vast and he couldn't waste any time if Issac planned to lead him on a chase.
Just thinking about the arduous task that awaited him sent a pulse of rage through Hector. But his anger had done him little good when he'd seen Issac – he must remain calm, return to the collected strategist and tactician he'd been in the darkest days of Dracula's reign if he wanted to catch and defeat Issac. Even that thought made Hector sick.
Furious, Hector unsheathed his sword and struck at the nearest torch. It shattered in a burst of flame and splinters and something hit the ground that gleamed in the last burst of light. When Hector inspected it, he realized he held a round, yellowed coin – barely even pocket change, really. But Hector pocketed it all the same with a bitter smile – he remembered servants among Dracula's lands whom thought they could get away with filching from their Master, and hid coins in the hollow wells under the flame in torches. He and Issac would do the same with other things throughout the land, in the event they needed them. Potions, serums for curses, antidotes for poisons – he'd forgotten about them and wondered if Issac had, as well. If he had, then Hector had just that much an advantage.
Perhaps... perhaps he needn't even reuse his Devil Forging powers, at all. The thought was comforting as Hector returned to his sprint, only stopping to smash the lampposts and pocket the coins – just the simple practice of swinging his sword again was useful, and to see the flames sputter out was immensely satisfying.
Again, he crossed the bridge. Below him, Hector could hear the water rushing as though it wanted reach up and grab him and drag him under it's current to rest with the other lost souls. The walls of the moat and the iron gates of the bridge to the courtyard seemed to creak and the windows gleamed like eyes. Far be it for Hector to say he was frightened – but he was cautious. Apart from the creatures of the night that prowled about all of Valachia these days, the lands that Dracula had once walked were haunted. The vampire's curse seemed to penetrate even the innermost stones of the walls here.
With this in mind, Hector tread carefully up the steps and pushed the door open.
The entrance way was different than Hector remembered – the cobbled stone floors and naked walls were much as he remembered, but there was a third wall there, now. Unless Issac had built a secret passageway just within these three years, he could not have come through this door and the wall.
Something was waiting for him.
Ready, Hector drew his sword and cautiously entered. Every footstep he took echoed against the walls, and there was nowhere to hide or use as cover. It was the most exposed Hector had felt in years, until he finally stepped close enough to the wall and then, he heard, and felt, the crash as it cracked and shattered apart.
There, towering up to the ceiling stood an Executioner. It was a one-armed menace created from the corpses of numerous humans, a black sack tied over the creature's head, concealing what might have been a human face, or possibly something worse, and the single arm it had ended in a hammer, punctuated with brass bolts that could crush a man in one blow.
Hector knew – these had been the foremost creatures he would send to lay waste to a castle or village walls when Dracula wanted a conquest. After they made short work of any barriers in their way, it was simple enough for smaller creatures to seize the homes.
The Executioner raised it's hammer arm and Hector ran quickly enough that it failed to connect. He felt the ground shudder under him and quickly jumped at the Executioner's shoulder, swinging his blade into the creature's shoulder. A spurt of blood gushed from the wound – something that would have made a human scream in agony, but was little more than an annoyance to something as unholy as an executioner. The arm kept swinging, and Hector kicked away before the hammer came down, again. This time, he struck a blow to the creature's legs, and then another and another. One leg came off at the knee and the Executioner sank to it's hips, still struggling to move and unable to understand that it's prey was killing it, slowly.
Unholy monstrosity though it may be, Hector made another jump and drove his sword through the creature's skull, and all he could feel was pity for the mindless brute. No creature – no matter if it were chimeras Dracula bred to guard his lands, or wild monsters tamed to set upon villagers and peasants that threatened his reign – none had ever been able to escape Dracula's control. Perhaps, had he not been blessed as a human at birth, Hector might never have been able to do the same.
He shook himself and turned to the hall – there were two passages leading from the entrance, both with gold-lined red carpet leading down them, but before him was a wrought iron door enameled with bright blue glass. The glass hardly even seemed like something earthly at all – as though it were water somehow forged into the finest of jewels. More than that, it was the same color as the jar his potion was in.
The memory came back, quickly – memories of numerous villagers organizing resistance, bringing torches and pitchforks to Dracula's lands in some futile hope that it might save them, how he would organize the monsters and his own creations to defend the castle, and, should he be wounded in battle...
Hector pushed the door open and found himself in a room constructed completely of blue stone. There was a basin of holy water around the platform, and a chair with enormous wings carved in glass resting off the back. In each indent in the wall, there stood tall, solemn statues of the Virgin Mary with tiny blue lanterns glowing in her hands. The room's magic was instantaneous – everything from the tips of his ears to the soles of his feet seemed to buzz with new life, and his exhaustion melted into something more soothing. Without a second thought, Hector climbed the steps and slumped into the chair – so like a throne that Hector wondered for whom it had been truly intended – and the wings folded about him. He closed his eyes and allowed the hum of the room to lull him into a more tranquil state – he would need it to successfully plot...
~Blue Serenade~
Hector shook himself and sat up – he hadn't realized it, but looking back, his pursuit of Issac just to the abandoned castle had taken him days, if not weeks. In all that time, he'd not stopped for a real night of rest. Feeling foolish, he stood from the chair, determined not to let it happen again, the next time he found one of these rooms.
Outside, the hallway was still dark, save for the flickering glow from the enchanted torches. It was as though no time had passed at all while Hector had rested. He could take just a step or two to the right and see out the window into the black sky – not even moonlight penetrated the windows. Hector watched for a moment, then saw a flash of lightning somewhere in the distance. The storm must have started while he'd been in the sanctuary.
Knowing Issac, he wouldn't be out in this – he'd be somewhere within the castle. Hector turned to the left, along the edge of the fraying red carpet until he reached a set of stairs, descended... and stopped when he heard the rippling splashes of water. He remembered this room – it had been the great hall. Once, long before Dracula had taken the castle, it might have been where meals – great feasts, even – had served the dwellers of the realm. He didn't remember there being water down here. Had something broken? Was there a leak?
And, more importantly, what was making that noise? Hector drew his sword, yet again, and began his way down. Almost immediately, his eyes adjusted to the near total darkness and he could see a good foot of water covering the last few steps. He stepped carefully, barely daring to breathe, let alone disturb the water. He moved slowly, trying to avoid any sudden movements and watch for whatever was lurking down here. At present, all he could make out were the pillars that supported the crumbling ceiling and the edge around the corner – he couldn't even remember where the exit to the next hallway was.
A loud splash drew Hector's attention, and he just barely saw the flash of something blue come at him before a blow hit him in the face and sent him reeling backwards, into the wall. When he shook himself back to sense, he saw the creature come, hopping and making such a noise that Hector almost thought there were a pack of them. It wasn't until the monster was close enough to swipe at him that Hector saw the distinct fin-spines that rose from it's back, and the snarling, blubbery face of a blue Merman.
This time, Hector blocked the creature's blow and quickly swiped at it with his sword. The blow barely nicked the creature in the arm, and soon enough, Hector had to block as the Merman swiped at him, again. At least it wasn't shooting water at him again – of any monstrous attack, the Merman's water blasts were the most damaging for all their deceptive appearance. Many a mortal man had hunted Mermen in their lairs, believing the monsters to be like legged fish. Instead, they would meet with bursts of water shot so quickly they could rend skin from flesh and leave a man raw and reeling from the pain.
It was only for his tolerance to such wounds that Hector was still standing.
When Hector slashed with his sword, again, it caught the Merman in a broad, bloody blow from maw to belly. The creature stumbled and fell, it's tail still twitching until Hector brought his blade down again and sliced clear through it's spine. A billow of scarlet shot out from the creature's sides, as though it were an insect being squeezed to death under a cruel child's boot. Hector barely had a chance to regain his footing when something rammed into his side and sent him down into the water. His eyes stung and he couldn't breathe, and all the air in his lungs was forced out when something struck him, heavily in the back and pushed him into the stone floor. Blindly, Hector swung his blade and felt it strike something – it could have been a stone jutting out from the floor, or a piece of broken wood, or anything. But luck was with him and the pressure holding him down lessened.
Out of the water and gasping for air, Hector could now clearly see not one, but two more Mermen hopping about. One had blood oozing from a shallow cut on it's scaly, webbed foot. Hector knew he'd swung hard enough to have at least done more than that, unless it had just been the scales that had glanced his blow. He didn't have time to ponder – one of the Mermen had tucked itself into a ball and came rolling at him. Hector put his guard up just in time, and retaliated when the creature uncurled. His blade went through the soft underbelly of the monster. When he pulled out, the Merman staggered and blood gushed from the wound, and all Hector could do was make another slice as quickly as possible, this time into the chest, and drag his blade sharply enough to cut the monster from shoulder to shoulder and make it's death as quick as possible. The second Merman landed beside him and spun to strike Hector with it's tail.
This time, Hector was still on his guard. He caught the creature and landed his sword on the base of it's spine hard enough that he heard a distinct crack and the Merman's tail dropped, uselessly, between it's legs. When the monster spun to swipe at him with it's claws, Hector brought his blade up, again, and took the arm, finally landing a killing blow on the Merman's skull, splitting it right between the eyes.
When he took a moment to brace himself against the wall, Hector saw the three bodies of the Mermen oozing out the last of their lifeblood, then starting to dissolve. The murky red in the water faded, and in a moment, the water was clear and clean again – it was as though the creatures had never been there.
Only one of the many reasons men had been so wrong to think Mermen were like oversized prey.
Hector leant on the wall, using it to bear his weight as he staggered along the side, following the path around the hall, until he could see another stairwell looming out of the gloom. He managed to reach it without much difficulty, finally sitting down on the steps and regaining his breath, completely. Only now did he feel the sting across his face, the stabbing pain in his side, the burn in his lower back. The heat of battle had numbed him, but it now rushed through his veins and made him feel nauseous.
But it passed, and faded to a more manageable level of discomfort. At any rate, he was able to stand and walk up the steps, these leading to a new corridor that was also guided by a red and gold carpet. More lanterns carved from stone were spaced along this hallway, but still few and far between enough that Hector couldn't see much beyond the first few steps before him. Hector staggered along, determined not to stop until he'd reached the doors.
When he had to lean against a wall only halfway down the hall, he admitted that, perhaps, he'd been more gravely wounded in his battle against the Mermen than he'd previously admitted. How humiliating – to have been dealt such a serious blow by just a few, simple creatures. Not even the Executioner had come so close to even scratching him.
Hector kept walking, ignoring the way the pain in his side had spread to across his belly, as though something was ripping him apart with every step. When he saw the doors at last – comforting to him, in the same motif of the Madonna in blue that gazed out at him from the panels on either side of the handles – Hector leaned against them and slid down to the floor, again. He could neither see nor smell any blood, but he'd seen enough battles to know that such injuries existed that could kill a man with only an uncontrollable bruise. He braced his arms against the baseboard of the door, as though praying for a miracle to save him.
As though answering him, when Hector opened his eyes, there was a jar on the floor just beside him – the same small blue with a gold handle as the one he'd dug up from the forest. Without another thought, he grasped the handle and lifted the lid to tip the contents back into his throat. Immediately, the effects of the potion ran through his body and mended any little damage he felt. The pain below his ribs seemed to melt away, and his back and face no longer burned. He could finally take a breath that didn't make his head swim, nor almost send him crashing back to the floor when he stood straight upright.
Grateful as Hector was to have been saved this time, it was a reminder he hadn't realized he'd been wanting for – just a pair of Mermen had injured him so badly that he'd needed the effects of a potion to be able to carry on. The one he still had pocketed, he'd intended for an emergency, for a dire moment, not just after slaying a couple monsters, yet... what else had that been, but very grave wounds?
Calming himself, Hector put a hand against the door and gave a shove. The door didn't move. It didn't even creak at the pressure he put against it. He tried again, and the doors remained stubbornly, steadfastly still. Hector stood back and examined the doors a little more carefully – under the flickering torchlight, he saw a hole under the left door handle, as though a lock had been torn out of the wood.
The Dragon Crest – it had been ever present in the doors when he'd been younger, so much that he'd thought it merely a part of the woodwork. Clearly, he was wrong. Issac must have taken it out and sealed the entryway behind him.
What other secrets about the abandoned castle had Issac discovered in the time Hector had been absent?
With a frustrated, strangled cry of fury, Hector lashed out and smashed the torches. Their flames sputtered out and the stone went scattering. Among the pieces, Hector saw another coin land on the floor, but in the other...
Among the remains of the torch, there was something misshapen and soft – certainly not a potion or a serum, and it couldn't be a coin. Instinctively, Hector put up his sword, in case he had released a bat that had somehow made its way inside the lantern to slumber, before the smell reached his nose. The savory, warm scent of cooked meat.
Something in Hector's middle twisted, and he remembered his long journey up to the castle – like a fool, he'd barely stopped to rest, nor to eat. He didn't give it a second thought before scooping up the odd find and gratefully sinking his teeth down to the bone. It was still warm – perhaps that was why it had been under the flame in the lantern, perhaps it had indeed once been a bat that had the misfortune to roost somewhere that would be it's inevitable doom. Hector didn't know, nor could he bring himself to care enough to pose the question – the bone was clean in less than a minute and left him feeling more at rights with himself than he had been in a long while.
Now that he could, Hector considered his current dilemma – Issac had broken the Dragon Crest out of it's place in the door, sealing it. Hector couldn't pursue him like this. But Issac WANTED Hector to be able to follow him – he wouldn't make this impossible. There had to be a trick in here, somewhere. Likely, this meant Issac had hidden the Crest somewhere that Hector COULD find it – somewhere in this portion of the castle... Hector looked back over his shoulder, down the hallway – maybe even in one of the lampposts. Issac had used his devil to attack Hector at their confrontation – perhaps he'd used the beast to take the crest and hide it somewhere before Hector caught up with them.
At any rate, this meant Hector would have to search the rest of this part of the castle until he found it. So be it, then.
~Abandoned Castle ~ Curse of Darkness ~
With each torch he smashed as he ran back, Hector stopped to pick up the contents – a few lampposts held nothing, and most of them, it was just a coin. Still, he wasn't about to risk the idea that Issac might have hidden something in one of these torches that would be vital. He rushed back down into the great hall, wading through the water as he groped along the walls, looking for some sign – any, whatsoever – of where Issac might have hidden the Dragon Crest, be it just on the floor somewhere or on a rock, or wedged between the bricks.
He'd walked the perimeter of the hall and found nothing. That left the rest of the castle. Hector trudged back up the steps, into the corridor again, and went sprinting for the other end. As he passed the sanctuary again, something caught his eye on the floor – what appeared to be a glowing slip of parchment. He knelt to pick it up and saw the elegant script across the front reading 'Bilet a Memoriu'.
A Memorial Ticket – a spell written into parchment that allowed it's user to transport, instantly, from where they held the spell to wherever they chose. It would be useful, at least – and after his battle against the Mermen, Hector knew precisely where he wanted to be able to teleport to, in case of an emergency.
Inside the sanctuary, Hector carefully climbed the steps to the winged chair and placed the parchment on the back. The blue crystalline glass seemed almost warm to the touch, yet cool at the same moment. Hector closed his eyes and traced the seal on the ticket, encoding it with the unique signature of the sanctuary. In a moment, he felt the seal glow hot, then fade away, and he knew the spell was complete. Pocketing the ticket, Hector pushed through the sanctuary doors and out into the hallway once more.
This time, as he dashed up the corridor, Hector remembered to watch for any hiding place that Issac might have put the Dragon Crest. He checked behind the hanging red curtains that trailed between windows and along the walls, in the pockets of the wrought-iron grate. The hall seemed far too quiet, with the rattling of stormy rain against the windows and flashes of lightning throwing shadows into disarray.
It was because of those flashes that, at first, Hector dismissed it. When he turned and saw three skeletons ambling towards him, he realized the glow he'd caught out of the corner of his eye had been a summoning circle.
At any rate, the skeletons were easy to dispatch. Just a set of human bones animated by magic – and by a spell that wasn't even that hardy to begin with. In three blows, Hector had scattered the bones of the first skeleton and they dissolved into dust, then nothingness. The other two were just as easily smashed – Hector had only used the flat side of his blade, and it still destroyed them in a matter of moments. He ran quickly past, not wanting to wait for another summoning circle to appear, and smashed the lanterns. More coins, no crest. And again at the doors on the end – these ones also engraved with the blue-robed virgin, practically identical to the doors Issac had locked. Hector had a brief moment of panic that they might also have been sealed, until he pressed and they not only swung open, but did so without even a groan or creak in the hinges.
The next hallway, to Hector's surprise, was completely empty and fairly well lit – there were even wrought-iron candelabras posted every few feet on the walls, between stone pillars and red velvet hangings. The carpeting even ensured that there was little to no echo as Hector ran down it's length and up to the next door.
All of the doors had been superficially identical so far. Hector wondered if there was some significance to this, or if it was a simple ploy to confuse intruders and make landmarks in the castle difficult.
Hector pushed through the doors and into the next chamber. One step in and he saw glowing red spikes standing up in the shadow of the other doorway. The sound of something – like a thousand swords being drawn from their sheaths – made him turn to see that the very doors he'd just entered through had been barred by the same spikes. Just looking at them was enough to tell Hector that they were imbued with magic to make passage impossible.
And that was when he saw the summoning circles on the floor. Simultaneously, at least five or six skeletons rose from the haunted glow and charged at him. Each had a hooked pole of bronze in it's hands, and Hector managed to bring his sword up to block the first two that swung towards his head. Behind him, Hector could feel more skeletons being summoned, and he knew that if he didn't make an offensive move soon, they would easily be able to split him like an ax does a log.
This was why, despite their fragility, they had been such effective guards. Any human outnumbered by them would almost always succumb to their fear and lose the battle quickly.
But Hector was no mere human.
First, he kicked out the two skeletons that bore down on him. They tumbled backwards, leaving enough room for Hector to spin and swing his blade, catching two of the skeletons that had been crawling up behind him. They, too, flew back and into the walls. Hector pursued them, hacking away at the others until he had a bare wall to his back. No matter how the skeletons came on, this time, he was able to swing, and slice, and before long, all of them had been reduced to little more than ash. The only evidence that there had been any creatures in this room at all were the broken lanterns and the coins they'd left as Hector gathered them, and the scattered lumps of faintly glowing bronze. Hector gathered those, too – he'd need a new sword, sooner or later, the way he kept falling under attacks like these.
He'd just picked up the last nugget of bronze left by one of the skeletons when, in the center of the room, he felt something tug on his ankle. Panicking, Hector dropped to his hands and flipped, pulling himself out of the way.
There was nothing. Nothing but a fading shimmer, though it might have been just his eyes fooling him. It mattered naught – Hector felt uneasy, but he'd just managed a flip, something he hadn't done in years.
There were plenty things he hadn't done in years. All of the various fighting stances and techniques that he'd learned as a Devil Forgemaster had abandoned him in his years of desertion.
"You relinquished your powers... and now, you think to defeat me?"
Suddenly, Issac's words cut all the more deeply. Devil Forging aside, if Hector was deprived of even simple evasion techniques and guarding, what chance did he stand in a fight?
He shook himself and turned to dash up the stairwell – if his skills were that low, even now, he would need to practice.
At the top of the stairs, Hector came out through a trapdoor onto the ledges of the outer wall surrounding the castle. The stones of the walls and walkway were brown with rotted moss, yet green with ivy and overgrown weeds. Each step was slippery and Hector heard the ooze of water running out as he moved. It might have been treacherous to walk, were there not at least minimal stone walls lining the ledges, and the enchanted torches remained flickering and lighted, even under the torrent of rain.
Hector had not gone even two steps when he saw a smokey shadow rise from the ground. He drew his sword, beginning to wonder if he should even bother sheathing it ever again, when a flash of red came charging toward him. In the next flash of lightning, Hector could see long, sharp fangs hideously protruding from the muzzle of a Fenrir – a hellhound unlike any other seen.
It was enough to give Hector pause – Executioners and Skeletons were monstrosities forged with magic, not unlike how Hector had forged Devils for Dracula. Mermen were pests, and more or less an inherent risk with any body of water. Fenrirs, however, were closer to wild beasts than any other monster – one never saw them alone, nor so distant from others. What would a Fenrir be doing on the ledges of the outer wall, if there was no den nor pack nearby?
Hector didn't wait to find out – his blade flashed quickly, enough of a movement to make the hellhound rear back and pace, watching him. Hector could see the beast trying to work things out – he could see the cool, almost sentient logic in those glowing green eyes. It would be up to him to make the next move – either a sudden feint or a slow progression. Either way, the Fenrir would be ready to counter attack. Hector made as if to jump to the side and the Fenrir started it's move – circling to prevent him from falling back, nor even to the side. Hector was left little choice but to pivot, watching the beast.
He could almost swear he saw a cold, cruel approval in the Fenrir's eyes when it stopped circling, barking at him, and hunched in obvious preparation to pounce. Hector had his blade up and ready, sinking it into the hellhound's belly as it jumped. The Fenrir's feet caught his arm – enough to make him bleed, although 'twas but a scratch – before Hector sliced through the belly, then throwing the beast aside and making a clean slice through it's throat.
By this time, he saw the second come charging at him from further down the ledge. The first one's mate? A pup? Another part of the pack? It didn't matter – Hector threw his blade and caught the hindquarters of the rearing Fenrir, effectively stopping it's charge. When the sword came back to him, Hector moved in for another two strikes, these breaking the hellhound's spine until it lay on the ground, bleeding.
For a moment, Hector heard faint whimpering, as though from a human child's pet pup, until the Fenrir's fur shed from their bodies and the flesh and bones crumpled with disturbing rapidness into the ground. What was left from the creature was a piece of stone – or, maybe it was bone – with curves and grooves etched into it, like a fossil of some kind. When Hector touched it, he felt like he could hear the rustling of tree leaves and smell the footprints of creatures in the darkest woods.
He could puzzle over it later – maybe it was related to the statue he'd found. Either way, he had to keep moving.
The next pause he had was on the corner platform, with a detailed, faded pattern painted onto the stone floor. Two skeletons appeared out of summoning circles and had barely poised themselves to attack when Hector knocked them down. They left behind nothing – why hadn't it occurred to Hector before that Issac might have fed the Dragon Crest to one of these monsters, for Hector to find once he slew them? – and the lamps yielded more coins. Hector felt his pocket growing heavy, if not cumbersome, but rationed that it would be better that way – he needed to build up his strength again.
He passed through a doorway – these doors with rearing lions carved into them. And then, it was down another stretch of walkway. From this angle, he could see the turrets of other sections of the castle – a sloped rooftop, and a pointing spire that might have been a grand throne room. A small part of him wondered if he might just be able to jump across – spare himself this trouble – but then he looked over the edge of the wall. It was at least six feet to even the gutter of the roof beside them, and Hector could see no bottom in the blackness at the foot of the wall. It wasn't worth it.
So, on he continued, encountering more skeletons, smashing them, noting the telltale blue glass of another sanctuary, and continuing to the next set of doors embraced by hanging bundles of ivy. The corner platform on the other side was bare, save for something fluttering in the wind in the very center. When Hector strode over, he found a piece of parchment held down by a rock.
With a snort of disgust, Hector unfurled the parchment and was greeted with a message, written in Issac's own hand.
I thought you might be needing this. It's a map of our dear old Abandoned Castle, although lacking in the finer details.
It took all of Hector's restraint – and the fact that he did need this tool – to not crush the parchment in his hands. The insult – the very implication that Issac thought Hector no longer knew the Abandoned Castle, let alone that Issac knew it – was abominable. It irritated Hector almost to the point that he practically forgot to check the lanterns. When he turned to begin down the next ledge, he could see a tower coming into view – even in the heavy rain, he could make out where the moon was, and the tower seemed to skewer it, as though it were a tether, binding the night to Valachia and forbidding the morning to come.
But Hector had no time to ruminate – another Fenrir had come charging out of the shadows, somewhat stupider than the first two and not even expecting when Hector drew his sword and smashed the flat of it against the beast's jaw. One of it's fangs was knocked out and went flying as Hector made another swipe at the Fenrir's side, and then cut through it's underbelly. Leaving the corpse behind to disintegrate, another came at him and Hector managed to catch it mid pounce and tossed it over the side of the ledge. It was strange, but the beasts seemed remarkably easier – not something that Hector could shrug off, of course, but nowhere near as grueling as his fight with the Mermen had been.
Finally, the corner, and two more skeletons. Hector's slices now felt less like a calculated move and more like a natural flow that his arm performed of its own will. He paused to breathe for a moment and survey the area – he could see that, beyond the door before him, there was a room somehow attached to something more significant than just another part of the castle wall. There was even a wall of stone that cupped the corner platform, as though supporting the castle walls, itself. It was almost ominous, the way the wall curved into a little corner, with iron grates and chains hanging from them and arched carvings – of what, Hector could not say, they were so weather worn – evenly spaced between those. Why, he couldn't think.
Knowing Dracula, it might have been a sadistic punishment for any servants he caught disobeying him.
Hector put it out of his mind, destroyed the lampposts – yet another coin, but naught else – and pushed through yet another set of doors. Almost immediately, a set of bars went up behind him, and Hector wished he hadn't pushed through into the room.
Standing right in the middle of the floor, with an enormous club slung over it's shoulder, was a giant purple Cyclops. As if that weren't enough, there were also skeletons swarming around it.
When the Cyclops began to lumber towards him, and swing the club, Hector was at least quick enough that he was able to flip out of the way. One of the skeletons was there to greet him with a raised hook, but Hector was quicker to draw and smash it to pieces. The Cyclops hadn't even completed its swing before Hector had drawn and slashed through a second skeleton, and by the time he'd done away with a third, only then did the Cyclops think to look around to see where the puny human it had spotted had gone.
More skeletons kept coming – it was as though they were walking in a row, just so Hector could smash one to pieces and flip to the side to scoop up the bronze nuggets they left before dispatching another. Even as more summoning circles appeared and more skeletons popped out of nowhere, Hector was able to move swiftly enough to swat them all down.
Perhaps because he was distracted with the skeletons, Hector didn't notice until too late that the Cyclops' eye had lit up and fired a beam that curved out, right behind where Hector was standing. When the ground exploded, Hector was knocked over hard enough that his face hit the cobblestones and he felt his nose crack. With blood running down his face, Hector only barely managed to roll out of the way as another skeleton brought it's hook down. It caught his leg with enough force to send a shockwave of numbness to his foot. Hector righted himself and quickly tossed his sword. The blade splintered through the last skeleton and managed to cut a slice into the Cyclops' trunk-like leg before Hector managed to catch it and hobble out of the way.
Slow and stupid through the Cyclops might be, Hector did remember how impossibly strong they were – a single Cyclops could be dispatched onto the battlefield and mash it's way through the troops of the attacking army without even feeling the arrows or sword slashes. Hector usually sent them to destroy massive weapons constructed by the enemy – the catapults and trebuchets and siege towers. Human weapons never even surprised the monsters.
The only thing Hector had to his advantage was the fact that he had the potential power of a Devil Forger. That alone would give him a fighting chance. He had to move slowly, with his leg injured, and when he flipped out of the way of the next arching beam, he ended up rolling closer to the Cyclops, rather than away. It gave him the chance to land another blow – deeper but no more effective this time – on the creature's belly, just before the Cyclops lifted a foot to stomp. Hector's foot was caught and he felt a shock of unbelievable pain go up his leg.
"Just crush me and get it over with, then!" He howled at the Cyclops, as he fell to the ground. The creature, mercifully, was too stupid to comprehend it's opponent shouting at it – it staggered a little, attempting to stay balanced and lifted a hand to scratch behind it's head, as though inspecting a curiosity.
It was all that Hector needed – the distraction gave him time to roll away, even as it made his leg throb. The moment he moved, the Cyclops growled, indistinctly, and started after him. Hector saw the creature unholster its club and begin the swing, and it was only because he rolled out of the way that the end of the club just caught his other foot. It was only his boots that stopped the club from completely tearing the limb in two, and either way, it was agonizing enough to make him scream. Hector heard his voice echo back off of the walls, and it surely must have gone up into the sky, like an injured wolf's howl.
Again, it was a mercy, because the Cyclops stopped and looked around to see where else that noise was coming from. Hector fumbled in his pocket and found the potion with ungainly haste. It wasn't much, but it did help his legs and the reopened, bleeding wound on his arm. Hector quickly pulled himself up, and darted towards the Cyclops. It turned, but too slowly before Hector had slunk behind it and began to hack away at it's back. It wasn't until the third strike – which finally hit some blood, that the Cyclops even realized it was being struck. It started to turn, with Hector running behind, slicing as quickly and deeply as he could. He couldn't do this for very long – eventually, the Cyclops would get the idea to spin its club again and then he might not see it coming in time. Hector made one last, desperate jab and pierced through the raw and already weakened flesh and felt his sword pierce something inside the Cyclops' belly.
The creature gave an unearthly roar, and Hector barely had time to pull his sword out and flip to the side before it toppled over. The Cyclops' head hit the ground with such force that Hector heard it's skull crack, before the body shriveled and collapsed in a burst of flames. Breathing heavily, Hector straightened himself and made his way about the room, checking each of the torches for the Dragon Crest – again, none of them, although he did find more coins and another chunk of roasted meat spilt out of one. Hector finished gnawing on the bone as he made his way to the doors he hadn't yet passed through when he stopped at something – the first time he'd seen these doors, he'd assumed it was a lion carved onto them. These, perhaps because they were not as exposed to wind and rain as the other doors were, had more distinct carvings on them and, while it was certainly a lion's head, Hector saw feathered wings protruding from their human backs, and in their human hands, each carried something indistinct.
Rather than being carved lions, these appeared to be likenesses attributed to Saint Mark. Hector shuddered at the thought and pushed through the doors, not wanting to gaze on the carvings any longer than he needed to.
Through the doors lay, not another ledge nor a room, but a stairwell. Hector could look over the edge of the railing and see into the abyss below. There was nothing even visible of the abandoned castle, save for the doorway Hector had just left. More importantly, Hector almost tripped over something and only just regained his balance enough to see that it was a small chest embellished with red velvet. Irritably, he kicked it and was surprised to feel himself being thrown backwards onto the steps, rather than the chest moving. Curious, Hector drew his sword and tried to smash it. The blade, seemingly of its own will, simply arched around the chest, not touching it at all.
"...A seal..." Hector mused to himself – it would make sense of why he was apparently unable to touch it. What, he wondered, briefly, could be inside it? Was there something he needed to unlock it? As he looked about, his eyes were drawn to the door atop the steps – just like the doors to sanctuary rooms, but with dark green glass instead of light, aquamarine blue. Of course – there was one thing which might undo the seal on a magic chest.
Hector sat down on the steps for a moment. Already, he'd used the potions he'd found, and for such minor battles as against Mermen or a Cyclops. He'd discovered that his strength was not what it used to be, nor did he remember any of what he'd trained for in his youth. As if that weren't enough, the fight he'd just escaped from reminded him that he was not only weaker than before, but also more rash and clumsy – not assessing the battlefield properly, nor able to properly defend himself. His feet had both been nearly crushed, all because he hadn't taken care enough to watch the Cyclops' movements as he fought with the skeletons.
It shamed him to admit it, but he needed his Devil Forging. Any kind of Devil – and there were so many kinds – any thing to have as a support, he was going to need. Even the weakest, most useless kinds of creatures, Hector could still use a second pair of eyes, or even a creature to take a blow for him, if worst came to worst.
Hector looked back over his shoulder at the door, then, with a leadened heart, began his way up the steps. If this was what he needed to do, then...
~Devil Forging~
When he pushed the doors open, at first Hector was blinded by the light that poured from the room on the other side. In the next moment, he found himself staggering inward, as though being drawn in by a hand larger than himself. The doors slammed shut behind him, and when Hector managed to regain his vision, he saw the room in it's full glory – not a room, but rather like a pocket of space and empty void, with naught but this platform upon which he stood. The air around him was permeated with thick, maroon colored mist, and stones floated in midair, swirling about as though they were in they eye of the storm. All, save but the one before him.
It was a thick slab of gray marble, holding a basin of glowing, pink crystal – the same kind that Hector had seen encrusted on Issac's devil. And floating among this crystal was a tiny stone statue, like a child in his mother's womb.
"This unearthly power..." Hector murmured, wondering if it was coming from this very tombstone. All he had to do was step forward and feel the thrum of the energy on his ears and skin, vibrating within him, to confirm it. And that was when he saw the writing on the edge of the basin.
Issac's writing.
"Huh. How conscientious of him." He mused, out loud, in disgust. Issac had carved the instructions for Devil Forging – the words of the spell, how the forger must gather his energy, how he must bend his will – into the stone of the tombstone.
"Along with the most difficult visualization." Hector couldn't help but notice that the mass of stone floating in the crystal basin was formless and awkward – certainly, it was part of Hector's duty to impose an image on the matter he forged into a devil, but there were ways of making the process go easier. Issac just had to pick one that would be difficult to shift into a creature.
"So..." On the other hand, the more difficult the forging process, it usually made for stronger devils... for the most part, "...That's how badly he wants me to regain my powers."
It seemed to strike home in Hector's memories. When they'd both been growing as forgemasters under Dracula's dominion, Issac always preferred to make his devils easier to forge, and to make as many of them as possible. Hector had preferred to pick difficult forms and spent time carefully developing each of them to be as powerful and skilled as was in his power. Whenever they had set their creations into matches with each other – to test their own skills, and to determine whose devils would be chosen for Dracula's missions, and for Dracula's idle amusement – Hector's had almost always torn Issac's apart.
He could still see clearly, the last time he had been victorious in a battle. Dracula, on his throne, had slowly and sarcastically applauded Hector's creation as it decimated Issac's – one of the few that Issac had taken his time and spent his energy carefully on breeding – and the look on Issac's face when Hector didn't even bother to acknowledge him. Dracula had decreed that Hector would lead the siege on Constantinople, and be rewarded with the greatest bounty of loot claimed from the city, which Hector had coldly accepted.
During the week long journey – taken by riding on low-flying dragons, or one of his more bestial creations – Hector had seen the carnage among the humans as he traveled. The villages burned, the cities torn to the ground and made red with blood, and ever present were the cries of fleeing people from miles away and the stench of dead, rotting bodies.
He never made it to Constantinople.
"...Very well." He spread his arms and commanded the pulsating energy to flow to him as he willed;
"Heed my words, O great powers of darkness! Release to me the tortured souls, let me infuse him with my life force, and awaken him to the world of the living!"
Hector felt his voice reverberating in his throat as it hadn't in years – the sensation was almost welcome, it was so unfamiliar, and it filled him with a surge of power that had been all but lost. Around him, the wind blew in every which direction, until he could see the strings of energy rippling and coiling and wrapping about the tombstone, like moths attracted to the light of a candle.
"Immaculate being – appear before me, NOW!"
With a final thrust of power, Hector focused, pouring his energy into the enchantment. He felt it flow out of him, and connect with the tiny stone figure in the crystal. Then, it was there – like a vibrating string, Hector felt what was once but stone awaken in consciousness, as though a part of him were awaking from slumber.
He stepped closer and saw the figure move – no longer a block of gray stone, it had a shape like a tiny homunculus with moth-like wings and a small protrusion of pink crystal from the base of it's spine. It twitched, then stretched, and Hector knew he wasn't imagining it when the devil let out a soft, almost pixie-like yawn. When the devil took flight, it zipped about Hector's head, then bobbed, swerved, and weaved about, as though it were about to fly off course and hit something. It finally settled down onto the edge of the tombstone and looked up at him, it's beady black eyes wide and far too innocent to truly be anything Hector could imagine being connected to HIS life force.
Come to think of it, when Hector recalled the twisted creature that had thrown him across the courtyard, the fairy sitting before him and humming soft, high-pitched nonsensical chirps seemed the furthest thing from what he was sure Issac had in mind.
"A whisp of conjured matter can be transformed into a hellish devil."
Indeed, the 'Hellish' part had seemed to be what Issac craved the most about his creations. If that was what Issac made his devils into, it could not be anything like the innocent devil that Hector had just brought into the world.
But... hellish or innocent, a devil was a devil, and he had forged this one. The deed was done, and there was nothing for it but to go on.
The fairy sat up and quickly fluttered off. Hector stared after it, knowing the thing couldn't travel far from him, but still curious to what it was doing.
Something behind him started clapping. Hector practically jumped up after the devil, he was so startled. When he turned, a bald old man enrobed completely in black velvet sauntered up beside him.
"Well, well... Devil Forging, isn't it?" The man asked, his voice sounding much younger than his years, "Never seen that before – quite impressive. It's enough to make your blood run cold."
There were many things that would make Hector's blood run cold – being caught off guard by a complete stranger, for one – but he would respectfully disagree that the forging he'd just completed was one of them.
"Who are you?" And how had he gotten in here without Hector even noticing? Had he really been that distracted? The old man looked almost astonished for a moment that Hector had asked, then bowed low, the very picture of subservience.
"Oh, my apologies, milord – I should have offered an introduction." Another duck of the head, "I go by Zaed."
That told Hector this man's name, and not much else. As if hearing this silent censure, Zaed continued.
"I am here for one purpose only: To purify this land of the pestilent curse which infects it." Zaed couldn't seem to stand still, the way he bobbed and wobbled about. Hector almost felt a stab of pity for him.
"...I see." He mused, pacing so as to observe this man from as many angles as possible. There was something about him that was hauntingly familiar – something Hector couldn't quite see or even articulate quite yet. Zaed turned his wobbling head to follow Hector.
"You, on the other hand, are pursuing the other Devil Forgemaster, are you not?" Hector could see the old man's eyes not following him – indeed, they had a milky, blank quality to them, as though carved from balls of marble or bone and no one had bothered to paint the details on them. It was wholly unnerving, "The one you seek fled toward the chapel on the other side of the mountain – he made his escape through the back of the castle."
Something about this Zaed made Hector suspicious.
"What concern is this to you?" He asked, taking a step closer towards the tombstone. The power he felt radiating from the crystal in the basin flowed through him, making him feel a thousand times more powerful than he knew himself to truly be.
Zaed was silent for a moment, those hauntingly vacant eyes at such an angle that he might have been watching Hector, or staring at the tombstone, or neither. It unnerved Hector to an unspeakable degree.
"...He is the one protecting the curse." Zaed finally, slowly explained, "Ergo, he is an impediment to me – and to all those who abide in this land."
Hector took a step back and assessed Zaed again, from head to toe – black robes, old and balding, unable to stand straight or keep still, possibly slowly going blind... he had all the traits that Hector wouldn't be surprised to find in a priest. His words about the welfare for the people of Valachia were only further evidence for this.
Perhaps, Hector pondered of himself, he was the one who was simply no longer able to trust. But, suspicions aside, he saw no reason to deny gratitude.
"I see. Very well: I, Hector, thank you for your help." He finally replied, as graciously as he could, "Now, if you'll forgive me, I must be on my way."
Zaed only bowed, even more deeply this time, as Hector turned back for the door – how ironic, he mused as he saw the sculpture of a cherubim presiding over it – and beckoned for his innocent devil to follow him.