WARNING: This Chapter is a flashback but contains important information. No current Character in this story is in this flashback chapter.

Parts of this chapter are Fictional, fanon, and Non-Fiction. (Though most of this story is Head Canon)

Enjoy.

With a low gruff and a blow out of the nose. The ale moved down his dry throat as he filtered the message of the archaic and prudent innkeeper, "Bloody Hell..."

Droplets from the heavens fell with reticence. The smell of rain and ale filled the old inn. The inn was full of whispering bodies and unsettled minds. The village was meek and pall, something that remained most of the days, with disease and famine cursing most. Waste flying in the wind; stench in the air around it as waste was dumped from the high level of homes. Corpses lying in a ditch waiting to be burned and most went to watch the fanning fire as the wind picked up. Was there a disaster on the way? The Pope watching from his high chair, looking down at the people and the misery, the spur he caused. Their money went to him, he claimed to be a man of God, while he steals from the people and let children die from the illness that passed around as the flu.

The story was tragic, to say the least, but not surprising. Tales had been going about Vlad the Impalers wife, who no one has ever met, not even a name. To outsiders looking in, he seemed to be awfully defensive about his wife and kept her from the villages and its inhabitants, peasants, and especially the priest, hags, and their followers. But he didn't have to directly protect the women people already fear that 'blood-sucking soul-snatching devil.' As the priest called him. The maiden had thrown herself of his palace and word spread fast and many had a say in why she did it.

"A mistress!" Most old hags grumble. While others believed she wasn't happy and jumped to escape his hold. Many believed there was more than one mistress and they were correct. Others were flabbergasted, though they thought it was just word from the mouth of awful women who had nothing better to do than talk. It was said that Vlad at more than one mistress, one who he immediately married after his first maidens death and one who he loved more than the rest... even his first wife.

Lisa.

Lisa was her name, some say her birth-given name was Katherine but there was no way to tell. Lisa had grown in a village far from Dracula himself. She traveled long distances to talk to this rumored ruthless man, for knowledge. And he had what she yearned for. They bonded over their desire to learn more, while the church got word of the 'sins' they were committing. They called it the devil's work, witchcraft. As the years went by, after Vlad's second wife died and he officially married Lisa, who he was undeniably messing around with while both his first and second wife were alive. A rumored child was in the mix and the rumor of course was true. Wanting to help the sick village that was so close to Dracula's castle, she moved there. But it would turn out to be the worst decision of her life or the remaining of it.

The Pope visited the girl, claiming she was a servant of Satan himself after seeing the thing she called science all over her home, they didn't understand and they feared what they didn't understand and that resulted in her death and the doom of that village.

When word met Dracula, he warned the villagers, they had a year to make up for her death but they did nothing and the Pope thought he called his bluff until this day. And that was the story the old innkeeper told, though they weren't in that village, it scared most who lived in one. "So, eh, what happened after that?"

The innkeeper looking around while wiping the glass clean, bent over the wooden bar to whisper to the man, "Well, they say the village was ravaged, remains of men women, and children everywhere. The Pope was found dead right in front of the church."

His eyebrow lifted and his head tilted up, "Ravaged by what?"

"Demon, Vampires, from hell, they say Dracula himself often used Satan wife's creatures of the night to terrorize those who cross him. Not only that they say it's spreading, they aren't only killing the people who crossed him but those he chooses." Lilith, the drunken man thought to himself. He slammed his empty glass on the ground and stood, placing coins on the steady table.

"Ay, Ugh, before you leave, what your name?" The innkeeper seemed to recognize his crest. "Trevor Belmont." He wiped his face, leaving the bar, with a goal on his mind.

The Seven Deadly Sin. They all had a persona, a ruler, who represented every sin. They also ruled one of each seven layers of hell. Lilith was truly the first woman, according to one of the Abrahamic religions but since there was so much information, no one could be sure. Lilith was a neutral type of entity. Good nor necessarily Evil. She just happened to fall in love with Evil incarcerated, similar to Lisa and Vlad.

Now the problem was she was willing to help those who are a benefit to her husband and herself. Therefore, if it meant death to the innocent—she was still doing her job.

As this Tale goes on, Trevor Belmont had help. Their Job? Kill Dracula. His goal was literally and figuratively inhuman, slightly beneficial to the Earth itself but no morally correct. Human Extinction. Some individual wouldn't mind that, ye hear? Especially, if they aren't Human, of course, it doesn't bother 'em.

But when a regular ol' mediocre peasant thought about it, it was impossible. The Impaler was a King, he was skilled, intelligent, and powerful. Who could defeat him? A Belmont maybe? Hm. They were the only ones prepared and they were whipped out and renounced by the church, no one trusted them as long as the church said so.

"It's shameful, honesty." The pal burped. He was a big one and his hair was bright like flares. Head shaved balled and beard long and twisted. He was an outsider. Strong accents that were oddly pleasing to hear. " Waste of good worthy, Lads."

Not from those lands and here he was talking to an old, sickly, worshipper of Vlad with his group of other foreign men. "They say they're a way to resurrect the King." He whispered to the table of men. "Ye serious, If anyone hears ye talkin' about that fellow, they'd fray your dome from your shoulder," Another one whispered, he looked around and sighed.

"Hm, I know a bud, he had a pal, nook full of books for folks who want what ye want." The old man smirked. It was a distant place but nowhere far from the borderline. Underground, the four large men lead the way with a torch and to the open space full of shelves with old books. "You want to resurrect, The Impaler?"

"Yes."

"First you need to silently pass the word around to his adherents."

"I will do anything."

"Ask and you shall receive." The bald man smirked as well as the Scottish men.

Blood splattered on the floor, the limp body fell. "One down, a multitude to go."

And that is where it began, though word spread and some people aren't as quiet. It got to the right ones and was stopped before the goal was reached. Bloodshed, cessation, scarcity, and tragedy for many in the century. Who knows what was to happen if the resurrection was so close...