Chapter 2: An Immortal Slayer

Wallachia, 15th Century

Flames licked up over a crest. It rose higher and higher until it covered it completely. Then, the fire faded off. In the darkness a crucifix appeared. The crucifix rotated until it was inverted and then it dropped. Everything faded to black. The next visage faded into view, showing a single figure stumbling through the burnt-out ruins of a familiar place.

Blue eyes snapped open.

'Bastards.'

Trevor Belmont felt a sense of disjointedness as he watched his childhood home burn.

It felt like this wasn't really happening, even if he knew it was. He couldn't understand how it could be happening. They'd spent literal centuries protecting these people; he'd grown up among them. How could they just turn on them like this? The ache in Trevor's arms from the men holding him down and forcing to watch his home and his parents burn was enough to tell him that, yes, this was real.

'Hurk!'

Trevor tore his eyes away from the burning building in time to see that fucking visiting bishop, who'd started this, buckle to the ground. A red line was across his throat and blood was oozing out. It wasn't deep enough to kill him instantly, but it was enough that he would now bleed to death. Whoever cut his throat knew exactly what they were doing.

In the next instant, one of the men holding him down screamed in agony and released his arm. Then the man on his other side did the same. Before Trevor could run for the house in blind desperation (and a small part of him knew that was what it would be), he felt himself hoisted up by the back of the shirt and dropped over the front of the saddle.

Looking up as the horse was turned, he recognised the face under the hood. He'd only seen her portrait before. However, he'd learned about this woman from his father's knee, but he was still surprised to see that she was here. Maybe part of him hadn't believed that she could possibly be real. But here she was.

Her cowled face was only seen by him because of his angle. He watched as she lifted her eyes and surveyed the crowd.

When she spoke, it was in a loud and clear voice, despite the mild French accent she still carried. 'You naive little shits! This family has protected you all from all demonkind for generations and you decide to persecute them for it? You lock the adults in their home and burn it to the ground; you force their son to watch and excommunicate him? And why? Because this corrupt little turd—' she pointed accusingly at the bishop, '—wanders into town and takes advantage of a piece of speculation that's wafting around the place.' She narrowed her eyes and shook her head at them. 'When the consequences for this come to bite you in the ass, I'm not helping you.'

She then looked at the bishop. 'When you get to Hell, tell them you were sent by Yvette, the Vampire Slayer.'

Yup.

It was her.

Yvette then turned the horse and rode away from the burning estate, taking Trevor with her.

Sometime shortly after, he fell asleep.

Gresit, 1476

The stench wasn't something Trevor had wanted to put up with.

Still, after Yvette had saved him that night she had taken him in. Over 300 year old Seven-Year Slayer or not, they were still family. If it hadn't been for her, he might've just decided to say "fuck it" and left the common man to suffer for the hell they'd brought upon themselves. But Yvette's lessons had made their mark on him.

With a huff, Trevor hopped out of the sewerage system and into the town.

He stopped and looked around the place. It was a thoroughly ordinary town, with a thoroughly ordinary look. If not for the hunched way people walked, the way mothers shielded even the older children, and the wary, flittering eyes, one would think nothing was amiss. But Trevor knew better. There was a reason he'd come here. But he'd have to wait until nightfall.

While he waited, he went in search of breakfast.

The most he could afford at present, until his next rendezvous, was a strip of meat. It was good enough and he cooked it before walking through the streets, looking at all the nooks and crannies of the town so he knew what he could use when the time came to do his job. That was why he was there in that back alley.

He was looking around when two priests pushed an old man past him. The colour of the robes caught Trevor's eye and he stopped to see what they were doing. That was definitely a Speaker. And not just any Speaker – it was a Speaker Elder. One of the priests shoved the Elder and the old man stumbled a step before turning around.

'I warned you.' The priest that had shoved him pulled a metal stave out of his robes. 'You can't say I didn't warn you.'

'You did not listen to me, sir,' the Elder said.

The priest pointed the stave at him threateningly. 'Are you talking back to me?'

Anger rolled in Trevor's gut. Yet another example of the church scapegoating the nearest minority. He seemed to find it everywhere he went.

'No, I'm merely talking to you.' The elder pushed the stave aside. 'Anyone can see that we are not responsible for what befalls Gresit.'

Trevor closed his eyes. 'No, keep walking.' He didn't move though.

'So now I'm stupid,' he demanded. 'I work within the light of God himself, but you can see things I can't? With your magic?'

'There's no magic, sir. We are here to help. That is all.'

The priest got right in his face. 'Speakers don't help. Speakers are tainted. You attract evil! And you and yours were told to be out of Gresit by sunset!' He took a hold of his face. 'And see?' He pointed upwards with the stave. 'The sun is up! Take a good look at the sunrise, old man!'

Trevor sighed. 'I don't care.'

Yvette's voice rang in his memory, though. 'But you do care, Trevor. You can lie to yourself until the cows come home, but when push comes to shove, you do care enough to do something about it.'

'Will killing an old man make you less scared of the dark?' the Elder asked.

'I dunno,' the priest said. 'Maybe it'll just make me feel better.'

Well, fuck. Trevor flicked his cloak back and drew his whip. Kuh-RACK! The end of his whip coiled around the stave and Trevor yanked. He violently ripped the weapon out of his hand and that wasn't the only thing he ripped away. There was a certain level of schadenfreude he felt watching that, and when the priest in question made his pained sounds and collapsed to his knees. Still...he could hardly admit that. The other priest spun around. The Speaker Elder just looked up at him in mild surprise.

Obviously, he'd seen him standing there. He just hadn't expected him to do anything.

Trevor rubbed the back of his neck. 'Oh, hell. I'm sorry. I was trying to snatch the stave out of your hand. How's your finger?'

'What fucking finger?' the priest demanded.

Trevor smirked. 'That's no way for a Man of the Cloth to talk. Why don't you go and get that looked at?'

The two priests stared at him in disbelief.

The de-fingered one turned to the other. 'Kill the bastard!'

'Look,' Trevor said, stepping forward. 'I don't like priests, at the best of times – I mean, I really, really don't like priests. If you leave now, we'll say no more about it.'

'Kill him now!' the first priest barked.

Part of Trevor hoped he would try. 'Last warning. This'll get nasty.'

The other priest looked a bit torn, clearly the novice of the two. He glanced back at the other guy and then back a Trevor before he steeled himself. Oh, goody! He was going to do it. He flicked a dagger out of his sleeve. Trevor calmly rolled his body weight from one side to the other and inclined his head.

'Oh. Now, that's a funny thing for a priest to be carrying.' He narrowed his eyes. 'That's a Thief's Knife.' So, the odds were they weren't real priests. The "priest" spun it around and got ready to charge. 'Seriously?' He charged. Trevor dodged. 'Someone will get hurt.'

The "priest" stabbed again. Trevor wound the end of his whip around the man's wrist, spun him around a few times and then released him. The thug in priest's robes went flying, but Trevor made sure to hook the end of his whip around the guy's ankle. He waited when he felt him stop, just long enough for him to notice. With his back turned, Trevor cracked the whip. The "priest" fell to the ground.

He still got up and charged again though. Trevor dodged each of the stabs and slashes he attempted. He then knocked him back and cracked his whip. This time, he intentionally injured the guy. The man cried out as his eye was knocked out of its socket and collapsed to the cobblestones.

Trevor curled up the whip and turned away from him. He walked over to the other "priest" and faced him. 'Pick him up. Go back to your church. Don't bother this man or his people again.'

The "priest" couldn't grab his buddy and run fast enough.

'The violence wasn't necessary.'

Trevor turned.

The Speaker Elder smiled. 'But...' He gave a chuckle. 'It is appreciated. I thank you for your assistance and, I suspect, your restraint.'

Trevor gave him a wry smile.