When There's a Whip, There's a Way: Remastered

by GreaterAxelord

The Bloodline had been tainted, cursed. Redemption was assumed to be well beyond the means of Richter after the atrocities he had committed under the control of the Dark Magician Shaft. But Fate gave him one more chance, one final attempt to reconcile with the past. (This is the remastered and remade version of my old story posted here, progress is ported from my AO3 Account)

4. Chapter 3 - The Lineage

The air felt familiar. Before he even opened his eyes, before he even knew of the ground he landed on, he understood that he was familiar with the air. An odd thing to think to himself but a true statement nonetheless. There wasn't a breeze, no changes in the wind or temperature. It was absolutely still and the fact that it meant something to Richter haunted him. Where did he recognize this from? Unless... Either way, he had to force himself to open his eyes only to come face to face with another unusual familiarity. A darkened, almost purple, sky greeted him with clouds whirling past far above. He wasn't in the same realm as before. Shifting his head to the left confirmed his suspicions. The slender oak trees that littered the outside of Dracula's Castle, and his childhood home, adorned the pathway he had fallen onto. The forest was impossibly dense and no light could get past the first set. This had to be another nightmare, Richter thought to himself. The possibility that he was back home didn't even remotely exist. Yet, he couldn't deny that he had been hopeful. He slowly sat up and gave the ground around him a look. Long pathway made of unrefined stone chipped from age. All leading to...the entrance to Dracula's domain. Castlevania. The drawbridge he had once crossed in his quest to purge the castle was down as if calling him forward. He was back home but the castle was still here. Did Alucard fail in his mission to kill his father? Attempted patricide aside, there was no denying that the massive beast of a castle, extending past the thick layer of clouds and towering into the heavens, was back. He had a purpose and another mission to fulfill. He was brought back here for a reason and nothing would stop him again. Nightmares be damned.

His attempts to quickly get to his feet failed tremendously. All he managed to do was fall forward and scrape his hands up. He was still injured and in the same state he had been in before he touched the altar. Which meant...looking down to his side confirmed the lack of his flail. The heavy weight of the Vampire Killer being absent told him before he even looked but he had to know. Guess it was time to do this with whatever weapons he could procure on site. He could feel his magic sputtering out. Maybe his journey to the Altar took more out of him than he thought. Swearing to himself, he managed to limp his way to one of the trees to tear a large branch off. As weapons go, it was horrible, but it would work rather well as a walking stick. All that left him with was the inevitable journey past the courtyard and into the castle. Part of him was anxious. He hadn't stormed the castle from the courtyard in six years. He'd been nineteen at the time and full of energy he so sorely needed right now. Twenty-five felt like the new fifty especially given his overwhelming exhaustion. It was time to fight off his own body and march forward. March he did, past the countless trees and over the lowered drawbridge. The sound of his feet on the wooden gate gave him a rush of nostalgia. This really was it. Things quickly changed though once he stepped past the gateway. Instead of the courtyard being empty and just serving as a brief connection to the entrance of the Great Hall, it was fairly expansive and lined with statues of famous hunters, warriors, mages, and other heroes that had perished during or after their quest to kill Dracula and his minions. So many of the figures were people he had only heard stories of. A few though he knew very well. Stepping further into the courtyard, he stopped at the hunched statue of a particular rebel that had helped the bloodline so long ago. Looking down at the plaque at the base of the statue reminded him of the name: Grant Danasty. Next to Grant's statue was that of his ancestor Trevor and his wife and famous sorceress Sypha. Trevor really did keep good company, Richter guessed, as he had always admired the trio. Grant was a particular favorite and was one of his main influences for his fast and light on his feet fighting style. Bowing his head slightly in respect, he turned his attention back to the rest of the courtyard and a peculiar figure he just noticed amidst the statues. One thing was for certain though: It wasn't a statue. The telltale reflective glare of metal gave it away and it put Richter on edge.

It was like a lever had been pulled in his head. He quickly hunched over to reduce the sightline and retreated behind Grant's statue. Without even thinking about it, he assumed a defensive position with his arms flexed and pulled closer to his core and his feet steadying his wavering body. His fists reflexively opened and closed to test the muscles in his hands and wrists. The Hunter's eyes fine-tuned themselves to his surroundings and to each nook and cranny someone or something could be hiding. There were too many statues to act as cover as shown by the now apparent Axe Knight who had his back turned towards him. Richter's presence wasn't known yet and that gave him the advantage he so needed. Gritting his teeth and giving the walking stick a grip that splintered the wood underneath, he managed to conjure a throwing axe. Under normal circumstances he would usually toss it but if need be he'd bury it right into the blasted creature's helmet with his hands. He took a deep breath before leaving his cover. The walk to the unsuspecting monster was quiet and slow. It struck Richter as odd though: Why was there only one guard outside of the castle and why the hell was it...polishing the statues? He'd just noticed that the blue towering suit of armor was missing its normal axe and shield and instead had a satchel with some different cleaning supplies slung around its shoulder. The creatures of the night never gave a damn about the heroes that THEY killed so what was it doing? Hiding again behind another statue close by, he decided to watch the Axe Knight instead of attacking immediately. Something was amiss with the situation and he didn't want to stumble into a trap in his current condition.

The Knight reached into his bag, this was it! He must've put his axes in there...only to pull out a chisel and hammer. Not a dangerous looking hammer either. It really was maintaining the statues. That was oddly humanizing. Richter shrugged at the notion, it made the fight a hell of a lot easier and it didn't seem to be a setup. With a grunt, he launched himself forward and swung the axe in a downward motion in the hopes to cleave the knight's arms in two. All he managed to do though was cut through the handle of the hammer and sent the Knight reeling back in surprise. He needed to press the advantage, it was shocked and caught-off guard and Richter refused to make the same mistake he had made with Shaft. He wheeled around, sidestepped out of the Knight's sight, and wound up a throw with as mighty of a yell as he could muster. Suddenly a sharp pain erupted from his bandaged shoulder and the axe fell harmlessly beside his body along with the walking stick. All he could do was slump to his knees with a pained gasp and clutch the arm in agony. Damn it all. The Belmont felt so useless. He couldn't even destroy an Axe Knight and now the menace was going to kill him on his knees. Blood began to soak through the already stained wraps on his wounded shoulder and dripped down his arm. Nothing like being seen as wounded and pitiable prey to make him think less of himself, he thought. The loud and resounding clanging from the suit of armor came closer but Richter refused to give it the satisfaction of having him acknowledging its presence. He just closed his eyes and made peace with the gods he had served so diligently (when he was in control). The sound of metal plates scraping against each other was mere inches from his face. Richter tensed, awaiting the inevitable... Only for nothing to happen. It was quiet. The Belmont opened his eyes and slowly looked upward, was the creature distracted? No, it wasn't distracted at all. It stood there just a foot away with an arm outstretched down towards him. Its soulless helmet stared at him waiting for him to take it. What in the nine hells was going on? They both just stayed in their positions for a solid moment waiting for the other to move, until a baritone voice echoed out of the suit and into the air above.

"Take my hand, my liege."

That took the Belmont by surprise. He knew the Knights spoke, as they often shouted while in combat, but to hear them call him their liege caught him off-guard. There was no malice in the voice either. The intent seemed to be entirely subservient. Did he die at the altar and was now stuck in some type of personal hell? He didn't exactly have the fondest memories back when he had an army at his command.

"Please, my liege, you've yet to perish. Take my hand."

Of course they could hear his thoughts now too. It was getting to the point where he started to doubt if anything wasn't possible. To hell with it though. He was along for the ride and was becoming ever so curious as to what was going on. Besides, if the Knight was going to kill him, he would have done so already. Fate had something planned for Richter and he was dying to know its intentions in the most literal sense.

"...Let's see how this goes."

The Belmont grasped the gauntlet firmly with his other hand and tried to ignore how slick the grip was from his bleeding shoulder. It was time to rebandage himself although he doubted he'd find time for it given the pace life had been going at for him. One thing was clear though: he couldn't afford another stunt like that. The fire that fueled his every ambition was starting to flicker out from the exertion he had put himself through. Walking he could do but very little else was feasible. Looking down, Richter thought about abandoning the walking stick. He really did not want to bend over for it and upset his shoulder but just as the notion crossed his mind, the Axe Knight stooped down and picked it up for him. Again he sat there until Richter took his offering...which he did with some trepidation. Without even waiting for a thanks, it turned around and waved him forward to follow. What else did Richter have to do but follow? So follow he did as the suit of armor led him through the courtyard and into the Great Hall. A rush of anxiety, nostalgia, and awe overtook his senses as he looked at the beautifully ornate and extravagantly large windows and the curtains that framed them perfectly. The aged stone tiles under their feet that reflected the floating candlelight gave off such a satisfying sound as the heavy suit of armor in front of him trudged forward. His own bandaged feet just softly padded about. If he was guaranteed to be safe, which he doubted, then maybe he could for once actually admire the Castle he had spent so much time fighting in.

Richter never quite realized how massive the castle was. Corridor after corridor, endless hallways leading to a hundred different wings, staircases seemingly climbing thousands of feet into the air. Now that he wasn't bolting from room to room and launching himself into every fight he could get into, he was hit face-first with the sheer magnitude of the construction. The ambiance was enhanced by the faint sound of violins, harps, and pianos playing a medley of beautiful orchestral pieces drifting down the passageways they had trekked past. Where the music was coming from, Richter knew not, but it was borderline entrancing. Much of the grime, corpses, and blood that stained the stone and marble floors were gone. Someone, or something, was putting forth a lot of effort to cleanse the Castle of any sign of battle. Even the marks and rubble left behind from the countless battles and fights the Belmont endured had been tended to and removed. In some cases, entire wings had begun renovations. Not much progress was made, by the looks of things, but the signs were there. Yet there weren't any signs of monster-kind. No roaming possessed suits of armor, skeletons sharpening their blades, or demons stomping through the halls. The Castle seemed both completely lifeless and yet so inherently lived in that the juxtaposition was eerie. Richter however still couldn't resist his old habits as he stayed on edge the moment the two of them had stepped foot into to the Grand Hall. The memories of the wars he fought in such halls were still all too fresh for him. His mind told him of ways to navigate each room and paths to take to avoid monsters that didn't seem to exist. It was a reflex he was constantly struggling with and his body was screaming at him to go into a sprint. While the tour was beautiful, the slow pace left Richter paranoid. That was until the Axe Knight finally stopped in front of a doorway. The distinct lack of metallic clacking and clanging alerted him that they'd finally reached their destination. Looking above the familiar doorway, he began to question the Knight's intention as he read the sign: The Long Library. He wasn't given long to ponder the location though as the Axe Knight answered for him.

"The Master Librarian waits inside for your company, my liege. It was my honor to lead you through our halls."

And with that and a sweeping bow far too elegant for something of that size, the armor erupted into flame and collapsed into a disintegrating pile of ash on the floor. Unsurprisingly Richter found himself used to the dramatic "death" of the monsters and shrugged it off as it fulfilling its purpose. What did surprise him however was the mention of the Librarian. His memory of the Librarian was hazy at best but there were a few things he could recall. He was secluded to the farthest end section of the Long Library, and that the old man simply refused to speak or sell him anything despite what Alucard had told him. The piles of gold the Hunter had accumulated meant nothing outside of being a weight to slow him down. Why the merchant refused him and only him was baffling as he assumed the gold was just as good. Then again, it could be due to Richter's role as a Belmont. From what he had heard the Librarian was an extremely loyal (albeit swayed by his greed) associate to Dracula. Nothing the Elders had told him about the Castle mentioned the man so Richter was incredibly surprised to see a human coexisting in the castle with the Dark Lord. Especially since he wasn't under the control of the dark energies that had swarmed his domain at the time. Any memories of the Librarian from the Belmont's time as Lord of the Castle were either erased or simply buried to a point that he couldn't remember. He hoped it stayed that way as the less that he remembered, the better. He tried to forget the notion as he pushed open the door leading into the Long Library. The sight he was greeted with equally took his breath away and again made him reach for a flail that wasn't there.

The Long Library, with the name it had, needed to live up to the reputation guests came into it with and good lord did it do so with ease. It was so much larger than before and it was as if they had condensed and combined many of the rooms. Colossal bookshelves made up the walls spanning from the floor to the ceiling that Richter doubted that even he couldn't touch without some considerable jumps and magic. There had to be tens of thousands, nay millions upon millions of books catalogued and shelved upon the looming towering walls that flanked every visible side of the library. The knowledge held and contained in the entranceway alone far surpassed whatever Richter could ever learn in multiple lifetimes. He wasn't exactly the most studious of men but even he found himself flabbergasted by the possibility of learning whatever subject he desired in spades. To think of all the magical history held within these walls! So many tomes of spells and techniques that could be adapted. He was brought out of his admiration for the Long Library by the other...contents inside. The place was absolutely swarming with monsters. Dhurons sat behind the reception desks with their skulls resting on nearby stacks of books, their blades sheathed but nearby. Spear Guards, Axe Knights, and Armor Lords patrolled the many shelves on the lookout for trouble. The Winged Guards and Schmoos took up the air space above. Some were hovering about aimlessly, others were placing books on different racks. Enchanted Tomes flew from wall to wall on occasion giving the Library a feeling of utter chaos. If this was going to turn into a brawl, Richter knew there was no way he'd make it out alive. He pulled his eyes away from the countless monsters milling about to look for the Librarian...which took him all of five seconds. There he was sitting in his signature plush green lounge chair facing the doorway to the Library not too far away from the entrance. While Richter had been admiring the view, the old man had been staring intently at the Belmont. It unnerved him slightly. Once they locked eyes, the Librarian let out a cackle and beckoned him over to another, albeit less plush, chair. The Hunter obliged.

"Ahhh, the Belmont. The time for the Lord of the Castle to return has come to fruition. Enjoy the journey?"

He sat across from the elder in the chair and just cocked an eyebrow. What exactly was he going on about and why was he so friendly all of the sudden? As he had recalled earlier, the Librarian used to not give him the light of day. How peculiar for him to change his tune like this and to even invite him in on top of that.

"How peculiar, eh? Hehehe, I will take that as a compliment. Your confusion is warranted, I give you that. What do you wish to know?"

Where could Richter even start? He had far too many questions racing through his mind. What was the Memorial Altar and why did it take him here? Was he back home in his own time period or was he stuck in some form of limbo? Why weren't the monsters of the castle attacking him and why was he still called the Lord of the Castle? Why was he called forth here in the first place? Could he get home? Was he even really alive? The Belmont needed to steel himself against his own mind. Racing thoughts brought ruination, his teachers had told him, and he steadied himself and his grip on the arms of the chair. Small steps, Richter, small steps he told himself.

"Why am I the 'Lord of the Castle" for a castle that was surely left in ruins? Alucard and I killed everything here and left Shaft slain. Surely he and my sister were victorious in killing Dracula, were they not?"

The Librarian gave off a wicked grin, grabbed a nearby tome and began to flip through it before speaking. The sounds of pages turning accentuated the mysterious undertone his voice seemingly possessed.

"So you know nothing of the forces at play here, Belmont? Hehehe. Let me ask you this: What came first? The chicken or the egg? Rhetorical question, don't answer that. The Altar IS the castle. It is where we reside and where the spirits of the damned and the lost remain for all of eternity. Every single soul lost to Dracula's rule became his plaything and was trapped here. Consider it a box of many secrets that you just crawled inside. Did you think Dracula's resurrection also brought the castle to life?"

That was a fair question.

"Uh...no?"

"Of course not! The Memorial Altar has always resided in the ruins of Castlevania. The Lord of the Castle possesses the ability to draw power from the Altar and reform the ruins into the mighty structure you saw before you. Hehehe, that is when we're on the Material Plane."

What. If he knew his studies, which was a bit of a stretch sometimes, Richter assumed that he was in some type of Spiritual Plane then. The Inverse Castle had resided in a very similar domain and used the Altar to transport individuals to and from there. Which meant...

"Yes, Belmont, the Altar was the Inverse Castle. I see that your education was worth something after all! It is at times like these that you have to think with your head!"

To accentuate his point, he closed his book and softly smacked Richter on the forehead before putting the book aside. He procured some grapes, from where the hunter knew not, and began to feast. That didn't explain-

"Mm. So, you still don't understand? Let me tell you a story. Once, many countless years ago, a holy warrior, a scholar, and an elderly priest united their powers together to destroy the forces of Darkness. They knew it was a temporary solution so they thought thusly: If they could create a conduit to bring forth Holy Warriors and Mages of generations past, all of mankind would be safe. So thus they poured every resource and mind they could in commitment to the cause. The priest and his congregation had blessed the Altar with every Holy ritual they could summon before his death. The Holy Warrior lent the crypts of his land as the souls there were pure in heart and body. The scholar, however, knew that he would die before the project could be completed. He thought of a fiendishly cursed deal: If he could conjure a demon and force it to grant him more years to his life, he could finish his research and Altar as a whole. But of course the forces of Darkness are not to be trifled with. The scholar lost control, his soul, and the altar in a single night. The Holy Warrior sealed the scholar away but it was a temporary notion. He had another crusade to attend to and his years of combat weighed heavily on him. The corruption reached the Altar and soon began to absorb every soul that fell from the combat nearby until there was enough spiritual energy to break free of the seal and eradicate every living human in the city. The side mattered not. All that was left after the weeks of fighting were the Holy Knight and the Demonic Scholar. An army of the undead was about to be brought forth. Given a divine blessing from his lord, the Holy Warrior sacrificed his life to kill the Scholar and send the Altar into dormancy for what he hoped to be eons. That was, of course, until Dracula stumbled upon it. With the souls of the damned and the magical power to corrupt all of those who lived or resided nearby, he built himself an infinitely killable army ready to be resurrected at the simplest whim. The day he became Lord of the Castle was the same day your forefather Trevor became aware of the threat Dracula posed to humanity."

Richter was stunned. The elders of the village never told him any of this. In fact, he was certain they weren't even aware of the Altar as a whole. Why such an important dynamic remained undiscovered for so long was baffling to think about. If the history told to him was true then the Altar could bring forth Castlevania right at this moment. But who would summon it? Shaft and Dracula were dead and had been for two generations. That is if they were even in the same reality. Richter vaguely recalled a concept of dimensional doorways one of the village magicians taught him. Alternate versions of the present, past, and future could be contacted and interacted with if the magic fueling the portal was strong enough. The Belmont never believed a word of it but it was more than possible that it was actually true all along.

"Hahaha, see! You should have listened to your elders. We are indeed in another reality. Even I remain unaware of the magicks used by Shaft but it was enough to open a gate. Fueled by the Altar, it sent both itself and you to this timeline. As for who could summon the castle? Hehe! I believe you already know the answer to that one."

Leaving Richter to think to himself, the Librarian pushed his chair back slightly and returned to flipping through the pages of the book that the Belmont wasn't even really sure the man was reading. Dracula and Shaft no longer existed and the spirits contained within the Altar couldn't summon themselves outside. Otherwise the Castle would have been back already. That only really left himself as Lord of the Castle. That didn't make sense though! Shaft had puppeteered Richter into acting as Lord of the Castle but the magician was the one who truly possessed the powers...right? Shaft must've been the true lord of the castle.

"Tsk tsk, in your attempts to hide the past, you have blocked the future. Did you not find it unusual that Shaft had cursed you before your predestined battle with the Dark Lord?"

He had never thought about it. His second battle with Shaft's ghost did leave him feeling queasy but he assumed it was just the remnants of the potent magic used against him. If that was truly when he was cursed by Shaft, then that meant the magician knew that Richter would slay Dracula. But why?

"Why? You were the strongest Vampire Hunter on the planet. A being of such divine strength and magical prowess that you more than encompassed the three founders of the altar. All previous Belmonts, like yourself, knew nothing of the Altar or its secrets. With each death Dracula suffered, his spirit grew weaker. If Shaft had not brought forth every spirit that resided in the Altar and the Castle in the Material Plane, there would have been no reviving Dracula for several generations. You had destroyed his soul and left it scattered like his numerous body parts. Thus, the Altar latched onto you. Shaft knew of such a possibility and thus cursed you to be under his control. Your fight with the Dark Lord left you susceptible to the true might of the spell and thus sealed your fate. You have been, and continue to be, the next and only heir to Castlevania and the spirits within. Like your rule under the conniving hands of the priest you possess the same powers as before. Your alignment has pacified these creatures and rendered them more...In layman's terms, human. Most of the souls in the Altar to begin with weren't evil in nature so the influence was negligible at best. As for those of a darker nature, we believe they were purged during the transition."

"But I don't remember doing any of that."

Which was true. The Belmont had assumed his powers over the castle ended the moment he was freed from Shaft's curse. Why else would the monsters have attacked him so relentlessly?

"Of course you don't, hehe. The subconscious holds many secrets. Shaft's influence over you only truly left upon his death. Like the altar serves as a conduit of souls, you served as a conduit of power."

Richter couldn't believe what he was hearing. No, he could believe it. The Belmont knew that wasn't the issue. He simply refused to acknowledge that such a situation could exist and that he was thrown into the front of it. Yet though, there was no deciding factor. The verdict had been decided before he had even touched the altar: he was still Lord of the Castle but of a castle with monsters he no longer needed to (or wished to) fight. They were equally servants and individuals. The prospect made him deeply uncomfortable.

"If there was a way for me to relinquish control, would humanity be safe here?"

The question managed to catch the Librarian off guard as he stopped reading and set the tome aside. Giving the Belmont a hard look before relenting, the old man sighed.

"Even I know not. If not you as Lord of the Castle, it would go to the next most powerful being near the Altar. The spirits are drawn to power like moths to a flame. You are a divine living conduit."

No one knew the castle and its inhabitants like Richter did, especially in this new world. The risks associated with relinquishing control were far too high for Richter's liking. To do what was best for humanity, as well as for the monsters present, he had to remain as Lord of the Castle. It was troubling though. Richter held the fate of every soul and spirit that had ever come to existence inside the altar in the literal palm of his hand. He could, if he wanted, subject them to the same life he had suffered under Shaft. A perpetual cycle of torment that would only end with his death. He needed to be better, he needed to show that the Belmonts were more than just warriors. They were peacekeepers and the vanguards for the forces of Light. Looking around at the dozens of manifested spirits around him, he thought about what they must have gone through. Died by the hands of whomever only to exist in servitude to a Dark Lord. Forced to fight a Belmont and die by their hands every generation for countless generations. Many of these spirits were far older than him. Ancient creatures and minds tainted and warped by the powers of Darkness. It truly was time to make a difference. He could redeem his cursed bloodline. Richter felt that while he may never be able to redeem himself, he would redeem the Belmont name to all those who knew of it...and it all started with this.

"If what you're telling me is true, old man, then I've got things I need to do. If you'll excuse me."

With a practiced motion, Richter stood up in his chair with such force that it was knocked over. All movement in the hall stopped at the sound, enraptured by the forming display. Looking at the Reception Desk he spotted several rolls of parchment under one of the skulls. He knew what he had to do. He stormed over there with the tenacity of his younger self, tossed the skull back to the Dhuron, grabbed the rolls, and wrapped them in one of the bandages from his thigh. That would hold them for now. He then snatched an old decaying satchel that was partially covered in books and stuffed the scrolls, some quills, and a bottle of ink inside before slinging it over his shoulder. It was enough. The Belmont spun around to see that he had attracted quite the audience at this point. The Librarian was uncharacteristically wide-eyed by the actions the Hunter was going through with. He didn't bother to acknowledge the man's surprise, the Belmont was too fixated on his new goal. He needed these creatures to be removed from as much control as possible. In the hopes to liberate himself, he would liberate them all of their chains to this domain. It was time to build himself a home. With a few resounding thuds of his walking stick as he walked past a handful of Spear Guards, Richter left the Long Library on a mission to head to the Grand Hall and beyond. His time as a fighter might've come to an end but that certainly didn't mean he was unable to make a difference; making a difference was only thing on his mind. The redemption of the souls trapped would be achieved even if it was the last thing Richter would do. Although he feared what had to happen next. He was terrible at asking for help.

It had taken him far longer than he had anticipated but the Hunter finally made it back to the courtyard where the countless statues of his ancestors and fellow warriors rested. He did have to stop a few times to catch his breath and once to rebandaged his shoulder with whatever he could salvage from the wraps on his lower legs but all things considered he was doing remarkably well! If anything he felt better now than he did before when entering the Altar to begin with. Maybe it had something to do with the souls that rested there and their ties to him. Either way though he found himself in an awkward position. There he was sitting on the grass surrounded by the titans of yore with not a single clue who to ask for help. All he had was himself and yet, it brought an idea forth that he hadn't thought about in years. The many pieces of parchment were scattered about him with rough initial sketches of blueprints that had come to his mind. The ink quill idly being twirled in his hand slung ink across his gear but the Belmont didn't pay it any mind. A project of this scale would be far beyond his own means. It restored a feeling to his heart that warmed his core more than a blazing inferno: Hope. It reminded him of when he was young and much more naïve, back in his village. He had thought that he by his lonesome could keep the forces of darkness at bay. To defend his "friends" and family by moving them to a castle that would make Dracula jealous. The idea of Dracula having to trek through a castle and fight Richter atop the highest tower had always amused the Hunter. Some called it childish but he held onto the notion. Whatever hope he could cling to kept him going. It was an abysmal existence to begin with. Richter couldn't help but laugh aloud that his younger self was pulling the weight that he as an adult couldn't. There were flaws in the plan though. For one, Richter simply refused to have Castlevania take form on the Material Plane. It would send the human and monster populations into a panic. Tensions were apparently high enough as is, so that idea was out.

Richter gave a quick glance to the soil he sat upon. Maybe, just maybe, he had an idea that could work. It was possible to build something underground. He'd have to build a small residence around the Altar in the Material Plane before tunneling downwards to create an expansive underground opening. The excavation would take him countless years and the wear and tear would most certainly shorten his already lessened lifespan. If he managed to pull it off though, he could slowly begin to transport the monsters and free them of their curse. Even if he couldn't free them of the curse, he would damn well provide them a better and less...traumatic home. He doubted that the monsters of the Altar were chuffed with living in a domain reminding them of their perpetual torment and enslavement by the hands of a now deceased Vampire Lord. The Belmont nodded to himself. This would work. With that in mind, he began his revisions of the blueprints. He'd have to get measurements of the forest clearing and procure some equipment. The lumber would be no issue at all as the forest around the Altar provided it in spades. The stone could be dug from the ground or potentially removed from an excavation site. But what about the rest? It was possible that the resources were readily available and sold in this new generation. But again that left him with the issue of having no funds. Moving and acquiring these things would take a considerable amount of manpower he simply couldn't provide by himself. Where the hell would he get people willing to lend themselves to a project of this scale?

It was an odd sight to behold, really: His lord sitting cross-legged in the grass covered in splatters of ink. Indecipherable drawings and doodles on parchment littered the ground near him with an intense face of concentration set upon his visage. He was hellbent on identifying a solution to whatever issue had come across his mind this time. A figure he had always feared for his unbending willpower and resilience was instead using that same vigor to furiously scribble graphs. The Spear Guard remained too far away to read the Belmont's thoughts and it was probably best that way. It was a matter of respect to the guard as he knew that he himself wouldn't want his own mind picked apart. Yet, while he continued his patrol near the entrance to the Great Hall, he felt compelled to speak to the young Belmont. He was still coming to terms with having his own mental freedom after centuries of blindly serving the Dark Lord and his followers. How many times had he died? Enough that he lost his memories of what his life was like back when he was among the living long ago. Richter though showed promise. When he had been searching the Library for resources, every monster present had been hit with a shockwave from his mental ambitions. It was a hopeful sorrow that struck at the core of the Guard's being. The Belmont was planning something big and desperately wanted to redeem himself as well as all the monsters of the Altar. It was a mindset completely foreign to the spearman, so when he found himself compelled to follow the Belmont out the library and eventually out the gate, he listened. The fact that he had a choice in the matter meant much. Twas another thing of Richter's doing that he wasn't even sure the hunter knew about yet. So there he stood now watching his frustrated Lord aggressively stuff torn pieces of parchment into his satchel. Maybe there was something he could do to help. With that in mind, he approached.

"If I may, sire?"

Richter had jumped and quickly panned his head over to the Guard's voice. His eyes widened if only by just a fraction before settling. Guess he had been too caught up in his work to keep an eye out for any visitors. How he missed the bright purple of the guard's armor, the spearman knew not. His lord was mumbling something indecipherable due to having an extra quill resting in his mouth; both hands occupied with the task of opening and closing the satchel bag reflexively in thought. Seeing that the Guard could not understand a single word he said, the vampire hunter simply shrugged and returned to his work. He had produced another quill seemingly having forgotten about the one already between his teeth. Again an unusual sight to be graced with but it was such a refreshing change of pace that the monster couldn't help but be entertained. He softly planted his spear into the ground next to him, bowed, and continued speaking. The sensation of feeling his own voice reverberating through the empty suit of violet armor was something he doubted he'd ever get used to.

"Sit here, I mean"

He was met with another, albeit slightly more decipherable, grunt that sounded vaguely like "Sure". Taking that as his cue, he quickly sat next to his Lord. Upon closer inspection he could finally understand to an extent what the Belmont was working on: Maps. Blueprints seemed to be a more apt name. They seemed to depict some sort of underground excavation but the scale was beyond the guard's grasp. His sire couldn't be serious, was he planning on doing all of this himself? The Guard had been watching the wounded man walk for the past hour and knew quite well the severity of his condition. Being present in the altar was accelerating his healing but it was far from an instant recovery. It would be impossible or at the very least take an entire lifetime for this project to come to completion. It was to be assumed that Richter was desperate to reconcile with and to rectify the past but going to such extremes all alone went beyond any expectation the spearman had. He wasn't the type to speak out of turn but it was deemed necessary to point out how ludicrous the situation was.

"With all due respect, sire, you surely don't mean to do this alone?"

It was at this point the Belmont spat out the quill in his mouth and again turned his attention to the Spear Guard. He seemed annoyed that he had been pulled from his deep brainstorming. The monster was granted an excellent look at the man's eyes and was taken aback by the intensity of his gaze. He was either completely mad beyond his mind or determined to an extent that the guard struggled to grasp. What was driving him to such things? How could he persevere to this extent?

"I mean, why not? Maria isn't here to scold me."

The guard shook his helmet with a resounding rattle at the notion. His lord mustn't be so reckless with his health. The tenacity was admirable and the willpower to push through to accomplish a task like this was more than present but he was sure they both knew that Richter wouldn't survive such a feat. The Belmont would never achieve his goals, not like this. Something had to be done. The Guard knew that Richter would never act on his "newfounded" control over the spirits of the Castle. He would never ask for help. Looks like he had to ask for him.

"You aren't in any condition to do such a thing! Let us lend our aid to you, sire. If what you plan is true then it is the least we can do. I refuse to take no as an answer."

To emphasize this, the spearman grabbed one of the partially finished maps, pulled off his helmet, and stuffed it inside the hollow interior of his armor. The Belmont let out an indignant shout as he tried, and failed, to lunge forward and grab the map before it was hidden away. As his Lord tried to get to his feet, the Spear Guard pulled his spear from the ground and sprinted into the Castle. He knew of a few folks who would assist Richter with his cause. All he could do now though was hope that he would be forgiven for going against the wishes of the Lord of the Castle. The preservation of the bloodline came first and foremost and with his newfound freedom, the Spear Guard would do whatever it took to keep these grand plans in motion. The shouting behind him did scare him enough to move faster than what the injured Belmont could keep up with though. Brief shattered memories of the the Vampire Killer crossed his mind and struck a bone-chilling fear into his soul...if he had bones.

Well blast it all. He'd been robbed by a hopefully well-meaning Spear Guard and was left behind in the dust. He hoped he would get his blueprints back soon. All he could really do in the meantime was twiddle his thumbs and let his legs rest for however long it would take until they would let him bear weight again. At least the statues that littered the courtyard would keep him company. Although...he wondered how he compared to the legends and stories of his elders. So many great heroes surrounded the Belmont and he felt it hard to live up to their spirits. Would he forever be seen as the cursed child? Would his entire legacy vanish without a trace except the occasional hushed whisper of a long-forgotten sage? Was his journey a tale worth telling generations to come? Or would it be a haunting story told to children to scare them into behaving? Truth be told the Belmont hoped he would never know. It had been hard enough of a task to force himself to move forward with the sins of his generation weighing heavily on his back; to know of how the future would see him would risk breaking the spirit Richter was still fighting to mend. The past couple of days have blurred together to the point where he had yet to stop and truly take it all in. He feared that he'd crumble when the moment came. After all, if Shaft had so easily preyed on his own emotional state, he must be weak. His soul told him that the notion was a lie, but his heart told him that it was the disheveled truth. Richter just couldn't understand why his heart told him such things! Why was he broken like this? So there he sat...He was still debating with himself when a shadow crossed his path. One all too familiar to the Vampire Hunter; one familiar to every Belmont that had conquered Dracula's Castle. The sound of a cloak flapping in a wind that didn't exist was a telltale sign of who had paid Richter a visit even before he panned his vision over to the figure. Of course, why it was only the one monster in the Castle Richter detested with every fiber of his being: Death.

"..."

"I'm in no mood to be tested again, Death. Didn't I kill you?

Twice in six years in fact. If there was someone Richter absolutely despised, it was Death. A spirit that thrived off of the misfortunes of the weak by itself easily brought forth the ire of the Belmont. Death was no ordinary spirit however; nay, he was so much more than that. He was a colossal pain in the ass. Unpredictable and consistently a nightmare to fight, he had proved himself to be a thorn in Richter's side every time he found himself on a journey to vanquish the darkness. Every time he had a setback thrown his way, Death was there to laugh and gloat. That cackling laugh after he had set the village ablaze... Why was he even here to begin with? The Librarian said the more maligned spirits were purged from the Altar and yet it left this despicable pile of bones in front of him? Did he find a way to escape the purge just to square up with him a third time? Richter swore under his breath at the tenacity. He had pulverized enough skeletons at this point to know where the spinal column was; he'd tear it out if he had to.

"...not here to fight, Belmont."

The gall this walking graveyard had! To act like he wasn't here for a scuffle. He could feel his anger mounting and it took everything Richter had to not throw the bottle of ink at the monster. It was petty but the idea of the monster's robes being stained gave him much joy. His rage fueled his attempt to stand though as he leaned heavily on his walking stick. Steeling himself against the stone statue behind him, he glared up into Death's soulless sockets.

"Then why the hell are you here? To gloat again? Does seeing me like this bring you joy? Well I swear if you don't tread lightly I will rip that skull of yours off and mount it on this walking stick of mine. Maybe for once you'll actually have a purpose outside of being a warmonger preying on the defenseless!"

Richter's hand burst aflame and scorched the wood, magically sustained by the hatred he felt towards the vile being he was affronted by. Death however remained passive and just stood there. He wasn't wearing his normal blue robes (as evident by the fact that he actually had his legs) and instead was using his much older and ragged green hood. Richter had no fond memories of that outfit as the reaper saved it for when he needed to get his hands dirty. His scythe was nowhere to be seen but that was nothing new. He could summon it with trivial ease. Outside of the crackling of the fire fueled by the walking stick, it was completely quiet. That was unusual though as oddly enough Death spoke the most out of all the generals and leaders of the forces of Darkness. He was never this quiet. Before Richter could point that out, Death broke the silence.

"...to explain myself. If you'll let me."

Oh this'll be good. What excuses would he come up with? There was only so much you could say and Death had dug himself into a hole so deep a year's worth of shoveling dirt wouldn't fill it. A sadistic side of Richter wanted to hear it so he could tear it apart. So all he did was nod and extinguish the flames before he didn't have a staff to hold onto. He may have gotten a bit overzealous. Death had seemingly paid it no mind though. That took some of the satisfaction out of Richter's rage.

"...I will not say that things were never personal. Reaping the souls of the damned was my job. I thrived on violence, I relish in it. The Count wrought forth death and destruction wherever he went. That made things easy. You and your "righteous" bloodline always put a stop to it. My job was dependent on Dracula's tendencies. Hard to reap souls when I've been banished from the material plane. You especially were particularly frustrating. Yesss...I enjoyed every moment of your suffering...until Shaft took control. There's an elegance in the human soul. A power far beyond comprehension, but to see it twisted in such a way was an affront to the nature of life and death. Once you had been freed I felt my joy in antagonizing you return. I regret nothing, I apologize for nothing. But there is no longer a job for me to do. Death in this realm works differently and I am no longer needed...so-"

Death summoned forth his massive scythe and promptly buried the tip of the blade into the ground next to the two of them. The Belmont could see his worn-down reflection in the blade and became increasingly annoyed. Show-off.

"-I am here to...how do you mortals put it? Bury the hatchet?"

Richter just nodded, dumbfounded. This was unexpected.

"...good. I will be watching you though. Your ambitions are elegant but should you falter...I will b e."

And with an extravagant twirl of his scythe and cape, he disappeared in a flash. Richter felt his anger dissipate slightly. If anything, he could respect the monster's honesty. It was entirely unexpected for Dracula's Right-Hand Man to reconcile with his mortal enemy. If he was truly out of a job though then maybe it was time for the reaper to move on. Death still frustrated the hell out of the Belmont though so he wouldn't so easily let the matter go...and was that a threat? What was there for Death to lose if Richter failed? He wasn't given much time to think about it though as behind the showy exit of Death came the same Spear Guard. It looked borderline identical to every guard he had seen before it but something in his core told him that it was the same. He still had a few things to adjust to when it came to the Altar inputting things into his mind and soul. The poltergeist stopped a few feet in front of Richter, bowed, and again planted his spear into the dirt. He really didn't have to be that formal. Richter, still annoyed, just waved him on. The Reaper always left him in a piss poor mood. With quite the racket, the spearman reached back inside the neck hole of his chestplate and pulled out a large bundled piece of parchment.

"Hello sire! I have returned with the list".

Wait, what list? He had never asked for a list. And what happened to his map! Richter snatched the scroll from the armor's gauntlet and gave it a onceover. It was sealed with an incredibly ornate wax stamp. It was a crest of some type although from where he knew not. Had to have been the Librarian's doing. He wondered if the Library contained the crest of his own bloodline. The Belmont just tilted his head in confusion towards the Spear Guard.

"Open it! I am certain it will please you."

Oooook, this had to be good then. He pulled the wax stamp off and unfurled the hefty scroll only to see...a list of signatures. Hundreds upon hundreds of signatures. Not with formal names, however. They were using their "index classification", a system monster hunters (and according to Alucard, the librarian) used to name and identify the beasts and spirits of the darkness. It was unusual to the Belmont that they had lost the right to have their own individual names. He guessed Dracula didn't exactly enjoy the notion of individuality during his constant takeovers of Romania. More importantly though, what was the purpose of it all? What was this? The variety and volume of names present was outstanding but it meant little without a purpose. Where had he found these monsters and more importantly, how did he get them all to sign this in such a short span of time? It was baffling. Sputtering, Richter could only turn his attention to the Spear Guard and ask,

"Is this a joke? What are all these names for?"

The spearman stood at attention as if proud of his feat. Richter then noticed something odd: The armor was noticeably shaking slightly. Was he nervous?

"Every volunteer for the Village Project, sire! I brought your blueprints to the Librarian and he called for volunteers. You won't be doing this alone."

"W-what!? Says who! And The Village Project?"

The armor nodded violently. He was definitely nervous. That was funny, what did he have to fear? It wasn't like the Belmont was in any condition to do much at this point.

"You'll have to forgive the Master Librarian, sire! He thought your project needed a name. I will admit...it is a bit simple sounding..."

So the residents of the Altar had decided that Richter's cause was most just. Worthy enough to lead to them forgiving him of the constant acts of violence he had inflicted upon them. The pieces just would not fit together in his head. Why? They knew nothing about him outside of his time as a Monster Hunter and as the Lord of the Castle. Neither of which led to any happy results for their kind. It was most unusual. Still though he was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. They had dubbed it the Village Project and were allying themselves to the notion. He guessed the name would work. With a confused smirk adorning his face, he placed the list in his satchel. Maybe with their assistance he could get the project done before he lost his sanity from the perpetual revelations striking him.

"Wow, alright. This could work. Where's my map?

The guard thumped his chestplate and nodded. That was a bit unsettling of an idea: Walking storage. Either way though it kept things safe. Good, he'd be needing that safety of his plans if they wanted to go through with this. Richter playfully punched the armor on the shoulder (ow), stooped down to pick up the rest of his supplies, and spun around towards the end of the path leading away from the Castle. The impossibly dense forests flanked either side and projected the illusion of an endless pathway. Again he had that tingling sensation in the back of his mind telling him that leaving the altar would only take a brisk walk down into the darkness beyond the castle's reach. If this was the Altar's doing, he really needed to trust his instincts again. It gave him more time to piece together what to do now anyway. He wasn't exactly planning ahead in the short-term. That might bite Richter in the ass if he wasn't careful.

"Well then! If I've got the hopes and dreams of so many on my shoulders, we best get going at once! You coming?"

The Spear Guard grabbed his spear excitedly and marched behind Richter as he limped his way towards the border that awaited him a short distance away. The time to put his plans into action was now. That was, of course, after a long rest. He needed to spend the night somewhere that wasn't serving as a constant memory of his trials and tribulations. There was only one place he could return to. It would be a wonderful walk anyway.

"Wonderful walk, my ass!"

The rain had completely destroyed whatever preconceived notions the two of them had on a peaceful midnight stroll. It was pouring absolute buckets to the point that the branches of the trees nearby were struggling to deal with the weight and force of the water pelting down onto them. The Spear Guard had once again snatched Richter's gear (this time his entire satchel) and stuffed it inside his armor to prevent them from getting wet. For Richter's part, he didn't complain. It was excellent thinking and that list of volunteers had to be considered a relic at this point. They spent very little time soaking in their surroundings as instead they were just too busy being soaked. He did notice though that the moon was still directly overhead. The passage of time must flow differently in the Altar as Richter knew he spent hours touring the Castle (the countless clocks littered about Castlevania made that all too obvious). He chalked it up to the unusual properties of magic. Another thing the hunter was becoming increasingly aware of though was that the Altar must had been keeping him together. His assumption that the spirits residing within sustained him was proven true. Now that he was outside, he could barely walk let alone jog. It was more so a case of being half-carried by the violet spearman as he hobbled his way back through the clearing and down the streets. He may have pushed himself a smidge too far this time and would most likely have to rest for a week if not more. The idea of being bedridden for that long got under the Belmont's skin. It wasn't like he had the forces of darkness to fight but he DID have a new purpose to fill the void his previous existence left behind.

After a solid twenty minutes of practically swimming through the streets, they arrived outside of Toriel's home. Their significantly larger than normal mailbox was covered with painted on handprints, pawprints, and...skeleton prints? Those were definitely two distinct skeletal handprints. It reminded the Belmont of the wall she had dedicated to pictures and scrapbooking. It would be heartwarming if he wasn't so wet. The lights were still on inside her den so the Belmont hoped to whatever gods existed in this realm that he would be granted permission inside. Hell, he would even take a "hoodie" if it meant he could swap out of his unsalvageable bandages and torn attire. The two of them approached the front door and cheered to themselves when they finally managed to take shelter under the awning above. A brief, freezing and damp (but not soaking) respite. The guard leaned Richter against the wall, stood at attention, and rapped on the door with the back of his gauntlet. Nothing. Of course. The Spear Guard turned towards the Belmont as if to say, "You sure this is the right place?" and Richter just rolled his eyes as a response. The guard nodded and knocked this time with his fist in sets of five. Once, twice, three times until they finally heard a voice.

"knock knock."

"Someone said knock knock, sire."

Exasperated, the Belmont inched over to the door with a sigh. He knew damn well what the person behind the door said. He was most certainly not in the mood for riddles.

"Just knock again."

That the spearman did. Again, they were met with "knock knock." What did that even mean? Even the spearman was growing irritated if his aggressively straightened posture was a sign of this. It was possible though that he was feeding off of Richter's emotions. He had to remind himself that he was directly linked with his companion. That wasn't even mentioning the fact that he could read his mind at any time. What else were the monsters capable of? They could read his thoughts and share his emotions, did they also have his sense of touch and taste as well? Could they hear what he did? So many que-

*POUND POUND POUND*

Oh the Spear Guard was mad. Even angrier than the Belmont was about their situation. He had been brought out of his thoughts by the now aggressive pounding on the door his violet compatriot was indulging in. It was entertaining to see that the hunter wasn't the only one who had a bit of a temper sometimes. The deep voice, now identifiably male, spoke again after the beating on the door ceased.

"you're supposda say who's there. guess the rain has put ya in a...pour mood."

Both the Belmont and the guard were stopped in their tracks by what was said. If he wasn't mistaken, that was a pun. The person behind the door clearly didn't want the two of them inside so with a frustrated sigh, Richter grabbed the shoulder of his armored spearman and gently pulled him back. They weren't going to make any progress this way. It was late at night so he should've expected nothing different. The guard began to splutter out a refusal, saying that Richter needed to be inside and out of the rain to heal. He just shook his head at the kind gesture and refuted the claim simply by pointing at the door which hid a chuckling annoyance behind it. They both knew it was back to the street. But before they could even leave the porch, the sounds of locks twisting and a bolt unlatching kept them still. Not soon after the door was opened revealing to the two men who the mysterious voice belonged to: A four foot tall chunky skeleton in blue pajamas. Now skeletons...skeletons were something Richter was familiar with. None quite like this but the point was there. It, or was it a he, held a mug that said "Dunkle of the Year". Whatever that meant. His mouth was eerily stuck in a wide smile and two white dots the size of gold coins represented the eyes in his black sockets. Seeing the two "unwanted guests" on the porch just stare at the short monster, he winked and said,

"what? have ya never seen a mug before?"

Of all the things to say. Although maybe Richter didn't hear him right. Or see him right...or see him at all, he was starting to feel a little woozy. Or a lot, actually, as he could barely grasp onto the arm of the Spear Guard before falling towards the hard and unforgiving ground. A nap would be nice.

He thought he had been mad before. No, he had been terribly wrong. THIS was true anger. The Belmont didn't see it himself but he was rapidly losing the color to his complexion as they sat there waiting for the damned door to open for them. Lo-and-behold his lord dropped not soon afterwards. If he wasn't preoccupied with carrying the Belmont's body slung over his shoulder, he would have skewered the skeleton where he stood. Even worse the blasted creature just watched the human keel over! It boiled his blood (if he had any) that someone would be so wholeheartedly disrespectful. Thankfully another monster of this realm, a goat woman, came in and berated the skeleton. She seemed just as worried as the Spear Guard which was a small comfort. She hurriedly ushered the Guard into a small guest room and/or study before running off to get a towel and a change of clothes. For his part, the spearman removed whatever bandages and clothing he could while still maintaining his lord's modesty. Eventually once he had been stripped enough, the hunter was moved up to the bed and partially tucked in. The guard knew something bad would come from the pouring rain they found themselves in after they they moved out of the altar but the Belmont refused to listen to it. He continued to shrug it off and the guard was willing to bet that he didn't even remember the mention of it. Stubbornness in combat was an excellent trait, but outside of that it became frustratingly cumbersome. Nothing to do about it though. The goat monster, who introduced herself as Toriel, returned and helped him dry the unconscious man. She was well practiced as a healer. No wonder he had survived this long. She just shrugged off any thanks sent her way and was solely focused on tending to the Belmont. She also possessed potent fire magic which she used to warm up the room. Toriel finished not soon after and provided a change of clothes. She wished the two of them a good night and closed the door behind her. The darkness gave the situation a sense of closure. His lord was now dry, in bed, and hopefully healing.

The Spear Guard removed his helmet and placed it quietly on an oak bed post before reaching inside and pulling out the satchel. Along with that came the map. Thankfully they had remained dry due to the magical seal protecting the insides of his armor. He placed them carefully on the desk nearby. With all important items protected and accounted for, he grabbed his spear and posted himself in front of the only window. It allowed him to gauge the weather outside and monitor for any threats that may come after the Belmont. He knew not of what strange creatures made up this realm but he was certain that mankind was still the same. If it came to light that a man like Richter Belmont was among them, he would be lynched. Especially in such a vulnerable condition. He swore to the Librarian that he would do everything in his power to protect the Belmont. His elder had prophesized a many great thing with danger lurking around every corner. If they were not cautious, everything could be lost. If the Belmont died, so did the spirits of each and every monster in the altar. The Librarian refused to tell the Hunter this as the stakes would introduce too much stress to his healing body and mind, but the teleportation of the Altar created a soul link. The Altar itself refused to be in this reality and was only tethered here by the presence of the Belmont. It was made of a form of magic that simply did not exist in this plane of existence. No one knew where they'd be sent in time or in reality if that connection was severed. If he succeeded in his mission to bring everyone forth to the Material Plane, the tether would become unneeded and would save their souls. Was he up to the task though?

The violet suit of armor panned his attention to his sleeping Lord. His condition was far from perfect but deep within him, buried under the guilt and trauma, rested the most powerful soul the guard had ever come to know. His body and spirit should have been torn asunder by the jump in realities alone and yet he refused to die. Was he aware of the strength he possessed within him? Certainly not at the moment. Every monster in the castle could sense his sorrow and self-depreciation. It would take time before his personality truly returned if it would ever return at all. There were hints of it though already which gave the guard hope. There was much to this human that rested before him and it brought many questions to his mind. Was he doing this because he felt it was just? Or only to redeem himself. The others knew but the guard preferred to remain in the dark. His loyalty was to his lord first and foremost and he wanted not any information that would jeopardize that bond. Now all that was left was to see what the next day would bring. Returning his attention back to the window, he stood there waiting for the sun to rise again.