Chapter Two: Comes the Day
Dawn's light crept slowly over the rugged Transylvanian countryside. It chased away the shadows, forcing the darkness back to its territories under the rocks and beneath the trees. Soon night was merely a memory as daylight bathed the open landscape.
Croden awoke with the warmth of sunlight upon his face. He opened his heavy eyelids slowly, popping them open quickly as he realized the source of the warmth. He blinked in disbelief at mid-morning sun, the orb hanging just a bit above the eastern horizon.
But, the spell! Croden rose and scanned his surroundings. He was in an open field on a hill overlooking Vrogden; the town looked like an abandoned hovel in the daytime, much as it did during the night hours.
Day! But how? The mist barrier was supposed to prevent the sunlight from passing through its borders. What is the Countess up to?
For a moment Croden thought about what the Blood Countess may have been plotting. It then struck him that the vampire might have merely bungled the mechanics of the spell, thus causing the sun's rays to penetrate the black barrier.
Croden sneered and shook off the idea; such a thought was too idiotically optimistic. Fate was not known for giving kindnesses, especially to him. No, that idea was ludicrous. The minions of Dracula were up to something and he was completely in the dark as to what those plans were.
He sighed in frustration and brushed away the dirt from his clothing, which had magically reappeared on his body at the moment of his transformation back into a human. His angry stare found its way to Castlevania's looming form. It was an obscenity, a vile work which made his stomach churn. Even though he stood miles away, Croden could still feel the evil prescence within the castle's cold stone walls.
Soon, He told it.
Soon he will storm its walls and slaughter the vermin within. It wouldn't be any different from the other exercises he performed in his former life. Only this time the ones he killed would not be human.
And this time, he would be alone. He became worried at the fact that no armed soldiers would be backing him up during this operation. Croden quickly laughed, trying to tell himself that he was above such fears.
"Oh well," he said to himself. "I never said this was going to be easy."
With a smile and a whistle, Croden strolled down the grassy hillside headed for the town of Vrogden.
The Countess's scream of rage echoed through the hollow halls of Dracula's castle. Many of her servants and allies were awakened from their slumber, and those unlucky enough to investigate the scream's source were destroyed as soon as they entered their mistress's chambers.
Dr. Renfield found one of his lieutenants, a young vampire named Riley Smith, standing outside the Countess's door. He was leaning against the doorframe, a calm relaxed expression on his youthful face. Loud crashes and howls of frustration could be heard from within Bartley's rooms.
"What happened?" he asked Riley.
"Don't know, Doc." Riley said in a thick West End accent. "I jus came 'bout ta see what all the ruckus was 'bout, when I came up on this bloke named O'rourke standin out here lookin' all nervous and stuff."
Renfield nodded, as he knew O'rourke well. A fellow member of the Cult, O'rourke was a renowned psychic whose powers only grew greater after his transformation into one of the undead. He was widely regarded as the head of the Cult of Dracula, even though he was not a very visible figure.
"Well," continued Riley, "me and 'im opened the door, but that green 'aired bitch just screamed at us to get out before she blasted the other guy to bits!"
The doctor flinched. "She….killed O'rourke?"
"Aye, you can still see parts o' the poor guy on me clothes!" Riley pointed at his clothing; only then did Renfield notice the blood on the young vampire's leather pants and jacket.
Renfield took a deep breath in an attempt to quell his rising anger. "Why exactly is she so upset?'
Riley smiled and shook his Mohawk-clad head. "Don't know, mate. She wasn't exactly in the mood to chat, and I wasn't exactly in the mood to ask, ya know?"
Renfield began to grind his teeth in frustration. The Countess's bizarre behavior was beginning to grate his nerves; frankly, he was beginning to regret having resurrected her at all.
"Did you tell any of the others about O'rourke's death?"
"Hell no!" Riley screamed. "I been standin' ere pickin 'is guts off me fer Christ's sake!"
The doctor nodded slightly. "Very well. Make an excuse about O'rourke, I don't care what. Just don't tell them the Countess blasted him for no good reason. It might cause some unnecessary panic. Just try to keep them calm."
"Sure. And what'll you be doin'?"
A loud crash resounded from within Bartley's chambers. "I am going to try to calm our Countess down."
"What? Are ya nuts? She's a bloody lunatic! She'll kill you!"
Renfield shrugged. "Maybe. But look on the bright side. If she does, then you can be the head of the cult."
With those words, the doctor opened the Countess's doors, stepped inside and shut them quickly. He frowned at what he saw inside. What was once a glorious and gallantly decorated room was now a smashed and torn mess. Bartley's tantrum fit had destroyed the entire room's lavish furnishings.
Renfield began to look for the Countess and found the vampire in one of the spacious rooms. She was trembling in a wild rage while ripping apart an elegant suit of armor with her bare hands. The doctor coughed once to get her attention.
The Countess whirled about, her red eyes burning with murderous hate. Who would dare disturb her, to see her in this humiliated state? When she saw that it was Aaron Renfield, Elizabeth Bartley burst into tears. Her eyes ceased their reddish glow, and she ran towards Dr. Renfield and encased him in a tight embrace.
"Aaron! It isn't fair! It just isn't fair!" The Blood Countess sobbed against the doctor's chest, her constricting arms tightening and making him wince in pain.
"W-what's the matter, Elizabeth?"
"The sun! The sun!" Bartley screamed, her arms tightening around him.
For the first time, Renfield noticed a thin stream of sunlight coming through the torn curtains over the Countess's large windows. Seeing it made the doctor want to join Elizabeth's hissy-fit. He gritted his teeth in frustrated anger, but managed to mask it.
"Oh," he said simply.
The Countess had stopped her crying, but held on to Renfield to enjoy his warmth. "I am so useless. I can't even cast a stupid barrier spell right." She snuggled herself closer to him, liking the feel of his warm living body against hers. She suddenly thought about what it would feel like to quickly plunge her hand into his chest and pull out his still beating heart. She quickly dismissed the thought; after all, she was supposed to be in love with him.
"I am such a stupid idiot." She said.
Renfield did a mental sigh. He knew that she was just fishing for complements, and he was in no mood to give any to her. Honestly, she is such a child sometimes. On the other hand, she was much stronger than he was, and to anger her would mean certain doom to him. Anyway, her exotic beauty, not to mention the way she was rubbing up against him, was steadily crumbling his resolve.
"You are not an idiot," he replied. "You are a valuable part of the plan. Without you, none of what we have accomplished would be possible."
The Countess smiled and loosed her grip on Renfield. After planting a small peck on his cheek, the vampire let go of the doctor and strolled over to her upturned couch. With a flick of an elegant hand, she flipped the couch back onto its correct position and promptly sat down.
"So, my beloved, what do we do now?" she asked with a smile.
Anya watched the young woman with suspicious eyes. On any other day, she would have thought nothing of the girl seated at the corner booth of her café eating a breakfast meal of eggs and potatoes. But this day was different. This day was bizarre.
She had awoken to shouts and a loud thumping at her doorstep. When she opened her front door, the mayor and fire chief greeted her, surrounded by several angry red-faced citizens. The shouting stopped when the mayor greeted her.
"Hello, Anya," said the mayor. "Can Mikael and I come in?"
The mayor and fire chief entered at her nod. The other men remained outside, each attempting not to meet her gaze.
The two men inside her home also avoided her eyes as they faced her, both nervously fiddling with an article of clothing. Anya could sense that something was wrong, but could not for the life of her figure out what. The men remained silent, as if pained to have to reveal their news.
"What is it?" She asked finally. "What's wrong?"
Mikael, the fire chief, started to speak but couldn't seem to find his voice.
The mayor spoke for him. "Anya… Sam is dead."
A ton of bricks seemed to hit her from behind. Anya felt herself loose her balance and begin to fall, but fortunately the mayor and Mikael caught her. Her head felt heavy and she couldn't seem to keep it up.
The two men laid her down on the couch and stood by nervously as she regained herself. Anya managed to slow her heartbeat and breathing long enough to listen to more of the evil news.
"I'm so sorry to have to tell you, Anya." The mayor kneeled next to her and held her hand as he spoke. "We don't know what happened. The entire station's in a mess. We think everyone in the building was killed; no police men are left except for the ones out on patrol. Mikael's going to take over Sam's position as Police Chief until we can get help from outside."
"What happened?" Anya managed to ask. "What's going on?"
She looked from the mayor to the fire chief for answers. Mikael seemed close to tears and couldn't speak. He and Sam were best friends since children. The news must have hit him terribly, probably as hard as it had hit her.
"We don't know what's happening," continued the mayor. "The radios are still not working, but we are sending some men out of town to get help. We have plenty of volunteers who can act as temporary officers until help arrives."
"How did it happen? How did he die? Who did it?"
"I… we're not sure who. It… the place was a mess. But rest assured that we will find whoever did this and make them pay."
Make them pay. Those were the mayor's words; he spoke them as if they would ease her sorrow. But the words didn't. So what if the killers were brought to justice? So what if they were caught? Who cares if they were even executed for their crimes? How could that ease her sorrow? How would that help ease her pain? Would it bring Sam back? Would it help her raise the baby growing in her womb when it was born?
Of course not. But she didn't tell this to the mayor. She just nodded to him and smiled reassuringly to Michael. When the two had left, she broke down and cried.
That had been less than two hours ago. She left at ten o'clock to open the café, as she had every morning for the past five years. She felt numb as she walked the deserted streets of Vrogden, numb as she unlocked the door and put up the open sign, and numb as she greeted the first customer of the day.
That first customer was the young woman seated at the corner booth, eating a meal of eggs and potatoes. Anya eyed her suspiciously, although she would not have done so on any other day.
The woman was in her early twenties, fair-haired, and quite striking. She wore tattered clothes and carried a long thin object wrapped in newspaper and twine. She ate her meal quietly, chewing with her mouth closed. Her eyes looked nowhere except the top of the table.
Anya suddenly wondered who she was. She was certain that she had not seen the young woman before; most of her café's customers were regulars. Was she a stranger to Vrogden? Had she just arrived in town? What was that package she carried?
The sound of the café door opening brought her attention away from the woman at the booth. A tall muscular man entered, wearing a black winter coat over a gray sweater and blue jeans. He sat down on a table near one of the windows and ordered a cup of coffee. His voice sounded rough and deep, with the tone of someone used to getting what he wanted.
As Anya brought the man his coffee, she couldn't help but stare at his face. His features were craggy and angular, giving him a mean and authoritative look even when he smiled in thanks for the drink. His fierce appearance was given a greater air of malevolence by the long scar running down his face; the mark was like pink serpent, crawling from the bottom of his right eye and disappearing down the neckline of his sweater.
When Anya returned to the counter, her attention was once again drawn to the young woman at the corner booth. To her surprise, the woman was no longer eating calmly, but was glaring fiercely at the man seated at the window. Her right hand had gone to grip the cylindrical package on the table, while her left came to rest on something strapped to her hip. Did she have a gun?
The man noticed the woman staring at him, and frowned in return. He kept his hands on top of the table, but Anya noticed him shift his weight in his seat. The air had become thick with tension. Both of her customers were coiled like cobras, each waiting for the other to strike first so that they could make their move.
"Eggs and potatoes, please."
All heads snapped around to the last stool at the counter. Seated there was a police constable, haunched over one of the establishment's laminated menus. The policeman's presence seemed to defuse the oncoming confrontation; both the man and the young woman turned their attentions back to their meals. Anya sighed in relief. The last thing she needed at the moment was for a fight to break out in her café.
"Eggs and potatoes, please," repeated the young constable.
Anya jumped at the sound of his voice. After composing herself, she launched herself into the kitchen and began preparing the constable's order.
When she returned with the plate of fried eggs and potatoes, she found herself less two customers. Both the man and the young woman had left the place in her absence: the man without paying and the woman without tipping. Now, only the constable remained.
As she served the young man his plate of food, Anya managed to get a quick glance at the features hidden within the shadows. Only then did recognition strike her. His name was Joseph Khaosta, and he was a seargent at Sam's station. She had met the young man on the occasions when she visited her husband at his job. He had always acted politely towards her whenever she came by, but deep down she knew that the man disliked her for some reason. This fact always bothered her, since she did not know what it was about herself that Joseph detested so much.
As she silently watched the policeman eat his meal, she realized that she could not sense his usual loathing for her in his current actions. The young constable's bearing seemed completely different from that of the confident man she had met many times before. No wonder Anya did not recognize him sooner; it was as if the person seated on the stool was a stranger who was only wearing a mask that looked like Joseph Khaosta.
The policeman quickly finished his meal. Without saying a word, he reached into his pockets and withdrew several crumpled bills. He handed them to Anya and flashed a sad smile. Their eyes met, and Anya gasped in shock to see Joseph's eyes were a frightening color of violet.
The man broke eye contact and turned to leave. Anya began to shiver where she stood as she watched his blue form walk slowly towards the door. Before he stepped outside, Joseph stopped.
"Don't be sad," he said in an unusually refined voice. "It isn't so bad, where he is. You can see him again, when your time comes. Just please, don't be sad."
When the man stepped out of the door and out of her shop, Anya broke down and cried.
Lissette zig-zagged her way through the twisting bare streets of Vrogden. The horrific news of the massacre at the police station had reached every ear in the small town. None of the frightened city dwellers now dared to walk the streets. Many chose to stay inside to await help from outside. This self-incarceration seemed wise, because if something out on the streets had taken out the entire police force, then what hope did they themselves have?
The hunter's eyes scanned the area, but could find no trace of the man she was chasing. She soon decided to give up her chase, restrapping the leather whip back to her belt. Wherever her quarry was, he was long gone.
The Belmont cursed her carelessness. First, she had let her guard down and allowed a lycanthrope to get so close to her. She was certain that the large man in the diner was a changeling; she could sense it in her bones. However, that was no excuse for what had occurred next.
She still could not believe how careless she had been. She had trained extensively to better her hearing and awareness, and was comfortable in boasting that she had no equal in her field. So how did that policeman get to that stool without her noticing? She had been facing the front door of the establishment the whole time she was in there; there was no way he could have entered without her seeing.
Had he come from a back entrance? No, she did not see another entrance, except the door into the kitchen. She would have seen him if he had entered from there. But even if he did find his way into the cafe by another entrance, she would have most certainly heard his footsteps or breathing.
There was definitely something wrong about that man.
Was he one of Dracula's monsters? No, she would have felt it if he were evil. A Belmont's special sense was uncanny in detecting malevolence, and as she was the last in the line her senses were extraordinary. Whoever the policeman was, he was not a minion of Dracula.
"He could be a powerful sorcerer," thought Lissette. She had heard of them existing: human beings attaining high levels of power through necromancy.
She did not know whether this was good news or bad. Unlike monsters, human beings were neutral creatures: neither good nor evil. They have free will, and can choose their own allegiances. Because of this fact, she could not use her Belmont senses to detect whether his intentions were evil or not.
Well, whatever he is, he isn't normal.
Lissette walked down the street, back the way she had come. As she approached the small diner she had departed earlier, the door opened and the strange policeman emerged. The vampire hunter stopped dead in her tracks and reached for her whip; if there was going to be a confrontation, she was determined to win. It didn't help her chances that she knew absolutely nothing about her opponent. She knew not what his strengths or weaknesses were, or if he had any. She didn't even know if he was human.
As she stood at the street corner, the policeman returned her gaze. His eyes were a deep violet, almost of an inhuman shade. Aside form this fact, nothing else about him was out of the ordinary. He had the typical Romanian features, and his height and build were not unusual. If it were not for his bizarre eyes, Lissette would have thought his appearance quite mundane.
After a long silent moment of mutual staring, the strange policeman turned his back to her and slowly walked away. Lissette thought about engaging him in conversation in an attempt to discover more about him. She soon dismissed this idea, however, and merely opted to follow him. Maybe he might lead her to a clue about his identity.
The vampire hunter followed the constable at a discreet distance for several blocks. Not once did he slow, turn around, or otherwise give a reason to Lissette that he suspected being followed.
Which is why the Belmont was completely surprised when she lost him. One minute, he walking down a deserted sidewalk. The next, he quickly turned into a dark alley and disappeared.
Lissette cursed and followed him into the shadowy area. The alleyway's dank air was cool and stank of urine. She found no trace of the strange policeman, only garbage and a stray cat met her at its depths. The man seemed to have vanished into thin air, leaving no trace of his existence. It was as if she had been following a ghost.
"Idiot!" she chided herself. "First the werewolf, now that weird man. How could you let two of your targets escape? Amateur!"
The young vampire hunter stormed out of the alley, feeling rather annoyed with herself.
Croden took a quick glance behind him. Nothing but an empty street met his gaze, which brought him surprising relief.
"Good," he said to himself. He had lost her. Who the hell was that bitch, anyhow?
The big man leaned against the side of a crumbling wall and sighed. His right hand slowly reached into his coat pocket and felt the comforting coolness of his forty-five caliber pistol. Touching the metal brought his racing heart into a steady rhythm, which in turn brought his sharp mind back into focus.
Fear. This was an emotion he was feeling more and more these days. Before that monster bit him, he never felt the emotion. Instead, it was other people who feared him. However, all of that changed for him four months ago.
He had been running, as all the members of the Securitate had been. The regime of Nicolae Ceausescu had fallen to the revolutionaries, only the most recent of the many Communist administrations to do so. After years of brutal oppression, the people were hunting down their tormentors to return the favor. Everyone tied to the doomed ex-president were running, and running for their lives.
But even then, Croden was not afraid. He was running, that much was true, but it was a survival instinct which made him flee. He felt no fear as he snuck around the woods avoiding the searching mobs; he was also unafraid whenever he had to go into the towns to get fresh supplies.
Fear was not an emotion which showed itself in a man such as Croden. Therego, he was unafraid when he encountered the were wolf.
It had been the dead of night, and he had been camped out in the middle of the many forested regions of Transylvania. The moon shone full and bright in the black sky, shining pale silver light upon the treetops. The entire scene had a very monotone look, as if it were shot by a black and white movie camera.
Croden was sleeping soundly inside his sleeping bag when a sharp growl awakened him. He shot out of his bag, gun drawn, only to come face-to-face with a large wolf-like beast. It stood on its hind paws, and was no less than three meters tall. Its eyes glowed red, the emotion of sheer fury locked within its evil gaze. Its jaws dripped venomous saliva from its fierce fangs, while its front paws were shaped like clawed human hands.
The beast roared at the man before him, a wail so ferocious that his ears began to bleed. But even then, Croden was not afraid. His keen survival instincts kicked in, and he shot several bullets into the creature before it leapt at him. He managed to turn his body sideways in an attempt to dodge, which is why the snarling beast's jaws clamped onto his right shoulder instead of the jugular.
Croden screamed in pain as the dagger-like teeth shredded his flesh. The ex-Secret Police officer dropped his gun and drew a dagger from his belt. He stabbed the wolf in the chest a few times, all the while the creature continued to rip his shoulder apart. With a vicious pull, Corden felt liquid pain engulf his body as the beast yanked its jaws upwards and ripped his entire right arm off from the rest of his form.
Even then, Croden did not feel fear. He felt the pain, and was aware of his imminent death, but fear did not touch him even at this moment. The only emotion he had felt was rage, all of which was directed at the snarling monster before him.
With the fury clearing his mind of pain, Croden suddenly remembered that although his dagger was not made of silver, its hilt and handle were. With a snarl as vicious as the monster's, he thrust the handle viciously into the monster's chest wound. The beast howled in agony, and Croden could only laugh as the monster tried to retreat from the pain. The wounded man rammed the dagger further into the chest wound, using the blade as the handle. His mind faintly registered pain as his left hand was sliced open by the effort, but he could have cared less. He was dying after all, and such a wound was insignificant compared to the one he had previously received.
The monster soon collapsed onto the leafy floor next to him, dead from the silver jammed into its insides. Croden laughed loudly into the night, not ceasing until the pain form his wounds caused him to pass out.
The next morning he awoke, completely healed. His right arm had somehow become reattached, and the knife wound to his left hand was gone. Only slight scars remained to betray the fact that they had ever existed, and even those seemed to be vanishing as the seconds passed. In fact, the only scar left on his body was the one on his face, which he had recieved years ago during a bar fight.
Croden suddenly leapt to his feet as he saw a still, bloody form next to him. It was of a naked woman with dark hair, the same color of the monster which had attacked him last night. He poked her a bit with his foot, but her still, frozen form only informed him that she was dead. With his heart racing, Croden packed his belongings and quickly left the campsite.
Even now, Croden cringed as he recalled the fear fueling his blood as he ran from the camp that morning. He had never felt fear until that day, when he woken up after that damn monster ripped him open. Before that fateful morning, Croden had felt untouchable, as if no one on Earth had strength to beat him. Now, shivers ran up his spine for no apparent reason whatsoever.
For months, fear stalked him like a beast hunting its prey. He fled in terror from the campsite that morning, but the fear only followed. It made him frightened of the dark woods he nad slept in, weary of the people in the towns he visited, and nervous of the shadows around him. Even when he transformed into that powerful beast on the night of the next full moon, he felt fear. Even in this powerful, nearly unstoppable new form, Croden felt the fright lingering in his mind. He had felt invincible, unstoppable when he was merely a human; but after gaining the awesome powers of a lycantrhope, Croden felt less so. He almost laughed at the bitter irony.
Presently, the ex-Securitate officer grasped his gun once more for comfort, then walked forwards into the chilly morning air of the Transylvanian town. He needed to buy supplies before he left Vrogden and stormed the accursed castle of his enemies.
The morning air seemed to grow colder as Lissette Schneider walked through the empty cobbled streets of Vrogden. The eerie silence only hightened the dead atmosphere, since the only sounds coming from the street was that of the soflty blowing wind. It whipped through the cars and passed the empty shops of the city, a chilly tendril reminding all outside their homes of the dreaded unknown stalking them.
Whispered voices could be heard through the walls of the buildings she passed, as its occupants curiously glanced out at her from their windows. The fear was quite evident in their eyes, and some even waved to her to get inside their homes, afraid that something might happen to the pretty young woman walking alone outside in the cold. Lissette ignored their warnings and invitations, and walked on. She knew that before she could enter Castlevania and stop Dracula's minions from ressurecting their master, she had to pick up supplies for the long journey there. Her meagar rations had already run out during her trip here from Lascaux, and the meal at the cafe this morning had been her first in over a day.
While turning a corner, Lissette's keen senses suddenly picked up movement to her right. She leapt back and drew her whip out, turning around quickly to face her enemy.
"Whoa!" said the startled man, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. He then began to speak to the vampire hunter in her native tongue. "I come in peace, Mademoiselle!"
Lissette visibly calmed as she recognized the old man before her. After calming her nerves, and cursing herself for being careless a third time, the Belmont smiled slightly and spoke. "So, Father Shephard. You did arrive safely. When I got here yesterday, I thought you were killed in the massacre at the station."
"Yes. I almost forgot that I told you to meet me there last night," the priest, who spoke French with an American accent, sighed loudly. "Even I did not think the Cult would have had the gaul to send their creatures agains an armed police force. The loss of so many lives..."
"I should have gotten there earlier," muttered Lissette.
Father Shephard shook his head. "What's past can't be undone." He then touched her shoulder and waved for her to walk on. "Come, it's freezing out here. We must get inside, the others are most likely worried about me."
"Others?"
The priest nodded as they walked down the cold, empty streets. "Yes. You didn't think the Vatican would send just me to help out, did you?"
Lissette shrugged. "Why not? They never got involved before."
"That was in the past. With the approaching millenium, the new Pope and his Cardinals are worried about transpiring events. The forces of darkness must not be given a foothold into this world at such a critical time."
The vampire hunter nodded, and allowed the old man to lead her into a delapidated building. Shadows engulfed the two as they made their way through the empty, rubbish ridden halls. They soon found their way to a rickety stairwell, and descending it, met a heavy iron door at the next landing. Soft light was coming through the crack between the door and the floor, and soft voices could be heard from the other side. Father Shephard knocked once on the iron portal, eliciting a grunt from someone beyond.
"It's me, Rattcliffe. Let me in. I found her," said the priest in English. There were several sets of loud clangs, as the locks on the door were pulled out. It soon opened, bathing the hallway outside with light, and a massive man wearing a sour expression stood stood before them. He glanced at the Father once, before moving his steel-grey eyes to Lissette. After studying her for a few moments, he moved out of the way and allowed the two to enter.
A curious sight met the Belmont as she entered the small basement room the Father had led her to. Inside, facing her with weapons drawn, were about ten or eleven men wearing mideival armor. Each also wore a white cloth jerkin over their dull grey chain mail, emblazoned with a large red crucifix across their chests.
"Templar Knights?" asked Lissette with a raised eyebrow.
Shephard nodded. "Yes, we were quite fortunate that the Order sent us their best men. Lissette Schneider, meet Hannes," the priest began to point each of the men out, speaking in English, "Gordons, Kalzone, Takeshi, Rhodes, King, Alberts, Balthulu, Ivers, Holtz, Nelson," he then pointed to the big man at the door, "and you've met Ratcliffe."
The men relaxed visibly, and lowered their weapons. Lissette was amused to notice that although the Knights wore antiquated armor, they carried such modern weaponry as assault rifles. One of the men, the asian Knight named Takeshi, came up to the priest. "Father, I must insist that you remain with us from now on. You know I did not give you permission to go around town unescorted."
The old priest sighed. "In case you have forgotten, I was put in charge of this mission by Cardinal Franzetti himself. I don't have to get your permission for anything!"
The Knight kept a stoic face. "The Cardinal put us in charge of your safety, as well as," he glanced at Lissette for a moment before continuing, "hers. We can not guard you adequately if you insist on disregarding my ord-" Takeshi was about to say the word "orders," but apparently thought better. He finished the sentence with "suggestions."
"I can take care of myself," muttered Lissette.
Takeshi ignored her.
The priest smirked before turning his attention back to the Knight. "Well, Captain, I apologize for my behavior. In the future, I will take your suggestions further into consideration."
This seemed to placate the Knight somewhat. Takeshi nodded, then turned around and returned to his men.
"Cretin," muttered Lissette under her breath in French.
"Oh, don't be too hard on him," whispered Father Shephard. "He's a good man, and an even better soldier." The Father then patted her arm and pointed to a doorway leading to another room. "Now then, follow me. We have much to talk about."
The Belmont, after taking one last look at the Templar Knights, followed the priest into the adjacent room.
Malus looked up into the sun-lit horizon, his violet eyes pools of eerie radiance within his new form's pale face. He regarded the slight grayish tint to the normally blue sky, a by-product of the Mist Barrier put up by the Count's minions.
"So, my presence has affected your plans, hasn't it, Dracula?" said the thing within the man's body. "The veil of darkness your crones have put around this place may keep the humans out, but not the light which you fear the most. By the time of the Blood Moon, when you rise again after the blood of the innocents feeds your hellish soul, I shall be there to meet you."
Malus frowned, and his eyes began to glow as the century-long rage within his soul steadily began to boil to the surface."I will then take my revenge. For the life I was never allowed to live. For all the people your vile prescence has ruined. For this man, Joseph, whose body I now wear..."
Malus suddenly turned his attention away from the sky and gave the dark castle in the distance a vicious glare. His eyes now glowed a blazing hot violet, and the cold air warmed at the fury of his hate. "All shall be avenged at the time of the next Blood Moon. By its rise, you shall fall..."
TO BE CONTINUED....