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Inc.
Castlevania Chronicles
Simon
Chapter four: Revelations of Death
"I sense the Belmont's life force diminishing. Shall we react now?"
"No, the Belmont might regain his strength."
"How so? If we react now, we could end his accursed bloodline once and for all."
"Be patient Azaghal. By our Master's orders, we cannot. Do not attempt anything foolish."
"I will not. But Death, why did you not question the count's motives?" Though transparent, The Executioner of Hell, Azaghal, was clearly confused.
"I sense confusion in your words, Azaghal. Disregard your questions, they are all for naught." The cadaver turned his hooded head in the direction of the transparent demon. "Do not concern yourself with such trivial matters."
"Understood" Azaghal hesitantly agreed.
Death slowly turned his head to the balcony, overlooking a large stairway leading to a narrow hallway. Though Death lacked any sort of retinal glands, he could sense an orobourous with a flea man rider hopping around the giant chapel. "I hear Lossoth was defeated by this Belmont."
"That crazy old grave keeper? That old man spent his entire afterlife in that musty old prison that he forgot what he was doing there in the first place. The fact that he was overly eccentric, I'm not surprised." Azaghal replied.
"Despite his lack of amiability and congeniality, he managed to mortally wound the Belmont. Not a task so easily done." Death told the hellish creature behind him, purposely avoiding the fact that he had been defeated before as well.
"Even so, as the Belmont surely regains his strength, his death was in vain. It accomplished nothing. Naming himself the master of that forsaken prison was a joke onto itself. The Belmont will surely not stop there." Azaghal once again condescended the prison caretaker.
"Not to worry." The cadaver once again turned around to face his colleague and grinned despite his mouth's lack of muscle tissues. "That forsaken prison you so humbly speak of is home to Legion."
"The Granfaloon? I thought that parasitic worm had no intention of following the count's goal for conquest." Azaghal grew more curious by Death's words. He had known the Granfaloon to just be a self-indulged demon from the netherworld, quite similar to Galamoth, but he had no idea it had already moved its course down into the prison's cellar.
"It doesn't, but that's not the reason why the master keeps it around. He sees Legion almost as a rabid pet, despite its certain quality for disobedience." Death answered to the transparent demon's misunderstanding.
"I see." Azaghal lifted his overly sized demonic sword from its rested place on a nearby wall and began to polish its sharp end.
Death sensed several giant bats roaming around the dilapidated chapel. His head slowly turned upwards to the ceiling to sense an Ectoplasm, a physical manifestation of bodiless tormented souls.
"Ironic, isn't it?" Death said, mostly speaking to himself, but just loud enough for the executioner to hear.
"What is?" Azaghal asked, still polishing the same spot on his sword, despite it's glimmering shine.
"Nothing.you need not concern yourself." Death quickly replied.
"As you wish." Azaghal answered disconcertingly.
"I must take my leave, I have other matters to attend to." Death told his subordinate, not bothering to turn around. He moved towards the chamber's western exit, and flew through the solid, metal door, while Azaghal walked away in the opposite direction.
Death wandered the halls for a while, as if to be inspecting every inch of the castle, which was certainly not one of his many duties. He eventually came upon the Outer Keep, at the far end of the castle's halls. The moonlight shone in through large cracks in the grayish-black bricks and through various small windows on opposite ends of each wall. It had rained a few days ago, and it was obvious by the way the mossy corpse weeds were moving to the scent and the feeling of newly poured water. Once in a while, the moonlight grew dim, and back to it's glamorous shine, like a giant flashlight waiting to be turned off.
There was a small rumble; a flash of lightning, and then it was raining again. Another storm. The weather in Romania was maddening at this time of year. The seasonal storms constantly speared in all directions, as if threatening to bring down the castle itself with its thunder, and then, they would be gone just as abruptly as they had arrived.
Ages ago, a huge flat slab of rock had thrust itself out from the mountain pass, which the castle rested on, and into the western wall of the keep. Around it, ran a deep gorge through which flowed an icy stream that appeared to spring from within the mountain. The keep sat on that slab. Its walls were sleek, perhaps forty feet high, made of granite block, melting seamlessly into the granite of the mountainside at its rear.
The ghastly figure flew into the eastern corridor and attached hallway connected to the keep's wall. He moved through the hallways until he came upon a large marble chamber with several ledges hanging the peak of each wall and corners. He proceeded by entering his dungeon's quarters, and awaited the destined battle, which he had longed for ages and hoped for.
Castlevania Chronicles
Simon
Chapter four: Revelations of Death
"I sense the Belmont's life force diminishing. Shall we react now?"
"No, the Belmont might regain his strength."
"How so? If we react now, we could end his accursed bloodline once and for all."
"Be patient Azaghal. By our Master's orders, we cannot. Do not attempt anything foolish."
"I will not. But Death, why did you not question the count's motives?" Though transparent, The Executioner of Hell, Azaghal, was clearly confused.
"I sense confusion in your words, Azaghal. Disregard your questions, they are all for naught." The cadaver turned his hooded head in the direction of the transparent demon. "Do not concern yourself with such trivial matters."
"Understood" Azaghal hesitantly agreed.
Death slowly turned his head to the balcony, overlooking a large stairway leading to a narrow hallway. Though Death lacked any sort of retinal glands, he could sense an orobourous with a flea man rider hopping around the giant chapel. "I hear Lossoth was defeated by this Belmont."
"That crazy old grave keeper? That old man spent his entire afterlife in that musty old prison that he forgot what he was doing there in the first place. The fact that he was overly eccentric, I'm not surprised." Azaghal replied.
"Despite his lack of amiability and congeniality, he managed to mortally wound the Belmont. Not a task so easily done." Death told the hellish creature behind him, purposely avoiding the fact that he had been defeated before as well.
"Even so, as the Belmont surely regains his strength, his death was in vain. It accomplished nothing. Naming himself the master of that forsaken prison was a joke onto itself. The Belmont will surely not stop there." Azaghal once again condescended the prison caretaker.
"Not to worry." The cadaver once again turned around to face his colleague and grinned despite his mouth's lack of muscle tissues. "That forsaken prison you so humbly speak of is home to Legion."
"The Granfaloon? I thought that parasitic worm had no intention of following the count's goal for conquest." Azaghal grew more curious by Death's words. He had known the Granfaloon to just be a self-indulged demon from the netherworld, quite similar to Galamoth, but he had no idea it had already moved its course down into the prison's cellar.
"It doesn't, but that's not the reason why the master keeps it around. He sees Legion almost as a rabid pet, despite its certain quality for disobedience." Death answered to the transparent demon's misunderstanding.
"I see." Azaghal lifted his overly sized demonic sword from its rested place on a nearby wall and began to polish its sharp end.
Death sensed several giant bats roaming around the dilapidated chapel. His head slowly turned upwards to the ceiling to sense an Ectoplasm, a physical manifestation of bodiless tormented souls.
"Ironic, isn't it?" Death said, mostly speaking to himself, but just loud enough for the executioner to hear.
"What is?" Azaghal asked, still polishing the same spot on his sword, despite it's glimmering shine.
"Nothing.you need not concern yourself." Death quickly replied.
"As you wish." Azaghal answered disconcertingly.
"I must take my leave, I have other matters to attend to." Death told his subordinate, not bothering to turn around. He moved towards the chamber's western exit, and flew through the solid, metal door, while Azaghal walked away in the opposite direction.
Death wandered the halls for a while, as if to be inspecting every inch of the castle, which was certainly not one of his many duties. He eventually came upon the Outer Keep, at the far end of the castle's halls. The moonlight shone in through large cracks in the grayish-black bricks and through various small windows on opposite ends of each wall. It had rained a few days ago, and it was obvious by the way the mossy corpse weeds were moving to the scent and the feeling of newly poured water. Once in a while, the moonlight grew dim, and back to it's glamorous shine, like a giant flashlight waiting to be turned off.
There was a small rumble; a flash of lightning, and then it was raining again. Another storm. The weather in Romania was maddening at this time of year. The seasonal storms constantly speared in all directions, as if threatening to bring down the castle itself with its thunder, and then, they would be gone just as abruptly as they had arrived.
Ages ago, a huge flat slab of rock had thrust itself out from the mountain pass, which the castle rested on, and into the western wall of the keep. Around it, ran a deep gorge through which flowed an icy stream that appeared to spring from within the mountain. The keep sat on that slab. Its walls were sleek, perhaps forty feet high, made of granite block, melting seamlessly into the granite of the mountainside at its rear.
The ghastly figure flew into the eastern corridor and attached hallway connected to the keep's wall. He moved through the hallways until he came upon a large marble chamber with several ledges hanging the peak of each wall and corners. He proceeded by entering his dungeon's quarters, and awaited the destined battle, which he had longed for ages and hoped for.