CASTLEVANIA
DANCE OF THE HARVEST MOON
For centuries untold, the world has lived in the shadow of an immense evil, and yet it bears few scars from the tainted blood of the damned. Written as, and nowadays simply regarded as nothing more than historical fiction, the world has forgotten about the ancient abomination sealed within its own bowels. The ancient battles that were waged in the fields and mountains of central Europe are now nothing more than fancy and fairy tales, and even the monster's sealed prison has become a simple tourist attraction?
How can the peoples of the world forget such a beast? How can they treat such as nothing more than a childrens' bedtime story?
The answer is quite simple. It's because of them
The Belmont clan.
For hundreds of years, the Belmonts have fought against the great evil known as Vlad Dracul, price of Darkness. Count of Wallachia. Lord Dracula, son of the Devil. Their sacrifices and their blood has kept this great demon at bay for centuries. Everytime the dark lord was resurrected, a Belmont was there to strike the abomination down and seal him away, hopefully for the last time.
The last time. Victor Belmont, if I am correct. Even as recent as 1911 did the heir to the Belmont clan wield the mythical Hunter's Whip to defeat the demon and send him back to the depths below. However, with the whirlwind that was World War I, the exploits of this man went mostly unknown. The battles raging in Western Europe drew attention away from the army in the East, wreaking havoc through what was once the Ottoman Empire. When Victor returned from his quest, he committed himself to assuring that his family would not have to bear the burden, the curse that comes with the name Belmont. However, he swore to the Pope himself that should the evil return, a Belmont would be ready to answer the call.
Over the years his progenitors spread across this world, never knowing of the sheer power and responsibility that comes with the name Belmont. The Hunter's Whip was entrusted to the church for safe keeping, and the legendary feats of the Belmont clan were all but forgotten.
Yet not all of us are ignorant of this great quest.
I am a member of an order, as ancient as the Eternal City of Rome itself. We are known as the Seekers. Once an arm of the Emperor's Praetorian Guard, now we are a mostly secret and covert branch of the Catholic Church. Our only purpose is to defend humanity against whatever darkness the Dark Lord himself might bring upon this world of ours. Our work goes unnoticed as we do. The nature of our work is...how shall I put this...beneath the new, more intellectual nature of humans today.
And that's just the way we like it.
For just under twenty years now, I have been responsible for tracking and monitoring a certain descendant of Victor Belmont. While many more carry the blood of the Belmont clan, this young man is a direct heir, and he alone shows the prowess and power that has gone hand in hand with the name Belmont. I have followed him through hardship and success. From birth to this present day, I have been responsible for his well-being. I almost consider him a son, even though he must never know my name or my even very presence.
His safety is, above all, my ultimate concern. Should he be awakened to his destiny, it is my duty to see that he accomplishes his sacred mission.
And the one-hundred year seal is weakening. Dracula...he is regaining his power once more
Tobias Belmont...the day is drawing near.
Under the darkness of the harvest moon, the battle will begin once more.
--Father Paul Benetton
10 January 2004
Chapter One: The Awakening
25 May 2004
The day was like most days in the Romanian province of Wallachia...cloudy and brisk. It seemed the dark thunderclounds hanging low above the earth would be ready to burst at a moment's notice, and unleash another torrential rain upon the Romanian countryside.
However, none of this dampened the elderly traveller's spirits as he rode upon a mule down a rocky country road, his destination and purpose ever so clear to him. He whistled an old Romanian folk tune as the mule trodded along the road ever so slowly, making its way to an as-of-yet undetermined location. The man lifted the hood on his dark green cloak as a few spatters of rain fell to the earth below, simply underscoring the thunderstorm that was on the horizon.
The old man smiled darkly at this realization. Such a phrase could have two meanings.
Slowly but surely the wind picked up, and with a bolt of lightning the skies unleashed their wrath upon the world, drenching anything that was not indoors or covered up.
The old man simply laughed a harsh, gutteral laugh. Such an experience could only add to the thrill of what was awaiting him up the road ahead. One would be foolish to call the skies dark...
...at least compared to what was soon to be unleashed upon the world.
The man kept his burrow moving up the rough mountain road as the rains kept pouring from above, almost as if they were trying to block this weary traveller from his ultimate goal. Still the man kept pushing on. He had no reason to fear rain, or any other element of the world. His Master had control of them all.
The Master...yes, the Master. Not a patient man, thus the man kicked the mule in the ribs, forcing it to squeal out in pain. The animal, in exact opposite to its rider's wishes, collappsed upon the cobblestones and exhaled heavily. The poor beast had been moving for three days straight, through some of the most treacherous mountains known to the world. It was all it could do to keep from dying from exhaustion where it lay.
An angry look crossed the face of the elderly rider. However, he had never been a man prone to rash, emotional action. Instead of giving the animal the severe beating it deserved, he simply dismounted, removed the bags he carried upon the saddle, and patted the animal on its mane.
"Such a poor, poor creature," he cooed in a heavy Cyrillic accent. "Why let you die in such an undignified manner, when even you have a purpose to serve to His Highness?"
With that, the man pulled out a sharp, thin knife, and with one quick action, he slit the animal's throat as it bellowed in pain.
"Why let you die and rot here, on this God-forsaken road, when you can keep the Master's messengers fed?" the man laughed as the mule spasmed and twitched as it perished. With a harsh, shrill whistle from the cloaked man, four lean wolves appeared from the brush on either side of the road.
"Feed, servants of the master," the man ordered. "You will need your energy, as the day of redemption is at hand." The leader of the wolf pack stared at the man, its yellow eyes seeming to glow with a fierce radiance. The man nodded, and the wolves approached the carcass of the mule. Rather than tear its flesh from its now-dead body, the wolves simply lapped the still-warm blood from the large, gaping wound in the animal's throat.
The man couldn't help but smile as he looked at the blood on the blade. A mule's blood, he thought to himself. Fitting for such cretins that feed below me, but not good enough for the Master. No, something else must be done.
A loud and raucous bark from the alpha wolf broke the strange man's reviere, and he nodded. The wolves returned to their hiding places along the road, and the man continued his long and trying trek up the great mountain.
----
The dark stormclouds had given way to the darkness of night by the time that the man had reached his destination atop the great mountain. He looked up as the last rainclouds had subsided, and several thousand stars were shining brightly in the sky. And the moon...
...the moon was a dark crimson, like a drop of blood suspended in the night sky. The time had come, at last. The last great prophecy was being fulfilled before his very eyes, and even he would have a part to play in this, the rise of twilight upon the earth. A part to play in the resurrection of the Master.
The man's dark eyes seemed to brighten as he stopped at the end of the road, before a great iron gate. Before him, the ruins of a once-mighty castle stood, seemingly reaching into the heavens as if its purpose was to tear them loose from the sky above. A great spire in the middle of the complex stood above all, almost appearing as if its point were piercing the very heart of the moon. It was in that great spire where the Master was resting. Resting, and slowly restoring his dark powers to their former terrifying levels.
Tonight...yes, tonight. It would all begin. The time was in accordance to the prophecy, and all the preparations had been made. All that was left was to present himself before his new Master, who would soon reign over the world with his dark and mighty hand. And he would be there at his side.
"Who goes there?" a voice cried out from the other side of the gate. "Tourist hours end at five, sir. I'm asking you to leave."
The old man snorted as a camoflauged soldier carrying a light machine pistol came into view. "I am a servant to the lord of this manor," the old man cried, in a powerful voice seemingly unfitting for his frail body. "You will open these gates and let me pass, lest you face the wrath of the master of this castle!"
The tall, brawny soldier simply laughed. "These ruins are the property of the government of Romania," he shouted, cocking his pistol and leveling it at the old man. "Unless you are from the Consul or from the U.N., I'm going to have to ask you to be on your way, before my finger decides to slip."
This simply caused the man to laugh as he reached inside of his cloak and pulled out a small, white orb. It was lightly pulsing with a vibrant light, and it cast an eerie light about the strange traveller.
"This, my friend," he said, "is a Soul Orb. Crafted long ago by the druids of Western Europe to keep evil spirits away, it now serves a different purpose. Would you guess what it would be?"
The soldier fired three rounds at the crystal in the man's hand. Each one seemed to fall just short of the gem.
"It was rumored that in the hands of the wrong, or right, person," the man continued, slowly approaching the gate, "that this orb could be made to steal the very soul from a man's body, turning him into a soulless servant of the orb's owner. Or sometimes...it can send one straight to the pits of Hell itself. Shall we test it?"
"Stay away from me, you demon!" the soldier shouted, dropping his weapon. "You conjurer! Wizard!"
"I'm no demon, my friend," the man sneered from beneath his hood. "At least...not yet." He raised the orb high into the air, and spoke a word from a language long forgotten. The ball began to glow a bright red, and a single bolt of lightning struck and ricocheted into the chest of the man standing behind the gate. The soldier screamed and writhed in pain as the energy coursed through his body, slowly killing each and every cell that composed the unlucky man. Finally, after a few minutes, the soldier collapsed to the stone path beneath him, and the Soul Orb returned to its slightly-luminescant glow.
"You pitiful fools never learn," the man said, carefully placing the orb back in its hiding place beneath the cloak. "You will, though, in time. You surely will learn."
The elderly man raised his arms to the sky, and in a loud and commanding voice, he cried out to the night.
"Master, I am here! Allow your loyal servant to grace your presence!"
With a loud roll of thunder, the seal upon the ancient gates once again was broken, and slowly they creaked open. The man laughed evilly as he walked inside the gates, into the main courtyard of Castle Dracul. The time had come. Vlad Dracula, Lord of the Dark, would soon again walk through the world.
----
Anderson, Texas, United States of America
Population: 7,881
25 May 2004
"...and before we begin today's lesson, I would like to welcome the newest member of our class," the thin and slightly balding teacher said as he stood up from his desk and walked to the podium that was at the opposite end of the classroom. "Tobias, why don't well you stand up and tell us a little about yourself?"
The members of the classroom turned around and looked to the back. The new kid was tall, somewhere in the neighborhood of 6'5'' or 6'6''. He had long black hair bound with a piece of white cloth, and his eyes were a deep and icy blue. His hands were jutted in the pockets of his khaki cargo pants, and he seemed to give off an aire of dignity, even as he stood, looking like any other normal teenager you would see walking the streets of the small Texas town.
"Well, there's not much to say," he said in a quiet, yet commanding voice. By the sound of his accent, one could easily tell that he wasn't from the South. By the way he sounded, he had moved here from the West Coast. Maybe Oregon or Washington. "My name is Tobias, I'm living here with my grandparents while my parents are overseas in Germany, and I was born in Seattle. That's about it."
"Ah, a quiet one, I suppose?" the teacher asked with a grin.
"I guess so," he said, returning to his seat.
"Well, welcome to Anderson anyway, Tobias," the teacher said. "Now, if we all can open our books to..."
----
The end of the day had finally arrived, and Tobias Belmont had never been so happy to hear the final bell of the day, releasing the students from their prisons of mathematics and history and allowing them to run free until seven-thirty the next morning, when the whole cycle would begin again. Tobias sighed as he shoved his books in his locker and grabbed for his faded denim jacket. Anderson was such a backwards town, at least to him. His grandparents seemed to be nice people, however this place was just not for him. If his parents would've retired from the military like they were supposed to...well, this wouldn't have happened. Tobias slammed his locker shut and threw his jacket over his shoulder. However, he was met by a rather unfriendly surprise. A young man almost as tall as him, but twice as bulky was standing right in front of him, close enough for Tobias to know that the musclehead had probably consumed just a little too much garlic bread during lunch hour.
"So you're the new guy, huh?" the meathead spat, looking at the taller, more slender Tobias. "The whole school's been talking about you. I ain't got the slightest idea as to why. You don't look like nothin' special to me."
"Just who are you again?" Tobias asked as a small crowd of students began to gather around. Tobias simply shook his head. "You know? Never mind. I really don't have time to mess around with you. I have some important stuff to take care of." Tobias tried to walk off, but his opponent grabbed him by the t-shirt and slammed him up against the locker.
"I really don't like hippies hanging around here, y'know?" the bulky student sneered. Tobias' face remained calm as he grabbed ahold of the other's wrists and quickly removed them. "Peace and love just ain't my kind of thing."
"If you value your hands, you'll never pull a stunt like that again," Tobias warned in a low, deadly voice. "Now get out of my way before I decide that you're worth losing control over."
"You've gone and done it now, jerk," the bully roared as he reached back to punch Tobias. "I'm going to screw you up BIG TIME." He swung a heavy fist, only to watch in shock as Tobias caught it with seemingly little effort.
"Not a wise move," Tobias said, his voice full of control but his eyes full of anger. He twisted the assailant's arm until he began to scream out in pain. Tobias then used his free hand to land a blow straight to the other's jaw, sending him back to the other wall.
"Nice to meet you," Tobias said as he waved, and walked away from the crowd.
----
Jennifer LeChance had never seen anyone handle Gentry Adams quite like the new kid from her Algebra honors' class had. The bigger one had always had a problem with harassing new students to judge just exactly he could push around, but never before had it ended like this. This Tobias character...well, he was a strange one.
Jennifer quickly looked over as a few members of the crowd helped Gentry back up to his feet. His hand was bruised from where the new kid had nearly crushed it, and blood was running from his mouth. Most of them were too busy asking the bigger man just why he had let the new kid "beat the crap" out of him, but Jennifer really had no interest in that.
She was more interested in the one walking out the door at the other end of the hall. She picked up her backpack, adjusted it to fit comfortably, and began briskly walking towards the door, hoping to catch the new guy before he had a chance to escape. By the time she was out the door, she had broken into a dead run as she saw Tobias in front of her, calmly walking as if nothing had ever happened.
"Hey! Wait!" she shouted, watching the long-haired young man stop in his tracks and turn around. She caught up to him, and he looked at her curiously as she began heavily gasping for breath.
"Are you all right?" he asked as she leaned her upper body forward.
"Yeah..." she gasped. "Just trying to run with this bag...it's not fun."
"I wouldn't imagine so," he said. "Can I help you?"
She straightened up, took a final deep breath, and looked at the taller man. "Oh, I was just hoping to talk to you before you left. That was quite a stunt back there."
"What was?" he asked. "Not letting that jerk walk all over me like he's obviously done to others?"
"Yeah, I guess that's a good way to put it," she said as they began walking toward the parking lot. "Gentry's just...well, there's not any good way to describe him. Jerk is as about as nice as you can put it."
"I guess so," he quietly replied.
"He does have a lot of friends, though," Jennifer said. "I wouldn't go looking to start any more trouble."
"Looks like I've done enough already," he answered with a gentle laugh. "I guess I'll have to take whatever he throws at me."
Jennifer looked at him and laughed. "You're something else. It's not hard to tell you're not from around here."
"Seattle," Tobias said. "I'm here living with my grandparents."
"What did you say your name was?" Jennifer asked, hoping to start some sort of conversation before they had to part ways for the day.
"Tobias," he replied. "Tobias Belmont."
"Jennifer LeChance," she replied with a smile. "Welcome to Anderson."
Tobias looked at her and gave a slight smile. "Thanks," he said. "You, besides Mr. Greene, are the only one who's actually made me feel welcome here."
"It's a little different than Seattle, that's for sure," Jennifer replied. "I'm sure you'll make friends in no time."
Tobias gave a slight laugh. "That's never been my strong point," he replied. "I'm never in one place long enough to really have time to get to know anyone."
"I wouldn't go that far," Jennifer said with a smile. "You've made a friend already. Anyway, I really should be going. I have to be at work in a little under an hour. But hey...I'll see you tomorrow, right?"
"More than likely," Tobias said. "I imagine I'll be here for a while."
"Good," she said with a bright smile. "It's been a pleasure to meet you, Tobias."
"Yeah," he replied, scratching the back of his head. "It has."
----
The cloaked man stood in what was left of the castle's chapel, staring at a tall statue of what was once the virgin Mary. However, the head had been removed from the statue, and a grotesque bull's skull had been affixed atop it.
Such gory creatures, these minions of the Master, he thought to himself as he stood before the statue. They have no respect for works of ancient art.
However, he couldn't help but laugh. Mary was no more than a cow, at least according to the Master. He must've found the new decoration quite fitting. As much as he wanted to sit and admire the grotesque statue, the Master was waiting. The night was growing old, and within a few hours the sun would begin its daily descent above the mountains and into the sky. Time was truly of the essence, if the ceremony was to be completed tonight.
With a new sense of purpose, the man pulled a long-shafted key from the pouch tied at his hip, and approached the tall statue. He walked around to the side, and began to softly knock upon it. Soon, he heard the hollow thud that he was wanting. With a quick motion, he punched at the stone covering the hollow area, forcing it to break. As had been told, a lock was built within the statue of the chapel, designed to keep the true chapel of the Lord Dracula hidden away from those who might come looking.
With a triumphant smirk, he shoved the key into the lock and turned it three times to the right. A loud click was heard, and the granite statue began to slide to the left. Slowly but surely the mechanism stopped, revealing a large and heavy wooden door, with an impression burned into the wood. Once again, the man reached into the bag and removed a large golden crest.
The Mark of the Dragon, he thought to himself as he slammed the crest into the impression. Mark of the clan of Dracul. The crest of the Count.
Another loud click was heard, and the man reached for the large, rusted ring on the door. It took all the strength he could muster to pull the heavy door open, but open it he did, and finally his end destination was revealed to him. He found himself standing outside on one of the towers of the castle, facing a large staircase that ascended to the spire at the top. Torches were burning along the path, and the man was assured that finally, he would stand before his master. Hardly able to contain the excitement he felt walking along the path, he quickly hurried along the long stairway. The wind began to pick up as he made the final ascent to his Master's chambers, and he could almost hear it calling his name.
The Master was welcoming him. Welcoming him home.
Finally, he stood before another large wooden door with a golden crest set in it. However, he did not have to open the door himself, as it slowly swung open with a rusty creak. Inside was a round room, crafted from solid black marble. Torches were lined all around the room, and a blood-red carving of a pentagram was in the center of the room. Upon that star sat an altar, with red candles lit all around it. And on top of that...a cold, steel casket. He was finally here...he would see the Master's resurrection.
"You're late," he heard a cold hiss come from the other end of the room. Appearing from the shadows came a tall, winged figure draped in a black cloak, carrying a scythe in his bony hand. This was the lord Death, one of the Master's most loyal and trusted servants. The mortal man fell to a knee as the ghastly figure slowly made his way toward him. "And you're without the Belmont man. Do you mean to tell me that you failed?"
"You will understand all when the Master awakens, milord," the traveller said as he averted his eyes from the figure before him. "I have done as I have been told. I have eliminated all of the Belmont clan, save for one."
"Then where is he?" Death hissed. "The ceremony cannot be completed without the blood of a Belmont."
"He is right before you," the man said, raising himself to look at the ghastly apparition. "My name is Sergei Romanova. I am the half-brother of Victor Belmont. Both of us were born from the same father, Vincent Belmont. I am the heir to the clan and to the Hunter's Whip. I offer myself to the Master."
Sergei heard laughter come from the tattered hood of Death. "Such is a pleasant turn of events. Our Lord will be most pleased with your...offer. Long awaited has been the day when a Belmont would kneel prostrate to the Lord Vlad Dracula. You shall be well rewarded, Lord Romanova. However, now is not the time for idle chatter." Death used his free hand to grab the elderly heir to the Belmont clan by the wrist, and both stepped before the altar.
"The rites are nearly complete," he said as he turned Sergei's palm upward. "All we need is this..."
With one bony finger, Death scraped the sharp bone across Sergei's palm, opening a shallow wound. Death then forced the elderly man's hand down upon the cold marble of the altar, spreading the shed blood around before the steel casket.
A bolt of lightning struck nearby as the deafening roar of thunder shook the very room. Sergei watched in shock as the blood spread out upon the marble began to slowly be absorbed.
"It is beginning!" Death roared. "The Master returns!"
Another roar of thunder forced Sergei to fall to the ground, as the top of the steel casket fell to the ground. The room shook with another deafening roar, as a strange white light began to illuminate the room. The torches flared up and the candles took on the appearance of blowtorches as the winds outside began to whip and roar, all but terrifying Sergei.
And then...it all stopped. All was quiet. The storm outside had subsided and the fires within the room had returned to their normal height.
Most notably...the casket was gone. Standing on the alter now was a tall man with pale skin and silver hair. A black cape surrounded him, and he was looking upward with his back to his followers. Suddenly, he turned around, and Sergei gasped at the image he saw.
He was a youthful man, tall and well-built, dressed in what would easily pass as royal attire...back in the 1700's, at least. A large medallion hung from his neck bearing the crest of the Dragon, and several golden rings were on his fingers. The man looked at his white tunic and black slacks, and then at the two men before him.
"So the seal has been broken," he said in a voice that had the sound of at least five bass tones. "And yet, a living Belmont stands before me. I know the stench of that blood. It makes me want to vomit."
"I..." Sergei stuttered, avoiding eye contact with the resurrected Count. "I stand in your service, milord. Your will is my own."
The Count raised an eyebrow as he stared at the shuddering old crone beneath him. "This...this is most unexpected," he said. "A Belmont kneeling in my presence. Such irony in the situation."
An instant later he was standing behind the old man. "Such an old, tired man," he said soothingly, his once multi-tonal voice easing into a warm, soothing baritone. "No doubt you have seen more than a century go by." He walked over to Sergei's side, and carefully placed his hand under the man's chin. "Such is the glory of the Belmont family, I suppose."
He lifted Sergei up to eye level. Sergei trembled in fear; no matter how hard he tried, he could not avoid eye contact with Dracula.
"I could enact unspeakable tortures upon your wretched body," he hissed. "It would be my right to do so. Your disgusting progenitors and...your own brother, yes. You are the brother of the last great vampire killer, aren't you? You don't know the torture your family made me endure. Would I be in the right to do so to you, as the last living Belmont?"
"Y....yes, milord," Sergei gasped.
Dracula could only laugh. "So scared of your Master, are you? You should be, Master Romanova. I have an undying hatred for that putrid blood that flows through your veins. To spill it before me would be a sensation unmatched by any other. However...I have different plans for you."
With that, Dracula hissed and exposed his fangs. Sergei screamed in terror as the vampire sunk his teeth deep into his neck, severing an artery. With a lustful growl, the beast began to drink from the fountain of blood that poured from Sergei's body with every pulse of his dying heart. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Dracula dropped the old man to the floor, and wiped his bloody face on his pristine white shirt sleeve.
"Yes..." Dracula moaned. "The blood of the Belmonts. Such a putrid stench, but such a sweet, sweet nectar. I crave more, yet you cannot die, you withered old baboon. You have a purpose to serve."
Sergei had not the energy to even gasp in response to the Count.
"You see, Sergei Romanova, you most certainly are not the last of the Belmont Clan," Dracula stated. "I can still...I can still smell the stench of your blood. It's far from here, but it's there. Across the great ocean, in the New World. America, yes. That's where he is. And he is a powerful one, much moreso than yourself, as he is a direct descendant of Leon Belmont."
Dracula kneeled down before the dying man on the floor. With one of his long fingernails, he slit his wrist open, watching the blood begin to ooze from the wound.
"You are going to hunt him, Sergei," Dracula said, using his other arm to lift the dying man's head up. "You are going to bring him to me alive."
Dracula thrust his injured wrist in front of Sergei's mouth. "Now drink, loyal servant," he commanded. "Drink, and know true power."
With what little energy he had left, Sergei lifted his tongue to the pale wrist of the Count, and timidly tasted the acrid blood that oozed from the wound. A burning sensation began to overtake Sergei's body as he felt life slowly creeping back into him. Life...and a craving. He had to have more. Much more. Like a baby nursing from his mother, the old man began to suck on the wrist of the Count, absorbing the blood back into his own body. Absorbing the blood...and a new life. He felt a new energy begin to overtake his body. He felt stronger...much stronger. Not since the days of his youth had he ever known such life. He continued to drink the blood of the Count, and he felt alive.
"No more!" the count wearily cried, pushing the lustful Sergei away from him. "Too much, and we'll both die. Such is the way of things. Now stand, and see what you have become."
Sergei pushed himself up from the marble floor, and never even realized that he didn't feel the pain of arthritis in his joints as he stood straight. He walked over to the glossy marble altar, and never noticed that he moved with a young man's speed. He peered down into the reflection cast upon the altar, and saw a different man than the one who had come into Castle Dracul. He had dark curly hair, and his face showed no signs of aging. He looked no older than twenty or twenty-one. He was young once again.
"You see yourself as you once were," Death said as he moved next to Sergei. "As you are once again. As you will remain as long as you serve our Master."
"Always..." Sergei said in a young man's voice. "You have my allegience. I'll find this other Belmont, and I'll bring him to you. I swear it by your seal, Lord Dracula."
"Do not fail me, Sergei," the Count said. "I do not accept failure."
End Chapter One