DARKSTALKERS: THE NIGHT WARRIORS
Chapter Two: Belial's Heir
Fanfiction by Louis the Rogue
(Based on original story by Capcom Inc.)
It is a world both conterminous to ours, yet almost entirely parallel. The Makai has many names – Demon World, Hell, and The Realm of Evil among them. Regardless of where in the world you go, every culture has a concept of "order", "chaos", "good", or "evil". Makai is the embodiment of chaos and evil in the world of men.
At a location in Makai that exists within dimensions overshadowing the vast sky above what is known as the United Kingdom in the Earth year 1983, there stands a bizarre mesh of land and cloud, upon which sits a site yet more spectacular.
It was almost beyond description. The highest spire of this unimaginably colossal golden palace reached for the firmly defined boundary that cuts off the Makai from all other worlds; on Earth this boundary is less firm and referred to as the atmosphere. This boundary, a bright red, peeked around the clouds in many places, highlighting the castle in a surreal glow.
To insinuate that Castle Aensland is but a mammoth single domicile is erroneous. Within the walls existed entire nations of demon cities where the streets were literally paved in gold, and the buildings were built of other precious metals dependant on the particular fancy of a given nation. However, despite differences between the various demons, those differences were the only constant in a world that was so stagnant.
Surrounding the great tower mentioned above was the City of Spires, an achievement of epic proportions consisting of elaborate steeple-topped towers of a gold and silver hue that rose in a pattern that began at nine-hundred stories tall in the farthest outskirts of the city to an impressive forty-million stories at the dead center.
The streets below were nearly invisible to the naked eye, distance alone assuring that much even for the dark-skinned fiendish generals that patrolled the city garbed in red suits resembling the archetypical genie with a black trim. Most of the populace had learned to either saddle and mount white-scaled dragons of low intelligence, or were simply rich enough to pay others to do the same for them. As a result, the air constantly buzzed with the passing of these draconic beasts of burden with elaborate carriages placed atop them, transporting riders to huge balconies used solely for landing. The eternal dusky hue of the sky above set off everything mentioned in a shimmering hue.
From gladiatorial battles to heated and often violent debates in the Royal Court of Aensland, the citizens of the City of Spires loved a good show, and today they would get one. As a ruby-studded carriage of onyx drawn by a huge black dragon with fierce green eyes glided swiftly across the cityscape, the prisoner inside had much to ponder.
The ivory face of Lord Gregorio Hartland stared almost listlessly out of a single window in the side, his amber eyes lacking any apparent sign of love or life. His dark hair was braided now and tied with a violet bow, and though his hands were shackled behind him with a crackling red wire of hellfire, he had opted to wear a sparkling black cotehardie with a purple trim at the shoulders to his imminent execution.
"Imminent indeed", he muttered to himself. It had all happened so fast; he had barely gotten over the shock of Kreutz' final ferocious bite to his jugular. He expected to be dead, but was surprised to find he had been allowed to regenerate, and even more so to learn why as he began to struggle against his burning shackles. It was a futile struggle that had ended days ago, breaking a wrist and his spirit in the process.
As the carriage landed on a gold-plated balcony with the red and black insignia of the Aensland family laid into the design of the tiles, two city guards approached, one of them unbolting the door from the outside and motioning to the prisoner inside with a firm glare. Hartland stood up promptly and exited, the evening glow embracing his features as his eyes wandered into the dark hallway just beyond that awaited him.
There was no time to worry now. He did his best to compose himself as the brutish guards lead him inside from behind. He would, at least, die with pride.
A shadow flitted through the dark stony labyrinth under the Royal Court of Aensland. This chamber seemed infinite as small speckles of bluish light bounced off the corners of stairways and hallways as far down as the eye could see.
In his cell, accompanied only by the dim light of a torch, Gregorio Hartland sat on a stone bench in melancholy silence, a loose bang hanging heavily from his lowered head; a head that rose quickly at the sound of the lock outside being tampered with, his eyes wide as his face tensed.
The cell door opened with an echoing creak, revealing the silhouette of a tall, stunningly voluptuous and athletically statuesque woman whose eyes appeared to glow the most horrible red in the shadowy fog that surrounded her.
The figure walked forward in a single, perfect stride, highlighting her features in the dim light. Frosty, mint colored hair hung straight behind her ears down to her lower back and framed the top half of her face in a semi-curled bang across her forehead above two dazzling emerald eyes sat within a girlish face with a touch of elegance. Though her skin was fair, it had a healthy blush to it in all the right places.
Her choice of outfit was quirky; almost irreverent. A black leather corset that nearly exposed her bountiful breasts was lined at the top with a feathery trim. Under this, she wore red tights with a bat design engraved from the waist down that slid into two black stiletto boots, her arms covered from just below the elbow down in a tight material of the same red color that tapered off at the wrists and hooked around the middle finger of each hand. Predictably, at her waist hung a pair of black demonic wings with red lining, marking her as a member of the Aensland family, along with two smaller versions of these wings jutting from her scalp.
"Well…", Hartland growled in annoyance, "Are you to be my executioner?"
The woman stared at him for a moment, sizing him up, and mused a reply, "I must know; if given the chance, would you fight to be free from this dreadful place? Does the noble Gregorio Hartland willingly resign himself to death?"
"Woman, what does that matter now", the nobleman barked and turned his head away, having no time to react as the woman's slender hand gripped him by his collar and abruptly slammed him against the wall of the cell.
Again he met with those piercing red eyes and a hissing expression, "Those who lose their pride lose also their right to live; you would do well to remember that, Milord."
Hartland narrowed his amber eyes, a rage welling up inside him as he spoke in a growled whisper, "I have more pride than any coward that would bind me in chains and watch me die a prisoner."
Suddenly taken aback, the woman's expression softened and she dropped him, turning away, "Then follow me if you want to live."
Outside the Royal Court, the middlemost spire of the city, the guards blocking an entrance stood aside as a familiar mint-haired woman in a black gown with red trim and a black diamond necklace exited a hallway with a dark-skinned man with long white hair and deep red eyes in a solid black full plate armor trailed behind.
The woman turned to one of the guards, "Ready a carriage; immediately."
The guard bowed, lowering himself to roughly eye level, "Of course, Lady Morrigan."
Once inside the carriage, the dark-skinned man reverted back to the form of Lord Hartland and looked over at the woman sitting beside him, "So; Morrigan Aensland then."
Morrigan did not return his gaze, "What of it?"
Hartland smirked, "So that's how it is. Tis uneasy being so empowered so young, ne? Surely you yearn for more than the Court can offer, don't you Morrigan?"
Morrigan turned and slapped the man hard across the face, silencing him, "To you I am Lady Morrigan, Heir to Belial Aensland, and what I want is not your concern!" On the outskirts of the city, the carriage landed, and Morrigan glared, "Now get out."
The handsome nobleman turned to step out of the carriage, and then stopped, "You asked me a question back in the dungeon, and now I must ask one in return; why did you save me? What is my life worth to one such as you?"
He was stunned as he felt her delicate chin lay over his shoulder and her soft red lips whispering in his ear, "You have pride, Gregorio; this I can admire, and it was you that discovered the secret of The Gate, was it not?"
Hartland closed his eyes, surprised that the presence of a single woman could shake him so badly, "Indeed."
The voice continued, entering his ear and echoing in his mind, "Stay sharp, and stay proud Milord; these are your saving graces." With a push from behind, the nobleman found himself out of the carriage as it took off with a screech of wind and sailed through the sky back toward the city, leaving the startled Hartland to recollect himself and plan his escape from Aensland territory.
Of course, he did not see the figure that darted out the side of the carriage in mid-air, her gown fading and replacing itself with her earlier described battle armor. Her wings caught the air as she took flight away from the City of Spires and the world she called home. Her thoughts raced as she flew toward the horizon, "Father, how has it come to this? Has the promise of power warped the minds of our people and turned them into cowards? I must know, for myself, the purpose of The Gate and the true power of this place called Human World."