The entire floor shuddered and shook, shards of marble and rock threatening to bury the vampires under their blanket.
Dodging the falling debris, Dracul mulled over that reuniting the demon with his powers had not been the most brilliant idea. Twice. Perhaps, his former adversary had chosen this tactic in hopes of encasing them both into solid stone. Effectively disposing of them. The vampire ground his teeth together. Alucard appeared nowhere in sight, concealed by the clouds of pulverized cobble and soot.
A humongous crack ran down the Forgotten One's stony image. The vampire cursed under his breath, as a section of the southern wall caved in, but the next moment he spread his body in a cloud of particles. He had no intention of getting squashed by a giant slab of marble, even if it would not snuffle out the flame of his existence.
The mist snaked around the rubble, seeping through the cracks, steadily homing in on the demonic statue. Once right in front of it, the elder yanked the smog into a solid form once again.
A spectral wolf, woven out of cyan flames, landed near him and slowly melted into Alucard's humanoid form. Apart from a few bruises, he seemed to be fine.
A roar eclipsed the sound of the collapsing stone as the resurrected demon stepped out of his shell. The Forgotten One dusted off the remains of his material prison, stretching his wiry muscles, that dripped with green ooze. The titan-tall beast moved his palm and the familiar faceless spirits began circling around him, recreating the ridges, swirls, and curls of his enameled armor. Soon enough, the released archfiend stood before the vampires, easily towering over both of them. And with his resurrection, the cataclysm around them ceased as abruptly as it had begun.
The demon's beady eyes burrowed deep into his, yet Dracul did not flinch. Not now, nor during their previous encounter. The Sovereign and the Dragon glared at each other, both reliving the flashbacks of the encounter where destiny had decided to intertwine their paths.
With his muscles strained to a critical point, the vampire huffed disdainfully. He could not pinpoint what the archfiend was thinking – the ornamented mask covered his true visage – yet, he could see the demon's confident posture.
The Forgotten One was the first to look away, and the vampire cracked a malicious smile.
"So," the demon spoke up, cocking his crowned head to his side. "You upheld your part of the bargain, Gabriel. Truly, I'm impressed."
"Your compliment falls on deaf ears, beast, I assure you." Dracul folded his arms. "We had a deal. Now fulfill your promise."
"Ah, yes, the Trumpet." The Forgotten One sauntered past them. "A tool which can break any bond. What, pray tell, what are you going to do with it?"
"That is none of your concern," he said, setting after the giant.
"Well, whatever it is, it must be valuable indeed. You are very well aware of my power, knightling, aware that even without Chaos and Void, I can raze the cities of this realm of yours to the ground-"
"Mindless boasts got you this far."
"And, yet, you have freed me of my prison." The Forgotten One squatted down, peering at the vampire with distant curiosity. "What if I intend to stay here, in your mortal realm? To let my plan come into fruition at last, while you hop across the dimensions in search for your precious Trumpet?"
"I will stay here and supervise the beast." Alucard stepped forward, somehow managing to glare the demon down.
The archfiend let out an undaunted chuckle. "I have to disappoint you, Alucard. While you hold great potential, you are but a gnat compared to your father. He is the one to make the decision."
Was that a second compliment in the past few minutes? "I will strike you down without a second thought if you dare violate our deal." Dracul's eyes narrowed to slits.
" 'Release me of my imprisonment, and I will grant you passage to your goal.' That was our deal. I will keep my promise, but by the end of your quest, I will be far, far away. Or, how would you say, attending to my own affairs."
"Run as far as you will, with your tail tucked between your legs, beast, but it is only a matter of time before my jaws close on your throat." Acid dripped in his voice. "As I recall, you had surrendered your pathetic, sniveling excuse of a life to me. It will not be difficult for me to track you down once more, like the dog that you are, and collect that debt. Force you to address me, not by my birth name, but by 'my Liege' every single day of your existence in servitude. Make the once-proud Sovereign bow down and kiss the ground I walk upon. You would be reduced to a witless cell, a plaything for my legions. And that would be just the beginning of your new life."
The Forgotten One fell completely silent, immobile, with not a single muscle twitching as if the Gorgon had petrified the former Sovereign with her alien, steadfast gaze. His expression, so cleverly hidden behind the mask, betrayed no emotion, no thought. Then, against all odds, a chortle escaped the demon's mouth, quickly ripening into a full-fledged laugh.
The vampire frowned upon this so-called reaction, but refrained from commenting. His earlier self would have butchered the demon for both his impudence, and his deceitfulness, but now he was perplexed, puzzled at the Forgotten One's actions. Was the demon truly sane, or had centuries of captivity left their imprint on his mind?
The laughter cut out, suddenly, as the demon rose to his feet, once again focused.
"You fancy yourself a judge?" the Forgotten One uttered solemnly. "The one and only to administer the lives of those beneath you. Dispatch them all to Purgatory, to be sorted out, like cattle. 'Send them all to a better life,' wasn't it?"
He pointed his clawed finger at the vampire. "But the time will come that you, yourself, will be judged before the Tribunal. Do you know what awaits you in the end?"
The fiend, much to Gabriel's displeasure, had a point. He might be God's Champion, but – he had a hunch – the title could only delay the trial, the holy retribution. All souls, upon release, passed through Purgatory, where the Justicars would determine one's fate in the afterlife: the salvation of Heaven, or the damnation of Hell. And he already knew which sentence they would carry out.
"You have lied not only to your Scion, but to yourself, as well," the Forgotten One continued, spreading his arms. "All those you have killed – that you presumed you'd sent to a 'better place' – ended up here. Within the confines of your castle!"
He let out a satisfied chuckle. "You have not been sending them to Heaven, but anchoring their souls to this place. Feeding them to the castle's creature, nourishing it, giving it sentience. Gradually letting it become a parasite to gorge upon your personality. You have been reduced to a mere slave, without the power to make your own decisions. And a slave cannot have servants on his own, now can he?"
The next moment, Dracul's blazing talons raked across the Forgotten One's leg. They rived through the protective shell as easily, as one cracks a chestnut, exposing the pulsating muscle underneath. He was not aware of his actions. All he wanted was to gag the arrogant demon, once and for all. And when the vampire's fingers dug deep into the green flesh, skewering the tissue, a gargled cry reached out for his ears. It made him smile. Perhaps, tearing away a limb would teach the fiend respect.
The giant's armored fist swept him away before he could proceed with his plan. He tumbled back to his feet as his facial features wove themselves into a bestial snarl. The elder was about to leap after his foe, when a thought invaded his mind.
Anger had always been the easiest emotion to cling to. The most common one. For several centuries, he had felt nothing but raw hate. It drove his very being. And, the consequences...
The metal knob of the cross, thrumming with familiar red energy, tore at his side, akin to a snake. He nearly dropped the sword – the blow had paralyzed his entire arm up to the shoulder. He let out a low growl, but his opponent remained unmoved, spinning the chain, obviously preparing to unleash an onslaught of quick, successive blows. Even the slightest of grazes, empowered by shadow magic, could easily shred his muscles.
The vampire dissolved his body into smog, evading the first hit, and crept away from his opponent, buying himself some time to heal. All the wounds, all the pain, shallow and insignificant as they might be, added up, creating a blistering sensation of agony. No, he couldn't die! He couldn't allow this Brotherhood upstart to win!
The dark-haired crusader cursed as the chain retracted back into the combat cross's body without reaching its target. "Get back here!" He yelled on the top of his lungs. "You wretched coward! Face me in fair combat!"
The Prince only began reforming his body when his keen hearing picked up on the whirling sound of the combat chain. The spiked knob passed through the smoke, a few inches from his face and the warmth of the shadow magic stung his skin.
Quickly, his hands seized the white-hot chain. The heat did not bother him – an incarnadine inferno welled up inside of him, granting him strength and filling him with ire. Poor honorable fool. He had made it this far, he had challenged the Lord of the castle to a duel, but in the end, all that awaited him was death.
The stunned look on the soldier's face made him grin. A single powerful tug on the chain, and the combat cross slipped out of the warrior's grasp. And, with it, any hopes of him triumphing over the Dragon.
"Tsk, tsk, they couldn't recreate the Vampire Killer," the Prince chortled as he inspected the weapon. "It seems your darling mother doesn't want to be avenged, boy. The wench should have lent you more power."
But, no, the warrior wasn't quite done yet. He pulled out a short blade from his boot and lunged straight at him. What resilience! Yes, he could certainly use men like this in his ranks. Now, if only every soldier of his legion had the determination of this holy warrior. The Brotherhood would have fallen much faster. Bah, it mattered not. Time was his ally, after all.
"I presume that's the knife you wanted to disfigure my heart with." Dracul sidestepped at the last moment, laughing as the warrior dashed uselessly past him.
Before the man could catch his breath and react, the vampire's claws curled around the soft flesh of his neck. The Lord raised him into the air, flailing him like a puppet as the warrior pawed at his grip. He gasped and choked, blotches of blue surfacing on his face. Soon, when his struggles waned into nothingness and his eyes began rolling into the back of his head, the Prince of Darkness loosened his grasp and let the Order's champion fall onto the floor.
As the boy fought for every single rasping gasp of breath, the vampire took a step closer, twirling the combat cross in his hands.
"Intriguing," Dracul noted, rapping the iron crucifix against his palm. "You're not the first to get past my subordinates, but you're certainly the first one to confront me in person. I'm impressed, and a compliment isn't something I bestow joyously. You've earned my utmost respect, warrior."
"B-burn in Hell, d-devil," the man managed in response, breathing unevenly.
"Oh, I fully intend to, yes." He nodded. "Right after the 'the sun becomes black as sackcloth made of hair, and the whole moon becomes as blood.' Revelations, 6:12."
He fully expected for the man to try to tip the scales in his favor one last time. They all did.
The warrior jumped onto his feet, dagger in his right hand aiming for his heart. Dracul effortlessly fended off his clumsy attack, and, in retaliation, plunged the soldier's own weapon deep into his chest.
The crunching sound of the sternum cracking was muffled out by the soldier's blared howl. It tunefully caressed his eardrums, drawing silent comparisons to music. But even the most melodious theme had to be silenced in the end.
Blood gushed out of the warrior's mouth, freckling the vampire's face into a crimson mosaic. The misery, the anguish reflecting in those pale-blue eyes made him smile with delight. He savored the moment, slowly and intensely, just like a gentleman who has just tasted a fine wine. He leaned forward, so close to the fallen knight's face that he could feel his choked, hot breath. Hear his erratic heartbeat.
"In other words," the Prince whispered. "I intend to live forever."
With every action, a consequence followed.
And when Gabriel met gazes with Alucard, the end product of that predestined battle, all his rage, all the hatred... it just vanished. Instead, a wholly new sensation overwhelmed him. Horrible guilt ravaged his thoughts, uncertainty dulled out his senses. And somehow, he realized the truth behind the Forgotten One's callous words.
All this time, faint murmurs had guided his instincts, offered advice and hinted on what could be done. He hadn't questioned the origins of the whispers, preferring to focus on his mission at hand: to wipe out the treacherous Brotherhood of Light. Too late had he understood the source of these unpleasant thoughts. An idea, a single strand of thought, planted deep into his mind, had sprouted into a completely new image. The castle... the castle had sown the seeds for him to generously water! And, then, it would just reap the fruits of his labor for itself.
"You see it now, don't you?" the archfiend hissed softly, scrutinizing the aftermath of their rather brief fight. "That lash of anger? That was the structure's attempt to seize your mind."
"Wait." Alucard raised his hands, lips pursed in reflection. "You're saying that everything my father has done – all the heinous atrocities, have been orchestrated by the castle?"
"Not all of them." The Forgotten One straightened his back and gave the younger vampire a meaningful glance. "Fury, disgust, rage. They all are standard human emotions. These walls did not conjure them out of nothingness, mind you. It just amplified what he had fel-"
"Enough of these games!" Dracul interrupted the fiend, a frown knitting his brow. "Why are you helping us? Why are you helping me? What do you get out of this?!"
"Such hostility." The demon placed his hands on his hips. "Have I not offered you crucial information to help you on your quest?"
"Answer me, now."
"Let's just say, I have nothing to gain if the castle's influence consumes you. Puddles of oily matter overrunning your minions? It will happen to you, Gabriel, if you're not careful. The castle, to quote your Marie, will stop at nothing to hinder your progress... and subdue your mind."
"Subdue my mind?"
"Eradicate. Overtake. Devour." The Forgotten One's tone turned somber. "Its hunger grows with each passing day, baying for blood, for death. You are the only thing which stands between it and the outside world. And now it wishes for the return of the true Lord, who had the led it to prosperity in the first place, so it could submerge the entire era into a war. A genocide which would steal millions of lives."
"It wouldn't dare," Dracul replied. "I am its Lord and Master! It obeys my commands!"
"Did it adhere to your will when you battled the blood fiend?" the archfiend added smugly.
The elder vampire glanced at the floor, gathering his thoughts. He lost himself to reverie, unaware of the passage of time, until the Forgotten One's gruff voice reached his ears.
"As I thought. It has been using you and you had no idea."
"Is there a way to stop the castle's spread?" Gabriel asked quietly.
"None. You can only postpone the inevitable." The demon folded his arms. "Nothing is more powerful than its will – not even your love for your wife and son – and it will possess you in the end."
He shrugged. "You draw your last breath and it dies alongside you. Now, forsaking it without triggering your demise, is a different matter. The influence has entwined with your soul. It had formed an unbreakable bond, a prison which you would never escape. However, the Trumpet you seek may have the power to achieve this, yet, it will be severely underpowered in this realm. It will have only one charge."
"Wait, that means..."
"A choice must be made. Either you free yourself from the castle's influence, save this era from a shattering conflict, but sentence your Marie to eternal pain, or you send your beloved to Heaven, lose yourself, and doom the world."
Heavy silence engulfed everyone present and only the distant howling of the wind challenged its rule. A roar of thunder clashed against the skies, announcing the arrival of a storm. Water poured down, hissing and spitting, as it lashed out at the crumbled section of the gallery. An icy gust roused the elder vampire from his contemplation.
"No," he said. "I will not make this decision. I will find another way."
The Forgotten One scoffed without uttering a word. He raised his clawed hand.
Dracul watched his every gesture warily, although, this time, he kept his weapons sheathed.
Violet specters danced through the air, quickly encircling a large slab of rose marble – a fragment of the fiend's inanimate shell. As they waltzed around the stone, its shape began to change. Sharp corners melted away, texture rupturing to reveal a soft, gel-like substance beneath. As the metamorphosis drew to a close, gently, the spirits winked out of existence, leaving a faint trace of glittering dust after them.
A basin stood in the place of the rock. Or, at least, something Gabriel could identify as a basin. It was misaligned, yet, the murky water inside whirled without spilling a single drop. It was encased in a spongy, soft material, twirled into the same curls and swirls he had seen etched onto the Forgotten One's armor. A large, reptilian beast – or, perhaps, simply a decoration – sat hunched on the top of the basin, as the air around it cracked with bursts of green and violet.
The vampires approached the gulf, eying the vortex inside with both curiosity and doubt.
"What is this?" Alucard tore his gaze away from the murky depths.
"This is the Maelstrom," the Forgotten One said. "It will transport you to other dimensions."
"How does it function?" Dracul glanced at the armored demon.
"It's not a portal per se; it weaves its own realm based on one's thoughts and memories."
"And how exactly will it help us, considering the Trumpet's pieces lie scattered across other domains?"
"That's the beauty of it. If it wants to be found by you, Gabriel, when it will locate you."
The elder observed the archfiend, mulling over his words. "If you betray us-"
"I am simply carrying out my portion of the deal and do not mean to deceive you," the Forgotten One said. "You wish to recover the Horn? Hold your breath and take a dip. The Maelstrom will take care of the rest."
The vampire let his gaze linger on the giant a bit longer – he knew much more than he was letting on. It could be a trap, destined to lock him away, but the former knight could not turn his back now. The choice, the information the demon had divulged. All burned in his mind, setting the remaining nerves aflame as well. One part had to be sacrificed to save the other? What sick game are you playing now, Almight-
"Oh, and, Gabriel?" The Forgotten One's tone made him jerk. "Anger feeds the creature within this walls. Remember that."
"Why are you helping me, demon?" Confusion crept into Dracul's voice, no matter how hard he tried to conceal it. "You were the one who had craved the destruction of humankind. You had been the one to wield enough power to actually achieve that. And now, you're helping me to prevent that from happening. Why? What are your motives, beast?"
A quiet laugh escaped the giant's mouth. "I'm investing into our future partnership. Don't let it go to waste... old friend. Hah! Always wanted to say that."
What a peculiar – yet unsettling – sensation.
Gabriel found himself walking at steady pace down a corrugated path, jagged from exact solid blocks of blackness. The Maelstrom's featureless world cloaked him in a shroud of white – the exact shade of Marie's angelic attire – creating a clashing contrast between it and the road. What hadn't been lost in the transitional world of the Maelstrom appeared bleached, devoid of any color. Only his and Alucard's forms retained their vibrancy in this otherwise muted world.
"Remarkable," Alucard mused. "A realm without color. Doesn't have much to look at, does it?"
"Prepare yourselves." The echoing voice of the Forgotten One billowed by them. "The Maelstrom has finished recreating the first portion of the stronghold."
"The strongho-" the elder tried to inquire, but his words were drowned out in a hellish clamor as the dimension started to shift.
As if it were wet sand molded by the joined forces of water and wind, so did cobblestone floors, marble pillars and wooden beams form, rising from the unembellished depths of this domain. The reconstruction of the foundation took only a few seconds, and soon enough the Maelstrom began shaping the various details with painstaking attention.
Dozens of torches illuminated the newly created interior with their soft light: it blurred itself into a warm flux at is crept along the ground. Speckles of dust danced in the sunlight, as it streamed through many great windows of the hallway. It appeared so serene... it was easy to forget a storm raged outside in the real world.
Aside from the two vampires, the hall appeared desolate and silent, interrupted only by indistinct chanting and prayers.
Dracul looked around: images of saints and martyrs – some of which he did not recognize – adorned the walls, a mosaic of a crucifix was inlaid into the stone... A small sigh escaped his throat.
"The Brotherhood." He pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Indeed so," Alucard agreed, a note of mild annoyance present in his voice. "And by the looks of it – their headquarters. The one near Budapest."
"Marvelous. Why did the whirlpool put us here?"
The Forgotten One's guttural chuckle resonated off the walls. "Because the place has been knit together from your thoughts," he said. "It's an illusion, a recreation, inhabited by real humans."
"How can a semblance of what is past be populated by living, breathing people?" Gabriel's mouth twitched. "How can it be stored in my memory if I've never been to this citadel before?"
"The same way I can communicate with you without the holy knights noticing." The archfiend practically dripped with sarcasm, but, interestingly, he mocked not the vampire."In any case, the Maelstrom is an extraordinary artifact. You have never set foot in this place, that is true, but the Maelstrom spins its dimensions by recreating events that could have taken place in your life."
Dracul bit his lip. "Beast?"
"I'm listening," the archfiend responded immediately.
"About the Trumpet. What did you mean by 'if it wants, it would find me?' Is it sentient?"
"Expressing doubt, are we? How uncharacteristic of you." The demon gave a priggish laugh. "The Almighty's Mask comes to mind?"
"Just answer my question."
"Sentient? No. But Lucifer went to great lengths to keep it from Heaven's reach. He knew he couldn't take any risks and keep it locked away in Sheol – Hell and Heaven are both in a constant struggle for dominance - so he made it so it would never appear in one spot for long. And, as the Trumpet is celestial in nature, it is inadvertently drawn to a source of light in the current plane. Which is ours. In other words, it will only appear before one of pure heart."
"So, this is a fool's errand once again."
"What makes you say that, Father?" Trevor shifted his shoulders in a lighthearted manner. "On the contrary, I think it is more than possible."
The elder glowered back. " 'Pure of heart,' Trevor. My own heart rotted away centuries ago. There is nothing left to salvage."
"Not quite." The white-haired warrior smiled. "It may not be noticeable through your eyes, but to others the change is unmistakable."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
Alucard smirked. "Father, your irises are steel gray."
The vampires ventured towards the faint whispers, the shuffling noise of their footsteps echoing off the stone walls. Not a single living soul, not a single warrior stood in their way – the stronghold might have appeared desolate and abandoned if not for the vague prayers that spilled through the air.
But Gabriel could not care less, even if the citadel had been swarming with Brotherhood soldiers: the Forgotten One's words could not leave his mind at peace.
Pure of heart?
The mythical fawn encased into a silver carapace stood before his eyes. Ah, Pan. The Silver Warrior. A personification of spring, of life. One of the last elder gods who had proudly sacrificed himself to help the former knight fulfill his destiny. To test the purity of his heart, only to witness it char and blacken into a lump he possessed now. Was it at all possible to purge, to cleanse it?
As they walked by dozens of hallways, serpentine corridors, and alcoves, the steady chanting grew in strength – Dracul could already recognize a few spoken words of Latin. But before he could connect them into a coherent sentence, other voices joined the caterwaul, blurring the already obscure communion.
Guided by the chorus, the vampires soon stood before the grand oak gates that no doubt led into the heart of the Brotherhood's compound. Thousands of heartbeats pounded against the elder's eardrums – the main chamber, unquestionably, housing every member of the Order as they gathered in some sort of a ceremony.
"Light draws the Trumpet to this plane," Trevor uttered in a hushed voice. "That's what the demon had said?"
"The Brotherhood is both ignorant and corrupt," the elder murmured in answer. "Their 'light' has long dimmed out. Now only its shadow remain."
"Then we must show it that we are worthy of its attention. Father?"
"Yes?"
"You must promise me." A furrow crossed the younger vampire's forehead. "That you will not take anyone's life whilst out there. I fully understand your frustration, anger at their betrayal, but-"
"Anger and death feeds the creature resting inside the castle walls," Gabriel finished, mouth twitching into a straight line. "You need not worry. I am well past their juvenile antics – in my eyes, the Brotherhood had suffered enough."
A slight smile tugged at Alucard's lips. "Whenever you are ready."
Once the gates swung open on their groaning hinges, the vampires strode into the amphitheater, paying little mind to the surrounding lesser soldiers of the Brotherhood. After all, they were but pawns in this game of divine chess.
For a second, all chanting ceased, giving way to a startled silence, before the entirety of the Order thundered into a cacophony of shrill screams, cries, and unintelligible wails. The majority beat a hasty retreat, relinquishing their weapons and seeking succor behind the backs of the more tempered men. Ones blessed with bravery – or foolishness – bristled, unsheathing their swords and leveling them at the vampires. Agonized whispers of confusion deluged the audience.
"Is that..."
"By the Father!"
"How did he get past our enchantments?!"
"But the exarch said this fortress was impenetrable!"
"Vile scum!" A familiar voice extinguished the murmurs as a knight donned from head to toe in an ornate golden platemail stepped forward, holding his swords aloft. Roland de Ronceval, the unfortunate paladin – and the alleged Chosen of God – who had invoked the prayer of the Great Explosion all those years ago. "This will be the end of y-"
"Calm yourself, Sir Roland." An elderly man dressed in a black-and-gold mantle and wielding a staff raised his hand forcing the paladin to stop in his tracks. "The rest of you – stand your ground."
"Cardinal Volpe?" Alucard's eyes widened. "He's still alive?"
"He's an accomplished alchemist," Dracul whispered back. "As well as the founder of the thaumaturgy school. No doubt, he has found a way to prolong his life, but not his youth. Interesting."
"Roland is here." The white-haired warrior tensed. "Remember your promise, Father."
The elder nodded wistfully. "I remember."
"Your Eminence!" Roland nearly sputtered. "The fiend has presented himself to us! Why do you hesitate to strike him down? Just give the order!"
"My order is thus: do not attack him, Sir Roland." A hint of steel surfaced through the arch-priest's voice. "That goes for all the others, as well. I'll have no blood shed on this day."
"I-" The paladin inhaled sharply, eyes not leaving his supposed quarry. "A-as you wish," he finally stammered, and his curved sabers slid back into their scabbards with a disappointed hiss.
The soldiers around them glanced at each other, and, one by one, followed the paladin's example, putting away their maces, swords, and axes. Gabriel let out a fleeting sigh. So far, so good.
Another distinguished figure stood behind Volpe's chair. Another paladin, by the looks of him, however this one wore a blue-specked set of armor. A great winged helmet hid his face, and a luxurious red cape cascaded down his shoulders. A familiar harness looped around the warrior's waist. The sheath for a combat cross. It was empty.
"Welcome, Gabriel Belmont." Volpe allowed himself a weak smile. "I have been expecting you. As well as your son."
A faint murmur rustled through the ranks of the Brotherhood warriors, and even Roland arched an eyebrow over his milky-white left eye. Dracul, on the other hand, frowned.
"Haven't we been told he perished almost half-a-millennium ago?"
"He destroyed the Dark Lords."
"His son?"
"The one that had never returned?"
"Your Eminence." The paladin in gold cleared his throat, barely contained hatred evident in his tone. "With all due respect, have we heard you correctly? Did you just address the monster we've been hunting down for centuries by the name of our greatest heroes? The legendary progenitor of the Belmont clan?"
What.
The cardinal's eyebrows drooped. "Indeed I have." He waved his hand at the ceiling of the chantry. "And by no mistake."
A colorful mosaic, inlaid with stained glass, stared back at Gabriel. Normally, it wouldn't faze him and he would disregard it after a moment's notice, but now, he couldn't tear his eyes away.
Familiar faces of Zobek, Carmilla, and Cornell – the Founders, understandably, surrounded themselves with brilliant halos – were illustrated alongside the Holy Trinity of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. However, in this representation they had assumed different names, the names of their angelic counterparts: Michael, Remielle and Cassiel. God's Visage, Clemency and Action. In the center of this creation, Gabriel's own image was inset, one of a proud and holy knight, proudly carrying his signature weapon, the Vampire Killer whip.
Under the former knight's coat, the metal of his old weapon burned hot against his skin. His own gaze – hooded and pupil-less in the mural – had never felt so heavy. So deprecating.
"As you see." Volpe's voice blared. "The one you knew only under the moniker of Dracul, the Dragon, was once one of us. A mortal man. A hero who had driven the shadows away, only to succumb to the darkness stored deep within our hearts. And the one standing beside him is none other than Trevor Belmont, his son."
"You don't deny that you no longer represent the images of light you believe in so blindly?" Alucard asked, clearly surprised.
"Not at all. We allowed ourselves to be poisoned by the venomous desire to eradicate your father from this earth, Trevor," the cardinal explained. "We had viewed it as our responsibility. We had allowed Gabriel to fall, justified our actions by telling ourselves 'this is for the greater good! Now, the Lords of Shadow and the Forgotten One will never threaten the land again!' We were foolish, and we paid the price with the blood of our companions in full."
"You had sent Trevor after me." Gabriel found the strength to speak. "You had sent my own son to kill me."
Volpe held his gaze, wrinkles on his aged face appearing ever deeper. "When the time came, I, and other elders of the Order, divulged the truth Trevor had every right to know. We had told him who his father was. That is all. The young Belmont had set out to confront you on his own initiative."
Dracul glanced at his son – the boy stubbornly refused to make any eye contact, instead focusing his attention elsewhere. No, not now. There were far greater problems at hand.
Speechlessness enveloped everyone in the grand hall, hampered only by the uneven breaths of the soldiers around them. It didn't take long before one of the knights – wearing a commander's outfit – took a wide step forward.
"Your Illustriousness," he said hoarsely. "We had thought that this was all about us being the saviors and killing the beast. Who are we, if not the heroes described in the tales?"
"Yes, what are we fighting for?" A second voice called from the audience.
"My friends, my fellow comrades," the cardinal raised his hands into the air. "I'm sorry I lied to you. About the real identity of our nemesis, about our goals and motives, about everything. There is no such thing as a pure heart. Everyone possesses a grain of darkness, of corruption. But it is our decision, it is in our strength to resist its call, or embrace it."
"Or to ward it off," Gabriel added. "Even the blackest of hearts is streaked with speckles of light."
"That is true, too." Volpe cracked a smile. "There was a reason we gave you that name, Gabriel. When we found you on our doorstep that fateful night. And you know why?"
The vampire bowed his head. "Because... every man has the power to repent." The words rolled off his tongue with unexpected aplomb.
"Aye. Just have faith."
The cardinal made his way towards the former knight, the sharpened end of his oak staff clattering against the stone floors. Old and feeble he might appear, but energy practically bubbled in him. Was it really the same man who had sacrificed so many lives? And even after the sudden change of heart, why would others still follow him?
"My Liege," Roland moved after his superior, hands resting on the hilts of his scimitars.
Volpe jerked his head up, and the paladin in gold froze, a grimace of hatred written on his scarred face. The warrior in blue, on the other hand, remained impassive. He did cross his arms still.
"We have made poor decisions in our lives," the cardinal uttered as he approached the vampires. "But, all wrongs can be righted. And I intend to do so. Now, give me your hand."
Gabriel paused, weighing his options. The old man had given the vampire no reason to be wary of him – more so, the former knight felt pleased, hopefulat his actions – yet, he could not shed a strange sensation of unease.
Nonetheless, Dracul outstretched his hand, muscles strained, and the cardinal closed his withered grip around it. His grasp was thin and papery, barely warm.
"This will help you. Now go."
Something sharp scratched against his skin. The elder startled and opened his grip. Several pieces of brass lay spread on his palm, faintly glittering in the torchlight.
"What... what are these?" He rattled the fragments, perplexed.
He raised his head, but only unsettling blankness met his eye. The cardinal, the soldiers, the citadel walls. All crumbled to dust, spread across the four winds, like a sand in a broken hourglass. As if, it had never been there in the first place, devoured by the timeless abyss. Why? Why now? Was this a wicked trick?
The vortex opened its hungry maw.
"...Must I carry your limp form now?" a low voice rumbled in his ears.
"What in the abyss are you doing?"
"Helping him." Something blunt dug into his side. "I'd let him lounge around all he wanted, except we can't really spare the time."
Dracul let out a soft hiss – his head thrummed with an unfamiliar ache, a pain so lingering that it reverberated throughout his whole body, muscle and bone alike. It made his limbs numb, dull and senseless, a sensation he was used to, but, nevertheless, would like to avoid.
He forced his heavy eyelids open – he was once again in the ruined galleries of the castle, with its icy draft whistling through the gigantic gap in the wall. With its cold stone and crevices filled with darkness. With its undying whispers and pleas. For the first time in many centuries, Gabriel felt only raw disgust towards his 'home.'
"Argh..." he managed, shifting his body into a sitting position – he'd been lying on the ground? "What... is this?"
"A backlash." The archfiend hunched over him, his beady eyes staring into the vampire's. "The Maelstrom had never been used by humans before, so the aftermath can prove to be a little... unpredictable."
"Where's Trevor?"
"I'm here." The wisps of the younger vampire's white hair appeared in his sight. "I was stunned when the Maelstrom expelled us. I'm fine now, but you were unconscious for a while."
"H-how long exactly?" Gabriel rubbed his forehead and rose to his feet.
"Around ten minutes."
"Did you get it?" The fiend watched him with a curious glint in his eyes. "The Trumpet?"
"No," Dracul muttered and gave the fragments clutched in his hand an exasperated glance. The only remembrance of the Maelstrom's domain. "Only these pieces. Volpe said 'they would help me.'"
"Did he, now?" The Forgotten One stroked his chin – or the spot where his chin would be. "That's amusing, considering you hold the fragments of the Celestial Trumpet in your grasp."
The elder arched his eyebrows. The Horn... truly? But it only showed itself to the pure-hearted... "So, it needs to be rebuilt?" He tried keeping his voice steady.
"It appears so, yes." The archfiend guffawed. "Ah, Lucifer, you never make things easy, do you?"
The elder frowned. "You know Satan?"
"I certainly have a history with your long-term opponent. Not a particularly pleasant one." The beast shrugged. "Either way, you acquired the first piece of the puzzle and proof that you, undeniably, are deemed worthy to wield it. You have the mouthpiece; only the pipe and the bell remain."
"Fiend..."
"Yes?"
"Back in the Maelstrom's realm." Gabriel winced – it was difficult to concentrate with the dull pain burrowing behind his eyes. "We met up with the Brotherhood and its leader – cardinal Volpe. He... he had admitted the truth he had concealed for so long. And the soldiers... the paladin, it might appear that they were willing to forgive him, as well as me. How is it possible?"
"It's not." The archfiend was solemn. "The bloody history of your past cannot be erased that simply. Cardinal Volpe would pass away nine months after your conversation, and Roland de Ronceval would seize control over the Order's forces and proclaim himself as the Champion of God. We all know what happened afterward."
"So, there's no hope for the Brotherhood." The vampire sighed. "They would restore their honor, even if humanity's downfall was the cost."
"You cannot force someone to redeem himself." Alucard offered him a pensive smile. "They need to make their journey of atonement on their own."
Dracul peered at the brass shards scattered across his palm, a small smile twitching his lips.