Archive of Our Own

If one did not possess knowledge of the events that had transpired years prior, they would not suspect that an unassuming countryside town, no more special than any other, had almost been lost to time.

Four years ago, a horde of evil creatures had ransacked the town of Aljiba. The fire they’d set to the pastures upon their arrival had spread in their wake, as they’d indiscriminately slaughtered livestock, pulled innocents from their homes, and set upon reducing all manner of structures to rubble. In no time at all, a mighty inferno had colored the sky a deep crimson, filling the air with ash in its mission to consume the town.

During Aljiba’s desperate hour, a horse-drawn wagon had emerged from the ancient oak wood at the town’s outskirts, making haste to where the bulk of the monsters had congregated. The wagon’s driver was a young man of nineteen, with short, earthy-brown hair, and a pure white headband he’d worn just above eyes as deep as the sea. He’d worn a brown-leather gauntlet on his right hand, was clad in a dark blue tunic, which he’d worn over a pair of faded cerulean slacks, and had worn a sturdy pair of brown boots. Three sets of belts—one at his waist, and two around each shoulder—had kept his tunic secure, while also accentuating the musculature of his bare arms.

The young man had leapt from the wagon, loose headband ends streaming behind him, armed with naught but the holy whip of his clan. The legendary bullwhip—known far and wide as the Vampire Killer—had flown through the air with a mighty crack as the man slew creature after dangerous creature, cleansing Aljiba’s streets.

Aljiba and its people would have been forever buried if not for that young man—the one called “Richter Belmont”—and his resolve to persevere in the face of overwhelming darkness.

In fact, it was the same Richter Belmont who’d come to rid the world of the legendary vampire—Count Dracula—that very night.

For the townspeople of Aljiba, it was only inevitable that time would bury all wounds, and the passing rain would wash away any lingering remnants of pain and strife, leaving only the tales of heroism. For who could blame them, after all they’d suffered, for wanting to enjoy the prosperity which had followed Count Dracula’s demise?

At least Richter Belmont was to be immortalized alongside his forefathers as a legendary vampire hunter—a hero—and granted the same freedom to move forward as the rest. For someone like himself, such a gift was more than he could ask in return for living up to his grand destiny—the perfect resolution to his heroic tale.

–~~~*

Four years later, after the passing of a particularly loud thunderstorm, a peaceful silence fell over the town of Aljiba. Now that it neared the midnight hour, most laid in their beds, fast asleep, while the few stragglers lounged in one of Aljiba’s taverns, swirling the last sips of ale in their glasses round and round.

Well, save for one townsperson, that was.

As all Aljiba rested on another seemingly unremarkable night—one of many since the town’s rebuilding—one man stirred in the dark. He padded slowly across the still‐wet cobblestones of the empty roads, slipped through a few alleyways, and strode across the expansive pastures at quick, though even, pace, all before halting before one of the many ancient, large oaks at the town’s outskirts.

Although the earlier rain had softened the earth he now stood upon, mud did not disgrace his polished, brown-leather boots, the folded-down collars of which settled a good few inches above his ankles. However, the azure strap and gold-plated buckle across the vamp were not so lucky, as torn blades of grass stuck out betwixt metal and leather.

It seemed to be that the man had hardly even realized the state of his shoes. Rather than taking a moment to pluck off the damp blades of grass with his gloved fingers, his gaze extended up toward the starless sky instead.

While maintaining a good posture, the man closed his eyes. As he allowed his head to fall back, he inhaled slowly, drawing cool air, scented with the earth’s aroma after a good rain, deep into the recesses of his lungs. Though his hair, brown as the fertile earth underfoot, naturally sat a few inches below his slightly relaxed shoulders, now it flowed down to the center of his back in waves, ever so slightly curled at the tips. Upon his shoulders rested a deep azure topcoat, the bottom of which stopped just above his ankles. The coat’s lapels were a soft, almost silky grey, lined vertically with five silver buttons each, and were open wide enough for one to see the clothes the man wore underneath.

After a minute had passed, the man’s eyes—a deep, sea-blue—fluttered open once more. “So, it’s been…four years…” he whispered to the sky, voice wistful, yet fatigued almost. Soon enough, his eyes drifted down to the dark, ancient wood ahead.

One of the few rays of moonlight, which struggled to peek between the branches of the tall oak trees, fell upon centimeters of exposed collarbone, laid bare due only to the deep v-cut of the man’s shirt collar. This loose, pure-white button-up was tucked into a pair of pale grey trousers, which were pulled up to his waist, and held up by a thick, brown-leather belt. His large, square-shaped, silver belt-buckle caught another of the moon’s rays, causing the metal to glint whenever he shifted his weight between his feet.

Four years since I took up the duty of the hunters before me, and slew the legendary vampire…

Though the others were free to leave the past behind them, to remember only the good parts, Richter Belmont could never forget the day he’d fulfilled his destiny, and became a legend himself. It was the day that he had stood to lose everything, if not for his will, his strength, and his skill.

Just gazing upon the trees at the forest’s edge was summoning up memories of a thunderstorm not unlike the one that had recently passed. In Richter’s mind’s eye, short bursts of memories played back at him—heavy, pouring rain amidst thunder, the evil teasing his instincts as Death himself had drawn near, and a horse-drawn wagon, tearing through the forest as Richter had fended off monsters left and right with the Vampire Killer.

Droplets of water dripped occasionally from some scattered leaves of the oak trees before him. Some ran down their ancient trunks like tears, sinking into gnarled roots, while a few choice droplets glistened in those rays of light as they pattered upon the earth.

If it were not for the memories this forest always seemed to dredge up, perhaps Richter would not need to manage the pace of his heart to stay sufficiently calm and collected. If it were not for what manner of creatures who lurked within the dark wood at this hour, perhaps anticipation would not be scaling his spine as a spider, centimeter by slow centimeter.

Within the forest alone, Richter knew, dwelled dozens of creatures who positively thrived in the dark. The legendary vampire was four years deceased, yes, but even those inferior, alive creatures posed a threat to the peace that had followed Count Dracula’s demise. Like all of their evil brethren, they spent every moment of their lives and undeaths conspiring to destroy life, and blot out all light.

The fingers of Richter’s right hand twitched as the midnight hour drew near. He slowly inhaled once again, his eyes flitting around cautiously. Upon the exhale, his right-hand fingers curled around the Vampire Killer’s handle at his waist.

For now, though he’d strained them to hear as much as he could, no more than the occasional dripping of rainwater, the breeze ruffling branches and leaves, and the buzzing of cicadas tickled Richter’s ears.

For now…

“Which is precisely why…” Richter began to mutter before trailing off, his lips falling shut.

It took a few moments before the legendary vampire hunter—once vampire hunter—sighed to himself. His eyes drifted away from the dark wood, carried by the half turn of his head towards Aljiba in the distance. His eyes were wistful in their gaze, and the resulting thoughts of home seeping into his chest caused a yearning to pluck ever so carefully at his heartstrings.

Right. That was where he should have been. Rather than dallying at the town’s outskirts, worrying over what evils may lurk beyond Aljiba, or reminiscing about a long consummated war between light and dark, he should have been home—especially on a night like tonight.

He’d nearly lost her once—a beautiful woman of fair skin, hair pale-yellow as cornsilk, and whose hazel-eyes were always as kind as she. Her name was Annette, and, up until a couple summers ago, she was his lover.

When she, along with a number of others, had been taken prisoner by the very same monsters who’d stormed Aljiba, Richter could do no more than fight for the hope that she’d yet lived. His heart, which had ached for hers, was unwilling to believe that her soul had simply departed from this world. Only the lord knew what might have befallen them all had Richter arrived too late, and either Count Dracula’s fangs or the bite of a dagger had sealed her fate.

Richter had been lucky to have chosen someone so strong as Annette, who’d endured so much at the mercy of Count Dracula and his monsters, yet had refused to give in. Though she’d not returned from Count Dracula’s castle—the infamous Castlevania—unaffected, her support for the town of Aljiba’s healing efforts were nothing short of monumental. While Richter had assisted the townspeople in clearing rubble, rebuilding homes from ruin, and erecting fallen monuments, Annette had spearheaded community efforts of caring for the sick, the elderly, and the children.

It was reward enough for Richter to witness the town of Aljiba thriving once more, to hear children laughing as they ran through the fields, and to get to sew alongside his wife—his wife—in the early morning light, gazing upon her relaxed smile.

Then, not even a summer ago yet, the heavens had delivered unto them a gift.

Reality had dawned on Richter as he’d cradled a small form between his arms. He’d held a life, a whole, future person, a Belmont by blood, with their own unique destiny.

The newborn—with pale eyes and a head of wispy dark hair, slicked back with water—was real. They had made this together. The two of them had made this.

Then it was that Richter’s gaze had drifted over to Annette, who’d finally begun to rest after her labor. Her pale-gold hair was loosely braided, draped over one of her shoulders, and her fingers lightly clutched at a thin blanket she’d pulled up to her chest.

Richter had known in that moment, as sheer admiration had welled up inside his heart, that he never could have experienced this without Annette—her strength, and her love. He’d sworn an oath to himself later that night, with none but the full moon as witness, that he would take up his cross for the two of them forevermore.

In Richter’s eyes, Annette had endured so much already. She’d always worked ever so hard during the daylight hours as a wife and mother, doing all she could to make sure he and their child were happy, healthy, loved. She deserved to enjoy this era of peace unfettered.

As for their baby, the one they’d named Vasile, a child is what they were. A babe who was just learning to stand on their own feet deserved to enjoy their tender years, to seek food and comfort from their mother, and to pluck ants from the earth and hazard a taste while their father worked nearby. They were not yet ready to learn the ways of the Belmont clan.

In the time following Count Dracula’s defeat, if it was so that those two could live happily in the light, Richter would be ever vigilant in the dark. So long as he was there, any would-be terrors or creatures of the night would not set foot across their home’s threshold.

Night by night Richter had investigated every sound, every shadow, and patrolled their home inside and out, brandishing the Vampire Killer as a warning. He would rest periodically throughout the day when he was not working, or training, or assisting his dear wife, so as not to trouble his loved ones. They would not know–

Well, Maria knew, but, stubborn though she was, she’d promised not to tell. Day by day, so long as Richter had allowed her to join him as he trained, which he always did, he’d breathed easy knowing that her lips would stay sealed.

In any such case, his family was able to live as they deserved because of him, unburdened with the knowledge of all the dark creatures that might one day attempt to prey upon them as they slumbered. Perhaps, from time to time, anxiety would prick his muscles, or exhaustion might addle his brain, but that was all. All Richter needed when he truly felt the weight of that cross was simply to peek into their shared chambers.

There Annette and Vasile would lay, alive, and sleeping soundly.

To steal glances at their slumbering forms, to watch the rise and fall of their chests, and to listen to them turn over—just this was enough to soothe Richter’s mind like nothing else. It never failed to remind him just how necessary his role was as their guardian knight, a duty he would never forsake, not on his soul.

Yet, he was here.

Only a few hours ago, a sudden boom of thunder outside their home had woken Vasile from their nightly rest much too early. Vasile’s cries had woken Annette, and their combined stirring had drawn Richter’s attention from the foyer.

Richter had lingered in the doorway to their shared chambers, keeping watch as Annette held baby Vasile through the thunderstorm. She’d tried everything she knew to soothe the babe, but they would not even latch until the thundering had subsided, and the rain outside had slowed to a sprinkle.

Finally, as the babe’s tears were spent, they had settled down to rest. Annette had breathed a sigh of relief, then leveled an exhausted, though loving, look at their child before she, too, had succumbed to the allure of sleep.

With a full heart, Richter had crept over to the bed, careful not to step on one of the creaky floorboards. He’d studied the rise and fall of their chests as he’d pulled the linens over Annette. The steady sound of their soft, staggered breaths had filled his ears as he’d pressed a soft, loving kiss to each of their cheeks.

As Richter had pulled back to behold the lack of lines upon their expressions, he could not help but smile. Knowing that they were at peace, relaxed, he’d quietly blown out the last few candles lighting the room before creeping back into the foyer. It was in that moment he had felt, neither for the first nor last time, that he was so deeply lucky to be alive—to be able to love them.

And it was in that very same moment, though he’d intended to resume his rounds, something had begun to stoke his instincts, and irritate his blood. A small wave of uneasiness passed through him as the significance of today’s date began to occur to him.

Instead of staying up all night guarding his loved ones closely, just as he had the previous three anniversaries, Richter had stolen out the back door of their shared home. His instincts had carried him through the unlit streets of Aljiba, the alleyways, and the town’s vast pastures, until he’d finally stopped at the town’s outskirts.

Richter’s gaze pulled away from Aljiba, falling again upon the gnarled oaks before him. He was here, and for what? He could not possibly have been drawn here just to reminisce. All it required to bring back his memories of four years ago was to simply shut his eyes, where the inferno was engraved behind his eyelids, or to dream, where he’d experience grave losses and relive fleeting triumph alike.

Was his purpose for being here at this hour to become a force of light, one meant to purge the ancient wood of the shadows lurking within?

No. That’s not right either…

Richter knew not how he knew, only just that he knew his supposition was wrong somehow—on this particular night, at least.

“Hmm…” he hummed, internally wracking his brain for the answer. When he’d initially arrived at the dark wood, he’d supposed the answer would have revealed itself soon. Yet it was, as soon remained just out of reach, apprehension began to loom about him—first as dust set to irritate his throat, and finally as a knife pressed against it.

Whatever it was that had brought him out here, it had to have been some manner of dark creature. If that was the case, there was no way Richter could just leave it alone. The whole town could be in danger, not just Annette and Vasile, if he were to allow such a creature to cross the border.

Perhaps that was why he was out here. He just needed to wait patiently for the creature, all so he could dispose of it swiftly, and skillfully.

Yet…

Were that enough to assuage his doubts, perhaps his heart would beat with excitement rather than anxiety. As a hunter, naught was much better than trackimg one’s prey, or the thrill of planning the kill.

“I don’t…” Richter muttered, as the spider of anticipation stepped upon that tender spot in the middle-back of his neck.

…I don’t know. I still don’t.

He started to figure that perhaps his instincts were telling him something else? After all, the midnight hour had arrived, and still nothing.

But what else could it all mean?

Ugh…

A couple fingers on Richter’s left hand twitched. He grit his teeth as he squeezed the hand into a fist, all as a preventative measure for the frustrated groan threatening to worm out of him. His blood began to itch just that much more.

Every minute he spent here meant another moment his loved ones laid vulnerable. To be away as long as he had already was dangerous. Any longer and–

There it was—an inkling of a thought, set to spark realization once it wormed into Richter’s brain.

“Unless… No…”

Perhaps… Perhaps I should not be here. Annette–

Richter began to turn back towards home, already preparing to run with all his soul, before a deep, rumbling laugh broke through the air. He froze for the briefest of moments as his eyes widened, and his ears perked up.

No, it…can’t be…

His head snapped to one side, throwing his gaze back towards the dark wood.

Nothing. He expected to see nothing, but he’d grit his teeth nevertheless, as if a small part of him feared it could be true. It was only a precaution for the gasp which would escape his lips.

There was a moment for which Richter merely stood there, inhaling slowly through his nostrils, exhaling carefully through parted lips. For what he’d found standing proudly at the forest’s border was a “man”.

Shoulder-length curls, bright and silvery as the moon, fell back between the collar of a stark white shirt, and crimson-red lining of a stiff, upturned cloak collar, as the “man” continued to laugh. A pair of pointed ears stuck out between those silvery locks, ashy grey as the skin stretching across his pale face.

Richter knew that creature down to his expressions, his mannerisms, and even the timber of his voice. Even after four years, his memory of that unique, ethereal beauty—uncanny in the way the creature’s curls were silvery, yet shone and bounced with vitality, or the way his pallid skin stretched unnaturally tight across his bones—emerged as a well preserved, professionally painted portrait.

Most telling of all, though, were the creature’s eyes—a piercing, blood-red—which shone ever brighter in the dark as they looked down upon Richter Belmont.

One blink, and the “man” was gone. Only his laughter remained, a rumble at the entrance of the dark wood, before tapering off into the distance. Richter wasted no time in taking off, bounding through the forest as he pulled the Vampire Killer from his waist.

You!

Still, despite having seen the creature with his own two eyes, a small part of him could not yet accept that it was as truth. After all, only four years had passed since the night Richter slain him with his own hands.

The creature’s blood had sprayed Richter’s tunic, stained the brown, leather gauntlet he’d once worn upon his right hand, and had splattered upon the pure-white headband he used to wear. Deep red rivulets, so dark they were nearly black, had dripped from the Vampire Killer like tears, pattering upon the red rug beneath his feet, as the last of the creature’s blood ran down the sides of his corpse, pooling underneath.

Could it… Could it be…?

The creature shouldn’t have been there. He couldn’t be here.

But, were there even the slightest chance that what Richter had seen was true, he’d had no choice but to give chase. That creature had no right to exist in this world. As long as he was of the flesh, and that cursed blood of his flowed through his veins unabated, Annette and– No, everyone, would be in grave danger.

Instinct carried Richter through the dark wood, allowing him to weave between ancient trunks, duck under branches, and hop over any aboveground roots. His senses were all on high alert, which granted him the ability to change direction each time his eyes caught glints of silver just out of sight, or his ears locked onto the ever distant sound of amused laughter.

Yet it was, as Richter’s heart beat heavy in his chest, that sweat began to bead upon his forehead, causing stray hairs to stick to it, and that his blood ever itched. In this world, there was perhaps no guiding force to an evil creature of the night so strong as a Belmont’s blood, infused with the experience of generations of vampire hunters. The closer he drew to the creature, the stronger the evil pulled at his blood.

Richter’s right hand was clenched around the Vampire Killer’s handle like a vice. Within his mind lingered that surprisingly crisp memory of his prey’s visage, while his heart could not help but recall their last battle. Exhilaration, anxiety, anger, triumph—all were mixed with the anticipation growing within. Regardless of whether the sighting at Aljiba’s outskirts was true, he knew, deep within himself, that a new battle was approaching.

Finally, as Richter emerged from the dark wood, cool, fresh air washed over his warm skin and cycled into his lungs. His eyes flit about the small clearing he’d emerged in—a bluff overlooking a set of plains below—scanning for silver hair, red eyes, or even the faintest trace of an ebony cloak. His ears strained to hear beyond the sounds about the forest, aiming to catch even a hint of that oh-so-familiar voice.

Alas, all Richter could see atop the bluff were weeds amidst the grass. His ears found the faint warbling of a stream a ways away, the distant croak of a raven, the chittering of nearby cicadas, and the sound of the breeze, which ruffled the ancient branches behind him and the grass below. Nothing lay ahead but the great plains on the horizon, and the starless sky.

Despite his blood, which had so strongly drawn him towards evil only moments ago, his soul was telling him that none accompanied him here but the full moon above, bright and vigilant in its presence. He was at a veritable dead end.

Perhaps it was only some apparition—a fabrication of the mind? Richter’s mind turned over the possibility, as one would fiddle with the viewing angles of a potentially interesting stone.

“If Annette was here…” he found himself gazing up at the moon, muttering almost to it.

Would she not assure me that it is but nothing?

Was it impossible that he’d perhaps wanted–? No, no.

The most likely explanation was that Richter simply required rest—that he’d only needed to return home and join his family in their slumber to find that nothing ever was amiss here.

Yet…

If it were true—that Richter simply was mistaken—the same serenity as the scene before him should have begun to pass through him by now. Under any other circumstances, he’d be relieved to know that such evil did not truly exist here. Not to mention, hopeful as Annette could be, it still remained true that her veins lacked the blood of the vampire hunter. She’d not possessed the instincts required of such a hunter, ones which Richter had honed over a lifetime of training for his destiny.

And those instincts, punctuated by the persistent, mild irritation of his blood, were telling him not to believe the lack of presence he’d sensed. Instead of serenity, that feeling had returned as another spider slowly climbing up his spine, deliberate with each step.

Whatever it was that had drawn Richter here was real—he was sure of it. A nonexistent creature could not so much as stoke his instincts, much less irritate his blood. This meant that his prey could not have gone much farther than the forest, not with how quickly Richter had chased him.

The dark wood…

As his thoughts returned to that of the forest chase, his gaze fell to the earth below, and his left hand came up to scratch at one of his cheeks. It began to occur to him that the disappearance of his prey was not the only strange thing to occur tonight.

“Was there no…?” Inexplicably, a couple of those fingers at Richter’s cheek twitched.

“There was nothing,” he breathed, as if in realization. He’d traversed a place where hordes of dark creatures commonly congregated, and during the midnight hour no less. The creatures of the night would have been at the height of their strength and aggression, yet Richter had torn through the trees unabated. Nary a wolf had laid in wait before pouncing upon him, nor had a skeleton clattered about, throwing bones, nor had a bat even swooped at him from above, as he’d pursued what had seemed to be their dark master.

As hard as it made it to believe his slain foe was flesh once more, Richter could not shake the feeling which entered him upon the realization that not a single monster had stood in his way. Had the creature—Count Dracula, or otherwise–?

Another deep laugh resounded through the air, wrenching Richter from his thoughts. He sucked in a breath as he whipped around, shooting his attention to the forest’s edge.

Now that the moon was no longer eclipsed by the dark wood, Richter could get a clearer look at his adversary. This time, the “man” at the forest’s edge was floating in mid-air a number of feet off the ground, red eyes bearing down into Richter’s own. The moon reflected off his smooth skin, accentuating the sharpness of his jawline, and illuminating his perfectly groomed, silvery pencil mustache and pointed chin beard. The stiff, upturned collar of the ebony cloak the creature wore framed his face while the rest of the cloak dangled past the black leather dress shoes he wore. The cloak’s lapels were a velvety crimson, patterned with embroidered swirls of alternating shades of red. Between them rested the ruffles of the creature’s white cravat, into which a smooth, oval ruby was pressed over the center of his chest.

Without a shadow of a doubt, Richter knew his eyes had seen true. The visage of the “man” he’d seen at Aljiba’s outskirts was none other than the legendary vampire himself—Count Dracula.

Suffice to say, if he were somehow mistaken, it would require a great deal of power, not to mention intimate knowledge of Count Dracula, for any being to so faithfully recreate him in image.

As Richter’s eyes bore up into Count Dracula’s in turn, burning with conviction, he brandished the Vampire Killer. “You!”

You lured me here!

The corners of the legendary creature’s thin lips upturned ever so slightly as they parted, causing his fangs to glint in the moonlight. “So, it is you, blood of Belmont.”

“How have you come, monster?!” Richter demanded. His muscles were ever so slightly tense, but his voice was voluminous, and his tone sharp. “You were but slain by my hand!”

Count Dracula only threw his head back in laughter once more, an action which caused his cape to fall open while the breeze ruffled it. Underneath was a stark white shirt, tucked into a pair of black slacks, and a crimson sash wrapped around his waist.

Yet, as Richter’s eyes trained upon the legendary vampire narrowed, there was something…different about him. For one, Count Dracula’s form seemed to waver ever so slightly. Then, there was, for but a split second, an almost…violet hue to the ebony of his cape.

Isn’t it strange? he wondered, but no sooner had the thought passed into his mind before he shooed it away.

No, no…

Who cared what the legendary vampire wore this time? He was not even known for wearing the exact same outfit between incarnations. What really mattered was–

Richter’s heart nearly skipped a beat as the vampire dissipated into thin air before him. As with before, his eyes flit every which way, pouring over the bluff’s every detail.

Where are you, monster?!

Yet, as before, there simply was nothing awry. Another raven or two croaked in the distance, and the breeze continued to ruffle through the leaves and branches of the ancient oaks, as well as the wild grasses atop the bluff. If he could just catch a glimpse of silver locks, or of glowing red eyes, or even the corner of Count Dracula’s ebony cape—if he could even hear that–

“Come, blood of Belmont…” came a whisper, cold as it passed into Richter’s right ear.

That anticipatory spider scuttled up his spine with a start, an involuntary shiver following in its wake.

“Come to me…” the voice—Count Dracula’s—ordered, causing irritation to bubble up under Richter’s skin in an instant.

Richter whipped away from the forest, body snapping to the direction the voice seemed to originate. The end of his whip flew out into the air, cracking above the edge of the bluff, as he screamed, “Raaaagh!”

But Count Dracula was not there, nor was he anywhere on the bluff.

“It–! No… No way…”

If any further grains of doubt were still embedded in his mind, they were dispelled by the breeze the moment he’d witnessed it—Dracula’s Castle. It sat upon a distant precipice, eclipsing the moon itself as its many spires speared the sky above. Already, clouds of grey were beginning to form about the looming castle.

Four years ago, he’d slayed the legendary vampire with his own hands.

Four years ago, he’d stood witness as the cursed castle had crumbled away.

With any luck, neither were ever to exist in this world again, but even if they were to return, the doctrine regarding the subject was clear. Count Dracula was to rise only once a century, meaning Richter had played his role to completion. Nary a few years had passed, and now he was seeing both?

Still clutching the Vampire Killer, Richter began to slowly, hesitantly, reach out his right hand, as if he could somehow touch Castlevania from here.

What…sense does it make?

A couple of his fingers extended outwards, nearing the distant image, just before curling once more about the Vampire Killer’s handle. Were it an illusion—a mere apparition—it was as if a small part of Richter feared hoped that touching it might cause the castle to fade, leaving only the full moon in its place.

“Richter!”

The scream at his side, almost shrill in its desperation, caused Richter’s heart to shoot up into his throat. Just as his head snapped to the side, beholding the “creature” there, a set of arms coiled around his right one.

The “creature” was but a girl in her teens, who’d nestled her face into the crook of Richter’s inner elbow. Her head of loose gold curls were pulled back into a long braid for sleeping in, but it was unkempt, with the occasional leaf or twig sticking out from between the strands.

As Richter’s eyes widened in recognition, the gasp escaped his lips without a second thought.

“Maria!”

Why are you here?

“Wh-r-...” Initially, Maria’s voice was muffled by the fabric of Richter’s topcoat. Perhaps due to realizing this, she inhaled deeply before pulling her face back, and flashing her sage-green eyes up at Richter.

“Where, Richter?” Her voice wavered ever so slightly, as if tears were threatening to well up in her eyes. “Where are you going?!”

Richter opened his mouth to speak, but the words would not come—for how could one simply explain all that he’d experienced these last couple hours? Though, if anything, it was he who should have been asking why Maria was out here.

Upon reaching out for her head with his left hand, Richter casually plucked a couple leaves from her braid, flicking them away.

A small noise of frustration fell from Maria’s pale lips as she shouted up at him, “It is just so unlike you, Richter—to– to run off like that!”

Despite how her hair was styled for the purpose of sleep, it occurred to Richter that her attire was anything but. She wore a deep green blouse, the olive-green lined collar of which was upturned, over a pair of black shorts. A scarf the color of goldenrod was tied into a bow about the left side of her waist, which streamed behind her as a mild wind began to pick up.

Richter had no idea how she’d caught him as he’d slipped out of Aljiba, nor how she’d tracked him down, but it was clear that she was…worrying about him. Perhaps it was that such a cold night of confronting dark creatures required suppression of his inner warmth, but it took no time at all for his eyes to soften. His voice was gentle, warm, as he spoke to her.

“Maria…” Richter continued cleaning up her hair, plucking out the last few leaves and a couple twigs, flicking them all away. “You should not be here. Rather, at home you should be–”

Maria interrupted him with a cry, “I chased you here! I ran and I ran… I ran…”

Upon trailing off, she shook her head, as if to rid herself of the tears welling up at the corners of her eyes. “And no– no matter how I called your name, you…”

Richter gave up on freeing the arm that Maria held prisoner, clutched up to her chest, opting instead to settle his left hand upon her right shoulder. “Maria,” he tried once more.

“...Y– Yes?” came her wavering reply.

Though gentle, his expression was serious as he bore his eyes into hers. “You must go home.”

Her eyes widened as she gasped, “What?!” She blinked at him in disbelief, as if what he’d just said was absurd, just a moment before narrowing her eyes, as if the mere suggestion was unreasonable.

“Richter, I–!”

“Look here,” he interrupted her, gesturing towards where Dracula’s Castle yet loomed in the distance. Great clouds of gray had gathered, swirling around its spires as a couple strikes of lightning snaked through the distant sky.

Maria said nothing. When Richter finally turned his gaze after a moment to look at her, her mouth was ever so slightly agape, and her eyes were wide, as if she could not quite wrap her mind around what she was seeing.

So I’m not the only one to witness it.

Richter turned back to look at the castle. As he stared, his eyes began to lose themselves within the swirling clouds, tracking the specs of black moving in the distance, and winding between the spires. Castlevania was most definitely no apparition, nor could it be a hallucination of the mind.

After a short moment, Richter sighed. “You know what it is I must do, don’t you?”

There was a tug on Richter’s arm, which finally drew his attention from the castle. As his eyes settled upon Maria’s expression once more, her green ones flamed, and her left hand flew to her waist.

“Of course. And,” she paused, for emphasis, “you’re not thinking of going alone, are you?”

“Maria, I…” he started, trailing off when the right words would not settle upon his tongue.

“Of course I am,” he’d wanted to say. Count Dracula was his foe—his fated enemy—and Richter had already defeated him before. He wanted to place both of his hands upon her shoulders, bid her leave with haste, and for her to trust in his judgement.

But that response, he knew, was not the correct one. Right or no, she’d only double down on her insistence to join him.

“I bid you understand me when I say this,” he finally said, voice firm.

Maria’s eyes narrowed, already gauging his intentions.

“If you went…”

She was already shaking her head. “No. No, no.”

“Don’t,” Maria added, cutting the silence that had only just begun to stretch between them, as Richter opened his mouth to continue.

“If you went, you would be–”

“Don’t you–!” she began to shout, voice echoing out into the distance, before cutting off abruptly. Her eyes were wide, as if even she was surprised at the sheer volume that had burst from her lips.

To be fair, Richter could only blink in response to the shout which cut him off, as he’d not expected it either.

After a few, short seconds, she continued, volume just above a whisper. This time, her voice did not waver.

“Don’t you dare say that to me. Not again.” Exasperation dripped from her tone as she added, “I’m not the child I was four years ago, Richter.”

I know that.

He did not mean to undermine her growth, it was only that she was still…green as far as hunters went. Though she was capable of holding her own, he knew, it remained that she did not yet need to face that cursed castle.

He spoke plainly, without any hidden meaning or insult, “You cannot go with me.”

“And why is that?” she asked, annoyance pervading her tone.

“It is because the blood of the vampire hunter runs through my veins,” he explained. “To face him, it is… It’s my destiny.”

If only she would just understand…

Maria’s eyes flared up in an instant as she scoffed. “And so that means you must suffer the consequence of man’s sins alone? For why?!” Her hand slid down his forearm, and her fingers squeezed his wrist like a vice. “You don’t have to go alone this time!”

Yes, I do.

Richter sighed, squeezing her shoulder with his left hand. “Listen to me, Maria. Truly listen.” He knew that every moment he allowed to pass meant another moment that Count Dracula was out there, spinning his web of darkness, corrupting man and beast alike, growing his army. Aljiba, his home, his family… His heart panged, knowing that he’d left them alone for much too long already, yet still could not return—not yet.

“This world shall never be safe so long as blood flows through the veins of Count Dracula. If he has somehow returned, then…” he paused, “it is up to a vampire hunter to stop him.”

“By the lord, Richter!” she shouted, heedless of her volume this time, while her eyes seared into his. “You’re not the only one who bears the blood of the hunter! Why must you be so stubborn?”

I’m the stubborn one here?

“Because, Maria, it’s my–!” He’d answered impulsively, as the frustration building within his chest had surged; however, he’d fallen silent before he could finish his statement, eyes widening.

Because it’s…my fault.

“Answer me true! What is it? Why?” she demanded, cheeks flushed, nails digging into his wrist. “Why must I stay back?!”

He hesitated before answering, yet still ended up trailing off, “Because…”

“Because” why? Because whatever mistake he must have made four years ago was his duty to atone for, and no one else’s? Wasn’t it because he didn’t want anyone to suffer, to be drawn into the center of it? Or, was it because Maria was still but a young woman, and he did not want her to have to follow in his footsteps yet?

Her sense of honor, her responsibility, her conviction—all were admirable. Truth be told, to deny her this as a moment to prove herself, the exact goal he’d carried four years ago, was enough to cause his heart to ache, but…

Maria…will have her moment one day.

…It just should not have to be at Castlevania, here and now.

Finally, Richter’s words found his tongue. His voice was resolute, firm with his own conviction.

“Because, if both of us are out traversing the halls of that cursed castle, where does that leave Aljiba?”

“The–” Maria blinked for a moment, eyebrows furrowing, as if she did not quite understand what it was Richter was getting at. “Aljiba?”

“Yes.” Richter explained, “For my part, I’ll not be gone longer than tonight. However, there are creatures other than Count Dracula who’d see fit to prey upon our families, our friends.”

Her eyes widened at that, as if the possibility that the village could be involved in all this had never occurred to her.

“Our neighbors would not be safe. That is why our fair town will need a hunter to protect it in my stead. Someone must stay.”

“Because…” Maria took in a shaky breath, the gears beginning to turn behind her eyes as she did so. “If Count Dracula’s forces were to invade…?”

Richter nodded. Her expression was grave, as if the full weight of the situation they were in had finally sunk in.

Wind blew through the air, ruffling Richter’s hair and Maria’s blouse, and carrying scattered leaves and blades of grass with it. It began to howl softly between them, a sound which was already drowning out their breathing.

“But, Aljiba…” she began tentatively, gaze shifting aside. Her voice was tinged with uncertainty. “If the town’s vulnerable to that level of danger…”

The corners of Richter’s lips were slightly upturned as he squeezed her shoulder once more. “Hey,” he breathed, prompting her gaze to return to his, albeit tentatively.

Maria’s eyes swirled with her fears and her hopes alike as she looked up at him. They were seeking a bit of guidance, almost pleading for the answers to her inner turmoil. She was confident in her own strength, no doubt, but did Richter believe in her? Was she really Richter’s first choice for protecting the family he loathed to leave behind, much less an entire town? In his eyes, was she enough for this?

Though they’d fought from time to time, Maria looked up to him, and his opinions mattered to her. It was a responsibility Richter was to carry, not a truth that could be taken lightly.

“I know you,” Richter began, choosing his words carefully, “which means that I know what you can handle.”

The gears behind Maria’s eyes yet turned, as if she was processing his words, but her grip was still upon Richter’s right wrist, with her nails only just letting up. Despite the steadfast grip about his wrist, Richter lifted his right hand to Maria’s other shoulder. As he still gripped the Vampire Killer in that hand, its length fell behind her so long as his right hand rested there.

Though words of reassurance flowed off Richter’s tongue, it was his heart which delivered them true. “There is no one I’d trust more than you. If I cannot be there, I know I can place my faith in you to protect Aljiba from the encroaching darkness.”

As his words began to sink in, Maria’s eyes relaxed, and the corners of her lips began to tremble ever so slightly, as if she were attempting to suppress a smile. “Go on…”

For his part, Richter could not help but crack a smile. “It’s something only you can do.”

Maria exhaled slowly. Her shoulders began to relax, and her grip on Richter’s wrist followed suit. However, she still did not let go.

“One night…” she muttered, averting her gaze for a brief moment.

Richter nodded.

When her eyes returned to meet his once more, the flames within burned steadily, imparting along with them a renewed conviction. She inhaled deeply, so her voice would again be steady, before prompting him for one final question.

“Richter. If I promise to stay behind—to protect them—would you promise me something?”

“Of course,” came his answer. Whatever it was, he was prepared to do anything.

Though her lips still wavered, fighting the urge to smile, her tone was gravely serious. “Promise me that you’ll return.”

“I swear it,” he answered without hesitation. “Before daybreak, Castlevania, as well as its master, will have returned to their grave. By then, I will have returned.”

Before anyone should know what has transpired.

Maria held his gaze for a moment more before her eyes fell closed. “Good,” she sighed. Her hand finally slipped from Richter’s wrist, returning to her side. In turn, Richter gave her right shoulder one final squeeze before he withdrew his hands. He gathered up the Vampire Killer’s length, wrapping around his forearm, so that it might once again hang at his waist.

After hazarding one final glance back towards Castlevania, and shooting a smirk back at Richter, Maria began to set off towards Aljiba.

“I’m holding you to your word, you know!” she yelled, just as she stepped between the ancient oaks, ducking under a branch.

Richter laughed fondly despite himself. Once her footfalls upon grass and naked earth were no longer audible, and he was sure Maria was gone, a sigh of relief escaped his lips.

Now, they’ll be safe.

All that was left now was for Richter to play his part. He crept up to the edge of the bluff, then pulled his shoulders back to fix his posture as he looked out at the distant castle. This time, he did not allow his eyes to become lost within the distant spires, instead gazing at it to sear this moment into his mind.

“Find me, blood of Belmont…” That familiar voice tickled Richter’s left ear, leaving it tingling from the cold. His expression hardened, and he scratched at his right wrist absently.

In the end, Maria was part of Richter’s family too—just another person close to his heart that he couldn’t bear to lose. It was better that she was to stay behind.

“Find me…” came that familiar voice, drifting through his ears.

Evil tugged at Richter’s blood once more, drawing him to Castlevania. “I will,” he promised, as he set off.

–~~~*

Entering Castlevania, traversing its grand halls, had caused a certain feeling to sink ever deeper within the vampire hunter. Very unlike the forest, the castle had been littered with familiar enemies—bats, blood skeletons, bone pillars, and even armored knights—that had kept his climb from being effortless. Yet it was that such a truth could not so much as alleviate that feeling. After all, he’d been led to the location of a very familiar staircase by the echoes of rumbling laughter, glints of silver just at the corners of his vision, and the pull of evil taunting his blood—very much like the forest.

Stranger still, Richter had also found during his climb that any signs of the castle’s age or general lack of upkeep had been preserved as they’d been. Broken columns were in the exact same location and condition as they’d been four years ago, and even half collapsed halls had not fallen into further disarray. In fact, any damage Richter had caused back then was somehow erased—as if he’d never stepped foot in the castle to begin with. The flames had flickered upon many candelabras scattered about Dracula’s castle that Richter had remembered knocking down. Tablecloths, rugs, or drapes he’d accidentally burned and torn back then were again whole, lacking any signs of mending, and even flooring that had once crumbled away under his boots had somehow been intact.

But Richter was on a mission. The strange reality of Castlevania, a castle that should have been mere rubble anyways, was of lesser importance.

The particularly long staircase that Richter knew was to lead to the lord of the castle’s chamber was the same as he remembered. Both sides of the railing were in disarray, with some areas cracked into pieces and missing supports, and with other sections of it missing entirely. There were neither walls around to shield him from the howling wind, which whipped at his hair, face, and clothes, nor was there anything but death awaiting any poor fool who’d happen to slip off the side.

While Richter steadily climbed the empty staircase, a few droplets of rain began to fall against his face, running down his skin. Many scattered droplets began to sink into his hair and clothes.

When a particularly strong gust of wind whipped into him, rain rushed down the exposed skin of his face and chest, forcing him to fight the urge to shiver as he braced himself. Then, once it finally passed, he fought the urge to sigh, taking his next careful step upwards instead.

At least, despite dark, swirling clouds, the thunder rumbling the air, and the pouring rain, the full moon still shone through it all. That knowledge, at least, allowed him to breathe a little easier.

Partway up the staircase, as the sky above continued to rumble, the strands of his damp hair began to lift. However, as Richter sprinted to the top of the staircase, careful to keep his footing, it was that feeling that had unnerved him above all else.

Why?

There was a great flash of light behind Richter just before a loud crack split the air. A warm gust of air followed, striking his backside, and causing his hair and coat to billow before finally settling.

He did not pause to turn back, to get a good look at the damage that most surely lay behind. Instead, now that he stood within the stone walls of Count Dracula’s castle once more, Richter marched ever onward across the burgundy train-rug, pondering the source of the irritation in the base of his stomach.

What was wrong here?

Ah…

So that’s what it was—wrongness. Something was very wrong here, wasn’t it?

It was true the castle was the same as he remembered it, though it was untouched by the passing of time or his prior coming. It was also true that Count Dracula kept appearing here and there, almost as if to make sure he’d find his way—not that he’d needed the help.

But that…couldn’t be all, could it? Such things, in the grand scheme of things, were but nothing.

As Richter came by a long, maple dining table, at the center of which rested an antique clay vase, he paused there on a whim. Without so much as admiring the craftsmanship, he drew the Vampire Killer, and flicked his wrist.

Unfortunately, as he gazed at the large shards that were now scattered atop the tablecloth, the same satisfaction from four years prior did not pass into him. Instead, that feeling of wrongness began to dig into his stomach lining.

Richter began to wrap the Vampire Killer around his forearm once more as he continued down the hallway. However, as he began to draw ever closer to those chamber doors, his eyes suddenly blew wide.

Dear lord…

Finally, the thought struck him. Throughout this entire night, had he even seen the Minotaur? Frankenstein? Medusa?

Should not have Count Dracula’s strongest minions lurked about, laid in wait to destroy him, so that the legendary vampire might realize his evil machinations? And where…

…Where was Death?

Unless…

“No…” Richter muttered to himself. “It couldn’t be…” The idea that the legendary vampire simply lacked the ability to revive his most powerful underlings to stand against Richter was too convenient. It couldn’t have been that simple.

As Richter hung the Vampire Killer at his waist, continuing to ponder the issue at hand, he racked his brain as best he could for answers. Knowing Count Dracula, and Richter knew Count Dracula, the legendary vampire would spare no resources to finish off Richter—preferably, before he had to take that role upon himself.

Meaning…

“If he could barely spare weak creatures to stand in my way…” Richter muttered to himself. “He must be weak.”

Still, comforting though the thought was, there was a small pit at the base of his stomach now, as the presence of that feeling very much remained. Although his right hand rested atop the Vampire Killer’s handle, the fingers upon his left twitched once more.

“Unless…” came a voice at the farthest edges of Richter’s mind. “He eagerly awaits your reunion.”

Something about that distant thought ever so slightly roused his blood. Richter ignored it, though, with a shake of his head.

“This time…he shall not revive. I’ll make sure of it.” No matter what was afoot here, Richter was still a legendary vampire hunter. So long as he trusted his instincts, and his conviction was as unwavering as ever, his body would not steer him wrong.

Whether he lacked the full breadth of his powers or not, the legendary vampire’s single greatest mistake would be luring Richter Belmont to him—right where he might seize his chance to finally end the dark creature. For good, this time.

Upon arrival at a very familiar set of double doors, Richter slowed to a stop before them, smiling secretly to himself.

Perhaps…

Habitually, the vampire hunter unhooked his vials of holy water to inspect them, making sure none were cracked or leaking, then carefully tallied the vials before hooking them back at his waist. Next, he stuck his left hand into one of his topcoat’s deep pockets, grasping at a familiar metal object. As he drew the cool object from his pocket, something about holding it between his fingers caused a sigh of relief to escape his lips.

The object was a sizable, bright blue, metal cross, which was diligently polished as it was maintained. Though it was simple in form, lacking any engravings or inlaid gemstones, it had been a gift from his mother long ago.

Would there not be glory to be had in slaying him not once, but twice?

As Richter turned the cross over in his left hand slowly, feeling out its weight, a bit of tension in his shoulders began to dissipate. It was only due to his internal sense of urgency that he finally pocketed it once more, so that he might draw out the Vampire Killer instead.

Richter poured his eyes over the length of the legendary bullwhip, inspecting every centimeter to confirm that it was in the proper condition to face great evil. It would need to be, if he was to face the legendary vampire once more.

Of course, as he considered his situation, he could not help but think of Simon Belmont—a most honorable ancestor of his who had freed the masses from Count Dracula’s curse about a century ago. Simon had also faced the legendary vampire twice, successfully vanquishing the creature both times.

If his ancestors were capable of such feats, then there was no doubt in Richter’s mind that he could replicate them. One always had to be ready to fight any manner of creature as a hunter of his ilk, so of course his weapons would be in great condition. This, coupled with years of regular training meant that Richter was more than prepared to slay Count Dracula again, even with the minimal preparation time.

For good measure, Richter slipped a hand underneath his azure coat, confirming the presence of a small hilt there. Then, with a smile upon his face, he pressed the palms of his hands to either side of the large double-doors before him. One last step, and he’d be within the castle lord’s chamber.

Just a few more moments, and he’d be face to face with the legendary vampire again.

Richter took a deep breath in. He hardly needed to put half as much strength in as he had last time as he shoved. The chamber doors flew open, thudding against the stone walls on either side of the entrance.

Count Dracula’s castle, a cursed den of evil though it was, was very opulent indeed, and the lord of the castle’s chamber was no exception. As he strode through the threshold, Richter stepped onto smooth, red carpet within a grand rotunda. Though the entrance itself was dimly lit, distant candlelight acted as a beacon to the chamber’s center.

Continuing his stride with head held high, Richter approached a weathered, circular pillar of marble—one of the six which circled the room’s center, all an equal number of meters apart. There, a number of lit, gold-plated candelabras lined a path ahead and up a set of marble steps to an obsidian throne—thick armrests, plush blue padding upon the seat and backrest, and a tall, tri-pointed headrest. Centered between the centermost, and tallest, point of the headrest were the nostrils of a large, obsidian skull, which hung just behind the throne. From the top of each pillar hung heavy, crimson fabric, the ends of which converged at the back of the skull.

However, as Richter stood at the base of the marble steps, his attention was leveled solely upon the legendary vampire, who lounged upon his throne.

“So, blood of Belmont...” Count Dracula’s voice filled the air, carrying with it an air of confidence.

“You,” Richter spat, unwilling to give the creature the satisfaction of being named.

“Four years, I have heard—since you last stood before me here—yet…” Count Dracula’s fangs glinted in the light of the candelabras standing at either side of his throne, as his red eyes once again bore into Richter’s skull.

“It seems that you could not so simply rid this world of my existence, fool that you are.”

Richter's right hand tightened around the Vampire Killer’s handle, while his empty left squeezed into a tight fist.

So I am the fool, then?

“No,” Richter shook his head. “It is you who is foolish, you monster.”

“Is that so?” The legendary vampire’s tone was dripping with amusement; even a chuckle fell from his pale lips. “Do you recall who it was who followed me to this place—alone?”

Richter only shook his head. “Do quiet yourself. This is nothing I have not done before.”

“Hah! You underestimate me, blood of Belmont.” The fingers of Count Dracula’s left hand rhythmically tapped upon the throne’s armrest as he hummed, “And just because I have returned in no time at all…”

Richter could not help but scoff. “Underestimated you?” Who was it again, who had led Richter straight to him? Who was the one who had failed to provide even the smallest challenge thus far, or the one who could barely spare monsters to assault Richter with?

Count Dracula merely exhaled, heaving a dramatic sigh, as his expression sank. “So very like a human, you are,” came his bored reply. “If it wasn’t for your blood, you would be no more special than any one of those miserable humans, yet…”

The legendary vampire shook his head. “You overstate yourself, blood of Belmont. As usual.”

“Not special”, huh?

With his right hand still curled around the Vampire Killer’s handle, Richter assumed a fighting stance. Though his expression was stony, and his teeth were gritted, a spark danced across his heart’s kindling.

It’s…idiotic.

At this rate, Count Dracula was only stalling the inevitable. He was claiming Richter was “not special”, as if he wasn’t mere meters from death at the hands of one Richter Belmont.

Richter would laugh, if only Count Dracula’s attempt to anger him wasn’t so pathetic.

“He is right, though…” came a mutter, tugging at the corner of his mind.

I am more than just my blood.

“So you say…” the voice nagged, “but it gave you everything in this life.”

That wasn’t quite true. He knew that it wasn’t. While it was true that his blood was rife with generational talent, what also remained true was that such things could not realize destiny alone. Destiny was a set of predetermined rules written by fate. Just because one’s role might have been set in stone did not mean their performance would be. As for Richter, it had been up to him these twenty-three years of life to hone his skills, and build upon the foundation his forefathers had granted him. It was only due to hard, diligent work that he could be a fully realized warrior, a hero, and a vampire killer, who’d been able to pave his future with his own two hands.

“You know that is not what I refer to…”

“For all you know…” Count Dracula began again, “I could have already had my way with those that you so foolishly left behind.”

“What?” Richter breathed, raising an eyebrow. How could he have done such a thing? Even if Richter was not home, Maria would never–

“You only left that poor girl behind to defend everyone… A fatal mistake.”

A “mistake”?

No. You’re wrong. Maria is–!

“Still green. Still weak.”

Richter suppressed the growl building in his throat in an effort to maintain an even tone. “What have you done?” The creature was only just bluffing in an attempt to rile him up. He knew this.

Count Dracula waved him off. “No, no… Of course you have it all wrong…”

After a moment of pause, he raised his head, and cleared his throat. “It is not what I, but what you have done, blood of Belmont.”

Richter narrowed his eyes. Maria went to protect them. They’re safe.

“You’ve already doomed her, Richter, and the rest along with them.”

“You left your loved ones alone,” Dracula explained, expression lacking so much as a hint of emotion, “and so it is they who have suffered for it.”

No. That’s not true. He's merely bluffing!

Another spark danced across the kindling beneath his chest, closely followed by another. A couple of Richter’s left-hand fingers twitched.

“You know he most certainly is not…”

Richter inhaled deeply, just as his chest began to burn. “Do not spout such lies to me, wretched creature! You merely seek to prolong the inevitable.”

“Or is it you who’s dragging this out?”

Silence, yourself.

Dracula rested his chin in the palm of his left hand, propped up upon the arm of his throne. He sounded ever a bored, unbothered creature as he spoke, “Only you assume that I lie. You may say that I speak of an impossibility, perhaps due to some pitiful hope, but the greater fool is he who denies the truth to save hisself.”

“Foolish man.”

Even as a wisp of smoke from the kindling tickled up into his throat, Richter asserted, “That is not the truth.”

Ugh.

The burning in Richter’s chest began to increase under Count Dracula’s gaze—red hot coals, which lazily bore down upon the vampire hunter.

As if I am a mere bug—an annoyance.

As if it was not he who’d once triumphed over the legendary creature.

“Because you are no more than a bug, now.”

A low grunt escaped Richter’s lips as the brief passing of smoke.

“The truth, blood of Belmont, is that you hide your true intentions.”

In another attempt to suppress the growl threatening to escape him, Richter averted his eyes as he inhaled deeply.

“I intend…” Richter began, as he carefully drew the Vampire Killer from his waist. All the while he exhaled through his nose steadily, so as to expel some of the irritation itching his throat.

As if on cue, a muffled boom of thunder shook the rotunda, rattling the candelabras. Count Dracula merely huffed.

Richter’s blue eyes burned righteously as he leveled a glare up at the legendary vampire. “...to end you.” He brandished the Vampire Killer just before striking a nearby candelabra.

Snap! Clang! FWOOSH!

And the candelabra was gone, leaving naught but a visible hole amidst the lineup of standing candelabras.

“Because you’re weak and selfish.”

“Because…it is my destiny!” Richter shouted, voice ever so slightly wavering.

Something about Richter’s announcement caused the smile to return to Count Dracula’s ashy-grey face, and amusement to re-color his tone. “Hah. Now that is the truth…”

“Because you’re a slave to your impulses.”

“Of course you would abandon them, blood of Belmont…”

Abandon? No…

"Your very blood calls out for mine,” the legendary vampire said, as if it was the most obvious thing in all the world.

As if it would only be natural for Richter to abandon his soul for such an instinct.

Never.

“I would–” he cut off suddenly, sucking in a breath of air, as pressure began to build within his skull. “...I– You are… No!”

“Do not deny it—the truth.”

“Because of you,” the legendary creature drawled, “I was able to prey once again upon that woman. With her blood…”

Richter’s eyes widened.

Annette!

His heart panged as it recalled that night four years ago, and the relief he’d felt as he’d finally drawn her into his arms again. As it was wont to do, his thoughts drifted back to Aljiba—back to Annette and Vasile, and their peaceful, restful expressions.

His arms could not have been emptier in that moment.

Count Dracula cleared his throat, drawing Richter’s attention back in an instant. “I could easily regain enough power to do away with you.”

“No, I don’t believe that!” Richter declared with a shake of his head.

She is safe, as is our child—sound asleep.

He would know if Annette’s life force was here, just as he would know if her soul had departed this world. Even now, deep in his soul, he could not feel that she could be dead.

“Unless he turned her,” nagged that ever so irritating voice. “Ravished her…”

“She is merely one of my pawns, now, blood of Belmont. With you out of the picture—”

Richter’s head began to ache.

Stop. Maria would never allow…!

“—it did not take much to convince her. It did not even take much—”

“He disposed of that girl brutally, with you gone.”

“—to leave her crying out my name, as I drank from her pale, fragile neck.”

“No,” Richter breathed, as smoke wafting off his heart fumed into his airways.

That would never–!

“But you abandoned her, Richter.”

Richter’s mouth was shut tightly, lips pressed into a thin line, and his head ever so slightly aching all the while.

I… I…

A moment later, deep, sea-blue eyes glared into blood-red once more, countering nonchalance with a fierce flash of lightning, a deadly warning.

Enough.

“Blood of Belmont, I must ask this of you...” The legendary vampire casually leaned to the other side of his throne, supporting his chin with his right hand now. “What would you find more maddening? Should I tell you that her blood was a true delicacy, the likes of which might never again grace my palate…or if I said it was a waste of energy?”

“Don’t,” Richter warned. “Do not speak of Annette as– as if she were a mere meal to be had!”

Count Dracula only continued, heedless of all warnings, “That woman’s blood disgraces a comparison to even the cheapest wines. A worthless kill indeed.”

“But it is not about the taste of her, is it, Richter? Surely, your child’s flesh and bone–”

“Silence!” Richter shouted. His breaths came heavy and slow, while his eyes attempted to burn holes through the legendary creature. “Do not imply–”

“It’s all your fault, Richter,” came the voice, interrupting his train of thought.

“‘Imply’ what? The truth?” Dracula supplied, nonchalant as ever.

Richter shook his head, doing his very best to ignore the flames rising in his chest. “That’s enough!” he growled, brandishing the Vampire Killer once more. “I’ll not let this stand, monster!”

“He has already won, Richter.”

“You’re right, blood of Belmont. I may as well come out with it,” Dracula said, just as Richter stepped upon the first step of the marble staircase.

Then, the second.

“He won the moment you gave into temptation. You followed him.”

That ever-so-present, nagging voice only stoked the flames within as he climbed, step by step. Richter had allowed Count Dracula to stall for much too long, he knew.

“That woman’s blood was of a common sort, really. It was like…a cheap wine—not bad, but, hmm…not amazing.” Count Dracula sighed, as if recounting only a disappointment of a day.

The wrongness digging a pit in his stomach, the burning in his chest, and his irritated blood—all would be alleviated when Count Dracula was no more. Richter was finally—truly—about to stand face to face with the legendary creature, as he placed his right boot atop the final step.

“Truly…” the legendary creature complained, “the worst was that of the baby she thought she could hide from me.”

Whatever final threads of composure that remained within the vampire hunter snapped in an instant. A roar tore out of his throat.

“Rhhhaaaaaagh!” He threw himself at the thing lounging upon the throne with all his might, hardly even bothering to swing the Vampire Killer as he flew. “Die!”

Finally, despite all that worthless preamble, this would be the end of Count Dracula! Richter would make sure of that!

Smack!

“Ough–!”

Or so he’d thought, just as he smacked not into flesh and bone, but right into the throne’s backrest. The impact knocked the air from his lungs, and left him awkwardly sprawled out atop the seat.

Lord, was he thankful that the throne’s backrest was even the littlest bit cushioned.

“...Ha ha ha… Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha…”

“What?” Richter mouthed, breathless.

That… Can’t…

For the brief duration of time he spent staring at the throne's backrest as he tried to regain his breath, his eyes were wide. However, he regained his senses along with his air, eyes narrowing as he internally cursed the legendary creature.

And then himself, for falling for such a simple trick.

“You fool.”

Richter scrambled to right himself on the throne’s seat, his eyes locking onto the legendary vampire’s form the first moment they could.

The legendary creature merely floated in midair just meters away, laughing all the while.

No, no…

Though pressure was beginning to build within his head, Richter sucked in a breath, training his eyes on his target. He aimed for the detestable creature’s head with a mighty crack of his whip.

Snap! Clang! FWOOSH!

The flames within surged as Richter’s eyes shot to the side, finding the space the vampire had transported himself to. Richter cracked the Vampire Killer in the air again and again to no avail, just missing the creature’s body.

Snap! Clang! Snap! Snap! Fwoosh! Clang! Snap! Clang! FWOOSH!

A dozen or more tall candelabras were reduced to gnarled pieces of metal and chunks of wax, which were quickly disintegrated by the flames.

Finally, the legendary vampire appeared just before him once more, the instant the pressure upon Richter’s skull increased two-fold. All the vampire hunter could do as his head and his blood began to scream was to crack his whip at the detestable creature again, again, and again, screaming at the thing all the while.

No, no, no, no!

No!

Yet, after attempt after attempt after repeated attempt, the Vampire Killer’s end never once met flesh, only ever sailing through the legendary creature’s suspended form.

Eventually, Richter stilled, the sound of his slow, heavy breaths filling the room. However, despite the deep aching of his skull, and the smoldering in his chest, his eyes soon widened.

“You–! You’re–!” It took a good moment for Richter’s mind to formulate the words.

“You’ve not returned to flesh at all! You’re…”

The creature’s left hand rose to its chin, where it began to absently stroke its beard. “Yes, Belmont?” it snickered.

Richter’s left hand flew to his belt, grasping for the vials of holy water that should have hung there. Then, it tore blindly through his pockets, seeking the cool touch of metal. Even as he finally slipped his hand under his topcoat for that familiar hilt, it, too, was nowhere to be found.

I…cannot… I cannot wound him…

The gears within Richter’s head turned slowly amidst the pain, but persistently. Eventually, he finally found the end of his train of thought.

“...Dead,” he finished. “You were truly dead...all this time…”

“So you did not know?” The smug look on that creature’s face caused a grimace to plaster itself upon the expression of one Richter Belmont.

“I… I…” He tried, briefly unable to register much more than aching of his head, or the ever deepening of that once small pit in the base of his stomach.

“Did you not feel it, Belmont?” Once again, the creature flashed its fangs, before dissipating.

The next instant, Richter felt it again—breath, cold as ice—tickling his earlobe. This time, however, a whole body shiver wracked him. For something that truly was not of flesh—something that could not physically be—the whisperings of that detestable creature were too…real.

What is…

A loud grunt escaped Richter’s mouth, a symptom of the pain radiating from his skull. It was making it tougher by the minute to process his own thoughts.

…wr…wrong with me?

“You, whose body flows with the blood of the vampire hunter…” that ever familiar voice purred. “Did you not realize it—how your blood has been calling to mine without answer?”

Oh.

“Agh!” Richter clutched his head with his left hand as a burst of pain took root, snaking through his skull. Though his reflexes bade his eyes to squeeze shut, he could not afford to lose his sight here. Thus, he could only squint as his eyes searched for even a glimpse of the legendary creature.

All this time, he had followed the sight, the voice, the evil of the creature which haunted him, but his blood…

Considering it now, Count Dracula’s blood was not calling to him—not like before.

“But, how…?” Richter asked. “How have you—aghck…returned to this…place?”

Confidence filled the legendary vampire’s tone as it proclaimed, “Because, soon, I am to be revived!”

“What?! How could– AGHCK!” His eyes squeezed shut while both hands flew to his head, cradling it, as a stronger burst of pain bloomed through his skull. It was all he could do to stay conscious, to keep a hold on his thoughts.

The Vampire Killer, if he even still held it now, had been merely forgotten.

A knowing laugh fell from perfect, pale lips, which ever so slightly ghosted over Richter’s ear. The smooth, leathery feel of those lips across skin caused another, though lesser, shiver to wrack Richter’s body.

…Wha…? Huh?

The legendary vampire’s tone was hushed, though laced with traces of amusement, as he whispered into Richter’s ear, “You will be the one who does the honors, Belmont.”

For a good few moments, Richter could only just listen to the sound of his own breathing, and register the weight of the pained skull in his hands. Eventually, Count Dracula’s words reached him, like a toxin which traveled slowly through its victim’s bloodstream before finally reaching their heart.

“Wha…at?” Amidst the pain, Richter mustered up just enough force of will to pry one of his eyes open.

The castle lord’s chambers were merely empty, save for himself and the remaining candelabras. The sound of the rain pattering upon the roof was barely audible, while the flickering of the flames upon the remaining candles was inaudible, compared to the sound of his own breathing.

Yet, he had heard Dracula’s voice in his ear so clearly.

“Me?” Richter started. “I would…”

Lord. For the life of him, he couldn’t quite formulate the words, as if his brain had slowed to a crawl while his mouth desired to run. What was it he wanted to say in response to Dracula’s assertion?

Finally, Richter shook his head as his honest thought left his lips, “That’s impossible!”

“So you say, Belmont, yet it is the truth. All part of your destiny…”

…Destiny…?

Richter groaned, fingers tangled in the roots of his hair. There was a pregnant pause as the gears in Richter’s mind struggled to turn, yet continued to give it all they could.

Mine?

“My…hhhagh… My destiny is to… To…”

“To kill me?” Count Dracula’s voice finished.

“Huh? Uh…” After a few moments, Richter attempted to nod his head, before making a sound of affirmation. “Uhn.”

Yes I… I’ve…said that…haven’t I…?

“Exactly, Belmont. Your destiny is to fight me!”

Count Dracula’s voice was triumphant, as if he’d caught Richter in some sort of bind, but, try as he might, Richter just couldn’t understand it. Perhaps it took a minute for his brain to process Dracula’s words, but…had not Richter said the very same earlier?

“Of…course?”

“Hah.” The legendary vampire’s chuckle came from somewhere beside him. “I sense you do not quite understand…”

Still cradling his head between his hands, Richter’s breath hitched as he felt leather settle against his chest, ever so slightly cooling the skin there. For a brief moment, as he worked to keep that eye open, he saw the leather bound hands that had slipped beneath his shirt’s collar.

The legendary vampire’s laugh reverberated in his pained skull, and his breath once again tickled Richter’s ear, as those hands slowly, gently, began to coax him into a reclining position on the throne.

“Answer me this, Belmont. How is it that a ‘legendary vampire hunter’ such as yourself intends to fulfill that destiny?”

Richter’s eyebrows only furrowed, confusion following the legendary vampire’s inquiry.

He further explained, “I am of the spirit. You can no more fight me than you can exorcise me now…”

…Oh.

Richter’s weapons, his fists, his might—all were…worthless?

“But… But how…” Richter could hardly wrap his head around the apparent predicament he’d found himself in, much less derive a solution for such a predicament.

“Unless…”

Right. If…resurrected– No. No.

Despite the storm of confusion swirling within his pulsing skull, an inkling of sense still wormed its way into Richter’s mind. To bring back Count Dracula—to grant him flesh and blood once more—would be to endanger everyone! It would mean…

“Ma… Maria…” he groaned. “Annette… Our– AGHCK!”

“Do not pretend you could simply walk away from this, Belmont,” the voice in his ear spat.

The gentle nature of the leather clad fingers upon Richter’s chest morphed in an instant. They dug into his skin as they shoved him into the throne’s backrest, causing Richter’s neck to strain uncomfortably against it.

“Ngh.”

“Those…humans you hold dear—they only cherish the likes of you because you…” The vampire whispered the last bit, contempt practically oozing from his tone,” …are their hero.”

That’s…

It…couldn’t be…

“If you leave me in this state, Belmont, they will know that you have failed to live up to your destiny.”

“...I’ll h…hhhh…” Richter fell silent for a moment, as the pain caused his fingers to twitch. All he could do to keep his breath was to focus on breathing. Merely breathing.

Failed…?

“You…”

Those smooth, leathery lips ghosted across Richter’s bare chest. They were cool against his warming skin as they trailed ever so slowly up to his clavicle, causing the vampire hunter to shudder once more.

“...would be a disgrace to your name.”

“Not a hero. Not a hero. Not a hero.” began to reverberate in Richter’s skull, bringing a wave of pain with it.

“Hrghn–!” Richter clamped his lips shut just as the groan burst from them.

But… I…

“They, the lot of them, will leave you,” Though Count Dracula breathed across his skin, his words were clearly audible to Richter’s ears. “That is only inevitable.”

“They do not need you. They do not need you.”

“M-My–” Richter cut off with another groan. “My family– Hah—agh!”

“If you stand down… If you stand down… If you stand down… If you stand down…”

The words in his head were no longer mere nagging thoughts, but ear piercing reverberations.

“What hero would you be?”

“What family, Belmont? They’ve already left you behind.” Count Dracula’s cackle filled the rotunda like smoke, thick, and pervasive.

“That…c-c-can’t…”

It could not be! How could it be possible for him to have no one in this world? To even consider such a thing was causing his heart to twist right along with his churning stomach. Was anyone that he might love—were humans—so fickle that they’d left him even now, because they did not need him?

“Your time is over, Belmont. You’ll stand down, like a good boy, as I return to flesh once more.”

“You will be nothing.”

Richter could do nothing but breathe as a pair of fangs extended against his skin. His breath hitched as the very tips were dragged just over his clavicle.

…nothing…nothing…nothing…

“If you even live to see it,” the legendary vampire purred.

“If you just give up–”

…No…

“No! I’ll…hah…”

Breathe, Richter’s senses screamed.

“Hah… Hah…”

Breathe.

“I’ll…defeat you! And– And– And–” The pain—head pulsing. The vampire was going to… And–

“And then what, Belmont?”

“And then…” Richter trailed off, mouth hanging open.

“You’re a fighter.”

A fighter… A fighter…

“A killer!”

A killer…fighter… A killer…

It hurt so dearly to think, to try to formulate the right words, when so very little space remained inside his head. His empty hands twitched once again.

“You were not made for much else, Belmont.”

“So you kill me, and then you just…go back to normal?” Count Dracula scoffed. “Bah. As if the likes of you could do such a thing...”

“That… That…!”

“You would not even be granted the title of hero. You’d suffer all of your pitiful, mortal life, as your very blood screamed within…” Those cool, leather-clad fingers shifted ever so deliberately down.

“...No… No…” Richter protested, weakly, as deft fingers freed the buttons of his button up one by one. A barely audible, high pitched noise escaped his throat as the collar of his shirt slid to the very edges of his shoulders, taking the shoulders of his coat with it.

“Destiny has bound you to me—as it had your forefathers! So, certainly, once the battle has consummated, you too are destined to fade away.”

“To oblivion.”

In these brief moments of silence, Richter was all too aware of those fangs, mere inches from the most tender spot on his neck, and a whim away from breaking skin. His mouth opened just slightly, but the words on the tip of his tongue would not so much as fall out in mere fragments of thought. He had not even the brainpower or energy to voice the simplest of questions. Only the ever widening pit in his stomach remained as a reminder of how wrong everything felt for the last…however long it’d been.

“When my role is over, so, too, is yours,” Count Dracula continued. “That is our destiny, Belmont.”

No…

“For what need is there for the shepherd, when the wolves have all gone?”

With the legendary Count Dracula dead, what more did this world even hold for him?

“What need for you…? Need for you…? Need for you…?”

As if to answer the questions Richter’s mind could barely formulate, Count Dracula spoke once again, “This world holds nothing more for you, Belmont—nothing but your own awareness of nothing.”

Cold fang points drifted inwards across Richter’s exposed skin centimeter by centimeter, and Richter’s heart began to beat exponentially louder the closer they neared their target.

Noth… Nothing…?

“You are nothing.”

“Hah–AGH…!” Richter cried, mid breath. His head was near its limit, the pit in his stomach had widened and deepened far as possible, and now the very blood in his veins had begun to boil.

It was, in that same moment, that short facial hairs brushed the sweet spot in the crook of Richter’s neck. Despite the pounding of his heart in his ears, Richter could not just feel, but hear as Count Dracula inhaled loudly.

“Listen…” that voice purred in his ear, “to the call of your blood. Feel how it burns…”

Even the legendary vampire’s freezing breath could not keep his veins from burning ever hotter beneath his skin. Richter was distantly aware of the sweat beading upon his exposed skin.

“Does your mortal heart race with excitement when you think of me? Focus on that, Belmont. Focus…”

Images began to feed into Richter’s mind amidst each heavy beat of his heart, leaving room to do naught but feel. Outside of the pain, he was empty. His soul was empty. Every fiber of his being was empty, until Count Dracula appeared in his mind. Anger, excitement, bloodlust—all manner of feelings flooded into him as images of the two of them danced in the chamber of the castle’s lord, trading blows behind his now closed eyes.

The triumphant feeling of landing an attack on one’s enemy, the rush of just narrowly dodging a fatal blow, and the satisfaction of showering in each spray of their blood—there truly was nothing like it.

That was, so far as Richter could remember.

Just as soon as they’d come, the images began to fade from Richter’s mind. His head and his stomach ached considerably, his blood scorched his veins, but his soul was left again to its emptiness. It cried along with his blood, mourning its loss.

That laugh reverberated in his head once more, like a familiar melody.

“Did you feel that, Belmont…?” Those fangs of Dracula’s, cool against Richter’s too-warm skin, finally met their mark, digging ever so slightly into the crook of his exposed neck.

“Like nothing else.”

An involuntary shudder wracked Richter Belmont from head to toe as a second pair of fangs just touched upon skin, teasing with his earlobe.

“You would give this up, would you? For nothing?”

…No… No…

“He alone could grant you this—an eternity of battle.”

“Eternity” echoed within Richter’s brain, as the emptiness within him yearned for that possibility. His very soul wanted… Wanted…

It was only a whim. Count Dracula was a whim away from drawing blood, when the words erupted from Richter’s lips in an exhausted, desperate yell.

“...No!” The tears began to fall next, carving down Richter’s cheeks. “Please…”

I…need…

At Richter's outburst came…relief, first. The touch of fangs at his ear and neck, and the leather clad fingers pressed into his shoulders began to recede. By the moment, his vision began to cloud over, and exhaustion swam up his form, bringing numbness with it.

“Good…”

The self-satisfied cackle from the older “man” was the last sound to reach Richter’s ears as the darkness swept him—mind, body, and soul—into slumber.

–~~~*

At the foot of Richter’s throne—his throne—a man knelt there. Though the man’s skin was grey and wrinkled, and his complexion pallid, his robes were opulent—a combination of rich red and deep violet fabric, embroidered with accents of silver.

“I welcome you, Lord Belmont,” the man’s deep voice rumbled, “as the master of this castle.”

It went unspoken, as Richter Belmont lounged upon his throne, that this arrangement was only temporary. As with all monsters homed within the accursed walls of Castlevania, the fact that their interests were aligned at present had entwined their fates with his. For now, they were all his, and their master was he.

“Rise, Priest Shaft.”

The dark priest, Shaft, rose to his feet at the command, keeping his head just slightly bowed. The smile stretching his lips thin, though perfect, was empty. When he raised his head to speak, and Richter’s vibrant green eyes met his own pale ones, Richter easily witnessed the gears turning behind them.

Only a fool would believe that respect from such a loyal servant of the evil Count Dracula was genuine. This, however, did not mean that Shaft could not be of use to him.

“For what would you command of me, Lord Belmont?”

“Make your decree.”

Most likely, Richter figured, Shaft fancied himself the vampire hunter’s master, as though he were using Richter. Perhaps he even planned to get rid of Richter the moment their shared goal was realized.

“It is time for us to put our plan into motion. Whatever it takes…” A deep laugh reverberated from Richter’s chest as he smirked. “You and I will revive the legendary vampire—Count Dracula.”

But Richter had nothing to worry about. When the time was right, all he’d needed was to vanquish Shaft with the Vampire Killer, and he alone would be able to curse Count Dracula with his presence—to fight him unabated for all eternity.

Priest Shaft bowed. “So it shall be done…master…”

Richter bid Shaft his leave with a wave. It was only when the door to the solitary rotunda slammed shut with a thud that Richter exhaled. His hands curled into fists atop the arms of his throne, nails biting into his palms.

“Until Count Dracula is revived…” Richter muttered into the empty air. “Nothing else matters.”

–~~~*

“For what profit is it to a man if he gains the whole world, and loses his own soul? Or what will a man give in exchange for his soul?” (Matthew 16:26, NKJV).