#And Hector was LIVING | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

beevean · 17 days

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This piece is pretty long (it's actually two), but I'm finally in the swing of things. This is the pure, distilled Isaactor in my view. A complete mess :'D

“But I was asked to give him my body and soul, and so I did. It was the least I could do, after all he did for me.”

The vast castle narrowed down to the four walls of the alchemy laboratory, buried deep underground.

Lord Dracula’s command, white-hot with his fury, was absolute: the Devil Forgemasters were to work until the flesh of their hands had been consumed. It was their duty – no, the very reason they were born – to create and create, to channel Lord Dracula’s essence through their bodies, transmogrified into vessels to bring Hell on earth; the words of the spell fused together in a senseless cacophony of noises, wrenched from their throats by the specter of the Lord.

Hector no longer had the strength to think. It wasn’t unusual for him to wake up with a jolt on his table, surrounded by chipped gems and hasty sketches, with a head that screamed death and tingling hands.

(Were his fingernails always purple?)

Had it been a few minutes? Hours? Days? Who could tell, when not even the moonlight kept them company. He could only get up, tidy up his place, and repeat the litany in an increasingly strained voice.

It was for a good cause.

(He had forgotten what it was.)

His creations had become incredible, majestic. Intimidating skeleton knights, mountain beasts, slender golden gargoyles, dragons small enough to snake around his arm and massive enough to block out the sun when flying. He would have swelled with pride, welcomed the awe bubbling in his chest at the sight of his ever-growing powers, were it not that they all came to the world with the same fate: to kill.

It was the Lord’s will.

(The same will as a rabid wolf driven to bite everything in its sight.)

His Devils, growing in sapience and soft in morals, gleefully brought him back the heads of the men, women and children that they had punished. They wanted nothing more than to make their master happy, and they did in the only way they had learned. Hector threw the gifts away, but they always came back to him, dangling in his dreams with glassy eyes and slack jaws and charred flesh, and it didn’t matter that his breath got cut in his chest and tears pushed to fall from his eyes and his tongue was heavy with blood welling in his mouth.

It didn’t matter, because he had sworn to serve his Lord, with his learnings and with his blood and with all the strength in his body and mind, because he knew what he was doing, he was a rational man who only needed help with his grief, and Hector would have done anything to help him even if he didn’t understand.

(He ignored the rocks settling in his stomach.)

It didn’t matter, because he had to be strong, and keep Isaac upright when he wailed and tore up his hair and sobbed with his head held in his hands and babbling nonsense.

Whenever Hector dragged himself to his quarters to sink into the comfort of his nightmares, Isaac seldom followed him. Just one more, he’d say, and then Hector would descend back the next day to still find his friend awake, attempting to no avail to hide his puffy eyes and the rubble at his feet.

Hector’s craftsmanship improved day by day, improving in number and complexity. Isaac’s masterpiece was still Abel. That was what the Lord would say, with a small smile reserved for Hector. It made all the hardships worth it. It made Isaac slink back to his corner of the laboratory.

The more Isaac worked himself to exhaustion, the more mistakes he made. His Devils were too small, too brittle, lame, a liability in battle. He would rip the gems out of their bodies with a scream and attempt again.

Any suggestion to rest was met with a venomous stare.

« You made it. So I can make it as well. I’m not worse than you! I’m not! »

Hector had to calm Isaac down more times than he could count, when he was overwhelmed by the fear that he couldn’t be useful to his Lord and therefore he had no reason to live. His face became more and more sickly pale and drawn, his eyes bloodshot: he really started resembling an undead creature.

« You’re not useless, » Hector would attempt to comfort him. « No one is going to throw you away. You’re still a General, aren’t you? And my friend, regardless of what you can or cannot do. »

His words never breached him. Isaac was lost in a mire that Hector could only see the surface of.

And that was why, when Isaac would push him to the wall hard enough that his head slammed and would kiss him with teeth and nails and would look at him with eyes as cold as the wind in the castle, Hector let him. If a warm, welcoming body was what he needed to push his head out of the surface, Hector would give it to him. It was the least he could do, for his only friend.

(He would do the same for him. Wouldn’t he?)

Hector pulled back from kissing Isaac’s nape, reeling at the sight that greeted him.

« What is this? »

« Pretty, isn’t it? » asked Isaac with thinly veiled sarcasm, under him.

Hector bit his lip. “Pretty” was not quite the right word: he would have said stunning. A large, intricate tattoo covered the entirety of Isaac’s upper back, from one shoulder blade to the other. Hector knew that symbol all that well: the sun expanding its rays in all directions, the moon and stars inside it, the devil and angel wings spread out, the dragons entangled together in an eternal dance.

It was the very same insignia that the Devil Forgemasters displayed proudly on their uniform. Their rankings, their accomplishments, their purpose in life: all were embroidered on their armor.

And now, it seemed, right under Isaac’s own skin.

Something wasn’t right.

Hesitantly, Hector lightly touched the tattoo with his fingers. The skin throbbed under his fingertips, and Isaac hissed in pain, making him recoil as if he’d been burned.

His friend could tolerate pain. Sought it, even. He had made clear numerous times that he would not let Hector go until he was sore all over. In normal circumstances, Hector would not be deterred, and would have welcomed the distraction regardless of the sluggishness in his own limbs. Isaac’s screams served well at keeping his thoughts at bay.

However, a nagging feeling, pulling in a corner of his mind, held him back.

All of his intentions vanished in a puff of smoke, Hector climbed off of Isaac – which earned him a grumble – to lay down to his side.

« What is the hold up? » the man asked with narrowed eyes, propping himself on an elbow, and Hector wished he had a good answer, one that didn’t make him sound like an unsupportive companion.

« Is that why you didn’t torment me for days? »

« Torment you, » he echoed with a snort. « As if I bother you that much. But yes, I had to wait for it to heal. It hurt… a lot. »

Of course, Isaac would reject ordinary ink – Hector rubbed away the unpleasant memory of the pulsating skin. He was more surprised that he had been able to hide himself from him. Had he been careless? Hector saw himself forced to ask the same question he had been repeatedly asking his friend:

« Why did you do this? »

At that, Isaac’s face brightened up – he must have been waiting for it. « I needed to show to Lord Dracula how committed I am to His cause! How I would do… » He shuddered. « Anything for Him. Even withstanding the most torturous of agonies. He injected His own blessed blood inside my flesh, and now I belong to Him, body and soul. He said as such, Hector! He did! »

That was the part where Hector was supposed to get out and return to his work.

Unnecessary. It was all unnecessary. As it was staying up all day to create Devils bound to be destroyed, as it was cutting off parts of the people they slaughtered, as it was slaughtering them in the first place.

It wasn’t Hector’s place to understand, that much he knew, but he still itched to tear down the wall that had grown between him and the others.

Lord Dracula trusted both of them, even if he was not quite as kind to Isaac. What was the point of mutilating himself for his sake? Weren’t his actions enough?

« I see, » was the only comment he was capable of. He hardly cared that Isaac deflated at his lack of enthusiasm. « You could have told me, you know. »

« Why did you need to know? » Isaac suddenly flashed his eyebrows, before a sly smirk replaced his sullen expression. « Do you want total control of my body? »

« I would treat it better than you do. »

« Ohh, and what would you do? » he purred, swinging a leg over Hector, pushing him closer to his eager body.

He’d show him.

In a swift move, Hector was once again on top of Isaac, this time facing each other; Isaac let out a silent gasp at having his tender back against the bed. Hector couldn’t help it: whenever Isaac pinned him down, he let the victor do with his body as he pleased, but when he was the one holding his friend by the throat, squeezing with just enough strength to feel the blood pumping under his palms, an urge squirmed in his belly, the urge to hurt him, because Isaac was at his most beautiful when he looked up to him with half-lidded, shiny eyes, dark with a sentiment that could only be shared when teeth and nails were drawn out.

A sentiment that was only reserved for Hector. Or, at least, it should be.

Did Isaac look up to Lord Dracula in the same way? Begging to be torn apart? And what did that make Hector, in his eyes?

« Why are you like this? » he asked, knowing he would never get an answer.

He passed his thumb over Isaac’s neck, in search of something. There they were, right on his jugular: the small scars left by Lord Dracula’s fangs, still not fully healed after a few days. Hector would have had a matching mark on his throat, had he not rushed to drink a strong healing potion as soon as the Lord had let him go. The feeling of the vampire’s mouth all over and inside Hector’s neck had been uniquely unpleasant, and he did not wish to see a reminder of the experience in the mirror. Isaac was not of the same mind, it appeared. He never was.

Meanwhile, his friend wheezed a laugh. He didn’t even ask what Hector meant exactly. « Too bad, take it or leave it. » He stroked Hector's back, tickling it with long nails that would soon draw blood. « You don’t want to leave me, do you, Hector? »

The languid tone was not enough to fool him.

Whether Hector liked it or not, regardless of the wall keeping them at arm’s length, Isaac was part of him as much as Hector was part of the only man he could call his companion.

« As if I could. » He nuzzled on the crook of Isaac’s neck, right where it was the warmest. « You’re going to drive me crazy, one day. »

And then he threw all reason to the wind, and bit hard on Isaac’s shoulder, until he finally, finally shouted. Human teeth couldn’t tear skin as easily as a vampire’s, but the purple bruise he left right under Lord Dracula’s mark looked lovely on his friend’s pale skin.

#beev's writing #beev wip #castlevania #akumajou dracula #hector castlevania #isaac laforeze #isaactor #long post #any feedback is appreciated <3 #man it's fun to project on these two lol #i struggle a lot when it comes to writing around dialogue but i have fun packing dialogue with subtext #anyway sadist hector lives in my head rent free it just makes sense to me #isaac is not the only fucked up manwhore in dracula's castle lollll

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