#the way alucard says “indeed” is really funny | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

madarasgirl · 11 months

Text

A Night for Hunting Ch.4- Who Raised You?

Been busy this last week, but here it is! Hope you enjoy our latest adventures with our detested yandere stalker.

T/W: Alucard (Ultimate) x F!Reader, yandere, touch-starved vampire, awkwardness, I gave up trying to make the conversation better Words: 3072 On AO3

"You are working yourself too hard. I can feel your hunger and exhaustion."

You saw the naughty shadows dance, the reflection barely matching how your body was moving. It was undulating and stretching under the faint light of the streetlamps, which was certainly not what your shadow should have been doing. The vampire emerged from the ground, oozing upwards to recreate his body and walk beside you. The gravel crunched as he matched your stride easily.

"You don’t think it's because I have to entertain the likes of you every few nights? Unlike you, I have stuff to do, a livelihood to look after. A job to work, an apartment to care for, meals to cook —responsibilities, you know." You yawned.

The two of you made for an awkward pair strolling the somber night boulevards, his imposing stature was as flamboyant as your appearance was unassuming —his crimson duster in stark contrast to your quiet black uniform. You walked together in silence, though you kept your distance and attention on him. His hands were at his side, his stance relaxed. Your sideways gaze flickered up briefly to ensure there weren’t extra extremities planning on stealing touches from you.

It was too peaceful. The same upside down patio chairs and industrial-sized garbage bins parked backwards to allow for pickup as on the other side of town. This area was much the same, yet so different, from your old neighbourhood. It was just another quiet suburb, but generally more desolate even during regular hours. There was ample greenery though, which you appreciated.

You glanced around the street to the darkened corners and crevices, carefully inspecting the usual favoured hiding spots for potential unnatural shadows harboring eyes. There weren’t any, although that smirk of his was ever-present. Annoyance flared in the pit of your belly.

It suddenly hit you. ”Is your name ‘Dracula’ spelled backwards? Haha such a funny coincidence, unless it’s not. Who names themselves ‘Alucard’? It's so sad, what a wannabe,” you snickered to yourself.

"Indeed. Isn't it quite amusing?" ‘Alucard’ tilted his head to gaze at the half-moon, his face mostly obscured beneath the sunglasses and hat. The sky was overcast, the modest light of the celestial body unable to penetrate the haze with the city’s light pollution also contributing to the concealment of the stars. This night held its own intrigue, but wasn’t quite as exquisite as the last, Alucard decided.

You arrived at your building and unconsciously held the lobby doors open for him. He didn't say anything to acknowledge your action, lest you become aware and try to ‘rescind the offer.’ You gently shut the door to your condo and toed off your shoes.

After settling your belongings, you ran fresh water in the kettle to boil. You thought the conversation about your overwork was over when he spoke up again. "Come to the Shangri-la at 1900 each night. We will have supper unless I have other…arrangements.”

You scoffed at him. “What are you talking about? You'll do that every single night? That's quite a commitment I'm sure you won't be able to keep."

Piercing golden orange irises locked onto your scowling face, before the slit-like pupils contracted and he sighed, "Go there whenever you do not wish to cook, with or without me."

You gave him the flattest look you could muster. “Do you really think I can afford eating at the Shangri-la everyday?”

The vampire returned your expression before it turned back into a grin. What was he smirking at this time?

Your irritation spiked as realization dawned. “I don't want such an arrangement with you, or a sugar daddy. It’s way too good to be true and I don’t trust you. What makes you assume I even want to be with you? No thanks.”

“No other motives, Sweet. Only ensuring you eat well.”

Once upon a time not long ago, this vampire chased you through abandoned streets like a serial killer of women, but now he was acting the gentleman? You didn’t know what to make of him except for how he made you uncomfortable and you wanted him gone, especially with the recent news about the disappearances of several people in the city. Your heavy mistrust of this freaky creature resurfaced with force. Making sure you ate well? Was he trying to fatten you up before he ate you?

The vampire's deep chortle filled the room, which you hated to find was a pleasant sound. "I don't eat humans, little one, though I'm certain you would be delicious." His eyes wrinkled with mirth and you felt yourself on the defensive again.

“As if you should be treating some woman to the Shangri-la every night. You realize it’s a luxury restaurant in a 5-star hotel? An unemployed thing like you can’t afford it either.” You couldn’t believe you had to explain how preposterous his proposal was to him. After filling the teapot with piping hot water, you turned back to your guest intending to tell him he was being stupid, when you froze.

He cocked a brow at you, an insane expression spreading over his face. Goodness, he looked like a psychopath. You were right to be wary of him. “I am employed, little human,” he cackled.

"Harassing me every few nights isn’t considered employment, vampire. And stop calling me 'little human.' It's demeaning." You could feel the pulsing behind your left eyelid, a headache beginning to emerge within your temples from the endless back and forth.

"My visits to you are a separate matter. I enjoy catching you —it truly gives me great satisfaction.” The beast turned to shadow, into a seeping dark mass that trickled to your feet and clutched your ankles, then began crawling up your body before you could escape. Frightening memories of the last time he held you down as a shadow replayed themselves, but you were unable to budge at all to try kicking him off. Anxiety gripped you by the throat, yet he was weightless this time, and materialized just his head directly in front of you, shiny teeth flashing and towering stature proudly hovering over your head. He had you cornered and you glared back defiantly.

“Are you not little and human?" He purred through a ghastly smirk at your shocked face, then abruptly became solid again, silently phasing through the counter and dining room furniture to sit at the couch.

You gasped for some much-needed air as he left, feeling your heart's rapid gallop in your ribcage.

Jerk. Was he reading your mind right now? You weren't sure. But you repeated yourself to be certain he heard.

"Jerk," you muttered under your breath as you scampered to the bedroom to change. Raspy chuckling sounded from the living room.

In the privacy of your bedroom, you stomped around, feeling only indignance and frustration from the incessant harassment. He was only messing around to make a fool out of you for his own entertainment, you reminded yourself. Ripping the black shirt off your head, you whipped it at the bed. What a twisted monster. Repeating the same manner of motions with your pants and underwear, you found your sour mood unimproved at all from throwing around your belongings. You cursed when you rammed a shin into the corner of the bed frame. That leg was going to bruise.

Hissing in pain, your gaze landed on the framed photos in the corner of the room, immortalized moments of cherished simpler times. You went to the photos sitting on the drawer and leaned over it with your hands braced against the top. There was a layer of dust gathering on the surface of the drawers. Two of your fingers smeared the dust off in a line. It’s been awhile since you had the luxury of time to take care of affairs within your home. You sighed. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes and you forced yourself to take deep breaths.

You may not be able to escape him, but one day, if the vampire didn’t maim or kill you first, he will get bored of you and eventually leave you alone. It was only a matter of time. Until then, you will have to bear the burden of his presence.

Forcing numb calmness over your mind, you took one final breath and stood with a straight spine, to present yourself with more poise than you felt. You dabbed away the wet residue at your eyes and smacked your cheeks lightly, then eased open the door to reenter the battle. --------------------

“So you can play with the lights, possess telepathy and control minds, have a lot of eyes, and you can turn immaterial and shapeshift. You have all these fancy abilities, perfect for scaring young women. Are you proud of yourself? Any other superpowers I should be aware of?”

Your unwanted guest’s duster was draped over the couch, revealing a dapper suit beneath, all brought together by the pretty red cravat at his neck. His expression was serene, not frightening as it was earlier. The fleeting thought of how easy he was on the eyes crossed the mind yet again, before your eyes narrowed at his comfort level and the way he made himself at home when he was in fact unwelcome.

"My other superpower is that I'm rich."

Wha-? Your exhausted brain faltered. "Y-you didn't. You are not Batman."

He looked at you curiously, then EXPLODED into hundreds of furry bats. The absurdity of your situation didn't escape you, but even you had to laugh as you gawked. He made a movie reference, but you set yourself up for that.

Staring at the horde for several seconds, you felt your scorching anger dampen, then evaporate. It just wasn’t the same when he wasn’t in the shape of a man, directing his mocking eyes and smirks your way.

You held out your hand to offer a landing spot for the bats. Alucard eagerly took up the offer. It was the first time you ever reached out to touch him, even if he was merely a collection of small winged critters at the moment. A larger bat landed on your palm and clung to your fingers. You stared at the colony fluttering around your home, some now docked on various light fixtures, kicking up dust and making the lighting in the room blink erratically from the wings periodically blocking the light. You turned your attention back to the animal in your hand.

It was black and furry, regarding you with translucent scarlet eyes and chirping in greeting. The animal lover in you ignited and your heart melted. You cooed at the bat, almost in disbelief that this was real, and alternated between stroking its back and belly. The animal keened, awkwardly climbing your hand to roll over and present its stomach while fluttering its wings and rubbing its back into your hand. Oversized saucer ears swiveled from side-to-side to catch the sounds of you babbling to him. The collection of his bat eyes around the room were focused on you as they soaked up your affection.

Alucard wanted more. Several more bats flew over to land on your arms and fingers, all vying for your attention. You giggled at the swarm surrounding you, with too many wings, feet and little cheeks and fingers to pet, you didn’t know where to go first. It was a surprise discovery that the wings weren’t leathery, but covered in a thin, silky soft skin. You forgot yourself and ran your fingers through another’s luscious velvet fur and pressed your nose to its face.

Squeaks echoed around the room and the flapping swarm merged to reform into a humanoid figure. The vampire approached with a peculiar expression, his face near yours, forcing you back into reality and to inch away from the proximity. The vampire's eyes were bright vermilion as he took another step forward to maintain the closeness between you.

"Do that again."

"Do what again?" Suddenly, you were jumpy now that it was Alucard again.

"That sound, the laugh."

You gave him an incredulous chuckle, ”You’re kidding, right?”

"Not like that. Like before, just now when you were holding me." It sounded like the chime of bells to him.

Holding him? Who speaks like that to someone they barely know?! "You can't just force someone to give you a heartfelt laugh! Sheesh, have you never been socialized before? You are you right now, not a cute bat!"

The vampire huffed and insisted with a low rumble emanating from his chest, "It was music. Do it again."

"I-I just told you! My goodness, who raised you?"

At that question, he gave you a funny look, almost like he was sad and pained, but it was gone just as quickly and he straightened out and collected himself. "I am far-removed from my days as a human." He observed your arms held out flat to your chest in defence and withdrew.

This thing was human? But of course he was. He must have been a human turned into a vampire, if the legends were true. Thinking back on the timeless beauty you found in his eyes when you first met, combined with the strange mannerisms, you figured this must have been long ago.

You didn’t want to know more about him or his past.

You had leftovers for dinner. Just a simple meal of baked chicken drumsticks and roasted eggplants with buckwheat, all made in bulk several days ago with lots and lots of garlic. Despite the seasoning, you didn't offer him anything, but only because you didn’t want to waste your precious food on him or allow him to feel welcome.

During the entire meal he stared at you eating. It was unnerving. He watched too carefully, his eyes capturing every detail. When your tongue poked out to lick at escaped sauces, you caught his pupils darting over to trace your actions. When you looked at him for a moment too long, his eyes would catch yours and almost drown you with their strange light. He seemed absolutely fascinated by everything you did. You shivered under the intense scrutiny and averted your gaze back down at your food. --------------------

You hoped he would leave after dinner, but the mannerless vampire was still here. You couldn’t sleep with him around. Knowing that requesting for him to leave would be meaningless, you chose to watch a chick-flick in the hopes it would be off-putting. It wasn’t one you enjoyed either.

Seating yourselves with him on the opposite (his favourite) couch, you kept the distance between you. Your lids already felt heavy. 97 minutes wasn’t long for a movie, but in your state, you wondered how you would last the stretch too.

“You are exhausted,” he noted, crossing his legs to examine you properly. The darkness hid nothing from him. He could see you perfectly.

The air conditioner turned back on with a hum as the movie began. Sirens screamed past your building outside, but you didn’t acknowledge any of this. Your head hung low, chin almost touching your chest as the softness of the couch embraced you. You were drooping, nodding off, the darkness of night a welcome reprieve for once. You came back to awareness with a start.

You made a sound and mumbled, “I am watching.”

"You are watching a movie with your eyes closed?" His voice was quiet, not taunting.

"It's a neat ability I have." You shifted your weight to the other side and stared at the screen blankly.

"It's hard to stay awake after all that happened during the day,” you trailed off. So peaceful.

"You do not need to justify your human needs."

At the low melodic timbre, you turned bleary eyes towards the source to make out only two irises, iridescent pools of liquid gold in the poor lighting.

"Time to sleep, little one."

It was such an odd feeling, like you were floating through haze-shrouded skies. You tried to shake off the sensation, but were too weak. Your lids got heavy and you passed out on a full belly, slumped against a large pillow with your head at a funny angle. In your dreamlike state, it seemed there was to be a strange truce with this nightwalker tonight.

Alucard stared at your limp form, at the smooth expanse of throat that was bared to him. His eyes honed in on the tiny flickering pulse on the side. It was in the air. Your monthly was due soon, and you were fertile at this moment. His fangs descended. Your neck will be sore later if you slept like that the entire night. He licked his lips and silently slipped up to you. He faded into the soft fabric of the couch and reappeared seated next to you with his shoulder propping up your unconscious body as he emerged from the couch.

There was almost no external light in the room, only what was granted by the TV screen. The hour was late, or early, depending on what kind of being you were. The blaring of sirens screamed past outside once more before all was silent, save for the occasional noises of nocturnal animals breaking the tranquility.

Alucard allowed the movie to continue playing to completion with you slumped on his shoulder. Two women on screen shrieked at each other for petty perceived offences, but Alucard paid the movie no mind. He watched you sleep, listened to the slow thump of your heartbeat, felt the puffs of your even breaths. He knew you'd be warm, but the prolonged contact with your body heat was more akin to a furnace thawing out his dead body. He caught your scent again, the enticing female pheromones much more preferred now that they were directly on him. For once you weren’t scared or anxious. He was comfortable. Your relaxed expression calmed him and his eyes closed.

Now that you no longer ran from him when he came to you at night, the first vampire honestly missed the thrill of the chase. When the pungent scent of your terror diffused through the air as you realized he was present, it shot straight to his loins. When you screamed and fled, his body was mandated to follow. He missed the exhilaration and adrenaline rush from catching you, addictive drugs which made him almost feel alive again, but this…he shifted to prevent your head from falling off his shoulder…this was good too.

~To be Continued~

#alucard fanfiction #alucard x reader #yandere alucard #alucard hellsing #alucard x you #alucard #hellsing alucard

127 notes · View notes

antihero-writings · 3 years

Text

If These Walls Could Talk (Ch7)

(^^ Art commissioned from Junki Sakuraba on instagram and deviantart!!)

Fandom: Castlevania Netflix

Summary: Vampires do not have reflections, and castles do not have hearts. But Dracula is no ordinary vampire, and Castlevania is no ordinary castle. If castles can fight, maybe they can think too. The series, and Adrian’s childhood, told from the perspective of the castle.

Notes: Hey all! I am SO sorry this chapter took so long to come out. My perfectionism really got the best of me with this chapter. But I saw that S4 was on its way and that really lit a fire under my butt because I really do want to post my season 3 chapter before s4 comes out. I’m highly doubt I’ll accomplish it as it almost always takes me longer than I have to get a chapter out, let alone two, but I'll try, at least.

I really really hope you enjoy it!! If you enjoy this chapter, please please consider commenting. I assure you it’ll be more likely I’ll post the next chapter faster the more people comment on this showing you still enjoy this fic. Each comment is a little shot of energy and motivation for me.

Important! This chapter is meant to have aesthetic indentation in some places. So if you want to read it as-intended, please look it at on Archiveofourown at I_prefer_the_term_antihero on your computer or tablet!!

If you get here and are thinking “Wait, what was this fic about? What were the main themes?” then this would be a good time to reread/skim back through the earlier chapters. This is the climax of the fic and will (hopefully) be more impactful the more you remember about the rest of the fic and its many themes.

Chapter Summary:

"Go back whence you came! Trouble the soul of my Mother no more!" "How? How—How is it that I've been so defeated?" "You have been doomed ever since you lost the ability to love." "Ha—Ah... Sarcasm. 'For what profit is it to a man if he gains the world, and loses his own soul?' Matthew 16:26, I believe. "Tell me. What—What were Lisa's last words?" "She said 'Do not hate humans. If you cannot live with them, then at least do them no harm. For theirs is already a hard lot'. She also said to tell you that she would love you for all of eternity." "Lisa, forgive me. Farewell my son."

Chapter 7: “Heart”

Hey there, Sunshine, the Room adds with a smile.

The Room forgot the sweet tang of breath. How gentle, how vicious. Like honey, like relief, like a cozy blanket and a fireplace. It came in great, gulping gasps, and living was painful after such long breathlessness, but hurt far less than being half dead.

The Room rushes to Castlevania, shaking it, saying, Open your eyes! Open your eyes! It’s Adrian. It’s our boy. My master. My sunlight. And Castlevania limply flickers open its eyes, for it cannot help but obey.

Obey to see the golden man standing in its doorway.

And it feels a jolt of warmth in its broken chest.

Alucard has returned home. He arrives at the doorstep with resolve in his closed fists and a sword on his tongue. The threat to the war they all knew he would be, and the Room promised it would rear him to be.

But he isn’t alone this time.

There are two humans by his side. One with fire in her fists—quite literally—the other with a barbed tongue at his hip.

Castlevania recognizes a crest on the clothing of one of them, gold and proud: The Belmonts. The ones who came with whips and scourges to defeat its master long ago. The ones whom Dracula and his Castle were bound together against in their undead war. The ones whom Dracula trusted his Castle to protect him from. The owner of the hold now beneath Castlevania. He has come to defeat its master like the rest…but this time the boy is by his side, and for that reason, the Castlevania is unsure how this will end.

“I terrify them,” the Belmont explains the plan, “Sypha disorients them, Alucard goes over the top and we support him.”

“Yes.” The Speaker confirms.

Alucard holds his sword out horizontally in front of him, unsheathes it, and speaks:

“Begin.”

Alucard is with the Belmont.

And Castlevania knows when it sees them, the fire in their eyes, that they are the intent that brought it here. That they have indeed come to kill its master once and for all. It had wished when the boy returned, it would be with the promise of hope. But there is no promise of life and the sparing of it this time.

They bring death inside with them; the war room is filled with war, blood and burns on its floors, but it is different this time, because this is not an ambiance, a continuation, a fact of life, it is a swift and fatal kiss—the end they said he would bring, once. The blood is rotten on the floors, but it doesn’t itch or burn. And the boy uses those techniques his father taught him on brighter nights about turning into things with teeth, and the ones his mother once taught him on sunnier days about how to make metal listen.

They did not bring life inside this time, not life of the same kind at least. The war, the death, has followed and swallowed them too, but not in the same way it has its master. They are not bloodthirsty. The cold the dark and the death are merely clothes they wear, they have not reached the deepest parts of them; there are still light-starved Rooms in their hearts waiting to breathe.

There is a song at their heels as they dance in rings of fire, with the wind and the moon, upon the blood and water Castlevania isn’t sure will come out of the carpet. It is a song that is all too familiar. It has been played here before, when other, more, less, holy Belmonts barged in long ago. A song of blood and tears.

Bloody tears its master cried once, for his wife when he realized they had taken something that could not be borrowed, bartered, or souled.

They’re bringing an end to the strife, and all the undead lives that facilitated it, and vice versa. They are cutting the puppet strings, and not all puppets can live without them.

Isaac fights the nameless soldiers on the staircase for its master…until he sees someone who is far from nameless.

Isaac’s reddened eyes meet Alucard’s golden ones. Alucard’s sword aims at him, but it hits the deadened flesh of the nameless instead.

Isaac runs to tell its master—Dracula, busy ripping out the heart of a nameless—who’s here; that his sun has returned, and at his side is magic and might.

Dracula knows the prophecy.

He’s willing to die—Issac. He stands before Dracula, his form barely able to shield three-quarters of Dracula’s, willing to give his feeble human life for Dracula’s indefinite undead one. He believes knowledge and will are more important than the blood of a good man. He believes in love, and loyalty is love of a sort. And it is Castlevania’s understanding that when someone is willing to live for something, they are also willing to die for it. This is the noblest of causes.

“You are the greatest of your people, Isaac. You have a soul, I think.” As Dracula says the words, he raises his hand, and the mirror shards behind them begin to rise. “Perhaps that is more valuable to the world to come than a dusty collection of books and apparatus.”

Lisa looks on from the portrait, and Castlevania thinks it is a look of pride. She always did stand for saving human lives rather than destroying them. Isn’t it funny that in what will perhaps be the deciding battle of this war, the one where his goals should possess him stronger than ever, it is the human who he values more than himself?

“Or perhaps you simply deserve a better fate than to die instead of me.”

“I choose my death, as I chose my life.” The words are stronger than iron.

“Then I regret only that I have taken a choice for you.” A hand at his shoulder.

Dracula throws him halfway across the world, to the kind of place Isaac was born in, and the kind of place Isaac least wants to die in.

Isaac believes in love. And it is for this reason, this belief, that Vlad saves his life, Castlevania knows. Saves his life, by denying the choice he so desperately wanted to make—perhaps his whole life—and had no regrets or apprehensions about making, rather a lot more in being kept alive.

And when the mirror shatters and falls, his son is standing there, like he did a year ago, though this time he is not backed by sunlight. The only light in the room is the fire glinting in his eyes.

A pause. To remember the dead.

“Father.”

A word. To remember the living.

“Son.”

This should be a reunion, perhaps. Better people would think they should happily hug each other, and say they missed each other, and that they love each other all the same. Better people would say that the sunlight should plead with the dark to come back into its embrace. All the sinners know there was no chance of that the moment Dracula scrawled fate on his son’s skin with his own claws.

Instead, there is nothing but bitter, fighting words:

“Your war is over.”

Dracula tilts his head to the side. “Because you say so?”

“It ends.” Alucard looks at his sword, the one she taught him how to use. “In the name of my mother.”

Dracula looks at his son, the one she gave him. “It endures in the name of your mother.”

“I told you before I won’t let you do it.” Alucard’s voice is so soft, yet solid and unwavering. There is no anger, but he will not step aside. Not this time. Even when the claws come. “I grieve with you…but I won’t let you commit genocide.”

“You couldn’t stop me before.” Dark assurance in soft words.

Footsteps. A cue to the magic and the hunt behind the curtain, who step out on either side of him.

“I was alone before.”

And Castlevania understands. Understands that they are not here to talk things out. Understands that they are not here to save Dracula, to appeal to the good in him, as Lisa once had, and the Room once thought. Castlevania itself even hoped, when the boy returned, the song would be a bit more inspirational. But, beaten and broken and bloody, Castlevania understands now, if Alucard stands with the intent, if Alucard brought a Belmont—

Then they do not believe there is a chance. They are not here then, to talk him out of it. They are here to halt this war in its tracks, make it rear up, lose its balance, and fall.

—(And Castlevania knows, deep down, that to do this… they must end something else)—

Alucard is bringing back the sunlight. But there is only one way he can do that, and goodnight is not quiet.

And make no mistake he does intend to bring the full, the warm, the life, and the light back, just like Castlevania and the Room wanted. But there is too much cold, dark, death, and emptiness here to do this quietly. They are here to kill Dracula—the master now puppeteered by Death’s strings rather than his own soul.

The Speaker raises her fingers to her lips as if to say a prayer, or perhaps take a heavenly name in vain for the sake of a little silence. The Belmont’s whip clinks in his hand. Alucard’s sword sings as he raises it.

Alucard drives it towards his father: a bolt of golden lightning through the room, pinning him against the fireplace as books fall to the floor. Castlevania, wincing at the pain, knows that will bruise in the morning.

The picture of his mother cracks and falls, as if she has to close her eyes for this.

Alucard, growling with fierce resolve, pushing the sword into him with all his might. But Dracula has the sword in his hand, rather than his heart. He steps calmly forward, barely having to use any of his strength to combat so much of his son’s, as if he’s about to tell him to put the toy away.

A glint of golden eyes. Alucard pulls back the sword. A slash. Two. Three.

Dracula raises his arm as if to knock the sword from his shoulder.

Instead he bashes his son’s head into the fireplace—and Castlevania cries out at the feeling, feeling its stomach burn.

The Speaker and the Belmont ready for a fight. The floor splinters—(Castlevania grimaces, tasting blood)—as Dracula flashes through the room, and pins the Belmont into the hall, against the wall, sending his sword out of his hand. He keels over onto his hands to cough up blood, the puddle crawling on Castlevania’s skin.

Castlevania never had any qualms with the blood of Belmonts on its floors before, so this hurts less, but this is different, and Castlevania still wonders if Dracula could be a little gentler with his Castle.

A flash of light at his side. He raises his cloak as the Speaker sends tongues and teeth of fire at him.

“Speaker magician!” Its master realizes.

He rushes at her, knocking her hand out of position. She creates an ice shard before her with the other.

He scratches up with a claw, sending her flying with the broken pieces towards the ceiling, and angry gashes appear on her arm as she rolls along the floor.

“Sypha!” The Belmont calls.

He must love her in some way, because in a fit of some sort of emotion—instead of picking up his sword—the Belmont uses his fists. They probably haven’t failed him before. But this is Dracula, and his punches don’t cause the king to so much as flinch.

“You must be the Belmont.”

Castlevania laughs a little at the words; it too thought the method was rather common of his line.

It’s Dracula’s turn, and his punch doesn’t just cause the Belmont to flinch, the sound is as if he hit rock, sending him into the air with the force. He doesn’t give him a second to breathe, rather reaches his claw is around the human’s neck, holding him there.

He raises his other claw level—a blade, more trustworthy than any.

“The end of your line.”

Before he can make these words true, another blade stops him: his son’s, driving itself through both his arms.

While he is pinned the Speaker, knowing this is an opportunity she will not get again, rushes forward—still bleeding, mind—a bead of fire between her fingers. Dracula cannot move to protect himself, and the magician, knowing this, lets the fire loose to lick his face raw.

Dracula drops the Belmont, attempting to get away, deciding his own life takes precedence, but it is hard to get away when your hands are tied together with metal.

The Speaker, seeing that her fire is about to hit Alucard, falters. And in that moment Dracula wrenches his arm off of the blade and uses it to knock her down, before sending his other fist into his son, who goes flying along with his sword hitting the wall. This one may not be so hard as to bruise, but, with everything aching and breaking, the smallest tap hurts Castlevania.

The Belmont pulls a blade of bone from his back-belt, and as Dracula turns he drives it into his chest.

It’s not close enough to his heart, but red distaste fills Dracula’s eyes. He thought this was a game, but they have some amount of ability, and he may have underestimated them. As Alucard and the magician get up he attempts to grab at the Belmont in quick motions, but he has some skill in dodging.

The Speaker rips off her shirt and cauterizes her wound as the Belmont and Dracula dance in the hallway, neither weapon hitting flesh.

Dracula sees the Speaker’s intent over his shoulder, and as the Belmont lunges at him grabs his arm and throws him into her, stopping both their attacks. An effective move, if Castlevania does say so itself.

Alucard sees his opening and rushes forward, pinning his father to the wall, which shatters behind them with a painful lurch.

Dracula puts his hands together and brings them down over his son’s head with such force the floor cracks.

And Castlevania coughs blood.

Alucard pushes his arms away and slaps both sides of his face, getting a grunt this time. Dracula sends him back with such force it almost seems like a shockwave, creating wind and smoke curling around them all.

The Speaker roots him in place by sending ice spears into his leg. The Belmont clears the smoke by spinning his whip, before creating more by sending that whip—the one he fed the vampires that didn’t agree with their compositions—sizzling into Dracula’s chest. There’s an explosion to be sure—a rather big one—but after the smoke dissipates, and a wait with bated breath, Dracula is still standing just as he was before—as Castlevania knew he would—like all he threw at him were words.

…At least at first, to show he isn’t taken down so easily. He does fall to his hands thereafter.

“The Morningstar whip.” The words are scratches in the carpet. “Well played, Belmont. But I am no ordinary vampire to be killed by your human magics.” The words sizzle on his tongue. “I am Vlad Dracula Tepes,” he crosses his arms with purpose. “and I have had ENOUGH!”

His voice is a shockwave of its own across the sea of stone and bone. He sweeps his hands to the sides, his cloak rising like wings as he floats into the air, and creates a ball of magma: the cheat that will end the game. He was going easy on them until now.

It rumbles towards them, eating the carpet as it goes—and Castlevania can feel the burning in its chest. The Belmont’s eyes widen with fear at last. The Speaker rises to the occasion without hesitation, and holds out her hands to stop it with the force of her magic. It’s a force to be reckoned with, for sure: at first she succeeds, but, though it may be slowing, it isn’t stopping, and her feet are slipping. The Belmont puts his back to hers, as any good friend and comrade would. Alucard phases in front of them, the burning wind rushing against his face. He calls his sword, which sings as it reaches his hand, poises it, and drives the point into the magma ball.

They each fight with all their might, the Belmont and the speaker begins to grunt with the weight of it. The ball gives a falter their way, and Castlevania is sure even three cannot match Dracula’s strength, but the Speaker gives a final push, which gives Alucard just the right amount of momentum to drive it back toward his father, who is as caught off guard by the display as Castlevania is. He needs no sword or magic to stop it, however, and puts his hands out to hold it. Gold and red push against each other, until Alucard gives a deciding motion, then another, another, each chipping away at the ball until the sword goes flying and it’s just Alucard’s arm against Dracula’s throat, and their momentum creates a sizzling tunnel in the wall.

Castlevania may not know what guns are, but it knows what it feels like to be shot.

The two burst into the library, shattering the already shattered mirror.

It was so quiet in here. Must they sully the silence with the sound of strife? They read here, once. Sometimes alone, sometimes to each other. Whispered to each other of history and mystery.

Dracula lands on the floor and Alucard floats above him in the room in which he once stood on his level and told his father calmly he wouldn’t stand for genocide.

There’s anger in his eyes now.

Dracula hisses, then gives a war cry, and the two allow their hungry fists to attempt to devour each other as best they can in the air, red and gold flashing.

The Belmont picks up a sword in the other room and, deciding it’d be best not to follow them through the tunnel—(Castlevania is glad for that decision. The wound is still raw and would more than likely sting tremendously if they walked on it)—he and the Speaker run up the stairs to follow them.

They’re on the floor now and their punches fly like starlings—their duel reflected in the shards of mirror fluttering, jittering about, ever awaiting their command, as if attempting to tap their shoulders and ask what they should do, and why they are hurting each other—until they are hitting the bookshelves they once were gentle with—lest the pages rip and the silence tear—the ones they once smiled and discussed philosophy beside.

Castlevania’s head aches, nausea in the back of its throat.

A smiling boy and his father handing him another book, saying if he liked the first he’d like the second too, are all but gone now.

Dracula throws Alucard into the ceiling, and enters the room above with an unearthly sound, in an unearthly way: only his cloak is visible, moving like slime. As his hungry footsteps lick the floor behind him, Alucard is heaving on his side that same floor, his hair falling across his face. He turns around, fear coating the sound he makes as he, without his sword, grabs the nearest block of wood that happens to have a point on the end.

Dracula laughs, like they’re playing a game—(they did once, do they remember? Humans and monsters. Sometimes there were princes, and knights, or pirates. Even a princess or two. And the wolves and the bats were free in the night wind)—and stops.

“You mean to stake me?”

“You want me to.” Alucard murmurs, turning around with some difficulty.

“What?” Dracula chuckles, still with that put-the-toys-away intonation.

“You didn’t kill me before.” Alucard breathes. “You’re not going to kill me now. You want this to end as much as I do.” The look in his eyes is almost crazed.

“DO I?!” The tone is almost crazed in response, the nonchalant edge gone, the words resounding with power and grief.

Alucard scrambles away like an animal, causing Dracula to punch the floor instead of his head—Castlevania’s body lurches. It feels a gentle touch at its chin, someone trying to wipe the blood off perhaps.

“You died when my mother died. You know you did.” He reasons as Dracula’s breathing gains weight. “This entire catastrophe has been nothing but history’s longest suicide note.”

Castlevania jerks its head up, eyes wide at these words.

And Castlevania understands.

The cold, the dark, the empty, the death. They all make sense now.

Alucard rushes at him, Dracula knocks the stake out of Alucard’s hand with ease, but, in a moment of extreme dexterity, Alucard manages to grab it from the air and drive it into his chest still. The look in his eyes is almost pleading, like he’s going to ask “Daddy did I do a good job? Did I do it right? I’ve gotten better at fighting haven’t I?”

“Not quite close enough.” There is a gurgling quality to Dracula’s enunciation.

No more playing.

He shoves Alucard so hard its into the next room.

Castlevania keels over onto the floor, it’s stomach aching and prickling.

Dracula pulls the stake out and heaves before rushing after.

Floors below the magician and the Belmont can hear them, and are trying their best to catch up, to have a say in this fight.

But Castlevania isn’t sure they have much chance of that, as they are flashing through the halls now, Alucard, a foot off the ground, zig-zagging between the walls in the narrow hall as Dracula keeps punching bloodless stone—

—(The stone may be bloodless, but god this hurts)—

Until Alucard punches him back, sending them into a room, a bedroom—(but not that one)—and the room is a pile of rubble with just that. And Castlevania can feel the splinters. That furniture was nice.

Dracula grabs Alucard’s face and shoves him into the dining room, pinning him to the table like he’ll eat him too if they’re not careful, and those chairs were perfectly nice too—

And Castlevania sees a little boy waiting at the table for his birthday surprise, and his father pulling out a burned cake, and his mother laughing. There was no fear then. Though its master was a creature of blood it never thirsted for theirs, and they knew this full well. Can they see it too? Why would they destroy this room if they did? Why would they destroy each other if they did? Are they even the same creatures as those in the memory?

At this point Castlevania is pretty sure they broke a few of its ribs.

Alucard kicks his face and gets on the table on all fours, rushing him into the next room still.

Castlevania’s bleeding, broken heart skips a beat. Surely they must have broken a few ribs, for how else could they get into Castlevania’s heart? The control room, where its gears still lie dripping, glowing as orange as a brand, once beating organs now blazing stalactites.

They punch each other along the platform, Dracula’s cloak whipping about, like a cat’s fur trying to make him look bigger and scarier.

They are framed in the paneless window—those bones have been all but broken too now. The frame where the picture—that is to say, the die—no longer sits. For Castlevania’s heart didn’t just break, it was destroyed when they brought it to this place, the place where its enemies once lived, and still stand today.

—(So why can Castlevania still feel it beat?)—

In the frame now is moon drunk on blood, a night soaked in tears—and the wind whispers to their cloaks, bidding them to whip around them.

Dracula draws in a hissing breath.

Alucard stands tall, his eyes aglow, gold melting into something new in this forge, his hair whipping about him as he raises his fist yet again.

They are getting tired. Their snarls have a weakened quality to them now.

—Can they see the father and son in this room, the father teaching his son that his Castle is special?—

But instead of just punching him, Alucard teleports beside his father, hitting his shoulder, sending a gust of wind to his face, then teleports around the room to send his fist into him over and over, from every possible angle, and some of his kick-offs create cracks in the already breaking bindings of the room.

It feels like pins and needles, but it’s okay. It’s okay.

Why?

Dracula’s grits his teeth, sharp as ever, his eyes alight with bloody determination, his hair playing about this gaze. To end it, on the next hit he grabs his face, shoving him by it onto the stone platform. He shoves him once, twice, a third, the metal cracking, the metal creaking—

Castlevania’s gut lurches, and it can taste bile and iron at the back of its throat, and it’s hard to breathe.

Then its master raises Alucard back up, holds him by the face in the air a moment, and punches him with such force he is blown across the length of the platform and through the thick stone wall into the next room—

And Castlevania vomits blood.

Dracula bolts after him, the dust creating patterns in his wake—and Castlevania could gaze in the clouds if it weren’t for whoever’s trying to slap it awake.

Alucard coughs, and it sounded deep.

Its master is nothing human now. There’s a growl in his throat as he marches towards him, and another cough in Alucard’s as he struggles to stand.

Another punch, but this one is not fast like the rest, nor is it blocked. Alucard tries to stand up, to rush towards him, but he is getting tired, and Dracula hits him again. Another growl. Alucard takes a single step back, soft against the floors. An exhale. Another of both, and as Dracula raises his fist the murmur—plea?—on his son’s lips sounds a lot like “Father,” as if he’s reached his limit, and has to stop the game.

It’s too late to hit quit now.

The vampire king doesn’t grant the plea—or perhaps even hear it; with a belabored punch he sends him into the next Room, rolling this time, instead of flying, the contents of the Room staying in tact…all except the bed, which catches the boy.

The next Room. But this one is not like the rest. It is not just a room.

This one breathes.

A gasp, another growl, a scratch against the wall, and—

Castlevania burned today in this bloody fight, on this bloody night. Its skin, its legs. Even its heart broke.

Castlevania. The thing that Vlad Tepes brought to life with a little bit of lightning, several gears, and a few words. No magic words, just words: the ones he spoke on lonely nights to the walls about how he’d like to be something more than ruthless.

Castlevania did everything it could. It lies burned and broken and unable to fight now because of it.

But none of that burned half as much as those scratches on its walls.

There have been many stories told about Dracula, and there will one day be more stories told about Dracula, books written, enough that one could fill libraries with just the retellings of his story. And Castlevania has no doubt that one day these scratches will be on their covers. This growl, these scratches are the signet of a vampire, of a monster: the disfigurement of his Castle, bloody intent directed at his son. The dark, the death, and the emptiness have overtaken completely. That is all a monster is, really. That is all he is now.

He marches into the Room, his cloak flowing, dipping and twirling in the broken wind. The sound of Alucard’s breathing fills the Room as he heaves against the bed.

Or maybe the breath is the Room’s own.

The Room has seen all that happened, it has been watching Castlevania beaten bloody till it could barely breathe, or see through the blood dripping down its face, let alone move. Castlevania could barely feel the comforting hands on it, the attempts to bandage the wounds, or at least stop the bleeding that it knew could only belong to the Room. Castlevania could barely hear the Room’s frantic, desperate calls to action, to get up, or just ask if it was okay. And now the Room stands, fists clenched at its sides. The Room wants to fight back. It will fight back.

The Room is not violent. From the very beginning it stood against all the violence, the dark, the empty, and the death. That was what it was made for, after all. As much as it would like to, it does not wrap its hand around Dracula’s throat, claws digging until it draws blood, and demand “How does it feel?! How does it feel to be on the receiving end?!”

The Room’s footsteps are soft as it comes up beside Dracula. It puts its hands over the king’s eyes and whispers in his ear, gently as it can:

“Remember me?”

Then, quietly as it came, it removes them, as if playing peekaboo, revealing that it was there the whole time, his eyes were just covered for a while.

It may as well have been removing scales, because Dracula freezes, his eyes wide, as if he’s seeing, not just the Room, but the whole world for the first in a long time—And he is. The first time with living eyes. And one sees things very differently with living eyes. And Castlevania was his world and it hopes he sees the world differently, for Castlevania is not a thing for him to beat and break. Just when Castlevania thought there was nothing left…there is something more than anger in his eyes now.

Dracula’s angry cloak quiets, falling docile at his feet: a sign of reverence towards the Room, and all it stands for.

Alucard, after allowing his breath to regain itself, looks up, his eyes widening too at his father. His father. No anger, no fear, not even determination now. Not in this Room. This Room is different. He remembers now: in the hush that has fallen across the world like freshly fallen snow, this is his father.

The Room kneels at it’s boy’s side, putting a hand on his shoulder feeling nothing but life and love, so much so it extends to the creature that created the scars on its throat, and on its boy’s chest.

“It’s okay. You can go to him now.” The Room says.

And it knows what that means.

It knows that sometimes peace comes at the price of war.

Dracula curls his hand, the one with the claw that just made marks on the walls that are written in stone, and will never be undone. Within the glow of the window, his reddened eyes too are no longer angry. For so long those eyes sat dormant, empty, and glazed in his skull and at last they contain something. The Room’s words have gotten through the glaze, shattered the glass.

“It’s your Room.”

It’s more than just a statement. He made a promise when he made this Room. This Room was to be his son’s Room. There would be no violence, not in this Room. Not ever. Not today in as much as not ten years ago. He will not hurt this Room. He will not dare touch it, for fear those claws will mark more than just the walls; that all the memories will come crashing down.

The words are not angry. They are not dark. They are not empty. They are not dead. They may seem dry, and stated, but they are dripping with such longing and loss it might fill the whole Castle.

The desk where Vlad taught Adrian of letters, and of numbers, and of the borders of the world. The wardrobe where Lisa dressed him up in fine clothes, and casual ones depending on the occasion—Dracula had so few special occasions to celebrate alone, they were a lovely thing. The bookshelf full of all the knowledge of immortals, and the stories of mortals. The carpet where the boy sat and played with his toys. The nightstand, still with a potion bottle upon it, and the cards of a game they’ve no doubt forgotten how to play, right where they left it long ago. The shelf above it with another bottle, and a tiny satchel of even tinier precious things, and a little toy lamb. The bed upon which Vlad and Lisa once sat and told stories, and sang lullabies, or else lay curled up next to him when the nightmares got too vicious to bear alone.

—(How many did he have to face alone?)—

And Castlevania can see them all. The father teaching his son to count, and to write. The mother running after her naked toddler, trying to convince him clothes really aren’t so bad. The careful pouring of the potions so they change color, or explode just right, the father smiling proudly when he gets the questions correct. The pride of the mother when her son won the game, and the way her husband said “again” like if they just played another round he would win this time. The boy playing with the lamb and the wolf; they they got along in his stories.

The control room never was Castlevania’s heart…was it?

Alucard stands—the motion fluid now—blue light caressing his face as he raises his eyes. Vlad too looks up. But they’re not looking at each other, or the Room, rather into the stars. Not the ones outside, the ones they painted—brushing paint upon each other’s noses, so long ago, and Castlevania can see that too—as if those stars hold all the bottled wishes of childhood. It always was crowning jewel of this Room.

Adrian’s eyes oscillate like perturbed waters, because he knows, he knows he’s about to lose it all. And yes, there’s a sort of childlike yearning in Adrian’s eyes, as if he’s wishing upon those stars that he didn’t have to do this, because he’d really rather find another way to spend this night.

The stars wipe the bloodstains off of Dracula’s eyes. The blood drains off the moon too, as if he is so powerful he can bid the sky to bleed.

His lips shake with long-forgotten words—(or maybe they were just buried, and not everything buried in a grave stays there)—and he holds his hands to his chest, if nothing else to stop them from hurting innocent boys and castles, and shuts his eyes.

“My boy.” The words are said like everything in him is breaking

And it is.

—(The control room never was Castlevania’s heart. Does that mean it never broke?)—

“I’m—I…” The word falls to the floor, so soft, like it’s the only apology he has to shed. “I’m… I’m killing my boy.” And the truth is so gentle and broken its almost more painful than all those punches to the walls.

He steps across the Room, and this time his footsteps are not foreboding, not marching nor stalking. They are soft. He is only walking. This boy is not his prey. Not in this Room.

He walks to the picture on the wall, the one called “Happy.”

Castlevania remembers the day they took it home. The painter really did do a good job, Lisa had said, and Castlevania agreed. Castlevania soon learned that even when they were not here, even when the boy was not small, even when they were not happy, that moment would still be captured upon the wall to return to any time they missed it. Long ago Dracula had no need of pictures and paintings. But those pictures have been everything to him, and everything left him, now that Lisa is gone. They are all the traces left of what they once were in this Castle. That picture—the one Dracula buried and tried to forget existed—that picture bottled happiness, and it gives Vlad back his happiness now. And it makes him so very sad.

“Lisa. I’m killing our boy.” Vlad says to the memory. “We painted this Room. We…made these toys.”

His eyes as they dart around the Room—to the books, to the basket with the wolf and the blocks—are glazed, but not in the same way as before, this time it is with memory, and that makes them more alive than ever, as are his words. And in that moment she is alive too, and he is Vlad, Lisa’s husband, and Adrian’s father.

“It’s our boy, Lisa.”

And then as he looks down his eyes are not glazed at all, rather they hold understanding. He understands what must be done.

Alucard’s foot pushes off the ground, bends the knee, stands, and, no, he is not Adrian, for there is a cracking, a cracking like lightning, a cracking like the world breaking.

And it is the most horrible sound either the Room or Castlevania have ever heard. More horrible than the squelching any heart Dracula ever ripped out. More horrible than the desperate pleas of his victims. More horrible than the cackles of his friends. More horrible than the crying of the child that Castlevania can still hear echoing through the Room.

—(The sound Castlevania hated so so long ago, and now longs for far more than anything else in the world, longs for that painting to swallow the universe and bring it to life again)—

Castlevania and the Room can both feel that sound like a thousand splinters and spider bites, like both of them shattering as if they were made of glass after all. Even the furniture here bleeds.

Vlad backs up, putting his hands over his face—Don’t hurt them, they don’t know what they’re doing—

—(Yet…he hurt them all. So much so he didn’t just disgrace her words, he tried to kill her gift, their son, her blood)—

“Your greatest gift to me. And I’m killing him.”

He lifts his hands from his face and looks into his son’s eyes, his own so alive, despite their glass, tilting his head to the side. Everything slow and gentle now. He is Vlad. He is Adrian’s father. Not the vampire king who put innocents on stakes. But they all know something happened to Vlad on the night Lisa died.

“I must already be dead.”

And Castlevania, burned and bleeding, understands. The final piece of the puzzle has been put into place. It has been dead too. It’s life, bound in red to its master, will break to the call of a stake. Because a reflection cannot exist without the thing it reflects.

Because…they are mortal.

That was the trade, all those years ago: immortality for mortality. Lisa would gain an immortal mind, and Dracula a mortal soul. He would teach Lisa the knowledge of immortals, the methods of healing that must be kept secret to live with a vampire like time held no grip on them. And she would teach him how to live as a man, how to travel as a man, how to care for his son, as a man, as a father. And in that moment his soul was bound to hers.

She brought the undeath in him to life, and Castlevania understands; only things that are alive can die.

It learned through Lisa, through Adrian, what it was to be alive. And it knew that undeath, while not death, is not life. Dracula was undead and his body could not die. But now that she brought him to life, he could die. His soul already died with her. He’s been rotting in an empty shell—no wonder Death could tie those puppet strings to him. That’s why the emptiness in him was so active; cold and dark and empty were only adjectives before, now they are nouns; he was emptiness, death, walking around. And that, too, is what Castlevania has become. It too is mortal. It didn’t die with her, but something in it ceased to tick when Dracula came back without a soul in his chest, and it knows, bruised and burned, broken, and bleeding that that stake in his son’s hand is calling them both.

You knew all along, didn’t you? Castlevania asks the Room, and there is no malice, no blame, there.

The Room jerks its head up to look at Castlevania, then its eyes soften and it grimaces. I hoped I was wrong. The Room replies softly. I…I hoped there was another way.

Alucard’s eyes hold some sympathy, some semblance of the boy they once knew, in fact rather too much, for both threaten to pour out of those eyes and stop all this. He doesn’t want to. But it’s too late for anything else.

Vlad eyes hold some semblance of the man they once knew, so much so they threaten to make him something more than ruthless, something that doesn’t deserve to die. He closes them tilting his head. He knows what must be done.

There is no anger in either of their eyes, no determination, not even resolve. Not anymore. Adrian wants to free his father in the only way he can.

A step forward, and this step has purpose, that stake is silently growling, drooling at his side as he stalks his prey. Another. Another. Like the beating of all their hearts, and the atmosphere is so silent that everything can only break.

And Dracula will not stop him, will not fight back. Not this time. Like all those times he let his son win, because even though he was more skilled at at the game, it was more satisfying to see Adrian smile.

He is not here to talk things out.

Alucard barely raises that stake—

A second horrible cracking, this one in flesh.

This time he aimed higher.

Dracula’s mouth fills with blood, it seeps through the cracks in his teeth. The blood from his chest drains down the stake—the broken piece of childhood—down his son’s arm, collecting on his elbow, and when it hits the carpet a burn begins to appear on the Room’s chest.

A grunt as Vlad leans forward, the blood dripping from his mouth to the floor—another angry gash upon the Room’s skin, and the Room is trying to pretend it’s okay, but it can’t hide the hurt in its eyes.

It knew what had to be done…but the violence goes against its nature.

His eyes fill with blood, but not from undead purpose. The moon is still clean. These are those bloody tears, the ones from the song earlier today. He is free, relieved…and he will never see his son again.

“Son.”

To remember the living, and those who will live on without him.

And the word is spoken very differently than it was earlier today. Then it was solid and hollow. Now it is ghostly, and so full it could hold all the world. Their world, at least.

This Room, this Castle, that word. They are their whole world.

And it is an honor to have been a world to such terrible, wonderful creatures.

“Father.”

To honor the dying, and what they once were while alive.

The word on Adrian’s tongue is the same, though more solid, more alive, and thus able to hold more pain. A faltering breath, a cracking forgiveness.

The word means something now, at the end, where before they were nothing more than titles. They are pleading with each other. They are bleeding with each other.

They don’t want to do this. They shouldn’t have to. It is far too cruel.

Mothers shouldn’t have to bury their daughters, and sons shouldn’t have to kill their fathers. It’s an unspoken rule of life.

But Alucard can’t stop there. He must finish this. The fire, the resolve regurgitates in his eyes, and he pushes harder, like with the magma ball, and, no, this cracking is worse, because Castlevania can feel it in its own chest now.

Castlevania can hear its master’s heartbeat, can feel it with the drops of blood dripping and sizzling on the floor, and it thinks it might just be its own heartbeat.

Alucard does not hate his father: there is pain on his face. But he cannot stop there.

He must end this war. And unlike those given with kisses to his forehead once, this goodnight is not gentle. Not this time.

He inhales,

closes his eyes,

and breaks his father’s chest.

That stake goes right through Castlevania, and something in it involuntary breaks.

The control room never was Castlevania’s heart. The destruction of the die was merely the amputation of both its legs, still bleeding out. This is a breaking, not of skin or bone, but of something deeper. It thinks this might just be what it feels like to cry.

And something happens in the breaking. A change of some sort. Castlevania isn’t quite sure what—pain and disorientation are the best of friends—all it knows is that the world is smaller now, and hurts less.

And as Castlevania’s heart breaks, the reflection in the painting shatters, the reflection of the bond between father and son severing with a stake.

The world is so much smaller now.

Dracula’s head jerks back and, eyes now seeing something other than this world.

Dracula is no ordinary vampire, so he does not die like an ordinary vampire. Rather than catching on fire, there’s just smoke and ash; his face drains, turning from ghostly pale to a charcoal, black without flame, before it really is ash, sliding off his face, his cloak like sludge.

There’s no orange, just the red stain, and the grey his life was marred of. Ash and smoke. The true undeath.

Alucard turns his face away, still holding the stake in place.

Dracula lifts up a hand, a skeleton hand, and Alucard turns to see the skin sloughing off around his ring. Though his spirit may have left, it seems his body won’t quite let go of this world; with mere bones Dracula reaches out, takes a step forward, as if to touch his face, to hold his son one last time, to catch the last embrace he was not afforded.

Adrian has shed that resolve, now he can do nothing but take slow and careful steps back away from the monster he has no sword or shield to fight. He the child again, the one who belonged in this Room, shying away. He is Adrian, the one who didn’t like the stories that were bloody. And in all the years the boy spent in this Room, the sheer fear in Adrian’s eyes as he looks up to see his father’s rotted face, with mouth agape, leaning bloodlessly towards him—an image that Castlevania fears will haunt him the rest of his days—is matchless.

Hurried footsteps at the door. The Speaker and the Belmont, at last, have made it to the show, though it seems they paid for only the final song. They step upon the threshold to see the rotting corpse of the king stepping towards his fearful, tearful price.

The Belmont draws his sword, and Dracula’s deflated head—the one that seemed so alive moments earlier—lies in a bloody pool on the floor. And as the neck bleeds and the Belmont watches the body fall to the floor, he isn’t sure if that was enough.

And Castlevania can’t feel its heartbeat anymore.

“Alucard. Step back.” Sypha’s voice is tempered. “Let me finish this.”

He does, the steps cautious and small, sorrow in his gaze. He holds the unbroken bedpost till his hand shakes.

Castlevania never liked children, the crying, the leaving, the guests, or being controlled.

But it did like Lisa. It did like Adrian. And—be it a sting—it did like the sunlight. And always and forever, it loved its master. A reflection cannot help but adore the thing it reflects. A creation cannot help but be a worshipper of its creator. A dream cannot help but revere its dreamer.

“You want me to.”

Smiling a little at how true the words were, in the end, Castlevania found it quite liked the relief.

Castlevania puts a hand on the Room’s cheek, smiling, and its mouth tastes less like blood now. It looks at the moon—bleeding no longer—and blue calm fills every part of it.

“What a wonderful night to have a curse.”

The Room stares at the castle, a little horrified by the sentiment.

“What…What should I do?” The Room stutters, fear and realization coating its words, for it knows what’s happening.

Castlevania smiles wider than ever, and its voice sounds softer; “The children.”

“What?”

“You should let them in. Any child who needs refuge. Along with as many guests as your master wants to welcome. And you should cry. Cry when you need to—and let your master cry too. Stay, but let him leave, if he must, knowing he will always come back. Let yourself be controlled at times, because sometimes that which feels the least right is the most right.”

“I—I don’t understand.”

“Be warm. Let the light in every window. Be full, and most of all, live. Can you do that for me?”

The Room holds onto the Castle to keep it from falling, tears already descending its cheeks.

“I—I will try.”

The Speaker lets the flame loose to eat the pieces, to engulf its master’s body in the fire he stared at all along, as if yearning for its embrace, creating a spiral of flame upon the circle in the carpet.

They were right to assume it wasn’t over, at least, because there are shapes in the flames; from the smoke and ashes rises a tower of skulls, a legion of spirits, more than a one king’s soul should hold. They’re all crying havoc, war, blood and pain from a yesterday long forgotten. Their smoke snuffs out the flame, blight covering the Room, blocking out the stars that so enraptured them earlier. Sypha and the Belmont cover their faces, but Alucard is unsurprised and undaunted by the darkness lurking in his father’s chest, and faces it without looking away. This darkness bursts out the window like a flower bloom, flows like a river out into the hall—the one cracked and bruising—flying over the war Room where the war resides no longer, and escapes into the night, fluttering, spiraling around Castlevania’s parapets like butterflies.

On the charred floor, the only thing left of the king is his wedding ring.

Castlevania sees the vampire king as he once was; young and restless. The skeletons eating stakes. Castlevania remembers what it once was: lightning, books, gears, and a few lonely words. It sees the woman with the knife at the door. It watches them build the Room. It watches the boy grow up into this beautiful thing.

Castlevania always wondered if it could breathe. It was never quite sure. The Room always seemed to possess a kind of life it never had; a life that hid in the breath.

“Take good care of him for me,” Castlevania murmurs to the Room.

“Have I ever failed you before?” The Room tries to smile, wiping its eyes.

As the sun rises over the hills, a single ray filters in through Castlevania’s window, touching it, filling every part of it, and for once it doesn’t sting.

And with the last sigh of the last ghost circling the parapets, Castlevania exhales its last breath.

67 notes · View notes

kkeidawrites · 3 years

Text

Castlevania spoilers!!!! If you don’t want to know how the show ends in season 4 please refrain from reading the rest of this post because I’m not holding back! Also I’m writing this as I watched so, this is my raw review!

Okay, so first off I want to say personally, I loved how season 4 brought heat to the finale of the show. Although I’m sad as hell that this is the last season for a great show.

Episode 1: Murder Wakes It Up- I thought that it was cool to see Trevor and Sypha fighting again after what happened in S3, obviously they are tired from the long four week journey of fighting night creatures, skeleton zombies, vampires from different countries, etc. but clearly the end game is that humans and vampires alike are working together to bring back Dracula. Like seriously, y’all might not know this but I hate, HATE when children become involved in stupid shit like human sacrifices like I can’t. Not the children. Please, not the babies. Sypha complaining she’s becoming like Trevor, and she’s so cute when she curses lol. Then when they arrive in Targoviste we have some new faces as potential enemies. I thought they were lame honestly lol I couldn’t take Barney-Larney whatever his dumbass was; he was mad annoying.

Then they shift over to Alucard…I have never seen a more broken beautiful drunk man in all my life. Like I had S3 flashbacks. He’s asked for help from a messenger who ended up dying on the way to the castle but his horse made sure he continued the journey and Alucard received the message for help in Danesti. Alucard fights with the horse, I thought that was funny. He was thoughtful enough to bury the rider, that was very sweet of him.

Also, shirtless Alucard will be engraved in my mind for life. Whew, chile that’s one fine man. He’s beginning to talk like Belmont and I can’t help how hilarious that is.

Episode 2: Having the World: Quite honestly this episode to me was meh. Hector talking with Lenore about how he needs this and that to create his hammer to continue forgemastering then Lenore talks with Carmilla and the white haired bat talks about how she is going to rule the world and what not, clearly losing her sanity.

Then it shifts over to Trevor and Sypha and they are fighting in a barn and new character Zamfir. Her character for me was also meh, but it’s nice to see more PoC in the show.

Episode 3: Walk Away: I liked this episode a lot. Issac altogether was nice enough to sit down and talk with a night creature and tell him/them that they were free of their original program, which was: eating humans, causing destruction, used as tools to forge masters. But man when he received that berry from Issac he realized that there is still some kind of humanity in them.

Issac is contacted by Varney to bring back Dracula but, Issac wants no business with that; he doing his own thing and seeing him being sassy again is so refreshing.

Morana and Striga scenes!!! I loved them, and then there was Striga’s day armor, man listen…I have never felt more closer to watching Berserk again than in that moment. They are hesitant to return back to Styria when Carmilla calls them, and it puts them in a bind to return home to continue through with Carmilla’s plans.

Sypha being annoyed by Zamfir was me the entire time. How you gone run a kingdom again with out a kingdom. Like girl, help the people instead of the royals, my god.

Episode 4: You Must Sacrifice: A cute little Trevor and Sypha scene. They decide to investigate Targoviste more before helping Zamfir. The scene shifts and Alucard is riding towards Danesti, donning a shield and a longer cape. Monsters are attacking the walls of the village, villagers are on the other side waiting to defend themselves. Some Castlevania popular screenshots appear here.

Then we meet Greta…Miss thang…that’s one beautiful woman okay. And she’s the chief of the village, cares for her people? Y’all I present. Her. And the fact that she is sassy too? I rock with her heavy as hell.

Saint Germain meets Alucard and I have a weird vibe coming from him. We see Saint Germain’s backstory or what little it will show us; he had a whole girlfriend, she a baddie too. Apparently she was like him? And she was the silhouette we saw in S3. Cool scene, inside the Infinite Corridor and I liked the library scene a lot too. Now he’s on a rampage trying to find access to the Infinite Corridor again to find his girl and he also wants to bring back Dracula? The fuck?

Refugees arrive at Danesti, and Saint Germain is acting very strange indeed. Like he’s desperate to go to the castle to help with the village “defenses”. Alucard agrees I guess? And he says another Belmont comment which I was happy to see again in the season.

Episode 5: Back in the World: Alucard leads Greta, Saint Germain and the villagers to his castle but, encounter a couple of night creatures on the way. Greta does Saint Germain y’all and I’m with her 100%. Alucard’s powers have definitely improved from last season. It was kind of interesting how Alucard willing told Greta what happened with him and you know who, kind of early in my opinion. Greta is bisexual?!!!! I love her 1000% now! I sense some chemistry between Greta and Alucard. I like that a lot.

Lenore really like annoys my soul, I do not like this mini bitch. I didn’t really care what Lenore and Hector talked about🤷🏾‍♀️🤷🏾‍♀️sue me. Bruh Greta, beating that monster’s ass with just a hammer and a sword?! And Alucard impressed by it?! I’m here for it!! Some cute moments between Alucard and Greta got me gushing over here😝😝. Poor puppy😢😢. Alucard decides to “grow up” which I think is a nice step forward. Saint Germain is really making me mad.

They arrive at the castle and here goes Saint Germain acting like a fan boy, I mean who wouldn’t but you know…Greta killed me when she said the castle was ugly as hell lol. Another little cutesy scene between Alucard and Greta. Like I really like their chemistry y’all I’m sorry.

Trevor and Sypha demand that Zamfir take responsibility to help the people and I forgot what it was called but, before that they are attacked and Zamfir has something placed on her neck by a night creature.

Then Issac, he’s ready to fuck some shit up. And I’m here for it. Get em, bitch!

Episode 6: You Don’t Deserve My Blood: Carmilla’s castle is attacked by Issac’s night creatures. Lenore old punk ass running away does not surprise me in the slightest. Hector betrays Lenore and locks her in a cage. Hector has contact with Saint Germain like what? I don’t understand but, Issac comes in and it looks like Hector has given up, wanting to die honestly. Issac decides against killing him and Hector asks for his knife. This boy cuts his ring finger that the Lenore placed the ring, in front of her. That scene was meh, I thought he would get pissed at her for what she’s done to him in S3 but, I guess not.

Issac literally stole this episode, from his fight with the vampires and night creatures to Carmilla that shit was -chef’s kiss- magnifico! I loved the animation the fight scenes, yooo I was hyped the whole episode.

Morana and Striga make their decision to go their own way, living their own lives in the west so, bittersweet ending with them, I wanted to actually Striga fight the main trio but, whatever I guess.

Hector still has plans to bring back Dracula and asks Issac if he’s doing the same. Issac has other plans obviously, and tells Hector that they need to find their path in their lives. I feel Hector never knew where he was supposed to be placed in the world but Issacs words are very inspiring in my opinion. May have woke Hector’s dumbass up a bit.

Episode 7: The Great Work: Varney and the other guy, I really forgot his name found out about the catacombs and head there. Trevor and Sypha demand Zamfir take them underground, which to me I think it’s nothing there but her shit. Sypha gets mad at Zamfir and I’m with her, how you part of the royal guard when the people above need your help girl my god.

The cutest scene ever in this episode, was when the kids from Danesti wanting to play with Alucard and this boy jumps off the highest part of the castle just to show off. There should be more scenes of soft Alucard with children. Saint Germain is placing these weird stones it looks like in the castle walls. What is going on with him?

More Alucard and Greta moments please and thank you. The artwork in the castle is fucking phenomenal work. Saint Germain just gave the location to a vampire it looks like, from episode 4 maybe? He looks familiar.

There is a freaking army coming to the castle…lord Jesus. Like can they catch a break please? The kids just got settled.

Trevor and Sypha go to the catacombs and it’s just as bad as the people above grounds. New weapon acquired for Trevor, pretty dope. The king and Queen are dead and Zamfir is officially insane. She really thinks that the king and Queen will come back alive and protect their people like she’s done them. Sypha tries to talk to her, that puts her in a weird daze, Trevor is just being Trevor. Varney and his lackey, come to the catacombs looking to kill I really do not know that man’s name y’all so I apologize for not giving a damn about him lol.

The castle is about to be under siege, I’m not ready. Having a whole heart attack over here from nerves.

Episode 8: Death Magic: Varney and his partner attack the people in the catacombs, Varney is looking for a giant mirror? Why I don’t know. Poor Trevor and Sypha they are soooo tired, I feel so bad for them. Zamfir is actually not bad of a fighter, I like that. Sypha still the goat, no cap.

The castle is under attack, it’s actually nice to see how diverse the vampires are in this show, you can tell what countries their from and I think that’s dope as hell. And then every time a human dies their souls are transferred to Saint Germaine? So is this another S3 human sacrifice crap again? Omg…I’m so sick of that. Saint Germain uses the key he received from the woman in the Infinite Corridor and it creates the symbol of the corridor’s portal.

Here goes Alucard being a badass again, I never tire of him being one. Greta holding it down too is really cool, I don’t care what nobody say, she is that bitch. Her and that hammer, a force to be reckoned with.

Everyone is overwhelmed and have no choice but to evacuate to the castle, right before those doors closed Alucard nods to her to leave him out to fight and she looks at him like boy bye. Get yo ass in this castle. Greta pulling Alucard in just shows they are compatible for one another. Even the playful banter between them is cute.

The discovery of the stones in the walls leads Greta and Alucard to his childhood bedroom and they find Saint Germain where he reveals he’s opening the Infinite Corridor to bring back Dracula by using death magic. Petty Saint Germain, I do not like him bro.

They have to deal with him later though to fight off the night creatures that got into the castle. Greta still holding it down.

Trevor and the vampire guy is still fighting but, Trevor being so tired he’s slowing a bit, and honestly I don’t know how he’s still able to function at this point. Sypha shows off her powers like a G that she is and Zamfir is doing some great damage with the knives she’s got and that’s crazy how little knives can do to the body.

Did Sypha always have lightning powers? I don’t remember. If it’s new I love it! Trevor’s almost killed but a woman and child save him in time but, unfortunately Zamfir is stabbed in the stomach when the vampire moves to kill them both. I’m going to be honest I didn’t really care for Zamfir’s character she was just…there lol.

Then that scene with Sypha basically incinerating the rest of the monsters is fire!!! No pun intended lol. Varney finds the mirror and steps through it where Saint Germain is. Trevor and Sypha goes through the mirror as well but in a different location in the castle.

Episode 9: The Endings: This whole episode was literally the best of the best in any other seasons. The fight scenes, the banter, the main three…oh my God I loved it all. Noooooo, the dolls!!!!!! You bastards!!!! Trevor and Sypha’s entrance was perfect. Muah! Perfecto! The rock monsters really confused me on how they were killed but you know what who cares?

Alucard has wings?!!!!! What?!!!!!!!!! The general of the caravan have brought in the man woman thingy to Saint Germain. Death has appeared. His character design is dope af. Noooo not mom and dad!!! Nooo! Poor Alucard had to witness his parents literally in pain and of course Trevor ends it again, somehow Saint Germain redeemed himself almost?

The four vampires fighting the main trio had me running for my money. I liked the whole scene it was nice to see at least one or two vampires almost have the upper hand on the main trio.

That general vampire? His fight was wild, throwing his arm as it was about to explode and use it against Trevor was genius. And main trio…they don’t need to have a plan to fight they just work so well together that it works out in end.

Trevor vs. Death. Also was that the first time Trevor told Sypha he loved her? I can’t remember. Anyway, back to the final battle. The quality of the fight, the sheer power between both characters, and then he goes and sacrificed himself like Trevor are you deadass? You deadass died? Unacceptable. And then episode just ends.

Episode 10: It’s Been a Strange Ride: Lenore died so lame, and she was drunk as well when she died. I really won’t be missing her because she was just a character I very much disliked. Hector is finally free, little dumbass.

I wanna see what Issac is up to and Morana and Striga seems appropriate. But oh well, I hope they are happy wherever they are.

Tombstone for Trevor, it’s not real. He ain’t dead, I don’t believe that. Omg, Greta and Alucard are together?!!! Whoooooo!!! And the village kids are calling him father? Yasssssssssssss!!!!! I’m here for it. Alucard saying he’s not used to people is 100% me in public I don’t like being around a lot of people and it doesn’t help I have anxiety either. Sypha being pregnant was a given she looked a little thicker in the hips from episode one. She can’t leave…we need her. Really Castlevania creators? Y’all gone play with all our hearts? Thinking Trevor was dead and he gone pop up on a horse?

And look at this⤵️⤵️

He’s smiling, happy, soft, has a boo thang I’m….😭😭😭I’m so happy.

Y’all….all in all this was a great ending to the show…a great ending…

Oh wait…wait…wait wait wait, mom and dad are alive?!!! But how? You know what I don’t care their going to travel to England and their heart shaped embrace is everything. Oh no I’m crying again….

#castlevania #adrian tepes #Alucard #trevor belmont castlevania #castlevania spoilers #castlevania season 4 #issac castlevania #hector castlevania #sypha belnades

35 notes · View notes