Castlevania: Genesis and Revelations

III.

The coverlet was thrown aside from Richter as he sat upright. Tensely. Sweating. One hand clutching the edge of the bed, the other clutching a fistful of blankets. He sought out a landmark in the total darkness to anchor himself to, didn't find one. He fought for breath.

Another...another nightmare.

Worse than the last one. Was it going to return through the darkness in a scarlet fury? Not if he was awake, and he most certainly was. This time he was more ready for the nightmare, though, more than half-expecting one after seeing the sanguine moon again.

"Richter." It was Annet's unsettled voice next to him.

"You're awake?"

"I don't think I can sleep now, especially at night. It was a night like this when I was abducted by Dracula's servants." He could feel her gaze upon him in the darkness. "What about you? Bad dream?"

"Yes, another one. I can't help but think all of this has something to do with the moon. The signs are growing stronger."

There was no answer but uncomfortable silence.

"What are you thinking about right now?"

He exhaled contemplatively. "I know, Annette... I'm worried about our son too."

"So you too, then. Last night, I was afraid that to ask Gregor, at fifteen years-old, to be ready to fight Dracula was too much; now when I think about it, I can only hope he is ready."

"He is better than I was at his age." He smiled, hoping she could perceive through the darkness the comfort he was trying to offer her. "He has the benefit of my experience and that of all the other Belmonts before me. And he has Maria as well. Don't forget that. She may be a nun, but I'm quite certain she hasn't forgotten how to think like a Vampir hunter."

"That's true, all of what you say. Still, I'm his mother and I have to be sure for myself he's safe."

Richter propped himself up on his elbows. "Listen, I'm not able to fall asleep, and I guess you can't either. What I think we should do, then, is set out for Veros now."

"Is it wise to be out at night? Under a blood moon?"

He stumbled out of bed and found his way to the drawn curtains in front of the window, and pulled them aside. It was as he hoped. "It will be daybreak in less than two hours. It's either that, or we waste time here."

"I can face the night with you by my side. What I wonder is if, even now, it may too late," she murmured. "Dracula or his Geschöpfe may have already taken Gregor or killed him."

"No!" he snapped, then calmed himself swiftly. "No, don't think that way. I taught him to fight, and by God, he will if he has to. Belmonts are survivors."

"I pray you are right," she replied earnestly. "In a way, it is a pity to have spent our stay in this fine apartment worrying so..."

"Never mind that, I think Jakob will understand."

"...but the safety of my son is my priority," she finished. She lit a lamp on the night stand. "Shall we?"

Quietly, in mutual understanding, they hurried to gather up and pack their things. This time Richter did not bother to try to hide the presence of the whip and his other Vampir-hunting gear, and when his wife saw him holding the whip, they paused and exchanged a long and haunted look. It passed. Suddenly it seemed there was no time for explanation, as if one were necessary at all. Acting now, no longer whittling away time in bed restlessly, their time grew more important and talking became less so. For Richter, perhaps it was best they hurried. Perhaps it was best to see their son as soon as possible. They had everything to gain by forgoing sleep they weren't going to get and leaving for Veros quickly, and perhaps everything to lose in simply waiting for sunrise.

Richter had no intention of allowing Dracula to reach his son Gregor.

Abduction had befallen other Belmonts. It had happened to him, even after he'd beaten that devil Dracula. It wasn't going to be that way this time. Not this time and not to his son.

They finished packing and left the room in a hush, scurried downstairs with their bags under their arms. The cast of midnight prevailed on the first floor, except for where long and pale red illumination marked where the moonlight fell through the uncovered windows. The silence was thick but whispering promises of ambush. Richter, standing stock-still on the landing, wished he had his whip on his belt, or better, in his fist.

He stepped off.

The floor, of course, creaked and did nothing more.

Annette must've understood his caution, even here, for she followed him closely and said nothing.

But wait. Why the apprehension? Wasn't he a veteran Vampir hunter? Hadn't he defeated Count Dracula, Son of the Devil? What was a dark room to him? Nothing, he answered himself. Even if he hadn't been in the pursuit of Vampir and their kindred for many years, the rust shouldn't have been so thick that so little should inspire anything like fear in him. He humphed and started to march through the sea of chairs.

"Hold it," a voice demanded from behind them.

Richter dropped his bags and spun around, in a fighting stance, his fist clenched as if he were holding his whip. Annette was paralyzed where she stood, surprised in her own way.

"Wouldn't want you to go sneaking out of here without a good-bye." A lamp flared up. "And a little light."

Jakob...

"Dear God, Jakob," Annette exclaimed. "You didn't need to do that!"

Richter turned his head, trying to hide his embarrassment.

He shrugged. "I'm sorry, Annette. I guess I just wondered why you were leaving so early. I hope it wasn't my hospitality."

"No, no...not that," Richter answered. His wife sought out his eyes and found them, her's unreadable but imploring. "We couldn't sleep, Jakob. We must leave."

The other man scratched his head with his free hand. "Why, if I might ask?"

"Have you seen the moon lately?"

"Yes, what of it?"

The Vampir hunter kept the surprise from his face. How strange! Only certain people, it seemed, could see the moon as he did. "So you haven't seen anything...unusual," he said.

"Not at all, if you're talking about the moon. Whatever you mean, it must be something you know that I don't."

He began to pick up the load he dropped. "It might be. I don't want to be starting rumors, so let me just say--" He hefted the last bag with a grunt "--that you may want to keep an eye out for any sign of trouble."

Jakob's forehead furrowed. "I won't keep you, but let me ask if there's good reason to be worried."

Richter at last understood what the emotion in Annet's eyes tried to communicate to him. Tell Jakob. Trust him. He deserves to know. "Castlevania," was his quiet reply.

He nodded slowly, somberly. "I see. Be on your way, then, and be safe." He escorted them to the door. "I will pray for you."

"Thank you," Annette whispered. She clasped the innkeeper's hands for a moment.

A pane of glass exploded behind them. Richter instantly fumbled for his Vampir Killer whip in one of the bags, one eye on the feral silhouette stepping through the window. Dracula's own, he judged. Annette, he also noticed through his heart-pounding red haze, was clutching a dagger... What? She wasn't even holding it right. No time even to think about that. "Get back," he snarled.

The beast's turned to them, eyes reflecting icy silver, and growled.

Jakob had extinguished the lamp and found his way behind a counter and withdrew the familiar profile of a musket. "I'll not cower this time, demon!" he roared.

A tremendous flare of man-made lightning illuminated the whole room, enough for Richter to see wide-eyed people on the balcony. "Get back!" he repeated over the musket's thunderous reverberation. It was already too late. The beast was already across the room and, before a shout or threat could be issued, poor Jakob was cut down.

And more unholy things were crawling in through the window.

Richter snapped the whip at a candle on a nearby table, and a talisman in the shape of a knife fell from the splintered candlewax. Good, the whip's singular alchemical properties hadn't diminished over the years. Quickly he reached for it, only Annette grabbed it first. She flashed a peaked smile in his direction and retreated with it. The heavy clank of the links told him the whip had been transformed. He placed his trust in his instincts and God, and stalked toward the congregation of snarling beasts.

He lashed his heavy whip through the undead, glares of flame marking where they were felled. He was not trying to gain ground on them; he was simply trying to hold it against a seemingly tireless flow of Geschöpfe entering through the windows and doors. If only there were holy weapons to use against them, he hoped in vain. Then the dry, thin hiss of a dagger hurtling by his head startled him from his grim work -- Annette? How did...? -- and landed deep in the throat of an enraged undead soldier. Richter finished what she started with the deft snap of his wrist, the weighted end of the whip decapitating the thing. Fortunately, as a grinding ache in his arms was starting to take a toll, there were fewer and fewer creatures to send back to Hell. Then none.

And silence returned.

Richter finally allowed himself to exhale, but his breath was bitter. Most battles left their carnage as reminders, as proof of what had been won. Here, there was little, except for Jakob, who was the only obvious casualty. He saw what was left of him in the pale red moonlight, his spatters of blood mingling with the other crimson. He winced at the savagery of the violence visited upon him. Oh no...

Annette!

"Annette?" he breathed.

"Right here," she replied, behind him. "No, no..."

"Don't look," he said, finding her then gently guiding her away from Jakob. "You don't need to see that."

"He's dead."

"Yes." Nothing more needed to be said. "Come, we must leave this place now," he said, hearing frightened voices from above, on the balcony. As much as they'd need comforting, he couldn't afford the time to give it to them. Nor could he comfort at all, not when he found so little for himself.

The two turned and left, and hurried through the blood-stained darkness to the stable, packed the wagon and pulled out onto the road to Veros. Richter glanced back and saw the firefly that was the lamplight on the veranda of the inn; to him it had lost its hominess. No measure of safety could not be assumed. Not while Castlevania was here on Earth. Wasn't it? Oh yes, the house of Dracula had to be here now. Certainly it had to have been here for only a very short time, but even that was too long. That meant their son was in danger, as well. He decided not to tell his wife what he was thinking, because by looking at her ashen and strained face, she appeared as though she'd been through more than enough. She didn't need to hear what was already on her mind from him.

But he smiled a small smile to himself when he considered that his wife had done what she could to attack those ambushing demons. She'd never told him she was able to throw knives as well as she'd showed she could. Understanding came quickly: Maria Renard, of course. The former Vampir hunter must've shared a little of what she'd known with her sister.

Ah, my brave Annette, he mused. Do you know how much I love you?

He had his weapons and training reply upon, while she had only her bravery and little more, yet she was alongside him in battle. All the same, he was grateful for the newly bloodied whip which lay nearby, where it would be ready if he needed it.

He became doubly glad the whip was at the ready. For though the blood moon had gratefully become obscured by a bank of sullen, crimson-edged clouds, all light had been extinguished. It was the kind of deep, true night Dracula and his followers would thrive in. To even distinguish the road ahead from the towering trees lining the side of the road from the lightless sky was difficult. Much less anyone or anything within it. That did not keep him from urging the horses onward as fast as he dared. It cleansed his senses and consumed his attention. In the back of his mind, though, he felt the nagging and growing sense they were being intensely watched from within the stands of trees. He could only hope that there might be a clearing ahead, so that he might see who or what had such an interest in them. A useless hope, Richter knew, since he'd traveled this road often enough before. It cut through a forest. Anyone on the road was at a tactical disadvantage to anyone lying in wait from behind the trees.

In answer to that, be could only clench his jaw and focus on trying to make it to the relative safety of Veros.

They crested a small and open hill and, behind the reins, Richter suddenly realized there wasn't going to be a real daybreak. Yes, the horizon was slowly lightening, though only enough for it to be obvious that the sun wasn't going to break through the dense, lowering clouds. As details began to grace the sky, it seemed even this, too, wasn't natural. The clouds were roiling, swirling bands of steel-gray fury for as far as the eye could see, like that of a summer thunderstorm magnified and intensified manifold times.

A shield, he recognized with a frown. From the sun.

He hastened the horses into a full gallop, setting his teeth to chattering and the wagon into a violent rattle as they barreled down the last stretch of the road to Veros. The horrors following them no longer bothered with concealment, bounding through the tall, yellowed grass in pursuit. At a turn in the road, a patrol of Habsburg soldiers leaving Veros appeared in their path. Richter pulled the brake and skidded the wagon nearly to a stop. The soldiers stared as one in their direction. While starting around the soldier's on the edge of the road and forcing a look of contrition for their benefit, Richter glanced over his shoulder. Nothing was there. He blinked in surprise. Nothing at all. The demons' must've scattered...

On his wife's face a rigid, barely-kept terror.

Before them, the city of Veros, plumes of angry black smoke billowing up from its heart.