Castlevania: Genesis and Revelations

IV.

"Halt!" one of the soldiers gruffly ordered.

Richter braked the wagon to a complete stop. "Yes, sir. What is it?"

"No one is allowed in or out of Veros at this time," answered another soldier. His officer's uniform, dusty and torn, hung loosely from his scarecrow shoulders, and his eyes were bleary, haunted. Despite that, it was not lost on Richter that he held his musket with a white-knuckled grip.

Richter felt his wife's tide of worry flood over him. "Why, if I might ask?"

They exchanged glances amongst each other. "Are you Catholic?"

"Yes, of course we are," Annette snapped, her voice thick with raw impatience.

"We...we had an uprising involving Protestants," the second soldier replied, sounding uncertain to say the least.

"Yes," continued the first, "lies were passed along that there was going to be a tax levy on the property where Protestant churches are located. And what did the heretics do but break curfew and riot in the streets! Looting, starting fires, and everything else I'd expect from their kind."

"Protestants weren't the only beasts out there, sir," added a third soldier hoarsely.

"Hush, boy!" the first soldier, the officer snapped. "The situation is under control. We'll leave it at that."

"Our son is in Veros," Annette stated. "We have to take him out of here."

"I'm sorry, woman." the officer said sympathetically. "I can't allow it. No one leaves, no one enters. Those are my orders."

Richter understood perfectly well why access to the city was all but entirely cut off -- Prince Nikolae and the other city fathers did not want to be embarrassed by how they'd let a mob of Protestants inflict such a public wound on Veros. So they simply isolated the city for as they long as they were able, so no outsiders could see the damage. On any other day he would've wished the malcontents well, but not today. This nonsense was slowing him down. "I'm Richter Belmont and I have important business here."

A murmur rippled through the company of soldiers. The officer scrutinized him. "Belmont, eh? Well, why didn't you say so in the first place? Go ahead," he declared, "and be careful. I can let you by, but I can't watch your backs."

The soldiers followed them with their hollow, haunted gazes. Richter paid them no more mind, except to register that he saw a kind of fear in their ranks not typical to a soldier. Then again, many of them looked like they hadn't even seen their first shave, and to youths such as them any combat would've seemed terrifying.

...weren't the only beasts out there...

He hoped that soldier was wrong.

As they entered Veros, the black smoke met with the leaden sky, which promised no rain or snow but certainly no sun, and cast a dispiriting pallor over the whole of the city. The already drab uniformity of the weathered stone and timber-constructed houses and shops lost whatever charm they had, as if any life had been drained from them. Glassed windows reflected only gray. Even the lone scattering of color, the fallen autumnal leaves, were more the shade of winter. Above all, most conspicuously, the cobbled streets were nearly empty and a troubled hush ruled the air, apart from a dog howling mournfully and the odd echoing clatter of a few wagons and pushcarts on the move. But carried in the wind like an omen was the not-too distant sound of shouting and steel against steel, of battle being waged, and the biting smell of smoke.

In a sad way, the dreary weather and even the wreckage suited the city. Veros had been rebuilt quite swiftly since it had been burned down in 1792 at the hands of Dracula's forces, although the rebuilding came at a price. The richness of its history had been all but entirely lost when it was reconstructed not for true restoration, only for practicality. Such was the thinking of the Austrian Habsburgs overlords.

Now, of course, worldly matters were the least of Richter's worries.

He picked out the spire of Saint Wilhelm's from the smoky haze and the other roofs. "There," he said to Annette, pointing in the direction of the Catholic church. For the moment not being pursued and as alone as they ever were going to be in Veros, Richter felt freer to speak. "That's where we need to go first."

Annette turned her still-pale face toward him. "Yes. My sister. And Gregor."

He nodded. "We must warn them, if they don't already know."

"What about Veros? They haven't seen what we've seen. Shouldn't they be given notice?"

Richter pursed his lips and frowned. "You mean, to tell them about coming across Dracula's servants so close to Veros? I should try, but I know Nikolae won't listen to me. He's other more obvious, more immediate problems to worry about. Besides, from what I've often heard, he only bends his ear for his masters in Vienna and the Church. I can only hope someone he'll listen to will see the Geschöpfe for themselves."

"Well, it seemed to me those soldiers saw more than they're willing to admit to," his wife pointed out.

"So you noticed that too," Richter mused aloud.

They advanced through the streets toward St. Wilhelm's and the towering black smoke. The signs of conflict were evident: doors staved in, broken windows on storefronts and the glittering glass on the walkways. A dead, bloodied man curled up in the street, holding a dazzlingly jeweled necklace in his fist. To the Vampir hunter it seemed the intent of this rioting was for theft, not for anything more sinister and not for Protestants' rights, and certainly not for the sake of Veros' destruction as it had been twice before. It did not bear the usual hallmarks of Dracula's influence, yet he felt a certainty his hand was in this. He only wished he knew how and why. He glanced at Annette. She was huddled within her black traveling mantle as if she were cold and her face betrayed little, the unconcealed fear receded into just her eyes. She was holding up well, all things considered.

Knots of infantry and cavalry advancing in their same direction briefly eyed them but hurried past. Richter quickly came to understand why they were in a hurry. Within the town square, it seemed as if Hell had claimed a corner on Earth. Fire leapt triumphantly from many of the buildings encompassing the square. Blackened trees were torches. Dancing, it seemed, among the vortices of smoke were people and...things engaged in combat.

Across the battlefield, the spire of St. Wilhelm Church stood defiantly above the inferno.

Now their aim and his suspicion at once became utterly clear to him. Distraction, hindrance. From St. Wilhelm's. His son.

Richter clenched his jaw and unfurled the iron-chain whip. He resolutely snapped the reins and charged into the fray. His icy eyes glinted with the fury of the fire and the madness of someone who's committed himself, even unto the death. People and soldiers scattered before the wagon and the undead were trampled under the hooves of the fire-fearing horses. It was impossible to judge who was fighting whom. Protestants, Catholics, and the servants of Dracula. The tangle of enraged beings showed no distinction one from another. The menacing silhouette of a fire warg appeared through the conflagration, its bestial eyes leveled at them and filled with unthinking hatred. The Vampir hunter sharply turned the wagon. Too late. The beast snorted a volley of flame in their direction and enough hit Richter to set his cloak afire. He thought he heard Annette scream, but he was too busy ripping the cloak from himself to think about it.

So that was why he wasn't dead yet, he realized. His old, trusty leather armor. He'd donned it before he left the Carpathian Inn this morning. Now a nasty scorch mark seared it. At least he wasn't the one wearing the effects of the fire.

His relief was short-lived. The fire warg had turned about and was clearly hunting them down. They would not make it to the church unless that beast was dealt with. Richter only wished he had holy weapons apart from just his whip, a wish that wasn't going to be granted here and now. He turned the wagon, this time directly towards the fire warg. He tensed his arm and when he was close enough, he struck the fire warg over and over with the whip. A resounding howl of pain and fury issued from its throat, a blind rain of fire following. Richter turned the wagon again and attacked from the other side. The fire warg at last fell to its foreknees and quickly disintegrated in its own conflagration.

The Vampir hunter braked the wagon to a sudden, lurching stop at the steps of St. Wilhelm's.

"Let's go!" he shouted at Annette. He viciously yanked the reins and the horses, with the wagon, baggage and all, galloped off. Richter clasped his wife's cold, cold hands as he bounded up the marble steps. He tried to open the thick wooden doors. Locked. He pounded on them. He looked over his shoulder. A small gathering of Geschöpfe had begun to assemble at the foot of the steps.

Absently, he noticed that his wife's fingernails had drawn blood from his wrist.

He pounded again on the doors. Finally, they opened a crack, enough for Richter to see a frightened eye staring back at them.

"Quickly, come in," the voice on the other side of the doors urged. Richter and Annette wasted no time to slip inside.

The cavernous hall of the church was somber, deep in shadows, heavy in spirit. The statues of the Holy Mother and Jesus Christ were gazing down upon them, seemingly in pity. Muted, bleary rainbows were cast upon the floor from the stained glass and the unnatural twilight-like dawn. Distracted by it, Richter marveled how defiant the illusion was, to diffuse light and color inside the church, when reality just outside their doors was the absolute opposite. A collective and anxious murmur arose from the pews. One by one, heads appeared from behind the pews. There were others who must've come to this place for refuge. It was another illusion, that a church would offer the citizenry sanctuary from evil, from Count Dracula and his servants, when Castlevania itself often had a chapel of its own -- albeit a sacrilegious imitation.

"It's all right," their escort assured them. "They're just travelers caught in this like the rest of us."

Richter looked at the nun, trying to remember who she was. Something inside him told him she should've been familiar, but the memory eluded his weary mind.

"Tera!" Annette exclaimed. She hugged -- no, almost collapsed out of the strain into the surprised Mother-Superior's arms. Richter rushed to her side and relieved Tera of the burden leaning heavily against her, wrapping his wife's arm around his wide shoulders.

"May I presume you are Richter Belmont?" the aged woman inquired. "In this light my poor eyes can't see too well."

"Yes, Mother, I am," he replied respectfully.

"Ah, yes, I had expected you. Thank God you made it safely. Come, let's sit down. Your wife appears to have taken the latest turn of events rather hard. Perfectly understandable, of course." She directed him to a pew where they'd be alone. Richter gently sat his unconscious wife down and fell next to her, slumping against the hardwood. Suddenly, he felt his years, and even more, his utter exhaustion. The pew might as well have been an achingly soft down comforter. Even with the undead just outside St. Wilhelm's doors, all he wanted to do was sleep. But that was not possible. He forced his chin up, forcing back the dizziness, and focused on Tera.

"I haven't gotten much sleep to speak of lately and I've been fighting my way here, so forgive me if I'm not at my best," he admitted. "Where is Gregor -- and Maria?"

"It's all right. You won't hear anything close to condemnation from me. You've done more for the Church and all mankind than most people will ever know. And normally, I would insist you find the nearest bed and get some sleep, but these are not normal days." Her kindly eyes met his. "I have news I truly wish I didn't have to tell you."

The hair rose on the back of the Vampir hunter's neck. "What is it? Where is Gregor and Maria?"

"Maria is fine. Right now she's busy tending to a few of the wounded from this terrible business."

"Please! What about Gregor?"

She sighed sorrowfully. "Your son was abducted not too long ago today. I've--"

"Oh, God, no."

"I've discovered ex post facto that while we were taking in people to shelter them from the anarchy outside our doors, someone who looked like a priest came in with them, and in the initial confusion, somehow managed to pick out your son and leave with him." She shook her head sadly. "I'm very sorry, Richter. The Church should've served you as well as you served it."

"Shaft."

"Actually, yes, the description related to me was his. Unmistakably. I'd never forget what he looked like."

"Always a step too late. I have to -- I ha..." Richter murmured bitterly, but at last yielded to the gravity of unconsciousness.