Castlevania: Genesis and Revelations

VIII.

Shaft perched his bony chin upon the scribe's table in his quarters, brooding in the absolute darkness, as he had for what felt like days. His long, gray fingers resorted to an old human gesture of impatience, tapping the table. There were no windows, no bed or closet, since there was no need for such miscellany. The table was merely a spot at which he might contemplate or practice the art of high writing. For now, he had only thought because that was all that was left to him. All that had been in his power to do to help pave the way for Lord Dracula's destiny beforehand, he'd done; and now, all there was left to do was wait until he was told to fulfill his most important purpose. Or so Death had informed -- no, commanded -- him.

The position of high priest to so many masters was often a trying one indeed.

Presence of awareness was not totally removed from him, despite his isolation. Castlevania had returned to the other side. That much he discerned of his own ability. He also felt the anticipated approach of Richter Belmont. Though that man had long since thrown off the possession over his mind, not every vestige of the link they shared was gone. Otherwise, he knew nothing of the outside world. So, what gnawed at the back of his mind was the silence from the absence of prayers, from his followers on Earth who had been executing the plan, since he'd been as much as exiled to his quarters. It had bruised his pride and inflamed suspicion that only deepened with every passing hour, that his influence was being undermined. Those few people were his charges, his flock to shepherd. Perhaps it was time to pay them a quick visit before the hour of decision. After all, they had only followed his bidding because he'd invited them to pluck the wealth and women from the ripe tree of Veros along the way. Like common mercenaries. Proof, not mere faith, would restore their focus and belief in him, and in Lord Dracula and Chaos. Even if it was Chaos that was subverting him.

Why?

Were the objectives of his Lord Dracula different from that of Chaos? He considered that worrisome thought again, as he'd done a thousand times before. No. They shared the same desire to bring the rule of true Chaos to Earth. If it were not so, he'd have realized that long ago and wouldn't have been here, nor would have he been given the gifts he now enjoyed. There were simply reasons of their own design for all things accomplished in the name of Chaos. Perhaps this waiting was a lesson in patience Death wished to teach him, despite patience being opposed to Chaos in principle. Yet without the presence of order there could be no Chaos, he reminded himself.

Still, was it time to exercise this patience and caution, or action and determination?

The chair scraped back with a noisy protest, which was seemingly like thunder in his quarters, which had not known any sound in days. He stood up and flexed his fingers. Brilliant white energy leapt across his fingers. The time for musing was over. He was going to return to his flock, if only for a short while.

A candle on his desk suddenly flickered to life, sputtering and spitting from being on the verge of drowning in its own wax. Shaft's eyes narrowed. The candlelight magnified his glower. Sorcery. Hardly a moment later, a fierce knot of light formed above him and a scroll dropped down through it and into his hands, then vanished. Who else but Death would intervene at the precise moment he decided to act? There was little point in pushing his fortune too far. He returned to the chair.

The parchment scroll was quite cold to the touch, veiled in frost. He cracked the seal of ice and when he unfurled it, a blast of warmth like the opening of a heated oven singed his face. He pursed his lips to hide his slight smile. It read with letters burned into the parchment:

Shaft,

I would have appeared to you presently, but the act of translating Castlevania from our realm to that of Earth has depleted my resources. However, do not make the error of underestimating me when you would test me as you apparently have decided to.

Practicing chaos is perfectly acceptable, unless it contradicts me. I am your Creator, your beginning and your end. Punishing you sufficiently would require the least effort on my part to engender.

Since I trust my reminder has been effectively communicated, the moment for your work's achievement is at hand. Go forth into this world with the Belmont child who has brought unto us and do unto him and his parents as you've wished to do. You shall encounter the Belmont Richter and Maria Renard the nun, and your doppelganger who has served me very well. Yes, my servant, your second anger has been anticipated -- remember, your soul I keep is mine to do with as I please, and if I desire to employ your soul to duplicate you as I have done in the past with Alucard's soul, then I will do so without hesitation.

Shaft tried to bridle the fury surging through his blood, yet even more angry that he was so predictable. Another test of his loyalties? Why then was Alucard, the treacherous son of Dracula, allowed to live if Death owned his soul, as he owned the souls of all Vampirs and dhampirs and other Geschöpfe? Was this some sort of an ongoing absurd demonstration of Chaos? And, there was no explanation why a doppelganger of himself had to be used. He'd have understood if there had been an explanation. Namely, if it had been used to set him aside for the greater task. Of course, deep inside, he knew better. He could be replaced, replaced by a replicant. With possession of his soul, Death held absolute power over him. For all his privilege and titles here on the other side, he was damned to be an animated body, a puppet of Death...until Lord Dracula came to true power...

He forced aside such secret, tantalizing thoughts, thoughts which might surely lead to his destruction, and exhaled the stale, dead air of his quarters. He stood up. It was time to reintroduce Richter Belmont to his son.