Simon Belmont stood at a crossroad. He had a choice to make. Left or right. Go home or go the other way. He felt empty inside. He looked at first one, then the other. Going home would mean many people would then die. Going the other way would mean he would die for an ungrateful populace. A bitter wind whipped him savagely, as if to rush his decision. His cape tugged on his neck, back the way he came. The wind suddenly changed direction and his cape was plastered to his back, trying to pass him. Again he looked at the split in the road. Loose hairs whipped around his head. He gazed at the break that leads home. As he stared, anger burned his insides, as much for the road as for the people it led to. He could still remember every single insult and scathing….

He had only been fourteen at the time. His father made him do most of the work on the farm, as he had injured himself in the previous winter. So he had run the entire place himself. But he was used to working hard, so it was nothing new. Even at that tender age, Simon was most serious and took everything as such. So, when he need a few supplies, he ignored his father’s request to just borrow what he needed from a friendly neighbour. He got on his horse and took the twenty-minute trip across the Transylvanian countryside. When he passed the town gates, he was already acquiring glances and gossip. He dismounted and checked his list.

While walking his sweating horse to the stable, he passed a rich couple who practically jogged to get out of his way. He turned and stared at them as they did him. They immediately turned away, whispering frantically. Irritated at their ignorance, Simon took his anger out on the door, which he slammed closed after leading his horse into the well-tended stable. The door splintered and a young stable boy’s curious head came from around the corner of the door. Simon looked intensely at the young boy, almost hoping that he wasn’t going to react the way everyone else did.

"Hello, uh.. Sir. Like me to feed and water your animal?" Simon opened his mouth, already having his response ready. His jaw stopped, as he had to change his usual response. "Yes … please." The young boy in lightly dirtied clothes nodded to Simon and proceeded to tend to his horse instantly. He gave the young boy a genuine smile tinged with sadness. He turned and proceeded to walk in the direction of the store. There were a few people standing in his way that weren’t there a second ago. He tried not to look directly at them, as not to attract trouble. He could do that quite easily these days.

A young man was staring directly at him. He stood about twenty feet away. Simon could feel his gaze even though he wasn’t even looking. Feeling his anger start flowing again, he met the young man’s stare as directly as he could. The young man looked away first. He started saying something that Simon couldn’t hear to his friends. They listened intently and looked at him and giggled. Simon’s face flushed a tedious crimson. He passed the group and could feel all of their combined staring. A foot was placed in front of his and he fell face-first into the mud mixed with things less desirable. The first sound that greeted him was the all-too-enjoyed laughter at his misfortune.

Simon pushed himself up to his hands and knees and a boot was then placed on his rump and was then launched forward, for a second coating. He slid to a stop and was on his feet entirely too quickly. The laughter sputtered and then stopped. He wiped his face with the palm of his hand. He stared at the group.

The young man who had dirtied him, Ryan, spoke down to him. "Simon Belmont, how natural looking for you!" The two boys and three girls began to snort our laughter. Simon felt his rage coming to a header. The fire burned deep within his young body. He was unsure what to do, so he just stood there. Ryan spoke up. "C’mon guys, is it all his fault that he was born a freak?" This triggered a chuckle or two. Simon looked him. "I… have just come to get some supplies. How about you let me be for just one day?"

This caused the boy named Ryan to get irritated. His face turned into a scowl. "You aren’t natural, boy. You don’t belong here." Simon could feel the conviction in which he was being bathed.
It cut him to the bone. "I have the same right you do to get the things I need, so why don’t you shut that ars you call your face?" Ryan’s friends laughed in surprise. It made him lose his temper. He stomped over to Simon and grabbed him by his collar. His face contorted angrily. "How about I just beat your head in?"

He raised a fist, targeted on Simon’s nose. He didn’t even have a second to attack.

Simon slammed the heel of his hand into Ryan’s chest, sending him flying backward five feet. Simon could remember the look on his face as he flew backward. It was a bug-eyed terror. And then intense shock as he tried to grasp what had happened. There was a crunching when he hit, as Simon had broken five of Ryan’s ribs. He just lay sprawled there, gasping for air. His friends all ran to his side. They kneeled and tried to help all they could. Simon turned and started to walk away when a rock hit his back. It didn’t hurt as he was wearing his light leather armor. He turned to see a young girl grasping for another projectile. "Look what you have done!! Begone you FREAK!!" The other friends began tossing mud and rocks…

A leaf blew into Simon’s shoulder length hair. His hair had been slapping him in the face, and now so did the leaf. He plucked it absent-mindedly. Simon came back to the present and was staring at two roads. He looked at the left one. His brows converged and his anger flashed again. He kicked the sign as he passed it, turning right. The sign snapped in two if it were nothing more than a toothpick.

The sun had been overcast all day. It almost looked like it threatened rain, but none was to come. The wind pounded ceaselessly like some incandescently furious spirit, angry at all existence. It was early fall and all the trees were bare of their green leaves. They looked all the more skeletal as the sun was beginning its daily rest. As the day got darker, so did the mood of Simon Belmont. He had been walking all day, and the rage in his heart wouldn’t let him stop.

He stepped into a narrow valley created by the foothills of the mountain chain he was passing. Without warning, the ground rose slightly. He remembered this. He was now walking on an incline, and having to part thin trees to make himself a path. The more trees he had to navigate, the more they seemed to be in his way all of a sudden. Simon was getting irritated and started snapping branches that tried to hold him back. "What the…?" Just as he thought the trees seemed to have their own will, he found his way much easier. He didn’t even have to bend a single bony branch. Now that he wasn’t being clawed at constantly by sentient trees, he could finally see his destination… There was a castle perched on a cliff.

It was an ebony claw against the tangerine sky. He looked the thing over, up and down, sizing up his opponent. Even though he told himself it was just stone, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was watching him, looking directly at him. Again, Simon told himself that this was nothing more than stone. It was massive enough to give home to his entire village. There was a huge gate with a portcullis, which was raised. Parapets loomed above. It seemed there were a thousand perils hiding in every shadow. The surrounding land was a testament to its evil. Everything was dying, as if the castle was sucking the life out of the very earth. And yet as long as he remembered the area, there had been no such castle. Legend told that it appeared only once every hundred years. The legend was entirely accurate. With a sigh, he continued to walk.

As he marched the path that would most likely get him killed, Simon noticed that the sun was setting. There would be maybe another hour of sunlight before the sun rested. He estimated that he had about that much time to reach the gates of the cursed edifice. He walked along, noticing all at once that the grass was crunching under his leather boots. Grass along the barren path was brown and wilted. He looked back. The grass had been green and lush a second ago. There was a line where the death creeped. As he watched, some grass looked as if it were on fire. It turned from a lush, healthy green to a withered brown within a mere few seconds. As he watched, there was about and inch consumed. His eyes opened wide as he realized the rate at which his homeland was being consumed by this death. He quickened his pace.

There was an old tree. It looked so withered, it might as well have been made of ash. The tree seemed as a hand of some undead giant, reaching for warmth of the sun. Simon stopped under this tree and kneeled, checking his equipment. He opened his backpack and sorted though it. He took out some dried rations, a metal flask of water, a map, rope, some bandaging, several vials of holy water, a large wooden cross, and his whip. He held the last in his hand, curled in a circle. His eyes followed the circular pattern. Blinking, he put it down. He adjusted his armor and strapped on shoulder plates. He tightened his tunic and the hard leather on top also. Simon stopped, looking at the small family crest on his chest…

Simon stared at his father’s old armor. It hung on the wall. He had used when he had been in the militia. There were only a few scratches and nicks on the thing. The crest, which represented his family’s line, was a polished gold emblem. It was of a chimera. He gnawed his lip and wondered when his father would be home. He had been forbidden to attend the trial and an armed guard stood outside the house with orders to kill Simon if he put up any resistance. Now he was seventeen and much more powerful than he had been when he was fourteen…

He could almost hear the judge reviewing his father’s service record and his being loyalty to the town, his charity, his meaning to the community. After that was said, the judge then brought up that everyone feared his son and that his final decision was that Simon and himself be exiled from town and it’s limits. Simon could feel his father slump. He was an old man and didn’t deserve to have his home taken and be forced to build another in the woods. His family had held that farm for about eighty years.

Later that night, his father returned. He told Simon the news, yet he already knew. He hated that his father was being treated in such a way. Simon suggested that he be the one to leave on his own and that his father would live here. His father reminded him that he was old and that he couldn’t tend to the farm anyway. He felt so bitter and angry. His father, one of the pillars of the community, was to be shunned because his son had supernatural powers. Simon felt he should be the one to be punished, not his father.

There was a knock at the door. Simon looked out the window. There was the mayor and twelve armed guards. He went to the door and the mayor shoved a parchment in his face. Before he could even read the thing, the man started rambling on about how the law states that his house now is the property of the government and that he was to vacate it this evening. He looked back at his father, whose eyes were pleading with Simon to just let this pass. Simon agreed, albeit grudgingly. He and his father had packed up and were on their way, on horseback with little more than the clothes on their back and some tools. Simon looked back. He was on top of a large hill and could see the whole valley, and his entire property. His house was a ball of fire. He gasped, and his father stirred and asked him what the problem was… He said it was nothing and hoped his father wouldn’t look back, for it would break his heart. They rode until they were past the city limits. Then Simon would begin construction of a cottage.

Simon was fingering the sigil when he came back to reality. He also realized that he was getting behind if he wanted to make the gate before dark. If half the stories were true about the happenings when the sun went down were even half-true, he was in trouble. He harnessed his whip at his side, attached a vial of holy water to his waist, adjusted the position of his short sword and tied his long hair back with a headband. He then proceeded to put the goods back in his backpack. He lingered on the food and water and realized that he wasn’t even hungry... The seething anger that swirled through his insides more than filled him.

Standing to his full height, Simon enjoyed the last, lingering rays the orange sun cast on his face.

The leather armor he adorned even absorbed some dying light. It felt as if the sun was giving him an embrace, knowing it would be the last one. He closed his eyes, lost in the kind warmth he knew he might not ever feel again. Every bone, every muscle in his well-built frame longed to enjoy this moment forever.

He clenched his fists in anger. Gritting his teeth, he opened his eyes and checked once more that his fur-rimmed boots were properly strapped, that his hip-plates were loose enough for movement, his armor meshing in general. He was ready.

With a look at the tree, he grabbed his backpack and was jogging down the path as fast as he could, fighting the incline and the raging wind, yet not longing to reach his destination.