dissection tables, nooses, hooks dangling from chains, beds of spikes, iron maidens… Not to mention the bodies that lay though they had died there and not been moved. There were also neatly piled skulls. Bones and ancient blood were strewn and stained every inch of this large room. He paused to pick up a morning star. The weapon was undoubtedly used to crush torture victims, but the fine weapon would work great against the evils here.

After having a good look at his surroundings, Simon was also keen to the fact that any of these hundreds of skeletons could get up and try to take his life. He shook the morning star loose and proceeded carefully through the haunting chamber. He approached a peculiar pile of bones. They were crimson, as though the blood still covered these centuries-old bones. He continued to walk and the pile flew upward, connecting to form a standing crimson skeleton. It set its skull facing Simon and proceeded to hobble towards him. Other skeletons were also now starting to stand. Some white, others red.

These red ones didn’t seem to be as lithe and dexterous as their white counterparts, because Simon flicked his wrist once as he ran up to it and the undead shattered, sending bones all over the floor. He continued to run. At the end of the room there was an archway, which lead to a room which had stairs going up. He turned and looked back. To his horror, dozens of undead were now amassed and charging towards his very location. The look in their socketed eyes was enough to make his blood run cold. He proceeded toward the stairs…

Upon looking up, Simon was shocked to see a suit of armor on the landing. It was not the same he had encountered before. This time the suit was huge enough to easily fit two of him inside, and it was eight feet of shiny steel from head to toe. In it’s hollow visor, he could see the blackest darkness. In one arm, it held a large shield with a dragon, in the other it sported the largest axe Simon had ever seen. Instead of walking back and forth aimlessly, the huge suit seemed to react to his approach. It raised it’s huge black axe in anticipation. Simon glanced back…

The crowd of undead were approaching the archway he had left moments earlier. Something had to be done about one of these obstacles. Since he wasn’t sure if holy water would affect a spirited armor, Simon reached to his belt and unstrapped his flask of holy water. He couldn’t be bothered with unscrewing the top, so he hurled the whole thing. It smashed and the dimly lit room was now bathed in bright blue light. A few unlucky undead were incinerated upon contact. From what Simon could see, the whole mass of undead weren’t able to even walk near the flame. It even blinded them. Now that he was safe from behind for the moment, he turned to the task at hand.

Simon pounded his way up the stairs. Not wanting to be shy about this, he immediately pulled out his short-sword and was going to run right at the armor. That was until it hurled it’s axe. He ducked as a slash of air blew his hair back. He took this time to storm toward the unarmed warrior. It stood it’s ground. This caused him fear as he was wondering why the warrior would just let him attack it openly. Simon was knocked to the ground as his leather armor absorbed a large gash. As he fell, he watched the axe return to the warrior’s gauntleted hand. He jumped to his feet and charged the warrior. The arc of a shield bash caught Simon’s entire body. He fell back, cursing as his sword was now stuck in the center of the shield. The flame that guarded the archway still burned strong, but Simon knew he had only a few minutes to get past this guard.

The huge, creaking warrior waited for Simon to collect himself. It placed the axe’s head on the floor and placed both armored hands on the end of the weapon, leaning in wait. Apparently, these warriors were once great and honorable guards of some king. Guards which were responsible for duties beyond even the grave. They also seemed to love battle to the point of savoring every moment. Yet these very disciplined and honorable knights also respected an opponent and granted him the chance to charge when he was ready. He had to admit at least grudging respect for such courtesy in such circumstances. He had seen much less fair matches this night.

Simon rose and drew his morning star. He now had the reach to be able to at least keep this menace at bay as he ran past. He raised the weapon in salute to his enemy, which was met by a similar action, only with an oversized and double-headed axe. Now that the pleasantries were dispensed with,

Simon loosed the morning star at the armored warrior’s chest. The shield arched and took the blow. It dented with the impact. It reacted by rotating its torso and hurling its massive axe low. Simon jumped the weapon and swung his own, denting the faceplate of the knight. In reaction, it fell back a step. He could just envision the axe coming back now, aiming to decapitate him. Without looking, he closed his eyes and ducked. The weapon cleared his head by an inch and was back in the hands of the knight.

The knight advanced and swung it’s axe from overhead, intending to cleanly cleave Simon in two. Simon panicked and leaned backward. The weapon traced his torso and clanged to the ground, between his legs. He stepped on the weapon’s shaft and proceeded to use the leverage to kick the knight in the head. Again, the grilled faceplate dented inward even farther so a living knight wouldn’t be able to see. The knight was forced to let go of it’s weapon and lift the badly warped visor. Simon didn’t hesitate to take this opportunity to tear up the landing and onto the next set of stairs.

Upon rounding this ancient and dusty staircase, Simon was confronted with another torture room. This one contained tables on which corpses rested. Yet they seemed to be fresh parts. Buckets rested by each of these tables to empty the unusable parts. There were other tables too, yet these contained body parts and jars with various organs, including fat, gray brains. This seemed to be a place where the living were brought to take or add parts from their existing bodies, and create horrific necromantic nightmares.

Rushing his decision to react was the horde of undead pouring from downstairs, not to mention the huge axe-knight that badly wanted another round with him. Simon’s leather boots pounded the floor as he raced across the room. When he reached the other side, he passed through the doorway and grabbed the ancient iron ring. He pushed with all his force to close the door. An empty table was then leaned up against the thick door to act as a wedge to keep it from opening. Glass vials and tubes crashed on the floor. To Simon’s surprise, the undead and the knight weren’t beating down the door. He could hear the armor creaking around, not to mention the sounds of bones scraping the stone floor. But other than that, he was free to explore without fear of being stabbed in the back.

Simon turned to have a look around the room which he just entered. It was a long corridor, grimly lit by dim candles. At it’s end, he could see a statue. His hopes sagged as he realized it was of a skull… a dragon skull. It’s ember-filled eyes could now be seen. It stared into his soul with all the hatred which the dead have for the living. He could feel the heat and intensity in it’s burning eyes from thirty feet away.

Within these narrow walls, Simon wouldn’t be able to dodge any gusts of flame from this beast. His odds of getting past just this foe seemed to dwindle. Simon then came up with an idea.

Opening his pack, Simon searched through for a vial. He pulled out a most precious commodity. His last vial of holy water. Simon stared at it, through doing so seemed to make his morale soar. He slid his dagger from it’s sheath on his hip. Being careful not to waste any fluid at all, he lightly doused his knife in the sacred water. He walked within a reasonable distance and stared into the burning eyes. With a smirk, he hurled the knife. It sunk in between it’s eyes. But the statue wasn’t screaming because of the blade. It let loose gouts of flame as a bright blue light enveloped it entirely. When he could see clearly, his dagger was surrounded by a clean spot on the ancient and violated stone. He picked it up, spirits soaring. The dagger was burned free of the liquid, as the castle couldn’t tolerate holy water.

He turned the corner to find a staircase leading up. He carefully negotiated these dusty wooden steps, finding another long corridor, which seemed to be on top of the last one. Ahead there were piles of red bones, which seemed to be as fleshy as when they were first removed. As he approached, these piles came to life, forming skeletons, which craved his flesh. Simon lashed out at these with his morning star. They didn’t stand up to well to attacks. Without any kind of dodging, they crumpled quickly. Simon reached a staircase at the end of the hall, and to his horror, the skeletons were rising again. It seemed that they were immortal. Which explained why they could be weak fighters. Eventually, they would beat any opponent. He continued up the stairs.

This room was a high-ceilinged, far-reaching hall. There were torn drapes that hung loosely from the stone walls. This part seemed to not fit the torture chamber he had just seen. Actually, from the splendidly carved ceilings, and the fancy pillars, this hall seemed to be designed for acoustics. Almost if it were a church… This thought left Simon’s mind almost immediately. No, this was more of a concert hall, or maybe where one could enjoy plays. The dim light all but concealed everything twenty feet away. Simon started walking, nerves on edge.

Suits of armor lined the walls, and looking them up and down, Simon could not tell which ones, if any, where the accursed armored axe knights. They all were huge and held both an axe and a shield. They all looked menacing in the low light. Any of them could jump out and cleave him in two at any time. They almost seemed to be moving. Simon blinked, forcing his tired brain to re-examine the suits. No, any of them seemed likely candidates. He decided to continue walking and react as necessary. Passing the first few suits put Simon at ease. But it was this relaxation that seemed to cause four of the armor he passed to come to life and start stamping steel feet in his direction. Panicking as this small force bore down on him, Simon started to run. Loose stones tripped him. The knights were feet from him… Simon forced himself up and started running again. He came to a doorway, which lead to a small theatre hall. He stopped, looking back. The armor were back from which they had come. Something caused them to retreat.

Not liking what could make an axe-knight retreat, Simon passed thought the archway. He looked around in awe. This nicely decorated stage surrounded by circular wooden seats filled this room. Despite the toll years of neglect had taken on the finely polished wood, it held up well. It seemed this was the part of the castle the least fighting, killing or maiming took place. Heading toward the door behind the stage, Simon froze. All the hairs on his neck were now standing on end. His eyes opened in true horror at the awe he was feeling from behind him. His entire body was now unnerved. Simon started to turn, slowly. He shivered uncontrollably. There, above the doorway he had just passed, floated a large, grey, hooded figure.

Simon continued to stare for several seconds more. He tried to open his mouth to talk. "You… You were in my dream. Who are you?" The cloaked and hooded figure hovered for several seconds more before raising a skeletal hand, palm upturned. In it, lay a circular piece of wood, like an inch had been cut off a broom. It began to grow longer from each end. When it finally stopped growing, the end that was furthest away began to swell. From this swelling came a steel blade. Long and hooked, Simon realized that he now stood before the Grim Reaper.

A thousand thoughts ran through Simon’s head… Why was he in his dreams? Why was he in the count’s service? He couldn’t fight this… How could he escape? But the one thought that did enter his head was already flowing out of his mouth. "Why did you help me in my dream?" Death floated down from where it had been perched. It now stood ten feet in from where Simon now stood. He could feel the power radiating in waves. The power to end lives, by pointing. That wicked blade from which there was no defense.

The head beneath that dark hood seemed to rise slightly, looking Simon in the eyes. A deep, basy voice emanated from deep within Death’s center. "This is not the first time I have helped you, young Belmont." Simon’s mind raced. He remembered that he didn’t remember how he had landed after fighting the mummies. "Yes, for that I’m grateful. But why?" Death took several seconds before replying. "The reasons for aid in the past and present are the same. I have watched over you since you were a boy. I see strength in you that cannot be denied. You have overcome odds this night which armies would be at a loss."

Death’s eerily deep and echoing voice seemed to be coming from the spirit world itself. "I have the power to kill you now. This very second, I could end your life before you hit the floor." Simon felt chilled down to his very core, so much more than falling in any frozen lake in Walachia. "Yet you spare my life now?" Simon replied. Death seemed to shuffle, as if irritated by the interruption. Simon bit his lip.

He nodded. That frost-edge voice came again. "From all your trials and tribulations, from your very birth I have known the willpower you possess. You may not understand why I say this now, but you have earned my respect. For you to have fought against the odds your whole life, this night not-withstanding and to have myself rob you of your life goal whilst you are so close would be not only unjust but dishonorable."

While Death paused, Simon debated speaking. He looked into that black hood and decided to wait. He chewed his lip, being at a total loss at what he was hearing. "Simon, I have always had interest in the Belmont clan. The magic that your family possesses amazes even myself. The reason I tell you this is that I wouldn’t treat you as any normal mortal." Simon shifted uncomfortably. Even hearing death speak was feeling as if it was taking years off his life. "I will do for you what I have never done and never will do again. If you can answer one riddle, I will be gone, and you will have your chance to complete your life’s quest. If you fail, my keen blade will cleave you in two and I will add your soul to those which I possess. Agreeeeed?"
Hanging on that last word causes Simon to flinch. Now his life and that of his family and even country now rested on a single answer to one question. But this in place of having to fight Death seemed the very best deal anyone would receive ever. He gathered his willpower and looked Death in the hood, trying to accept this calmly. "Agreed. What is your riddle?" Death lowered it’s scythe and used it’s free skeletal hand to help accentuate that which it spoke.

"Now, Simon. We begin. When I am born, I walk on four feet. When I am grown, I walk on two feet. When I am old, I walk on three feet. What am I?" Simon dreaded to hear that the riddle was finished, for that meant his decision would now have to be made. Upon sensing this, Death added, "Take your time, Simon." His mind raced. He tried to grasp what being this could possibly be. Mental pictures of animals raced in his mind’s eye by the scores. None of which was the one he was seeking. Sweat began to make it’s way down Simon’s forehead. ‘Four legs, two legs, three legs? How can this be? What manner of…’ He began to fidget. The stress of this night seemed to be taking it’s toll all at once. Feeling he might collapse, he tried to show no weakness before this powerful being. He knew he was an insect in comparison, yet he knew that if he must die, he would do so with dignity which he earned.

Death shifted, growing impatient, yet it let Simon have still more time. Knowing that Death was growing impatient caused Simon fear that he didn’t know existed. For some reason, he started thinking of Death’s purpose. He knew he was wasting his last few seconds, but then again he couldn’t think of the answer, so it didn’t really matter what he did now. In as strange as it sounds, Death entire occupation revolved around man. Then the answer came. Man! Man was born crawling, walks on two legs, and in old age hobbles on a cane. Three legs. He flipped back his hair, and straightened his stance. "Death? I know the answer. It’s man." The Grim Reaper seemed satisfied that Simon figured out his riddle. That sepulcherate and disembodied voice rang forth again.

"Yes, Simon. Man is the answer. As I’m of my word, you have it. You are free to go and meet the Lord of the Manor." With that said, Death raised a hand and the door behind the stage opened. This being the most insane thing Simon ever thought he’d do, he turned back. "One thing I was wondering… Why are you in the ranks of this man?" He hoped Death didn’t take this the wrong way and swallow his soul. He suddenly regretted not being silent and fleeing.

The Grim Reaper generally seemed surprised by this unexpected question. "I have collected many souls in service of the Count. That for which I am grateful. This is how I pay him back." Not yet satisfied, Simon spoke again. "But you don’t seem to be guarding his interests very well, letting me go and all." Realizing what he just said, Simon prepared himself for the blow that would kill him, unseen and unfelt.

Death was actually amused. "No, I guess not. Let us just keep this between ourselves. Now go and be swift." Fading into a haze and then disappearing entirely, the Grim Reaper dissolved into the air.

Simon turned and headed toward the door, knowing he had done something no human had ever done. He doubted it ever would be repeated. Now he thought he could die happy just having accomplished this feat. Yet, he remembered that Death let him go. If it were just slightly less juste, it would have taken his life anyway. Also he thought of his father and the Belmont name. This made him lose his levity and draw his face into a mask of rigidity. He proceeded out the door, firmly set on his goal.