Abnormality - Castlevania - Complete!
Title: Abnormality
Fandom: Castlevania
Rating: T, PG-13
Summary: Demon touched, Alucard's world fades from one of pain to one of mortality, hope, and love. The line of truth between reality and dreams is lost, and he must choose which world to die in and which to live in, unless, of course, his father chooses for him.
Disclaimer: I do not own Castlevania. Made for fun, not profit.
Wordcount: ~10,000 total
Author's Notes: Setting is about fifty years after Symphony of the Night. Alucard has awoken before his time, aware that his father and Castlevania have risen once more.
ABNORMALITY
Chapter 1: Fallen Angel
Silver danced on black, patches of light through the canopy of snow covered branches moving like fae over the frozen land. And it was innocent, the night as clear of sin as the day. Mortals were always confused where that was concerned, finding darkness an evil thing when its only role was that of cover for the truly terrifying, the beasts who played with men's souls and fed from their life. No, night was only a scapegoat for the unwise.
If any factor was to blame, it was not the time of day's fault, but the child who was the tempter, a pawn like any other.
She took wide, clumsy steps, her wet green eyes dancing over the forest, suspicious of every shadow, and with reason. Congealed blood splattered her rosy cheeks, and her ragged, loose sleeping gown was damp and stiff with ice from the knees down. The child pulled her mother's cloak further up around her neck, though it did nothing to shorten the heavy length that drug behind her on the forest floor. Her bare feet, violet from their batter, made the slightest crunching sound as her journey took her out of the wooded area and onto the jagged rock that jutted out into the nothingness beyond the mountain.
A whimper escaped her pouting lips as she stepped to the mountain's edge, not daring to look over into the canyon.
"Mama," she whispered in a voice thin and high. "Where is my mama?"
Only one step more, only one step left until eternity. Her foot found the edge, toes curling over it as she leaned into death's embrace. Her scream broke the air, fear coursing through her veins as an arm wrapped around her tiny waist and pulled her back onto safe earth.
"Papa, please don't!" she cried, hiding her face. "Please, papa, I will be good. I am your Emma, please, I promise I am. . ."
"Calm yourself, child," came the cool reply. "I am not your father."
She revealed her bright eyes in a final act of hope, blinking up at the magnificence that held her shoulders. It was man, she first thought. With a shake of her head, she amended, "An angel."
The tall figure crouched, long locks of hair whipping his face in the wind, cold eye devoid of emotion for the moment. Alucard's grip on her arms loosened until only his fingertips grazed the fur cloak. He raised himself to full height, still looking down at her.
"You are of God," she said in awe. "You are here to fight the demon."
Her savior did not answer, instead his eyes turned toward the ominous forest. "I am not Heaven's creature, child," he said at last. He could almost taste the metallic tinge in the air. Alucard knew the answer but placed the question anyhow. "Where are your mother and father?"
Tears fell in streams from the child, dripping into the snow. "The demon," she said. "Papa. . . He had the demon's touch upon him. He did not see me-he did not see my mama. He said we were wrong. . . And then he took up his axe."
The child sobbed, falling to the ground. Her tiny body shook until Alucard joined her on one knee, pulling her cloak up so that it covered her entirely. Then he picked her up, cradling her as if she had been no more than an infant, and walked away from the canyon's edge. He lifted his head, following his senses.
"There is a hut not far away."
The girl looked up. "The Widow," she said, somewhat sobered. "None know her name, but Mama said that she was like any other woman, only sad and painted in black."
"Called Widow for her dark skin," Alucard stated. "Why did you not go to her if she lives so close?"
The child looked up, lip trembling in anger. "Because I want to know where my mama is! I want to be with her . . ."
Alucard stopped at the sight of the hut, sitting the little girl down. He could hear the old woman inside moving with short, pained steps toward the door. "I will find her for you," he lied. "Go to the Widow and stay by her fire. Do not come out again this night."
He turned, leaving the child staring after him. She would not follow; she could not, for an angel had told her to do otherwise.
The reeking smell of fresh gore met Alucard's nostrils. He had found the mother, or at least that body which most favored a woman in form. Crude cuts bore deep into bone and past this mess, an axe head, the simple tool of a woods' man with handle missing and sides blunted stood from its sheath of skull. For all of this, a fire still struggled to heat a full pot of stew and a bowl of hard common bread sat at the empty table.
Alucard walked back outside, shutting the front door behind him. He stepped toward the horse's stable, his entrance greeted by a nay of caution. He need look no further than the first stall to satisfy his curiosity. A body hung by a fine rope, the father presumably. The man was dead by his own crimson stained hands. Judging from the corpse's jolly pot belly and the upturned creases at his eyes and mouth, the man had not taken on the appearance of a murderer.
Alucard sensed that the child had been truthful in her words. This was indeed a demon's work, though which horror played this man against his family was another matter altogether. The half-vampire had faced many such evils in his long life, but that did not seem to help him with this battle.
His body, his sight, his smell, told him that there was no sinister force in the forest, but he knew better. It frustrated him though, that he could not fully sense the creature. That fact he could blame on his own father because it was the nagging knowledge of evil's rise that blocked him from devoting himself to any other creature. When he searched, he only felt Castlevania, every fiber of himself aware of it, so much so that it had awoken him from his self-induced slumber a night ago.
All of this and more, the demon knew as well.
Alucard turned to see the creature approaching at full run. The half-vampire arched his body, rising off the ground and unleashing his blade all in one swift motion. There was no time for him to study the demon's form for weakness, only a second for pure instinct to guide him.
The sickly green skin of the beast was a flash that swept beneath Alucard as he flew through the air. The half-vampire felt a tug on his foot and noticed too late that the demon had turned its head, one of its massive, curling horns catching his foot as he attempted a graceful landing. He fell into the snow on one knee, sword landing a few paces away. He dove for the weapon, taking an offensive stance.
It had been the wrong move. The demon had, instead of taking time to show its rage and defend itself, bent to mid-height and bucked at Alucard like a bull. The half-vampire slid back, his boots making two gullies in the frozen soil where he had attempted to hold his ground. Alucard held to the point of the horn that threatened to impale him through the gut and raised his sword with his other hand. He brought it down, lightening reaching for earth as it would seem to any spectator. But the blade did little more than ricochet off the obstruction, flaking back the yellowed surface of the horn.
Nevertheless, the creature cried out, tossing its head up. The very horn which Alucard had been gripping so tightly bound upward, smartly connecting with his chin. Neck exposed for that fraction of a second as the half-vampire literally saw stars, Alucard fell back, a stinging sensation ripping through his chest. He landed on a bank soft with snow.
The demon raised a set of talon-like claws to his mouth and slid his forked tongue over them, lapping at the blood he had just collected. Then his snout lifted, he smelled the night and ran in the opposite direction.
Alucard gripped his sword, planning to move after the creature. Instead, he rolled onto his side, wincing in pain. Long horizontal marks ran the length of his breasts, so deeply driven that any ordinary man would have already bled to death. But Alucard was anything but normal.
For that reason alone, he brought himself to his feet. Dizziness swept over him as his eyes searched the forest. Where had the demon gone? Why had it left him so suddenly after inflicting such a winning wound? There was no right answer, just as there was no proper reason for him to still be in such pain.
He stumbled toward the edge of the forest, unable to even sheath his weapon. Alucard held to the bark of a tree, keeping himself upright. His senses blurred. There were a thousand things which he could do aid himself, potions, medallions-spirits who would gladly serve him. But he could not bring himself to call for help, not for too much pride, but for his wondering mind, blackened by the maiming he had suffered or for some other, unnatural reason.
Alucard looked down, attempting to see the gashes over the layers of cloth. He found them with his gloved hand, touching them gently. They were tender, more so than even a harsh burn should be. The lowest one he could see clearly, his blood, fresh and bright spilling from him, dark around the ragged edges of pale flesh. And amongst the red were lines of green soaking into his skin, tiny emerald veins spreading through him.
"Poison. . ." the half-vampire muttered. As soon as he said the word, the meaning of it was gone to him, buried away.
He slid to the ground into a heap, eyes open in a glazed expression not entirely his own.
Chapter 2: Burning in Heaven, Freezing in Hell
Falling. . .
He was calm. He should have been frantic, he should been frightened, but he was calm.
Wind rushed by his ears, the fabric of his cloak popping from being whipped and twisted and turned. Alucard was caught in it, a bound prisoner, unable to escape. Tapping into his strength, his preternatural skills seemed impossible to conjure. His senses were wild and unchecked, yet he could not see for some reason. He thought this was odd since he was falling into the sun.
His descent hastened, and his clothing caught fire. The half-vampire could feel his skin blistering up, his liquids boiling and rising to leave him. He could imagine his own charcoal appearance, the flesh pulling back and shedding with the fat as his blood fried him from the inside out. And his eyes were swelling. They exploded in their sockets, spilling out and scolding him further.
And he could not panic. He could not scream. He could not ask for help.
He could only burn. . .
Then it began to rain, cool heavy droplets that turned to steam before they touched him. Cold air filled his lungs, and he landed in Heaven.
Alucard opened his eyes. He could see. He was not blind or ablaze. He was in a room with a white ceiling and oak trim.
His fingers roamed his forehead finding a wet cloth that left the skin beneath clammy and puffed. Alucard tossed it aside and attempted to pull himself up. His body shook as he made it onto one elbow. Weakness was a greater force than gravity, one in which he doubted he could defy for long. An odd sensation tightened his throat. It was one of thirst, but not for blood.
"Water," he croaked, his tongue thick with dehydration.
He heard the sound of a reply, and his gaze wandered across the room, meeting two wide, caring eyes that were presently studying his form. And they had a face, elegant and serene. It was one that he knew well.
"My son," she said sweetly. Lisa smiled at him, wrinkles appearing at her eyes and lips. She put down the book in her lap and stood, crossing the room.
"This is a dream," Alucard stated. But this did not feel like one, and Lisa did not look like the mother in his dreams. She was as beautiful as ever, but she was aged. Her hair was limp, tied back so that the gray streaks looked like tiger stripes. And she wore a dull yellow dress with a high white collar that scratched her jaw.
Lisa reached out, picking up a cup at his beside. "No, Adrian," she said, slipping a hand under his neck. "You are awake now. My son, you have been sleeping a very long time."
The water tasted like a spring and Alucard drunk greedily. He knew that his could not be real, but her hand, warm and soft with skin as thin as parchment, holding him with fingers laced into his hair, seemed real enough. She pulled the cup away before it emptied.
"Not too much," she whispered. "Let me go get Dr. Orlin. He's downstairs in the parlor with your father."
Alucard's eyes widened. "Who?"
"Do you not remember?" Lisa stared at him with a worried expression. "Adrian, don't you remember Dr. Orlin arriving? We called on him long before you fainted."
He shook his head. "Father? My father?"
Lisa laughed gently. "Don't look so dumbfounded, my son," she insisted. "Your father is a stubborn man, but did you think would not except you back home after such an ordeal? He is still angry with your decision, but he is your father." She bent down, pressing her lips above his brow. "It seems your fever is breaking at last. Let me go fetch the others."
Alucard snatched her hand before she could turn away. "This is not real," he said to her. "You. . . My mother is dead."
Hurt spreading across her face like gray clouds. She hesitantly took a seat on the edge of the bed, leaning over her son to press her cheek against his. "It was a nightmare," she whispered into his ear. "You have been hallucinating for several days, Adrian. You shouted. . ." Alucard could feel her tears falling onto his face, and he instinctively grasped his arm around her middle.
"You said things about your father . . . horrible things," she continued. "And you said them about yourself as well. Adrian, they were the devil's dreams, sent to drive you mad. Your parish prays for your soul." Lisa lifted her head, face hovering above Alucard's. "Do not give into those dark fantasies, my son. It is they that are false."
Alucard's mind swam, filling with memories that were new to him: of his mother dancing with him when he was a child, of stealing sweet cakes from her table and having her snap at his hands with a knowing smile on her face, of waving goodbye to her as he walked down the long path away from their home. . .
"They are. . ." Alucard's voice dropped, pain shooting through his head. He clenched his fists into the sheets, crying out.
"No, Adrian!" his mother's voice shouted. "Do not circum to the demons in your nightmares!"
But her voice was fading. The pain had taken him away, somewhere new, somewhere cold. Alucard was sitting up now, a head propped against his shoulder. His first sensation was that of cloth in his hand, of a woman's skirt. "Mother. . ." he breathed.
But his next was of the metallic taste filling his mouth. Alucard's eyes wondered down. He was indeed holding to a woman's body, stiff and dead. Her dress was black, and her skin was almost just as dark. But he could still see the crimson on her, spilling onto him. . . Inside of him.
The side of her neck was open; the skin pulled back to so the pink flesh that once pulsed and lived showed clearly. It was the work of a greedy demon, working too fast to do a clean job.
Alucard dropped her, horror ringing through for the first time. He felt weak, too weak to move, yet there was fresh blood on his lips, evidence enough for any skeptic that he had fed on a human. He stumbled out of his chair, crawling on his hands and knees until he could feel the outside breeze sifting in from beneath the door. He pushed it open, slipping out onto the frozen soil in front of the house.
"There is a hut not far away."
"The Widow," the little girl had said with a sober tone. "None know her name, but Mama said that she was like any other woman, only sad and painted in black."
"Called Widow for her dark skin," Alucard concluded.
Alucard pushed the memory away, landing on his chest. His torso screamed out in pain, and Alucard knew that the wound the demon had dealt had refused to heal itself. "No," he cried. He craned his neck toward the tiny hut, the Widow's home. Where is the child? he thought. His mouth did not taste of innocent, but that did not mean that he had dealt the girl no harm in his rampage. But if she was not here, then she must have run into the woods.
The half-vampire pushed himself to his feet but to no avail. His strength had all but diminished. He could neither transform nor raise a weapon well enough to fend off an enemy. The demon's poison has me. . .
"But how can I know that this is real?" he asked the night. It gave no answer.
Chapter 3: A King Among Commons
Alucard slid down the slick side of the ravine, boots breaking free the loose snow that had collected over the parchment thin ice covering the drift. It sped down the creek, around his wading form. He stopped, head up, ear toward the wind. The cold was stinging, burning, but he ignored the tingling of his body, intent on gaining insight on his surroundings. Flakes fell around him, looking like dull ash in the early morning darkness. Dawn was fast approaching, and his very bones ached with the thought of sunlight scraping the last bit of strength off his skin.
He trudged through the water to the other side, soaked through from his calves down. The bank was steep, measuring half his height and the thick trunk of a tree clung from it, roots, gnarled and strong, reached out of the clay, down into the water, forming a cover of slick, slimy wood. Alucard held to the bank, sliding his hands behind the roots, finding that there was a hollow spot dug out, most likely by some animal. He scrapped at the rocky mud, clumps of earth falling down into the water until there was enough space for him to fit under the tree.
Hood drawn, he snuggly buried himself, back to the roots that stood between him and the outside world. Alucard rested his face against the red clay, the strong scent of fertile decay filling his nostrils. He blocked his senses, shutting out the sounds and smells and the sight of a worm wiggling over his fingers.
And when all seemed black silence, questions filled him, louder than the clap of thunder or the rumble of water. Was he still inside the world he had always known? If so, then one would have to wonder why this poison weakened him so, why he could not gather the means to heal himself or summon aid. Of course, this could all be a dream. This patch of earth could be his imagination-after all, his mother's touch had felt so very real. But if all was a dream, then where did reality lie? In the taste of an old widow's blood or the scent of a child's fear?
He had not picked up on the child's trail, if there was indeed a trail to follow. So Alucard had continued in the direction of his final destination, Castlevania. A part of him wondered if any of this was from the life he knew. Was he some imaginative puppet, still slumbering away, undead in his crypt? Perhaps he never woke. But, if he had actually arisen, then he did not, in truth, understand the reason why. Dracula had been pulled forth from the grave early, it appeared, but that was no reason for Alucard to battle him, not when all his knowledge and senses told him that there should be Belmonts to take on the task.
Yet he was drawn, pulled toward that place of evil, a deep dread seeping from him, a shadow paving his path. Could the arrival of the demon that had poisoned him be simple coincidence?
Alucard searched for answers, digging through his mind, but all he found was a cloud of chaotic images. Before he could stop himself, he drifted away from this cold land, into a world of light, into a world of warmth.
His skin was slick and flushed, and he grabbed at the back of his neck, fingers scrapping at the uncomfortable layer of grimy sweat that teased him with chills. A groan of frustration issued from him, and he woke himself with the sound, finding his face pushed into the softness of a pillow, the tender touch of the morning sun spilling out across his back.
Alucard's eyes widened as he turned over, trapping himself inside the bedcovers overtop his body. He pulled himself out, bare feet against the wood paneled flooring of the room. He was there again, in that place where his mother lived, where time had done her a kindness.
He noticed a pair of breeches hung over the chair that his mother had been occupying and snatched them, quickly pulling then up beneath his nightshirt. A wave of dizziness swept over him, and he fell back, his legs banging against the bed frame as he held himself up. A moment passed when he considered lying back down, but the sound of voices outside kept him from doing so.
He stood again, slowly approaching the bedroom door. The sounds, it seemed, were coming from somewhere else inside the house. Alucard stepped out into the corridor, the delicious scent of warm bread slapping him in the face. His stomach growled loudly, causing him to raise a brow of curiosity. Such strange happenings for a dream, he thought, shaking his head.
Indeed, all of it was odd. Some part of him had expected that this fantasy had borders that he could not cross, that once he opened that door, he would fall again into some black abyss. But that was not the case. No, in fact, this hallway seemed very real, wood-walled, covered in a white finish that peeled at the borders, yellowing with age. All of it was so very real, if not impossibly so.
And that smell. . . .
He wandered down, following his senses until the hall ended, opening up into a dining area where a common table stood, covered in sweet bread and raw vegetables, set only for two. The lone occupant stared up from his plate, a somberness touching the fine lines around his eyes. The man cocked his head, the silver streaks in his hair catching the dull lighting of the room.
"Look who has decided to pick up his lazy bones," the man said, his face emotionless, but a touch of humor in his tone. He anxiously pushed himself back in his chair, as if the food before him had flew from his mind. "I imagine you are somewhat hungry from the laborious fits you have taken to. Come, sit by me, boy."
But Alucard did not move, stunned into stone, or so it appeared.
This man, this simple human man-he could have been any other human from any other age, but he was not. Alucard could recognize his own father.
His voice hissed out from between his teeth. "Dracula..."
Chapter 4: Scent of Yesterday
"Dracula. . . ."
A human face stared back at Alucard, confusion written in his old, hardened eyes. But there was no recognition, no sign that the man before him knew that dreaded name. Yet, could he be anyone but the King of Vampires? His innocent expression was nothing but a ruse, a mask to wear in this little performance. . . . It had to be.
Alucard stumbled back, grabbing at the wall before him as if there was a weapon in wait. "I should have known," he seethed. "The demon-it was yours, too, sent to poison me. What sick game is this you play?"
The man's mouth hung agape, his brow drawn. "Adrian," he whispered, his voice laced in worry. But he did not address Alucard again, instead slowly standing, turning his head toward the other doorway. "Lisa! Lisa, go see if Dr. Orlin has left yet. Bring him back!"
"Why do you not admit it? Why do you continue with this human travesty?" Alucard hissed. But even as his anger grew, he could feel his legs growing numb, his strength evaporating. His vision blurred, a furious chill sweeping over him. He wrapped his arms around his chest, falling back against the doorway.
"Adrian, my boy. . . ."
Alucard rolled away from the man, but a hand followed him, grabbing his shoulder. The half-vampire jerked away, attempting to deliver his father a smart blow, but the muscles across his abdomen seized in the throws of the motion and he collapsed onto his side, his body drawing in. Pain raked over him.
He opened his mouth to curse the man leaning over him but only a cry issued from between his lips.
"Hold on, my son-we will find the doctor," the man, the human man, assured.
Alucard's rage loosened, even as the cramps spread throughout his limps. He blinked up, the edge of his eye catching his. . . .father's. The man's pulse was strong, throbbing out of his warm flesh, thumping in worry against the soft skin of Alucard's neck as he braced his son like an infant.
A heart, a beating heart, which ached for him.
His father did not own one of those.
Alucard bit his bottom lip as the thought circled back through his head, reformed. Dracula had no such organ, least not the spirit of one. This man who called Alucard son did.
The dhampire shook his head. "You are not real," he spit. Some semblance of strength collected within him, and he pushed himself up, shoving at the man. "You are no father of mine!"
As familiar as the old man's face was, Alucard had never seen such a look of hurt burden its heavy creases. But that expression was as false as this world-it had to be.
"Adrian. . . ."
He told himself not to look away when he heard that voice, but Alucard could not obey his own command. He had to know if that voice came from her lips.
Falling back onto his elbows once more, he craned his head around the chairs. He could see a woman's full skirt floating over busy feet. And then she circled the table and stood before him, an angel in his sick throws.
"Maria?" Alucard asked
Her eyes brimmed with tears, and she collapsed to the floor, leaning over Alucard, her soft hands grasping at him in desperation. "My love, you have returned to us," she whispered, her words holding back a sob.
Alucard was aware of his mother approaching from behind the woman, her own reassuring fingers gripping his wife's shoulder. His wife's. . . .
"My wife?" The question escaped him like an accusation, and, as he said those words, his mind filled with memories: he had held this woman before, had touched her, had kissed her in a grove at mid-day-he had known her.
A little laugh, strange sounding, like rain on a pond, interrupted his thoughts. It came from Maria. She was nodding feverously, the tears leaving her eyes now and trailing her cheeks.
"Yes, my husband, yes," she answered. The young woman glanced over her shoulder at her mother-in-law. "He's beginning to remember," she assured with a smile.
"You can't be," Alucard quickly added. "We were never. . . ."
"Quiet, my love-save your strength," the woman quickly hissed, leaning further down and wrapping one arm around Alucard's neck and tenderly stroking his cheek with the other hand. "The fever has weakened your body and mind. I know you are confused, but you must not question us-your father is trying to help you, Adrian."
Alucard was not listening. A silence within deafened his ears. It was an approaching darkness, one he was quickly learning to recognized. A chill shook him before he could answer this woman, this woman who looked like Maria. It was from an icy coldness which was slowly creeping up his legs, capturing his body.
"Poison," he stated through clenched teeth.
"There is no poison, my son," his father answered. "You are surrendering to madness, boy."
"Vlad!" Lisa chided. She knelt down beside Maria, catching Alucard with a sorrowful eye. "Stay with us, Adrian. You must stay-you must fight the returning ailment. Do not give in to the demons within your mind."
Alucard's body clenched, and he reached out, clasping onto Maria's dress. "I. . . can. . . not."
"You can, my love," she whispered. "You can stay."
"I must not," he breathed, but the words never entered that world. They came back into him, leaving with his mind and body as he was ripped from his human warmth and cast back down into a bath of ice which held him tight in this Hell of demons and blood.
And he was blind to it all.
No. That was not true. He simply could not open his eyes yet. The dhampire struggled a moment before forcing his lids apart. He could feel lashes pull, but, at last he could see the dark space before him. His sleeves crackled with movement, clear sheets of glass-sharp shards flaking from his clothes. He wiped the frozen tears and mucus from his face. Ice all but glued him to the earth, but he pulled away in one tug, slipping out from the tree roots and grasping at the ravine's side to pull himself back up.
It was night and white-covered ground reflected the clear sky.
Alucard stared out, his swirling thoughts causing him to stumble. He glared at the mountainous terrain before him, his vision unfocused. His eyes widened when he realized what it was that stood before him.
"Castlevania."
It was not far, not far at all. He need only cross over the mounding landscape-he could make it to the castle before daybreak! With an animalistic growl, he lunged forward, as if the structure were about to attack him.
His steps were heavy and slow, but Alucard forced each once, lying to his body and promising that it would be the last. As he moved, he became less aware that his chest was gaping open and that the pain he felt came from those thick lacerations and the green veins sprouting from them. And the world around him became blurred, trees of liquid, air too solid to walk through-that which still existed within him was an irrational need to enter the dwelling before him and destroy all within her walls.
But, as far as he traveled, it was not far enough, and the castle was still a great distance when he reached out and grasped onto bark, sliding down the length of a thick trunk. The pain was coming again, but he would not let it take him. With no final word, he closed his eyes and released himself to its mercy.
Chapter 5: Come as Little Children
The sun embraced him. It did not push him toward the shadows or sting against his eyes. It embraced him, truly, as he sat on a soft blanket of green, one of the living where only the living remained.
Alucard inhaled a breath of the spring air and felt the warm taste of it against his tongue. Small, hot fingers wrapped around his hand. He smiled softly and turned to the woman beside him.
"The fresh air does you well," Maria said, her adoring eyes screaming joy as they roamed his form. He was stronger now, her gaze seemed to add. And well.
"I'm weak," Alucard said, as if to counter her unspoken assurances. In truth his tone was too light to contradict her. The weakness was not from his illness but from his breed, his human blood. The thought shook him.
"This is a dream," he continued. "I'm stronger than this in my world."
Maria pushed herself closer, her underdress folding the staining blades beneath her. Her small hand had drifted up to catch his cheek and wipe off of the bread crumbs that remained from their morning meal. She turned him to face her.
"You are strong, my husband," she whispered, her lips pushing against his. "You are the strongest man I know. You are God's warrior, my own king." She laughed against his skin. "And your mother cannot stop worrying for you, so long as you continue this talk of dreams and poisons. And demons."
"She worries." Alucard looked away from her, letting go of her hand. "And my father? He worries. This man worries for me."
Maria sighed, leaning back into the grass. "As you know," she replied. She tugged at his shirt. "Adrian, why can you not take his blessing as a sign of his affections? Why is that not enough for you?"
"His blessing?"
Maria cocked her head. "You don't remember?" She frowned, her eyes wide in confusion. "When you married Sonia, how he did not approve? Perhaps you are still ill. . . to not remember such a thing."
Alucard sat on his knees, his back erect as he gazed down at the young woman. "Sonia?"
"The name of your first wife," Maria's gaze drifted down, "my cousin, Sonia. Truly you don't remember? When you were young, you ran away with her, against your father's wishes. Against our family's wishes." Alucard watched a tear run down her blushing cheek. "Sonia. She was the reason you were so hesitant to give me our child," she noted, her hand moving to her stomach with a loving caress. "Perhaps that is also the reason why you fell to sickness so easily. It was little over a year ago when you lost her, her and your little son."
Alucard sucked in the spring air. It was suddenly cool. His breath pooled out in a white cloud. "No," he hissed.
"If he had lived past birth," Maria thought aloud, her gaze in another time, "I would have raised him as my own. He would have been our little babe's dear brother, I know."
She looked through him, not seeing his breath hanging in the air. Alucard reached up and touched his lips, feeling them numb with a sudden chill. "Cold," Alucard said, a lump rising in his throat. "It's cold."
Maria sat up, grabbing hold of his shoulder. "It was not my place. Forgive me for mentioning her, Adrian. I didn't wish to upset you."
His hand fell, catching his abdomen, and his pulled at his shirt, feeling the sting of a fresh wound beneath. A cry escaped his lips, and he fell against the woman's chest, his eyes closed in pain.
"Adrian?" Maria's frightened voice was at his ear, her arms around his body. The embrace of the sun. "No, no. . ." she whispered against him, "please, stay with me."
Alucard felt his muscles seize. "I want to." He coughed, the taste of metal against his lips, and he shook with a raging convulsion, falling out of her grasp and onto the ice beneath.
Ice.
The warmth had left him and his body was stiff, plastered to the snow. Blood stained fingers clawed at the ground, unable to break the frozen land. Weak. He felt so very weak. His eyes flickered open to greet the bright, starry night.
"Bring him inside," a wintry voice ordered.
It was a man's, not Maria's.
"Maria," Alucard plead, trying to turn his head. Was she still there? He could see nothing but the flash of ruddy armor out of the corner of his eye. "Where?"
Hard fingers prodded his body, their grasp fanning the blazing wound over his torso. The poison put his nerves on edge and allowed swift agony to overtake his body. He clasped his eyes closed and ground out a cry into his clenched jaw. He was lifted, moving on some flat bedding. That or the sky was moving above him; he could not be certain.
"Castlevania," Alucard breathed, his squinted glare catching the sight of chiseled stone around him. Walls, he realized.
He came to a stop within a room that his senses recognized but that his mind refused to name. Once more, he tried to move, to see those figures that circled him, but failed. Hovering over him was a pale face surrounded by a halo of white hair. Or perhaps it was the dim candlelight that made the figure appear so heavenly.
"Adrian," the mouth said, commanding a reply. The voice was the same as the one he had heard outside, wintry and dead. "Adrian, awaken!"
Alucard knew this face. It was in the other world as well. "You're not real," he told it. "You're a dream."
"Wrong," the face answered, breaking with a cruel sneer.
A cloth lifted off of the wound of his chest, and Alucard winced at the fresh sting of the cold air. "Dracula," Alucard declared, "doesn't exist!"
"Wrong again." The figure's face lost its emotion, and Alucard felt a hand gently explore his wound. "Tell me what creature attacked you."
Alucard willed his elbow to move and his fingers drifted up, catching the offending hand. "Send me. . ." His eyes rolled back, their focus bouncing off the candlesticks surround him. "Back," he concluded.
His eyes closed, his loose grasp failing.
Dracula straightened, pulling the cloth back over the open wound. "Poison," he announced. "Who has done this?" he asked, no longer addressing Alucard's distant mind.
Out of the shadows of the room, a black garbed figure seemed to form, drifting closer to the dhampire lying on the table. "My lord." The haunting voice sifted out from beneath the hood. "You know the name, my lord," it said.
Dracula stared down at his son, his form so still that any passerby might have mistaken him for a statue. "I do then?"
"It's waiting for you," Death answered.
The candles in the room dimmed slightly, stirred by a sudden breeze. Dracula stared down at Alucard's form. The half-vampire was still covered in a thin layer of ice, and his skin had taken on a blue hue that darkened at his lips, eyes, and gaunt cheeks. He was covered a mess of dried blood and mud, but the thin veins of green that crept up this neck stood out like old scars on his flesh.
"Let our guest in," Dracula replied at long last.
The vampire crossed the length of the table, taking a seat at the head and crossing his leg gracefully. He waited as Death gestured toward the main door of the wide room. It opened with a creak and a small figure emerged.
"Greetings, my Lord Dracula," said a high, thin voice.
Dracula watched the child enter. She drug her unshod feet on the stone floor, her tiny grasp pulling at the night gown over her boyish hips. Wide, innocent eyes surveyed him before crossing the distance to Alucard's body.
"How is your prince?" she asked, a small grin on her face. "It seems he's sleeping well of late."
"Who are you?" Dracula asked, his brow cocked in curiosity. "I've met you before?"
"One of my reincarnations," she answered. She approached him slowly, stopping when her legs ran into his knees. Thin, pale arms reached out toward him, begging.
The vampire hesitated only a moment before reaching out and lifting her onto his lap. She wiggled against his leg, finding comfort with his arm against her back. Dracula leaned down, running his nose along her neck. She smelled of human.
"You're a gray creature," he determined. "You're not evil."
"Oh," she countered, "but I can be."
The child put her head against the vampire's shoulder, her tiny hand on his chest where his heart once beat. "I was here once," she said. Then her eyes drifted back to the table and to Alucard's pale face. "I was yours to have once. But now I'm sent from another. You are my prey, Lord Dracula, as is the sweet prince."
Dracula nodded, his old eyes weary. "I do know you," he said, with a sigh. "Your name is Vengeance."
The child smiled.
Chapter 6: Hope's Fatal Absence
Vengeance was sweet. Or so she appeared.
Dracula stared at the child, unable to stop his painful hunger from growing as her façade filled his demon's eyes. All of his senses told him that he was holding on his lap an innocent, a child, a human most certainly. His hand could feel blood circulating through her spindly arm, his nose could smell the faint musk of a living creature rising out of her dirty hair. It was no wonder that his son was fooled by her charade. Vengeance, after all, was not a creature unto itself but an essence, human built.
Adrian could not have been expecting her.
"Are you not going to ask?" she said, her voice crisp against his shoulder. "Don't you wish to know his sin?"
"He has brought you here?" Dracula asked. His voice was filled with bitterness as he looked on his sleeping son. "I doubt that."
"Before he was Alucard. Right before he became his father's son," Vengeance confirmed. She lifted her head off of him, staring deep into the graying eyes before her. "But I was not called for him. You are my true prey, Lord Dracula. Alucard…Adrian, in truth, was simply cleaning up your mess. And what a great mess it was."
"That sounds more likely. Well then?" Dracula's gaze narrowed, a faint smile at his ruddy lips. "Tell me my sin, child."
She grinned back, tiny white teeth showing in the candle's glow. With a gesture of her arm, she requested the vampire's assistance. He pulled his hands away from her, and she slid down, her bare feet clapping against the stone floor. Death's robes moved against the shadows of the wall, but the entity did not step forward, awaiting his lord's request instead.
Death's voice crawled out of the darkness. "My lord, a Belmont has entered the woodland."
Dracula did not reply, raising a hand instead to cut him off. "One guest at a time," he noted, his attention never leaving the child.
The vampire stood, stepping behind the girl and lifting her up so that she could sit on the table beside Alucard's limp form. Short, pudgy fingers ran the length of Alucard's sunken cheek as she leaned over him, her fleshy lips inches over his chin. She studied him, a frown pressed deep into her young face.
Alucard's lips parted to release some remnant of a word, and his brow wrinkled, as if in confusion.
"Stay, Angel," Vengeance whispered faintly. She crawled onto the half vampire's body, the length of her thin frame heavy on his wounded chest. The side of her round face pressed into his neck, buried in his fair hair. She stared out at Dracula, her frown fading slightly. "He is your son, your child."
"In blood," Dracula acknowledged.
A moment of silence passed between the two.
"Time does not matter to you," she noted, her voice hard. "All you know is that once was ago, and it one such ago, you ravaged a village that had done you wrong. Denied you. You took seven children and left them scattered before your castle walls. They wore smiles, if I remember, and I never forget, so they must have worn the most horrifying of grins."
"Children grow into those who would stand against me," the vampire lord reasoned. His expression turned to one of dark amusement. He lifted his fingers to his mouth, kissing the templed ends of his lengthy nails as if tasting a fine sauce. "And off to God with them. I have killed many, young and old. Don't tell me that your journey was due to some lost bastards I finished so many years ago."
The girl curled her body closer to Alucard's, pushing a strangled cry out of his dreams when her fist caught against his open wound.
"I don't recall my son having a role in their deaths, though."
Vengeance's eyes darted up to Alucard's face, as if she expected him to waken. When he didn't, she patted his lips with two fingers, as if warding off an interruption. "Not in their deaths," she mocked. "No, not in their deaths. The villagers knew their children had been taken, yet fear kept them from your castle and from seeing the corpses of their little dear ones." She sighed against Alucard's neck. "Adrian had suffered greatly from his mother's death, and he wanted so to leave humanity behind. But he decided to take part in one last act of human kindness before becoming your servant and taking his new name in your honor. He thought he would do a small good in returning the corpses to the villagers, giving them the bodies for burial."
Dracula smiled to himself and moved closer, his form poised over the girl. "And they did not appreciate his actions, I must assume." A chuckle escaped his clenched teeth. "Yes, I do remember the village, indeed. It was the beginning of winter when they received my gifts. The village was gone before the second ice of the season, its people dead and scattered to the wild." His eyes flashed down. "I didn't destroy them. They destroyed themselves."
"To kill a child," Vengeance continued, "is to kill hope. Adrian returned the children and confirmed their deaths. The villagers lost the only thing worth living for, their fragile hope. Winter was a sweet release for them. They could have saved themselves from the sickness and the hunger. Instead they sat by and let Death visit as many as he pleased.
"Do you see your sin now?" she asked.
"They were fools," Dracula scoffed.
"Perhaps," Vengeance reasoned, "but they called for me. You may find yourself more like these fools than you know. I have waited long, for prayers to me are many and my work is never done, but now is the time for me to be delivered unto you, my lord."
"You do take your time. . ." He walked back to his chair, sitting with ease and without dread. His expression was one of boredom, and he gestured for Death to come out of the darkness and to his side. "And what is it you want?"
"I want nothing." Vengeance sat up, sliding off of Alucard's form. With the grace of a feline, she landed onto the floor, striding forward. The child mask she wore was slipping from her face as her features sharpened and her face took on a cold, blue hue. "But my makers request that one of you loses what was taken from them that winter."
"Which one of us?"
"That is your choice," she said. "Your son fights in our world for a reason other than hope, but he's tasted it now, in his dreams. If you wake him, you will be taking away his only hope for a better life. If you do not break him from my poison's grasp, he will die in a happy daze, and you will have lost your child." She cocked her head, a grin at her lips. "I believe you understand me now."
A performer, Vengeance took a small bow before turning towards the wide door she had entered. "It's time for me to take my leave, my lord. May you behave foolishly in all of your ventures."
She reached the door, stopping with her back to the vampire. Vengeance waited for the lord's final word.
"I have no hope."
"We will see. If you speak the truth, you have nothing to lose," Vengeance noted. She stepped into the darkness outside the room and faded into the night.
Chapter 7: The Wayward Son
She was soft against him.
Alucard could still smell the sun in her hair and the grass on her skin. He stayed there a long while after waking, against her body, his nose buried in the hair crossing her rosy cheek. Maria clucked at the motion, releasing a short chuckle before falling asleep again.
He couldn't remember making it back inside the small homestead, not since his last attack. But he knew that, if he asked Maria, she would say, with those same sleepy eyes, that he'd taken a spell in the heat. He knew her answer already, so he let it pass. It no longer mattered if it was the truth. It was the conclusion his mind had written for him.
"I wish. . ." he whispered against her. He let the statement trail. It would do no good, wishing that he had such a life with her, with a child. A normal life.
Alucard smiled, pulling himself away from her. The window was open and the cool air of morning was drifting in with the gentle coral glow of a far away horizon. He slipped on the boots he could not remember pulling off and stepped out into the hallway, quietly shutting the door behind him. He could hear the faintest sound of humming from the dining room, and he followed it.
Lisa sat at the humble table, a basket of green shoots before her. Her nimble fingers split the peas, dropping them into a bowl. Her fair eyes dared up, the song fading from her lips.
"Adrian," her smile greeted. "Good morning."
Alucard stared on, a look of sorrow on his face as he watched her hands move. "Mother," he said, choking on the title, "you look lovely."
Her smile dropped ever so slightly, smoothing out the faint lines at her lips. "Why, thank you, Adrian." She blinked away the somberness in her reply. "Your father said that, if you woke this morning, he wanted. . . He is in the field, if you wish to speak to him."
"I do," Alucard answered, looking at the waiting doorway.
Before he could move, Lisa pushed her bowl away, standing. "Come," she commanded, "give me a hug before you go."
Alucard stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her form. She held him tightly.
"My dear son," she hissed, "you are not well. Go on, back to bed. Your father can wait another day."
He shook his head, pushing her away. "No. It's time we speak."
The door led to the porch. His father was sitting there, on a sturdy chair, staring out at the gray, foggy sky, as if waiting for the golden glow of morning to spill over the land.
He shot a passing glance at Alucard. "Strong enough to pull a plow, I suppose," he commented, growling as his body ached to stand. He gestured for his son to follow before walking down the steps.
A square of land stretched out before them. The upturned earth, rich and dark, crunched beneath their feet as they moved forward.
"This land is already plowed," Alucard stated.
His father came to a stop, looking down at the uneven ground. "So it is," he stated. He turned back to face Alucard. "But there's still work to be done. One can never escape his work."
"No, Father," Alucard answered, his voice soft.
The sun spread across the open land, casting the men's shadows along the soil. Alucard watched the light brighten his father's skin, letting its deep, worker's color rise to surface. The dhampir took a step back.
"It is strange," he said, "seeing you as only a man."
His father raised a narrow brow. "Not simply a man, boy." He reached out, his wide hand squeezing Alucard's shoulder. "Your father. Now tell me, what has you saying these things. Is your own mortality catching up with you? One often says such things after a bout of illness."
Alucard wanted to look away from the face before him, but he could not. The hint of pitted flesh was in his cheeks, wrinkles at his eyes-even his father's lips were thin and cracked from abuse. Here, in this place, Alucard was Adrian, simply a man. And he would grow gray and into his father's image. Yet, Alucard didn't fear that fate.
The sun was hot against Alucard's face as it soaked through the morning chill.
"What kind of son am I?" Alucard asked.
His father shook his head, as if the question was a foolish one. "What kind?" he asked, confused. The gray eyes hardened, aging. "You are my son, Adrian. Your own kind, I suppose."
Alucard nodded, brushing off his father's touch. "Work," he explained.
The other man nodded. "Wash your hands, first, boy," he said, stepping away.
Fists uncurled at Alucard's sides. He looked down at them, his eyes wide. In the sun, the blood on his flesh was almost too bright, too red. He held his hands out and they dripped their liquid load down onto the soil. Alucard opened his mouth to cry out and the scent of life passed his lips and nostrils. His body rolled in need for the substance.
"No, Father!" His eyes darted up to see the man walking away, his plain clothes chipping away, scorched. His old, leathery skin blackened, peeling away from the muscle, even as he crossed the length of the field.
Alucard pushed his body forward, as if to run after him, but his feet were stuck to the soil, encased in ice that crawled from the earth to grab his ankles. Alucard felt a sudden weakness run through him and his eyes closed against his will.
The cold woke him to awareness. However, the chill was not from ice but from the air around him. A weight was against his throat and a numbness growing over the skin there. Hair scratched at his face, but before his eyes could open again, he realized that he could taste it, metals and life pouring onto his tongue, drowning him. A tremor shook him, and the weight lifted off of his neck. His weary eyes lifted to see blood stained lips frowning down at him.
Dracula stared back down at his son, his clean hand wiping at the blood that threatened to trickle down his chin. He pulled his other wrist from Alucard's open lips, and the vampire king watched as his own wound began to seal together the sliced skin of its own accord.
"Where is my father?" Alucard muttered, distracted by the taste still sticking to his teeth.
Dracula shook his head with a human-like gesture, his eyes clear, serene. A line of green crept down beneath the porcelain skin of his jaw. "Your own kind," he hissed. "That you are."
The vampire lord's focus shifted from his son to the far side of the room, a place Alucard's eyes could not follow. For the first time, Alucard realized that there were short, solid walls surrounding the length of his body. He tried to move to touch his stone surroundings but found he was too weak to lift his arm off of his body. Instead, he slid his hand up his chest, his fingertips grazing the torn flesh of his neck.
"You drunk," Alucard whispered.
His father did not look back down, still staring out at the room. The sound of a door shattering in the distance broke the sudden silent.
"Welcome, Belmont," Dracula sneered, "I hope you have enjoyed your stay in my castle. I am afraid your visit will be short."
Dracula's gaze darted down, a smile above his fangs as he reached out and pulled a stone slab over Alucard's still form. The sounds of battle faded from the room, taking with them the faint candle light. Alucard's world became one of complete darkness as his eyes closed without argument and surrendered to the enclosing sarcophagus.
The prince fell into a deep slumber, dreamless and without hope. And he would not awaken again for many years to come.
FIN