Chapter Text
October 1476 ~ A Cave East the Sunken City of Poltergeists
Anachronistic machinery, beguilingly ancient and rusting, carried the vibrations of outsiders to his place of rest along copper pipes and gears. Steam hissed alarm as cogs quickened and soon a symphony of metal echoed throughout the once secret chamber of a once forgotten cave. Pulley systems after years of rest groaned ominously as they raised the coffin concealing the sleeping prince, yet unlike the eagerness the tiny mechanisms displayed as they released locks and pulled back the lid, the Dhampyre inside recoiled. It was too soon to have been discovered. His body was still weak from the wounds he'd suffered years back, many of the spells he'd once relied upon now out of his grasp. Inspired by the selfless courage of one as reviled as himself and honed by the wishes of the dearly departed, as a fool he had taken a stance against one he knew he could not overcome. In an effort to honour her memory and protect that selfless angel, he had denied Dracula's right to this endless crusade to his face, and it had near cost him his life. As current events had yet to unfold, he still may yet pay that price. No one stood between Dracula and his revenge. Not even the demon's own son.
So be it.
What other option was left but to accept this possibility? He'd known what it meant when he chose his fate, but the fight, even now and in such a diminished state, was not out of him yet. Alucard used what little energy he'd recuperated in this abandoned place to mask his true form and levitate from the elegant sarcophagus. If the intruders were nothing more than lessor demons than perhaps the glamour could fool them. The changing of his features is a simple illusion to uphold, the levitating on the other hand... It is a feat as a Dhampyre he cannot maintain, and it is nothing more than brash showmanship. Pomp and circumstance displayed in an effort to appear less vulnerable than he truly was. Old wounds ached mercilessly. His limbs found heavy and stiff. And he's hungry. Starved. Sired by Dracula or not, the demons and creatures under his father's sway have always cannibalized the weakest amongst themselves. Their prince in such a pitiful state would be just another easy meal, marked as he was now for death. But it is not his father's creatures that have come to disturb his rest and finish what the great Vampyre had reduced him to, but three impossibly foolish humans. And as he studies them in their stunned, wary silence, he concludes that these three wretches are not much better off than he.
The three comprise of a hunched, scrawny, middle aged man with eyes as sharp as the daggers he holds, the constant shift of his body suggesting he was prepared to spring into action given the slightest provocation. It was a wise state to be in given the location. To the man's left stood a diminutive young mage or scholar of some faction given the filthy yet priestly robes he was swathed in, whose scent was rife with fear but notes of grim unabating determination. The younger ones were always so tenacious. The last to bumble unannounced into his hidden crypt is yet another young boy in varying layers of leather and steel beneath a matching overcoat, padded armour vest strapped with daggers and vials, and gloved hands on the hilt of a whip that has begun to give off a faint light. This last one too smells of dogged determination. With a small toss of the head to clear long brown hair from his field of vision, the boy steps closer as if challenging, commanding his attention, and whether it was overconfidence or a foolish ploy to protect his companions is uncertain, but the long haired boy is now Alucard's sole focus. The other two were injured, the scent of blood and the beginning of infection rife, their clothing torn and filthy, bone weary exhaustion pulling their shoulders into a slunch. Coupled with starvation draining the colour from their gaunt faces, their bodies tremor beyond their control. Poor pitiful things that they were needed food, bed rest, and to clean their wounds. The young boy meeting his gaze was in no better condition. The hand on his luminescent whip trembled, giving away his weakened state. His commanding show was nothing more than that. A show. Like the Dhampyre's. It was commendable in it's own futile way.
The long haired brunette held fast, waiting for the Dhampyre to make his move. Weak as they were, he may have been able to dispose of them, however a fleeting touch of humanity came over him as he gazed back into eyes the colour of fresh snow in the shade of a tree on a clear morning. Eyes such a unique blue hue that should he survive this encounter he would remember for all his days. Beauty was so rare in these dark times, and the time to appreciate it far rarer. Even if he hadn't chosen to honour her last, dying request, he believed he wouldn't have had it in himself to snuff the life and the beauty from this unique brunette. A pity their meeting was now and not decades ago, where in his father's castle the brunette could have been plied with wine and exotic fruits and the music of grand symphonies to model for the Court Artist. A little more wine, this one warm and spiced, and perhaps he'd have been convinced to pose nude for some personal sketches for the prince. Then head swimming and body pliant, he wouldn't mind the Dhampyre falling over him to drink his essence right up. Those were happier days indeed... But they were meeting in the here and now, and this grim reality held no place for his wistful fancies. Still, the passing idealized fantasy had softened him somewhat, instilling a deeper mercy than he may have given moments before. Instead of force, he chose to give them words. A chance to turn away from this cursed place before it was theirs or his undoing.
“You've come quite far into this dangerous place.” He began in a low voice, gravely from disuse. “The swamps here breed beasts and disease alike. This very cave is home to far worse than even the swamps, however. I regret to inform you that there are no treasures to be found here, humans. Only more beasts, more disease and death.” He made a sweeping gesture to show he spoke to all of them whilst he fixed those blue eyes with his own. If there was a religion he could subscribe to, surely he'd find it in those heavenly eyes given enough time. “You are tired and injured, and this is no place to be when you fall ill. This is only a grave, just as the land above our heads is. You should leave before your names become etched into the stone.”
“A lecture? Then, if you are not the gatekeeper here, Vampyre, we shall take your advice.” The long haired boy answered swiftly in a voice brimming with strength his trembling body could not possibly possess. “But we go that way.”
The Dhampyre didn't need to look where the boy pointed to know he spoke of the pathway to the sunken city. The younger ones were always so damnably tenacious. Suicidal with confidence. “Then you're even more a fool than I suspect. Do you know where that leads, child?”
“More lectures. Are you going to stop me?” The boy asked, ignoring the insult, hand firmly gripping his whip now. He offered no explanation for his suicide march even though the Dhampyre gave him the time to.
Perhaps the humans truly did not know where the path took them. The mere fact of the matter was, they were already well and good in a place no human should be. Perhaps they were attacked and lost their way. There were enough beasts about and it would explain their presence and their horrid physical state. Perhaps they only needed to be educated on their fool's errand. “Beyond is the ruins of one of the great cities destroyed by Dracula's night hoards. The city itself was pulled into the depths of the earth where it now rests, submerged in the underground lake. The very same underground lake that serves as the spawning grounds for mermen. The taint in the water permeates the dead of both man and monster and makes them rise as untiring bone abominations. The very creature that sunk the city still roams, feeding on the anguished souls of the departed trapped there. That is what lay beyond this chamber on your chosen path. Better you return to your people on the path you know and came from. As I've said, this is no place for you to be.”
“You are stopping me.” It was not a question.
In the peripheral of his vision he could see the boy's two companions shift in their stances. So they anticipated an attack did they? In spite of his best effort it did seem near unavoidable at this rate. But still, he tried to make them see reason. She would have wanted him to try. “I understand your existence is harsh, child. You live short fearful lives full of disease and in these days, famine. You're at the mercy of forces greater than yourselves and yet you still waste time fighting amongst yourselves. Your God does not hear your prayers, and you suffer tremendously for it. I know your anguish.” As he continued to speak, he hoped his voice carried even a shred of the compassion as hers always had. Maybe her compassion could have made them see reason. “There is little point in letting that anguish consume you. I have lived a long time, and I know too well the consequences of allowing that to happen. You are fetching little thing to look at, child. You must be strong as well to have survived your journey here. Turn back, find an equally pretty girl to marry, raise some children and use that strength to keep them safe. The day will come when this long night ends. There is no need to throw yourself on the swords. Your life has meaning, even in these dark times.”
For a moment in the brief silence that followed his speech, he thought the humans had heard his plea. If only they had, what a different story that would have been written. It started as only a silent shake of the shoulders and a sharp inhale of air, but soon cutting through the tension in the room was the brunettes rich voice. He was... Laughing. The human stood there before a Dhampyre and... He laughed. And the Dhampyre... Well, he was furious, he realized. The absolute gall. Here he was, not draining their corpses dry as he hungered to, attempting to spare these children and a man their lives and one of them had the nerve to laugh right in his face. Were they mad? Did they wish for death so earnestly? Honestly the blood meal they could provide would hastened his recovery along. If they wished so earnestly to die...
"Is this a test?” The laughing human gasped between fits of laughter.
He stared completely perplexed by the fool's merriment. At the very least the lanky man and the robed boy seemed to understand the gravity of the situation, as they passed each other varying looks of concern and puzzlement over their companions behaviour. Their daft, stark raving mad companion.
“I've never met a Vampyre whose method of attack was to nag me to death.” The long haired boy struggled, but seemed to be getting a hold of himself. “I mean it, is this a trial of some kind? Do you seek to test my conviction?” The light emanating from the whip at the boy's hip grew in intensity as the child climbed the stairs to face him more intimately. The child, for all his silver weapons and vials of consecrated water threateningly on display, stood only as tall as his chest, thus was forced to peer up at him, though being forced to look up at the Dhampyre hardly seemed to affect the oozing confidence. His ire grew as this tiny human paradoxically managed to stare him down. This insolent runt without the survival instinct to know what fire he was playing with. But at this distance that glowing rope...
The Dhampyre forgot his fury, instead all but consumed with fighting back the urge to escape the whip's proximity. Not so long ago for one of his kind he'd suffered the bite of a weapon like that before, and he did not care to taste it again anytime soon. “I seek,” He spoke levelly, masking his discomfort. “to dissuade you from a futile death.”
“Do you know why we've come, Vampyre?”
“There is only one reason mortal men pass through these parts anymore. You seek a path to the Castle as all other paths have been closed off. You seek to assault the home of Dracula with no army to call your own. You know Dracula has an army, I presume. You know he employs even humans amongst his ranks. Devil Forgemasters, summoners, witches, necromancers. You are three. You are exhausted, hungry, and hurt. What chance do you stand when so many others before have fallen with better odds?”
“What chance do any of us stand if things continue the way they are now?” The boy answered back with his own question. “The night hoards of Dracula have decimated our lands. All the great cities have more or less fallen and now they raze villages and huts as their hunger runs unchecked. Their blood and Dracula's curse have tainted our lands. Crops will not take root, and the wildlife we hunt have vanished from the forests. We are all already dead if nothing is done.”
“There are other lands. Flee.”
“I cannot do that.” The boy replied solemnly. “These lands and the people within it have not been kind to me or the ones I love. But this is my homeland. Those things you told me to get? That wife and children? I had a wife. She died from the poison of cursed fruit, pregnant with my third child. I have twin sons, still just babes.”
Empathy overode his discomfort of the hallowed weapon, softening his tone and his eyes. A dead wife and children already. Their human lives were so short, he forgot how rushed they were to simply survive. “All the more reason to flee.”
“Dracula will not stop with the last bastion of Wallachia, and he won't stop until the rot and curse consumes all of Romania. What makes you think he would not spread his wrath to other countries? Once he's finally finished exacting his wrath on this one?”
“He will never stop unless stopped. But it would buy time and temporary safety for your sons. I told you, the night will end one day. You only have to survive until then. There is no need to die a martyr's death for the sake of heroics.” He spoke the words as if he was making a promise. And he was. One day, he would face his father again, and he would not be the one slinking away to lick his wounds.
The tragic boy finally averted his gaze, letting his heavenly eyes, sorrowful now, drop to study the Dhampyre's boots intently. The hand on the whip tightened and released reflexively as he spoke. “My family was exiled from these lands and condemned by the Church for who we are and what we do. The Church refused our help when we could have stood a chance, and now as we are in our death throes they summon me back here and beg for salvation. There was a part of me that was vindictive, just as there was a part of me that wanted to restore my family's standing and honour. I chose to return because I wanted to be the hero and I did believe I'd be satisfied being a martyr, Vampyre, so your assumption is not too far off from what the truth once was. I am here now. Being here... Seeing what as become of my country and my people... Seeing what will be become of the surrounding nations should the night hoards spread further... I stand here now because I am the man who will kill Dracula. I cannot afford to fail.”
“And your companions. Why are they here?”
“Because we cannot afford to let him fail.” The robed figure replied. The smell of fear had vanished.
It was strange, to hear his own conviction echoed back at him from out the mouth of babes. They were battered and bruised, on death's door, but they still believed in it. They truly believed they had a chance. “Do... Do you think you can?” He whispered. He had to be certain. He couldn't afford to blindly hope.
The boy unlatched the glowing whip from his belt and lifted it to eye level. The shimmer woven between the leather sung sweetly, calling out to taste the flesh of a corrupt creature like himself. There was no mistaking that relic waved so tantalizingly close. He had not just seen a weapon similar to that one after all. He had seen that exact whip before. He had felt the holy fire of the famed Vampyre Killer as it bit into his flesh, seared pain through every vein in his body. And he was about to feel it again.
“This is who I am.” The boy stated, eyes falling on the whip. “I wished once that it was not, but it is. This is who I am, and this is what I do. So yes. I know I can.” Slowly, blue eyes made their way back to meet his golden ones, pinning him to place with their conviction. “Are you going to stop me?” He asked once more.
“A Belmont.” The name left his tongue full of reverence.
“Yes.” The Belmont affirmed.
“I will do better than stop you, young Belmont.” He promised. Years ago he had made the mistake of challenging Dracula in place of a Belmont, in a foolish bid to protect her. Had he fought by her side... Maybe this Belmont would still have a wife. “I am Adrian Fahrenheit Țepeș. The man you seek to kill is none other than Vlad Dracula Țepeș, my father. If you truly are a Belmont and you have not simply robbed a family warehouse to brandish that holy weapon, you will show me how you intend to destroy my father. If you can defeat me, then maybe we have a chance.”
“We?”
“Defeat me young Belmont and I will guide you and your friends through my father's lands and into his lair. Defeat me and I will help you succeed or die trying at your side.”
“While rather long-winded, it seems you are a gatekeeper after all.” The Belmont sounded bemused, but his eyes burned. He motioned to the other two to hold their place.
This was to be a battle between two lost sons, finding their place in the world.