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Chapter 1:

Espio/Silver + Flower

Silver didn’t really understand the concept of a favorite flower. For him, all flowers are a wonder, and equally beautiful.

Then he learned that Espio’s favorite flower is the camellia from Chun-nan. And just like that, Silver understood what could make a particular flower special.

Sonic/Elise + Ice Cream

Soleanna is famous for its tasty gelato, unique to the location.

After Elise learned that Sonic loves to try food from every place he visits, and that he has a bit of a sweet tooth, the idea for their first date became obvious.

Knuckles/Amy + Reading

There isn't much that one can do to spend time with Knuckles, when he’s set on guarding the Master Emerald. Amy has tried every idea she could think of: bringing him down to visit some shops or a park, asking him to give her a tour on Angel Island, offering him to smash some of Eggman junk together… Knuckles was unmovable.

Well. Perhaps it shouldn’t be Knuckles the one to move for her.

So Amy, during her next visit to the island, does not try to budge Knuckles from the altar. Instead, she shows him a pile of books she borrowed from Tails, and asks if he would like to read something together.

Turns out that Knuckles is keen to historical fiction. Not Amy’s favorite genre by a long shot, but making a friend happy is what matters the most.

Joachim/Mathias + Cat

Mathias had always been fond of cats, even more so after he became a vampire and gained control over the animals of the night. However, he wasn’t sure if Joachim could be trusted with animals. The vampire suffered intense bloodlust in Walter’s prison, and the experience broke him. But Joachim was trying his best to recover.

So Mathias was surprised, and a touch proud, when Joachim immediately grew attached to a black cat he had found and spent all day playing with it. Turns out that Joachim could imitate the purring of a cat, and he sounded almost cute…

Hector/Isaac + Pillow

Isaac’s peak strategy to seduce Hector was to climb into his bed and annoy him to the point of instigating a pillow fight.

He succeeded.

Hector/Dracula + Coffin

Dracula doesn’t need to sleep. For centuries, he rested in his own coffin, alone and away from the sunlight. He didn’t need that either, he can rest anywhere he wants to, but it was the most comfortable place in the castle.

It used to be, at least. Now, Dracula finds more peace lying next to an exhausted Hector. He can’t sleep with him, but he doesn’t have it in his heart to leave his boy alone.

Mathias/Hector + Passion

Mathias has always been praised for his perfect skin. Pale as porcelain, and just as smooth and delicate. A strategist who fought with his brain rather than his brawn, he never once collected a scar on his body, barely even a scratch. Elisabetha and Leon love Mathias, and thus they are gentle with him.

And then he fell for Hector, who tends to leave the marks of his passion on his lovers’ skin.

Mathias won’t complain. It fits a sinner such as him.

Dracula/Belmont + Eternity

They say that Dracula is always brought back from Hell by the evil lurking in the heart of mankind. That he cannot cease to exist, as long as humans wish for him, and for him to satisfy their darkest desires.

Dracula is of another mind. He prefers to think that he’s bound to the mortal realm by the Belmont clan. They wish to fight with him, to dance together in the battle between good and evil, and Dracula is all too happy to oblige.

It is, at the very least, the one thing that he can bear even after centuries of immortality.

Mathias/Hector + Cat

When Hector revealed the story of his childhood cat, the closest thing to a friend he ever had, Mathias wasn’t surprised. Of course Hector would have an affinity for cats, when he resembled one: he was as elegant and reserved as one, which made winning his affections all the more precious.

(He also loved to be scratched on the back of the head, something Mathias was pleased to discover.)

Hector/Dracula + Cat

Dracula was more beast than a man. If his claws, fangs and wings didn’t make him enough of an animal, he would also growl and hiss in anger to strike fear in the humans’ heart.

What far fewer people knew, however, was that the mighty Dracula also purred when especially content, and what a sound it was, coming from someone so big. Hector was one of them, as he learned during those little, quiet moments shared in his Lord’s private quarters.

He didn’t even do anything. He simply stood by.

Hector/Dracula + Marriage

Everyone in the castle knew of the hardly-concealed fondness Lord Dracula felt for his General Hector. Only few selected monsters and people, however, knew of the twisted bond that tied them together, just enough witnesses to make their marriage legitimate. As legitimate as a farce against God could be.

Hector could easily hide the ring, Lady Lisa’s ring, under his glove. But the glove had to come off, when his husband called for him. The shine of the ring was the one thing that could distract Hector when taken to bed.

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Joachim/Isaac + Snow

Isaac thrives in the cold. His body always runs hot, which is quite a boon in the harsh, snowy Wallachian winters.

Perhaps this is why he’s able to withstand the icy cold emanating from Joachim.

Trevor/Sypha + Ring

They slayed monsters together. They walked with their head high through the twisted domain of Count Dracula. His whip and her formidable magic destroyed the vampire, and brought peace to the land. They were friends forged by fire, forever bound by the terrifying experience they had survived side to side.

So why was it that dropping to one knee and offering Sypha a ring was the one thing that made Trevor’s hands shake?

Isaac/Trevor + Admiration

They couldn’t be more opposite to each other. One was a warrior for the greater good, the other was a mere servant of evil. One had to carry his family duty of slaying Dracula, the other fought with his life to bring him back. One was a man of solid principles, the other was underhanded, cruel and insane.

And yet, Trevor couldn’t say he felt nothing but disdain for the redhead Devil Forgemaster. His body covered in tattoos, the mark of his loyalty to the Dark Lord… he went through a massive ordeal of pain for his ideals. Trevor could sympathize: he, too, was proud of showing the scars he got on his body when he fought for what he believed in. Trevor despised Isaac’s reason for living, but he couldn’t not respect such commitment.

And Isaac’s begrudging admiration when the two traded blows, him recognizing Trevor as the worthy slayer of his Lord, told him that the fiend felt a similar way.

Isaac/Trevor + Savagery

Isaac was a beast, fitting for someone who shed his humanity to join Dracula’s ranks. More animal than man, he reeked of blood and madness, with an evil glint in his wild eyes and in his toothy grin.

He was the perfect match for Trevor. He will enjoy taming this savage beast, let him have a taste of his whip.

Sonic/Elise + Flowers

As a princess, Elise was used to being showered with flowers, by rulers from visiting countries and princes who thought they could court her. Elise thought that flowers were… nice. Simply nice, nothing more. Roses, camelias, tulips, lilies, orchids, she had seen them all, in huge bundles delivered at the castle, whose fragrance quickly overwhelmed her.

But the simple daisy that Sonic picked up for her and put behind her ear was the loveliest one she had ever been gifted with.

Sonic/Amy + Sleep

Keeping Sonic still is a fruitless endeavor. He’s like the wind, fast and free and impossible to catch. Amy learned this the hard way, when she was younger.

But after all the adventures they’ve gone through, Sonic has grown comfortable enough to sleep on her shoulder, if only for a short while, allowing Amy to carefully comb through his quills.

No one can catch Sonic. But he can choose who to rest with.

Sonic/Amy + Fireworks

It’s said that Chun-nan has the most beautiful fireworks in the world, a true pyrotechnic spectacle made of the flashiest colors and most complex shapes.

So that’s where Sonic takes Amy for New Year’s Eve. He has already witnessed the show during his world adventure, but she has not, and if there’s one thing Sonic loves, is to share the world with his friends.

When they start, the fireworks are just as jawdropping as Sonic had promised. The colors reflect in each other’s eyes.

Knuckles/Amy + Flirting

Amy's favorite past time was flirting with Sonic. Although, as she grew older, she realized that her idea of "flirting" was not quite right: she enjoyed joking about marrying Sonic, and how they were destined to be, and she found his groans and eyerolls endearing. Amy had a lot of fun getting a reaction out of him. It wasn't exactly elegant, as Rouge once explained to her, but it was her own kind of game.

Knuckles was, somehow, even worse than her at flirting. He blinked at her jokes, bemused, and stammered a non-answer. A few times he would raise his voice as if that could hide the blush creeping on his muzzle. And his idea of winning Amy's affection was to explain in great detail how the crystals buried under the volcano were formed.

He was downright adorable.

Dracula/Lisa + amulet

As his first gesture as her husband, Dracula had gifted Lisa with an ancient amulet, forged by his own magic and to be kept at all times hidden in her bosom. A lucky charm, as it were, to protect his wife from the evil of the castle that she could now call her home.

But it seemed that the evil of mankind far surpassed his own power.

Juste/Maxim + Canary

Juste did not appreciate being called canary by his friend, but Maxim didn’t mean it as a joke, honestly. The young Belmont simply reminded him of a bird, what with his fair hair, his passion for collecting trinkets, how easy it was for Maxim to ruffle his feathers, as it were, and most of all his lovely voice when he sang.

Dracula/Trevor + Ring

Leon’s child had proven himself to be as formidable as his forefather. Dracula decided to reward him, by presenting himself in his most regal form, crackling with dark magic.

He even wore his best ring just for the occasion. Just so that the boy will remember his hand, after Dracula gouged his eye out.

Leon was staring back at him from his child, and he would not stand for that.

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As a child, home was cats and dogs and crows and wolves and snakes surrounding Hector and listening to him; it was thick tomes stolen from his father and read in the candlelight; it was kicks and punches and spits and slaps; it was voices inside his head whispering cruel cruel things that would make his head explode and make him scream; it was fire and fear and the knowledge that Heaven had no place for him.

As a boy, home was perpetual darkness, the stark sight of the blood red moon; it was the stench of sulfur; it was life forged by his own hand, proud blasphemy; it was having a reason to exist; it was yes my Lord and good boy and no one will have to know; it was washing the blood from his hands and sword and jaws, washing again and again and having it drip from him nonetheless; it was nightmares and begging on his knees - the only place he deserved to be - and the suffocating weight of disappointment and the knowledge that Hell had no place for him.

As a man, home is waking up at the crack of dawn to feed the chickens and crows; it is chopping the wood for the winter, and learning that weapons can be used for good; it is learning how to live as a man, with patience and care; it is meeting new people, and children, and being welcomed with open arms; it is I love you and thank you for being born and I would die for you and how about living for me?; it is Rosaly, her face shining like the sun, her kisses that taste like absolution, and the knowledge that the human world has a place for him.

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The village was quieter, when Shanoa was off to one of her missions.

She was not a woman for conversations, which Laura didn’t mind: she enjoyed talking, and she could tell that the other still listened to what she had to say. With time, she had even learned to read her subtle expressions, the twitches of her eyebrows, the way she cocked her head…

Sure, Laura was still eagerly waiting the day that Shanoa would crack a smile. She was confident that the woman would look radiant. But she wouldn’t force it. It would make it all the more precious when it happened.

The bell on top of the door rang.

“I brought you the onyx and diamond you asked of me,” a familiar voice announced.

Laura beamed. Shanoa could easily blend in the surroundings, with her dark armor, the long mane of black hair flowing behind her, and her apparently unassuming personality. And yet, her presence was tangible in the village: she was a kind, selfless person who could make everyone happy.

Well. Laura could only speak for herself, she mused.

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You could tell everything about a man by the weapon he wielded.

Trevor had been entrusted with the sacred whip of his forefathers, the Vampire Killer. A strong, flexible weapon with which Trevor could shatter stone and the flesh of cursed creatures alike. He did not need to dash around the battlefield, when a single crack of the whip would send monsters run away in panic, and bring the braver ones to their knees.

Alucard, on the other hand, had a preference for swords. He could also use the dark powers inherited by his father, but Trevor was not surprised by the dhampir’s reticence to resort to such means. With a hand behind his back, he counterattacked Trevor’s blows with a long, thin rapier. Alucard danced on the field, with a speed and a grace that belied the inhuman strength behind his strikes. When he targeted a monster, they didn’t even have the time to flee before being slashed to pieces by the dhampir’s blade.

An elegant deadly weapon, for an elegant deadly friend.

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Joachim hated his new nature. He cared little about being an inhuman creature of the night shunned by God. He was more bothered by his perpetual thirst for blood, thirst rare quenched in his situation, that left him wheezing and clawing the floor in despair.

He despised having to rely on Walter for everything, including understanding his own new powers.

The noble had the time of his unlife acting as Joachim’s teacher, voice oozing with condescension as he patiently explained how to lure prey (not that Walter would let him, instead throwing food at him like a common pet) and most importantly how to shapeshift.

Joachim would enjoy being a bat a lot more if he could fly anywhere. Like being a vampire, it was merely the illusion of freedom, carefully curated by Walter himself.

Instead, Walter had found himself a new game: he would bring Joachim fresh people, if he accepted to turn and lay on Walter’s lap, to be petted. Joachim always tried to bite the hand that smoothed his fur, to no avail.

Above all, he loathed how nice it felt.

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It took quite a lot of asking and bargaining, but eventually, Isaac reluctantly accepted to allow Mathias to touch Abel.

Mathias still struggled to comprehend that the devil was truly alive. It was made of stone and shimmering gems, it was hard and smooth under his fingertips, it had imposing horns and claws and wings unlike any creature on earth, and it was life, created by one man through unspeakable powers.

This was what his teachings will lead to? All his research on alchemy, the transfiguration of matter, the studies on how to obtain immortality, twisted into something unrecognizable and learned by two sorcerers serving the Devil.

(Serving him, he mentally corrected himself before discarding the thought altogether.)

The part of Mathias raised with solid Christian principles wanted to retract the hand and wash it with holy water to cleanse himself of the terrible sin in front of him. The more… human side of him couldn’t help but feel quite flattered, with the way the redhead took Mathias’ research to heart.

He told him as such. Isaac startled at the praise with wide eyes, before forcing himself to deepen his scowl.

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Joachim hadn’t been born with white hair. It was the result of his undead body failing, craving blood and nourishment and anything that wasn’t the damp air of his cell and the awful sound of the water running around him.

So, he was quite concerned when he met Dracula’s general. The human swore that he was born with his silver hair and there was nothing wrong with him.

The boy was lying, of course. His blood keenly smelled of evil magic… what little blood he had, anyway.

Ah, it seemed like that cursed Walter still lived on in Dracula.

Luckily for him, Joachim knew how to make potions to fight against anemia. Hector was a fascinating human, and it would have been a shame if he suffered what Joachim suffered…

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After all he did to escape his past, it was staring at Hector again, with red eyes blazing with fury.

Lord Dracula had been reborn. He stepped back from Hector’s memories, unchanged, still and forever the same creature that inspired everything in Hector, from fear to awe to respect to something that he doesn't deign to consider. Only his expression held no trace of the fondness that made the Lord so special to Hector.

Good. After bringing so much shame to himself to obtain it, Hector no longer had any use for the approval of his former Master.

Clutching his sword in one hand, and calling for his Devil with the other, he was ready to bury his past and all of his mistakes with it, once and for all.

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Hector would be lying if he said that he and Isaac were always in harmony.

They were meant to be, as Generals of Lord Dracula’s armies: squabbling was not permitted in a war room. But the two had always been different people, with opposite temperaments and visions of the world: the one thing they had in common was being keen on arguing for the sake of arguing.

It used to be fun, when they were boys. Isaac loved a fight, and every reason was a good one to bait one out of Hector: he’d contest the designs of Hector’s Devils, he’d make snide remarks at him preferring to study cooped in his room rather than enjoying the snow outside, he'd even make fun of his appearance if that was enough to push Hector to sock him in the jaw.

They always made peace, in the end. Somehow, Isaac always knew how to make Hector forgive him.

It was harder to forgive his friend when he shrugged his shoulders at the sight of torn corpses, dismissing them because at least they'd go to heaven. It was harder to overcome their differences when he spat bile at him, eyes bloodshot and shadowed, blaming him for everything. It was no longer worth it, when his friend had made clear that Hector was just a pastime, and easy to discard in favor of their Lord's madness.

Eventually, even Isaac’s touch felt like two plates of metal scraping together, the friction unbearable.

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Trevor isn't quite used yet to cracking his Vampire Killer alongside a monster, but he won’t protest, when even the likes of a giant minotaur fall to its knees in a matter of minutes. Part of him also envies how Hector doesn't even need to lift a finger, not when his devils do all the work for him. Being a dark sorcerer has its perks.

“Where were you when we stormed Dracula's castle? Had we worked together, the old bat wouldn’t have had the time to blink before becoming ashes!”

Hector smirks, challenging. “Would you have accepted my help? Your whip seems to work faster than your hand.”

“You'll never forgive me for that, will you?” Laughing, he claps a hand on Hector’s shoulder. “I regret and apologize for my hastiness. I’d say we make for a pretty good team, friend.”

“You are more used to this than I am, so I trust your judgment… friend.”

Hector returns the gesture.

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Hector didn’t have a favorite food, back in the castle. He ate like a king, mostly meat and elaborate dishes from places of the world he didn’t even know they existed, but food was merely nourishment for the body, to fuel it for the grueling task of creating life. He also never had to cook for himself, not when he was personally served by the skeletons living in the kitchen.

Having to pick up his own food from the trees was a different, new experience. Holding the basket for Rosaly to fill with fruit was the least a gentleman could do. It was not as gentlemanly to steal one apple and eat it for himself when Rosaly wasn’t looking, but he couldn’t resist the temptation.

His first apple pie, baked without help to keep the surprise, was, to put it delicately, an inedible disaster. But Rosaly hugged him nonetheless, and that only spurned Hector to try again and again, until all their efforts in picking apples were worth it.

He never enjoyed eating more in his life.

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The little critter trotted around Joachim with a squeaky sound that would have caused him a headache, were it coming from anything else.

“Did you really Forge my old friend for me?”

Isaac shrugged. “Your description sounded hilarious. Do you swear that a walking pumpkin defeated an ancient vampire?”

Of all the things that a Devil Forgemaster could be skeptical of. Smiling, Joachim crouched to pet the goofy creature. New clothes aside, it was identical to how he remembered. It was nice to see it again. “It would be beneficial to you to not underestimate us, wildcat.”

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Even though it was broad daylight outside, only the gas lamps offered light in the prosecutor’s giant manor: tall windows decorated the walls of every room and corridor, but the thick curtains were drawn shut, preventing any ray of sunlight from filtering inside. It was a grim sight, more apt for one of those horror books Ryuunosuke read to practice his English.

“Does the sunlight harm you, Lord van Zieks?” he couldn’t stop his mouth from moving.

Van Zieks crossed his arms, as he often did when something touched a nerve. “I would appreciate if my learned friend kept his inane questions to himself.” The way he looked at the side told the truth hidden behind his rough exterior. “I simply prefer the comfort of privacy in my own home.”

Ah, right. It figures that the Reaper of the Bailey wouldn’t like people to gawk at him. Or visiting his home. Or… having anything to do with him, really.

Is that how van Zieks lived for ten years? Hidden in a dark manor, drinking his days away while dreading the prospect of stepping outside? Ryuunosuke couldn’t imagine, nor he wanted to.

“I understand… but you’re a human. You can’t live shrouded in darkness forever. M-may I…?”

Ryuunosuke moved to one of the windows and grabbed the curtain, but waited for the other man’s reaction.

Van Zieks cocked an eyebrow, but despite his insistence earlier, he didn’t object. “You may.”

Relieved, Ryuunosuke moved the curtains, and brought light into the room.

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“How can you still have faith, after God took everything away from you?” asked Isaac.

“It wasn’t Him who did it,” answered Leon. “It was my friend, and he shall be the only one I will curse for the rest of my life. God is the one I can rely on, who will give me the strength to move on and live. I doubt that a heathen such as yourself can understand though… apprentice of Mathias.” He spat the last words with venom.

“Oh, don’t worry about me, little Belmont.” He flashed a grin. “I, too, have my own God. He has given me strength for years, He runs in my veins in place of my blood. And with His power, I shall carry out His will, as it is my only purpose in life.” He leers closer, to Leon’s snarl twisting his handsome face. “I suppose that a Christian such as yourself can understand.”

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“You really should shave this ridiculous beard and mustache.” Joachim twirled a finger around the offending object. “It is unsightly.”

“Whatever for?” smiled Dracula. “Do you miss the kisses of your old lover that much?”

A hiss. “Watch your tone. You are no better than he was… and look what happened to him.”

“You dare speak to the Lord of the Castle like this?” Dracula’s laughter boomed in the throne room. “Impudent brat. It’s no wonder Bernhard locked you away to rot.”

“Lord or not, I’m older than you.” Joachim knew, because Walter was all too eager to teach him, that seniority was highly respected among vampires. “I could have turned you myself, had you not wasted so much time playing frivolous games.”

“And yet, no one could tell, with that fresh face of yours… perhaps you’re the one who should grow a beard.” Sharp claws raked through Joachim’s jaw, leaving red welts in their wake. “And get your own castle, while you’re at it. One might think you enjoy being the prisoner of a Lord…”

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It has become more and more common for Hector to wake up in his other bed (there was no better way to describe it), with Lord Dracula nowhere to be seen.

Perhaps he slinks away to rest in his own coffin. Perhaps he gets ready for another day of work. Hector understands that the Lord of the castle can’t linger in one room for long, certainly not for him. But at least once, he would appreciate not being left behind like this, as if he’s no longer useful once his Lord is done with him…

But each and every time, Lord Dracula leaves him his own cape, as a makeshift blanket to protect Hector from the cold.

The cape is thick, of a rich, velvety fabric. It could keep him warm in a winter storm. Hector wishes he could keep one for himself, if only it were less conspicuous; but alone in their room, no one can stop him from wrapping himself in it, and being reminded of Lord Dracula’s strong embrace.

~

“A gift for you, dear.”

Mathias didn’t dare utter the word “parting”, but Hector was a smart man.

“A gift?! B-but my Lord… I can’t accept it!” Hector stammered, as he turned the cloak around.

“Why not? A Lord has a duty to take care of their knights, doesn’t he?” Mathias smiled. Ah, if only he could take care of his beloved knight at home. “This dreaded castle is so cold, I can feel ice seeping through my bones.”

“I’m used to it, my Lord…”

“Nonsense. You need to keep yourself warm and safe. Here, let me put it on you…”

The cloak didn’t quite fit Hector, for Mathias was taller and thinner than him, but he was dashing all the same. His silver hair got lost in the white fur: the effect was lovely. For a knight, he had noble features perfect for wearing noble garments.

“My Lord… I never… Thank you.” Perhaps the fur was too hot, for color was spreading all over Hector’s face. “I will never be cold again.”

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“You made quite the mess, pet,” tutted Walter, bloodied rag in hand. “Dear me, dear me, you grow more famished by the year… what am I going to do with you?”

Beyond words, Joachim could only growl at him, the sound of which only made him chuckle. The rag was scrubbed with force on his skin, delicious blood now mixed with lukewarm dirty water; and yet Joachim could have licked and sucked on it for the tiniest scraps of nourishment. Damn Walter, damn him to the pits of Hell, it was him who reduced Joachim in that state… even the messy gore that had once been a pitiful human had more dignity than him.

Jumping into the rushing water sounded more and more like a favorable prospect.

“You are so adorably stubborn… isn’t it nice, to be cared for? I am but a conscientious Master, after all. Now, be a good boy, and stay still…”

The human’s blood only splattered onto Joachim’s face, armor and vest. Yet, Walter carefully removed each piece, to clean his pet wherever he could reach.

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“You don’t scare me, Lord,” declared Mathias, forcing himself to meet the vampire’s cold gaze. “No matter how far you threaten me… you cannot kill me or maim me.”

“Indeed, time shields you and fetters me. It is the one shred of power you wield over me.” Dracula’s claws slowly, maddeningly descended until they rested on Mathias’ throat, their presence felt every time he swallowed. “But what makes you believe I have any intention of harming you in the first place?”

“You are an inhuman beast. Harming their prey for their savage amusement is what they do.”

“Am I, now.” Dracula smiled, just enough to let his fangs shine, and Mathias gasped at the pain lancing through his throat. “And what does that make you, then, you who wished to become such a beast?”

Blood trickled down Mathias’ neck.

“I will not! I won’t fall for your tricks!”

“I’ll let you know, I did not shed my humanity in one go as I hoped. No, I witnessed as my body twisted… My face changed; I could not see myself in a mirror, but I could feel it rearrange itself over my skull. My bones snapped and stretched as I grew taller. My teeth sharpened in my mouth. My nails could tear through anything I touched. The smell of blood from miles away would send me into a frenzy.”

Mathias was panting now - he could smell the blood himself, sharp and metallic and repulsing, but repulsing for how long? “And were you not… terrified? Of losing yourself piece by piece? You have become an animal… and for what?”

Dracula did not have an answer ready. His terrible eyes burned holes through Mathias, who was pinned down by the vampire’s fearsome claws: one wrong movement, and his head would be torn from his body. Still, he indulged in his small, brief victory: perhaps the Lord’s silence meant that Mathias had finally bested him.

The creature lunged like a snake; but rather than tearing Mathias’ neck, he rested his lips on the shell of his ear, cold breath sending shivers down his spine.

“You’ll soon learn that clinging onto your humanity leads to nothing but misery.”

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The cold emanating from Lord Dracula prickled Isaac’s skin. He dug his nails into his thighs and kept his head low, waiting for what was to come. His own heartbeat pumped in his ears, and he could only imagine how strong it was for Lord Dracula’s sharp senses. He was bare in His presence down to his soul - would his Master be pleased by the sight?

With his claw, Lord Dracula cut open his own wrist. Black, dense liquid bubbled to the surface, and Isaac was hit by the stench of rot, as if he were standing in a battlefield. But it was nothing he could not handle.

“Isaac. This is your last warning.” Lord Dracula’s voice resonated in the throne room, and in Isaac’s tight chest. “You will experience pain the likes of which you cannot comprehend.”

“I look forward to it, my Lord,” he replied, and was proud of his steady voice. Every torture would be worth it, if inflicted by his Lord’s hand.

The vampire nodded, and there was nothing else to be said. “Very well. Turn around.”

As sacrilegious as the gesture felt, Isaac did as asked, and offered his back to his Lord.

He had, in retrospect, exceeded in arrogance. He had indulged in fantasies of stoically resisting the most excruciating agony, complete control over his own body, impressing his Master with his strength and commitment.

And then Lord Dracula hooked a claw underneath the skin of his back.

Isaac screamed.

The blood poured into his skin, burning, melting, and he wanted to tear it off, and all his willpower was necessary to keep his arms on his sides to not rip the flesh off his back with his bare hands, muscles tight and cramped and shredded - Isaac screamed and whimpered and gasped it burns it burns its writhing inside me get it out my Lord please please please–!!

By the time Lord Dracula removed His hand, Isaac’s throat was raw. Tears had spilled out of his control: he would have slapped himself for that, but even the thought of lifting an arm exhausted him.

The blood kept worming its way through Isaac’s back.

Lord Dracula rested a palm on Isaac’s chest, right above his beating heart. It was pounding so fast, Lord Dracula could grab it with His own hand. Isaac would open up his chest and give it to Him, if He so wished.

“You reek of fear, Isaac,” crooned Lord Dracula. “Are you having second thoughts?”

Just the act of breathing sent new jolts of pain through Isaac’s body. Every time he did, his torso moved, and his back split open once more.

“N-no…” he could only wheeze.

“Are you understanding your own limits? Perhaps this will teach you to not promise what you cannot give…”

“I understand, but… please… continue, my Lord… I want this. I need this. I can… I can…”

“Your stubbornness is commendable, at the very least.”

How could he ever reject such a gift? His own Lord was embedding His blood in Isaac’s flesh: He was to become part of him, elevating his body and making something worthy out of it.

“The crest is now forever branded under your skin. You will die as my Devil Forgemaster, as you have requested.” The Lord’s smile was nearly tangible in his voice. “You can leave, if you so choose.”

Isaac was not given permission to turn around, so he did not. But he could crane his neck back, the closest thing he could do to look at his Lord in His eyes. “I choose to stay, my Lord,” he declared.

“You got what you wanted, did you not?”

“The crest can be hidden under my clothes. What I need… is for no inch of my body to be left untouched by Your hand, so that everyone can see what I truly am. And what I am, is Yours.” Ah, that word tasted sweet on his tongue! His. Isaac was fully His, in body and soul. He belonged to Lord Dracula, and truly, there was no higher honor. “I beg you, my Lord.”

He would resist. He would prevail the limits of his useless body. Isaac refused to die until he had walked out of that room with the tattoos marking him as Lord Dracula’s most loyal servant.

Chapter Text

“How fortunate you are… to carry the marks left by my Lord.”

Isaac’s nails, or claws, or whatever he hid under his gloves, raked down Trevor’s chest, following the long scar running from one side to the other.

“Fortunate?” Trevor barked a laugh. “He tried to rip the heart out of my chest, and he got what he deserved, that’s all.”

“May He forgive me for what I’m about to say… but I’m glad that He failed to do so.”

Trevor eyed the Devil Forgemaster with suspicion. He, too, had a mark right on his heart, assuming he had one: a complicated tattoo that Trevor couldn’t make heads or tails of. Most likely his sick idea of showing loyalty to his Lord. “How touching. You care about me after all.”

Isaac lowered his head, and left a trail of kisses all over the scar, with a gentleness that did not suit him in the slightest. Trevor squirmed against the chains that held him prisoner.

“In a sense,” the fiend hummed against Trevor’s skin. “It will be my pleasure to take your heart for myself…”

Chapter Text

Hector’s life has been dictated by prohibitions and orders. He had been prohibited from showing himself, from making the friends he wanted to make; he had been ordered to carry out his Lord’s will, to work for as long as he dictated, to create what he had a use for, to kill whom he pointed his fingers at.

His life being controlled by those above him ever since he could remember, the simple words “You can do whatever you want, dear” shake him to the core.

Can he? Can he act without punishment looming over his head?

Hector has freed himself from his shackles, and now he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

But he starts, step by step. He can decide when he wants to take a break, and spend some time with Rosaly’s animals, with no one to snatch them from his arms. He can decide whether to work on his own or help Rosaly with the children; he isn’t sure if he is a welcome presence at first, but he gets the courage to speak to them, and it doesn’t take long for him to start calling them his own. He can decide whether or not he wants to visit the village’s church - Rosaly gently suggested it, but did not push him, and it takes him a couple of years but finally Hector steps inside the building, and it doesn’t crumble under the weight of his sins, and it feels like another world and home at the same time.

He can decide to marry Rosaly. He can decide to love her for the rest of their lives.

At last, Hector is free to live as he wants.

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Trevor was impressed by Grant’s dexterity with a knife. His new friend was quick as lightning, and his hand even more so. One stab, and any foe fell down.

But Trevor couldn’t help being a tad concerned for Grant. He was putting himself in harm’s way! Surely, there had to be a safer way for him to attack…

So, Trevor had the idea of teaching Grant how to throw knifes, just like his father had taught him. He took to the technique like a duck takes to water: s they ventured closer and closer to Dracula’s Castle, not even the strongest monsters were safe from his flurry of daggers, while the man kept himself away from danger.

Trevor could breathe in relief that nothing would happen to his dear friend.

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Time did not flow the same way in Lisa’s new home. Of course, the one that had bewitched her was the castle’s own Lord, the mysterious creature that she had discovered to be an utterly charming gentleman; but she was intrigued by the entire place, and perhaps a touch intimidated.

Daytime did not exist in the castle. Every waking hour was accompanied by the most beautiful moon Lisa had ever laid her eyes on. Nothing like the one she knew ever since she had memory, a small, pale figure in the sky; but an enormous celestial as bright as a star, tinged with a warm orange color. More than a few times, Lisa would get lost in the spectacle; not even the soothing hand of her husband on her shoulder would shake her, but she welcomed it.

Truly, so many wonders to discover in the world, if one was willing to explore and accept it.

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When you meet your long-lost twin in the forest, it is nearly inevitable that you become friends.

Julia enjoyed her life in solitude, only surrounded by tall cliffs and waterfalls; but solitude came with thoughts about her brother tormenting her. He hadn’t been responding to her letters in a while… and she heard voices of monsters attacking the region en mass…

Even without magic, Rosaly had the power to wash Julia’s worries away.

She was an overly kind woman, brimming with faith for other people; and she would give her food without asking for anything in return, and listen to Julia’s woes - she, too, had lost her whole family, and could sympathize with Julia’s grief still eating at her. Yet another thing they had in common.

Fear still reigned in Julia’s heart: she did not want to risk living so close to a village, not when people like her were still being hunted by vermin. Her little home in the mountains was the safest place. But if she could, she would have loved to spend more time with Rosaly, maybe even live with her, help each other and keep each other company. Perhaps pretend that they were sisters, to ward off the rumors of the villagers.

Chapter Text

“I trust that you will keep this between us, precious.” To emphasize his point, Lord Dracula placed a cold finger on Hector’s lips. “We wouldn’t want to cause a scandal in the court, would we?”

“A scandal? But… you’re the Lord. No one can judge you, not even God.” The mere notion was laughable. Lord Dracula always carried himself with an abundance of pride and a lack of shame, fully aware to be far beyond anything in the three worlds. It was what enthralled Hector the most.

He also doubted that demons had something remotely close to a moral code. They were not humans, dictated by a set of arbitrary rules: the only trait that Hector respected about the inhabitants of the castle.

Lord Dracula furrowed his brow, as if he did not expect his protégé to move an objection so soon. “That is very true. However… the same can’t be said for you, I’m afraid.”

“I care not for the petty opinions of some beasts, my Lord,” he declared. But not all inhabitants of the castle were monsters. Prince Adrian would most likely not approve, his relationship with his father was already stretched thin. And Isaac… Isaac would raise hell…

They couldn’t know. They wouldn’t understand.

“Ah dear, you are too intelligent to think like those animals do. I would be proud to announce to the world that you are mine and mine alone…”

Lord Dracula passed the back of his fingers on Hector’s face, to then replace them with his lips. “However, you must understand, that these lowly creatures cannot comprehend how important you are to me. They will think that you are nothing but a mere pet, and treat you as such, when you stand far above them.”

His hand traveled down Hector spine, to settle on the small of his back. He was now enveloped by Lord Dracula’s body from every side, completely at his mercy. He shuddered, from the cold coming from the Lord or something else.

“Furthermore… some scum not worthy to crawl in my castle might try to challenge me, to take you away from me, to prove themselves in their pitiful hubris. And that.”

The claws pressed on Hector’s back, not enough to tear fabric, but enough for the message to pass.

“That I cannot accept,” the vampire growled, close enough to Hector that he felt the tremors in his chest. “They would be reduced to a mere scream in the wind, of course, but the thought alone… No, my Hector, I cannot risk it.”

I am more than capable of protecting myself, nearly retorted Hector, but bit his tongue in time. Years of experience had taught him how to notice the fine line to never cross, to not irritate his Lord and convince him that Hector wanted to disobey him. For Hector, the line was much farther than for others, but the Lord appreciated wit, not arrogance.

If he wanted Hector to keep his mouth sealed, no matter how flimsy his reasoning was, then the matter was settled. It was alright with him: he was not the type to brag.

But Hector knew his Lord by now, understood the real reasons for his request. Hidden underneath the vampire’s dark cape, the bruises on his neck carefully hidden by the collar of his armor, he knew that Lord Dracula simply enjoyed the thrill of secrecy. For the court, they were the Lord of the Castle and his dutiful General, nothing more; but hidden in the shadows of the castle from mocking eyes, limbs tangled together and fingers sinking in each other’s hair and lips locked to one another, they were something that transcended norms and definitions.

Hector rose to his tiptoes, to meet Lord Dracula bowing down to him. Their encounters would be their little, scandalous secret.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

It was exhausting, but Hector loved the ritual of Devil Forging. From picturing his creature in his mind, to finding the best material to ensure its sturdiness and power, to reciting the formula and feel the dark magic flowing in his limbs, pouring life from himself to the newborn, innocent soul that would love and obey him for the rest of its life.

He loved it even more when he worked together with Isaac, rather than competing with one another. When he was in one of his agreeable moods, the two would sit down and brainstorm on the perfect devil they could create. Hector cherished even the discussions born at the Forging table: they came from a place of care for the creature they were set to make. Isaac was affectionate towards his devils: only Hector had been witness to that.

But nothing could surpass when they converged their powers together, and their creation brimmed with both of the Devil Forgemasters’ lifeforce, and the two could bask in each other’s pride.

Chapter Text

“I don't know who makes the better curry, you or Sypha,” beamed Trevor, looking the plate as if he was tempted to lick it clean. “Did you use your Forgemaster powers to make it so tasty?”

“I can cook like anyone, thank you.” Hector crossed his arms, but he could not be offended for long, not when his friend was satiated and satisfied. “But I’m glad you appreciated it.”

“Of course I did! Curry is my favorite!”

“Oh, really?” Hector pushed further down in his pouch the curry he had stolen from Trevor, when he was ‘testing’ him. It was only fair, he had thought at the time. “What a coincidence. I suppose I will have to make it more often, then.”

Chapter Text

Having spent most of his life in the realm of the undead, Hector had to grow used to the cold. It was not as harsh as a snowstorm, but pervasive in every room of the castle, radiating from every brick. Lord Dracula himself seemed to absorb heat, and even in his heaviest uniform, Hector’s hands used to go numb when in the vampire’s presence.

Cold was a fair price to pay for being allowed a home to live in. It was normal, and bearable, and it did not take long for Hector to associate it with safety from the outside, warmer world. He grew to be colder as well, distant from everyone, tongue and focus as sharp as ice.

And yet, nestled in Rosaly’s embrace, he thawed in an instant.

Chapter Text

His name was still Mathias Cronqvist when he discovered the true extent of the powers he had bargained his soul for.

He wished for a home, a place where he could exist in peace rather than hide in the Codrii Vlăsiei like a lowly vagrant, and the home came to be.

It was but a pale imitation of his old mansion, small and crooked to boot, but it was Mathias’, shaped by his will and part of him.

Decades passed. As Mathias’ body kept twisting into something unrecognizable, and he shed his human name in favor of Vlad Țepeș, and the darkness in him grew, the home followed suit, morphing itself into a more respectable castle. At first, he and Death were its lone dwellers, but soon it became a beacon of light for the creatures of darkness roaming the land, and then for the few humans who understood what vile being God truly was, and wished to follow the newly-christened Dracula.

That's when he discovered that the castle had a mind of its own.

It could not think, not in concrete words; it was not like Death, who would bow to his ear and whisper his thoughts in a clear, concise manner. No, it was more like music resonating in Dracula’s chest, tendrils wrapping around his mind, a presence felt like a phantom hand on his shoulder. Dracula knew everything that happened inside the walls of the castle, because the castle would show him. Dracula knew when intruders were approaching, because his heart would be seized by a fist of fury. Dracula knew when his family was content, because warmth would seep through the bricks and windows.

The castle never left Dracula side. No matter how many times a Belmont or an ally would slay him, the castle rose back from the ashes to welcome its master home when the time was right.

Of all the creatures of Chaos, the bond between Dracula and his castle was the most abstract, and yet, one that tied them indissolubly.

Chapter Text

A breeze moved Trevor’s hair.

He jumped out of the way and rolled on the ground. When he regained his bearings, the tip of a large spear was where he was previously standing.

That was slightly too close for Trevor’s comfort.

“You must be the other Devil Forgemaster,” he greeted the man holding the weapon. From that angle, he noticed the same crest Hector sported on his back... but embedded in his skin.

“Other?” The man’s - Isaac’s - eyes blazed. With that bright hair and ridiculous boots, Trevor could not believe that he had managed to sneak up on him. “I did not serve Lord Dracula my whole life to be reduced to the other one. Ah, but I take that you’re acquainted with the traitor, Hector?”

“I am. I’ve been looking for the source of the pestilence that has been plaguing the land. It appears that at last, I’ve found it.”

Isaac placed a hand on his exposed chest, baring his teeth in a mockery of a smile. “Were you looking for me? I’m flattered.”

The hairs on Trevor’s neck stood up. There was something wrong about that man. It wasn’t just that his clothes were rotten and falling off of his body, itself marred in a shameless display. It wasn’t just that he reeked of stale blood, like a feral vampire. It was perhaps his eyes, wild and of a sickly yellow, staring at Trevor like a cat would at a succulent bird.

This Isaac would not be as easy to subdue as Hector.

“I don’t think you understand the situation you’re in, Devil Forgemaster,” spoke Trevor, hand clutching the Vampire Killer, muscle twitching to strike at the first chance. “I cannot let you revive Dracula, nor spread misery among mankind.”

“I was about to say the same thing to you,” growled Isaac, himself holding his spear tighter and bracing himself. In that crouching position, he truly looked like a beast coiling to attack. “You are the filthy Belmont who killed my Lord. If you believe that you’ll be walking out of this room alive and in one piece... then it will be but gratifying to show you the power of a true Devil Forgemaster.”

Chapter Text

They had a medic in the camp, to heal the wounds received in battle; but Leon had no need for him, when Mathias did a better job than anyone could.

And for him and him alone, because Mathias knew Leon better than anyone else, after so many years. He knew which parts of his body he could tolerate being touched, and which made him thrash uncontrollably. He knew exactly the amount of pressure to put when rubbing healing lotions on Leon’s wounds. Even the way he would bandage his limbs or chest had a certain elegance to it that would put Leon at ease.

And, a thought that Leon wouldn’t dare express out loud, he had always admired Mathias’ delicate hands. Hands of a literate nobleman who never had to lift a sword in his life, nearly feminine in their softness and care, and so pale compared to Leon's own sun-kissed skin.

Leon did not trust many people with his own body and wellbeing, but he could put his own life into Mathias’ capable hands.

Chapter Text

“For the last time, it’s not dark magic. I am not a sorcerer.”

“You pick up stones from the ground and turn them into dragons. That sounds like dark magic to me.”

“It’s alchemy, Belmont!”

Trevor bursted into laughter at Hector’s indignant tone. He didn’t know that it was a sore subject for the usually unflappable man. Valuable knowledge, indeed.

“What is the difference?” he asked, in part to tease him further, and in part because he was genuinely curious. He never spent much thought into Hector’s powers: he only knew that they were cursed and born from Dracula’s magic, and that was all he needed. Of course, he didn’t hold it against the man himself, as he had ample time to know him and see for himself that he had a noble heart underneath it all.

Hector took a deep breath. “Alchemy doesn’t allow you to teleport, or to have visions of the present or future. Isaac and Julia can do that, because they are sorcerers, while I cannot. What alchemy does is to transmute matter, to boil it down to its essence and give it new form, to purify and elevate it; Devil Forging is simply the secret that infuses life to said matter and binds the creation to the Forgemaster.”

Hector was obviously passionate about the subject. It was clear in the way his eyes nearly shone while speaking, a bit faster than usual, hands moving to illustrate a concept better. He was a sight to behold; as distasteful as the topic was, perhaps Trevor wouldn’t mind learning it from his friend.

“... so it’s magic. You are a sorcerer that can only cast one spell.”

He also made it too easy to fluster him.

Hector made a sound halfway through a groan and a laugh.

“Forgive me, but how can Lady Belnades stand you?”

“Said ‘lady’ is not as needlessly stubborn as you are, my good friend,” he grinned.

“I am precise. I care to call things as they are.”

“Is that so?” Trevor wrapped a hand around Hector’s shoulders, fingers brushing against his longer hair. “I wouldn’t have guessed that you cared about something as trivial as definitions.”

The sharp, challenging look in Hector’s eyes was precisely what had drawn Trevor to blur the lines with his new companion.

Chapter Text

Isaac’s bone-white face was twisted in a grimace, teeth gritted so hard that they would crack soon. Blood bubbled from his mouth, and from the large slash on his chest, where Hector had struck him.

He was in no better condition, he was aware. Cold had seized him, seeped from his own wounds into his guts: only the three gashes on his side, where the Chauve-Souris got stuck inside, burned like the fires of Hell that would soon welcome the both of them.

This is how it all ended. Their camaraderie, their friendship, the jokes between them, the kisses shared in the dim candlelight, the promise that it would be them against the world… they were soaking the ground below.

Hector took a moment to look at Isaac once more. With his sickly pale skin, and face so drawn that it resembled a skull, he looked like Death. He would take them soon.

But he would not find them together. Not anymore.

Hector crawled away like the beast he was.

Chapter Text

“Have you ever travelled outside of the country?”

The question sprung to mind, and then to Rosaly’s mouth, out of nowhere. Maybe tiredness after a long day of work had caught up with her. Hector raised his head from the book he was reading and pursed his lips, like every time he pondered a question in earnest.

“No,” her husband replied eventually, turning away. “I can’t say I have.”

That was the answer Rosaly was expecting. She didn’t know yet where Hector had lived all of his life, but she figured that he didn’t know much of the world. However, it wasn’t her intention to make him feel embarrassed.

“Well… would you like to?”

Another pause stretched between them. It was another trait of Hector that she loved: he was always so careful and considerate in everything he did. She didn’t mind waiting for him to speak up.

“Yes. Yes, I want to see more of the world.” He tugged the corner of his mouth. “I am… well-acquainted with maps and planning, but I want to leave them behind, and simply go wherever I want.”

“Me too! There is so much to see, so many places that don’t look anything like home!” Rosaly clapped her hands. “Where would you like to go first?”

It didn’t matter to her that they could only afford to live with dignity, and little more. She simply enjoyed talking with Hector, getting to peek everyday more inside of his heart, and offering more of her own in turn.

“I think… I would like to see the sea for myself,” he mused, eyes closed as if lost in thought. “I heard it’s beautiful.”

“Oh, it is! Well, it is in paintings. So I’m sure it is breathtaking to see in person.” Rosaly huddled closer to Hector. “Can you imagine? Infinite stretches of water that blur with the sky, with no mountains in sight…” No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t imagine a scenery without steep mountains. She sighed. “I wonder what kind of plants grow there.”

She felt a kiss on the forehead. “I promise that we’ll discover it, one day.”

“It’s a promise!”

Chapter Text

He was alive, and that was all that mattered.

Leon moved through the forest as if he were in a dream, as if a higher force pushed him through. Without the power of the Ebony Stone shrouding it in eternal night, the sun was allowed to shine through the foliage, bathing the air in a green and golden light. It was a lovely sight.

Leon had never felt more dead before.

But he was alive, and he was walking, and he would return home, eventually.

He was alive. Walter Bernhard was not. Leon had yearned to hurt him, to kill him, to watch him bleed at his feet as payment for his cruelty. But Death did not reach the vampire by his hand. It all happened according to plan. Leon thought that the Lord’s death would bring him some cheer, but he felt empty.

He was alive. Mathias was not. Not in the Christian sense of the word, anyway. No, Mathias, his dear friend, that treacherous snake, he had the gall to ask Leon to abandon own humanity to join him in a cursed existence against God. Oh, but Leon would make sure that his friend would fall by his hand, and were he to fail his son would take his place, or his son's son, may he never know peace as long as he walked the land, how could he, how could he! That was not the Mathias Leon once knew! Mathias was dead, and a monster took his place, and Leon could do nothing to save him.

He was alive. Sara was not. She died on the ground like an animal after Leon struck her.

A sob ripped through him. His legs gave out beneath him, and he fell on the damp soil, wailing her name.

A life without her… Leon had understood, for a fleeting moment, the depths of the agony Mathias lost himself in. He couldn't forget her face, how wan and drawn she had looked in her final moments as the curse of the vampire ravaged her from the inside. She didn't deserve it... she was so young, they were supposed to live together…

But he had to live on, for his Sara. She had promised that she would live with him, her soul safe in the whip held secure in his hand.

And thanks to her, and the holy power granted to the both of them, Leon will make sure that no one would go through what they did.

Leon picked himself up, and kept walking, his head high.

Chapter Text

He is running out of healing potions.

Cursing his overconfidence and haste into settling matters, Juste wipes the blood flowing from his cheek. The creature in front of his eyes is but a vile mockery, and Juste's holy blood boils at the desecration of his dear friend. It looks like Maxim, but his handsome features are twisted into a sneer; it sounds like Maxim, but it uses his voice to spout obscenities; he fights with the honored Stellar Sword, but it raises it against Juste, to maim and kill.

And it has dared to use Maxim’s body and strength to hurt Lydie - and that, Juste will never forgive.

“I will save you, Maxim,” he shouts, “I won’t allow you to lose yourself! Not after everything we have done for each other!”

“You have wasted your time!” the creature wearing Maxim’s face cackles. “It was all for naught! But indeed, it appears you Belmonts enjoy wasting yourselves for lost causes…”

Beyond words, Juste snaps the Vampire Killer at the thing with a deafening scream – and it pains him to watch Maxim curse and bleed all over the floor, but it is not Maxim, his friend is fighting for dear life inside that wretched creature, and Juste owes it to him to do everything he can to help him.

The two bracelets nearly burn on his arm.

He has collected all of Dracula’s repugnant remains, he has lost himself in Maxim’s split psyche, he has defeated Death himself and all of the monsters crawling in the castles. It was all for the people he holds dearest in his heart, to save Lydie from the dangers of the castle and Maxim from the demons tormenting him. He cannot afford a single moment of hesitation.

With the magic flowing in his veins, Juste enchants his cross: the holiness scorching the creature’s flesh brings him closer to fulfilling his fate.

Chapter Text

Existence was a lonely affair, for Death. He was created at the beginning of time, only bound to collect departed souls and to the avatar of his Creator. He was feared, he obeyed: that was the beginning and the end, and Death knew no more, and simply did what he was made for, without anything else touching his mind.

Master Bernhard was an excellent ally, when it came to providing souls: his little, petty games always ended with one or two souls for Death to collect. He took no joy in separating parents from children, or betrothed from one another, but it was the purpose of his existence. That, however, did not make for enjoyable company. Master Bernhard was far too self-conceited to strike a conversation with whom he looked as a servant. It was alright with Death, as he himself was not one to waste words for those who did not deserve them.

Then, one day, Master Cronqvist completed the Crimson Stone, and Death bowed to the newborn vampire not without curiosity. What sort of Lord would he become? One hungry for power? One who longed for solitude? A benefactor for his subjects? It was new: and for the first time in centuries, the spark of excitement ignited in Death’s ribcage.

What Master Cronqvist, and then Dracula, ended up being, was a friend.

Death was reticent in borrowing such paltry human terms, but he figured that it fit their situation. Master Dracula spent his first centuries as a vampire in relative peace, building up power, only feeding when necessary - a far cry from Death’s former master - and striking conversations with him. He was eager to know more about the world, and he relied on Death’s ancestral knowledge and wisdom, to give him advice on how to rule on the land, or simply because for the longest time, the two of them were the only being in Master Dracula’s own castle. It suit Death just fine: his Master made for enjoyable company.

But Master Dracula seemed to be a more magnanimous vampire than his predecessor, because he eventually fell in love. Death took care of his Master’s human wife, and his hybrid son when he came to light. For reasons he could not explain, Death kept feeling a twinge of repulsion at the sight of Master Dracula smiling at the woman, but he kept quiet, for his Master’s joy is what he existed for. And so, for the first time since he could remember, he regretted taking a human soul - the one who plunged his Master into despair. Still, Death never left Master Dracula’s side, and collected all the souls of the victim of his grief, aware that for the world he was nothing but a monster, but for Death, he was but a lonely man in need of comfort.

And then the Belmont slew his Master, with the same weapon that had slashed Death centuries prior.

How could have Death failed him? The vampire’s soul returned to the abyss, far where Death couldn’t reach him; but it still beckoned to him, his closest servant, to be brought back.

He could not allow it. He worked tirelessly on a plan to revive the Lord. He had to, he had to bring Master Dracula back to the human world, where he belonged...!

The useless Devil Forgemasters frustrated all of his efforts.

No matter what Death did, Master Dracula spent more time dead than alive. And Death worked alone, collecting souls, waiting until the time was right... missing him.

The notion was laughable. Master Dracula was a mere child, compared to the eons Death had existed for. He served him, because he had to, but surely he couldn’t have left an impact that strong in a few centuries.

No, he eventually was forced to accept. He was not only bound by duty. What pushed him to try everything in his power, manipulating unwitting humans, striking alliances with the odd Belmonts, slaying wayward vampires who dared to take his Lord’s place, was the joy that resonated in his core when his Master rose back from his ashes. Every time he was called back by the greed of humans, Master Dracula was more wan, his eyes more sunken, his fangs longer and sharper; but he always greeted Death with a smile, as if no time ever passed for him.

But it passed for Death. Even an ancestral being such as him could feel the weight of a mere century, if spent alone without the only creature he could call a friend.

The sight of the young human clad in white was a blow to his ribcage. Death will never, ever forgive the Belmont clan, who forced him to fight that weak, pitiful, haughty boy who no longer had any memories of his old confidant.

Chapter Text

“Hahahaha! This game prospects to be most amusing!” Lord Bernhard’s laughter boomed in the dining room. “You are by far one of the most intriguing humans I’ve had the pleasure to speak with, sir Cronqvist.”

Mathias wondered how many times the vampire Lord had said that same line to unsuspecting people. Nevertheless, he thanked him with a thin-lipped smile.

“Oh, but I mean it,” Lord Bernhard cooed, and Mathias frowned at having been understood so easily. “A deep darkness festers in the rotten hole that once hosted your heart… I’m impressed, which is no small feat.”

Mathias squashed the cold guilt that creeped up his spine. Was he truly that heinous? Would Leon…? No, Leon would understand. He would understand his sorrow, his agony, his rage at the One who took everything dear to him. Mathias dug his nails, chewed to the root, in his thighs: he would not fall for the vampire’s taunts.

“You would make for a fine child of the night. Why, I could grant you power beyond your imagination…”

“I graciously reject the offer, Lord,” Mathias interrupted him, fully aware that it was not an offer at all.

He had no intention of being sired by the vampire. That would make him subservient to him, and Mathias had no intention of rejecting one treacherous God to then kneel to another.

He would have to become his own God.

Lord Bernhard clicked his tongue, before moving on: “As you wish. And what do you have to gift me, former knight?”

His eyes flickered like candles.

Mathias recoiled in his seat, made painfully aware of his atrophied limbs, his fragile frame, his wretched humanity. “Isn’t the promise of entertainment enough? I’ve done my part.”

“That will depend entirely on your friend, not on you.” Mirroring Mathias, Lord Bernhard leered closer to him; the furbished table was not long enough to keep the vampire far from Mathias, who had to (and oh, how his insides gnawed at the indignation) look up to him, his hair burning like fire around his feline face. “Oh, did you truly think you’d get out of my castle without offering any sort of respect to its Lord? You are in no position to be this arrogant, sir.”

Mathias did, of course, consider the possibility that the Lord would not be content with a civil deal. Vampires were greedy, craving as much power and sustenance as their bodies could hold. They were also predictable in their beastly desires. Or perhaps, Lord Bernard was simply that shallow of mind.

He bowed his head, making an effort to unclench his teeth. “My apologies, my Lord. Take what you wish from me.”

Very well, Mathias figured. He could have his shell of a body: he cared not for it, it was made worthless without the one person who cherished it. The vampire Lord didn’t know that soon, Mathias would get something much more valuable in exchange.

Lord Bernhard stood up from his chair, and without hesitation, Mathias followed him, invigorated by the anticipation.

He took Lord Bernhard’s hand. His own was tiny and sickly compared to the vampire’s. Not for longer.

Lord Bernhard’s fangs shone, with the grin of a predator.

“Then, let us dance together, my future brother, as we are to be united,” Mathias’ prey purred, before capturing his lips.

Chapter Text

The first time Lisa put her hand on Dracula’s, she could not hold back a giggle, much to his bemusement.

“I am not making fun of you! I just noticed… look how big you are compared to me!”

And he was. His body had twisted beyond his control, in the centuries that followed his transformation. By now, Dracula was more monster than man, towering over every creature that came crawling or slithering or kneeling in his castle; he could no longer see himself in a mirror, but he could see his own hands, ashen and tipped with deadly claws, made to hold power and to maim and to crush skulls with a mere flex of his fingers.

Lisa had the soft hands of a healer, rosy with life, and it fit snugly into his entire palm.

Dracula was too entranced by the warmth radiating from Lisa’s skin to pay attention to the contrast, but after she mentioned it… yes, he could not deny that it was endearing.

“Is that a problem, my dear?” he asked out of courtesy, for there was no longer room for doubt in his still heart, that this wonderful woman would accept him as he was.

“Not at all,” she smiled. “It means you can hold me with ease.”

And so he shall do, for the rest of her life.

Dracula bowed low and brought Lisa’s hand to his lips, to kiss its back, drawing another laugh out of her that pealed like chimes.

Chapter Text

Mathias had always found charm to be an important weapon in the arsenal of a strategist.

If logic was his sword, then enticing his opponents was his shield. Carefully weighing his words, singing with the right cadence, watching and observing and noting every twitch in the other’s face: he knew how to make everyone dance to his tune, and he could pride himself in his skills as the key to their countless victories.

But as much as he enjoyed to believe himself to be above it all, that did not make Mathias immune to his own strategies, when employed by a creature much older and wiser than he was.

And it was fitting, that the only person that Mathias could consider a better charmer than him… would be himself.

He attempted to focus on the Count’s monstrosity with all his strength. The maw filled with cruel fangs, the red flames of hell thar shone in his eyes, the tall frame that towered and bowed over him, casting a shadow, blocking the light of God: Mathias wanted to find it all repulsive.

He had to, because he refused to be enthralled by a blasphemous creature. Even when his deep voice resonated in his ribcage and made his legs shake. Even when his sharp face, a distorted mirror of Mathias’ fate, bowed so close to him that nothing else filled his vision.

Even when said monster caressed his cheek with his cold fingers stained with blood and sin, crimson gaze boring into him, as if he were unable to avert it.

Chapter Text

Hector’s rebirth had not been a peaceful, pleasant one.

Perhaps because he never wanted it in the first place, but a wife was not to go against her husband’s wishes. That was what Lord Dracula had said.

He had said quite a lot of things, actually, before sliding a ring on Hector’s finger and his fangs in Hector’s neck and his dripping tongue in Hector’s mouth.

He had forgotten about them, because when his humanity had left him, he woke up screaming as his body rotted from the inside out.

Hector cried and cried, his chest heaving as breathing no longer came with that sensation of relief that meant that he was alive, and only Lord Dracula was strong enough to stop him from destroying his room. So, Hector could only weep in his husband’s chest, longing for what he never had.

Vestiges of humanity, he’d soothe him. They, too, will pass – and you shall make for a wonderful vampire bride at my side, precious.

They did not pass.

Hector simply could not be left alone in his own coffin. Lord Dracula had reassured him that he would be nothing but comfortable, more than when he used to sleep on his bed; but in the cramped dark, nostrils assaulted by the stench of decay, Hector broke his fingernails in a vain attempt to break free; and then he gnawed at them, licked the lukewarm fermented blood flowing from them, because it reminded him of Lord Dracula’s blood forcibly poured down his throat, and for fleeting moments, he was more than a lonely corpse to be buried.

Lord Dracula’s solution to Hector’s hysteria was as magnanimous as one could expect from him.

Now, Hector slept in the Lord’s coffin. Indeed, the fits had stopped; Hector would simply lie awake with his eyes wide open, with his husband’s arm as a blanket and his chest as a pillow.

Not even death could separate them.

Chapter Text

No life could grow from death. Only a phantom of it, a thing that looks alive until you notice its stillness and feel the cold of its flesh on your hand.

No love could beat from a dead heart, already scattered in pieces. Obsession, devotion, care, protection: things that approach love, but don’t quite reach it, like a hand attempting to capture smoke.

Lord Dracula would not be stopped by such trivial matters. He had a precious thing to keep close to his vacant chest.

A gift, from his clawed hand to a smaller one. A red carnation, the best one that grew in my garden, he explained with a smile as frayed as the petals.

He had to explain, because the poor thing hardly resembled a flower. The petals were the color of ashes, hanging limply from the stem, dried up like the Lord’s compassion. It was, most likely, a demon’s work, for no life could grow in Lord Dracula’s realm without a blasphemer behind it.

And that was the reason Hector took it, and felt it with his callused fingers. One petal fell, so he stopped.

He would cherish his Lord’s gift until the end of days.

Hector wiped his boots on the grass. He did not wish to stain the castle with human blood more than it already was, and without Isaac putting pressure on him, he felt free to do as he pleased.

And that was how he spotted it, from the corner of his eye.

A single flower, standing tall among its crushed brethren. A purple dahlia, he recognized, wobbly and missing petals due to being stomped on, but alive and well. Hector crouched, to admire it: such a regal flower was hard to come by.

He knew just the person who deserved this gift.

Chapter Text

When Isaac delves its tongue inside the fresh wound, prying it open and licking at the raw flesh, the Belmont throws his head back and howls, a deep, guttural sound soaked with anger, and oh, what a pretty song it is when it comes from his bruised throat!

Isaac just can’t resist the sight, and it sinks its teeth into his skin again, near the Adam’s apple: it bends under its jaw, supple and salty with sweat under its tongue, but much like the man himself, it doesn’t break. Isaac growls in frustration: it could always use the dagger it had stolen from the Belmont, but that would be too easy and crass.

No, it allows itself to think as it admires the Belmont thrashing against Abel’s solid grasp, it yearns to make the wretched murderer weep and beg with nothing more than its own strength. It needed nothing to snuff out the fire burning in the man’s scarred chest but its own sheer will.

Isaac wipes some of the sweat rolling down its bangs. Since when did it start yearning, like some sort of person? Weapons don’t yearn. Weapons don’t have a will. Weapons are used. But there’s no one to use Isaac, except its Lord’s memory.

Surely, He would be proud at His servant’s accomplishments. It is the one hope Isaac dares to cling onto, the very reason its heart has never stopped beating ever since its life ended.

So may He allow it, Isaac will live, and yearn, and most of all enjoy the Belmont’s wheezes of agony, serves him right for being alive.

“Maniac… filthy…” the man mutters with cracked voice. His body is limp, but he still somehow has the strength to glare at Isaac with his wolfish eyes. It sneers at them. They remind it too much of another man whom Isaac dearly wishes to gut apart like a pig.

It delights, then, in sitting on the man’s lap, feeling the shivers of revulsion vibrate through both of their bodies. Belmont turns his face away, and with that, he has lost the battle already.

“You think you’re so special, don’t you, Belmont?” Isaac purrs, dragging a nail down the scar adorning the man’s eye. Oh, it could jab it inside the eyeball and pluck it clean! That would be fun. “You think of yourself as the mighty vampire hunter, the hero of the land who slayed Lord Dracula.”

“Let go of me, you rancid beast…”

At that, Isaac laughs. And laughs, and laughs, until its chest spasms, because he’s so amusing, thinking it would be hurt by some words! It, who learned that it did not deserve to live the moment it was forced into this world! It, who dragged with it the failure of allowing its Lord to perish!

“Hahaha!” It wiped a tear from its eye. “True, I am a beast. And do you want to know what you are?”

It has an even better idea. Isaac climbs off the Belmont’s lap - although part of it couldn’t help but miss the heat of his shame - crouches, and puts all of its strength to spread open the man’s legs. It lets the man have all sorts of sordid ideas about what it plans to do, because it’s sure they are quite amusing, it could tell by the resistance he’s putting in shutting them close again. But Isaac is still a Devil Forgemaster, and it still carries part of Lord Dracula’s soul inside it, and most importantly it is not wounded and restrained, because it has won in His name, yes it is a good tool and with His will it can do anything.

“Meat,” it drawls. “Bloody, succulent meat, good for nothing but be devoured. And tell me, Belmont…” It bares its teeth in all of their stained glory. “What do beasts eat?”

And with that, Isaac clasps its mouth on the Belmont’s inner thigh, right on the muscle, and squeezes and yanks and dig and tears and at last its canines pierce the skin and fat; and hot blood dribbles out of the wound, the coppery syrup that nourished creatures much more worthy than itself drenches its tongue and finds its way into its stomach, and the Belmont’s shriek is one of visceral fear.

Isaac was famished from some delicious blessed meat.