To Witness Beginning and End

The world has changed much over the past three centuries. Or at least, Alucard assumes it has. He has no desire to see for himself, beyond noticing that the road he walks towards the castle is worn deeper into the ground, and he catches glimpses of more people than he remembers seeing around these parts. He doesn’t stop to talk. There’s only one reason for one such as him to defile the earth with his presence, and idle chat plays no part in it. The low howl of a wolf cuts through the forest as he walks. Wolves, feared, despised, only good for shedding blood. At least that hasn’t changed. Alucard walks faster.

The forests of Transylvania were largely unchanged, but the castle itself is nothing like he remembers it. Living, breathing, it’s never content to conform to memory. Alucard is grateful for it. The castle doesn’t wish to dwell on it, but it’s full of memories, good and bad. And even the good ones are tainted. The unfamiliar halls are a blessing.

At first, anyway. The more he wanders, the more familiar scenes he finds. The castle is a creature of chaos, but it clings to its old framework, its past. The more rooms and structures he recognizes, the more Alucard feels like he’s walking through a graveyard. 

There’s a girl in the clock room. Not an undead approximation of one, but someone who is truly, against all odds, alive in this place. She calls out to him, asking him of his humanity. Fortunately, she asks another question before he can respond. A much easier one to answer.

“I’ve come to destroy this castle,” he tells her, simply. He doesn’t want this conversation to last long, but he is curious as to what brought her here. To his surprise, she answers likewise. He wonders if the name she gives him, Maria, is followed by Belmont. Someone must have been keeping his father at bay during those centuries of slumber. The cycle never rests.

They meet a few more times. Maria’s face brightens when she sees him, perhaps relieved for any companionship in this place. Alucard’s well aware he makes for a poor conversation partner, but he doesn’t care. He’s haunted by enough dead friends in the castle without making more for himself.

Perhaps it’s during their third encounter when she mentions what’s really brought her here. A man named Richter. Richter Belmont. So, the clan does still exist, still burdened by their foul task. He thinks of Trevor, whose family were shunned and exiled. Trevor, who was called back to fight for the church only because he was useful to them. Trevor, who never would have admitted it, but who was tinged with bitterness over his monstrous duty to fight for people who hated him for it. Trevor, who did it anyway. Alucard doesn’t know Richter, but if the legacy of the Belmonts has changed as little as the core of this creature of chaos, he already feels sorry for him. 

The Colosseum, its walls spattered with blood gone russet in its age, is where he meets Richter for himself. A mixture of something both frightening and desperately sad in his eyes, he claims his ownership over the castle. To Alucard, it seems more like the castle has consumed him instead. 

He seeks a moment of rest, and watches his mother die instead. It’s not her, of course. He knew from the moment the name Alucard, an alias born of her death, passed her lips. It isn’t until he hears his mother’s voice championing the very antithesis of her life’s work that he’s able to admit it to himself. For all the senseless cruelty of humanity, the castle is able to match it tenfold. Alucard kills a demon wearing his mother’s face.

The next time he sees Maria, she’s all fire, quick to deny everything he tells her about Richter. The time after that, the fire is out. 

“I’m sorry. You were right,” she tells him, and Alucard doesn’t want to imagine what happened between the pair for this sudden change of heart. She’s still insistent that he must be possessed, controlled against his will. He doesn’t tell her that he doesn’t know of a spell in the world that can control someone into doing something they didn’t, deep down, ache for themselves. 

The look of realization, guilt, and horror on Richter Belmont’s face confirms his suspicions, and Alucard truly feels the weight of three hundred years for the first time. 

The work at hand still isn’t done, but at least this time, a Belmont gets a reprieve from completing it. 

The castle is still a graveyard as he makes his way through it in reverse. A trio of coffins in the Reverse Colosseum contain the likenesses of his old friends. How fitting for them to be impersonated by creatures of the night. Back then, if the church was the shepherd keeping their flock safe, then they were just more of the wolves. A Belmont, a thief, a witch, and the son of Dracula himself. There was a camaraderie between them in wanting to prove themselves. He supposed they’d succeeded. At least, his friends had. There was no way to remove the cursed blood running through his veins.

He meets his father, and almost doesn’t recognize him. Perhaps Dracula too is like the castle, ever changing in the little ways, but familiar enough to bring bile to his throat and an ache to his chest. There’s no thrill in it as the two trade blows. Alucard isn’t sure if the worn look in his father’s eyes is his imagination or not. He’s sure it isn’t once the fight ends, and a look of what almost appears to be relief washes Dracula’s face. He wishes for Lisa’s forgiveness, bids his child farewell, and is gone once again. Alucard can’t even be relieved for his sake. It won’t last. It never does. 

“We’ll not meet again,” he tells Maria and Richter, and it’s not a command, but a plea. Partially, it’s because he wishes to taint neither the world nor the two young hunters with his blood any longer, but he can’t pretend it’s as selfless as that. It wasn’t until now, walking the earth three hundreds years after his birth, that he grasped the enormity of his curse. How horrid, to see both beginning and end.

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