CastleVania: The Unfinished Symphony Chapter 6

A Fall From Grace

By The Dark Requiem

The year: 1462

The place: a royal prison in Hungary.

Vlad III Tepes Dracula sits in his cell and ponders the events that have recently transpired.

His kingdom is gone.

His power is gone.

His wife is gone.

There is only he.

He remembers well. He had just been victorious in a surprise attack against the Turks, who had attempted to seize Wallachia after the taking of Constantinople.

But those Turks had another plan in store for him.

Dracula returned to his castle, his mighty Poenari, and marched victoriously towards his keep.

As he passed through the outer wall, he noticed that something was wrong.

There stood Olrox on the great balcony that overlooked the Arges River, his eyes wide with fear and incredulity.

Dracula had noticed a paper in his hand, which he had snatched away quickly. Olrox had turned to his master, trying to dissuade him from reading, but it had been too late.

The note had carried news…false news…of a fallen voivode, slain by the Turks, who would never see his bride again.

The prince, having pondered the possible end result, had stood on the balcony, studying the letter again…and again…and again…and again…

And Olrox had relayed the rest of the story.

When Elisabeta had read the note, she had wept, mourning her lost consort.

She had gone from the keep…

…through the clock tower…

…to the outer wall,…

…had stepped onto the balcony…

…and had flung herself headlong over the side…




…until she had hit the swift waters of the Arges.

On hearing this, Dracula had gone to his royal chapel, on the other side of the castle. There he had knelt before the great stone cross that protruded out from the apse, the testament of an old sacrifice.

He had not wept.

He had not moaned.

He had not mourned.

He had only stared.

He had stared at the cross with an ever-increasing hatred that he now remembers and does not regret, even in his shackles.

He had conquered for God…

…and God had dealt him this hand.

His staring had been interrupted by the sound of footsteps behind him. Dracula had spun around, anxious to see who had intruded on him…

…and he saw Radu.

Good Radu.

Faithful Radu.

Radu…his brother.

Radu…his only family.

He had staggered up to him, looking for an embrace…

…and then he had stopped in his tracks as Radu reached into his cloak…

…and removed a quill and paper.

Then Dracula had noticed Radu's head.

Radu was wearing the crown.

Dracula's expression had not changed. And neither had the hatred.

* * *

Somehow, he can not remember, he had escaped the castle…escaped his brother…escaped that house of death.

He had become sick…sick with disgust…sick with rage…and had made his way to a mountain pass, leading to the village Arefu.

And, after pausing one moment in respect for his fallen wife, he had gone there.

And there he had stayed until he had become well enough to make a journey to his neighbor.

Yes, his neighbor…Matthias Corvinus…king of Hungary.

Hungary…the land that had aided him in reclaiming his birthright.

He had come before the king, entreating help to reclaim his throne and seek revenge on his brother.

But the king had looked into Dracula's eyes.

He had seen the anger.

He had seen the hatred.

He had seen his hunger for vengeance.

And he had seen his determination to do whatever it would take.

For this, Matthias had judged him too dangerous…

…dangerous to him…

…dangerous to the kingdom…

…and dangerous to himself.

Matthias had ordered that Dracula be bound and chained and thrown into the royal dungeon until the anger and hatred had subsided.

And that is where he now finds himself.

He has lost everything that was and should still be his.

There is nothing left but to sit there…

…and stare.

* * *

Somewhere, in a far away realm of which we currently know nothing, Death laughed to himself.

Poor Vlad, he thought to himself.

He has tasted the cold and relentless nature of my hand.

He is in ruin.

But this is only the beginning.

I will never be through with that one…


…until the day he feels my wrath on himself…

…and he kneels before my sharp scythe, a broken shade.

His soul will be mine!


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