CastleVania: The Unfinished Symphony Chapter 8

Rising Into Glory

By The Dark Requiem

The year: 1476.

The place: Poenari Fortress.

Voivode Vlad III Tepes Dracula once again is seated upon his throne.

Ah, it is good to be home, he thinks.

Once again I reign, having placed all enemies under my feet.

The traitor brother of mine is dead and gone, as is fitting.

Then some Danesti was put on my throne.

A Danesti!

He sneers at the thought of that wretched name.

Basarab the Old they had called him, he thinks.

But I know who he really was. I saw his face.

That damned Grant Danesti, the little wretch who escaped at the time of his brother’s execution.

I should have killed him this time.

But no…

I saw the fear in his eyes when he recognized me.

When he saw my army…my Transylvanian kin…

…he knew.

He will not interfere in my business again.

And if he does…

He sits back and fingers a small wooden pick.

No more impaling rats or birds, he thinks. Now we return to the real fun.


He looks over to the window. Sitting there, looking out at the river below, is his beloved Lisa.

How beautiful she looks, he thinks.

How can I think of these cruel ways to entertain myself when she and the children are all the entertainment I need?

Ah well…

It seems old habits die hard, he chuckles to himself.

Yet still this troubles him.

He has a woman he cannot bear to be parted.

He has three darling children.

And he has his kingdom once again.

What more could he possibly want?

He fingers the pick again, glancing at the sharp wooden point. And he grins.

Like a maniac he grins….

…then suddenly stops as he snaps the pick in two.

Yes, he reaffirms to himself as he tosses the shards aside. I have all I need.

My beloved Lisa…

…my little Mihnea…

…my young Vlad…

…and my darling Ad…

Suddenly there is a crash heard in the next room, the sound of metal clanging onto the stone floor.

He looks fiercely up towards the door and watches it open. Perhaps it is an intruder, he thinks.

And I know so many wonderful things to do to intruders.

But into the room walks little Adrian, holding a silver cup. He holds it to his pale face and drinks down imaginary liquid through red lips.

His mother laughs at the child’s act. Dracula only sighs, half in disappointment and half in relief, and puts his hand to his head.

How I do worry about that boy, he thinks.

And then Adrian cries. His bare foot is bleeding, cut by the falling cup.

Lisa rises from her chair and tends to him with bandages and her special herbs.

She is magical, he thinks. What a special gift it is to heal the sick.

And Dracula smiles.

* * *

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

Poor Vlad, he thought to himself.

How secure you are.

But just you wait, my lord…wait until the Turks arrive.

They are tiring of you, kaziglu bey – “impaler prince”.

And, though you are not aware yet, so are your people.

And that will not bode well for you…

…or your “witch” of a wife…

…or your children.

And then…at last…my power will be known you.

The power of death will surround you…

…until you too are swallowed by it!

Yes…I will have my vengeance…

…and your soul will be mine.


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