17 June 1643 – Somewhere near Oslo
The stone hallways of that old castle seemed to contract into asphyxiating corridors. Belmont led the group forward with his torch held upward and his whip curled up in the other hand. Diego stepped immediately behind him ready with sword in one hand and parrying dagger in the other. Amatallah and Alia crept behind Diego along the shadows dressed in the black robes in which they came. One could not distinguish them from the darker spots if it weren't for the beauty of their gem-like eyes and the shimmer of glass vials tucked underneath their garments.
Íñigo was next behind the ladies and his own short sword held in readiness while Lope guarded the rear with another torch in his left hand and his sword at held tightly in his right. “We're getting close to the main tower,” Belmont said from up ahead. “Up ahead the corridor turns and I believe it will lead us to the antechamber to the tower,” he continued to explain. His voice was distorted by the incongruous hallway like a breath choking in an assaulted throat.
“What can we expect in this antechamber?” Diego asked from behind Belmont.
“The tower is where they are... 'holding' Matthijs,” Belmont clarified although the choice of his words seemed awkward. “If they are to mount a final defense, I believe that those three in purple that you have seen before will be waiting for us in the antechamber.”
“Waiting for us?” Lope asked from the rear, “Wouldn't it be easier to ambush us in this corridor?” he asked with his fighter instincts chafing against the enemy's tactics.
“We have already bested their ambushes and many of their tricks. These three will no longer be playing games of cunning. They will fight us with their true power.”
“You're talking as if you were telling terrors to children,” Lope complained, “what are we to expect from them in that chamber?”
Belmont was about to answer when he stopped. The entire line behind him stopped as well. “Do you smell that?” he asked quietly.
“Yes,” Amatallah was the only one to respond, “it's coming from inside one of these walls,” she followed the invisible trail to some of the slabs along their left side. Her veiled hands pressed against the cold surface until it slid forward. Immediately, the others raised their sleeves to their noses and Belmont's torch flared up in agitation at the foul air. The small cell which had now been revealed offended their eyes.
Sitting in the darkness of the unwindowed box were three men. Two seemed to be already dead. Íñigo turned away from the dead ones: he could not bare to look at their bulging eyes petrified into a deathly gaze. Their skin was coarse and pale while blood was trailing from wounds on their necks to form a crusted flow down onto the floor where it trained dryly into the cracks.
The last one was gasping in the fresher air in utter terror. Belmont stepped inside bravely and moved towards the one still alive. Diego held the front of the line while Amatallah similarly stepped in, already with a vial ready in her hand. She crouched down next to the living one and uncorked her container but Belmont shook his head. “It's already too late for him,” he sighed as he watched the terrified one shudder against the stone. The wounds on his neck—similar to the other two—was slowly dripping out blood as well.
“Zey--” the man tried to say in English. Belmont was puzzled at the raspy voice. The face of the man indicated that he was probably of Scandinavian origin.
“Zey--” the man repeated, “Zey—ahh.. thouls...”
“Xe-A-Thouls?” Amatallah tried to mimic the sound.
“Zey—ahh—thouls—aufff..” the man gasped himself unconscious.
“'They are tools,'” Belmont translated into Spanish for the rest of them as he stood up from the corpse. “Perhaps a tradesman with the English,” he speculated.
“Tools?” Lope interrogated, “What was he talking about?”
“I don't know,” Belmont admitted. “But we cannot do anything for him anymore...” he turned back to the hallway and moved forward down the narrow corridor once again. The others took a moment to look at the dead bodies for the last time before moving away from the foul secret chamber and pressed on.
The next turn expanded the passageway until it widened into a set of massive wooden doors. The metal rings which governed the passageway were bitten by the visages of foul creatures. Belmont pushed the portal open fearlessly. His torchlight suddenly blew out as he shoved the door open. A gust of air even snuffed out Lope's light. The chilling breeze was coupled with the dull illumination of something glowing in the distance.
The chamber itself was a vast difference from the rest of the castle earlier. This time, sleek marble enameled the floor in a checkered pattern alternating between grey and purple. The reason for the air was easy to guess: the entire back wall was missing. Instead, an exposed staircase bridged the edge of the castle keep with a tower barely visible in the distance. Behind the tower peeked the violent edge of the moon dimly illuminating the chess-board chamber.
It was at the foot of those faraway stairs that the three in purple stood with their visors emanating some menacing shade of yellow. Belmont and the others spread out into a line while Lope kept Íñigo and Alia behind him. “Remember,” Amatallah said to them quietly, “only those weapons which you had dipped earlier in the liquid can kill them. Do not bother drawing or resorting to your pistols.”
There was a laughter: a resounding roll of distortion that emanated from the three who stood at the open end of the room. Visors moved forward as talon-like plated claws menaced the air from underneath long robes. Their size took up almost the length of half the room as they glided as if walking on mist towards them. “So you've come... however...” one of them said through the capped helmet.
“We only have use for the boy,” another chimed in.
“The rest of you we'll mutilate with our own hands.”
- mood music insert -
Diego and Lope looked at each other and then to Belmont and Amatallah. “We must focus on only one of them,” Belmont uttered suddenly. “You and the children must evade the others.”
“Evade? What are you talking about—” Diego was to protest.
“Right now they are moving in unison. If we attack all three at the same time, their power will grow. You must attack only one,” Belmont reiterated. “Trust me.”
Diego and Lope exchanged quick glances once again, but Belmont already lunged forward to attack. The target was to be the one to the left! Suddenly, Amatallah disappeared into the shadows along the left wall. Diego ran forward as well while Lope paused, shooting his hand to the left to direct Íñigo and Alia as he wheeled left as well.
Belmont's whip cracked squarely against the shoulder of the emanation standing on the left. The boom that accompanied the whip tore through the purple garb only to spark against a metal plate underneath heating it with the friction enough to ignite the end of the whip. With a chemical intensity, the edge of the whip caught fire and, even while Belmont was still leaping in the direction of his enemy, the flames traveled the length of his rope like a surging wyrm. As he landed on the ground, his whip curled around in the air again landing a fiery shot against the enemy's face, scorching the visor, giving it a subtle crack, while imparting some of the liquid fire onto the cowl.
Diego wasted no time either. A steady lunge crashed into the purple figure on the left. He thrust his sword deep into its abdomen which caused the creature to shriek as if Diego had opened a window into hell. The middle figure wheeled to its right swiping down at Diego with its first claw only to miss as that soldier ducked underneath the massive behemoth, but Diego was caught off guard as the second claw came in from the opposite direction knocking him back with his sword to the rear of the room and slamming him against a wall.
The third one, moving quickly, crossed into the path of Lope and the children. Its first swipe clashed against Lope's sword as Lope backed up to keep Alia and Íñigo moving. The second swipe, almost as quick as the first struck into his left shoulder slicing pieces of flesh against the far well. Lope screamed and, in his desperation lunged a sword at his opponent. “No! Don't hurt him!” Lope could hear Amatallah's voice from the shadows.
As soon as that blade entered into Lope's opponent, its visor flashed like the passing of a shooting star. Its hand reached for the blade stuck into it and pulled it out with such ferocity that Lope was pummeled against the left wall. The scorched one as well suddenly flashed its eyes and recovered from its assaulted state. “Ignore the others! Just kill this one!” Belmont cried out.
Belmont's whip, desperate now, curled forward, leaving a trail of light in the darkened room that dripped with flames. His first strike drew blood as it ripped into the central portion of the first figure, pushing it back slightly as a gap in its garment and armour was now burning from the fiery weapon. Two more strikes in quick successive turns connected against one of its arms and against its leg pushing it to the ground onto one knee.
Amatallah, taking the opportunity seriously, appeared behind the kneeling one and sank a curved blade into its side, quickly pulling it out as another terrifying scream erupted into the night like an aria of sorrow before a second blade sunk into the other side of the creature causing it to fall face down on the checkered floor.
“Next one!” Amatallah shouted as Diego, understanding the cue, thrust his sword against the middle enemy piercing into it quickly, then rolling on the opponent's body, pulled his sword out and jabbed it again into its side. It screamed, but immediately swiped at Diego crashing against the side of his head and pushing him against the floor once more, knocking him out. It's second hand now swiped at Belmont who barely stepped back: the front of his tunic ripped in three places.
The other remaining enemy continued to approach an injured Lope. Lope dodged the first attack nearly fumbling backwards, but the second claw, instead of swiping with its enormous length merely pointed squarely at Lope. A flash accompanied the strange behaviour and a jagged light the colour of the enemy's robes mixed with white arced through the air and struck Lope, freezing him in place with a scream. Íñigo stopped and screamed for Lope, running back to the direction of his father frantically with sword raised high.
Belmont once again focused on the middle enemy as he, with all of his strength, circled the whip in the air and, with crushing force, landed it squarely on the head of his opponent, cracking the visor open with a spurt of flame and blood. The blinded creature screamed in agony while a second and third attack wrenched against its shoulder and back. Amatallah, once more appeared from behind the enemy at first missing with her first stab as the creature flailed around wildly, but managed to connect with the second one just as it was turning to face her. A claw stabbed her against her side as her opponent fell on top of her in agony.
Íñigo, almost unable to see as the light hitting Lope burnt his eyes with the intensity of the sun, nonetheless ran against that opposing figure. The light suddenly ceased and, unable to see in the new darkness, found himself hit along his torso only to be shoved against the wall. Lope, freed from the ray, fell to the ground painfully, but still conscious.
Belmont's whip now connected with that final figure, knicking the edge of the enemy's garment, but, with his next strike, saw the line of flames flicker out: the chemical—it had run out. There was another low laugh: another distorted emanation as the enemy moved now to Belmont: the only one aside from the child Alia still standing. Belmont backed away slowly, moving towards that open edge where the moon gained more and more dominance. His boots eventually touched the terminus of the castle wall. A quick glance backward punished him with the nauseating sight of the ground several hundred feet below.
The enemy advanced on him. Belmont's whip sliced forward and touched the purple one's garment, even cutting through it, but the figure continued to edge forward unscathed. “I will make you pay for your treachery, Belmont,” was the satisfied distortion from the creature's visor. “Now that your ally's 'magic' has run dry, you will feel true pain.”
“True pain?” Belmont pulled out a dagger. He cupped the edge into his palm and jerked the blade suddenly. “I suppose it is rather painful to have to kill you the old fashioned way, isn't it?” he said as he dropped the blade and slid his hand over the whip. As his blood caked the weapon, his enemy stepped back suddenly.
“No... you wouldn't--”
A crack, followed by another. Ignition from the friction erupted with each strike that Belmont delivered. The bewildered and surprised opponent recoiled after every blow until eventually falling backward into the very heap of his brethren. It was by then that the others had began to rise from their hurt conditions. Some, like Diego had watched the final ordeal with intense interest. Lope, having only seen glimpses of it, was not as interested in the victory, but rather at one of the casualties. Indeed, the one that had its visor cracked and cowl aflame was now laying dead in front of him. As he looked closer, he suddenly understood the horrifying curiosity of that dead face. He had to confirm it by looking up and then looking down once more.
“They're you!” Lope suddenly uttered. He looked up at Belmont once again. “They're you!” he repeated as his finger pointed to the replicated face on the unmasked enemy.
Diego, suddenly aware of the situation also, kicked aside one of the enemy's helmets. His eyes shot up to a silent Belmont. “This one too,” he said. Belmont, however, remained quiet.
“He hasn't said anything more if that's what you're asking, Agent Andriessen,” the warden said quietly as he sat back in his office chair reading the morning paper.
“That's fine,” Juliana said, “but I'd like to interview him again nonetheless,” she replied mechanically while sitting straight on the seat given to her.
The warden stopped his reading for a moment to look up at Juliana above his spectacles. “Is there something the central government is hiding from us?” he said in an exasperated tone. “It's crazy enough with all these disappearances I keep reading about in the paper and the college killings. Makes me wonder if...”
“Would you like me to tell you?” Andriessen asked suddenly.
The warden narrowed his eyes, taken off guard as he straightened up in his seat. He put his paper down and took off his glasses. “Sure...” he said.
Juliana looked at him for a few seconds without moving an inch before reaching into her briefcase and pulling out two folders. The first one, she placed in front of the warden. “I'll need you to sign this form first, then.”
“A form?” the warden was confused.
“Just to authorize the use of wiretaps on your phones, to authorize tracking of you and your family. It also lists provisions that you must comply with any order to relocate you and your family at any notice.”
“Relocate my family?!” the warden protested.
“Just in case someone finds out that you know what I'm about to tell you and leverages to kill or torture your family for you to give it--”
“Alright, alright,” the warden got up with a huff. “I get your point.” He sauntered over to one of the side tables where he pressed a small console button. “Gregory, let Agent Andriessen see prisoner one three twelve.”
“Thank you, warden,” Juliana said as she picked up the folder, deposited it neatly into her bag, and got up to leave the office.
“Just tell me one thing,” the warden spoke up stopping her at the door. Juliana turned around to look back. “Were those forms really in that folder, or were you just trying to make a point?”
“They were. You can look at one if you'd like,” Juliana replied matter of factly. The slightly shocked expression of the warden cued her next statement: “they pay me to be thorough so that I don't have to be clever.”
---
Julian Belmont politely sat back on his bed as he stared at Juliana. She had crossed her legs and pulled out a clipboard. Her pen clicked open and she looked down at her notes. Her glasses flashed a glint of the jail light as she looked up at him. She watched him as he leaned forward slightly, placing his elbows against his knees.
“Do you remember me?” Juliana asked.
“Agent Andriessen, I believe,” the Belmont boy replied. “Though to be fair, they announced you coming in.”
Juliana wrote something on the piece of paper. “I want to ask you some questions,” she said as if she was about to begin a cross-examination.
“Aren't you afraid?” she was suddenly asked. Her pen stopped and her eyes moved up to look at Belmont's grinning expression. “You're stuck in here with me, behind a closed cell. They suspect me of brutally murdering a boy and you correctly pointed out how I did it--”
“Whipping him to death,” Juliana looked down at her notes quickly to read the entry before looking back at Belmont.
“A sadistic little murder, isn't it? Shouldn't you be afraid of being in the same jail cell as a sadistic psychopath?”
“Self-descriptions like that sound come from watching television shows and movies. I haven't interviewed a patient or prisoner who's threatened like that before.” Her clinical evaluation didn't deter Belmont's jovial expression.
“What do you want to know, then?” Belmont acceded.
“How do you feel about your father?” Juliana asked as she looked down at her notes once more, flipping a page up before letting it back down and looking back to Julian.
“This is a joke, right?” the boy asked with some annoyance.
“No joke,” Juliana replied. “How do you feel about him?”
“What does it matter how I feel towards him? How do most people feel towards their fathers?” Belmont replied hastily. It was obvious the question affected him.
“Do you resent him?” Juliana asked quietly.
“Why would I resent him?” Belmont scoffed.
“Perhaps he gave you a responsibility you never chose,” she replied, watching him carefully as she let out those words. She could easily detect the change in his demeanor.
“Just what is it that you want from me, Agent Andriessen?” Belmont asked. “I don't have all night to waste on your questions.”
“You're right,” Juliana replied as she tabbed her pen close. “You won't have much of the rest of the night at all. In a few hours I'm going to release you from this prison.”
“Release me?” Belmont looked puzzled. “What for?”
“So that you can finish what you started. You still have a girl to kill.”
Chapter CLXII: Natasha/Katja/Lilith (coming soon)
