Chapter Ten: Colluding With the Enemy
The three arrive back at the foyer of the castle, and see that there now appear to be two lit orbs.
“Well, it appears it may be time we part ways—” Joachim begins, before “Leon” cuts in, addressing Sara.
“You have defeated already one of the holders of the keys onward?”
Sara nods.
He looks to Joachim. “Perhaps it would be in our best interest to ally ourselves with them for the forseeable future. You had told me yourself, aquiring allies does naught to hurt.”
Joachim narrows his eyes, apparently not fond of his very words being turned back against him.
He makes to argue, but Leon has a pleading look in his eyes.
Oh. Sara knows this look. His eyes affect a quality telling of this as though it were the only thing he wants in the world, though he seems to realize not that his eyes emotions betray him so. Sara finds it very hard to deny him when he carries such a look.
It appears this Joachim has this difficulty as well.
The man allows out a long sigh.
“I will discuss with them.”
“Leon” gives a soft smile, then adds, “I need step out for a few moments. The stale air of this castle—it does not aid me.”
“Leon” departs of the castle, steps coming quickly, and as the large doors shut, Joachim makes to speak, yet Sara cuts in.
“I must first confer with an… aquaintance, before I make a decision about continuing onward.”
———
Sara steps within Rinaldo’s small cabin, letting her eyes flutter close and breathing deep of the atmosphere, away from the two night-creatures she has had need to ally with.
“Is something the matter, Sara?”
She makes lighthearted attempt to deflect, yet finds herself unable, as when she opens her mouth to speak, her voice betrays her, giving a heaving, shuddering breath, as fat droplets begin to fall of her eyes. Tears become sobs, yet Sara cannot being herself to stifle her cries.
“Oh, Rinaldo… the tale of your daughter… it is as the same for my Leon. He has been… he…” yet she cannot bring herself to say it, devolving into a fit of yet more shuddered breaths and sobbing cries.
He makes his way ‘round his counter, and attempts to comfort Sara.
“I would not wish such a fate upon any. I am truly filled of sorrow for your loss,” He laments, as he comforts her.
Sara shudders, attempting to add, “and… and… I have had need to collaborate with the monster that now lives within his body, though he has been cordial, yet… yet would he be so cordial were he to know who I am? Would he view me only as another opportunity to feed?” She continues to sob. “I wish only to take my leave of this accursed place now,” she shudders, then continues on.
“Mathias… he was correct. Would that I had only listened.” She continues sobbing, for far longer than would be dignified, yet she allows herself this. Eight long months of searching, yet she had been ignorant to assume the worst fate he could face would be a simple death.
After a period which feels like an eternity, Sara’s tears begin to dry, and finally, her thoughts begin to clear.
“I must… I must go, I must take my leave of this place now, I must… make preparations. For… for his funeral. I must put this all behind me.”
He looks upon her with sympathy, yet firmness. “Sara, I am truly sorry, but… you are trapped within now. The only way you shall leave now is though Walter Bernhard’s death. The spell which traps you within shall be dispelled only then.
“But you must listen to me. Abandon the vampire who now inhabits the body of Leon. That… thing… is Leon no longer, and travelling at his side will only put your life at undue risk. He will turn upon you the very moment he discovers you to be a mere human. If possible, it may be best to kill him. You must escape on your own.”
Sara dries the tears upon her face, and nods. She takes a few moments more to gather her wits, and stands to leave.
Though, before she is to walk out of this door…
“Rinaldo, there is… still something which troubles me. Upon slaying the last holder of an orb, she had mentioned something… something regarding the whip. She had asked regarding its… completion?”
Rinaldo seems to ponder something for a moment, then asks, “answer me this: does he trust you?”
“I… he knows not who I am, and beyond that, is that not a moot point? Is Leon Belmont not… already gone?”
“Sara, think not of that. Answer only this: Does Leon Belmont trust you, Sara Trantoul?”
“…If anything of the man I knew remains, yes. He does.”
“Good. And do you trust him?” Rinaldo presses.
“I—”
“Do. You. Trust. Him?”
Sara takes but a moment to think. Surely she trusts the Leon she once knew, but he is gone. If any were left of Leon still, if a piece of him, however small, yet lives on in this new form, can she trust him? Even… as he is now?”
Sara hesitates. She wishes not to ponder this, as she fears whether she will like her own answer.
“I… I know not. I must go,” she says hastily, fleeing the small cabin.
———
“Shall we continue onward, then?”
“Leon” looks upon her, expectant of an answer, as Joachim floats further inward, an apathetic look upon his face.
Sara considers. Rinaldo had warned her against allying with “Leon”, and she knows 'tis likely best to heed his word, yet…
Yet she knows there is safety to be found in numbers, and though she would have a knife directed at her, ‘tis better than a knife in the back, a danger unknown. Without, there is no such way to be conscious of what dangers await, nor when her luck may yet take its leave.
For, in truth, she knows not whether it be luck or skill which has brought her this far, and she does not wish to take such risk to discover which it is.
This, and she should prefer to keep an eye on the creature which inhabits Leon’s body. Such that it does not dishonor him, or, in the case that perhaps, perhaps…
No. It does her only ill to hold hope for such things.
Sara walks on, down towards the chamber which holds the varying pedestals. She does not hear their footsteps behind, and so she turns to them, awaiting for them to join her. “Leon” looks upon her with an expression of surprise, then smiles, if but only a slight smile, and trails along behind her, almost as a jovial pup, as Joachim accepts Leon’s decision and, with trepidation, follows along as well.
———
As they find their way within their next goal, they discover it to be some manner of dark, dank room, lit only by the roar of furnaces and the waning light of a few stray candles, walled in brick. Strange devices find themselves peppered throughout, glass containers of unknown substance and varying shape, instruments of dulled metal scattered nearby each, strange lenses and magnifiers, even such creations Sara cannot think to name. Several pieces of parchment appear to have been piled upon one another, writing of varying quality upon each and every inch of each and every piece of parchment. Sara spreads them, but to no avail; it is written in a language she knows naught of. Strange, however… she would almost think to recognize the hand it is written in…
“Leon” and Joachim seem to have no issue navigating the area, though Sara can yet hardly see, navigating by what little light finds itself able enough of escaping the all-encompassing darkness which cloaks the area, as she makes her most concerted effort to hide her lack of vision from her unlikely companions.
“Perhaps it would be best were we to split into two groups. Leon and I will choose one door, and you, the other,” Joachim says.
“Leon” however, makes a small noise of dissent, one which Sara hardly finds herself able to catch. The two seem to have a brief discourse with only their eyes, though Sara nods, and exits through one door.
Sara ponders this for a moment herself.
On the one hand, she will have much more struggle navigating in the dark alone. The precious little light from the candles which would light her path hardly suffice it to direct her alone.
Though… it would grant her time enough to ponder her current circumstance. And it would provide opportunity for the others to slay half of her foes to boot.
The two seem as though their spat has not yet resolved. Very well, Sara shall make the decision herself, departing the room with nary a word.
The hallway she finds herself in appears better lit than the previous rooms, lined with some manner of furnace fueled with some manner of fire yet… near solid?
As she navigates by the little light within, hands against the wall to guide her, she fights corpses and hounds of flame, and comes to a large room afill with books of varying subjects, a statue on the far side, and two large, rotating, concentric rings on the ceiling. She approaches, curious of their nature, and as some manner of corpse begins to materialize afront of her, she realizes she has been surrounded.
She circles, searching for a way out, yet though they seem slow approaching, they are still too quick. She lays into the nearest few, lashing furiously until they fall, then turns to face the others, and culls them, and makes to turn to fight more, yet… there are more which have replaced those she earlier killed! She turns back, only to see the most recent grouping of corpse that were dispatched have also been replaced.
Perhaps time for a change in battle strategy, Sara things, and as she lashes and cracks with her whip, culling as many as is possible, she dashes for the space they leave the moment they fall, and leaps out of their grasp, escaping entrapment, yet still they pursue her. She lashes, lashes, lashes again, yet still they continue to come. She hesitates for but a moment, then sees the door behind her remains unbarred, and dashes for it, closing it shut firmly behind her.
Sara continues down the hall, finding her way within a similar room, but this time, she knows of how she must best her enemies.
Or rather, she assumes she does.
She strikes out at the armored knights which block her way, making occasional quick lashes at other monsters which make their way towards her. She manages to best one knight, and the other catches her arm, causing it to bleed, she now turns her attention more fully its way, besting it with a few more strong blows.
Yet, the blood of her wound will not cease. She examines the wound—the cloak was not caught in the blow, thank God above—though the blade has torn through her sleeve, blood soaking the linen.
The cut itself is not so deep as to be an immediate danger, yet… it would be best addressed with haste.
As she searches, she ascends a staircase, where she succeeds in finding a piece of linen with which to tightly bind her wound, such that her vampire companions will not catch scent of it, in the case the cloak fails—assuming she has not trailed any blood in her wake—and makes haste through to a room with a strange platform—one which moves. She leaps to stand upon this platform, then, catching glimpse of a path to her right, makes a hasty decision to jump toward it.
After using her whip to clamber her way up, she finds herself facing a door which appears to lead her to another elemental creature of sorts. This shows itself to be some manner of fire phantom.
The fight opens as it creates a large fire in the center of the room, Sara herself unburned, but the leather of a section of her shoes left with no such luck.
As the fire extinguishes, burning and burning ‘till it consumes itself, the phantom swipes at her with its sword, though Sara counters it with the frosted bite of her whip.
It would seem the phantom finds itself averse to the cold, much as expected! Sara lashes it with her whip, freezing the white-hot phantom, it attempting to duel her, swinging its unwieldy sword about in attempt to hit her it its powerful swing, yet Sara is too swift, dodging its stabs and heaving swings with its great blade and attacking in opportune moments. It continues to duel her, blasting one final column of fire at Sara as she narrowly deflects it before releasing the killing blow and slaying the phantom.
The phantom perishes without even a sound, leaving her to collect its abilities in order to set the whip alight.
The sharp sting of smoke coming to contact with her open wound reminds Sara of another pressing issue.
She recalls fighting the specter, its strike upon her, and how the wound closed itself with the burning heat of its thunderbolt.
Sara takes in the room she finds herself in. In truth it does not appear as a part of the castle at all.
She hopes this appearance belies not its nature.
Sara allows the whip to burn, bitter cold slowly giving way to burning waves of sheer heat.
She looks upon the slash upon her arm.
This will hardly be pleasant.
Sara grips the whip tightly, removes the linen from her arm, breathes deeply of the ashen air, making her best effort not to cough, then presses the whip to her wound, letting out a long scream as she does so.
After a moment, Sara looks to her wound, and it appears to be sealed. She need not worry regarding the vampires, then.
She abandons the bloodied linen within this place, in desperate hope it will simply burn away, and departs.
Sara leaves the strange fire realmc re-entering the castle, and progresses, nearing a room, before being stopped… by Leon?
“Do not—enter that room. 'Tis afill with demons and hounds of hell who have no end. I—Joachim and I became separated within, and I have been seeking him out since.”
Sara steps back from the door, and nods.
“I—you have not caught sight of him, by chance?”
Sara shakes her head.
“Leon” hums. “I thought not.”
“You… you do not find yourself to be one for conversation, do you?”
Sara shakes her head. No, she cannot speak with him. She cannot have him hearing her voice, until—
Until she has a safe escape of this place.
They two settle into a silence, one Sara feels is far too heavy, though it seems “Leon” does not bear the same reservations.
They come to another small room leading toward a second stairway, and quickly dispatch of the skeletons within, but not before one makes to grab for the sword Sara keeps holstered at her side.
Leon’s sword. She had near forgotten it in all her excitement.
Unfortunately, Leon takes note of this as well.
“My sword… that is my sword!”
Sara reels backward for a moment, then settles, continuing onward.
“How is it you’ve come to have that?!”
Sara does not answer. She does not wish to humor him in this. He is not Leon, and this is not his sword.
Unfortunately, he does not take well to this.
“How do you have this? Answer!” He makes to grab her arm, but Sara wrenches it from his reach.
She can tell he is not satisfied with this answer, but they two continue on in silence.
If only for a moment, before he makes to speak again.
“Is it… is it that you… are you allied with Walter?”
Sara reels back, horrified.
“How dare you?” Sara asks of him as she slams open a door to a large room.
The ceiling extends far, far above, with some strange mechanism of lenses and metal pointed toward the night sky, ominous and bleak, and yet still afill of sparkling stars, so, so far from her. Cases of books sit upon the opposing side of this room, every inch of wall covered in studies and treatices of all kind, a staircase leading to a small balcony housing yet more books, stacked as high as any man could reach, with but a statue separating the two, the statue itself seeming to depict some manner of delicate beast of myth.
“Leon” joins her after a moment, lagging behind her, seeming aghast for a moment, just a moment, before regaining his bearings.
“No. No, you…” he hesitates. “You lie. Sara, my Sara, she… I have not known her to be one for conflict, not as I have been. No. I cannot trust my ears or eyes, I know this now. I should have known. I should not have placed my trust in you. I should have listened to Joachim—”
And is that not the root of her issue? Were it not for that vampire, had he not been the first to greet Sara, had he not dogged Sara and Leon’s steps, had Leon not trusted him, moreso even than he is willing to trust his own betrothed—
Sara grips hard upon the horn of the unicorn statue, wroth filling her.
Which forces it downward, revealing a staircase up the wall, though one that must be carefully navigated.
Without so much as a second’s hesitation, Sara dashes toward it, and bounds up the wall, disregarding Leon’s protests.
She reaches a ledge at the top of the room, a grand door afront of her, as she glances down at “Leon” once more.
The utter gall of this creature to pretend to be her Leon, lay claim to his sword, and accuse her of colluding with the very man who took him? Likely even the man who killed him?
She makes her way down a lengthy hall, to a room with makeshift railing, and upon an altar at the end of the room, what appears to be a stone slab, crumbling at the sides, with a single letter carbed upon its face
“e”.
There appears no other way forward, and so she, reluctantly, makes her return to “Leon”.
After prompting him to pull the switch again, she drops downward, and continues through the door, quiet rage still asimmer.
The two continue in a new silence, this much heavier than the last.
Sara senses this conversation is yet to be finished.
———
They make their way back to the second floor, and through what limited communications they can manage through Sara’s refusal to speak, they make their way toward an area which they had not yet explored, finding Joachim there.
“‘Tis a miracle to find the two of you have finally found the way forward. Shall we?”
They open the large doors to find their way into a large, circular, empty room, filled with shelves of glass flasks and bottles and other such equipment of a natural philosopher, and crumbled pieces of stone throughout. They disperse, each taking to a differing section of the room.
Sara pays little attention to the others’ activities, “Leon” seeming to investigate a strange stone in the center of the room, and Joachim taking to examining the shelving.
Sara herself finds herself drawn to a hewn stone in the back, with two hands wrapped around a larger boulder, reading “meth”, and in the very center, a piece missing. She considers it for a second, wondering what could belong in the hole, examining bits of rock in the room, before recalling her piece of stone, with only the letter “e” carved upon it.
She tries to place the stone within, curious if it will fit. Though she thinks it to be quite unlikely, strangely, it takes minimal shifting to push it into place.
The entire room begins to quake, as the stone pieces strewn across the floor begin to pull themselves together, and form some manner of stone construct.
It roars, leaping upward and slamming onto the ground, sending out a shockwave which Sara and Joachim dodge, yet Leon, in his proximity, does not, and seems to find himself in a daze.
The creature then makes to smash its massive fists into Leon, but Sara blocks its attempts with her whip, pulling Leon to safety before it can manage to land a blow.
He soon recovers, joining the battle, as Joachim sends blades flying towards it from all manner of differing directions.
Sara makes another approach, leaping out of the way of one swing, then the next, then lashing it with her whip as “Leon” slashes with the sword he uses. It attempts to make a swing at “Leon”, then, upon missing, at Sara, whom it also fails to land a swing upon.
In frustration, the great creature roars, and pounds the earth with its fists, sending rocks plummeting from the ceiling.
One seems to impact Joachim, knocking him from his usual floating position, and another bounces from the side of Sara’s head, dizzying her a bit.
Yet despite her daze, Sara lands a final blow and sends it crumbling.
Or so she thinks. Yet it manages to pull back together, and it is angrier this time.
It winds its fist toward “Leon”, catching him in his side as he attempts to dodge, and lands, hitting Joachim head on. It wrenches its fist back by the chain, and leaps into the air, sending out a shockwave again, and Sara tries to dodge, but she is too late, and she is dizzied again, this time far too much so to move.
The construct utilizes this opportunity to seize Sara, and grasps her, jostling her about, before hurling her, forcefully, into the stone of the wall.
———
Sara regains awareness some time later to what sounds as an argument, and Leon caught in a fit of laughter, sounding far too like a madman for Sara’s comfort, but finds she cannot recall entirely why it is this disturbs her so.
It takes her a moment for her swimming vision and distant hearing to settle enough such that she is able to parse their words.
“…Sara. Of course ’tis not Sara, that would hardly be possible, she is but another vision. It would hardly be the first,” Leon rants, half-crazed.
Joachim, sounding thoroughly unamused with the situation, retorts with, “and yet I see the same as you; a small, doe-eyed woman, brown of hair, adorned with a circlet.
Yet Leon shakes his head. “No. No, it must be some… some manner of trick. That Walter, he must—
“Certainly you could smell her as well? Upon the moment the hood of her enchanted cloak had fallen you could catch her true scent, her blood, hear her heart as it beat in her chest. You wish to leave her to die? Very well. But do not deceive yourself.”
Sara reaches for the hood of her cloak, to confirm she still yet wears it, and it appears to still be upon her head, though clearly jostled. She adjusts it to further cover her.
As Sara pulls herself to better see, it is plain on Leon’s face that he had caught her scent, her heart. The grit of his teeth and shake and tense of his frame, the way in which he does not meet Joachim’s eyes, his own eyes full of doubt.
“L-Leon,” Sara tries, her voice weak. She speaks too quietly for any man to hear.
But Leon is no longer a mere man.
Both immediately turn to look at Sara, and Leon bears a conflicted look upon his face.
“Leon, please,” Sara calls, yet the words come slurred.
Her head pounds, and feels as though it has been filled with cotton.
“I’m here,” he comforts her.
“Leon, you scare me,” Sara whispers, perhaps hoping he will not hear her.
Yet he does, and it appears it would bring him pause for a moment.
He makes slow, measured strides toward her.
“Sara, you are hurt,” he states, as she struggles to hold herself upright.
She finds her arms cannot support her, even yet a mere few inches off the ground as she is, and she collapses—though Leon catches her.
He lifts her to his lap, and she feels his hand against her head, softly carding through her long locks.
She whimpers as he touches a spot of tenderness on her head.
“What do you in such dangerous places as this, Sara? You are hardly combat ready, why come here?”
“In—indubitably with hope to find you, Leon.” Her head swims with each word spoken.
“Oh, Sara…”
He pulls Sara closer, cradling her, and Sara wishes his body yet held warmth, wishes she could hear the beat of his heart as she lays against his chest, yet finds, in this exact moment, she minds the absence of neither.
Her eyes flutter shut as she nestles close to him.
She is faintly aware as he speaks to Joachim.
Joachim does not respond to Leon’s word’s, and he sighs.
“Sara. Sara, have you any potion?”
“Within my cloak.”
She feels Leon set her against the wall, laying upright, and search the inner lining of her cloak, eventually seeming to find one.
“Sara, you must drink of this.”
She still does not trust him entirely, though she hardly remembers why, the pain in her head continuing to pulse sharply, some feeling without name leaving her… wrongfooted… but what choice has she? She can hardly persist through the castle in such a state. And in any case, the potion came from within her own cloak.
Sara hums, drinking it down quickly, as Leon steps away, making to give her air.
She grows very dazed for a moment, the world spinning about her, as the potion seems to work upon her.
Sara regains her strength, and as her mind clears she recalls the nuance of her situation. She springs to her feet, hand upon her whip, tense.
“Sara, you need not fret, 'tis only me,” “Leon” tries, yet she knows she should not believe him.
Her hand moves not an inch, and Leon’s face takes a confused, and near anguished look.
“Sara…? Do you not trust me? What have I done to lose your trust?”
Sara’s gaze involuntarily flicks down to Leon’s lips, which hide his fangs, as she keeps her eye upon him and Joachim warily.
Leon carries a wounded expression now, and Sara hates that she is the one who has placed it there, who has wounded him so.
She knows she should not give him such benefit as to think of him as her Leon, yet… though he behaves somewhat different now, the core of him is still there, and Sara cannot bring herself to ignore this.
Her hand stiffens upon the whip, before relaxing, and Leon seems somewhat relieved by this, yet still carrying a melancholy look in his eyes.
“I—Leon—”
“I… understand, Sara. You need not explain yourself.”
“I’m sorry—”
“You’ve nothing to apologize for. I… I accept what I have… become.”
Sara sighs, inquisitive look still plastered upon her face. Then she asks of him the one question which has dogged her since she had first found him.
“Leon, how did such a thing happen to you?”