𝙼𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙾𝙵 𝙳𝙴𝚅𝙸𝙻𝚂.

[mightmind]

Is it better to out-monster the monster or to be quietly devoured?

 Nietzsche

[devilalchemy]

humans  loved  to  believe  themselves  above the  wildness  and  impulse  of simpler creatures.  the certainty that what distinguished them from common beast lay in  rationality,  and superior intelligence,  seemed to halt at the threshold of any establishment that served liquor,  abandoned for the  freedom  from inhibitions found only at the bottom of a tankard.  the noise       raucous,  grating  laughter and ribald badinage;  the  smell        the grime and sweat of every patron that had ever stepped foot in this tavern seemingly embedded in the walls historically preserved;  the  unmitigated apprehension  he could not quell,  at being surrounded in such close quarters by a crowd of strangers                   all of this he might have withstood,  enduring  in observant silence,  if not for the turn the evening had taken. 

to hector’s,  unfortunately familiar,  understanding,  alcohol had the unique power of bringing out the  very worst  in men.  though there was little that could ever  diminish  trevor belmont in hector’s opinion,  the same could not be said for the rest of the clientele here.  liquor loosened tongues,  stoked recklessness  and belligerence,  this he understood.  

❛      belmont,   perhaps you’ve had enough.      ❜      hector murmured,  low and without judgement,  nor censure,  only a  quiet insistence.  that family crest on trevor’s back had drawn far too many darkened expressions when they’d entered,  and as the night wore on,  the  intuition  that had not failed him yet had begun to whisper warning.      ❛      at this point of the night,  i believe even i’ve lost count.      ❜

@vampirkiller​

[a-bullet-with-butterfly-win-blog]

Roberto Ferri

[collabodraw]

John Lee // johnleedraws.tumblr.com

[devilalchemy]

❛   BELMONT.    /    HUNTER.

❛   ALUCARD.    /    SON OF DRACULA.

       It was the scent of blood that called to him, tantalizing, tempting, leading him like an invisible chain were bound to them in years long since passed.How his heart and body yearned, ached for the familiar beat of blood that ran low and steady through his veins. It was a craving he’d not encountered as a young boy, until he’d met him. Such temptation, the desire to puncture and mark his flesh as his own- lost, all but lost in passing years, hardly more than a childlike dream and fantasy lain on a shelf as time had long since passed.

       But oh, how in a moment it all came flooding back, striking his senses like a wolf on the hunt. How hardly expected, it struck him, leaving his heart in a race as he cut from the hunter’s woodland course and took off, speed revealing him as hardly more than flickering light as he rushed through fallen trees towards his forgotten desire.

      Like a freshly lain coffin, crumbled and collapsed to the earth where he may have expected to be his final resting place. His porcelain form lay still, framed like a work of art in a world so cruel- so keen on seeing him lost forever to time and decay so cruel. Yet such a familiar face, which left him frozen still, all sense of time and space around him seeming to fade. What weakness he felt all at once, an overwhelming rush of emotion alone that had him to his knees, in an instant at his side.

      Oh, but surely it was a dream to see him there, his fallen knight, slipping so quickly from his grasp just as soon as he’d found him. So many years gone, and oh how he’d thought him passed on- banished by his own childhood emotions that tore them apart. Fingers trailed through long locks, while his gaze fell upon the crimson that stained him in all his perfection. Temptation lay on his tongue, for never had there been desire to steal blood from that of a dying man. Yet he held himself firm, gaze breaking to the sound of a familiar set of feet, a hunter in a rush to see the prey before it’s death.

      “Trevor- we have to help him.” 

it was in a most rare moment such as this one, that trevor wished he were not human – if only so he could surpass his limitations, speed being one of them. the remainder of his stamina, diminished some after a long day of traveling, was mustered up as the hunter sprinted in the direction alucard had sped off to. stepping into a clearing, the belmont immediately caught the sight of the dhampir, kneeling by a body of an angel, no, what could only be a human, as he could sense no otherworldly aura from the male – despite the exquisite appearance. but as trevor had learned in the past…a pretty face could hide an ugly truth. 

shoulders tensed as suspicion began to settle in; who was this mysterious figure, and just how had he been wounded so badly? these wounds were far worse than what even the most dangerous of the lesser beasts in this forest could could give. 

❝ i know you can heal him, alucard. my skills are too limited for the extreme nature of his wounds – you care for him, and i’ll go set up a camp. ❞ he spoke, quietly as he continued to ponder, possible identities and locations whence this man had come from, filling his mindscape. and how he flipped through said possibilities as though he were quickly sifting the pages of a book in a vast library; searching through the extensive records of his knowledge, he was unable to come up with anything concrete. only snippets that were useless to him.

trevor’s eyes narrowed at how the dhampir was acting around this utter stranger – as though the two of them possessed some innate bond. but what…? he was not born yesterday, he was well aware by alucard’s body language, the way those fingers caressed that silver hair, and the desperation lacing his pleading that this silver-haired male, with the physiognomy of a carved sculpture ( so very similar in appearance to the golden-haired dhampir ) was likely someone from alucard’s past. but he would not ask questions of adrian, no, now was not the right time when the life of what very well could be an innocent man was at stake. 

soon enough, a fire had been set up, trevor’s pack set down, body feeling lighter ( and heart heavier ) even as he scattered holy water around the perimeter so that they would be warned against any incoming dark creatures.

ADRIFT  UPON  A  PLANE  OF   consciousness  not  quite  awake  and yet condemned to a nebulous awareness,  he laid suspended in a  precarious equilibrium.   to  die  so  human,  after years of forsaking his mortality in pursuit of  glory  and  inimitable  power,  was nothing short of fitting irony.   the culmination of the sins and violations he had wrought in the shadows of sacrilege,  abandoning god  in self-exile from his kingdom.   divine punishment,  at last;  a reckoning that would judge him,  condemn him,  and see him to his natural fate.

it had been so long since hector had thought of  faith,  had held the words of a prayer  close  on  his tongue  like secrets he dare not breathe.   would  he  listen  if  hector  spoke  now  ?   or would he turn from him,  blind-eyed,  deaf,  and voiceless,  as he always had when hector had let himself fall prey to the  foolishness  of  misplaced hope.  

what little he remembered of verses and testaments c ould not explain  why,  then,  he would send for a seraphim.  surely the dead who were denied paradise did not deserve  the grace of angels.   hallowed light gathered like an aurora,  golden and incandescent enough to eclipse the sun in soft brilliance,  it struck hector suddenly,  devastatingly,  how familiar to him this angel appeared.  a final act of  mercy  for the desolate, damned soul awaiting an endless night:  to give him the sun,  one last time.

❛       adrian  ?       ❜       through the sinking cold of blood loss and entropy,  the name slipped from his mouth stained like a prayer.      ❛      cel mic.       ❜

the movement of something in his hair,  a  gentleness  hector could not fathom as touch,  seemed too irrational to be  truth.   but even deception,  even lies dressed as absolution,  was  blessed relief.   to  see him again,  to let himself conjure the sunlight and breathlessness of seeing him once more,  was  sacred.   hector was too far beyond redemption,  too lost to truly be saved,  but adrian’s silhouette in the guise of an angel,  empyrean,  celestial,  could be as near to the kingdom of god as he would ever be.   with steel and blood drowning his throat,  he gasped a silent gratitude.

❛       it’s you in the end,  after all,  little one.  my little prince.       ❜

[watchoutforintellect]

I fear I will be ripped open and found unsightly.

Anne Sexton, A Self Portrait In Letters

[devilalchemy]

❛   ADRIAN.    /    LITTLE PRINCE.

       “Hm-?” 

        The sound of a familiar voice, such heavenly timbre in a place he hardly expected, left him off guard, alert as he turned on his toes in search of the sound. How he hovered just barely off the ground, giving a sense of grace to every step he seemed to take. Like that of a sprite, how lively he often moved, often never letting a thing go by unnoticed. Though that particular day had taken it’s toll on him, a slight dreaminess to his gaze, half lidded, yet still smiling nonetheless. For what a pleasure it was, to see him standing there, his shining knight, all dressed in black. 

       “Oh- yes. Father was strict on me today, more so than usual I’m afraid.”

        Why it was, he could not say, his head tilting to a side with the slightest pout to his lips. Perhaps he was angry, taking his stress out on him, either way it remained a mystery to him. Golden curls pooled about his shoulders, falling in perfect tendrils as he smiled at the other. “I know he has good intention behind it, that’s what mother tells me, at least.” A nod, and he was quick to move to his side, a book tucked under his arm. Fingers laced within the warmth of his calloused palm, giving a tug, hoping he would follow. “I was- going to sneak away a while, out to the garden. I was hoping to have time to read today. I did not expect anyone to find me, but I’d rather it be you than anyone else. Will you join me?” With luck, his father would hardly noticed the two of them gone.

STRANGE  THAT  SUCH  A  BEAUTIFUL  THING   could  call  this  godless  realm  of  monsters  and devils  home.   once,  hector spoke prayers as if they guarded the answer to all the questions he dare not ask;  the bible was a  book of secrets  that contained his  salvation  if he looked hard enough,  if he waited patiently enough.   all the names of the angels,  he had known,  too,  by heart.   and if they had been real,  made flesh and blood  more than merely  archaic fairytales  forged in a crucible of false prophethood,  perhaps they would have created in alucard’s image.

before castlevania,  beauty had never held sway or precedence over him.   not until he had seen with his own eyes a creature of  half - light,  half - shadow,  and all gold,  rival the sun with a single smile. 

❛      you are my lord’s  pride  &  joy,  his  one and only heir.   he  must  be uncompromising with you.      ❜      sometimes,  too much,  hector thought.   but what did he understand  of fathers,  and the love they bore their sons  ?   the  covetous envy  he had interred within himself had grown,  blooming like nightshade,  and hemlock twining through his ribs,  well-fed in spite of his best attempts to  starve  it.   it was a  crippling,  ravenous hunger  soothed only by the irrevocable fact that there was no one who could encounter adrian and  not  feel themselves overcome by an  unhibited affection. 

colourless eyes trail down to the  point of contact,  and heat,  lingering in his palm;  after all this time,  adrian could still scandalise his pulse with an act as  insignificant  as touching him without a trace of ill intent.   hector let the  smile threatening at his lips  curve like a crescent moon.

❛      of course,  inimioară.      ❜      grip tightening softly around adrian’s slender fingers,  he let him take the lead,  tugging him in the direction of his sunlit garden and secret escape.   a universal truth:  wherever adrian went,  hector was  helpless  but to follow.   hector let him choose which patch of sunlight he liked best,  his  slight shadow  a blur across the grass as he flitted,  hand laced in hand across the expanse of garden.   when they had seated themselves          adrian with his book in his lap,  poised with his other hand;  hector at his side,  watching with a  wry amusemeent  matched only by his  vast fondness        he inclined his chin at the pages spilling open.

❛      and what story have you chosen today  ?   will there be brave,  heroic,  dragon-slaying knights and princesses trapped in towers again  ?      ❜

[artparasite]

Seance, Olli Hihnala

[cthylle]

ok yes i may be evil and morally corrupt but i’m also incredibly beautiful and i think that makes up for it honestly

[kyungusoo-deactivated20200513]

i’m so tired of the AU where your soulmate’s name is on your wrist. i want my enemy’s name on my wrist. i wanna know who i’m going to have to physically fight eventually. turn on your fucking location

[chekhovsgum]

your enemy’s name on one wrist and your soulmate the another. no clue which is which. hope it’s not the same name on both wrists. 

[devilalchemy]

FOR  CREATURES  OF  THE  NIGHT,   there was a  grace  intrinsic to the vampires of castlevania that could not be explained by the  purely supernatural.   observing them  in motion  was to bear witness to a coalescence of  predatory agility and dance.   no one else, however,  living or unliving,  moved quite like  the little prince.  in the chandelier-lit hall,  he flickered like something  lithe and winged,  an electrum flash of blade and aurulent hair like molten gold.   alucard wielded his birthright as an extension of himself,  as if he had been born with the steel a part of his hand;  it  never  failed  to  captivate  hector.  even as he crossed from the entrance to where the younger had paused,  eyes like  winter light  passing through glass searching calcite features.

adrian rarely,  if ever,  displayed signs of  exhaustion        it was neither his nature,  not his custom        but he could sense something amiss.

❛      you seem unusually fatigued,  little one.  i take it your lessons faired well  ?      ❜

@dhampirblood   /   LITTLE PRINCE.

[devilalchemy]

❛   ISAAC.   /   THE OTHER HALF OF A COIN.

| continued from here|                       The afterimage was embossed into the fibers of his very being; nightmares were common, but the fitful rush of living through his own death countless times was never easily digested. Souls, the embodiment of lived experience, were not meant to be fished for and drawn out of eternal rest- common sense would tell man to leave what had long passed from the realm of the living to whatever came after. It was not his place, as they say in the Church, to enter domains transcending mortality. What the devil forgers did was an act in direct opposition to the godheads, if you believed there was a higher power to be had. It brought a special sort of distance from the majority of mankind- when one could create life from raw material and a mere thought, they became something more than simply human. Such a gift came at a heavy cost- for Isaac, each struggle closer to mastery felt to him like another fray upon the tethers of his sanity. Perhaps certain people had more of an affinity for understanding nature, and the consolidation of life with the inevitability of death; the potential of rebirth was an amalgamation of both. Hector was the only example Isaac had ever known, and his sense of empathy was the source of his gains. Though he had nothing but endless words of praise for the other young man, it was easily understood that he was indescribably jealous of him. They hadn’t been peers for long, but the unending jealousy was slowly boiling upwards; the real possibility of overflowing hatred didn’t seem terribly far off. The redhead imagined Hector’s intuitiveness would always keep him at arms length from Isaac- just that much further away from reaching the tipping point. They’d never be friends in a true sense of the word, despite them being two of a kind.  Familiarity bred contempt, as it were. To their mentor, they were machines constructed for war. To the entirety of the population unfamiliar with magical arts, they were monsters. Raw purpose gave Isaac a strength he’d never have otherwise, but the purpose itself was also the singular source for his weakness. Without forging, he’d be worthless. If his powers failed Dracula, he’d be gone from the very face of this earth faster than a flame cut from oxygen. Yet, he’d never reach the heights of the body before him now. Until the skin sloughed off his bones from the sheer effort of progression, until his mind unraveled to nothing more than a menagerie of morbid and filthy thoughts; the bar had long been set, perhaps by the Lord of Dark himself. Isaac’s progress would come to an end long before Hector discovered even half his true capacity. Pinhole pupils focused on the shadow of the opposing face, which he knew to be looking downward with a vague curiosity. He couldn’t have slept, in fact, Isaac was unsure if Hector ever slept in his life. He seemed always on edge, receiving some critical input that’d never be decipherable by the elder of the two. Simply put, the man was a different breed of human kind. Hands scuffed against the floor, pushing downwards until he stood over the other forger. Armor was straightened over heavy black fabric sluggishly; he spoke again with more confidence. “ I’m quite fine. I had a bit of a… vivid dream, is it? Nothing having to do with training.”Then, a subtle wince lost to the darkness of the room. “Do you feel this pressure? Perhaps this castle ‘ought to have another breezeway constructed. ‘Tis better to move the air about.” Shoulders knocked as Isaac walked past him toward the entry, fumbling into the corridor. There was a whisper of unintelligible sound as soon as his boots passed through the doorway, and though a dark suspicion flared instantly within his addled mind, he glanced backwards regardless. Spirits could not be so unforgiving, nor so restless as to follow him into the waking world. “Did you say something just now?”

THEY  SPEAK  LITTLE  OF  WHAT  HAUNTS   them here,  for it is easier to project  infallibility,  as the diabolic servants of dracula and soldiers of the night they are,  then to seek peace with the demons they  did not forge.   from his very initation,  alchemy had come more easily to him then it should have for any human.   the chief ingredients of dark magic were blood,  and death,  and  most profoundly,  sacrifice;  hector bore within him a burial ground of empty graves.   small wonder then, that he spoke the words and tongues of  shadow work and sorcery  like his mother tongue.   to him,  the  prodigious ease  and finesse of his  so-called gift  was no great enigma at all.

he could not,  in his memory,  ever recall feeling  entirely human.  and after the incident,  he had  relinquished any right  to claim the title.

hector dreamed,  too.   nightmares,  yes        the expected,  prosaic horror weaved amongst  vivid slaughter  sharper than life,  memory,  or any reality        but the dreams.  those were the ones that left him with skin that felt too tight,  and bones that seemed to tremble and ache at the herculean act of forming a whole body.   the dreams,  ones of home,  mother,  and father,  and a boy that was not a monster but simply a boy,  those were the ones that burned,  truly,  with hellfire. 

isaac deflected,  seamlessly,  and hector watched him with soundless astuteness that required no answer.  if hector let his horrors fuel his forgery,  propelling him faster and farther into  inimitable power and mastery,  isaac actively pursued his.  not willingly,  hector suspected,  but then isaac’s  hunger  for dominance had been apparent from the outset.  each word of praise or approval from their master diminished him in some way,  as if they were only capable of gaining foot if the other yielded it.  day capitulating to night,  when the moon could only shine once the sun had set in its light.

❛      the castle has always been suffocating . . .   but there are so few places we cannot go here.      ❜      it was not a  freedom,  hector made the subtle distinguishment without mention of it.  but not being hunted,  not being hated,  finding some semblance of unequivocal safety and acceptance here was as close to it he would ever hope for.      ❛      if you find this place lacking air,  there is always some forgotten terrace or hidden alcove to be found.      ❜

a clear dismissal;  hector’s gaze slanting pointedly after isaac’s shoulders as he hunched past him.  and then isaac withdrew,  more than he had in his state of being barely awake,  curling in on himself as he spun to face hector.  concern,  bewilderment,  flickering at his brow,  hector’s expression slid into a deliberate frown.

❛      i do not think you are entirely as fine as you claim to be.      ❜      you can tell me why,  hector would say, if these things could be said just that easily.  i would not think it a weakness.

for a dozen measured heartbeats,  he let his eyes fix on isaac,  and the  melange of apprehension and foreboding  sunken into the depths of his face hector could sense as easily as a  wolf scenting air.  advancing slowly,  he paused at the threshold of the door,  a small distance between them as hector tilted his face towards what lay beyond it.

❛      may i show you something  ?      ❜

[fear-and-rage-deactivated201207]

[devilalchemy]

ALABASTRINE  FACADE,  STILL,  MOTIONLESS    as a basilica’s florentine saint,  laid crowned in a wreath of palladium.   sacrosanct,  and deific,  the morningstar  post-fall,  and graceless profanity,  become idolatry with aether-gilded rapture and ozone clinging yet to desecrated flesh.  to the  twin scars  flayed in gaping parallel.  and only the blood,  artfully emblazoned,  rendered in  aleatory  languor across marble in relief,  could mark this as a soul yet  alive.  one that hung  suspended in a purgatory  between  somewhat alive  and the absolution of  death.                                 not for long;  not long now.  if this was the solitary taste of  paradise  pilfered with sericon fingertips he could dare covet  before damnation,  he welcomed it.

@dhampirblood​   /   SANCTUS,  SANCTUS,  ET SALVUS.

[earthdad]

hello god its me again…… you know……. still suffering……….

[devilalchemy]

AND  IN  SPITE  OF  HIMSELF,   in spite of the ill-fated circumstances he had found himself in,  hector made no effort to restrain the wry smile that curled at his mouth.  was this not how one should greet  preordained inevitability  ?  with grace,  and a touch of brazen cynicism.  as long as isaac lived,  he would hunt hector to the ends of the earth.  the only astonishing thing about isaac’s reappearance,  his shadow spilling over hector’s doorstep like a bad omen,  a haunting,  was that he had waited this long to do so.

though their last encounter had ended in bloodshed,  and near fatality,  hector could not fault him for the  bitterness.  if he could have seen himself years ago,  he would have laughed until he shook at the absurdity of what he had become:  ordinary.  simply a man.  merely human.

hector would have hated this version of him, too.  he would have hated him,  to see him so  wondrously,  grotesquely  blissful.  to smell himself reeking of happiness,  and contentment,  a man remade,  reborn  as no one, and nothing, simply  happy.

❛     it’s good to see you too,  old friend.     ❜

for a wild, ludicrous moment,  hector considered opening his mouth,  speaking the invitation aloud.  would you care to come in and join us for supper  ?  

foolishness.  sheer,  and utter foolishness.  he had let himself forget,  too soon and too complacent,  that this what not who he was.  the sheep skin he wore in this farce of being human,  being a husband,  was nothing more than that.  he and isaac were wolves,  they could hide their teeth but  they would always be wolves.  hector had let himself forget;  isaac had not.

❛     she has nothing to do with this.  nothing at all.  leave her be.  let her live,  and i                   ❜      what would he not do,  to save his beloved’s life  ?   to protect her from himself and all the horror and atrocity of his past,  the only answer was  anything.  he would do anything.  isaac’s humiliation and  retribution  was nothing in comparison,  not even dracula’s wrath could incite the slightest spark of  self-preservation.  once you had loved someone as he loved rosaly,  all that remained to strike fear in his heart was the thought of  losing her.  he would sooner die,  he would sooner  burn this world to ash  then let anything touch her.

this was not something he could make isaac understand.  their language was one of steel,  and exhilaration,  the  singing of blood and triumph  in their veins.  before rosaly,  the only love he had ever known was  power.

❛      i'll come with you.  i’ll face our master and tell him of how you  defeated me.  i will return with you,  in chains and  on my knees  if you wish.  i will face whatever  punishment  for my  betrayal  i deserve.  just                                  let her live.     ❜

@devilforge   /   𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚃.

[devilalchemy]

❛   ISAAC.   /   THE OTHER HALF OF A COIN.

{pre-curse starter drabble; for @devilalchemy​} Thousands of eyes, teeth and hands swelled within the dark void around him. Like the waves of an endless black ocean, drawing in and out of his periphery with a steady rhythm. All those gnashing mouths hissed and spat his name; they cursed him, eyes rolling toward him and away. The disembodied fingers gripped at the edges of his forgery cloaks when they’d come close, pulling at the garments until they began to come apart at the very seams. The redheaded man let them rip and tug, hardly moving from his position in the center of his nightmarish hellscape.    He was not afraid- he was numb. The symbol tattooed onto his back burned like a stigmata when the stagnant air finally struck his bared flesh. Only then did he begin to feel the pain, to shift away from the current; he had to attempt his escape before the suffering began. Absolution was not something he desired to perish to obtain. Flight from this sea was impossible, however, as it always was in these visions. In seconds, the hands surged inwards and forced him abruptly into the darkness. The pain of being swallowed up was indescribable, worse than anything he’d ever felt in life- his flesh tore from his bones, eyes pulled free from their sockets, body ripped open from his center only for his innards to be pulped by fists. The echoes of the souls he’d come to bond with sounded near, close enough to call out to, though he’d been shredded apart to the point that an attempt to shout would be impossible. He had no choice but to let his body fade to nothing, pain melting away into the cold stillness of death- his forsaken spirit burdened to this cyclical flow of eternity in total blindness. … Eyelids fluttering open, he realized he’d fallen into a restless slumber just after he and the other forger finished a lengthy bout of sparring. They’d both gotten some decent strikes against one another, but he’d recalled settling down for a nap feeling frustrated at a mediocre performance afterwards. Had he been alone? Isaac flattened himself against the wall he’d been leaned upon, yawning into his elbow before blinking around the unlit room. A pain throbbed at the back of his skull, made stronger by his sudden unease. Black, swirling darkness…  ”Hector?” He tried, almost ashamed at the quiet of his own voice. It was worth a shot, even if the other had long left the room.

THERE  WAS  NOTHING  MORE  HUMAN   than  fear  of the unfamiliar.  the first instinct you learned before love,  or self-preservation.  those  that  appeared  exceptional  were not to be trusted.  in ancient times,  people with gifts and extraordinary,  inexplicable abilities were heralded as the  god-touched:  prophets,  or oracles,  with shards of divinity rooted in them  as much as blood or bone.  in another age,  where ancient ritual still swayed the hearts of cities and kingdoms were ruled by a pantheon of gods rather than a monopoly of one,  hector’s curiosities may have been a  miracle of design,  and not an  aberration.

other than his intrinsic affinity for creatures of night or day,  hector could not discern anything unconventional about his sight or senses.  no,  his  preternatural awareness  of those around him,  the humans,  was born of necessity.  practice.  perceiving signs and omens in the atmosphere as one would read the wind and waves,  or navigate by starlight,  was a  means of survival  as a child.  deciphering what the silence inside a room meant before he could cross its threshold,  reading the twitch of his father’s jaw or the particular twist of his mother’s frown,  was how he knew when to  stay away.  when to disappear.  it was not that hector understood humankind as he did animals,  that he had some  uncanny intuition  he could attritbute to another  wretched,  godforsaken curse  laid at his feet.  

hector empathised with animals,  and the way humans were more like them than they could ever bring themselves to admit.  fear,  for one thing,  was  universal.

the look of fear on a man’s face was not so different from a creature's wild fear:  they shared a  huntedness,  the part of the eyes that hollowed around the skull,  and the  same compulsion  for fight or flight.

out of kindness,  and a certain degree of  morbid enquiry,  hector took care to approach softly,  telegraphing his movements with a  level,  slow unambiguity.  isaac’s body,  his face and his voice,  bore the manifestation of more than simply being  afraid.  it had to have been nightmares,  hector mused,  a diagnosis relatively conventional for the human residents of castlevania.  no one came to the lord of death’s domain seeking life  fearing the monsters in the castle  more than the ones  they had left behind. 

❛     isaac  ?      ❜      hector echoed,  a low hush to the question that mimicked isaac’s quiet.  

he and the other boy were not  . . .   they were  rivals,  and then comrades and fellow soldiers before they could ever be friends.  but to leave,  or pretend he had seen nothing,  especially when hector appeared less  human  and more bone and skin stitched to his frame seemed like a  cruelty  beyond even him.  tentative,  but assured of himself,  hector discarded the doubt lingering on his tongue at how to shape the words and drew a little closer.

❛      you look unsettled.  what’s wrong  ?  were you hurt in our sparring,  why did you not say anything sooner  ?      ❜