Champion of Darkness

Trevor did as he was told, racing off to the larder to grab the meat. It was on a shelf a bit taller than he was used to pulling things from, but Trevor was nothing if not resourceful, and so he managed well enough.

He didn’t think he was toying with anything, after all. He didn’t go out of his way to provoke his teachers or ignore their instructions–he just considered a few things, like his friends, to be more important, and acted accordingly. He took the punishments that came to him with little complaint, because in his mind, it was worth it.

“Ah? A whole calf haunch? Are we going to be able to eat all of that, Papa?” It was true that the Belmonts had a fair appetite between them, but there was still such thing as too much food. And if Trevor ate too much tonight and got sick tomorrow, he’d regret it for sure. His teachers wouldn’t let him off easy just because it had been his birthday.

Pushing himself to his feet, Trevor set aside the gifts that had been given to him and darted over towards his only parent. “That’s not fair for you, though, doing all the chores. Aren’t you tired?” The Brotherhood had their Champion running every which-a-way after all, cleaning things out and training recruits and the like. It wouldn’t be very kind to make his father do more work just because it was his birthday.

After all, it was nice to have friends that weren’t just trying to get in Savior’s good books. Those seven liked him for him, and no other reason.

“Take me lightly at your own peril.”

I hope you appreciate this, Stephyra. It took me ten days to complete with long-as-heck questionnaire. So here you are. Fifty, very detailed questions on Gabriel. Under the cut for the abysmal length (~4k words). A/N: Most of these cover the canon version of LoS1 Gabriel, and as they’re the same character, they apply to Dracul as well. If there are any deviations, like different AUs, it will be noted as such.

A deep and resonating gong would reverberate up through the floors, the sort of sound that rattled bones and sent dust and cobwebs powdering down through the air from the ceiling. And in response to this ‘call’ Dracul would arrive, the red of his coat twisting into existence out of the blood are sinew lying on the marble floor, the shape of his flesh melting out from the shadows of the room.

“The Beast of seven heads, ten horns, and ten crowns. Does this surprise you, creature? To see someone so devoted to you flourish under His Satanic Majesty’s rule?”

Yes, the Castle is surprised. But also indignant - how dare the serpent, it’s Master’s greatest enemy - how dare the beast make a mockery of its Prince with this alternate thing?

Its almost yearning for the humanoid shape it had briefly held, so that it might strangle this abomination with its own hands. …The hands of its denizens will have to do. The Castle knows the attempt will prove ineffectual - even as a human, with solely mortal powers and abilities, Gabriel Belmont had been more than a match for creatures and beasts far stronger than these foot-soldiers.

He flourished his hand, and the vampire emitted a grating howl. A second, and its belly burst open, exposing dead, ash-gray innards. Then a swipe of the combat chain tore at its mandible. The Demon’s feeble underling collapsed, blood bubbling inside its mangled maw. Gabriel examined his handiwork and smirked, content.   

Uncertainty. Trepidation. This is what those works evoke in the Dishonored Vampire, and the Castle.

“…Who do you mean…?”

He took to murmuring something back to the little girl–something about the blade being of good make, but the grip being sized for an adult’s hand, not a boy’s–when Dracul came close.

Rosaly, for her part, was a stall over, striking up a conversation with the shopkeeper there. The young woman had all sorts of little trinkets–nothing truly awe-inspiring, but pretty nonetheless. Rosaly was admiring them, and asking for the stories of their origin, what they were made of–all the things that merchants liked talking about, so they could figure out how much they could get away with charging.

An earsplitting 'grab the thief!' rang out, and Dracul whipped around. “Had it coming,” he murmured to himself, glancing about. A gray-and-red smear – Clara and her parasol – hotfooted across the hamlet plaza. Disheveled, with mud caking the hem of her robe, she ran as fast as her ankle-long garment allowed. A pair of husbandmen tailed her, pitchforks aloft. Another figure, much smaller, scudded away from them all, loafs of bread pressed against their chest.

“Pardon me for a moment. I need to sort this out.” The elder pivoted on his heels and walked off. A blood-red crystal gleamed into his hand, and Dracul took aim. About forty yards. Quite a distance 'tween himself and the ambitious bread thief. The vampire squinched – bloody sunlight! – and launched the knife. A brief pause--

--and the dagger dug into the felon's right haunch. They gave a yelp and somersaulted straight into a puddle of murky water. To their credit, the thief recovered from their fall remarkably quick. They yanked the misshapen dagger out of their flesh, seized the bread, and carried on. Unfortunately, they couldn't dismiss the blood now dyeing their pant leg. Their scamper turned into a limp, turned into a hobble, until finally... Caterwauling, the criminal folded up for the second time. 'Twas also the moment when Clara and her companions caught up on them. One of the men snatched the bread, whilst the other pointed his weapon at the spread-eagled thief.

Smirking, the vampire lord drew near. The onlookers skittered out of his way.

“Arms behind yer head, prick!” One of the farmers barked, his pitchfork hovering over the thief's neck. Still face downward, they obeyed. “We'll teach ye how to steal from us!”

With her heart beating rapidly, she grabbed her cloak and was about to make a hastily retreat back to her cottage when a voice from behind made her jump. Whirling around, Marie spotted a tall, dark figure through the diluting fog. Instantly her heart leapt into her throat, and feelings of cold dread began to spark though her entire being. That was…Until the stranger spoke again.

Marie heard the hostility in the other’s tone, it was unmistakable. However, something made her pause. It was as if she knew the voice…From some where… After a moment of silence, Marie straightened her back and raised her head in an almost proud, challenging position.

‘Twas the nature of humankind. A grimace of bitter disgust twirled the vampire's lips. How profoundly predictable.

And yet... before he could do anything graspable, the mist round them dissipated and a ray of sunshine illuminated the interloper's features; fair skin, chiseled cheekbones, blue-ochre eyes... Dracul felt his breath hitch in his throat.