Futility - The Hagiography of Ecclesia's Master, as Recounted by Lucila Fortner
Chapter One: The Enlightenment
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“What has been will be again, and what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun.”
Preface:
I have written here the tale of a man, a genius of a man, who once led me and taught me everything I know. Though my master’s efforts were foiled by those who wished to disobey him, and his knowledge destroyed, his heroic death will never be forgotten. I have ensured it. This is the product of years of effort from myself, and him, and the desire of our God, Dracula, to commit his faithful servant's story to memory. Read closely, and carry on his efforts. Amen.
-Lucila Fortner
Something often asked of stories is where to begin them.
The perhaps obvious answer would be at the beginning, but the beginning of what? Of our subject’s life? Of the move from his birthplace in England to the remote countryside of Transylvania? Of his time studying in the church? Of the first of Count Dracula’s resurrections that he had witnessed, when his mother died? We considered that last option heavily, but the master found it most difficult to remember, with how young he was at the time; we also found that it did not add much to the text as a whole. So instead, we went for the next best thing, the second of His resurrections, which happened to coincide with the very night he discovered his true calling. The "second coming", as he called it.
This is our beginning, of course, but it is also in its own way an ending: where one train of thought met its conclusion and countless others began to set out from the station. Yes, this night was deeply pivotal.
Augustus Barlowe was only a young man in 1797, on the cusp of adulthood, when he realized that life's daily struggle was insignificant; that struggle had no claim over the Lord’s plan. The matter of this world was a matter of endless cycles and repetition, after all. He was a philosopher at heart, chipping away to find the meaning at the core of the universe, and found himself walking in the stride of cynicism. Dracula returned every one hundred years, without fail, when humanity was tempted by darkness. It was tonight, though, that the true nature of that cycle was to be revealed.
He had lived through it when he was very young, when the town was burned to the ground and his mother died; when none had even deigned to help her from the wreckage. Each night the countryside had been defiled by monstrous beasts, leaving nothing but rubble and pyre in their wake. Taken in by a nun named Sister Tera afterwards, he devoted himself to the study of biblical texts, and assumed the rest of his life would be one of peace. Perhaps he would be a monk in the future, or a priest. He found purpose in the faith even as such a small child, after all, and surely spreading this wisdom would protect the world from Dracula’s return in times of hereticism. God’s guidance, after all, was a freeing one, and had kept him safe long ago from Dracula’s fangs in the chaos he was borne into.
He had not yet concluded what would soon come that night: that Dracula was a part of that guidance, that eternal and ineffable plan.
But even still, he had always trusted in that plan, and always would. It would lead him to his death one day. He would not betray God, no matter what paths He led him down. Not on this fateful night, when the judge’s betrayal came to pass, and not ever.
The sunlight, just as every day, skipped quietly through the tranquil but weary streets of Aljiba. An evening would soon enclose upon the melancholy little town, but certainly not a quiet one. Darkness was converging around the soul of one man, the legendary Belmont who had slain the Dark Lord five years prior. Tension built within him, and it was about to burst. That sin, the sin of pride.
Tonight. As ordained. Not that Augustus knew that, then. Looking back, it felt far too obvious.
The sky was hazy grey, and as he waited for the velvet of night to envelop, he tossed a small red apple between his hands. He had purchased the fruit from a local vendor, and intended to eat it soon, then take a short walk. He had been growing restless in his youth, pacing around the cobbled streets of town like a caged animal. Something was eating at him, perhaps the same thing that had been eating at Richter that same night.
Everything is tied to that cycle, the one that Dracula or perhaps God had set in motion. The perpetuation of it, or the wish to be free. For some it is a cycle of pain; for others, it is what gives their life meaning.
He bit into the apple, and recoiled in disgust as spittle and pale brown mush dripped down his chin, cursing that he had been ripped off. He threw the rotten apple to the ground where it made a halfhearted splattering. He wondered if the horses who pull the carriages would find more value in the discarded treat, like the girl Maria and her prancing pony. He thought this with disdain, turning away haughtily with his coat trailing behind him. He had been friends with this young girl once, as one of the only other children his age, before Dracula had returned in 1792, and he had assumed she had died when she ran to the castle singlehandedly as though she were some fearsome Belmont warrior. A stupid little girl could never defeat the Count, after all. But against all odds, she had returned by Richter’s side along with the other kidnapped women, rumoured to have been selected to be Dracula’s next brides- including Tera. Despite everything, Maria Renard had survived the dreadful night.
Even though both Augustus and Maria had both lost their parents to Dracula’s army of monsters, a wedge had quickly been driven between them after that fateful night rather than a deeper understanding. Maria had been taken in by the Belmonts, not exactly a rich family but certainly under better circumstances than an unwanted boy attended to by half-caring nuns, and from then on Augustus had been left to the wayside. His mother had been rich, once, and he missed desperately the luxuries she had provided to him before she had died and their old house was ravaged. It wasn’t as though he wanted Maria's attention back; he had nothing but disdain for the girl now. He had no other friends, deemed an oddity by the other children after that night and someone to be avoided. He didn’t care for their childish games anyway, so he cared very little. His ambitions had always been far loftier. Everyone else was petty and selfish and undisciplined, so he was fine to feel isolated. No, he did not want friends at this time. He thirsted for something more.
He didn’t really want his mother back, either. He supposed he was intended to feel unending love and grief for the woman that raised him, but it wasn’t really the case. She had been a part of his life, and then she wasn’t, and she was in Heaven now. Simple, though his circumstances as an orphan were still something he deigned as worth mourning.
And the memory of that night- begging the local hunters to help her out of the burning wreckage of her cottage while they had refused, watching in horror as a massive wyvern tore through that which remained and eating her alive- still lived growling in his heart. She could have lived if not for the selfishness of those hunters. If only the Belmont wasn’t away at the castle then! None were as righteous as he.
“Things may be awful now, but every struggle is part of God’s plan. He is testing you, and your faith. Trust in His plan,” Sister Tera had explained, and that had dissuaded what little doubt dwelled within him. Of course, he could not doubt His plan. He did not mourn what happened to his mother any longer. He set his eyes upon the future and steadily toiled.
By now the streets were empty, as though clearing the stage for a pivotal scene. Every resident of Aljiba, that charming little place, had welcomed dreamy-soft sleep. But Augustus still walked about, pleased with the cool night air and to be alone with his thoughts. He was not the only one awake, however, and the second player of this particular act, too, was set awandering.
He, the distant, well-loved hero: Richter Belmont. And distant indeed! Barlowe elaborated to me that before this night, the Belmont warrior was often on trips abroad, chasing any rumour of leftover monsters that scourged the countryside, and he came home battered and bruised in honor. He did this, over and over again, till there was none left to pursue, and the hunter was seldom seen outside his home afterward. No more glory, and then what? Isolation. Fear. A desperate need to feed his beastly pride. But he was then provided with the truth, the balm for such a wound.
The enlightenment of Father Shaft- once a priest who had lorded over the same church Augustus lived in, and had too seen the light and assisted in Dracula’s previous resurrection in exchange for immortal life- had only brought Belmont’s true desires for Dracula’s presence to the surface, though neither knew that yet. It was the darkness that dwelled in every heart.
The hunter, the shepherd, crossed paths with the aimless boy in the centre of the town, and Augustus was caught off guard by his silent approach, a skill learned in years upon years of training. ‘Twas then that the Belmont, in the inciting throes of holy trance, revealed the truth to him. It went something like this, or so Barlowe told me:
“Evening.”
“Ah, Sir Belmont. I have not seen you in a while,” Augustus bowed. He knew to be respectful in the sacred family’s presence.
“You wouldn’t have, had you?” Richter chuckled under his breath. “The night is sweet, is it not? The chill makes me feel lively. I’m too cooped up.”
“You should go on walks more often, then,” Augustus replied, pointedly.
“No, no, boy, not in my home,” his eyes narrowed. “In my very self! My holy duty is over. My blood is boiling, ever boiling, but there is no device with which to draw it, with Dracula gone.”
“I see... Perhaps you should come to church. You... have not come in a while. Devoting myself to my studies made me feel more... purposeful,” the boy suggested with a hint of a smile. The thought of helping a Belmont feel closer to the Lord made him tingle with excitement. Wouldn’t Sister Tera be pleased! (He briefly recalls that she would have known Richter, but then adds that he can’t remember exactly.)
He would, of course, learn now that Richter was already more faithful than any other.
“No, I have a destination already... I expect we won’t meet again for some time, but I am doing something most important. A new duty of mine. Some strange voice is urging me onwards, and I cannot help but listen.”
“The voice of God!” Augustus exclaimed, rapturous with realization. “You Belmonts truly are of sacred blood, then.”
“It must be His calling, then! He is calling me to pursue my true purpose- the resurrection of Count Dracula!” Richter yelled with triumph. “Of course! Of course, you would know that God has set all events in motion. The priest that taught me to fight told me as much... Why else would Dracula return? Sinful sheep only fear the wolf, after all... So I do still have my purpose.”
Had the boy been any less faithful, this revelation would have horrified him. To anyone else, the Belmont would certainly seem insane, his crazed, goat-like eyes reflecting the eerie green light of dark madness. But the Belmonts were chosen by greater powers, and he trusted this; the young Augustus recognized the truth: the angelic nature of that iridescence! He had now recognized what the Lord had set in motion, just like when Abraham was asked to kill his beloved son and obeyed that command to the very end. The Binding of Isaac was by far one of Augustus’s favourite biblical stories, and thus he knew to obey the Lord’s will, no matter how unpleasant. And of course He would return: the selfishness of mankind, the cruel turpitude, had ensured that.
He realized then that humanity was in some ways a very evil thing. That was why he was so alone among the masses.
“So Dracula exists to cleanse the sins of humanity, if what you’re saying is right... I suppose that explains why, if the darkness in our hearts is what revives him, that he should return unfailingly like clockwork.” Augustus rubbed his chin, thoughtfully, eager to apply his theological knowledge. “It was all meant to happen. My mother’s death. The attacks on the village, long ago.” The reassurances that had provided him solace in the turmoil of life were landing into place like bricks in a great fortress. "...I knew this already."
“Why my dear Annette was allowed to be taken, then...” The Belmont’s body was wracked by anguished shivers, and he let out a laugh of horror. “Maybe we all deserved this. Oh, Dracula, my Lord!"
“Ah, humanity has become far too selfish, fallen to the darkness in their very nature. They leave innocents to the wayside, to suffer, do they not?” His eyes widened with realization. “That must be why you’re being called to return Dracula to life. To judge them.”
“Yes, and He has provided my nobler purpose to me. I am glad you have seen eye to eye with me, child,” Richter leered. “I must away. I can feel it! The voice in my head is louder and louder, beckoning... My glory awaits.”
Despite the odd nature of the conversation, it left Augustus feeling more faith than ever before. Of course, his Lord had control over all things, Dracula included, and this made him feel secure that the future would be a just one, that the pain he had suffered as an unwanted orphan would be punished rightfully. And Dracula, too, was said to be all-powerful and immortal. Equal, dual beings, of light and darkness, tied completely to each other's existence; the Lord and His equal in shadow. And why else was Dracula allowed to rise from the dead like Christ himself? Dracula and God were one and the same. Oh, now he was certain of it, and he found great comfort there. How glad he was that he had met Richter that night! ‘Twas a test of his faith, and he had passed.
Perhaps it was a desire to justify the horrors he had witnessed as such a young boy: a constant river of rotting bodies from the nightly raids on human settlements, cleared away each morning; the circles of salt and hanging garlic trampled and destroyed by uncaring beasts; the fire that ravaged his childhood home; the way he met face to face with that dreadful wyvern, met its gaze as he prepared to die and was yet left unharmed while others died in agony to its fangs. If it was not all meant to happen, he would be confronted with a horrific amount of uncertainty.
No, he would have faith in the cycle of Dracula. He had been chosen to live, after all.
He found solace in this truth.
The night was growing colder, as he watched the Belmont leave, the Vampire Killer grasped tightly in his hands. That would be the last time he ever saw Richter Belmont, but what an effect the strange hero had upon him! This was what had initially set him upon his noble quest, continuing where Richter would fail, dethroned by a rebellious dhampir; though everything that had happened to him as a young boy may have perhaps led him to this conclusion regardless of this meeting. I cannot say, and neither can he.
It was getting late, he thought, and he would return to bed in the little chapel that had become his home. His dreams, however, were much too large for the foundation that contained them, streaked with righteous bloodshed. Mothers wept, and seraphs guided them home.
What he woke to was nearly identical to those night-time visions. He had slept so peacefully through that night’s cacophonous symphony.
The blood spewed over the once cozy little town. The oppressive silhouette of Castlevania loomed across the woods. It was, honestly, not all that different from five years prior: he was expecting it to be shocking, electrifying, but all he felt was comfort in familiarity. The young Augustus Barlowe was almost a little nostalgic.
And in place of the fear, the fear of God, of Dracula, of whatever it may be, there was... A comfortable absence, and nothing more. A yawning void where terror had once dwelled. It did not unsettle him, how quiet it was now. No, he was not afraid, unlike the frantic alarm of those around him crowded around the trail of broken bodies, begging an answer to how this could have happened again so soon. And he felt superior for this, as everyone frantically asked each other where the Belmont might have gone, whipped into fear by his absence.
No, he knew the answer. He felt good, to keep a secret close to his chest; to have passed the test.
He was always like this, coming to conclusions over and over again. Every happening had implications. All was created with purpose, and meaning. It made sense to him, to observe, like this. That dear little philosopher was growing up.
The young Augustus wished mightily that he was scared of the towering spires of Castlevania. But why should he be? He had not brought about Dracula’s resurrection. The sinners of the world had yearned for His judgment. That was why it had happened, and why He had returned. As God’s faithful student, Augustus knew then: he was protected. He was above the heretical crowd that had required such a second coming.
To think once that Aljiba had celebrated Dracula’s defeat. Victory. Victory over Dracula! What a farce! God's plan would continue on, whether the petty mortals would rise to rally against it or not. 'Twas as certain as the sun would rise.
God had ordained this, after all. It was His righteous punishment, His cleansing. This was, explicitly, allowed. Otherwise, the omnipotent Father would have stopped it immediately.
The evidence was staring him in the face, and the path of angels was clear.
Annotations
-When Lucila refers to considering “the first of Count Dracula’s resurrections that he had witnessed, when his mother died” as the beginning of the biography, that is actually true! The original outline for this fanfiction had one more chapter. I cut it because it felt redundant, and I thought starting with Barlowe’s meeting with Richter would be a more interesting beginning (plus I had the feeling my readers might want to get to the parts about the Order itself ASAP!). OOE in many ways is a continuation of SOTN, the direct aftermath of Richter’s decisions (and things like the villagers are a reflection on Belmonts and the effects of their duty- without that “holy role” to inhabit they’re thriving! They’re normal people! And Shanoa is as much an example of someone hurt by “chosen one” status as Richter was, I think... I have a lot of thoughts about this. God I love Castlevania) and I think the two works can be read as thematically connected. That’s why I opted to connect them more blatantly here. Barlowe, too, is the aftermath of Richter’s decisions like a lot of other things in OOE. There will be some other connections to past events going forward. But witnessing Dracula’s resurrection twice at such an age is supposed to be the core catalyst for his worldview going forward. As a side note, when Richter refers to the “priest that taught him to fight”, it’s actually Shaft. I do have a headcanon that he was once involved in the church before he came to join Dracula.
-Barlowe having once been friends with Maria isn’t supposed to be DEEPLORE or anything, I had just already set his childhood in her hometown and they would have been around the same age. They’re both orphans so it strikes an easy (but not super necessary) contrast. She’s just another reason for the young boy to feel cynical and isolated and arrogant.
-The inevitability of fate and cycles is already A Thing in Castlevania, and I found discussion of this in Ecclesiastes which I had read to see if there was any OOE analysis to be gleaned from it (which is objectively kind of a hilarious reason to read any religious text, but there you go, welcome to my life) so my research was successful I guess! You’ll see Ecclesiastes quoted at the beginning of each chapter for this reason: the struggle to live within a futile cycle is THE concept on which Castlevania’s narrative feeds. Barlowe, too, is a reflection of this futility here. “Fate, up against your will,” to quote a favorite song of mine. It’s also what (in my reading) caused Richter to become susceptible to Shaft’s manipulation. The Possession Is A Metaphor. Anyway, Barlowe seeks to rationalize his role in the futile cycle, turns to faith, draws incorrect conclusions about morality, What Happens Next Will Shock You. (The frequent references to the sun also can be drawn as a parallel to Shanoa, Miss Morning Sun itself ;)) Similarly, I thought the Binding of Isaac had a similar thematic connection, though this was more directly to OOE than to CV as a whole.
-The decision to have the narrator be a first-person outside source (as opposed to writing in third person, or writing DIRECTLY from Barlowe’s POV) came surprisingly late, after I had completely outlined the fic! I was always planning on having a Fortner as a character (since I headcanonned for a long time that Celia’s cult sprouted from what was left of Ecclesia) but she wasn’t made the narrator until I realized how fun the format of a biography could be, especially from someone whose perception is so unreliable. She’s proof from the very first word of how much Barlowe’s guidance can hurt a person. She’s a bit of a tragedy, too. She never “got away” in the way Albus and Shanoa did. She never learned that she was trapped in a horrible environment and manipulated. When Barlowe revealed the truth of Ecclesia’s purpose, all she could do was accept it, because that’s what she was taught. I hope you’ll find her an interesting character going forward.
-The name “Augustus” was chosen because “Augustus Barlowe” flowed nicely, and it’s a Latin name (like many names in OOE) and it seemed a good fit. Meaning “majestic” or “venerable”, it suited Barlowe’s high view of himself as a leader.
-Honestly I feel like this first chapter is the weakest one. I always worry about that when I write multichapter fics. You want to make a good first impression, right? But it’s difficult. Oh well.
