Futility - The Hagiography of Ecclesia's Master, as Recounted by Lucila Fortner
Chapter Eight: The Martyr
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“This is an evil in everything that is done under the sun: There is one fate for everyone. Furthermore, the hearts of men are full of evil and madness while they are alive, and afterward they join the dead."
Shanoa’s mission was like a particularly infuriating game of cat and mouse. Whatever lead she took, Albus narrowly avoided capture, and his erratic behaviour left us with more questions than answers. Shanoa would approach as diplomatically as she could manage, he would speak in riddles, and then leave before she could take action.
There were small victories, though. Despite how it seemed to run counter to his initial plan, Albus had actually given Shanoa two of the pieces of Dominus. Barlowe excitedly asked her if she had managed to talk him into it diplomatically; she had not. It was merely his whim. But thankfully, Anger and Hatred still lay with us, absorbed into Shanoa’s body and safe. Agony, on the other hand, blindsided us.
She returned for her routine report of her mission’s progression with a grave expression- well, more grave than was typical, at least. What she described to Barlowe was horrifying: Albus, despite his seeming unsuitability, had found a way to absorb Agony on his own- without runes. It was, however, disastrous, and he seemed to go mad, acting as though possessed by the devil Himself. He tore out his hair and growled in aggression, and teleported away in a panic.
Indeed, the dark powers of Dominus could corrupt the mind. Without the necessary ritual, the making of a vessel left a vulnerable, empty space for something to inhabit. That is what he never understood: for all his careful scientific planning, he did not put enough stock into the spirituality of magic, and now the devil owned his soul.
This was, of course, very upsetting news. Barlowe did not hesitate to give the order to execute him, but, he tells me, in that moment he thought he might break. Albus, despite being a traitor to our cause, was once like a child to him, and at the very least a treasured student. He seemed to even blink away tears when he said to me (and this expression of his endless goodness and virtue shall stay with me forevermore)- “I had hoped I might save him from damnation.”
No, he did not want for Albus to die. But there was no choice.
Shanoa would free him of his misery.
She killed him. I don’t know how and I don’t particularly care; she was a living switchblade and could have done it any number of ways. The snake, crushed to death beneath her heel. It was what he deserved. He wrote his own epitaph when he left us.
Now, after the execution, we arrive at that joyous day; that awful day: when Shanoa returned from her mission victorious. Barlowe hurried her into the forbidden room. All three pieces of the Lord were bound to herself already. She need only direct that power, and finally martyr herself for God. The culmination of years of careful study was within our reach. Anticipatively, I waited outside the door, even though it was terribly naughty of me. To even hear just a small bit of our Lord’s resurrection would surely set my soul alight with passion! But what I heard instead changed my life forever.
“It’s done, sir. I’ve retrieved Dominus,” she said, voice shimmering with some unfamiliar darkness. Not feeling, but something approximating it.
“And Albus? Did he yield, or did he...” The master trailed off euphemistically.
Silence.
“Unfortunate... but it cannot be helped. He wanted just the same as both of us. Perhaps he simply wanted it too much. But still, there is a way to honor him. Use Dominus, and see the mission through. Our good Albus would have wanted it that way, no?”
Silence, again, and I could have sworn there was a spark of contempt on the air, like an angry ghost had wandered into our hallowed halls. It was something protective and furious.
“Why are you hesitating...? Take all three pieces; bind them to yourself. Upon the vessel, cast the Union Glyph. And so, the world's greatest hope will rise! Ecclesia's wish... The wish of all mankind. Now go, Shanoa! You will be the one. Our world's saviour...”
“I will not.”
“Are you frightened? You know I’m here for you, dear. All you have to do is cast the Glyph-”
“No!” Her voice was firm with defiance. “Don’t say another word to me.”
“What, second thoughts? You've fought so hard for this...”
There was a pause, and a shift in air as she spoke: “I promised Albus. I'm never using Dominus.” Was she summoning some magic within her? Was his very spirit the presence I detected? It clung to her like a haunting, as though tethered, and I shivered in fear for my life. His vengeful ghost must have corrupted her, possessed her! That demon! What reason had she to forsake humanity?
“You promised him? He must have lied to you...”
“You would know quite a bit about lies,” she retorted, with a sharpness beyond what she should have been capable of.
“Shanoa, what is this? What do you mean?” The master tried to maintain his steady tone even as he realized that the weapon had come by knowledge that was forbidden to her. Our organization was in terrible jeopardy, and I prayed that he would handle this altercation with his usual grace. “He’s put lies in your head. I’m sure you must be terribly confused.”
“Albus didn't seal my emotions at all. It was you. You used them as a sacrifice to Dominus!”
Her accusation rang in clear echoes through the room.
Of course it was the truth. But why should she question it? Why should she disobey? Barlowe had provided everything to her. Taking something so unsubstantial away was nothing in comparison to his endless kindness. She was ungrateful, terribly ungrateful. Nothing like me. I should have been her! I would have been such a willing sacrifice. It was in that moment I began to hate her more than anything. How dare she?!
“R-Ridiculous! I've never heard such-” Barlowe protested, but it was becoming clear that lying further would not dissolve the situation.
“You also lied to Albus. You sent him on a fool's errand, and tried to hold the ritual in his absence.”
He didn’t dignify her with a response. She knew Albus was evil, did she not? Why would that matter?
“...And you neglected to mention that using Dominus would kill me. Would you care to explain that, ‘master’?”
It was curious. I didn’t think she was even capable of sarcasm.
“Shanoa, if you ever trusted me, then hear me: mankind needs you... Needs your life.”
He held his arms aloft, as though summoning a spell; I knew this much from the way the forbidden room turned into a magical vertex. I had become quite attuned to the matters of mana, and it was rising like a pot boiling over. A battle was sure to commence.
Shanoa backed away. Barlowe stepped forward.
“You carry such a burden, my young girl... To give your life that Man might live his dreams... Do you not see how wonderful that is?”
"You're mad. You’re mad!" Shanoa repeated. "That Vessel must have corrupted your mind. You're mad!"
“Now, Albus... That boy had the right idea. I did often say he was a genius... He found a way to take in Dominus, and I shall put his research to good use. You see, girl, we don't need you anymore. If I can replicate his findings, my flesh can host the Glyph as well as yours! And since you're so unwilling to comply... I'll rip the Glyph straight off your bloody corpse!” His voice turned to a roar. I understood his seething fury, and still understand it now. I carry it with me every night, when the creatures of darkness are close to the earth and the moon is waxing.
The weapon maintained her awful resolve: “I'm not ready to die, Barlowe. You still owe me answers.”
“Poor fool; if I could only make you see. Now die, and yield Dominus to me!” His was the voice of discipline, the growl of a warning before a particularly harsh punishment. She would get what her disobedience had earned her.
I did not see the fight firsthand, of course, as the locked door blocked any visuals; I have created a reconstruction of how it may have played out based on what I overheard.
Shanoa landed the first blow, with some summoned weapon. There was a sound of blood spilling on the floor, a grunt, then the unmistakable magical quiver of teleportation. Something was cast- it could have been any of Barlowe’s Glyphs, and then I heard metal heels clicking against the marble floor as she ran to dodge it.
“Resist no further, girl!” Barlowe snarled, electricity crackling in the pages of his magical tomes. He laughed, the air torn apart with his high pitched peals, and with that I held hope that he was maintaining the advantage. She was our strongest warrior now, stronger than any other in Ecclesia, as she had been designed to be. No one had expected her disobedience, which could be disastrous. But Barlowe could still win.
I had to hope.
She grunted in pain, having taken the brunt of the electrical attack, then rose to her feet again. “Luminare!” There was an explosion of light like the one on that first day of training, that seeped through even the heavy locked door; I heard the sound of Barlowe being knocked to the floor, and heavy footsteps- trying to keep her distance? It was a futile effort. His ranged attacks would reach her regardless. Stupid.
“Glaciēs!” he boomed, and I recognized one of his signature spells. Ice frosted across the floor and Shanoa was caught in its grasp, the frigid prison covering every inch of her body with no escape. Of course, the trap was only one half of an attack, and the familiar sound of sparkling electricity made it clear that thunder was soon to crash down upon her as soon as the attack was charged.
“Amateur,” Barlowe hissed.
I smiled to myself. It was impossible to escape from Glaciēs, the more advanced form of Torpor.
There was a shriek, the sound of shattering ice. The boom of thunder shook the whole cathedral to its foundations. The weapon hurled an orb of Vol Luminatio as she jumped out of the way of Barlowe’s next attack, a volley of fireballs. She leapt with her sword, but still he hovered out of reach, tauntingly shifting his astral position as she attempted to land her blows. There was then a convergence, light merging with her blade into a thin, holy sword- a Union I had seen her cast once. The hit must have landed, the length of the slashing sword slicing upwards. I heard an awful squelch of torn flesh and viscera, and cringed at the thought of him hurt.
It was at this point I tried desperately to open the heavy doors, but to no avail. If only I could have! I may not have been the strongest of His sorceresses, but surely Shanoa would have a more difficult time against both of us. But he had locked the door through magic, no doubt to prevent the weapon from running from her destiny. But she was killing him! I felt awfully sick.
The battle continued, long and arduous- Barlowe had surely attempted Glaciēs a few more times, I could see the frost creeping past the door. Then in a rush of heat, so cruel the metal door became too hot to place my hand upon, it all melted in the fires of Ustio. There was another slice of the holy sword and a splatter of blood. It was like an awful storm, a hurricane, trapped inside that room. It was then I realized I may not be safe from the blade. When she had finished with him, who would be next? She was a murderer. She had killed Albus, too, and now she was to kill again. She was trained to kill. Would she shed my blood just to continue that purpose? Everyone in the world would want to pursue theirs, like the Belmont once did. That I am sure of.
But I could not run. My duty to my master took precedent. I was to chronicle his life, and if I was not there to remember his last stand, who would be? I could not abandon this important task he had given me.
That was my purpose: remembrance. Unlike her, who had no right to memory. I would remain steadfast to the end, while she was the awful deserter.
Perhaps she had moved to attack him again while still recovering from the slash wound, I cannot say. But he responded with this: "Damn you for giving me trouble. How dare you?!" His voice shuddered with heartbroken rage. There was a loud thud and a pained whimper. A heavy blow from his fist, possibly, though I didn’t see. "You've even forgotten who raised you... You... You stupid disciple!" Another thud, then a loud clatter of the weapon falling to the ground, armor clashing against the polished marble floors.
There was a grunt of protest, an attempt to scramble to her feet, then another punch. "Do you hear me?! You're an imbecile. You're braindead! You're so damn selfish, even knowing what your sacrifice would accomplish. Stupid girl! After everything we've given to you! You make me nauseous!"
"I don't want to die," the weapon spluttered, spitting up blood. "You lied. You lied!"
"Shanoa, listen to me," he spoke calmly, and I could clearly hear sounds of her trying to wrangle from his grasp. "There is no meaning to your life that I have not given you. What purpose do you have to-"
"Don't touch me."
"You have no right to disobey! What reason do you have to perpetuate your existence? Merely a dead man's word!"
"He- He was my brother! You used me- You murdered him!"
"You murdered him, Shanoa, and quite willingly. Selfish brat! You're barely alive. You're barely a person. What point does your hollow, futile life have? If you die, you'll be more than just a broken, witless mind. You'll be a savior. If I have to take the Glyph myself-"
“No!” There was a sudden chill that shivered through the air, unfamiliar but completely unmistakable. A violet-colored glow flickered through the tiny cracks of the heavy bejewelled door, and it was like the drafty air of the cathedral was throbbing around my head. Barlowe stumbled backwards, afraid to even touch her now that the energy was reverberating around her. It was awful; it was dark, corrupting, it was agony.
It was Dominus Agony.
The most potent of the three pieces of the Glyph. The most horrible pain to wrack your body, but a channel of untold power. She’d suffer that pain just to defeat the man who gave her everything, and yet refuse to save humankind? I shudder to imagine such evil irrationality.
"I spite you to my dying breath!" she snarled, a voice that seemed to carry Albus's blasphemous rage. There was a loud crash of the thunderous Acerbatus, the angry bullet of Agartha. Had she taken on the traitor's Glyph? How fitting, then, that this would be what ended the fight- the powerful orb of golden light was followed by a pained scream, one that surely tore my heart asunder.
The student had defeated the master.
Collapsing on the floor, he let out another yell, one of lament, heartbroken that she would have betrayed him right before she was to finally perform her duty; betrayed him just as Albus had months prior. She was not a loyal follower, not as loyal as I- as soon as she knew the true ambitions of Ecclesia, finally offered the truth, she turned away from it. She killed him. I heard it, though his death was slow. He was bleeding out, and he crawled desperately to the Vessel to offer his last devotions. Pious to his last moment... It brings me to tears even now.
All hope was lost to this raven-haired traitor, who renounced all that he had so kindly given to her for whatever that snake Albus had put in her head.
"I don't understand. The user of Dominus is destined to die. Why would you want such a power?"
“Because without Dominus, I'll never destroy that infernal seal,” he spluttered.
“...Seal? You told me that was the Vessel of Dracula's soul.”
For whatever reason, in that moment he decided that the truth will out. Perhaps it was too undeniable. Perhaps it was because he knew he was dying, still bleeding out from the gashes left in his stomach. Regardless, he spoke it:
“Of course! Ecclesia's mission is to realize the singular wish of all mankind: the resurrection of our lord, Count Dracula!”
“Mankind wishes for no such thing,” she insisted. If she had her memories still, would she have kept her trust in her father? Would she have understood his reasoning? I get caught up on the what if’s when I consider this night, I must admit.
“Dracula's power comes from the darkness in people's hearts--our hearts. Ask yourself then, why does he continue to return, regardless of defeat? Because our hearts yearn for Dracula's presence,” he explained, as he had to me. Then he laughed, as though delighting in it.
“...Just another victim of Dominus... It's driven you mad!”
She was wrong. No, there was no dark corruption motivating him. He was always like this. Still, stupidly, she clung to the idea that he couldn’t possibly have real stock in his theory. He was not mad, and Dominus had done nothing to him. I would know. I was at his side, in that very cathedral, to the last day.
“No, Shanoa... How can you be blind to this? ...If you refuse to see, then you are the fool,” he berated her, his nails scraping against the shimmering black surface of the Vessel in a desperate attempt to break it.
Then in his final moment of irrational devotion, the most incredible of miracles occured. He heard the voice of Dracula- the voice of the Dark Lord- in his head, that divine guidance, just like Richter had so long ago.
It was the voice of God.
And He would have His sacrifice.
All the light that seeped through the door turned to oppressive, choking darkness, in a cold convergence. It was as though all the magical energy in the chapel was being sucked towards one point within. Even my own magic was briefly stolen from my body in a delightful emptiness. The Vessel, the Seal, was an egg. It was hatching, taking all the effort it could, and with Shanoa, bound to all three pieces of Dominus, that energy was its own in this moment, sucked towards that point like its own equal absorption. All we needed was the blood of the dead to feed Him. The sacrifice.
“Oh ho ho... What's this? This power... My strength is returning! Yes my lord, I see... I will destroy the infernal seal with your blessing! ...Truly providence, that Dracula would honor me with His guidance!” He slumped against the Vessel, chuckling in disbelief and delight.
“No... I feel a new power,” Shanoa’s voice wavered, softly.
He gave his final prayer to his own master: “...I will give my life to undo the seal, Master. Return to us, my Lord!”
And he laughed as he died, the light claiming him and then exploding like that day the weapon had attempted her first casting, light so incredibly bright it was seen throughout every hall of the Order's cathedral. 'Twas the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, even as it left me briefly without sight in its all-encompassing brilliance; even if it meant my dear father had died a martyr.
The ebony spires of Castlevania penetrated through the earth and into the sky, inspiring the hearts of all who looked upon it, and in that highest spire sat our Dark King, waiting in his bloodthirst.
He had won.
The Lord had been birthed.
Author’s Note:
And thus, the tragic tale of my dearest Master and Father has ended. I take solace in that he died believing his life’s work had been complete, and I am glad that he never saw the crushing disappointment that followed- his traitorous disciple went on to prematurely stop Dracula’s purifying chaos, thus halting the revelation. Alas, as we were so close to having set the divine plan in motion. Light and shadow are twins, after all. My heart grieves for him after having witnessed him die heroically for our cause, and I mourn him even now, years later. We worked together on this tome, up until this ultimate chapter, which, sorrowfully, I had to bring to fruition on my own. I was a witness of that awful girl’s path of destruction and my firsthand knowledge of her betrayal was invaluable to complete the book, but this was still immensely difficult for me to write.
I will not pursue Shanoa for vengeance, and I ask that you do not seek her out either. We of the Order are, after all, of superior morality, and would not stoop to such lows. Regardless of what happens in life, an eternity of suffering in hell still awaits her, and as she waits for that inevitability, she will live tormented by the guilty conscious of a murderer (if her witless brain even has the capacity for remorse, now). Besides, I have work to do, and knowledge to pass on; the best revenge is to live well, I think.
Indeed, I shall carry His ideals, and the ideals of Ecclesia itself, into eternity, passing down the last of our scholarly pursuits to my children, and they to their children after me. We shall be with light for eternity, no matter how they seek to censor and destroy our holy desires.
The more knowledge, the more sorrow. But progress requires such anguished wisdom. Remember that.
With Light, Lucila Fortner
Annotations
-This chapter came with the unique challenge of writing a fight scene that wasn’t directly witnessed by the narrator. I think I toed the line between making it interesting to read and not describing what Lucila would not have heard, but I don’t know how well it reads in practice- there’s a lot of nonsense “sensing the magical shifts in the air” or whatever, but I guess that’s realistic for a sorceress. You can suspend your disbelief a bit, right??? But I think having a sense of listening to a murder happen and not being able to get past the door and STOP it was important to communicate- Lucila can’t get in and assist Barlowe, and the reader is as much a “bystander” to the violence being inflicted upon Shanoa as well.
-Something I noticed about Barlowe’s fight is that some of his techniques (a petrifying ice spell, teleportation, and so on) are reflected in Albus’s own skills- you can see that he learned his magic from him! It’s a neat detail. Albus having fire, electric and ice Glyph attacks in the hard mode version of his boss fight is another potential nod to this. Glacies being an “advanced form of Torpor” is a reference to this.
-I will always think that “just another victim of Dominus” was an incorrect judgment on Shanoa’s part. Barlowe’s plan would have always ended in her death, and he had always been lying to her from the beginning, simple as that. If he truly had good intentions, he wouldn’t have been trying to break the seal that would set Dracula free. I read Shanoa as trying to rationalize this sudden betrayal- and the last time she saw a sudden shift in behavior towards violence, it was Albus being possessed. I think she WANTED it to be a similar situation. She didn’t want to have to contend with the truth that Barlowe was never truly the kindly father figure he made her believe he was. But he immediately denies this judgment. I see a lot of people try to paint Barlowe as just another victim because of this line, but I think the proof is in the pudding: the narrative itself never frames him as such in the same way Albus is. Shanoa attempts to grieve her brother, she laments that she can’t shed a tear. She never does the same for Barlowe. When she angsts about having lost everything- her emotions, her past, her brother and her purpose- her master is notably absent. He is NOT a loss to grieve, or a victim. This line gets misread a lot.
-“With Light, Lucila Fortner” as her signing off is meant to be where Celia’s cult gets its name. I think this biography would be a foundational text to the cult, though by the time of the 2030s it’s pretty fragmented and has gone through like 3 seperate layers of bad translation, so they don’t know Ecclesia’s history exactly.
