Neko

Warnings: Barlowe, also makeout scenes (no overlap between the two I promise LMAO), cult stuff, discussions of self-sacrifice

Notes: I have had ideas for a similar AU for a long long while but only now have I put pen to paper (or, the digital equivalent...) I had a lot of fun writing Albus and Laura investigating and sharing information, and the final escape sequence was something I had in my mind for a while. I think my writing got a little sloppy towards the end (same with the beginning) but my main priority was finally finishing this fic that has lived rent free in my head for literal years. ALSO Laura using the name “Schneider” to hide her Belmont heritage is lifted from Castlevania 64- Reinhardt’s surname was changed to Schneider during development, and it’s mentioned that he was bullied due to his lineage. It also just makes sense for the Belmonts to keep their true identities under wraps after everything that went down with Richter. Also, my OC Lucila Fortner makes an appearance. I feel like I could have utilized her better but I think I’m alright with what I’ve got. Also, uh, whoops, this ended up being more of a gen fic with femslash sprinkles. But I think gen is kind of my bread and butter anyway.

Laura Belmont found herself at a precipice once more.

After she had run away, the tarot had guided her across Tymeo. The Eight of Pentacles. The Lovers. The Wheel of Fortune. The Four of Wands. All promising readings to be sure, though now that she had crossed the treacherous mountain range she felt lost once more.

Yes... the promise that she would do great things.

She had found herself in yet another sleepy town, Oldon. She had grown used to passing through places, hoping for some place to call a home. With some sobriety, she noted that perhaps she had never had a home in the first place, in a way. She shed very few tears when she left the town of her birth.

It was a painful place to remember; cauterizing to leave.

She ate her breakfast in the town square, langoși topped with jam and butter. It was another slow morning. She would move on from this town soon, she thought. Her destiny did not lie here.

Though perhaps fate did conspire.

In the center of the plaza was a young woman dressed in sea-green and embroidered, shining gold. The outfit was striking, and certainly beautiful- and doubtlessly expensive. The girl wore a nun’s habit, but her bright auburn curls spilled from underneath it.

What an odd get-up... Well, it certainly is striking. But what is she doing in a place like this?

As soon as she blinked, the girl was gone. It was as though it was merely chance that she had seen her at all.

Was this fated?

And so, she sought conversation with this woman. For there was no world in which she had arrived without purpose. Laura was much the same.

She began to wander the town.

Upon her approach, the auburn-haired girl turned around as if she was expecting Laura's arrival. “Oh. Sorry. What is it you need?”

“I was just wondering what brought you to Oldon. I don't normally see such an interesting outfit out here.”

“I am on a mission,” the girl replied evasively. Perhaps Laura shouldn’t have commented on her clothing. Was she offended?

“Oh?” Laura cocked an eyebrow.

“I am here on behalf of the Order of Ecclesia. There have been sightings of resurrected skeletons in the area. Naturally, they sent me.”

“So you're a hunter, then?”

She didn't really meet many hunters. Her father often said the time of hunters was over.

Laura always felt odd about her Belmont heritage. Her family had taught her to hide it, as the clan had long been in hiding. After the actions of Richter Belmont...

Well. She was always told she was his spitting image.

She wasn't satisfied with her work as a jeweler. She wasn't meant to cut it in that world. So her master had told her.

Did she want this? To hunt... To be a part of something greater?

Where I will do great things...

“In a sense,” the girl continued. “With our research, we are seeking a way to destroy Dracula forever. So that mankind can look to dawn without need to fear the darkness.” She spoke stiffly, as though rehearsed.

Is this... my fate? Where the reading was leading me? I crossed Tymeo, and now I meet her. I can fulfill my family’s duty... by destroying he who stalks the night. Is this what I’ve been waiting for?

“What is your name?”

“Lucila Fortner. Yours?”

“Dolores Schneider. But just Laura is fine, really. I’m not really from around these parts.” ‘Schneider’ was the name her father had always told her to give. If the people of Oldon knew she was a Belmont, she likely would have left even faster, and not by choice. “Do you like it, in your order?”

“Oh, yes,” Lucila smiled. “Master Barlowe took care of me after my parents died. Without him, I would have lived in squalor in an orphanage. And I love to lose myself in my studies. I like knowing... that I am bringing something holy to this earth.”

This is it. This is how I will fulfill my destiny, Laura thought. This is the sign.

“Then let me come with you.”

It had been a few weeks since she had joined Ecclesia. She fell into the duties of a scribe quickly, as she had no magical experience but plenty in artistic fields. She was placed in Lucila’s sleeping quarters- she didn't ever elaborate on whatever happened to the previous tenant, Laura noted- and quickly introduced to all of the fellow scribe’s friends and associates in the order.

Of course, the first person she had been taken to meet was the aforementioned Master Barlowe, the leader of Ecclesia. Laura wasn't sure what she thought of him- he was certainly kind, but there was always a strange look in his eyes, like he was assessing her for some unknown test. He asked her many questions, but seemed to be mostly welcoming.

Perhaps she just didn't take well to men who insisted on being called “master”. But the old man seemed to be dedicated to his holy work above all, so she capitulated. They didn’t speak much afterwards- she received his orders mostly secondhand, delivered by other disciples. She was perfectly satisfied to keep her distance, though. She couldn’t put her finger on why.

After the initial meetings with Barlowe and a quick oath of loyalty, Lucila rushed her to the main hall for mealtime and introduced her at once to the disciples Shanoa and Albus.

Her visits to Shanoa’s quarters had become a frequent routine soon after. She was certainly glad Lucila was a deep sleeper. Despite their shaky friendship, there was only so much Lucila one could take at a time.

Tonight was a bright, cloudless full moon, and Laura was sneaking down the hallway once more. Albus was out on field research, as Laura was discovering he often was. She felt just terrible for thinking it, but she kind of preferred it that way. There was some unnamed thing only she and Shanoa could share.

“I hope Luci hasn't been giving you much trouble lately. She means well, but...”

“Ah, so she's always like that? ...Sorry, that was mean,” Laura rubbed the back of her head apologetically.

“She just likes to impress the Master,” Shanoa shrugged. “She has high standards for herself.”

“I guess that makes sense. I mean, you look up to him too, right?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Shanoa said. “He is a very, very good teacher. I love him dearly. He gives me so much... purpose.”

She smiled, but not with her eyes. Something about that unsettled Laura.

“Well, enough about stuffy old scholars,” she giggled. That returned the warmth to Shanoa’s eyes, and she laughed as well. “What do you suppose Albus will bring you back from his mission?”

“Probably a book,” Shanoa replied. “His first priority in any town he visits is to find the book shop.”

“Ha, sounds about right,” Laura smiled.

“What did you do, before you came to the Order?”

“I was training to make jewelry. I wasn't very good,” Laura shrugged.

“Oh! That sounds interesting. Do you have any you can show me? I never see very much jewelry around here. To be true bearers, we must give up all vanity. So we don't wear many accessories like that,” Shanoa looked away. “I always want to buy some when I’m out on a mission. But I have more important things to do, I suppose...”

“I have some I made, back in my quarters, but it's not anything special,” Laura replied.

“Maybe you can make something for me, sometime. I’d like that.”

Something about that made Laura's heart flutter. She fervently wished at once that she could make a beautiful necklace to place upon Shanoa’s breast, as brilliant as the ocean trapped in her eyes.

That's in the past, now.

“Ah, maybe...” She shrugged.

“I’m always glad when you come over, when Albus is gone...” Shanoa trailed off.

“You get lonely?”

“Well, yes... But I also get a lot of nightmares. About Dracula. And strange, demonic creatures. I even had one, once, where I was strangling Albus and couldn’t stop. They’re just awful! It feels like having someone here chases them away.”

Laura, of course, had seen the Vessel, the onyx-colored statue that seemed to be alight with its own darkness. She had known there was something evil dwelling inside of it; Barlowe had explained that it had sealed Dracula within. Shanoa, too, had the most attunement to Dominus. Perhaps these things were connected.

She believed it. But something in her ached to imagine Shanoa, haunted by that thing.

I’m a Belmont. I should be the one protecting humanity, not her. What a burden... Laura squeezed Shanoa’s hand.

“Hah, perhaps it's because I work so hard all day. I spend so long thinking about stopping the Dark Lord that he’s invaded my dreams,” the girl muttered.

“Well, consider this my decree to not push yourself so hard,” Laura replied, with feigned authority, and Shanoa laughed.

“I’m not sure how Barlowe would feel about that! I have very important duties. If my body can't accept-”

“Enough about him, darling,” she breathed, and realized how close they were, laying side by side on the bed. “I want to know how you feel.”

“I...”

Shanoa trailed off, her voice distant.

Footsteps echoed from down the hall, and Laura immediately got the sense that they were in trouble.

“It’s him,” Shanoa said. She didn't exactly seem frightened, but she wasn't really at ease, either.

Why did I expect her to be?

The door swung open with a quiet creak.

“Master,” Shanoa acknowledged him.

“Ah, Shanoa,” the white-haired priest said. Laura shrunk away from him, but didn’t say anything. It was oddly disquieting, the way he acted like she wasn’t there. “You didn’t forget about your special training, did you? Dominus is nearly ready for you, after all. It is of utmost importance that you are ready to accept it in kind.”

“Yes, sir.” Shanoa got up from the bed, as though compelled by some power not her own.

For the first time in that cathedral, Laura was afraid. Afraid! But Barlowe is a kind man. Shanoa speaks highly of him. ...I must be projecting my own feelings about this. Given all I’ve run from.

“Excellent, Shanoa. We rely on you, you know. Your hard work... will fulfill the wishes of all mankind.” Barlowe gripped Shanoa’s hand with all the warmth of a father, and Laura let her worry cool a little.

“And Dolores? You should really stay in your own quarters for the night. This is your first warning. I will make note of this infraction.”

She jumped a little. “Ah, sorry, sir.”

And with that, the conversation was over. Barlowe led Shanoa through the corridor, and Laura was merely glad she didn’t receive much of a lecture for sneaking around that night.

Shanoa looked back over her shoulder as she left, and made brief eye contact with the former jeweler.

Her expression was plaintive, swimming in sorrow.

For not the first time, Laura wondered what it really meant, to be the bearer.

I have to help her. I have to protect her heart. I have to save this girl.

...From what, exactly?

It was a chilly morning, the sun the color of the world’s saddest egg yolk. Albus had arrived home the previous evening, and Laura had been just itching to talk to him again. He was Shanoa’s brother, after all. If anyone would know more about the odd scene she had witnessed that night, it would be him.

He was walking around the small, wooded area surrounding the cathedral grounds. Laura trailed behind him. The scientist seemed lost in thought, and she felt like a real bother interrupting him.

But I have to know.

“The other night... I saw Barlowe take Shanoa to a training of sorts at night.”

And then later that day, she said she dreamed of Dracula again, which only made me feel more uneasy about it.

...But wasn’t she up all night? No, I must be misremembering. It was best not to dwell on it. Though she couldn’t shake the fear that Barlowe had been conducting some kind of bloodstained ritual in the night. But did she have any reason to suspect him of this?

It wasn’t like she hadn’t had strange dreams, too. There was one, she recalled, where Shanoa came to her, covered in blood, and she knew at once that the blood was Albus’s. She had woken up hyperventilating, with the sense that she had defied some plan of the universe.

“Ah. Right. That.” Albus’s brow furrowed. “I can’t stand it. At this point, I know more about the glyph than he does. And yet the readying of my sister is out of my jurisdiction? It’s weird.”

“Do you think he doesn’t trust you?”

“If so, the feeling is- I mean, of course I trust him, he’s one of the greatest minds in the occult sciences, but...” He seemed hurried to correct himself.

“You think he’s being hasty?”

“I don’t think Shanoa is ready. Dominus is... dangerous. Really, really dangerous.”

“How so?”

“...I’m not supposed to say. Even Shanoa doesn’t know.”

“Tell me.”

“I can’t. It’s classified.”

“I promise, I’ll tell my secret if you tell me yours.”

Albus’s sharp eyes darted around, as if assessing all variables in their shared equation. “Tell me, first.”

“Well... I’m one of the last remaining Belmonts.”

“I thought your last name was Schneider?”

“Pseudonym. After everything that happened with Richter... Well, there’s a reason we like to avoid being detected,” Laura explained, carefully.

“My God, you even look like him. I’ve seen portraits...” Albus rubbed his chin, lost in thought.

“Pretty big secret, isn’t it?”

“It’s amazing, is what it is. If it’s not too much to ask... May I please get a sample of your blood? I’ve always wanted to experiment with its magical properties-”

“That’s awfully blunt,” Laura laughed. No tact at all!

“I’m serious! I have this hypothesis that Dominus could be leashed with blood-magicks. Of course Belmont blood would be the perfect counter to the powers of Dracula Himself!”

“So that’s the secret of Dominus? It’s his power?”

“You caught on quick,” Albus grinned, a lopsided, broken smile. “But yes. Dominus was created out of Dracula’s remains. The old man tried to hide it from me, but I was too smart for him. He’s a good magician, but a terrible scientist.”

“I can see why you’d call it dangerous, then...”

“But to what extent, I have no idea. I need to know... I need to know that Shanoa will be okay, when she bears the glyph. That’s why I get so upset about how secretive he’s been with me.”

“I’m sure he has his reasons, at least... He seems passionate about saving humanity.”

“Too right. I have a great deal of respect for Barlowe. He gave me a life I could be proud of, and he taught me everything I know. He’s always believed in me. I just wish he would respect me, too.”

“...Thank you for talking with me like this, Albus.”

“Of course. We are friends, aren’t we?”

Laura smiled. Despite her misgivings, she was somewhat happy to have found a place in Ecclesia among the disciples.

“Er, one more thing...”

“Yes, Laura?”

“What’s your sister’s type? Just wondering,” Laura twirled her hair, feigning innocence.

Albus raised an eyebrow. “Hey, now. That’s a bit blunt of you, isn’t it?”

“Oh, hush, you.”

“You know, I have no idea. We don’t really talk of romance, much. But she speaks highly of you, if that’s what you mean.”

“And if it is?”

“You must treat her well,” Albus said, coolly. “She is very special to me.”

“Of course I will.”

I’ll do whatever I have to, to protect her smile.

Pretty girls from disgraced hunting-clans, as it turned out, were exactly Shanoa’s type. Laura had begun to make a habit out of visiting her at night. When all of Ecclesia fell to sleep, it was then they were most awake, wandering the cathedral in the moonbeams that filtered through the multicolored stained glass. Things became beautiful at night, though Shanoa was most beautiful of all.

They took solace in each other; Shanoa was glad of having a companion to whom she could confess her secrets, though she was often evasive when Laura asked about her important duties. But she shared her worries, her burdens, her sorrows. She let them all melt away in the folds of their nighttime joy, asking instead about the world outside with immense interest, and spent the hours playing card games with Laura’s tarocchi deck, that Shanoa was eager to learn. The night was theirs, and theirs alone.

It was another lily-soft night like this. (“I went to my training during dinner, so he wouldn’t bother us at night,” Shanoa had said, grinning, as though she had enacted some great mischief.) Their journey was swift, and their destination was the familiar seclusion of the confessional. Shanoa’s thin white nightgown trailed behind her like a ghost as they hurried together through the shadows.

Lit and shadowed by the criss-cross lattice of the confessional, they kissed each other fervently. In the cool night air, they could be as close as they craved. Somehow, out in the emptied public halls, it felt safer than in the confines of Shanoa’s bedroom.

“We really shouldn’t be doing this in such a holy place, Lola,” Shanoa said, playfully, as she pulled away from another sloppy kiss.

“Hm, I suppose you're right. But aren't I holy, too?” Laura whispered.

“So you really are a Belmont,” Shanoa breathed, delighting in their gentle blasphemy.

“Did Albus tell you?”

“I sort of knew. Master Barlowe says I am sort of... attuned, to the magical energies around me. I can feel the holy magic sparking off of your skin, even now,” Shanoa let a hand wander up Laura’s back and pulled her lover closer. She sucked in a breath as though thirsting for it, to make that magic her own. “I suppose that's why I have such miserable dreams, too, in this place full of magic.”

Laura wished feverishly that she could protect her, even in that world, against the scourge of her nights.

Maybe then her family name would be worth something.

She kissed her again, forcefully, and Shanoa’s mouth opened to welcome her. They went from two disparate parts to one breathing, sighing creature, and she hoped vainly that they would never part.

When morning began to break, it was too soon. They whispered their farewells, and returned to their quarters silently, so seamlessly that it appeared as if they never left.

It was another routine morning. In the past few months, Laura had grown quite used to her life in Ecclesia; her days spent in diligent study and her nights spent in loving solace. Shanoa and Albus had been missing from their quarters the previous night, though, which was odd- especially because Shanoa had only just returned from a mission.

Like many mysteries in Ecclesia, it was best not to dwell on it. They’d be back. She hoped.

Laura supposed there wasn’t much use in worrying. There was work to be done. She was drafting another sigil in the scribe-halls. She had taken quickly to her work, and even enjoyed it. When she inscribed a glyph, she...

She felt like an artist.

At that thought, she felt a sort of wince. A pull, to create. She realized how much she missed making jewelry. But her apprenticeship, her childhood dream, felt a lifetime away.

And I’m just horrid at it anyway. It’s for the best. I’ve found something better. More useful.

It felt painful to swallow that back, like sickness in her throat.

But the day was young, after all, still in the cradle of dawn. Yes, there was work to be done, and she would do her work without interruption.

Or perhaps not. Lucila rushed hurriedly into the scribe-hall with an expression of serious concern. “Laura. I want to talk to you.”

“Nothing bad, I hope?”

“It’s about Albus,” Lucila grimaced. “You’re as close with him as I am, so I figured you ought to know. He tried... experimenting on himself, last night, in the library.”

Oh, shit. Laura at once recalled his words about blood experiments- she did eventually offer him that blood sample. Dread clawed at her stomach. She had the sense that something bad was happening. “Is he okay?”

“He’ll be fine. Master severed him from the glyph.”

“He tried to absorb Dominus?!” That explains why the two of them weren’t there... Shanoa must have been by his side in the infirmary.

Lucila nodded, gravely. “I don’t know what Barlowe is going to do to him. Demote him, or...” her voice wavered, and then she stopped, and spoke more stiffly: “Well, he’ll deserve it. He defied the Master. After all he did for us, he still tried to forsake humanity.”

Laura didn’t argue. She knew better than to press against Lucila in moments like this.

“Ah, is it alright if I go see him?”

“Go ahead,” Lucila shrugged. “I understand these are... upsetting circumstances.”

Laura nodded and hurried down the corridors to the small medical ward. She made quick polite greetings to the nuns who were doing the nursing-work, mostly out of obligation, and swiftly found where Albus had been placed, a bed with thin white sheets near a window. Shanoa was sitting next to the bed, eyes weary.

“Laura,” she greeted her, not unkindly, but certainly trying to mask the pain in her voice. “He tried to make himself the bearer.”

“You look like hell,” Laura noted. She must have been up all night.

“That’s funny. That’s what he said.”

“He’s awake?”

“He’s been sleeping on and off.”

“I’m awake now,” Albus rolled his eyes. “I’ve got an awful headache.”

“That’s because of all the blood they had to draw!” Shanoa said, with a certain kind of exasperation that could only come from love.

“I wish they’d let me out already. I need to talk with Barlowe-”

“You need rest,” Shanoa hissed, then turned to the scribe. “See what I have to deal with, Laura?”

Laura chuckled. “I’ll watch him for you. You look like you need your rest, too.” She sort of hoped she’d be able to discuss the blood samples with Albus, but something told her he meant to keep that secret from his sister.

Shanoa yawned. “Ideally I’d be returning to my training, as Barlowe scheduled,” she explained.

“Oh, come on. You only just got home, and he’s already working you to the bone,” Albus groused. “Get some sleep. If he wants to lecture you, tell him to lecture me instead, since I already have one coming.” He groaned and covered his head with his pillow in the growing light.

“I suppose I can’t fight you on that, dear brother,” Shanoa smiled wearily, and got up from her chair with another yawn. “Once you have an idea in your head, there’s no stopping you, is there?”

“Too right,” Laura chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep him under control.”

Albus groaned again.

And so, Shanoa left. Laura waited until she and Albus were truly alone, and then she spoke in a hushed whisper. “What happened? Why did you try to absorb Dominus?”

“I have to be the bearer,” he hissed back, and Laura noticed tears of frustration and betrayal welling in his eyes. “It’s going to kill her. It... It sacrifices. The user is the fuel for the... the magical output...”

“Oh, Albus... You don’t mean?”

“It’s the only conclusion I can draw. The glyph was sucking away my soul, I’m sure of it. My memories became distant and my feelings were numbed. First the soul, then the life. The way my Master devised to kill Dracula... was through human sacrifice.”

“That’s horrible! No wonder you want to go talk to Barlowe.”

“I don’t know what to do. He did so much for us. He raised us and fed us and... Oh, Laura, he plans to kill her! I have to be the bearer.”

“Does he know?”

“He has to have known. In all ways, Dominus was built for such a purpose. He created the glyph, and you don't make things like this on accident... Magic requires intent.”

“I’ll tell Shanoa,” Laura said, decidedly.

“Don’t! I can’t let her know. She’ll insist on doing it anyway. She wouldn’t want me dead, either.”

Neither is preferable! But I suppose I see his point... If she knew what Albus planned, she would only be more set on giving her own life.

And thus, secrets upon secrets. She decided then that she would indeed tell Shanoa, and allow her an informed decision. Wouldn’t that make it more fair? However, she would let Albus continue to think she kept the secret. But Shanoa had to know the risk that lay ahead of her.

She kept her other promise, though. She remained by Albus’s side the rest of the day, until she heard the sound of shoes on the marble floor: Shanoa and Barlowe entering the infirmary.

“Greetings, sir. Albus is recovering well,” Laura said, hurriedly, hoping that that was all this was. She always felt on edge when the Master was around, these days. “He’s just lightheaded.”

“Yes. I’d actually like to-” Albus began, but Shanoa cut him off.

“We’re actually here to make an announcement,” she smiled. “A very important one, actually.”

“You can do the honors, Shanoa,” Barlowe smiled warmly, ruffling her hair. They looked so much like a father and child.

It chilled Laura to the bone. Albus’s expression was grave.

“How kind of you, sir.”

“Yes, go ahead. I can tell you’re itching to share this important duty with your friends.”

“Well...” Shanoa took a breath. “I am to become the bearer. Tonight. Master has decided I am ready.”

Laura and Albus exchanged a glance. Albus had never looked so broken.

It was over before they could even begin to untangle the mess they had found themselves in.

She had been marked for death.

The forbidden room, where Dracula’s Vessel slept, was lit dimly with candlelight. The diligent faithful of the Order knelt together in piety as Shanoa walked down the center of the room, Barlowe close behind her.

It was time.

Laura looked over at Albus, and thought solemnly that she had never seen him pray before. Despite his role in the religious order, he had seemed entirely unspiritual. A scientist.

Had he really grown so hopeless?

He whispered: “Please, Lord, protect my sister. I don’t ask for much. Please protect my sister...”

Apart from that hopeless prayer, and Shanoa’s footsteps, the room was silent, like it itself had drawn in a single breath it was waiting to let out.

The dread procession, leading to Shanoa’s grave. One of the priests lit several candles at the foot of the Vessel, where Shanoa now stood. Barlowe arranged three arcane tomes on three deliberately-placed pulpits.

The three parts of Dominus. Ira, Odium, Angor.

“We gather here, at the final conclusion of our great research. I have thought long and hard, and I have at last determined... Our bearer is ready.”

“Amen,” spoke the breathless, kneeling crowd. Shanoa bowed her head with humility. Despite all the pomp and circumstance, the ritual seemed a bit rushed, like Barlowe had quickly assembled what was necessary for the rite and was speeding towards its conclusion.

He must know.

“Rejoice, Shanoa- you will become our world's savior.”

Something was happening- a shimmer on the air, red and blue light. Laura clutched her head at once, wincing in pain and some unknown fear, from the darkness that emanated. Was this Dominus, the power of Dracula?

Shanoa stood, arms raised above her head and magic sparking off of her as her hair began to float in the air. She was beginning to, as instructed, accept the glyph. Albus wept.

Laura’s eyes weren’t trained to see the cast sigils, so the shimmer was all that she saw. But she knew what was happening- this absorption. She’d watched Shanoa do it, a few times.

Suddenly, there was a blinding flash of light, a collapse, a spattering of candle-wax. Someone in the crowd screamed, and that tense silence was at once broken.

Shanoa lay motionless before the altar, and for a brief, horrible moment, Laura thought that she was dead.

“My poor child!” Barlowe shook his head and rushed to her side, clutching at her hair and holding her close to his chest like a doll. “Oh, my poor child. My poor, poor child,” he repeated, as though rehearsed. But his expression... On the surface, one of grave seriousness.

But his pale grey eyes were set aflame with utter ecstasy.

Shanoa stirred in Barlowe’s arms, blinking awake with eyes that still seemed far away and asleep.

“Master Barlowe! She must cast the glyph!” Lucila called, feverishly, from across the room. “Finish the ritual! I must see it...! I have to see it!”

“The toll of absorbing such a powerful glyph is great,” Barlowe said, warmly. “Fortner, take her to the infirmary. We shall reconvene when the bearer has recovered.”

“Yes, Master,” Lucila bowed her head, scowling.

As the crowd left the candle-lit hall and the bells intoned in dissonant, clanging notes, Laura felt like she was walking home from a funeral.

“She’s not dead. Yet,” Albus whispered as they parted. “But when she uses the glyph, she will be. We have to think of something.”

Laura nodded.

I have one last chance. I have to tell her.

As it turned out, nearly everyone in Ecclesia went to go visit her as well. And so, Laura waited for night, like she often did. The sun found its home nestled underneath the mountains, and darkness fell. Her moment of permission, Laura found her way to the infirmary once more.

Shanoa was awake. She stared, blankly, forward, with eyes that were pure ice. The warmth and joy that once dwelled within her was gone.

“Oh. Laura,” Shanoa said.

“Shanoa! I’m relieved you seem to be in one piece, relatively speaking.”

Shanoa nodded, slowly. It unsettled Laura, how still and lifeless she seemed. Laura at once remembered what Albus had said about his feelings, and memories, when he had tried to absorb the glyph. I suppose I should be glad she remembers me at all...

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Shanoa said. “My grasp on my memories seems a bit shaky, though, which is what the Master seems the most concerned with. But he believes I should be ready to resume my regular duties tomorrow.”

“You’ve lost your emotions.”

“So I have.”

“Albus told me this would happen.”

“Albus? I sort of remember him.”

“Your brother. The head researcher.”

“Oh. Right.”

She was gone.

“Well, Albus told me that Dominus is dangerous. That it is likely to take your life as its fuel when you cast it. We... We weren’t able to tell you about its side effects before Barlowe had you-”

“Enough,” Shanoa looked away. “My duty is important. I will do what the Master asks.”

“Please, Shanoa...” Laura grabbed her hand, an expression of pure anguish on her face. “Well, at least come with me to speak with Albus.”

If I can't help her, he can.

“Very well,” Shanoa nodded. “If that will satisfy you.”

Something felt so wrong, about going down those well-trod hallways speckled with the same friendly moonlight. Shanoa recognized none of what it meant to them; Laura recognized all too much.

Albus was wide awake in their quarters, reading by candle-light. His weary expression turned to one of sorrow and love, and he rushed forward to embrace Shanoa. She hugged him stiffly.

“You're Albus, right?”

His eyes went as cold as hers. “Er, yes...?”

“Tell her, Albus. Tell her she can't-”

“I must use Dominus,” Shanoa replied, sharply. “My life is a fair price for humanity, if that is truly the cost.”

“Shanoa, please, listen. I’ve dedicated nearly my whole life- every year I’ve spent with you- to Ecclesia’s mission. Everything I did was for the sole purpose of readying Dominus for its bearer. And I say to you now: I don't want anyone to make such a sacrifice. I would sooner destroy my work. I would sooner sacrifice myself. Especially because Barlowe lied to us all about its true function... and especially if it's you, dear,” Albus said, decidedly. “You aren't using Dominus. I’ll make myself the bearer- I’ll even leave Ecclesia, if I have to. It just can't be you. It can't...”

“...I suppose he really did lie, if that's true,” she finally acquiesced. “That is reason to be apprehensive.”

“I’ve wanted to leave for a long time, actually,” Albus admitted. “I even asked Barlowe, once. And he told me I’d never get to see you again if I did.”

“What are you saying?”

“I want to leave. And for you to come with me.”

“What about Dominus?” Laura interjected. “Is it to be left here?”

“I stole it, actually, when everyone was checking up on her in the infirmary.” There was a hint of Albus’s usual smug grin. “No one's noticed yet.”

“So now I must choose to trust a liar or a thief,” Shanoa mused.

“Hey, my family's known some honorable thieves in their time, you know. Or do they not teach you about the Danasty clan?” Laura mused.

Albus shook his head. “It's just so I know where it is. And so I can make myself the bearer in your stead. Only then will I return here. I wouldn't forsake humanity. It's just that the circumstances of this ritual were all wrong.”

“Hm,” Shanoa huffed. Laura wasn't sure what to make of that.

“Where shall we stay in the meantime?” Laura asked.

“There's a tiny town near here called Wygol. I’ve actually been looking at maps ever since that first time I asked to leave... We can stop there until we know where exactly we want to go.”

The name of the village sent a shiver of recognition through Laura, though she had never heard of it before.

“How close is Wygol?”

“Three or four miles, or thereabouts.”

Was this where the tarot was guiding me? Not Ecclesia, but... Wygol?

“It sounds like you are both pretty set on this plan,” Shanoa said. “I do not like abandoning my duty like this. But objectively, Barlowe has lied. I think that is reason enough. But why would he lie?”

“Because it's unpleasant, volunteering to die,” Albus replied. “No one in their right mind wants to die. So he had to trick us.”

“...Fine. I’ll go with you, on the condition that no matter what happens, promise me that someone will use Dominus. That my life’s purpose- the final destruction of Count Dracula- will come to pass. Even if it must be me,” she said, with a pointed voice. “Especially if it must be me.”

Albus swallowed, dryly, but nodded without speaking further. It was the concession he made to ensure Shanoa would leave this hellish church, and Laura knew that it pained him greatly to concede this.

“If we decide this on our own terms, and not Barlowe’s, I agree.”

“Then there's no time to waste,” Laura replied. “Let's go.”

And so, they stole into the night, praying no one would hear their hurried escape. They would run until they reached Wygol, and probably run further still, if Ecclesia’s faithful still yet pursued them.

Albus had warned the both of them, about the stories of what happened to the people who left. So Laura could only hope.

It struck her, then, that they had nothing. Albus carried the tomes- which he had hidden under a floorboard- in his satchel, of course, but little else. Laura had some of her jewelry with her, but most of her possessions had been taken to be approved by the elders and then never actually returned. Shanoa carried nothing. They travelled light, light as the food on their plates in the great halls at mealtime.

It was an odd observation to have. How much was I denied without realizing?

They made their way to the great entrance hall very quickly, and prepared to make a mad dash for the massive exit doors. However, Shanoa quickly stopped them.

“Someone is here,” she whispered.

Lucila stepped out from the shadows.

“I should have known.” Lucila said, coldly. “Albus, yield Dominus. I know you’ve stolen it. I saw you.”

“I can’t allow that. I must make myself the bearer. Surely you must understand why I would act outside of Barlowe’s jurisdiction- knowing that using Dominus poses a threat to Shanoa’s life?”

Laura expected her to be shocked.

“Of course... Of course it does,” Lucila laughed, a high-pitched peal of glee. “OF COURSE IT DOES! A sacrifice for the twin Lords... A sacrifice to bring Him to this world once more.”

Her blood went cold.

Shanoa spoke: “That’s not what-”

“Oh, but it is,” Lucila smiled. “Or is the truth too hard to bear? Master knew I would understand- I was always his favoured girl. He told me... our true mission. To cleanse the world in the forge of Chaos, so that Mankind can look to dawn without fearing the darkness that welcomes them. Two Lords watch us in our piety, of light and dark, and both command holy, cleansing fire. Fire against fire will rebirth the world! That is the will of Ecclesia!”

“No! All I’ve worked for...” Albus went very pale. “It can’t be... It’s not...”

“And so, the decision is made.” Shanoa’s eyebrows furrowed. “We must dispose of Dominus. It has no use to us.”

“You will not,” Lucila glared back.

“You are an unskilled magician,” Shanoa replied. “There is nothing you can do. Let Barlowe know his mission is over, and there will be no bearer. We are leaving.”

Something about that set something off in Lucila’s mind, and she pulled a gleaming dagger from some hidden sheath, and ran forward like a madwoman, lunging for Shanoa. The warrior summoned her glyph, Secare, parrying the silver strike.

In the fog of battle, Albus handed his satchel to Laura. “Switch with me, and run. She knows the glyph-tomes are in mine,” he hissed, and they made a swift exchange.

This close to the tomes, she could feel the dark, magnetic pull of them. Dominus, its corrupting, vile influence, mere inches and a wall of thin cloth away. She hated the glyph; hated what it did to Shanoa. Hated that it had ever been created.

And so, she ran. Because if she escaped, so would they.

Metal against metal, fire against fire. Shanoa’s powerful, attuned glyphs sliced the air into ribbons, but Lucila held her own. Albus had joined in on the fight, and Laura watched from behind a column despite herself. The exit was mere steps away- if she needed to run, she could. But Lucila’s fury belonged to the siblings alone.

She covered her ears. The loud bangs of the gun, the crackling flames and clanging and noise...

A sputtering. Albus coughed, bleeding from his stomach- Lucila’s dagger lodged inside.

Of course. It wasn’t a glyph, after all.

“Albus!” Laura screamed, and Lucila turned around to face her, an expression of pure fire and rage.

“How could you turn against this? Against our dear Master? I thought you swore your loyalty. I thought you all did. That no matter what, you would follow him to the grave.” Laura was unarmed, and that made her nervous. Lucila flipped to a page in her magical tome. “No matter. I shall put an end to this.”

Laura was frozen in place, realizing that she should have run while she still could instead of watching the fight transpire. But she needed to know that they would make it out! She couldn’t turn away. It was too awful not to watch. Albus was clutching his wound, collapsed on the ground, and Shanoa was close beside him, recharging her magical energy.

“Do it, then. Take me out,” Laura said, finally. If I can buy them some time to leave...

“Lumen!”

A brilliant orb of light shrieked out from the pages of Lucila’s tome, brighter than anything Laura had ever seen her cast. She braced for impact.

It was unstable magic- it flew erratically around the room, gyring wildly, before spilling and shattering and violently spattering the white light everywhere. Laura quickly dove behind the column for protection, but Lucila...

“Help me!” she screamed. “Help me, I can’t see! I can’t see anything!”

She had blinded herself!

Albus pointed his gun, arms shaking with pain, but able to get a clear shot, as Lucila clutched at her face- and with a click, a small yellow crystal shot out at Lucila’s feet. It grew, enveloping her inside a jail of jewel.

Torpor.

It was over. For now.

“That won’t hold forever,” Shanoa said, helping Albus to his feet. He leaned on her, grimacing. “Torpor is only a temporary spell, and they’ll find her in the morning.”

“Well, the door is right there. There’s nothing stopping us from... From leaving,” Laura said, in wonderment.

And the door had always been there, hadn’t it?

And so.

They left.

A fire crackled in Ruvas that morning, and a pillar of noxious smoke rose from its infernal heart into the pale tangerine sky. The birds were waking, and their calls of alarm and delight echoed through the misty woods, the soundtrack to their ritual-pyre.

They had all mutually decided that before they reached Wygol, it was the best thing to do, to destroy Dominus and assure that Dracula could not be resurrected through these means, and remove it from Shanoa’s body.

Laura wondered if Albus felt that he was cleansing himself, this cleansing pyre a penance for having contributed so much to Dominus’s research. His expression was blank, though, as the fire flickered in his eyes. He was not in much pain from his injury, as they had used some sage in the woods as a makeshift potion. It had at least dulled the pain.

Still, there was regret and uncertainty. Dominus had taken Shanoa’s emotions. Perhaps they still remained inside of the unholy glyph. Would banishing the glyph from her body return them to her, or take them with it?

They hadn't spoken since the solemn task began. Shanoa looked as empty as ever.

The flames coughed out another last pitiful sputter of black smoke. Dominus had been destroyed.

“So, that’s it,” Shanoa said. “Everything is gone now. My purpose. My order. My feelings. I am... a bit of a blank slate, now.”

“I’m sorry,” Laura muttered.

“Don’t be. It’s for the best. Barlowe means nothing to me now.”

“I suppose your emotions are gone forever,” Albus looked away.

“Perhaps,” Shanoa nodded. “But I’m sort of... relieved, that it's all over.”

“It's not quite over, though. Ecclesia is still operating. Lucila’s probably told Barlowe where we went,” Laura swallowed.

“Then we'll have to be ready to keep moving,” Albus said, decidedly.

“I’ll scout ahead. You should rest by the fire for a bit,” Laura nodded.

“I’ll come with you,” Shanoa grabbed Laura's hand in a way that made her wonder if there was yet a trace of all they shared.

It's impossible, now.

They walked on the path in silence.

Then, unexpectedly, Shanoa spoke.

“...What are we, now?”

Laura stopped in her tracks. “You remember?”

“Distantly.”

“...I do still love you, Shanoa.”

“I know that I should. But I cannot grasp it in my hands.”

Laura squeezed her hand, quietly. “It’s okay, Shanoa. I think I’m okay with that. Really.”

“He hollowed me out.”

“When you lost your heart?”

“Long before.”

A painful, aching silence yawned.

Shanoa continued: “I just mean... He made me into nothing but my purpose, but now that purpose is gone.”

“That means you can just find a new one. ...and I think I know what mine is, now,” Laura felt the rising breeze play with her hair. “I think I want to make jewelry again. On my own terms. Once Ecclesia is disbanded...”

“I wish I was so certain. I don’t know what to do. Would you be alright with that? If I stayed with you, when it’s all over? I just feel like I’ve dragged you into my mess, but Albus and I...”

“I’d rather be in your mess than anyone elses’,” she said decidedly.

Was that a hint of amusement on Shanoa’s face? It was gone as soon as she thought she saw it. Downhill from the path they were taking, she could see smoke rising from the chimneys of the nearby village.

So this... This is where fate was truly leading me.

“We’re almost there,” Shanoa said. “We should go fetch Albus. I admit I am a little apprehensive about what lies ahead of us.”

“Oh, Shanoa... I want to show you everything. The world is so much wider than that stuffy old cathedral. I think you’ll like it.”

Maybe then...

Maybe then, she will smile again.

Day broke.

Warnings: toxic yuri warning I guess, also animal death

Notes: Leon stole Sonia's place in the timeline so it's only fair that Sonia steal his girlfriend. I like whenever I get an opportunity to write something horror-esque. I still really like that one Sonia fic I wrote years ago so there are some cross-references to that.

It had been a long time. A girl became a mother. A dhampiric lover became a dormant memory. A count became a hushed legend. An infant grew into a small child.

Sonia was out hunting again. Hunting for future dinners. Despite the potent weapon, the “Vampire Killer”- named and imbued with its purpose and intent- Sonia still preferred to fell her more mundane prey with arrows. It felt more fair that way.

She was no bloodthirsting predator. She just needed to feed Trevor.

So she left it at home, on the fireplace mantle.

Her hunt had been mostly fruitless, and she was out late. She always felt distressed when the forests grew quiet again. It reminded her too much of the months before the count destroyed her village. The days the birdsong went silent.

But luck would finally come back to her.

She heard hoofbeats across the clearing, and loosed her arrow on instinct. The deer squealed, made yet another routine death in the woods. She had hit it straight through the ribcage- from the looks of it, the heart and lungs.

She was precise. Maybe that wasn't fair after all.

She still detected presence in the woods, like eyes watching her kill, and she shuddered. Perhaps another werewolf. But not a vampire. Not Dracula. He was dead.

She had no warning visions, yet, though. The prophetic omens that heralded Dracula’s presence were something she wished she could forget- evil, red eyes that watched her every move, and the forest around her that fell dead and quiet.

There was nothing. Just dread. And she always felt dread, after all the battles she’d endured. So she disregarded the presence, hoisted the dead doe over her shoulder, and headed on the wooded path back home. It was a routine she was quite used to.

Trevor was asleep, as he usually was during her night-hunts. Sonia kissed his forehead gently so as to not disturb him. But he awoke.

“Oh, mama, there you are. I had this nice dream about a bloofer lady,” he yawned.

“You can tell me all about it in the morning,” Sonia chuckled, and tucked him into bed. He fell into his dream again without struggle.

But she couldn't sleep as easily as he did. Despite the relative peace since Dracula's defeat, she was worried, afraid. The local townsfolk could make good on their threats to exile her for her supernatural abilities any day, and the dwindling food wasn't making things better. And when she tried to sleep, she dreamed, dreamed of sharp fangs and blue, thirsty eyes.

You have a debt, the fanged mouths hissed.

She hoped they weren't another omen.

She woke, and went to grab the Vampire Killer, the last reminder of her departed family, off the mantle. It was as much comfort object as it was weapon. How often had she cradled it in her hands, left awake and watching the door, paranoid that the woods would fall dead once more?

In some ways, it was her most lovely companion.

It was not where she left it.

“Trevor? You mustn’t play with the whip...” she called to the darkness, but she knew. She knew the visions must have been real.

What debt?

She sat down in her wobbly wooden chair, taking a measured breath. How could the whip be gone? There was no one who would take it, who wanted it so badly. Perhaps the local church had seized it from her, or-

She remained in spirals of silent thought until she chanced to look over to the window.

A girl, with a ghastly white face, stared back, standing outside the window, expressionless. Everything was white- her frozen skin, the bridal-dress she wore, the withered roses in her hair, even her eyes. Everything but her hair, which was ebony-black.

Sonia clutched her head and screamed, every vampiric vision flashing through her skull. Her doom lay in the girl’s hand, between her teeth, in her heart.. She knew at once that this girl- this pale inferno, this bride- this vampire- was connected to the disappearance of the Vampire Killer.

As the vision faded, Sonia looked around. The vampire was gone.

No. No, she isn't.

With the eyes of a hunter, Sonia saw it: a tiny bat flitting across the sky, leading her deeper and deeper into the woods. It circled back, though, as though beckoning.

Find me, a hush voice whispered. The same voice that spoke of the debt.

Find me. You have a debt to pay.

She chased the bat through the woods, the tiny mammal never outpacing her with its frantic wingbeats.

She sort of recognized this path. It led over mossy cobbled roads not travelled in a long time, up to an overgrown, ruined chapel. It was tiny; it was reduced to rubble but the altar was relatively intact.

There was some good hunting to be had there, sometimes.

The bat was gone when she made it there, and she briefly wondered if she had steered off course. But there was a quiet echo in that church. Someone else was there; Sonia whirled around, her long braid whipping behind her.

The girl was waiting there, an image of frozen beauty, like a bride of death. Sonia’s heart skipped a beat.

“You have a debt to pay.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“I was made into this on my wedding day...” the vampire hissed. “What would have been. And then I was made into your precious weapon. By your ancestor... for the greater good.”

“My mother...?”

“No. I come to collect the debt of Leon Belmont, on this night where spirits cross into the world of the living... In exchange for my soul, he swore revenge against the Dark Lord. And that the vengeance must be eternal.”

“There is no Leon Belmont in my family, though,” Sonia mused. “Or at least not one I’ve heard of. But I have continued your vengeance. I have slain Dracula.”

The beautiful vampire grinned, lips thin, pale-blue and with a gleeful malice. “But his son... No, nothing of Dracul must remain, for the fate he orchestrated of me. Not even a trace of the tragic prince you loved. In that sense, you have defied the pact.”

“So you hate me for loving him?”

“It is the contract I made,” the vampire said, evasively. “To kill all vampires. To end Dracula’s bloodline. To pursue immortal vengeance. You have continued that bloodline. And so. You have a debt to pay.”

“I see... I beg of you, don’t harm little Trevor. And leave Alucard to sleep, please.”

“I am more merciful than that,” the vampire said, softly. “I thought you knew me. I am your steadfast companion, after all. I spent these years clutched in your strong, deft hands. I killed so many in your name.”

The whip...

“What is your name, then? If you are truly my weapon, speak its name.”

“Vampire Killer,” she responded, plainly.

“Then you truly are mine,” Sonia breathed.

But something still felt off, and incorrect about this. Her grandfather had charted the clan’s history back centuries. There was no Leon Belmont. Her mother had made the whip herself.

Perhaps from another world, the vengeful vampire-spirit had crossed into her own living-world, or had been watching it from afar. A bloodstained bride trapped in every Vampire Killer in every world. Bound by the weapon’s name; its purpose.

What dreadful alchemy.

“How am I to pay this debt?” Sonia asked, finally.

“Swear your loyalty to me forever. Tell me,” the vampire drew in a shuddering breath. “Tell me that you will hunt the night by my side forever.”

“As a vampire...?”

“The curse I do bear, so shall you.”

They were very close now, huddled together in the shadows of the ruined church, Sonia’s dark lips inches away from Vampire Killer’s thin, cold mouth. They stood on the precipice- of a bite, or a kiss, Sonia could not say.

Vampire Killer had been loyal all this time. It only felt fair, to swear a loyalty of her own.

“Then bear it I shall, my weapon.”

And so. A kiss. Vampire Killer tore at Sonia’s throat with a contented growl, and Sonia gasped, feeling at once faint, going limp in the weapon’s arms. The blood drained from her so easily, like it had always belonged to Vampire Killer alone- like she was reclaiming what was hers.

“You shall never know peace of me,” she whispered.

Sonia felt exquisite agony, ice cold and bloodless; warmth became a distant memory. On the mossy floor of the abandoned stone church, she lay, looking up at the velvet night sky and the vampire above her. She clawed at her chest with a howl of delighted agony.

A pact of blood. As she drank of me, so shall I drink of her...

“Feast, dear Sonia,” said Vampire Killer, the wedding dress and flesh upon her breast torn, letting blood pool over where her heart once beat. And so Sonia weakly pressed her lips to Vampire Killer’s chest, and drank the thin, cold blood. It filled her every reach with ice.

“Now you are like me. You shall live forever,” she hissed. “And hunt for eternity.”

Sonia drifted away, barely able to process the weapon’s words. Everything was cold, and she thought briefly that she must be dying.

It was dark.

She woke an hour before daybreak in the shadows of the church, curled in the fetal position with the whip in her hands.

She felt alive. Someday, she would see Alucard again. This eternity was a promise. But in the meantime... With the whip by her side...

There was good hunting to be had indeed.

Warnings: Cotton candy tooth rotting fluff, canon-typical Morris angst, and a trans character written by a well-meaning cis lady (I try my best!)

Notes: The “magic” prompt got me thinking about how the Jarlotte glitch makes her have better magic stats and how that kind of stat redistribution might play into Jonathan/Jolette’s arc... I think about her often. The new glitch discovery kind of revolutionized how I read her as a character.

It had been a year since the battles in Brauner’s castle. A year since she faced down ghosts and vampires and memories. A year since she saw the terrible cost of being a vampire hunter.

It would kill her to deny who she was.

It was a year of quiet realizations, thought Jolette Morris. Those quiet realizations never seemed to stop. She ran her fingers through her long, pale hair. It had grown a lot from the short blonde mop it used to be, and she liked that.

The sun was setting, and the trees on the path from her house were cast in a melancholy golden glow. She clutched the Vampire Killer tightly, metal icy cold against her pale hands; she cursed the weapon and what it meant. The fatal inheritance. What she- what “Jonathan”- was born for- but not really.

Morrises weren't real Belmonts, but made their living pretending to be. Pretending to be real hunters, proper men.

It killed her father. Taking up the heirloom would have eventually killed her, too. It was easier to pretend when there was a duty to uphold, but that was over quickly.

Defeating Dracula felt like a hollow victory. Jolette knew there was worse evil in the world of mortals.

He would return anyway.

The path to the lake by her house was well-worn. She and Charlotte had been living in the little house since they got back from Brauner’s castle. She liked to watch the sunset, though she oft found herself reminded of those terrible nights.

The worst was the Whip’s Memory. An echo of Richter Belmont, the perfect hunter, strong and imposing and someone's idea of perfection. What Jolette could never even pretend to be, even if she had been in denial until then. But she was “meant to” fight it, to triumph, to prove herself to be just like him. But couldn't she be worthy without the weight of the whip?

Didn't Richter fall, under such a burden?

She won in the end. But the Vampire Killer still felt like useless metal, same as it ever did. She thought it would have made her feel better, to finally overcome her failure. But the idea of being a “real hunter” only felt worse. She wasn't a Belmont. She couldn't be, and she realized she didn't much like trying or pretending.

That was when she realized.

Impulsively, she tossed the thing in the lake with an underwhelming ker-plunk, the water’s cool surface shattering into sunset light disturbed.

Shit. That was a bad idea.

The whip was still important, after all. Maybe someone would take it in her place, one day- her time with it was over. And regardless of her feelings on the matter, it was the one weapon proven to be able to kill Dracula.

She grimaced and waded into the murky water. It was shallow enough, but it wasn’t a pleasant task. When she emerged from the pond, she was thoroughly soaked, covered in mud, and not in a particularly good mood. It was probably time to go home.

It was dark when she got back. Charlotte was reading something- probably some obscure classic- and Jolette felt a weird twinge of guilt at disturbing her while covered in all that pond-scum. She had hosed most of it off before she came inside and got the Vampire Killer mostly clean- though with all that bloodshed, could it ever be?- but she was still filthy, sopping wet, and cold- among her three least favorite things. She almost sort of expected Charlotte to be mad at her for it.

“Gee, you look freezing! What happened?”

“I took a swim,” Jolette felt a crooked grin forming on her face despite herself. She didn't need to know about the whip incident.

“It is February, you know,” Charlotte crossed her arms. “Don't blame me if you get hypothermia.” She pulled a different book- her magical Tome of Arms- from the shelf, turned to a page inscribed with inscrutable runes, and held out her hand towards the fireplace and closed her eyes. The fireplace set alight in an instant. “Alright, go warm yourself up.” Charlotte feigned exasperation, but Jolette could tell it was because she cared. It was like a secret language they’d shared since childhood.

She sat by the fireplace, and dried off relatively quickly. The fire was warm; in many ways it was perfect.

“I wish I could do that,” Jolette found herself saying.

“Huh?”

“Magic, I mean.”

“You can. I see you enchant your throwing-crosses and axes with light-magic all the time. I think your magic has only gotten more potent lately.”

“I want to learn spells, Charl,” Jolette sighed. “Real ones.”

“Well, anyone can learn magic. It just takes a while. Even for me! ...There was even a Belmont witch, once.”

“Let me try,” she insisted, finally.

Charlotte got up from her seat, turned a few pages, and handed Jolette the tome.

“So, to begin... You already know a little holy magic, so let's start with Spirit of Light. Just focus your intent and then release it at its apex. The tome will help.”

The tome felt warm in Jolette’s hands, still thrumming with Charlotte's magic. She didn't used to be able to detect the subtleties of the magical flow, but it heartened her somewhat to notice her growing attunement.

And so, she focused. She wished hard and fervently. A witch! This was her true calling. The buildup of glimmering, pure magic inside of her was growing and growing, until-

A whirring dagger of holy light shot from her fingertips. She staggered back in surprise. The light shot past Charlotte and barely grazed her cheek before dissipating. It drew blood. It looked like an ordinary papercut.

“Ah! Shit! I should have told you to aim away from me,” Charlotte said sheepishly, wincing and cupping her hand against the cut.

“God, I’m really no good, am I?”

She wasn't just talking about the spell.

“Try again! You’ve got a promising start. That was a spell. I mean, I’m a magical genius and it took me way longer to-”

Jolette became faintly aware of something stirring on the air. She looked away and shut the tome with an abrupt snap, cutting her off.

“We can stop for tonight,” Charlotte finished, quietly.

“No,” Jolette replied. “I think I just want to try something different.”

“Are you sure?” Charlotte clasped her friend’s hands close to her chest and stared into her eyes, warm brown meeting delicate azure. “Casting without a magical conduit is very advanced. They only discovered how to do it less than a century ago, you know. But everyone experiences it differently, so...”

But she knew. She felt closer to some kind of pulsing energy as the night went on. Oddly, it felt even more electrifying than when she was holding the magical tome.

Finally, she replied:

“Just... keep holding my hands, alright? It feels nice.”

“How can I say no to a gal like you?” Charlotte replied, a smile on her lips.

Was there something there? Jolette stopped focusing on casting, on invoking, and let her thoughts coalesce.

She wished. She loved. She loved being a woman, she loved her best friend and dearest companion, she loved the world she was just beginning to meet as herself.

Was this itself not an invocation?

That was when she saw it. The shimmering core at the center of her earth, warm and kind and pulsing. This, the source of her fury, her power, her grief and her joy. It had a name. Could she speak it? Did she feel the same way?

The air was set alight with glimmering specks of magical energy. Jolette opened the eyes she didn't realize were closed, and looked at Charlotte. The still-bleeding cut on her cheek was ebbing and fading away into nothing, like it was never there.

They were silent for a moment. Charlotte stared up at Jolette, raising a hand to her cheek.

“So... Did I do it?” she asked, awkwardly.

“What are you talking about? You did amazing! I mean, that was a healing spell! That's pretty tricky,” Charlotte said excitedly.

“I just knew what was important to me,” Jolette replied, a lopsided smile forming on her face. “And I called out to it.”

Yes, she knew that unspoken truth.

Her magic was love.

Warnings: Mildly suggestive kissing scenes? I guess? Also some cult stuff and betrayal

Notes: I've always had this weird little headcanon/theory that Yoko was a part of Graham's cult just based on the way she talks about him and warns Soma about how deceitful he is. And then Graham stabs her... Maybe it was personal. Anyway, Celia is my scrunkly scrimblo or whatever it is people are saying these days, I wish the games did more with her.

First Kiss

It wasn't so unreasonable, that she believed him at first. When charismatic men promise you a hopeful future, it's hard not to.

Yes, Yoko thought. Graham had all the answers. He believed in a tidy duality. Restore that duality, and the world is neat and orderly again.

And he was kind to her. He promised her all the world in exchange for his own sacrifice, taking on the burden of the Dark Lord. It was through this that the world would change, set in motion once again.

The entity opposite to God.

And so. She believed. For a time.

It was another quiet night in the Church. That was what Graham called it, a humble little name for a small community of his growing followers. Yoko sat on the porch, a can of some cheap soda in her hands. It tasted syrupy and warm no matter how she chilled it.

“...You heard about the agent, I trust.”

It was Celia. For a time she led her own independent church but had decided to join with Graham’s. For the time being, Celia always said, but never explained why. Through some strike of luck, Celia was assigned to Yoko’s quarters. Yoko was perfectly happy to cohabitate with such a philosopher, though, and she thought she understood.

Graham was seeking power; Celia wanted to be protected, aided, given strength through such a power; she wouldn't have dreamed of making herself the Dark Lord. She settled into the role of follower like a duck to water, and Yoko sometimes wondered if she liked leading her church much at all, to have relinquished her honor so quickly. But she was a good thinker, a theologian of sorts, and surely as intelligent as Graham. She could charm a room even quicker.

They were good friends.

That was the name she deigned to give to this feeling.

“Heard about him? I spoke to him, Celia.”

“Our esteemed leader says he was a threat.”

“Mm.” Yoko set her soda down, suddenly disgusted by it.

The mysterious Agent Genya stuck out like a night in a crowd of daylight, and he clearly wanted to know things. Knowledge was currency in the Church, and Yoko found herself paying him handsomely. Somehow she didn't mind- the exchange was quite equal.

Yes. She wavered.

Though perhaps she had been wavering for a while.

“Did you tell him anything?” Celia implored, after a moment, and Yoko realized how long she’d been lost in thought.

“Just our beliefs, you know... I think he tried to get in my head about it a bit.”

“Did he now?” Celia raised an eyebrow.

“Well, he was sort of right about one thing. The Father promises a lot, but he has no plans. He says everything will be perfect when the Reincarnation occurs, but what if it doesn't?” Yoko turned her gaze to the sky.

“I am not loyal to Graham,” Celia replied, pointedly. “If he fails, I will re-assemble With Light and return to independently running things. The Reincarnation must happen. Working with him is just convenient.”

This was how they differed, Yoko thought. Celia was loyal to no one, only herself and her ideology. The mission. Yoko was loyal to Graham. Once.

“...I don't think followers are supposed to say things like that.”

“I’m not a follower,” Celia hissed back in a whisper. “And you're welcome to come with me.”

“Father Graham would kill me if I left. I think he sort of knows to treat you like an equal. I’m supposed to be loyal, you know.”

“Supposed to be.” Celia raised her eyebrow again.

“But... The agent, that Genya guy... He told me something incredible. Apparently my family-”

“Belnades. Descendents of Belmonts and holy witches. I am aware.” Celia’s eyes were like chips of ice, and Yoko was at once keenly aware of the power she held.

“You knew?”

“Most people in the business do. Graham’s probably been watching you since birth.” There was a warning in her voice.

“Shit...”

This put an odd chill in the room.

Yoko continued: “Well, he told me that I’m destined to oppose the Dark Lord’s resurrection.”

“That is how it works, yes. The Dark Lord’s presence brings heroes and gods out of the shadows. And there haven't been heroes, or gods, since He died.”

“I know that. But maybe it... imbalances things, if I’m trying to rush it along. I just feel like I might be doing something wrong.”

The silence was thick. Celia stood up, her expression a sort of leashed fury.

“You’re not leaving.”

“I wasn't sure before, but now I think I really am. Sorry.” She glanced at the door. She could leave. She’d never seen anyone stopped with force.

No, only ideas.

“If you leave...” Celia’s voice cracked, and it was then that Yoko noticed the single tear on her cheek. “You said it yourself, Yoko. Graham will kill you.”

It was a warning, not a threat.

She cared for her, even pressing this knife against her throat.

Her heart ached. “Then let him. I’m sick of this place.”

“I won't speak to you ever again. If you betray our cause, you betray me. I don't want to believe we are destined to be opposites, Yoko. I don't want to...”

This, however, was indeed a threat.

There was a tension in their brief friendship, and it was then that Yoko finally cut through it.

“Could you really stand that?” She whispered, coldly. “Could you, Cici?”

They were closer than ever, and the barriers shattered. Celia kissed her angrily, possessively, like it could chain Yoko to her side through sheer will. Yoko welcomed the kiss despite herself, arms wandering up Celia’s back.

It was Celia who pulled away first, breathless and furious and with white-hot stars in her eyes. “Leave, then. Get out of my sight, if you love to torture me so much.”

“Are you telling Father Graham?”

“No. And it's the only kindness I will spare you.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry,” Yoko muttered as she gathered her belongings. She didn't want to think about this. What this meant. That she liked it that much, that kiss of poison.

She sort of assumed there'd be more bombast, in the moment she left. It was only quiet- late enough at night for no one to notice- and Yoko sighed as she set out on the road in her beat up little car.

The night went on.

She had been driving for hours. She stopped at a convenience store for some coffee, eventually, eyes getting bleary with tears and exhaustion. Some part of her was paranoid that she'd turn around and see Graham, ready to make good on Celia’s promises.

This thought was a frightening one, and it was a bad one to get lost in when she was seconds away from feeling a hand on her shoulder.

She didn't scream. She was glad to see that it was only Genya Arikado.

“Somehow, I had a feeling you’d find me again, Miss Belnades. You're a long way from home.”

“I have no home. I gave up everything I had,” Yoko muttered.

“That's the hard part, isn't it? I investigate a lot of cases like yours. Rest assured, whatever Graham is planning, my finger is on the pulse.”

He doesn't have any idea... What I truly left behind.

In her memories, Celia sneered victorious, a heart clutched in her hands.

Last Kiss

A lot had changed since she met Arikado. She had a life her own. She was a fellow agent. A witch.

A spy.

She’d helped Arikado, Soma and Julius take down Graham a year prior. But this time?

This time, her target was With Light.

It was easier given that Celia was running the place. In some ways it was much, much harder. Despite the less-than-amicable split Yoko had from Graham’s church, Celia was as smitten with her as she was those years ago. It was poisonous, the feelings that crept in. But it was easy to take advantage of.

She knew, of course, even if she played at naivete. Of course she knew Yoko was spying. Yoko knew she knew, too. They double-crossed each other with each kiss.

They both knew how dangerous this was.

“So things didn't work out with Bossi?” Yoko said, coolly, as Celia led her through With Light’s quarters. Soma had left a trail of blood and monsters on his quest, but Celia seemed to ignore the mutilated demons.

Was she so used to death and chaos?

“The demon he had dominated turned against him, and the boy killed it,” Celia replied, tersely. “He is of no use to me now.”

That leaves only Soma.

Yoko shuddered as the two of them arrived in the garden. Soma had become so much like a younger brother after they met on the eclipse. Yoko had been through a lot on that night, but it was the sort of experience that forged bonds.

He wouldn't become the Dark Lord. Yoko was certain of that.

“So you're calling off the Reincarnation?”

“There are many ways to make a Dark Lord, dear. I don't know why I didn't try this from the start.”

“Try what?”

“They say Dracula loved a human woman.” As she mouthed the words, Yoko could spy Celia looking her up and down, like she was assessing when to pounce.

“Leave Mina out of this.”

“Ha! There's the strong-willed Yoko I remember. Of course I’m not killing her. I am above such things. I am merely putting on a play. Time will tell whether the boy decides to claim the starring role.”

“A play,” Yoko said, tilting her head in the way she knew Celia liked.

“Everyone likes a bit of theatre. Here in the garden. General admission, darling. Come see, if you’d like. I’m going to make something beautiful.”

The exotic plants of the castle gardens looked sinister in the dim light. At the center of the room was a gnarled tree, twisted like a crucified body. She kept this place locked. Usually. It was Celia’s preferred place for a midnight tryst; the garden was her prize jewel.

“Maybe I will, Cici,” Yoko replied, masking her voice in a seductive familiarity. Beneath that mask, it made Yoko furious to imagine the same place, the poisonous refuge, being the place Soma could lose himself forever. “I worked so hard for this, once.”

Technically the truth. She said nothing about now.

“Yoko. Oh, Yoko, I’m so glad you’ve started to see sense again. I’m so glad you’ve come back to me,” Celia sighed.

She almost felt bad for her. Whatever happened next, it was the end. Her little game was reaching its conclusion.

“Kiss me,” Yoko found herself hissing in the cult leader’s ear. “Kiss me like the night I left you.”

Celia shuddered in her arms, leaning back against the crucifixion-tree. She hesitated a moment before pulling Yoko closer. When she kissed, she bit, and drew blood.

You're mine, she often growled in her ear. And Yoko laughed when they came apart. She was never in Celia’s grasp, and that was what was so delicious.

And so. The night went on.

“Midnight. Tomorrow. The garden,” Celia reminded her, as Yoko left. “I'm so happy to have you. We can finally witness the Reincarnation. Together.”

“Yes. Together,” Yoko lied.

Celia just smiled, a sparkle of mirth and bitterness in her eyes.

She always knew.

Yoko lied again as she left.

“I love you, Cici.”

She quickly tore a magical ticket in half. She shook her head, disoriented, before she recognized her surroundings: her shop in the Lost Village.

Arikado was sitting across from her desk, and looked up from the phone in his lap.

“Anything to report, Belnades?”

“Something bad is happening in the castle garden at midnight. Something involving Soma and Mina. She says... She says this is it. The big one.”

“I fear what she may do,” Arikado said, coldly.

“Go to him,” Yoko implored. “Go to Soma. We can't lose him to this.”

“I know,” his voice wavered. “You’ve done an excellent job. The agency will reward you handsomely.”

I’ve already lost one person tonight, Yoko thought, bitterly. It was their last kiss. No more. She hated herself for betraying her, despite her immoral deeds.

Perhaps she wasn't lying when she said she loved her. Wasn't that the most painful part?