Lord of the Forsaken.
-Interlude: Black Feathers III-
Once more, another knight has been felled.
Another fighter seeking its demise, only to find his own.
Many had come before him, many more would come.
Wielding steel or magic, carrying one banner or another, they all had come. They all would come.
And they all had found, and would find death at its hands.
For this was the only thing it knew.
That and obeying commands.
The orders simply came, always from the same voice and the same face.
Yet it could not recall the face or the voice after the commands were given.
It didn't bother it anyway.
It received orders to kill, and it followed.
If it were able to make a proper assessment of its situation…
It was living as if within a fever dream.
Aware enough to acknowledge, but never able to consider what happened after.
- (Play Warhammer: The Inquisitor Theme)-
The people from Wallachia and Hungary considered themselves very resilient.
For centuries they had endured many trials, and as people they continued to tell the tale.
Whether it was Crusades, petty wars amongst the Nobles, or changing rulers between Christian Lords and Turks.
Or even the bloody reign of the Lords of Shadow, followed by the even more gruesome rampage of the Dragon not long after they had been deposed.
These people had overcome many perils and would continue to do so.
Some driven by faith, believing that the hardships would be rewarded in the future, and that a better fate awaited them as Children of God in the Afterlife.
Some simply grew tired of lamenting their fates, of living in fear and misery. They had better things to do than await their deaths after all.
They all shared in common that unless the sword, the claws, or the fangs of the killer, came for them at the very moment, life was more than just lingering and awaiting the promised hour.
However, such strength of character had been put to test once more.
Killing sprees had been common in these lands and beyond from time to time, but usually the nature of the deaths was owed to bandits or armies.
Entire villages had been razed to the ground, in a very short amount of time. Yet in every single massacre, there had been survivors to tell their own version of the tragedy.
And apparently all of these stories shared the same killer.
"A winged demon, you say?"
This question came from a man wearing an armor of red and gold, a symbol that made him similar to the members of the famous Brotherhood of Light.
But the motifs of his clothes were certainly different.
In addition to the other two colors, white was also worn over the armor
Instead of the grim skull worn by the Brotherhood on the chest-plate of its high ranked members, this one bore a silver cross with pride, just like the other member of his following.
"Yes, my lord Inquisitor. The stories point to a description similar to that of a member of the Fallen Angels, and most likely one of their higher echelons"- replied the Brotherhood's warrior.
The Inquisition had been in charge of eradicating all signs of heresy from the lands governed by the Catholic Church and its adherents, particularly in the Kingdoms of Iberia. However, it was also one of the main organizations in charge of fighting the threat of the Supernatural, especially Devils and Fallen Angels. This latter responsibility put its leaders even above the Christian Kings and even the Holy Roman Emperor when a crisis regarding the enemies of mankind reached dreaded proportions.
Unfortunately for them, no crisis had ever reached the point where the sovereigns could not simply ignore the East and leave it to its fate, content in waiting until the problem disappeared on its own or was dealt by the rulers in there.
That is, until now.
After listening to the knight giving as much detail as he could regarding the appearance of the "winged demon", the highest representative of the Inquisition in Hungary had come to a conclusion.
"That description fits the reports we have received from our own Brothers and Sisters in the West. And you say the symbols worn by that unholy creature spoke of him?"
The other speaker nodded and continued his report.
"The demons accompanying the Fallen praised the name of the Dragon while butchering not just our Brothers, but also the common folk."
The grim visage of the Inquisitor became even more pronounced at this.
"So it was him after all. All of this time building his forces in secret, making us believe that he was but a memory and that those blasted Belmont had really done their job"- the man stooped for a moment to clench his teeth in anger, before adding -"We will make sure they understand the consequences of their lie…
And this act of defiance shall not go unanswered!"
"Go and raze the joint force closes to that village. I want you to make enough noise to call the attention of all forces abroad, including my old friend"- said the voice.
It merely listened, awaiting to be released to enact its new commands.
"If you do happen to encounter the forces under the command of Dracul, I want you to kill all but the weakest. If you do find the Dracul himself… do not engage immeately. The time will come for your duel, and I need to make sure the right audience is present to see the end of it"- finished the voice with what it could perhaps call a smirk.
Not that it matter, it would follow the commands given to the letter.
- (Play Dark Organ and Choir Music: Dark Ruins, by Robert Russell Composer)-
"Your Holiness, why are we receiving help from Rome now of all times?"
As the highest authority over the Orthodox Church, the one Church that truly embodied God's teachings since the times of Constantine, he also carried the burden of the feud that had taken place since the so called Schism.
Few had been the times Rome and the Orthodox Church had worked together, or simply seen the same things and agreed upon them. This was especially true after the sack of Constantinople in the thirteenth century by the so called Crusaders, and then the abandonment of the last city of the Byzantine Empire to its own fate by both Rome and most of the Christian ruler, in 1453.
And even before that…where had been Rome or any of the western kings, during the reign of the Lords of Shadow? Where have they all been when the Dragon unleashed its fury on the people of Wallachia during the latter part of the eleventh century?
The Orthodox Church had made its own contributions in the fight against the Turks and against the forces of Darkness, and paid the price in blood and souls.
Yet only now did the Catholics feel like taking the first step to form an alliance.
So the Pope of the true Church understood the question of the bishop at his side.
"We have all reason to doubt the willingness of Rome to help us, or merely to stand true to any sort of joined effort for war, my son. Yet, now of all time is when I believe this offer to be true" – he began to answer.
"Does it have to do with the killings taking place in the West as well?"- offered the Bishop, hoping that his superior filled in the blanks.
Releasing a sigh, the Easter Pope prepared for a full reply to his concerned companion.
"All of these heinous acts seem to be perpetrated by our old foe, Dracul, or at least someone acting on his name. Even worse, these crimes had claimed not just the lives of peasant and brave warriors under the service of Nobles and the Holy Orders…
They have also claimed the life of the selected successor for the crown of Holy Emperor"
A gasp was released by the bishop, but any further reaction was silenced by the Easter Pope, who continued speaking.
"We have all come to agreement that such dreaded news cannot be made public yet, until we are sure that a replacement has been chosen and that our forces have been gathered."
Surprised and awed the bishop asks for the other man to continue.
"Then we shall make of this poor boy what he has become…a martyr! A martyr representing all innocent and brave souls that have fallen to the reign of terror of Dracula, so far uncontested by the many who call themselves champion of Christendom.
This time, none shall hide beneath their thrones, pretending none of this matters to them! This time all of Christianity shall stand united against a foe that cares not for schisms or status, who would have dead even those chosen to rule with the blessing of the Lord!"
For the bishop, the man in front of him is not merely a powerful figure, but an inspiration.
Such conviction, such rage and determination.
To not let such evil remain unpunished.
Yet also able to move the pieces in the board to ensure they all have the chance they need to see the reign of Dracula finally over.
"And our friends of Rome, as well as our Brotherhood of Light, shall all be the frontline of the last Crusade to come. A true crusade for mankind to stand united without regrets!"
- (Play Davy Jones Theme Orchestral Remix)-
Today, once more, another knight has been felled.
Another fighter seeking its demise, only to find his own.
Many had come before him, many more would come.
Wielding steel or magic, carrying one banner or another, they all had come. They all would come.
And they all had found, and would find death at its hands.
For this was the only thing it knew.
That and obeying commands.
The orders simply came, always from the same voice and the same face.
Yet it could not recall the face or the voice after the commands were given.
It didn't bother it anyway.
It received orders to kill, and it followed.
If it were able to make a proper assessment of its situation…
It was living as if within a fever dream.
Aware enough to acknowledge, but never able to consider what happened after.
Even now…
"You have really changed."
Another voice spoke, with some familiarity, but it did not care.
It could not recall the voice, but it knew its face somehow.
And it knew what it meant for the fulfillment of the last commands given.
"It seems even the mighty and most devoted can really fall from grace… after all that was said and done, there are truly no righteous in this world"- the new voice continued.
It did not turn to address the speaker, merely continuing the preparation to leave as soon as possible.
"Yet it seems that we have been both cheated by a third party for its own machinations. You trespassed my lands, dared to slaughter those who are mine to rule over and kill… and you have the gall to bring that artifact, of all possible cursed relics."
As it finished the teleportation spell, soon to return to the voice giving the commands, it was able to listen to the other speaker one last time.
"The next time I will not let this mercy be. I shall crush your doll and rip off that thing before crushing it with my own hands. And I will eventually find you…
Old friend…"
- (Play Dark Souls OST: Nameless Song)-
Before it had been a shared interest. A way to bargain for his sister's life just as it had been a means to open some sort of diplomacy with the one monster capable of handling one of the strongest fighters of the Great War.
Now, this had become personal.
He was fighting with fire, and he knew it.
Even as the invasion by Human armies continued advancing on the lands governed by Dracul, and even as one or another upstart tried taking advantage to make a gain. There was a more pressure issue.
A possible rescue.
And if not, an execution as merciful as possible.
Whatever came after… who knew?
He had been allowed to tag along, even as the exact end goal of his companion was not clear.
Was it well earned confidence that there would be little he could do without risking his life for real?
Or perhaps…
For now they flew to the place where their target had last been spotted.
And even as concern drove him to continue their path towards the dreaded encounter, curiosity pushed him to take part on the event to come.
So he could finally become closer to understand the one leading the charge.
- (Play Dark Souls III OST: Slave Knight Gael, Extended)-
He was but a survivor, the leftover of a detachment sent in order to retake an important position from the denizens of darkness, so the righteous could move forward from here on with an additional advantage.
Every little gain matter when fighting against Dracula, the one who had crowned himself as the Prince of Darkness.
Dracula, who was fighting against a Fallen Angel wearing some terrifying mask.
But not just any Fallen One.
If their words were to be believed, one of the biggest tragedies to Christianity had taken place without their knowledge.
Wielding both holy and demonic powers, the Masked Fallen One summoned spears of light, and beams of orange to raze everything around it.
It moved faster than anyone or anything the soldier had ever seen, and its foe did the same.
As they fought, everything around them was bathed in blue and orange, sometimes in blue and crimson as Dracula retaliated against the Masked One.
Everytime the Fallen used holy power, Dracula ignored it and continued pressing the offensive. Eventually, it relied mostly on Shadow Magic when trying to hurt the Vampire Lord.
The Masked Fallen One proved its might by unleashing destruction and showing skill with its summoned weapons of the like he had never seen before.
But the enemy of Christianity United was much better, much stronger.
It was losing the battle.
While it had the knowledge and skill to use Shadow Magic to inflict damage on the Dragon, it was simply not the same as relying on its mastery of Holy Power.
Worse of all, the Dragon was immune to half of its repertoire and had one much more diverse at his disposal.
It was sent to open a challenge for the Dragon, and yet it had failed to defeat him.
A lingering memory of unknown origin showed another encounter between a white feathered Angel and the Dragon, in a place where the powers of the first had been diminished.
But even without such restraints, its powers could not overcome the one called Dracul.
An overhead cut from the Azure Blade came, which was repelled by an aura fueled by Shadow Magic.
Black and red embers signaled that its target had become mist in order to attack, forcing it to fly back as fast as it could.
The embers and black dispersed and instinct warned it that a new attack came from bellow.
It evaded the Bloody Whip, but barely, looking for greater height to limit the fighting prowess of the Dragon.
But its foe seemed to be familiar with prolonged aerial combat, even as its wings were used only sparsely during their confrontation.
It rained attacks continuously in hopes of taking down its enemy, but even successful hits seemed to be annoyance at worst.
…
It was going to lose.
There was simply no contest here.
The only means to cause harm to the Dragon were still not mastered to the point where they could prove an actual challenge, while its more devastating powers and skills lacked the means to harm the Dragon at all.
Today, once more, another knight had been felled.
There was something so familiar in this fight, just like the memory of the White Winged One had shown. As The Dragon reached its position, it knew the end was close.
Another fighter seeking its demise, only to find his own.
It tried blocking a new fiery punch, but instead the Dragon used a feint and fooled it into opening a brief gap into its guard. It was enough, and as the whip tightened around its neck and choked it, there was again a sense of déjà vu.
Many had come before him, many more would come.
Wielding steel or magic, carrying one banner or another, they all had come. They all would come.
The chocking stopped, only to be followed by the strike it had tried to avoid before, one powerful enough to send it crashing into the ground, painfully.
It should not feel pain, or even be concerned with pain, but its body protested in response to the last punishment it had received.
And they all had found, and would find death at its hands.
Its body refused to operate properly, so it simply forced itself to stand, slowly as it could in order to save its remaining strength for one last try.
For this was the only thing it knew.
That and obeying commands.
There was no logic in these behavior, just fulfillment of a given purpose.
There was no need of a reason, or motivation of any sort. If the command needed to be fulfilled, the body would follow.
No matter how despicable or heinous, no matter how much it would torn apart the Masked One should the dream be broken.
The orders simply came, always from the same voice and the same face.
Yet it could not recall the face or the voice after the commands were given.
The Dragon was walking now, taking its time to approach as it continued struggling to stand while saving the last shot. Should its foe simply teleport and stab it in the back, all of this preparation would be for nothing.
It didn't bother it anyway.
It received orders to kill, and it followed.
The slow march forward continued, the expression on the Dragon's face unchanged. Not that it could distinguish indifference or anger with its current mentality.
If it were able to make a proper assessment of its situation…
It was living as if within a fever dream.
The attack was unleashed, and the hidden Shadow Spear was released with all the remaining energy it had left, trying to pierce through the apparently defenseless Dracul.
Aware enough to acknowledge, but never able to consider what happened after.
A spear which was caught barehanded by an arm wreathed in a frozen and misty aura, while the remaining limb sought another target.
A fever dream with no discernible beginning or ending.
Before it could do anything in spite of having no energy left to spare, the hand grasped at its masked face, with a solid grip that would let go of its prey.
But for the first time, there was something else besides the void and acknowledgement.
- (Fate Apocrypha OST: Ambition Extended)-
The lone soldier witnessed the impossible, as the Dragon himself prayed.
It was not condemning the Heavens Above, or the Lord and all of Creation.
Rather, he called forth holy names and authority even above that of the Seraphs, as he continued to hold the squirming and battered Masked Fallen One on his right hand.
And then came the screams.
Feminine screams of pain and sorrow, of rage and despair, all coming from the Masked Fallen One as the Dragon continued his prayer uninterrupted.
Some form of foul energies came from the mask at it tried to refuse whatever spell the Dragon was casting, as the Masked One continue writhing and howling.
The Dragon kept on, his face completely devoid of any show of sympathy, joy or anger.
Until the prayer finally came to an end.
And so did the screaming.
And as the horrifying visage came loose, a beautiful yet marred face came into view.
The triumphant Dragon paid no mind to his defeated foe, who simply fell to the cold ground.
His attention was onto the mask held on his right hand, staring at it and ignoring everything and everyone else around him.
This time his face was filled with anger, his eyes blazing in crimson as he tightened his grip and let out a terrible roar
"GrrrRRRRAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"
With a series of cracks and a show of lights, the Mask crumbled into dust, which was burnt a second time by the enraged Prince of Darkness.
And just like that, the monster was back to his impassive visage, the object of his anger gone and his foe laying on the floor, breathing but out of it.
The soldier could not move, he dared not to. Even if he knew his survival was no longer on anyone's hands but the Dragon's.
- (Play Otomoza no Asmita, [slow/ extended])-
Once more, another knight had been felled.
Another fighter seeking her demise, only to find his own.
Many had come before him.
Wielding steel or magic, carrying one banner or another, they all had come.
And they all had found death at her hands.
For this was the only thing she had known.
That and obeying commands.
The orders simply came, always from the same voice and the same face.
Yet she could not recall the face or the voice after the commands were given.
It hadn't bother her anyway.
She received orders to kill, and she followed.
If she were able to make a proper assessment of its situation…
It was akin to living in a nightmare, unable to do anything but watch as she committed all those murders.
Under the command of a face she had seen but a few times, both on Heaven and Earth.
And now, as she laid awake from the terrible nightmare to face the reality of her actions, once again… she screamed.
Not out of the pain of her wounds, just beginning to heal due to the care of the only brethren she still trusted.
Not because of the betrayal by her brethren in Heaven, who knows how long ago.
Not even due to the fact that she had been controlled by the Devil Mask and forced to act against her own volition and beliefs.
She screamed because of all the souls she had sent to the Other Side before their time, and how it all came full circle.
That she had not been able to resist, that by her own hands she had slaughtered the ones she was supposed to protect.
In despair and rage, wings completely covered in ebony, Gabriel the Fallen Angel screamed.
At her own lack of power and resilience.
At her brothers for sending her to the hands of her tormentor, even if unknowingly.
At that very tormentor, for twisting her in order to commit senseless slaughter for the sake of creating a new terrible war.
And at Gabriel Belmont, for releasing her and making her face the new world she had unwillingly helped into creating.
A/N: There goes the first Interlude, and the fate of our dear Gabriel-chan is finally unraveled. A bit of background to the war where the Brotherhood "killed" Dracula for good, showing some of the issues between the churches and even the Belmont Clan that would be coming back in the modern timeline of Lords of Shadow. They would be important for the arcs related to DxD, especially when we go and either reference or deal with the whole Excalibur situation.