Hello! This is my first fanfic on in years, and it's nice to be back in business. Let's get the obvious out of the way first: I do not own Castlevania nor any of its characters. This is a relatively short introductory chapter, the setting of which is on the outskirts of Cairo, Egypt, in 1952; as such Charlotte and co. are older and more mature. You can see the revamped designs I have created on my tumblr, ozna-sve-dozna. More characters will be introduced in later chapters, so don't fret! Also, the character who appears towards the end is a completely original one, so don't worry about guessing your heads off as to who it may be.I hope you enjoy. :)

Sand.

Charlotte hadn't been particularly fond of it before, but it, combined with heat that must have reached over a hundred degrees and an incessant, dry wind that was kicked up from the stinking jeep she had hitched a ride in made her ride across Egypt miserable. With one hand on her flopping felt hat and another on the grizzled pages of her grimoire , she struggled to focus her eyes on the approaching building through the intensifying clouds of dust and heat. The Church had lost their mind, or so she thought, sending her out here alone to battle whatever creature lurked in that dwelling. Witches weren't exactly trained in martial arts, after all.

She sighed—which turned out to be a huge mistake as she immediately started spitting out grains of the endless sand.

Behind her, she could hear a muted snickering. Vincent. Chest heaving with a repressed embarrassment, she whipped around to confront the cheap monk, eyes narrowing.

"Excuse you?" She said, hoping that her tone would at least garner an apology.

"I'm sorry," he said, but the sparkle in his eyes suggested he was anything but. "It's not like I don't believe in your skills, but you aren't exactly a one-man army. You seem to have trouble breathing here, even. I'm not sure I trust you alone."

Charlotte scoffed, this time being sure to block out any chance of inhaling mini-rocks. "But I'm not alone. I have you after all. The Church made sure of that."

She struggled to hold back a petty grin as she saw the monk's face suddenly twist downward, mouth pressed into a grimace. After he had insisted on still being stingy and downright rude after his spell as a vampire, Charlotte had been sure to complain in special detail to the Church. In turn, they sent him down here to join her in the path of danger, much to his displeasure—and with the guarantee that his services would now be free of charge. A few minutes of silence later, she was certain that the comment had shut him up for good.

As the vehicle came to a stop in front of the lavishly carved and decorated mansion, her mind started to rush with panic and excitement. This was the last challenge, they had said, the last obstacle before she could head the Wilhelmina convent, a special branch of the Church dedicated to training advanced spell casters. All she had to do, they said, was to prove her capability by vanquishing a plethora of high-risk monsters on her own. They hadn't given her much to go on, except that there had been a sighting of a palace in Egypt that hadn't been there before, and all of the signs of a vampire's dwelling, with the young and old disappearing and never being found again. It was no Dracula's castle, but it certainly held an air of intimidation about it: its hulking structure towered many stories high, much larger than any regular palace or mansion. Statues and reliefs decorated its every curve with themes like suicide, murder, and sickly and ugly creatures of the night preying on the unsuspecting. Even its lavish baroque curls seemed to suggest the beautiful traps of a spider's web, ready to ensnare the unwilling.

It simply shouted "evil". Vampires were not the most subtle of creatures, it seemed.

The witch adjusted her gloves; her massive book perched under her arm, and tried to steel herself for what was inside. She usually gave Jonathan confidence in himself, but now she couldn't help but long for her old companion's reassurance here. But she was a grown woman now, no little girl. She wasn't going to let apprehension consume her. She had been a good witch before—but with this victory, she would become a truly great witch.

With her thanks to the driver and without waiting for Vincent to catch up, she placed her hands on the cool, solid wood of the palace's doors and pushed. A slow, easy creaking greeted her as they swung open on rusted hinges, revealing a decaying interior courtyard. Her nose crinkled as the smell of composts and dying wood hit her nostrils—something somewhere had died, she was sure, as the unmistakable musk of corpses hung heavy in the air. Plants had overtaken the space, with ivy and shrubs growing rampant over walkways, windows, and benches. Her careful, deliberate steps inside the massive area further drove the assumption home—skeletons lined the many yards of concrete and stone walling, a fountain in the center of the courtyard spurting what seemed like a mixture of oozing blood and green sludge. Her hand flew to open her book as the doors slammed heavily behind her, and she spun on her heel, words of fire ready on her tongue…but her eyes only met a sheepish Vincent, who seemed just as shocked at the deafening noise as she was.

"You could at least try to stay stealthy, monk!" She hissed through clenched teeth, but didn't stick around to hear his equally frustrated reply.

A rustling from underneath a bush drew her attention. She had barely started towards it when a zombie came lurking from its hiding spot beneath the leaves, materializing from a bright red, slimy goop, liquidized fleshy maw open, eyeless sockets wanting, hands grasping for a tender, living morsel. Charlotte thrust her book open, the pages flipping wildly as she shouted her spell of choice—"ICE NEEDLE!"—and a prong of frozen water thrust through the corpse. It sputtered its insides onto the needle, bits of dead flesh dropping off, before collapsing and dying once more. Charlotte pretended not to hear Vincent's yelp of fright behind her. Better to leave the man with some dignity.

"You can set up shop here," she said, glancing around. "It seems safe."

Vincent spat out an objection. "Did you not see that zombie? Surely there must be somewhere safer inside!"

"If there are only zombies here, it's almost a guarantee that there are more frightening things inside. Why won't you just listen to me and stay here? I can set up a barrier and that should keep these weaker things out, alright?"

The monk proceeded to set things up with a grumble, while Charlotte, rolling her eyes, scanned the area for the entrance to the inside of the palace. She didn't have to look very far, as marble doors carved with demonic figures loomed just to her left. Making sure to set up a quick barrier around Vincent and his shop, she dove past the new doors and into the next room.

A grand hall opened up to her, a wide passage that seemed to stretch forever. Mockeries of art stained the walls, along with blood and other sinister materials. The feel of it was familiar. Brauner had very similar tastes. For a moment, she paused, wondering if it was indeed the crazed artist who had come back from the grave before quickly dismissing the idea. Though on the surface it seemed to say, the dark pulsing beneath it was something very new. In the distance, she could hear the tell-tale shuffling steps of axe armors and the intense flapping of a harpy. At least the enemies were the same, and she smiled, lips curled into a confident smirk. Test? The Church might have gone easy on her after all.

A whooshing ray of blinding violet light in front of her quickly dispelled any of that cockiness. Charlotte stumbled back, struggling to cover her eyes with an arm before being slammed back into the door by the very force of the presence. With a grunt, her arm dropped and eyes flew open to confront the thing before her.

Tall, lanky, and blonde, the woman before her was draped an a gaudy array of silky fabrics, each piece exceedingly colorful and garish and seemed to drip off her body with a torturous heaviness. The newcomer raised a gloved hand to her anorexic lips before smiling in such a haunting, ugly manner that Charlotte couldn't help but shudder in response.

"Welcome, my dear witch," the woman said grandly, drawing her vowels out with relish. "Do you enjoy my home so far?"

Charlotte glared feet and arms moving awkwardly into position. "You're the vampire behind this?"

"You're not even going to answer my question? What a rude girl," said the woman, who nonetheless seemed more amused than insulted.

Charlotte would have lost her temper before had someone called her just a "girl", but now she simply held her tongue. The mysterious woman only tilted her head.

"I," said the woman after a period of silence "am no vampire. Simply an alchemist who has designs for the Dark Lord."

Alchemist?

Though Charlotte had worked alongside some alchemists within the church, she had never seen one that worked independently…though the rumors that many of them served Dracula were thick and well documented. Still, she couldn't attack without knowing her weaknesses—charging in blind could mean her own death, and it was not something the witch was fond of experiencing.

"So you're planning to bring him back. I should have known—"

"No. Not bring him back."

Thin eyebrows jumped up as Charlotte halted mid-speech.

"What?"

The Alchemist simply smiled. "I'm not here to bring him back. This palace is not for the Dark Lord, but is a dwelling for who is soon to be his strongest minion. A bodyguard of sorts, an elite vanguard to make sure no whip-wielding brat ever defeats him again."

Charlotte's tome flew open, a mace thrust from its middle. She had just planned to intimidate the woman somehow, but in another blinding flourish, she disappeared once more. Gone without a trace, and without a name. Charlotte steadied herself, still high from adrenaline, and took a minute to ponder what had just been said.

So this was the site of the creation of a powerful minion. She shuddered to think of someone who could be so powerful as to be Dracula's own personal bodyguard—she had fought Death and barely survived. If this new creation was meant to be more powerful than Death himself…

With shaky steps, Charlotte Aulin stumbled further into the palace.